mead vessel of a vestal virgin // hamlet repackaged
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⯠àŒșâ±àŒ»
hi. salve. äœ ć„œ. bonjou.
while my full name is so uncommon, people think im beyond foreign and bordering on extraterrestrial, i prefer acquired taste. haitian-chinese by father, european mutt by mother, and sardonic by nature. taurus sun and moon and cancer rising (no i am not okay, i am drowning in something, im not sure what it is though) so i will avoid and lazy around all the time until i freak out !!!
twenty physically, one hundred emotionally, and disabled mentally, and on the spectrum of a man and a women, i fall on franz kafka and maya angelou. i'm a patron of christian history and medieval european politics.
at my core, im annoying, most likely grammatically incorrect, and a loser. i need chai lattes and social isolation. i should be lost in the forest forced to hunt lesbians for sport, but local goverment offices are pretty close.
(low grumble) adhd (low grumble)... the starter pack for a extreme feminist and reality shifter. i have a crochet hook and mary shelly in my back pocket. i run on animal crackers, hot chocolate, and screwdrivers.
more about me // or you to you
i like . . . women sometimes, men never, my local library, and incorrectly assuming homosexuality of people im in company with a lot. I dress like a boy, swear like a sailor, and yearn for fire and power like Visenya Targaryen.
do not interact with me if you... race change. incest shifter. support trump, ice, maga, bigotry, or anything like that.
apparently only on shiftblr its controversial to say incest is bad. lol. you all are DRAGGING the âbut that reality already exists so itâs not wrongâ or âthereâs infinite realitiesâ excuses⊠get a new line đ im tired acting like i said something insane when in reality all i said incest was wrong and yall want to bring up mental illnesses. wtf. wow. mental illnesses doesnât give you an excuse to be a fucking weirdo lmaoâŠ.
specific tropes in romance that always heal something in me that it never broke
like, forehead kisses, soft love confessions, peppering kisses all over the lover's face. promises that are kept, hands those are held with a gentle love, and hugs that engulf the heart too.
or when they rest their head on your chest, or lean on you for support.
"your tears kill me," kinda thing. or when a sunshine character finally cries and bawls their entire life's hurt out into their comfort grumpy character (plus point, if the grump feels guilty thinking if they had done something to trigger this emotional outburst)
communication. no matter hard the topic is, how big your differences are.
listening to the other person yap
admiring their facial features and seeing not just the outer structure but the person that they really are.
them getting angry on ur behalf
cradling each other in hugs basically
feeling emotional walls break when you're with that one person particularly
gentle communication. yearning to do more for your lover (!!!!)
affectionate smiles and eyes crinkling with a smile that's directed specially at you.
finding their laugh contagious.
the feeling of being accepted, despite flaws and all
silent domestic acts like being in the kitchen together, dressing up together, them drying ur hair while u sit between their legs
occasionally stolen kisses
or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.
sleepily nuzzling into each other!!
reaching for each other despite being asleep, with mumbled endearments and whispers of need!!!
laughter coming easily by their side, like happiness is just another day to day thing (this can also be about self love. when u truly love urself and prioritize your own rights and cherish the fact that you're you. happiness becomes beautiful even in solitude)
Hello again! May I request some text and dialogue prompts about two teens, A and B, figuring out their feelings and developing relationship for the first time? A is a tomboy who's already lost her mother and probably wouldn't be too keen on losing her future boyfriend either. B is a little more on the rough and tumble side, being sarcastic and blunt about most things, but also very loyal and dedicated. A and B already have a close bond and their friends are complete shippers-on-deck for them.
Hi again :)
I tried to include what we discussed in chat, so I hope you like them!
Hesitantly Developing Relationship
Text Prompts
She wanted to hold his hand. She wanted it so badly. But the implications of the simple touching of hands were making her anxious.
Their friends could definitely see it, everyone with eyes could see it. They themselves could see it - but knowing something to be true and then acting on it are two different things.
He wasn't going anywhere. He was ready to stay right where they were, with her by his side.
Dialogue Prompts
"I don't want to lose you. As a friend, as a confidant, as... something more."
"You're not losing me. I don't intend to leave you anytime soon."
"It's like the songs say, 'we're young and in love, so what could go wrong?'"
"Our friends are just messing with us. I know they would be very happy for us."
"Life requires you to take risks sometimes. And so does love."
â â â âĄăâ (â like the promise of đđđđ â )ó Ș ⏠đame desired reality . . .
â.â â â â â Camille Williams Frankel ïčborn Camille Williamsïč
â.â â â â â born May 3rd 1995, New York City, United States of America
â.â â â â â actress, producer, screenwriter, director
â.â â â â â #nepobaby
â .â â â â â married to Fabien Frankel
đ± đł âïžâ â fÌČamily . . .
â â â ⶠđ obin đČilliams 𣿠dad
â â â â â â âborn July 21, 1951, Chicago, Illinois, USA
â â â â â â âgrandfather, father, comedian, actorïčin that orderïč
â â â ⶠđźusan đźchneider đČilliams 𣿠mom
â â â â â â âborn January 24, 1964, Belvedere, California, USA
â â â â â â âgrandmother, mother, artist, graphic designer,
screenwriterïč#1 helper with writingïč
â â â ⶠđindy đČilliams đ ossi 𣿠younger sister
â â â â â â âborn October 15, 1998, New York City, USA
â â â â â â âmother, sister, bass playerïčpressing sticky notes on my scriptsïč
â â â ⶠđčabien đčrankel đČilliams 𣿠husband
â â â â â â âborn April 6, 1994, London, United Kingdom
â â â â â â âfather, actor, producerïč& my best friendïč
â â â ⶠđ„ude đČilliams đčrankel 𣿠daughter
â â â â â â âborn November 5, 2023, New York City, USA
â â â â â â âfirst bornïčmy #1 criticïč
â â â ⶠđarcelle đČilliams đčrankel 𣿠daughter
â â â â â â âborn May 10, 2025, San Francisco, USA
â â â â â â âsecond born
đȘ·đá° iÌČn laws . . .
â â â ⶠđaroline đ”esson 𣿠mother-in-law
â â â â â â âborn August 2, 1962, Paris, France
â â â â â â âmother, grandmother, advertising account executive
â â â ⶠđark đčrankel 𣿠father-in-law
â â â â â â âborn June 13, 1962, London, United Kingdom
â â â â â â âfather, grandfather, actor
â â â â â â ââ September 24, 1996, Chiswick, London, United Kingdom
â â â ⶠđax đčrankel 𣿠brother-in-law
â â â â â â âborn April 5, 1997, London, United Kingdom
â â â â â â âbrother, son, producer, co-founder of MarcelMonique Pictures
đË àŁȘâč FÌČilmography Û¶Ûà§
⯠film
áŽ. â â â â â X-Men: First Class (2011) as Nikita Kowalczyk
áŽ. â â â â â X-Men: Days of the Future Past (2014) as Nikita Kowalczyk
áŽ. â â â â â X-Men: Dark Phoenix (2017) as Nikita Kowalczyk
áŽ. â â â â â The Phantom Returns (2019) as Nikita Kowalczyk
áŽ. â â â â â Finally Dawn (2023) as Samantha Swan
áŽ. â â â â â Gladiator II (2023) as Livia Maesa
áŽ. â â â â â We Live in Time (2023) as Almut Bruhl
áŽ. â â â â â Landslide (2024) as Lila Bennett
áŽ. â â â â â The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025) as Nikita Kowalczyk; cameo
áŽ. â â â â â Spider Man: Brand New Day (2026) as Nikita Kowalczyk
áŽ. â â â â â Avengers: Doomsday (2026) as Nikita Kowalczyk; final project with Marvel, X-Men
áŽ. â â â â â Persuasion (upcoming) as Anne Elliot
⯠television
áŽ. â â â â â Dogs That Bite! (2020) as Alexandra Jones
áŽ. â â â â â Cosmic Children (2022) as Unknown
áŽ. â â â â â House of the Dragon (2020-) as Alicent Hightower
áŽ. â â â â â The White Lotus (upcoming) as Sloane Mercer
⯠directing, producing, writing
áŽ. â â â â â The Secret History (2021); director, producer
áŽ. â â â â â Landslide (2024); director, co-writer; multiple Oscar winner
áŽ. â â â â â Wuthering Heights (upcoming)
áŽ. â â â â â Mother Cut (upcoming, in casting phase); co-producer, co-writer
Hi, hope youâre doing well! I just recently found your blog and I absolutely love it!! I donât really have a very specific idea but how do you feel about James Potter just straight up, head over heels, yearning for the reader? I personally have always seen him as a yearner in a Noah Calhoun or Laurie Laurence kind of way, but I know however you depict him will be amazing. Thank you for your time!! đ
hiya, thank you so much for your request, and for being my first ever request! sorry that its taken so long to post, iâve rewritten this about a hundred times and iâm still not 100% happy with it but i hope you enjoy and itâs what you were thinking. james is for sure a yearner in every lifetime, thanks again lovely đ
James Potter loved people in such a way that it made it almost impossible for him to tell when he was in love. He had grown up watching his parents love, so he was no stranger to it. They loved each other so fiercely and so openly, felt everything with their whole hearts, that it was hardly surprising James turned out to be the same way, too.
He was attentive and caring by nature. The kind of person who remembered how his friends took their tea, who turned up early to help set up and stayed late to tidy, who walked his friends home and waited until he saw their lights switch on, knowing they were safe and sound. He remembered important dates, and the notâsoâimportant ones too.
He knew exactly what to say to make Sirius laugh, the sort of ridiculous line that had him fullâon barking with laughter. He knew Peterâs nervous tells and what to say to cheer him up, and he always carried Remusâ favourite chocolate with him, which was a muchâneeded crutch on the bad days. He loved loving his friends.
It took James falling in love with you to realise that not all love felt the same, that he could feel and give so much more than he had been. He had always given his heart so freely, so easily, without hesitation. But with you there was something deeper beneath it; with you, love felt like something warm and squishy, something that made his chest ache as if it might explode. James wasnât all caught up on biology, but he was fairly certain hearts couldnât actually explode. Though if anyone could make his, it would be you.
It was easy to love you, James thought. To love every little part of you. He loved your sweet smile and kind words, the way your nose scrunched up when you were concentrating too hard, and the way your hands gestured when you talked passionately about something important to you. He loved the way your voice softened when you said his name and how you always made space for him beside you. The way you always reached for him, tucking yourself snuggly into his side, arms wrapping around him from behind, your hand searching for his.
James loved the quiet moments when you read out loud to him on lazy afternoons, curled together, or when you fell asleep with your head settling comfortably against his shoulder. He found his eyes instinctively drawn to you, how you made every room feel warmer, even if it was just to him. Every time you laughed, he wanted to bottle up the sound. He was completely and utterly in love with you.
He did not want to want more, always telling himself that what he had with you was enough. Everything you gave him, everything you would give him, was already more than enough. James knew how lucky he was to call you his friend. And yet, every time you smiled at him, soft and unguarded, something inside him ached for more. It seemed impossible that something this perfect, this beautiful, could remain unspoken, that it could stay quietly beneath everything you had been building together since the very first day you met.
James didn't know where to start. He wasnât even sure it was possible to find the right words to describe what he felt for you, that allâencompassing feeling that made him feel all fuzzy and light inside, like youâd made his whole world brighter just by existing in it. It wasn't as if he could walk up to you and ask if you were also deeply and madly in love with him, could he? The idea made his stomach flip.
And yet, ignoring it proved far more difficult in practice than in theory, because loving you was not something he could simply turn off. When you filled him in on good news, eyes bright, practically vibrating with energy, all he could think about was grabbing you by the waist and kissing you senseless, just to show you how incredibly proud he was. And when you rambled excitedly about your day, words tumbling over each other and hands moving just as quickly, he wanted nothing more than to still them long enough to press a kiss to your knuckles, to brush his lips against your temple, to keep calling you love and darling and have you finally understand exactly how he meant it.
At some point along the way, in between the steady rhythm of building this friendship, this life together, you became so good at loving each other that neither of you had ever said those three little words out loud, at least not in the way that made them count. It was in the extra toothbrush beside his, in shared drawers and shared spaces, in the way he could glance across a crowded room and find you already looking at him, your eyes glowing and saying everything he needed to know. In going to events as each otherâs plus one and no longer correcting people who told you what a handsome pair you make or thatâll be you up there at the altar next time!
James could feel all of those little, unspoken moments rushing at him now. Every shared smile, every brush of your fingers, every loving glance. He hadnât come over to your place with the intention of telling you that he was very much in love with you, head over heels in fact, and had been since the very first moment he saw you. But seeing the afternoon sun lying low and spilling gold across the room and painting you with a warm glow, filled him with the need, the urge, to tell you exactly how he felt. Except he had barely spoken at all, sitting on your sofa mulling over how on earth he was going to bring it up. It wasnât exactly something one could slip into casual conversation, as if he could just say, âso, the weatherman said we might have a spot of rain tomorrow⊠oh, and Iâm very much in love with you, by the way!â
You were lying all soft and languid across his lap like a cat, using his thighs as a cushion, a book resting in your hands. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as he gazed down at you, at the curve of your cheek and the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair caught the light, the gentle parting of your lips as you read each line of your book. Every little thing about you held him entirely. He was right, you would be the very reason his heart burst. He wanted, more than anything, to pause this exact moment so that he could always feel this impossibly full.
âJamie⊠is everything okay?â You tilted your head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you met his eyes, full of something kind and curious. âYouâve gone very quiet, and youâve been staring at me for the last⊠I donât know, ten minutes? Are you about to confess your undying love to me or something?â
Jamesâ eyes widened and for a heartbeat he simply stared at you. His shoulders stiffened and he swallowed hard, eyes flickering away before snapping back to yours as he tried to determine if you were being serious or just teasing. âIâcan you read minds?â he asked, leaning closer and tapping your forehead lightly, as if searching for some hidden magic.
You laughed softly, pushing yourself upright and catching the hand still poking your face. âNot exactly,â you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles, soothing him with the gentlest touch.
He was suddenly very aware of how loud his heart was beating and wondered if you could hear it too, if you knew that you were the cause of it.
You blinked up at him, quiet for a moment, and then your expression shifted. The teasing faded, replaced with something softer, as if you could sense what he was thinking. Perhaps it was because you were thinking it, feeling it, too.
You brushed your hand against his again before cupping his cheek, your thumb running warm circles along his skin. âWill I have to use my mind-reading powers to find out how much you want to kiss me,â you murmured, âor will you show me?â
His heart tugged as you moved closer, like an invisible string pulling you toward him. And he wondered if you really were magic.
And then he kissed you.
His hands rose to cradle your face, pulling you close, thumbs brushing your cheeks with care. Your lips met his instantly, hot and electrifying, tasting sweet and warm in a way that made him flush. Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a soft exhale from him, and the kiss deepened. It was all-consuming, and when you were suddenly smiling into the kiss, James wished nothing more than to stay tangled in this moment with you forever.
When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, he could feel the warmth of your skin and the rapid beat of your heart. At the feel of your pulse, at what his kiss had done to you, the pull of your lips became irresistible, and when he found them again, the kiss was slower, deliberate, leaving you gasping and making little breathy noises that he wanted to completely devour.
And as the sun dipped lower, spilling gold across the room, everything else faded away. There was only this, only you. Together. As if you had always been moving towards this moment.
daeron who knows exactly how to get his partner's attention. you're "busy" but he's not having that. he'll walk around shirtless and smelling good, oh so casual but not at all. he'll stretch and let out the sluttiest moan that instantly jars you out of whatever you're trying to do. starts eating fruit messy and loud like it's pussy. he gets touchy but only just enough, not so much that you can (rightfully) accuse him of trying to distract you. and you don't realize it but he is able to turn on the 'fuck me' eyes at will. man just looks so good and fuckable you can't help it and he's absolutely manipulated the situation to get exactly where he wants to be (under you).
okay sooo i have a tag game idea! essentially, match up ceramic tiles to you and your s/o or whoever you're shifting for! i found mine on pinterest
i'm doing me and ravi for my spider-verse / marvel / 9-1-1 dr!
tag list ! @girlfanged, @dracuthea, @easyboyrecliner, @evangeliooon, @marcellasdiary, @starlvrz, @byswrld, @sillygirlsalad, @fadeintomia222, @hermanuscript, @ang3leyes, and anyone else that sees this or would like to join!!
summary: Life as Prince Daeronâs wife sometimes made you feel like the sky would fall on your head while you and your husband were just a pair of lambs sent to slaughter...
âForgive an old woman for her nosiness, your grace, (...) but which one of them Targaryens is yours?â
âThe one laying in the mud,â you said plainly. âPrince Daeron.â
âAhh,â she hummed, âthen I shall pray for you, princess. And his health as well.â
tags: 18+, mature (nothing too crazy but please be aware darlings), smut, arranged marriage, suggestive, mentions of brothels, maekar hints that daeron is unfaithful to reader but he is wrong, maekar is such a d(is)a(pointe)d, reader has character and might seem a bit cold but she is a queen trust me, i secretly despite everyone but my husband final boss, daeron is jealous, crying during sex?, married sex, piv, mentions of wet dreams & masturbation, nsfw, no use of y/n.
word count: 7k+
I used a headcanon made by @just-some-random-blogger . Credits for Daeron's patheticness in kissing to her!
âSpeak up when a prince asks you a question.â
You didnât smile in indulgence for the sake of your father-in-lawâs distress.
Any fear you could have held for Maekar Targaryen was buried a long time ago. Nonetheless, you respected the man like he was your own parent, and laughing in his face was not something a woman of your kind would do. He struggled with his children enough already.
Truth be told, he called it upon himself â your lack of fright towards him. He was sharp and grim, but never unkind and always very understanding. That is probably what having such problematic offsprings turns you into. He treated you like one of them; his own kid, just a mature one who didnât need his aid at every damn step you took.
âGirl. Do not disrespect me with your sudden muteness,â he warned.
It was not rough, though, not really demanding.
You and your husbandâs father shared a bond of understanding and weariness. After all, you were both dealing with his son⊠Yet, it was more than that. Since you had no children on your own yet â and truthfully, you prayed to the gods that it wonât happen soon â you tried to help him with caring for the youngest Targaryens as much as you could. Aegon was a bright boy that you got on with very well since the beginning of your marriage to his brother, and the girls were just sweet. Fierce princesses born from fire, of course, but they held so little resemblance to their brothers that it made you stop in your tracks every time.
You learned very little about Aemon and his fate. Aerion â well, here you knew his cruelty more than you would like to, bore it on your own skin.
Finally, your husband. You thought of his nature surprisingly little compared to his brothers, but he was not just an interesting case. He wasnât a study of character, blood of the dragon. To you, he was a man. A man who could barely stand straight and often needed your support, that you were willingly providing.
Ever since he was a boy he was met with expectations he could not uphold, and you understood it better than anyone. You knew the feeling from the bottom of your heart.
You were not justifying Daeronâs mistakes, no â only his suffering â but you would gladly shield him from any punishment with your own body. The irony of it laid in him rarely even being there to face the blame. You were the one who had to hear out the complaints, the threats and curses. He cared too little about it.
âI say once again,â you spoke up, looking at Maekar. âI know nothing of Daeron's plans for today.â
He wanted to slam his fists on the table, but stopped himself just before he did.
âGods, damn us⊠He needs to show up, so we can talk about the strategy.â
You could see that more than furious, he was worried. He just found his boy â because the grown man who cared mostly about his cup was still just his boy â and he was gone again, hells know where.
âDo you want me to look out for him?â You offered calmly.
You didnât share his attitude, not at all. After so much time by Daeronâs side you knew he would always find his way back to you, even if he came crawling, in clothing covered in blood and mud.
Maekar laughed. It was a grim sound, stripped of any humor.
âYou think I will have you running around brothels and alehouses like that? Forget it, girl,â he said more harshly than necessary.
You tried to focus on biting the inside of your cheek and stay quiet, but the words left you before you could stop them.
âHe does notââ
âOf course he does,â Maekar spat out. âIf you believe otherwise, then you might be as big of a fool as your husband.â
That made you stand up as an instant, and Maekar shifted uncomfortably in his place. He wasnât easily scared, of course not, but he wasnât used to your anger either.
âHe is not a fool, neither am I!â You said, and your jaw ached from the clenching. âI am also not blind or indifferent to the suffering of others,â you hinted, and he opened his mouth without a sound. âLet alone my own child.â
âYou donât have one, so do not lecture me about mine,â he ordered, âgirl.â
You stood in place for a moment, not daring to move your eyes from the table in front of you. There were just the two of you in the grand chamber of Ashford castle. Finally, you managed to look up at him.
âAm I free to go, your grace?â
His eyes wore mercy. Pity as well, surely, but you refused to let that get to you.
âYou are.â He nodded his head, but stopped you by calling your name again. âDo me a favor, darling. Do not lie to yourself. You cause unnecessary pain to me as well by doing that.â
Little did he know of the truth.
After all, thereâs no hate as strong as the love of a disappointed father. He looked at his son but did not see. You only wanted to believe that you didâŠ
You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. âI will make sure to send Daeron to you when I see him.â
You werenât wrong in thinking that if Daeron decides to show up, he will meet you first. You spoke only once after he was dragged to Ashford Meadows by his father.âYou werenât supposed to be hereâŠâ was how he greeted you, his wife, and how he earned a rough smack to the back of his head from Maekar.
You couldnât bring yourself to be furious at him. He wore shame on his face. The one feeling he rarely showed to others, but always to you. He hid behind it like warriors do behind a visor of their helm. He really didnât want you to be here. Not because he didnât want to see you, but because he didnât want you to see him. Later that day you cradled him in your arms, trying to silently assure him heâs not an unpleasant sight to you.
Some people around the court and Summerhall joked that you were the most light-hearted princess the realm ever had, but it was Daeronâs undeniable luck that made you so sure of his wellbeing. As well as he could be. You abandoned the remorse for being indifferent â if you werenât, you would have to lose your mind over worry for your spouse. You loved him, yes, but you saw people who sacrificed their sanity for love before. You were much too reasonable for thatâŠ
Despite that, Daeron learned how to live with peopleâs pity, but he could not bear your trouble. He was a man who promised his undying feelings to you and pleaded for you to live your life with no worry for him in one sentence.
He carefully knocked on the door of your chamber, like it didnât belong to him as well.
He shifted inside with an unusual quietness. Not stumbling, not drunk, yet still with teared up eyes.
âDid he scream at you?â He asked suddenly, moving to sit down next to you.
âWhat?â
âMy father. Was he bothering you much because of me?â
His voice betrayed what he was thinking. He was now not only plagued with dragon dreams, blood and horror, but also an awful sense of guilt. That he couldnât do anything, and he still caused pain to his family.
âNo, of course not,â you calmed him, and caught his shaking hands in your own. âYou know how fair he is to me⊠I sometimes feel like his favorite son,â you joked.
âThat you might be,â he hummed.
You noticed that he was trembling more than usual, and his sober state must have been the reason for it.
âYou really want to take part in the trial, donât you?â You asked, surprising him.
âNot at all, but I have to.â
You cracked a weak smile, and he moved to look you in the eyes with a silent question.
âI just⊠A part of me hoped that you would be passed out somewhere where no one would find you. You wouldnât have to risk then.â
His head snapped up, and just for a short moment you expected him to tell you to watch your tongue. But that wasnât what he thought. It was merely the attempt to hide the weird sensation he felt when you approached him with such cruel honesty. He had to bite the inside of his cheek and curse himself in his mind.
âIt is no risk,â he tried to console you, but he was scared himself. âSer Duncan made a promise to spare meâŠâ
âSer Duncan is one man. What about the other six?â
He didnât have an answer to that. There were a lot of things that he couldnât answer. Why didnât he drink to silence the fear? Was it some remaining honor that forced him to show up on the trial? Seven hells, his own wife expected him to disappear drunk and let everyone down⊠Why wasnât he doing that?
âCan IâŠâ He stopped, looking to the side like there was someone who could advise him in the moment of hesitation. âCan I kiss you?â
The corner of your mouth moved up.
âWeâve been married for over two years now, DaeronâŠâ
âFair, we have.â
âSo what do you think the answer is?â
He hummed, leaning closer to you.
âI just donât like pushing my luck too much,â he whispered, making you scoff lightly. He was pushing his luck over and over again.
His shaking hands moved up to gently cup your jaw. You answered by draping your arm over his neck and your noses almost touched.
âPromise me to be a coward, husband,â you said softly, and his hand stilled, letting go of you.
âIâ What?â
âTomorrow. Be a coward. Fall, run, do whatever it takes to not let them kill you,â you plead. âI have no use for a hero. I want you⊠so do not risk it.â
âUsually I think youâre making me a better man, but now⊠Now it seems almost like a bad influence.â
You shook your head, and stood up. Slowly, teasingly, in a way that made Daeron clutch to the blanket thrown on the bed, you hovered over him. Leaning closer, you pulled at the collar of his shirt as he looked up, lips ajar, and he gasped for air.
Gods, he was handling it so much better when he wasnât sober⊠He didnât even kiss you, and he was shaking with anticipation already.
âI never said Iâm an honorable woman,â you noticed cunningly.
Oh, neither was he an honorable man.
Despite his body being at war with him, head throbbing, bones aching, he stood up at once.
He grasped your face with both of his hands, moving closer, and crashing his lips to yours. Your teeth clinked when he somehow forced himself even further into you.
He swallowed his own whine when you scratched his jaw, trying to pry him away despite your mouth still moving against his.
Finally, he pulled away to steady his breath, and his hands fell from your face at the sight of flame in the depth of eyes. Air was choked out of his lungs again, when he stared at the embers that he feared so much, yet needed right now.
The taste of your sober husband made your head spin, but you managed to take a daring step back. But Daeron wasnât having that. Not when he realized the fire had nothing to do with dragons, the violence and death that he saw whenever he closed his eyes.
He could burn, gladly, if it was the flame that you carried. As long as he could feel those addictive lips on hisâ
But you did pull away, didnât you? You left him, and he was stung by the horrid void again, that could quickly be filled with panic, whenever there was no wine to soothe it. He couldnât stand it, not tonight, not with the thought of his possible death tomorrow.
He chased you like a mad man, but managed to wrap his arms around you when he pushed you backwards without meaning it. He got you, like he always wanted. The grasp was firm, firmer than usually, yet his mind was filled with begging, not demanding.
You helped him out by pulling him further into you and backing up even more, until your head hit the stone wall.
Daeronâs hand immediately flew up to protect you from the rough feeling, when he forced you to move your head up, then to the side. Chaste kisses traveled from your lips to your ear and neck. You could still feel the string of saliva that followed down to his mouth.
When moans escaped Daeronâs throat, he was able to lose himself. The remaining thoughts of the trial, fear, responsibility⊠they left. He wasnât a prince now, not a Targaryen. Not even your husband driven by worry and care.
He was a lover. And one mesmerized by you, at that.
His body was fully pressed to yours, as his other hand grasped and roamed over your ribs. He almost arched into you, making you aware of his need. Yet, he made no attempt to lose your gown, to slip his hands under it⊠almost like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to do that.
His hips moved over your thigh, at first only twitching a few times which he couldnât control, but then he shifted closer and made the motion more evident. Stripped of shame.
He was miserable. Back hunched, eyes bloodshot, hair brushed back. But he was aware, conscious more than ever and simply here. For a moment the dragon dreams, the gore, all of that didnât matter.
You did. He felt a strange rush of emotion that made him frown. He cursed his lips to stop trembling, to kiss you like a real man he was supposed to be. To caress your skin with firm touch, adore you the way you deserve.
The more he tried, the more his muscles hurt, and his eyes teared up again. From lust, shame and envy for what he could have but didnât know how to get.
âI am a wreck of a manâŠâ he whispered, brushing his face over your hair.
âYou are my husband.â Your hands worked their way to untie his tunic, but he stilled enough to make you stop. âAnd that means I will always be by your side, even if you think of yourself that lowly. Iâm your wifeââ
âYouâre my refuge.â
Daeron wasnât always full of meaningful words. He showed his care through small gestures, looking to ensure your comfort. He was too spent for big actions, but when one was needed, he did his best to show up, stand close to you and hold your hand, like it could protect you from any danger as well as a blade.
That was all he could offer, since a real blade in his grasp would only be a pathetic joke. A sword would shake, a bolt wouldnât hit its target.
But you made him feel like it was enough. Even if he didnât believe that, if he cursed himself and his weakness â you did. He always said you were not only stronger, but also the smarter one in your marriage. He was forced to rely on your opinionâŠ
And letâs face it, when didnât he do that? He would be long dead at this point if he didnât follow your advice. He was sure your prayers also had something to do with his â as fortunate as it could be â existence.
He would thank you if you slapped him or tightened the grip on his throat. If he wasnât that dizzy, he would bend his knees to kiss the ground you stepped on, rush you to pin him to the ground as well.
The realization of what you did to him, what a pathetic human being you turned him into, made him move again. He breathed in sharply, to plead.
He wasn't very strong by any means, but nothing can stop a man lusting after his wife, not even his physical disabilities. Well, at least for now.
His hands were placed on your waist and traveled down, almost urging to hold you up, so you would wrap your legs around him.
âLet me⊠please...â He moaned, when you chased him and licked the skin uncovered by his shirt. You finally shifted to gather your skirts up, before pulling him close again. âGods, I love youâŠâ
Since morning on the day of the trial Daeronâs head spiraled. He avoided his father, brothers, everyone who could be a witness to his inappropriate demeanor right now.Â
He didn't have a drop of wine, yet he felt drunk on his unleashed lust, the yearning he felt for his sweet wife.
But sweet wasn't really a good word, was it? You were slightly cruel in your behavior, leaving him alone at dawn, pretending you had some duties to attend to. He was sure it was just an act, but he was also a man who couldnât put his mind on anything else other than the curves of your body, the way you welcomed him and made him unravel. Of course, he only saw what fitted him. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate you for any of that.
All he could think about â just hours before he was about to face true danger â was recalling the shameful memories. Things that have happened before and those that he saw in his dreams on days when he woke up sweaty and with shallow breath, trying to cling to your body that wasn't there. They were the only moments of solitude when his mind didnât scream, while he rutted into the pillow, moaning your name in the most shameless way, and you weren't there.
Even if you were, he wouldn't dare to pull you closer. Sometimes his muffled groans woke you up, but he didn't let his touch linger around your skin. When you looked his way, his face was flushed, stained with sweat and tears. Guilt, shame and fear for the things that he felt on his back, even when he dreamed about his sweet wife moving under him. The blood was always there, prophecies always holding to his throat, pinching and ripping his skin. He was safe when he was by your side, yes, but never fully.
When he married you, he was embarrassed for the first time since his early teenage years. He found himself in awe, in true undeniable adoration, and the idea of laying his sweaty palms on your skin made him shiver in thrill and disgust at the same time. How could he violate you like that? You, a creature resembling a stone sculpture, unbending, still, so unwavering.
But you pulled him closer. Made the choice so he didn't have to, and he could no longer stop himself.
Even while watching a squire polish his helm, he could picture you much more clearly. The expression on your face changing when his touch moved, the soft sounds that would escape from your lips. He would tease you, just a bit, and then beg for forgiveness.
âYou should have never allowed me close,â he whispered last night, after his shaking hands laid on your hips, caressing softer than usual, his mind too driven by fear to move quickly. âIâm a blemish to your sublimityââ
âShh, now.â
But he wasnât done.
âThe marriage was like an abuse to you. They have hit you with the worstââ he rambled, before realizing that he would never expect anything better of your lord father.
For a short moment he thought that you could have ended up in a position so much worse⊠The idea of another man being your husband made him clench his teeth.
But he was too drunk on you to make any more sense.
âThere is no need for you to pretend any longer, you know that? You never had to do that, but now⊠You have me in your grasp, sweet thing, I will protect you no matterââ
âDonât you see that even after such a long time,â your voice trembled as he moved, making shivers go down your spine, âyou are still the one I hold onto? The one I want?â
âMy wife,â he moaned. âMy dearest wife that I have damned⊠messedâŠâ
âRuined,â you offered, putting an end to his stumbling words. He opened his eyes to meet you. âWasnât that what you meant? That you have ruined me? Cherish it, Daeron, as I will never choose an embrace of another man, since I know yours already.â
âGodsâŠâ
âMove! A princess of the realm is coming through!â
Ah, of course the guards would notice you⊠A grimace marked your face immediately and you lowered your head.
You were quick to flee, hide in the crowd, but people noticed, anyway. Some spat under your feet, some bowed, some muttered good words. It could be unreasonable to come to the trial like that, making your way through the turmoil, maybe dangerous even, but you couldnât force yourself to join the companionship of lords and ladies.
You knew small folk had little interest in royal relations, and you couldnât blame them. You would wish to be indifferent to that as well. Let alone if you had to worry about your next meal and mere survival. The threats came from the ones who mistook you for prince Aerionâs wife, and them only. It was not a surprise that people hated him after the tourneyâs events, but you werenât desperate enough to explain that you had nothing to do with the vile boy.
Once you found a place with a good view for yourself, you looked carefully. Truth be told, you held more interest towards the common people than the trial. Well, if not for Daeronâs fate, obviously.
The fuss by your side made you look down. You saw an old woman tugging at your sleeve. She glared at you kindly, showing you the lack of teeth in her mouth.
âForgive an old woman for her nosiness, your grace,â she said, making you lean close to hear her properly, âbut which one of them Targaryens is yours?â
You looked at the arena again, to make sure the small woman could notice him.
âThe one laying in the mud,â you said plainly. âPrince Daeron.â
You had to point him out with your finger for her to see. There was no shame in your behavior, but nonetheless she looked at you like she understood the underlying grieve.
âAhh,â she hummed, âthen I shall pray for you, princes. And for his health as well.â
You sighed.
âThank you, good woman.â
You could strangle him in anger, and he wouldnât move a muscle to stop you.
But for a woman who carried so much fury, so much hurt and disappointment for the world, you showed very little of it to your husband. He pleaded, begged you to not let him feel like you thought of your own problems less than about his. And you didnât. They simply werenât aimed at him.
You watched the Maester finish the stitches on his cheek, then rushed the man outside, not sparing him a single glare. You were too focused on Daeron.
His fear drifted away, demeanor changed. He got bolder, more lingering. A bit shameless.
âI'm too sober for that, my sweetâŠâ he said lightly, when you moved to sit beside him and examine his bloody eye with a frown on your face. âDonât give me that look.â
âWhat look?â
âLike you would scratch my eye out simply because you donât like the look of it.â
âIâm only making sure that itâs fine. What use would I have for a man with one eye?â You shrugged, making him giggle, too lightly for a man in pain who just lost a kin.
âA cowardly husband is fine, but one without an eye not so much?â
âI donât know. Iâm just choosing whatâs best for you.â
You brushed his hair out of his face. He almost purred when you moved behind him to run your fingers through his locks, pulling them together into a bun.
âItâs me now who needs a drink,â you muttered under your breath, and he was happy to submit.
But you werenât drinking simple ale, or disgusting wine they sold to most people in the tent. You stared at the travelling innkeeper, who went through his stashes, ready to impress a princess.
Just then ser Duncan approached Daeron. He didnât move, not even when he saw you making your way back to him.
âSer Duncan blames me, loveâŠâ he explained, when you looked between the two men.Â
Something shifted in Dunkâs eyes though, like he feared being too candid, too chaste under your sharp glare. Or that he simply feared you, because the glare was, indeed, very sharp.
âYour graceâŠâ He turned from you to your husband like you would from a god to its horrid helper. âThose men are dead because of you.â
Daeron shrugged, but you werenât about to leave it like that. Stepping closer, you placed your hand on his shoulder.
âThose men, ser Duncan, are dead because they made a choice of accepting danger. Daeron did nothing cruel,â you said firmly, refusing to meet your husbandâs eyes, when he looked up. âHe did nothing.â
You shook your head and added under your breath. â... Literally, nothing.â
Having this conversation seemed, even to Dunk, as one led with two blind fools, and at that moment you couldnât care less what he thought about you. He stepped away, not willing to argue with their graces, gods damn themâŠ
âYou broke some promise made to the man?â You asked suddenly, sipping your drink.
âI didnât. All I told him was that I will only look gallant in the first charge.â
You laughed under your breath.
âGallant? You looked like you were about to pass out from fear.â
Daeron held your hand and suddenly pulled you closer. You bit your lips to not let out a whine as you fell into his lap.
âLet out your rage at me, if you wish. Do what I deserve for worrying youâŠâ
You wanted to slap his shoulder but stopped yourself. You smiled in a daring manner, though.
âYou think I was worried about you?â
âYou cruel wife⊠Werenât you?â
He didnât dare to let it out, but you understood the mute question. Didnât you wish to punish him for everything that he had caused?
And you did. You wanted to grip at his hair, yank his head however you pleased, to give you access, pick at his skin with your teethâ
âNot here,â you muttered, lips barely over his. It was hardly appropriate for the place, but you maintained the remaining pride you carried. âIâm sick of this camp.â
âWhere then?â
âThink of something, husband. Letâs leave⊠before your father notices."
âAre you suggesting what I think?â
You bit your lip, shrugging.
âLetâs have some fun⊠Then we will see whether the way leads back to Summerhall or not.â
Having some rest in a nearby tavern was something you hoped not even Maekar would blame you for. You didnât cause any trouble after all! It was not like the family had a need exactly for your consolation in the face of the tragedy. You werenât famous for warm words and pity and Daeron⊠was Daeron.Â
Perhaps it was even better to get out of your father-in-lawâs sight. Better for you, at least. You felt cruel for leaving Aegon alone, though. He was surrounded by servants, so-called friends, but you saw that he was unhappy whenever he was away from that big hedge knight of his. He was a smart child, one with a peculiar sense of humor that you found yourself rather fond of.
âFeeling guilty again?â
Daeron looked back when you were behind him on his horse, embracing his back and lowering your head to lay a cheek on his shoulder. It wasnât ladylike, not at all, but you didnât feel like a lady at that moment.
âItâs like you took the feeling from me to carry it yourself,â he jested sadly.
âNo, I just⊠The night is young. Letâs worry about that after a few cups of wine, yes?â
He chuckled and pulled one of your hands to his lips. His breath lingered on your fingers for a while before he wrapped your arm around his middle.
The feeling of his hot body against yours was comforting. He was here; not only your husband, but also your only friend in those dark times.
You reached a tavern on the edge of a meadow, surrounded only by forests. It was loud and crowded. Warm in the best possible way. You could already imagine the sweat on your skin, how your clothes would stick to your body â a feeling only a truly free woman could know. It wasnât an experience for a court lady, yet it was not unfamiliar to you.
Daeron helped you down the horse, and you were grateful you wore a simpler gown with no veil or longer skirts so they wouldnât be stained with mud. And mud was everywhere.
You both stilled, hearing a suspicious rustle from a nearby pile of hay.
Daeron groaned like it happened to him much too often and embraced your upper body to lead you away. He wasnât very worried, though.
âDonât look.â
But you did, and an impudent smile crept its way onto your face. The moment you stepped away from the hay, the moans and slaps of skin could be heard again.
Oh, the place must have had an effect on everyone.
Inside, people were even louder, cheerfully playing. The music could make you forget about any of your worries, and you couldnât blame the folks already lying under the tables⊠You only hoped your end would be a little bit more dignified. Still, it wasnât said that Daeron wonât drag you down with him.
The people hadn't heard about Prince Baelorâs death yet, and it wasnât so sure they would stop their party even if they did. Good for them, you guessed.
You were unable to get rid of the smile, even when a drunk man approached you before you could even find a place to sit.
âYou, pal!â He waved at Daeron, almost tripping and falling your way. âYou willinâ to share that nice, dressed-up lady? IâI have coin⊠somewhere⊠Somewhere hereââ
Daeron stood with his eyes wide open, like he barely understood the words.
âPal?â The man insisted.
He was so unused to that. It was unthinkable to him to hint that you were some mere stranger he encountered without a deeper thought. He wasnât a jealous man simply because he didnât have reasons for it. Around court and at Summerhall everyone knew you were his.
Because you were, right? His woman. He wanted to think of it that way even if it felt a bit unfair. In case it made it sound any better, he would proudly wield the name of your man as well. He knew you would punch the back of his head if he hesitated about that even for a moment. As he deserved.
âSheâs my wife. Step away at once, or I willââ
âAye, aye, alright. Thought sheâs just your company⊠No offence.â
The man stuttered and was yanked back by his friend. That one was much more sober and aware of his surroundings.
More afraid too.
âMy prince! We heard youâre in Ashford but didnât expect you⊠here. Forgive this fool; in his state he would have mistaken a dragon for a lizard. Apologies, princess.â
You shrugged.
âA dragon is a big lizard as much as I might be just a dressed-up royal whore.â
Without another word, you dragged Daeron further inside. Your legs hurt from the ride, and all you wanted was to sit down. For now.
âI think even my father would pass out if he heard you say such a thing.â Daeron smiled boldly, certainly too happy about your grip on the front of his shirt as you lead him after you.
âYet you smile,â you noticed.
âI do, but Iâm aââ
âMy husband. The only man whose opinion I should be concerned about.â
He pulled you closer when you found a free table in the corner, lit only by a dim light. Your drinks were placed in front of you with a thump that spilled some of it.
A young woman caught your eye when you looked around. She cradled a babe in her arms, keeping it securely wrapped in a red cloth. She noticed your lingering gaze at once. An instinct of mothers, you thought, or women in general.
Her other child approached you soon, walking on shaky legs.
âBlessing of a princess?â The boy murmured, clearly confused about being sent by his mother to ask for such a weird thing.
His small hand was used to being stretched out for coins, not a good word. While his expression turned to one of sadness and misery, you knew it was learned. A child taught how to survive, using all his very few advantages.
His eyes betrayed the turmoil in his head, though. Coin and food were reasonable, but a blessing? What it even was, a blessing, truly? You had no idea yourself.
âIâm not one to give it, nor do you have any use for it,â you muttered, not really meaning the words to such a small child. You took some money from your pocket and placed it on his sticky palm. âThat means more, no?â You smiled, with your face on his level. Your hand instinctively moved to brush his hair out of his round face. âGo straight to your mother.â
You kept your eyes on the child until he reached his parent, without being bothered by anyone. You saw children being hanged for stealing food before, and you didnât want to imagine what your coins could bring upon one like that if someone envious noticed.
People starved, and when they did, morality fell. Humanity too.
But who were you to judge? You did nothing to make it any better, and all you knew was a forcefully noble life, in truth equally rotten as the existence of the poor.
âA woman of bone and flesh, yet with a heart most virtuous,â Daeron mocked, draping a hand over your shoulders, clearly amused by your denial of the meaningless princessâ good words.
But he shared the opinion.
He was no one, just a man lucky enough to be able to spend his days and nights drinking. He wasnât a dragon; he didnât bear enough arrogance to match Aerion and not enough wit to compare to Aegon or Aemon. How could he ever think of himself as better than the people who fought to keep their families alive?
He was a man of flesh and bone as much as you, and at that moment, when he saw your unforced fairness, he felt that deeply. Perhaps a bit too deep.
When the drinks rushed to his mind, he moved even closer, and his breath traveled from your collarbone to your ear. You could smell the sweat on him, alongside the blood from the trial and sweet, unexplainable warmth. He huffed heavily before he moved his hand to turn your head to him.
He kissed you the way you liked best, almost forcing his way to the inside of your mouth.
Yet you pulled away, and he stilled. His breath got caught up, but eventually he panted before gently moving his fingers from your face down to your arm.
"I... Do I reek too much of ale?â He asked bashfully.
You hummed, like you had to think about the answer.
Years ago it scared you, if not even disgusted, yes. But now? As destructive and hurtful as it was, it was true. And you didnât wish to live in an illusion. Your husbandâs taste was a taste of wine and ale, and that was a fact.
âPerhaps not enough?â
Your words forced a flame of lust on his face. He was a selfish man in his own ways. He took the cup out of your hand and let you taste his drunkenness again before pulling you up to your feet.
You didnât ask for a free room. You simply took it. The door closed with a thud when Daeron moved you around and pressed your back to the wood.
Ever since your wedding night, he started like he was not worthy to touch you, only to ravish you in the end. Now something shifted on his face.
In the middle of kisses you tried to occupy your fingers by fidgeting with his shirt. A sudden tug behind your back and the sound of tearing laces stopped you.
Daeron took advantage of the destroyed corset before you could even comprehend what he had done. He almost shoved his face to your breast, keeping your body close with a desperate hold on your shoulder blades.
Only when your head fell back with a groan, and you threw your arms over his neck did he relax and soften the grip. He allowed his hands to travel from your upper back down to your waist and hips.
Just there his hold tightened again when you arched closer to him. You could imagine the bruises on your body created by his touch that would be visible tomorrow, and it aroused you even more.
âLetâs move it to the bedââ
âCanât,â was all he found himself able to get out.
With a hold of your skirts, he moved for another kiss, crashing your mouths together. You tangled your hand in his hair when he moaned, as his breeches fell lower.
He held you firmly when he forced your thighs further apart with the press of his hips. He pushed inside you in a thrust too sudden, too fast, making you both wail. Your foreheads touched, and despite the overwhelming warmth he felt, he still tried to pick at your lips with his teeth.
The steel knocker of the door started to clank on the wood violently when Daeron moved. He thrust into you as your fingers roamed around his back, finding their way under his shirt from the sides. He grunted, feeling the scratches stripped from any mercy.
There was no dragon fire, just sweat, kisses growing more sloppy, obscene moans, and the damn sound of the door that made you pray it wouldn't fall from the hinges.
His hips stuttered before he bent into you. He could feel your every shiver, the looming release. You were helpless to the sob you let out, pressing your face to his chest. He could only cradle your hair, keep you still and close to him when your breaths slowly calmed.
You lay in bed later that night, not worried about paying the innkeeper just yet.
âThereâs a⊠a threat lurking over our heads,â Daeron whispered in a voice harsh from exhaustion. He drew his finger over your form covered only by a thin sheet.
He was on his side, resting on his shoulder, and looked down, like he expected to see fear on your face. He was ready to pull you closer and kiss the tears away when you demanded he explain.
But you just smiled.
âThreat, which one?â
âThe succession. What ifâŠâ
He was suddenly conscious of what he wanted to say. Or more of the fact that he didnât know what he truly meant. The desire to escape from duty? That he was afraid to ever be turned into a ruler, bad one?
âAw, husband. Do you wish anything bad upon your cousins? Valarr and Matarys? Do you imagine them gone, so the crown might be passed from your father to you?â
He knew you were teasing him, but he almost groaned from dread.
âGods, no. That is the last thing I want.â
âThen why worry?â
He didnât know. Sometimes he just wanted to lose himself in the idea of running away with you, finding a place somewhere in the free citiesâŠ
One day you would have that conversation; you both knew it, and you both knew what the answer would be. The comforts of the court were unmatched⊠but perhaps if something particularly terrible were to meet youâ
âYou will be a queen one day,â Daeron said suddenly, sounding like the words caused him pain.
âWhat?â
He stroked your hair softly when you moved up confused.
âI saw it in my dream. Mourning black and a heavy crown. You, a consort.â
Your breath hitched up, and your lips trembled when you forced yourself to smile at him.
âThen you will be a king. At least we will be togetherââ
He returned the smile weakly, but the grief on his face wasnât so well hidden. In truth, he didnât even try anymore.
âI donât think so. Maybe they'll wed you to Valarr after my death.â
He said the name of his cousin like he was a rogue, already the scoundrel who stole his wife.
Yet you pulled him out of this venomous thought by running your fingers over the stubble on his face.
âThen you shall know that I will miss you forever. Until my last breathâŠâ you promised. âBut for now, since the sky is not falling on our heads and the ground doesnât swallow us, neither do the seas⊠Well, let's cherish it, hm? Whatever might come, it can wait.â
âIt can,â he agreed, shifting closer to you. âIt must, at least for tonight.â
a/n: call me Dostoyevsky, i focused so much on the life of peasants lmao
this is my first try at writing smut so have mercy if it's total shit
