#PoC representation

[p0rk-guts]

Kinda sick and tired of black characters and other characters of color being made to look like white people with a skin tint. Give POC dark eyes!!!! Give them ethnic features!!!! Give them dark hair!!!!! GIVE THEM HAIR TEXTURE!!!!!! I promise you it's not that scary

[random-doctor-on-the-internet]

I'm french and like many people here, watched the ceremony out of pure spite. Was I surprised? No. Fucking annihilated.

It had EVERYTHING:

- Random kids carrying the flame

- Gays.

- French cancan't

- Furries

- Lady Gaga???

- Craftspeople and public workers

- Bloodshed, cannons and a metal band

- Masked genderless silhouette parkouring their way through the whole mess

- More gays

- Polyamory

- Non-binary dancers and actors

- POC dancers and actors

- Disabled dancers and actors

- Whatever the fuck was going on with those poles

- Lesbian kiss?

- France's most hated rapper singing a song written entirely in slang in front of THE FUCKING INSTITUTE DEDICATED TO THE FRENCH LANGUAGE?

- Her being accompanied by the National Guard orchestra.

- Gays. SO MANY gays.

- MINIONS???

- Hundreds of top quality instruments getting fucked up by the rain.

- Drag queens, opera dancers, fashion designers and...oh, yeah, Alsace.

- National icon Philippe Katherine but make it blue

- 100 years long horse ride

- Damn that armor's looking fine

- Giant balloon ascending to the sky and...just fucking staying there cause they had nowhere to put it

-Did I tell you about the gays?

Holy fuck.

I'm flabbergasted. I'm bamboozled. I'm lying dead on the ground, holding my last breath.

I mean yes, it was funny. Yes, it was strange. Yes, it gave France a super weird reputation.

BUT DO YOU REALISE THAT THE DESIGN COMMITTEE JUST SAW THE RISE OF OUR EXTREME CONSERVATIVE PARTY AND DECIDED TO THROW A MASSIVE "FUCK YOU" AT THEM???

I think I'm in love. Call me french in training.

[blushingamethyst]

Hot Take:

If you’re the type of person who complains about poc writers only writing for poc readers you’re weird.

Like I get it, you go to a new fandom wanting fics and can’t find ones that represent you, but that doesn’t mean you get to bother these lovely people. Fan fiction is free, don’t be a choosy beggar.

For the longest time fan fics have been, for the most part, written for skinny white women. And personally I see the expansion of readers to be a wonderful addition to the community as a whole.

Being able to make the fics that represent you is really fun.

But I really hate to see people complaining about specific reader types. Especially poc readers.

And this is coming from someone who is white. For me I’ve always struggled with fics because I’m not thin, so seeing all the wonderful chubby/fat reader fics makes me so happy. And I’d imagine it can feel the same for those who aren’t white, finally getting the wonderful fanfic they deserve.

Some people need to realize that not everything has to be catered to them.

Let poc writers have their fun and just scroll by if it’s not for you.

[writingwithcolor]

I’m afraid my character has stereotypical traits. How do I avoid making them a caricature?

Is your character composed of several stereotypical traits, or is it just the one? Are they allowed to act and think in ways that are not confined to stereotypes? The more three-dimensional your character is, the less they are defined by the stereotypes.

One strategy that works in some cases is the “offset” character. This refers to weakening character A’s stereotype by including a character B of the same identity who isn’t stereotypical in that way. Say you have a selfless, “motherly” Black woman who looks after the cast. In addition to developing her own arc and her own desires, try adding a Black woman character with 0 maternal instinct who goes full steam ahead with her goals.

Trace your logic as to why you decided to give certain traits to a character of a certain identity. Our aptly named #trace your logic tag contains examples where we prompt the asker to interrogate their intentions behind certain ideas. Try to ask yourself the same questions.

Further reading:

Tropes and Stereotypes

Stereotyped vs Nuanced Characters and Audience Perception

---

This Q&A is an excerpt from our General FAQ for Newcomers, which can be found in our new Masterpost of rules and FAQs. For more advice on writing with diversity, start there!

-Writing With Color

[witha-boxofscraps]

Quick reminder for those who seem to be forgetting because I’ve seen a concerning amount of fan casts for Louella McCoy…LOUELLA IS POC. SHE IS A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD PERSON OF COLOUR. THE CHILD THEY USE TO REPLACE HER IS FROM DISTRICT 11- A PREDOMINANTLY BLACK DISTRICT. THE CAPITOL DO NOT SEE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TWO LITTLE BLACK GIRLS AND THAT IS THE SOCIAL COMMENTARY. I understand Haymitch’s appearance being up for debate as the movie casting differs largely from the book description BUT DO NOT TAKE THIS AWAY FROM LOUELLA (and Lou Lou of course).

[sweetbananachips]

just posting this bc as tired as I am fucking talking about this and continuously seeing people refuse to understand the perspective of POC on meljay, i still want to share it.

because it’s important to me that this interracial couple (that isn’t just POC x white for once) actually exists and has so much to it, with two characters who are mischaracterized to hell and back and are so overhated (especially regarding their relationship/dynamic with a white character)

this has honestly been the most exhausting hyperfixation i’ve ever had. the misogyny and racism surrounding them is just so blatant — even trying to curate my fandom experience barely works bc people will infiltrate mel/meljay fan spaces to express their distaste for them

i genuinely cannot wait for when my brain lets go of Arcane and i can laugh off how fucking intolerable this fandom was

[ashblooddragons]

My Tears Ricochet

This was requested by @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored I know it isn't exactly what you asked for but I hope you like it none the less

Summary: You and Daemon are in a failing marriage, whispers follow you everywhere you go. Whispers that speak of his infidelity. And when you confront him of these rumors will it end everything or will it bring you back together.

Word Count: 2461

Warnings: inner turmoil, rumors of Daemon cheating (though he never did), argument, marital problems, angst, tell me if I missed anything

My nails dig into my palms as whispers and glances are thrown my way. 

It started when my husband and I, the Prince Daemon, got into our first quarrel that led us down this road. 

It was over something so small, well at least in his eyes. He had spilled wine on my dress with no idea how expensive it was. 

The silks had been made by the finest fabric maker in Myr, and that alone made the dress absurdly expensive, and then on top of that, it was a gorgeous light purple with diamonds, sapphires, and pearls sewn into the bodice and the embroidery was pure gold thread. 

I could have forgiven him, it was a mistake and everyone makes those. But when my dear, dear husband laughed at the irreversible stain, I saw red. And on top of all this, the dress had been a gift from my Father for my nameday. So to hear my husband laugh at such a mistake, and then roll his eyes when I explained my frustration, I was less than pleased. 

But I should have known that was only the beginning. That the dress was only the beginning of the end. 

I should have known that instead of trying to work on our marriage, he would instead decide to warm the bed of his niece. Nor should I be surprised she would let him, for if she can birth two bastards and claim them to be my brothers, then why wouldn't she let another man other than her Strong join her? 

I can handle the glances, the whispers, but when I see people start laughing under their breath is when I've had enough. I pick up the skirt of my dress and rush up the stairs towards my shared chambers with Daemon. Not fast enough for the court to have their laughs and know they hurt me, but also not slow enough not to make a point. 

When I enter our chambers I find it the way it's been for at least a moon. The bed is only slightly used on the left side, and the blue velvet settee with a thin quilt and two plush pillows. I know that even though he sleeps here at night he still has plenty of time to visit a whore or his darling niece. 

“My Lady.” I hear my son's Nursemaid say as she gives a clumsy bow as she holds my little boy. 

“Hello Dahlia.” I say to the mousy girl. Her hair is a dull red almost seeming brown in certain lights. Her face is pudgy with freckles spotting all over her face and arms. But what makes her stand out is her eyes, the most beautiful sage green. You could almost smell the scent of bark and foliage when you look at them. 

“The little Prince has just finished his feed if you wish to hold him?” She asks when Daelor starts to whimper and squirm in her arms. 

Always a Mama's boy. I think, taking my son into my arms. 

He is such a sweet little thing, only six moons old and yet already knows who his favorite is. Though I have heard that Targaryen boys tend to prefer their Mothers. 

I take in his sweet cherubic cheeks that have a slight rosy tint to them. His soft silver curls that are untameable though I would never want to. But most of all his eyes, a soft periwinkle that matches my own. Everything about his coloring from skin, hair, and eyes shows that he is mine. But his features are of his Father's. From the strong straight nose, to his brow that always seems like he's ready to scold you. It is clear he is mine and my husband's son. Not even Rhaenyra can try and deny that. And she has only to try and protect her sons. 

I hear the faint creak of the door open followed by the soft steps of Dahlia leaving me so I may spend time with my little boy. 

“Nine moons you were in me, and yet you are practically a clone of your Father.” I jest as he moves to touch my hair.

I figured out quickly why most mothers have their hair pulled up tight and out of their babes reach, for though they are small they have grips that rival the greatest and strongest knights.

He starts babbling, looking around the room and pointing at things. It almost seems like he's telling me about his day.

“Oh, well that all sounds wonderful.” I say to which he nods, resting his head against my chest. 

“What sounds wonderful?” I hear from behind me. There is no denying who the voice belongs to. The deepness missed with amusement only matches one man. 

My husband. 

“Our son was just telling me about his day, that is all.” I respond, turning around watching as he undoes his jerkin sliding it off so only the rich red undershirt is left. 

He gives me a strange look before looking at our son and a joyful smile plasters itself on his lips. 

“I do not think that is true, my wife, the boy can't even say Mama or Papa.” He jests but his words sting. 

He never called me ‘Wife' until two moons ago when everything started falling apart. There wasn't a night where we didn't have a screaming match only for it to end in cold silence as the other slept across the room. 

I wish I could say that's when the whispers of him visiting brothels or his niece started, it would make more sense. But sadly it isn't, two moons, it was two moons after our son was born when they started. And that's when the whispers started who knows when he truly started warming others beds. I always knew my husband had a high appetite, I myself was his meal of choice, but I never thought he would be so cruel as to find others so soon after our son's birth. That he couldn't wait a couple moons for me to heal. 

Though I suppose I should've known. Everyone warned me, even ladies I had never spoken to had said he would only pump a babe into me and then find another. I didn't believe them, and when his desire for me only grew as my belly swelled I knew they were wrong. But that joy soon came crashing down like a freezing bucket of ice water.

I'm brought back to the present when I feel a tug on my arm. I turn to see my Husband reaching for our son taking him from my arms. I know he is only being a father but I can't help the rage that fills my belly. He's embarrassed me after Daelor's birth, and yet he has the audacity to take him from me? I was the one who screamed and bled for a day and a half, I was the one who was ripped apart to bring the son he so desired only for him to rip my heart from my chest and stomp on it. 

All the pretty words, all the words of adoration, all the ‘I love you's’. I should have known, why didn't I know? 

“Where were you? I went to the training yard but you weren't there, was that not where you told me you would be at this hour?” I ask with such venom I see him almost flinch. 

“I was, though I had to cut my training short, I was needed in the city.” He responds with a nonchalant shrug before setting our son down on the floor by his toys. 

Now he won't even try to deny his visits to the brothel? Is this truly what has become of our marriage? I think as a silent tear rolls down my cheek. Though he would never know of it for his attention is on our son and not me, never me. 

“Of course.” I whisper before moving towards our, no, my bed and picking up my book from the side table. 

I can feel him staring at me, feel the way he assesses me. But I don't react, I refuse to. But his words are what makes me finally look at him in shock. 

“I don't know when things changed, or why, but I want to work on us. Why won't you let me?” 

I look down at my heralds for a moment, I need to decide if now is the time to confront him on his affairs. When I look up at him again, seeing the confusion and hurt across his face I know I must. 

“You act as if you didn't do this, as if you didn't run off to your niece or some whore. How long did it take you? A week mayhaps the very day our son was born.” I demand as tears threaten to fall but I refuse to let him know how much he's hurt me, how many tears I have shed because of him. 

He doesn't say anything, only picks up our son and opens the door whispering to the guard and then waits. I know what he's doing, he's calling for Dahlia, Daelor doesn't need to hear our screaming matches. 

It feels like only seconds but at the same time millennia until Dahlia has Daelor and walks away towards the gardens. 

Tis the farthest place from our chambers, he shouldn't hear us from there. 

I watch as Daemon shuts the door with a soft click. He doesn't turn to look at me, only looking at his hands with utter defeat. 

This is it, the moment our marriage will finally break completely. No more sweet words or soft touches, no more vows of devotion or I love you. The bridge will finally crash and burn into nothing but soot. I think as he finally turns to look at me. 

“And who had put such rumors in your head? Why would I go to a brothel? Why would I visit my niece? You know how I hate what she has done to the Targaryen name and yet you think I will follow her into bed? Do you truly think I have no restraint?” He asks, pain filling each word, as more tears begin to rim his eyes. 

I stand from my spot on the bed moving towards him. “Do not play me for a fool, Daemon! Everyone knows, they whisper it with each step I take. I can't leave these chambers without lords and ladies laughing and whispering behind my back. So do not play the victim, you have even admitted to going to a brothel! And your Niece has made sly comments here and there of how--how you will not desire me anymore.” I scream tears rolling down my cheeks. There is no hiding my pain anymore. I have bottled this up for too long, six moons is too long to hold this burden. 

He only stares at me before a curse leaves his lips. “I don't know what Rhaenyra has said to you, or the court but it is a lie. And when did I ever admit to going to a brothel?” He demands stepping closer. One more step from either of us and our chests would meet. 

“You said you went into the city, why not tell me? The only clear answer is you are hiding something.” I all but sob out, I know I must look like a hysterical mess right now but I can't find any reason to care. 

He freezes seeing all my hurt, every stab to the heart now open for him to pick apart and destroy me more. 

He sighs and looks down at his jerkin and I already know what is going to happen. He will slip it back on and leave to clear his head only to come back smelling of soot and wine. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you, I was trying to do something nice.” He says picking up his jerkin but instead of putting it on he reaches into one of the pockets pulling out a small box and something with a chain. 

“I thought– I thought maybe I could show I cared if my words didn't. You hardly let me touch you now, I can't speak without you becoming quiet and withdrawn. So I thought A gift might help mend things. But I see now it only fueled your mistrust.” He says as he clutches the gifts so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

I think about his words over in my mind, trying to find when it all changed for us. We used to be so perfect, we used to be inseparable. There were many at court who were jealous of the devotion my husband showed me. So when did we fall apart? 

I step forward taking his hand in mine before gently opening his hand. Inside is a gorgeous necklace, diamonds encrust each and every part but what holds my attention are the two dragons. One made of ruby and the other made of sapphire. 

Our mounts, Caraxes and Nightfyre. I think with a smile as I touch the intricately carved stones. 

“It's lovely Daemon, I love it.” I say looking up at him. I can see a faint smile Grace his lips before he opens the little box. 

Inside are matching earrings, a diamond on top and then our mounts made of stone warped around each other. Just like the necklace. 

“They are both lovely gifts.” I say tears slowly rolling down my face instead of the fast sobs. 

“I want to work on us, I want us to be together again. Not just in a room, but in our hearts. And if that means leaving the Red Keep, leaving my brother and family behind. I will, because I would rather have you and our little family than any of this.” He says, wiping my tears. 

I see now that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that maybe, just maybe we can be us again. That we can be in love once more. 

So all I can do is nod, as I hug him for what feels like the first time in ages. And he hugs me back. 

I know it's going to be a long road ahead, but now I feel like I'm not alone anymore.

“You still have a lot of explaining to do. And so do I, I suppose.” I say into his chest. 

I feel his chest rumble with laughter as he strokes my hair. “Then it's a good thing we have all the time in the world.” He responds and for some reason, at this moment, I've never felt more loved.

TAGLIST: @sugutoad @ilikefelines @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @athzhowakar @baybaybear1 @themoonlitquill @thelastemzy

[sunnylovesgirlythings]

POV: you’re a blatantly and unambiguously Black coded character that the worst people alive will die on the hill is white/“raceless” because apparently liking a character not intended to be read as white is a fate worse than death to them.

[karma-uh]

I wish Mark Grayson had more Asian-american elements. We see slight hints of it in the house, and the features of his mom, but it really is all washed out by. Uh. Yknow.

I'm aware the major fuckin' theme of this show is fascism, and Mark is a direct product and victim of it, but man. I just want to see. Fuck. More evidence of what was oppressed, evidence of something else that makes him human.

I know we're supposed to contribute so much of his being to being a Viltrumite, but he's still half human, no matter how dominant Nolan's genes. Man. I'd be more content if he even just looked more like Debbie.

Someone could write fics about this. Pspspsps.

[aromantic-fae-witch]

I made this blog to yap about whatever and post about beautiful aesthetics. But now this is just an aromantic asexual blog lol. Because I'm so happy with realizing I'm aromantic!! It feels so good dude. It feels so right and so liberating

[mangaloversolar2000]

The Owl House vs. Amphibia: BIPOC Representation as a POC Viewer

Okay so I’ve been sitting with this for a while, and as a POC myself, I really want to talk about how The Owl House and Amphibia approached BIPOC representation—because honestly? Amphibia did it way better.

Let’s start with The Owl House. Luz is a Dominican-American girl, right? But it really felt like her cultural identity was just there. Like, surface-level (not saying this is a bad thing but I wish her background was explored more). She’s brown-coded, yeah, but the show barely explores what that means for her. There’s a few references (her mom, her name, the occasional food mention), but it never felt like her heritage shaped who she was or how she saw the world. Luz could’ve been literally any background and the plot wouldn’t change. That’s a little disappointing for a POC main character—it feels like the representation was more of a checkbox than something fully integrated into her story.

Now contrast that with Amphibia. Anne is Thai-American, and it shows. Her culture is part of her character in a natural and loving way. We see her family, we see Thai food, the language, traditions, even a whole episode set in a Thai temple in LA. Her identity isn’t just an aesthetic, it matters to who she is and how she moves through both Earth and Amphibia. It’s never forced, it just is. THAT’S representation.

And I’m not saying Luz isn’t important representation—she is. But as someone who’s always hungry for deeper, more authentic stories about people like me, Anne’s journey just hit so much harder. She felt real. Luz, while a fun and quirky protagonist, just didn’t have that same level of depth when it came to her identity as a young woman of color.

Compared to Anne’s cultural depth, Luz often felt more like a character with BIPOC aesthetics rather than fully realized representation. It wasn’t entirely absent, but for a groundbreaking show with an openly queer Latina lead, the lack of a deep cultural presence was a missed opportunity. The Owl House did incredible work with LGBTQ+ representation, but imagine if Luz’s Dominican identity was explored with the same level of care that her queerness was. That would’ve been everything.

Anne’s story wasn’t about being Thai, but her Thai identity was always present. Luz’s story, however, didn’t integrate her Dominican identity as naturally—it felt more like a label rather than a lived experience. That’s why Anne’s representation felt more effective (to me at least); it was simply part of her, without having to be a grand statement.

Anyway, this isn’t about tearing down one show or putting the creators on blast. Both shows did so much for queer and BIPOC kids in animation. But I do think it’s okay to want more.

Would love to hear what others think.

[predictablesloth]

❗️The Election & Representation in Film❗️

Aka we're about to loose all our queer rep.

-> Before November 6, after the Agatha All Along finale, I told my friend that no matter my opinion on the last episode, I was taking it as a win, because the Agatha/Rio kiss could be the last sapphic, live action kiss to air on television.

-> Because the far right politicians who will soon control our government approve book bans in their respective states, there's every reason to suspect that they'll try to pass bans on the gay ass content Hollywood puts out.

-> If you can, get cds or dvds (or torrents, ends justify the means) of your favorite queer, feminist, and generally social justice-oriented digital media, such as music, movies, and tv shows. Documentaries and children's programs especially.

-> If you have the means to, purchase them directly from the source to show monetary interest.

-> If you want that renewal, that next season, to see a ship get together finally, or just to not get brainwashed by white supremacists, then join in the fight.

-> Otherwise, it won't just be homophobic executives blocking projects, the law will be too.

[pastel-kaleesh]

Here with another Vivziepop critique post with something that has bothered people for a while: skin tones!!

Disclaimer: I am not counting characters designed by Viv's POC employees, just the woman herself.

All of the skin tones here were snatched from official media, no fanart, no edits, for both HellaVerse and DB. I know that from the 80s to early 90s, DB gave Black characters donut lips, until the late 90s, where we got some better, non-offensive designs. All of the DB skin tones were snatched from the non-donut lip characters. I really love how none of the skin tones from DB are the same! And the fact that they are colors of actual skin tones makes it better!!! The 13th one is the one that is like mine. Can you see if any match yours?

Here are some of my favorite examples of skin diversity in DB:

Look at this!!! ☝🏽

Thank you for listening to my tedtalk, until next time.

[writingwithcolor]

WritingWithColor FAQ: How do I start writing a character of color?

First, be mindful that no race, culture, or ethnicity makes one inherently predisposed to certain emotions or personalities, despite what stereotypes or TTRPGs may suggest. We are all humans who share the same range of emotions and ways of thinking, even if we have different values.

Understand that there is no single template for a good [race, ethnicity] character. A person’s social, economic, and geographical background influences their life and values just as much as their race, culture, or religion. Consider: a Black American boy who grew up in a California mansion versus a Black American boy who grew up on an Illinois cornfield versus a Black boy who grew up in an apartment one city over. All three will have very different privileges, disadvantages, and outlooks on life.

Further reading (WWC x NaNoWriMo):

The Do’s of Writing PoC

Properly Coded: Creating Characters of Color

3 Ways to Show a Character's Culture

---

This Q&A is an excerpt from our General FAQ for Newcomers, which can be found in our new Masterpost of rules and FAQs. For more general resources on POC representation, check it out!

-Writing With Color

[brainonthebox]

These people gotta accept that sometimes writers just suck at writing.

[ashblooddragons]

Better Me For You

This request was made by an Anon

Summary: When Daemon decided to stay in Pentos he never expected to find live again. He only wanted to make his girls happy. But in the end he figures put how to do both.

Word Count: 5873

Warnings: Daemon being Daemon, pretty much pure fluff, slight angst but only at the beginning, memories of past loved ones, tell me if I missed anything

Driftmark 

Daemons pov

I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling thinking of all my mistakes. I mean Seven hells I fucked Rhaenyra on the beach the night of Laena’s funeral. And it was disappointing to say the least. 

It wasn't anything like I built it up in my head. It was the exact opposite. Seems having three sons by that giant of a man stretched her more than I thought it would. 

I stretch my arms out before resting them behind my head. The sound of waves crashing the shore reminds me where Laena is. That she's gone and all I could think about the night of her funeral was where I could put my cock the quickest. 

I truly am a monster of a man. I think with a long sigh. 

But just as I decide to turn on my side to let sleep take me does a quiet knock come to my door. 

“Kepa, can we stay with you?” I hear the tearful voice of Baela ask. 

I climb out of bed and walk towards the door. I hear their sniffles, more than likely a mix of their Mother’s death and the events of tonight. And when I open my door I'm greeted by my two little girls, my whole damn world and they have tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes as they cling to each other for dear life. 

“Come here.” I say holding my arms open for them. And without a thought they run towards me jumping into my arms. 

I start walking towards my bed kicking the door shut before dropping them on the bed and a little giggle falls from both their lips. But that only lasts all but a second before their solem looks return. 

I climb into bed, them both curling up beside me as if trying to have some semblance of their life before Laena’s death. 

“We want to say sorry to Prince Aemond. But I don't think he'll accept it.” Rhaena says before wiping her runny nose. 

“He probably won't, but it will help him in the long run.” I say knowing my girls didn't truly take part in maiming the boy. But they did start the argument and they feel awful that their grief disabled someone even if it was someone they don't know. 

“I just wanted a chance to claim Vhagar.” Rhaena sobs and I feel her hot tears against my chest. 

I stroke her locks and kiss her brow in hopes of calming the storm that has overtaken her little heart.

Always so sensitive to others emotions, so much like your Mother. I think with a sad smile knowing that it is a blessing and a curse for her. 

“I didn't expect Jace to pull the knife. I wanted to stop him, Kepa, I swear, but I was so scared he would turn it on me or Rhaena.” Baela says her own tears rolling down her cherub cheeks. 

Always the protector, so much like me. I think as I whisper how it wasn't their fault. That they didnt do anything wrong. But I know they won't care for my words. The guilt is too large and the grief too crushing. 

“I want to go home.” I hear Baela say next and I can't help but frown. 

“We are home, Westeros is our home.” I say a bit too sternly if their tensed shoulders are any indicator. 

“Westeros is your home. We don't know this place, we don't know these people.” Rhaena says and I can't help but agree. 

They have never met these people who mourn their Mother, never met these children that try and play with them and be friends. They have no ties here. 

And neither do I, not anymore. I think as my choice of my girls future starts to solidify. 

“Let me think on it, many people wish for us to stay. I don't wish to anger them, but I also don't want to tear your worlds apart more than the gods already have.” 

I feel them nod their heads and within a couple minutes I hear their soft snores fill the room. 

Unsurprisingly the next morning my brother wants to talk. 

“Have you thought about my proposal?” 

I don't respond, only look him up and down taking in his hobbled and run down state. 

There is truly nothing they can do, they can only make him comfortable. I think before clearing my throat. 

“I have, and I'm afraid I must decline. Though I miss home, I can't destroy my girl's lives more than the gods have.” 

He stops almost seeming caught off guard before a smile takes over his face. 

“I understand, please do come visit though. Perhaps even let Rhaena find another dragon egg or attempt to claim a beast.” 

All I do is nod before turning to look at my girls who to anyone else would seem to be talking to the young Prince Aemond. But I know what they are doing, they are apologizing with every fiber of their being in hopes of at least attempting to right their wrongs. 

“Mayhaps a betrothal is in our future. One of your girls with one of my sons?” Viserys suggested playfully nudging me with his elbow. 

“The only way I would agree is if one of my girls would be Queen.” I say turning to him and I see the way his eyes shine with understanding.

“The Prince Jace isn't yet betrothed.” He says but I scoff, turning on my heels to watch the waves my late wife used to call home one last time. 

I look down at the sea thinking of all the stories Laena told me of her childhood.

"When I was a little girl I loved collecting seashells by the shore. The waves lapping at my feet, the smell of salt filling my lungs, the sound of clanking from my little wicker basket from all the shells I had collected so far. It was my perfect day, I once asked my Father to let me do that for my Nameday. He let me, for a little bit before the feasts took place.” She says her fingers intertwined with mine as her head lays on my chest, wild curls even more rustled from a vigorous lay. 

“I was hoping to speak with you Uncle.” I hear Rhaenyra say from behind me. Her voice is set in that sultry whisper and hum that she used last night. I can't help the smirk of amusement that rises to my lips. 

It hardly worked last night, it most definitely won't work this morning. I think before schooling my face into cold indifference when she comes to stand next to me. 

She stares at me waiting for me to speak, but I won't. I have nothing to say to her, not anymore. 

“Laenor will be useless now that his sister is gone. Though he was before that as well.” She starts searching for any reaction but I know she will find none. “I need a husband who will defend me against the Greens. One that will be as fearsome as I.” 

I can't help but chuckle and from the smile she gives me I know she thinks I'm laughing at Laenor and not at the thought of her ever being fearsome. 

“And what does this have to do with me?” I ask but I already know, Rhaenyra never was good at being discreet whether with her actions or words. 

“Let us wed in the tradition of our house. Like Aegon the conqueror and his sister-wives.” 

I try to see if there is any jest in her tone but from her stern face I know she is being serious. And I can't help but laugh. 

“What? What is so funny?” She demands in that tone she always had had she doesn't get her way. 

Gods, she has three sons and yet still acts like a spoiled three year old. No wonder they thought an insult was reason enough to take another eye.  I think as I wipe a few stray tears. 

“No.” Is all I say and by her bewildered face I can tell she will want more. 

“What do you mean no?” 

I snicker before facing her fully with an amused grin. 

“No, I will not marry you. Because I do not want to. We fucked, Rhaenyra, nothing more nothing less. And if I'm honest, if you didn't throw yourself at me I probably would've just gone to a brothel.” 

I watch as her face turns red in fury. The way her hands clenched into fists until her knuckles are white. But I don't stop smirking at her in the most condescending way I can. 

“I thought you wanted me.” She hisses out tears rimming her eyes but not from heartache, pain, betrayal, or even sadness. These tears are pure rage. 

“I did, key word being did.” I say before saying the words that will bring the nail in the coffin. “I'm going back to Pentos. Don't come and visit, my girls are already afraid of your boys. I don't need your hellions invading the only place they've ever felt safe.” 

And with that I walk over to my girls who wait for me in their riding leathers. 

“Will Caraxes be able to fit all of us?” Rhaena asks concerned but not because she fears being cramped, but because she worries we will all be too heavy for the beast. 

“Yes, just because he isn't as large as Vhagar doesn't mean he can't handle me and two little rug rats for girls.” I say pretending to growl which makes them laugh.

And I can't help the heart ache at hearing it. They haven't let themselves laugh, truly laugh since their Mother passed. So hearing it now, it means all the world. 

“Alright, say goodbye to your grandparents. And don't worry they will visit soon, in a moon's turn I believe.” I say eyeing Lord Corlys and my raven haired cousin Rhaenys. 

“Yes, and I plan on bringing Meleys, perhaps you can fly with me and your Father. Perhaps a race?” 

I watch as their eyes sparkle with pure joy, and a soft, kind, even genuine smile rises to my lips. 

Pentos 

Your pov

I walk through the market eyeing the produce for dinner tonight. I may be a Lord's daughter but my Mother was low born. She had to cook for herself and she instilled this craft in me from a young age. 

“We may have wealth now, but it could all crumble away. And I will not have my little girl be helpless in a world where men thrive off of suffering.” She always says. 

I remember the first thing I cooked, or I should say baked. A blueberry pie, I was three Namedays old and all I wanted was a blueberry pie. So my Mother got the ingredients and had me and my Father in the kitchen with her as we baked them. My Father always messed his up, one was burned to the point there was no jam or sauce, and another was so raw the blueberries were still cold. Though he swears he had them in for the same amount of time. 

But Mother stood next to me, helping me mix the crust, her hands over mine as she helped push into the dough. She then helped me make the filling. Then we poured the blueberries into a warm post with a bit of lemon juice and water. And once everything was done and baked she pulled it and it was perfect. 

I remember thinking it was the best Nameday ever. And ever since we have always baked desserts as a family for my Nameday. And today will be no different, especially since I am now a woman grown. A woman of ten and eight ready to find a husband, is what I know my Father would say. 

“May I have a dozen red apples?” I ask the merchant who quickly nods before choosing the best options. 

I turn around looking at the other stalls deciding which to go to next. 

“I need cinnamon, maple syrup, and lemons.” I whisper to myself when excited chatter catches my attention. 

“Come on Rhaena, the sweets are this way!” I see a little girl with wild curls, soft brown skin, and violet eyes say to another girl who has many long and thin braids through her hair, the same skin tone, and instead of violet eyes she has a soft periwinkle almost pink. 

“I'm coming Baela! I just want to make sure Kepa can see us.” The other girl I assume is named Rhaena says as she picks up the skirt of her baby pink dress as she runs after her sister. 

I can't help but smile at their antics. I always wished for a younger sister but alas I am an only child. My parents didn't go into it much but from what I understand my Mother almost died birthing me, it was such a tragic birth the Maesters said she could never have more children. Now she drinks Moontea once a week. 

“Here you are, My Lady.” The merchant says holding out my crocheted bag now filled with apples. 

“Thank you, sir.” I say as I pay him before putting the bag into my large wicker basket. 

I then turn to watch the two girls buy their sweets, but instead of a smile coming to my face a look of horror does. I watch as a group of men eye the girls before looking back and forth to make sure no one is watching them. I start to move closer to the girls before I practically go into a sprint when I watch one start to move towards them. 

By some miracle I get to the girls before he does and I touch their shoulders saying. “There you two are, how are my favorite girls. Let's go find your Father, hmm?” 

The girls look up at me confused so I bend down to whisper in their ears. 

“There is a group of men behind me, they are from slavers bay. I swear I will jot leave your side until we find your parents.” 

They both look at each other wide eyed before looking behind me and I watch as fear takes over their faces when they see the group of men. 

“Alright, I was hoping to see Father anyways.” The one called Baela says as she holds my hand and makes sure Rhaena takes my other one. 

We quickly turn and start walking away from the men. I whisper to the girls not to look behind them. And thank the gods they listen. 

“What does your Father look like, or perhaps your Mother.” I say looking around for anyone who looks like them. 

“Muna's dead, the baby killed her.” Rhaena says with a sad look and I can't help the guilt that rises in me at opening an already painful wound.

“I'm terribly sorry.” I say as I run my hands down their heads as I look around for any man who seems to be searching for his children. 

“Kepa has light skin, it's not like ours or yours. It's almost like milk. His hair is silver, and his eyes are the color of lilacs.” Baela says as she searches for their Father as well. 

I nod my head remembering my Valyrian studies from when my Father was making trades with Volantis. He wanted at least one person in the house to sort of understand the language. 

“Then I suggest we look for a man who is pretty much the embodiment of the color white.” I say which makes them giggle. 

But just as quickly as I say my jest does a man call out for the girls names. 

“Baela! Rhaena!” I hear, someone can tell the man is in pure panic if only from his voice alone. 

Kepa!” The girls call out and within seconds a man matching their description pushes through two merchants and stares down at the girls. 

“I thought I told you to stay where I could see you.” He chastises as he kneels down and holds them close in a bone crushing hug. 

“We're sorry.” Rhaena says in a tearful voice. 

I can already tell she is a girl who feels her emotions and isn't ashamed of it. 

A good trait to have. I think with a smile. 

“This nice lady saved us. Bad men tried to steal us.” Baela says looking up at me. 

“Bad men? What?” The man asks as he stands up and eyes me. 

“Five men from slavers bay, I barely got to the girls in time.” I say as I eye the man. 

They never said he would be so attractive. I think fighting a blush that demands to rise to my cheeks. 

He has long white hair that reaches just past his shoulders. His eyes are the shade of lilacs so much so I swear the scent fills the market square. But what stands out is his strong build. His arms are strong yet lean, his chest clearly has been sculpted by the finest artists for I just know once he takes off his clothes it will be like looking at a god made flesh. 

But I quickly snap myself out of it when I see him smirk and hold his hand out in greeting. 

“Thank you, my lady, not many would look put for two rugrats like these two.” He says and I can't help but smile when the girls make noises of offense. 

“It is no problem. I know I would want someone to do it for me.” I say taking his hand in mine and I can't help but gasp at the Shockwave that goes through me. And from the way his eyes widened he felt it too. 

“Well I wish I could repay you, so name your price.” He says looking around the booths. 

I think for a moment before looking at the little girls who stare up at me as if I hold the moon and the stars in the palm of my hands. And I quickly know what I want in return for helping the girls. 

“Though I don't need anything for saving these sweet girls. I will ask that you join me tonight. Today is my nameday, I turn eight and ten. There will be a small feast and I would be overjoyed for you three to join.” I say and I already can tell they will be coming from how the girls gasp and turn around to beg their Father to say yes. 

“Alright, alright, calm yourselves.” He says to the girls who grin up at him with victorious gleams in their eyes. “We would love to.” He says with a smile. 

“Good, I'll give you the address, but I will need your names for the guest list.” I say eyeing the man hoping he doesn't have some horrible name like Earl. 

“Daemon, Daemon Targaryen.” He says and I freeze when I heat his name. 

Well at least it's a good name, but it's owned by a very feared man. I think before nodding. 

“Which makes you two, Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.”  I smile when they both quickly nod their heads with such enthusiasm I swear they may snap. 

“Well I will see you tonight then.” I say turning and leaving to try and remember what exactly I came to the market for. 

I stand in front of my mirror. I don't think I've ever spent more time choosing a dress. In the end I chose a darling blue dress that has some silver embroidery. 

“I've never seen you so meticulous about a dress before.” I hear my Mother say from behind me. 

I turn to see her in all her stunning glory. Deep tan skin that is more like honey in color than my Father's olive tone. Her hair is loose dark brown curls that cascade down her back. And her eyes are that of emerald green.

When people hear my mother was a low born comman girl they are always shocked. Because for some reason the only beauties of the world can be of noble blood. 

“I invited someone, someone important. And I want to make a good impression.” I say as I look down at the two necklaces I'm stuck on. 

One is a pearl choker with a deep amethyst in the middle. And the other is a gold necklace with sapphires engraved into it. Both are lovely, but neither will impress a Prince. 

“I say the choker, it compliments your eyes best.” My Mother says as she reaches for it and gestures for me to lift my hair for her. “Who did you invite that could be so important?” She asks as she gently clips the necklace before stepping back to see her handy work. 

“Daemon, his name is Daemon Targaryen.” I say and I hear the gasp that leaves her lips. 

“And you only thought of telling me this now? Gods, I still have flour on me.” She scolds as she starts wiping at her face furiously. 

I can't help but smile at her antics. 

“You look perfect, Mother. Stop worrying.” 

She sighs at my words and holds my hands in hers with a smile etched into her face. 

“Well then we best get down there, don't want to leave a Prince waiting.” 

I can't help but laugh at her obvious jab. 

Maybe I should've said something sooner. I shouldn't have let my nerves get the best of me. I think as we walk down our winding staircase. 

I hear the chatter of men and the clank of wine glasses hitting another. I can already tell most of Father's friends have come. 

“Remember to smile, I know some are obnoxious but we need to make a good face.” Mother says before taking my hand and entering the ballroom. 

I force a smile on my lips as we pass some of the more…unsavory men in my Father's group. I see the way they look at me, with intent, with hunger, with desire. And that isn't what bothers me, I've had these looks thrown my way for years. It's the fact they don't even try to hide it as their wives have their arms wrapped around theirs. As their children beg for their attention. 

The ways of men truly are disgusting. I think as I hold my head high and make sure they don't see even a fraction of a reaction cross my features. 

“Ah, there are my darling girls!” Father says and I can't help but giggle at his unadulterated joy. 

He has never, not once, held back from showing the world how much he adores me and my Mother. He oftentimes will even brag to other men how we are his whole world. To say seeing the love he has for my Mother has made me have high standards in the eyes of nobility would be an understatement. But my Father has sworn to me I will not be wed off until I find a man who makes me feel safe, makes me feel adored, makes me feel loved !and who I love in return. 

“Here we are.” My Mother says in that soft lilting voice that she only ever has for my Father. I already know she is looking at him as if he is the very sun that warms her skin. 

My Father goes to speak when our announcer calls out. 

“Prince Daemon Targaryen, of house Targaryen, and his daughters Lady Baela Targaryen and Rhaena Targaryen.” 

Everyone freezes as we watch these gods made flesh walk into the room. And I don't blame them. 

Baela is wearing a deep rich navy blue dress that is covered in pearls, diamonds and gold embroidery. Even her hair has gems braided into her darling little bun. And Rhaena out did herself as well, wearing a magenta dress with gold embroidery of dragons and waves, and the sleeves and bodice of the dress are covered in pearls and diamonds. And her hair is still in those small braids all along her head, but now they have little gold clamps in place with rubies in the middle of each clip. 

But it is the Prince that holds my attention. In his black jerkin that seems to have scaled sewn into the shoulders and chest. And he wears a deep crimson linen undershirt that also holds golden dragon embroidery. And at his hip lays the famous blade called Dark Sister. 

I feel my heart skip a beat as I watch him look around the room in search of someone. No, not someone, he's in search of me. 

“M-My Prince, what brings you here?” My Father asks and before the Prince can answer my Mother gets on her tiptoes and whispers in my Father's ear what I had forgotten to inform them about. “I see.” He says, eyeing me in a playful glare before facing the Prince who has made his way towards us. 

“It seems in my daughter's excitement for her Nameday she forgot to inform us of your comings, My Prince.” 

I feel my heart beat rapidly, it almost feels like it's going burst from my chest. But I force myself to calm before anything truly happens. And to my relief the Prince chuckles. 

“No worries, My Lord. It was a last minute invitation.” He says, eyeing his daughters who excitedly whisper to the other as they look up at me. 

“Ah, well then I'm not too upset with her then.” Father says, giving me a playful wink as he nudges me with his elbow. 

I go to respond when I almost fall over by the two girls running towards me huddling my skirts. 

“Will you play with us?” They ask at the same time. 

I watch as their Father tries to reel them telling them I have many things to do, but instead of letting him ruin theirs or my own fun I look down and ruffle their hair. 

“Tag!” I say tapping Rhaena's nose before turning around and running off. I hear them yell how it isn't fair before I hear Baela groan and I already know Rhaena turned and tagged her. 

And for most of the night I spent laughing with these two little girls who followed me around as if I held the whole world in my palms. I don't know why they gravitated towards me so, but what I do know is I won't tell them not to. Not after they told their Mother had passed. 

But what I didn't see was the way their Father looked at me. Like I was a blessing from the gods sent to save him. If I saw that then I wouldn't have been as shocked when he started courting me a week later. 

It's been five moons since I met the Prince, and since then there is hardly a day we don't see each other. Whether it is a simple walk through the gardens or a dinner with the girls. I see him each and every day. 

And now isn't any different, I feel the cool breeze of the spring wind against my skin as we walk through his estates gardens. The scent of oak trees and roses fills my lungs. 

“So tell me, how did your parents meet?” He asks me and I hide my smirk when I catch him eyeing my cleavage. 

“She was the daughter of a sailor, she is from here, just like my Father. But they didn't meet until she was five and ten and he was seven and ten. His Father wished to use my Grandfather's ship for a trade deal. And well let's just say the rest just fell into place. That is at least the story they tell me.” I say with a smile. 

He hums nodding along with his own smirk. “They are a perfect pair. I don't think I've ever seen two people so devoted to the other since my Mother passed.” He says matter of factly, but I see the pained look in his eyes. The way they almost seem far off, like he is looking at something he desires most in the world but it's out of reach. 

“They are, many people think they are newly weds when they first meet them. But they are far from it, married twenty two years.” 

He looks at me and I can see something brewing in his mind. Though I don't say anything, if he wants to ask or tell me something he may in his own time. 

“Rhaena's dragon has yet to hatch.” He says abruptly. 

I look over at him in confusion, I never understood why it mattered to him so much. She is still young and can claim a dragon like he did but for some reason he needs this egg to hatch. 

“I am aware, she is quite saddened by it.” I answer in a tone that shows my confusion. 

He sighs, nodding his head. “I know, and it kills me every day that it doesn't hatch. It has yet to turn to stone but it just won't hatch?” He says in a confused tone his features morph into one's of pure frustration. 

I freeze looking at him fighting my anger. 

“I have noticed something, you spend quite a bit of time with Baela compared to Rhaena. I tried day and night to figure out why. But one day it hit me, you had brought me to watch her train with Moondancer.” I say in a calm tone that I know is more menacing than kind. 

“What are you on about?”

“That you avoid your daughter because she has no dragon. Something she has no control over. And if I am to continue to be courted by you, and possibly marry you. Then I need you to be better for those girls.” 

I watch as he freezes in shock, perhaps because no one has truly told him of his failings. Or perhaps it is because he hadn't realized that I had put thought into marriage with him. Either way he is wide eyed now and is opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. 

“The hour is late, My Prince, I will leave you to think about what we discussed.” I say before turning around and walking away towards my family's wheelhouse.

I didn't think he would truly put thought to them, that he would take action to be better. But the next day I was invited back to his estate, much to my shock. But instead of being greeted by him I stand alone in front of the dragonpit. 

I turn to look at the guard that guided me here. 

Surely he wouldn't jest? I think as I eye the stern-faced man. But just as quickly as the thought comes, does a loud screech reaches my ears. 

I instantly look up to find the Prince's dragon Caraxes flying towards me. He doesn't slow down which makes me wonder if he sees me until he dives to the left and lands with a loud slam that shakes the very earth. 

“That was amazing!” I hear and look up and see Rhaena grinning from ear to ear. 

She wastes no time climbing down and running towards me. 

“Did you see me? I got to use some commands!” She says hugging me around my middle. 

“I did, but I didn't realize that was you.” I say with a grin of my own. 

“She's a natural.” We hear and both look towards the Prince who smiles back at us. 

Rhaena giggles at the compliment before a frown comes to her face when her Father tells her to go inside. 

“Will you stay for dinner? We're having lamb roast.” She says with such pleading eyes that even if I wanted to say no I couldn't. 

“Of course I will, but I believe you should ask your Father that question.” I suggest but she only gives me a mischievous grin. 

“He does what he's told.” She says before skipping towards her guard who helps her into a wheelhouse. 

I look back at the Prince who has his head thrown back laughing. 

“She isn't usually so sassy, I guess flying boosted her confidence.” He says with a chuckle as he walks towards me. 

The smell of suffering and charred meat fills my nose. It is a smell I originally disliked, but now find comfort in. 

“Seems so.” I agree, waiting to see what he says next. 

He stops for a moment, as if thinking over his next words. And I allow him to do so. No point in pressuring him to speak when he isn't ready. 

Finally after what seems like an eternity he finally speaks. 

“You were right, I do neglect Rhaena. I don't mean to, but I think a part of me doesn't know how to. They are so young and pure, and I'm a villain. With Baela I have the chance to at least talk about dragons with her. But Rhaena…it's just different.” He says and I can see this took a lot of courage to admit. 

“You are not a villain, My Prince–” I say but he cuts me off. 

“Daemon, call me Daemon. No need for titles.” 

I freeze when he says this, for there is truly nothing reason to use his true name. Especially without the titles. 

I decide to nod and clear my throat trying to recoup myself. 

“You are not a villain, Daemon.” I say feeling the way his name leaves my lips. It feels like it always was supposed to be this way. 

“And how do you know that?” He retorts in an almost enraged tone. 

“Because name one villain who would try to be a better person just to see their daughter smile? Name one villain who would go to a girl's nameday party after only just meeting her. Name a villain who has chosen their children over their own lusts and desires?” With each sentence I step towards him until our chests are only a breath apart. 

“You don't know all the things I have done.” He breathes out as if truly saying it will make me demand to know. 

“I'm sure I don't, but I would love to. And even then, I will tell you that you are not a villain.” I whisper back as I look into his deep lilac eyes. 

And within seconds his hands reach to hold my face in his soft yet firm grip as he devours my lips. 

I can't help but whimper when his tongue slips into my mouth. The taste of bitter wine fills my pallet. 

“Marry me.” He whispers between kisses. “I swear I'll be a better man, a better Father to the girls, a better me for you.” 

I am stunned by his words. I want to respond, need to. But the words escape me. So instead I kiss him as fiercely as I can, pouring all my hopes, dreams, wants, and desires into it. 

“Yes.” Is all I whisper before kissing him again. 

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