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doberbutts · 7 months ago

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One of the really insidious ways black people in media get treated is that despite our stereotypes expanding outside of "thug" "slave" and "prostitute", we are still very limited on *what* we can be portrayed as.

It is no shock to me that the two black women in Veilguard, for instance, are either medium toned like myself or a nonhuman skin color (introduced as a woman). It doesn't escape my attention that the only black woman in Baldur's Gate list of companions is also a nonhuman skin color. Dark skinned black women are still considered too unattractive to include as potential romanceable candidates, as it *also* does not escape my attention that the darkest we've had was Vivienne who was simultaneously regarded as an incredibly unlikeable character by huge swaths of the fandom and also unavailable for romance.

But moreover- why can't the bubbley nerdy cute mage be a black woman? Why can't the shy but resourceful archer be a black woman? Why does the black woman have to be someone with their guard up, walls as high as a skyscraper, cynical and callous? Why can't the black woman be the warm and loving Wynne, or the somewhat naive yet devout Leliana? The stalwart and just Aveline? I know plenty of Isabelas, and Viviennes, and Neves, and Taashs, but I also know plenty who are Merrill, or Bellara*, or Harding, or Cassandra, and I even lived with a Sera for a while. Why can't she be Bethany or Morrigan?

The closest we had was Josephine, who again is still fairly light skinned, but at least she has a bit more flexibility. And she isn't a companion, so her screen time is fairly minimal if you're not taking the time to romance her.

*And I don't begrudge Bellara too much, as A: I adore her and B: I'm pretty sure she's our first visibly Asian companion which is a milestone in itself. My point is more that Bellara could be black with virtually no story change because I know plenty of bubbly chirpy friendly black women who have a deep love of their hobbies and interests, who are bisexual and even prefer women, with deep trauma in their pasts, and yet the choice to *not* do that speaks to a problem the media has in their depiction of black women that is far bigger than Bioware.

And it doesn't escape my attention that the men have this problem as well- Wyll and Davrin* are both regarded as boring by their respective fandoms due to the choice to play it safe and stick with the extremely good and upright and just knight character instead of giving them something more messy- Astarion and Lucanis could be black with, as said, little-to-no change in their storyline because I know-even have dated- pansexual former sex worker black men with intensely complicated feelings about sex and intimacy, and I've had plenty of ex-con soft yet dangerous men holding themselves at a distance to prevent themselves from hurting anyone as my friends and even extended family.

I know plenty of intensely nerdy and probably autistic black guys who will infodump gladly about their special interest to the point of it consuming them. I know plenty of black guys with martyr complexes who think they have to tear the world- and themselves- apart just to fix what is broken in this world. I know plenty of black guys who, despite their own inability to get their shit together, are like a port in a storm every time you talk to them. I know plenty of black guys who are extremely educated and well respected within their field, with gentle yet commanding demeanor. Any of these characters *could* be black, and yet they aren't, and the choice to do so is again far bigger than Bioware and Larian.

*Davrin, like Vivienne, being the darkest and first blatantly black male companion instead of potentially able to be ambiguously "of color" like Zevran, Fenris, and Dorian. Even more damning that they'd considered, like Sera, making Solas blatantly black in his concept art and instead chose to make him a pale egg.

As someone desperate for representation, it becomes quickly obvious as I take inventory of what roles black people are given that we still aren't considered as complex and nuanced and interesting. We're allowed to be more than we were before, but we still have a long way to go.

#dragon age the veilguard spoilers #davg spoilers

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comatosebunny09 · 3 months ago

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Neighbor Sylus, coming back from an event or meeting, all dressed up, hair slicked back, smelling delightful.

He’s at his door, about to unlock it, when he hears a car pull up in the rain-laden parking lot. He peers over the balcony of the breezeway through the silver torrents coming down. The driver cuts the lights, and he recognizes that car instantly. It’s yours.

You’ve been avoiding him since the night you kissed him when you were shit-faced drunk. As long as he’s waited to ruin your friendship (in a good way), he didn’t want to take advantage of you that night. Not when you wouldn’t remember what happened the following day.

But you did remember, and that’s where all this mess stems from. Why you’d been playing keep-away with him, avoiding him like a sickness, brief with your exchanges as if you were afraid he’d eat you.

He’s missed your daily texts. Your phone calls. Your impromptu visits to his apartment, or his to yours. You filled a hole in his life he didn’t realize needed filling.

He’s given you your space. Didn’t want to exacerbate things, as he thought, maybe you only kissed him because you were drunk. Maybe there was no meaning behind it, and he was reading too much into things.

Regardless of how you feel about him, he doesn’t like this awkwardness stewing between you. You’re like sunshine breaking through grey clouds after a week of rain—and that’s saying a lot, because he typically abhors the sun.

He gets out of his head when your car door slams shut. You’re scuttling about, trying to grab something from the backseat. You’re donned in something casual, loose-fitting, but it’s not enough to protect you from the downpour. What is he going to do with you? Are you trying to get sick?

Without a second thought, he pushes into his apartment to snatch an umbrella from his entryway. He takes the steps leading down to the parking lot two by two, strolling up to your frantic form. Your proverbial knight in matte-black armor.

You look up at him when the rain ceases pelting down on you, reminiscent of a sad, wet puppy, clutching a stack of papers to your chest. For a moment, tension swells. You’re so god damn adorable, all pouty with your hair sticking to your face. He tries to keep cool, like you don’t take his breath away, make his throat dry. Like he doesn’t want to tug you into his arms and kiss you, all romantic like one of those scenes in a romcom, taking place in the rain.

You break the silence first, sighing something relieved, a wobbly smile cresting over your lips. “Thanks,” you simply state, voice so small, it contends with the pitter-patter of the rainfall against his umbrella.

His lips twitch into a semblance of a smile, eyes soft, fond. He tilts his head towards your complex, saying, “We should get inside before the rain kicks up.”

You nod, following beside without another word, clinging to those papers for dear life. He studies you in his peripheral vision. Hopes your dryer still works. And if it doesn’t, he’s more than happy to take a look at it for you again.

You get up the steps to your apartment, and he feels his gut churning like it’s empty. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to relinquish this small pocket of time where he’s been closer to you in a matter of seconds than he’s been in the past two weeks. You turn to him after unlocking your door, awkwardly looking every which way but at him.

“Thanks,” you mutter once more as if it burns.

It pains him, this cold unease, but he understands. He got his hopes a little too high. With a hand stuffed in his pocket, he offers you a smile and a casual wave. Prepares to step across the hall to retreat into his home, but you stop him with that unsure little voice at his back.

“Um…”

He peers over his shoulder, brows shooting up in question. Hopefulness. He watches you grapple with words, shifting your weight between your feet. Finally, you look at him, and it’s like being struck by lightning.

“You wanna…come inside for a bit? Dry off? Feel kinda bad. Your shoulder got wet.”

He subconsciously feels the dampness bleeding into his skin. The fact that you would use something so insignificant as an excuse to stay around him makes his heart pull. Maybe you missed him as much as he missed you.

“Sure,” he remarks, unable to contain the whisper of a smile breaking out on his lips.

He follows you inside, and the familiar aroma of lavender and line-dried linen wafting from within rushes over him like a soothing balm. It’s dark inside. A little cool from your AC. He watches you shuffle through the inkiness, navigating around your furniture to switch on a light.

“You can use the dryer if you want,” you offer, sifting through your wet hair after dropping those papers on your coffee table.

He stands rigid in the entryway, tight-lipped and thoughtful. Watches how your shirt hugs your torso, how your sweats droop, bogged down by the rain. He gets a little view of the warm skin at your back, and his body feels like he’s submerged in ice.

He doesn’t know what takes over. What exactly propels him forward. Doesn’t take the time to kick off his shoes—you can yell at him for it later. But he’s moving before he can fully process things, tearing through the stillness of your apartment with the finesse of a jaguar. He switches off the light before you fully turn around, immersing your living room in murkiness again. And he’s reaching for your hips, roosting his hands on them, tugging you close until your breath abandons you in a gasp.

He makes out that doe-eyed, confused look, the want coloring the edges, the way your lips part and quiver. He studies your mouth for a beat longer before angling himself down to graze over your lips with his.

“Why don’t we try this again?” he breathes, drunk and out of his mind.

Your throat swells with words, but he’s kissing you before you can get them out. Ardent, tender, desperate, cautious. He breaks the seal of your lips with his tongue after your surprise ebbs, and you sigh something relieved into his mouth, your hands coming up to cup his jaw as you lean more into him.

He’s dizzy with need, caught up in the pressure of your lips, the warmth, how right it feels to kiss you, those cute little sounds you make as he leaves no part of your mouth unscathed by his tongue. He doesn’t realize he’s backed you up against a wall until you push out a breath from the collision, but he doesn’t let up. Not when you’re just as eager for this, your fingers sifting through his hair, your body hot and pliant like wax under warmed palms, pushing against his.

He’s not sure what he’s thinking when he hikes your legs up to wrap them around his waist. But judging by how your ankles instinctively lock at the small of his back and how you drag him impossibly closer, he hasn’t crossed a line. Not yet. He cups your ass in his palms, peeling you from the wall to effortlessly walk you into your bedroom. He remembers the layout of your apartment like the back of his hand, he’s been here so frequently.

He’s missed this; missed you. And maybe you’ve missed him too, giggling between kisses with the prettiest little smile on your face like you’ve been waiting for him to ruin your friendship, too.

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twilightofthesandwiches · 3 days ago

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When I made that post about how Spamton and Tenna were probably both mimicking each other due to mutual jealousy, I mentioned by the end that, although both of them saw the other as having something they lack...

Spamton was, like, objectively the worst-off between the two, and his jealousy of Tenna is probably more 'justified' than the other way around'. But also Tenna is unaware and probably totally incapable of understanding this fact . Since the reasons behind it are dependent both on the culture of the internet and the deeper machinations of Light and Dark.

I didn’t really go into depth about it at the time cause it is a complex topic that I did kinda cover for Spamton before Chapters 3 + 4 even released and if I started going into it in detail, it could’ve easily overshadowed the main point I was trying to make with that post. But since I did get some comments/questions about that aspect… I thought it might be a good idea to give it its own post going into it in detail and clarifying my point.

So, both Spamton and Tenna imitate each other because they see the other as an embodiment of something they don’t have. Tenna has the charm, prestige and both metaphorical and literal ‘bigness’ that Spamton craves. While Spamton has the modernity, understanding of technological progress and ability to reach Lightners that Tenna’s so insecure about lacking these days.

(I think you can kinda see it as a metaphor to the relationship between traditional media and the new media in general. Old Media such as the Television is getting overshadowed and outcompeted by the Internet-based New Media, but it also still has an air of respectability and prestige that New Media still generally lacks. The fact that Tenna is specifically jealous of, like, the lowest, least-respectable, most obnoxious aspect of the Internet is just an extra detail that makes him more uniquely pathetic.)

But the main difference is, like… So Tenna is a Television Darkner, he’s supposed to exist for the purpose of providing entertainment. He loves entertainment because that’s what he was created to do and entertaining Lightners is the thing that makes him feel truly fulfilled. He is also, by all accounts pretty damn good at it.

Like, the main conflict between Tenna and the Lightners is because he wanted his show to go on forever (And also he kidnapped Toriel and was keeping the Dark Fountain from getting sealed and working with the Knight). They did clearly enjoy being on his show as a temporary thing. He's honestly good at this.

I mean, the fact that he has a set Purpose hardwired into his very being and can’t feel truly content unless he’s fulfilling said Purpose is kinda Existentially Depressing if you think about it too hard, but at least it’s something he both enjoys and is good at.

And then you have Spamton. As the Magical Dream Representation of Spam Email, he is created to scam people out of their money and information. He is also generally obsessed with all the things your usual Spam Mail blathers on about, success, prestige, being a BIG SHOT. But being Spam Mail also means he is utterly terrible at doing his Purpose and fulfilling his goals. Spam Mail is weird, obviously scammy, gets thrown away 99% of the time, and is the lowest and most incompetent form of online advertising/scams. The basic essence of his metaphysical being is to be a frustrated, miserable failure.

Of course, this isn’t as simple as saying Tenna is metaphysically allowed to be truly happy while Spamton isn’t. Because it’s been a long time since Tenna has been able to fulfill his Purpose. He’s good at entertainment… but he’s not good enough to get anyone in the Dreemurr household to turn on the TV on the regular. His show is loads of fun, but it’s also kind of repetitive, cheesy and old-fashioned… because that’s also the Lightner perception of the classic TV that Tenna was created to represent.

You can easily say that just as Spamton’s preordained role is to be a failure because Spam Mail is by definition crappy, Tenna’s role is to be a failure because in these modern times, the definition of the television has changed to be ‘not good enough’.

And the whole thing is actually totally outside Tenna’s control. Obviously no one can truly control the march of time or stop new entertainment technology from being developed, but even in terms of the content Tenna can provide if he's switched on... That’s in the hands of Lightner TV producers.

In his Dark World, Tenna’s living the high-life, the biggest and only Big Shot in TV World. but he’s incapable of being satisfied with all of his power and prestige as long as he’s a failing his Purpose as a Light World television. A matter that is actually totally beyond his control.

Tenna’s aware of all of these problems, but he’s not fully aware of how these issues reflect Spamton’s situation. He’s knows nothing about the modern internet world

…He doesn’t know what being ‘Spam’ means, and therefore has no idea what Spamton is supposed to be. He met Spamton during the brief period of time the salesman was genuinely successful as an adbot, he has no idea about the unlucky Addison he was before or the total wreck he became later.

… But that is also part of the crucial difference. Spamton only became successful and therefore happy due to the help of the mysterious Someone that has been calling him.

And…we are still not quite sure how that worked. Was that simply someone from the Light World aggressively clicking on so much Spam Mail and shitty ads that it temporarily changed Spamton’s status in the Dark Worlds? Did that Someone give Spamton the secret to actually defy the role assigned him by the metaphysical laws governing his existence? Was it done through the power of the Shadow Crystal? The power of the Prophecy? Were they taking advantage of the fact that the events we're talking didn’t truly happen and were instead retconned into Spamton’s personal history when the Computer Room Dark World created him?

There are so many question marks about Spamton’s Mysterious Benefactor and how that whole thing worked… and that’s because giving Spamton a happier and more successful life is something that seems like it should be literally metaphysically impossible. And while Tenna was pretty much trapped in an unsatisfying existence due to the nature of his being and circumstances beyond his control… his problems were also much easier to solve from a Lightner perspective.

Sure, the television doesn’t get the sort of universal success and influence that it did when Tenna was brand new, but there are still people who watch and enjoy it. As long as that fact holds true for at least one household (and seeing how books, radio and cinema still exist despite the television overshadowing them back during Tenna’s hay-day, I doubt the TV will ever die completely) and as long as Tenna himself is a usable television then Tenna’s happiness is absolutely achievable.

It is kinda existentially terrifying to think about how this was all out of his control and couldn’t have happened if not for Kris and Susie’s actions in the Light World, that Tenna himself still had no power over his own happiness… but that still leaves him in a better position than poor Spamton, where… even if you were a Lightner honestly interested in giving Spamton a happier life… what could you do for him?

Like, Noelle obsessively responds to "Free Friend Finder" Spam in a desperate attempt to find Dess and that got Spamton's attention and gratitude, but it was still obviously a tiny drop in the bucket compared to the success he is destined to crave for… So this is clearly much more complicated than just humoring a few Spam Mails (and also, even that plan carries a much bigger risk to the Lightners compared to just giving someone a second-hand television. Because Spamton is also ontologically doomed to bite the hand that feeds him.)

But, like, there is a reason why Tenna was shoving his nose into Spamton’s Secret to Success. Obviously with Tenna already being Executive Producer and God-King of TV World, he’s not exactly looking to become a ‘Big Shot’ in the Dark Worlds - he’s looking to have the sort of reach and influence that internet-based Darkners like Spamton seems to have over the Lightners. He was looking for Spamton's advice in the hopes he could help him to understand modern technology and the changing times, help him to stop himself from becoming increasingly outdated… But is that something Tenna would've been even able to do?

Again, before the TV World Dark Fountain even opened, Tenna shouldn't have had any way to affect his situation in the Light World, he was just an inanimate TV. If Spamton taught him to 'plug in'… what would that mean? Would the Dreemurr Household's living room TV suddenly gain the ability to connect to the internet? Would it suddenly transform into a Smart TV out of nowhere? Would it suddenly starts broadcasting new content that's more appealing to modern audiences (at least according to Spamton's advice)?

The idea that's the least magically-breaking-the-laws-of-causality is that Spamton was thinking of asking Someone to upgrade Tenna's inanimate TV self in the Light World… and even that kinda stumbles into the mindfuck acknowledgement that all of the events we're talking about didn't truly happen the way Tenna and Spamton remember them because they were an inanimate object and a spam folder on a laptop at the time and all of their past and memories of being People were created when they were brought to life by their respective Dark Fountains so how could they ask anyone in the Light World to do anything at that point in time?

Tenna was actually trying to get Spamton to help him do the same thing he's done, defy the fate he was doomed to because of what he is in the Light World. To help him break the laws of how Dark and Light work so he can get closer to accomplishing his dreams. Even though he doesn't seem to be fully aware of the fact that was what Spamton did in the first place. And… there is a level where I'm wondering if Tenna even understood the full ramification of what he was planning for himself?

Because when it comes to Tenna being unaware of Spamton's miserable fate due to the fact he doesn't know what a "Spam Mail" is, that is a simple problem of a lack of knowledge. Tenna just doesn't have that information due to his status as a pre-internet piece of technology. But when it comes to the matter of the metaphysical mechanics of Light and Dark and how Darkners work… I feel ike it's not really a matter of knowledge as much as a matter of understanding.

Tenna clearly knows that as a Darker, he is created from the Dreemurr Household's TV, he knows that before the Dark Fountain opened he was just an inanimate object, he knows that means that his Purpose is to entertain Lightners… But does he actually think about what all of these facts actually mean? Does he fully understand the implications of his existence? I've already wrote so much about all the little things that make Tenna's life, maybe better than Spamton's, but definitely kind of an existential nightmare in it's own right if you think about it… but that's the question, does he actually think about it?

When we was trying to get that 'deal' done with Spamton, was he thinking about in terms of 'I'm gonna need to break the laws of what it means to be me, Tenna, a Darkner based on this specific old TV. Because by definition I am outdated and if I want to actually catch-up with the times and be watched again, I will have to change that Definition somehow?' or was it just 'Oh boy! That Silly Little Guy knows a lot about this internet stuff that scares and confuses me! And he's got so many views! I have to ask him how he does it..." without ever thinking of the implications of how'd he'd replicate 'how he does it'?

I think there's a lot of little hints that Spamton doesn't just want to rebel against the metaphysical laws that made him a constant failure so he could be a Big Shot… Spamton also wants to want different things. As he exists, Spamton isn't supposed to care about anything but deals and scams and money and success (while also existing to constantly fail to achieve these things), but his actual dream is now something much bigger than that, much more centered around his freedom. Although part of the tragedy is that he is still doomed to only being able to think about it in terms of power and status, and doomed to being unable to think of a plan to achieve that dream without scamming money out of people and exploiting them in general.

Even when he's giving Kris the KeyGen, he has to try and sell it for a sometimes ludicrous amount of money, because he's not supposed to care for anything but sales and deals… But he does seem to try and fight against this instinct.

And it's clear that he is very emotionally hurt by all the friendships he lost and all the bridges he burned. With Tenna most obviously, but also with the Addisons and with Swatch. As a Spam-Email, he's not supposed to care about those things more than he does about Deals and Scams, but as a person, it's clear that this is a huge part of his angst. In the Normal Route, Spamton starts projecting his own issues on Kris the moment he sees them walking through the Dark World alone. In the Weird Route, Spamton only starts doing it in the NEO Boss Fight, when they start calling out to their friends. Either way, it happens when he sees them alone.

In terms of the metaphysics of Light and Dark, Spamton's essential definition is being a weird failed scam-artist. In Spamton's own eyes, his essential definition is being lonely and abandoned.

And of course, the whole point of Spamton NEO's Spare Route, the closest thing to a happy ending he ever got, is about abandoning all of his grand plans to become [BIG] for the sake of friendship.

Tenna… does not seem to struggle against his nature in the same way. He is not bothered by the implications of having a set Purpose or maybe he just never thought about it that much. He fully embraces the idea that his Purpose is to Entertain and to be Watched, and even when he's sad and frustrated because he can't fulfil that goal… he blames himself for failing to fulfil it, he does not go against the idea that fulfilling this Purpose IS the number one thing he wants and needs.

He's already in a better spot than Spamton was, because, although he's got a bit of an Entertainment Industry Sleaze coding to him with all of his shady contracts, being based on an Object that generally makes Lightners' life more enjoyable and has a lot of sentimental memories associated with it makes him considerably more capable of caring about other people and forming meaningful relationships. But even when his obsessive pursuit of his goal ends up with him alienating all of his TV World employees (even Mike!) and causing his world to crumble all around him, he never doubts that there is nothing more important to him than Entertaining Lightners.

I think if you went to Tenna and asked him if he ever wanted to want a different thing, something that doesn't make him totally dependent on outside approval, he'd just be confused. What in this world could be a better and more worthy goal than bringing smiles and tears to the lovely viewers at home? What else is there? It's just not something he could ever even being to think about.

And sure, Tenna might know and acknowledge that he's the Dreemurr Household TV and that's why he cares so much about entertaining specifically the Dreemurr (and Holiday) family… but does he truly understand the way that his personality was shaped by the emotions of Kris and Toriel during the night the Fountain was opened? For him, his emotional grief at the slow dissolution of the Dreemurr family is just his genuine emotional response based on his personality and his memories and the experiences he had… and I think it is real... but it's also a projection of Kris and Toriel's feelings.

For him, his fixation over Toriel is born of the fact she was the last member of the Household to consistently Watch him…

But it's also born of the way he's kind of a reflection of Asgore's Divorced Behavior.

Is Tenna aware of the idea that his feelings, that feel 100% real for him, were also 'given' to him by the Lightners? Does it bother him at all? Does it not bother him because of an actual confidence in his own personhood and the validity of his perspective and his personal sense of self… or just because he never thought that deeply, that far, into the implications of his own existence?

Tenna knows what it means to be a Darkner, but he doesn't understand what Spamton understands. And as long as this gap exists, Tenna won't ever really know how miserable and doomed Spamton truly was. And I think as Tenna gets happier and more content, now that he's got a new loving home, he will be less and less driven and able to understand it. This little adventure he had with the Knight and the Fun Gang was probably the closest he's ever gotten.

Even if you sat him down and patiently explained what a Spam Mail is in the most 70's terms you could muster, he still won't truly understand why Spamton can't just replicate the success he had when these two knew each other, or why Spamton was so determined to 'see past the Dark'. Not anymore, at least. Because that requires delving into things he knows, but has never truly understood on a deep level. And maybe it's better for him that he doesn't.

I think, Tenna was on… the precipice. He took great interest in Spamton's success, he wanted to know his secret, they had almost signed a deal together. Tenna's frustration and lack of ability to fulfil his Purpose had led him to a point where had almost tried to defy his Existence the way Spamton had never stopped trying. He was unsatisfied and miserable enough that he almost became… maybe not exactly like Spamton, but at least a lot like King. Y'know, the Dark World Leader who got a lot of secret info from the Shadow Crystal Holder he was closest to, and thus inspired him to rage against fate and actively try to defy his Purpose?

Maybe not exactly the same as King… but he had almost tried seeing too far. Almost.

But at the end of the day, Spamton felt that the only way he could be truly happy is to find some way to cut off his puppet-strings, while Tenna is someone who finds true joy and contentment in simply dancing along to them.

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latteodyssey · 5 months ago

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Stay-at-home Dates | Batboys x Reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

masterlist

Bruce Wayne One thing about Bruce: He is a tired man, he’s days are exhausting, to say the least. With managing Wayne Enterprises to being Gotham’s dark knight — he rarely has time to relax, so when he gets the rare opportunity to be home with you, his first instinct is to rest. He’s a fan of old-school romance, and a candlelit dinner or a cozy fondue night is his idea of the perfect evening.

Dick Grayson Dick loves the intimacy of cooking together and enjoys indoor picnics. The quiet moments shared over food make for some of his best memories. He’s also all about living room karaoke, turning a simple night in into an impromptu concert.

Jason Todd You and Jason started a mini book club, just for the two of you. With you in his life, he also discovered a love for pampering himself—something he never allowed himself to do before, hiding behind tough exteriors and emotional walls. Now, you’ve dedicated entire days to treating him with the love he deserves: think robes, scented candles, face masks, foot massages, and bubble baths.

Tim Drake Tim is also a fan of naps, especially when he can curl up next to you. When he’s awake, he enjoys when the both of you watch random documentaries together. He’s also into building complex Lego sets with you, he created a collection of all the ones you finish together, and it’s become one of your favorite bonding activities.

Damian Wayne Pottery nights have become a staple in you and Damian’s date nights, and he’s (not surprisingly) skilled at it. He keeps the pieces you both create, even using them in his daily life. You often catch him sipping from a mug you made him, even if it’s a little lopsided. Painting nights have also found a soft spot in his heart—they’re a quiet way for him to enjoy his day with you.

Duke Thomas Duke is all about board and card games for a cozy night in. He also secretly loves your reality and drama TV marathons, accompanied by lots of snacks. At first, he pretended to be uninterested in it due to it being drama-filled, but now it’s your shared guilty pleasure, and he’ll get genuinely upset if you watch an episode without him.

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venusbyline · 5 months ago

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Rhaenyra Targaryen — Dear Half-sister

— summary: Being in an affair with a Targaryen bastard was not a surprise either, even if her firstborn Jacaerys thought otherwise. What bothered the Queen was knowing that she was fucking with her own sister. Half-sister, if the first word could ease the weight of that entire complexity.

— pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x dragonseed!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 2.1k

— tags/warnings: Femslash February, female!reader, dark!Rhaenyra, Targaryen bastard!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, rape/non-con, Targcest (older sister/younger sister), dubcon, oral (female receiving), dry humping, body worship, pussy worship, degradation, rough sex, rough oral, age gap (older woman/younger woman), Rhaenyra is 37 and Reader is 23, implied cheating, infidelity, punishment, toxic relationship, ambiguous/open ending, face-slapping, violence, crying, dacryphilia, cum licking, curse words, brothel worker mentioned, minor Rhaenyra Targaryen/Daemon Targaryen, bisexual!Rhaenyra, bisexual(?)!reader, dom!Rhaenyra, sub!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes: Welcome to the first Friday of Femslash February ❤️❤️ I hope you like it!

❥ about me • Rhaenyra masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

— crossposting: AO3

Rhaenyra did not know what was happening with her mind when she forced you, a dragonseed, to warm her bedsheets more often than her own husband had done before Visenya's pregnancy.

Not that she was someone known for purity and chaste routine. The Queen was the exact opposite of that, she had always been way ahead of her time when it came to sex. The night Daemon took her to see a brothel, he told her that there was nothing wrong with wanting or feeling pleasure. Even though it was something said many years ago, when she was nothing more than a spoiled princess and desperate for a little bit of adventure, Rhaenyra kept her uncle's words like a mantra.

There was nothing wrong with wishing pleasure. There was nothing wrong with feeling pleasure.

But Rhaenyra knew what was happening between the two of you was wrong. Cheating on Daemon was the least worst of the problems, considering he had not sent any news during all that time at Harrenhal. Being in an affair with a Targaryen bastard was not a surprise either, even if her firstborn Jacaerys thought otherwise.

What bothered the Queen was knowing that she was fucking with her own sister.

Half-sister, if the first word could ease the weight of that entire complexity.

This whole weird affair started due to Rhaenyra's past anger. She accepted very well all the Targaryen bastards as her allies. She questioned their stories, wanting to know more about their lives so she could try to trust them better.

She had gotten close to some of them too.

However, there was you. The girl who made her roll her eyes every time your gazes met.

It was no surprise when she called you to the room where the Small Council meetings were held. The Queen pestered you more than her other allies, always demanding too much and always cursing your smallest mistakes...

"Did you order my presence here, Your Grace?" Your voice echoed between the big walls, hands behind your back after being brought there by one of the royal guards.

Rhaenyra lifted her head to look at you. She was sitting in her chair, fingers crossed and elbows resting on the table, as if she was not only analyzing you from top to bottom, but was also pondering the future talk before your arrival.

The knight left as soon as she gestured and told him to leave her alone with you. You raised an eyebrow at the sound of the doors closing. No face-to-face lecture by the Queen had been given without any guards nearby, but you knew that their only concerns were for the Rhaenyra's safety anyway.

"Hello, dear half-sister." The sneer from her rosy lips winced your body and skin. "Sit down, please." She pointed to the next chair.

Without another choice, you nodded silently and walked over to Rhaenyra. The nickname said in such a mocking tone made your stomach twist, a mix of worry and disgust.

As soon as you sat down next to her, the Queen's gaze went from your face to your body, noticing your specific clothes. "Were you flying with Vermithor?" After the confirmation, Rhaenyra remained silent for a while. "I see. It is good to create some kind of bond with our dragons, it will be very useful during the war."

"I suppose so."

Silence hung between the two of you for a few more moments. Those minutes felt like an eternity. You chose to keep your sight focused on random parts of the table, and it was empty of anything that could explain why the Queen had demanded a private conversation. "Did I do something wrong?"

You finally allowed yourself to ask, and Rhaenyra's violet eyes widened with slight surprise. Clearing her throat then, she shook her head. "No, you did not." She mumbled with no enthusiasm, looking down at her own hands, a hint of embarrassment blushing her pale cheeks. "Not this time."

You sighed frustrated due to the lack of explanation, somewhat rebellious act before the ruler — and your half-sister. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Rhaenyra did not seem to pay attention to your discreet impatience, or at least she did not seem to care about that. She just took a deep breath, drumming her fingers on the huge wooden furniture, thinking about how approaching the topic she wanted to discuss. Finally her voice came out hoarse and serious. "You know I do not appreciate your existence very much."

Ignoring the pang inside your heart at the too honest way she expressed her disgust, you just hummed, which caused Rhaenyra to deep breath again. "I am not trying to humiliate you." Despite the calm voice, she shook her leg uneasily, waiting for you to argue. When it did not come, she snorted. "Well, I do not appreciate your existence, but I need your help to—"

"Why?"

The unsolicited question caught her off guard. "What do you mean?" She replied with a frown, but already predicting what you wanted to know.

"Why do you hate me, Your Grace?" You repeated, finally surrendering to the thoughts that plagued your mind. "I have never done anything bad to you, I am doing well with my duties in your army and—"

Rhaenyra's hand went straight to your chin, grabbing it without any warning and forcing you to face her, despite your racing heart telling you to try back away. "And what did you expect? That I would be happy to have another sibling? Four of them are trying to kill me, I do not need one more for the list."

As much as her nails were digging into your skin with rage, there was a vulnerability behind that whole reaction, something she should not be showing around you or anyone else.

"Turning me against Your Grace does not make any sense..." The pain in your voice was clear.

Rhaenyra let out a mocking laugh. "I do not trust you. I met you just a few weeks ago, I did not even know about your existence before you appeared here along with the other dragonseeds."

"You do not trust me because you still do not know me, or because you really do not want to trust me?" You scoffed for the first time, making Rhaenyra's jaw clenched. "My apologies for my tone, My Queen, but both of us know the real reasons why you do not like me. It is because King Viserys fucked my mother and—"

Before you could finish your sudden outburst, Rhaenyra had already tangled her hands in your silver hair, the sounds of the two chairs falling when she stood up and lifted you with her. Your scalp ached, the growled sentences she said next becoming nothing more than annoying ringing in your ears after the rough slap she gave you in the face, echoing in your eardrum like an agony.

The confusion inside your mind was immediately interrupted when Rhaenyra forced you to kneel on the floor. Your bones hitting the floor did not disturb the queen. Actually, she enjoyed your fear and how your eyes blinked through the pain, trying to understand what was happening. She kept one hand in your strands, while the other began to undo the ties on her black and red dress.

It was not a quick process, she only had one hand to get rid of the clothes. However, she was already wearing just her corset over the linen chemise when you were able to see properly. "For the Gods' sake, what are you—"

Rhaenyra pushed your head closer to the fabric of the chemise, muffling your voice and scaring you due to the abrupt action and due to what you felt afterwards. The cloth was so thin that you felt your nose touching her clit, the sweet smell that you could not identify until the Queen's deep voice ordered another thing. "Lift my dress and eat me out."

"W-What?"

Rhaenyra snorted at your stupid doubt. She could not understand how you did not know what she was wanting. You were kneeling on the floor, with your face slapped, her fingers buried in your head and with her swollen pearl so close to your face. "I said... Eat me out. Right now."

You did not have any chance to open your mouth to argue or refuse the tempting yet macabre offer. Rhaenyra was already rubbing her needy cunt against your face, the fabric of her underwear helping to get wet each time she moved faster and harder. Your hands wanted to grab her thigh tightly to get her away, to get yourself away from that confusing position that you did not even have time to process.

At one point, you were arguing with the half-sister who hated you. At one point, you could see her fury when you considered speaking badly about her father — the father of both of you.

And now, a few minutes later, you were on your knees like a dog, the reddish mark from her violence on your skin, as well as the marks from the nails that bruised your cheeks. You were not moving a single muscle, barely able to think about something coherent while Rhaenyra turned your brain into jelly, the stain on the white linen causing a musky smell every time Rhaenyra moved her hips back and forth, dry humping with the help of the tip of your nose.

You did not even have to do anything for a while. Rhaenyra soon growled, keeping her fist firm in the silver strands of your hair, using her free fingers to lift her own chemise.

"Have you ever seen one of these or are all your clients men?" The older woman scoffed, cruelty towards your former work explicit in the words.

You had seen many different bodies over the years as a prostitute, including female bodies. However, none of them compared to Rhaenyra's body. Even though you could not see so much due to the clothing covering her waist upwards, you could admire some specific parts. The lower part of her stomach was not plain, it was smooth but also flabby, white streaks marking across her milky skin, indicating how her body adapted to six different pregnancies. As were her thighs, which were quite thick and also with stretch marks that highlighted the mature beauty.

And her cunt was the prettiest one. A true Realm's Delight. It was kinda plump and fleshy, covered with a layer of blonde wavy hair, rosy inner lips escaping a little from her outer lips. You were tempted to stick your tongue out and lick up the sweet drops, but you composed yourself.

Rhaenyra knew you would never deny her desires again, and both of you knew you needed each other. You needed Rhaenyra's acceptance and she needed you as an ally. Perhaps even something more, like a paramour.

She hated understanding where your stubborn personality came from. At the same time, you seemed so loyal to her right to the Iron Throne. You were her half-sister. You are a Targaryen, but not just any Targaryen.

Every time Rhaenyra looked at you, she was tormented by the fact that you were so much younger than her. Only one year older than her enemy, her half-brother. The Usurper. She was fourteen years older than you, the girl she was now practically forcing to lick every drop of her, your tongue paying special attention to the swollen and sensitive bud, the loud moans echoing off the walls, wet noises of her cunt being graced by a dragonseed's tongue too.

At that moment, Rhaenyra Targaryen no longer cared if you were a whore before all of that. She no longer cared if her father had spent his mourning time in brothels, fucking some cheap woman who had mothered an unknown child. At that moment, Rhaenyra did not care if your existence angered her often, if Daemon would be jealous about the cheating, if Jacaerys would find it disgusting if he found out. She did not remember why she demanded your presence there.

All that mattered to Rhaenyra was cumming into your soft mouth, holding your head between her legs until she was rubbing herself against your face to prolong the eager release.

"Not bad, little sister..." Rhaenyra cleared her throat, her voice breathless, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. She watched you kneel on the floor, your pretty face blushed and glowing with her cum.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Your trembling voice and the embarrassed tears in the corners of your eyes made Rhaenyra enjoy it more. All that mattered to her from that moment on was keeping the affair for as long as she wanted, even if it was humiliating for you or even if you did not want that.

After all, you were just a Targaryen bastard who was never legitimized. It was impossible to disobey the orders and wishes of the rightful Queen.

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