Text
ੈ✩ 4K video (smau) ੈ✩
pairing : lando norris x fem reader
summary: some things are better kept quiet about
tw : angst, fluff
fc : ester expostio
a/n : thank you so much to @evasmlp for suggesting this ! lysm 🫶🏻 THIS FIC CONTAINS SENSITIVE TOPICS ( leaked videos, hate, s!ut shaming) please understand that I don’t mean to harm anyone with this fic, but kind of reflects on the recent Seunghan Scandal in the Kpop industry. ( he was a member of a boyband riize, and got kicked out and people sent death wreaths to him because his photos of kissing his girlfriend got leaked) #riizeis7, let the celebs live a normal life please
·:。・゚゚・ ✩ ・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・ ・゚·:。・゚゚・ ✩ ・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚・・゚·:。・゚゚・ ✩ ・゚ ・゚·:。・゚゚
liked by landonorris, aron.piper and 3,568,297 others
ynpapi did I just graduate high school at the age of 24!?
view comments
user1 NETFLIX RELEASE IT
user2 can't wait to have a crush on everyone
manurios babygirl 👄
ynpapi aren't you like gay?
manurios babydick 😒
ynpapi your management will be calling you in another 2 mins
user3 I am also gay for you yn 😔
aron.piper oh god, you really took your spanish roots seriously
ynpapi bow down to your papi 👄🤭
aron.piper please don't be high on set
user4 I just follow her to see her friend group drama
landonorris Aron, Danna, please make sure my girlfriend doesn't die by flushing herself down the toilet
aron.piper got it boss 💪🏻
danna you don't even have to say it
mariapedraza even I exist!! I can also take care of her!
manurios you just took a bottle of vodka from my cupboard
liked by landonorris, alexandrasaintmieux and 3,987,267 others
ynpapi can't believe my f1 champion is 26
view comments
georgerussell I think I skipped a century worth of f1
charlesleclerc when did this short kid become the champion?
carlossainz that too before me!?
francolapinto in a Williams? Highly unlikely
carlossainz you don't even have a seat kid
ynpapi STOP BULLYING MY LANDO AND I CAN SAY WHATEVER I WANT
ynpapi lando baby, I love you and they are just jealous of you
landonorris I love you
landonorris GOING TO ZAC
landonorris I AM SO WINNING THE WDC
liked by user1, user2, user3 and 452,937 others
hollywoodlife BREAKING! Y/N Expostio’s ex boyfriend ( non-celeb) has been arrested for leaking their private videos from when she was just 19. Y/N Expostio is currently dating F1 driver, Lando Norris.
view comments
user1 that’s fucking sick
user2 SHE WAS 19!?
user3 if he wanted to ruin her career, he should have just blackmailed for money
user4 DOING ANYTHING TO RUIN A CAREER IS SICK !
user5 we love you y/n, stay strong 💪🏻
user6 I can’t imagine how tolling it must be for yn and lando
user7 but glad she got what she deserved, her fault for even making that video
user8 EXCUSE ME !?
user9 that’s just straight up bs
user10 PARDON HER FOR ENJOYING LIFE WITH HER BOYFRIEND !?
user11 now get her out of elite, didn’t like her acting anyways
user12 exactly! replace her !
liked by manurios, aron.piper and 2,267,176 others
ynexpostio with the recent speculations going on, I would like to announce that me and Lando have decided to take a break after 3 years. It was a mutual and amiable decision and I wish him all the best!
comments on the post have been turned off
liked by user1, user2, user3 and 345,388 others
f1wags BREAKING! Lando Norris revealed the reason of their break up with Y/N Expostio!
view comments
user1 and you all are still hating on that poor girl !
user2 she literally sacrificed her love just so he doesn’t get any hate!
user3 but lando should have declined!
user4 like always they have posted half the stuff
user4 Lando said after that line that he didn’t want to do that but Y/N was struggling mentally and so he decided he to respect her desicion.
user5 I swear being a celebrity means living your life on the edge
user6 you know it's bad when she changes her username back to her own name 😭
user7 they have not broken up! they are on a break !
liked by landonorris, aron.piper and 1,376,346 others
ynexpostio my d1 ♥️
comments on this post have been turned off
liked by user1, user2, user3 and 538,368 others
f1wags Alexandra and Y/N were seen in the Ferrari paddock for the Mexican GP!
view comments
user1 umm, she is going after Carlos now ?
user2 both Ferrari drivers are dating
user3 first a slut and then a cheater ?
user4 this lady is messed up
user5 YOU BREAK WITH LANDO FOR THIS !?
user6 can't even defend her anymore
user7 SHE IS FRIENDS WITH ALEX AND CHARLES! she can go there as a friend too !
user8 imagine her cheating with Charles
user9 READ THE DAMN NEWS, HER EX BOYFRIEND HAD ESCAPED POLICE CUSTODY AND WAS STALKING HER, ALEX AND CHARLES ARE HELPING HER !
user10 he better stay in jail for the next few centuries
liked by landonorris, aron.piper, charlesleclerc and 2,268,286 others
ynpapi break over, the movie resumes 🎬
view comments
user1 SHE IS BACK !!
user2 WE LOVE YOU !!!
user3 don't scare us like that ever again
user4 what happened to the ex ?
user5 killed off from the movie
user6 he is in jail ☺️
tg: @sainzzreputaticn
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 smau#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#formula 1 x reader#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris au#lando x reader#lando norris imagine#f1 texts#f1 series#formula one imagine#formula 1 fic#formula one#lando nowins#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x oc#formula 1 imagine#formula one x reader#f1 scenario#formula one scenarios#formula one imagines#lando norris smau#lando norris scenarios#f1 x female reader#f1 x you
440 notes
·
View notes
Text
[ AU / Speculation for me ] [ I CAN FIX IT .... NOT FOR YOU ]
Okay so because I am a man who hates to see things end badly Im here writing a sort of... fanfiction for myself that cleanse up the mess of Mouthwashing. No disrespect to the whole game but this is my thoughts Some warning for mature subjects and obviously possible spoilers for Mouthwashing!
Basically I thought about the idea of Jimmy being dealt with before he could complete his plan against the crew and it all stems from the idea that there's actually a secret cryopod on the ship. We see only 4 in the main part but there's 5 people on board, which even if you want to argue Pony Express doesn't give a shit, I think its somewhat reasonable to assume that should there be an emergency there would in fact be enough cryopods for everyone to get into so that a potential crew can be saved. This secret cryopod is obviously ONLY used in the case of an emergency and is ONLY known to exist by the captain. Aka Curly. Curly realizes that Jimmy is getting too unhinged and crossing far more lines than hes ever seen him do before. Though Curly fears and cares for his unfortunately stupidly manipulative friend, he realizes he has to take action against Jimmy to ensure no harm comes to the remaining crew. So Curly basically tricks Jimmy into thinking that he's going to be revealing a secret to Jimmy, something only "a captain and his co-pilot can know" before taking Jimmy to this secret cryopod. Since technically having a "potential psychological unsound person" on board DOES class as an emergency and with no "brig" available for holding, Jimmy is put in there. His last moments is Curly's well deserved "betrayal." Thus now Jimmy is a festering sleeping mess inside the cryo-chamber, grinding thru a horrific nightmare where he gets his revenge on Curly, where he gets control of the ship while spiralling further and further into outright INSANITY in some jacob's ladder style purgatory as his mental state is forever stuck "coping" with his anger, his guilt, his fear, his hatred, his selfishness and so on and so forth. Basically everything that happens in the events of Mouthwashing is a already crazy's man nightmare-ish delusion as he awaits judgement day, aka the time when he leaves the pod and has to face the justice he deserves. Meanwhile with Jimmy put away in hold, the crew get a chance to breath. Jimmy overbearing nature eases everyone tension and though it was a hard decision it was a well made one. Its not all perfect however because Anya takes all of this quite hard feeling guilty that it got this far. She does attempt to end her life which she is luckily saved from by Curly and the rest of the crew. Since Anya is now sick, Daisuke has to take over acting as Nurse, following Curly and Anya instructions on how to make this all easier. Anya is safe around Daisuke and his bright optimistic personality is really fitting for a nurse, never once does she feel ashamed or scared and for once feels a sense of relief and freedom. Her commenting that Daisuke would make a good nurse which Daisuke takes to heart since he still obviously struggling to find "what hes good at" Curly temporarily takes up the role of being an engineer with Swansea since, Curly as the lovely captain SHOULD know his ship inside and out too and hey, even as a bonus, he may even show Swansea how to steer a ship. This ends up with Curly and Swansea having a good man to man bond. In the end, Anya recovered free from her abuse and regains her personality and happiness, Daisuke discovers his passion for medical work happily taking college recommendation from Anya, Swansea learns a bit about riding a ship and thinks "hey I could probably do good as a space trucker" and Curly also detached himself from the parasite that is Jimmy who constantly been trying to drag him down! So there, I fixed it. But not for him.
#artists on tumblr#nvrarts#art#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing fanart#captain curly#jimmy mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#anya mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#Its completely a fanfic of my own creation but i dont care#this is my attempt to make it okay#im allowed to be happy fuck it
94 notes
·
View notes
Text
i saw the rumor going around about the possibility of jimin releasing a song in november/december of this year and that made me realize something, i don't know if the rumor about him releasing a song is real or not, that's not the point of this post. the thing is that from the moment jimin had the opportunity to work as a soloist, he took it and didn't look back. he never stopped realeasing songs, if you really think about it when 2023 started and we knew he was going to debut the first thing we got in january 2023 was jimin collabing with taeyang, in march 2023 we got his very expected first solo album, and right after we got another collab from him in may 2023 and that same year in decemeber he released closer than this as a gift for his fans before leaving for the military. this year he released his second solo album, that he worked on in a very limited time frame, being the only one from the vocal line of bts to release two albums. mind you, he participated in everything in both albums. that man worked so hard and if you really listen to what he has to say you can see how invested he's in his career as a soloist. i say this because i've seen too many comments from jimin fans that they're scared that when bts comes back as a group jimin won't be focused on his career as a soloist, the truth is that we don't know how everything is going to work when bts comes back but jimin has never said anything that hinted that he's not serious about his career as a soloist. that man is really a musician that releases music for real, when he said in set me free 'i never stop' he really meant that. as a fan of jimin it is really exciting to see him work on his solo music and seeing him so committed to grow and release better music each time, i can't wait for the music of jimin that we will be having in the future. i know it will be great 🙂↕️
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
Between Power and Freedom
Part 2
Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Shurley Female character
Summary: Y/N, the ambitious daughter of a powerful CEO, grapples with her father's choices, while she secretly takes a job with Dean Winchester, the rugged CEO of a rival company. Sparks fly between Y/N and Dean as they navigate their growing attraction amid corporate rivalry and family pressure.
Warnings: This story will contain parts that are 18+!
English is not my first language
*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*
Dean stormed out of the venue, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The cool night air hit him as he strode towards the old Chevy Impala parked in the lot, his first car. It didn’t matter that he was the CEO of Winchester Industries now or that he could afford the most luxurious cars on the market; the Impala was a part of him, just like the memories of his sister, Charlie. He could never part with either.
Sam followed closely behind, watching his brother’s tense shoulders and the way Dean’s jaw was locked, clearly trying to keep his anger in check. He knew how much it took for Dean not to turn around and hit Chuck Novak right in the face.
“Don’t let him get to you like that,” Sam said softly, hoping to calm his brother down.
Dean spun around, his eyes burning with fury. “I can’t help it, Sammy. He needs to keep our sister’s name out of his greasy mouth!” He kicked the tire of the Impala, the frustration boiling over. “He’s a snake, you know that. He poked me right where it hurts, and he knows it.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I know, Dean. Trust me, I do. But you know as well as I do that punching Chuck would only lead to more trouble—legal issues, court dates, all the crap we don’t need. We’d be playing right into his hands.”
Dean’s shoulders slumped slightly, and he leaned against the Impala, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. God, you’re right,” he muttered. “But that doesn’t make me want to hit him any less.”
Sam leaned against the car beside him, thinking. There had to be a better way to deal with Chuck. As much as they both hated it, they had to think strategically.
Dean was silent for a few moments, staring off into the distance. Then suddenly, he straightened up, a sly grin creeping across his face. “Why don’t we hit him where it really hurts?” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
Sam raised an eyebrow, unsure of where Dean was going with this. “What do you mean?”
Dean’s grin widened. “His daughter, Y/N. You saw her tonight, didn’t you? She looked miserable. Unhappy with her job, stuck under his thumb.” He paused, looking at Sam. “Chuck’s grooming her for something, probably to marry that slimy bastard Gabriel, and you know how he is. But if we steal her away from him? Offer her a job, something where she can get out from under Chuck’s control… that’ll drive him insane.”
Sam frowned, trying to follow Dean’s line of thought. “Dean, Y/N’s… well, overqualified for any position we have right now. The only opening we’ve got is in accounting, and with her degree, she could easily be in a management role. I doubt she’d be interested.”
Dean waved it off. “Doesn’t matter. Offer it to her anyway. Give her an out, let her make the decision. It’s not just about the job, Sam—it’s about giving her a way to break free. She’s stuck in Chuck’s world, just like we were stuck in Dad’s, but if she sees there’s another option… she might take it. And when she does? That’ll hurt Chuck more than any punch ever could.”
Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing the idea. “You really think she’ll go for it?”
Dean nodded, his face serious now. “She’s smart, Sam. She’s not like her old man. She’s looking for something more, something that isn’t tied to Chuck’s empire. And even if it’s just a small accounting job to start, it’s a step toward something bigger.”
Sam sighed, seeing the determination in his brother’s eyes. Dean was set on this, and in a way, he had a point. If Y/N was as trapped as she seemed, offering her a lifeline could be the one thing that pulled her away from her father’s grip.
“Alright,” Sam finally agreed. “I’ll reach out to her. Schedule a meeting, see if she’s interested.”
Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, his grin returning. “That’s my boy. Set it up ASAP. The sooner we get her away from Chuck, the better.”
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “You always have a plan, don’t you?”
Dean smirked, pushing himself off the Impala. “I don’t just have a plan, Sammy. I have a mission.” He looked back at the event hall, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Chuck has been on top for too long, playing people like pieces on a chessboard. But not this time. This time, we’re flipping the game on him.”
With that, Dean opened the door to the Impala, sliding into the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life as he revved it. Sam climbed in beside him, already pulling out his phone to make a note to contact Y/N.
As they pulled out of the parking lot, Dean’s focus was sharp. The night had been rough, but now, he had a plan. And this time, Chuck wasn’t going to see it coming.
--
The next morning, I was buried in my desk work at Shurley Enterprises when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, a number I didn’t recognize. Figuring it was some client or a follow-up from the event last night, I answered, my tone neutral.
“Hello?”
“Y/N, it’s Sam Winchester,” the voice on the other end said, calm and familiar. My brow furrowed in confusion. Why would Sam be calling me?
“Uh, hi Sam,” I replied, not quite sure where this was going.
“I wanted to follow up on something,” he began, his tone kind but serious. “Dean and I were talking last night, and we wanted to offer you a position at Winchester Industries. I thought this might be an opportunity for you.”
At first, I bristled, my defenses kicking in. “What? You want me to leave my dad’s company? I’m not some pawn you can use to get back at him.”
“No, Y/N,” Sam said quickly, and I could hear the sincerity in his voice. “This isn’t about that. I… I know what it’s like to work under a father who has plans for you that don’t exactly match what you want. To feel like your life isn’t your own.”
There was a soft pause. “Dean and I had to take over the family business after our dad passed, but before that, it felt like we were on his path, not ours. I get it if you feel trapped.”
I was silent for a moment. He was right, that was exactly how I felt—like my life wasn’t my own, like I was just living out my father’s plans. Sam’s words hit closer to home than I’d like to admit, and for a second, I considered the idea of escaping Shurley Enterprises. So, I agreed to meet him for coffee during lunch to discuss the opportunity.
We met at an old café not too far from my office, a quaint little place with mismatched chairs and the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. When I arrived, I spotted Sam immediately. He was sitting by the window, looking much more casual than the sharp suit he wore at last night’s event.
He wore a jeans—expensive ones, I could tell—and a simple polo shirt. Yet, even in casual clothes, there was an air of professionalism about him.
As soon as he saw me, Sam stood up and smiled warmly, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. It caught me off guard, but in a surprisingly pleasant way.
“Hey,” he said, pulling out the chair for me.
“Hey,” I replied, sitting down. I could feel the tension ease as we started talking, like we were already old friends. Sam had a way of making conversation feel natural, even though just yesterday we had been strangers. We talked about the event, about small things, about the café itself, but I knew why we were really here.
After a while, Sam steered the conversation back to business. “So, about that job offer… We could really use someone like you at Winchester Industries. The position I have right now is in accounting. I know it’s not much, but Bobby, our current accounting manager, is close to retiring. When that happens, the position is yours if you’re interested.”
I took a deep breath, mulling over his words. Sam wasn’t lying. He wasn’t offering me a glamorous, high-powered role. But he was offering me an escape, a chance to build something for myself, away from my father’s control. Still, the thought of leaving Chuck, despite everything, wasn’t something I could just do on a whim.
“I… I appreciate the offer, Sam. I really do,” I said slowly, my voice soft but firm. “But I can’t just leave my dad’s company like that. He might be difficult, but he’s still my father. And Shurley Enterprises—it’s my family’s legacy.”
Sam nodded, his expression understanding. “I get it, Y/N. Family’s complicated. I won’t pressure you. But, if you ever decide you want something different, something that’s yours, the door’s open.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, sliding it across the table toward me. “Here’s my number. If you change your mind, or if you ever just need to talk, give me a call.”
I picked up the card, turning it over in my fingers. It was a simple gesture, but somehow, it felt like more. It was a reminder that I had options, that I wasn’t as trapped as I thought.
“Thank you, Sam,” I said, smiling at him.
“Of course,” he replied, smiling back, his eyes warm and genuine. For a moment, I thought about what it would be like to work for someone like Sam. Someone who listened, who understood. But I wasn’t ready to make that leap just yet.
We finished our coffee, the conversation drifting back to lighter topics. And when we finally parted ways, I walked back to Novak Enterprises with Sam’s card tucked securely in my purse, knowing that no matter what happened, I had a choice.
And maybe, one day soon, I’d make it.
--
When I got home that night, I could feel something was off the moment I stepped through the door. The lights were on, and there was the faint smell of whiskey lingering in the air. My heart skipped a beat as I realized my dad had let himself into my apartment.
“Dad?” I called, already knowing the answer. He was standing in the living room, his arms crossed, his face flushed with anger. I hadn’t even had time to put my bag down before he was glaring at me, his posture radiating fury.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my stomach churned. I had never seen him this mad before—not at me, at least.
“I heard,” he began, his voice sharp and accusatory, “that you had a date with a Winchester today.”
My heart sank. He knew. How did he know?
“No, Dad, it wasn’t a date. Sam invited me for lunch, but it’s not what you think,” I said quickly, stepping forward, trying to explain before things escalated. But it was no use. I could see the storm in his eyes, and I knew there was no reasoning with him.
“What I think” he spat, taking a step closer to me, “is that you should be spending more time thinking about our business. And about Gabriel. Not having lunch with the competition.”
I sighed, my eyes dropping to the floor. It was always the same with him—business, control, and Gabriel. The suffocating expectations that were becoming unbearable. But before I could say anything, he roughly grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him.
“Why did you meet with Sam Winchester?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “What did he want?”
“T-to offer me a job,” I stammered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks from his grip. My heart raced, and I could see the moment the words hit him. His eyes widened in shock, but what came next caught me completely off guard.
“And what did you say?” he asked, his voice almost too calm, but I knew better. It was the calm before the storm.
“I declined,” I whispered, my voice trembling. I barely had time to process what was happening before his hand lashed out and struck my cheek, hard enough to sting and send me stumbling back a step.
“Are you stupid?!” he yelled, his face contorting with rage. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? You could’ve accepted! Worked for them! Do you have any idea what an opportunity that was? We could’ve torn them apart from the inside out, you stupid child!”
My vision blurred, both from the hit and the words. He didn’t care about me—he never did. He only saw me as a tool, a way to further his ambitions. And for the first time, the weight of it crashed down on me. He would never see me as his daughter. He would never love me for me.
Without thinking, I reached for my phone, my hands trembling. I could feel my dad watching me, his breath heavy, his eyes still full of anger.
I dialed Sam’s number.
“Y/N?” he answered after a couple of rings, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll take the job,” I said, my voice shaking but determined. I swallowed hard, glancing at my father, whose expression turned from shock to cold fury. “I’ll take the job, Sam.”
There was a brief pause on the other end, then Sam’s voice softened. “Alright. We’ll make the arrangements.”
I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket. My dad’s face twisted, "Good girl."
--
Taglist -> Click here to add
@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33
@mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla
@thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573
@kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28
@kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24
@spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch
@deadlydivergentgirl @libby99hb @deansimpalababy
#fanfic#jensen ackles#x reader#jensen fucking ackles#fluff#dean winchester#spn#smut#supernatural dean#deanwinchester#dean#sam and dean#sam winchester
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
shorn the sheep (a.d. x t.d.)
Pairing: art donaldson x tashi donaldson
Summary: the origin story of Art's shorn sheep haircut.
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: just family fluff really, art is a puppy but whats new, pre-canon (or in between canon timelines ig)
Notes: my first arttashi fic! Life is crazy but I was inspired enough to write this in two sittings sooooo enjoy! please comment, reblog, talk to me and tell me what you think about it! Happy reading!
**i do not have a taglist. Follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass andd turn on the notifications to be alerted for new fics and updates!**
Art Donaldson likes routines.
He eats the same breakfast every morning –eight eggs and a bowl of oatmeal. Takes the same shower stall in the locker room and does the same pre-match routine down to which shoe he puts on first. He has had the same team behind him for most of his career, from coaches and physios to his lawyers and publicists. He generally goes to the same guy for his haircut too, but he’s in Tokyo for the Japan Open. And while his outgrown curls are starting to piss him off, flying his barber halfway across the world just seems excessive.
Although… looking in the mirror now, he can’t help but wonder if he should’ve done that instead.
Maybe it’s the language barrier (which is more of Art’s fault for his general lack of knowledge in hair-related terms, because the hairdresser speaks English just fine), but what he asked for was definitely not what he got. Then again, maybe he wasn’t being super clear on what he means by ‘tidying it up a little.’
So with a polite straight-lined smile, Art nods and pays and ducks out into the busy Tokyo street. Out of courtesy (or so he convinces himself), he waits until he turns the corner to put his hoodie up over his head.
Ever the drama queen, he only takes it off when he enters the hotel suite, finding his wife sitting on the dining table.
“They fucked up my hair.”
Tashi looks up from her laptop, and the first thing she notices isn’t even the hair. It’s the same pout, same tone she normally sees in Lily at bedtime, which only makes her chortle.
“Goddammit…” Art groans. Is it even worse than he thinks? He pulls the hood back up and tugs at the string until the fabric scrunches around his face.
He turns around towards the bedroom, but Tashi stops him, grabbing his arm and turning him to face her. She loosens the tight strings on the hood, so she can see his new hair properly. Her French manicured nails cards through the short locks, scratching his scalp the way she knows he likes. Her eyebrows furrow in focus as she scrutinizes the length and texture in relation to his face.
“It looks fine to me,” she eventually decides, pushing the top part to the side towards his natural part.
“No it’s not. It’s too fucking short.” Art huffs, resting his forehead on her shoulder.
Tashi hums, feeling the buzzed ends on the nape of his neck. She’s never felt it this short on him—she’s been there through it all; the mop when he was younger, the swoopy Prince Charming look he had just before this, and even that one year where he grew his hair out past his shoulders. She can definitely say that she doesn’t hate this one. “It’s just shorter, is all.”
“Makes my ears look even bigger than they already are,” he murmurs into the skin of her shoulder, his annoyance dissipating into sulking petulance in the comfort of her scent and general embrace.
“Maybe it’ll make you more aerodynamic, Dumbo.” Tashi fiddles his earlobe playfully.
He bites at her shoulder in gentle warning, earning a little laugh from her. “That’s not funny.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She grins and shrugs. “Art—”
“Come on, this is serious.”
Tashi laughs incredulously. “What is?”
“I’m playing in my Uniqlo gear for the first time tomorrow, and the only thing people are gonna talk about is my hair.”
“I sure fucking hope they’re gonna talk about your game more than your new hair or clothes.”
There’s always a very subtle shift whenever Tashi is talking in coach mode. It doesn’t happen often, but it ticks her off whenever his attention strays off of what’s important. But Art pulls his head up and shoots her an unamused, almost defiant glare. He’s not having it.
He’s been trying not to stress out about it, but his new endorsement deal with Uniqlo is so well-covered (and for good reason—he signed a ten-year deal worth $30 million.) and wearing the brand for the first time on their home ground is a big deal. She knows that.
Art will gladly say it as often as he needs to (and he feels like he doesn’t say it often enough), but he loves Tashi. Her beauty is a no-brainer, but above all, he loves her tenacity and efficiency in her work. It’s why he listens to her, and it’s why he’s been playing better than ever since she joined his side.
Tashi sighs a little, realizing that maybe he doesn’t need a coach right now. “And look, it fits into the clean-cut, preppy aesthetics you got. I don’t see how this can be bad press for Uniqlo, either.”
She does so much for him —eats, lives, and breathes him— and sometimes he feels bad for asking. But he eats, lives, and breathes her just as much as she does, and he craves her constantly. Her firm chides, her sharp wit, her soft side, her fury… Most of the time, he needs a combination of at least two of them, even though he doesn’t know how to ask for it.
“Can we like… not make this about work?”
He doesn’t need to. She knows.
Tashi softens, rubbing his arms up and down as he pulls her closer. “Baby… it looks good on you.”
Art rolls his eyes skeptically. He can’t help but feel like she needs to say that now.
“It really does! What do you want me to say?” She chuckles, nuzzling his face with her nose. “Hey. You know I’ll be the first one to tell you if it looks stupid, right?”
Art sighs. Tashi has never been very generous with compliments, and he actually likes that about her. She knows how to really make it count. “I know, but—”
“But it doesn’t. You actually look really good. And I… I like that I can see you better this way.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have hair flopping over your eyes like a sheepdog anymore.”
Art gives her a playful smack in the butt, but at least he’s smiling now. And despite pushing him physically and mentally for a living, Tashi likes making him smile.
“But you like it?”
Her hand returns to his head, getting the hang of caressing it. “Baby, it’s your hair.”
Art relaxes into her touch. He’s gone beyond seeking validation, and has fully entered clingy territory at this time. “Yeah, but you’re gonna be looking at it all the time,” he pouts dramatically. “I don’t want you to hate it.”
“I already told you. I like it.” Tashi cups his face, her thumb drawing faint circles on his cheek. The hair is cropped short enough that it doesn’t even curl anymore on the crown. But the patch of brown in his blue eyes is out in plain sight. The line of his nose is knife-sharp, and she can’t help but remember how it parts her thighs right open. “I like looking at your face like this.”
Art’s mouth quirks to the right. He likes coaxing sweet nothings out of her like no other. “So you just like my face?”
Tashi bites the inside of her left cheek. “I do. I like your face.”
Art pulls her into a sweet kiss, and Tashi happily meets him halfway. He wonders if the butterflies would ever cease one day, but until then, he’s gonna relish in it entirely. Wholeheartedly. Selfishly.
Until…
“Daddy, you’re back!” the unmistakable squeal of their 2-year-old cuts through the quiet, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet.
Art reluctantly lets go of his wife in exchange for their daughter, throwing the former a fond, knowing look. “Hey, Lilybug!” He scoops her tiny frame up into his arms and peppers kisses all over her cute face.
Lily giggles, arms flailing and pushing him around until Art lets up. It’s only then that the little girl manages a good look at him. She gasps. “Daddy, your hair!”
Art’s heart stops. He never thought a toddler’s opinion would mean so much to him, but he plasters a faux-oblivious look for her. “What about my hair, baby?”
“It’s so… little!”
Tashi chuckles. And so does Art, although he does so in surprise. Of all the adjectives in the English language (that they’ve taught Lily anyway), he didn’t expect it to be little. But in a way, he’s glad. It takes the edge off a little.
“Do you like it, though?” Art turns his head side-to-side and lets Lily assess him, and his heart stutters a little.
Lily has a habit of picking up Tashi’s brutal honesty. Truth be told, she is the spitting image of her mother. She tilts her head the same way, sports the same thoughtful pout too. He may have been off the hook with Tashi, but it would be stupid to have his confidence crushed by the miniature version of her.
Eventually, though, Lily grins and nods. Art breathes out a sigh of relief, while Tashi looks at him like, see?
Lily puts her tiny hands on Art’s cheeks the same way her mother does, fingers flicking on her father’s earlobes. She giggles again. “Daddy looks like my sippy cup.”
Tashi laughs out loud this time. Art is not amused.
But he’ll take it. He scowls playfully and makes a face, pretending to be the sippy cup in question, eliciting more laughter from his girls.
#art donaldson#art donaldson x tashi donaldson#challengers#challengers 2024#challengers fic#tashi donaldson#ava writes#eeeee my first ship fic in AGES!!!!
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
congratulations to Mme. Pascale Leclerc, who has surely just experienced both the funniest and most unhinged weekend a mother could ever have. Dear fucking christ, I hope your middlest son brought you a bottle of champagne for yourself, ma'am.
#kazoo noises#charles leclerc#cl16#monaco gp 2024#zoomies posting#sports posting#like man. where to begin. one of your racecar children is back in town for the weekend. he has yet to have a truly good work#weekend it seems in town. now this year. we're feeling ourselves a bit. we're feeling optimistic even. and then ur son becomes talk of town#because he keeps doing fucking bits on twitter about adopting his coworker who is friends with your youngest son. this goes on long enough#for actual reporters to comment on it. no one is willing to blink first so by friday night we've yes-anded ourselves to a grandson#(congratulations mme leclerc)#things go well. and then at qualifying they go DAMN WELL#BETTER THAN EVER REALLY! but man. im superstitious. i dont trust shit until its over and the dust has cleared#(the adoption jokes have continued by the way) and MEANWHILE everyone is eyeing that starting grid. were humming. we're making vague hand#gestures when commenting. we're all thinking. Maybe? (the streets can hear u tho. keep it down)#race starts. lap one CHAOS. so many fucking crashes. i'd faint if i had a child even in karting honestly.#(every parent in this sport deserves a prescription for laudanum)#but he's not in it. hes at the front. and he. well. he just Stays There. Through It All. and the laps tick down. until the race is run. and#there he is. your middlest son. cross the line and into the books. first place. home town. what curse indeed. thats your boy!!!!!!!! THERE!#they play the radio of him winning and the audio is peaked because he screams out so loudly. you can hear the water in the laughter.#later theres gonna be videos and photos taken of him pushing his boss into the harbor and diving right in after the man. those photos are#gonna be fucking studied in photography classes one day. and STILL! everyone involved with that goofy joke about him adopting his coworker#(who. despite all the silliness of the race stayed second place and got a podium) is still carrying the bit like a baton relay. Do you have#him over for family dinner? might as well add a plate i guess! people are joking about your youngest son having two nephews? a dog born#maybe a month ago and a man born about... what twenty three years and about a month ago? fuck it! family dinner#sorry this bit got away from me but as someone who loves my homecity and my mom so much it might actually be like.#a visible growth inside my body if they do an autopsy on me at time of death or like. my love will eat me alive. sometimes the charratives#gets to me#anyway cheers mme leclerc i hope you party so fucking hard this week
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Oh ok. I get now why a lot of people didn't vibe with the ending.
All and all: excellent manga, overall very good final act, too rushed final 2-3 chapters but weak and honestly mediocre epilogue, which makes the high of the ending kind of leave a bitter taste. I think Noda had a good steed and suddenly he had to finish and had to rush all. So the ending in the sense of the final arc was good but the ending proper (final couple chapters) + epilogue......... Not so much
#i liked rhe ending (though made the mistake to read comments so now I'm like 'yeah you are right that did not make sense' when on my own i#probably would not have noticed. but ok. I'll work my suspension of disbelief. HOWEVER the epilogue WAS indeed very lackluster#i get it's an epilogue but it was so rushed. we barely get a closure for ume and saichi and tanigaki did not get to#take asirpa back to uci as he should have (though he was instrumental for that). overall it was super rushed#like we did not even see how Sugimoto was rescued. the epilogue was faaaar too rushed tbh and also too vague in parts#siraishi not really saying goodbye.... also sugimoto and asirpa living together that's cute idc and i think the line into nastyness was not#crossed but oh boy is it a thin thread... i still choose to believe they are platonic soulmates lol but i want to see an official#translation of the volume that's all i say. what else... oh yes. the way the gold never got to actually be distributed doesn't sit right#with me at all but the worst part was definitely the sugimoto/ume thing oh god that was BAD#we did get to see osoma which was cute#OH AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON VASILY??? We didn't even see him. the epoligue for him in particular was great though but his ending was not#like he just hanged around ogata gor chapters and chapters on end and we don't even get a glimpse of him during the final showdown??#tbh i think noda wanted to do something more with him but realized he did not quite fit into the story and in the end got#caught up with all the main lines he did have to close and he obviously had planned and probably combined with his own exhaustion well#did not go nice for vasily! i also would have liked a more proper epilogue for tsukishima and koito. they deserved it#I don't like how pre-epilogue the tsukishima-tsurumi-koito tension seems to reach a breaking point only to kind of not get resolved because#they have to keep fighting lol.#laura reads#also i get the sentiment of the ending regarding the ainu and i think noda did his best but it seems like a rather soft thing for asirpa to#do like... sure. museums and stuff. i GET it but it goes a little too soft in the actual colonialism that went on from the japanese. i feel#noda starts off fairly critical of that but in the end softens his stance which is a shame but ok. the bar is in hell so this is actually#much better than average from what i can personally gather of my little knowledge#golden kamuy#gk spoilers
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
maybe this a strange thing to get hung up on but like. I can’t be the only one who subconsciously texts my friends a bit more professionally after writing a long email to my professor. Or whose internal monologue temporarily changes to sound like that YouTuber I just binged for 3 hours. Or who acts a little more excited and dramatic after watching an action movie. It’s normal to pick up patterns from other people and situations, right?? Why do my friends act so surpised when I start acting more like them, or tell me I “shouldn’t change who I am”? Like buddy. In NO social interaction am I presenting the Real Me. And besides that, you’re an important part of my life—why would it be so weird to be influenced by you? I don’t like being thought of as Weird or Not Genuine just because I do something differently from your previous expectations of me.
#personal#tbh most of the comments I get abt this are observations (like “when did you pick up that phrase??”) not judgy#but what really got me into this line of thinking was a comment from a friend about a year-ish ago?#she told me “you act so weird when you’re around [mutual friend of ours]. It’s like your whole personality changes.”#and I said “haha yeah well you two are pretty different from each other and I guess I tend to subconsciously act like the people I’m around#and she was like “yeah ik what you mean. I try not to do that”#which now that I write it… she technically said nothing about me#anyway I just. idk. so much of my comfort in social situations stems from being able to act like a part of the community#which I assumed meant act similar to them. but after that exchange it felt like it was more about what they already expected of me#which is absolutely terrifying because I can’t read their minds and CANNOT KNOW what expectations they have#I should probably get over that convo from a year ago like ik most people don’t think that way#but it really worsened my anxiety#anyway thx for reading now please forget I ever posted this#ramblings
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Need to get on top of whatever dumb fucking inferiority complex I got going on I'm tired of looking at everything about myself and going "Wow I am really sub-par." I know it's 2am but this isn't the midnight thoughts talking this is a fucking persistent curse throughout my day.
#ventings#drew up a really cute sketch and I will be honest I wanna share it at this stage sooo bad but my brain keeps telling me#that my dialogue writing is atrocious. so i guess im keeping this to myself until its lined lol#its going to take so much for me to share it and not go `sorry if this is ass haha..` BECAUSE I DONT WANNA SOUND LIKE IM FISHING#FOR COMPLEMENTS. IM NOT. I JUST GENUINELY DON'T THINK A LOT OF WHAT I COME UP WITH IS GOOD#LOL. LMAO EVEN idk im not even sad about this its kinda just pissing me off. can i not be confident in my works at least once#i think this is why i dont write a lot either. cuz id love to do it more i just constantly think what i put down is complete ass and it#demotivates me. positive comments are nice and i appreciate them sm but then my brain goes back on its bullshit#going to throw up and cry so many talented people surround me and i genuinely do not get what anyone sees in me LOL#like you can follow people who emulate the fnf style better. you can follow people who make better ship art or fics#you can follow people who are funnier. the worst is feeling like everyone around you is a moment away from realizing youre#actually worth nothing and dropping you for someone better at articulating things or who are funnier or are less annoying or#okay i just looked into the invisible camera and gave a toothy smile and a thumbs up to stop myself from crying i think#ive gone far enough into this. im going to bed#sorry everyone who sees this i promise im not normally this much of a sad bitch!#my inhibitions are just lowered cuz im tired and also all of my friends should be asleep rn so im not gonna accidentally#make people feel bad for me cuz of this. gluh. ive got shitpost doodles in the works ill be back to being goofy shortly
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
i usually dont comment on these kinds of things because they shouldnt be treated with the level of weird parasocial interest they tend to be on social media generally but. claire (lil tay) was so fucking young. it doesnt take knowing her personally to feel just how jarring and genuinely tragic her sudden death is. like shit. she was only 14. she didnt even get to live her own life. sorry if this is pointless and theres no call to action or anything here but. jesus.
#kibumblabs#cw death#havent looked too deep into it because im still conflicted over it feeling voyeuristic and disrespectful to do so or not but#from what i have heard it seems sketchy re: her brother and idk i dont want to accuse anyone of anything without proper basis especially#when that someone also passed away but. considering his history of controlling behavior over her image and how it put her in some#serious danger at worst - situations a child should not be in at best... if he did have any part in this i. well i dont know.#cant exactly say he needs to see justice considering its a bit late for that but. i dont know#depending on the circumstances one of her parents may need to answer to some neglect charges. but anyway it all feels so trivial when its#already too late.#you know what. what i think i can say for sure is that i hope she's properly remembered and honored for who she actually was and not as#'lil tay the worlds youngest flexer'. a persona her brother made up that put her in dangerous situation for the sake of clout. by no means#is the public entitled to anything but if anything more is put out there in memorium i hope its something#letting the world know who she was as a real teenage girl with her own interests and personality and favorite songs and teenage obsessions#she looked like such a sweet girl. i hope her friends and family who actually knew her are haunted as little as possible by her#bastardized image on the internet. i hope they– as well as anyone else really– can separate that character from the innocent young girl#who actually existed and who's life was cut so. so fucking short.#i know i said i didnt want to comment too much about this but idk man. it really got to me. maybe because its such a novel situation thats#never exactly happened before- the way her image was on in the internet and how this case will inevitably be treated on the internet#how young she was and how little say she had in how she'd be portrayed on line– much less now how she'd be REMEMBERED.#its disturbing. and deeply deeply tragic.#2009. she was born in 2009. fuck. thats just. wrong
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
It seems like you have a vendetta against Shulk/Fiora. Like, not just disliking it and preferring Shulkelia but straight up hate the canon ship of the game. Why?
Thank you for asking this! It's an interesting question and I have a quite a bit to say about it (as usual with me aha). So I'll put the details under the cut, but yes, I personally do not like any aspect of the canon relationship/writing of it at all (although I don't go into that here since I talked about much more than I expected lol, if you're curious specifically about what my opinions are on the dialogue/choices in the game regarding Shiora feel free to send me another ask!). Also if you've read my fanfics (genuinely not trying to plug my work haha I swear) and see how I write Fiora and her friendship with Shulk, and especially the fic where I write from her pov for the whole thing, you can see I don't hate her and try to be respectful to her creators and fans! Anyway, for a TL;DR:
Aside from my personal history (which also is part of why I like Shulkelia as much as I do) causing the way Fiora's attraction to Shulk is written to not come off very well to me, and even ignoring what I've seen on the Internet about how people react to these ships and those who like or dislike them, it's just A Thing About Life that there will be parts of media you really like and parts of the same media you really don't, and that's what makes art engaging and impactful and personal and fun to talk about! I'm just someone who always has a lot to say about anything, so don't take my diatribes as anything more than me being passionate about analyzing stuff haha. I still love Xenoblade 1 with all my heart, and me not liking parts of the series such as Xenoblade 2 (very much) or Shiora (at all) doesn't affect how much I enjoy what I do like! It's just another fun facet to delve into for me, whether it's a thing I like or a thing I dislike.
And when all you see and know of me is from a blog that's specifically just for talking about a small facet of one piece of media, I can come off as more melodramatic about my liking of Shulkelia and disliking of Shiora since I don't talk too much about the rest of Xenoblade as a whole, nor anything else for that matter, on here. I promise I don't truly care that much about this fictional love triangle in my day-to-day life, and I'm sorry if I came off as rude about it! If you like their relationship then... I do want to say more power to you, and count this as me having said so, but also I don't feel like I need to because, as you said, it is canon so the Xenoblade devs have been (and probably will be!) providing plenty of enjoyment for you, and so no one should care what a silly singular stranger like me thinks at the end of the day haha.
But if you do, then here's what I have to say:
First off, I just enjoy really thoroughly dissecting everything I like, as well as dislike (as you will soon see!). I like delving into details and analyzing stuff, and sometimes that passion can be a little too obsessive, which can come off as me being passionate in my hatred of The Thing rather than passionate about analyzing why I hate The Thing (which is what's really going on). So it's important to me to say that when I talk about anything I dislike in depth like this, it's not ever meant to be hating on or attacking people who do like it! I just really find it fun to put things under a microscope, both when I really like them and really dislike them, because I enjoy discovering what, specifically, about them makes me feel that way.
I also think it's important to repeat that point about how this blog is both 1) meant to be near-exclusively about Shulkelia and 2) the posts I make here are pretty much my entire online footprint (outside of my fanfic account which is p much about the same topic aha), and as such these are the only things that strangers have to form an opinion about me (much like the common criticism brought up about parasocial relationships). When I log on to this blog I'm here to talk about my Xenoblade OTP or things related to it, and so that's all you see of/know about me. And even though the reason I made this blog is because of how much I like it (I'm kind of obsessive about the things I'm really passionate about, I've been that way my whole life, so that certainly doesn't help either haha), there are things I may like equally or even more, but because they aren't what this blog is for I don't mention them, and so anyone who doesn't know me won't know about them unless I talk about them. When you only see the fraction of me that I'm willing to share, then of course it'll seem like that fraction is the whole me if you never get to see the other 99%.
So much in the same way that I can seem super obsessed about Shulkelia (which, to be fair, I do get that way some days haha) it can seem like I really really hate Shiora too, since the only time I'm going to talk about it is on a blog that's dedicated to a different ship, and since I'm not really a multishipper nor do I enjoy the writing of it in canon, I won't ever have much nice to say about it. And because it's a canon ship that most people seem to enjoy, it's going to come up from time to time on art that either has Fiora/the love triangle involved or in the comments I see on it, and since I have something to say about it I do. Although I do genuinely not like it at all, I try to do it in a way where it's clear I'm not hating on people who enjoy it, either by trying to hammer home that it's just my personal opinion about it, or being super hyperbolic about disliking it in an attempt at humor. But tone and meaning can get lost from brain to text and I'm surely not the best at wording things sometimes, so I don't blame anyone for getting the wrong impression, and if that's happened I do apologize!
For example, if this blog was instead about my love of Mexican food (which is true!) and was meant for being a catalogue of recipes I come across, I'd probably talk in the tags pretty often about how I lament that so many recipes have cilantro in them because I have the weird cilantro-tastes-like-soap gene and so it tastes awful to me (which is also true!). When this happens over and over again on so many recipes that have cilantro, and when this repetition is all you ever get to see about me, it would probably seem like I have a burning hatred for cilantro, when in reality I barely think about it at all, and if something I want to eat has it I'll just politely ask for no cilantro or silently pick it off. I do think the weird gene is interesting, and I have a fun story about how I found out I have it which I enjoy telling, but I'm also just fine eating my food if no one wants to talk about it.
But that comparison isn't perfect, because there's a lot more going on in interpersonal relationships (fictional or not) and why people enjoy them or not. So let's get into that!
I did mention there were personal reasons why I feel the way I do, and to the extent I do, about these pairings, so it's only fair to explain what that's about. All throughout my life up until college I never had anyone show any romantic interest in me, even in high school, while in contrast all my friends as well as my sister had been in multiple relationships, so I felt rather lonely and figured there was something wrong with me if no one would want to date me haha. But I did of course have crushes of my own (that because of the aforementioned thought I had that I was unlikable I never acted on) and one of them was on a mutual friend that my best friend at the time also knew, as well as knew that I liked him. And all of a sudden one day they were going out and being affectionate all the time, including right in front of me even though my friend knew I liked him. That plus my loneliness from before obviously hurt really bad and made me pretty upset for a while haha.
Then on top of that later that year I would connect with someone like I never had before in my life and he "felt the same way", the very first person to ever tell me they liked me and I believed it. I honestly do still think he did like me... yet he would go on to get into a relationship with someone else and all the while repeatedly promise me that I was special to him and that she didn't get him like I did and he'd leave her for me but of course we can still have our deep talks about his personal problems and blah blah blah. There's a lot more to it than that but I'll cut it short and just say this happened for literally every single day for an entire year of my life, and it really deeply affected me for a long time, though I'm fine now of course. Well, it did change me as a human being, but you know what I mean haha. I don't say this to elicit pity (really, don't, I promise I'm fine) but to give you some puzzle pieces to help figure out the mystery of why I dislike Shiora.
So I'm sure you can see the parallels from my life to what Melia goes through, and that's precisely the mechanism that everyone uses to relate to and love fictional characters: they deal with horrible stuff that we can connect back to horrible stuff we've been through, and we empathize with them. That's one reason why so many people love Shulk (including me!), and Melia, and countless other characters. That's kind of what they're here for: to relate to. He just like me for real and all that. So, in the same way my life experiences make me relate so much to Melia, I can also relate those who I liked but never could be with to Shulk and relate their girlfriends to Fiora. And knowing how those real-life relationships ended up and why they didn't work out, I can really see parallels to how Fiora and Shulk's relationship is written, at least with the vibe I got from it on first and second impression. Therefore I both dislike it for personal reasons and the information those reasons gave me about good and bad relationships.
On a lighter note though, there's another aspect to the whole we-like-characters-we-identify-with thing with regards to shipping: I really do think the ships we like (if any) are based on and a reflection of ourselves and what we want in a partner (should we want to have one). Or in simpler terms, our OTPs are often made up of a character we can self-insert as and a character we would marry if they were real haha. And I don't mean that in a bad way at all! It's fun to make up fake scenarios with fake characters that you want to kiss, even when you're not writing direct-self-insert or xReader stuff (which I also don't bash)! I'm certainly guilty of this myself, even as much as I try to write them true to their character, relating so much to Melia and finding a lot about Shulk attractive for reasons that Melia also does means I'm just like everyone else haha. But on the other side of the coin, the fact that I cannot relate to Fiora in so many ways as well as do not vibe with how she treats her attraction to Shulk means I can't really enjoy the thought of them as a couple.
But outside of talking about the canon for just a second more, I think there's an interesting phenomenon(? idk what to call it lol) here that is in this ask as well as many other people's vocalized opinions regarding this game's love triangle: said canon. As in, the concept that someone could like Xenoblade 1 overall but dislike the canon relationship either confuses and/or upsets some people. Which is strange to me on its own, like do these people also get confused and/or mad when someone says they love hamburgers but hate when they have pickles on them? Everyone has their own tastes, and what you like or how much of it you do is just part of being an individual. (Plus I must say it's extra odd with regards to Shulkelia, as I've never seen the same comments/reactions to ships like Meliora, Shulk/Reyn, Shalvis, Dunban/Melia, etc, despite the fact that they're all equally as non-canon as Shulkelia. Maybe it's because the game firmly shoots down Shulk liking Melia so hard? But it also shows how much Fiora likes Shulk, so wouldn't Meliora [which is pretty darn popular as far as Xenoblade 1 ships go, at least from my browsing] be just as "anti-canon"?).
For extra context too, there are. SO. many friendzoned/"haha Shulk doesn't like Melia" memes and jokes out there (and if these people are so concerned with canon, it's weird how often they make Shulk and/or Melia act out of character super hard to push the joke!) which don't really exist to be pro-Shiora and more just anti-Shulkelia. I even came across a guy on reddit who would post Melia fanart every day, and so many of his posts were stalked by this one dude who would write a little rant about how Melia sucks and Fiora is the best, and would really go off if the fanart showed Melia's crush on Shulk in any way. Now he was super downvoted every time but... I've never seen anyone do that for Shulkelia. And yet I have seen quite a few posts of people complaining about Shulk/Melia fans shoving their ship in their faces and how much it sucks as a ship and I'm like i have been trying for MONTHS to find a single scrap of shulkelia content yet find barely anything and what i do find has SO many comments saying they still like shiora or that they hate the art since it's not shiora literally WHO are you talking about??? Like maybe I just am unlucky and have seen literally all 20 or whatever number of instances of Shiora fans being rude that ever existed but... they still do exist. I'm not making this up, in fact I encourage you to go out and search for Xenoblade fan content regarding this love triangle and see how people react to it! That's what I did and that's how I came across all of this!
Anyway, like was there a huge ship war in the early fandom days or something??? If so why can I find no mention of it anywhere except from salty Shiora shippers/Fiora fanboys, like barely any Shulkelia art even exists and I see zero talk from the supposed pushy Shulkelia fans? They have like 30 freaking fics in existence and half of them are Melia sulking about how Fiora is being lovey dovey with Shulk and showing they actually got together after all so don't even really count as Shulkelia fics!! In my searching for Shulkelia content I come across so many comments from people who like the ship trying to downplay their enjoyment of it and placate any potential Shiora fans reading their comments with "oh but Shulk/Fiora is cute too! i still like them together! i only like Shulk/Melia in a close friends kind of way, or just to make Melia happy idc about the ship i just like seeing her smile!" so like... What reality do these other guys live in where they got bombarded with Shulkelia over and over because I wish I lived in it!!! Something's up with some Fiora fans idk. Maybe I just had back luck in my searching, but try it yourself and see. I'm not crazy or making this up, I could just have been seeing all 20 or whatever number of Shiora's rude fans but... they do exist, and I have yet to see similar behavior from Shulkelia fans.
And this isn't all just me being a lurker looking at rando's comments as well. I even have a bit of a secondhand-experience story to tell about it! (The specific timeline of the initial details might be jumbled a bit, but I do remember the gist of it and still have the DMs to confirm some of the facts!)
I used to be active on Twitter, and I followed a lot of different Xenoblade fan artists on there. One day a certain artist posted a WIP of Melia and Shulk laying next to each other on a hill where Shulk was smiling at her, and although the artist deleted it (for reasons you will soon learn about) I think they wrote the Japanese ship name of the two on the tweet for it. Either way, I do recall before the WIP was posted they tweeted about liking Shulkelia, or rather ShuMeri as the Japanese ship name is called, (although in much the same "i like Melia so i like the thought of her being happy. Shulk belongs with Fiora though! i still ship them!" please-don't-be-mad-at-me way that I have never seen a Fiora/Shiora fan do) and wanting to draw something for it. Even though this particular artist posted in Japanese, a language I don't know 99% of, I was able to get the gist of their tweets through the translation feature and my knowledge of what the characters' names are in Japanese. And despite how hard this artist tried to be nice, tried to show how much they weren't trying to be mean to Shiora fans (they even had drawn Shiora art months earlier!), they got a wave of hate directed at them from Japanese fans which I saw in real time.
And if you doubt this because the tweets are now deleted, and because even when they were up I only read them through an A.I. translation, I felt so bad for this poor artist that I DM-ed them (regrettably in English, since I didn't trust my knowledge of Japanese to not end up making me say something I didn't intend or in a rude/informal tone) to show there was at least one other person out there that enjoyed ShuMeri and was excited to see their art. And they fortunately understood my message and knew English to message me back and told me direct quotes of what was thrown at them, which I still have in my DMs and will quote:
"'You are denying the original story. It's too unsatisfying and ugly' 'It's not right to make Shulk and Melia lovers.' someone said. At other times, people have replied to my art, complaining about Melia's behavior in the story, as I tweeted the other day. I've had a lot of negative comments about ShuMeri and Melia." (With regards to the whole "complaining about Melia's behavior in the story" thing, if I recall that was from people saying she had no right to have a crush on Shulk in the first place, which... I thought you guys said canon is sacrosanct? It is canon that Melia had a crush on Shulk, and if you don't like that then you don't respect the canon/story and aren't a real fan. Do you see how silly this sounds???)
So. Tell me if you have ever seen any Melia fans or Shulkelia fans ever behave like this. Because I sure haven't. (Like even this ask [which I am not upset about nor trying to be rude to the anon at all, on the contrary I'm super enjoying talking about this topic! it's just the dichotomy here is interesting to me!) is proof to me: how many times can you say you've seen comments on Shiora art or asks sent to Xenoblade fanblogs asking why someone doesn't like Shulkelia, do you hate Shulkelia, what's wrong with Shulkelia? Like I get one is canon and the other isn't, but like... have you seen shipping culture? Literally all of the most popular ships for any given media are non-canon, that's half the fun of shipping!!!
"Don't let mean fans sour the original work" (and again, just to make sure I'm clear, I do not consider the anon who sent this ask to be mean or rude in any way! I'm referring to other randos here!) and all that, but it's kind of hard for me to like a ship when it has fans that act like this... going around projecting by accusing fans of a different ship of their own behavior, or saying things that contradict their own points about how important canon is to them. Thinking back on how we like characters we can relate to, isn't it interesting how fans of a brash, headstrong, do-what-I-want-and-fuck-the-consequences character who gets everything she wants in canon act in a pushy or even rude way to fans of a reserved, self-reproaching, I-will-do-what-is-best-for-others-first character who has so much taken away from her, and the latter fans always defer to the former and feel guilty when they talk about liking their character even as they do so much to be nice to them? It's pretty interesting I think, it's like when dogs look like their owners or something haha.
To end this off, since even though I have more to say (which if you would like to hear please let me know!) I've talked for far too long now haha, I really want to post the rest of the DM that the artist I talked to (who to this day hasn't made another Shulkelia/Shulkelia-esque fanart again, and interestingly never gets hate on their Shalvis art which is again a non-canon "story-denying" ship, too. Maybe they just blocked the rude people and if so good for them, but it's interesting still that they haven't draw Shulkelia since):
"I think it's useless to argue about who is better, Fiora or Melia, and I don't want them to get me involved in that fight. However, I received words of encouragement from many kind followers like you. I now understand important things; 'Don't worry about mean people' and 'Draw what I like.' Fan art should be free, shouldn't it? If I draw ShuMeri, some mean people might appear again. But there are many more kind people like you. When I think of that, I'm not afraid anymore. I will try to draw ShuMeri one day. Maybe I'll get depressed again because of mean people, but then you can tell me, 'You draw fanart freely, right!'... Please tell me that. You made me feel better and made me cry with happiness. Thank you so much. :)"
-Mirim, who can be found here currently, and their old account where the drama happened is here. This is the piece of artwork they got so much hate for. Shulk and Melia aren't even touching in it and Mirim didn't even mention their ship name.
#ask#please support mirim they're a very skilled and underrated artist!!#anyway every time i get an ask i get so excited haha i really like talking to people about things i/we like#(well if i got a mean/''kys'' ask i wouldn't be excited but you get what i mean haha)#and to be clear i do not think this ask was hostile at all! and even if it was meant to be... so what?#i enjoyed answering it and i hope what i had to say was interesting and satisfied the anon's curiosity#also i *do* want to talk about other things in xenoblade i like because there's **so** much i have to say#like if you could see the size of my notes section in my voice line doc you would know. you would KNOW how much i like basically#every single thing about this game haha. probably too much. it's over 700 lines of text long#i just don't feel like there's an audience most of the time for me and it feels a little sad talking into the void haha#hence my enjoyment of getting asks of any kind!#so if anyone has any questions for me about literally anything at all please send me an ask!#in return i will write you a thesis paper about your question free of charge as you can see here lol#i really hope i didn't come off as mean or bitter here it's just there's a huge dichotomy going on with shulkelia from what i've seen#as i mentioned if it's about canonicity why don't shalvis and meliora get hate? i've literally never seen a single mean comment about them#unprompted on a random one-off comment or directly on fanworks of it#maybe it's more about melia than shulkelia since there's also a lot of hate towards her that i've seen too#in a ''ew melia fans are so conceited thinking she's the best-written character and fiora is shallow'' and it's like#congratulations! you have just encountered a ''different opinion''! perhaps they like melia because they think she is well-written and#not to spite you in particular! maybe they think fiora is shallow bc a lot of her character objectively revolves around her crush on shulk!#and it's okay to not like it! it's also okay to like it! this is what art is about: having your own thoughts on it!#it is fun to share these thoughts and i enjoy it! but i do not enjoy when people are mean to others because they like#Fake Person/Relationship A but other people like Fake Person/Relationship B! it's silly to get super mad about it and it's rude to be mean!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
.
#i was hanging out with the other first year students yesterday#and it was super fun!#but then someone made the comment about how they hate seeing people with non astro backgrounds (ex: computer science/engineering/ect)#get into astro programs because those people are taking spots away from astro majors (their words not mine)#and i don't think the comment was about me#because everyone is really nice when i talk to them#but they also know i am someone with a non-astro background#so i was just really quiet and felt very awkward in that moment#so idk#like i know i deserve to be here (otherwise i wouldn't have gotten into the program)#but i sort of feel like shit because they think people like me have taken spots away from them#especially because i have been having a mild crisis about not knowing the same basic things as everyone else seems to#(because of my non-astro background)#and sometimes i do still doubt that everyone likes me#mostly because there are some times i can't interpret the meaning behind what people say in response to the things i say#(mostly when i'm trying to be funny)#and i can't tell how people interpret me all of them time yet#<- as in i can't tell if they have gathered that i'm autistic or if they just think i'm strange in a bad way#idk i'm just annoyed about that comment + the fact that there's been a couple comments about me that feel infantilizing?#but i'm also not sure?#again the autism <- idk how to interpret the meaning#like i got comments that were something along the lines of “aw precious baby/child”#when i said i didn't know what some website was that you can post your academic stats + grad school acceptances/rejections#and that scooby doo used to scare me when i was a literal child (but it doesn't anymore)#any everything i'm venting about is so minor and so meaningless and so something i wouldn't really think much about/very easily let go#if i wasn't already feeling like shit because i woke up too late to take my adderall and now i've done literally nothing all day#and i'm very frustrated with myself#and i very much miss my friends from home#and i cannot stop thinking about them because most of them were my grad school friends at my old college#and now i'm making new grad school friends
1 note
·
View note
Text
“ WHAT GETS THEM HARD! ”
jjk men x f!reader ࿐ MDNI.
ᰔ、summary. jjk scenarios on how their dicks get hard ofc
ᰔ、tags. (ft. gojo, geto, toji, choso), nsfw, female anatomy, cunnilingus, exhibitionism, sexting, masturbation, etc.
ᰔ、a/n. these are just my silly depictions. if u dont agree idgaf lol
SATORU GOJO has the dirtiest mind and the highest sex drive. his pants definitely start feeling a little tighter at the sight of you eating a popsicle or something. specifically in public. he would have no shame in it either—casually forming a smirk on his face and dropping a snarky innuendo about the way you’re eating. “can you suck me off like that when we get home?” he’d mumble from across the table, his eyes peeking out from the top of his glasses, a smirk plastered on his lips; wet from the constant licking of his tongue. your eyes widen, a small ‘pop’ sounding from your mouth when you took the frozen sweet out to gasp at the man in front of you. “gojo! are you serious?” you’d yell in a whisper, looking around to see if anyone had heard him. “you’re right,” he’d sigh, standing up from his chair to reveal the very prominent and very obvious bulge in his pants. “we should just do it now.”
SUGURU GETO on the other hand is a polite man. like satoru, he’s a real freak in the sheets—but not as shamelessly. the littlest things can get him hard for sure, but unintentionally seeing your undergarments would really get him going. like an accidental peek at your panties from under your skirt, or a shirt thats a little too see-through showing off the print on your bra. he wouldn’t say anything of course, not right away. you would just be minding your own business one minute and then he’s dragging you towards the bedroom the next. “sugu- what are you-?” you would ask in a confusing tone, craning your head to look at the said man who was now behind you—pushing your stomach up against the countertop; a single hand brought up to grope your breast while the other laid flat against your hip. “your bra is showing.” he’d let you know blankly; an attempt to distract you while his hand slid it’s way into your pants. you would look down in response to his comment, noticing that your bra was in-fact showing like he said. unfortunately for him, you also already noticed the hardon pressed against your back.
TOJI FUSHIGURO gets hard from eating pussy. simple as that. he will get embarrassingly sloppy—juices coating his face and dripping down his chin, loving every second of it while his cock slowly grows harder. emphasis on grows. and if you think for a second that he does it for your pleasure, think again. this man will eat you out purely for his enjoyment only. his eyes are closed and his hands are squeezing at your thighs—legs thrashing uncontrollably from the uncomfortable pressure in his pants that’s about to come undone. “toji- let me help you.” you’d beg with a whimper, dragging your hand from the top of his head down to his cheek when you noticed the constant shuffling of his legs and the crease in his eyebrow. he’d laugh darkly, the breathy snicker creating a hum between your core that made a whine escape from your lips. “im fine mama,” he’ll say cockily, pulling a hand away from your leg to undo his zipper. “ill cum soon, you don’t gotta do ‘nun.”
CHOSO is a needy guy. his face will turn red at a simple flirty text—but send him a slutty pic and he might just cream his pants. fully naked or dressed in lingerie, his favorite or not, he will definitely feel some pressure down below. he might ignore you for a while, uncertain on how he should reply; if he’s even able to. “fuck- couldn’t wait till i got home, could you?” he’d whine quietly, trying his best to keep his voice down from the bathroom of his office job; one hand holding the phone up to his ear while the other rushed to unbuckle his belt. “sorry cho,” you’d apologize from the other line, voice rather faint as you posed for another picture to send him. “when are you coming?” you ask doubtfully just as his phone vibrates with another notification from your contact. “now- im comin’ now baby.” he replies with a huff, phone almost slipping from his ear. “really!?” you try to clarify—much more excited than the first time. “no, i mean im cumming. right now.”
#my goofy ahh side coming out with the choso one#THIS TOOK FOREVER#toji x reader#toji smut#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#gojo x reader#gojo smut#geto x reader#geto smut#choso x reader#choso smut#jjk scenarios#jjk x reader#jjk men x reader#jjk smut#isamoa#jujutsu kaisen smut
18K notes
·
View notes
Text
So basically I’ve been spreading the phrase “silly quirky” around my department kind of to show that we all have little quirks and it’s okay to be different, and people have adopted it and generally use it in good faith, but I have a theory (with good evidence) that the freshman just genuinely does not like autistic people, and it’s making me really bummed out since she’s one of my close friends :(
#there’s this guy that’s almost definitely on the spectrum because he’s just like me fr and we get along really well#and he left for class and freshman IMMEDIATELY went ‘he’s always creeped me out. he’s so weird’#girl how can you say that about him :( he’s just living his life and getting a degree like us#and another guy joked about freshman being ‘low functioning’ (bad joke. i know. but this is SD it’s just part of life here)#and she got soooo bent out of shape about it. she really crossed a line from ‘joking’ to straight up micro aggressions (dude is black)#and idk. it’s rich coming from her because she’s ADHD and she should really be on our side#but like. sure tease and bully the people who are silly quirky.#i think I’m going to call her out soon bc I’m reaching my snapping point#yes I’m feeling like this because she was mean to my crush and called him creepy#but also she complains and is mean nonstop. i feel like I need to stop that before someone gets hurt#and it’ll probably be one of the silly quirky people who breaks first.#it would feel sooo good to be like ‘you know what? you’re being a bully right now and I’m not going to tolerate that.’#and then get up and leave. or say something like when was the last time you said something nice about someone?#honestly she depends on me quite a bit for schoolwork help. so I think if i refuse to help her it’ll really drive my point home#but idk. i sit next to her in class 4x a week so it would be awkward#i mean I am perfectly capable of being nice and polite despite how I’m feeling#but I don’t think she’s capable of that. luckily though I have a good reputation with our profs#and she is slowly digging herself a grave. we’ve all watched them slowly get more tired of her shit#the snarky comments during class. the joking around at inappropriate times.#like if this comes to a head I’ll come out on top due to pure reputation let alone my anti-bullying stance#idk. im thirsty and then i gotta go to bed#we’ll see what happens tomorrow but I think im done listening to her shit talk people#diary post#oh also she found out who my crush is on (because she was being mean to him) and she was like you told religious friend before me?? :(#like take a step back and look at how you’re reacting. you told me to stop having a crush on him because he’s creepy and weird.#religious friend was supportive and offered to give me his number.#she thinks she’s so important to me but honestly after I graduate I’ll probably only talk to her like twice a year or whatever#idk. now IM being the bully and that’s not cool of me. I’m just frustrated I think and I’ll be better tomorrow#(also advisor said I was ALWAYS on his good side so huge win for me ❤️❤️❤️❤️)#(and he said I’m not being manipulative by being nice to people I’m not really a fan of. so suck on that freshman 🖕)
1 note
·
View note
Text
I will write this thought about Veganism and Classism in the USA in another post so as to not derail the other thread:
There are comments in the notes that say meat is only cheaper than plant based foods because of subsidies artificially lowering the price of meat in the United States. This is...part of the story but not all of it.
For my animal agriculture lab we went to a butcher shop and watched the butcher cut up a pig into various cuts of meat. I have had to study quite a bit about the meat industry in that class. This has been the first time I fully realized how strongly the meat on a single animal is divided up by socioeconomic class.
Like yes, meat cumulatively takes more natural resources to create and thus should be more expensive, but once that animal is cut apart, it is divided up between rich and poor based on how good to eat the parts are. I was really shocked at watching this process and seeing just how clean and crisp an indicator of class this is.
Specifically, the types of meat I'm most familiar with are traditionally "waste" parts left over once the desirable parts are gone. For example, beef brisket is the dangly, floppy bit on the front of a cow's neck. Pork spareribs are the part of the ribcage that's barely got anything on it.
And that stuff is a tier above the "meat" that is most of what poor people eat: sausage, hot dogs, bologna, other heavily processed meat products that are essentially made up of all the scraps from the carcass that can't go into the "cuts" of meat. Where my mom comes from in North Carolina, you can buy "livermush" which is a processed meat product made up of a mixture of liver and a bunch of random body parts ground up and congealed together. There's also "head cheese" (made of parts of the pig's head) and pickled pigs' feet and chitlin's (that's made of intestines iirc) and cracklin's (basically crispy fried pig skin) and probably a bunch of stuff i'm forgetting. A lot of traditional Southern cooking uses basically scraps of animal ingredients to stretch across multiple meals, like putting pork fat in beans or saving bacon grease for gravy or the like.
So another dysfunctional thing about our food system, is that instead of people of each socioeconomic class eating a certain number of animals, every individual animal is basically divided up along class lines, with the poorest people eating the scraps no one else will eat (oftentimes heavily processed in a way that makes it incredibly unhealthy).
Even the 70% lean ground beef is made by injecting extra leftover fat back into the ground-up meat because the extra fat is undesirable on the "better" cuts. (Gross!)
I've made, or eaten, many a recipe where the only thing that makes it non-vegan is the chicken broth. Chicken broth, just leftover chicken bones and cartilage rendered and boiled down in water? How much is that "driving demand" for meat, when it's basically a byproduct?
That class really made me twist my brain around about the idea of abstaining from animal products as a way to deprive the industry of profits. Nobody eats "X number of cows, pigs, chickens in a lifetime" because depending on the socioeconomic class, they're eating different parts of the animal, splitting it with someone richer or poorer than they are. If a bunch of people who only ate processed meats anyway abstained, that wouldn't equal "saving" X number of animals, it would just mean the scraps and byproducts from a bunch of people's steaks or pork chops would have something different happen to them.
The other major relevant conclusion I got from that class, was that animal agriculture is so dominant because of monoculture. People think it's animal agriculture vs. plant agriculture (or plants used for human consumption vs. using them to feed livestock), but from capitalism's point of view, feeding animals corn is just another way to use corn to generate profits.
People think we could feed the world by using the grain fed to animals to feed humans, but...the grain fed to animals, is not actually a viable diet for the human population, because it's literally just corn and soybean. Like animal agriculture is used to give some semblance of variety to the consumer's diet in a system that is almost totally dominated by like 3 monocrops.
Do y'all have any idea how much of the American diet is just corn?!?! Corn starch, corn syrup, corn this, corn that, processed into the appearance of variety. And chickens and pigs are just another way to process corn. That's basically why we have them, because they can eat our corn. It's a total disaster.
And it's even worse because almost all the USA's plant foods that aren't the giant industrial monocrops maintained by pesticides and machines, are harvested and cared for by undocumented migrant workers that get abused and mistreated and can't say anything because their boss will tattle on them to ICE.
8K notes
·
View notes
Text
Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen
Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?
Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.
Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)
a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷
A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨
“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”
Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.
He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.
You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?
He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.
No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.
The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.
Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.
“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.
“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”
“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.
“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.
“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.
You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.
Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.
•••••••••••
Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.
Unnecessary, stupid…
Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.
With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.
He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.
He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.
As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.
It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.
He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.
He can do it, he has done it countless times.
Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.
He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.
He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.
There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.
Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.
He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.
He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.
He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.
He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.
He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.
He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.
“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.
The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.
He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.
“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”
“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”
“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”
“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.
Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”
“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.
“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.
Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.
“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.
“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.
“Aegon…”
Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.
He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.
“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.
Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.
The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.
Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.
“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.
“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.
“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.
“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.
Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…
Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.
His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.
He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.
The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.
You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.
“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.
“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”
“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.
“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.
He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.
“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.
“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.
“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.
Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.
“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”
“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”
“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.
You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.
Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.
“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”
“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.
“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.
•••••••••••
He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.
He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.
Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.
He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.
Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.
Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.
“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.
“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”
You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”
“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”
“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.
There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.
Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.
The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.
He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.
“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.
“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.
“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.
He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.
You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.
Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.
He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.
Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.
You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.
He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.
You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.
Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.
“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.
Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.
Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.
“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”
“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”
“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.
No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.
“I apologize, uncle,”
Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.
“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.
The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.
His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.
“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.
“Yes, My Lady?”
“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.
“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.
“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”
“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.
“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”
•••••••••••
After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.
Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.
With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.
Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.
That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.
He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.
He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.
You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.
He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.
“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.
“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.
“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.
He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?
He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.
He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.
You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.
“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.
“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.
“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”
He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”
It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.
And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.
Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.
You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.
Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.
“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.
He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.
“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”
He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.
You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.
The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.
•••••••••••
A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.
“Mother—”
“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”
Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”
“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.
“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”
“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.
A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.
“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”
Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.
“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.
“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”
“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”
“So do you, My Prince.”
“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.
“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.
“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.
“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”
“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.
“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.
You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.
A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.
He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.
He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.
He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.
He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.
“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.
“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.
He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.
He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.
Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.
He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.
“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”
“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.
“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.
“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”
“Is that so? Well, I must say—”
He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.
“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.
What have I done?
What have I done?
I dropped her.
I did this.
What happened?
His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.
“Aemond, look—”
He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.
Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.
With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.
His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?
He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.
“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.
The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…
Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.
“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.
You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.
“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.
“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.
“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.
“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.
He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.
You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.
Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.
“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.
“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”
“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”
He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.
“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”
You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.
He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.
•••••••••••
He is running.
Where is he? Why is he running?
He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.
The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.
What’s this smell?
He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.
He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.
“Darling, are you alright?”
“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.
“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.
“I was not here—”
“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”
“Aemond!”
“Aemond!”...
He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.
“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.
“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.
He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.
“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.
“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.
“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”
He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.
He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.
“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
•••••••••••
He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.
“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.
“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”
“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.
“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”
He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?
“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.
“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”
“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.
“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.
“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.
“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.
His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.
“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”
“I don’t care, I have you now,”
He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.
He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.
He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.
“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”
He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.
His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.
You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.
“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.
You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.
The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.
You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.
He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.
He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.
“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.
“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”
“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”
“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.
“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.
He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.
“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.
He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.
“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”
#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen smut#aemond targaryen fluff#prince aemond#aemond x reader#rue:smut#rue:angst#rue:fluff
4K notes
·
View notes