#I felt very compelled to make up for it

[j-ellyfish]

You are the QUEEN of Spaus 💜

Waaahhhh thank you!! Q///w///Q

[skitskatdacat63]

I don't know how I'd ever convey this in art but. Thinking very deeply about how in boy king au, a very crucial part of characterization is that Seb is a wolf in sheep(or lamb more specifically)'s clothing and Fernando is a sheep in wolf's clothing.

Seb is very unassuming, very delicate, seemingly very vulnerable and malleable. But, deep down, he can be very ruthless. It's in the the way he hesitantly declares war, with a spark in his eye and a suppressed smirk. In the way he challenges someone to a card game or a horse race, proclaiming that he's not great, but winning every round and prancing around the room and mentioning it ad infinitum. The way he's able to instantly turn the tide in a debate in one fell swoop. By showing all his cards constantly and letting himself be vulnerable, he's making himself invulnerable. No one would ever consider him to be able to make big moves, so he wins every single time, because no one even thinks to expect it from him.

Fernando on the other hand, is constantly committed to having a looming presence and harsh reputation, but deep down, he's soft. He knows what happens to people when they're vulnerable, and he's not going to let himself be taken advantage of. The way he keeps a brave face when being informed of the marriage proposal, but goes back to his room and cries. The way he proclaims that he was always going to be the rightful ruler of Spain, but confides to Flavio that he never thought there was any real chance of it ever happening. The way he takes himself so seriously in public, but inside feels so giddy whenever he can make someone laugh. Everything to him always feels unstable and ready to crumble at any moment, and he's not willing to contribute to that by letting himself relax.

I think thats why it's very difficult for them to get along at first, because they have completely different approaches to how they carry themselves and make their way through life. Seb is confused at Fernando because he feels that he's very bland and overly serious at first, but truthfully he's not really seeing the actual Fernando. And Fernando finds Seb to be naive and easily taken advantage of, but that's because he's never seen Seb at his most cruel. Seb really loves when he eventually gets to see Fernando being vulnerable, and Fernando really admires and respects Seb when he sees him being serious. I think it just takes a while for them to show the other their full and complete selves, even the parts they can sometimes be ashamed of. There's this very compelling dichotomy in Seb laying out all his cards, but still being very difficult to read, and Fernando keeping his cards to his chest, but his intentions often being easily seen through.

[tswwwit]

Did Bill not come to terms with his feelings for Dipper until he was forced to in Confessing It, or was it earlier in the series (even if he would never admit it)? Sorry if this is sorta implied, I’m not amazing with subtext. Rereading atm and I was curious lol

Actually, Bill (sort of) came to terms with having fallen for Dipper well before Dipper got his feelings sorted.

It's in Faking It chapter 15:

[Bill] glances up at Dipper. “You…. are the single worst thing that has ever happened to me. And I don’t say that lightly, you got no idea how old I am."

[vegaseatsass]

I have to pry myself off the computer for real but tomorrow will someone please talk to me about Love Between Fairy & Devil now that I've finally watched it a year after the rest of the internet, and how Fairy Danyin is the best character, and Danyin/Changheng is the most lesbian (and/or gnc)/gay solidarity ship ever, and I am so stunned that they textually ended with Danyin admitting her original thing for Gods of War is that she wanted to become one herself - i.e. there was some "idk if I want to be him or be with him" to her Changheng pining - and with her demonstratively labeling Changheng her xiongdi???????? They are bros in every lifetime!! And should go on Chidi/Danyin Changheng/Ronghao double dates!!!

Someone please talk about this with me.... tomorrow.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[samarecharm]

Why did the game wait until June to tell me that leveling up confidants was important?

[drunk-poets-society]

Man, working with kids is so entertaining. This 8th grader I’m teaching is so enamoured by me and I just lie to him abt the most inconsequential shit lol.

[yeonban]

When  Pessoa  said  “There’s  a  thin  sheet  of  glass  between  me  and  life.  However  clearly  I  see  and  understand  life,  I  can’t  touch  it”...........  Shal  felt  that

[the-lord-of-the-things]

I love how, at least according to his hair chart, Micky never did Honest Hearts. Dude really just inhaled poisoned gas while bomb collared, got his brain, heart, and spine took out of his body by robots, and rediscovered his tragic past of accidentally getting his hometown nuked, but noped tf out of that weird racist Mormon shitshow. Good for him

I actually have where if he does do honest hearts, its likely in a lull during the main game, cause it just doesn't really fit with the overarching plot of sorts he has goin post game with following Ulysses' trail and his own past through dead money -> old world blues -> lonesome road I also just do not want to acknowledge the racist shitshow we got in the actual game. Ages ago I saw an excellent post by an indigenous creator on here about how they would adjust honest hearts to be, well, not a racist shitshow, that I unfortunately have not been able to find again or I’d link it here (the jist was make the white legs and sorrows be just post apocalyptic communities and not 'tribes' because they don't have native american origins, and have the dead horses just be Diné (Navajo), as well as give pretty much all the groups more agency away from joshua graham and daniel. As well as just reworking pretty much everything to do with joshua's story because that is just a mess) If Micky ever participated in the story of Honest Hearts, I'd want it to be something along the lines of what was laid out in that post, because the version we got in the game is just so frankly reprehensible wrt to its racism against indigenous people in general and native americans in specific I refuse to engage with it again

[libraryleopard]

Adult satire/thriller criticizing the wedding industry

When Robin, a lesbian academic who's skeptical of marriage as an institution, is asked to be the maid of honor for her childhood best friend, Ellie, she reluctantly accepts based on nostalgia for their friendship and a desire to do research for her thesis on the marriage frenzy sweeping the country

As the wedding approaches, a series of ominous accidents lead Robin to suspect that someone in the wedding party has it out for her–maybe even Ellie herself

Lesbian main character; Filipina lesbian love interest; Black, gay side character

[rewh0re]

CAN I GET A KISS? (AND CAN YOU MAKE IT LAST FOREVER?)

—wc: 878, headcanons of how different jjk men would kiss you!! fluffy fluff fluff and nothing but fluff, a lot of kissing (neck, lips and forehead), gojo in himself is a warning tbh. REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED!!

—pairing: geto, gojo, nanami x reader (separate)

｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ geto suguru—

I somehow see Geto as a guy who is into neck kisses. Like you'd be doing your work and Suguru just spawns out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around your waist, pecking and nibbing down your neck. He'll be helping you put on the clasp of a necklace and would steal a little peck that would take you by surprise. So cute. He's also very much into pecking your shoulders and burying his head in your neck—his way of asking you to play with his hair. Like you will be watching some stupid rom com and the next thing you know, Suguru is latched onto you, nibbling onto your shoulder as he buries himself in your neck. His breath softly tickles your skin and you know no one’s going to watch the movie anymore. So you give into his antics as your fingers card through his hair as a hum of satisfaction leaves his lips. 

"oh! what was that for?" you yelped in a welcomed surprise as you felt a little nibble on the side of your neck which was quickly soothed by the feeling of your lover's warm tongue.

"missed my baby. When are you joining me in bed? it's late," his lips left a trail of kisses from the base of your ear to your clavicle.

"will you attack me if I say after I finish this draft?" you smiled up at him, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"you know I will."

You both knew he would attack you with kisses before bed either way.

｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ gojo satoru—

Now Gojo is a flirt. He's a stupid idiot and a flirt. He'll do anything to tease you and rile you up if I'm being honest. He'll get close to you, breaths mingling together as he holds you against his hard chest. You can smell his rich boy cologne so clearly and you're sure he can probably hear your erratic heartbeat. It's all impossibly slow and you close your eyes, waiting for his lips to land on yours and then.....they land on your cheek! Your eyes shoot open at the howling laughter from the menace that is Gojo Satoru. He gives a detailed recollection of your face from just a few seconds ago and you realise he can never not get on your nerves.

"Satoru I fucking hate you," you whine, pouting a bit, your body sulking as you look away, arms folded and a rose tint on your cheeks.

The next thing you know, Satoru's arms are around your waist for a second time as you're impossibly close to him....again. Except now his lips are quick to land upon yours. you move your arms to grip on his hair while he tightens his arms around you. He sucks on your bottom lip, licking and nibbling it. Your surprised gasp allowed him his entrance into your mouth, your tongues gliding against each other's as both of your lips were covered with thick coats of saliva. His hand moved along your back, gripping your neck, then face and then back around your waist. You wish you could kiss him like this forever but your lack of oxygen compelled you to part.

You panted as you looked at him, his sapphire eyes holding love, passion, desire and something more—mischief perhaps?

he smirked before pecking your lips again.

"Won't hate me as much now I'm guessing?"

Incorrigible, isn't he?

｡ﾟ･　☆　° ｡ nanami kento—

Come on. When I started writing this, I just knew Nanami had to be a forehead kiss man. He just radiates a sense of safety and comfort if you know what I mean. Imagine the both of you are at your shared apartment and you are just talking on the sofa and he's smiling at you and when you ask what's up he just takes your face in his big hand and leaves a long kiss on your forehead.

I just know Nanami comes home and the first thing he does is hug you tightly, as if to never let you go. He then proceeds to hold you gently by your neck as he leaves a lasting kiss on your temple.

Even before bed, after saying your good nights when you are all cuddled up with him, he'll softly leave a chaste kiss on your forehead, muttering 'sweet dreams' before you both lull to sleep. It's endearing really.

Especially when you're tired or stressed from work or life and you confide in him for comfort. He will hold you so tightly while you feel at home in his arms. One of his hands will be pressing your head to his chest while the other grabs you around the waist. You love being held by him.

"thank you kento, I feel better," you separate from him, smiling up at him in gratitude and appreciation.

he just hums in response, returning your smile with one of his own endearing ones. He moves a lock of your hair behind your ear as he brings his lips to your forehead. you close your eyes, basking in his warmth and comfort.

Kento's forehead kisses and hugs ensured you that you would always have a place to call home as long as he's with you. You'd always be safe in his arms. He'd always be yours.

[neil-gaiman]

Hi Neil,

I hope this doesn't get buried in the ask box, but if it does, I'll still be glad I sent this, just to know this little lengthy slice of complement and thanks existed in your inbox is enough. I apologize for the length, I am pretty sure the grammar is in tatters...and probably just the general awkwardness in advance.

Frist of all, congratulations for Good Omens Season2, it's a roaring success even here in this...I don't know, bottomless pit? I myself and some others fondly call it the PRC. The show didn't made pass the firewall officially, neither was Prime Video. People still managed to watch it eventually by VPNs, shared accounts and when times are desperate...sorry, piracy. Chinese fans, including myself, using every tool in the shed to try to fool Amazon™ and our goverment, just to watch this on Prime and try to help to manifest S3, is one hell of an experience. This kind of experience is pathetic, ridiculous....and somehow hilarious in a dark, gallows humor way, almost like some bad spy comedy, I just have to share it. Worth all the trouble by the way, the reward at the end of the back channel is...well, some divine comedy to say the very least. All in all, it's a brilliant show and a solid job well-done.

Then some of my personal gratitude. They say good art resonates with your soul, I now know this is just as true as matter and gravity. Since I know Good Omens certainly resonated with mine. I'll redact the typical "depression and anxiety reduced me to a husk, a shadow of my former self" story and get to the result for brevity's sake. I can't write anything meaningful while I know I took joy in writing, I can't finish reading anything longer than a brochure while I know I was such a bookworm in the past. Then I was compelled to get up in the middle of the night, wrote a full 5000 character long analysis after marathoned S2, and then write even more analyses in both Chinese and English. I picked up American Gods because I know I need more Neil Gaiman in my life and then impressed by myself for actually finishes it the second time 5 years later. I didn't know how exactly that happened through one watch of a TV show, but I know I am changed for the better. I grasped life again, and can start living again, somehow. The resonation just keeps on giving.

This is a quiet, gentle and romantic story, it is soothing, accepting, filled to the brim with love and kindness, and it makes me feel safe and accepted and loved in a way I never felt before. I thank you for it, and hope thart I may have the privlige to witness more of this miracle. Thank you Neil, Sir Terry Pratchett and the team for this miraculous book and this miraculous show.

谢谢。(I just had to say thanks with my mother tongue, it feels more earnest this way)

Thank you so much! I'm impressed by everything you and your countryfolk have gone through to watch it as legitimately as you could.

[pollyanna-nana]

One of the most tragic and compelling aspects of Dunmeshi, to me, is that we’ll probably never know (unless Kui tells us lol) how Delgal actually felt about Thistle. I’ve seen people say that he genuinely cared for him as a brother and his journey to the surface was to save him from his madness as much as it was his people. I’ve seen people say that he saw Thistle as nothing more than a fancy accessory or tool that ended up going astray. Others I’ve seen (and personally agree with) say that the truth lies somewhere in the middle. But honestly, I think any one of these interpretations has the potential to be correct… and that’s just heartbreaking.

After all, Delgal is dead. Like, dead-dead. The very first chapter of the manga starts with his spirit leaving this mortal coil, taking that answer with him. And…

How he talks about Thistle here… it’s interesting. He does not ask for him to be talked down, or captured or imprisoned, but instead “defeated”. Which Mithrun interprets as asking for his death… which is reasonable, because that’s likely how the vast majority of adventurers interpreted his words, too. Obviously as he was crumbling to dust he probably didn’t have the capacity to be particularly verbose or explain the complex backstory to how the kingdom ended up this way, but the effect is the same no matter how he may have felt with it. He asked for Thistle to be killed.

But… even in situations where he wasn’t under any such time limit to explain what was going on, he still seemed not to. Most glaringly:

Yaad seemingly has no idea that it was Delgal’s fault that Thistle sought the demon’s power. Obviously he couldn’t talk to him about it because Thistle was, uh, a little out there by that point, but why didn’t Delgal explain? Was he embarrassed? Mournful? Couldn’t find the words?

Delgal was scared of dying. He wanted prosperity at any cost, and how could Thistle possibly refuse? Did he even realize that what he was the one who pushed his own brother— One who basically helped raise him despite being a child himself, and in many ways is still a child— down this path? Or was it like watching an overzealous employee misinterpret directions?

The way Yaad describes things here makes it sound like Thistle simply dug too deep in his studies and fell into madness, but we know that’s not true. Delgal didn’t “suggest” he learn magic, he wanted a mage who could help himself and his people defy death, which he admits to Thistle openly:

So, why? Why not tell his grandson, at least, the truth of the matter? Did he worry it might make the remaining residents more likely to upset Thistle, and therefore suffer the consequences? Did he just not care? For what it’s worth though, Yaad does suspect the truth from Delgal’s behavior.

He “always blamed himself” for his descent into the dark arts. This is just Yaad’s observation, and that’s without knowing that it was quite literally Delgal’s fault Thistle went down this path. So, why? Why was it all kept a secret?

Of course, this made things ripe for the winged lion to manipulate to its advantage. Clearly despite knowing he’d pushed him into using it, Delgal still thought the lion was a force of good that was misused by Thistle as a result of his madness. His face in that last panel is particularly haunting. He looks terrible, gaunt and pale with overgrown hair and missing teeth. Had he gone mad, with grief and sorrow, as well?

Could he no longer see Thistle the way he did when they were younger? No one can ask him, because he died long before the story even began.

To go back to the original question, well, how did Delgal see Thistle? None of the previous points make a definitive answer any clearer, and I think that’s just brilliant. And so, so tragic.

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag II (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

~

“Why was JJ even trying to give you some drink, anyway?”

You resisted the urge to sigh, anticipating such a question the moment the topic had swung back around to the party from last week. You kept your gaze on your lip gloss, dipping it once then twice before looking up into the mirror. You could hear Rafe pause in his movements, no doubt waiting for an answer, and this time you finally did heave a breath.

“I don’t know, Rafe. I told you this,” you said to him, turning to look at him as he sat on the edge of his bed.

You watched him study you, that blue gaze of his oh so unnerving, and you weren’t the least bit relieved when he simply hummed.

“I know,” he finally replied, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. “…but I have a right to wonder. Especially since you’ve never spoken to him a day in your life before that night.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to swipe the sticky product over your lips, recalling that it was one of Rafe’s favorite shades. The conversation had the potential to slip into dangerous territory, derailing your entire night, and you mulled over your next words carefully.

“He was probably just trying to get a rise out of you,” you honestly murmured, looking at your boyfriend. “…and it worked.”

You merely shrugged at him as he scoffed.

“I mean, he’s way more familiar with you than me. Probably just wanted to piss you off.”

You turned the light off in his bathroom, making your way towards your shoes as you desperately hoped this conversation would come to an end soon. The topic of other men was one that rarely ended nonviolently, and you didn’t know how Rafe got it into his head that the antics of JJ Maybank had anything to do with you when everyone on this entire island knew how much they hated each other. A year ago, you barely even knew the other blonde’s name.

“Well, it worked,” Rafe confessed, coming over to help you put on your other shoe. “You’re too good to even be talking to trash like that, so yeah. It pissed me off.”

At the look on your face, Rafe continued, shaking his head.

“I know what you’re thinking, and you really don’t need to go around feeling sorry for guys like that. He’s not the down on his luck kid you think he is,” he advised, pulling you to your feet. “Him and all of Sarah’s little buddies are nothing but trouble.”

Rafe took his time telling you this, making sure you heard every word, and you only felt compelled to nod as he placed a brief kiss on your lips. Rafe swiped up your purse for you as he pulled you out of the room. You felt safer with Rafe in his house than you did in your own, but Ward’s careful eye on his son had never been foolproof. There’d been plenty of times Rafe gave you a sprained wrist or bruised jaw in his very own bedroom.

It's just that in his desire to be more careful within the Cameron household, he sometimes decided that it wasn’t even worth it.

“Where are you two off to?” Sarah wondered as you came face to face with her in the living room.

You hadn’t even known she was home, and when it became clear that Rafe wasn’t going to answer her, you did.

“To a movie.”

The smile you sent her was small, and she reluctantly returned it before settling her gaze on her brother. You didn’t miss the way her eyes narrowed, lips pursing a tad. They never got along, but considering recent events, you knew what this particular disagreement was about to be about.

“JJ’s nose is still pretty messed up, you know.”

At that, Rafe did finally acknowledge her, stopping to face her with a challenging look you knew all too well. He tilted his head to the side, one brow raised.

“That sounds like something that isn’t my problem,” he shrugged, and you softly told him that you needed to go in an attempt to avoid whatever this was, but he ignored you.

“God, you’re such an asshole, you know that? JJ just offered your girlfriend a drink and so you broke his nose? Yeah, ‘cause that makes sense,” Sarah murmured, shaking her head as she looked back down at her phone.

You squeezed Rafe’s arm, but he merely sneered at his sister.

“JJ’s a little shit who likes to look for trouble wherever he goes. Not my fault he found it,” Rafe spat, pulling you along before Sarah could reply.

His quiet disposition and tight grip on your hand told you how annoyed he was at Sarah’s reminder of JJ and that night, and you mentally wondered if this was going to be a little thing or something that affected your whole night. Maybe even the next one too. He said nothing when he helped you into his truck, and so you were unsurprised that he was quiet his whole way to the movie too.

You were thankful this was the date of choice because it was easier to ignore Rafe’s mood when your eyes were glued to the screen. In fact, there were moments you forgot he was even there, giggling to whatever was going on in front of you. Once the movie was over, however, Rafe’s uncharacteristic silence was hard to ignore.

Knowing that you’d regret it, you finally spoke up when you made it back to his truck.

“I feel like you’re mad at me for some reason.”

It sounded silly to your ears, but then again, you knew your boyfriend like the back of your hand, and as little sense as it made, you had the sneaking suspicion that he put some blame with you somehow.

“Not mad,” he murmured, and you simply looked at him.

His gaze and the tightness in his jaw said otherwise, and despite his evident annoyance, he still claimed otherwise. He was silent as he opened your door—his irritation growing the longer you stared at him—and when he blinked, straightening, you finally slid inside. You weren’t surprised to have the door slammed in your face, and you could only sigh when he joined you.

The first few minutes of the drive were as quiet as before, but when Rafe finally cracked, you could only close your eyes.

“Why did you even want to go that night, anyway?” he bitterly chuckled.

You turned to look out of the window with a defeated heave of your shoulders, swallowing.

“You’ve never wanted to go before, and even then, some bonfire on the beach isn’t your thing. You go to house parties with pools and prissy bitches who don’t want to get their hair wet,” he sneered, making you look at him. “Yeah, JJ might’ve wanted to piss me off, but it was you he chose to do it through.”

“So…what…? It’s my fault? I should’ve never gone with you, is that what you’re saying?”

You frowned at him when he glanced at you, dirty blond hair kissing his forehead, and Rafe’s silence spoke volumes. Against your will, you felt your throat tightening, and you were unsurprised when tears kissed your eyes. You hated crying in front of Rafe.

“I just wanted to go, Rafe. I’d never been, and…it’s not like I have any friends to go with anymore. Would you have rather I’d gone alone?”

“Don’t be cute,” he threw at you, tossing you a scathing look. “You wouldn’t even get the chance to try.”

You huffed, looking away from him as he continued, watching the trees fly by.

“Besides, I thought we both agreed that your friends were catty airheads who you didn’t need to be around,” Rafe firmly said. “You have better friends, now.”

“Those are your friends,” you sighed. “…and I know because they barely talk to me. I’m just your girlfriend who’s supposed to stand there and look pretty.”

Those last words came out in a murmur, but Rafe heard them loud and clear.

“You’d have nothing to complain about if you didn’t ask to go in the first place.”

His words made your frown deepen, and despite what you wanted, a few tears escaped. You looked at him in disbelief, although, you didn’t know why. You should’ve been perfectly used to the words that came out of his mouth, sometimes, now.

“What am I supposed to do, Rafe?” you cried. “Just sit in my room, twiddling my thumbs until you come back?”

When he looked at you, he rolled those blue eyes of his, a scoff leaving his perfect lips.

“I don’t have time for the antics, tonight,” he breathed.

Now, it was your turn to scoff.

“You started it,” you pointed out.

You knew that you were already on thin ice, you could tell, but when Rafe cut his eyes back to you, your heart skipped a beat. You watched your boyfriend swipe his tongue between his lips, slowly nodding as he looked back at the road.

“Okay…” the truck started to slow as he inhaled. “Yeah, okay.”

You felt the hairs on your arms stand on end as he stopped in the middle of the road. It was late, so it wasn’t like the roads of Kildare County were littered with traffic, but it still made you nervous, nonetheless. You watched Rafe turn the truck off, and before you could say anything he was looking at you.

“Get out.”

His words made you blink, lips parting before snapping them shut.

“…what?”

One of Rafe’s arms leaned on the steering wheel while his other hand rested behind your headrest. Even in the darkness, there was a glint in his eyes that told you he was completely serious despite the insanity of the request. The atmosphere in the truck felt so tense—thick with it—and you pulled your lip between your teeth when Rafe leaned in, gaze cold and mocking.

“You said I started it? Well, now I’m finishing it. Get the fuck out of my truck,” Rafe quietly spat at you, making you flinch.

An incredulous bark of a laugh escaped you.

“Rafe, it’s the middle of the night, are you crazy?”

At your refusal to do what he asked, he merely turned away, opening his door. Your heart fell to your stomach as you watched him hurry to your side, yanking the door open and proceeding to yank you too.

“Rafe! What the hell-?”

Your words were cut off as you were forced to stumble out of the vehicle and into the road—without your purse. When he roughly shoved you away, you tripped over your own feet, hissing in pain as you barely caught yourself on your hands. Rafe was already back in his truck by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, and in shock, you watched him start it up. You’d only just reached the handle of the door when he sped off, and you screamed his name after him in a mix of fear and anger.

You couldn’t even really focus on the knowledge that you were in the middle of an empty stretch of road in the middle of the night. You were too angry and annoyed to, and with a sob, you pressed your face into your hands. You sniffed, wiping your face before wrapping your arms around yourself and looking around.

You knew that trying to go toe to toe with Rafe even just a little could prove to be disastrous. You just desperately wanted him to understand that all you had was him. With no friends and no social life outside of him, Rafe was all you had, and you weren’t the bad guy for simply wanting to go to a party with him. You knew he knew this though, so you didn’t even know why you bothered, but you just hated to be blamed for something JJ Maybank did solely because he and Rafe hated each other.

You were merely a tool in the incident.

Rafe was so childish sometimes, so this little display of anger shouldn’t have surprised you. Even still, your nerves were on end as you started to walk down the road. Like you’d thought earlier, there was no traffic in sight, and truthfully, nothing in Outer Banks was that far from anything else, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

You wiped your face again, but fresh tears just fell.

It was cold, and while your jacket kept you from shaking, this still wasn’t the kind of weather to be walking down the street in. You couldn’t stop crying no matter how much you tried, debating with yourself if you wanted to just keep walking towards your house or try your chances with getting sympathy from some stranger. You knew what Rafe would prefer—and you knew what was statistically safer—but something in you wanted to piss him off further.

After all, he was the one who threw a tantrum and put you out on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Something in you was desperate to teach him a lesson, and you genuinely wondered what Rafe would do if you just…never came home. You wanted to see the look on his face when your parents called him asking if he’d seen you. However, something in you told you that he wouldn’t be as stricken as you’d think.

This was the same man who threatened to kill you on several occasions.

…but that was different.

That had always been when you tried to leave or even made him think you would leave. That was always said as a promise to make you stay, and even worse, that was when your demise would be at his hands. Rafe wouldn’t get the same satisfaction from leaving you to the mercy of the elements and strangers in the middle of the night.

You were just wiping more tears away when you could see headlights coming from the other end of the road. You weren’t on that side, so you weren’t all that concerned, and despite your earlier bleak thoughts, you actually didn’t relish getting in some stranger’s car and hoping he was honest enough to just take you where you needed to go.

However, your heart did sink a little when it became clear the vehicle was slowing down.

…but your worry morphed into irritation when you recognized the truck.

Rolling your eyes, you merely kept walking as Rafe slowed down enough to have a conversation with you. Or at least attempt to, anyway. You didn’t look at him, swallowing and keeping your tearful eyes straight ahead as you walked.

“Baby, get in the truck.”

“Why?” you wondered with a shrug. “You’re the one who kicked me out.”

“I don’t have time for this,” you heard him mumble. “Y/N, get in the truck.”

Against your better judgement, you ignored him, and Rafe stopped reversing to put the vehicle in park. You picked up your pace when you heard his door open, but Rafe was faster, and you could only attempt to pull away when he roughly grabbed your arm. Yanking you towards him, Rafe didn’t hesitate to push you against the side of the truck, making you wince.

His hold was so tight on your arm, and you shrank away from him when he pressed his nose to yours. His chest and shoulders were heaving, so you knew that he was beyond annoyed, now, but the stubborn part of you that reared its ugly head sometimes only stared back at him with trembling lips.

“I really don’t have time for this, tonight,” he whispered. “Get in the fucking truck, so we can go home.”

“You kicked me out! You go home…and I’ll just walk,” you tearfully spat, attempting to get out of his hold. “It’s what you wanted, anyway.”

Rafe’s impatience was bleeding through as you tried to get past him. One of his arms secured itself around your waist, the other gripping your arm as you attempted to grab that one. You were a mess of limbs and tears as you begged him to let go of you, Rafe’s low voice telling you to get it together.

You weren’t surprised when you found yourself harshly thrown to the ground.

You cried out when your chin bounced off of the pavement, unable to stop your fast descent in time. You heard Rafe curse from above you as a loud sob escaped, and you reached up to touch your chin, attempting to push yourself up. Rafe—in his haste—beat you to it though, grabbing you and forcing you to your feet. You could feel wetness on your chin as he forced you to the passenger side, quite literally shoving you into the truck.

You flinched when he slammed the door shut, tearful gaze focused on the glove compartment as he angrily joined you. When he told you to put on your seatbelt, you reluctantly did with trembling fingers, a choked cough escaping as you tried to stop crying. You couldn’t.

Rafe didn’t say a word to you the whole way back to his house, but you could feel his gaze on you every now and then. He didn’t turn on the radio, the only sound in the vehicle was that of your harsh wails. When he finally did stop in his yard, you both sat there for some time before a long sigh reached your ears.

“You know how I get,” you eventually heard him say. “You know I wouldn’t just…leave you out there.”

You didn’t say anything because you had nothing to say. You heard him shift, and you flinched again when the tips of his fingers grazed your face, his other hand coming up to gently take your chin. Turning you to face him, you watched his blue eyes roam over your face, taking in your tearful cheeks and bloody chin.

“I’m sorry.”

Not only was it something you’d heard a million times before, but you also knew that it was solely in reference to your face. Rafe wasn’t apologizing for kicking you out on the side of the road in the middle of the night. Why would he apologize for that when he felt that was justified? When you said nothing in response, he opted for getting out, and when he opened your door, you hesitated before taking his offered hand.

Once you were standing before him, he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you against him. You felt him press his lips into your hair, deeply inhaling. He quietly apologized again, and his words hung in the air as you knew what he wanted. Sniffling, you nodded.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “It was an accident.”

It wasn’t…because even if Rafe hadn’t explicitly tried to make you bleed, he had intended to hurt you. In these moments, in the aftermath of whatever else Rafe did, it was so easy to think to yourself that you’d leave him. It was almost too easy to hype yourself up, but then you’d think about how it felt to be on the receiving end of that emotionless stare, dead eyes gazing back at you. You’d think about the fear you’d feel whenever his hand was round your neck.

…or the feel of the barrel of a gun in your mouth.

It was so easy until you remembered that Rafe would actually kill you, and you’d learned a long time ago that Rafe wasn’t one to bluff.

You were making something to eat when you heard someone coming down the stairs, and when you glanced up, you weren’t surprised to make eye contact with Sarah. You knew she was home, and you’d heard her friends downstairs not too long ago. You surmised that they were outside waiting for her judging by her state of undress.

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little startled to see you. “I didn’t know you were still here. Where’s Rafe?”

She glanced towards the stairs, and you confirmed her suspicions that he was indeed gone.

“He went to the club with Kelce and Topper.”

You gave her a shrug, answering her silent question.

“I didn’t really feel like going.”

It wasn’t a lie, but you also knew that even if you did feel like going, it probably wouldn’t have gone over well. The last time you went to the country club with Rafe, it didn’t exactly end the best. Running into some of his more casual friends had apparently sparked a conversation that you unfortunately bore the brunt of. It amazed you, really, how Rafe wanted both an attractive girlfriend his friends could envy him for while also losing his mind if said friends dared to say it.

“Oh,” she said again, a little more dejected this time.

Your attention was focused on your food, so you didn’t even realize Sarah was still lingering about until she spoke again.

“We’re going to the beach,” she suddenly blurted out, and you’d guessed as much at the sight of her bikini top. “You should come with us.”

At that you paused, giving her a questionable look that conveyed exactly what you were thinking. Sarah sighed, dropping her bag to the floor before nearing you with a roll of her eyes.

“I know that we’re not friends,” she slowly started, scrunching her face. “…but you’ve been dating my brother for like, what, two years?”

You glanced down at that.

“…and…I know it’s not my place, but you just seem lonely sometimes,” she hurried to continue when your gaze met hers. “I mean, I never really see you do anything that doesn’t involve Rafe. At least, not anymore.”

You swallowed at that.

“Come on, he’s at the stupid country club with his friends, and you’re just waiting for him to get back. Surely, you can’t like that.”

Sarah was more right than she knew, but you swallowed that down.

“I told you, Sarah, I didn’t want to go. I’m fine just hanging out here. I like being at your house,” you chuckled.

Sarah looked like she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. However, she did eye you though with a look you couldn’t place, and you sent her a reassuring smile as you grabbed your plate.

“You guys have fun,” you encouraged, touching her arm on your way past her.

You wondered how pathetic you’d become if your boyfriend’s younger sister was extending a hesitant offer of friendship. Granted, it wasn’t like she was outside your age group or anything, because she wasn’t, but the other circumstances surrounding your relationship just made it seem sad on your end. Your boyfriend’s little sister wanted to make up for how her brother treated you, and it was laughable in the worst way.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the hallway bathroom door opening, and you sharply inhaled as you almost quite literally ran into the last person you ever expected to see in the Cameron household. Now, you understood why Sarah had been worriedly eyeing the stairs as she asked if Rafe was home.

JJ Maybank looked just as startled to see you, but he recovered quicker than you did.

“Sorry,” you rushed out, breaking eye contact and moving to get past him.

You slowed when you recalled your brief glance at his face, guilt eating at you at the bruising that was still faint around the area of his nose. Briefly pressing your fingers to your forehead, you turned around, a little shocked to find the blond already staring at you. That discovery gave you pause, but you quickly pushed it aside.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

You watched him raise his brows at you, but JJ otherwise said nothing, and so you elaborated.

“About your nose,” you told him, and JJ nodded in understanding. “Sure, you were being…a bit of a jerk, but Rafe shouldn’t have done that.”

At your words, you watched something flicker over his features, and the corner of his lips curved upwards just enough to be noticeable.

“You thought I was being an asshole,” he pointed out, and you snorted.

“I didn’t say that-.”

“…but it’s what you meant,” he slowly interrupted, stepping towards you.

You took note of the action, frowning a bit before glancing away.

You knew that Rafe would throw you down the stairs for even looking at JJ Maybank, let alone having a full-blown conversation with him, but the polite manner in which you’d been raised wouldn’t let you walk by the guy without saying anything in reference to Rafe’s behavior that night. Choosing to let the conversation die, you sighed.

“I just wanted to apologize for how he acted. That’s all.”

You gave him a strained smile before turning away, pausing when he spoke.

“You know, your boyfriend’s a bit of an asshole too.”

You tensed for half a second before turning to face him, stomach twisting at that mocking curve to his lips. Blinking, you wondered how to respond to that.

“That’s your opinion.”

“One you agree with,” he argued with a slow smile, studying your face as he pulled his lip between his teeth. “I can tell. You think he’s an asshole too. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be apologizing on his behalf.”

Maybe it was because Rafe took JJ’s actions that night out on you, but you actually felt yourself getting irritated.

“I wouldn’t have to apologize for anything if you hadn’t been trying to provoke him. We all know what he’s like, and you two don’t exactly have the best history,” you shrugged.

The other man didn’t respond right away, simply leaning against the wall with one hand shoved into his pocket. You felt a little self-conscious the longer he stared at you, doubly so when his blue gaze lowered. Having expected no one outside of immediate family to be in the house, you were only sporting one of Rafe’s shirts. It came down to your knees, but in front of JJ, you might as well had been wearing a thong.

It's how Rafe would see it, anyway.

“Is that what you do?”

At your blink of confusion, he continued.

“When he’s being…well…Rafe, do you tell yourself that’s just how he is and you know what he’s like and so you should know better?”

JJ’s words struck a nerve, more than he’d ever know, and you glanced away. You guessed that your silence was answer enough, and when you looked back to him, he was nodding to himself.

“Sounds to me like you need a better boyfriend,” he told you with an amused smile, shrugging at you.

Realizing that this conversation went far beyond what you intended, you chose not to dignify that with a response. You could still feel the heat of his gaze as you walked to Rafe’s room, and when you paused with your hand on the knob, you glanced up to catch his eye. JJ hadn’t moved, at all, simply opting to stare at you, blond hair messy in a way that Rafe’s would never be.

You recalled what Rafe said about JJ being trouble, and it was only then did you consider he might be trouble in a way you hadn’t thought about before. When the sound of Sarah’s voice traveled upstairs, JJ’s name in the air, only then did he glance over his shoulder, and you took that opportunity to lock yourself inside of your boyfriend’s room.

[dizzygrizzlies]

no, you don’t need to wear your mask/tail to school.

i wish young nonhumans didn’t feel compelled to be ‘out’ at school, especially when it’s a dangerous environment. i keep seeing posts along the lines of “wore my tail/mask to school! people berated/teased/put their hands on me, but it’s ok”.

no, it’s not.

like.. i understand a mask or a tail can be a very validating thing for some people. and i’m not saying NO ONE should wear them at schools. but i just keep watching this mounting trend of young therians insinuating you need some physical accessory or to do quads to be a ‘real’ nonhuman. and then it leads to things like this and it makes me incredibly sad.

i’d known i was alterhuman since late elementary school, actually. it’s a huge part of my life even now, years after graduation. there wasn’t a reason for it to be brought up, so i never did. it was a closely guarded secret to me, but it didn’t feel like a weight i was carrying. i always thought “no one needs to know i’m an animal if it jeopardizes my safety. so, oh well”.

“but, how will people know that i’m an animal?”

they probably will. they probably already do.

i was the designated ‘animal’ person my entire school career despite not ever handling animals in front of anyone. if there were pets, lost wild animals (baby rabbits, birds, lizards), or sometimes even loose livestock that got onto campus, it was always me who had to go tend to them.

everyone wanted me in their group in environmental science. if a project called for animal illustrations, the same thing would happen. it was certainly weird because i was also a ‘weird kid’ and not especially desired to be around outside of that, lol. but i was never harassed for it. it made me feel very validated, actually.

i had fun during gym running and fiercely destroying the opposing team in field hockey. i taught everyone which plants were okay to forage (and we snacked on them when we had to sit on the lower field for practice). every day i was hyperaware of the limbs i had that weren’t quite there. friends noticed my ears twitch and my nose wiggle at certain stimuli. i felt nice walking on two legs. i felt nice because i felt animal and i didn’t have to prove it to anyone.

really like… just do what makes you happy. i admire the bravery it takes to so earnestly wear your identity on your sleeve like that. that’s very impressive. however, there is NO obligation to do anything like that if you understand that there will be a reaction that poses a threat to you.

i want our kids to be safe, too. you don’t have to feel dysphoria over being discreet. sometimes it’s the safest option. and sometimes, that can be really fun, too.

study everything you can about your ‘type. wikipedia and animalia are good resources. ramble about them to anyone who will listen. jokingly refer to yourself as one in friend spaces. wear discreet clothes that remind you of your ‘type. find a nice private place outside where you can run and explore and look at plants and smell the air and feel like yourself. but by no means do you have to prove yourself. you know you.

[lilibethwrites]

Hello! you would write to aemond x reader. Where she goes to Storm's End, trading instead of her brother, and instead of asking for Lucerys' eye, Aemond claims her as his wife.

To Have and to Hold

Aemond Targaryen x F!Velaryon (Strong)!Reader

Warnings: violence, NSFW, incest

Word count: 3583

A.N: Reader is the middle sister of Lucerys and Jacaerys. This is a good old enemies-to-lovers story with a happy ending.

The family was gathered around the painted table. Plans were made and changed and remade altogether in mere seconds, the lords loyal to your mother scrambling to do everything all at once to secure her rightful claim to the throne.

“Send us, mother. Dragons are faster than ravens,” Jacaerys insisted when the matter of reaffirming old oaths came up.

On your mother’s command, he was to fly south and Lucerys was to fly north, to Storm’s End. Luke agreed to the task, yet you could tell his hesitance from the way he tried to conceal his fidgeting. The rattled nerves made him seem smaller than he was as he hunched over, nodding to the duty given to him.

So you stepped up, though only after the meeting was adjourned. Lucerys was too proud to allow what you have intended otherwise, but you were too fond of your baby brother to let him fly through the treacherous weather of the North alone.

“Mother. A word, please?”

Rhaenyra intended Lucerys to familiarize himself with diplomatic duties which were sure to come in waves following her own coronation. Your proposal was compelling nevertheless. Storm’s End was a flight too difficult for your younger brother to make alone, and you as his companion might soothe his nerves and might even compel Lord Borros Baratheon to be kinder to the message you were to deliver.

“Very well, then,” Rhaenyra reluctantly agreed to your proposal but only on the condition that you would go in peace: as envoys and not as warriors.

The flight to Storm’s End was uneventful. With jokes and friendly teasing, it almost felt like your regular flights above the Dragonstone on beautiful mornings and starry nights. Except there was strong wind and downpour all at once, and Lucerys became quieter as you approached your destination.

“Come on, Luke. I will race you to the courtyard!”

Your dragon was older, not big enough on her own to be considered mature yet, but bigger in comparison to Arrax, which made Arrax faster in contrast.

So Luke landed first, and you were mere minutes behind him.

“Well done, brother. You beat me. You shall have my slice of the pie this supper.”

But Lucerys didn’t seem excited about what would make him jump up and down if it were any other time. He didn’t even smile. He was facing his sister with a hand gripping the saddle on Arrax and the other clutching the hilt of his sword, but his young face was contorted in concern as he looked through her. If you hadn’t known him better, you’d almost misread it for fear.

“What is it?” You asked, but Luke only remained motionless, looking beyond to the walls of the keep.

It was then that you saw it in the flash of lightning that lit up the sky for a moment. Vhagar. She was big enough to make the outer walls of the keep seem like miniatures. You gulped, though remained stoic on the outside for the sake of your younger brother. You accompanied him to support him, not to plummet him down into the endless pit of fear. Vhagar meant, however, the Prince you’d rather see the least had beaten you to Lord Borros. You only hoped he was given a chamber of his own, and you’d deliver your message and slip out without ever facing him.

“Come on, Luke. Let us haste. Mother’s expecting us back for supper.”

The dark and empty hall was as hostile as its Lord. And in the corner stood Aemond Targaryen with one of Lord Borros’ daughters. She seemed tense. You could tell, because so were you.

“Come on, Luke.” You nudged your brother, and he held the sealed message out for the guards.

As the Maester to Lord Borros slowly dragged his feet to his master’s seat and relayed the message to him in hushed whispers, your eyes were trained on Aemond’s. He stood tall and proud, looking at you and your brother with disdain in his eyes and disgust in the way his lips curled up.

Luke clutched his sword once again, and you squeezed his shoulder. “Let go of it, brother. Remember your oath to mother.”

With Luke unable to marry, Lord Borros without a son to offer you, and most importantly, with sweet promises laced with poison seeping into his ear all the way from King’s Landing, Borros Baratheon broke his oath. On any other day, you’d remain and quarrel, threaten the Baratheon forces to bend the knee to the true Queen and not to the Usurper King, but on that day, you wished nothing more than to escort your brother out to safety.

“We thank you for your consideration, Lord Borros,” you spoke without reverence. A turncloak deserved only the traitor’s death. But you’d return for it another day.

Meanwhile, Aemond’s gaze burned into the back of your head as you put a hand on Luke’s back to signal him it was way past your time for departure.

“Wait, my Lord and Lady Strong!” Aemond’s humiliating tone echoed off the walls.

“Luke—”

Fiery as ever, Luke shrugged your hand off and turned on his heels to face Aemond.

“Mind your tongue! Apologize to my dear sister right now!”

“Hm. How about you apologize to me for trying to steal my brother’s crown, traitor?”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor and I will have your eye, bastard.”

Aemond ripped the dagger from its sheath and threw it flying towards Y/N and her older brother.

With each lightning that struck, the sapphire eye in place of the one Luke once slashed out glimmered. It seemed as if it had a mind of its own, no doubt just as vile and dangerous as its owner.

“As payment for mine.”

“No,” Lucerys stood his ground.

Aemond all but jumped forward then, spurred on by the courage of a boy he saw inferior to him in all regards. Lucerys to stand against him, tall and proud, was a massive hit to his pride.

As Aemond picked up his dagger and moved for Lucerys, you stepped in between your brother and uncle.

“NO! No!”

Your intervention caught Aemond by surprise. He was intrigued, amused, even. What a fine, fiery woman his nephew has turned out to be. Shame she was a bastard all the same.

“Please— Aemond. My Prince. Please—”

“What? Do you plead to pitch in?” he stared into Y/N’s eyes then. He was unyielding, unflinching.

“Luke, go. I command you. As your sister, I command you to leave!” You pleaded with Lucerys, but he stood unmoving behind you.

“Lucerys!”

“No…” Aemond was amused. “No, your eyes are of no value to me. I want his eye!”

Luke would have escaped had it not been for his older sister. He would have turned around and made it to his dragon as you demanded. Yet, only a few acts were more loathsome than leaving kin to the wolves. Besides, Rhaenyra would’ve shredded him to bits and fed him to Arrax for all to see.

So Luke kneeled to take the dagger. Aemond’s request was fair after all.

“Perhaps not my eyes,” You spoke hastily with your hand wrapped around Luke’s wrist in an effort to stop him.

“But demand what you deem worthy of me and you shall have it. I beg of you, Aemond. Let my baby brother return to our mother. He came only as an envoy. He means no harm to you.”

“Hm.” He seemed to consider the offer genuinely that time. “As if you could harm me if you tried. Well, it seems the girl has bigger balls than you, bastard. You’re strong only in name, Lord Strong.”

Then he turned his attention back to you with a cruel smirk that pressed his lips into a thin line.

“You would trade your life, no matter how worthless, for your bastard brother?”

“If it is my life you demand, you shall have it. But allow my brother safe passage first.”

It was Lucerys’ turn to protest then, but you took a step forward, hoping that Aemond would be merciful enough to at least spare your brother the grim sight of the execution of his sister.

“I won’t kill you, dear Nephew. Oh, no. That would be entertainment for what? an hour? No, I will marry you,” His eye widened and he grinned as if a child got a platter of cakes and pies all to himself.

“Go on, then, pup,” He nodded to Lucerys pulling at the sleeves of your damp travelling coat, begging you to stop.

“Go with your worthless life and carry the heavy news to your false Queen—that her daughter is to be defiled by Prince Aemond. Perhaps she will be overjoyed to see what true Targaryen offspring looks like.”

You were trembling then. From standing in a stone hall, dripping head to toe from the downpour you have just escaped from, or from the cruel design Aemond has traded you for your brother’s eye, you didn’t know.

Your brother was looking at you incredulously, clutching Aemond’s dagger with his shaking hand.

“Go—go, Lucerys,” you mumbled between shaky breaths that threatened to explode into a sobbing fit. “You’ve heard Prince Aemond. Relay the news to the Queen.”

“Sister—I won’t leave you—”

“How sad,” Aemond spoke joylessly, mocking Luke with his lips downturned in an exaggerated fashion. “Will you cry, pup?”

“Sister, I shall return. I promise—”

“You will do no such thing, Lucerys,” your back was turned to him, your tears concealed from his vision. “Now go.”

“Oh, and I will have this back,” Aemond reached behind Lucerys, tearing the dagger from his hand and sheating it back to its place on his belt.

Aemond took his leave after Lucerys’, all but dragging you to Vhagar. You grappled to reach for your own dragon but to no avail. Aemond’s vice grip would sooner rip your arm from your shoulder before he let you loose.

“Did you think I would let you fly on your own? What do you take me for, a fool?”

“No. You are no fool. But you are a cruel monster.”

It seemed to please him, and he snorted.

 “A monster who is nought but a bully had it not been for his dragon!”

That, however, seemed to have gotten to him. He stopped in his track under the downpour abruptly and struck you across the face. It was your time to grin. For all his quiet mystery, his underbelly was clear as day.

“My Prince forgets who was there on the night he usurped Vhagar from her rightful successors. You were but a scared child who stole what you did not deserve.”

His fingers wrapped around your neck, squeezing so tight that your vision soon turned blurry and you gasped desperately, clawing at his on your throat. There was nothing but fury in his eye, wide with surprise that a woman would speak so plainly to him, and red with rage and the rain.

“Speak but another word and I shall send your skull to your whore of a mother!”

He let go and you collapsed to your knees, coughing and gasping for air. Then came waves of hiccups and sobs, not out of fear or misery but out of utter wrath.

“Save your tears. If it is sympathy you hope for, you shall get none from me. You are a foul bastard just like the rest of your brood and you shall be treated as one.”

Deep down, however, the deal he had just struck excited Aemond. His mouth watered at the thought of his reluctant but fiery bride in their marital bed, as they consummated the marriage and repeated the act over and over again until her belly was swollen and ran around the Red Keep children of Aemond’s own.

She was still a filthy bastard in his eye, yet if he had to choose one of his nieces to tolerate, he’d gladly choose Y/N over the others. Back when they all grew up on King’s Landing, he did have a crush on her, after all. Though it was silly, and he ripped the roots of it long ago. At least he thought so.

Something about her dark hair, livelier complexion, and eyes… her eyes. The defiance and pride in them. And she was brave; braver than most, braver than even his drunk, sorry excuse of a brother and father.

Back at King’s Landing, Alicent was rightfully outraged by the turn of events. Of course, you didn’t expect a warm welcome from your mother-in-law, and you didn’t get one.

Most of your days leading up to the wedding were spent in a chamber of your own with your door locked and latched on you and with a Kingsguard standing watch at all times. It was lonely, except for when Aemond came to visit, which he did almost every night.

He sat by the fireplace and you sat on the bed. Though at first not a lot of words were spoken, soon you realized just how much his conversation entertained you, and that you looked forward to his visits.

It was one of those nights that he stopped by with a heavy book under his arm.

“I had the Maester copy this for you,” he spoke dryly, but he had a hint of a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

He set the book down on the table and flipped through the pages.

“If you put your nose to it, you can still smell the ink.”

Aemond didn’t expect you to indulge him the way you did. You walked up to him, and with your cheek to his, joined him in inhaling the scent of ink on parchment pages.

“What is it about? The book?” You asked with genuine interest, flipping through the pages as Aemond pulled away to look at you incredulously. You weren’t resisting him, dismissing him, or threatening him with a slit throat in his sleep as you usually did.

“It’s—it’s on the history of Valyria. This is the first volume of many.”

“Oh, I remember this book.”

“You do?”

“Yes!” You pulled away with a proud smile of your own. For a moment, you looked like two ordinary lovers conversing by the fire, not enemies who supposed to hate each other and about to be united only as torture for one another.

“Remember Aunt Leana’s funeral?”

Of course he did. That was when you mocked Aemond for not being a dragon rider still, and told him the Gods were cruel not to give him the handsome face Aegon was blessed with. How silly were you back then. But how could you know that Aemond would grow up to be the Prince you’d fall for day after day?

“Yes?” he responded warily.

“Well, you were reading this then. I tore a page out, and you were so cross you told on me to my mother,” you giggled, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder before seating yourself by the fireplace.

Aemond smiled as well, approaching his usual seat cautiously as if not to spook a skittish prey. When you nursed your cup of wine without a flinch, he sat by you. Though his face was turned to the fire, he stole quick glances at your face, your neckline revealed by your evening robe, and your delicate, ringed fingers wrapped around the cup.

“Regretfully, you were fluent in High Valyrian back then and I knew very little, and nothing much has changed ever since.”

“Oh,” Aemond caught your eyes, searching for the dark, burning dislike you had for him that he came to expect. Instead your face was relaxed, and your eyes were almost that of a lover’s. Then, you reached for his hand. It must be the wine, Aemond thought. What else?

“You shall have to teach me.”

“I shall arrange the Maester—”

“I asked you, Aemond, not the Maester.”

From then on, Aemond visited you every night without fail. He came earlier and left later into the night. Though he always brought books, parchment and ink, very little High Valyrian was actually studied. His days were eventful and you loved to listen, and he loved the way you reminisced their days of youth.

So, on a night like that, with your hand on his over the table, you spoke the words that almost stopped his heart.

“I wish you would stay the night, Aemond. It gets awfully lonely some nights.”

He blinked a few times, unsure if his ears heard what you spoke, or what he so desperately wished you would.

“It—it would be improper before the wedding.”

“You took me hostage, Aemond. Traditions are obeyed very little in our marriage.”

That night was the first time you called what was slowly blossoming between him and you a marriage. The words you spoke took him by surprise, just as the way you said them—playfully, with no hatred or resentment.

“You offered yourself up. I was content enough having your brother’s eye.” That was Aemond’s attempt at humour in response, a macabre and perhaps a twisted one that would have gotten raise out of any other woman. Yet you only looked at him for a second, then laughed.

“Yet you did not have to lock me up. I would not have run.”

“No, but my brother would have stolen you from me.”

“Oh, surely. Aegon did promise to demonstrate to me… what was it? Real manhood in case you ever failed to do so.”

“He did?” Aemond frowned. Was that what jealousy felt like?

“Mmhm. I told him I was confident you would make a good husband.”

Though the ceremony was mere days away, Aemond was still not used to being called your husband, especially by you, and he barely got used to wearing a band of gold around his ring finger.

“This would be a good time to say that I would make a good wife, as well,” you joked, hoping to pull Aemond out of his moment of silence.

Instead, Aemond stared at you. He was unblinking and impossible to read. Indeed because his face was impossible to read, it came to you as a surprise when he closed the distance between you and himself and locked his lips with yours.

It was gentle, way gentler than you assumed Aemond was capable of. When he pulled back just enough to study your face, you only whispered “Do it again.”

The caution and restraint went out the window then. His tongue danced across yours and you gripped each other desperately, pulling at your clothes and moaning your names.

Aemond ended up not only staying the night as you asked but consummating your marriage even before the ceremony itself.

It was gentle and cautious at first, but only briefly, before baser and more primal urges overtook you both. You woke up in Aemond’s arms with a dull but sweet ache between your legs and marks in the shape of his mouth and fingers all over your body. Likewise, Aemond woke up with raw lines of skin where your nails had dug into his flesh.

You took your bath together, and Aemond postponed his sword practice for a private noon at the library with you. Though it came as a surprise to neither of you that there was more kissing and touching than reading.

Then, things changed rapidly. Your door was no longer locked, though that might very well be because you all but moved into Aemond’s quarters. You became inseparable. You were there with a book or your embroidery when Aemond trained, you flew together, broke fast and had supper together in his bedchamber.

The only time you regretfully parted was when Alicent—who also surprisingly became like a mother to you, and you a daughter to her— insisted that your fitting for the wedding gown must be kept private and away from the prying eye of the groom. It was bad luck, she insisted, if Aemond saw you in your gown before the ceremony.

“And have you asked mother and the Septa if it is good luck or bad if I have you in your gown?” Aemond teased you, making you blush whenever his words came back to you as the tailors worked ceaselessly to finish the dress before the ceremony.

Neither of you could say if it was indeed bad luck or not, but you found out that it was delightful when Aemond lifted your heavy skirt up and snuck between your legs on your wedding night. He had you in it, just as he promised. Though it was a shame that he grew too impatient to undo the ribbons and laces, so he instead tore and ripped the dress apart, leaving it as a cut of tattered, expensive silk on the floor as the night went on.

You saw the sorry state of the dress in the morning. Well, as much of it as you could see from Aemond’s arms around you, keeping you flush on his body.

“Aemond! You shall never see me wear a lovely dress as this once was for you again!” 

“My sweet wife, you should not wear anything for me,” Aemond whispered groggily, still in the sweet clutches of slumber, and he pulled you for a kiss that promised you would not be leaving his bedchamber for the day.

Aemond Tag (let me know if you'd like to be added to it):

@cherishedauthor @schniiipsel @verycollectivecreator @dangerousbluebirdpoetry @aemcndtargaryen @m1ndbrand @iorveth-scoiatael @let-love-bleeds-red @imakeangelscry @midnightindiewolf @queereddie @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @nighttwingg @mllemarianne @lomllino @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mirandastuckinthe80s @loverandqueenofdragons @fultimefangirl @lenasvoid