#it's like dragon age all over again you have to come to terms with the fact that 80% of the fanbase are toxic rabid foaming fangirls

[prototypelq]

I'm sure I'll love BG3 if/when I finally get to play it, but I am also sure I don't really want to touch that fandom with a 10 meter pole. Too big, too toxic, and they scream uncontrollably too much. It's like BG3 is their new religion and they've never played anything before.

I'm immensely glad and happy for Larian's success, they absolutely deserved and needed that win, but it's not the first nor the last good game out there, plus they have a lot of work to do for it still, as the quality control is all over the place, in last acts especially or so I've heard.

[justmymindandstuff]

melting Ice - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: You are about to marry Aemond Targaryen. Your arrival at the Reed Keep is greeted with coldness and you have a hard time settling in and coming to terms with marrying into this strange family. But after a restless evening you can't take it anymore and go to talk to Aemond. This evening brings you and your betrothed a little closer as he lets you see behind his facade.

Words: 2.971

Warnings: angst?, arranged marriage, insecure Aemond

A/N: Frist time writing Aemond // English is not my first language// no beta reader// Gif not mine // no use of Y/N// AO3

I hope you like this :)

You crawl through your stuff. You've been back in Red Keep for a week, but your belongings are not all unpacked jet.

The hot summer air radiate through the stones of your new home and you whipe away a few drops of sweat from your brows. You miss the light briese that always go through your cambers in  Casterly Rock. The heat in Kings Landing is muggy and brings the stank from the city and not the fresh air of the sea. But you're gonna have to get used to it. It's unlikely you'll ever see your home again. Not once you're married. This is the fate of thousands of Ladies in the seven Kingdomes . You all get shipped of to marry and never come back home.

You sigh. At least you won't marry a man who could be your father or grandfather. No, you're the future bride of Aemond Targaryen. Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Maybe you have luck with your husbands age. And you will become a princess. That's the dream of thousands of young ladies, and you can live it. From the outside it sounds perfect. Like a song. The reality is different. In reality, you are a pawn in the game of power, securing the loyalty and armies of your family for the Targaryens. This marriage is a reward for years of service from your family.

For your betrothed you are a burden. You're back here for a week and maybe you exchanged two sentences with the prince. He was in no way rude, but neither was he really warm. You got the feeling it was more of a inconvenient for him than anything else. He doesn´t want to spend any minute with you. He ignored your invitations to go for a walk or for a afternoon tea.

Instead he dumped you on his sister. Helaena, a sweet girl who is fixated on insects and with her thoughts everywhere except in the here and now. But she was the only one that makes you feel you are welcome here. She was the one who showed you around and invited you to tea, go on picnics, walk in the gardens or do handicrafts. She also introduced you to her twins. Sweet children that you can't keep apart yet.

The Queen only gave you a cold smile and explained her wedding preparations to you, she didn´t ask for you opinion of your wedding. But you think that´s the way your life is from now on.

Aegon, your future brother in law is an arrogant prince who likes to drink and spend his time with whores. Not one nice word comes over his lip just a rude remark about your appearance as the whole family greets you after your arrival.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath and rub your temple to get rid of the slight headache.

At Casterly Rock you felt trapped. A golden cage guarded by lions. Your cage is still there, only now you're being guarded by dragons.

Is this your life now? Lonely and alone surrounded by strangers? This is not how you imagined it all. You've known half your life that you would be Aemond's wife. The betrothal was make when you were just a little girl. And of course you were excited to become a princess. Your stupid little girl dreams were full of romance, love and your knightly prince with blonde hair.

And for a little while you had hope. When you were younger, you went to King's Landing with your mother to get to know your future husband. He was a sweet, almos shy boy, with a kind smile who had discussed history with you for hours or dance with you at a picnic. You thought your stupid girls dreams were coming true.

But now there is nothing left of the boy from your memories.

Aemond Targaryen had grown into a cold man who had an almost dangerous aura around him and observed everything with an arrogant distance. The sweet smile you remembered is gone. You're sure he hasn't smiled in years.

Will your marriage be like this? Married to a stranger?

You put a few of your writing utensils on your desk. Your thoughts go to the letters you wrote to Ameond over the years, but one day he just stopped answering you. Did you do something wrong?

Was this marriage doomed to failure from the beginning?

You sigh again and try to push your thoughts from the past away.

It had been a sunny day that slowly turned into a beautiful evening. The setting sun is still shining in your window. You've already had your dinner with your mother and now there's nothing left for you to do. But you are restless. The thoughts of your future life do not allow you to find peace. Gods you are a Lannister from Casterly Rock. A lion! And not a decorative piece that gets ignored and sidelined. Aemond shows no interest in you and you want to know why. The question of what you did wrong haunts you. In your home you were always surrounded by friends, the lords who visited your family praised your kindness and your beauty. You enjoy reading and you are sure that you are a pleasant conversation partner. However, your future husband seems to prefer to ignore you.

You feel lonely. As lonely as you've never been in your life.

No! Your life won't be like that! You refuse to accept this. If Aemond wants to ignore you, he has to give you a good reason for it.

You straighten your back and smooth down your skirts. With quick steps you reach the door and leave your chambers.

"My lady, where do you intent to go?" the guard at your door asks.

"I'm visiting my betrothed." you answer without stopping. The guard follows right behind you.

"You have been instructed not to leave your chambers alone."

"I am not alone. You are with me."

"But my lady..."

"Enough." you just interrupt him. You definitely won't let him change your mind. You will talk to Aemond! But after a few steps you stop. You don't know where the prince's chambers are. You turn slightly to face the guard.

"Where are the prince's chambers?" you ask.

"I must ask you to return to your chambers."

You grimace. "You swore to serve House Targaryen Correct?"

"Yes my lady."

"In a fortnight I will be a Princess of House Targaryen. So you also swore to serve me."

"But my lady.."

"Please."

The guard shifts from one foot to the other and shakes his head slightly. "I have instructions..."

"Fine. Don't help me, I'll just find the way on my own. I hope you're willing to follow me through the Red Keep all night." You turn around sharply to continue walking.

"The other way. Here." you hear after a few steps behind you. You turn around again and look in the direction the guard points .

You give him a smile. "Thank you very much."

You follow his directions and a short time later you find yourself in front of the prince's chambers. You take a deep breath and then knock firmly on the door. It takes a moment and you are invited in. As you attempt to open the door, your guard takes a few steps forward to follow you. "I want to talk to him alone."

"My lady it is inappropriate, you need a chaperone."

"Do you doubt your prince's honor?"

"Of course not!"

"So."

"But my Lady..."

You sigh. "I know I'm not making your job easy today, but I promise to do better. Just not today. I just want one private conversation with the prince. Please."

Now it's his turn to sigh. "I'll wait outside the door. Right infront the door."

"Of course. Thank you." You open the door and enter the prince's chambers. Aemond is sitting on one of the sofas, there is a cup of wine on the table next to him and there is an old book on his lap whose title you can't see. When he sees you he stands up surprised.

"My Lady." he says confused. You close the door behind you and curtsy slightly. You hope he doesn't insist that you curtsy every time you see him after your wedding, but that's not the topic of tonight. Tonight you want an answer.

“Is something troubeling you?” He sounds cold and not really interested, but you push aside the nagging feeling of insecurity. Maybe that was a bad idea after all? But you're here now. Now there is no turning back.

"Yes, something is bothering me." you answer. You are a lion of Casterly Rock. Hear Me Roar! these are your words. And you will show this dragon that you cannot be ignored. Aemond looks at you with a cold expression.

"How can I help you?" he asks annoyed. He's making it clear to you that he doesn't want you here. But you just ignore that. He ignores you, so you can ignore his wishes. You take a deep breath and straight yourself up. You make yourself taller than you are and scrape up all your self-confidence together.

"You do not like me." you say. Aemond's expression changes just for a second, then he wears his cold mask again. You hold his gaze.

"I do not know you." he then says. The bored tone makes you angry.

"And that's your fault." you throw at him. The prince rolls his eye.

"Did you come here to insulte me?"

You bite your lip. "No." you say quietly. "I want to know why you don't like me. I want to know what I did wrong."

Aemond's gaze goes over you. Then he turns to the side, reaches for his wine cup and drinks it. Then he takes the jug and refills his cup and fills a second one.

"Sit with me please." he says, pointing to the seat next to him. You take the steps to the couch and sit down. The pillows are soft, but you still sit straight and ignore the cup of wine in front of you. You suppress the urge to shift back and forth.

"So?" you press.

"You have done nothing wrong."

"Then why have you been ignoring me since I got here?"

"If you wouldn't interrupt me." he says in a strained voice.

You bite your lip again. "I'm sorry."

"Like I said, you didn't do anything wrong. I thought you'd prefer to have time for yourself."

"I had enough time for myself. I'm all alone here. And I would like to know my betrothed before I have to marry him. But you don't even give me the chance to get to know you. You disappear all day long. I don't know anything about you. The only information I get are the gossip from the servants." You feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you quickly blink them away. Aemond's jaw tenses with your words. But you're not quite finished yet. "I don't understand why. We used to write letters to each other and then you stopped replying. And since I've been here you have continued to ignore me. So give me a good reason!"

"I have give you my reasons." he says but doesn´t meet your eyes.

"No. That wasn't a good reason." you insist. That can not be it. Because he thought you needed time for yourself? Nonsense! There has to be another reason. Your thoughts are racing and before you can stop yourself you start talking again.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Not a pleasant conversation partner? Not worthy of your attention? What is it?"

"No of course not."

"Don't you think I'm pretty?"

"Oh please, you're beautiful." he says, sounding a little annoyed.

"So what's your problem?"

"There's no problem. It's just.." he interrupts himself and then takes a deep breath. "You must be very disappointed with this engagement." "With your behavior. Yes, I tried to explain this to you."

"No. Not with that. With the engagement to me. With a disabled prince."

You stare at him, stunned, for a few moments. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. You're beautiful, you probably had hundreds of requests for your hand in marriage."

"The two of us have been engaged since we were children. That's well known."

"Won't change the fact that you have a lot of admirers. Am I wrong?"

You furrow your eyebrows. Yes, of course, many men have given you compliments and little gifts and begged for your attention, but that's normal. You come from a rich, powerful family. You were never really interested in any of that. Why should you? You was already engaged. You had your dream prince. Until he stopped being a dream prince. Before you can answer Aemond talks again.

"I can imagine how embarrassing it is for you to have to marry a disabled prince."

"A disabled prince?"

"Aemond one eye. I know what people call me."

"And why do you think I care?"

He laughs joylessly. "Of course you care."

Anger rises within you again. "You judge me? Without knowing me? How dare you?"

You jump to your feet. Aemond winces. He probably didn't expect this reaction. You start pacing back and forth in front of him. "You think I'm unhappy with our engagement because you're missing an eye?You disappoint me."

"Everyone thinks that. You must be devastated. All your admirers and you are stuck with me."

"I´m not stuck with you. I was happy to be engaged to you. Until you turned out to be a complete idiot." you stop infront of him and glare at him.

"Remember who you talk to."

"I'm talking to the man I'm going to marry. Who obviously already made up his mind. Without knowing me. That's cruel."

Aemond is silent for a moment. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then tell me. Tell me anything, no matter what. But we can't do it like this. We can't live like this. We can't ignore each other our whole lives. Or is that what you want?" you ask, realizing you sound desperate.

"No of course not." his voice is no longer annoyed, he sounds more tired. You get on your knees in front of him to be at the same eye level again. You hesitate for a moment but then place your hands on his knees. His eyes examine you carefully, but you don't avoid his gaze.

"So where did that sweet boy I met back then go?"

"That sweet boy you were talking about lost his eye and no one cared." his jaw tenses again.

"I wrote you letters. I asked you how you were doing. How you felt. You didn't answer."

"I didn't read it. I thought you were just writing it out of obligation."

"You could have ask me." you say.

"I guess I underestimated you."

"Yes, perhaps."

"I shouldn't have assumed something about you."

"No you shouldn´t." you agree with him.

Aemond takes your hand. "I shouldn't have ignored you. I should have gotten to know you."

"You can do better now."

"I will." he says. "Promise."

You smilie at him. The conversation went better than you could ever imagined.

"And I will start right away." he then says. You look at him confused. Aemond takes a deep breath and lets go of your hand. Slowly his hands go to the back of his head and undoes the buckle of his eye patch. The leather slides carefully from his eye. The blue sapphire sparkles at you. The scar is always only half covered by the eye patch, but now without it, the scar is even more prominent.

You carefully raise your hand, but before you touch him you stop. "May I?" you whisper. He nods. You touch his cheek tenderly and caress it. "You're beautiful." You say. You see the slight blush on his cheek. A smile dances around his lips.

"Thank you." he places his hand over yours and carefully removes it from his cheek. He kisses your knuckles.

"I just say the truth." Now it's a real smile at Aemonds face.

You straighten up and come back to your feet again. You take a deep breath to bring yourself back into the here and now.

"It's late. I should go back to my chambers."

"Yes. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"That won't be necessary. My guard is right outside the door." you nod towards the door with a smile. Aemond raises an eyebrow, but you don't explain further.

"What do you think about accompanying me to Vhagar tomorrow?"

"To your dragon?"

"Yes."

Nervousness and excitement rise within you. "I would like that very much." you answer and the smile dances around his lips again.

Aemond leaves the eye patch on the table as he walks you to the door. He opens it and your guard half stumbles into the room. He must have leaned against the door.

"My prince." he says and bows. You suppress a laugh. He really was right outside the door.

"I trust you to get my betrothed back to her chambers safely ."

"Of course my prince." the guard stutters.

"Sleep well my lady." Aemond now turns to you. He kisses your hand and this time the blush rises in your cheeks.

"Sleep well my Prince." You say.

You turn away and make your way back to your chambers. Your guard right behind you and you can even find the way without his help. You are hopeful about your marriage. Yes, a conversation doesn't solve all the problems, but it was a good start. It's not perfect yet but it's better. And maybe he and you can manage to have a peaceful marriage and maybe be happy with eachother.

[whispereons]

Oracle!Reader Part 23

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 22, Part 24

Warning! This is a SAGAU imposter au so this is pretty gory and not happy all the time. Plus yandere but that's the expected for SAGAU.

Xingqiu and Chongyun both showed muddled emotions at your words of leaving Liyue.

“That may be best for you…” Chongyun says first as he keeps his gaze on the floorboards.

“Yes, I agree. Although I never expected that you would have to leave Liyue so soon, it's clear that you aren't safe here.” 

Xingqiu’s words that were full of understanding still had disappointment sprinkled in.

“We can't do much to help you when it comes to Ningguang, but Mondstadt is a different story. Do you have the talisman on you right now?”

Chongyun takes a few steps closer as you lift the amulet for him to see. He rubs one finger on it, examining the symbol that appears at the action.

“It's still at full charge, good. The road to Mondstadt can either be empty or full of demons depending on the day. But once you get to Wangshu Inn, it becomes much safer.”

“Because of Xiao, right? Despite how the situation looked when I first met the Adepti, I'm on relatively good terms with them now.”

It was a bit risky telling them this, but they both deserved to know at this point.

“When are you planning on leaving? Is your meeting with Ningguang today?” Switching the topic, Xingqiu brings the focus back to the most pressing issue.

Nodding, you answer. “My meeting is with her today, but I'll probably have to leave either at midnight or early tomorrow morning. The sooner, the better.”

“Then I can offer you some help that should make staying in Mondstadt a bit easier.” Xingqiu grins as he takes out paper and some ink. “I happen to know someone-”

“Albedo, right?” Cutting off Xingqiu as you think back to his connection, you continue. “Together you made the book, uh what was the name again? A Legend of a Sword? It got pretty popular in Inazuma. I remember there was a whole festival on light novels that you both attended too.”

Once you stop, you notice Xingqiu squinting his eyes at you before replying. “That's really creepy, you know? If I didn't know you were the Oracle, then I would have believed you to be some stalker.”

“If I was, then I wouldn't be stalking you of all people.” You snapped back as he grins while shaking his head.

“But yes, I'll send Albedo a letter in advance so that he can arrange for you to be settled nicely over there. I won't mention the Oracle situation as the Creator didn't want you to be known widely like that.”

It's been so long since you last heard the title ‘Creator’ be mentioned despite the fact that all of your problems come from their supposed existence.

Only goes to show just how ingrained the Creator is in this world.

“Thanks Xingqiu. Albedo is the chief alchemist and well respected among the community, so I should be in safe hands.”

Xingqiu merely hums in response as Chongyun tugs the amulet closer to him.

“Just trying to apply a better talisman on it.” He mumbles in accordance with your stare as he settles himself closer to you.

He's basically pressed against your side, but you strangely don't feel uncomfortable to have him close.

As the pair focus on their own activities, your mind wanders off to Albedo.

Albedo, the chief alchemist and homunculus created by Gold, the famous Khaenri'an scientist. Khaenri'ah, which also held so much information that could be connected to Celestia…

It was a long shot, but you could try digging for information about Celestia from him. The deal that Celestia made with Teyvat still bothers you to no end. With the age of this deal unknown, you might even have to look into the primordial dragons if it's even older than the Archon war.

A light shining brought you back to the present and your eyes flickered down to where the amulet shined in Chongyun’s hands.

Once it died down to reveal a more intricate symbol than before, Chongyun nodded, satisfied with the final product.

“This one is a lot stronger and should last longer now. I know you can fight well, but the demonic energy in Bishui Plain and Qiongji Estuary has shown to rise around this time of the year.”

Carefully taking the amulet from him, you thumbed the symbol with curious eyes. “I get it, thank you. Does it activate on its own, or do I have to activate it with something?”

“It'll work on its own. Depending on the amount and degree of demonic energy around it, the workings will change.”

Motioning with his hands, Chongyun’s calm voice explains the working to you. At the end of the rather lengthy explanation, you nod and condense the information in your mind.

“And now that Instructor Chongyun is done teaching you, I'm happy to say that I'm done with the letter. Have been for a while, but I saw no need to interrupt the oh so fascinating lecture.”

Raising the letter, Xingqiu lazily waved it as Chongyun bristled but ultimately said nothing.

“I can send this once I get home. Unfortunately, neither me nor Chongyun will be available to accompany you through your journey.”

Xingqiu tsk’d at his own words while Chongyun turned his head away, visibly sulking.

“My family was just hired to check out Wuwang Hill and my attendance for this is mandatory. Xingqiu’s father is forcing him to stay and attend meetings with his brother for the week as well.”

All you could do was smile sadly in response.

Before long they were both forced to leave by Baizhu who insisted on total privacy for the reviewing of your medication and discharge.

Watching them climb down the stairs from the window in your room, you listen absentmindedly to Baizhu.

Changsheng still refused to see you. Something Tevyat was clearly displeased with, as the once sunny weather quickly turned cloudy. The cold-blooded creature must be huffing in annoyance by now.

“And this is the overview of medication and supplements to take, with the doses and dates to take them.”

Casually looking over the paper received from the shady snake bastard, you hummed for a moment before stuffing it into your bag.

“All of it is paid for by your special benefactor. And the drug you requested has already been paid with by your body, as we both know.”

‘Must he phrase it like that?’ You internally questioned as you snatch the medication and shove it into your bag.

“I'm glad for it. Maybe even more so if she didn't pin so many babysitters onto me.”

At your grumble, Baizhu’s smile wavered at the edges. Either he truly hadn't known why there was extra ‘security’ or he was a great liar. You suspect it's a bit of both.

“Then if everything has been covered, I’m happy to say that you're officially discharged as of-” He merely glanced at the sun still high in the sky before finishing. “1300. I sincerely hope that the next time we meet you'll be in a better physical state.”

“And I sincerely wish we never have to meet again.” The words you utter are full of sarcasm, something Baizhu simply chuckles at.

“Now what could I have possibly done to deserve your ire, dear Oracle?”

“It's what you haven't done. A little heads up about all the guards would have been nice.”

“Oh, but I did!” His smile seems a little sharper as he leans toward you, his glasses sliding down to the bridge of his nose. “Didn't I let you know early on that there were quite a lot of guards?”

With an annoyed scoff, you snap back. “You said it was due to the two temples nearby, not cause Ningguang wanted to keep an eye on me.”

Raising his hands with wide eyes, Baizhu tried to placate you. “I'm not part of the Millelith, how on earth could a physician like me know the true reasoning?”

Holding his gaze, you tried to discern what he was truly thinking at this moment. Malice? Amusement? Mocking kindness?

But at that moment, all you could see was genuine surprise in his eyes. It only served to confuse you further.

Was Baizhu truly innocent in this? Your instincts in situations like these were usually correct. Besides, what would Baizhu even gain from deceiving you?

Still, that didn't explain why Baizhu was always so damn shady, but maybe you should chalk it up to an unfortunate side effect of being contracted with a snake.

“Well, then let me reiterate my earlier words. While I still hope we won't have to meet again. I do wish for us to want to meet again.”

Baizhu lowers his arms while fixing his glasses to laugh, the sound is surprisingly tender. “And how do you expect me to tell when that would be? I’m no mind reader.”

Standing up, you stay silent as you slip your bag over your shoulders and move past him. The door opens with a creak as you tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.

“To put it simply, I’ll want to see you when you discover whatever is hidden in my culture sample.”

The door clicks shut as you leave Bubu’s Pharmacy for good.

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

After a brief but firm pat to Qiqi’s head, you walk down the stairs casually. The slight rustling of the leaves, the fabric of curtains drawn, and the quieting of chatter are all brought to your attention.

Ningguang’s spies and the Millelith guards are all watching you like rabid dogs, waiting for you to slip up and give them an excuse to arrest you right now. 

Smiling without hesitation, you get to the last step and pretend that the forced conversations around you aren't scripted, and that the eyes locked on you are of a curious bystander and not the ones of detectives.

Bringing your attention back to the list you have clenched in your hand, you read the first errand on the list.

Return books to library.

Easy enough, and it's even easier when people seem to automatically avoid being in your path.

Is this what a day in Xinyan's life feels like? It's honestly not that bad.

At least you thought so until you got to the counter and waited for the receptionist to return.

Five minutes pass. Then ten minutes, which quickly turn into fifteen in a blink of an eye. You can feel your mood worsening.

Deciding to test something, you walk away from the library and turn the corner. Peeking around the corner, you watch as the ‘customer’ that was standing in the corner all those minutes gets to the counter. Almost immediately, a swarm of people return to it.

Sighing heavily, you ignore the weight of suspicious stares and turn the corner back into the library. Getting back into line feels humiliating, but it's just a quick errand, you tell yourself.

No one moves out of the way, but the quick glances they send you make them pale with each minute.

Not a soul dares to stand behind you.

It's finally your turn, and you place your books on the table with the last bit of patience you had. She doesn't meet your eyes and mumbles something.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” Leaning closer, you try to catch her words, only for her to yell.

“It's lunchtime now so I can't accept any more returns or purchases. H-Have a good-d da-ay!”

Flabbergasted at the sheer audacity, you watch her flip a sign on the table and flee the area.

“Fuck this shit.” Colorful curses leave you as you drop all the books haphazardly on the table and storm away.

Crossing it off the list, you follow the main path to the next errand.

Collect reward from Guild

That commission should have given you one hell of a paycheck the last time you checked. Primogems may be worthless now, but you could use the Mora the commission provides.

Plus, you needed to let them know to change it to the Mondstadt region.

Lost in thought of all the technicalities and paperwork you would have to fill out, you weren't focusing on the fleeting whispers around you.

“Is that them?”

“Who else could it be?”

“What a monster…”

“-as long as we get paid.”

“Who cares about-”

“It's me or them.”

“As long as it's them and not me.”

Your experience at the guild was a much kinder one. Katheryne was the epitome of professionalism, just as you remembered her to be. Not that you expected much else from a robot.

After handing all the written work to her, you finally noticed the absence of a certain person.

“Where’s that grouchy Lan? She's usually here, isn't she?” Checking the vicinity, you try to spot the brown recognizable bob.

“The Branch Master Lan is currently undertaking a commission at this time.”

“About the unseen razor, right?”

“That can not be disclosed to unauthorized-”

“It's fine. I’ll see you later, Katheryne.” Turning around, you leave without another thought. Lan wasn't anywhere near the ‘threatening’ list you've created since you last saw her.

Pick up plushie

Crossing out the previous task, you look at the present one with mixed emotions. On one hand, you were happy to get a chance to see something related to Earth, to your world. But at the same time, you couldn't help but wonder if it would serve more as a distraction than anything else. The memories it brought up never failed to leave your heart troubled…

Remembering the money you spent commissioning it ultimately tipped the scales, and so you dragged your feet to the little old lady’s toy shop.

It was empty just as the first time you were there as she hummed. If she was a vision holder you'd guess Hydro judging by the tranquility she radiated.

Her eyes meet yours and a happy smile slips onto your face without much thought.

“Here to pick up the toy, dearie?”

“Yup.” Popping the ‘p’, you watched as she gathered a delicately wrapped box from under the other boxes and presented it to you.

“Enjoy the nostalgic memories a toy can bring.”

You politely thank her before taking the present and walking away. The weight of the box is heavy with dread, and you can only find solace in the fact she didn't refer to it as ‘happy’ memories.

Once sufficiently out of sight, you take to grasping the lid. But you couldn't bring yourself to remove it.

Too many memories. All of them are rushing in and filled with conflicting feelings that would surely crush you. The fear and selfishness of the broken promises and unfulfilled desires would throw you off your game.

With a little too much enthusiasm, you stuff the box of the cat plushie into your bag.

Most likely to stay forgotten and distant from the present you're facing.

Scratching it off harder than the rest, you get to the last errand.

Refill supplies

A smart and mature move considering how you used the whole Medkit during the chase. The soggy bandages and washed away ointment really hurt your heart and wallet.

Revisiting the same shops you went to the first time proved to be ineffective. Either they were completely sold out or no longer supplying them.

Forced to visit more stores, you had to walk around the city a lot more than you cared to. Each store had one of the two situations, and the skittish actions of everyone around you were just the cherry on top.

At one point you even tried to buy the individual items separately, and even that failed.

It's not like you could just wait till next week for the first shipment. You weren't even sure you would live till then.

Eventually, you found yourself sulking on the lower docks, turning the situation around in your head.

If only you lived in Liyue for a little longer, maybe you could have found some of the hidden shops. Befriend a store owner and get a hidden one.

Just who the hell would even go out of their way to get every medical first aid part when it's such a crucial item for so many people in this era?

A name finally comes to mind and your expression sours at the thought. Not that you’d let it show, Celestia knows how many guards are watching you at this moment-

A sudden, rapid series of taps on your shoulder has you spinning around in surprise.

A young boy stands before you. The clothes he wears has visible wear and tear as the fabric frays from the edges. Yet you can't help but think you might have seen him before.

Placing a finger on his lips, he uses his other hand to grab hold of your elbow and tug you along.

Surprised but not suspicious of the kid, you let him lead you deeper into the docks. The dark red of his eyes seem to glow within the shadows as his dirty blond hair acts as your beacon of light.

The smell of fresh fish turns rotten, and the dirt caked under his fingernails stains your clothes. The complete and straight planks become jagged and creaky as you follow him farther.

But you stayed silent.

You recognized a path to the seedy part of the city when you see it.

Instead, you examine the younger boy with a critical eye and finally connect the dots. He must be one of the kids you saved with Yiran.

A smirk creeps up your face. It seems you managed to use your time wisely in making connections after all.

Following along the twists and turns, you don't worry too much about the Millelith. Most of the guards probably couldn't even get this far. If you had to guess, it would only be the detectives who could keep up.

It's not like the hidden underworld of cities as popular as Liyue Harbor are any big secret to them.

Stalls and various shops fill the area as flickering lanterns and other extra lighting give you a wider view.

Multiple people call out to the boy as he silently waves to them. The gaze of the homeless and shady people around aren't warm, but aren't hostile either.

Not that you were exactly expecting a warm welcome, but at least you didn't have to worry about sudden personality changes.

Money could buy you information, but it wouldn't buy you trust in these parts.

He finally stops at a little nook in the corner of the area. The door is worn down with scratches and marks yet the light you can see under it is warm.

Silent as before, he points at you, then to the rows of shops in a sweeping motion before stopping at the door.

Pinching your brows in slight confusion, you chew on the gestures to understand it. High-pitched laughter that suspiciously sounds like children eases into your ears as the boy squirms in place.

“Did you want me to knock on the door when I'm done shopping? That you'll lead me back to the surface?”

It was the only thing that you can think of. And despite your hesitation, the boy nods, clearly relieved that you understood the message.

He must truly be mute, no doubt from whatever horrors he must have faced that lead to the scars poorly hidden by mud on his arms.

You were thankful either way. Just leading you here was great but getting an exit too was even better. Now you could avoid getting mugged and/or murdered on your way back.

“Thanks man, I'll be quick.” With that, you walk away, already following the invisible path to the shops that caught your eye.

As much as you would have liked to explore the various items and weapons they had, you didn't want to keep the kid waiting.

After having to buy a rather expensive medical kit, a minor downside to finding the first medical anything since you left Bubu’s pharmacy, you pick up a minor stitching case.

You could have really used one during your latest and probably not last chase. Stuffing it into your bag, as people eye the magical item with desire, you quickly find the home.

Getting to the door, you step closer than before and take note of the older voice. A woman that's chuckling, and a lingering sense of guilt invades your mind.

Quickly rapping your knuckles on the wood, you step away as the home goes dead quiet.

Multiple little eyes peer at you from windows below you as you lazily grin and wave. They all scatter as giggling resumes and the sound of playing returns.

But not the woman’s voice. You didn't expect it to. It's hard to face the only person you've poured your raw wounds from a child's death to.

The kid finally steps out with multiple clicks of locks echoing around the small space. Smiling, you take no offense to the action. You weren't here for trust, and they weren't helping you out of it either.

His crimson eyes glisten with interest at your bag. He wants his pay, and you're more than happy to oblige.

Stuffing your hand into the bag, you feel the familiar clink of Mora gathering in your hand. Pulling it out, you place an appropriate amount into the pouch he already has prepared.

When you drop it all, he takes it closer to him and picks up a piece. The first thing he does is try to bite it, and the familiar memory of you testing coins the same way makes you smile sadly.

Counting the Mora, he frowns, clearly displeased with the amount. He holds his hand out, and you can feel the other children’s stares digging into you.

“I'm going to give you two things that aren't Mora, okay? But you have to keep it a secret.”

He narrows his eyes, no doubt suspecting you of being a shady person. That's probably why he brought you here first and demanded payment before returning you.

Like this, he has back up and cornered you further into payment of his choosing.

“Do you have a cooking pot?”

He frowns in confusion before nodding slowly. Lifting one finger in a pause motion, before heading back inside his home.

He returns while holding a clean cooking pot. It doesn’t take long before he places it over the open fire you already started.

Small eyes follow your every step as you dig out ingredients from your bag. Mentally going over the ingredients you had originally prepared for your celebration feast if you survived tonight, you drop them into the pot.

4 ham, 3 crabs, 3 shrimp meat, and 3 matsutake potatoes are dropped in.

Turning around, you count to five as the boy gives you a confused stare. But you only wink at him before turning around to look at the pot, as his eyes widen at the sight.

Adeptus’ Temptation sits innocently in the pot as the rich aroma wafts around the area, drawing curious hungry eyes.

Leaning down, you whisper to the boy.

“Get your friends and bring the pot back into your house quickly. This food is blessed and safe as you watched the whole process. I suggest you let the sickly and injured children eat first.”

He looks between you and the pot with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he can't trust you too much, but even the smell of the food was clearly tempting him.

It's the shuffling of feet getting closer that makes him bang on the door, signalling for the other children to come out and help him bring it inside.

By the time the shabby adults come into view, it's just you and the boy ‘talking’ as they grumble and turn around.

The kid still looks displeased. You don't blame him completely, since how can he trust that the food you cook isn't spiked with anything nefarious.

You're not even sure if it can heal people that aren't acolytes. It doesn't work on you after all.

At least they'll all enjoy a hot meal, even if it doesn't work.

Sighing, you take out your last resort from your bag, sadly selecting it and pulling it out. The secret weapon you've been saving since your time in Inazuma.

The colorful assortment of candy wrappers makes the kid’s eyes sparkle with the childlike glee that was absent since you met him. Probably long before you met him.

“It's not just Liyue candy, some are even from Inazuma.” The thought of giving up your hard-earned candy hurt you, but you let it go. 

The candy you squirreled away during the Inazuma festival, and the discount ones you bought at cheap prices at Liyue’s markets, were both never going to be eaten anyway.

His hands reach out to snatch the candy greedily from you but you raise it out of reach at the last second. He stomps his foot in childish indignation as you chuckle.

“Sorry, but I need you to bring me back to the outside before you scam me out of any more goodies.”

Finally giving up, he grabs your elbow again and leads you back through the streets. You enjoy the sights as he leads you zigzagging through the stalls.

You can't help but wonder if any detectives are still watching your boring little interactions. Admittedly, you played into the kid's desires more then you had to.

But you couldn't stop yourself from doing so when all you could see in him was yourself when you were that height.

The sun comes into light as the dim lanterns fade away. Like this, you can see his features once more as the stomping of soldiers return.

His eyes scan the area at the sound, but he keeps his hands open for the sweet treats. Smiling, you drop the candy into his open palms before he rushes off with a beaming boyish grin.

Stretching as you walk up the planks to the surface, you finally cross off the last item and drop it into the nearby trash can.

You try to ignore how it disappears when you turn the corner.

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

Time ticks down slowly, and you aren't looking forward to seeing Madam Ping just yet. Besides, you made a long-overdue promise to someone else beforehand.

Starting up at the somewhat hidden Funeral Parlor, you push the door open with a casual; “Hey, I'm here to meet up with the Director of this fine and totally not macabre establishment.”

The receptionist blinks at your sudden words before a cheery voice responds from behind her.

“You sure took your time, Y/N. I almost wondered if you up and died before I got a chance to have you purchase one of our very convenient and practical deals!”

Yet again, Hu Tao was right on the money about you being close to death. Idly, you wonder if you look half as dead as you feel.

The receptionist is more than happy to slip away as her boss bounds up to you with that elemental ghost hovering around her.

Flower pupils stare into your eyes, giving you a vague sense of unease as Hu Tao examines you from various angles. 

“Yup, yup! Just as I suspected. You are in desperate need of escape, and it seems the only way you'll be getting it is in death. My honest suggestion is that you buy a coffin from us and lead a hedonist lifestyle to enjoy the few years you have left.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” You dryly respond as she nods approvingly. 

“A business needs to be honest for it to succeed in the long-term. Trust of the customers is one of the biggest key factors.”

Not willing to argue on a topic you were admittedly clueless on, you follow her deeper into the Parlor.

“Then you got any good deals for a traveling adventurer like me who could be dead halfway across the world?”

She sighs, exaggerating it to the utmost while circling you. “I thought deeply on the topic and while the Wangshsng Funeral Parlor has grown enough to reach all of Liyue and a good amount of Mondstadt and Sumeru, we still haven't grown enough to pair up with each region.”

Passing by multiple doors, your eyes scan for a clue on where she was leading you.

“But considering you're the most eager customer I've had concerning their own death, I decided to present you with a special deal.”

“Wouldn't suicidal people also be enthusiastic in this topic?”

“They're usually more focused on the moment and their own afterlife, instead of the corpse they leave behind. Besides-!”

Whipping around to look at you with a knowing grin, she lays a hand decorated in rings on the handle.

“You aren't that far from being called a suicidal person yourself, Y/N!”

Before you can question her on those words, she swings the door open to show multiple rows of various coffins.

“The special offer I'm giving you is to purchase a coffin and I will personally escort your wandering soul to the border for proper peace.”

Tearing your eyes from the admittedly impressive collection of varying caskets, you have the sense to ask her a question. “So, what's the point in me buying a coffin if my body ends up in the waters of Fontaine? And how could I even trust that you have the ability to escort souls?”

From what you remember, Hu Tao should have no clue about your oracle status, so logically you should act oblivious to her connection with the border. Would you even be able to cross the border? It’s not like you were born on Teyvat like her other customers.

Unless Zhongli told her, but that would require more of an explanation on his behalf that he wouldn't want to do. 

“Very good question, dear customer!” She spins around to face you once more, her long twin tails swinging during the motion.

“Even if your body is irretrievable for whatever reason, the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor will deem your casket full after I guide your soul.”

The atmosphere visibly shifts after she speaks. The room darkens as the lanterns flicker, her back lowers in a familiar position as a cold phantom touch caresses your hand.

“You of all people should know why and how I'm able to guide souls. After all, I wouldn't expect anything less from an Oracle of the Creator.”

A crooked grin makes its way to your face as goosebumps raise on your skin. Hu Tao’s ‘threatening’ words of knowing your identity were like the sweetest song to your ears.

Finally, all your hard work in creating connections and stabilizing your identity has paid off. Acolytes you've barely begun conversing with already see you as an Oracle.

“Should I applaud you or something, Director? Or should I just accept the deal and make us both happy?”

Hu Tao laughs at your words as you take confident strides to stand by her side.

“I would appreciate the second option much more!” Signature flower pupils drink your smiling visage in with delight before her hand grasps yours in a tight hold.

“Now, if you will, I'll introduce all these amazing coffin and casket types for you to ask about and choose between.”

There's no time to protest, not that you would as she pulls you along excitedly as butterflies made of Pyro brush against your cheek.

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

Somehow you and Hu Tao had managed to look at every single coffin type in existence. A style, color and even additional design to it has already been decided.

You're just left with choosing the best wood for it.

Hu Tao wanted to stay with you throughout the whole process, but an important matter came up again, making her complain loudly as she left.

But before she did, she insisted on sending one of her employees to help you in choosing, as ‘the wood is a vital part of the process!’. 

So now you're left waiting in the absolutely quiet room, with only the sound of your own breathing accompanying you.

Looking down at the two coffins made of different wood, you waited for this employee. A small smirk played on your lips as you heard the door audibly click shut.

The thumping of shoes coming closer was silent, but the slight hitch of breath gave away how close your new consultant was.

“White cedar wood and Teck wood are both very fine choices. Though I would consider the Catalpa wood two rows down to be the best choices considering your position.”

Hot air fans your skin as the knowledgeable words spoken in that low timber light your nerves aflame.

Turning around, you look into amber eyes that remain steadfast on your face. His outfit is pristine and there's not a single evidence of the battle he was left to fight on him.

“If that answers your last question for the coffin customization, then would you mind stepping outside with me?”

Waving your hand, you dismiss his words without hesitation. “We can do so after I check out the Catalpa wood you recommended.”

Your head angles to the side to look at him with a teasing grin. “I know it's your retirement, but you of all people should know that rushing a job is never good.”

A long-suffering sigh leaves Zhongli as you walk away to the Catalpa coffin, before he follows you. 

More than happy to kill time like this, you feel the wood under your fingertips in a smooth stripe.

“Catalpa wood was and is still often used as an outer coffin for the jade inner coffin that Liyue officials were buried in. Not only can it be carved fluidly, but it is also very resistant to decay, unlike other ornamental wood. Its stability is quite underrated, with only the drying to be a tad problematic. And even that will be for us to deal with.”

Vaguely you wonder if this information was inserted into the game based off China’s own history or if Teyvat really did age throughout many years to build its own history.

“That’s why I recommended this type of wood to you. While you’re not officially a member of the Qixing or other affairs, your position of oracle is enough to warrant such a valued coffin.”

“Are you trying to convince me to buy it for your job, or are you trying to flatter me for your proposal?”

“You may see it as both, neither, or one of the two. I'm simply here as the consultant. I am to assist you with all of your decision-making inside this building.”

A huff of laughter leaves you before you tap on the casket. “Then I'll go along with what you want and take this wood.”

Zhongli nods, not bothering to write it down as his memory must be far greater than you care to imagine. 

His gloved hand is displayed to you in a silent question, but before you can move, he removes the glove.

Quizzically, you raise an eyebrow before placing your hand on his now bare one. Peering at his face from your place you note the slightest blush on his otherwise composed expression.

Smiling to yourself, you allow his fingers to intertwine with your own as he guides you out of the side door. Following him blindly up the staircase, past a set of rooms, another staircase till you finally arrive at the roof.

Zhongli squeezes your hand one last time, clearly relishing in the touch of your calloused fingertips before letting you go.

“I've waited patiently for you, Y/N. What is your answer to my marriage proposal?”

His eyes stare at yours with unshakable firmness. In a sense, it's endearing, and you make it clear by smiling widely.

“It's a no from me.” That resolute expression cracks and his mouth drops open before it's slammed shut at your bright laughter.

But even his poorly concealed embarrassed expression can't smother the blood rushing to his cheeks as his ears hang onto every addictive note that leaves your lips.

This has taken a long time. Like super long. I haven't dropped this series, just have lots of school work to complete and exams to study for. Like I literally have one tomorrow. My editor did me a solid and highlighted the parts that I had to fill in after I gave the mostly completed document for editing. When I have to write the next chapter, it'll take a bit as I gotta reread for recalibration. Taglist is open as always!

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[legacygirlingreen]

That time of year again… // Sebastian Sallow x Reader/MC (NSFW)

Hi friends! I have been battling the flu for a week now so there’s a delay on strumming hearts pt 2 but I managed to scrap this together for those who celebrate Christmas! Also hella unedited so RIP.. anyways, Hope your day has been fantastic!

Screenshots in art by: @sinty2ek - seriously check out their page, it’s great if you aren’t already following 💚

Warning: smut (duh), Sebastian gets dom for a moment but overall is worried about her, loss of virginity, consent is hot, size difference, etc

Word count: 7,700

All characters are aged up and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

The first December after the events in Feldcroft, he had come down with a bout of dragon pox that landed him in the hospital wing for weeks. The second his finals had come to an end he wound up in a bed, with nurse Blainey rushing around him, and he didn’t realize what exactly was happening until the first of the year when he was released. In a way, he’d been thankful, that not really being conscious or alert through the worst part of the year.

That vile illness saved him from going to an empty home with too many bad memories to sulk and more than likely drink his uncle's firewhiskey. He had “come too” so to speak the morning of his birthday - New Year’s Eve or Hogmanay for the Scots - but in his house it had always been about celebrating himself and Anne. Knowing he’d be unable to grieve the loss of his sister from his life with nurse Blainey in the room he laid in the hospital bed trying by any means to distract himself.

She had come around several times seeing he was much better but still not quite healthy to be released. As his energy grew so had his restlessness. He was so grateful when his friend, the only one he had anymore, had so sweetly continued to try and attempt to see him. He had heard snippets throughout his stay from the nurse about how the girl had frequently attempted to come see him, and she’d caught the girl trying to sneak in a few times, firmly reassuring the hero of Hogwarts that dragon pox was no laughing matter.

It warmed his heart when he was finally awake at how the pile of books slowly started to accumulate, giving him a much needed distraction. She even slipped in a title to the stack he knew she must’ve stolen from the restricted section, and the thought of her puttering around amongst the ghost to get him comfort while sick, made him smile.

And on his birthday in the morning when he awoke he saw a small slice of cake alongside a neatly wrapped gift and a small note containing his name. Blainey had informed him how desperately the girl had begged to stay on the far side of the hospital just to see him and how upset she’d been handing off the gift and pastry before sulking back downstairs.

As sweet as it all was, he was somewhat grateful to the nurse for keeping the girl away. Not only would he never be able to live with himself should he be the reason she contracted the often fatal illness, but he honestly didn’t want to be seen like that.

He’d been quite honest with himself over that first summer holiday on his feelings for the girl. He had come to terms with the awful ways in which he’d treated her and decided her miracle of not turning him in and standing by him should never go wasted. In those hot months in feldcroft he decided that he’d never hurt her again. And perhaps one day he’d tell her how he felt.

Because as the first July without Anne and Solomon raged on as he tended the garden, all he continued to think of was her shimmering eyes dreamily staring up at his own in amazement as he showed her the undercroft. Or how silky her hair had shown in the moonlight that night they raided the goblin mine. How small she felt pressed against him when he’d pulled her to safety from that spider. How brilliant her smile was when they discovered the first of Isadora’s memories. Or how she held him so tightly the night before they left hogwarts in May when she’d found him crying in the undercroft…

But that former Yule where he laid in a hospital bed, covered in sweat, scabs and looking like death itself, he was almost more thankful that the nurse had prevented the girl of his dreams from seeing his current state. Sebastian had always been a bit cocky. And he knew that he had some baseline qualities to which made him attractive, despite the ones he tended to dislike. He often hoped his messy hair would be considered more charming in her eyes. Or she’d notice that he’d started shaving by purposefully leaving it a few days sometimes so she’d have to notice the dark hair adorning his chin. He found the few of his features he could be proud of and he was thankful that she’d not seen him sick when she’d left that sweet gift.

The girl had dropped off a blank, leather bound journal, simply explaining in her note how proud she’d been of him for not messing with dark magic and that she hoped he’d use the journal to vent his feelings, frustrations, discoveries and anything else as he continued to turn over a new leaf. It had been sweet and something he’d never done before but if he was honest in the last year he’d nearly filled the damn thing after he taped in her note to the first page.

That remaining school year and the start of the current left him following around her like a lost crup puppy. Although feeling a bit self conscious earlier on about his newly acquired dragon pox scars adorning his body and the few on his face, he quickly resolved the issue when she come to him with a potion to cure it that she promised she had done the heavy lifting with garreth on. It overall did the charm and returned his face and skin to its original state.

Anywhere she needed to go after that, he was there. She needed someone to hold books? Sebastian had two hands. She needed an escort through the forbidden forest to find a lost niffler? He was carrying the small creature back for her. She wanted company even on a night he was exhausted? He’d brave the lack of sleep and stay up with her.

At some point during the year she had come to him and confessed she hadn’t been sleeping well, professor Weasley and her head of house recommending she relocate to her room of requirement instead of a dorm so she wouldn’t disturb her roommates with the nightmares.

So every once in a while when he too was struggling to fall asleep he’d find a note slipping under his dormitory door and he’d be slipping off to the tapestry in the hall to make sure she was okay.

Deek had found them most mornings still awake by the fire just chatting and decided perhaps Matilda didn’t need to know everything. Not even on the rare mornings he found Mr Sallow’s arms wrapped around his dear friend as they both slept soundly in her conjured bed. As far as Deek was concerned both children desperately needed whatever sleep they got, and the hero of Hogwarts only seemed to sleep in the arms of that Slytherin boy with the brown eyes that never left her.

As they found themselves in their seventh year, Ominis eventually trickled back into their lives. Having seen the changes made by Sebastian, and the reassurance from the girl he truly had given up after the damage he brought, Ominis decided that his found family was still better than his birth family. Despite that, he still had obligations at Yule until he was of age, leaving the pair behind as he boarded the train in Hogsmeade in December.

Sebastian wasn’t looking forward to Christmas this year. Not that he truly had for a while - Yule always brought forth the nasty reminder of those who were missing - a number that was increasing for him by the years. But this was going to be the first he was actually conscious for after his sister left. Given the previous dragon pox year he wasn’t sure what was going to happen this year.

Almost as if sensing his nervousness going into the holidays she approached him during dinner the last day of their examinations as she sat down gently and leaned a hand over to place on his arm, startling him out of his deep thoughts while he stared at his mashed potatoes.

Hey Bash, are you alright?

He looked up with a small jump as he saw her brow furrowed and her gaze laced with concern. Her sweet voice caused that ever present stirring to arise in his stomach as he sighed and turned towards her, making her drop her hand from his bicep in the process.

“I suppose” he said after a moment looking down and seeing where her thigh was almost pressed against his own and where she had laced her hands together in her lap after she let go of him.

After a beat of silence she spoke again.

“You’re feeling sad about the holidays this year aren’t you?” She asked and he almost let out a small yelp at how wonderfully she was able to capture exactly what he’d been thinking without him even having to explain himself.

Looking back at her empathetic expression he nodded. Of course she was understanding. She had always been nothing but caring since the day he’d met her.

Sighing, she averted her gaze and grabbed one of his forgotten peeled orange slices off his plate and popped it into her mouth, slowly allowing the fruits somewhat bitter-sweetness to coat her tongue before she swallowed and looked back at him.

“This is the time of year I feel the most alone” she admitted as she looked back up at him from her seat on the Slytherin bench.

Sebastian recalled the times she had mentioned growing up in a muggle orphanage in London. How abysmally poor and mismanaged it was run. How professor Fig had come, lying that he was a long lost relative to the nuns before “bringing her home” as he explained to the young witch that she had accidentally wound up at a muggle orphanage instead of a magic one when her parents were discovered dead by non magical policemen when she was an infant.

Spending her first Christmas at Hogwarts when Professor Fig was still alive had been wonderful. she’d been allowed to travel to visit him and Ominis and Anne during the last Christmas he’d had at feldcroft with the professor just during the day. Sebastian also remembered fondly how happy she looked celebrating Yule with them before she returned to hogwarts for the rest of the holiday: not before giving him a quick kiss to the cheek and scurrying off behind the late man. It had been Sebastian’s first decent Christmas since his parents died.

Now the pair sat in the great hall carrying the weight of loss and loneliness as they went uncertainty into the holiday season.

“I don’t want to go back to Feldcroft alone this year” he admitted bluntly as he continued to peel the orange, handing her a slice as he ate another. As they silently ate the fruit he kept thinking about how he felt conflicted in returning. A part of him hoped Anne would show up again but he knew deep down it was unlikely.

“What if… what if you didn’t go back to Feldcroft? What if you stayed here… with me?” She asked quietly without looking up at him.

Sebastian had wondered if he should stay at the school given he had no family to return to, but he worried she see him as imposing as hogwarts truly was the only home she had.

“You want me to stay?” He asked, unsure if she meant it but hopeful she did want him there.

“Of course I would. I always want you around. I think it’s silly for us both to be alone during Christmas if we have each other we could be keeping company.” she explained as she finally looked again.

“What about our dorm rooms-“ he asked as she shook her head with a small amount of blushing working its way to her face.

“We can stay in the room of requirement. Professor Weasley was returning home this year so she won’t be checking in and last anyone heard you were going to feldcroft. Only one who would know is Deek and he would never tell a soul. That is, if you are interested…” she explained to him.

He almost stuttered in his reply, taking in that the girl was willingly offering him to stay with her for an extended period of time alone and unsupervised. Sure he occasionally fell asleep there when she invited him but never for multiple nights in a row and with the intention directly.

“You want me to stay with you alone?” He asked and she gently nodded.

“I would. We can conjure a tree and decorate it together in the main room. Take care of the beasts in the vivariums and sneak down the library to get books to read… it could be fun” she reasoned and he nodded.

“Alright. I think I would really like that. Only if you’re sure you are alright with it. I can also sleep on the settee in the main room-“ he offered and she shook her head, opening her mouth to speak before pausing and looking down.

“You can if you prefer that, but I -“ she trailed off as she looked at his wild expression before continuing as she tucked one of those stray hairs so often around her face behind her ear as she admitted, “I do sleep better when you are around… the nightmares don’t usually happen when you are with me…” she told him.

He knew the feeling. In fact he knew it so well that the only peaceful sleep he often found was in her room when they fell asleep after hours of talking together. He never knew how but eventually once he would calm her down and they’d talk, he would wake up the next morning with her nestled against his body as if during the night they had reached over to hold one another.

“I-“ he paused, raking his own hands in his hair as he also admitted, “me too. I think the only real sleep I’ve gotten all year has been in the room of requirement”

“So you’ll stay? With me?” She asked and he nodded.

“I’d love to”

————————

The next morning he’d slipped out of his nearly empty Slytherin dorm room with a small bag over his shoulder of the stuff he usually brought home. Some clothes that weren’t his school uniforms, a few books, a quill and some ink, some snacks, the few toiletries he had and the journal she’d given him the previous year. As he snuck down the empty halls he came across the door to the room or requirement, now revealing itself to him with no problem, before he pushed inside.

Once there he could see the always lit fire in the main room, the vivariums grand entrances, along with all her potting and potions stations. Something about the place always felt so inherently homie and incredibly authentic to her.

“Uh…” he looked around seeing the absence of the witch who had invited him, knowing it was really early in the morning and she possibly could still be asleep, but usually she rose earlier. As he went to check the small bedroom that had appeared a few months prior, the door opened behind him and she shuffled in carrying a small basket.

“Oh, you’re already here. I snuck down to the kitchen for some breakfast and I was going to pop by the dungeons later-“ she started to ramble as he looked at her clothes.

Most of the time she wore her uniform, as most students did, but when she wasn’t in her robes she usually looked a tad mismatched. Often finding random articles of clothing with protection charms while exploring, she wore a tacky blend of them. The girl also usually opted for trousers not skirts or dresses as exploring was easier when you weren’t “worried about the wind blowing up or fabric getting caught” by her own words.

Instead she stood before him in possibly the first time he’d ever seen her without trousers or one of those hideous wool skirts all the students wore. She had a white blouse with an emerald green dress overtop that had only a few white embellishments along the skirt. It wasn’t the most elegant of dresses but it certainly was beautiful, especially since he rarely saw her like this.

He set his bag down and walked towards her, and upon further inspection she also had her hair tied back - not an uncommon sight - but she’d left most of it down, only pulling the front strands out of her way as she tied it back with a bow.

Very different from how he usually saw her.

Upon realizing he had been staring she felt self conscious, asking him “how do I look?” As she awkwardly stroked the material of her skirt down with her free hand.

“You look beautiful” he said without a second thought before he looked at her face, something he’d done so often but as her eyes softened he realized he shouldn’t affirm she looked this way only because of the clothes or change to her hair.

“You are beautiful” he spoke when he found himself planted in front of her, boldly admiring her face and not the wardrobe.

She noticed his correction along with the implications it carried as she fell under the wonderful scrutiny of his gaze. As she did so, she turned to take in his appearance with his lack of the Slytherin robes, swamping them for a simple shirt and vest as he stood in front of her. Usually disguised by school cloaks she could see how wide his shoulders had gotten, along with the exposed skin of his forearms from where he’d rolled his sleeves up. The skin that usually laid covered, now proudly displaying the freckled skin below the light dusting of dark hair, as well as his veins that went into his hand.

“You okay?” She heard his voice ask gently as she looked up from his hands to his face once more.

“Sorry, yeah, I mean thank you-“ she told him as she moved past him and walked down the stairs of the main room into the back area. Sebastian didn’t question as he followed her down into the deeper parts of the room.

Once they emerged in the area he noticed there was a large tree in the middle of the room with some pillow cushions on the floor in front of the fireplace. He realized she must’ve been awake a while to have conjured a tree and made the cozy nest where they likely would read together during the day.

“You’ve been busy” he teased as she walked them over to the fireplace and lifted her skirt ever so slightly so she could settle herself on the ground comfortably.

“I just wanted you to feel as at homey as possible” she explained as he sat down next to her, his long legs stretching out in front of them. Looking between their bodies he noticed her hand sat atop one of the cushions on the floor and he carefully plucked it from the space between them.

As he ran his fingers over the delicate and soft skin of her hand he tried to ignore the way his cheeks flamed at his bold action.

“I really appreciate the effort but you don’t have to play host you know? I am just happy to spend time with you” he explained as he looked at her, giving a reassuring squeeze to her hand to truly affirm his words.

She didn’t respond as she stared at the way he continued to clutch her much smaller hand. He worried she would seem disappointed by his request to remain as laid back as possible so he in turn shifted the conversation.

“You said you grabbed breakfast?” He asked and she pulled her hand back to grab the basket, opening it up with a smile to show the goodies she had brought. As she continued to go through the options he couldn’t shake the way her hand in his own had felt like the most incredibly natural act in the world.

———————

After a day of reading, exploring the room, decorating the tree together, and just talking he was on cloud nine. Everything had felt so comfortable, so natural, as they fell into a rhythm alongside one another.

That was, until it was time for bed.

Once again he insisted if she preferred him to sleep on the sofa he would more than happily oblige, understanding that sleeping in the same bed carried heavy implications. She swiftly reminded him that they had indeed fallen asleep in the very bed in her room of requirement before. But for Sebastian, those moments had never been intentional, and to do so from the jump felt like a much deeper step.

To go to bed willingly alongside one another felt like the kind of thing reserved for married couples, certainly not friends of the opposing genders. And especially not a friend he often dreamed about kissing… as well as other more intense and vulgar things…

Regardless, her sweet smile and bright big eyes told him it was okay in her book, and who was he to question that. So as she slipped off into the small bathroom area to change for bed he stripped himself of his clothes and quickly threw on his own night clothes, tossing his dirty ones in his bag just as she returned.

Sebastian hadn’t recalled ever seeing the nightgown she wore. Usually she had something much thicker and denser but this one seemed… thin.

It was suddenly as if Sebastian’s mouth had lost all its moisture and he couldn’t help but stare as the silk she wore seemed to hug areas he usually wasn’t granted access to see.

Since when had her breasts been this full? Has she always had such an intense dip in her waist?

“Sebastian?” She asked him in mild concern as he stared distantly, his mind very much elsewhere as she came closer to where he stood slack jawed. When she found herself in front of him, he looked at her like a wild animal that had been caught by a hunter.

“I…” he trailed off as he took one more, very obvious, look down at her barely clothed breast. The view from up close confirmed his suspicions that she had forgone any form of camisole as the brief outline of her nipple shown through the silk.

“What’s wrong?” She asked gently, not fully comprehending his reaction.

“I… I think I may need to sleep out there” he said shyly as he pointed to the main area, his voice much more painned than he intended it to sound. At his explanation her heart fell as she couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.

“But why? Did I do something to upset you?”

“What?” He asked her as he looked at her hair which he realized was now completely down, something he’d never been privy to see before. It made him want to reach out and touch the long strands and see if they were just as silky as he imagined.

Quickly snapping his eyes back to her suddenly saddened expression he firmly said “You’ve done nothing wrong”. This further plagued the girl as she couldn’t place why exactly he was acting in this manor.

“I don’t understand. I thought you said you slept better when we were here together… Don’t you want to share the bed?” Her hurt expression cut through him as he realized she was still not understanding that his resistance was not due to anything about her personally… more or less it was about his lack of control in regards to his wandering hands should they lay in the same bed all night.

“Come here,” Sebastian explained as he sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing her palm and pulling her to do the same. She simply sat next to him as he turned to face her, his knee slightly framing her hips and he did his best to try and ignore how close they really were.

I don’t trust myself.

If she hadn’t watched him say it she wouldn’t have believed he muttered the words.

“What do you mean-“ she asked and Sebastian almost grew frustrated with the girl for her lack of awareness at how much of a beauty she was, along with the fact he was so irrevocably in love with her it pained him.

“I mean you are too bloody gorgeous like this that I don’t trust myself to behave like a gentleman” he let out with a frustrated sigh. He knew he shouldn’t get so worked up, especially not to show frustration at her, but the throbbing starting in his lower region was making it hard to fully concentrate on his emotions.

All he heard was her gasp, fearing she’d seen the arousal in his night trousers but when he looked up, all Sebastian saw was the girl cautiously clutching her hair trying to make sense of his words.

Closing his eyes, he ran his hand over his face. Why was he such an idiot? She probably thought him some sort of delinquent. She probably hated him. She-

She had turned her body to face him and placed a hand on his shoulder when he opened his eyes.

“Bash” her timid tone called out and all he could muster upon having her so close was an eyebrow raise to acknowledge he heard her speak.

What if I don’t want you to behave like a gentleman?

Sebastian wasn’t sure he heard her correctly or if he was about to wake up from another one of those wet deans where he stained his sheets dreaming about being buried inside her.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for” he reasoned, knowing how innocent in many regards she seemed. It wouldn’t surprise him if no one had explained the marital act to her at all.

Instead of replying she simply inched closer until she was directly in front of him. Sebastian anticipated her to stop but when she cautiously climbed on his lap his breathing stopped. He kept his hand firmly planted at his sides as she settled herself atop him, her hands resting on his shoulders for support.

“I do know what you’re referring to,” she said bluntly and her boldness made him question just how much he might know of her. Behind those innocent gazes perhaps she’d been a temptress this whole time and he was just to blind by his affections to notice.

He hadn’t realized she had lifted one of his hands until he saw her concentrated expression examining his right hand up close. She studied the calloused skin of his palm before placing his open hand along her waist. Suddenly he felt the warmth of her skin through the silk nightgown along with the beautiful dip of her curves that laid underneath.

“I thought, but you-“ he couldn’t think of an intelligent response as she looked at his face. This led to the both of them staring at one another in silence as he kept his hand firmly planted where she’d left it.

Leaning forward she placed her fingers lightly on his chin, noting the stubble growing from his face as she traced over it. He’d shaved it in the morning but she always enjoyed seeing the small, dark hairs when he stayed with her after nightmares.

“If I ask you to kiss me, are you going to run away Sebastian?” She asked him while continuing to trace her fingertips over his face in the areas his facial hair had started to grow.

Sebastian didn’t reply as his hand finally tightened and curved over her waist. Lifting the other, he placed it on her cheek gently as he let his eyes move to her own.

“Are you sure? If I’m honest I don’t think I can ever let things go back to normal if we do that” he admitted to her with a sigh.

Of course he wanted her. Wanted to be with her. Wanted to kiss her. Wanted to lay with her. But if this was just some Christmas Eve fun that never would go anywhere he couldn’t stomach it.

Instead of replying she simply leaned forward into his hand, smiling to herself as she felt the warmth of his palm against her skin. Sebastian took a shaky inhale at realizing she was signaling he could go ahead while she looked at him through her heavy lidded lashes.

Exhaling gently he leaned forward just enough to ever so softly press his lips to hers.

He could hear the way she inhaled sharply through her nose before he felt the slight pressure of her returning the kiss. It was cautious. Unsure. But still she continued to press on physically and metaphorically.

Sebastian let out a groan as he felt one of her hands tighten in his dark hair, her fingers weaving in and out of the locks along his sensitive nape. In response he pulled her closer to him by the hands firmly planted on her waist and cheek.

Feeling herself more tightly wrapped in his embrace she gained more confidence in the movements, shifting on his lap ever so slightly and letting out a gasp and breaking the kiss when she felt that beautiful ache between her legs at pressing upon his hard thigh.

She had touched herself before, sometimes rutting into a pillow to find relief, but to use the boys thigh in seeking that feeling once more she felt electrified.

Sebastian couldn’t help but feel the full extent of the throbbing in his pants, when he realized she was humping his thigh to get off. The girl he assumed knew little, quickly proving him wrong as her gasps and sighs carved into his neck.

“Hey..” he told her, moving his hand down to her hip to still her movement for a brief moment as she removed her blush covered face from the privacy of his neck.

“I need some guidance on where exactly this is headed” he asked her.

“You’ve always rushed unto everything with no plan before. Why do you need one now?” She retorted one more trying to find the friction she desired on his lap.

Sebastian let out a soft groan as her center moved over his erection and he paused as he considered her words.

“That’s different… I don’t want to be disrespectful or hurt you. I have read that sometimes intercourse can be painful for the woman and I would never want to cause you harm” he explained and she rolled her eyes, catching him off guard with her frustration.

“I’m not made of glass Seb” she told him before aggressively beginning to kiss the side of his neck. Teeth nipping, lips sucking and tongue soothing the skin as she once again resumed rutting her hips.

“But-“

“Oh Merlin, would you just let me do it” she said frustratingly as she pushed his shoulders back until he fell on the bed, as she crawled over top of his shocked form.

Sebastian barely had a chance to get a word in before she was unbuttoning his sleep shirt. He didn’t say anything as he helped her slip it down his arms upon undoing the buttons.

“Do you want me?” She asked him curtly as she looked down at his half naked form with a surprised gaze.

“I - of course “ he told her.

“Then act like it, Sallow.” She told him and suddenly like a fuse had been lit, Sebastian flipped the girl onto her back and started kissing her shoulders and collarbones with vigor. He hadn’t even realized that as he flipped her over he had pulled her nightgown down significantly but he brushed it aside as he kissed her body.

She grew warm at how suddenly the reservations left him body and he responded so well to her noises and gasps. Sebastian seemed to so easily locate all those spots that made her feel weak as he kept kissing her body.

Soon he was reaching for the ties holding up her nightclothes and she leaned up to help him remove it. As her fingers moved to undo the latches he grumpily pushed her hand aside to do it himself.

“Been wanting to unwrap you like a gift for so long now. I want to do it on my own,” he gritted out against the shell of her ear before removing the top of her dress, pulling it up and over her body and tossing it onto the floor.

As she shivered from the draft in the room, Sebastian looked down and realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. He assumed that even though she lacked a camisole she at the very least would have breeches, but no. She was fully naked as she lay underneath him.

“You sneaky little witch planned this didn’t you” he gritted out as he leaned down to take one of her pert little nipples in his mouth, groaning at the sweet taste of her skin along his tongue.

“I had hoped it could be a possibility…” she said through a whine as he flicked her now erect nipple with his tongue before moving to the other one.

When he successfully gave it the same attention he release it with a pop as he looked back up at her face hungrily.

“So that innocent routine was just an act?” He asked her as he moved back up her body and leaned his weight down on her. She could finally feel his arousal through his pajama pants and she shivered as he used his free hand to trace down her torso.

“Tell me what you hoped for… did you hope I would kiss you…” he trailed off kissing her now severely flushed skin before pulling back to look up at her through his thick lashes as he kept teasing. “Did you hope I would… touch you here?” Sebastian asked as he ran his fingertips ever so gently over the skin of her chest.

His index finger moved down painfully slow until it was right at the base of her opening and he looked into her eyes intently as he breached her walls with his finger, smiling as he asked “did you hope I would enter you here?”

Sebastian only brought his finger back out slowly as she whimpered at the loss of the stretch that she’d felt around his knuckles and upon hearing the noise he shoved it back in again causing her eyes to go wide as she clung to the quilt.

Shoving another finger alongside it, he continued to work her open so she’d be able to take him with ease. Curling his fingers and scissoring them within her, he took his time appreciating every noise she made and every pull her body made on his appendages.

He wasn’t done teasing the girl yet because just when she was nearing an orgasm he pulled his hand away to look at her exasperated expression with a grin as he shoved the soaked digits into his mouth and licked them clean.

“Well?” He asked her and she remembered vaguely he had asked her what she had hoped for.

“I wanted you to… be inside of me…” she admitted somewhat ashamed and he chuckled at her relapse into innocence.

“My fingers?” He eased as he brought them close to her opening once more before changing his mind and grabbing her hand from where it was still clutching the quilt and bringing it over his arousal before asking “or my cock?”

“Your… cock…” she said as if she was out of breath and he smiled down at her, suddenly breaking the trance he’d been in and softly stroking her messy hair away from her face as he laid down next to her.

“You sweet, darling girl” he cooed as he pulled her into his frame. “You may have whatever you desire” he told her before leaning up to passionately but delicately kiss her once more.

She carefully reached for the tie on his sleep pants as she undid the knot and pushed them off his hips. Sebastian reached down to loosen his breeches and pushed them off his body to assist her before maneuvering his way between her open knees, laying over her.

“I’m sorry if I got carried away…” he admitted, realizing that his brash actions may not have been what she wanted.

“Don’t be. I found it to be… quite stirring” she admitted and he laughed at her choice words. Caressing her cheek he leaned down to kiss the skin between her eyebrows before pulling back.

“We do this at your pace. Promise you’ll let me know if it stings” he asked her and she nodded, brushing off the concerns as she reached for his cock, only to have him palm his manhood with a slight groan as he shook his head.

“I mean it. I don’t want to hurt you.” He told her sternly and she looked up at his concern laced brow.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine-“ she said as she finally unwrapped his hand from his manhood, finally getting to feel the full size of him as she looked down in shock.

Sebastian was much larger than she imagined. Not that she’d ever seen one in real life before but, even from anatomical drawings she’d seen and the girlish whispers she realized he was much more endowed than she assumed.

“Oh…” she said as she looked down, losing her nerve as she saw the way his cock looked massive between their bodies and the way it pulsed under her scrutiny.

“We don’t have to do it if you are nervous” he told her as she tore her gaze from his manhood back to his face.

“I want to” she said firmly and he looked at her for any signs she was lying or feeling pressured.

“You’re sure?” He asked her gently, his thumb tracing over the skin of her chin as he held her face carefully.

“Just… go slow…” she told him, parting her legs further and reaching down to assist him.

Sebastian grunted as he felt her lining his head up with her opening and once he could feel they were properly aligned he let go of her chin to reach for her hand, holding it in his own as he encouraged her to look up.

“Look at me, don’t worry about what is going on down there alright? Just look into my eyes…” he offered and she nodded, pulling her gaze directly into his own as he ever so slightly pushed his hips forward.

Everything went okay for a few moments until her breath hitched and he paused, not tearing his eyes from hers as he stopped pressing in. When she looked as if she adjusted, he continued until the entirety of his head was inside of her, pausing once more.

He couldn’t help but sigh as he sunk into her, enjoying the warmth of her body around him as he parted her. Every so often he’d stop and ask if she was okay to keep going and she never told him it hurt but he could definitely see the discomfort at the new and what he imagined, intrusive, feeling.

However for him… it was like coming home, to a place he’d never known was so wonderful. Her body eventually opened up and accepted all of him and he found his mound of dark curls pressed against her own, slightly more manicured patch of hair atop her womanhood.

He could feel the press of her hip bones on his as he laid there, waiting for her to adjust to the fullness of his length within her body. Sebastian almost felt amazed at where it all had gone, as she was so small in comparison to him and he knew his cock well exceeded his classmates from their time sharing dorms and bathrooms.

“Do you think you’re ready for me to move?” He asked her with the softest tone he could muster despite feeling like he was going to burst free at any second.

“You’ll be gentle?” She asked timidly and he almost removed himself entirely at the tone she asked him with.

“I promise. I don’t want you to be in pain. Does it hurt now?” He asked her, not wanting to know the answer but needing to have it regardless.

“It’s moreso just… pressure? Maybe moving will help” she offered as an explanation and he nodded, ever so carefully pulling his hips back before slowly sliding back inside once more at a snail like pace.

Eventually his movements became more comfortable, confident, and controlled - as well as slightly faster.

At first her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes but after a moment she seemed to relax her eyebrows as her mouth fell open. Sebastian watched her reactions intently as she gave herself over to him.

Somehow he moved to an angle causing a pleasured noise to spill from her lips and he felt himself twitch knowing that she was slowly starting to feel good.

“Hey, I like seeing those pretty eyes Love” he said gently as he nudged her nose with his own, causing her to open them once more and blush up at him as he continued to press within her.

“There you are… so incredibly beautiful. You are an angel…” he whispered as he picked up the pace but kept his tone soft.

His words and his moments caused her to feel a stirring in her stomach that was similar to when she rode highwing and she would dive low.

“Sebastian…” She sighed his name as a mantra while she reached up to hold his cheek in her hand, the other curled around into his hair.

“My gorgeous witch… so lovely inside and out…” he continued to praise her as her eyes grew glassy at his sweet words and without thinking a tear rolled out of the corner of her eye, his thumb moving to catch it the second he spotted it.

“Did I hurt you-“ he quickly asked but she stopped him by leaning up to kiss him, her hips rising to meet his shallow moments as he groaned.

Pulling away she continued to hold him close as she whispered

I love you Sebastian Sallow…

Hearing her call his name like that, and saying she loved him, caused him to stutter in his movements and his cock begin to angrily throb looking for that final push of release.

He moved his hips much faster against hers as he leaned down and groaned out, “I - love you too… so much… uhhh fuck… need to… finish… where” he struggled to choke out as he kept his momentum while driving into her.

Realizing she was likely much further behind he had the foresight to lean his hand down and start playing with her nub, causing her back to raise sharply as she whimpered and clawed at his back.

“Need to pull, out-“ he grunted and she shook her head violently beneath him.

“No. Please. Don’t -“ she said through a loud sob, her body beginning to clench around him as she looked up at him fiercely saying “please finish inside…” she begged.

He didn’t need to ask twice after she gave him permission. Pushing harshly on her clit, she came with a scream and with that, her body pulled his cock so tightly that he followed.

As her body milked him for every drop he had he couldn’t help but feel the strong sense of pride running through his mind as he flooded her with his seed. He looked down watching her wide eyed expression as he continued to pump his load deep within her body, only slowing once he ran out of stamina before he collapsed on top of her.

Sebastian was spent as he laid on top of her chest, his face pressed against her sweaty skin and he slowly began trailing butterfly kisses across her neck at the same moment he felt her brushing his hair off his forehead to do the same.

Suddenly he heard the clock chime loudly in the main room, signaling midnight and he removed himself from the crook of her neck as he softened within her, his spill slipping out of her and between their thighs. It felt so overwhelmingly perfect and then he realized something.

“Happy Christmas” he whispered as he tucked her hair behind her ear and she looked up at him slowly realizing that he was indeed correct and they had made love on Christmas Eve through the official start of the day itself.

“Happy Christmas Sebastian…” she said, her voice slightly hoarse from the screech she’d let out and he leaned down to kiss her once more before pulling her body into his, neglecting the mess between them.

“Well, I for one think this Christmas is already off to the best start imaginable” he admitted before pecking her forehead and he smiled when she laughed, the chuckle causing both their bodies to shake.

“Of course you’d say that”

“What? I’ve got the girl I love in my arms. What more can a man want?” He asked her and he looked down just in time to see her face turn up to meet his.

“You love me?” She asked softly and suddenly it was his turn to chuckle.

“I think that what we just did goes to show that but yes, I do love you. Terribly so.” He admitted as he brought her closer into his arms.

“I love you too” she told him as he smiled, his eyes starting to grow heavy.

“I heard you the first time… although if you feel so inclined to repeat it, I can guarantee that’s not the sort of thing one grows tired of hearing” he told her as he drifted off to sleep holding her in his arms thinking about how much more pleasurable this was than going to sleep with dragon pox on Christmas.

THE END

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

darilaros (princess) │ Chapter 5: Forgotten

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: As the second daughter of King Viserys, you experience firsthand what it means to belong to the House of the Dragon. Your family gains new additions.

Hello! My sincere apologies for how long this took. I got massively sidetracked by researching how to bind a book, the interest in which hit at a completely inappropriate time in the writing-editing-crafting cycle, lol. I should definitely be focusing on finishing this thing before I start fixating on binding books. Anyway; this chapter is a little time-jumpy, given that I have to speed through a bunch of time. Also, note that I've fudged with the ages of Alicent's kids, so in Episode 3, know that she is now pregnant with Aemond, not Helaena like in the show. It's the only way to make him of-age in the Episode 8 scenes. Happy (and well-deserved) holidays to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs, who I have graciously given a night off of slaving away for me, lol.

TRIGGERS: continued discussion of child grief, Viserys's shenanigans in impregnating an underaged Alicent (canon, this is NOT MY ADDITION).

When Alicent gets married to Papa, they have a big ceremony. So so many people come from all over the kingdom to see Papa take a new queen, and the days of the wedding—there are lots of days to them starting in marriage—are full of more noise and colour and movement than you could ever think was real.

Her dress is very pretty, and Papa looks very nice in his new coat, but neither of them look so happy as people who are going to be in marriage should be. Papa keeps playing with the ring on his finger that is from Mama, while Alicent just looks like she is afraid. You think it might be because of how loud everyone is being.

’Nyra isn’t happy, either. She keeps you on her lap the entire time with an angry look and doesn’t speak to Alicent very much at all, but at least she tries to be kind when she does. She ignores Papa, and because you are all sitting at the high table and everyone is watching you, he cannot tell her she is being rude and naughty.

Because you don’t want to look at Alicent’s unhappy face or ’Nyra’s angry one, you play with your sister’s necklace, letting the shiny metal take all your attention. It is Valyrian steel, which is what Papa’s and Uncle’s swords are made out of, so it is very special. Uncle gave it to her. When you let your fingers swirl over the ruby in the middle of the big pendant over and over, you pretend that it’s a part of him and that he’s here, after all.

After the big ceremony is done, life goes back to almost-normal. Now that Alicent is Papa’s queen, she is something called a stepmother, meaning that Brella and Septa and all the people who are made to look after you and ’Nyra have to talk to her about you both. She is like your mama. You wake up and break your fast with Alicent, and she cuts up your food instead of Mama, and she takes you outside to play and tells you about the names of the flowers. Then, when it is time to sleep again, she reads you a story. You think that she likes it very much because she always seems sad until she sees you, and then her face goes bright like the sun.

‘Nyra doesn’t like it. She doesn’t like it at all. When she learns that Alicent is acting like your mama, she goes very red like she’s going to scream, but she just goes very quiet instead and storms out of your rooms. For that whole day, ’Nyra takes you to the gardens and to see Syrax and to the library to learn some more High Valyrian, her new sworn shield Ser Criston behind her all the time. She never once lets you go see Alicent to do the things you normally do. When you finally get to be in the room with her at suppertime with Papa and ’Nyra, which Papa has said you all must do now so that everyone can get along, all she does is give you a small smile that doesn’t make her eyes go bright like usual and ask about your big day with your sister.

That is how things are for a while. Either you will go through your days with Alicent or with ’Nyra, and never both in one day because ’Nyra is still so angry at Alicent for being in marriage with Papa. You keep asking why, but your sister doesn’t tell you anything. She just goes quiet and frowns and mutters things you cannot hear. Meanwhile, Alicent will always stop, take a big breath that sounds shaky when she lets it out, and say, “I have no quarrel with Rhaenyra. She is as welcome to my rooms and in my company as you are, princess.”

You think that might be a lie.

One day, though, everything changes.

’Nyra decides to take you to the library so that you can look at more books in High Valyrian. Even the books written in the Common Tongue make no sense to you yet, and Brella told you this is because you are not old enough to learn reading properly. Still, your sister says that it is still good to try when you’re young, so she sits beside you and points out all the funny-looking symbols and tells you what they mean all together. You fall asleep in there instead of having a nap in your bed, but ’Nyra just puts a blanket over you and keeps reading. When you wake, you listen to her voice as she speaks the words from the pages aloud. You don’t understand all of it, but you think you’ve learned more and more since Mama died and she stopped being friends with Alicent. It means she has lots of time for you. Maybe that shouldn’t make you happy, but you cannot help it.

At supper, you see Lord Hightower, Alicent’s papa, beside her. That means that you have to be next to ’Nyra tonight, so you follow her to her side of the table and sit in the chair that the maid pulls out for you. The chair is higher than the others, made special so that you can reach the food that is put before you. Looking around, it is easy to tell that something is different from how happy Lord Hightower looks and how smiling Papa’s face is.

“My two daughters,” he says a bit too loudly, cheeks bright red. His cup is in front of him, and the gold shines red from the drink inside. Wine, you think. It is for men and women, not little girls, and it makes the people who drink it act strange like Papa is now. He waves his hand in a ‘hello’ as he lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a sip. “Ah!”

’Nyra starts eating her food without a word. Everyone has plates with different foods on it, but you have a bowl in front of your seat. Because you are small, the cooks always give you pottage for your supper so that you can eat it with a spoon and no one has to cut things up for you. You don’t always like it—there are lots of lumps and you can never tell what taste is going to be in your mouth with each bite—but it is warm and makes your tummy nice and full.

The room is full of the sounds of chewing and clack-clacking when the knives and forks hit the plates. You pick up your spoon and scoop up some food. There are dark bits, which means the cooks have put meat in it. You scrunch your nose.

Papa coughs between bites. He is still smiling a lot. “It seems like an age since I saw you last!”

“We had supper with you yesterday evening,” ’Nyra says.

“Ah, yes!” He takes another drink of his wine. Maybe he shouldn’t, because he is blinking very much like you do when you’re trying to stay awake. “Perhaps the waiting has made it seem longer.”

“Waiting?”

“I am sure you have noticed Otto’s presence by now.”

’Nyra doesn’t even look at the man. “My lord.” Her voice seems cold.

“Princess.” Lord Hightower bends his head, but he doesn’t sound very happy either.

Alicent puts her hand on Papa’s arm. ’Nyra watches so closely that you wonder if her eyes can make holes in other people’s skin. “I—we—have some news, Rhaenyra.”

“Oh?” She sounds bored.

“Well…”

When Alicent doesn’t say anything, ’Nyra makes a huffing noise. It is very rude.

“Well?” she asks, looking between Alicent and Papa. “What is it, then? Everyone’s acting rather strange.”

“Alicent is with child,” Papa says.

‘With child’ is what people say when a baby is growing in a lady’s belly. It’s what Mama told you before Baelon grew very large inside her.

’Nyra freezes, almost like she has forgotten how to move. No one says anything. Papa’s smile—the one that his words made so much bigger when he said them out loud—begins to fall, more and more with each moment that ’Nyra does nothing at all. Then, it goes away completely, and he’s no longer happy like he was.

It’s quiet again. Not the nice kind—the kind that means that someone is about to yell or be naughty.

“A baby?” you ask. Maybe you can stop the bad from happening if you help everyone remember that you’re still here.

Alicent looks at you, the fear leaving her face a little. She nods. “Yes, princess. You’re to have a brother or sis—”

“Half-brother.” ’Nyra’s lips move, but the rest of her stays still. She cannot stop staring between Papa and Alicent. “Or half-sister. Either way, they will not be your full blood.”

“You are correct, princess.” From the way Lord Hightower speaks and how silent Alicent and Papa are at ’Nyra’s words, you think she must have said something quite mean. He gives her a little smile, one that makes her hands squeeze really tight on her knife and fork. “Even so, these are glad tidings, indeed. Let us all pray for the queen to be delivered of a son.”

“I’m sure that would be of great benefit to the Hightowers, my lord. A son… to solidify your claim to my father’s throne.”

Lord Hightower stops smiling. Alicent gasps.

Papa makes a small noise. “Rhaenyra—”

All at once, she stands, the plate in front of her clattering loudly with how quick she rises. “Congratulations, Your Grace.” She doesn’t sound very happy for Alicent, even if the words are nice. “Forgive me—I feel suddenly unwell.”

“Daughter—”

’Nyra ignores Papa and storms out of the room, leaving her food only half-eaten. The rest of supper is very quiet, the loudest noise of all being the sound of your own breathing.

Isn’t a baby meant to be happy news? you wonder. You look around, but no one here is very happy—except for Lord Hightower. Though he isn’t smiling, he has his head held high like he has had every one of his wishes granted all at once.

“What do you think, princess?” Brella asks.

You stare down into the cradle at the baby. Your brother. Aegon. He is squirming, face bright red, squished and crying. He hasn’t stopped even once since you came into the room. He might have been crying since before you did, even. Aside from the bright hair on top of his head, you don’t think he looks very much like you.

“He’s nice,” is what you say, but you don’t know if you really mean it. It’s more for Alicent, who is watching you from over on the bed. She looks very tired. If you said something less kind, she may cry.

Alicent smiles. “Thank you, princess. Nurse—bring him to me, please.”

She doesn’t mean Brella. There is another woman here, Gwenys, who Lord Hightower and Septa Marlow assigned to help give Aegon milk and take care of him when Alicent cannot. Gwenys comes and picks up the baby, walking over to give him to Alicent. She rocks him in her arms which doesn’t stop him from crying, but she still keeps on bouncing him softly. He is very unhappy.

Now that Alicent is holding Aegon, you know that she’ll forget you are there. Ever since Papa told you and ’Nyra that he was in Alicent’s belly, neither of them have had much time for you. It feels like all the people in the keep—from Papa and Alicent and Lord Hightower to the servants and maids and stableboys—have been more excited for the baby than they ever were for you. The only person who has remembered you is ’Nyra, and so you are with her on most days. It sometimes makes you sad, because it really was very fun to play pretend that Alicent was your mama for a while, but ’Nyra says that it wasn’t going to last, anyway.

“She is to have her own child to care for, now,” she told you in the days after learning about the new baby. “You were good practice—but you aren’t her blood, not really. Not like you and I. Her son will be born, and you’ll be given to a nurse or a septa to raise.” When you cried, she bent down and wiped away your tears. “It doesn’t make her a bad person,” she said quietly. “But this is the way of the world, sister. Men and women, kings and queens… they all want sons. Us daughters must stick together, yes?”

’Nyra was right. At first, Alicent tried to keep pretending to be like your mama. But then, the baby made her very ill, so she stopped asking you to come to break your fast so you wouldn’t have to see her being sick into the pail by her bed. Then, she spent so much time sleeping that she didn’t have the energy to come outside with you, or to dance with you, and soon, the only time you would see her was at suppertime. Even that wasn’t always. And now the baby is here, you don’t think she will be going back to the way it used to be.

Maybe that is why he feels like such a stranger to you. At least with baby Baelon, you got to feel him kicking in Mama’s tummy. Aegon wasn’t here for so long, and then all of a sudden, he was. He is. You don’t know him at all. He’s just a baby, come to take your papa and almost-mama away from you like all the rest.

Brella’s hand on your shoulder is what helps you walk towards the door, Alicent and Aegon staying in the room behind you. With your back turned, it’s easier to pretend that Alicent is very sad by you leaving.

The more moons pass, the more faded Mama’s face is in your memory. You try to hold onto the way her eyes would crinkle at the corners when she smiled, or how her hair would curl a bit like yours after her bath, or the way she’d smell like roses when she hugged you tight. It slips away, out of reach. Putting rose oil in your bath helps you, but only a little bit—and the longer that Mama is gone, the less you can remember of her.

Papa doesn’t like to talk about her. When you ask him, he just spins the ring on his finger around and says, “Another time, perhaps.” You know that ‘another time’ really means ‘never’.

There is no one else in the keep that really knew her like you and your family knew her, except ’Nyra. She tells you stories sometimes, but you don’t ask a lot because she usually likes to tell the ones that have you in them. When she finishes, she always smiles and asks, “Do you remember?” You never can, and it leaves you feeling like someone has scooped out all your insides.

So, Mama fades, and becomes part of that place in your mind where the things that are being forgotten go. Even though you try and try and try, there is nothing that can stop the forgetting. One day, you think she might be nothing more than a quiet sort of sadness, like looking out the window at the rain and wondering why it makes your chest hurt so much.

Seeing Alicent with Aegon is the only thing that reminds you of her. Even though Alicent’s hair is red where Mama’s was silver, and Aegon is loud and angry where you are quiet and shy, the way that she kisses his cheeks or hums little songs under her breath to him makes you think of how Mama would do the same for you. He doesn’t seem to be very happy when she does these things. If it were you in his place, you know you’d be better than him. You wish she’d realise that.

It seems like no time at all goes by when Alicent is with child again, meaning she’s going to have another baby. If it is anything like Aegon, you do not think you’ll like it very much. Sometimes, you feel very naughty for it, but you cannot help how he makes you feel. All he wants to do is make a fuss and take everyone’s attention, and he keeps crying and being naughty even as Alicent’s belly grows bigger and bigger with your new brother or sister.

When Helaena is born, Papa and Lord Hightower aren’t as pleased as they were with Aegon. You can tell because, while they are both in the room when you come to meet her, neither one is looking at her as she lays in the cradle. They had both been looking down at Aegon last time. You think it is because Helaena is a girl, like you and ’Nyra. You decide that you have to love her if they won’t.

She is a quiet baby, but so still that it makes Gwenys worry and worry, even though all she is doing is lying in her cradle and staring straight up. Maybe she knows how rude her big brother is, you think, and she wants to do and be all the things he isn’t.

You weren’t allowed to hold Aegon because he was so disagreeable, which means he would probably have screamed and cried if you did. He still screams and cries, which is why Alicent has to spend all her days with him even though she’s just had a second baby, so Helaena is by herself with Gwenys most hours.

Helaena isn’t like Aegon. This time, Gwenys has you sit in a chair with a pillow under your arm and brings the baby to you. “Mind her head,” she says, tugging your arm forward so that Helaena fits nicely in your arms. “There we go.”

She is a big baby, round and heavy and warm, but you don’t mind because she gazes up at you with large blue eyes that look like they might turn purple when she gets older. The hairs she has on her head—and there aren’t many, not like Aegon had—are silver, and you know that she will look very much like you when she has grown more. When you stroke a finger over the skin on her hand, her whole fist grabs onto it, strong even though she is so young. It’s like she knows who you are, even without any words being said.

You wonder if this is how ’Nyra felt when she met you—a burning that tingles all through your arms and legs, not in a way that hurts, no, but in a way that makes you want to squeeze tight and never let go.

Helaena doesn’t cry. She falls asleep while you’re holding her, her face turned into you so that you can feel her tiny breaths through your dress. It is special and warm and love-feeling like Alicent used to be, like Mama was when she was not-dead. The hurt goes far away, still there but not so much, not so heavy in your chest.

For a little while, the sadness—of forgetting Mama, of being forgotten by so many others—fades away, too.

When you are five summers old, you have to say goodbye to Brella.

All the while you are breaking your fast, she looks like she is about to start crying. Even though you wonder why, you don’t ask. When someone cries, it means that something bad has happened. So much bad has already happened, and you don’t know if you want to hear any more. You eat in quiet, scooping porridge into your mouth while the sound of sniffles fills the room. The taste of honey would make you feel happy, but not when Brella is so upset. Your food sinks to the bottom of your belly like one of the hot bricks you sometimes get under your blankets when it’s very cold at night, only there’s nothing nice about it. It’s hard and rough and makes you feel sick.

After you have finished every bite—you have to eat all of it, or you don’t get to play—Brella takes you by the hand and leads you to the chair. “There is… there is something I have to tell you,” she says, slow and shaky.

I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. You wish that you were like ’Nyra, that you could say the words out loud—but you cannot. You don’t want to know, but you say nothing, and you wait for whatever bad thing is coming to show itself.

“I…” Brella swallows and looks down at your hands, still holding onto each other even though you are sitting and there is no need. “Tell me again how old you are, princess.”

“Five.” It’s a very small number, but you are still proud because you’re almost a big girl now.

Brella laughs, nodding. “That’s right. Five. My goodness. How time flies!”

You find that silly. Time doesn’t fly. It isn’t a thing-you-can-touch, and only things-you-can-touch can fly, like dragons or birds or insects. Still, you try not to show your thinking on your face as Brella squeezes your hand tighter.

“Being five summers old is a very important milestone when you’re a prince or princess,” she says. “Do you know why?”

“No,” you say. “Why?”

Here, she stops. “It… It means—gods, I don’t know if I can say it.”

“Well, then. It appears that I must,” comes a voice from the door.

You turn. Septa Marlow stands with her hands joined in front of her, her mouth pinched into a line so small it is like it has disappeared from her face. Her grey wimple makes her skin look just as colourless. She steps forward, and the sound of her shoes touching the ground seems as loud as thunder.

“You are of an age to begin your lessons, princess. Thus, it is time for your nurse”—she looks at Brella and her lip curls, though you cannot tell if she’s happy or angry—“to depart, and for me to take over your care.”

The sick feeling gets worse, and you wonder if you might bring up all your food from how bad the pains are in your belly. “But—but Brella will still stay, though? For Aegon and Helaena?”

Septa Marlow huffs. “There is no need, silly child. Their nurse has already been appointed, and Gwenys will suffice for any future children borne by the queen. Brella is to collect her things and return to the Vale.”

Brella has taught you some of the places on the map that shows Papa’s kingdom. You live in King’s Landing, which is in the Crownlands, and it is at the bottom of the map. The Vale is where Mother—Mother, not Mama, Mama is for babies and I am not a baby anymore, you have to keep telling yourself—came from, that it is a bit up and to the side from the Crownlands. It isn’t that far in the drawings, but Brella says that maps show a smaller picture of what is really a very, very long distance.

If Brella has to return to the Vale, it means she will be very, very far away.

You think you might be frozen, like ice. You cannot say anything. All that you can think, over and over, is no, no, no, please, not Brella, no, no, no. The fire-burn of tears warms behind your eyes, but you know that you cannot let Septa see you cry. She’ll think you are weak.

Brella sniffles. “I can write to you,” she says, pulling you closer to her. “And, when you’re old enough, you can write to me. How about that?”

You nod, but her words don’t make you feel better. Paper isn’t the same as a person, not really. Even if she puts letters on paper and sends them to you, it won’t be like one of her hugs or the way she laughs when you miss a dance step or fall over in the grass. It won’t smell like her or look like her. It won’t make you feel safe like she does.

She will turn not-real like Mother. Only, maybe it is worse—because you’ll know that, somewhere a long way away from you, she will be real, but that you cannot have her anymore.

“I don’t want you to go,” is what you say, but it comes out like a whisper, not strong like you wanted it to.

“I know, my darling,” Brella says, hugging you tight so that you can feel her heart beating through her skin and yours. “I know, and I’m so sorry—”

“If you could unhand my charge, nurse.” Septa’s eyebrow is raised. “Although—now that it occurs to me—‘nurse’ is no longer the appropriate moniker, is it?”

Brella glares at her. “There’s no need to be so—”

“Your time here is at an end.” Even though she looks like she’s trying not to show her feelings, Septa lifts her chin in the air like ’Nyra used to when she would win at cyvasse against Alicent. “Say your goodbyes.”

“What—here? Now?” Brella’s mouth is open like she’s very surprised. “I’d thought the princess would be coming to see me off at the harb—”

“That is not a good idea. She is too… attached.” Septa says it like it is a curse. “A public display of histrionics does not a respectable princess make, no matter her juvenility.” You have no idea what most of these words mean, but the way they make Brella sink in her seat cannot be a good thing.

She tucks your hair behind your ears as she looks down at you, her eyes wet. “Be good,” she says, very soft so that Septa cannot hear them well. “Make sure you write to me, yes?”

She brushes her thumbs over your cheeks—out, in, out, in—the way she does when she really means ‘I love you’.

“Please stay,” you whisper, trying not to let your lower lip wobble like it wants to so badly. “Please don’t go.”

Brella hugs you again, her whole body shaking. Your face is smushed up against her shoulder, the smell of her herness filling your nose with so much warm. You wonder if, by clinging on tight, you can stop her from leaving. She cannot leave. She is what you have left now that Mam—Mother is gone, now that Papa has Alicent and ’Nyra has Papa and Uncle has his war somewhere away from you. She cannot leave. She cannot.

It feels like she has been holding on for forever and also for no time at all when she lets go, stands up, and walks away without a word. The door shuts.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Is it worse or better, watching her go away? you wonder through the cold that settles in your body, in your arms and legs, the sharpness of it so much that you feel like shivering even though the sun is shining hot outside. You never saw Mother die. She was here, and then she wasn’t. But you have to watch Brella leave, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it all the while.

“Dry your tears, girl. ‘Tis about time your coddling came to an end.” Septa pulls you by the shoulder off the chair. Her hand doesn’t feel warm like Brella’s does. Her stare—fixed on you—travels up and down, her mouth crinkling at the corner like she is thinking about something. “Why she was allowed to linger past your name day, I will never understand.”

You cannot think of anything to say, so you keep quiet. It doesn’t seem to make Septa like you any more than she did before, which you don’t think was very much. The tears keep falling, though you try and try to make them disappear.

“Now,” she says, clapping her hands sharply. The loudness of the noise makes you jump. Teardrops shake onto your dress. “We have a long day ahead of us. The queen has requested an update on your progress, so you will be learning no less than three hymns before the end of the sennight. I should like to provide her with”—she looks you up and down again, and this time it seems like she is thinking something unkind about you—“some indication that you will shape up to be a lady of high standing.”

‘I’m a princess, not a lady,’ you want to say. You don’t.

Septa begins striding away, then stops and turns around to face you. “I expect you to follow when I walk, and to acknowledge me when I speak by saying ‘Yes, Septa Marlow’.” She almost spits the words at you. “Understood?”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” It doesn’t sound as strong or as clear as when she said it. You wish you could sound less afraid. Still, she seems to find it good enough. She says nothing afterward, just waits for you to trail along after her.

“Hmph.” She clicks her tongue. Staring down at you again, she adds, “And stand up straight.”

You do as you’re told.

Septa Marlow is as frightfully mean as you always feared.

One thing you learn quickly is that everything you do and say is wrong. When you laugh, it is too unbecoming; when you smile, you show too much teeth; when you walk, you are too hunched over; when you eat, you are too gluttonous. You’re a simpleton when you ask to play with your dolls, so they sit at the foot of your bed slowly being covered by dust; you’re graceless when you try to dance, so you practice after you have been put to bed to try and get better before each morning; you’re impertinent when you say what you’re thinking instead of keeping it to yourself, so you learn to let your thoughts stay inside your head. There is little that she doesn’t pick on and tell you that you need to change.

“Use full words, please!” she says whenever you forget to speak in the proper way that she expects. She always raps her willow switch on the table in front of you after that. Lucky for you, she has not yet used it to hurt you. “It is ‘does not’, not ‘doesn’t’. There is no need to employ such low-class mannerisms as a lady of your standing!”

“Yes, Septa Marlow.” There is no point trying to tell her that she’s wrong.

It isn’t all bad, though. Having Septa Marlow take over means that you are now expected to learn all sorts of things, and a lot of it is very interesting. New words, new houses, new hymns, new dances—you start to learn how to sew, how to put letters together to read them, how to count numbers and add and take them away to make different numbers. Septa says that there are so many things a noblewoman like you needs to be able to do by the time she is ready to be married, so that she can run her husband’s household and take care of him and her future children. That is a long time from now, but practice makes perfect.

The only time you are not with Septa is when you are with your family, like today.

Because Aegon has lived past being a baby—and Septa says that babies die a lot from the weather or from being sick or from being fed too much or too little or sometimes for no reason at all—Papa has announced that everyone must go on a hunt to celebrate his name day. You have to sit in the wheelhouse with he and Alicent and ’Nyra and Aegon and three other nurses, but not Helaena. She’s only a baby still, so she must stay in the keep with Gwenys.

It is not a very fun ride. Being in a wheelhouse with them all means putting ’Nyra very close to Alicent, whose belly has grown big with a baby again. Lots of people have lots to say about how many babies Alicent has had since she married Papa, and most of it is not very nice towards your mother. She could only have two girls, and it took her a long time to have you after ’Nyra.

Papa thinks there is another boy in Alicent’s belly. You hope not. Aegon is loud and rude. You think it might be worse if there were two of him instead of just one.

“… whole of our family off to celebration and adventure in the kingswood,” Papa is saying. You swing your legs back and forth, though you must stop each time you roll over a big bump in the road. You stay quiet, because Septa says a lady does not talk unless she is asked a question.

A very big bump in the road makes Alicent’s smile fall.

“Should you be travelling in such condition?” ’Nyra asks. She sounds worried, even though she is no longer friends with Alicent.

“The maester said that being out in nature would do me well,” is what Alicent says back.

Papa starts talking while he finishes giving Aegon a sip from his cup. You wonder if it’s wine. “Well, you will be with your own child sooner than late, and make me a proud grandsire.” He is smiling, perhaps at the thought of it.

‘No, I will not,’ the look on ’Nyra’s face seems to say. You cannot help but agree with her. Having babies seems like such a tiring thing to do.

“It’s not so bad.” Alicent has to speak louder to be heard over the rattling of the wheels and the hoofbeats of the horses. “The days are long, but Aegon came quickly and without fuss. Helaena, too.”

The nurse who is holding Aegon in her lap—Delia, you think her name is—waves a toy dragon in front of him. He smacks at it with his hands, frowning. You would never treat your toys like that.

“You should ride out with me today,” Papa says to ’Nyra. “Join in the chase, while you”—his eyes go to you—“sit about with your lady stepmother. Hm?”

“Okay, Papa,” you say quietly. Proper ladies do what their fathers tell them to.

’Nyra’s hand finds yours. “I’d rather not. The boars squeal like children when they’re being slaughtered.” From the way her fingers squeeze yours and her stare fixes on Aegon, you know she doesn’t mean you when she says that. “I find it discomfiting.”

“It’s a hunt, Rhaenyra.” Papa smiles. It is a careful sort of smile, not a happy one. Aegon’s yell distracts him for a moment, but he is quick to return to speaking to ’Nyra. “How would you like to participate?” he asks her.

“I’d be leaving my sister alone with the vultures of the realm,” ’Nyra says, “so I’m not sure why I must.”

Trying to understand what everyone means by what they say is very difficult—you aren’t sure if she’s saying that the ladies coming along are vultures, or if she’s trying to say Alicent is. You don’t even know what a vulture is, so you aren’t sure if it is a bad or good thing to be.

“Because you are my eldest daughter. The princess.” Papa looks like he is finding it harder and harder to stop himself from telling ’Nyra off. “And you have duties.”

“As I am ceaselessly reminded.” Your sister says it softly, but it is easy enough for you to hear from your place next to her.

Papa doesn’t, though. “I’m sorry?”

Instead of making up a lie or saying that she did not say anything at all, ’Nyra repeats herself louder. It is terribly rude, but you enjoy watching as you have always enjoyed watching her being brave against other people. “As I am ceaselessly reminded.”

“You wouldn’t need to be reminded if you ever attended to them.”

“No one’s here for me!”

Papa doesn’t seem to know what to say to that. Neither does Alicent. They both just fall silent along with the nurses. Even Aegon stops making all his annoying noises, instead sitting so still that he could be sleeping if his eyes were not open.

You make sure to hold onto your sister’s hand even tighter. If there is anyone in the whole world who does know what to say, it is you. If only you were brave enough.

‘I understand, ’Nyra,’ you want to say. ‘No one’s here for me, either. No one’s ever here for me.’

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[argisthebulwark]

All Emotion Dripped Away

summary: skyrim men and their red flags <3 gn reader, no gendered terms or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Miraak, Vilkas, Farkas, Cicero, Mercer warnings: some unhealthy relationship dynamics.

Brynjolf's inability to commit is maddening. The worst part is that you understand exactly what led to him acting this way - losing Karliah and Gallus at such a young age, Mercer effectively ruining every positive moment they've shared, thinking that he's lost you. You can understand his aversion to committing himself to another person but the knowledge doesn't make it any easier to handle. "Must we put a label on it?" He groans, dragging your chair closer to his. He leans closer, lips only a few inches away - he knows exactly what he's doing. It's his most common maneuver - kiss you until you can hardly think, distracting you from anything deeper. "It's difficult to think with you so close." You breathe, attempting to resist his charm. "Aye, as you've said." "Don't you want more?" You ask, allowing his fingers to creep under your armor. "Why ruin a good thing?" His kiss is full of heat, a promise for more to come if you're willing to forget this conversation.

At first, Miraak's protectiveness was sweet. He accompanied you on missions far from home and fought at your side. Losing Mora's power had only caused him to become more focused on retaining the skills he had. Over time, it grew. You noticed him tagging along on shorter trips, soon finding that even a quick visit to a nearby village for supplies was a two person job. You'd faced dragons and giants, climbed High Hrothgar and aided in the resolution of a Civil War - yet it seemed you couldn't be trusted to walk a few miles from home. "I don't want to risk you, my love." He insists, falling into step at your side. "What if you were harmed? What if you're hurt and no one is there to aid you?" You don't like this almost childish way he seems to view you - once he'd doted on you, though now it almost seems as if he doesn't trust you to walk without some grievous injury befalling you. He's coddling you.

As an outsider, Vilkas had always appeared confident, headstrong, willing to tackle any problem. He's strong and intelligent and well spoken, of course he can handle things. As a partner, you've been surprised by his avoidance. When you were a recruit he had no trouble voicing your many faults, even as his Harbinger he's been critical - but not his partner. Those problems remain firmly within his own mind. You know he bottles them up, stewing on these emotions until he talks himself out of being upset, rationalizing everything. "If you don't tell me what it is you need, I cannot give it to you." You've pleaded with him, desperate to make this work. "I love you more than I can say - please, all I need is for you to talk to me." "There is nothing to talk about."

Farkas' recklessness had saved your ass on many occasions, but as his spouse it left you a nervous wreck. He'd often laugh off your worries before leaving for days, unable to communicate due to clearing out some bandit camp. His lack of self preservation reduced you to a mess of nerves, trying to work through it but unable to stop your eyes from wandering each time a door opened. "It's not a big deal." Farkas pouts, kneeling before you. His armor's all strapped into place and a pack of supplies hangs over one shoulder - he's about to leave again. Your heart kicks into overdrive, fingers shaking when they clasp the sides of his face. "I always come back safe, dear." He reminds you, that easy grin on his face. "Do you not trust me out there without you?" "I'd feel quite a bit better if I were at your side." You admit, staring pointedly at the sword slung across his back. "We do work well together." He agrees, a kiss planted on your cheek before he stands. "But you're the Harbinger, you have more important duties." Of course you did - your duties included paperwork and worrying, both of which were beginning to wear on your nerves.

You can't fault poor Cicero for his inexperience - he spent far too many years alone, no one but the Night Mother to keep him company. Isolation had changed him, left him lacking the knowledge many others took for granted. Of course you love him, you'd fallen head over heels for the fool and never looked back, but your relationship didn't come without it's own trials. He'd never learned the common things to do in a relationship; little things many couples did like dates were nonexistent and he had no clue how a normal relationship was paced. Falling for each other was easy, why hold back? Why not go all the way? It didn't help that his relationship with the other assassins was strained at best - some were friendly, others shut him out entirely. You were the only one he could turn to, the only one willing to share a meal and a laugh with your beloved Keeper. "Listener, will you teach poor Cicero how to love you?" He coos, gently combing the hair away from your face. Your first instinct is to refuse, to tell him that it's too much - but the peaceful smile melts your heart. "I want to love you the right way."

Often, you find yourself what Mercer likes more - being with you or keeping secrets from you. He omits things that don't even matter which only heightens your anxiety on the topic; if he's willing to lie about something as trivial as who went on what job or which client he's meeting with, what else could he be hiding from you? You tell yourself that it's nothing, just a survival trait he's picked up over the decades of leading the Thieves Guild, but it's impossible to ignore. He doesn't seem to enjoy the jealousy it incites within you but you can't quite puzzle out what he gets from it. In the end, it's easier to accept that he merely enjoys keeping secrets. Only the gods knew how long it had been since he'd last opened up to anyone and you were afraid that prying would make him snap shut the little window you've carved out in his heart.

[meganooooooooooooooo]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard mage armour sets, ranked

I've managed to compile the starter and aspirational armour sets for each class, starting with mage. Mage definitely has the least consistent looks across all the factions - the ones I like, I really like, the ones I do not like, I REALLY do not like.

As we like to credit, these screenshots are also courtesy of @kalaelizabeth's character creator deep dive video.

Unranked - Starting armour

The starting armour sets appear to be the same for all factions and only differ slightly by class. It's not the worst starting armour Dragon Age has ever had (I really hate the one you get in Inquisition that makes it look like the Herald doesn't have a neck), but it's not the best either. There are definitely story reasons for why it looks the way it does, but as I'm keeping this spoiler-free that's all I'm going to say on the matter.

6. Mourn Watch

Unfortunately Mourn Watch comes in last again, and y'all, I absolutely HATE this. I know what people who want to play Mourn Watch are looking for, and "Victorian mortician at the end of a long shift" is NOT it. The worst part is, I think there is probably something not as bad under there, and I have no idea why on earth they decided to cover it up with a dirty, dingy sheet. I hate this so much I am never going to play this faction and class.

5. Grey Wardens

Snooze, boring! Past Dragon Ages have had better Warden sets, imo. (I'm thinking 2 and Inquisition here).

4. Veil Jumpers

I actually don't hate this, and Veil Jumper is pretty consistent across all the classes in terms of having a defined look, but it's still too much brown. How nice would a little pop of green look here? It needs SOMETHING.

3. Shadow Dragons

I'll be honest - the top three are really tied here. I think they're all really great and establish a defined aesthetic for the faction, class, and are visually interesting. I love the pattern here, and I think these shades of red and blue are unexpected but look great together. And it's just the right level of flash for a Tevinter mage.

2. Antivan Crows

It's sleek, it's chic, it's deadly. Exactly what I want for an Antivan Crow. I LOVE the feathers and how they have a slight iridescence. It also does what I wish the casual look did and has silver detailing instead of gold. Gold should belong to Lords of Fortune ONLY.

Lords of Fortune

I expect this look will be EXTREMELY divisive among fans, but personally I think "mage who loves gold and the beach" is an incredible concept for the class. I could even stand MORE stacked bracelets. More is more!

You can also find posts about the casual looks here. Rogue and warrior will be coming out over the weekend!

[askagamedev]

a lot of people are probably asking you this, but if they aren't... do you have any clue what's going on with bioware? first moving swtor to another studio, which seems like it can be both a good or a bad thing, and now they're laying off 50 more people? studio veterans included?

this just seems like a very weird move to me, if not outright shitty. i want to believe in bioware, i love their games, no matter how flawed they are, but in the three years i've been familiar with them, things seem to be getting worse and worse. i know that DAD is in alpha so probably this layoff won't affect its quality too much, but again, that looks like a terrible move towards the employees themselves and the studio's more distant future.

Bioware is basically following the publisher mandate. In March of this year, EA declared that they were going to cut roughly 6% of their workforce (~800 layoffs) to lower costs, likely because they (like many tech companies) over-hired during the pandemic and need to correct the burn rate to appease their shareholders. These 50 devs being cut are Bioware's unfortunate sacrifice to the layoff declaration. As to whom and why, I suspect it is a combination of things.

Bioware probably had some kind of incubation team working on a secret new project that wasn't a sequel to an existing current franchise. I know that they would often have one or two such teams going at any given time - Anthem was one such project, as was the short-lived Shadow Realms project. New projects like that are much riskier than franchise sequels, so it is likely that the publisher decided that the risk moving forward was too high and they cancelled the experimental projects in favor of focusing on their established brands (Mass Effect and Dragon Age).

It is also likely that some of the long-term veterans are quite expensive to keep - they have high salaries and have been around long enough to collect on many of the big benefits EA offers, like sabbatical leave and the like. There's also the real possibility that there could be some bad blood or major creative differences between the current studio leadership and some of those veterans that were let go.

My heart goes out to those affected and I really do hope they land on their feet. The unfortunate truth of the matter is that employers never deserve any more loyalty than they're willing to give their employees. The employer will never choose an employee over its own survival, so we as workers should expect to do the same for ourselves. I never consider long tenure at an employer to be worth much when it comes to the business decisions, because I know how little it is worth when all is said and done. Business gonna business.

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[apostaterevolutionary]

Collecting some thoughts on veilguard cause tbh I really don’t know how to feel lmao so. Unstructured ramble time

I’ve watched the trailer and the demo and I feel very. Idk? Still ‘wait and see’ mode for me. It’s been 10 years. Inquisition imo was the weakest of the 3. And while I have kind of moved on from DA there is a part of me that wants this to just blow everything out of the water and be amazing. I’m just not sure if that’s what I think will happen. Right now, I just think it doesn’t feel dragon age-y enough (in terms of what I, personally, consider the defining traits of the series) but I don’t want to jump to conclusions with so little information

The trailer was. Fine. Vibes were a little off but given its Varric narrating, it makes sense (also. Unpopular opinion lmao. I love Varric but I don’t think he should be a companion again. If there’s a carry over companion, it should have been Dorian. And tbh he could still be there, considering they said 7 companions but Varric is not included in that. So did they mean 7 *new* companions and maybe a few others? Advisors again maybe? Idk. Maybe Varric is a temporary companion, but I don’t think he should be there except maybe as a cameo. Scout Harding is an unexpected but fine carry over though). I don’t really have an opinion yet on the companions themselves cause there’s just. Nothing to base an opinion on other than the character designs

Gameplay demo shows that they’re definitely going very Inquisition-y. As in, continuing further down the path it started. Which isn’t unexpected, but is a bit disappointing, though not necessarily a dealbreaker as of yet. It’s probably smart tbh to go more in an action rpg direction than back to the crpg roots given it’s going to be compared to bg3 no matter what they do - better to differentiate as much as possible. Though I don’t think that’s why they did it, probably more a happy accident. I just. Idk, I found inquisitions combat a bit boring and I haven’t been impressed by what I’ve seen yet. But a 20 minute demo is probably not enough to really form an opinion

I feel like you can still see the echoes of this being a live service game at one point too. Healing potions coming from pots found in the environment (I never got over healing spells being cut btw lmao, bring back spirit healers already), the “ability wheel” (unsure about that too, given it sounds like we can’t control companion characters anymore? Kinda really don’t like that :/), stuff like that. I still feel like DA2 combat was the perfect balance between fluidity and strategy but it is what it is. It performed badly, so they’ve disregarded it wholesale rather than consider that some aspects of it may still be worth exploring. It sucks, but that’s capitalism I guess

As for all the other little things, idk, I really am not sure what to think yet lmao. Some sound good. Some less good (why only 2 companions, I don’t like that at all - also weird that the demo shows you won’t have a tank for the initial bit of the game. That’s a weird choice). Nothing to make me go aaaaaa either positively or negatively yet. I don’t even know what to say. My feelings are just so complicated about it, but also kinda empty at the same time. Like. It’s a bit of kombucha girl meme but also muted? I would like to feel just. More about it. But I don’t yet. I’m too unsure. Not quite numb, but almost tbh

At this stage, I feel like I’m gonna wait till it comes out and see what happens. No pre-ordering until I get a better idea. It’s like. With origins, I’ve played it a lot. DA2, even more - countless times lmao. Inquisition though, I played 2.5 times immediately after release and have tried to play it multiple times since but. I only ever get 10-20 hours in before I get bored and can’t make myself continue. I’ve tried many, many times and idk why but I just can’t do it. I never even played any of the DLC, so like. I kinda need to do that first if I’m gonna play veilguard but I have never succeeded before so idk how I will now lmao. But I feel like at least trespasser is necessary and I have genuinely never played it. And I gotta play the rest of the game first to get there and I genuinely don’t know if I can sksksjs

And with that in mind like. If inquisition is that unappealing to me, a game that feels very inquisition-y, potentially leaning even more into the stuff I didn’t like about it, is. Definitely not what I was hoping for. It’s still possible it’s leagues better than inquisition and actually playing it will be a great experience. But right now I just don’t know. I probably won’t be able form any kind of opinion until it comes out and I start getting info from trusted folks that I know have good DA opinions lmao

Idk. I’m not trying to be a wet blanket or a hater, and I genuinely don’t think I am being a hater at all, but I am just. Very tired and nervous. But also cautiously hopeful. I’ve said ‘idk’ a lot lmao but I truly don’t know at this stage. I guess we’ll see. Let’s hope it’s actually amazing and the very thing we need to make the series as a whole feel like it used to for us lapsed DA fans

[unicorncornflakes]

Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 16

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter (Coming soon)

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags:  Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes  manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know):  @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep @watercolorskyy

Author´s note:  Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5K

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the amazing rewiews, comments and refletions, for all the patience and the love that always shows for my writing. Thank you so much for all the time that you spend with this. Thank you so much for everything. :D

Someone made a joke again in High Valyrian, and everyone at that table laughed. Everyone except you.

The truth is that what was so characteristic of the Targaryen’s, to speal in their mother tongue, was something that you had not even dreamed of. Your mother had tried to take you to school when you were just a little girl to please your father's family, but she had stopped when she got mad at your father again over some stupid custody term. You had only heard High Valyrian occasionally from your uncle's lips during the summers. But, you had yet to learn. It was just another of the many things that separated you from that part of your family. Yet at that moment, at that table, where you were having dinner with some of your uncle's college friends, all silver and blond heads and sunset eyes, you couldn't feel more out of place.

You had arrived at Sunspear that same afternoon, and after simply leaving your suitcase in what was to be your supposed room and taking a shower, Aemond had asked you to go down to dinner with some of his friends that he only saw at that conference. You had put on a short, tight dress, heels that made you look much taller, and you had painted your lips with Aemond's lipstick. Almost like a trophy that your uncle had claimed and obtained, you walked out of the room. Aemond smiled an approving, arrogant, proud smile and placed his hand on the small of your back as he led you into the hotel's dining room.

Clement Celtigar commented in High Valyrian, and your uncle and Alyn Velaryon laughed, the latter slamming the table hard and causing his wife, sitting right next to him, to narrow her eyes. You sipped shyly from your glass. The Targaryen necklace dangling from your neck, and yet everyone sitting at that table had more Valyrian blood running through their veins than you ever would. You weren't a Targaryen, even though Aemond insisted on calling you his ‘little dragon’.

Celtigar's wife, a stunning woman with long hair, full lips, and rosy cheeks, asked you something in High Valyrian. She had a sincere smile, but in her eyes, you saw something akin to sly, suggestive amusement. Alyn Velarion's wife smiled as well. Both were waiting for your answer. They were both, like their husbands, of a similar age to your uncle. You couldn't be more out of place at that dinner. Your uncle leaned back in his chair, putting his arm around the back of yours, almost expecting you to answer what they had asked you. You bit your lip and looked nervously at your uncle to quickly lower your gaze back to the plate that had your food.

"Sorry, I don't speak High Valyrian," you whispered, Aemond remained impassive. You could see the disappointment in him, almost as if he had expected you to speak it because of the simple fact of your last name. You saw how Celtigar's wife looked at Alyn's with a smirk, and Clement raised the glass to his lips, amused.

"Well, don't worry, our children have a hard time learning too. They are about your age," BeatrithCeltigar commented as she looked at her husband, almost amused and with a smile that hid almost an underlying contempt.

"You could have at least told us that you didn't speak it. We would have spoken in the common tongue." Loren Velaryon smiled at you with a wide, sincere smile while her husband looked at Celtigar, who smiled back in almost the same way. "Bea was asking you where you met."

You looked at your uncle, who was about to speak when you responded almost automatically. "In a bar," was all you said. You had noticed that no one at that table knew you were Aemond's niece. He had simply introduced you by name, and then the others had started talking about what you thought was business and anecdotes from his college years. Aemond left his other hand on the table. Arm outstretched as he timidly tapped his glass. You knew he only did it when he was nervous, but his face was unfazed. A Valyrian statue. That's what he was. You thought that everyone there knew of your existence, that everyone thought you were his niece, and you couldn't be more wrong. Aemond had introduced you as his partner, even though you hadn't understood. He wanted to give you your place, although, at that moment, he realized his mistake. Perhaps all of them had seen the images of the charity gala, but it was too late. It had been a stupid mistake.

"I can't imagine Aemond having a drink in a bar." Clement laughed, and Alyn did exactly the same. Both friends started laughing while Aemond continued undaunted. You had never met a single friend of your uncle's, but it was clear that all of them were not what you had expected.

"At least tell us that you found out she was already 18", laughed Alyn while his wife hit him on the arm for the profanity of his comment.

"Of course I did, asshole", Aemond roared, quite annoyed at the laughter of his friends. You blushed at that spectacle and tried to take another sip from your drink under the watchful eye of Celtigar's wife. "The Celtigar live in Yi Ti and the Velaryon in the summer islands", your uncle whispered in your ear, almost as if that was an explanation of why none of them had seen on television what had been repeated for weeks until your uncle bought absolutely everything. Money bought silence, and from what you understood at the time, those people were rich enough to live in an ivory tower where the rest of the news that concerned other mortals did not reach. You didn't like those people. They just looked down on you because they could. Their money and their status allowed it.

"She's very pretty, mind you," Loren commented, almost as if you weren't there. "And you'll probably learn High Valyrian soon. The best way to learn it is between the sheets. Aemond always said that to his girlfriends in college." Everyone laughed, and you saw your uncle smirk, but the truth is that he had never spoken to you in High Valyrian in bed, that he would have done it with other women. It just got on your nerves. Jealous. Really jealous. That was the word.

"Yara learned it super well", Bea commented while her husband nodded in silence. "And you were only there a couple of months, but she was an intelligent woman." Yara must have been one of your uncle's ex-girlfriends. She was smart, not like you. That comment let you know what that table was thinking about you at that moment. Clement agreed.

"I always thought you would marry her. All that bullshit about PhD and ancient Valyria. It was your stuff," Celtigar commented as he cut into his steak. "At least it was what I bet with Alyn", he said, pointing at him with the knife, while the man Velaryon felt uncomfortable before that conversation. Almost as uncomfortable as you felt. Aemond looked at you for a moment. You just looked sad, and he said something in High Valyrian that made Clement almost stop chewing. Both Celtigar’s were the ones now looking uncomfortable.

"The nice thing is that I've never seen Aemond so happy", Loren commented while her husband smiled sincerely. Aemond held your chin and kissed you in front of all of them. It was almost like a statement of what he felt. Your first kiss in public. He didn't plan to hide anymore. He was tired. You made him happy. That was all he needed. You were having dinner in that VIP room. The six of them alone, but it was certainly a statement that he wasn't going to hide anymore.

"Where are you from, (Y/N)?" Alyn asked almost innocently, and you went almost pale after that brief contact of your lips with your uncle's. You thought of something quick to say before Aemond spoke up and answered for you.

"From Starfall", you tried to smile "(Y/N) Dayne." You smiled, and Alyn was pleased with your answer. You continued eating in silence while they all returned to their conversation about money and luxuries. They toasted you and Aemond, and though you did not see it, your uncle's gaze darkened.

As he toasted, he looked at his glass, full of meaningless bubbles. You would never see yourself as a Targaryen. He would never make you feel like this. As much as he tried, you’re identifying yourself as a Dayne was proof of that. Not a Dayne. Not a Targaryen. You would always feel out of place. Always.

The room that Alys had booked for you in that hotel was right next to Aemond’s suite. It was intended for the small children of those who were staying at that hotel. The journey there had been silent until you got to the door of your room. Aemond had opened it with his hand leaning on it, and you had slipped into the shadows, closing it behind you. You heard your uncle's hesitant footsteps as he entered through the huge door of his suite. It was bullshit. What you just did. You took off your heels and dropped into Aemond's suite through the connecting door. Your uncle hadn't bolted the bolt that joined them, and that only served to prevent small children from sneaking into the intimate moments of the older ones. That situation was stupid, and you just sat on Aemond's bed in silence.

With his back to you, he undressed without much desire. That dinner had been tense. His best friends from college had always been a bunch of assholes, but after the comments they'd made to him about you while saying goodbye,they weren't people he liked very much.

He knew what they thought. They saw the difference in age, they saw your innocence, and they almost despised it. Luckily, no one had seen the bond that united you, and that greatly relieved him. He had been an asshole that night. He had tried to play house with you and had almost ruined everything. However, he still seemed annoyed with you. He unbuttoned his shirt as he looked at you, and you smiled at him beautifully, although he could see some sadness in your eyes. It was there, more accentuated than usual.

"You should, you should have said you were a Targaryen," he spoke without looking at you, still undressing, and your smile faltered, almost as if you hadn't heard him correctly. But, you had. "We've had this conversation before..." he said as he approached the bed and sat beside you. You nearly stirred like an attacked cat, though you tried to hide it. You've always been good at faking it.

"When we had it, we didn't sleep together, Aemond," you said without looking at him, remembering that night two years ago when he had encouraged you to wear your father's heraldry. It seemed almost like a lifetime had passed since that moment. "I don't want anyone to suspect. Fine if your friends live in their bubble, but the rest of the world doesn't, and…and…also, I'm not a Targaryen. I don't have the hair. I don't speak High Valyrian or…" there it was. The truth behind all those years. You were confessing it to the same man who seemed to be crazy about you for that simple fact.

Aemond looked ahead. He remembered all the times he had messed with the Strong boys for that very reason. but you were different. You were. You weren't a bastard. You were born to a Starfall woman, yes, but so had he been to a Hightower. You two were true Valyrian blood. He was more into that archetype of beauty, but your eyes... your eyes marked you as one of his. Yes. "You are a Targaryen in your own right, even if you don't speak High Valyrian or have the hair." He held your face in his hands. "And even if you weren't, I would still love you just the same." He swallowed hard while his one eye was fixed on you, who looked at him with bright eyes. "You are my everything."

"But your college girlfriends…and Alys…" you whispered. You had never been worried about jealousy until that moment when they all seemed like a better choice than you. At that moment, a tear ran down your face, and Aemond wiped it with one of his thumbs while continuing to hold your face, forcing eye contact,never to be lost.

"They are not you, (Y/N), and they never will be. You are above everything. You are everything to me, don't you see?" He whispered to you, almost desperate for you to understand that you were everything. "I would be willing to do anything for you. Absolutely everything"

"But we are always going to live in the shadow..." you whispered, coming back to the real world after those weeks of pure fantasy. This was the first time you talked about something truly momentous to your relationship, where you didn't just end up tangled between the sheets of a very expensive hotel room.

"No. Not always. I wanted tonight to be proof of that," he confessed to you. "There will be places we don't have to hide because no one will know who we are." Aemond almost said it as if it were a fantasy, but he was convinced it was a fantasy his money could buy. He had worked hard for it, for this moment, where he was really happy.

For the first time in a long time, he was happy, and no one was going to take that away from him. Although he had no idea how wrong he was, "I want you to trust me. I want you to tell me what worries you, what makes you sad, what makes you happy... I just want us to be together because you are what I need, what I've always needed," he whispered to you, closing his eye and leaning his forehead against yours. His closeness made all your hair stand on end, and you simply kissed him because, finally, that Aemond you had always known had returned to you.

"It's not what I asked for. It doesn't look like what I asked for at all." Alys looked up from her phone screen at the sound of a familiar voice. As she had showered, she had gone with the rest of her coworkers to have a drink at the hotel bar, but as always, she had stayed up late, almost waiting for someone to spend the night with. The prospect of sleeping with Meg wasn't something that excited her, and she needed company right now. She knew there would be others like her. Therefore, she had remained in that bar until well into midnight. Although she had realized something, she no longer aroused the same interest as before, and she had ended up playing with her mobile phone bored. However, at that moment, upon hearing that familiar voice, all her alarms went off. Perhaps she would sleep with someone that night.

"But it's art, Mr. Dayne", a boy who must have been your age, was talking to Gerold Dayne. Both were sitting at one of the tables near the bar. The boy, who had long white hair, almost looked like a copy of the Aemond, Alys had known of that young boy. The oil tycoon's son was talking to him while showing him some pictures on a laptop. Gerold must have been there for the simple fact that this congress moved millions, and, without a doubt, his father must have sent him there as an ambassador for the oil company. Gerold Dayne was not in business of his own accord. He had always been rather uninterested in all that, but despite his lack of interest in business, he was a man Alys had found likeable…and quite attractive.

"I am not arguing that it is art. I'm just telling you; it doesn't look like what I asked for. I am an entrepreneur. Not an artist," Gerold snapped at that boy, and that made Alys smile. Something must have changed in that wayward man from Starfall. "Try again. If you want that position in my advertising section, you are going to have to do better."

"Okay," the boy just sighed and looked up from the laptop at the same time that he closed it. Then, the boy's one-eyed gaze met Alys'. And she looked at him amazed. He was so similar to Aemond, even missing an eye, although this boy hid it not under an eyepatch but under a lock of hair. Albino with a red mark that covered a small part of his face. Alys couldn't take her eyes off him. That boy must be some Targaryen bastard. She was sure, but her thoughts were interrupted when Gerold saw her too and waved. The Dornishman shook the young man's hand and walked over to Alys.

Gerold's cute, teasing smile had always made Alys smile back, and he simply leaned against the bar. She stretched and sucked on the straw of her glass. "Alys Rivers alone. It must be my lucky night." Gerold smiled charmingly, and Alys laughed in a flirtatious way.

"I guess I'm not what I was any more." She laughed, without losing that sensual grin that had always turned so many men upside down, and Gerold sat next to her at the bar. He opened his purse and paid for the drink Alys was having. "Thank you", she replied, almost purring, and caressed her hand. Gerold just smiled, almost tired, as if all his seductive and scoundrel facets had disappeared at that moment.

"I know it was you who picked up the phone. I'm the one who should thank you," he answered without looking at her. He only asked to be served and took a drink in silence. Alys looked at him strangely, not knowing what to answer because she really didn't know what he was talking about. "The images of Aemond and (Y/N). I know that it was you who made the arrangements for them to disappear from the television and almost from the web. Even if it was with Aemond's money, I know it was you who arranged it all. Thank you," he repeated again. He looked at her with a sincere smile, and Alys simply put on her serious face.

"I was just following orders", she lied and took another sip from her drink, this time draining it to the end. "But if you want to buy me another one, I'm not going to complain." She finally smiled, and Gerold Dayne gave a half smile as he indicated to the waiter to get another drink for the secretary.

"I know it was to protect her, although I don't understand why" the Dornishman replied. Seeing Alys's bright eyes, he knew he hadn't been wrong. If anythingit attracted him to Alys. It was her almost feline cunning. "I have always liked your ability to handle everything in the shadows. Just before I picked up the phone, you already did it," he laughed.

"Were you going to buy the silence of the media?" Alys laughed as if it seemed impossible. The Daynes had money, but she didn't think it was as much as the Targaryen’s. That was impossible.

"I want her to be happy and my sister not die of disgust when she finds out what makes her happy." Gerold shrugged and took another sip of his drink, looking honestly at Alys. "Everything I do is for them. They are my family. It was hard for me to see it, but that's how it is." Gerold smiled when he saw how Alys's eyes shone. She was a good woman, even though the world had forced her to become the monster they thought she was, but she wasn't. Gerold was sure of it.

"It reminded me of when I was younger. That's all, and how I would have liked someone to help me," Alys swallowed, confessing what she did not want to confess. Because that confession unravelled more than she would have wanted to say, she had tried to change. She was getting it, and it made her feel better, even though it was pretty clear she was going to lose with it, or so she thought.

"You're a good person, Alys, even if you think you're not", he whispered in her ear and Alys, that Alys who thought she was cold and distant, blushed. "The first time I saw you so innocent on Daemond Targaryen's arm, I knew it." ended up smiling, completely disarming the woman who believed herself to be indestructible.

"So now you're getting serious about business, huh?" Alys smiled, trying to regain control of the situation. And Gerold laughed at that change of conversation. He knew women like Alys well; it was very difficult for them to ever let their guard down, but that was something he liked. It didn't bother him at all.

"Yeah, I told myself that if I wanted to leave anything for (Y/N) it was time to get to work. It's not that I like it, but I've discovered that I don't dislike it either," he commented again. Alys chewed on her inner cheek, trying to find a new topic of conversation. Truly, she didn't want to let Gerold go that night. For the first time in a long time, she was really at ease.

"The boy that was with you." Alys started to speak, and Gerold laughed. He had never taken her for someone so curious, but the Dornish only smiled in defeat and moved even closer to her.

"Yeah. He looks too much like Aemond. I even investigated to see if Aemond had had an affair that we didn't know about," he laughed. And Alys went pale, almost not believing what she had just heard. "No, he's a Targaryen bastard, but he's not Aemond's son," he laughed again, almost trying to reassure Alys. The truth is that she didn't care if Aemond had had a child. She cared that something like this could have escaped her information network. "(Y/N) was dating him. His name is Bryen Rivers, and I like him," he replied in a playful and amused tone, simply seeing how Alys's face went from worry to relief in a single instant. "If you like it and it brings back memories of better times, I can introduce you to him," Gerold joked, alluding to that time when Alys had been everything to Aemond.

"No, leave it. I'm tired of dragons," she replied, following her game, and Gerold laughed, fixing his violet eyes on her.

"Great, because I thought you were going to say you still had a thing for guys with silver hair. That would mean I'm out of the game," he replied in a suggestive tone, and Alys laughed. It was obvious that she wouldn't be sleeping in the same room with Meg tonight, but she was a spymaster, and she really needed that information.

"So, does he work for you?" Alys shrugged, wanting to know more about that boy. The more she knew, the better she could protect you, even if it was a task, she had ordered herself.

"He wants to work for me. Soon, he will study in the same school as (Y/N), and I guess he thinks that if he works for me, she will be interested in him again. I liked him for her, but I know she wasn't with him because she was in love." Gerold stretched again. "So, since I like him, I let him try to get into my publicity department. He's quite talented," he commented as if it were yet another corporate action, and that made Alys laugh. Gerold had changed. Very much. And that made her come to him like a moth to a flame.

"Tomorrow, I have a date to have lunch with (Y/N). We are both in the same conference, and I would find it ugly not to see her," he commented without looking at Alys. "I suppose she will be brought by Aemond. Which won't be a pleasant experience." He winked at Alys but then leaned closer to her, almost as if he were whispering in her ear. "I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me then. Tomorrow. The two alone."

"I thought we were going to have breakfast together," Alys replied in a suggestive purr that made Gerold laugh.

"I would love to, but for once, I would like to do things right. I think it would be quite an experience for both of us if, for the first time, we didn't sleep with that person that we are so attracted to, and we did things step by step." He smiled sincerely, honestly, as if Alys were not a toy but a person, and that made her heart race. She felt butterflies in her stomach, and she wanted the next day to come. It was the first time that she felt that they were not going to use her. There were two feelings in Gerold's words that Alys had rarely experienced: gratitude and honesty. She remembered that girl who had entered Daemon Targaryen's office for the first time, and her heart raced. She wanted to be that girl again.

She just nodded, and Gerold escorted her to her room like a real gentleman. Just reaching the door, Alys turned to say goodbye after opening her card, but the Dornishman didn't let her speak. He just kissed her silently. A touch of their lips that indicated something more than passion and desire. An underlying affinity began between them that Alys had never experienced.

She had been Daemon's lover, Aemond's confidant, but she had never felt what she felt in that moment. She had no words to explain it. "See you tomorrow, Alys," Gerold whispered to her again, and Alys slipped into her room. Not caring if it woke Meg up, she could only try to stifle a nervous, happy laugh against her bedroom door just after she closed it.

Aemond had fallen asleep. Almost after making love, he had snorted tiredly, and after telling you that he loved you, he had fallen asleep while looking at the ceiling with a satisfied smile. Normally, he would have hugged you, but you could feel that he was tired after the flight. But you didn't care. You just snuggled up against his bare chest. You were just as tired, but you sure couldn't sleep. After so many confessions, so many fears and insecurities, you had finally confessed a part of them to Aemond, but now that things seemed to be better, you were going to walk away from him to start college. He would visit you. He had promised you. But, something inside of you told you that that fantasy that Aemond had in his head of being together was not going to work. Now you wanted to be with him. You wanted to shout it out to the world, but how was the world going to react? Nobody would accept it. You knew that your mother would think you weren't well, that your grandmother Alicent would die of disgust, and your father you didn't know very well, how your father would react, if at all? You slipped onto the bed and grabbed your phone; leaned against the headboard and did something you'd never done before.

You searched for information on Daemon and Rhaenyra. They, like you, had suffered that passionate and secret love like the one you two also experienced. They were you. Exactly the same, or, if not, similar. You saw a couple of gossip magazine covers where they talked about the close relationship between the two. You saw the news starring both of them, together or separately, and you read about the scandal. Your skin stood on end when you saw how the press had branded them as monsters. They were monsters for the fact they loved each other.

You thought about putting the phone down while you kept reading and reading about them. However, you couldn't. Something inside you wanted to know more and more about it, but you froze when you read the news about Rhaenyra's death. That made you shed a tear. They were all talking about Daemon's manipulation of her. Nobody came out in defense of what only two monsters could feel. Another shudder, another strangled sob. Why should it be better for you and Aemond? There was no evidence for it. Heavy tears rolled down your cheeks. None of this was going to end well.

Daemon had had as much money as Aemond, and yet he had failed to protect the one he loved most. How was Aemond going to defend you? The press had been merciless with them, but you also knew that they would be relentless with you. Your heart was breaking at times. It was almost like seeing the consequences of the relationship you had. It was too hard a blow with reality. Maybe too much.

Your sobs woke Aemond, who just looked at you in confusion. Just when he saw what was on the screen of your phone, he hugged you and threw the device away. He just hugged you while rocking you in silence. He only broke it to say that you would not suffer the same fate. He was going to take care of everything. He would. You wanted to believe him, even though you knew that he himself had warned you a long time ago.

And as he held you silently and stroked and kissed your hair, a message came on your phone from Bryen. You would only see him the next morning, but he was informing you that he was at Sunspear and that he needed to see you before the course. That boy was still in love with you, although you had already forgotten him. Your entire world was Aemond.

[darklinaforever]

I found a Nettle x Daemon shipper

They hated Daemyra because of the age gap as if Nettles wasn't 32 years younger than Daemon

They were saying that Nettles x Daemon was okay because Nettles was older than Rhaenyra was when Nyra got with Daemon which... Isn't truth?

As far as I'm aware Rhaenyra was in her 20s when she married Daemon and Nettles wasn't even 18 when she escaped

And even if we take the rumours of Daemon sleeping with Rhaenyra when she was 16 she was still the same age as Nettles was when she first appeared

In fact, Rhaenyra was 13 / 14 years old when there were sex rumors about her and Daemon, but that's honestly to be taken with a grain of salt. One version comes from Mushroom, a notorious pervert who includes himself in the Daemyra duo, and on the other, we have Eustace, a pro Greens, and at this stage, well before Daemon's return, the Greens were already reporting rumors about Rhaenyra's sexuality. So the idea that something sexual happened between Daemon and Rhaenyra when she was 13/14 should be taken with a pinch of salt. The only thing we can be sure of is that Daemon courted Rhaenyra for 6 months (I remind you that Rhaenyra was always accompanied by her ladies in waiting, except when she and Daemon flew on the backs of dragons) and then he asked his hand, following Viserys' anger. This is literally the only certainty we have on the Daemyra affair when Daemon returned from the war.

As for Daemon and Nettles' story, officially we have no proof that anything romantic or sexual happened between them.

And sorry, but the relationship with Nettles, if true, seems much more problematic than Daemyra, whose only thing that can disturb is the incest and age difference factor, although these two points are easily explained by the context of the universe if GRRM (not to mention that officially, Daemon married Rhaenyra when she was an adult like you said), and that apart from that, the relationship seems purely loving, and the two seem broadly equal, although Rhaenyra has the superior position as future queen and then queen, over Daemon.

But, why it's seem worse with Nettles ?

Daemon has a behavior towards Nettles that can be compared to a mentor / father figure. He certainly gives her gifts, but unlike Rhaenyra, all of them seem to have a practical use (so it doesn't look like gifts intended to seduce), not to mention that Daemon also taught Nettles a number of things (and don't come talking to me about the baths again, I have already covered the subject several times, as well as @horizon-verizon).

So, beyond the age difference, much worse between Nettles and Daemon, if these two had a romantic or sexual relationship... well it's very weird in terms of power dynamic.

A street girl, of 16 / 17 years, basically taken in by a prince of 49 / 50, who seems to act like a mentor / father figure to her and would eventually establish a romantic and sexual relationship with her... ?

Once again, it seems much more weird and problematic than Daemyra, who are certainly from the same family, but are Targaryens on whom incest has no genetic consequences but who on top of that, don't really seem to being around a lot during Rhaenyra's childhood. Certainly, Daemon gave her gifts and paid special attention to her when he returned from his travels, but people seem to forget that Daemon generally spent his time traveling or working for Viserys, spending little time at court in his moments there, and before that, he spent years stuck in the Val. Then he was exiled for 7 years, only returning when Rhaenyra was 13 / 14 years old, ready to be courted.

But the stans of Daemon and Nettles' so-called relationship are simply hypocritical.

They say the worst things about Daemyra just on the surface, when when you think about it for two seconds, their arguments are stupid, and even more so to justify preferring the unproven relationship with Nettles. Objectively, if there was a relationship, well the one with Nettles is much more problematic. And no, that Daemyra is incest is not enough to say that the relationship is worse, we have to stop the bullshit.

Also, I take this opportunity to point it out, people really seem to forget that Daemon is 49 / 50 years old at that time. He is literally quite old in the text which clearly places him in the last phase of his life. It seems to me that there is something about the way he walks because of old age in the text precisely. And I say that, because the fanarts I come across always have this tendency not to show how old Daemon is compared to Nettles. On the contrary, he looks like a young man. 😂

So, recap: Nettles is 16 / 17 years old. Daemon 49 / 50 years old. He seems to have a mentoring role towards her, which can also be associated as paternal, classic when we talk about a mentor, because he offers practical things to Nettles and teaches her things. Which implies a disordered power dynamic where Daemon has a considerable advantage (unlike with Rhaenyra). Sorry, but to me, if this relationship is romantic, it's very, very weird and worrying...

In addition, the age difference between Nettles and Daemon seems to be part of the limits of GRRM which, in my memory, did not create a romantic couple with this type of age difference, and indeed, generally duos with such a big age difference are never romanticized in the text, at least from what I remember.

And since Daemon is a gray / anti-hero character, I highly doubt he will get into this kind of questionable stuff.

Regardless, I will never understand Daemon and Nettles shippers.

Just like the delusion of saying you're racist if you don't ship her with Daemon.

I really like the character of Nettles, but I don't want her with Daemon. It's two different things.

And unlike some Nettles fans, no, I absolutely don't think that a romance with Daemon is essential to her character and that without it, it loses all its meaning. That's not the case, because the only thing that really matters about whether or not they might have an affair is that Rhaenyra believes it, nothing more.

Nettles, as a character, is not dependent on a romance with Daemon at all. Which I find quite reductive by the way.

Anyway, complaining about the Daemyra age difference, but not batting an eye when it's Nettles instead of Rhaenyra, is just hypocritical.

[greyias]

I really don’t want swtor to shut down it’s the only eu thing that’s active we have left

I knew these asks were going to start coming in.

So for those who haven't heard, it was reported, and then later confirmed by Keith Kanneg on the forums, that EA is "selling" SWTOR to another developer, Broadsword. For those who want to read the article discussing it, you can read here: https://www.ign.com/articles/star-wars-the-old-republic-development-third-party-bioware

TL;DR -- It's not shutting down. The servers are going to stay active for a while

There's a few points to note here:

If I understand things correctly, EA actually owns Broadsword. So EA is in fact not actually offloading a property, I think what's actually happening is BioWare Austin itself is being divvied out and would not be surprised to see if that branch is shut down

At least half of the SWTOR dev team is part of this move, so the key things to keep an eye on is which members of the dev team are moving. If the narrative staff is kept intact, then we have more story ahead of us beyond what's been written, and they've confirmed we're getting 7.3, 7.3.1, and 7.4. It's important to note that their production timeline is generally a year out from things being written, so story-wise, if they have narrative staff, we'll likely still have some story drops ahead of us

SWTOR is profitable (it hit over $1 billion in profit several years ago), and I will admit I don't have the best understanding of video game finances, but my impresion it was far into the black and maybe not an enromous cash cow, but a decent consistent revenue stream. EA is a publisher that is about profits, so as long as the game is profitable, even if there's not new story drops, the game will stay online

Disney has seemingly taken a recent interest in SWTOR after mostly ignoring it after its acquisition of Star Wars, even going so far as to finally acknowledge the general KOTOR/SWTOR era in their presentations last year at Celebration. Does this ultimately mean anything? I don't know, but SWTOR is one of the longest running current properties with a stable player base. They're just as interested in profit as EA. Probably another indicator that the game will keep running for a while.

Other properties that Broadsword operates, such as Dark Age of Camelot and Ultima Online, are old games. Ultima Online was released in 1997, and the servers are still active. So like, I think regardless of what happens in regards of the story, we're not losing the ability to log in and play the game

Long term subscriptions - I remember reading, and forgive me, because I've long forgotten the source, that a key indicator if the servers are going offline is to also keep an eye on the six-month subscription option. Basically, if suddenly the only option for subs goes down to one month, that's when to worry about being able to actually play the game.

This is probably not about SWTOR, but BioWare as a whole. It seems there's a leadership issue at the main Alberta office that's causing issues. This is likely an Anthem issue all over again, but Anthem this time happens to be the Mass Effect and Dragon Age properties. Unfortunately, BioWare Austin looks like it's going to suffer the consequences of that, even though they've been running a tight ship overall compared to the rest of the branches. I feel for them. This sucks.

Now I'm not an oracle, I have no idea if this is ultimately a good or bad thing for the game itself. There's a lot of evidence for both sides of the coin, so right now the best thing is to wait and see. We at least have the promise of the next two patches. Let's focus on enjoying that, and celebrating what we love about our silly space game.

If you love the game, keep playing it. Spend money on it, and keep it profitable and it will stay around. Be kind and supportive of the devs, who regardless of how this shakes out, are going through a major transition. But immediately decrying an active game's death and going into doom and gloom is not going to help things.

Will we get more story beyond 7.4? I do not know one way or the other. I hope we do, but it's hard to say for certain on that front. But I do believe we'll still have our toons and be able to replay all of the released content for quite a while to come. Again, for now I'm just going to enjoy my favorite game, and support it as long as I have it. Even if this inevitably means it's going to change.

[takeariskao3]

Day 4: Red using my taylor hangover to try and catch back up with #SeveralSunlitDaylights & @corneliaavenue-ao3

this is an extension (prequel?) to my hand's at risk (i fold) aka slytherin!harry

The platform bustled with nonstop conversation and chaos. Owls hooted, cats mewled, and frogs attempted escape from their owners. Friends and housemates greeted each other with cries of joy and claps on the back. Second years cackled as they darted between clusters of mums and dads and grans. It was the typical sort of mess Harry had come to expect from the first of September.

Only this time it was different. Because this time would be his last send off on the Hogwarts Express. He tried not to feel too nostalgic about it, but he couldn’t help taking it all in one last time. He was going to miss the clamor and excitement of a new school year. 

He’d miss school too, but he resolved not to think about that yet. He still had the whole year ahead of him, after all. 

His gaze scanned the colorful crowd, a warmth building up in his chest… until he realized more than one set of eyes stared back at him, and his parents, with awestruck expressions. Which just left him fidgety. 

He definitely wouldn’t miss the staring. 

“Write often,” Mum instructed, reaching out to adjust the collar of Harry’s jacket. “Just because you’re of age, doesn’t mean you don’t have to write anymore.”

“Yeah, alright.” Harry agreed half-heartedly. 

“Oh, that’s encouraging,” Dad deadpanned. “At least promise your poor mum she’ll get one letter a week?”

Mum rolled her eyes. “As if you don’t wait around for Hedwig at the kitchen window every–“

“Sure you didn’t forget anything?” Dad interjected loudly, changing the subject before she could reveal more. “Books? Quills? All those new pants your mum got you for your birthday?”

A snort, barely covered with a cough, sounded from just behind him, and Harry darted his gaze sideways to see Ginny Weasley ducking around the outskirts of their little group on her way across the platform. He watched her progression through the throng toward a large group of redheads a little ways away. Ron, who was in Harry’s year, was being fussed over by his mother. While the twins, who had already left Hogwarts, were handing out catalogs to any student that walked by. 

When Ginny reached her family, she glanced over her shoulder once and met Harry’s eye in an instant. Her hair was longer than when he had seen her at the end of last term, but her bright eyes were the exact shade he remembered. Like warm summer honey. Like dragon barrel brandy. Like glowing amber. 

A split second of impending confrontation passed between them. The kind of feeling that preceded a duel, the kind that narrowed his focus and set his nerves alight.

Then, she looked away, her gaze landing on something to his right, and the spell was broken. He allowed his eyes to linger on her for one extra moment, and noticed her cheeks held the faintest hint of pink. 

Wrenching his line of sight away from what the slight flush did to her freckles, Harry also glanced right to see what had caught her attention. He found his dad watching him with a knowing smirk. 

Of course, Ginny Weasley was staring at Dad. Everybody always stared at Dad. Or, at least, they stared at James Potter, Captain of the Tutshill Tornados. And they stared at Lily Evans Potter, author, activist and the best potion developer in generations. Which generally meant people stared at Harry, too, for having the audacity to exist as equal parts of both of them. 

“The Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, eh?” Dad asked in a mock whisper, reaching out to ruffle Harry's hair. 

Harry scowled at him and smoothed it all down again. 

"Go talk to her," Mum urged quietly and Harry nearly expired on the spot. 

"N-no!” he stammered in reply. “I don’t–it’s not…”

He trailed off as his parents exchanged barely concealed smiles. 

“You’ve got the wrong end of it,” Harry said in a rush. “She threatened to hex me into a jelly last year.”

If possible, Dad's grin stretched even wider. "Glad to see inter-house rivalry hasn't died completely."

Mum hummed thoughtfully as if she didn't quite agree. “Did you deserve it?” 

Harry shrugged, remembering the night he and Ron Weasley had accidentally disrupted a very private, very secret, passageway. “Does it matter? She’s still trouble.”

Dad slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders as the train bellowed out a warning whistle. “Not all trouble is bad, mate.”

[ninjamelissajulien]

Notes on Wyldfyre's Voice Messages

out of EVERYONE in Dragons Rising, it's an interesting choice to have Wydfyre be the one to vent out her grief. And that's what this is.

Grief.

1: Why am I doing this?

The idea that Lloyd offered this idea, of sending voice messages [writing letters] to Kai [to the "deceased"] is a great coping method for younger children when dealing with loss. It's a hard idea to conceptualize when dealing with grief at a young age [since this is on LEGO Kids, its presumed for younger children]. "...why would I talk to someone who can't hear me?" parallels the idea of a child not understanding the idea of "the person you love is still around us, even if we can't see them." Its a way to talk without pressure, of getting everything off your chest without aiming it at a real person.

"I refuse to accept that you're trapped away from us and never coming back. I know you'll be back. You're probably on your way back right now." Again, another fascinating parallel to the loss/death of a loved one. In a personal connection - Last year (2023), I lost my grandmother to pneumonia after an 18 year battle with cancer. I was unable to see her before she died (long story), so, the last time I got to physically see her was between a half to a full year before she had died. While I was up at her house with my family, it felt like she was going to walk into the house at any time. I felt like I had no closure, even after the funeral/cremation. So, Wyldfyre waiting for Kai to come back is her way of saying she doesn't have closure. She's in denial. [Even though we all know our beloved Fire Ninja is coming back at some point].

"With you gone, no one understands me here." Kai was, honestly, the first one to really reach out and understand Wyldfyre from HER point of view. She grew up, literally, in the wild [Wyld]- so she is harsh, brash, crude, hot headed. Kai, at first, tried to teach her like how he was taught, but learned to adjust to her needs. He learned how to talk to her, how to connect with her, in a way that wasn't dehumanizing or insulting to how she was raised.

In relation to "Sora and Arin don't know what its like to lose a mentor like you"- Sora rejected her former mentor, seeing how La Rowe treated dragons, but Arin. Arin is stagnant. He's trapped in the rut of trying to find his family. He's dealing with loss, but he doesn't know how to grow from it.

2: So what now?

Wyldfyre is on Heatwave being taken to an unknown place and she is feeling excited and free again- only to be hit with the conflicting feelings of guilt, heartache, frustration, and sadness.

She's wondering about why she gets to enjoy the feeling of flight, the beautiful sky, the wind, etc while Kai is trapped. She doesn't know what's happened to him (like if he's okay other than being trapped), what he sees.

This is an interesting perspective into grief. Why should I get to enjoy this while the person I love (platonically) is suffering? Why do I get to see the sky while Kai is stuck?

Its interesting to note that Wyldfyre describes where she is as "peaceful". Right now, she's in a tumultuous state of mind, hence why Heatwave is taking her to a safer place.

"I feel bad looking at this beautiful sky and knowing that you might never get to see one again." This is such an excellent viewpoint of grief/survivor's guilt from a child's perspective. The pain in her voice of "It's not fair that you're gone, Kai."

"What did you do to deserve this? You were just trying to protect us." God, this is not only heartbreaking but, surprisingly realistic in terms of dealing with this kind of loss.

3: I am Rage

"where Fire Dragons come from all over... for a huge family celebration." Boy Lego really is making us and Wyldfyre suffer, huh. Its like each voice message resonates with a varying stage of grief.

1: Denial. 2: Depression/Despair. 3: Anger.

"Why did you leave us, Kai?" Lego, when I catch you Lego, when I catch you-

4: Desperate Measures

someone please send these to Vincent so he can respond to them as Kai :(

overall, I think this is one of the more interesting perspectives we've gotten in a long time. I do feel like they didn't fully capture Wyldfyre's nature, as she doesn't speak very eloquently. She's much more brash and blunt, but otherwise I think this is excellent!

[pinkskytwst]

Of Princesses and Queens

Epel/Reader (not Prefect) Riddle/Reader (not Prefect)(End Pairing)

Reader gender is not specified but the term 'princess' is used the same way Riddle and Vil are called 'Queens'. It's not meant to be a term tied to their gender.

Warning: ANGST, near death experience with ice.

(I shamelessly stole Jack's death scene from Rise of the Guardians)

===================

It was inevitable that you and Epel would be friends.

You were literally the only two people under the age of forty in your entire village and for the sake of both your sanities, you clung to each other like lifelines.

Growing up in the country in a community centered around the prosperous but ultimately uninteresting apple orchard meant that the two of you had to create your own entertainment. Learning to climb trees together was one of your first clear memories – along with the subsequent fall that left you with a broken leg and Epel with a sprained shoulder from where he had tried to grab you.

The moment you healed up you were both at it again until playing tag among the branches was your go-to game.

With your mom’s and Epel’s grandfather’s help you were able to create what you both decided was the best tree house to ever exist. It had winding steps, a second story, a ‘look out’ post that was accessible by a hanging bridge, a trap door with a climbing rope, a swing big enough for two, enough pillows and blankets to create a nest more than big enough for the both of you, and best of all a sign that read in large letters ‘no old people aloud’.

Princes would be jealous of your treehouse.

Your dad nearly laughed himself sick when he saw the sign and Epel’s nana just sighed and insisted that you at least add a protective railing around the ledges.

Epel tried to argue that you weren’t babies but no one said ‘no’ to his nana and your mom was nice enough to help add what was needed for the woman’s approval.

The both of you practically lived in that treehouse.

When you weren’t in lessons or helping around the orchard, the two of you were having grand adventures high off the ground in imaginary worlds you created.

-

“Nah, pirates are lame.” You rolled your eyes as Epel gasped in utter offense. “We should be knights! They’re super cool and tha’ book I got from pop has all these neat facts about fighting dragons and saving princesses!”

“But we don’t have any dragons to fight!” Epel insisted in a huff, crossing his arms over his chest, wooden pirate sword clutched in his smaller fist.

“Well, we could go fight Silas’s turkey!” you argued back stubbornly, using your taller status to try and bully your friend into playing your game instead.

You had been playing pirates for weeks, you wanted to play something else! Besides, that turkey was a bloodthirsty monster!

“But pirates are cool!” Epel shot back, just as determined, his pout and scrunched up nose the same expression that your dad always cooed over whenever he saw it.

You inwardly scoffed, Epel wasn’t that cute.

Just a little.

“Oh, fine.” You huffed, throwing your hands into the air. “Then let’s at least go look for treasure.”

Instantly Epel lit up, nearly sparkling with his wide, beaming smile and gapped tooth.

Maybe a little more than a little.

“Yeah! Come on!” he said, snagging your hand and pulling you towards the trap door.

When the sun had finally set and his grandpa came out to call you in, you were both curled up in your nest and surrounded by your ‘loot’ of strangely shaped apples, a dried snakeskin, pile of acorns sorted into ones with and without ‘hats’, a stick in the shape of a corkscrew, and a particularly sparkly rock that you thought looked cool.

Epel grumbled as you trudged after the old man that was basically your grandpa, the smaller boy limp on your back and face smooshed into your hair.

-

Being country kids, you and Epel were no strangers to injuries. Scrapes and bruises were common, and you had lost two teeth after a particularly stupid stunt involving a prank gone wrong with a neighbor's stubborn mule. Thankfully one was still a baby tooth and was replaced naturally anyway, but the other had to be magically regrown and you STILL remembered the lecture your pop had given you about that.

The point was, that the both of you had a very skewed view regarding safety and were far too used to situations that would have caused city parents to grasp their pearls and balk.

That was why, during a normal winter day when you were thirteen and Epel had just turned fourteen, neither of you hesitated when you went out to your favorite hill to sled and caught sight of the creek frozen over.

Well, it was called ‘the creek’ but it was actually a small river that wound around the edges of the northern part of the forest, past his family’s orchard. It was a decently calm one and ice skating was normal when it froze over, so you both jumped on the idea.

Typically, an adult would check to make sure the ice was thick enough, but you weren’t babies anymore and Epel loved to ice skate. He was way too impatient to wait long enough for you to text your dad to come and check for you.

It was getting harder and harder to deny him anything, and so when he begged to be pushed around on the ice with the sleds you agreed.

Everything was fine at first, walking on the ice wasn’t exactly easy so you didn’t get very far from the edge as you tried to push him. As you re-adjusted to the skill, though, you were able to push him farther.

Epel was laughing and climbing off his sled to switch places with you when he slipped.

The sled glided away from him and he hit the ice hard.

A crack of ice spiderwebbed out from under where your friend was on his hands and knees and your laugh died in your throat.

The world stilled to a terrifying silence as your gazes met, his filled with sudden panic and yours with something so sharp and grasping you couldn’t begin to name it.

“It’s okay…” you whispered, somehow afraid if you spoke too loudly everything would fall apart.

Epel swallowed thickly, tears beading at the corner of his eyes as he tried to control his breathing, tried not to move as each tiny shift drew more snaps and tiny breaks to shoot across the ice.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

The words were tumbling out of your lips desperately like a mantra, not sure if you were trying to calm Epel, yourself, or beg whatever deity was watching to not let your friend fall.

“I’m going to save you. I’m the hero this time, remember? Heroes save the princesses. You’re pretty like a princess, so it’ll be fine. You’re safe.”

You honestly weren’t even sure what you were saying at this point as you tried desperately to figure out a way to get to the lavender haired boy without putting more weight on the ice and causing it to break.

“I’m not a princess.” Epel managed weakly, voice warbling unevenly.

“Sure, you are. You’re a princess and I’m the manly hero.” You said firmly, spying a fallen branch that looked just long enough. “And manly heroes always save the princesses, right? That’s how the stories always go. Princesses never get hurt.”

You darted over and snatched up the branch before hurrying back to the ice and carefully stepping out as close as you could. You needed to be able to reach him.

The ice began to creak ominously under your boots, but it didn’t crack so you continued to slide yourself over until you could hold out the branch close enough for Epel to reach it.

Your heart was pounding in your ears.

“Hold onto it, ya got it? See, see it’s going to be okay.”

Epel wrapped his mitten covered fingers around the branch and clung to its rough surface desperately as he eased up on his knees.

“Come on, I’ll pull you. It’s okay. I’ll save you-“

You felt it more than heard it. A shutter through the ice below your boots.

You swung as hard as you could manage, putting all your weight against slinging Epel to the riverbank.

You felt the world drop out from beneath you, felt the freezing water engulf you to your very bones, stealing your breath.

You thought you heard your name being screamed but then you were being dragged down and only knew darkness.

-

It was sheer luck that one of your neighbors had been out hunting and heard Epel’s screams.

It was sheer luck she was able to use her weak water magic to drag you from the depths of the river and onto the snow-covered shore while also holding back the small boy from simply leaping in after you. It was luck that you hadn’t been under more than a minute or two.

It was luck that she was able to get you breathing again.

-

Your stay at the hospital lasted only a couple of days but Epel refused to leave your side for weeks.

He clung to you, large blue eyes swimming with guilt and tears he refused to let fall.

All he could think of was the determination and terror that had washed over your face when you yanked him towards the safety of the snow.

Of that instant of relief, he had seen in your eyes even as the ice gave way beneath you.

You were the bravest person he knew and neither of you had ever shied away from adventure or danger. He had walked proudly at your side knowing that you were best friends, and you could trust him to have your back. You never looked at him any different for being shorter or ‘cute’ as some of the other residents cooed. You never doubted that he could handle himself just as well as you could. He never doubted he could protect you if you needed it.

You were both wrong.

If he had been better, if he had been more like you – fearless and determined and strong – you wouldn’t have had to save him.

He wouldn’t have had to watch your still body with too-blue lips be dragged from the ice.

Wouldn’t have felt his world disappear beneath him with the earth-shattering terror that had sent him to his knees.

Wouldn’t have realized what it felt like for his heart to shatter while it still beat in his chest and know that the only possible way it would heal was if your own started beating again as well.

Wouldn’t have suffered the agonizing moments that dragged on like an eternity that clawed at his lungs and prevented him from breathing until you gave a sputtering gasp and clung to him as you coughed up lungful’s of water and mucus.

He wouldn’t have realized how weak and useless he was.

-

“Don’t ever do that again.” He whispered one night while you were both bundled up in your bed, fireplace crackling and more blankets than normal layered over you.

You couldn’t handle the cold as well as you used to.

He made sure never to go anywhere – no matter the weather – without a thick sweater tied around his waist or tucked in a bag. Just in case.

You gave a small snort and pinched his cheek.

“What are you talking about, of course a hero saves the-“

“I’M NOT A PRINCESS!” he snapped, voice hissed and full of disgust.

His chest heaved, arms trembling, but his eyes were dry.

He had sworn on the day in the hospital – when your first words were asking about his safety – that he was never going to cry again.

He would never make you worry about him again.

“I’m not a princess, ya got that!? I don’t need you protecting me! I don’t need you saving me! I’m not weak! Call me that again and I’ll punch ya!”

You blinked up at your best friend and could only manage a small nod.

“Okay.” you agreed with a whisper.

Epel glared at you like he was expecting you to say more, argue, or something, but when he saw that you didn’t plan on it, he relaxed somewhat. The tension easing from his shoulders as he flopped down and tugged the blankets over your heads again. He created a cocoon to trap in the warmth and fight off the small shivers he could feel starting to work down your spine again.

He tugged you against him so that your head was tucked under his chin, despite you still being taller.

“Good. I’m the hero from now on so don’t you forget it.” He snapped, burying his face into your hair, and tightening his hold around you, determined to fight off any chill you might get.

Determined to not let you wake up cold or alone.

“I won’t. Promise.” You whispered softly against his neck, arms wrapping around his waist and holding him back just as tightly.

You never doubted him. Even after he failed you, you never doubted him.

He was going to become a man that could live up to your trust.

The kind of man you deserved to have protecting you instead of the other way around.

He failed you once.

He’d never fail you again.

-

It was a relief to Epel that he had magic. Oh, he knew he had some, you both wouldn’t be able to fly brooms without a little bit of magic at least. But to have enough to be accepted into Night Raven College was something he had silently worried over.

If he wasn’t powerful enough to go with you – because, of course, you would be amazing enough to be accepted – how could he get strong enough to protect you?

Your matching letters on thick, ebony parchment and written in silver ink appeared at your houses on the same morning.

Epel hadn’t even bothered to put on shoes as he raced out the back door and sprinted across the fields and the orchards to the treehouse. He scampered up the rope, through the trap door and hurled himself inside but he was the first one there.

Nearly vibrating he scrambled up to the lookout and paced around the small balcony until he saw your figure sprinting through the knee length grass. He let out a whoop of excitement as he could see something dark in your hand and began wave his arms around wildly to show off his own.

He could hear your delighted laughter and wasted no time darting back down to the main ‘base’ room. By the time you had pulled yourself up the rope he was helping to yank you up through the trap door and causing the both of you to go tumbling into the nest together.

“Wediditwediditwedidit!” you babbled, throwing your arms around him.

“Night Raven here we come! Whoooo!” Epel crowed, kicking his feet in the air as he felt you laughing into his shoulder. “We’re gonna be the most powerful mages Twisted Wonderland has ever seen!”

When you had both tired yourself from the flood of excitement and adrenaline, you were both sprawled out on the blankets with your still messy bedhead resting on his stomach as you both stared up at the ceiling of your sanctuary. You knew every board and knot of wood, had watched it darken with age but not weaken over the years. Had worked together to repair the shingles that had been blown off by a particularly bad storm.

He began running his fingers through your hair, easing the tangles out absently as a warm sort of quiet settled around you both.

“…Pel?” your voice drew him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“’Course not! I’m not afraid of anything!” he replied habitually.

There was a small pause.

“I am.” You whispered, so soft he almost missed it completely.

He blinked widely, propping himself up on his hands and looking down at you as you flushed darkly and looked away.

Epel opened his mouth to insist there was nothing for you to be worried over but something about the look in your eyes made him hesitate. He watched you for a moment before laying back down again and returning to untangling your hair.

“Why are ya nervous?” he finally asked.

You didn’t answer at first, shifting better so it was easier for him to continue running his fingers through your hair.

“…What if I’m not good enough?”

Epel didn’t understand. The thought was ludicrous to him and the mere idea that you would actually believe something like that just didn’t compute in his mind.

You were amazing. You were…you were…you. He didn’t have words to explain how wrong it was for those words to leave your lips.

“I’ll beat the shit out of anyone who tries to say you aren’t.” he all but growled, his hackles raising at the mere thought of someone saying something like that to you.

You gave a small laugh, and it warmed his chest knowing you weren’t doubting him in the slightest.

“Try not to get us expelled on the first day.” You teased.

“Oi! You say that like I’d get caught!”

“You always get us caught! What about when we tried to hide in Carroway’s truck to-“

“Hey! We agreed not to talk about that again!”

Your laughter sounded better than the pensive tone from before, so he didn’t protest too much. He did tug on a piece of your hair though, playfully.

“Seriously, if someone messes with you just tell me and I’ll take care of it.” He said.

You tilted your head faintly to smile up at him.

“I know you will.”

Because you trusted him.

And he wasn’t going to let you down.

-

When you were placed into Heartslabyul while Epel was sent to Pomefiore you were disappointed.

When Epel stormed over to you the next morning at the breakfast table you were saving a seat for him at, you could only stare.

You friend was…he looked…

“I’m joining your house.” He snarled as he dropped down beside you, painted lips pulled back and narrowed eyes lined in indigo.

You blinked, unable to form words for a moment before clearing your throat and managing a weak sort of smile.

“I-I don’t know if that’s a good-“

“I am not staying there! I can't!” he ranted, slamming his fists – nails painted the same shade as his eyeshadow – on the table.

“Our Housewarden is really strict and I don’t think you can just-“

“Epel! What did I tell you about running!” a smooth, cultured voice said sharply, making you turn to look up at one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen.

“I’m not staying in Pomefiore!” Epel spat back stubbornly, spine straight as he glared daggers at the tall blonde looming over the two of you.

The blonde heaved a sigh like he was suffering the start of a migraine, lightly rubbing at his temple before his gaze flickered down to you.

You in your vibrant – garish - Heartslabyul uniform and the crooked heart you had painted on the corner of your mouth with uncertain hands. His expression shifted minutely and the tilt of his lips with the rise of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow spoke volumes of just what he thought of you.

Or rather how little he thought of you.

As in not at all.

You swallowed and quickly stood, offering what you hoped was a polite smile and bow of your head.

“Hello, I’m-“

“I do not care.”

Your words died as his attention returned to Epel and he wrote you off completely, forgetting your very existence as unnecessary and unsightly.

“I certainly won’t be allowing you to leave for a house with such low standards.” He replied coolly. “Now come, you’re better off making friends with your fellow-“

But Epel snarled and was suddenly in front of you, glaring up at who you could only assume was his Housewarden.

“Don't talk about them like that.” He growled, hands clenched, and you could smell the flowery shampoo from his soft curls.

His eyes sparked and even though you could see over his head – he never did quite catch up to your height – you were absolutely certain he was ready to throw himself at the guy.

The blonde eyed him carefully and must have seen something in his expression or determination because he simply gave another tired sigh.

“Oh, very well, I will allow you to remain friends but you won’t get out of the skin care routine and if you’re going to be seen around this…potato then you should at least bring them with you. Perhaps I can make something of them so they won’t be a complete embarrassment to your reputation and our dorm.” He said, waving his hand slightly before spinning on his heels and sauntering off.

You could only blink, too stunned to really respond, and watched your best friend turn to face you.

“We’re going to the headmaster and I don’t care what I have to do but I’m not staying there.”

-

Epel was staying in Pomefiore.

The headmaster said that he had to have at least two weeks where the mirror had placed him before he was given the chance to go through the time consuming process of switching dorms.

Every time you were able to see each other he complained non-stop about his Housewarden and his overbearing nagging while you shared your laments about the red headed tyrant that ran yours.

“Maybe we can move to Scarabia…” you muttered with a weak smile during one of the evenings you were allowed to spend with Epel in his dorm room – with the caveat that you went through his skin care routine and makeup practice along with him. “Their Housewarden seems nice.”

Epel readily nodded, reaching out for the liner he had chosen specifically for you, to match the color of the heart you painted on the corner of your mouth every day.

“And they have cool uniforms, I’ll look way more manly in those than these.” He glared, reaching out to your face.

You had been close since you could learn to walk and touch was nothing new to you, but somehow, suddenly, sitting there with your -maybe too pretty – friend holding your chin felt different. The way his large eyes focused on you, leaned in a little closer than normal and began sketching out the shape of the heart on your skin and over your lips. The way his thumb brushed over them absently to fix a mistake. The way he smirked proudly when he was done and looked up to you to throw in your face how much better he was at this than you-

You both froze.

It wasn’t that you thought your friend was any more beautiful with the makeup than he had always been, or that the luxurious uniform accentuated it more than the work clothes when you would both swing around branches to harvest apples.

It was that shadow that had been there since the ice broke beneath your feet was pushed back. His chin held a little higher. His gaze fiery and more determined than you had ever seen him except for that night where he refused to be a Princess.

A bit of the confidence that you had always loved about Epel was starting to bloom again, despite his rantings about his annoying Housewarden. Vil Schoenheit had the highest standards for his students and especially the one that he was grooming as his protégé. Self-assuredness was a requirement and he certainly wasn’t about to let Epel have a weakness so easily exploited.

It stole your breath away and suddenly you had a very strong suspicion about why your heart fluttered every time he touched you now.

“I-I should go.” You stammered, scrambling to your feet and snagging your backpack from where you had dropped it by his bed. “Housewarden Rosehearts will be calling curfew soon and I don’t want to be collared.”

You fled before Epel could answer.

-

Epel did not end up leaving Pomefiore.

You didn’t end up leaving Heartslabyul.

Or rather, you weren’t allowed.

Vil had firmly declared Epel as his successor for Housewarden and with everything that happened in Heartslabyul…well you didn’t exactly get a chance to try. And then, you really didn’t want to anymore.

After the strange magicless student and their monster ‘saved’ your Housewarden somehow, it was like your dorm changed overnight. The rules remained but they were more flexible, your fellow students more quick to laugh, and the overall atmosphere lighter.

You liked your dorm mates and Housewarden now.

You enjoyed the movie nights in the lounge and the tea parties in the afternoon. You liked taking care of the hedgehogs and flamingos. You liked doing homework with your dormmates and helping Trey-senpai bake and doing makeup tutorials with Cater-senpai. Spending an afternoon painting the roses with the other first years and trying to keep Ace and Deuce from wreaking havoc in the gardens.

It was so different than your life back home but it wasn’t bad.

The etiquette was strange at first but it was also kind of fun, like rules to a game, and you really looked up to Riddle-senpai after he had apologized to you and the rest of the dorm. He was so confident and always knew what to do and what to say. He didn’t let anyone speak down to him because of what he looked like.

He reminded you of Epel, but lately you had been doing your best not to think about your best friend and so focusing on being the best Heartslabyul student you could be was easier.

You had even started experimenting with adding a little more makeup to your ‘look’ the way Cater-senpai suggested.

Not a whole lot but he made sure to point out that your eyes were ‘way viral’ – whatever that meant – so he showed you how to use liners and eyeshadow along with the heart that you had perfected on the corner of your lips.

You even worked up the courage to ask Vil-senpai for his suggestion on colors and he had sat you down for more than an hour and walked you through color matching and seasonal shades while Rook-senpai waxed poetic in the background.

He was strict and straight to the point about what he suggested you work on, but it wasn’t the cruelness that you had felt from Riddle-senpai before and so it was easy to brush off any hurt that might have come from it. Epel had always been blunt too so you were hardly a stranger to such words. You knew how to listen to what was behind them.

You knew he never meant to hurt your feelings and you were beginning to think that Vil-senpai was the same way. Or maybe, at least, that he didn’t always mean the acerbic insults he could come up with at a moment’s notice.

You could ignore it.

What wasn't easy to brush off was the look Epel shot you when he found you in his Housewarden’s room. Chin in his hand and eyeshadow being carefully applied.

“Epel! Look, we-“ you started excitedly when you noticed the lavender haired boy in the doorway.

You were having a particularly good day so far, had done well in class, gotten a head pat from Trey-senpai, and Vil-senpai had given you some good tips that you wanted to share with your friend. You thought, maybe, you could work up the courage to do HIS makeup this time. And maybe if you asked Rook-senpai he could give you help on how to tell Epel how you felt about him.

It was a terrifying thought but also electrifying.

How would it feel to hold his hand, not just as a friend? How would it feel to kiss him? Would he blush like he did when he was flustered, or would he smile at you? Would he let you wear his extra jersey to the Magift games? Would he let you take him on a date to Mostro Lounge?

“Would you just STOP, Vil!?” your friend cut you off, glaring daggers at the taller blonde and grabbing your wrist to pull you away from the vanity you had been sitting at. “No one likes your stupid makeup! They look ridiculous!”

You froze, the warm bubble in your chest disappearing as if it was never there.

“Epel, lower your voice and watch your manners.” The blonde glared, looking actually, honestly angry for the first time as his violet eyes flickered to you and then back to your best friend.

“No! You don’t get to force what you want on them! They don’t need your girly makeup or the stupid outfits!”

You liked the outfits that Vil had made him.

“Epel stop.”

“Monsieur pomme sauvage, perhaps you should-“

“Not everyone’s like you Vil.” He spat, derision dripping from his lips. “And you’re not going to drag them into all this useless shit you keep pushing on me! I’m not going to let you turn them into some kind of pathetic princess for one of your stupid shows! They’re not weak like that! I’M not weak like that! So FUCK OFF!”

Epel spun to face you, to drag you out of the room away from his now eerily silent Housewarden.

He froze when saw your expression.

You don’t know what he saw but you suspected it had something to do with the hollow feeling in your chest.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

You saw something in his eyes that you were too hurt to understand at the moment.

You silently pulled your wrist from his hold and without a word, left the room. Left the dorm.

He didn’t come after you.

-

You had known Epel as long as you could remember.

You knew he hadn’t meant what he said.

You knew he didn’t think you were weak or silly or ridiculous.

But things had started to change while you were at NRC. You had started to change, grow and experience things you never had before. Cultures and habits so different from your small country home. A home you still loved, still wanted to return to, but one that you could now see wasn’t the whole world as you had once thought it to be.

You didn’t like everything here. You didn’t like how certain foods were restricted to certain days in Heartslabyul – that did seem silly to you – and you could agree that Vil-senpai was a little too strict on what he expected of his housemates’ presentation to be at all hours of the day.

But there was so much that you did like.

You liked being creative with makeup and trying clothes that had certainly never been available in the stores near your town. You liked learning dances and practicing with the other first years and Riddle-senpai. He was stern but kind, now, and never degraded you for not knowing the different waltzes and ballroom dancing that were so common in his Queendom. You liked how pretty things could be with lace tablecloths and polished tea sets.

It was new and interesting and lovely.

But Epel hated it.

Epel hated all of it and while he had regained a lot of his stubborn determination that he once held, he didn’t see what you saw. He didn’t want to be anything like Pomefiore or Heartslabyul. He wanted to be in Savanaclaw where he could prove how strong he was.

You didn’t think he needed to prove anything.

But he still hated it.

You realized there had never been a chance to see him where he hadn't complained about something he didn’t like about Pomefiore or his Housewarden.

Complained about his love of makeup.

Complained that he was vapid and shallow, only caring about looks.

Complained that Vil was hardly a man at all with how he dressed.

So many things that he hated.

So many things that you were starting to like.

But then…did that mean he wouldn’t like you anymore?

If you admitted to liking the makeup and enjoying tea parties where you laughed with friends over pastries…

Would he hate you too?

“Sometimes,” Cater-senpai had said as he patted your head. “People change. Sometimes that change brings people together…sometimes it pushes them apart.” He glanced over to where Trey-senpai was helping their housewarden with the hedgehog pens. “There’s not much you can do about that but stay true to yourself.”

“But I…I don’t know who I am without Epel.”

“Then maybe you should find out.”

-

Epel didn’t text you.

For a week neither of you called or texted or interacted with each other at all.

It was…it hurt.

You hated it.

The other Heartslabyul boys didn’t miss your dispirited mood and did their best to spend time with you. Ace, Deuce, Jaq, Kai, Hachi, and Sei dragged you into every ‘first years only’ get together they had. Trey always seemed to need an extra pair of hands in the kitchen whenever he saw you. Cater would insist that you were the only one that could help him with his Magicam videos.

And Riddle-senpai decided that you needed extra tutoring and so would spend evenings going over homework with you – sometimes with the other first years or Trey and sometimes just the two of you.

It left you with little chance to miss Epel except when you were alone in bed, shivering as you couldn’t quite warm up despite the heavy velvet blankets.

But…you started to have fun again.

It was nice having friends, so many friends that were there to tease and support you. To urge you into what you liked and to try new things but also didn’t hold back from playfully insisting that you were the ‘Heartslabyul Princess’ now.

The one time Riddle-senpai heard that he blushed such a dark shade of crimson that you were afraid he would pass out.

You wished you could share it with Epel. You wished he could see all the great things you saw.

“Then you should show him.”

You glanced up to see Riddle watching you from across the table, expression serious and thoughtful.

“Tell him how you feel and what makes you happy. If he does not accept that…then he is not good enough for you.”

Those words didn’t make sense at all to you. Epel was the best. He was amazing in so many ways, he was…he was Epel.

If anything, you weren’t good enough for him.

“If he cannot see you as you are and respect that, love you for it, then he is a fool.”

-

“Ah, there you are little potato.”

You looked up from where you had been wandering down the halls in the direction of the library. Vil and Rook stood before you, perfect as always. You thought you saw a flash of something in the Housewarden’s eyes, but it was gone too quickly to understand.

“Vil-senpai, Rook-senpai, it’s nice to see you. Did you need my help with something?” you asked, uncertain why they would approach you when you hadn’t been around their little ‘apple’ for weeks.

“Nothing of consequence.” Vil assured as he pulled a liner from his pocket.

It was the exact shade of crimson that he had decided was best for your complexion before Epel had interrupted you.

You blinked as he held it out and then placed it in your hand.

“I simply noticed that your lines are not as smooth. Your old one must have started to dry out so you this one instead and be sure to put the cap back on securely after each use.”

Your eyes widened as you looked up at the gorgeous upper-classman and stammered what you hoped was a ‘thank you’. It must have at least been passable since the Housewarden’s glossy lips pulled into a bemused smile before he moved to continue on past you.

“W-wait!” you said suddenly, not really sure why you were doing this.

You could just text.

You could call.

But you were terrified.

Vil paused to glance back at you, an elegant eyebrow arched in question.

“Vil-senpai, is….I-I mean…” you swallowed thickly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “H-how is…”

When it was obvious you couldn’t manage to finish what you were trying to say, he simply gave a soft huff of a sigh.

“Seeing as how you are not nearly as troublesome as your fellow dormmates, I suppose I will allow you to continue to visit Pomefiore. So long as you act accordingly, of course.”

Your heart leaped in year chest and Rook flashed a cheeky smile your way.

“Oui, we have quite missed your lovely visits, petit coeur.” He winked. “Our talented magift team will be practicing this afternoon but I’m sure a treat of the apple pie you baked last time would be greatly enjoyed.”

A bright smile bloomed on your face and you quickly nodded.

“Y-yes! Yes, I’ll be there!” you said quickly before spinning on your heels and darting back the way you came.

You had some baking to do after all and not very long to make it perfect.

Maybe you could talk to Epel and figure this all out.

It would be okay.

-

Epel didn’t know if he hated Vil more…or himself.

He tried so many times. Opened your text thread so often and typed out so many different apologies he had stopped keeping count.

And each time he had frozen.

Each time his thumb had hovered over the ‘send’ but been unable to gather the courage to press it.

The expression on your face would flash through his memory and he would desperately erase whatever he had been trying to say, knowing none of it would be good enough.

Growing up together you had squabbled before, of course. It was what kids did.

With it just being the two of you, though, there had been no other choice but to make up if you didn’t want to be friendless for the rest of your lives.

And none of the fights had been like…this.

Nothing he had ever said or did had caused you to look…had hurt you so deeply.

Like he had grabbed one of Rook’s hunting knives and stabbed it into your chest with his own two hands.

What could he say, what could he do to make up for that?

He didn’t even really get it.

He didn’t understand why you were warming up to Vil or Rook. He didn’t get why you were so willing to eat lunch with the other Heartslabyul boys when he was right there. Why you let Cater paint you up and then plaster your picture all over his Magicam page with tags like #Heastlabyulprincess or #twocuteiestoocute for everyone to see. Why you didn’t mind when your Housewarden would stand so close to you while fixing your uniform.

Why did he have to fight everyone else off just to enjoy some time alone with you now?

You were his best friend!

He was your best friend!

Wasn't he?

Why did you care about these other guys now over him?

Couldn’t you see how much he loved you? How much he wanted to be the perfect guy for you? Wanted to make you proud to be with him and hang on his arm. Wanted you to know that he would protect you like you had protected him?

Did you not think he could?

Did you not think he was good enough?

Had watching Vil paint him and dress him up like a doll make you think that he wouldn’t be able to keep you safe? That he would leave you to go with Vil into some celebrity fantasy that his annoying Housewarden kept blabbering on about? As if he could possibly be happy with all this frilly shit instead of a small cottage with you near the orchard that he would inherit, and you would both care for together?

Clearly, he had to prove to you that you were what he wanted. That no matter what stupid house he had been put into or the stifling rules that the tyrant was strangling you with, he would be the same. He wouldn’t let it change who he was. He would always be the boy you had grown up with and held against nightmares and picked leaves out of your hair when you would both jump into piles of them during the fall.

He would be the anchor for you in this ridiculous school that obviously didn’t see how amazing you were just as you always had been.

He would prove it to you.

He just needed to make himself better first. He needed to learn what he could from the strong students at NRC and prove to them all that he wasn’t the delicate little flower that Vil was trying to turn him into.

He tried talking with Rook first, of course, since he was the most easily accessible – and really the guy was rather terrifying despite that ridiculous haircut and personality – but he could only understand about a third of the weirdness he spouted off so Epel gave up on that avenue quickly.

Leona was the second person he tried attaching himself to. The prince was everything he wished he could be. Tall, strong, fearsome. No one would dare try to say he was weak and even if they did they would regret it.

Unfortunately, the Savanaclaw Housewarden wasn’t the mentoring type and even though he was the magift captain all of his ‘training’ and help revolved around the game and that was it. He barely gave Epel the time of day outside of the field. He even tried bugging Ruggie for hints of what the lion might suggest but the hyena just rolled his eyes and brushed him off like all the rest.

It was only when he stubbornly attached himself to Jack’s side and refused to let go of the wolf’s track jersey until he agreed to give him pointers, that he was able to make progress.

“I don’t get what you’re trying to do.” The therianthrope admitted as he ran his hand through his hair exasperated. “I’m not trying to be ‘manly’ or whatever. I’m just being me. If you’re trying to get stronger, though, I guess working out more and doing weights might help.” He shrugged. “I jog with Vil-senpai in the mornings. You’re welcome to joi-“

“No!” Epel snapped angrily, not wanting to have to spend even more time around the older teen than he already did.

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Fine, whatever, I weight lift every other day and there’s a gym in Savanaclaw. If you want to join me it shouldn’t be a problem as long as you don’t keep trying to pick fights with my housemates. Leona-senpai is getting annoyed at all the noise.”

Epel beamed up at his new friend, nearly bouncing on his toes.

“Great! I’ll be there!”

You might not be talking with him at the moment but just wait, he’ll be super manly when you did and he’ll sweep you off your feet!

-

“So who is it that you’re trying to impress? Not that I care or anything.” Jack said after one of their now regular workouts together, running a towel over his face.

Epel sputtered, face flaming as he quickly hid it in his own towel with the excuse of wiping off the sweat that had gathered.

“N-no one! Why would you think I’m trying to impress anyone!? I just want to get stronger!” he said, though the unusual pitch of his voice gave his lie away easily even if Jack couldn’t practically smell it on him already.

The wolf raised an eyebrow down at the shorter boy and Epel stubbornly looked away, draping the towel around his neck and busying himself with fixing the short ponytail he had pulled his hair into.

“Sure.” The wolf snorted under his breath. “Then who are you not trying to impress? Your Housewarden? That Heartslabyul friend of yours?”

“Why would I want to impress Vil!?” he hissed instantly, ruffling at the very idea.

It only made him look like an angry little kitten.

“So it’s the little heart princess?”

“Princess!? Don’t call them that!” he snapped back. “They’re not like Vil, okay! They’re strong and brave! They wouldn’t be a princess.”

Jack just wrinkled his nose at him.

“What are you talking about? Vil isn’t weak and what in the Seven’s kind of fairytales have you been reading?” he asked dryly. “More than half of our school’s founders were fierce Queens that no one could stand up against.”

He gave a derisive snort.

“That’s different, Jack. Besides, it’s not going to matter because I’m going to get stronger and then join Savanaclaw with you. Then I won’t have to worry about Vil or whatever stupid play or modeling practice he comes up with.”

“I thought you said the Headmage said you couldn’t change houses.” The wolf asked as they exited the Savanaclaw mirror and started towards Pomefiore.

He usually followed him to at least give a hello to Vil before he started on his afternoon run.

“Yeah, well I’ll change his mind.” Epel said firmly, tilting his chin up stubbornly as they stepped through the mirror and started up the perfectly manicured walk to the elegant castle.

“Right, well, when you join Savanaclaw you’d better be ready for initiation. They’re not going to go easy on someone with a face like yours.” He warned.

“Oh yeah, well they’ll just find out what I can do!” Epel grinned viciously, already imagining himself in the leather and yellow uniform.

How cool he would look and how he could impress you by taking down all the therianthrope and taller humans that wanted to bully him for his face. The same ones that he knew would try to tease you for the Heartslabyul tea parties and makeup. He’d show them how cool you were too and then you could come with him! You’d look great in leather!

He just had to figure out the best way to words things so that you’d know how sorry he was for not being able to make Vil leave you alone.

Epel’s day dreams were cut off, though, when he started towards the grand staircase up to the dorm room floors and heard your voice call out to him. He froze, not having expected to see you so suddenly and definitely not at his dorm around the other Pomefiore students.

He looked over to see you coming from one of the side parlours. Your smile was small and unsure but warm as always.  Clearly awkward but at least not with that hollow look in your eyes anymore.

“Hi, Pel.” You said, your gaze flicking over to Jack for a moment before back to him. “I…uh, Vil-senpai said you would be out of practice but then Stefan said you had gone to Savanaclaw to meet a friend. I’m not…interrupting, right?”

“N-no, not at all! This is Jack, Jack meet my best friend.” He said quickly, telling him your name before focusing on you again. “I just wasn’t expecting you. It’s…nice to see you.” He admitted, something in his chest settling as he hadn’t seen you in so long and it felt like a breath of fresh air having you beside him again.

Warmth flooded your eyes and he watched the little heart on the corner of your mouth dimple that made him wonder why people thought he was cute when you were right there.

Still, he saw the clear signs that his Housewarden had gotten his hands on you. Your eyes were lined even more elaborately than usual with a mix of crimson and gold. Your heart was shimmery as if an extra layer had been added to your normal design. Your hair was even up in a style that he had seen Cater post on his Magicam.

Epel had watched the video of the older teen’s hands brush through and fix your hair while narrating what exactly he was doing and what kinds of hair types the style would go with until he had it memorized. The only reason he hadn’t watched it on mute was every now and then you’d make a comment or laugh at one of Cater’s jokes and he had missed the sound of your laugh so much it physically hurt.

He remembered how Cater’s fingers had lingered along your neck or tucked accessories into place so gently and he couldn’t help but scrunch his nose.

“Come on, you can come up to my room and get all that mess off you.”

He saw Jack wince out of the corner of his eye and quickly make an exit, but he was focused on you. He reached for your hand but you wouldn’t let him pull you up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing into the parlour where he could see his Housewarden and Rook chatting quietly around an overly decorated table with tea and what he thought was apple pie.

He was surprised that Vil actually allowed such an unhealthy food in his dorm.

“Epel…I wanted to talk with you.” You finally said, pulling his gaze back, though your smile was a little more uncertain before.

“Sure, come on, you can spend the night. Nan sent me some of our normal soap so you wash off that flowery shit.” He said, hoping to entice you to stay with him.

It’d be like back home. He could hold you close and keep you warm like a real boyfriend would.

He could ask you to let him be your boyfriend.

He didn’t understand why your smile kept fading.

“Epel…I know you don’t like Pomefiore. I know you don’t agree with what Vil-senpai is trying to teach-“

“Force.” He interceded.

“…force you to do. I talked with him. He said maybe we can try different things. You don’t have to do everything exactly like him. We can find our own styles together and-“

“I have a style!” he pointed out, feeling a bit defensive now.

Why had you been talking with Vil and not him?

Why did you seem to want to be around everyone else except him?

“I know you do, Epel, and I like you the way you are. That doesn’t mean we can’t try things though, right? It’s like the lemon crisps Trey-senpai made. Riddle-senpai said it’s best to try it so you can find out what you like and don’t like. I didn’t like it but I’m glad I tried it at least. I tried the treacletarts even though I didn’t think they looked good and I ended up really liking them. Maybe if you tried different things you could find some things you do like. Things that we can do together and-“

“Is Vil forcing you into this? Hm?” he finally snapped, gripping onto your hand tighter. “You shouldn’t listen to him, you know. He wants to turn you into one of his little dolls. He wants to use you as an accessory and then throw you away. You don’t need any of that stuff! You don’t need to stay in Heartslabyul. We can go to Savanaclaw together and-“

“But I like it!”

He blinked.

“What?”

Your fingers trembled in his.

“I like learning about makeup, Epel.” You said softly, eyes hurt and unsure but also not backing down. “I like baking with Trey-senpai and trying different hairstyles. I like seeing the different kinds of clothes that Vil-senpai designs even if I don’t want to wear them all. I like dancing and reading and tea parties. I like magift and flying. I like climbing trees. I like playing croquet with the flamingos and hedgehogs. I like it and I don’t want to stop or leave.”

Epel’s chest was tightening, and he didn’t understand why you were saying this.

“But you look better without it.” He said desperately, trying to make you understand.

Wishing you would see what he saw. How people were changing you.

He just wanted his best friend back.

He wanted things how they used to be.

“Then why are you trying to change?” you finally ask in a small voice. “You keep saying how you’re going to get ‘stronger’ and ‘manlier’. What if I like you the way you are too?”

Epel’s nose wrinkled again in disgust.

“Stop teasing me. Don’t you think I know what others say about me? How even people from our town still call me ‘cute’ when I’m already sixteen!? I’m not a kid! I’m not some pretty princess that’s going to dress up and smile for a camera! I’m not going to let them talk about me like-“

“THEN STOP CARING ABOUT WHAT OTHERS THINK!” your voice broke, wobbling as Epel just didn’t understand.

“I never thought you were weak or less ‘manly’ than anyone else!” you added, neither of you noticing that the other Pomefiore students had been quickly ushered out of the foyer by their Housewarden and Vice-Housewarden.  “You're the one that thinks that! You are the one that’s trying to force me to do what you want, not Vil-senpai!”

Epel’s eyes widened as you pulled your hand away again.

He felt your fingers slipping from his grasp and his breath went with it.

You were shivering.

“I don’t want you to change into something you don’t want to be…I don’t want you to force yourself to be something you’re not.” You whispered, lip trembling. “But I’m not going to let you force me to be something you want, either.”

“I…wait, stop, it’s okay. I don’t mind you liking that stuff! Really!” he said desperately, grabbing at your shoulders to prevent you from leaving. “I think you’re cute with or without makeup! It’s fine! And if you want to stay at Heartslabyul that’s okay too! You-…you could spend the night over in Savanaclaw with me sometimes! And you can try all the stuff you want before we go home! I don’t mind! Really! We can tell nana and your pop and I bet they’ll all laugh about it! It’ll be great and it’s okay if you’re a princess, right? You’d make a much better princess than me anyway and-“

“So…it’s okay to be a princess?”

“Yes! Yes definitely!” Epel said, trying to figure out what the right thing to say was.

What he needed to say to make you stay.

To not lose his best friend.

“But it’s only okay if I’m the princess.” Your tone was…he wasn’t sure.

Something was wrong and he could tell but he didn’t know why he was suddenly so terrified. Why it felt like you were already out of his reach.

“I-…”

“Because you don’t want to be a princess because they’re weak. They’re silly and shallow. It’s okay if I’m one though. It’s okay if I’m silly and shallow and weak.”

“That’s not…that’s not what I meant.” He swallowed thickly, realizing that maybe…maybe he should have listened more to Rook and watched how he said things…

“I know what you meant.”

No. No you didn’t understand. You didn’t understand how much he needed you to be with him. How he just wanted you back. How he wished neither of you had come to NRC at all.

You could have stayed at his orchard for your entire lives. You could have gotten married and grown old together and maybe even had kids someday or adopted. He would have made you so happy. You would have been so much happier than the hurt and resigned state you were now.

He wouldn’t have had to feel you letting go.

“Wait…” he whispered as you took a step back and out of his grasp. “You can’t leave…please, you can’t…”

“You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, Epel.” You said sadly. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll forget about me soon…it’s not like you seem to like who I am anymore, anyway.”

Epel couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

Just like he had been on the riverbank years ago, he could only watch as you disappeared from view.

But this time there was no one there to drag you back to him.

Because he was the one who pushed you away.

-

That winter break he slipped wordlessly out the back door, ducking his head away from the worried looks his grandparents sent him.

The trudge to the treehouse was unusually silent with a fresh blanket of snow heavy on the ground with only the crunch of it under his boots breaking it.

He climbed up the rope and pushed open the trapdoor, hearing it creak in protest after being unused for so long.

He would need to oil the hinges.

Things were exactly as they had been left. The blankets still rumpled in the corner, a couple of books you had been reading stacked on the small end table, the sparkly rock that you had found while treasure hunting still decorating the shelf above the window.

But you weren’t there.

After the argument you had had, the other Heartslabyul boys had apparently named him enemy of the state and done everything they could to keep him from being able to talk to you. To apologize. To do something to make you see just how sorry he was and how much he missed you.

He even tried talking to Rook about how to get you to understand how much he needed you.

The hunter just gave him a sad, almost disappointed look.

“Aa, but that is the thing, pomme sauvage.” He said gently, patting his shoulder. “Have you asked them what they need?”

He hadn’t been able to answer.

He put in the request to move to Savanaclaw again, and this time Vil did not refuse it.

He was glad about that. It made it easier. And Savanaclaw was great! Really! He loved how free it was and hanging out with the others and he could focus on training for magift and working out with Jack. The uniform was way more comfortable and so cool!

It didn’t seem to matter anymore when he watched the Heartslabyul Housewarden slide off his uniform jacket to drape around your shoulders.

He suddenly didn’t care that no one forced him to fix his hair in the mornings before class when he watched the red head escort you with all the chivalry of a knight.

It was all pointless as he watched you smile and laugh, bringing a softness to your Housewarden’s face that only you seemed to be able to cause. Listen to you chatter about random things the way you used to with him, only for it to be directed at Riddle now instead.

Watched as he treated you so kindly but with so much respect, like an actual princess.

Watched as you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

You had gotten permission from your parents to stay with some of the other Heartslabyul boys over the break.

He only learned about this because they had told his grandparents.

Epel crawled over to the blankets and didn’t even bother shaking them out before wrapping them around himself and trying to block out the world.

You should have just let him fall through the ice.

It would have been less painful.

==================

Whelp I did not mean for this to become so long and rambly but it just kept going and getting angstier. (Blame Ciel, they supported the angst brainrot) This really was supposed to be a cute fluffy Childhoodfriend! AU but turned into kind of a character analysis-ish on Epel's views on masculinity and such. I don't hate Epel but he's a dumb teenage boy with a complex and he doesn't always know how to see past his own views. Hopefully he'll grow!

Tell me what you think <3

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

prūmӯs ñuhus (my heart) │Chapter 7: Betrayal (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. You learn the truth.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04​, @evisnotok​​, @ewanmitchellcrumbs​ and @ajthefujoshi​ for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, discussion of abortion.

You dream in abstract.

There is no form to it—no faces to see nor words to hear in the fanciful void of your mind. Instead, it is shapeless, immaterial, washes of colour and vague impressions of sound like music in a far-off hall. It is a blessed reprieve from the convincing re-enactments of the day’s events your thoughts usually produce under the sway of slumber, and most certainly a relief in light of…

No.

A sensation enters your sleeping consciousness, one that does not fit the transience of those singularities swirling about in your head. It is far too concrete, unyielding, unrelenting to belong here. That strange feeling tickles throughout your body, coalescing low in your stomach and pooling warm between your thighs.

You sigh as you awaken slowly, as peaceful as the rocking of an infant in their cradle. Drowsily, you take note of your surroundings, the way in which you are propped up against the pillows with your shift gathered at your waist and your legs dangling over your uncle’s wide-set shoulders. You wonder absently how he always manages to rearrange you so without rousing you.

Why does he always choose to wake me with his carnal appetites? It seems to you that he has never once attempted to shake you or call your name.

It does not surprise you that he is once more availing himself of your particular assets, given his near unbearable persistence in proving that his inability to bed you previously was but a momentary impediment. You have considered hiding to discourage him from making this point yet again—but you do so enjoy the outcome of his efforts.

Your breathing must change cadence, for you are drawn further into the realm of awareness by his large, calloused hand smoothing a path along the side of your rounded belly.

“Sȳz ñāqes, dōnītsos.” Good morning, sweetling, Daemon murmurs against your heated flesh. His breath spools delicately across the puffed folds of your cunny.  “Sh. Inkot edrugon jās.” Go back to sleep.

You mumble incoherently, lips curving up despite your reluctance to awaken. Your hand drifts down to pat against his, your smile widening when he flips his palm to lock his fingers with your own. Returning to his task and nuzzling inexorably at your yearning little bud, the stubble on his jaw rasps against your inner thighs in tantalising counter to the glide of tongue over tender tissue.

It is sweet, impossibly indulgent, with none of the bite of hurt that you have come to crave in your couplings. You are so sensitive these days that, at times, such contact borders on agonising. The blood in your veins thrums far hotter now that you are three dragons in one form, you and each of the babes in turn. But here in the quiet stillness of the morn, every swipe up the split of you or rumbling resonance through your responsive nerve endings or greedy suckle to your pearl tips you further and further to that golden finish. Your joined hands rest against your middle, stretched taut and full of your children. You send a silent prayer above in thanks that they are asleep as their father tends so amorously to their mother.

The release is a wave cresting to the coastline, gentle and buoyant and rapturous as it ever is. It is as though the ocean pulses out from deep within you, wetting the way for your husband’s return to the safe shores of your body.

“Daemon.” Tipping your head back, you let the surge take you. You hear the ruffle of fabric dropping and feel the press of skin against yours.

“Ah-ah,” Daemon says. “Open up, little niece.” Hands prying your knees from their clenched-together defense of your inflamed womanhood, he props your feet against the bedframe to force your legs wide, sliding the length of himself through your slick lips. “Your cunt is mine to use, even if you are already bred full.”

The velvet-steel line of his hardened shaft slips inside, a brief press to the scrunching firmness of your entry that gives way with a pop and a rush. He grunts as he cleaves you in two, the heft of his stones slapping against the skin of your rear being the only sign that he cannot invade any further.

You can do nothing but accept it, weighed down by your belly as you are. Arching your back, you let out a low whimper, feeling that terrible, wonderful overcrowding in your womb and in your cunny.

“Good girl.” He stills the discomfited shift of your hips with an iron grip. It is an abrupt taking—but like the curves of your figure, the efforts of growing his seed to their full has made you softer, rounder, more pliant. You blink hazily at him, mouth opening dumbly as you surrender to the tide. “Just lay back. Let kepa take care of you.”

His covetous gaze roams across the changes he has wrought in you; your plush thighs, plump cheeks, enlarged breasts and the sway of your distended middle as he pitches into you being but some of the most notable within his immediate reach. It is difficult to be self-conscious of these vicissitudes when his violet eyes fixate so zealously upon them, promptly trailed by the heat of his hands across those same places.

The sight of him—his silver hair rumpled from sleep, the prominent shelf of his brow and the exhilarated parting of his lips, the thrilling menace of his broad shoulders and thick-scarred skin, the flex of his arms as his hands seek new territory to touch—pools hot in your gut. The sound of your wetness being stirred with his every plunge into you is a churning melody that blazes beneath your skin.

You listen lethargically to the lustful affirmations spilling uncontrollably from Daemon’s lips. He is so terribly loquacious when his cock is in you, consumed by his ardour and forgetting any such difficulties he has in conveying the depth of his emotions.

“… so tight for me… barely any room left for my cock, but you just keep taking it, don’t you?… made to take me… fuck. I’ll fuck you forever. Keep you heavy and helpless like this fucking always…”

His obsession with your fecund form is flattering if a bit predictable. Grinning sleepily at his words, you yawn as you tug up your sleepwear to bare your breasts for him. Your nipples tingle as the cooler air makes contact, tightening them to hard tips. You smooth the pads of your thumbs over them to alleviate the sudden prickle.

His eyes zero in on the movement, ogling you heatedly.

“Play with your tits,” he says, holding the mass of your belly still so that he may speed the tempo of his cock inside you, thick and hot and catching against that high point along your walls that makes you clamp down uncontrollably. You moan faintly as you reach back up to cup the heft of your breasts. He makes an animal noise at the display. “That’s it. Are they sore, precious? A little harder—there.”

Tears spring to your eyes as you obey his command, squeezing the supple flesh, pulling at the teats just as your two babes will when they nurse from your body to nourish their own. They have been hypersensitive as of late. You are unsure if your own touch is painful or pleasurable. Regardless, the sheer strength of it is enough to reignite the familiar ember signalling a new climax.

Making a show of the ache, you wiggle down into his thrusts to feel the shudder ripple up your spine when he drives to the end of you. You are rewarded with a quickening of pace and the sound of his panting breaths as he exerts himself above you, flushed and sweating and entirely consumed by the welcoming clutch of your cunt. “Daemon. Can I pe–peak, please?”

“So well-behaved.” He chuckles, grinning wickedly as he watches a lone trail of liquid trek from your eye down your temple and disappear into your hairline. “I do love when you cry for me.”

You nod furiously at his words, blinking more stray droplets from your lashes. Eagerly spreading your thighs as far apart as you can, you yelp as the angle changes. Your uncle hisses at the sight, a hand disappearing below the protrusion of your middle; you cry out as he introduces his thumb to your bud, drawing back the hood and rubbing up in inescapable motions.

“I suppose you’ve earned it. Go on, then,” he says. “Come.”

As the obedient wife you are, you heed his wish. This time, there is little that is gentle about the way your walls constrict on him, making the rapid rock of his cock a near unbearable intrusion. The air flees your lungs and your limbs lock in place as the bliss washes over you, soundless in spite of the force of it.

“Thank you, thank you,” you say when you are able to catch your breath again, your grip upon your breasts becoming less of a cultivated show and more a necessity that keeps them from bobbing about wildly.

He ruts into you with jerky, uneven slaps, too fast and too hard for you to truly enjoy. You endure it—you have had your fill. Now, it is his turn.

“Are you going to spill in me, kepus?” you ask, falsetto pitch and airy tone, using what little leverage you have to push your lower body up into his urgent offensive. The burn in your thighs is immediate, but you will not need to hold this position for long. “I want you to, please, please—”

“Yes,” he growls, deep and dark, face contorted into something resembling pain and eyes closing in concentration, seemingly heedless of the spiel tumbling from his mouth. “I’ll come in this cunt, keep you in this bed fat with my heirs and leaking my seed, lick it out of you later—”

Your lip curls with feigned petulance, girlish and stubborn and exactly to his liking. “What if I cannot wait ‘til later, kepus?”

He gasps like he is winded by the suggestion of it, juddering strokes that begin to hurt, but you love it. You love how undone you can make him with such simple words, and you prepare yourself to deal the finishing blow.

“Maybe you should clean me up straight away,” you say coquettishly, nails digging into your skin to distract from the ache of him. “Taste us together and kiss me so I can, too—”

“Fuck!”

He moans, stilling inside, fully in your core, the spasms of his manhood pumping spend hot and thick into the very depths of you. His iron grip eases into inattentive pats across your skin as his stare refocuses on you, a look of such sheer relief on his face that you are momentarily overcome by the urge to laugh.

My poor uncle.

“Gods, this cunt.” Daemon hunches over you briefly, riding out the remainder of his release before withdrawing, catching sticky along your walls as he tugs away.

Your attention wavers when he rummages around out of sight for a cloth with which to wipe his shaft free of your mingled fluids, the tell-tale signs of breeches being yanked back up and laces being knotted easy to hear. Your legs close once more, an ingrained habit from the weeks and months of wishing your womb would do its work and catch your uncle’s seed. You shift uncomfortably at the unwelcome intrusion of reality into this sacred space.

The tea.

“Need help up, sweetling?”

You banish the disturbance from your mind. Taking his proffered hand, you allow your amused husband to assist you in sitting upright, again availing yourself of his geniality to lumber your way back into the arrangement he had facilitated you in achieving when you had gone to sleep the night previous. With your body fully covered and reclined, you flop on your side with an exhausted puff, already tired from your romp and the effort of moving about with such an unwieldy figure.

A dip in the mattress heralds his settling behind you, arm banding over your waist and palm coming to rest over your belly. “The babes give you any rest?” He punctuates this enquiry with an absent press of lips to your neck, breath humid upon your flesh.

You mumble noncommittally, distracted by the pulsating movements emanating through your middle. “I slept well enough—but you have gone and woken them.” You do not even try to conceal the complaint in your voice.

He laughs against your shoulder, hand tracking the activity under your skin. They are taking tumbling practice today, you think with some measure of vexation, though the exhilarated fascination remains ever near. You cannot help but to exult in the signs that your children are alive, that they are well, despite—No.

You will not think upon that night.

It is unhealthy to repress something of such magnitude. While you know this, you simply cannot indulge the thought of casting your memory back to the weight of that man bearing down toward your belly, the stink of his rotting breath and the sight of watery blue eyes wild on you, the warm stickiness of Miriam’s blood seeping from her cooling body through your sweat-soaked gown—

No. You shall not. The tears have come and gone. You have pandered to the urge to lay about in dazed silence for long enough.

“They’re lively little things, aren’t they?”

The urge to cry flows and ebbs in unpredictable rhythm yet again at the sound of Daemon’s quiet awe. Damn it all. You can even picture the expression he is sure to be wearing: eyes wide and dark, mouth parted with corners quirked, unblinking and trained steadfastly to the expanse of his babes as they wriggle and turn unknown within your womb.

“Does it hurt?” He sounds far too worried for such a simple query. Oh, Daemon. He might be asking about the babes’ movements, but you know what he really means.

‘Are you hurt?’ he wants to ask. ‘Are you safe? Are they safe?’

If the horrors of your time anew in King’s Landing have made you weepy and disconsolate, they have made him compulsive and paranoid, wholly preoccupied with the task of ensuring that even the slightest impediment to your peaceful confinement is removed post-haste.

“No,” you say. “It feels odd, but not painful. It… Oh, I cannot describe it right,” You turn to look at him. He is as always absorbed by you, hanging onto your every word. Taking his hand in yours, you tap your fingers across his skin, mimicking as best you can the sensation from within. “Like this—but on the inside. It does not hurt. It is just there.”

“Hm.”

You grumble as he tips you to your back, shuffling gracelessly down your body and bracing himself above you with his arms. The lower half of his face burrows into your belly so that all you are able to see of him is his violet stare and pale lashes and lined forehead. He rucks up your nightwear once again to lay his mouth upon your skin, something you usually catch him doing when he believes you asleep. The tell-tale vibrations of words spoken softly into flesh fizzle from the point of contact.

“What are you muttering to them down there?” you ask. “They are too young to become vassals for your unseemly behaviour, Uncle.”

“I’ll say what I like to my own children, little girl.” When his brows waggle with mischief above the crest of your middle, you kick him lightly in the side, the laughter bursting unrestrained from your lungs. “There are some things that ought to be kept between a father and his daughters,” he says, and you are sure he conceals a smile from beyond your view.

“If your sons take your guidance to heart, I shall not be dealing with the aftermath of whatever strife they decide to plague the Realm with. That is firmly in your hands.”

“If my daughters”—you squeal as he yanks you down by the thighs and parts them wide—“decide to follow in their kepa’s footsteps, you’re free to watch me teach them how to worm their way out of trouble.”

“Like you have?” Your voice is breathy, cracked at the end when you feel his fingers play with the seed that leaks from your raw opening, tacky and warm and squelching with each searching prod. “How many times have you been exiled again? Two? Three?”

You gasp as his hand strikes your mound, catching on your bud and your folds, hard enough to shock but not to cause injury. The feeling ripples out from its epicentre, slithering through your veins and lighting the tinder of desire anew. You sigh shakily as the sting sizzles along your skin.

“Don’t be naughty,” he says, breath travelling down, down, down along your bared flesh. “Impertinent brats don’t get rewarded.”

“Sorry, kepus. I’ll behave, I promise.” Silently, you bemoan how quickly he is able to redirect your changeable mood to one of lust. I want to sleep, you think.

“Good.” Daemon presses a wet kiss to the top of your womanhood, tingling with the blood raised from his slap. It is a sure sample of what is to come. “Now—I do believe you begged me to lick this little cunt clean before I left. I’d best give my wife what she wants, hm?”

Sleep can wait. You do so enjoy the outcome of his efforts, after all.

Though you adore him so, you are secretly glad for Daemon’s departure.

In the wake of the attack, he has become even more overbearing than before. When he is not embroiled in the business of searching out the architect of this plot—and truthfully, you know little of the details, partly out of desire to avoid as much mention of the event as possible and partly because he refuses to ‘burden’ you further—you are scarce to find a moment alone. It is not always a pretext for coupling, either, though that is in plentiful supply. Mostly, he watches you with intent eyes as you stitch gowns and bonnets and blankets for your babes, or rearrange the items you have procured for them, or nap out on the balcony in the late afternoon. You had been forced to put your foot down when he had attempted to accompany you to the privy. You hardly need his assistance in relieving yourself.

Remember what Ūlla said, is what you tell yourself each time he irks you with this irrational behaviour. You are impossibly grateful for the healer. If she had not dissuaded you from your anxiety after Daemon had stormed out in such a state, you might not possess any understanding of what induces him to linger so.

“He is man of control, Princess,” she had said to you. “So much control taken from him, so he cannot manage. He is very afraid. Be kind to him.”

She had been correct, of course. All of it—the untethered restlessness, the misdirected ire, the… performance issues—had very little to do with your own conduct and more-so his fear. You had comforted him as best you can, your beloved, stolid beast of a man. His fear has since taken on this new form. Truthfully, you are glad for such compulsive care, but you nonetheless welcome the opportunity to take respite from him on this day.

You turn your mind to your present task. “Thank you for coming,” you say to your sister.

Senna serves you and Helaena tea with shaky hands, spilling some of the hot liquid upon the saucer and the table. You do not reproach her for it. She has been nervous and withdrawn since discovering Miriam, in mourning for her companion as you have been.

Writing the letter to Miriam’s parents had been an incredibly difficult task. How do you convey that the girl in your service—a position that ought to be safest of all—was slain as an accessory to a greater scheme? Lord and Lady Butterwell had dolefully accepted your offer of a small monthly stipend, a mere pittance in comparison to the life that has been lost.

You nod kindly to your lady-in-waiting as she withdraws to the chaise to read, keeping to the background of your conversation should you have need of her.

Helaena glances hesitantly toward the tea before taking the handle in a delicate grip, sipping slowly from the contents within. “Of course. How are you feeling today?” Her attempt at a carefree enquiry falls flat in light of recent circumstances, her brow dipping in discomfort.

“I am well. The babes, too.” You watch her carefully for her reaction, and you are not disappointed. The wince at the mention of your children is slight, but it is there.

“I’m glad.” She takes another nervous mouthful, offering little else.

You sigh. It seems I must make the first play.

“We need to discuss it, Helaena,” you say, reaching out for her hand. She takes it, fingers trembling, a habit ingrained from years of doing the same. It generates a wistful sort of joy to know that you are still the only person she will so readily accept touch from. “You know we do.”

She had been far too hysterical last time, before. Before. You had scarcely discerned the truth of the matter before she devolved into weeping with such desolation that you had put all questions aside so as to console her. Knowing these details will not help you determine the culprit behind your enduring of so many barren moons, but it cannot hurt to learn where she has sought the concoction from. Perhaps her source and yours are linked.

Her eyes dart away from your face, and you squeeze her grip to catch her attention. You do not want her to retreat into her mind and escape from the present as she is wont to do.

She refocuses on you, timid and afraid. “What—what do you wish to know?”

You do not intend to press upon her reasoning further. The evening of the attempt upon your life, your sister had rambled on and on about ‘the time’ not being ‘right’. Any other may have claimed her mad, but you are certain that her mutterings are not the hallmark of insanity. No. Her decision is like to be driven by whatever signs and portents had been plaguing her dreams, the fractured visions of a child not yet meant to be. ‘Prophecy’ and ‘foresight’ are not words well-loved by the Faith, but her blood—that of Old Valyria—burns bright with magic lost to time.

Spool of green, spool of black; dragons of flesh weave dragons of thread.

You shudder at the recollection.

“How many times have you taken it?” you decide to ask. “Where are you getting it? Is it even safe?”

And that is the crux of the matter, is it not? One of your first thoughts had been anger toward her for risking her wellbeing so thoughtlessly. Moon tea, when brewed improperly, can cause all sorts of harm to a woman. You may not know much, but you do know this.

“I’ve taken a draught once a moon’s turn, partway between my blood’s expected coming,” she says quietly, eyes shining a little too bright to be anything other than tears. “I—the Maester has a supply.”

Your mouth parts in surprise. “Grand Maester Mellos? And he is giving it to you?”

It goes against everything you know of the man, far more concerned with his own perception of duty than that of offering succour to young Princesses frightened by the power of their own bodies. His maladaptive sense of obligation had led to your mother’s death in her childbed, scored open and bled out like a hunter’s prize game.

“No.” Helaena shifts guiltily in her seat, gaze flickering away again. She bites her lip. Her next statement rushes from her like a breaking dam. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

You catch her meaning immediately. “You are stealing it.” The judgement seeps out uninhibited.

“I’m sorry!” She clutches so tight upon your hand that you fear she may crack the bones. “I am not ready.” She sounds like a child. It is then that you remember that, for all intents and purposes, she is. “I want to be brave, like you. But I’m not.”

All at once, the ire departs, leaving little other than pity for the girl in front of you. To commit such acts as those Septa Marlowe had spent her entire life proselytising against—and you know this because she had subjected you to the very same—can only mean that she must have been very desperate.

My poor, sweet sister. You swallow the unpleasant acridity that hits your palate. It tastes like guilt.

“I should have fought harder. To stop your marriage, to—to take you with me,” you say. “It was awfully selfish of me to… let myself get caught up in my own life while you had to marry our deviant of a brother—”

She frowns. “I don’t hate Aegon as you do.” You had not realised your disdain for him was quite so vitriolic as to warrant such disapproval. “It is true that he is… not a good husband. We will never love each other like you and Uncle Daemon. But neither can we love each other as siblings should. Some days… I wonder where that leaves us.” She appears to have drifted off to some unknown part of her own mind, caught up in her convoluted thoughts and staring deeply into the polished oak surface upon which lay your refreshments. “But he is part of me, and I am part of him. Can that not just… be enough?”

If there had been nothing else to remind you that your place is no longer in the capital, this serves well enough. To hear her support for your brother is surprising, but perhaps it ought not to be. Too long have you allowed yourself to indulge the illusion that there is a clear separation between you and Aegon, that Helaena and Daeron had attached themselves to you while Aemond had traipsed about with his erstwhile brother, lines drawn and never to be crossed.

It is not so simple. You know this from experience.

“Alright.” You let the matter lie. There has been enough division amongst your family, and you are ashamed to realise how great a part you have taken in it as of late.

I must be better for Helaena’s sake, you resolve, taking your cup in hand and savouring the sweeter notes of the raspberry leaf tea as it percolates across your palate. It lacks the aroma that you have come to prefer in your hot drinks. Ire rises within you at the prospect of having become so accustomed to the taste of moon tea that you had developed a partiality to it.

It is then that an arbitrary thought crawls from the deep well of your mind.

Moon tea is by law a restricted substance. The Grand Maester is beholden only to the royal family. But then—

“Helaena,” you say slowly, searchingly. She looks back up from her own teacup. “The tea. Who is the Grand Maester brewing it for?”

She pauses, brow wrinkled. “I—I don’t know.”

“It has to be someone in the Red Keep.” You lean forward. The motion is hindered by the unwieldiness of your belly. “Your mother?”

You do not think your brother would care overmuch for preventing his seed taking root in another woman’s womb. Thus, if it is not Helaena, then it must be your lady stepmother. But Alicent is far too pious a creature to rid herself of a ‘blessing from the gods’, or so she would put it. Nor would it make sense for her to wish death upon her child before it enters the world, not after four previous successful births.

Though, you owe, it is entirely possible that she would request it made for any number of Aegon’s whores or maidservants or low-born companions after yet another eve of iniquity.

“Mother?” Helaena tilts her head incredulously. “What use would she have of it now?” My poor, naïve sister. You cannot bear to make implications as to her husband’s fidelity, and so you stay silent. She continues without noticing your turmoil. “Besides, she despises the very thought of it. She says that moon tea is an affront to the gods.”

A loud thump and shatter disturbs the relative peace of your conversation. You crane your head in the direction of the sound, startled to see your lady-in-waiting’s pale, pale face and her eyes wide with alarm. Her book is splayed on the stone floor, its pages soaking up the tea from the cup that is now shards of shattered porcelain before her.

“Senna,” you ask. “Are you alright?”

She looks as though she has seen an evil apparition or heard an unearthly echo from beyond the veil.  “Yes, my Princess,” she says. Perhaps you would have been assuaged if not for the crack toward the end of her statement. Her lip trembles. She gulps. “I—”

Whatever she had intended to say does not come forth. Instead, she springs up from her seat, hastily sidestepping the chaos upon the ground and hurrying from the room through the solar door. You tug yourself from your chair using the edge of the table, glancing helplessly toward your sister.

“My apologies, Helaena—”

“Go see to her. I’ll stay here.”

You offer a brief appreciative smile before hastening after your companion, though admittedly your pace is slow and ambling. The weight of your middle tugs at your spine as you move. You grimace in discomfort.

Thankfully, Senna has not gone far. When you enter your solar—a room that you have not used once since being relocated—she is pacing through the weak light streaming in from the window, disturbing whorls of dust from the rug under her feet that dance iridescent in the glow. Her skin has taken on a ghastly pallor. It seems as though her lips have vanished from the sheer pressure at which she is pressing them together.

There is something deeply wrong here. You have never seen her so distressed.

“Senna?” You inch forward in unobtrusive increments so as not to startle her. “What is wrong?”

Your strategizing is for naught. She jumps in fright when hearing your voice echo in the stark chamber, entirely unaware that you had followed her through to relative privacy. Biting your lower lip, you ponder how best to coax a revelation from her.

You do not need to.

“I cannot keep this to myself any longer!” Clutching at her middle, you think Senna may have somehow injured herself—until she whirls to you, striding forward and sinking prostrate in front of you. “Oh, gods help me!” she wails, taking your hand as a penitent before a statue of the Mother. “Princess, please forgive me!”

A sinking suspicion settles in your gut. “Whatever is the matter?” you ask. A growing sense of foreboding looms near, one that leaches viscerally through your body, bitter and ashen upon your tongue. “I do not understand.”

She stares up at you with red-rimmed eyes, a contrast to the greyish hue of her flesh that is positively ghoulish. “I didn’t want to, I swear it! But you were so frightened about having children, and then you were married, and she told me that—”

Your stomach turns. The tea.

You no longer inhabit your body. Your soul has separated itself from its blood-and-bone prison and floats somewhere above, looking down upon this moment. There is an absurdity to the detachment, as though you are watching a garish pantomime or overdramatised spectacle designed for naught but sensationalism. It is not real. It is not real.

“It was you,” you hear yourself say as though through rushing water. You wonder if you might faint. “It was you?”

How long have I known her?

You had been but a youth when she first arrived to court, eagerly presenting herself for service to the royal family. Being so much more daring and adventurous and outspoken than you, the fact that you had become so close would seem unlikely to an outsider. At least, you had thought you were close. For her to have taken what little power you possessed over your own body, to steal any number of children that might have been before you had ever had the chance to know them, all at the apparent behest of another—

You swallow frantically, willing yourself not to expel the contents of your stomach.

“You know. Oh, gods. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She weeps, tipping her chin down and kissing your hand. You fight the unwelcome intrusion of the desire to yank yourself from her grip, to slap her or throttle her for her treachery. “I promise I was thinking only of protecting you!”

“By making me think I was barren? By taking my chance to make a true family? By—” You shake your head to try and dispel the ache that has settled itself there like a heavy stone, solid and relentless. Taking a deep, even breath, you force your voice to say the words your mind rails so desperately against. You do not wish to know. “Senna. Senna, look at me. If you want to protect me, you will confess who is behind this.”

You had been right. The truth, pouring from the mouth of your friend-turned-traitor, is a knife to the heart. It is not real, the timorous whisper of the frightened girl you had been resonates noiseless throughout your hollowed form, a plaintive exhale into the air. It is not real.

You spend seconds or minutes or hours staring blankly at the city, huddled like a child upon the bench on your balcony. In the distance, you can hear the screeching protestations of Athfiezar. He had appeared in the capital a day or so after the attack—or so you are told, having been confined to your bed at the insistence of Daemon and Ūlla and thus unable to visit your boy in person—swooping and snarling and making a general fuss as he is so often wont to do when you are upset. If you squint, you think you can see the great black bulk of him atop the Dragonpit.

King’s Landing is abuzz with its usual frenetic activity. Yet, the sights and smells and the waft of coastal wind upon your cheek hardly register.

“I did not want this for you.”

It seems like so long ago that Alicent had helped you prepare for your wedding. She had voiced her concerns about the match even then. Perhaps such a thing ought to have made you even more anxious and fretful than you already had been, but the honesty had been refreshing on a day in which all had made deliberate prevarications as to their true thoughts. A frightful few had been genuinely congratulatory of your being given to your uncle as a wife, and Alicent was certainly chief among the naysayers.

Never would you have expected her capable of this.

Senna had told you everything—of how Alicent had pulled her aside after your wedding night, how she had pressed a batch of the tea into her hands and persuaded her to ensure you imbibed it the following day, how Senna had at first thought it a mere gesture of kindness from a stepmother to her beloved daughter. When she had discovered what the concoction did, she had been torn between duty and her love for you. She could not disobey a directive from her Queen, but at the same time could not abide the thought of harming you. From what you were able to gather, Alicent had discerned this conflict and swayed her into the belief that keeping your womb empty of a babe was the best thing for you.

“You were always terribly quiet after your mother was mentioned, and you avoided talk of childbirth wherever possible,” Senna had said through tears. “I wanted to help.”

A noblewoman receiving shipments from King’s Landing would hardly have been an uncommon occurrence for one stationed on Dragonstone. And so, it had been all too easy for the Queen to procure the tea from Mellos and send it forward to your island home, where you had regularly partaken in its consumption for moons.

You remember having expressed to Senna some wistfulness after spending time with the Princess Sarella Martell and her daughters in Dorne. Evidently, this had been all the motivation needed to finally risk rebellion. The tea had stopped, and Daemon’s seed had finally taken root within you.

Daemon.

What do you do? Do you tell him? Should you tell him? The questions swarm like a thousand stinging bees, loud and painful and frightening in their veracity.

He will kill her—he will murder the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, will wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the life from her if he discovers what she has done—

But perhaps Senna is lying. Perhaps she is so overcome by her guilt that she seeks to incriminate another, to control the tale before her victim has opportunity to speak for herself. You do not wish to believe it, but nor can you bear the thought of the woman you had once felt such affection for betraying you in such a manner.

Alicent’s routine remains unchanged despite the summers that have passed since her ascension to your father’s side. Thus, it is with anxious resolve that you finally gather the will to drag yourself from your chambers and step out in search of her.

Ser Lorent Marbrand stands to attention just outside your room, hand springing to the pommel of his blade. “Your Highness?” Peering intently into the room behind you, he—like all others in your service as of late—is vigilant to the extreme. “Do you require assistance?”

“I wish to speak with the Queen,” you say, stepping forward. He moves to block your path. You frown up at him. “Please step aside, Ser.”

“My apologies,” he says, dipping his head, “but Prince Daemon has given me strict instructions to ensure you remain within these chambers until he retu—”

“If my husband discovers that I have elected to ignore his directive to you, then that is firmly my business and my consequence to contend with. I will be meeting with my lady stepmother. So, it is your choice whether I go alone or am accompanied by the Kingsguard assigned to my protection.”

The merest flash of temper, coupled with a deliberately-placed hand on your belly, is enough to make the knight quail. He takes his place at your back as you walk on, traversing the halls of your childhood home toward the Sept.

You reach deep to cling onto all the stubbornness you possess as the murmurs and gasps follow you through the Keep, the courtiers no doubt surprised to see you risk a public appearance. Though your father and his Council had done their best to quash any rumour that might have sprung to life, the news of your attack has spread like wildfire amongst those hungry for gossip in the capital. You are not brave, not in the way Rhaenyra or Daemon are, but you are more than these people see you as. It is time they learn that you can be just as resilient as those survivors of the Doom.

When you stop before the staircase leading to the Sept, steep and winding—and you remember climbing these same steps moons ago, when you were lonely and afraid and knew nothing of love—you contemplate giving up and returning to your chambers. Sighing resignedly, you make use of the overcautious Kingsguard to navigate the treacherous ascent, holding onto his arm to lug your ungainly form up and up. Ser Lorent says nothing, which you appreciate, merely proffers his bulk as resistance so that you may totter your way to the upper landing.

Your heart thuds discordant in your chest as you look upon Alicent, knelt before the effigy of the Mother with her head bent low in prayer. A thousand candles flicker golden in the chamber, giving the dark space an eerie, haunted atmosphere. The light ripples across her hair like molten fire. It is musty here, stifled from the windows being covered in times of disuse. For a place dedicated to the gods, it feels remarkably like how you would imagine the Seven hells. Given the task you have come to fulfil, perhaps the comparison is apt.

She startles bodily at the sound of your footsteps growing ever closer, echoing around the room so loudly it is as though someone far larger than you stamps onward. Rising from her supplications, her shoulders slump minutely when she sees that it is only you.

Alicent utters your name in surprise. “You should be resting after your ordeal!” she says, gliding forward to meet you. Her hand reaches out to take your own—and you notice that she carefully avoids your belly— a look of such matronly kindness on her face that you all at once feel ill again. You can barely feel her touch. “Are you well?”

“The moon tea.” It falls from your lips without conscious choice. You had intended to broach the subject cautiously, to manoeuvre her into admitting the deed under her own duress, but it seems your voice has other plans.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, brow knitting in an affectation of confusion. From the way her fingers tighten hard upon your flesh, a momentary squeeze then release, it is but a performance. She knows of what you speak.

You pull your hand from hers, stepping back when she pursues. Her mouth begins to part, concern forming on her tongue in consummate deception.

“Do not—” you start; pause. Swallow against the bile. Try to take stock of where your heart is, for it has escaped the cavity of your chest and swims untethered through your body, swooping and irregular. “I know about the tea, Alicent. What you asked of Senna. I know everything.”

There. It is said now, and it cannot be taken back. A strange sense of relief co-mingles with the terror.

Though she forces a bewildered laugh, you can see her eyes widen in alarm, shine with the fear she keeps contained with a resolve that is far stronger than even Valyrian steel. Puzzlement crosses her features, a politely baffled smile playing on her lips. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, darli—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

It hisses from you like a flame, sizzling and incandescent. Your fury is near a tangible thing, an entity that seethes and writhes with a force you had not yet known you were capable of. The reverberation of it thrums in your toes, hangs upon the air and in your ears as though you are still speaking, though the chamber is silent.

Alicent lets out a quick, shaky breath. Few would notice—but your years of isolation have honed your observance to a sharp point, a weapon by any other name. The severe line of her jaw belies her clenching teeth, a woman hanging to the last vestiges of her decorum. “I think you ought to retire to your rooms. You are clearly overcome.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” The hurt, wounded creature inside you rears up, and you must fight the tears that spring up at her continued refusal to concede her wrongdoings. You have cried far too often. It is time for strength. “I have been a good and devoted stepdaughter these many years, Your Grace,” you say. “I have been your daughter’s chief companion. I am raising your son. If you have any affection in your heart for me, you will tell the truth.”

It is calculated, but it works. She wavers, and the veil of hostility drops, leaving something conflicted and unsure. This iteration of your stepmother is new.

She looks away, seeming to turn inward on herself, slow and pondering. “When I was your age, I had already birthed a child and carried another,” she says, the resonance of it like stray whispers on a breeze. Her eyes are glazed as she stares at some point beyond your own fixation, brown turned gold in the firelight. “I remember how… confusing and frightening it was, being so young and having such a burden laid on my shoulders. Mothering the King’s heirs… To be the vessel bringing forth more Targaryens is a weight I did not wish you to bear.”

The soft, sickening pulse of sympathy warms you. Though you love your father, it is true that he has not made for a good husband. Alicent is being kind by evading such an implication, but her marriage has been one of steadfast endurance, a stiff upper lip and staunchly-maintained silence.

Then you truly process what has been said. “To be the vessel… is a weight I did not wish you to bear.” It is an admission of guilt in so many words.

Something inside you breaks.

“That was not your choice to make.” Your mouth is moving and the words come forth, but you feel again as though you have been unclipped from your physical form and left to float elsewhere, distant and divided. You clench your fists, nails digging into your palm and threatening to draw blood. The pain moors you to reality. You clench tighter. “It is my duty as a wife to have my husband’s children. I felt like a failure each time my blood came—because of you.”

“That could not be helped,” she says, the tone so staggeringly at odds with the callousness of such a statement. “You are far too gentle a creature for the likes of Daemon. What he did to your assailant—”

“He protected me,” you snap, incensed. “He loves me.”

The rumours of what had taken place in the early morning hours after your attack have swirled for days. All who have come to your chambers to attend you have given your uncle a wide berth, gaping at him with fearful eyes and muttering to each other under their breath. You know not if he has heard the whispers that seem to be trailing him, though it is equally possible he simply does not care.

“He stabbed the man so many times that they could not tell it was a body at first,” you had caught a pair of maids muttering.

“The Prince gutted him and strung his entrails out of the window as a warning—”

“He cut the wretch’s head off and drank the blood that spilled—”

“He broke every bone in his body and left him there for his family to find—”

No doubt the brutality that had occurred in that establishment—an inn or a tavern or a brothel, each report differing in its account—had been truly obscene. Daemon is a vicious man, needing no provocation to inflict himself upon others. You cannot imagine the carnage that had ensued after his wife and babes had been terrorised. Nor do you wish to ask, truthfully.

You had felt an iota of guilt for being so accepting of his brand of justice, being so loath of it; you recall the time you told him how you “disliked violence”, how you would “not allow unnecessary savagery” should you consent to marry him. It did not last very long in light of the circumstances.

He loves you, and for that love he had put to the sword those who sought to take your life.

Alicent scoffs, snapping you back to the present. “He was supposed to tire of you, to put you aside and seek out whatever else he might wish. Perhaps then you would be free to marry a man worthy of yo—”

“So you wished for me to be disgraced? The laughingstock of the Realm?” You laugh, icy and piercing. “You desired my unhappiness. Somehow, you have convinced yourself that doing so means you care for me above all others.”

The Queen retreats behind her mask of wintry cordiality, expression closing off entirely. Her mouth opens and closes, a response gathering but not quite fully-formed.

There is no turning back from this. You think that you will never see her look upon you with warmth again.

“It is he who has corrupted you so,” she says finally, disdainful and disappointed in equal measure. “Never would you have spoken to me in such a manner before he sunk his claws into you.”

“You do not get to behave as though I have wronged you. You act as though my uncle is some sort of monster, when it is you who has violated my body and my freedom.”

“Violated?” She sneers down her nose at you. “I would think that feat should be recognised as another’s. ‘Tis a shame to see you so ruined, stepdaughter. I hope being Daemon’s whore is worth it.”

The slap rings sudden and strident, your palm burning. You do not remember striding forward. Alicent shields her cheek with a hand, looking upon you with indignant trepidation. An eye for an eye, a strike for a strike. Your scarred arm tingles at your side, the line where the knife had carved your skin open prickling with a memory that seems distant now.

“I would rather be his whore than your saint,” you hiss, squeezing and releasing your fist to work away the buzzing sensation.

Silence pervades following your assertion, the last notes suspended soundless throughout the room. The statue of the Mother seems to stare down at you both, the lit altar casting her countenance into something eerie and judgemental. That the flames dance still upon their waxen mounts is surprising. ‘Tis a reminder that the world remains unchanged despite your feeling that the ground has shifted beneath your feet, shaking and unsteady.

“I will tell Papa of what you have done,” you say, preparing to depart. You have earned your confession, but there is no victory to be won here. “Return to your devotions, my Queen. Pray that he will be lenient.”

“Tell him? Whatever will you tell him?” she asks loftily, arrogantly, her brow arching. “You have no proof.”

You frown. “I have Senna—”

“The daughter of a minor noble house, or the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? Who is the King likely to believe?” Alicent smiles unkindly, a mockery of the geniality she had once shown you.

She has a point. You cannot stand it. The moment the words had left your mouth, you had known your father will do nothing with such information. So determined is he to prevent conflict in his household that he will turn a blind eye to most anything to avoid the uncomfortable truth—that House Targaryen is breaking at the seams, each day bringing a new tear upon the fabric of what you imagine must have once been a true family.

It is too much. There is nothing more to say. The cards have been dealt, but the game is unwinnable. You are so, so tired. What is left for you in the capital? You want to go home.

I want Daemon and Athfiezar and Daeron and my babes. I want to go home.

“May the gods have mercy upon your soul for what you have done,” you say. “For my part—I hope you burn in the Seven hells.”

You leave her standing there alone in the Sept, the last refuge of a woman who has maimed all the love and affection that might have lingered from her girlhood years. Her effigies and her prayers and her piety are all that is left to her now. They will consume her from the inside out, scorch her to a shell of the smiling, tender-hearted youth you remember from so long ago.

Let her choke upon her airs of godliness, you think. One day, she will pay the price for her crimes.

You hope you are there to see it.

Read it on AO3: 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44058132/chapters/114901333

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