#Ali Chant

[nofatclips]

The Cycle​/​The Spiral: Time To Go Down Slowly by Algiers from the album The Underside of Power

[senorboombastic]

a/s/l: Dog Race

Remember the days of the old schoolyard? Remember when Myspace was a thing? Remember those time-wasting, laborious quizzes that everyone used to love so much? Birthday Cake For Breakfast is bringing them back!  Every couple of weeks, an unsuspecting band will be subject to the same old questions about dead bodies, Hitler, crying and crushes.   This Week: Off the back of releasing their…

[confusionmeisss]

he really has such a deep impact on my daddy issues like 😮‍💨

[krash-and-co]

I wanted the tv show to be as book accurate as possible, but then I remembered we already have the books. so now I want the tv show to be as book accurate as possible but Lockwood and Lucy also dance at the fittes party.

[shesnake]

I can't tell if ac mirage is Islamophobic or not

[cryingforcrocodiles]

Holy fuck today is Mason Mount Day 👀

mason mount at the carrington

kidding. im excited. worried about the effects it will have on my mental health. red mason mount... i might have room in my heart to love.

[hussyknee]

[embedded screen recording of a tweet.

Quoted Tweet by Q. Anthony Ali

What rules about this clip is how effectively it demonstrates that less than 30 seconds of interacting with the average Israeli will turn almost anyone into an anti-Zionist

Tweet by Frank (@forget_exit)

"No politics here" 😂

[embedded video. Description: a young white football fan inside a stadium is being offered a mic by an interviewer off-screen as people mill around behind him.

Interviewer: "And what do you think about the game?"

Young guy: "I thought it was a good game. I thought in the beginning Israel was better, but now Mali is destroying them I think."

A squat, middle aged, bespectacled white man advances angrily, shoving the end of the blue-white Israeli scarf around his neck in the young guy's face. Young guy says placatingly, "Israel is not bad, Israel is not bad."

Middle aged guy: *holding up his finger threateningly* "No politics here! No politics here!"

Young guy: *resumes* "I think Mali is going to destroy them."

Middle-aged guy: *continues shouting* "No politics here!"

Young guy: "No, I'm just talking about football—I'm just talking about football."

Middle aged guy: *retying his scarf with his chest puffed out* "Mali's the best—no politics here! Okay??"

Young guy: *stares at camera for half a beat* "...Free–Free Palestine! Free Free Palestine! Free Free Palestine!"

Middle aged guy: *hands on hips, leaning towards him like he's going to spit* "Fu-Fu Fuck you, Fu-Fu Fuck you!"

Young guy: *holds up red trumpet and blows "pra-pra pra-pra" to the rhythm* A short squat middle aged blonde woman who looks like the illustrated definition of a Karen chimes in to chant with the middle aged man: "Fuck-you fuck-you fuck-you!"

A tall Black man appears and tries to calm them down as they both gesticulate and yell angrily after the young man who ignores them and walks off camera./video description]

28 July 24. /ID]

[hiitsm]

Sharing the Weight of Fears

Part 1.

You and Alexia navigate a tender moment when you reveal a worrying change in your health.

Angst, Fluff & Comfort.

-

You absentmindedly traced the seams of your Barcelona Femení jersey as you sat in the doctor's waiting room, heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and embarrassment. It had been weeks since you first noticed the subtle change in your left breast-a small lump that seemed to grow more prominent with each passing day. At first, you brushed it off as nothing, convincing yourself that it was just a minor fluctuation, nothing to worry about. But as time went on, so did the nagging worry at the back of your mind.

You glanced around the room, trying to distract yourself from the apprehension gnawing at your insides. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft murmur of hushed conversations did little to ease your nerves. You couldn't shake the feeling of unease, the fear of the unknown looming over you like a dark cloud.

After a thorough examination, the doctor offered a gentle smile and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's always best to be cautious," she said, her voice soothing and calm. I need you to keep an eye on things, check for any changes every day. And if anything seems off, don't hesitate to come back."

You nodded, trying to swallow past the lump you managed to choke out, grateful for the doctor's patience and understanding.

As you stepped out of the doctor's office, the midday sun greeted you with its warm embrace, but the unease in your chest refused to dissipate. You pulled out your phone and sent a quick text to Alexia, wishing her luck in the upcoming match. It was a small gesture, but it felt like the least you could do to show your support, even if you couldn't shake the lingering worry from your mind.

Making your way to Camp Nou, you tried to focus on the excitement of the match ahead, pushing aside the nagging doubts that threatened to cloud your thoughts. The vibrant energy of the stadium buzzed around you as fans filled the stands, their cheers and chants echoing in the air.

Spotting Eli and Alba among the crowd, you made your way over to them, plastering on a smile to hide the lingering unease. Eli's keen eyes immediately noticed something amiss, and she furrowed her brow in concern. "Are you feeling alright, dear?" she asked, her voice filled with maternal worry.

You shook your head, dismissing her concern with a wave of your hand. "I'm fine, just a bit tired," you replied, forcing a smile to your lips. "Didn't have time to put on makeup today, that's alI"

Eli's gaze softened with understanding, though hint of concern lingered in her eyes. "Well, make sure you take care of yourself, okay?" she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "We don't need you passing out on us before the match even starts."

You chuckled weakly, grateful for her concern but wishing desperately to erase the worry lines from her face. "Don't worry, I'll be fine," you reassured her, though the words felt hollow on your tongue. Deep down, the unease still gnawed at you, a silent reminder of the uncertainty that lurked beneath the surface.

The match was a blur of cheers and adrenaline-fueled excitement as you cheered on Barcelona Femení from the stands. The tension mounted with each passing minute until, finally, the moment arrived-Alexia's goal, a burst of triumph that echoed through the stadium as the team secured their victory. You joined in the chorus of cheers and applause, heart swelling with pride for your girlfriend's achievement. After the match, as Alexia made her way over to where you and her family were waiting, Eli's keen eyes immediately honed in on you once again. "Alexia, mija, keep an eye on Y/N,' she said, her tone laced with concern. "They look a bit pale."

You felt a flush of embarrassment creep up your cheeks at Eli's words, grateful for the dim lighting of the stadium to conceal your reaction. Alexia's brow furrowed in concern as she turned her attention to you, her eyes searching yours for any sign of distress.

As you all made your way out of the stadium and towards the car, Alexia's concern for you was palpable. Her worry only intensified as she glanced over at you, her brow furrowed with genuine concern. "Are you feeling alright, mi amor?" she asked softly, her voice filled with a mix of worry and tend erness. "Maybe you should rest when we get home. I don't want you to get sick."

You reached out to gently squeeze her hand, offering her a reassuring smile despite the lingering unease in your chest. "I'm feeling fine, Ale," you assured her, your voice calm and steady. "Just a bit tired from all the excitement, that's all. And promise, take it easy once we get home."

As you arrived home, Alexia's protective instincts kicked into high gear. She ushered you gently inside, her arms wrapped around you in a comforting embrace. "Let's get you settled on the couch," she suggested, her voice soft and soothing. "You can relax while I make us something to eat."

You nodded gratefully, allowing her to guide you to the cozy haven of the living room. Nestled against the cushions, you watched as Alexia moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans a comforting melody in the background.

As you settled into the cozy haven of the living room, a sense of unease settled over you like a heavy fog. Despite your best efforts to push aside your worries, a nagging feeling gnawed at the edges of your mind. Your breasts felt oddly itchy, a discomfort that seemed to intensify with each passing moment.

You tried to dismiss it as nothing more than your imagination running wild, but the memory of your visit to the doctor earlier that morning lingered in the recesses of your mind, casting a shadow of doubt over your thoughts.

Alexia noticed your unease, her keen eyes picking up on the subtle shift in your demeanor. With a gentle touch, she brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, her voice soft with concern. "Qué pasa, mi amor?" she asked, her brow furrowing with worry. "Is something bothering you?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to articulate the swirling chaos of emotions churning within you. But as you met her gaze, the warmth of her love and understanding enveloped you like a comforting embrace. "It's nothing, Ale," you reassured her, forcing a smile despite the turmoil roiling within. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

She studied you for a moment longer, her gaze filled with a mixture of worry and understanding. With a nod, she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, her touch a silent promise of unwavering support.

Later, as you sat together on the couch, the remnants of dinner forgotten as you basked in the warmth of each other's company, Alexia's playful demeanor shifted as she sat behind you. Her hands teased their way up your torso, fingers dancing over the fabric of your Barcelona jersey. "Me encanta verte con mi camiseta del Barcelona, pero también me encanta ver y sentir tus pechos,' she murmured in your ear, her words sending a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't help but smile at her words, the warmth of her affection washing over you like a gentle wave. Hearing her speak in Spanish always had a way of soothing your soul, reminding you of the depth of your connection. Lost in the comfort of her voice, you momentarily forgot about the worry gnawing at your mind. Before you knew it, Alexia's hands had moved to lift your shirt, her touch tender and gentle as she brushed against something unexpected.

She paused, her brow furrowing in confusion as she examined the red patches marring the surface of your left breast. "¿Qué es esto?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with concern as she traced the outline of the irritated skin.

Your heart sank as you met her gaze, the weight of your worries crashing down around you. How could you explain the inexplicable to her, when you barely understood it yourself? But as you looked into her eyes, the love and trust shining in their depths, you knew that you had to confide in her, no matter how difficult it may be.

As Alexia's concerned gaze bore into yours, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the difficult conversation ahead. "It's... it's something I noticed a while ago," you began, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to remain composed. "I went to the doctor about it, but.. but didn't want to worry you."

Her grip tightened on your hand, a silent gesture of encouragement and support. "What did the doctor say?" she asked softly, her voice filled with concern. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to find the words. "She.. she said it's probably nothing" you admitted, the weight of your worries lifting slightly as you spoke the words aloud for the first time. "But... but she wants me to keep an eye on it, just in case."

Alexia's brow furrowed with worry as she listened to your explanation, her fingers tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand. "Why didn't you tell me, mi amor?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with hurt. You looked down, feeling the weight of guilt settle in the pit of your stomach. "I didn't want to worry you," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I thought... I thought maybe it was nothing, you know? But now..."

Alexia's heart ached as she watched the turmoil playing out across your face, her own emotions mirroring yours. "It's okay to feel that way, mi amor," she said softly, her voice filled with tenderness. "But next time, I want to know. I want to be there for you, to share the weight of your fears and insecurities. You don't have to face them alone."

With a gentle squeeze of your hand, she rose from the couch, her movements fluid and purposeful as she disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, she returned with a small jar of soothing cream, the faint scent of lavender filling the air as she applied it to the irritated patches on your skin. "There,'' she said softly, her touch gentle and comforting as she smoothed the cream over your skin. "That should help with the itchiness."

You felt a rush of gratitude swell within you at her tender care, the weight of your worries easing slightly under the warmth of her touch. "Thank you, my Ale'' you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

She smiled, her eyes shining with love and reassurance as she leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. I will help you with your daily checkups," she murmured, her voice filled with determination. "And maybe we can see the doctor again soon, just to be safe."

Her protective instincts kicked into high gear, her unwavering devotion filling you with a sense of warmth and security. Unable to contain the swell of emotion within you, you reached out to pull her close, your lips meeting hers in a passionate embrace. I love you, Alexia," you whispered against her lips, the words a silent promise of love and devotion. And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her embrace, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand.

-

My thoughts during and after writing this piece:

Sometimes, a health scare can catch us off guard, leaving us feeling vulnerable and, surprisingly, embarrassed. It's moments like these where the support of someone close can truly shine through. Whether it's a partner, a family member, or a friend, having someone there to share the burden can make all the difference. They remind us that we're not alone, no matter how daunting the situation may seem.

[desperate-gay]

Pls pls write for ali

Victory

Ali Krieger x fem!reader

The game is intense. Both teams have been playing hard, leading it to be 0-0 after the full ninety minutes, causing it to head into overtime. It’s 105 minutes in and Gotham has taken control of the ball. Kristie passes it downfield and it continues to move forward as Portland’s defenders scramble to guard the ball, but because they’re a little behind, it leaves a space allowing Katie to shoot the ball and hit the back of the bet.

The whole stadium goes wild, including you standing up with Sloane on your hip, cheering with the crowd. She looks around cluelessly with noise-canceling headphones, making her look even more adorable than usual. Kyle alongside you has Ocean in his arms while pumping his fist up and down at the new lead.

Only 14 minutes later, they are advancing to the finals. Ali looks up into the stands with a bright smile, seeing her family witness her journey through her career, but she is quickly pulled aside by her teammates who continue to chant they’re not finished yet.

After a few more minutes, you and Kyle make your way onto the turf with the kids to meet up with the captain. Kelley, Kristie, and Lynn all talk with her but once she sees you approaching, she excuses herself and jogs over.

“Mama won.” Sloane slurs with a cute little grin.

“Yes, she did!” You exclaim as you continue to bounce the little girl on your hip, something she has always enjoyed for whatever reason.

Ali laughs and takes Ocean out of Kyle’s arms without her smile breaking once. “I’m so happy you’re all here. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“We’d do anything for you, sis. Right, Y/n/n?” He wraps his arm around Ali’s shoulder before nudging you to answer. You divert your attention back to the girl and notice she’s already staring back at you.

“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

You all stand around and talk for a bit with a few of her teammates. The Portland breeze picks up, making it feel much chillier than it actually is. You’re only covered by a thin zip-up, not thinking the temperature would drop mid-game and freeze you half to death. Your shivering is noticed by Ali, so she shrugs off her coat and rests it on your shoulders before taking Sloane from your hands into her other arm.

“Ali, you’ll be cold now. I’ll be fine-“

“You’re clearly cold and you need to warm up. I’m hot anyways.” She shrugs you off and talks to both of the kids in her arms. You’re lucky that the bitter weather makes your cheeks rosy or she definitely would’ve noticed the deep blush rushing to your cheeks at the gesture.

You have been friends with Ali since forever. Your feelings for her have grown stronger and stronger as time moved on to the point where you’re now sure you’re in love with her. The only problem is that she split from Ashlyn months ago and you were her shoulder to cry on through her heartbreak. To you, it’s still too soon to even think about making a move, especially when she has more important things to think about like her retirement and her kids.

Sloane and Ocean have become important to you as well, treating them as one of your own. The little girl is a goofball and the little boy is a bit of a stinker at times, but nothing makes you love them any less. Ali sees the way you interact with them which makes her melt to the floor, knowing that you’re perfect in any way.

Long before the divorce, she knew it was over with Ashlyn for a while. They both argued constantly and Ali didn’t want the kids to grow up in a toxic environment. When Ashlyn cheated, she weirdly felt relieved. Maybe it was because it made her feel less guilty for growing feelings for you. Her best friend.

When the split happened, she ran to you. Even if she knew it was going to happen, it was still devastating. No matter what caused the divorce, she’ll still always care for her ex-wife, and knowing everything is changing with her career, love, and family, it breaks her. You’re there for it all. Her ups and downs, highs and lows. You assure her she’s stuck with you forever.

So here you are now, in Portland watching the captain survive and advance to the finals. Kyle drove you and the kids since Ali had to arrive a little earlier to get ready, but she insists her brother heads back to his hotel and she’ll take everyone back with her.

“Let me go wash off and gather my things then I’ll meet you here. Are you okay with watching them for a couple of minutes?” The taller girl asks, gesturing to the two toddlers in your arms.

You wave her off the best you can with her busied hand and say, “I’m sure I can handle these angels. Now hurry! I want to get back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, I thought I was bossy.” She snarks, walking away but not before the tip of your foot meets with her behind. “Ow! Meany.” You stick your tongue out on her which she returns, causing the kids in your arms to giggle at their Mama’s banter.

Kelley walks out with Kristie and sees the two giggling toddlers. Rushing over to you, she drops her bag, holds out her hands with a grabby gesture, and takes Ocean from your left arm. Kristie quickly follows and pulls Sloane into hers, allowing her arms to relax from the removed weight.

“I’ve missed you two.” Kelley coos at the boy while sticking her finger out for him to wrap his tiny hands around.

“I want one.” The blonde next to you frowns. “Can I keep her?”

“Mmm, I don’t think Kriegs would be happy with me if I sell her children-“

Your statement is cut off by the locker room door opening, revealing the said girl with dampened hair and a bag swung over her shoulders. “I leave you for a few minutes and you’re already auctioning off my babies?”

“Am not! Kristie is thinking about stealing Sloane!” You defend yourself while pointing to the girl.

“Hey!”

Ali chuckles and wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you into her chest. You don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing, but you’re far from complaining about the closeness. You both watch as your guys' two friends continue to mess with the children before you see them yawn.

“Alright, time to go. Gotta put these two to sleep.”

Kristie frowns but reluctantly hands Sloane over to you anyway. You smile sympathetically and pat her back with your free hand.

“I’m going to call Sam and ask for one now. I’ll see you two later.” The girl hops off on her phone, most likely already face-timing her Australian fiancé.

Kelley also bids her goodbyes, parting ways from the four of you, letting you all finally walk out to the car. You both buckle them in before you settle into the passenger seat and Ali in the driver.

The car ride remains silent besides the quiet hum of the radio in the background. You keep your gaze out the window, watching the unfamiliar buildings pass and the stars in the sky. The two toddlers in the back both fall asleep due to it being past their bedtime and the eventful day they had.

As you pull into the hotel parking lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around to look at the peaceful two.

“They’re so precious.” You mumble in awe to which Ali hums in agreement, also looking with you.

You both grab their sleeping forms and head into the hotel room. You’ve been staying with Kyle at his, but since she insisted on driving you back, you follow her into her room, thinking she might want to hang out for a bit. When in the room, you both first change the kids' clothes and place them into their little cribs for the night.

Ali sighs and thumps onto the bed in the middle of the room with her hands covering her face. Her shirt rides up due to her arms lifting, exposing her muscular stomach. You sit at the edge of the mattress and admire the beauty in front of you. A clearing of a throat breaks your stare and turns your attention to the brunette who is now sat up staring at you with a ghost of a smirk.

Heat once again radiates onto your face, embarrassing you further proving you just got caught. The best moves and the sheets shuffle from her moving to sit next to you. She nudges her shoulder with hers as she continues to look at your side profile.

Breaking the silence she says, “I’m happy you came with us to Portland. It means a lot to me; you being here through everything.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You look up back at her and your stomach twists at the sight of her gaze remaining on you. With both of your heads turned, your nose is almost hitting against hers. For a second, you swear you saw her eyes flick down to your lips, but maybe your eyes are deceiving you, feeding into your delusional mind that thinks she may feel the same.

Surprisingly, your mind wasn’t faking you out. Her hand reaches out and rests on your cheek, the soft pad of her thumb stroking your skin gently. She slowly leans in closer when she sees you look at her lips, taking it as a sign you’re not going to find her disgusting.

“Is this okay?” The brunette asks as her lips hover over yours. You nod instantly, not trusting your voice at the moment.

That’s when it finally happens. Her lips slot into yours like a missing piece to a puzzle you worked ages on. The kiss is firm, not too soft to make you think she’s unsure, but not too rough to make you think there’s no meaning behind it. As it continues, her other hand moves down and strokes your thigh which makes you crumble even more into the kiss while your hands rest lightly on her chest.

It lasts until you two need air, pulling away you rest your forehead against hers, giggling lightly in delight.

“What are you giggling about?” She smiles at the sweet sound.

“I just can’t believe this is happening. I’m really happy is all.”

Your right-hand slides itself to the back of her neck and rubs up and down, soothing the tense muscles. She sighs in relief from the feeling and pulls away slightly to be able to look at you. If she was a cartoon, hearts would appear in her eyes from seeing you smile softly at her and your doe eyes roaming her face.

Not being able to control herself, she pulls you in again and places multiple pecks on your lips, causing you to giggle at the outburst and try to lightly shove her off. She finally stops when she hears a quiet whine from the crib which makes the both of you pause and see if you woke one of the toddlers up. Lucky for you, they must have fallen back asleep as quickly as they woke up.

Ali moves to lie down on the mattress before opening her arms wide, signaling for you to lay down with her. You slot yourself comfortably into her embrace and cuddle into her chest. She presses one final peck to your head before whispering, “You are the one for me.”

You tap her waist 3 times, telling her you feel the same, something you've both done ever since you started hanging out. Both exhausted from the thrilling day, it doesn’t take long for slumber to take over your bodies, making you miss the quiet buzz from your phone.

brother kriegs<3

im hoping you finally made the move since youre not here. cant wait for you to be my sister-in-law. i have been dreaming of this day since you admitted your feelings xx

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series (completed)

* loosely inspired by Sara Cate’s “Salacious Players Club” series

🔥 EXTRA CONTENT HERE 🔥

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014** , 015, 016** , 017, 018, 019, 020*

* = somewhat smutty chapters , ** = smut chapters

Summary: 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓. After getting kicked out by your brother, you have no other choice but to take off your big girl pants and add stripper to your resume. Desperate to pay the bills and support your little sister, are you willing to accept the risks that come with such a perilous profession? With the stage name ‘Shy Girl’, you take the leap of faith, weaponizing your divine femininity to steal the hearts of all the bachelors in Hawkins — including Eddie Munson’s, the owner of Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

warnings & disclaimers — slow burn, eventual smut (a lot of it), voyeurism, mutual pining, sexual tension, jealousy, drug/alcohol, profanities, sexual harassment, domestic violence

Welcome to Hellfire.

theme song: meet you in hell by jade lemac “Look me in my eyes. I know that you’re scared. You see yourself and you cry for help. Look me in my eyes. Tell me it’s not fair. If you taught me well, I’ll meet you in hell.”

Chapter 001: Wolves

The Hargroves are cursed. Generationally, that is. One night Billy takes it too far, costing him the only thing he had left... his sisters.

TW — abuse, domestic violence, blood, profanities, implications of infidelity, death

word count: 8.5k words

author's note: there are four different acts to this introductory chapter :) so much foundation to lay down and i spent forever on this to craft it perfectly for you guys. thank you for being as excited about this fanfic as I am releasing it. i hope you all enjoy! -madelyn

tags: @changemunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n

_______________𓆩♡𓆪_______________

"Once I ran to you. Now I run from you."

♡

Duality of man. Mom was always a firm believer in that notion. In fact, she always used to say, "Inside of you, there are two wolves: a good one and a bad one. Depending on which mouth you feed, one will triumph the other.”

It became more evident when she died.

“YOU FUCKING SLUT. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GO.”

Once identical in every aspect, the differences between you and your brother slowly began to unravel over time.

Being ‘good wolf’ was impossible while living under the same roof as Billy. So you settled for neutral wolf instead. Meanwhile, the big, bad wolf possessed him at age 15, when he realized hitting your father back would get him to back off.

It was 2010, post-homecoming game.

Dad nearly flung Billy into another dimension when he came home. The preferred alternative would have been attempting to reason with one another, but it just wasn’t something that was normalized in the Hargrove household. Communicating with words was a daunting task; but not nearly as daunting as accountability.

“I’M DONE WITH YOU, BILLY. GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE.”

“I’m a literal minor, you can’t do this, Dad!” Billy wailed. "PLEASE!"

Over a football game.

The Friday Night Lights were a staple of Vista Palms High School. That and all of its nacho-eating, pot-smoking, LMFAO-playing, neon-filled goodness.

"C’mon V-P, c’mon, let’s beat S-D!” For weeks Billy had been chanting that mantra. There was no clearer indication that it’s where he would be the night of the championship game. He didn’t communicate it, of course, but it was implied. But still, it didn’t cross Dad’s mind.

Any parent who thought their child was coming home on time — and sober — that night was a foolish one. Especially if their kid was a sophomore with senior status.

“You sure as hell don't act like one,” Dad spat. “Coming home, acting all grown." Little did Dad know Billy was there for community service. Billy was a good student. More than anything he wanted a full ride to a UC, mainly to get away from home. Either that or military. Maybe then, walking on eggshells and being accused of something he didn't do — like drinking and doing drugs — would be a seasonal occurence instead of daily. "ACTING LIKE YOU PAY THE BILLS. YOU DON'T. YOUR MOM AND I DO.”

Dad knew he hit a nerve. It was his signature move aside from alienating his victims to establish control. While the feeling of getting your wings clipped really did you in, reactive abuse was Billy's top trigger, especially when Mom was mentioned. After all, Billy was the one who found Her.

Through glassy eyes and gritted teeth, Billy closed up his fists before mustering up the courage to say, “I’m…not…calling Sue... the operative word.”

Dad snarled. “Like there’s anyone else physically here you’ve reserved that title for?”

Oh.

"This tainted love you've given-"

Billy took the bait, lunging forward to grab Dad. As if on cue, Dad winded up his arm, assuming his usual position. You managed to assert yourself between in hopes of stopping them. Suddenly the back of Dad's hand collided with your cheek, sprawling you onto the couch. Billy watched horrified while you fought to keep your eyes open, growing anxious when all you could hear was the room pulsating around you at the highest frequency you had ever heard in your 15 long years of life. Enough was enough.

One punch. Bridge of the nose. Game over. The control Dad had over you both had ceased.

Billy rushed to your aid while Dad took a few moments to gather himself. It was then his beat-in, throbbing eyes realized that the little boy he mercilessly pushed around was no longer there. His own little Frankenstein had taken his place.

"I gave you all a boy could give you"

"Oh my god, Sissy," Billy cried, crouching down to run a soothing hand through your hair. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," you sniff, wrapping a hand around his arm. "I'm fine, Billy. I promise."

"I'm not gonna let that son of a bitch hurt you ever again," he vowed. "I'm gonna fuck him up and anyone else who tries."

"I love you, Brother."

"I love you, Sissy." The magnitude of power that surged through Billy melted into every neuron in his body, the warmth of its adrenaline imitating a tender — long overdue — embrace. He became fully enveloped in what was like an electric current, its tide higher than any wave he's ever surfed. It became more exhilarating than cruising down the I-5 in his Camaro at 130 MPH, and more intoxicating than any keg of beer he's ever swigged at a Wanna-be Project X Party.

It was the rush Billy had been searching for his whole life.

Every high Billy ever pursued before that rapidly declined in value. He would trade in anything for the static that had encoded itself into him. He felt untouchable, a luxury your father couldn’t afford his wife and children.

"YOU PUT YOUR HANDS ON HER AGAIN, YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

From that day forward, feeling respected was a freedom Billy was not willing to sacrifice, ever.

"Take my tears and that's not nearly all-"

But now Billy is the abuser, something you never imagined happening given his innately soft personality.

"Oh, tainted love. Don't touch me! Please.”

Slapping. Biting. Choking each other out. Pulling each other’s hair. Calling each other names. Spitting. Throwing things. Who would’ve thought the Hargrove twins were capable of the same horrors as their parents?

Yesterday was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Billy’s voice, like nails on a chalkboard, clawed at your brain in agonizing intervals.

“That’s all Max is. A pathetic little liar.”

“She will do anything for any bit of attention…even whore herself out to all the men in Del Mar.”

“You can get out. And stay out. Since you wanna act so grown all the damn time.”

He became the very thing — or person rather — he sought to destroy. The very person who indirectly, but explicably killed your mother.

And deep down you feared that if you and your stepsister Max don’t get out of that house, you’d both suffer that same fate.

“It's fucking JULY and 90 degrees out!” your sister retaliated. “What do you want me to wear to the beach? Fucking sweats?"

Max was out with friends the night prior. They hosted a birthday bonfire for her at the beach. She broke curfew and got a ride home from a friend. A guy friend. Billy wasn’t having it.

Max always got the short end of the stick. She was an easy target for Billy’s antics. Being the literal carbon copy of the woman he hates the most didn’t make it any better, and neither did taking the bait whenever Billy dealt it to “keep the peace”. Max believes being and acting helpless would get Billy to back down. It was far from the truth. In reality, she was feeding him his supply.

And what a volatile supply it is.

Mom also had another saying: "Anger is just grief with nowhere to go".

So you watched Billy and Max go back and forth with their pickleball tournament-o-insults, shouting at one another to their lungs’ capacity, their dead, black pupils strangling each other mentally while they gathered the physical strength to do so as well. You kept an arm halfway up and torso slightly turned in case you needed to butt in.

“I do this because I love you, Maxine,” Billy insisted. “So just SHUT UP and stop being a little cunt. Okay?”

“You stop being a presumptuous asshole first,” Max fired back. “We’re fighting again — why? Because someone with a penis drove me home? And we broke curfew by 10 minutes? I don’t control traffi-”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he dismissed her. “Just say you wanted some dick and call it a night.”

Classic slut-shaming, as if Billy’s Instagram following wasn’t all models, strippers, and OnlyFans girls.

Before you could even process what was happening, the blurbs of their argument skidded to a halt when Max finally broke. Billy watched in subtle amusement as she screamed, her fist meeting the wall repeatedly out of frustration.

Reactive abuse is Billy’s favorite abuse tactic.

“Someone who’s not guilty wouldn’t react like this,” Billy quipped in a sing-song voice, eyeing the new hole in the dry wall that Max had created.

There was no sense in backtracking if Billy already got what he wanted. Max just needed the last word. Before any of you could process it, an acrylic storage box soared through the air, hitting Billy right in the groin. He roared in agony while Max attempted to collect herself off to the side. She still saw red.

That’s when the knife came out.

One slice to the brow and it was over. To ensure the last word was his to keep, Billy ended up chucking a knife at your sister.

“OHMYGOD!” Max shrieked repeatedly, entering the ‘freeze’ stage of her shock. “OHMYGOD, OHMYGOD, I’M BLEEDING! I’M BLEEDING, THERE’S BLOOD!”

It was then you realized, the little boy you vowed to protect and refused to leave behind was long gone. Dad’s essence had taken his place now.

“You just don’t know when to FUCKING STOP, do you?” you exclaimed, putting pressure on Max’s eyebrow with a washcloth as she wailed. Suddenly it was Dad you were talking to. They had the same apathetic, dead look in their eyes. “I don’t care who said or did what, throwing a fucking KNIFE?”

“Me?” Billy tutted. “You wanna call me crazy, who did that?” He was referring to the hole in the wall. “And who was the one to throw shit first? EXACTLY. EXACTLY.”

While Billy was technically correct, he would never admit to what he did to provoke you two.

“So you can both get out if you’d like. Be my fucking guests.”

You and Max exchanged one look. The look. It was time. You both were ready and now had the green light. Now was the chance to bolt without immediate consequences.

So you and your sister spent several minutes rummaging through your pre-packed belongings while Billy continued to shit-talk aimlessly around the rental you shared. The place soon reeked of cheap bud and gas station gin. Trash bags were soon filled with your favorite clothes and you shoved them into as many of your childhood suitcases as possible. Struggling to see past your tear-coated eyes, you reached for your books, the ones you've hollowed out 300 pages deep to pocket all the tips from your waitressing job, and shoved the loose bills into your crossbody. You’d sort through them later. Lastly, you popped the cap off the bottom of your salt lamp. There was a pre-paid Visa you bought several months beforehand waiting for you. With trembling hands, you grasped it and whispered a gratitude to the Universe before tucking it neatly into the back pocket of your Levi’s.

When it was all said and done and everything was loaded into your car, you focus on the hole in the dry wall one last time.

Never again.

Billy was complacent throughout the entirety of the event. You glared at him while he continued to soothe himself with drugs and alcohol, refusing to own up to the irreversible damage he caused your little family.

“SIS,” Max boomed from outside. “LET’S GO!”

A part of you used to pity Billy, but now his destructive behavior took away any ounce of guilt you felt for leaving him.

You never fought back until you had no other choice. Similarly, and tragically, Billy shared that very sentiment.

Who the villain is in the narrative relied solely on whose lens you are looking through.

It took you by surprise all the time. How could identical twins, who grew up in the same environment, end up so different from one another?

“I love you, though you hurt me so. Now I’m gonna pack my things and go." - Tainted Love by Soft Cell

There are two wolves inside of everyone.

——————————𓇼——————--------

"Are the pieces of you in the pieces of me? I'm just so scared you're who I'll be. When I erupt just like you do, they look at me like I look at you" - DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

The heart-wrenching ballad by Lia Marie Johnson dissolves as you crank the dial to the left. Music is always depressing when Max has the aux chord.

"Did you hear what I said?" you question her.

Max abruptly sits up and reorients herself, attempting to shrug off the trance “DNA” had put her in for a few minutes.

"No, sorry. What'd you say again?"

"Do you need a bathroom break?"

"I'll go at the airport.”

"Okay, but if you change your mind and decide to take a leak one last time, I'll be happy to oblige.”

Swami’s is also an exit away and you’re just fixing for a hot meal before takeoff. But you don’t directly say that. Besides, Max loses her appetite when she’s upset and may only have room for shitty airplane food.

“I’ll just eat on the plane.”

Stale pretzels and flat soda it is.

Despite the decrease in appetite, Max is holding up well. As well as anyone-who-was-nearly-stabbed-by-her-brother-and-is-now-moving-states-away-from-everything-she’s-ever-known-with-her-sister could be.

It wasn’t your first choice to leave California. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid it. But nonetheless, anyone with a conscious and only $4,000 to their name would make the wise decision to move away to somewhere more affordable.

Enter your online friend, Robin.

Working ungodly hours six days a week to pay the bills took up so much of your time that you had no friends in San Diego — albeit high school friends who would have never guessed how you and Billy turned out. Those friends had happy families anyway. They couldn’t hold space for you. Your online friend Robin, who you met on an art forum, however knew your family dynamic and was there for everything. But she lived in Indiana with her partner and was never able to offer you any physical comfort.

You entertained Robin’s idea of moving to where she lives, a small town in Indiana called Hawkins just 20 minutes southeast of the city. Living under the radar to get your ducks in a row seemed like such a perfect plan, but you didn’t want to do so at the expense of Max losing her only support system she had outside of you.

Moving would’ve also meant pulling her out of school, which wouldn’t be possible because Billy was her legal guardian. Now that she’s graduated high school, and today is her 18th birthday, the game has changed completely.

“Donovan texted me happy birthday,” Max reports, finally disclosing a fragment of her inner conscience. “Thought it was sweet.”

You can’t help but smile. "You thought he wouldn’t?”

She refrains from rolling her eyes and shifts them towards the rocky beach cliffs outside her window.

“You know,” you add. “I really think you two could make long distance work. I’ve never seen so much chemistry between two people before.”

Max scoffs. "Yeah right. Long distance with a guy going to Santa Barbara for college?” She fiddles with the strings of the knit poncho resting atop her lap. “I'd be breaking my own heart."

You bite your lip to stop the waterworks. Max doesn’t deserve any of this. She deserves to enjoy bonfires with her skater friends, surf all the tubular waves, and go on all the nature hikes without worrying about her stepbrother’s codependent-fits-of-rage waiting for her when she comes home. She deserves to eat fried funnel cake at the county fair and share a kiss with the boy of her dreams atop a Ferris wheel on the 4th of July. She deserves a San Diego summer, not a summer spent in hiding from her abuser in the middle of buttfuck nowhere.

Max decides to change the subject.

“So what’s Robin like? Your online friend.”

“She’s very sweet,” you breathe. “Been, uh, telling her about Billy for a long time now. Her arms have been open since day one.”

“And her girlfriend?”

“Vicky’s the best,” you insist. “A match made in heaven for sure. It’s like they’re the same person, just different font.”

You get a giggle out of Max. Her laughter during such a turbulent time is like music to your ears. The non-depressing kind.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t get you a gift this year.”

She side eyes you.

“What are you talking about? You quite literally gave me the best gift of all.”

“Did I? What did I give you?”

“You gave me safety.”

And with that, you give yourself a mental pat on the back, confident you made the right choice despite how foreign everything currently felt. The conversation dies down while you and Max ride on, driving further and further away from the Park and Ride you spent the night at, off Coast Highway, and onto the I-5 one last time.

Boarding the plane is a swift process. Your plane is a two-seater, so Max gets the window and you get the aisle. After receiving your snacks and drinks, you decide to play white noise and dissociate for the next five hours. It’s safe to do so, anyways. Liminal spaces were not something you took for granted.

Meanwhile, Max looks out the window, watching as the world she has come to know her whole life shrinks right before her eyes, before disappearing underneath a quilt of soft white cumulus clouds.

“This is 18.”

Goodbye, San Diego.

—————— ✈︎ ———————

Hello, Hawkins.

“Please, make yourself at home,” Robin incites, trudging through the miscellaneous projects that sit at her feet. “As if we weren’t DIY freaks enough, the pandemic really just amplified that.”

The pandemic was a hard time for everyone. You lost your fine dining gig and abruptly switched to UberEats to adjust to the flow of takeout. Billy couldn’t go to the gym, his happy place, and it took a toll on him mentally. Max broke quarantine multiple times to see Donovan, which didn’t sit well with your brother. He of course lashed out on her and also proclaimed that people like her were the reason why America hadn’t opened up yet.

“And I get no time at the gym!” Billy screamed. “So now I have to do this—”

You learned that a decent lamp costed $70 that night.

That wasn’t your first rodeo though. You and Billy grew up replacing furniture all the time. You two would gather up your money and spend it on replacing whatever needed replacing for Mom’s birthday. She always wanted to make your house feel like a home. Feel lived in. You and Billy thought you were heroes doing it, but it dawns on you now that you two were just babies.

“Oh!” Vicky interrupts. “Before we forget…”

You and Max watch her as she scrambles around, looking for something that she seemed ecstatic about.

“Happy birthday, Max!”

“No way, Kate Bush!” Max exclaims as she accepts the gift, an original Kate Bush vinyl record of her album Hounds of Love.

"Wow," you beam, rubbing your sister’s back. “Way to fuel her 80's hyperfixation, huh?"

“We found this at the thrift store,” Vicky boasted. “Knew we had to get it for ya.”

“It’s the real deal too," Robin adds. "Look, printed 1985.”

“It’s perfect,” Max gushes. “Can’t wait to play it on my Crosley.”

She thanks them both and hugs them before running back to the living room to get the rest of your belongings. You listen as she hums some of Kate Bush’s discography along the way.

You then observe Max as she unpacks her things one by one, slightly peppered with remnants of the California sand and the snobby fee it took to ship it all here via cargo. She then proceeds to sit on the new bed to check the springing quality, testing its bounce factor and comparing it to that of her old bed.

You let out a bittersweet sigh.

Suddenly you're eight years old, doing the same thing at the local motel Mom managed to snag a couple nights from when Dad trashed the house.

You turn to look in the mirror atop your new dresser.

Suddenly, you're Mom. Quite literally. You both have the same wavy blonde hair, scattered freckles across your nose that Billy used to call “stardust”, and the same tsunami blue eyes. It makes it no wonder why you and Dad never got along. You are Mom’s spitting image — and Billy is Dad’s.

Funny how life turns out.

You graze the crows feet at the outer corner of your eyes, realizing now how many years have silently passed you by, and then take note of the stress-defined scars in the form of eye baggage from all the sleepless nights that came as a souvenir.

You’ve put up with so much. For so long. The trauma is starting to manifest itself physically.

Robin snaps you back into present day. "So I was thinking we go to Applebee's for dinner, walk around Old Town, get you guys settled and unpacked when we return, Jenga at night, and then-"

She stops when she sees the horrified expression on your face.

“Hey…” the pitch in her comforting, raspy voice heightens. “What’s the matter?”

Your voice breaks. “It’s…” you manage. “It’s been a lot.”

Robin pats your back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

Without looking, Robin snags a few tissues from a box laying around and gives them to you. You blot the tears away, careful not to mess up the makeup you had on with the intention to make you look less…dead.

“Sue didn’t even call and wish her happy birthday. Her own mother.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin repeats.

“Every day I watch Max store her trauma in the box... and just shove it into the corner where it gathers dust,” you continue. “If she doesn't unpack it..."

You didn’t even want to think of the collateral damage you and your brother caused her. A part of you wants to think Maxine has remained untouched from that side of you, but the dry blood on her outer brow was a reminder that it was far too late to shelter her from that.

"You see yourself in her."

"And my mom in myself,” you admit. “Now more than ever.”

You rub your eyes.

“I’m rambling, I know. It’s just… SO aggravating. Max deserves better.”

“She’s handling it really well.”

“We don’t know that. I know Max. She’s a pro at hiding her feelings.”

“She’s being strong for you, like you are for her. It’s very endearing, whether you both admit it to each other or not.”

She rubs your arm.

“For as long as Vicky and I are here, you and Maxine have a soft place to land. We are here for you. Y’all are safe.”

You two glance over at Max, who is now unpacking your Zen Basics Himalayan salt lamp. She sets it on top your new bedside table, a reupholstered one whose old wood was painted over by an earthy olive green, the old hardware replaced by eccentric shaped, neutral-toned knobs. Her Crosley sits on your floor, now playing a track off Kate Bush's vinyl while she stares out the window. Your new view for the foreseeable future.

Can't you see where memories are kept bright?

Tripping on the water like a laughing girl

Time in her eyes is spawning past life

One with the ocean and the woman unfurled

Holding all the love that waits for you here

Catch us now for I am your future

A kiss on the wind and we'll make the land.

Dinnertime comes fast, but you blame it on the time zone difference. You call shotgun and ride with Robin in the passenger seat, catching up with your best friend while Vicky and Max watch YouTube shorts in the backseat.

Robin gives you a backstory of everything you pass on the way to Applebees, from the schools to churches to family-owned gas stations. She and Vicky seem to know everyone by a first-name basis, naming random people off and knowing exactly who that is every so often. You try to stay engaged, but the only thing on your mind is where you’re going to apply for a job.

Robin drives into a plaza next.

"This used to be a mall, but now it's completely empty," Robin continues pointing to an empty building with remnants of a star symbol etched on it. "E-commerce really turned this strip into a ghost town."

"So basically, if I wanted a job, it would have to be any of these food places, an office of sorts, or an off-brand Blockbuster store?"

"Family Video is closing too," Vicky chimes in. "It's sad. But I guess Hawkins needs yet another overpriced coffee shop."

"You could always work at the gentlemen's club," Max jokes, pointing off to the side.

You turn to where she’s pointing and take note of the matte black rectangular building by the Sizzler’s. It didn’t seem out of place, but the silhouette of an exotic dancer with devil horns gave the sinister establishment away. You couldn’t read the name of the club, but a part of you tries to.

Robin slightly turns and nods in that direction. "Oh yeah. I heard the girls there make bank in tips."

“I made bank in La Jolla doing fine dining,” you point out. “Maybe I can do the same thing here. But at a similar establishment.”

“Fanciest restaurant you’ll get here is Benny’s,” Vicky says. “You’re gonna have to go to the city for fine dining. I don’t think the commute is worth.”

“Guess stripper is your best option,” Max nudges you.

You shoot a glare her way. “Very funny.”

"I know, I was joking," she scoffs. "Billy would kill you anyways."

Billy would literally go insane if you dared to work at a strip club. The slut-shaming would never end. Not that he never slut-shamed you anyway. There was always something for him to be misogynistic and hypocritical about.

Then it hits you. Billy isn't here. And you really need the money since in this day and age, $4,000 meant nothing. You peer over at the gentlemen's club one last time as it shrinks out of view the further Robin drives.

HELLFIRE.

-----------𓆩♡𓆪------------

Dungeons & Dragons.

Of course one of the very few strip clubs in Hawkins has to be the dorkiest.

But you understand the vision. Beyond the cobblestone entrance, the veil between real life and fantasy thins.

As you near the club with nothing but a purse and car keys in hand, you notice that there’s already security by the door. You’re surprised to see a leaner guy, tall and slender with soft blonde hair and a soft grin to match. He catches sight of you and greets you with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” he says. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” you nod. You reach for your wallet and give him your ID. Typical screening process. “Yourself?”

“Not too shabby,” he replies.

He examines your ID card. You notice his surprise when his eyes slightly widen before retracting shortly after. You guess that he was wondering why you are here out of all places. You peer over at his name tag while he concludes his screening. Henry.

Upon verification of your identity, the friendly security guard returns your card to you.

“Let me give you a wrist band.”

He motions for you to hold an arm out. You extend your right arm to him and watch as he gracefully pulls a paper wristband out of his pocket, clasping it into place with the side that read “21+” facing upwards.

You take the time to admire the gentleness of this man. The softness of his face. His dreamy gaze.

“Any weapons on you?”

“Uh…” you stammer. “Just pepper spray?”

A laugh escapes from his nostrils. “That’s fine, my dear.”

“I hope I don’t have to use it.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Under my watch, you won’t.”

Henry gently strokes your hand before motioning you inside.

“Enjoy the show.”

“Thanks,” you smile politely.

It’s a slow afternoon, but granted no one goes to a strip club at 2 PM. The Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club was comprehensively laced with playful innuendos. The accent wall by the entrance showcases an array of chains and handcuffs. Kukris, nun-chucks, and flails all of different variants and sizes are displayed on the walls, the point of balance being a vintage pulp print of a metal puppeteer. On the print, "OBEY YOUR MASTER" is written in edgy bubble letters.

Kinky.

And there’s a bonus of this themed club: the ladies are dressed in cloaks. You watch as beautiful women from all walks of life strut around the joint, leaving the clients with only their imagination to guess what’s underneath the tantalizing, medieval velvet.

There are LED signs that lit up corners of the space, indicating what they were for. KAS’ KORNER: GRAB A BITE, DRAGON'S BREATH: HOOKAH LOUNGE, and POTIONS — the bar.

You catch a glimpse of the private show rooms, or at least what you think are the private show rooms.

The LED sign to those rooms read, "I PUT A SPELL ON YOU AND NOW YOU'RE MINE."

The general seating area for the main event reads VECNA’S LAIR.

The Dungeon Master of this joint thought of every possible detail he could and ironed it into perfection.

Surely, someone who truly plays would adore every aspect of all the details, but it was evident that everyone came here for the same reason:

Girls, girls, girls.

You walk over to the bar to see two men conversing behind it.

One looked to be in his late 20s, with scruffy chestnut brown hair, some tired eyes, peach fuzz, and a patterned shirt decorated in a kaleidoscope of colors — a shirt meticulously calculated by quite possibly a girlfriend.

The other looked like he had another year left before being allowed to be behind that counter... of course judging by the “Hawkins High School class of 2021” on his insulated water bottle in his hand, a cracked iPhone in the other, and Beats with a small basketball sticker on it.

When you appear in their periphery, the conversation between the two gradually comes to a stop.

“Whoa,” the younger man hums. “New face. Welcome.”

“Hi. What do you recommend?”

“In terms of what?” the younger man questions slyly. There’s a timidness to the young man’s spirit, making his flirtatious demeanor somewhat dorky. The age appropriate bartender nudges him.

“Drinks, hotshot,” you refrain from chuckling. “Drinks.”

“Depends what you’re into,” the younger man replies, the slyness continuing. “If you’re into light liquors, Jonathan can make you a mean Cîroc with pineapple juice. But if you’re more into the dark stuff…”

He gestures up and down on himself.

“Then look no further.”

“That was very painful to listen to,” the older one who you assume is Jonathan cringes. “Can you get anymore corny?”

“Ta-ha!” the younger one tsks. “He said could I get any more corny. Can you get any more bitchless?”

“I have a girlfriend, Lucas.”

“Emphasis on the singular sense.”

“Nance is all I need.”

"Nancy is all you can pull," Lucas chuckles. "With that goofy ass shirt, man. Stop playing with me."

So you weren’t the only one who thought the shirt was absolutely ridiculous. It had "Bad Bitch Repellant" written all over it.

Jonathan whacks Lucas with the cloth that was sitting atop his shoulder. You request a double Tito’s straight on the rocks from Jonathan to which he automatically starts to make. Lucas continues to interrogate you.

“As you heard, my name is Lucas. Lucas Sinclair.” He extends his hands to you. “But my favorite ladies call me 'Dark Chocolate'. You can call me, 'The Man of Your Dreams' though.”

You take the youngster’s hand in yours and shake it. His heavy locker room cologne makes your nose swell, an uneven mix of what you believe is Axe and — is that Dior?

You tell Lucas your name then hit him with a, “But you can call me ‘When You’re Thirty’.”

Lucas laughs at your joke, beaming up at you as he does so. Then he nods to communicate a gracious fair enough. The flirting, you could sense, was in good nature, playful.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugs. “Do you have a younger sister by any chance?”

“Oh in your dreams, mister.”

Jonathan chuckles and rubs Lucas’s back.

"That’s enough man, can you go buss that table over there?"

Lucas gives a thumbs up before putting his Beats on and walking away. You divert your attention back to Jonathan who is now done with making your drink.

“Alright… I got a Tito’s double shot — straight — on the rocks,” Jonathan announces as he slides your vice on over. He studies you as you take the drink and request to keep the tab open. “I’m inclined to ask. Are you okay?”

When you’re not around Billy, you wear your heart on your sleeve. It wouldn’t hurt to trauma dump on a stranger. Especially one who asked.

“Pretty far from okay,” you answer before chugging it. “Can’t you tell? It’s 2PM and I’m consoling…” You slosh the drink around in your hand. “…my man Tito.”

“I see that.”

“It’s been a long day,” you continue. “It’s my second day in Hawkins so I thought I’d scope this place out. Dilly dally for a bit.”

“Second day?” Jonathan questions. “As in…ever?”

“Yeah, just moved here.”

The bartender looks around as if he’s missed something. “But…why?”

It’s a fair reaction. If the welcome sign is correct, Hawkins only has a population of 1,314 people. 1,316 now including you and Maxine.

“My friend lives here and convinced me to make the move,” is what you explain, though it only seems to make Jonathan more confused. “Couldn’t take the heat Cali was dishing out. Hawkins seemed like the perfect place to slow down.”

“Oh man,” Jonathan mutters. “California to here, what a change.”

“You lived here long?”

“Lived here my whole life,” he answers as a matter of factly.

“What made you get a job at Hellfire?”

Jonathan didn’t have to think. “I love booze.”

You laugh together, raising your half-empty class to clink his invisible one.

“I hate 9-5s,” Jonathan draws on. “Working from home ‘bout damn near drove me insane, don’t know how my mom does it with such ease. My boss here smokes me out on occasion and my friends make me nachos.” He smiles. “Can’t think of anything better.”

“There we go.”

"I’ve also just been looking out for women my whole life," he adds. "Bout time I get some financial compensation for it, no?"

“Amen to that,” You chug the last of your drink. “Thanks for your service.”

"Pleasure is mine. Anything else I can do for ya?"

You think. "Hm, probably not you, but maybe the hiring manager can do something for me."

"You're looking to work here?" he clarifies as you nod. "Oh sweet, you're going to wanna talk to Eddie. He's the owner."

"And a dweeb," says a significantly younger looking fellow as he slides into the conversation.

“Here we go.”

In front of you now is a gentleman around Lucas’s age with wild curly brown hair. You watch as he helps himself to a club soda, dunking three large wedges of lemon into his cup as well.

The guy offers you a playful, pearly white grin. “Eddie may own a nice club with some smokin' hot babes, but he's got no game whatsoever."

“Hey Dustin.”

“Sup, man.”

“You think so?" you challenge him.

"I know so,” the boy who you now know as Dustin insists. “Can't talk up a chick to save his life."

"Yeah," Jonathan says, half-jokingly. "He's the bitchless one."

Dustin glances between you both, slightly puzzled.

You shake your head. "No way."

"I wouldn't say he's that bad," Dustin says. "I actually think he's seeing someone casually. But in general, dude's got zero rizz."

"Projecting are we?" Jonathan nudges him.

“HELL. NO.” Dustin booms. You attempt to refrain from laughing. “My game is what got me the baddest gal at science camp. Eddie? Clumsy as hell, stutters on his words, he's got the anxiety level of someone who drinks cold brew on an empty stomach… Now that I say it out loud, I think he does drink cold brew on an empty stomach. Some chicks dig it though, which is good for him.”

Curly was fun to observe. Once he’s done talking down on the club owner, Dustin politely walks over and shakes your hand, bowing to you like you’re a princess of sorts. You later find it that like Lucas, Dustin works as a bus boy and server, and his girlfriend makes sure that he remains in Kas’ Korner at all times. Dustin has about two years left before legally being permitted behind the POTIONS bar, but that doesn’t stop him from using it as his own storage shed.

You watch as he grabs some deodorant and hair pomade from an old shoe box under the counter.

“Anyways, later,” Dustin holds up a peace sign, starting towards the door. “I'm not on today, I'm just hitting the gym with Steve."

“Later, man!” Jonathan calls after him.

“Deuces. Say hello to Dark Chocolate for me.”

Before he could get any further, the loud swinging of a door closeby causes him to halt in place.

“ALRIGHT!” a loud, gruff voice booms from that direction. “Which one of you shitheads forgot to take inventory on the 10th?!”

You can’t help but turn your body towards the ruckus. And to your own pleasant surprise, you don’t regret it. Emerging from the door comes the possible shift lead, a tall and broad man with medium length wavy brown hair, chocolate-colored, youthful doe eyes that contradicted the deep lines on his face, bleach white Chuck Taylor’s, ripped black jeans, and a Hellfire Club baseball tee with the logo smack-dab in the middle.

The man looked to be in his mid to late 20s, with an assertiveness in his stride. His lips, a perfectly formed bow with a smirk-like undertone. The cool rings that rest upon his fingers look icy as they sway at his side, shining in contrast to his dark clothing.

The man is too tunnel-visioned to see where he was going. But that doesn’t stop Dustin from looking absolutely mortified.

“The 10th and the 11th,” the man clarifies. “So for all we know, we might need new kegs and ground chili, which is one more thing I have to d-”

Finally he looks up, with you being the first thing he sees. Proximity taking him aback, he snaps out of his stress-induced trance and softens up at the sight of you. You meet his eyes, big and beautiful with long wispy lashes and you can’t help but mimic the flutter in your heart in the form of a smile.

“Whoa.” He says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Whoa, indeed.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s Eddie’s first day back, he tends to get a little in the zone,” Dustin explains.

Eddie.

Does that mean…

“Are you the hiring manager?”

You didn’t know who you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the man in front of you. He must be proud of himself, having such a successful business so early in the game.

Eddie gathers himself quickly.

“Dungeon Master, hiring manager, manager, owner, sanitations, re-stocker,” Mr. Jack-of-all-trades confirms. “I do it all.” He grimaces at Dustin. "Since you know, some people don't wanna work."

"You said I can have off!" Dustin exclaims defensively. "I worked for you before the weekend already and I wasn’t even on the 10th and 11th, fuck outta here."

All it takes is a scowl his way from the boss and Dustin is radio silent. The look on Eddie's face definitely said "Watch your tone". Eyes are all on you once more soon after.

Eddie’s gaze softens when he looks at you.

“Were you…looking to apply?”

“Yeah,” you reply sheepishly. “As a dancer. I’d like to perform here.”

“You don’t sound too confident.”

“Some guys like shy girls,” you shrug.

He laughs, a dark honey kind of laugh that just oozed from the back of his throat. “That they do.” His voice deepens drastically. Eddie studies you. “Any dancing experience?”

“Dancing, yes.”

“Stripping experience?”

“None.”

“Hm,” Eddie says. “What do you have experience in?”

“I danced for a bit…I have good core strength,” you explain vaguely. “And I’ve worked in the restaurant industry so I’d say customer service is my superpower.”

Eddie soaks in the information.

“I know how to talk to people,” you continue. “I know the right things to say. Favorite pass time is upselling drinks. And dessert…”

You wait for Eddie to take the low hanging fruit. He doesn’t.

"Any experience with the pole?”

Your cheeks grow hot. You decide to lie.

"No.”

“Kinda essential for this profession, sweetheart.”

"I know," you respond humbly. "I wouldn’t doubt it for a second..." you scan the room. “So uh, do I need a permit to perform here?”

“Nah, Hawkins is a lawless wasteland pretty much,” he sighs placing his hands on his hips. “And my club does things a little different anyways. The ladies also don’t pay to perform, we pay them to.”

Shit. Strippers pay to perform at venues?

“The dining experience is what brings the base revenue in,” Lucas explains, returning from wherever he had been. “The ladies are a luxury.”

“And should be treated as such,” Jonathan chimes in.

“I take it you don’t work at any other clubs?” Eddie questions judging by your wide eyes attempting to take in every bit of information that has been dumped on you. The man sees right through your mask.

“No, but I-”

“I personally like to give everyone a chance,” Eddie says. “So don’t worry babe, you’re good. Even though you don’t have any experience, your energy tells me that you have potential. Wanna show us what you can do?”

Your heart sinks. The handsome club owner called you babe. And you’re also being asked to perform with the little experience you have — in front of girls who had tons of experience.

“Here? Now?”

Eddie nods.

You weren’t prepared to dance today. But with your sister and the mountain of debt on your mind, you are willing to do anything. So you walk over to Jonathan and tell him what song you feel most comfortable performing to and stretch as he takes the time to find it. When all is said and done, you make your way to the icy pillar made of chrome steel that was calling for your attention.

You exhale deeply.

Back to the old stomping grounds. The last time you worked with a pole you were wearing Heeley’s and light up sneakers. Of course in place of the horny spectators there were playground supervisors, and the only “bars” there were monkey bars. Oh, and you were 8, not 28.

The slut-shaming still existed, though. One time a boy told you that you were acting like a ‘hoe’ for trying to do a trick upside down. To Billy’s retaliation though. Before you knew it, the same boy was being shoved down and dragged across the wood chips, acquiring a series of splinters along the way. Admin phoned home. You and Billy got spanked. But, of course, Billy had no regrets. While you both cooled off together, you remember him grazing your hand, telling you he’d beat that kid up “a gajillion times over”.

He kept that promise. Except as you two grew older, it was you he was doing it to. A gajillion times over.

You laugh at the bittersweet nostalgia.

“Whenever you’re ready, babe,” Eddie says.

You give Jonathan a thumbs up to play your song selection. Soon, Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club is filled with the catchy, seductive tune that is Layla by Eric Clapton.

You start with a small stroll around the pole. Then a dramatic dip to flaunt your bouncy golden locks. Soon, the women of Hellfire gather around with the men following soon after to watch you work your magic in Vecna’s crowded Lair.

If muscle memory is in your favor, they are in for a good show.

What will you do when you get lonely

No one waiting by your side?

You've been running, hiding much too long

You know it's just your foolish pride

Eddie claims a seat at a throne directly in front of the pole. He studies your technique, your movements, your facial expressions. You aren’t sure if reality is projecting onto you or if you’re dizzy from all the spinning, but you almost see a slight smile spread across the club owner’s face. It prompts you to keep going.

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

It’s a lot harder, your techniques and tricks. Most likely since you weigh more than 50 pounds now and had to exert more energy to keep yourself balanced an aligned. But nonetheless, you persist.

Tried to give you consolation

Your old man had let you down

Like a fool, I fell in love with you

You turned my whole world upside down

You buck your hips upward from you back arch to go into an upside down position. It earns you some hooting and cheering from the crowd.

“You better work, mamas!” a dancer cheers.

“I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT!”

“YOU GO GIRL!”

“YAAAS!”

Layla, got me on my knees

Layla, I'm begging, darling, please Layla

Darling, won't you ease my worried mind?

Eddie watches intently, leaning backwards with his hands clasped forward. You feel his eyes burn through you, from the top of your head down to your toes. You feel as if he’s mentally scoring you like you’re at a competition, but the sisterhood that cheers you on makes you feel slightly less intimidated.

“SHE’S SO GOOD!” comes a high-pitched voice in the crowd. “I FREAKING LOVE HER!”

You turn to look at your own personal cheerleader, a bright-eyed cute little redhead with pigtails with an outfit that looks like an ode to Britney Spears’ “Hit Me Baby One More Time”. She has cherry hair ties that hold her two pigtails at the bottom.

You watch her clap and jump up and down, cheering you on with a beam in her eyes that made you feel like your souls have been friends for decades.

Motivated to attempt more risqué moves, you jump into the splits before kicking your legs around to end on your knees.

Clapping and whistling erupts from the lair. Once it dies down, Eddie stands up, offering you a delighted series of slow claps as he makes his way towards you.

"That was really good, Shy Girl. I like how you finished your set."

“Aw, thanks Eddie.”

He walks around you.

"Go like this?" Eddie does a stretching motion, lifting his hand up.

You imitate him and reach up.

"Okay, and... turn like this? Then pop your ass out a bit more."

The word rolled off the club owner's tongue like it was nothing. It was done in a way that was professional, a hint of respect in his tone with no sort of ulterior motive.

You swallow hard, attempting to internally tame the goosebumps on rising upon your skin. He’s just giving feedback, he’s just giving feedback. This is a professional line of work.

You do as he says as he circles around you, fingers grazing on the cool floor of the stage just inches away from your thighs. He taps them in thought.

"For a beginner you’re pretty damn good,” he says.

“Yeah?” you look up at him and smile.

“Yeah,” his voice deepens. “You’re a natural. All that shyness just went away.”

Well, it’s about to return, you think to yourself.

“Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Not in this specific setting.”

There’s a slight shift in his eyes as his imagination wanders. The dimples at the side of his mouth concave slightly.

“I gotcha.”

Eddie clears his throat. “So uh, when can you start?”

Today is Wednesday. You have tomorrow, Friday, and the weekend to settle you and Max in and make any last minute stops. Then the appointment with the other loan officer and DMV appointment on Monday. Tuesday afternoons are dry — everywhere so that left the earliest you can start as

"Next Tuesday? In the evening?"

A soft snort escapes from the club owner’s nose.

"Driest night of the week," he comments, looking around his club.

He turns back to you.

"But a good time for orientation. Works for me, Shy Girl. Can I call you that?”

You smirk. “So I got the job?”

He nods.

“Then you can call me what you want,” you smile shaking his hand. “In this case I’m Shy Girl Hargrove.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles. He knows you’re flirting. Eddie accepts your hand and shakes it firmly.

“Eddie. Pleased to formally meet you. And welcome to Hellfire.”

You two exchange contact information for professional purposes before he leaves. You study Eddie as he sees himself out, planting a firm, teasing smack on Lucas’s stomach on his way and whispering something to Jonathan as well.

Your cheerleader from the crowd excitedly makes her way over.

“I know a dancer slash gymnast when I see one,” she chirps. “I’m Chrissy. Stage name is Cherry.”

You two shake hands and exchange further compliments with one another. Your heart swells when you realize you’re slowly starting to find community.

“It’s so nice to meet you.”

Others come and say hello, but you’ve tuned out all the faces because all you can think about is Eddie. His demeanor. The way he carries himself. His presence alone was something so intoxicating that it lingered around the place in his absence.

Your heart flutters.

“Oh, Hargrove!” Jonathan says. “Before you go I just wanted you to know that you don’t have to worry about the drink.”

“Oh?” you respond. “No?”

“Eddie says it’s on the house.”

You smile and Jonathan returns the favor, making sure you see him when he voids your entire tab. As you wave bye to all your spectators, you release a grateful sigh. You felt very humbled about this new, yet unexpected beginning.

The happiness soon wears off when the events that just unfolded dawn on you. Suddenly, the flutter in your heart moves to your stomach, settling in a way that feels eerie. The unknown is pestering you again. Wrong, but oh so right and necessary.

You take in the area around you. You have a place to call home. You’re a stripper now. Your boss just bought your drink. You’re going to have money coming in. Oh, and YOU’RE A STRIPPER NOW.

Then it dawns on you. You need to go shopping.

[chaosfae-writes]

𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

premise: a crowded marriage of three, a suffocating marital bed, and one must go — and it’s the meddling husband.

pairings: Alicent Hightower x Targaryen!woc!reader, Targaryen!woc!reader x Vaemond Velaryon (arranged)

ao3 // 15k words

warnings: birth/labor, wlw romance, infidelity, jealously, arranged marriage, misogynistic Westerosi views.

a/n: for my Alicent, my little meow meow. Alicent really said, “look at me, look at me, I’m the husband now.” prepare yourselves, it’s long, please take your time.

do not repost my works.

The birthing bed is a woman’s battlefield.

Choppy breaths of agony, quivering and irate as a wounded animal. Squelching wet noises mildly echo, the scent of copper is nauseating —- the terrain of your neck is damp with sweat. Nostrils flaring, baring teeth as a snarling dragoness.

White hot fire licks along your uterine walls, sore pelvis aches as if it’s cracking, bloodied thighs shaking, chest heaving, throat parched and dry as unforgiving Dornish sand, and the Queen’s tender fingers interwoven with yours.

Alicent’s knuckles baring white, milky fingers clutching tamarind tart fingers as in one fist. She’s perched on her knees behind you, as your spine laid against her bodice hanging off a chair; not caring that blood has now stained her dress — embroidered emerald fabric now adorned with murky brown stains.

It’s been a few hours into the long night, guttural groans rip through your throat, stings as if shards of glass live there —- by now the entire realm of King’s Landing has heard your wails. Trembling teeth, mouth wet with tears and sweat.

Your dizzied skull falls defeatedly upon the crock of Alicent’s neck; sweetly she lays her cheek on your temple. Alicent is a mess, heaving and panting from the stress.

She’s on her knees ungracefully, her thick midnight auburn hair in messy tresses, no longer does she don the regal guise of a queen, but as a soldier in war.

Murmuring under her breath, pleading to the Gods for you and the child to survive the labor -— the ichor that slowly trickles and seeps from the cave of your womb terrifies her as it pools and stains down your thighs.

Prayers recited as hymns, as chants, pleas to the Gods for your life. You have been a life-line to Alicent, been her anchor at each of her births —- throughout her entire life. And she too, will be by your side.

As your hands shook in pain, entering into the new world of motherhood, Alicent witnesses it as not your step-mother, but as your entrusted companion—- as lovers, with ease, she assimilate to the role of husband, as if it’s her babe too who is struggling to breathe life into the new world.

“Push, princess! Its crown is near!”

Throat nearly torn, you muster the strength to push, a high-pitched scream pierces through; a wounded animal using all her strength to bring her unborn cub to the world. A babe’s cry comes as a crackle of thunder, an unforgiving war cry — the fight is won! What a shrill, fiery dragon unfurling its wings.

Relieved gasps, your abdomen a tad bit lighter, but still a little swollen flesh. The umbilical cord still connected, the connection still strong.

“A daughter, princess!”

Exhausted cheers as the baby is swathed in a blanket, sore fingers out-stretch for her. You sob in relief, face wrinkling with a wavering smile, as Alicent kisses your cheek, inches away to your lips. The maidens say nothing over the gesture, too overjoyed — it’s all too familiar. It has been for years.

Clumps of blood clots rest upon Valyrian pale tufts of hair, you cradle the delicate neck of your snuffling babe, your baby’s little chubby fingers curl mindlessly in the air. The babe’s spine lay on the flesh of your thighs, sinking into yourself on the bed.

Doe violet eyes blink, and stare at you, curious and innocent. Alicent is truly over-joyed, her sore shaky fingers reaching for the newborn’s cheek. “Hello there, we’ve been expecting you.” Gently your thumb caress your daughter’s cheek. Alicent’s stroke the ends of your daughter’s hair —- pale as fresh snow.

“What name shall you bestow her, Princess?”

A beat of silence, you smile as a name rings in your mind. “Alysanne, beautiful Alysanne. Named after our late good queen.” A joyous moment, all basking at new life— maidens, the mother, the mother queen all awe at little Alysanne, her arms wiggling in mid-air.

All glee at new life.

All but a missing husband.

-

The journey from Driftmark to King’s Landing was a blur. It took two days by ship for the return. His trip back home was cut short by the caw of a raven.

‘Ser Vaemond, come with haste to King’s Landing, as the princess is in labor.’

Vaemond tiressly demands for the chariot rider to speed up his horses on the kingsroad, all under the blanket of the night sky —- with the letter still in his grasp, wrinkled.

Anxiously clicking his heels against the wood, scoffing furiously at himself for ever leaving. Bouncing in his seat, his back hunched.

His fingernails digging into the velvet stitching of his cushion, his teeth seeping out, as if he hisses in anxiety.

The Red Keep towering into the night-sky, stars twinkle and shine; the driver couldn’t utter a word, clumsily Vaemond shifts to the door.

His feet bolts out the luxurious carriage, dashing up the castle’s stairways, knees bowing inward, nearly slipping onto his face. The palace slumbers with only few sworn shields roaming on duty, and the many more counting roaming in the streets down below in Flea Bottom.

All move in the presence of Vaemond, clearing the path for him. His feet twisting, and twirling upward the grand stairway, his sweaty palms gripping the railing.

His wife’s chambers are not too far, inching closer and closer by footfall. His heart beats as a wild war drum against his chest, so many thoughts swim in his mind—— what does his child look like? Is it a daughter or a son?

Hurried steps softly echo, closer and closer now to the chambers. The hallway seems as a stretched maze, mocking him as if he could never reach his end.

With a flick of his wrist, the golden knobs are tugged, and yet it’s silent.

The shared quarters glow in dark ambience. The scent of incense is faint. Vaemond straightens his wrinkled cloth, and takes a step closer.

The silence breaks.

A bitter scoff, more as a bite, “By the Gods, he has arrived. What husband doesn’t even accompany the birth of his first born?” Alicent sits across from the bed, posture now rigid.

Her fingers curl near her chin, as in deep thought. The low crackles of flames illuminate her face, wickedly cold as stone. The marigold hue casts upon Alicent’s face —- ever so strikingly benevolent.

Vaemond’s nose flares, cheeks puffing up, walking on edge, inches more closer to Alicent now, his tongue ready to lash out.

“I’m quite baffled, your Grace — from how high you reign on that horse of yours, it’s a miracle from the Gods that you haven’t fallen yet.”

“She was nearly at the Stranger’s door.” Alicent nearly shouts in a hush — bolting from her chair with a dull screech, and the clicks of her heels -— maintaining her volume to make sure she doesn’t awaken you; peeking over her shoulder.

Not even a stir from Alysanne and yourself, a soft smile adorns Alicent’s face. But as quickly as it came, it quickly went, muffled footsteps grating Alicent’s senses, coming closer behind her.

“I arrived as soon as I —-” His hurried footsteps halted clumsily, the crackle of the flames echoing piercing the silence.

There he sees it.

The splotches of blood that splatters across the green flourish, Alicent’s mouth is pursed, her eyes calculating and cold. Staring him down with such distaste, her lips twist as if to spit poison, with a hint of a curled smirk.

And he sees it all, he sees her spite.

Alicent never changed into clean nightwear, but remained in the soiled dress, wearing the stains of your blood that slipped from your warm womb —- proudly so. Just moments after your birth, you nearly slipped away to the Stranger, too much ichor spilled.

Despite edging on death, you drowsily clung Alysanne against your damp breast —- if you were to draw your last breath, at least, your little girl was the last touch you felt before departing from this realm.

The sight of your body succumbing to unconsciousness nearly sent Alicent’s soul to the heavens, she felt as if she could crawl out of her skin; your bodice crumbling back into her chest.

The handmaidens quickly grabbed your crying little girl, one of them dashing to fetch the maesters —— all the while amidst the chaos, Alicent’s cradles you, her hand stroking your jaw, pleading for you to awaken. Nearly shrilling on the top of her lungs.

For the last two days, Alicent had been by your bedside, hawking over the maesters —- no woman can trust the maesters, the very ones who cut through the belly of the late queen.

Maesters only follow the word of their king—- but for you, Alicent ensured all the hand-maidens and maesters listened to her strict commands as knights on a battlefield.

She snarked, and nipped, scaring all of them away and even your devoted maidens who were reluctant to leave you —- to the point of herself solely attending to you as your care-giver, as Ser Criston Cole guards the chamber doors outside dutifully.

For sparse moments Criston would leave his post, and see Alysanne. The moment his rich brown eyes fell upon the sight of Alysanne in your arms, he swore to the Gods that he will protect her till his last breath.

Alicent served you the milk of the poppy by hand. Cradling Alysanne when you were in deep slumber, and when you would awaken, in and out of consciousness, Alicent would softly help bare your breast for Alysanne to feed.

Alicent would gently cuddle your baby in your exhausted arms, guiding little Alysanne’s plump cheek against yours, both heads on the pillow.

Alicent wants him to bear witness -— for him to see that even as your husband, that mere title means nothing, it never held true value, nor never will.

How boldly she is—- impudent even. Raised to be modest, to uphold duty, it’s never been in Alicent’s nature to be cruel, but something has changed in her over the years.

Perhaps it’s the manipulative lessons from her father, the loneliness that iced her heart to become this unhinged cornered animal.

That’s who Alicent is now — cold and hardened as an uncut emerald gem.

Another knot formed these past fortnights, tighter in the tether of your two souls, it’s her who gets to see the scars, to bear your blood.

A badge of honor.

No marital vow can diminish this bond.

“Your Grace, it’s quite late. I must retire for the night, to tend to my wife.” The formalities bundle in Vaemond’s mouth as pit seeds, biting his tongue from lashing out.

He sees it, the condescension that vibrates off of Alicent, pursuing her lips in deep thought. Alicent hums with a tone, sneering at him with just her eyes, but as a drop of a coin, her mood shifts in such trained manners.

“Of course, Ser Vaemond.” She turns her back to him, walking to your sleeping body, bending over to gently kiss your forehead, and little Alysanne’s forehead.

“Oh— please do make sure to provide her with the milk of poppy in the morrow.” Alicent doesn’t look him in the eye, as if doing so is tedious, that he is beneath her.

“She still aches. Here,” Alicent points strictly at a bowl that rests nearby on a table, “rag soaking in warm water, she runs a little chill. As well, do make sure not to ale her as she feeds Alysanne by her breast.”

‘Alysanne? By the Gods, he has been blessed with a girl! The babe has been named?’

Vaemond swallows his confusion and surprise, awaiting for Alicent to leave his chambers—- although, if he could, he would throw her out the door himself. She tells him what to do, as if instructing a child, that he couldn’t merely comprehend basic tasks to take care of his wife.

From the corner of her eye, Alicent senses Vaemond’s shame. Shame for missing the birth of his child, his first daughter —- more so, rage, and she feeds off of it like a starved animal.

“Goodnight.” Alicent’s hand gestures to Vaemond dimessively over the shoulder, quietly shutting the door shut. Vaemond stands rooted in the middle of his chambers, his fists coiling by his sides—- he mutters under his breath, cunt.

Alone now, Vaemond steps close to the bed. Both Alysanne and yourself undisturbed, deep in slumber. The babe tucked in your arms, cozy under the thick blanket.

Vaemond’s hand shakes over your cheek, stroking a damp strand of your hair. Breathing frustration through his nose, his knuckles graze the cheek of his newborn child.

His anger simmers, he missed it—- the birth of his first daughter.

-

“Prince Lucerys has been officially declared the heir to Driftmark— how absurd.”

House Velaryon has been blessed by the Realm’s Delight fertility once more, a new babe, a new heir. The silver beauty birthed yet another boy with rich brown hair, and dark brown eyes. A gleeful time for House Targaryen … and a grievance upon the queen. A son, healthy — and strong.

It has been three days now since the birth of Alysanne Velaryon, not yet presented to the realm; your inistience of wanting Rhaenyra and Daemon’s presence in the royal court.

Despite your uncle living in far Pentos, and your sister residing on the island of Dragonstone with Laenor, and her children —- just for a bit, due to tensions arising once again between the queen and the heir.

Before Rhaenyra’s departure, she had just been in labor, delivering her second child. You were hoping that sending ravens detailing the new birth of your firstborn would help bring your favored loved ones back home, and bask in unison over new life.

Cooked platters sliced pheasant, steamed vegetables, bread, and gallots of wine. But even the sweet tang of wine cannot tame the sour disgust that weighs on Alicent’s tongue. A hovering presence looms across the table, ever so snide, ever so thinking. A selfish void that will devour any in its path.

Across from Alicent is her father.

At times, Alicent would have her private dinners with Otto, when even his affections are twisted, and against Alicent’s well-being, she still seeks his love, and advice. Despite the filth he has taught her, what child doesn’t crave their father’s love?

“The disrespect that Rhaenyra harbors for her own kin, parades her bastard son as a true born.” Alicent scoffs, leans back in her chair, her cuppee resting in her palm, her nose scrunches in distaste.

“Corlys has his daughter wedded to Daemon, and his son —” Alicent titters a bitter chuckle, “A pillow-biter claiming bastards as his own. Corlys’ claim no longer upholds.”

Alicent doesn’t stop her bitter poison, and her father relishes in it, seated across his daughter with a small proud smirk. Her fueling rage will guide her to uspur Rhaenyra, for her son to ascend the throne. How proud he is, as his daughter falls deeper into her spite.

“Alysanne is true blood, she deserves her inheritance in Driftmark.” Alicent impatiently takes a gulp from her wine, the sweet tang trickles down her throat, but it doesn’t quell the brewing venom.

“Rhaenyra claims to care for her younger sister, the gall of it all.” Alicent doesn’t stop, she can’t, she has to release this anger, even in her quiet solitude with a man whose tenderness only reaches so far.

Blinding affection has Alicent turning her perspectives away from her obvious hypocrisies, but no taught honor or ideals in her mind can truly touch you.

Otto Hightower sees women in power as a preposterous notion, a sin against the order — women cannot provide value to the natural law; only if aided by a man.

Otto prides himself on the molding he persisted upon his daughter over the years, a Hightower as Queen of all seven kingdoms —- the last Hightower to rule, fell to her demise to Maegor the Cruel. And he vows to never let that fate fall upon his only daughter.

Indeed, Otto has his strict opinions but —- even he has his exception; under his benefit. He has admire your tenacity since you were a little child, bright-eyed and naive once.

Yet intelligent, claiming that you wanted to do good for the people as princess, despite your inheritance being knocked down behind your siblings.

He can see you are a woman grown, determined and ambitious, making plans as the new lady of Driftmark to contribute for the land to prosper; just perfect for his molding.

Otto can perhaps reach his hand into the political dynamics of Driftmark through you, carefully craft your black and red dragon scales to a lovely shade of emerald.

“Vaemond is a proud man, too proud —- but, a better fitted heir for Driftmark. Corlys is weak, he cares more about names than honoring heritance.” Otto cuts into his meal, the warm pork melting in the cave of his mouth.

“If Vaemond were to become the new Lord of the Tides,” Otto clicks his tongue, “Alysanne will be named his heir.” His tone lingers, a hint is thrown in the air; calculating his thoughts.

Alicent hums in agreement, her mind twisting in her murky thoughts. Nodding along, hell-bent, her motives aren't as ambitious as her father. Her belief is solely molded by you, but that this is what’s best for you, for Alysanne.

‘Alysanne must become the new heir of Driftmark. Tis only fair.’

The silent tension breaks.

“She will soon expect her sister to return.” Alicent mutters in her wine, her fingers unlock, as she gazes down at her porcelain plate, her finger tapping against the silver engraving.

“And her uncle.” Otto speaks in a hush.

It’s no hidden secret, the rogue second son harbors deep affection for his younger niece. Most of your childhood was spent on dragon back with your uncle, and older sister—- your uncle is a rather protective creature.

When Daemon departed on dragon’s back to the far Pentos with Lady Laena, he hugged you tightly the day he left. You sobbed for long days, alone in your chambers, aware that you won’t see your favored uncle and cousin for a time.

But exile is no more than a word to Daemon.

Often leaving Pentos with his wife, and children, gallancing around the court with Rhaenyra and her children, as Viserys allows it.

And that worries Otto.

To have your alliance, he must first go through the turmoil with Daemon, and Rhaenyra. To convince you to forfeit your loyalty, in favor of your youngest siblings.

The seven hells can freeze over in frost-bite, and you still won't turn your back against the menace of a prince. Prince Daemon will rip through the realm with the flames of Caraxes before he lets his niece support the Hightowers.

“Marriage.” Otto perks up, his finger tapping against the table. His tone is ominous, and yet it leaves a heavy weight in the air. “You have given birth to Aemond moons ago,” Otto’s eyebrow raises, goading his daughter’s reaction, with a knowing nod, “—- and one day, he will be in need of a bride.”

Alicent’s eyes are moon-wide, but with a silver of agreement, she’s tittering on the idea. “Aemond will learn under our wing, be wed to Alysanne —- perhaps, the fresh air of the sea is healthy for a boy.” Alicent’s lips curl into a devious smirk.

Hightower blood on the Iron Throne, on the seat of Driftmark——how marvelous.

“Indeed.” Otto’s pride gleams into a wolfish grin.

-

Devotion.

All Alicent has ever been in her life is devoted. A devoted daughter, a devoted wife, a devoted mother, and a devoted queen. But alas, in all of King’s Landing, no one truly took Alicent’s side, despite her efforts to maintain peace. To engrave her voice within the council.

At first, before she grew as a child bride, and a babe herself who bore children; she thought perhaps her father was her aide, since Rhaenyra shunned her the moment King Viserys announced the engagement — but he is not, he never was.

But despite the sorrow her father gifted her in this life, she still harbors love for him.

But no, never her father.

Is there still peace from Rhaenyra? No — Rhaenyra doesn’t see Alicent, and Alicent doesn’t see her, it’s as if they speak different languages.

Perhaps the king?

No, never her husband, who never showed affection for his younger children — in his heart, he has only one child.

No, never the king.

The court shall see to her efforts?

No, the lords would rather entertain themselves with the king’s sickly rambles and her father’s greediness than to solely hear a woman’s thoughts and ideas.

Only through her father as her mouth-piece, would the court take her efforts into consideration. At birth, Alicent was a woman marked for sorrow. A loneliness so deep, simple kindness would send a jolt.

A young Alicent would pray and pray to the Gods for a love she can hold onto every night — just herself. Selfishly would cling to her heart, stuff and sew it herself.

For a while, Rhaenyra band-aided the wound, but it wasn’t enough. Rhaenyra was once a true friend, and Alicent would sometimes catch herself missing those lost years in the quiet of her solitude.

Especially when she holds the ripped piece of paper from the historical text of the late Queen Nymeria.

But it wasn’t Rhaenyra, it was never her.

It was you.

Tamarind tart skin that shines under the sun, silver pale hair that curls at the shoulders, violet eyes and plump cheeks. Velaryon and Targaryen descent, inheriting your late mother’s complexion, and the aquiline nose you share with your older sister.

So pretty, with your braids interwoven with your waves of silver. Wispy lavender, and red dresses, and gem rings that adorn your fingers. Such a peculiar creature, so dainty, yet fierce—- digging your heels as a young girl in the training grounds.

Alicent used to watch your private lessons in the training grounds with your uncle, and or with Ser Harwin from time to time. Or rest under the trees’ shade, as you practiced your archery in the gardens, much to your septa’s dismay.

A deep friendship blossomed, years spent reading under the hovering weirwood, late conversations as young girls, attending tourneys, and even inviting Alicent to your chambers, to sleep in one’s embrace.

A beautiful bond—- soon challenged by a beast.

Your mother had passed, taken by the Stranger, just as the late Queen Aemma had many moons ago; died in labor, trying to birth a son into the realm.

A piece of yourself died with her, a void that could never be filled. Late fortnights, wailing at the sept, head bowed, pleading to the Mother for mercy, whispered prayers for her to carry your mother safely to the heavens.

Consoled by Rhaenyra, and Alicent, as you all kneeled at the fire pit. Your forehead connected to your arms, wailing, as Alicent’s and Rhaenyra’s heads rested on your shoulders. Your sobs echoing against the sept’s walls.

The faint memory of copper still lingered in your nostrils, to see your mother’s lifeless body coated in her own ichor—- dry-heaved and wailed over her.

It took all the maidens and maesters to pry you off of her.

It was the king’s duty to wed, and bring heirs, you knew he had to marry again. Word spread among the court, advising with much encouragement for Viserys to remarry—- not all were enthralled at the prospect of a girl crowned heir for all the realm.

And the beast conquered as he pleased, just as his ancestors.

The day came, months after your mother departed from this realm. And you can recall the day vividly, the pang to your heart still fresh.

The day Viserys announced that he will take Alicent as his new bride, she can still remember your solemn face, quickly blinking away tears, smiling through the restraining pain —- how you dashed as fast as light after Rhaenyra who couldn’t bear to stomach the anger within herself.

Alicent can still feel the empty ache, witnessing you flee away in what she mistook as disgust, rage, and heartbreak. Pacing through the keep, trying to follow your trail, as a puppy galloping after a scent. Trembling fingers cling to the engraved walls, balancing herself.

Faded voices loomed from the heart of the gardens. Under the Weirwood tree, two pale silver heads now barking at one another, crying. Pacing after one another, hands flying in the air—- trying to understand this grievance.

Rhaenyra sobbing, angry tears stained her flushed pale cheeks, as you tried to soothe her down. Alicent hid behind a pillar, picking at her cuticles.

It felt the garden soil unearthed itself, caving inside —- ready to swallow you. Collapsed onto your knees, your mind buzzing. Sniffling, as your fingernails fully scratched at your skin.

Timid footfalls echoed nearby, slowly your eyes peeked through your wet lashes. Before you, Alicent walked to you, her auburn hair haloed by the sunlight.

Kneeling before you, her lip quivered, her hands fearfully hovered over yours. Afraid that you might reject her, but you took hers into your hands wholeheartedly.

“I don’t desire him. My intentions were not for pleasure.” Alicent spoke in whispers, heavy with sorrow. “My father sent me to his chambers, I —” Alicent’s breathed quickened, as if her cavity was tightening.

“I simply gave comfort for his loss.”

You believed her immediately, for months, Alicent had been aiding you through your grief over your late mother. All Alicent ever does is tends to anyone in need.

You embraced her in your arms, shushing her, apologies slipping from her. Shaded by the Weirwood tree, consoling each other.

Duty had to be upheld, autonomy isn’t a woman’s right. Resentment coiled itself as eels—- loathing the very man who is your father.

Father Time felt rushed yet the atmosphere felt slowed—- the preparations to integrate House Hightower into the royal reign was tedious and buzzing, causing you to spiral.

Days and nights spent weeping in your bed, hugging Alicent tight. Time blurred. Ceasing down to the atoms, time was not your companion. You didn’t have the space to breathe —- one blink, and the day of the wedding ceremony came bursting violently.

Dressed Alicent in her ivory wedding gown, accompanied by Rhaenyra—- but you possessively took over, fixating on her hair pieces, and tying the spinal laces.

An ivory dress, with gold threading of dragons against her chest, her brown hair pinned in curls, with a creamy red jeweled crown. Cleaned her bloodied fingers with a warm rag.

As you leaned against Alicent’s spine, brown fingers clinging to her shoulders, your cheek resting against the crock of her neck. Her face glowing with a dew from fresh dried tears.

You whispered in the shell of her ear, “In another life, blessed by the Gods, I shall take you, Lady Hightower as thy wife. Under the Weirwood tree, wed you in Valyrian tradition.” A tear escaped your eye, staining her skin.

Alicent sniffled, droplets falling down her milky cheeks, onto her lips.

“We shall wear marital crowns as our ancestral women before us.” You sniffled through a weak smile, under your puffy eyes. “I shall wear green, to honor your house.” You whispered.

“And I shall wear shades of red and black.” Alicent whispered back, nearly sputtering through her tears. Her chin wobbled.

A marital ceremony, a splendor to the realm, but a horror. A malevolent man, tightly his hand gripped your love, Otto Hightower walked his child to her death, with a proud smile.

Rhaenyra wore lavish black with intricate threads of crimson red, hair pinned into a jeweled headpiece—- truly a delight. A reminder of her inheritance, no matter of your father’s new marriage. In her own terms, it was her way of grieving.

But not a grief that rivals yours.

The High Sept blessed the union, with a shaky gesture of his ailing hand, reciting the scriptures of the Faith, as Alicent stood in a pure innocence—- sold for the price of power.

Recoiled underneath your skin, at the sight of Viserys’ hands engulfed over Alicent’s. Leaned inwards for a kiss, his chapped lips nearing those familiar pink lips you have tasted—- sweet, and tender.

Alicent’s brown eyes filtered slightly, twitching with disgust.

Screaming internally, as the claws of the Seven hell’s demons scratching raw at your throat, fists tightened shielded by your fabrics.

That’s not how she likes to be kissed! Don’t hold her, not as that! Be gentle with her! STOP DEFILING HER!

A kiss to seal this matrimony hailed from the seven hells.

Rhaenyra and yourself bowed dutifully, stiffly and rigid; before your father— the king, and his new wife, the new Queen of Westeros—- your new step-mother, your love.

Slurred and drowned in wine, engorged in feast to only vomit over a balcony —- throughout the night, Alicent’s eyes broke at the sight of your head bobbing tipsily, eyes closing one slowly after the other.

Dizzyingly watched the acidic chewed food stained in burgundy spirits fall along the palace wall.

A dainty hand stroked your back, pulled you into a warm embrace. Rhaenyra tended to you, caressing the slope of your spine, as you wailed over the balcony.

You couldn’t bear to prolong your presence during the wedding feast, Rhaenyra guided you to your chambers that night. Helped clean you, and shed you of your gown into your sleeping wear.

The cushioning of your bed sunk you into a hard sleep, as your sister tucked you under massive blankets.

Awoken that fortnight, by a slight shake of the shoulder, a heavy grogginess pulling you down as rocks in one’s pockets.

Blurry vision cleared, strained a bit in the dark, to see a sniffling figure by your bed’s edge. Those big brown eyes—— gleaming wet. A gasp left you, without a second, you enveloped her into your arms, as Alicent bursted into wails. Her cries pierced your heart.

Your hands stroked her back, guiding her into your blankets, as your fingers caressed her, you felt sticky wetness, causing Alicent to whine.

Your hand shook, in the gleam of the moonlight, crimson stained your fingertips. Tears showered your face, mouth shivering, as Alicent cried, muffled words into the crook of your shoulder, “It hurts.”

Your mouth agaped in silent agony, both arms encased Alicent, cooed her. Rocked Alicent to sleep that night till her weeping quite down to silence —- you vowed in the dead of night, that you will do your duty, you will honor Alicent; do right by her.

Stood by her, and kept her company —- and plotted. Your father will not have the oath of being Alicent’s husband, it felt wrong.

Built the courage to go against taught beliefs, over moons—- until one day, you lured Alicent to the gardens, with a soft note left in her chambers.

‘Meet me by the noon hour, in the gardens.’

Waddled down to the gardens, carrying her first born, Alicent found you pacing, burning a hole in the grass. A soft mutter, my dearest. Alicent’s fingers stroked the jut of your elbow, she didn’t enjoy seeing you overwhelmed with stress.

With a deep inhale, and wild wide eyes, only a few words could be muttered.

“Let us be wedded.”

A disbelieving chuckle escaped Alicent, but by the glimmer of your eyes, it was nothing short of a joke. Alicent’s face drained, with a teary wavering smile.

Slow nodded, and a hasty smile, Alicent accepted the proposal.

A warm day it was, the sun beamed upon King’s Landing—- a little white lie to escape the palace, to seek refuge.

Accompanied by a sole witness, your beloved Grey Ghost—- as he flew majestically upon the sky; as Alicent and yourself rode on one of those long boat to Dragonstone.

Silver steel, ichor staining bottom lips, and the slope of your foreheads connecting. A caress of Alicent’s swollen bump.

United in blood, as one.

Devoted —- all your life, you have only been to Alicent. Loyally by her side, despite the growing pains between Alicent and your sister; trying to be the voice of reason.

Alicent’s grief suffocated her, a girl enduring a woman’s sorrow. Being Alicent’s shadow in each of her births, defending her against all odds.

Cherish and care for her children —- your siblings —- as your own. Cared for your brothers and sister more than your father ever did.

A child bride who everyone said should be grateful to be queen of all seven realms—- not given grace to be seen as a girl, not even a woman, but a mere object.

Only one did. You are her companion, the only one who desires her body wholesomely, who yearns for her mind. You plague her thoughts all through the hours, at night, and in her sleep.

Itching possessiveness tingles at Alicent’s fingers, flooding her veins. How she yearns to box you in a jar, and gaze upon you, a beautiful treasure that no one can have.

Unimaginable acts she will do—- just to keep you.

-

Dearest sister,

New life has been welcomed to the realm, a babe with ripe cheeks, and a soul kicking as a goat. Beautiful bronze skin, and pale Valyrian hair.

A girl, by the Gods, she is magnificent!

I yearn for you and uncle to be home — I dearly miss all the children, how they would love the babe. Her name is Alysanne, named by our great-grandmother, the good mother.

Please return home. I pray to the Gods that the animosity will soon be seen to end. We are family, by blood and marriage.

Love you dearly, sweet sister.

May the Gods be with you, and the children.

A letter freshly written, ready to be sent to Dragonstone by raven. Given to Alicent by you, praying deep down that one day the broken bond between Alicent and your sister would be mended.

Tirelessly over the years, attempts to cease Alicent’s emotional humiliation upon your sister, weaponizing the crude word ‘bastard’ against your nephews.

Continuously in-between Alicent and your sister, being forced to choose who’s side to be in. Nearly straining your relationship with Alicent at one point of time.

Alicent’s lips purse into a scowl, crudely folding the letter once more, instead of packaging the letter for the awaiting raven, Alicent simply stashes it within her library.

Rhaenyra doesn’t get to savor the joy of your motherly glow, she doesn’t deserve to see Alysanne. To pretend to be the doting aunt. Not after snatching away Alysanne and your future, the blatant disregard of loyalty, usurping Driftmark.

Alicent will not see to such treason.

-

Sunlight twinkles, and illuminates the king’s chambers. A warm day, the sun swelling with joy.

Sweet hands pat Viserys’ chest, arising him from his slumber. He awakes with a small cough. His eyes blink open, to see his wife kneeling before him.

Viserys sighs with a small smile, with a whisper of Alicent’s name.

“Viserys,” Alicent’s kindly whispers your name to gain his attention. Tenderly her hands reach for the joints of his elbows, guiding him to sit up right from his rest. “She and the baby have recovered.”

A soft cough followed by a relieved chuckle emits from Viserys, now with the will to move on his accord despite his ailing pain.

For a while now, the sickness has bestowed more ache on the king. The milk of the poppy and the maesters hovering over his well-being has become more of the normal routine.

Alicent points to the wooden chamber doors, there you stand with little Alysanne clutched in your arms. Viserys’ lips stretch into a wide smile.

You are a vision of your late mother. With your hair brushed back into a braided crown, as waves cascade down your spine, with various woven braids decorated with little gold ringlets, with a gold chain across your forehead.

A pant of guilt and endearment blooms in his chest.

“My sweet girl.” He outstretches his arm, beckoning for you to come sit beside him.

An odd jolt of happiness is in your step, taking a spot next to your father, Alicent assists you to make sure Alysanne doesn’t fall from Viserys’ weak grip.

For once, in such a long time, you felt seen by Viserys. For once, you are not the spare.

“Father, her name is Alysanne.” You softly cradle the sleepy babe in your father’s arm, a toothy smile stretches his face, his cheeks plump with joy.

“By the Gods, she is beautiful.” He strokes her little cheek with his thumb, her little chubby fingers grab his index finger. Viserys glees with a laugh, “We must fetch a dragon’s egg for her cradle.”

A joyous occasion, as Alysanne is held by her grand sire. Viserys coos at her little sleepy mumbles. A lovely family unit, a mother, a grandfather, a step-mother and a step-grandmother —-- a lover.

All but a husband.

-

Awoke the morrow with a sleeping wife, and child—- went on his morning walk for his own time.

Returned to an empty chamber.

Vaemond walks with a stride, such speed to his step along the pathway to the king’s chambers. As he nears the doubled wooden doors, a hand halts him at his chest that is followed by the clink of armor.

With a heavy breath of annoyance, Vaemond doesn’t have to turn his face to see who has the nerve to stop a father from his child’s presence. The sworn shield, the queen’s loyal dog.

“Ser Criston, my wife is in the chambers with my child. You dare stop me?”

“The queen has instructed that no one enters.” Smugly Criston stands digiantly with a snide smirk, the implication is snarky, and bold — ‘and that means you’.

‘Pitiful and pathetic.’ Vaemond mulls, his lip twitching.

“I do wonder…” Vaemond tilts his head mockingly, back-peddling his steps, calculating his next move. Criston arches his brow.

“I’ve always forethought the queen leashed your head as her pet, but now I truly see, I mistook the wrong one.” Vaemond’s eyes trail for a second —- Criston’s face scrunches in offense.

A chorus of spewed shouting and pushing ensues. Shoving each other, declaring for the other to throw the first blow.

Even before the marriage, when it was simply courting—- the decision of marriage being made by Viserys upon your behalf, Alicent was always near in the shadows.

Putting her thoughts on how the ceremony should commence, only letting you decide what you want—- even going so far as to suggest to Viserys to end the bethroyal that ‘there are more suited men for her hand. Ser Vaemond is only a second son, what is there that he can offer her?’

The courting phase was always interrupted with Alicent stringing along. Vaemond would try to isolate you, converse with you, sweet-talk you —- but never once asked you of your interests, only boosted himself, and what he can provide.

And to Vaemond’s displeasure, Alicent would whisk you away at any given moment, hushed whispers among each other, and girlish laughter; with a sly eye over her shoulder at him.

Vaemond admits he didn’t fall in love for the sake of romance as those fairytales that young maidens read. He was the peruser, convincing Viserys for your hand, that ‘pure valyrian blood must be in union.’ You are his cousin. A cousin he barely saw over the years, but enough encounters to be familiar with one another.

It offended Vaemond greatly when Alicent rebuffed him, stating it was unfair to you to not have the choice to choose your betrothed, like Rhaenyra once had. Alicent was furious, her face scrunched in fury.

“It seems that our grace has forgotten that Princess Rhaenyra was bestowed the choice —- do you recall how she squandered it?”

Alicent’s lips pinched shut, turning to Viserys, hoping he would consider her decision. But Viserys’ allowed this, claiming that it is best that his second born be close by, not married off to another foreign house —- in a far away land.

Alicent has been a thorn in Vaemond’s rib, she made it her life’s purpose to torment him. Never could he be alone with you during the time that bridged between the proposal and wedding ceremony.

Vaemond was surprised Alicent didn’t sneak in their marital bed the fortnight of the ceremony. But she took full control anyways —- and Viserys let it happen every time.

Now, he sees another ploy of Alicent’s. To isolate him as a husband, and now as a father. He cannot even present his own child to the king as a man, the pride and honor of such an act stolen. Alicent has pilfered this opportunity right from under his feet.

To add salt to the wound, her sworn hound is restricting him from entrance.

“Vaemond?” Your muffled voice beckons for him through the door, he tries to inch closer but Criston doesn’t relent his intrusive hold, earning a growl from Vaemond.

“Vaemond, that you?” Footsteps closer behind the chamber doors, the latch clicks, with just a sliver of a crack the door opens.

“Vaemond, why all the shouting?”

“Ser Criston refuses to let a father enter.” Vaemond interrupts, pacing from heel to heel, agitated to the brim. Chest puffing, trying to intimate Criston.

You breathe a sigh of frustration, furrowing brows in disheartened dismay —- your gentle arm curls around the edge of the doorway, delicate fingers with the gentlest touch on Criston’s armored shoulder.

“Ser Criston, please let him enter.” The knight’s hardened features soften at your request, no longer bristling with entitlement, bowing his head, and finally steps aside, with a sweet-honeyed, ‘As you wish, princess’.

You sweetly thank him, and extend your hand to grab Vaemond, pulling him inside to partake in the joyous celebration. As Vaemond walked through the chamber doors, an exchange of distaste was thrown through dagger glares.

Alicent’s eyes sharply pierced his heart, if looks can kill, Vaemond would drop dead on the spot —- preferably with his heart cut out.

Alicent sits perched with Alysanne in her arms, swathed in an emerald blanket, as you provide your father his milk of the poppy; his joints were aching, and needed to rest back on his chair.

Alicent’s fingers caress his child’s little toes, purposefully her knuckles graze the stitched fabric—- peeking up at Vaemond subtly through her lashes.

Green cloth?

On his child?

On pure Valyrian blood?

Vaemond nearly wretches in his mouth. He notices your dress is a light shade of evergreen. A dragon brooch on each shoulder that ensembles a gold chain across your chest.

Green? Have you gone mad, woman?

Orchestrated performance, the movement, the positions —- you tending to your father, as the dutiful daughter, the wife and now newly mother. Viserys, the illustrious king, the father, the grandfather, weak but strong, overlooking the new life of his bloodline—- and her.

Alicent held little Alysanne, observing it all with a proud smile.

As if Alicent is the husband.

And Vaemond is merely a stranger trespassing.

Alicent’s eyes, methodical and smug. Vaemond sees it, he sees it all. He’s dying inside to snatch his child away from Alicent, but who knows—- Alicent would probably fall prey to the act of victim, cry to her husband that she has been wrongfully accused —- of what exactly?

Vaemond doesn’t have any evidence to his brewing resentment.

What can he say? The Queen has been trying to meddle in his marriage for the last two years? That she won’t let him near his own babe? That she has to be everywhere with his own wife?

Every soul in court will say how crude he’s being, that it’s all nonsense, merely preposterous.

‘The Queen is a good woman.’ The court will proclaim, ‘That she’s only performing her duty as the princess’ mother.’

‘She is no mother to you.’ Vaemond thinks. ‘Not even you can see through Alicent’s games.’

“Ser Vaemond, bless be. Sired me a beautiful granddaughter.” Visery sits as a jolly aging man, hair thinning to the point of some of his dome visible, and even a little pot belly protruding through his embroidered fabric.

Vaemond smiles, “Thank you, Viserys.”

“Truly, she’s beautiful.” A voice stabs Vaemond, swallowing down his loathing with a strained tight-lip smile.

Alicent is gazing down at Alysanne, rocking her against her breast, “She has her mother’s beauty.” Her tone is innocent, a demure smile to Viserys, and he falls for it, nodding along.

‘Fool. She plays you for a fool, Viserys.’

Vaemond walks to you, with the same forced thinned smile. His fingers reach for your long thick hair, caressing the curls, kissing your cheek.

No doubt in his mind, he can sense Alicent’s irate, and for a moment, it delights him.

-

‘Alas, the charade has ceased.’

Vaemond feels lighter, finally getting solace between himself and you. Time to part from Viserys and Alicent, Vaemond desires to eat a morning meal with you. To break fast together with Alysanne in her cradle, gurgling happily.

Recovery from birth has left you famished, craving for a hearty meal.

Departing from Alicent gave a shiver up your skin, it felt wrong to be away, she has been so attentive during the labor, and the after birth. Always holding Alysanne, as if she was Alicent’s blood.

Alicent hesitantly restrained herself, as Vaemond took control like the reins of a horse. Alicent wanted him to leave, to befall in the pits of the seven hells, so she can have Alysanne and you to her own.

But, an outburst couldn’t be made.

Ser Criston swiftly dashed to your aid, his arm jutted out for you to hold on to—- conveniently occupying the space that was meant for your husband. But at least, Vaemond was able to hold his child in his arms back in Viserys' chambers.

Trailing behind Vaemond and yourself is your handmaiden, Elinda Massey—- who is also your sister’s handmaiden. You summoned her to help you, still a bit achy at your step.

A mousey, loyal, and gentle woman. In her arms is Alysanne, letting your daughter’s small chubby hand grab at her slender creamy fingers.

Vaemond walks behind you as if a lonesome man, a mere man trailing behind a princess, and her sworn shield, watching you and Criston laugh and converse—- excluding him is your second nature.

The dining chambers are filled with platters of food—- the extended polished wood covered with meats, eggs and fruits.

See Criston bows, taking his post at the door, his darkened gaze shadowed by a brow.

“At last, we are alone.” Vaemond’s hand holds yours, his thumb stroking your fingers. Crawling with disgust within yourself, forcing a genuine smile to appease him.

“I have missed you.” Vaemond leans in, speaking against your cheek, his warm breath nearly making your skin recoil in a shrivel.

“And I, you.” You spoke in a formal, practiced infliction.

Vaemond’s lips connect to the skin of your cheek, daringly near the corner of your mouth. In times to display marital affection, to keep from shriveling away, you close your eyes, and a vision of Alicent soothes your mind.

Whenever you were to ‘perform’ your bedding duty as his wife, you lay limply on your back as a spread eagle, and imagine Alicent ravaging your body—- as she has done many times. Years now of this affair, suppressed away in the dead of night, hidden behind closed chambers with only whispers.

Edina cradles Alysanne close to her chest, prepping your little dragon for her slumber.

Vaemond pulls a chair for you, “This food looks divine.” He says, his hands caressing down your shoulders. An innocent smile forms on Edina’s face. “Queen Alicent has ordered the feast.” Her tone was gentle.

Vaemond chews the soft wall of his cheek, but wrinkles his mouth to a feigned smile. Nodding with a sardonic scrunch of his nose.

Edina breathes a smile, her eyes in your direction, “The Queen has also extended an invitation, the children desire to see little Alysanne.” She speaks, with adoration in her eyes on Alysanne.

Before you can speak, Vaemond interrupts. “Ah, yes, the king’s children shall see their niece,” He boasts. “We’ll present Alysanne after our fast.” Vaemond turns swiftly in his seat, almost lifting his fork, but your hand-maiden stammers.

“The Queen has not requested your presence, Ser Vaemond.” Edina’s voice lowers to an anxious stammer.

Vaemond’s mouth wrinkles, limbs frozen stiff. He slowly turns with a sharp shark eye. “I am their brother by law.” He says matter-of-factly. His eyes narrow a little, small and spiteful.

“Yes, of course, Ser Vaemond—-” she’s flushed with embarrassment, you nod your head that it’s okay, she hasn’t spoken out of turn. “But, Queen Alicent has only requested our Princess, and Lady Alysanne.”

Vaemond brews in silence, his eyes pierce and burn into the void. His breathing became heavier. Anxiously with a brave face, you instruct Edina to take Alysanne to your quarters, and give her your thanks for the delivery of the news.

Edina whisk away with Alysanne, patting her little bottom, exiting the shared room, leaving behind Vaemond, yourself and the cooked food that now grows cold.

A pregnant pause earns a tired eye roll from you, you can feel the vibrating stewing.

“When will this madness end?” Vaemond speaks, staring into his porcelain plate. You turn your eyes to him, your mouth hitches up for a moment in confusion, “What do you mean, Vaemond?”

His eyes look upon you desperately, “Alicent…” He says, shaking his head in disbelief, “She always meddles. She is a thorn upon me.”

Vaemond’s fingers grip the cloth of his stitched clothing, his fist poking at his chest. You roll your eyes in annoyance, a placid sigh, just hoping he can drop this.

“Do not speak of her in such a manner.” You spread through gritted teeth. “Alicent does not bear any ill will.” Your resonance is firm, no budging can waver it.

Your fingers curl in a gesture for him to stop. Jaw clenching, opening your napkin, just wanting to eat, and move away from this useless conversation.

“She prides herself as if she carries the cock!”

“Vaemond!”

“It is true!” He points at you with such fury, his eyes blood-shot red, “I cannot even hold my own blood without Alicent hovering!” Vaemond nips, his hands shaking, thrashing in the air.

You shush him again, his rising voice grating your ears. “Alicent is good, and kind. I do wish you could be respectful—-” Vaemond’s scoff interrupts you. Your face contorts with offense.

Vaemond’s face softens, furrowing in desperation.

“If you carry any love for me, you will distance us from Alicent.” Vaemond pleads, his hands clasping over yours, his voice irks you, it’s so pathetic.

“Tell her to go, flee from our presence.” Closing your eyes, your face resolving to an exhausted state, you shook your head in defiance, not even daring to look into his gaze, restraining to wretch your hands away.

“I will not.” Your voice is low, and firm, with your dead shark eyes. It’s been like this for the last two years, Vaemond complaining about Alicent, and as usual, your response defies his wishes.

“I understand Alicent was your childhood companion, but—-” Vaemond tries to ease the burdensome tension.

“Is. She is, Vaemond.”

He hums with annoyance, head nearly falling in exasperation, “Do you love me?” Vaemond asks in disbelief, questioning your faithfulness.

He leans back, offended and forlorn that he must ask such a question. You shake your head, with a sympathetic strained smile, “I care for you.” Patting his hand, a gesture often used to calm whining children.

“My wife does not harbor love for her husband?” He speaks through his teeth, wrenching his hand away from your touch.

A scoff escapes your lips, inhaling deeply, with a harsh swallow. Why must he make matters so difficult?

“This is an arranged marriage, marital vows spoken for the sake of allyship between our two houses. I care for you, Ser Vaemond, but I do not love you.”

“You love another?”

”No.” You spoke too quickly.

A pregnant pause.

Vaemond’s anger dissolves, fading to a blank stare, his breathing becomes shallow. His burning stare earns an uncomfortable shiver, uneasy in your own seat.

Jagged puzzle pieces twisting, slowly forming together —- all the times of Alicent’s shadow lingering. Whenever he dares utter a mention of Alicent, all you do is brush him off, as if he was the mere nuisance.

“You do.” He speaks in a hush, bolting to his feet, he huffs under his breath, such a petulant child. Stepping back a few steps, sneering.

As if the pieces finally shape and move, the thought pushes through the crevices of his mind. A deadpan chuckle scuffs from his mouth, his eyes just staring into you.

“The Gods made man and woman….” Vaemond trails off, unflinching, boring into you. No, no, no… your throat clenches in a swallow. Your brows compress into what seems as hurt and confusion, but truly it is fear.

“A man and woman shall share thou bed, and—” Vaemond’s eyes widens, motioning you to finish the well-practiced verse.

“And?” He prodes, he tilts his head, clicks his tongue. Your face morphs to silent anger, staring up at him with lavender daggers, breathing harder now.

“You are well taught of this verse. Have you forgotten your teachings?” Vaemond mocks you. Your glare at him through your lashes, your nose flaring into a snarl, muttering a spiteful whisper.

“One shall not lie with the same sex.”

Vaemond nods mockingly, his eyes never leaving yours. Muttering under his breath, “ Yes, yes. ”

Violet optics stare with fury.

A screech of a chair follows.

Vaemond begins chanting, spewing zealot verses, as a delirious septon. Pacing back and forth, hands twirling into the air.

“A sin against the Gods!”

A crack of a slap echos, so hard his face is swacked to his side, his mouth pouted. The sting of your rings vibrates against his cheek. Vaemond stares at you in disbelief, but your spine straightens, what once was gentility in your eyes, is now just disgust.

“I am your wife.” Your throat tightens, unable to swallow down the tears. No tears wasted on your husband —- no, never. Tears for that the truth could bleed out, such a scandal it could be!

The Princess and the Queen in a twisted love affair—- the shame it would bring to the names Targaryen, and Hightower.

“And you will respect me as such.” You spoke with an edge, with a firm finality. You whisk away from him, Vaemond believing that this was the end to the conversation.

The rough edge of the wooden table digs into the heels of your hands roughly. Tinkering your body back and forth by the grip, yearning to scream. Throat burning raw, splintering.

But the longing inside of you is violent, changeling. To vomit the ache that has been brewing —- Vaemond’s foot has been tinkling the pot, and now it has spilled.

You just want him to understand —- that a young girl to be married to her cousin, a cousin she has no grown affection for, to be ripped from her autonomy, to have hidden her true love secretly—- that this isn’t what a girl should be subjected to.

Your fists bang against the dining table, stinging the wound tight flesh. Twirling so fast, it startles Vaemond in a flinch.

“I have only been dutiful, sacrificed my body… for you. ” Your voice in a hoarse whisper. Peering at him over your shoulder, nearing a sob. Dutiful not in the traditional sense, but you have defended him, even when you couldn’t stand the man.

“I am a second born, but I am a princess, no less. My title is your prize.” Heavily restraining your breathing, the sorrow transforming into anger.

“I am merely a token for your status. A pawn for the purity of your bloodline.” Speaking through tears, frustration from your wounded core spewing. “Yet, I have not begrudged you, nor humiliated you.”

Vaemond flinches back, his pride stomped on under your pretty foot. Grinding the heel into the splatter.

“I have done what was expected of me!” You shrill, your breathing becoming haggard, “And here you stand, demanding me to throw away the only companion I have!”

“You have me, darling.” Vaemond’s faux sweet tone does nothing but disgust you.

“You’re more like my father than I thought.” Your nose recoils in shame. That left a sour twang on your tongue. “I had no say in this— this —” you’re stammering, dry-heaving as tears collide down your cheeks, but the fury is boiling over.

Murmuring under your breath, ‘I didn’t want this. I didn’t desire you.’ Vaemond huffs a breath, stepping closer, his presence suffocating.

Vaemond goads you, ‘say it, say it!’ Nearly hovering over you, his nose inches away from yours, but the blood of the dragon that soars through you snips back against the weak feeble sea snake.

“—- THIS MISERABLE CHARADE OF A MARRIAGE!”

Both of your voices shrill higher, mangling over each other in volume, alarmingly. Vaemond screams that he is your husband, to obey his word as law, but you follow no man. Vaemond corners you into the wooden table, trying to scare you, but you bark right back at him.

The roaring echos so badly, it may have reached all through King’s Landing.

Criston barges inside the chambers, the carved doors nearly thrashing against the wall pavement. Bolting towards Vaemond, thrashing him by the jut of his arm, standing in-front of you as a shield.

Vaemond shrills, “How dare you lay your hands on me?!” Criston seethes his sword, the sharp steel’s reflection blinking at Vaemond, catching his eyes within the reflection.

“I will not permit insults upon her grace.” Criston’s teeth are grinding, he hissed through his clenching ivories.

“No offense has been made, Criston.”

Criston’s face peeks over his steel shoulder, you assure him with a smile. “I am quite alright, thank you.” The warmth in your eyes melt to cold ire regarding Vaemond.

“My husband lost himself briefly, I assure he will refrain himself from a spectacle.” Cold, dead violet eyes blink at him, Vaemond hums with disbelief.

Criston lowers his sword, swiftly into its leather sheath. His rich brown eyes never leave Vaemond, as he walks back to his post.

The doors shut.

The silence hangs tightly.

“Vaemond, I don’t desire an argum—” You sigh, turning around on your heels, but your words die in a gasp, his hand grabs your jugular, a weak attempt of intimidation by a small man.

Vaemond’s fingers clutches the terrain of your throat, pulling you into him by his grip. A startle overwhelms you. Your fingers hovering over his wrist, gripping onto him. Offense melts into mockery.

A small laugh leaves you, tittering at Vaemond. Snide eyes blankly stare at him, daring for him to continue. Embarrassment floods him, releasing your throat.

“Such affections will not be tolerated.” Vaemond hisses, his face morphing between stoic and hostile. His ego is bruised and bitten off at the edges.

“Will it? ” A soft insulting chuckle emits from your lips, your face cold yet devilish. “Who will believe such tales?” You breathe another chuckle, more harsher now, your lavender eyes leering at him.

“My father will never believe such fabrications . His dear wife, and his daughter—”

“Soiling each other. ” Vaemond’s voice grats, and gruff, his voice looms low. You shake your head in disbelief, your pale curls bouncing against your cheekbones.

A sick, derisive smile, “You will become ill with your unfounded paranoia.” Coyly your hand plays with his cloth that rests at his shoulders.

“Why do you insist on such vile lies?” You ask him, your hand rests upon his shoulder. Caressing his shoulder through his luxurious vest.

“By the Gods, Vaemond—- why can’t you see that Alicent means no harm?”

The shells of Vaemond’s ears burn, his voice cracks into a groan, he refuses to submit to your ‘seduction of sweetness’ . Twirling his body in a circular pacing —- as if he was possessed by unholy madness. Your feet peddle backwards, rather smug at his insolence.

Vaemond turns his body, composing himself.

“We will leave for Driftmark.” Vaemond’s index finger menacingly pointed at you. “By the morrow.”

His hand strikes the air with every word he utters, “That is my word. ” And another, “ That is my law. ” Vaemond spins in haste, his heels clicking against the marbling with vigor.

You watch him depart and disappear, your head held high indignantly, but as he disappears through the chamber doors, you nearly collapse to your knees.

Your fingers fidgety and twirling the gold bands of your jeweled rings, clutching your belly —- your torso nearly hunching over from the rush of anger, and fright. Your belly is trembling.

The familiar emerald gem resting on your marital finger, fiddling your fingers against each other. You kiss it to ground yourself.

Criston waltz back inside your chambers with an irate gait.

“Princess, are you alright?”

You nod hastily, clearing your throat, already hoarse from the screaming. “Yes, I am quite fine.” You hesitantly move back and forth, feet bobbing from toe to heel, not sure if you want to sit for a moment or run to get Alysanne.

Criston steadies you, before you fumble to pieces from the overwhelming stress. He guides you by the joints of your elbows, seating you down on the velvet dining chair.

Criston’s admiration bleeds profusely. A rarity these days to acquire a male companion, who doesn’t yearn for your womanhood, but seeks out your mind—- and approval.

Criston mounts Alicent and yourself on a pedestal akin to those carved idols in the sept. A peculiar affection, Criston seeks to mold himself to be worthy in your eyes. As a pleading mortal prays to the Mother.

Beyond his rich brown eyes, he sees a being holy. A girl, who accompanied Alicent, saved him from the edge of his own sword, from the filth of his sins.

Your sworn shield since you were a young girl. A bond built on the fragments of trust, and pain.

“Does he often yell at you?” Criston asks. His eyes shadowed under his dark brow. Big brown oculus glistening with newfound frustration.

Your mouth gaps open, trying to find the words, but Criston is bristling as the hairs of a cat’s spine. “He dares abuse you?”

An airy inhale catches your throat, as tears sheen your eyes. “Abuse, that word weighs too heavy—- he’s an entitled man, who believes a woman should kneel in obedience.” Shaking your head, with a forlorn smile.

“In all the Targaryen bloodline, has there ever been a mousy woman?” You giggle, shoulders shaking. “He prides himself as a conqueror.” A boisterous laugh escapes Criston.

“A conqueror? Barely a knight.” Criston speaks cruelly, a mean smirk curling at his lip. “In the battle field, his armor is polished.”

A moment as this, a wife should display shame to discuss her husband with disdain, but Vaemond is not a man. Your hand was forced to wed a spoiled brat—- your father has no qualms on arranged marriages.

-

The Red Keep has many secrets. A plethora of hidden away chambers —- fit for two people. Alicent’s chambers were your favored choice of solace.

Alicent entrusted you with her secrets, and her fears, as you have done as well.

Her fingertips graze against your skin, tracing softly against the curve of your wrist, to the underside of your palm. Stroking the healed scar, the very one Alicent gave you many moons ago.

Just two bodies lying together, in bliss. The warmth of the fire pit and body heat encases you both. Flesh dew and scented from a shared bath of oils and soaps.

It wasn’t always so pleasant through the early years of shared girlhood. The guilt, the shame of harboring such affection for a woman. There isn’t a word in the western tongue for this affection.

There were days as young girls, Alicent would lock herself away, reading over verses, deep in prayer. As you spent hours with septas reciting prayers in unison, under the cloth of your dress, pinching and scratching the flesh of your thighs till splotches of deep purple formed.

Alicent mutilating her fingernails, gnawing or pinching away the redden cuticles.

Many suns and moons passed in the early days, but the love kept growing. The perpetual denial, the discreet glances, the graze of fingers tantalizingly touching—-ever so close, ever so far. How lost you become in Alicent’s moon-brown eyes.

The guilt was far too great, keeping distance between each other, but the ties thread only stretched painfully. A desperate longing, a raw human feeling.

Harbored tenderness finally exploded, blinding tears, and dashing feet carried you through the corridors of the sept, one day. There, as a holy vision, Alicent knelt in prayer, crying silently.

Clicks of hast feet alerted her, turning her watery gaze over her shoulder, as her fingers rested interlocked. A lost little babe under the towering marbling of The Mother.

This separation was a death sentence, vile and cruel. No longer, could you stay away, you needed her touch. And she did too for yours.

Without a word, you collapse to your feet before her, as you would in worship. Kneeling against her green silks, sniffling as your head falls against her thighs, her gnawed fingers wove themselves within your pale tresses.

‘Why did the Gods sew my heart to you?’

Alicent’s lips peppered kisses on your scalp, sniffling as her hands clung onto your back, cradling you. Rocking you back and forth, a rhythmic cradling, as a mother would.

If you were born a son, perhaps life wouldn’t be so cruel, so unfair.

Haunted by then the guilt of loving one another when your father took Alicent as his new bride. By the eyes of law, Alicent is your step-mother, but she never was, nor ever will.

The rings you both bear, is a reminder that your union isn’t recognized by the law of man, but the law of the Gods. Biting down on your bottom lip, sucking it into your mouth as a child, you couldn’t bear to stomach today’s charade.

“He suspects.”

Alicent’s head rises from your shoulder, confusion and fear creeping into her brown eyes. Her brows pinch, her fingers stroking the silk of your nightgown.

“Your father?” She asks in a whisper, so hushed as if scared anyone could hear beyond the walls.

“Vaemond.”

“How?” Alicent shakes her head, her beautiful face morphed with concern.

“As we were breaking our fast, he threw a fit, that your invitation didn’t extend to him.” You wearily laugh, “He went mad, raving on about how you seek to keep me from him.” Alicent sits up, her hand sinking into the mattress, darkness enveloping her eyes.

“Did he strike you?”

“No, thank the Gods. Criston came to my aid,” You wipe the tears that spill over your eyes by the back of your hand, “If he were to strike me, I would’ve gutted Vaemond as a fish.”

Alicent became quiet. “It worries me, so.” She says. Her thumb flicks against a cuticle. Quickly, you cease the harm, engulfing her hand in yours.

“My love, please.” You whisper, tapping her fingers gently. A sweet whisper stops Alicent’s assault.

“He will not have us seperated.” Alicent swallows, her face shrivels, the mere images of you being whisked away —- as she would be left behind to drown in this loneliness.

Shaking her head, speaking through wet inhales, “The Gods answered my prayers as a child,” Alicent’s head fell in a bow, her forehead connected to your knuckles, “I will see to it that you shall stay.” Alicent spoke through her tears, muttering now as a prayer, you must stay.

Rocking back and forth, hunched over as she would be in deep prayer—- stripped raw for you to see.

Alicent holds your inner wrist, kissing it against her lips. Her eyes were dilated, stammering under her breath. Your arms encase Alicent in a tight, warm hug. Cradling her as a babe.

“Oh, my love,” You croak, voice hoarse, laying your head on her spine. “The Gods have blessed us to still have one another, I have no doubt that I shall stay.”

“You have blessed me with a daughter.” Alicent says in a hush. “In another life, she is ours.” Her eyes gaze upon you.

Cupping Alicent’s cheeks into your palms, leaning for a kiss. Kissing her eyes, the bridge of her nose, between her eyes getting a titter from her.

Alicent strokes her nose against yours, her lips capturing yours. Lips melting, wet tongues fondle —- Alicent suckles your tongue, her milky fingers untying the cotton, slithering fingers underneath the flaps, cupping your swollen breasts.

One of Alicent’s hand trickles mischievously down your belly, caressing your sore mound, through the white night wear. A gasp slips from your lips. Her teeth nip at your cheek, open wet kisses trail across your skin down the slope of your throat.

Flesh singing alive, and Alicent whispers to be gentle, a little fondling, but no penetration. Unlike Vaemond, who sought for your body just merely days from birth.

Intertwining bodies cast shadows by the dim candle light, and girlish giggles echo against the chamber walls.

-

The hour is late.

Alicent and yourself departed for the night, begrudgingly to upkeep the reputation of dutiful wives.

In comfortable silence, Edina helps your achy bodice, in your night routine. Brushing your hair, and assisting you with Alysanne. You bathed her, and clothed her. As you held her against her chest, Edina brushed your hair.

It’s restful, and Vaemond isn’t near to ruin such bliss. You weren’t sure where he had run off to, but you didn’t muster the strength to care.

A quiet knock on your chambers alerted you, and for a moment, a growl nearly slipped. “Edina, can you please see who that is?” You ask sweetly. She mutters, Yes, princess.

Edina opens the door gently, with only a silver opening. As you rock your daughter against your breast, Edina breathes in a relief, turning back to you. You stare at her through the reflection of your mirror.

“It is Ser Criston, Princess.”

You sigh with a smile, grateful it isn’t your husband. You shuffle carefully in your stool, “Please, let him in.” Patting Alysanne’s little bum.

Edina moves the door wider, and Criston bows his head respectfully. “Hello Criston.” You greet him with a hum, “Is everything well?”

“A meeting has been called, Princess.” He says, almost with a tone of urgency. Your brows pinch in confusion, “The hour is late, why has the council been summoned?” Titling your head, eyes tired.

“I saw Alicent, and Otto accompany your father in the council chambers—-” Criston exhales with frustration, “— along with Vaemond.” His jaw clenches.

Stoned fury cements itself on your face, swallowing down, breathing becoming more heavier.

“Edina, please take Alysanne. I must tend to my imbecile of an husband.” The courtesy of graciousness, and taught manners are long gone, seeping out of you with the urge to bark.

Edina shuffles with quickness at her step, her hands out-stretched for Alysanne. Carefully Edina took your little bundle in her arms, you kissing her little furry head, as Criston helped you get to your feet.

“Criston, please take me to see Vaemond.” Your hand cupping Criston’s extended forearm, guiding you, his other hand on-top of your fingers.

A malicious smirk curls at the corner of his mouth, as you mutter obscenities under your breath along the path of the keep.

-

A meeting has been summoned.

An invitation only for Viserys to join Vaemond in the council room, but Alicent and Otto have come forth as Viserys’ shadows.

“I see your grace, and the Hand has come.” Vaemond says, rather annoyed. Alicent’s gaze subtly searches the room, but you are nowhere in sight.

“Whichever you must say,” Viserys says with a smile, “can be spoken among my wife, and my hand.” Viserys limply walks to the council table.

“Of course.” Vaemond strains with a formal smile. He clears his throat, his hands behind his back. “It’s time for my wife to reside in Driftmark.”

Silence commences. Alicent’s eyes widen.

“My daughter has just been born, and I would like my blood to enjoy her home.” Vaemond continues. A sullen look drags on Viserys. “So soon, my granddaughter has just been born.”

“Of course, not yet. Out of respect, we will stay for a little longer, but once we are ready—” Vaemond’s words are snuffed out, by Alicent’s scoff.

“No— - she cannot leave. King’s Landing is her home.” Alicent speaks anxiously, turning to Viserys. Vaemond scoffs under his breath. Alicent’s head twists in his direction with such haste, any faster her head would have spun and fallen off her shoulders.

“Two years we have stayed, not once has my wife visited Driftmark.” Vaemond puffs his chest, “She has not seen the seas of my home!”

Alicent chortles, a wet growl. “Viserys, please see to this.” She turns back to Viserys, “The children will miss her, you won’t see Alysanne for a time.” Alicent’s slender fingers grasp Viserys’ clothes forearm with a tightness. An exhausted sigh escapes him.

“Or you will miss her.” Vaemond spits.

“She is my friend, of course I would.” Alicent hisses through her teeth. Vaemond’s feet walk one by one, with sardonic thumps; leaning into Alicent’s space.

Alicent’s eyes squinted, “And where is she? It would be preferred to have her presence.” It didn’t feel right to not have you in this meeting, yet Vaemond is here overseeing a decision on your behalf.

“It is her right to choose where her home is! This should be her decision!” A vein slightly protrudes at Alicent’s neck, her throat straining.

“Your peculiar need for my wife is —- disturbing.” He says spitefully.

“Enough of this!” Viserys shouts, shutting both Alicent, and Vaemond to silence. “Two moons of this insufferable fighting—” He wheezes, “from the both of you!” He clicks his cane against the marbling, declaring his authority.

Vaemond towers over Alicent, nearly cornering her, but she doesn’t back down. Holding her head up high, staring back at him with such hate. A vision of silver, and a shuffle of metal enter the room.

Criston wedges himself between the two, his feet in stance for a brawl, but Vaemond only chuckles at the notion.

“Alas, the sworn mutt has come to protect his consort.”

“Must we have another go?” Criston asks, his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Venomous snake eyes, as his hands itch to slice Vaemond into an carasses.

”Would you liken I tell the king how you disrespected the princess?” Criston’s throat is hoarse, vein bulging. The seething rage within him is reaching a high.

Vaemond sucks his teeth at the notion. “My wife and I merely had a disagreement.” Alicent leans into Criston’s side, her lowered eyes twitching in a hooded glare.

Viserys shouts your name, his voice echoes within the room, beckoning you to him by his shaky hand. He caught you peeking from the chamber doors, watching the speckable.

Alicent’s eyes flooded with relief at the sight of you. You waltz inside with a determined gait, but as Vaemond opens his arms for an embrace, you swiftly pardon him with a worried smile, for Alicent and your father.

Vaemond’s feet bobbles, rooted into the marbling, still staring at the direction you walked through. Criston laughs to himself, at the pitiful sight.

Alicent holds you by the shoulders, shielding you away from your pestering husband.

“My sweet girl,” Viserys says, “Vaemond is declaring for you to leave.” He’s wounded. Viserys truthfully doesn’t want to see you depart, but you are a wedded woman now.

By law, a wife must accompany her husband, and it is two years late for your leave for Driftmark, such as Rhaenys had when she became lady of the sea.

“Yes, my love!” Vaemond says with a sardonic boast. “Our daughter has been born. It is our time to depart for home.” He steps closer, preparing to pry you away.

“The decision shall be done, only by my daughter’s permission.” Viserys casts a gaze at you, with such a kind smile, entrusting you to choose the ‘best decision’, to tame this spectating chaos.

Vaemond is repulsed at the notion of Viserys allowing you to make a decision on such matters.

You nearly stutter as a jester before everyone, terrified. Out of nature, your fingertips fidget with your ring. Not the ring bestowed to you by Vaemond, but the very ring shared between Alicent and yourself.

Blinking tears back, all eyes fall upon you. Alicent’s distressed wet eyes stare into yours, silently pleading with you.

You do not wish to prevent your daughter the opportunity to enjoy Driftmark, it is her home just as King’s Landing, but your heart is torn —- to be separated from Alicent is a murder.

Your soul won’t bear it, it would be felt as death. Worse than the pain during the wedding between Alicent and your father, the grief caused you to nearly fall ill. To separate the children—- hopes of being a family again shattering before you.

Hesitantly, your mouth quiver, but your mind was set. Driftmark is simply just a dragon’s ride away.

“I wish to stay here,” you proclaimed, standing with a firm posture. Vaemond’s eyes wide and enraged, gawking at you.

“Alysanne has just been born. There is no need for hast, I shall stay here in King’s Landing.”

A weak smile stretches just a little on Alicent’s face. All the fury seeps away from her face. Vaemond sputters in disgust, and rage. Nearly foaming at the mouth as a rabid dog.

“Then so be it.” Viserys proclaims, walking towards you with his cane, the ache of his body weighs on him, causing a limp, and a cough.

With no hesitation, you dash to his side, as does Alicent. You whisper to your father with a kiss to his cheek, a firm yet gentle ‘thank you, father’.

The pin drops. The hinges snap.

The Sea Snake breaks through the bubbling sea foam. A man cannot take anymore of this.

“ Viserys,” Vaemond pleas, shoulders shaking, fingers curling, “she plays you for a fool. Don’t you see that Alicent has bewitched your daughter—”

“Enough!” Viserys stomps the end of his cane, the clank startling you, as a frightened little girl, you cling onto your father’s forearm. His aging face distorts, his eyes leering into Vaemond.

“I respect you, Ser Vaemond, but you shall hold your tongue.” Viserys waddles closer, “Alicent is your queen, and respect is in order.”

Otto leans by the pillars, arms crossed against his chest. A spectator enjoying a theater play.

“Alicent is my daughter’s childhood companion, and I will not see them separated.” Viserys declares, stomping his cane onto the ground, echoing against the keep, its thud emphasizing his decision.

His word is law.

“I love your daughter, Viserys—”

“Then act as such!”

Vaemond sighs loudly, nearly stomping his feet in defeat.

“Vaemond, for the nearly twelve moons, you have made me mad with your judgment.” Viserys huffs. Shaking his head at Vaemond’s childish attitude. “Ridiculous bickering with my wife.”

Viserys softly tilts his head, “No more of this.” He whispers to Alicent. She swallows down, holding onto Viserys’ arm, mouth wrinkling into a frown, as if reprimanded as a child.

“Alicent ploys against me—-” Vaemond’s words die into a groan as a fist punch at his chest. A series of grunts and thrashing. You bellow for them to stop this thrashing.

Vaemond and Ser Criston tussle on top of each other, Viserys declaring for both of them to cease. Your pleas fall onto deaf ears. Your feet carry you near them, trying to tug Vaemond off of Criston, fruitlessly.

A clash of limbs, a tug of war. With one miscalculation of his elbow, a crunch and airy gasp of pain breaks. A collision against the floor, you softly whine in pain.

Shouts of your name, and feet running.

Nose welting as a smashed berry, seeping into the cave of your mouth, copper embedding on your palate. Your vision is blurry, colors of fabric and candle flames are translucent murky strings before your eyes.

Sensations of hands picking up your limp body in marital fashion, your mind too deep in a daze to connect with reality. Not sure who has you, muffled shouting becomes clearer.

Your lavender eyes are blank, and unblinking, as your vision begins to unclog the fog—— auburn hair stands before you, and trembling fingers caress your swollen lip.

Out of habit, your tongue glides over the top cage of your teeth, stinging the swelling flesh of gums, but you don’t stop the brushing of ivories.

“Fetch the maesters!”

You inhale a small gust of breath, a deep one that fills your lungs to an odd relief; as if you haven’t breathed in ages. Such vacancy etched in your pupils, gazing through your lashes to witness a faded vision of Vaemond staring in surprise.

He tries to come near you, but your father barks in his face. You don’t seek his affections, he has committed enough damage for a fortnight.

Sweet palms encase your cheeks, dabbing the spilling blood that coats the bridge of your nose, its sticky. Scared breaths escape Alicent, hyperventilating, as your eyes become loopy, one closes slowly after the other. The maesters all encircle you, muttering that your nose may be broken.

A wounded dragon rests upon the shores of Oldtown, crying for help. A roaming sea snake is lurking, snipping. The tower shines green. Alicent’s eyes catch Criston’s spare dagger —- the banners have been called.

Alicent charges at him, hatred and spite feeding off of each fiber of her being, taking the dagger that was seethed in Criston’s satchel, woven in her grip.

Dashing feet clamor against the flooring —- an ungodly manic shout roars from Alicent, frightening all men. Viserys haggers a few steps back, calling out to Alicent.

“Have you gone mad?!” Alicent’s voice is hoarse, snarling at him as a devilish beast. Her arm raises up, ready to strike through his flesh.

Quickly, Vaemond’s arms fling high, freeing himself, catching Alicent’s wrist in his. Alicent can’t even hear pleas from her husband, nor her father —- the stain of red has engulfed her vision. All shouts for her died in the distance, as blood rushed to her ears.

Murderous thoughts plague her mind as grave rot, to gash Vaemond’s skull open, feed his torn limbs to your dragon, imprison him as a suffering lame —- his delayed death will only sedate her fury.

Harming the only soul she can confide in, the only being who understands her fears, who shares her guilt for possessing love for another woman, but oh —- such a sin is delightful.

You’re the only one who can hear her voice in this wretched hell procreated by the Gods —- you can still hear her heart-beat in a crowded room.

You see her, as she sees you.

Not as your step-mother, more than a childhood companion, but as your lover, another-half of your soul. Stolen moments when the realm is asleep, both crying, laughing as if the world outside doesn’t exist—- ushering fantasies of traveling on dragon’s back to East, exploring the colorful lives of the Free Cities, as young girls again.

Praying on your knees, caressing each other.

Love, this is her love, to be seen in a room of shattered shards of glass that reflect the children you both once were. You won’t leave her alone, to slip away from each other. To be inside each other’s skin, to be inside each other.

Two women tangled in the realms’ webs. Forced to marry men who make their skin crawl. A matrimony in misery together.

“Alicent, put away the dagger!”

“What have you done for her?” Alicent’s whispers, with malice. Her eyes wet with an unshed sheen. Her voice is so low, just enough for Vaemond to hear, as a chorus of shouts fade in the distance.

“Besides take her body as ownership?” Alicent’s voice cracks into a broken wail, “Wedded her to claim her nobility as yours.” Her nose scrunches as a hound, “She is not a pawn in your games.” She hisses through her canines.

“Own her? I, a man, cannot even enjoy his marriage without interference. Meddling in affairs you have no qualms with.” Vaemond’s thrashing causes a slip of fingers.

His veiny hand tussles with Alicent’s arm, a futile attempt tugging by the jut of her elbow, to try to take her to safety, but she doesn’t relent. She thrashes her arm away, with a grunt.

The dagger’s sharp curved tip inches hairs away from Vaemond’s exposed glossy ocular.

“It is my right to be concerned.” Alicent’s teeth bore into a scowl. She’s unrecognizable, edging on her last thread of sanity. “Who will care for her?” Her voice carries the weight of concern, affection, a crack of desperation.

Disoriented voices fade in and out from the distance, a stand-off brewed from loathing, and jealousy. As many try to break apart Alicent and Vaemond—- others flock to your limp body, and the sprinting maesters.

Vaemond leers through his lashes, turning his attention away. Your ichor staining Alicent’s fingernails, and wrists in splatters. Vaemond’s venomous spite inflates akin to spikes, his eyes daringly bore into Alicent’s, sneers low under his breath, ‘suffocating’.

A disgruntled growl slips from Alicent’s lips. “ I am her companion. Her only friend. ” Alicent inches closer, nearly barking in his face. Such a declaration in her bellowing voice, her brows pinching in sorrow.

A moment stills.

He smirks, nose flaring.

“The very friend who bedded her grieving father.”

An ungodly screech rips from Alicent, raw and animalistic. Strength and sheer adrenaline. A scream that echoes the thousand unheard cries of her depraved girlhood. A release of her festering sorrow all in one strike.

By the Gods, what a fleeting delight.

With a swift glide of her wrist, the dagger just inches from the bridge of his nose, but the sharp tip rips a slice on his cheek.

Clamor of voices die in the silence.

Alicent slowly backed away, with such wild rage glistening in her eyes, her fingers trembling loose from her grip. The dagger clanks at her feet, her breaths are haggard.

Vaemond’s fingertips dab against the bleeding slash. Stricken with astonishment at the drips of ichor —- and great offense, Alicent has gathered the nerve to commit such a heinous act.

A suffocating figure comes near as a shadow.

Otto comes to his daughter’s side, his shoulder patting her shoulder to quell the tension that tightens her muscles. His vacant palm grips her wrist, softly squeezing, comfort? A warning.

Towering behind her, with such an ominous categorical glare, Otto breathes through his nose, a frustrated sigh. If no one will take the reins of this masquerade, he will. He always prided himself to be the solver of any problems.

Calculating his next move, to not only pacify Vaemond down, but to not frazzle the feathers of his child.

“Let us handle this bickering with grace.” Otto’s head tilts down, gaze downcasted at his daughter's dome, caressing her thick waves—- whose face was still twitching with lingering tears, exhaustion draining from her.

“We will all discuss our —-” Otto pauses for a second, turning his sight to Vaemond, feigning an inch of sympathy, “troubles in the morrow.” As a master manipulating the strings of its puppet, dancing to his rhythm.

-

Dull pain weighs on the bridge of your nasal, the milk of the poppy soothing most of the inflamed ache. The maesters claim it’s the luck of the Gods that your nose wasn’t shattered, with being the brunt of brute strength.

Resting in your chambers, deep in the massive blankets, boneless bodice sinking into the mattress, but your hooded eyes never leave Alysanne’s cradle.

Even in a moment of enduring the strain of this wound, the motherly instinct within you is overtaken. Awaiting any gurgle, or cry, any excuse to hold her in your embrace.

An uncomfortable whine vibrates low in your throat, nearing a snort, by the joints of your elbows into the mattress, you lift your heavy body up. Groggy muscles tighten and burn as you dig within yourself any inch of remaining strength.

Slow steps inch closer —- one and two, one and two—- your fingers grip the cradle. Carefully, your open palms dive into the blankets, grasping Alysanne’s little neck, and back; by the bent of your knees, you hoist her up.

Small gurgles emit from her heart-shaped mouth, you coo her, connecting her small body against your chest. Rocking her back to slumber, you shuffle back to your bed, hawking your balance, so that your feet don’t catch the loose end of your silk night-gown.

You gaze at her, what a beauty she is.

Despite loathing her father, the miserable masquerade he performed not only before your father, but to the sworn shield, the king’s hand to bear witness —- and above all else, in-front of your dear Alicent.

Vaemond’s outburst of demands, proclaiming you to be taken by his force, to reside the end of your days in Driftmark.

Aware of how tedious Otto is upon his reputation that extends upon his daughter, he will chastise any witnesses to keep tight lips. No whispers of this dreadful night. For once, you hope Otto weaves his fingers —- there is no need for anyone to speak such haughty gossip about Alicent.

‘My love has suffered for too long.’ You mull quietly. Softly grazing Alysanne’s button nose. Alicent doesn’t deserve to be the subject of the talebearers—- to be humiliated as such.

Alysanne mewls in her sleep, but your essence lulls her, caressing her cheek with your nose. Tracing the bridge of her nose with the grace of your finger, admiring her innocence.

“I will not let him have you,” You whisper in a hush, “And I will not have him take me away.”

-

“A mere scratch.”

The head maester dabbed Vaemond’s cheek, as the white cloth soaks in splotches of his blood.

“If it was closer, it would have been a gash, and the loss of an eye.”

Vaemond sits with his fingers digging into his clothed knees, as an insolent child. Vaemond is marinating in his seat, brooding in his pathetic defeat.

His fingers clenching onto the arm-rests, the intricate gold dragon engraving digging into the flesh of his fingers.

A handful of maesters flocked to Vaemond’s aid with haste, as Alicent was whisked away without a word from her father.

Humiliated, that his own wife would not defend his honor, that he was cut down by a woman’s hand, that the king himself would not see the impending shambles of his house.

A shush falls upon the maesters, quietly bowing.

Vaemond’s eyes gaze up to see Alicent at the doors. Mute, and regal, despite losing herself in her anger. The maesters all bow, one after another, taking their leave — all scurry out of the door, as rats.

Alicent walks inside, stoned silent, her palms clasped on top of each other against her belly, her lips pursed — restraining herself, her eyes still red at the rim from dried tears.

No less, her father sent her to mend the peace. Alicent stares Vaemond down, even through her display of vulnerability, she sees him as nothing. As if he is the dirt beneath her feet.

Vaemond stiffened his spine, his chest puffed out to ready brace himself against her wrath. But Alicent doesn’t move… her feet stay rooted. Her eyes are distant, as if reflecting quietly.

She hums.

“His grief doesn't bear a flame to mine.”

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Alys Rivers

Alys x daughter reader (platonic)

ft. alysmond/ alys x aemond

-Alys will either be your bio mother or adopted. If you are born to Alys it is by her own choice. Likely she wanted a baby of her own. If you are adopted it is because your birth parents did not want you and left. Taking pity, Alys will take you in.

It was quiet in Harrenhal, the only noises those few that remained awake. Alys sat by the hearth holding a small squirming bundle. She gazed down at the baby's face, your eyes closed. One long finger caressed thin hair. Your shuffled slightly but other then that were still. Alys had always wanted a child but never had the chance. Now she did Alys felt a warmth in her. A feeling almost completely foreign. She's had little in her life, her mother gone, father pretending she did not exist, and any child she cared for taken once old enough. Now she finally had a baby to herself. Y/n yawned slightly and opened her wide eyes. A few snuffles was all that left her. "There there Y/n. Go back to sleep." Alys cooed.

- Your childhood is dominated by Alys. There are not many kids in Harrenhal and Alys trusts no one else with you. You are working at an early age as a maid. It was mostly menial tasks, your mother forbid you doing anything dangerous. She allowed you to have fun after work and play amongst the few children. However you never stayed long and went back to mother. Alys sewed a lot of toys for you. Your dresses as well were made of good quality. Because Alys was given so little as a child she made sure you wanted for nothing.

Alys noticed her daughter eyeing a toy bunny in shop. It was a cute thing, made of dark brown fur and buttons. Of course Y/n did not say it aloud, these things cost money. But Alys was not adverse to giving her daughter something. So when Y/n went back to her chores Alys popped into the shop and asked how much it was. Giving her a wary eye all the time, the shop keeper named the price. It was not too bad, and the toy of good quality. So she bought it. No doubt they would whisper that the bastard daughter would do some ill by it. How foolish they were. She found Y/n by the hearth finishing het sewing. At first Y/n did not bother looking up, so concentrated was she. Alys crept towards her daughter, toy in hand. "Y/n, I have something." Turning, you saw the toy you had been eyeing in her hands. Delighted, you took it with a thanks. Alys watched as you fawned over your new toy.

-You receive an advanced education for a girl your status. From the library Alys pilfers books and parchment. You are taught to read and write from a young age. Language foreign to Westeros is heard upon your tongue. Most important, magic. Alys teaches you all she know and shows you images from the flames. You learn of prophecies that have past, are happening and will happen. In the night two witches chant their spells, learning secrets beyond the knowledge of mortal men.

Everyone was asleep in Harrenhal. That was, unless one did not count the two witches wide awake. Your mother had crawn a circle out of chalk, symbols drawn with a white thin finger. Once done Alys knelt down, green dress fairing out behind. You stood back slightly. Not out of fear, but to learn. Alys said words none other but you two understood. Although Alys knew them on a much deeper level. At your young age there was still so much left to learn. So you watched and memorized her actions. When younger you had always feared that guards would burst in and cart you two off for witchcraft. But now you knew mother would always be there to protect. From the center came a ghostly apparition. Its skeletal body twisting and turning grotesquely. Anyone else would have fled. But you were so used to stranger things that little fazed you. It leaned towards your mother and whispered something soft. Then it was gone. "What did it say?" Alys turned and smiled. "He is coming."

-When war broke out you never left Alys's side. She kept you near at all times. Days grew darker and all knew bloodshed would find itself at Harrenhal. Alys continues teaching you magic. When Daemon came to Harrenhal Alys kept you inside. Afterwards Alys is even more vigilante over your protection. Alys drew symbols around the door, telling you that no one but you two would be able to enter. The days grew darker and your mother spun her web.

Prince Aemond came astride his great beast Vhaegar. You and Alys knew first, sensed him, smelt him on the air. "Y/n, go to our room.' Obeying, you waited. A few times you heard a thunderous knock at the door. Someone took a heavy object and tried to break it down. Nothing worked and you were safe. Unfortunately you were not spared the screams because you could hear them. Men, women and children crying out. Sitting on the bed you tried to block them out with little success. When the door finally did open it was your mother. Without a word you flung yourself into her arms. "It's alright Y/n. We are safe."

-Others may have feared her, but to you Alys was everything. For the next few days your mother had you stay in the room. When you asked what had happened she said "everything is well". Trusting, you stayed. A week later she finally lets you out. Prince Aemond terrifies you. It is not his actions (Alys would have torn him apart if that happened), but his general presence. There was something dark within this young man that unsettled you greatly. Sometimes he would look at you but say nothing. But Alys seemed unworried and he seemed to like you mother. The change was odd. You no longer had to work as a maid but were allowed to solely dwell on studying. Your dresses were nicer as well. Dinner was sometimes taken with the Prince and your mother. It was a strange new world.

You stayed by your mothers side, small hand clinging to her dress. This room once belonged to the lord of this castle, however you had never stepped inside. Standing in front of you was a rather tall man. Or rather he looked so tall to a young girl such as yourself. He looked down his pointed nose, silver Targaryen hair framing a narrow face. His one eye made you shrink. Aemond Targaryen, prince, rider of Vhaegar and kinslayer. "How old is she?" "Eight. But my daughter is not given to childish exploits. So do not mistaken her for an invalid." Alys's grip tightened on you. Feeling safe by your mothers side you looked up at her. Alys showed no fear in the face of a man who had slain his own nephew. Your mother had faced more terrifying forces than this mortal man.

-You did not like Aemond. At least at first. He terrified you, and his monopolization of your mothers attentions brought jealousy to the surface. Aemond had very little to do with you. Alys had become more protective, keeping you by her side. Now that the castle was under Aemond's control (and by association hers) Alys took this opportunity to teach you magic more freely. None would dare to speak of the witch and her daughter (at least not yet. One day you were sitting outside, the light in your palms gently floating. It was liberating to conjure in the open with no worries of getting caught. Someone approached but you ignored them, thinking it was your mother. It was only when they spoke that you realized it was Aemond. Immediately you jumped up, the light disappearing in a thin trail of smoke. Aemond seemed apprehensive, but eventually asked if you wanted to ride on Vhaegar. Looking to the dragon, you were not entirely sure it was safe. But curiosity won.

Lets just say when you and Aemond finally got back down Alys was there. Yup. Aemond was fucked.

You should have been far more terrified. Vhaegar was enormous and even a claimed dragon was no pet. She turned her steely eyes upon you. Likely, it was Aemond's presence that stopped her from turning you into a snack. "Have you ever ridden with anyone else?" It would make you feel better if you knew he'd done this with someone else before. "Yes. My sister and your mother." Well, if your mother had done it, then dragon riding was not too bad. Right? After a tiring climb you reached the top of Vhaegar. Already you were well off the ground. Aemond who had been right behind you adjusted a harness around your waist. With one call Vhaegar was in the sky.

It was the most terrifying and terrific sensation of your life. High in the clouds you had never been so close to death. Never before had you witnessed such a view. Above Westeros you flew. "This is what it must feel like to be a god." You thought. Eventually Aemond decided it was time to land. And waiting in the courtyard was Alys.

Oh shit.

-Your mother began to show signs of illness one morning. At first you were unworried. But time when on and still your mother was ill. You tried to help, providing drafts and good foods. Still, your mothers condition stayed, neither worse or better. Finally, your mother one day came with a surprise. She was expecting a child.

"Probably an upset stomach." You thought. As the days passed by however, you began to worry. Not only was your mother nauseous, but unnaturally exhausted and complained of pains and aches. Finally Alys brought out her box and asked you to wait outside. Nervously you paced outside the door. After a few minutes, which felt like an hour, Alys let you back in. Instead of grief or worry a jubilant smile adorned her face. When you asked if she was well your mother pulled you into a hug. "Oh Y/n it is the best new. I am excepting!"

-You were excited for another sibling. Over the months you had warmed to Aemond (somewhat), so having him as the father was not so bad. Everyone had to leave Harrenhal and a cottage became home. You helped assemble a nursery and look after your mother. So busy were you that the war seemed a distant conflict. There was peace for a time. Unfortunately reality came crashing down in the form of Daemon Targaryen. Heavily pregnant, your mother said it was time to go. All three of you were forced on Vhaegar to meet Aemond. When you landed there he was, the Rouge Prince and his dragon. He helped you and Alys off. "She see's much and more, my Alys." With a kiss for Alys and a pat on the head for you, he was off. The two dragons circled one another. Your mother grabbed your hand and ordered you to follow, Into the forest both of you went. When you asked what was happening Alys told you to be quiet. Into the woods both of you went, the witch of Harrenhal and the little sprite.

Everything was deadly quiet. Your mother huffed and puffed ahead, the baby behind a strain. Frequently you looked back and above. In a rather short period of time the two of you were well away from Aemond. Suddenly with an almighty thud something hit the ground. Like an enormous hammer was slammed into the earth. The both of you nearly fell over. It was only because your mother had a hard grip that you managed to fall down. For a few moments the two of you stood there. A feeling heavier than an anvil settled on your soul. For a moment you were no longer there, but above looking down on a scene of carnage. Two dragons lay in the river, shattered ground beneath. Then suddenly you were underwater. Vhaegar's harness was still attached to its dragon, and rider. The sapphire glinted in his socket. Coming back, you were on the ground. Your mother's terrified face was all you could see.

"Mother, he's dead."

[boobo13cambridge]

A Mother's Remedy | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappé x f.Reader

Warnings: none just Papa Kylian fussing over his “perfect hattrick”

Summary: You fall asleep on Kylian after spending the whole day taking care of the triplets who had the flu.

A/N: Hello, everyone! I’ve been trying to get all my previous requests done. I hope you guys like this one, it was way too cute to write. My requests are open again if you guys want to send me more. As always, please leave me feedback and don’t forget to reblog. I would greatly appreciate it. Enjoy, lovelies ❣️

The room was filled with a soft glow, courtesy of the bedside lamp casting its warm light upon the scene. The day's exhaustion had finally caught up to you as you lay nestled in the comfort of Kylian's arms, your head resting against his broad chest. It had been a long and arduous day, one that tested your strength and patience as you cared for your three precious children who were struck down by the flu.

The abrupt shift in weather proved overwhelming for your spirited young boys, whose boundless energy knew no bounds. They loved playing football outside in your backyard, and wouldn't miss a match at the Santiago Bernabeu if they could help it. Watching their father play was their greatest joy, and you couldn't help but fall in love each time seeing your precious four-year-olds donning their father's jersey proudly, their voices joining in unison with the fervent chants reverberating throughout the stadium. Ali, being the eldest among the trio, would often lead his younger brothers, Zain and Ilyas, in a rendition of the French national anthem before playing their ‘friendlies’, as he liked to call them, in the yard. Kylian found it absolutely adorable, officially dubbing them his ‘favourite hat trick’.

Kylian's fingers gently caressed your hair, soothing away the remnants of stress that clung to your tired mind. His touch was a balm to your weary soul, bringing you a sense of peace and tranquillity. The rise and fall of his chest against your cheek served as a rhythmic lullaby, coaxing you slowly to sleep.

As your eyes fluttered closed, the image of your children flashed across your mind. Their little faces flushed with fever, their once lively eyes dimmed by illness. My poor babies, you thought as you snuggled closer to your husband. You had spent the entire day tending to their every need, feeding them medicine, wiping away tears, and comforting them through the long hours of discomfort. 

A few hours earlier…

As the sun cast its golden rays across the room, you woke up with a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. Stretching lazily, you slowly tried to get out of your husband’s embrace, the latter’s arms tightening his hold not wanting to let you go.

"Bébé, stay just a few more minutes," he murmured softly, nestling deeper into the curve of your neck. Letting out a quiet giggle, you turned towards him, placing a tender kiss on his nose and gently caressing his cheek.

"Kyky, I have to go wake up the triplets and get them ready for school," you explained, a fond smile gracing your lips.

"Mmmhhh, d'accord. But give me a kiss first," he playfully whined, his lips puckering in an adorable pout. Shaking your head affectionately at his antics, you indulged his request, pressing a chaste kiss on his waiting lips, before deftly extricating yourself from his embrace and making your way towards the room where your precious cubs slept.

The triplets' room was conveniently situated just across the hall from your own, one of the many reasons you both decided on this house after Kylian signed with Real Madrid. As you opened the door to the bedroom and stepped in, the sound of faint whimpering halted your movements. 

Alarm surged through your veins as you rushed towards the beds, the scene that greeted you shattered your heart into a million pieces. Lying in their beds, your little ones were flushed and perspiring, their small bodies consumed by fever. The sight of their usually bright and energetic faces now pale and tormented sent a wave of panic coursing through your veins.

Laying your hand on their sweaty foreheads, you felt how warm they were.

“Maman…” whimpered Ilyas the youngest of trio, slowly opening his eyes, “Je me sens pas bien.”

“Oh, mon pauvre petit chou. Maman’s here now,” you said, gently caressing his face. 

As you continued to caress Ilyas's flushed face, offering him reassurance and comfort, the other two boys, Zain and Ali, began to stir from their sleep. Their delicate brows furrowed in response to the discomfort that plagued them, their faces contorted in the grip of illness. The sight was a poignant reminder of their vulnerability, igniting a fierce determination within you to ease their suffering. 

With a heavy sigh, you braced yourself for the demanding day that lay ahead. Gathering your strength and summoning the resilience that only a mother possesses, you whispered soothing words to Ilyas, gently coaxing him to rest as you hear the distinct sound of Kylian’s footsteps approaching.

"Ils sont où mes petits footballeurs?" your husband boomed, entering the room with a wide smile that quickly faded upon witnessing the state of his babies. His expression transformed into one of deep concern, etching lines of worry across his handsome face. "Mon dieu, what happened?"

"They have a fever, Ky. They're burning up real bad," you replied, your voice laced with concern as you watched Kylian's eyes flicker with worry.

"Papa... Arrête de parler si fort, t’es pas un haut-parleur là," Zain weakly croaked, his voice barely audible, but still managing to convey his cheeky spirit, even in the midst of illness.

Kylian, ever the doting father, couldn't help but chuckle softly at Zain's response. "Roh là là, regarde le tit gamin," he remarked affectionately, a playful glimmer in his eyes. "Even while sick, he'll give his dad cheek, eh?"

Moving softly across the room, Kylian approached Zain's bed, his presence exuding a comforting warmth. His large hand gently rested upon Zain's fevered forehead, the contrast between his cool touch and the heat radiating from the young boy's skin sending a shiver of concern down his father's spine. Soft words of comfort and reassurance spilled from Kylian's lips, offering solace and a father's unwavering love.

After giving Ilyas a soft kiss on his cheek, you stood up, knowing you needed to make some food for your little ones and help them regain their strength. Your heart ached at the sight of Ali, still sleeping restlessly in his bed. You quickly made your way to his side, gently brushing his dark tousled hair away from his forehead, and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

"Ky, can you stay with them? Get them a wet towel for their foreheads. I'll make them some porridge and give them their medicine," you suggested, softly running your hand through your oldest’s hair.

"Sure, mon amour. You go ahead, I'll take care of them," Kylian reassured you, his voice filled with tenderness. With a gentle squeeze on his shoulder, you left the room, your mind racing with the urgency to prepare a comforting meal for your hungry little ones.

In the kitchen, you swiftly gathered the necessary ingredients, your hands moving with practised efficiency. As the porridge simmered, you took a moment to grab your phone and dial your mother's number.

With years of experience as a mother herself, she was a source of guidance and wisdom in times like these. You explained the situation and sought her advice on caring for your sick cubs, soaking in her comforting words and practical tips.

On the other end of the line, your mother's voice greeted you with warmth and concern. "Hello, my dear. What's going on? You sound worried."

"Hi, Mom," you replied, your voice tinged with a mixture of relief and anxiety. "The triplets are down with a high fever, and I'm not sure what to do. They're feeling really miserable."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry to hear that," your mother empathized. "First, make sure they stay hydrated. Offer them small sips of water frequently. And if they have any appetite, light, easily digestible foods like porridge would be good."

You nodded, taking mental notes. "Yes, I'm making them porridge now. It's almost ready."

"That's a good choice, my dear. Warm and comforting. It will help soothe their throats too," your mother advised. "And don't forget to give them their medicine. Keep a close eye on their temperature and monitor their symptoms. If things worsen or if you have any concerns, don't hesitate to call their paediatrician."

"I will, Mom. Thank you so much for your guidance," you expressed your gratitude, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you.

"You're welcome, my love. Remember, you're a wonderful mother, and you'll get through this. Trust your instincts and remember the best remedy is a mother’s love," your mother encouraged.

As you hung up the phone, you turned off the stove and took a moment to collect yourself. The conversation with your mother had given you a boost of confidence, reminding you of the strength and resilience within you.

Carrying the tray of steaming porridge and Tylenol back to the bedroom, you found Kylian gently coaxing Ali to wake up from his restless slumber. Your heart ached as you saw the worry etched on Kylian's face, his focus solely on their oldest, who seemed to be more affected by the fever than the others.

"Ali, mon petit lion," Kylian murmured softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "Wake up, Maman is bringing some food. It will make you feel better, je te promets, mon coeur,"

Placing the tray on the table near Ali’s bed, you placed a hand on Ali's forehead, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His eyelashes fluttered, and his drowsy eyes slowly opened, revealing a mixture of confusion and discomfort. His weak voice quivered as he tried to speak.

"Mama... Papa," Ali croaked, his voice barely audible.

"We're here, mon amour," you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing. "You're going to be okay. Just take your time and try to eat a little. It will help you get better."

With Kylian's support, you lifted Ali into a sitting position, propping pillows behind him to provide comfort. The fragrant aroma of the porridge filled the room, its warmth wrapping around Ali like a healing embrace. Kylian scooped a spoonful and blew on it gently to cool it down before offering it to Ali.

"Open wide, Ali," Kylian encouraged, his voice laced with both concern and determination. "Just a little bite. It will give you strength."

Ali hesitated for a moment, his tired eyes meeting yours and Kylian's. The love and support shining in your gazes seemed to embolden him. With a deep breath, he parted his lips, allowing Kylian to feed him a small spoonful of porridge. The taste brought a flicker of renewed energy to his weary body, and he managed a faint smile.

"Good job, Ali," you praised him, your voice gentle. "You're doing great."

As Kylian took care of your eldest, you attended to your other two brave little boys, who patiently waited as you served them each a bowl of warm food. Zain and Ilyas were capable of eating on their own, but as the ever-doting mother, you couldn't help but worry, despite their constant reassurances that they could manage. You moved back and forth between your sons, gently wiping the sweat off their foreheads and assisting them in drinking water. Once all three boys finished their meal, you and Kylian administered fever medicine and gently coaxed them back to sleep, hoping they would recover soon.

Seeing them in such a state made you feel helpless. Usually lively boys, they now lay there, struggling with high fevers. Observing your worry, Kylian tenderly wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to him and planting a kiss on your hair.

"Don't worry, my love. They'll be fine," he whispered softly as you sought solace by burying your head in his chest. "I can't help but worry, Ky. Especially Ali, I've never seen him like this before."

"Shh, he'll be alright," he soothed. "If you stress too much, you'll make yourself sick, and that's the last thing you want, right? The boys will be back to normal soon, my heart, okay?"

You nodded, releasing a faint sigh, as Kylian slowly closed the boys' room and led you to your shared bedroom. He was right; there was nothing more you could do but allow the fever to run its course and nurse your children back to health in the meantime. You felt grateful to have your caring husband by your side, knowing that despite being in the middle of a busy season, he always prioritized his family.

As you gently lay down, resting your head on Kylian's chest, you prayed for your family's well-being, filled with immense gratitude for your own mother, who had spent countless nights fussing over you to ensure your well-being. Your mother's words echoed in your mind, reminding you that a mother's love is the best remedy. With that thought, you allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, serenaded by the soothing rhythm of your lover's heartbeat.

[sendme-2hell]

Ranking the HOTD episodes by how gay they are (season 2)

season 1 rankings

8. Episode 6: Red Dragon vs Gold. I don't think very much gay happened in this episode. Other than Alys just being cool and Daemon being tortured is gay rights. Also I feel like Sunfyre is gay. 2/10 gay

7. Episode 1. Son for a Son. Points because we find out Alicent is delusional and is sending Rhaenrya letters and telling everyone about it. Jace and Cregan could be gay but we don't see much of it. -1 billion points for Alicent & Criston hooking up. 3/10 gay

6. Episode 2. Rhaenyra the Cruel. Rhaenrya and Daemon pretty much divorce. Mysaria and Rhaenrya start sharing the most intense looks in the world. But another million points taken off for Alicent and Criston STILL hooking up. 4/10 gay

5. Episode 5. Regent. Rhaenrya and Alicent are mirroring each other the whole episode as they are ignored by their councils -and we all know there is nothing gayer. Alicent is mean to Criston. Rhaena and Jeyne share a very gay look in my opinion. 7/10 gay

4. Episode 7. The Red Sowing. Alicent escapes the castle and goes camping. This is her coming out to me. Rhaenrya starts to go a little cult leader, and we can mark Mysaria down as scared and horny. 8/10 gay

3. Ep 3. The Burning Mill. Ok finally we start cooking. Alicent is saved from the delusional allegations when we find out Rhaenrya has been saving her letter in the same place she keeps her kids toys and, presumably the page from season1. Rhaenrya risks life and limb because she trusts Alicent not to rat on her and visits her in the sept. its very emotional. Alicent does a little moan when she sees Rhaenrya for the first time in awhile.

+ whatever is going on with the bracken/blackwood warring teenagers + Rhaenrya and Mysaria share some intense looks again

10/10 gay

2. Episode 8. The Queen Who Never Was. Alicent uses the power of gay speedwalking to make it to dragonstone, putting her trust in Rhaenrya to not kidnap her. Alicent continues their really fun tradition of talking about Viserys' love for each other when they are really talking about their love. Alicent asks Rhae to run away with her, and also offers her son as a sacrifice. Its pretty intense. Then she says "I cast myself on the mercy of the friend who once loved me" like WHAT!!!

+ points for whatever was going on with Criston and Gwayne. + Rhaenrya and Mysaria looking out at seasmoke who is no longer alone, mirroring before when Mysaria said "he looks lonely" earlier . When she was really talking about Rhaenrya.

11/10 gay

1.Episode 6. Smallfolk. Sorry Rhaenicent you're number one in my heart but you cannot beat an actual kiss. YET. Rhaesaria kiss is incredible and very gay. +1 million points, -2 taken away because Alicent had a hard episode and it's not fair to her that she hasn't kissed a girl yet.

+ points for Alicent getting a scar in the same place as she cut Rhaenrya as the smallfolk chant Rhaenyras name.

1000000/10 gay

[starkdirewolflove]

House of the Dragon

Daemon is having another dream of Viserys only this time it’s of him doing what he should’ve done all those years ago, comforting his brother in his grief over the death of his wife and son. I think this is a turning point for Daemon, he’s finally taking accountability for all the shit he put his family through. Ser Simon wakes him withe the news that Grover Tully has died and Oscar has succeeded him as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. When Daemon asks what happened Simon tells him that Alys was called upon to help when the maesters failed to save the old man. Daemon smiles then puts his head down to cry.

Alicent goes to see her brother off and ask if he’s heard from Otto. Gwanye tells her if Otto was gonna write to anyone it would be her as she’s his favourite. Alicent then asks about her son Daeron who she hasn’t seen in years and hardly heard from. Gwanye tells her he’s 16 now, as good with a lute as a sword, adored by maidens and a stalwart and kind boy. Alicent laments her failings as a mother since the sons she raised are anything but kind.

The riot for the food starts as Hugh beats some man to get food for his family and Alicent and Helaena are evacuated from the sept as the mob gets restless. Alicent is hit by a rotten fish and her and Helena get surrounded while Aegon’s idiot Kingsguard panic and chop off someone’s arm. The queens barely make it out alive while the crowd chants “long live Queen Rhaenyra.”

Larys visits Aegon to give him advice on his new position as his life is endangered by Aemond. He compares his own struggles to wait Aegon will now face: he will never run, people will pity him or turn away in disgust, talk behind his back and to his face but they will underestimate him and he can uses his mind to his advantage. Aegon begs for help and it seems the clubfoot is his only ally.

Seasmoke flies over the beach at Spicetown and chases Addam of Hull. It seems he has chosen a new rider.

Rhaenyra and Mysaria talk about the happenings in Kingslanding and Mysaria gives her a pep talk that all is not lost and she believes she will be a good Queen and a just ruler. They discuss Daemon and Mysaria shares the story of her scar with Rhaenyra in a show of trust and vulnerability. After this Rhaenyra hugs her and the moment turns from a hug of friendship into a passionate kiss that gets interrupted by Ser Lorent bursting in to inform Rhaenyra that Seasmoke has been spotted flying over Spicetown with a rider. Rhaenyra mounts Syrax and takes to the sky to investigate herself while Jace is left to call after her.

Things are progressing a bit quicker now. There will soon be war in the Riverlands. The Greyjoys have been mentioned as well as Prince Daeron who will be involved in the battles in the Reach as the Beesbury’s are fighting the Hightower’s as vengeance for their murdered Lord.

[lemon-muncher]

Yooo, its Aly. I have a request for you .

Can you do Sub!Bakugo and Sub!Kirishima getting pegged/ fucked by GN! OR Male!Reader it can be separate or a threesome does not matter to me <3!

TY, AstonomicalAlyy 💫.

Hehehehe😈

I saw this and got super excited. I'm gonna do this one in the style of a headcanon post cause I wanna do both Kirishima and Bakugou separate and together. Anyways, enjoy! Oh, I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible...

Katsuki Bakugou

-One word: Slut

-Katsuki Bakugou is an absolute slut for anal play. It confuses you, and him. Something so vulnerable with his head strong personality just mix ... and you suck it up ;]

-Despite stating he's the dominant one in the relationship, he's very submissive when being fucked. He's a sucker for good old fashion doggy style. He wants you fast and deep inside of him, rearranging his guts in all the best ways.

-Starts off with heavy groans (he's trying to hold on to his dignity) by the time you replace your fingers with your cock, those groans turn into high pitched screams. Sometimes you think he's chanting in an ancient language from his incoherent whines

-If you're feeling generous or just want to hear his pretty crys and don't feel like gaging him, he will somehow get his spit everywhere. You can't tell me when he's fucked out of his mind that he doesn't drool. (Definitely inspired you to dress him up as a dog... you pervert;] ) Yeah, there's always huge pools of saliva left on your sheets afterwards

-I know I call you guys perverts but HIM?!?!?! He is the kinkiest mofo, besides Denki Kaminari, to exist. He's definitely had fantasy of you fucking him stupid infront of Midoriya to prove he has you all to himself. Yeah... you've probably thought of it to

Eijiro Kirishima

-Resident good boy

-He's a big guy, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be treated like he's made of glass. Such a pretty pillow prince

-Needs to be soft dommed. You would probably have to take up the role of a service dom because as a sub, Ei is just kinda useless... He's sensitive, so after an orgasm or two his body and brain have no energy.

-Prefers to be fucked slow but hard and deep. Even though he's practically unbreakable due to his quirk, a few deep thrusts into him and he feels like you reached his throat. He wants to break from the feeling.

-A fan of being able to look at you while having sex. He finds it more romantic:>

-His moans.... AHHHHHHHHH they're so pretty. His moans come from the bottom of his throat, they're long and sultry. Just hearing them makes you throb a little.

-Definitely the type to be a silent screamer when you finally hit his prostate head on. His head falls to the pillows under his head and his large hands reach out to hold on to you. Has definitely accidentally activated his quirk from this at least once.

-Call him a good boy. He thrives off of praise inside and outside of the bedroom. He needs to know he's doing a good job, he'll cry without it....

Katsuki + Eijiro

-A worshiper and a brat..... oh boy

-Bless your soul for having to deal with them. You have to be a service dom and a brat tamer at the same time. It's exhausting but it's worth it to see your boys satisfied.

-They both are attention whores, they want you to look at them and only one of them. Eijiro turns into a brat and Katsuki...he just gets worse. Eijiro will start to act out so you can shift your attention towards him, even if for a second. Katsuki becomes a nuisance, he'll rile you up around his friends only to ignore you the second you decide to indulge into his games.

-Most if the time, you usually end up having Eijirou in a full nelson, his feet close to his head as you pound into him. He'll be gaged as punishment for acting out. Edge him for hours and when you think he's had enough, immediately go into overestimating him. Milk him of 3 or 4 orgasms. He wants you to stop but also to keep going. He just wants to feel you.

-As you edge/overstim Ei, Katsuki will be restrained to your bed post with a sounding rod in his cock. He is also gaged but can hear and see everything. You leave him there to watch the two people he care about satisfy each other without him. It definitely turns him on but makes him lonely as well. Once Eijiro is too fucked up to comprehend anything, you move to Katsuki.

-The second you unchain him, he'll start sobbing, telling you how sorry he is for misbehaving. After a stern look, he'll think of every way to praise you. His mind will probably go to trying to suck you off but you have other plans.

-Put him in a headlock and fuck the shit out of him! Be as rough as you want. Pull his hair, force your finger down his throat, smack him like a common whore. He loves it. His eyes will roll to the back of his head in no time and drool will fall from his lips.

-He thanks you..... HE THANKS YOU LIKE A GOD ....I love it

- After a few rounds, Katsuki will collapse next to Eijiro, both of them having sheepish grins on their fucked out faces. All you can do is stare in exhaustion at the sight. It really is beautiful

Yes....just yes