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randomdragonfires · 3 months

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Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM.

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement.

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her.

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more.

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree.

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

“What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt.

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries.

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her?

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water.

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year.

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience.

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care. But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is.

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears?

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too.

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization.

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips.

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see.

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth.

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation.

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being.

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises.

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented.

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty.

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments.

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence.

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel.

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine.

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her.

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly.

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said.

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran.

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her?

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved.

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it?

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful.

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting.

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

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MASTERLIST

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thesilmarillionblog · 4 months

Text

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Series Masterlist is here.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, heartless Soldier Boy, reader gets hurt, mention of violence, mention of drugs, betrayal, Soldier Boy being a dick, reader is a supe, Crimson Countess is a bitch

Word Count: 1796

A/N: English is not my first language.

* This story is inspired by the song "Losing You" by Dream Evil.

“Get lost fuckface and bring me a coffee,” Ben said telling the the poor guy who was trying his best to make Soldier Boy happy till the broadcast start.

The announcement of the new Payback member to the American public was scheduled for today. The company's executives had already made the decision to bring on a new employee, despite the fact that the team already had enough members. Everyone on the team opposed this idea, with the exception of Soldier Boy and you, but nothing changed.

You didn't mind if a new person joined the team because they were assigning Soldier Boy all tasks, regardless of importance, and you could see he was growing more and more irate with each passing day. Given that Black Noir was the team's second-strongest member, it was obvious Soldier Boy didn't appreciate the concept of being used for insignificant tasks constsantly. It was obvious that the team definitely required one more strong member.

“You don’t have to be so rude to those people,” you murmered as you approached Ben. "They are all scared of you already.”

Ben chuckled as he sat down and sniffed the white dust, saying, “I am not familiar with the concept of princess treatment, sweetheart, and nobody respects a pussy leader; keep that in mind.”

You sighed knowing he would never change his attitude just because you told him to. He pulled you to his lap and gave you a quick and firm kiss, silencing you before you argue with him.

All of you were taken aback when a new supe was introduced because you hadn't seen her before. She smiled and gave a short but impactful speech about how she would benefit America and its citizens. She looked nice and strong with her red suit and long red hair.

You were only made to feel worse by the fact that everyone was rooting for Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess every day, and their fan base became stronger over time. The current Crimson Countess stood on the side where you used to stand. They were singing together in ads while standing side by side and hand in hand, which was keeping you up at nights. The growing distance between you and Ben was eating you alive.

He hardly ever visited or spoke to you during the day, despite the fact that he used to spend the night with you in the past. There were moments when you tried to talk to him about what was going on, but he waved you off right away, saying he had things to do and couldn't be seen with any other woman but the Countess.

You were frequently questioned about their relationship, and you smiled while telling the cameras that they were lucky to have found each other and that they were strong together. If only they were aware of your true feelings.

Even though Ben continued to treat Noir rudely, which greatly upset and angered you, the rest of the crew was glad that Soldier Boy had finally become distracted. This was because they had been mistreated and bullied by him less than in the past. You two had heated disagreements over Noir as well in the past, but Ben consistently ignored your emotions and ideas. Now that Crimson also supported him about how he should treat the team made your blood boil with hatred and agony.

Noir remarked, removing his mask, “I can't do this, Y/N. I refuse to bow to him and put up with the way he treats me.”

You walked up to him and touched his back to get him to turn to face you. “What do you mean?” you questioned.

“I’m saying he is not worthy of being a leader.” Noir paced violently and stated, “All he does is get high with Crimson and bully me and everyone around him. He left you aside too.”

Though you knew he didn’t mean to hurt you, his words cut deep and silenced you for a second.

“Don’t do something crazy, Noir. You hear me?” You asked, ignoring his thoughts about Ben leaving you. “You know his short temper.”

Noir was always kind and kind, so you were surprised to see him so furious, but you knew he was right about everything, and Ben seemed to be getting worse and more distant every day as his connection with Countess took shape right before your eyes. You seemed to be deceiving yourself all along when you told yourself that their relationship wasn't real.

“I don’t know. Someone must do something about this.”

“You don’t stand a chance against him,” you said as you grasped his arms tightly. “I’ll talk to him, okay. I’ve got this, I promise.”

Noir gave you a nod before he put the mask on, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You waited patiently until you learned Ben would be alone tonight because Crimson would be going on a mission. Your heart raced when you entered his house without saying anything. He must have heard the noises you made already, because he turned to you immediately and did not look surprised to see you.

“Hi,” you whispered, not knowing how to react around him anymore.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked as he sat down in the coach after. He was high on cocaine.

As you walked up to him, you gave him a disappointed expression, but the way he looked stopped you. In the past, you were close every second, but those days are long in the past now.

“What’s wrong with you?” Your eyes were watery as you asked. It seemed like you would explode at any moment.

“Are fucking on your period? Why so sensitive?” His smile infuriated you, and he laughed as if something amusing had happened. There was something very punchable about his face.

“Why do you still treat Noir like a fucking jackass? He follows your instructions to the letter, and you are simply being disrespectful to him and the team as a whole.” You spoke angrily, as if you wanted him to share your feelings of rage. You wanted to wipe that foolish smile off his face.

His body abruptly shifted, giving you a menacing glance and raising his finger in your direction. “Don't fucking give me some advise. Who the fuck are you? You do realize that I am the fucking boss here, don't you?”

He hasn't been this angry with you in a long time, so you were surprised by his harsh remarks. It seemed like he hated you as he spat those words.

You yelled back, “I don't even know the man I'm talking to anymore,” at which point your tears finally fell. “Since Crimson entered your life, you have changed, Ben. She fucking hates you; she doesn't even love you. Don’t you see it?”

He was eventually enraged by your screams at him, and he stood in front of you with hate in his eyes. Your heart pained when you saw him staring at you like that, with eyes full of anger and fury.

“Do you know what I'm going to do?” He asked softly, as if he were just saying something kind. “I'm fucking gonna kill that masked pussy Noir and fucking make sure you watch through it.”

His cold words frozen you, and your eyes widened seeing he meant every word he said.

You shoved him away by his chest and sobbed, “If you ever touch Noir, I swear I'll cut Countess’ bitch head and throw it to your fucking thick skull.”

You were aware that nothing or no one could stop Ben from doing what he wanted to do, and that you might be the reason Noir was put to death or anything like. Your pulse raced upon witnessing Ben's unexpected outburst of rage against Noir.

Judging by his face, it was clear he was taken aback by your sharp words. You’ve never talked in athreatening way before with anyone. Your sigh and sobbing were the only things that filled the pregnant silence in the room.

“Ben,” you said softly, trying to reach again one more time, and you touched his face, hoping he wouldn’t push your hands back. To your surprise, he didn’t make a move. You looked him into the eyes between your tears and said, “I am the only one who truly loves you. Not her, not anyone else. Just me. What happened to us?”

You waited for him to answer you after you gave him a firm kiss, showing your love and care for him, but he didn’t kiss you back. Instead, he pushed your hands away from his face, with an unreadable look on his face.

“Why are you being selfish?” he asked, breaking the silence, almost irritated by your kindness toward him. “People love seeing me and her together. Duty fucking comes first.”

“You don’t owe love to her just to be loved by people you don’t even know,” you said, trying to convince him he didn’t have to do something he didn’t want to.

“How the fuck do you know I’m doing this for people only?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, as your heart skipped for a moment.

“Maybe I’m fed up with your soft attitude, and I want to be with her. How about that?” He said he was giving you an insidious smile.

With a heavy heart, you stepped back from him as more tears dropped from your cheeks. There was no point trying to convince Ben for your love while he didn’t give a fuck about it at all and the one he wanted was actually Countess.

“Is that what you want?”

“It fucking is,” he said, sitting down in the coach and keeping sniffing cocaine, like the conversation meant nothing to him and he wanted you to be gone.

Before leaving his house, you turned him one last time, saying, “She’ll betray you, Ben. I don’t know if I see that day, but you’ll see it.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: Well, that was a one shot, but let me know if you think that I should make it multi-chapters. Comments are appreciated, hehehe. <33

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imbored1201 · 5 months

Note

Hi writer, may i request barca x teen reader, where reader is very bullied in school but does not tell anyone and the bullying results in her missing out school and classwork . The school contacts the Barcelona team and the team tries to find her. The reader finally tells the truth .Thanks

Dropping Out

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

You always hated school; practically everyone did. But probably the top reason for your hatred towards school was because you usually had to miss out on training over tests.

With the agreement Barcelona had made with your school, you entered after training, and during away games, you did most of your work online or your teacher sent you off with a bunch of packets.

If Alexia knew you were currently skipping them and eating ice cream at the place she always took you to, you would be grounded for life. You were certain the school wouldn’t call her; there was really no point to it.

In your mind, you still had your straight A’s, not actually aware that your grades had dropped, and now you were just a straight C student. You had a bunch of tests you needed to make up.

Well, a part of you knew about how much you dropped; you just chose to ignore it.

————

Alexia, on the other hand, was finally getting the peace she had been craving. She loved you, but you were a handful half the time. Especially when Olga wasn’t around, you quickly went from semi-behaved to terrible right when Olga was dropped off at the airport.

“Hello?” Alexia answered, “Yes, I’m her guardian." Mapi frowned, trying to get closer to Alexia to hear. The school never called; they had no reason to. You were a straight-A student who always kept up with all the work given.

“What do you mean she hasn't gone all week? I drop her off every day." Mapi grabbed Alexia’s phone, putting it on speaker.

“Ms. Putellas. We should make a meeting regarding Y/N; her teachers have been reporting that she’s been off; has there been anything going on at home?” Alexia looked around, where all the other girls were now crowding around her.

“No, she’s been acting the same." “Let’s just have that meeting and discuss it with her. Y/N is an amazing student; this isn’t like her at all.”

Alexia sighed. “Of course, I’m available any time.” She hung up quickly, making her way to her car and calling you.

"Ale,” Mapi called out for her, "what, Mapi? I need to go find her.” She was frustrated, not at you but at herself. She sighed when the call went straight to voicemail, only making her more nervous.

“Que paso con bebita?” “I don’t know, Mapi, there’s something wrong.” She looked at your little friend group, who were in the corner, looking worried.

“Ninas, do you have any idea where she’s at?” Salma shrugged, nudging Cata. “She said that she was craving ice cream last night,” which helped a lot. Alexia rushed to her car, knowing you were probably at the ice cream place you both loved.

She was always taken there when she was a little kid after a game, and now she makes sure to continue the tradition with you.

————

She sighed when she parked and saw you sitting on the curb, eating your ice cream. She quickly sent a text to the team, telling them she had found you.

She didn’t know whether to be strict or soft with you, considering she knew you wouldn’t just ignore school all of a sudden. But she also knew you were a teenager, and teenagers randomly love to rebel.

"Shit,” you cursed as you watched Alexia walk up to you. As much as you wanted to make a run for it, you knew you would be in deeper shit for that, but Alexia’s glare was enough to make you freeze.

“Ale, I’m sor-“ You were thrown off guard when she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Don’t ever disappear like that. At least tell Salma where you're going to be,” you muttered a sorry, sinking into the hug.

“Your school called me today; why haven’t you been going?” You looked down, not wanting to see Alexia's soft look that always got information out of you. “Ale, can’t I just drop out? I don’t need school.” You were close to tears, wanting to tell Alexia the truth but also scared.

“You do need school. Cariño, whats really going on?” You looked back at the ground, pushing away Alexia’s hands.

“They're very mean,” you sniffled, rubbing your eyes. Alexia quickly pulled you into a hug. “Who bebita?” “The kids always make fun of me, and the teachers never believe me when I try telling them about it.”

“Oh bebe,” she cursed herself for not noticing how sad you were, hated the teachers for ignoring you, and hated those kids for doing this to you. You could do no wrong in her eyes. Yes, you were a little asshole at times, but she still loved you.

“We’re going to figure this out. I’m going to get those kids expelled, and we’ll figure out a different situation for you." She wanted to kill those kids, but she knew she had to handle this in a mature way.

————

You told Alexia everything in the car. When it started, the names of the staff you tried telling about the kids bullying. Even the fact that one of your teachers would just listen to their insults and say nothing about it.

You were confused when she pulled up to Mapi and Ingrid’s place, and you were even more confused when you saw Mapi waiting outside. You pouted at her when you saw Claudia, Salma, and Patri. “You cannot leave me with them." "Yes, I can; behave; I’ll be back soon.” Before you could protest more, Mapi opened the door.

“Come on, bebe, I want to see you beat these rookies in FIFA,” Mapi grinned, pulling you out of the car. You looked confused, seeing some other familiar faces still in their car. Alexia, along with Irene, Marta, and Sandra, were going to march into your school and demand stuff be done against everyone who had hurt you.

Fridolina and Ingrid went to get you your favorite food and desserts to cheer you up while you and Salma kicked Patri’s and Pina’s asses in FIFA.

You were very happy when they returned, hoarding all the snacks and refusing to let anyone expect Frido and Ingrid to get any.

As you watched Pina and Patri argue over teams, your eyes drifted to the door when you heard a knock. You watched as Mapi opened it and your favorite person stepped in, “Ale!” You smiled widely, about to jump up and jump on her; it quickly turned into a frown when you noticed the angry expression on her face. You looked at Salma, who also looked a bit scared.

"Ale, I’m really sorry I skipped school.” Her eyes softened when she looked at you. “Don’t apologize, bebita; I’m sorry. I should have noticed what was going on; those assholes don’t want to do anything about those dumb kids. You’re no longer going to that school.”

“Can I drop out?” Alexia scowled. “No, we’re figuring out a different situation.” Salma smirked. Usually she was the one that helped you with your homework, but instead of trying to teach you things, she just commanded you around to do her favors while she did your work.

“Just please find something that won’t come in between my training." Alexia smiled at you, a proud look on her face now. “I know, bebe, I hated that you had to miss out on practice too. I’ll see what I can do.”

————

The different situation was switching to fully online, which you liked better. Now you were finishing your work before training, which gave you all day to just relax and hang out with the team.

The downside was the fact that Alexia knew you had more time, so she made you train more; she called it bonding, but sometimes you wished you still went to school in person to get away from it. Especially during the extra-running days.

And now you were a target of pranks, before you weren’t allowed to be pranked since you used the “I have too much work to be getting involved with your shenanigans excuse.”

They didn’t even buy the ‘I’ll tell Alexia and Irene’ threats that you always shouted.

Even then, you were happy to just be free.

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni x reader #mapi leon #alexia putellas

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riki-riks-chick · 5 months

Note

hii!!! can i please request how each member would punish reader after wearing a short skirt? (spanking, face sitting, edging, ykwim!!)

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Heeseung:

He would pissed when he came to pick you up and you were wearing the shortest skirt you owned. He didn't say anything because he knew he couldn't make you change, but he'd be sure to "scold" you later on. He's watching how you react to male attention for the remainder of your time in public together and the more you feed into it, the more his blood boils. "You wanna act like a little fucking whore? Hm? I'll treat you how a whore should be treated."

He'd have you bent over his lap, ass up and your skirt lifted as he strikes your reddened skin after every degrading sentence, soothing his hand over your ass cheek afterwards just to smack it again. You're soaking through your panties, moaning and whimpering into your hand as he continues to talk down to you. He'd make you count as he spanks you, starting over every time you fuck up the numbers, and only stopping once you're crying and begging him to stop, coming completely untouched just from him hitting you.

Jay:

Jay had planned to meet you at a party, unable to have picked you up himself, but fuck did he regret it. You were in the shortest skirt you owned, hanging around all of his friends as they stared shamelessly at you. He was apoplectic. He immediately grabbed you by your wrists dragging you to the bathroom as he locked the door before forcing you onto your knees. "You wanna act like a fucking slut, showing your ass off to those dickheads?.. Huh? Is that what you want?"

He'd force his dick into your mouth, fucking your throat as a means of punishment. You're gagging and moaning around him, tears stinging in your eyes as he fucks into your mouth relentlessly. His hands find purchase against your scalp, tugging hard on your hair as he cums, making you swallow because "good sluts always swallow." After using you he'd leave you wet and horny for the remainder of the party, waiting until you get home to fucking ruin you.

Jake:

Jake loves when you wear short skirts, but not in front of his friends. His best friend had been staying with you guys for the week and day by day, your outfits got more and more revealing. Jake had reached his final straw when he came home to find you laying on the couch, ass up in your shortest skirt. The fact that his friend could've seen you like this at any given moment had him fuming. He immediately dragged you to your bed room, tossing you onto the bed. "Are you trying to piss me the fuck off? My friend stays with us and now you're acting like your cunt is free?.. You're mine and you need to get that through your head."

You'd feign ignorance at his words, only angering him further. Rather than arguing he decides to fuck some sense into you, slowing his hips whenever you grow near climax. He's enjoying watching you fall apart with the need to cum, and you're whining and moaning, begging him to do so. He spends over an hour edging you until you're crying out an apology and begging him to let you cum.

Sunghoon:

Sunghoon would let you wear your shortest skirt, knowing that you were going to be at a party with a bunch of other preying men. He knows how horny you get when you're drunk, so he waits, letting you whore yourself around, giggling with any guy who shows you attention. Once he's worked himself up enough, he drags you back to his car, driving you home.

"Did you have your fun? Acting like a goddamn slut?.. I'm surprised you didn't let anyone else fuck that pretty pussy of yours. It wouldn't have taken much effort with skimpy ass skirt you're wearing." He doesn't even let you talk once you're inside, he makes you sit on his face, his hands gripping your thighs as he sucks and licks at your clit. He's tugging you closer the more you squirm, wanting to pleasure you until it's unbearable. He continues lapping at your perforation no matter how many times you cum. He doesn't stop until you're crying and begging him to, and he still fucks you dumb afterwards.

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alchemistc · 2 months

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Oh, those prompts are so good! If you’re inspired, either 21. listening to someone’s heartbeat or 23. wearing someone’s clothes for Buck/Tommy? Thank you!

He's so fucking tired, is the thing. He's tired, and he's cranky, and this shift had taken ages to end, so when he sees the slash of bright bright blue bleeding out of his duffle and knows immediately what it is, something soft and achy blooms in his chest, and he ignores the subtle eyebrow from Lucy when he pulls it out.

The problem is she's seen Evan in this sweatshirt, less than a week ago when he'd dragged everyone out to trivia, when they'd all been well rested and happy to pepper Evan with stories about Tommy and the more sedate hijinks that Harbor station gets up to. Tommy ignores her look and shrugs it over his shoulders, dragging his head through the neck hole and not minding too much when the hood goes crooked, half stuck in his hair as he gets a wash of pleasant smells - Evan's aftershave, the detergent he uses, a hint of musk, Christ, he'd tucked it in to Tommy's bag unwashed like he knew exactly how much Tommy would want that.

Tommy does his level best not to look like he's huffing glue as he adjusts the hood around the back of his neck.

Donato bites her lip. Sighs, heavily. "Did you steal that, or are you guys in the part of the courting ritual where you do this exhausting shit on purpose just to point out how single the rest of us are?"

Tommy sends a half-hearted glare her way, gets another whiff of aftershave and tries his absolute hardest not to sigh like a lovelorn idiot. He's maybe half successful.

"You are choosing to be single. You have a great guy who'd absolutely love to lock you down, Donato." Tommy stuffs his hands into the front pocket and cocks a hip, and Donato frowns.

"He likes me too much. Don't trust it."

His huff of laughter cuts through the quiet of the locker room. "Hate to break it to you, Luce, but you kinda gotta open yourself up to the possibility of someone enjoying your company, if you want a glimpse at annoying, exhausting, stupid relationship shit."

"I'm trying to mock you, not get relationship advice from your domestically blissed ass."

It's not the first time someone has pointed out Tommy's supposed blissful status, but his body and his mind are so fucking tired and there are apparently, if Evan's last text is to be believed, a couple good cuts of steak seasoned and waiting for Tommy to fire up the grill at home. Which means there is also a man waiting for him there, too, a man with seemingly limitless energy and pockets of technically useless information, a man with silver-cast blue eyes and a birthmark over his brow that Tommy wants to bite every time he catches a glimpse of it out of the corner or his eye, a man he'd given his spare key months too soon just because he liked the idea of coming home to him, liked the idea of him creeping in while Tommy was passed out across his bed or shifting tools around in his garage or -

"Ugh. Gross. I'm leaving, now, tell Buck I said hi."

Tommy isn't actually sure he's going to do that, because he's just realized something that takes precedent, and no offense to Lucy, but she's already wormed her way into one of Evan's defining relationship moments and he's not giving her this one.

He waves her off and shoots Evan a text to let him know he's on his way.

Going home right away doesn't feel right, actually, now that he's thinking about it. He should get flowers, or - maybe learn a foreign language. How much Spanish have Christopher and Eddie taught Evan? Does Jee have some event he could crash?

(Tommy would like to point out that while he hasn't quite said it in words, he's not exactly upset about the way he and Evan are maybe a little batshit insane about each other. If Evan doesn't have any complaints, he's not going to put a damper on it, either.)

The drive home gives him enough time to talk himself down from hiring a skywriter, his cab awash in the scent of the armor-all Evan had spilled in it last week when he got distracted from 'helping' Tommy clean, the hints of scent from the hoodie that's maybe a little tight around the shoulders but still a perfect fit. For him. For Tommy.

Fuck. He should at least get the flowers.

Tommy makes himself keep driving. He's delirious with exhaustion, actually, that's why he keeps overthinking this, there's a steak dinner and a beautiful man waiting for him at home and Evan had probably gotten flowers at the market anyway. Because he does that, constantly, to the point that Tommy had run out of vases to keep them all in.

Tommy sits in the cab once he pulls in and tries hard not to romanticize the idea of Evan's Jeep looking right at home in the spot next to his.

Evan greets him at the door with a wide grin, a spoon in one hand, the other held under it to keep from spilling. "Taste," he says as a greeting, and Tommy opens his mouth more for the pleasure of seeing Evan's eyes light than any expectation for what's being put there.

Cucumber, vinegar, dill - he moans around the mouthful and barely chews before he swallows, suddenly intent to get his mouth on Evan's mouth. His duffle lands in the entryway with a thunk and he gets two hands into the hem of Evan's shirt, intent on tugging him in. "Hi," he says, and swallows whatever greeting Evan tries to return.

When they come up for air Tommy's pulse is racing, Evan is breathing heavily, and he's pretty sure there is a spoon tucked into his back pocket, left there when Evan slung his arm back to get a handful of Tommy's ass.

"Hi," he says, finally, eyes lingering on the neckline of the jacket he'd snuck into Tommy's bag.

The significance of the moment finally catches up to Tommy - the memory something Tommy sometimes falls back on when he gets too in his head about where this is going - stumbling through the emergency room doors with the leers of exhausted firefighters echoing in his ears, Evan a vision in blue (this blue) barely letting him get an apology out before trying to eat his face off in front of three amused nurses.

"Hey," Tommy says, feeling the day just slough off of him. His left hand has tucked itself neatly between Evan's impressive pectorals, and he contemplates, for a moment, just saying fuck it to the steaks and shoving him back until he can press Evan to his sheets, blanket himself atop him, press his cheek there instead of his hand and listen to the steady beat.

Evan blinks back at him, his eyes doing something unbearably sweet, and Tommy has to tell him, he really, absolutely does, only -

"I'm in love with you," Evan says, laughing a little breathlessly once the words are out, hands pressing in at Tommy's waist, a sort of wondrous expression leaking in around his smile lines.

Tommy should maybe feel like the wind has been ripped from his sails, but the fever-pitch beat of his heart won't let him.

"Y-you don't have to, like, say it back. I just. God I like you so much but I'm also - I love you," he repeats, or amends, or - there's something settled, in his expression, like just saying it was enough, like he doesn't expect Tommy to feel the same.

Tommy waits a beat. Slides the hand on his chest up over the rasp of his end-of-day stubble, thumbing the crook of his chin, fingers dancing over his cheekbone. "Evan," he says, sounding a little breathless, which should be embarrassing but Tommy doesn't care, and Evan's gaze catches and holds as he waits for whatever Tommy has to say next

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #send me a prompt!#inbox games

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erenthology · 11 months

Text

Eren Jaeger x reader (drabble)

‘Did it hurt?”

you turn to meet his eyes, confused by his question. “What? it felt goo-“

“When you fell from heaven.” he laughs at his own joke. “God, Eren you’re so tacky.” you say, pushing his body from yours. “Girls love it.”

There’s the reminder you needed. “right. So I’m heading out.” His whole body turns, “where are you going?” raising an eyebrow, trying to pull you back into bed. “I have plans.” you turn from his grip and start looking for your underwear.

He stands up and and puts his jeans on, “with who?” his tone makes you falter a bit. He’s never cared about more than how far you’d let him go in bed. At least he’s never given any clear indication.

You hesitate putting your clothes on for a second before answering. “Just meeting a friend”

“And who’s this ‘friend’?” He’s standing right behind you now which makes you jump. “Jesus, Eren. you can’t creep up behind me like that.” He stands unaffected, waiting for your reply.

“Just helping a guy from my class with our chem exam.” He laughs without any indication of humor. “You’re kidding, right?”

You feel the tension rising and do your best to avoid it, like you always do. “I’m tutoring, dude. Let it go.”

“I just fucked you senseless into my madress and you’re about to meet another guy?” he doesn’t even know why he’s raising his voice. He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at himself for not having the guts to claim you as his.

Some people would call Eren arrogant, greedy, well, he kinda has the right to be. As the captain of the hockey team, he’s used to getting that he wants. that, and his looks. Flashing what he’s been told is a ‘very charming smile’ usually has him set for anything he wants.

Thing is, he wants you, and he thought he made it clear. I mean, are that blind to his advances? Other guys should know you’re off the market. He’s kinda made sure everyone knows. Except you apparently

The moment he raised his voice, regret filled his heart upon seeing your face. He feels he can’t stop messing up but the though of you meeting another man at when you’re giving of indications of being mad at him, is scary.

“Are you jealous?” You inquire, wanting to understand him. “I’m not jealous! It’s just..you’re mine.” even he looks confused as he says it.

You scoff at this, “you’re not my boyfriend, you have no right.” Maybe he doesn’t like the reminder.

He blocks the door with his body as you’re trying to exit. Frustrated, you sigh. “What are you doing? move.” you say, taking a step forward. “No.” he sternly says and means it. You bring your hand to slap him but he grabs it.

“We’re just fucking, right? so let me go, Eren. Let me go!” You struggle but his athlete body has no issue keeping up against you. “Don’t say that. you’re more than that to me.” At this, you stop fighting against him, looking anywhere but his face.

“I’m sorry.” You’re taken aback when he slumps his head on your shoulder. “I shouldn’t have mentioned other girls. It was a bad joke.” You feel heat rising in your face. “What are you talking ab-

“Stop. You know exactly what I’m talking about.” he exhales.

“I don’t unde-“

“you know I like you.” he interrupts, looking exhausted. You feel a lump in your throat and hate yourself for it. “How Eren? you never show me.” your voice breaks as you say it.

“I never show you? he almost laughs. “We spend every living moment together, I chase after you like a goddamn dog, god [name] how could you not see how infatuated I am with you?” he’s breathing heavily now.

Maybe you have been ignoring his advances. Maybe actions speak louder than words, or maybe, this is exactly what you’ve been waiting for.

“Mentioning other girls did upset me.” you decide to admit. This is your way of showing him you like him too, and he understands it perfectly.

“Yeah?” he smiles and you return the favor. “Yeah.”

“Want me to tell you how I jerk off to you and only you? Cuz I can get pretty romantic you know.” he pretends to be serious. Breaking out in laughter, “You can’t let a good moment pass, can you Eren?”

“Huh? wait, I can go into detail, I usually imagine you on to-“ you slap your hand over hush mouth. “Hush.”

He feels relief that you’re not upset anymore. Draping his hand over your shoulder, dragging you back in to his room. “You know, you look pretty hot when you’re angry.”

You deadpan, letting him go on. Eren explains everything so passionately, it takes a while getting used to. “I’m being for real. It’s hot when you talk back to me. Every time I look at you, you somehow turn even more beautiful.” he says in all seriousness, making you turn your face away from his in embarrassment.

he threads his fingers through yours, “don’t look away.” he murmurs, breathing you in through your neck, using his free hand to push your hips closer to his.

“I like it when you say stuff like that.” you confess, making him smile in your neck, scattering soft kisses up your jawline. “Then I’ll keep saying them.” He pulls back and thinks all the ways you make him fall into pieces, of the unsaid words he’ll make sure to tell you.

You carefully lift up your tangled hands and leave kisses up his wrist, taking initiative giving him the eyes. He lifts his face and locks eyes with you, message received.

Grabbing your jaw, he whispers, “wanna get fucked?” and you nod, teeth sinking into your lower lip.

Playlist

He runs his hand down his chest and twirls his finger in the air, “turn around for me, gorgeous.” You comply and make sure to graze your ass against his zipper, his eyes follow the movement and the air suddenly feel thicker.

“You’re a little tease, aren’t you?” sweeping your hair away from your back. He makes sure to take a mental photo when you turn your face back and smirk. You’re going to be the end of him.

“Strip.”

And so you do while his fingers trail from your neck down your lower back, until it’s playing in between your legs, “Jesus christ, this pussy.” His boner is prominent against you back as firmly holds you against him by your hipbone.

Wasting no time, he stops himself from making you come on his fingers and leaves a trail of wetness on your skin as his hands move away.

“You’re so wet, [name]. Do you like it when I touch you?” he’s being condescending. You hear his clothes hit the floor and excitement rushes through you. “I like it.” you exclame.

Taking a fistful of your hair, he brings his face into yours, capturing your lips with a promise. “Gonna fuck you so hard, baby.”

He pushes you onto the mattress and positions himself on top, locking his fingers into your hips. His touch is so rough, branding you as his. A slow grind of him entering you leaves you breathless, the stabbing pain of his size lasting for only a second before the rhythmical plunging of his cock turn into pleasure.

You lie weightless as his skin slaps against you, spreading warmth from inside out. He grabs onto the headboard and pushes even deeper, increasing the tension of pleasure with every stroke. It’s too much, you could swear he’s in your belly. Releasing a shriek, you squirm away, overwhelmed by pleasure. He grabs your chin abruptly, “you’re gonna take it.”

Running your hand down your belly, you stop to show him. “can feel you.” you breathe. His eyes follow your movement and the moments he realizes what you mean, he lets out the sluttiest grown and pummels into you with everything he has.

“fuck, fucking love fucking you.”

Throaty moans leave your mouth as he claims every inch of your body. He lifts your legs higher and leaves kisses along your foot. “Tell me who you belong to.” staring deep into your eyes, leaving you no place to hide.

“Y-you.” you hiccup as the force of his hips rutting into yours, moves your entire body. He holds you down, massaging your skin with rough hands. A pleased hum leaves his throat, “Yeah, and I don’t like sharing.”He’s so arrogant.

“Harder.” you plead, pushing your hands against his steel back muscles. A whistle leaves him and his face explodes into a grin, “a real freak aren’t you?”

You give him a lustful smile and he immediately obliges your demand and rocks his hips into yours even harder, skin to skin. Keeping his eyes on you to make sure you’re okay.

The way your eyes roll to the back of head head as you start touching yourself is indication enough for him. Each touch of his pelvic increases the friction against your clit . Your pussy is tightening up, spasming around his jock. And you feel his cock jerk inside you.

No words are needed, you both know each others bodies inside out. You come first and he gathers you in his arms as you scream and writhe beneath him, “shh, baby. It’s okay. so proud of you.” he whispers all tenderly, running his palms up and down your sides as you continue to pump his cock, making him release.

His head rears back as his cock jerks inside of you, spurting his cum into the latex barrier in between you. The high of coming together is like nothing else, his fist in your scalp and your hands scratching every inch of him you can reach.

As you both calm down, your rough markings on his abdomen turn into soothing touches while he inspect every inch of his handprints on your body. You’re a match to his flame, and he has no intention of letting you go.

“Staying the night?” he asks intentionally, this feels like a deciding moment between you two. “mhm,” you hum, “but just because your shirts are comfortable to sleep in.” you say, slyly.

Yeah right. “Had no intention of letting you leave anyway” he admits and gets up, throwing away the condom and begins picking out a shirt for you to wear. It already feels empty without him inside you.

“Hey, did you really have someone to tutor?” he asks, snapping you away from your thoughts.

“Yeah, why?” you answer thoughtlessly, making Eren snicker, “well you should probably let him know you’re not coming by now,” he reminds you.

“Oh shit.” you jump towards your phone and he just laughs, smacking your ass.

“best ass in the world.”

#I honestly have no idea what this is but enjoy!💕#it’s just a drabble guys #💋#this is very standard of me but I haven’t read through it..pardon any mistakes #night #eren smut #attack on titan eren #eren #eren jeager x reader #eren aot #eren fanfiction #eren jaeger #just in the clouds for eren #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #my works #eren fics #anime smut #reader x character

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whatbigotspost · 4 months

Text

I’m gonna start coining tumblr specific cognitive biases and logical fallacy terms…here’s the first ones I’ve theorized so far. (I’m using “actor” here meaning “the person, acting out the fallacy or bias for us all to see.”)

1. The unique contribution fallacy—reading a post of over 10k notes and the actor thinks of something they surmise is very clever to add. The actor imagines themselves to be the first special unique soul to contribute this add, when OP has actually received this “clever” comment 5000 times of those 10,000 notes driving OP up the wall.

2. The whataboutism bias— reading a post on any given particular topic, and believing that OP should say every single thing that you could possibly say about that topic under said single post. The actor doesn’t know they have a personal agenda on the topic and expects OP would have that same bias to talk about the side of the given topic that correlates to the actor’s personal bias, instead of allowing OP to be somebody who just writes what they wanted to write. This often works in tandem with…

3. The TLDR bias— seeing a post that is actually extremely long and thoroughly well written, often times with sources, numerous added threads of detail etc. but the actor doesn’t actually read the content of the FULL post. Then, in reblogging it or commenting on it, “adding” something that OP definitely originally said, and revealing oneself as somebody who doesn’t even read the detailed things that they re-blog or add on comments about.

3. The literal URL fallacy— not understanding the total chaos that is the Tumblr URL, in this fallacy the actor thinks that someone’s username is ALWAYS telling you exactly what the content of their blog might be. I’ll illustrate this one in like a totally random example way… Let’s say that you hypothetically made a blog that was all about calling out bigots back in the days of yore, the early twenty teens. And yet somehow, despite the fact that every other user around you seems to not be taken literally by their URLs, the actor decides that everything that you post is therefore bigotry…….even if what you’re posting is your own original content that you’re writing, calling out bigots. Too bad, so sad! Because in this fallacy, the actor is going to see you as what your URL says, literally, always.

4. The missed URL fallacy— this of course is the exact opposite of number three. It is where a blog has a very particular theme and format to it, that is the most important thing you can notice to understand the context of a post. So, again, just a random example here… But let’s just say that the intent of a blog is to always post submitted weird ass dreams people had, but the actor doesn’t realize this in their relogging and thinks that somebody is reporting a real life situation that was definitely, very specifically a wild fever dream.

5. The throw the baby out with the bathwater bias— a fan favorite among left leaning and social justice corners of the site, this bias is when the actor reads a post where somebody doesn’t use the most optimal, virtue signaling language for them personally, so the actor ignores the whole entire point of the post. It could be something as serious as and attention demanding as genocide, but somebody uses a word like “crazy” or “stupid” or “bitch” in it and so the actor’s worldview and general proclaimed values are casually tossed aside because the language that was used to deliver it was not “perfect.”

6. The choose your own reality bias—The actor reads a post and reblogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post and definitely not anything in the realm of what OP was talking about. Close cousin to…

7. The this is definitely about me/self-own fallacy— this one is actually one of my favorites to spot out in the wild because it is SUCH a tell. It is like a slightly more specific version of the “choose your own reality bias” but this is when the actor reads a post and blogs it, adding commentary that is responding to things that are definitely not said in the original post as if OP is talking about them personally, and therefore revealing themselves as potentially shady or suspect in someway because why did they make it about them, if it’s not about them, you know?

8. The zombie post fallacy—in this one, the actor most likely does not have time stamps enabled on their dash because that isn’t something that happens here by default, and this site has a higher presence of zombie posts (by the way its designed and how it functions) than any other social media site I know. So when a zombie post from 2011 shambles across their dash in 2024, they react to that content as if it is completely new and relevant information or news or a situation to be dealt with in the modern era.

What needs added?

#tumblr shit #cognitive bias #logical fallacies #this is part joke part real 😂

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qqueenofhades · 7 months

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Do you have any idea why people are so fixated on Biden’s age but not Trumps? I know he’s 81, but Trump isn’t exactly far behind at 77: in fact he’s the second oldest. This keeps stumping me: it’s not a big gap in age

There are a few reasons for this, yes. As you might imagine, all of them are very stupid.

First and most critically is the way Trump's violent extremism has been completely neutered, mainlined, and normalized by the mainstream media. That's why we still have said media largely treating this as a normal presidential election, instead of that of a successful incumbent against literally the most deranged, unfit, treasonous, criminally and civilly liable, already-led-an-attempted-coup, deep-in-hock-to-Russia, adjudicated rapist, 91-felony-counts-indicted career cheater, grifter, and failed businessman who nonetheless appeals to the still-very-powerful isolationist, racist, white supremacist, and Christian nationalist elements in this country. Crucially, he also appeals to the billionaire class that owns the media and who will benefit from Trumpian tax, economic, and labor policies (especially now that Biden used the SOTU to once more call for a minimum 25% corporate/billionaire tax rate). The media also openly wants Trump back in office, as all the shitass insane things he did (and will do) are good for ratings, and allows them to act like the Principled Truth Tellers, instead of shilling so hard for a greasy orange fascist that we may well lose our 250+ year old democratic republic if he, God forbid, is elected again. Profit is more, well, profitable than truthful reporting, so the media has been completely disincentivized to cover this in any accurate way. We presume they will all wake up with shocked Pikachu faces when Trump packs them off to concentration camps with everyone else he hates, as he has openly promised to do.

Because we're also starting from an underlying premise that everything is the Democrats' fault, this means the party should be blamed for running said successful incumbent for reelection, even if he has low poll numbers which have in fact largely been produced by the media's relentlessly stupid and dishonest coverage. I was reading an article in the AP today about how 15 major student/youth groups have endorsed Biden and plan to work for his reelection; even so, the author could.not.stop going on and on about how Zomgz Old Biden was and how supposedly most Americans thought he was mentally unfit for the job (which is a straight-up lie produced by the endless "Zomgz Biden Old!!!!" handwringing have been subjected to without end. Weird how that works). That is also why we have all those idiotic "Biden should step down!!!" opinion pieces by Very Smart Pundits, notwithstanding the fact that a) it would be completely insane, b) it would be completely insane, and c) somehow nobody seems to think that hey, maybe the Republicans shouldn't nominate an openly seditionist generally god-awful fascist shitweasel who has already been the worst thing to happen to American politics in the twenty-first century (I'd say also the twentieth century, but unfortunately that was when we had Reagan).

In other words, Trump is just taken as a given, while the media spends all its time attacking Biden, calling on Biden to step down, amplifying "concerns" about Biden's age, producing idiotic narratives about Biden, distorting or ignoring the things Biden has done, and then writing concern-troll navel-gazing pieces earnestly wondering why people don't like Biden. (Apparently people's opinion of Biden drastically improves when they learn what he's actually accomplished, but the relentless parade of lies somehow makes it difficult for them to learn what those actually are. Again, weird.) Likewise the endless coverage we get of Biden's smallest slips or stumbles, while the media resolutely ignores Trump's full-on recent descent into absolute raving dementia. Hello, double standards!

This is also fueled by a heaping helping of racism and misogyny, because if God forbid Biden does die in office, what happens? The vice president takes over! We have a clear and constitutionally established precedent for this that has happened many times before! Except, oh no scary!!!, Biden's vice president is a brown woman, and that means SHE WOULD BE IN CHARGE!!!! TERRIFYING!!! So all the scaremongering around Biden's age, aside from being generally dishonest and stupid, has as its implicit message that sure, maybe you're fine voting for an old white man, but are you really comfortable doing that if it means a brown woman might also have the chance to be president?? I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD BE!!!!!

Anyway, yes. It's a complete straw man argument, it's fueled by bad faith and stupidity, and as with most things in the current American media environment, it's geared toward helping Trump win. Because you know. Something something BUT HER EEEEEEEEEEEEMAILS BUT BIDEN WAS OOOOOOOOOOOOLD.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

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acearohippo · 3 months

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What do you mean by Shen Jiu being female-coded? /genq

Hello! To preface, in a lot of fandom spheres calling any cis gendered character "[gender]-coded" tends to be negative, usually to highlight poor writing or usage of harmful stereotypes, i.e., male-coded women being arrogant and demeaning to other women or female-coded men being sensitive and the butt of jokes among other men. However, there are instances where it is done and, rather than promote negative gender stereotypes it rather... Emphasises a masculine and feminine natures that resonate with people.

I am not always good with words, but there is [gender]-coded that is basically thinly veiled sexism and there is [gender]-coded that is simply nature. Think along the terms of pre Christian colonialism, where many cultures and religions have masculine energy and feminine energy defined outside of biological gender.

I see SJ as female coded because of how the fandom reacts/reacted to him. We don't got a lot of info on him, canon wise, at least not without heavy (and unreliable) bias. But there is a stark difference to how fandom treats him compared to the other men in the story.

And I don't mean in the sense of "he deserved what he got/he deserved so much better" discourse that surrounds him, but how fandom understands him.

Depending on where you fall, the degree of SJ's childhood trauma could range from demeaning slavery with a historically usual amount of abuse and demands to underage sexual abuse and torture. Regardless, the common thread is that men have control over his autonomy. Men (and nobility) dictate what he does, how he dresses, what he will receive, and how others percieve him. This is something SJ does not escape, even when he becomes a Peak Lord, although the degree has lessened by this time. He fails not just because of his actions, but due to the words and judgement of people who only see him on surface level and, thus, scrutinise his every action as "evidence" to their preconceived judgement.

And boy does fandom run with this!

And it makes sense because, a huge portion of danmei demographics are women... Women who understand all too well the dangers a negative statement can have on their livlihood.

This is why Shen Jiu is female coded, to me. Qui Jianluo, Wu Yanzi, Yue Qingyuan, Luo Binghe, even Shen Yuan, etc etc all, in some way, have taken his autonomy. QJL and WYZ did it with their abuse and power over him, YQY did it by undermining him and placating him (while allowing the bad rumours and his bad behaviours to persist), LBH through his revenge (literally crippled him), Shen Yuan quite literally takes over his body and has no regard for its treatment for most of the story.

In fandom, I think its telling that Qi Qingqi, Mu Qingfan, and Liu Qingge also feature as a prominent antaongist that contribute to Shen Jiu's abysmal reputation. Unfortunately, the three kinds of people women should feel protected by and safe with- other women, doctors, and those who uphold justice- are some of the main contributors to the problems they face. They aren't taken seriously, they're ostracised or put down, they're ignored or labeled as over emotional.

Its also telling that, for most fanfics/discussions/art/etc where Shen Jiu is "redeemed" or given a second chance, the main reason why he suceeds is because others listen to him. They let him have a voice and respect it. He is able to advocate for himself and not be torn down or turned away. And if he is, usually there's a man that stands by his side and acts as the "ally" or "bridge" that gets people taking him seriously.

Or, him being attached to a well-respected man is enough for people to change their opinions. Fandom can't help but reflect real life in their works.

So, with all that being said... I understand that there's going to be people who think this is a "bad take" because I rely so heavily on how the fandom portrays Shen Jiu, and that's fine. There will always be Bible-thumpers in every piece of media we consume, and they're here for good reason. But I consume stories for the feelings they evoke and the influence they have on others. People make connections, that's just what we do, and this is the connection I made.

#the hippo responds #this is my reminder that I gotta change my inbox messagw #i actually do not repond to all #my anxiety spike every time someone converses with me is evidence of that #this post is not open to debate #someone asked me for my opinion and i gave it #this is not me speaking on facts #i apologise this took several months to respond to #idek if anon remembers asking me this #svsss #shen jiu #original shen qingqiu #shen jiu is the best because he only has like 3 canon appearances #and still managed to score a high fandom following #it helps that most of his intrigue is based on what he could've been #aka original draft sqq

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saphfix · 6 days

Text

THE ART OF WINNING

01. WINNER’S MENTALITY

“WHEN YOU HEAR THE PHRASE WINNER’S MENTALITY, WHAT IS THE FIRST THING THAT COMES TO MIND?”

“Uh…” Anastasia nervously laughs, her mind shooting to one specific moment in her life. “Pretty much being told at sixteen years old that I wasn’t good enough, and never would be good enough.”

The interviewer nods, signaling for Anastasia to continue on. She shifts uncomfortably before clearing her throat to continue.

“Getting invited to USA Basketball was my dream come true. For a young basketball player—even for older basketball players—it feels like a rite of passage, a message to yourself that you’ve made it.”

Anastasia fiddles with her hands, the memory flooding back to her. “And that was the case for me, except, it didn’t take very long at all for it to end up becoming my worst nightmare instead.”

MAY 25TH, 2017

OLYMPIC TRAINING CENTER

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

The first day jitters were not wearing off. All day long they’ve seemed to have only gotten worse. It amazed Anastasia how people could connect with one another so easily.

One person in specific, Paige Bueckers, had everyone’s attention. The girl was already a well-known name, and was as close as a 15 year old could be to a professional.

But what really intrigued Anastasia about her was her charisma. How she managed to form friendships with some of the other girls who were also trying out in just a span of hours.

It took Anastasia years to connect with her highschool teammates back home, and she still isn’t nearly as close to any of them as they are with each other.

She watched on alone in the corner of the cafeteria, sliding her food around her plate in circles. Paige on the other hand, somehow had a full table of girls surrounding her, every single one of them laughing and reacting to whatever show she was currently putting on.

It was never that easy for Anastasia, and she fears it never will be.

When practice resumed, she instantly felt much better. That’s the beauty of a basketball court, when you’re on it everyone is the same, at least to a certain extent. It’s safe to say there are levels to it all, just like everything else in this world. Some people turn into an entirely different person when they step onto the laminated wood, but Anastasia doesn’t have that switch. It’s the thing that sets her apart from everyone else.

She’s static, always the same.

After returning to the bench for a group rotation, Anastasia was quick to notice the body language of the girl seated next to her. As soon as she sat down, the girl slightly turned away, as if Anastasia disgusted her or something.

Anastasia ignored it, wondering if she was thinking too much of it. That is until she realizes the girl seemed to be itching to tell her something.

“Do you have something to say—”

Almost immediately the girl cuts her off. “You’re too tense.” She says.

“Too tense?” Anastasia responds, taken aback. She screws the lid to her water bottle closed before setting it down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The girl never once looks in Anastasia’s direction, her eyes glued to the court. “When you’re bringing the ball up, you’re too tense, that’s why your shots not falling. You’re also not releasing them quick enough given your power is unbalanced throughout your whole body.”

Anastasia stares in disbelief. Her audacity is mind blowing.

“It should be effortless, a more fluid motion.” She continues on. “You should use more of the strength in your legs because right now, you look like you have a stick up your ass.”

“Excuse me?” Anastasia finally asks. It was almost scary how she was saying all of this with a straight face. She really meant every word leaving her lips, leaving Anastasia feeling more insecure than ever.

The whistle blows, meaning the next group was being rotated in. The girl stands to her feet, finally looking in Anastasia’s direction. “Just watch.”

And though Anastasia is still fuming with all the words she was ready to say looming around her mind, she watches. She watches as the large 223 painted across the brunettes practice jersey fades further away onto the court.

As soon as she gets ahold of the ball, she handles it like it’s not even there in her hands. She’s careless, almost too careless. You can tell by her stance, her gait, that confidence radiates off of her when she’s on the court.

She has the switch.

It almost feels like a slap in the face when she effortlessly pulls left and chucks up a 3 pointer at least five feet behind the arc, leaving her defender diving in an attempt to block. However, she comes up short, leaving Anastasia to watch in both awe and despair as it rattles in. The whistle blows faster than ever before, leaving some of the girls on the court and even some of the coaches jaw dropped.

She just ended a play in seconds without the ball ever entering anyone else’s hands.

Later that night, Anastasia found herself FaceTiming her parents, telling them about what she had seen earlier today. I mean, it was unforgettable.

In all honesty, it made her a little scared. These girls were all so good. She was starting to feel like maybe she was in over her head. That maybe making the team was just an unachievable and unrealistic dream.

“Honey, if you didn’t deserve to be there, you wouldn’t be.” Her dad comforts, the empathetic smile evident on his face.

He was always so understanding, so supportive. A far different approach from her mother, who always manages to crash the moment.

“You can’t just always live in fear.” Her mom routinely chirps up. Right on time. She always has something to counter what her father says. "Comparison kills." Her mother adds on.

“I don’t—" Anastasia begins, but sighs. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew her mom was right. She wasn't going to admit it out loud though. "It’s not living in fear or comparison to acknowledge the fact that some of these girls are better than me."

“And who says they’re better?” Her mom asks.

Anastasia chews on the inside of her cheek, staying silent. She has a point.

Her dad sighs before deciding to weigh in again. “You made it to next round with the rest of them meaning you’re just as good as they are, don’t forget that.”

Anastasia nods, her mind going back to the memory of what happened earlier. The way the girl’s eyes locked onto hers as she walked off the court, leaving Anastasia unsure if she was taunting her, or simply making sure she saw what she wanted her to see.

“Well, we love you Stas, You should get some rest." Her dad says.

“Yeah, I probably should. Love you guys too.” She says before hanging up.

MAY 26TH, 2017

58. Out of the 133 girls here yesterday, 58 remain. More than half of them were cut, leaving Anastasia feeling a little better about being invited back for day two.

Caitlin. Caitlin Clark was her name. Anastasia had finally figured it out after hearing it what felt like a million times today.

They’d been playing 5x5 all morning long, having gone through at least hundreds of different group combinations. During their break, Coach had conjured up a list of 12 assigned groups, each having what she felt was the best fit for all position combinations together.

Paige was assigned the PG for group one, Caitlin for group two, Anastasia for group three, and so on and so forth. Given there were 58 of them, each team needing five players, they were just barely short.

“We’re two short.” Coach informs everyone. “Groups 11 and 12 both need a shooting guard, any volunteers want to make this decision easy on your poor coach here?”

At first, no one says anything, everyone looking around at one another. The bystander effect was in full action.

“Don’t all jump at the opportunity at once.” Coach mumbles jokingly.

Anastasia studies both groups left, wondering if she should do it. Her mom’s words began echoing around her head. You can’t just always live in fear.

“I’ll do it.” Caitlin volunteers. Everyone now looks at Caitlin, some whispering picking up around the room.

“Shooting guard.” Coach reiterates. Caitlin shrugs, her face stoic as if she doesn’t care one bit about the minor difference in position. “Well alright.” Coach says, impressed.

“I’ll do it too.” Paige and Anastasia say at the same time. Anastasia looks over at her before stepping forward further. “I’ll do it.” She says again.

Paige throws her hands up concedingly. “Ight, you got it.”

Coach claps, satisfied at the resolved issue. “Perfect. Groups one and two are going first. Winners and losers bracket, you all should know the ropes.”

The groups dismantle, groups one and two staying on the court, the rest heading to the bleachers. Anastasia begins on her way after everyone else, before she notices footsteps following behind her.

“Why did you do that?” Caitlin asks.

“Why did I do what?” Anastasia asks continuing to walk towards the bleachers.

Caitlin grabs onto her arm, pulling her to face her. “Why did you volunteer?”

Anastasia looks down at Caitlin’s hand before snatching her arm away. “Someone had to.”

“Paige tried, you should’ve let her.”

“And why’s that?” Anastasia asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but just stay out of my way.” Caitlin threatens.

“Or what?” Anastasia asks without hesitation. Caitlin almost looks taken aback by the response. Almost. “Or what?” Anastasia repeats.

“Caitlin, come on!” Coach calls from the court.

Caitlin stares her down, before slowly turning away, lightly jogging back to the court.

What the fuck was her problem?

Anastasia finds a lone seat on the bleachers, making it her own personal mission to study every inch of Caitlin’s gameplay possible. More specifically, what she was best at, and what she was worst at.

It didn't take much time for Anastasia to pinpoint her fatal flaw. Defense. The girl couldn't play defense if her life depended on it. Actually, it wasn't that she couldn't, it was like she just didn't want to. She looked miserable whenever she didn't have the ball and it showed. Bingo.

Anastasia notes that to herself, while also making sure to study her shooting and passing patterns, which seems to be her strong suit. She will make sure she goes against Caitlin in the final match, whether it be in the winners bracket or the losers bracket. Hell, maybe even both.

Caitlin's group manages the win over Paige's group thanks to some lucky out of this world pass Caitlin managed to just barely get inside to her post player.

"Alright groups three and four next!" Coach yells out from the whiteboard while writing group one into the losers bracket and group two into the winners.

Anastasia stands up, walking her way down the bleachers. She comes into earshot of Caitlin and Paige's conversation as she walks by.

"Damn." Paige curses once they're off the court, Caitlin giving her a gentle pat to the shoulder.

"Better luck next time." Caitlin laughs. "I bet you'll kill 'em over in the losers bracket though."

Anastasia wonders what magic Paige is really working with to get into Caitlin's good graces.

Maybe Anastasia was the problem.

Anastasia meets up with her group, and they quickly go over a few potential game plans. She can still hear Caitlin and Paige's conversation continuing on behind her, their laughter and banter a little more distracting than she'd wish it to be.

Once her team decides that they've got down few good plays, they head towards the court.

"Hey, you!" Paige calls out. Anastasia contemplates turning around but doesn't, figuring there's no chance she was talking to her. "Number 120!" Paige yells out again, Anastasia freezing in her tracks. She double checks her jersey number before slowly turning around.

"You better win so you can avenge me." Paige smiles.

Caitlin shoves Paige halfheartedly, letting out a laugh. She doesn't say it very loud, but Anastasia is fairly good at reading lips, and she swears Caitlin says, "No chance."

"I got you." Anastasia yells back to Paige, Caitlin's smile immediately wiping off her face.

She was going to destroy Caitlin Clark.

“HUMILITY, CAITLIN, IT’S SOMETHING YOU FOUND HARD TO LEARN EARLY ON IN YOUR LIFE. WHAT IMPORTANCE DOES IT HOLD NOW, AND LOOKING BACK, DO YOU WISH YOU HAD MORE OF IT THEN?”

“I’ve always had humility.” Caitlin defends. “I was young, yeah. Naive, sure. A nuisance, possibly…but I was never not humble.”

“What about USA basketball, were you an asshole then?” The reporter asks.

Caitlin furrows her eyebrows, sitting up even straighter in her chair. “Asshole? What makes you ask that?”

“No reason at all, that’s just a very important staple to your story.” The reporter half lies. “Tell us about your experience there.”

“It was great.” Caitlin lies.

The reporter shakes her head, not satisfied with the answer. “The truth.”

Caitlin sighs. “It’s one of my most regretted experiences in my life, is that what you want to hear?”

MAY 26TH, 2017

Caitlin Clark felt murderous. Anastasia’s team had won, moving them further in the bracket as well. She couldn’t believe Anastasia thinks she can beat her. It was all Caitlin could think about as she watches Anastasia sit at the bottom of the bleachers all alone.

Why wasn’t she attempting to connect with anyone around her?

Paige smacks Caitlin’s shoulder. “Yo, stop staring.”

“I’m not staring.” Caitlin lies. She turns around to face Paige, who was sitting awfully close to another player, Azzi. “Do you think she’s good?” Caitlin asks.

“Well she’s here, isn’t she?” Azzi answers sarcastically.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. “You know what I meant.”

“Come on, ask what you really wanna ask.” Paige says.

“What?” Caitlin asks.

“You wanna know if we think she’s better than you.” Paige laughs.

“No.” Caitlin scoffs. “I know she’s not better than me.”

“Geez, cocky much?” Azzi asks.

“Whatever.” Caitlin’s eyes find Anastasia again, who was now stretching her arms over her head. “Why do you think she’s not talking to anyone?”

“If you wanna talk to her just say that.” Paige teases, kneeing Caitlin in the back. “Want me to call her over?”

“No—”

“What’s her name?” Paige asks Azzi, ignoring Caitlin’s pleads.

“Stop don’t—” Caitlin interjects, just to be ignored again.

Azzi smirks before cupping her hands over her mouth. “Anastasia!”

Anastasia turns around and Caitlin glares at Azzi. “Why the fuck would you do that?” Caitlin asks.

Azzi waves her over and Anastasia stands, slowly making her way over. “Because now you can talk to her!” Azzi smiles.

“I hate you.” Caitlin mutters.

“I hate you more.” Azzi replies.

“Yes?” Anastasia questions slowly once she finally reaches the three of them, a confused looks on her face.

“Sit with us!” Azzi pats the spot in front of her with her foot.

Anastasia looks at the spot, then looks at Caitlin who’s in the spot right next to it. Caitlin avoids her gaze, looking back at the court.

“Okay, I guess.” Anastasia agrees, brushing past Caitlin.

“Where you from?” Paige asks, sitting up to start the conversation.

“Michigan.”

“Oh shit no way!” Paige gawks. “Michigan is sick.”

“Have you ever even been to Michigan?” Azzi laughs.

“Man!” Paige sucks her teeth. “Now you know I live right next door to Michigan, of course I’ve been!”

“What about you guys?” Anastasia asks.

“Virginia.” Azzi answers.

“Minnesota.” Paige says with a fake midwestern accent.

Anastasia nods, letting out a small laugh. “Cool.” She glances over at Caitlin, who once again pretends she doesn’t notice. “What about you?”

“Iowa.” Caitlin deadpans.

“Iowa…that’s a first.” Anastasia says, getting a laugh out of Paige and Azzi.

“Yeah, I’m one of a kind.” Caitlin says.

“Cocky.” Azzi mutters under her breath.

“Corny.” Paige whispers at the same time. The whistle blows, and the four of them look back to the court simultaneously. “Damn group nine won?” Paige asks.

“That’s a shocker.” Azzi says.

“Not really.” Caitlin counters. “Great offense trumps anything.”

“Of course you think that.” Anastasia criticizes, standing to her feet.

“Damn Caitlin, you gon take that?” Paige instigates, receiving a smack to the shoulder from Azzi.

“Stop trying to start shit!”

Caitlin stands to her feet, sizing up Anastasia. “Nah, I’m not gonna take that, I’m just gonna let my work on the court do the talking.”

“Famous last words.” Anastasia says, pushing past Caitlin. “You’ve never come across good D like this.”

“Yo pause!” Paige laughs, receiving another smack from Azzi.

“Stop being a freak!”

“If you think you’re taking both of your teams past quarterfinals, you’re delusional.” Caitlin says from behind Anastasia.

“Do you always speak before you think?” Anastasia asks continuing on her way down the bleachers.

“I speak and think at the same time, it’s called multitasking.”

“Right.” Anastasia laughs. Once she reaches the bottom of the bleachers she turns to face Caitlin, who was still coming down. She blocks her from exiting the last step, offering her a smile. “No matter what happens out there, I want you to remember that you’re a great player.”

“What is this, reverse psychology?” Caitlin laughs, attempting to get around Anastasia.

Anastasia steps infront of her again, keeping her position. “No, it’s good sportsmanship, ever heard of it?”

“Move.” Caitlin demands.

“Good luck out there.” Anastasia says, offering Caitlin a hand. Caitlin looks down at it before pushing past her, continuing onto the court. “Hey!” Anastasia shouts up to Paige who looks down. “This is for you.”

‘THE ART OF WINNING’ MASTERLIST

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark fic #caitlin clark fanfic #caitlin clark fanfiction #caitlin clark series #indiana fever #iowa wbb #saph fics

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gale-dekarios · 3 months

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I think Gale is a touchy feely person who needs to keep his hands on the Tav whilst they make love. He's gotta believe they're real, that they're with him, that it isn't a hallucination or a dream. He strokes their hair, he plants kisses along their neck where the heartbeat is strongest, and feels their breath against his shoulder. Even the simplest act of fingering or stroking them is a way to know they're truly in front of him. Tasting their arousal just to have evidence of their existence. He loves knowing that this is his newfound life. His new purpose. His new reason to live and not give up so easily as he almost had. Mystra wanted him to die for her. Tav wanted him to live for himself. So forgive him if he constantly needs the littlest of reminders to know Tav is truly real, and not just a hopeful dream.

retrospective edit: hi im charlie and welcome to my tedtalk. 50/50 on whether or not any of this makes sense, because i did in fact pop 9mg (prescribed) sleeping aides a half hour before writing this, so i could wake up tomorrow and realise this was all gibberish. or maybe not! i should not be the judge of that rn

regardless of how you or your character feels about the line, i truly believe that gale believes that tav/his romantic partner is a god/dess, and it's the things like this that cement it for me.

when you think about it, (traditional) worship is very much devoting your life to a diety, and receiving some benefit back, which could really be a range of things from feeling comforted and secure about your place in the world, to moreso your clerics with actual divine gifts bestowed upon them, to chosen, like gale, who, (at least in his case) gets to kind of... tap into the wellspring of that god's domain and understand it more than any other mortal could.

this type of devotion is even purer than his devotion to mystra. the reason being is that whilst i dont believe gale ever was devoted to mystra for nefarious self-serving purposes, it would be remiss to gloss over that he did enjoy certain luxuries that he wouldnt have if he wasnt so close to his goddess, and whilst tav offers a lot more than mystra ever could both emotionally and in the service to him living an actually good and normal enriched life, this doesnt translate to any practical benefit that could compare to a literal deity -- (clumsily worded, but again, in this case im referring more to endless knowledge and immense mastery over the weave and recognition of status among his peers rather than curling up on the couch companionably).

which is to say -- i promise there's a point -- a tav, in all of their mortalness, that gale truly worships, with all of his devotion (which is a lot, he practised), must be very special for him indeed.

so gale gets ""nothing"" in return for the same if not a higher level of devotion than he ever shows mystra (i mean, when it literally comes down to it, he completely ignores her, an actual literal goddess's, direct orders bc you asked him to, so theres no doubt who wins that particular fight.) BUT -- and this is the point that i promised -- the real clincher here is that tav ASKS for nothing. well, again, not in the way that a deity asks for something. a deity asks a devotee to give them their life, what tav asks for is that gale HAS his life to do with what he chooses, and for that, gale chooses tav.

devotion, with gale and tav, is both freely given, but also freely taken. not selfishly, but in acceptance. gale had no choice, really, but to follow mystra's orders, but he followed tav anyway. how does that make tav anything less than a deity? that level of blind faith? tav accepting gale's devotion by virtue of just loving him is such a beautifully mundane piece of godhood, and comparing that to something as shallow as the ambition mystra offered is like comparing night and day.

so of course gale treats tav like he caught lightning in a bottle. he spent his whole life in the service to a goddess, devoting his whole life for the celestial equivalent of breadcrumbs -- as awesome (and i use that word as its original meaning) as godly power can be, nothing that was ever given to him truly cost mystra any real exertion -- but with tav, there is no expectation of exchange, only the full weight of one man's worship, and that is what would cause gale to treat them like an illusion. of course it does. gods that ask for nothing but for you to do the things that are in your best interest are not a thing. but tav does exactly that. how wonderful is that? how pure is that? is there truer devotion? so unmarred by any external benefit?

touching divinity is something that gale's had the extraordinary luck of having twice, but that does not make those experiences equal. his deity, that allows him to run his hands through their hair, to kiss their eyelids, and yes, indeed to also have desperate, sweaty, mortal sex with, without ever once asking for anything in return except that he remain whole and healthy? by fucking god will he make sure this is real.

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lemonandlime22 · 2 years

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Hiya! Hope you having a wonderful day! I was wondering if you'd be willing to do more of NRC's resident gremlin, Bitey Child Yuu? Maybe how whoever you want figured out WHY the gremlin bites people? Might be fun. Feel free to ignore this if you're not interested. ANYWAYS, I hope you're having a fantabulous day!

The first people who find out the reason for the bitey child!Yuu's biteynes

Warning(s): Long as hell, not edited, cussing

Word count (since I guess this kinda counts as a fic too?): 2.7k

A/N: This too far longer to do than it should have i am so sorry but I hope you enjoy! did i do this all in two nights after putting it off for months? ....you cant prove shit

[Bitey child!Yuu Masterlist]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grim

You and Grim have always had a lot more in common than either of you really knew,

neither of you has any family

both of you grew up taking care of yourself

and both grew up on the streets with little food.

When Grim first learned of your habit, he just thought it was funny,

he didn't judge you nor did he care why you did it at the time

I mean, he often used his fire against people so he really has no room to talk.

It wasn't until around the end of book 2 that he started to learn more about his little roomie.

Grim was exhausted, after Leona's overblot earlier that day he wanted nothing more than to wrap up in the old dusty blanket the two of you shared. But he couldn't do that without you- not that he'd ever willingly admit it, but he had gotten used to sleeping with your small arms wrapped around him and he quite enjoyed it- but that's not the point.

He has no clue where you are, he walked with you into Ramshackle a little while ago but hasn't seen you since. With a defeated sigh he stomped back into your shared room having given up looking for you and decided to just suck it up and try and sleep...

sniff

...

sniff

Carefully opening his eyes, Grim looked around the room to try and find the source of the sniffling. He nearly started crying out himself when he realized the quiet weeping was coming from under the bed. The last thing he was expecting to see under the bed when he eventually gathered the courage to look, was his young companion curled in on themself, their small form shaking either from the crying or maybe due to the constant chill that always lingered in the poorly insulated house, perhaps it was both.

"Hey, kid-" even though he kept his voice to a whisper he still managed to startle the small human. "...um...you alright..?" There was a twinge of guilt in Grim that he couldn't ignore when he saw their messy face.

You didn't answer, only staring at the firey creature, with big eyes that shined bright with the reflection of Grim's flams and a messy wet face. He never really expected a response, you were never much of a talker, but he was a little hopeful.

"I can't believe I'm doing this.." Grim grumbled in defeat when that guilty feeling in his chest won and he grabbed the blanket and pillow off the bed and climbed under the bed next to you. Before you could react, he pushed the pillow toward you and shimmied the blanket on you, and laid under it right next to you.

That night was when he learned about your short life before Twisted Wonderland,

that you had no family, and you lived on the streets

he was able to connect the dots as to why you always bite people.

"So you bite people that you think will hurt you, or others?"

"...yeah?...I guess...."

The two of you fell asleep under the bed that night, but don't worry, the ghost found you and pull you both back onto the bed

making sure to tuck you in.

After that, Grim was noticeably a lot more protective and worried a lot more about you

he had taken it upon himself to make sure you were ok and safe and that you knew

he didn't want you to feel the need to bite people anymore

no matter how funny it was.

"Hey! Kid- What I say about biting people!? If someone makes you feel uneasy come to the great and powerful Grim! I'll roast 'em for ya."

Ace

Ace found it funny, be it a bit weird, when you bit people

but was extremely annoyed when you bit him.

It had to have been about the beginning of book 3 when Ace was informed of your reasoning.

"Ugghh..." Ace ground as he leaned his forearms on the Lounge countertop, exhausted from all the work he was forced to endure as punishment. Looking to his left he saw Grim uncharacteristically focused as he scrubbed the ever-growing dish pile.

"What's up with you?" He questioned, grabbing a dish to scrub so as to not face one of the Leech brother's punishments for slacking off. Ace was met with silence from the glowing cat-monster-thing. "Hey! Twisted Wonderland to Grim~ You there? ...what's up with you?..."

Grim was pulled out of his thoughts when Ace's hand came into his line of sight. "Huh? What 'cha say?"

Ace sighed, "I said, What up with you? You seem more distracted than normal"

"Oh... uh.. I was just..." Grim trailed off, searching for the words, but Ace took quick notice of the lack of snap back to his 'distracted' comment. "...Do you think they're okay? Yuu... I mean.."

Ace was taken aback by Grim's voiced worry for you. Yeah, he had taken notice of the small monster's growing protectiveness and worry of you during the past couple of weeks, but hearing him openly express it was... out of character for the creature.

"Well yeah of course they are. Besides if they're in a pinch, we know they'll just bite their way out of it." Ace lightly chuckled, expecting Grim to do the same. Only to be met with a curt nod and a quiet "...yeah. I guess..." and silence. Ace decided not to push it any longer...

That interaction stayed with Ace for the next couple of days

he wouldn't admit it but, he was slightly worried,

he could tell something had happened.

Until he was given some clarification a few days after when he got the chance to talk to you privately.

Ace found the small violent child sitting alone on a bench in the courtyard eating an apple he assumed they managed to get from one of the many trees. Taking the chance of a biting, he sat next to them which they took quick notice of, and stopped eating, looking up at him expectantly. If he didn't know better he would have said their big eyes were full of adorable childhood innocence, but he did know better, at least... that's what he thought.

"Soooo... how have you been?.." Ace had no clue what to say, and he could tell the kid knew that too due to the skeptical look they gave him. Taking a deep breath, be decided to just be blunt instead of beating around the bush.

"Ok- I'll just cut to the chase. What the hel- heck.." Ace sighed at the unintentional correction of himself, not liking that he unconsciously followed Riddle's rule of not cussing around the little shit, while he was not even around not less! *cough* um- anyway,,, "Just...what happened with you and Grim?" they tilted their small head in confusion "You know, he's gotten.. I think protective of you let's say and is worrying a lot more over you. I mean, just a few days ago he was asking if I thought you were okay while we were at the lounge."

Ace glanced down at them, not really expecting the surprised flustered look that was on their face. He found it... almost adorable, and he had a sudden urge to pat their head and pinch their cheek for some reason?

"...I think.. it might have something to do with what we talked about a few weeks ago.." Their small voice barely made it to Ace's ears, like they were talking more to themself than him.

"What did you talk about..?" Ace's tone was softer as his curiosity peaked, but a worrying feeling also grew alongside it.

And that my dear reader, is how Ace Trappola's heart grew two sizes bigger

I kid, I kid

kinda.

But that is how he learned of his small friend's life, and subsequently, their reasoning for their biting.

He had a twinge of guilt in his chest listening to their story, and he did give in to the urge to pat their head

it was really the only way he could think of comforting you in that moment.

After that, he started seeing Yuu in a new light,

instead of a little shit that he kinda wanted to punt

he started seeing an actual kid, and a scared one at that

Ace also understood Grim protectiveness and worry.

...He may have felt the same..

There was a growing feeling in his chest that made him want to keep that small content smile on your face for as long as he could.

Deuce

Deuce has always had a sense of duty when it came to Yuu

he thought he saw his younger self in them and, he felt he had to be a good role model for them.

He found out only a couple days after Ace.

Deuce stared at the sheet of paper on the desk in frustration, he had no clue what the answer to the written question was, with what little free time for studying he had he did his best to memorize the book, but that didn't work. He especially couldn't figure it out the constant clicking coming from the fire monster next to him.

After the test was finished Deuce tried to talk to Grim and ask him about the clicking, but the small creature quickly left as soon as he could, and Deuce followed soon after. He followed Grim out of the classroom and down the hall a bit unit the monster spotted the small child sitting against the wall, playing with their now untied bow.

"There you are! I thought I told you to wait right outside the classroom." Grim huffed as he made his way next to them, grabbing the long fabric and neatly tying it back around their wrist. Yuu wasn't allowed to take any of the tests or anything like that, they were only permitted to sit in on lectures and answer a couple questions from the professors. Deuce had too started to take notice of the difference in Grim's behavior toward the little kid in the past few weeks. At first, he didn't think much of it, barely even noticing until Ace pointed it out a little while ago. He didn't see any problem in it, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious about the cause.

Deuce continued to watch the duo's interaction before they walked down the hall toward the next class.

Deuce decided the best course of action was to talk to Ace and try to make a plan

but when he went to the redhead, all he got from him was a sigh and instruction to talk to you himself

he was confused but did as he was told and looked for you the next day.

Deuce sighed in relief when he saw Yuu trying to climb a tree in the courtyard, seemingly trying for an apple. Walking up behind them, he reached for an apple and placed it in their small hands, which they happily accepted. As they were eating the red apple, Deuce took the chance to talk.

"Hey Yuu, could I ask you a few questions?" He spoke in the soft voice he always used with them as he knelt down to their height. They glanced at the teen and nodded.

"Well, I've noticed that Grim has been acting a bit weird...and Ace too.. now that I think about it... Do you know anything about that? I originally asked Ace about it, but he just told me to talk to you..." Deuce trailed off, trying to connect what he could and figure it out himself. A part of him didn't think Yuu would know anything or even have noticed anything, they were a little kid after all.

"oh.." Deuce looked back at you, expectantly waiting for your answer "It might have somethin' to do with what I told them a little while ago,,, but I'm not really sure why they're acting weird.." He was caught off guard, that was probably the longest sentence you've used, with him at least. Deuce leaned towards you so he could hear your small voice better.

Deuce was not expecting the explanation Yuu gave him

he felt guilty for thinking they were just a misbehaving child like he was.

Tears spilled out of his eyes and he pulled them into an almost bone-crushing hug

he refused to leave their side for a long while after that, even trying to stay at Savanaclaw with them and Grim.

He still wants to be the best role model he can be for you, that never changes.

Ruggie

Ruggie saw a lot of himself in Yuu, but couldn't quite place why? other than the aggressive biting and love for food

but he didn't question it much, not thinking it was of any importance and not his business

besides, he thought of them as somewhat of an annoyance for the first month or so of school so he didn't care much to figure it out.

But he was soon given that explanation,

around the end of book 3, shortly before winter break.

It was the last day of Yuu's stay at Savanaclaw and they had been helping out Ruggie a bit with some of his chores. Right now they were helping him hang the laundry on the wire to dry, 'helping' as in they handed him the clips and sometimes articles of clothing.

"Why do we hang 'em?" "So they dry." "Why do they dry? and how?"

Yuu was uncharacteristically talkative today, it kind of made sense, they were at that age where they asked questions about everything cause they didn't know anything, and he was doing something that they may have never seen before.

They continued to ask questions and Ruggie continued to answer them, with Yuu following him all throughout the day. He didn't really mind, some of the kids back home would do the same thing so he was pretty used to this. That all lead to them to the dorm kitchen later in the day, helping Ruggie make Leona's dinner. Ruggie would tell Yuu what to grab for him and they would oblige and ask what it was for.

"Grab the seasoning that has a red cap, looks a little bit like tea and smells like the forest mixed with pepper." Ruggie instructed, not looking up from the bowl

"R..Ruos....Ruse..murry....?" Ruggie turned toward them, surprised by their trying to read the name, and was met with their expectant eyes waiting for confirmation, to which he nodded and took the seasoning.

"Were you trying to read the label?" Ruggie asked, "Yeah.." Yuu confirmed "Huh... Well, good job. You were close, it's pronounced 'Rosemary'" They only nodded and continued to wait for the next instruction.

Yuu trying to read the label lasted for a little while until Ruggie got curious as to how they got so good at pronouncing them. Well pronouncing them for their age, they weren't supposed to start learning to read for about another year. Of course, there's nothing bad about starting early, it's just strange...

"Hey Yuu, where did you learn to read so well?" Ruggie leaned his side to the counter, turning his full attention to them while the food cooked. "Is one of the students teaching you? or maybe one of the teachers?"

"Hm?...No, there was justa' bunch-ah bottles like these in the dumpster I stayed next to for a lil while...an I heard a lotta people say the names too." Ruggie was taken aback by the implications they gave, and before They told him anymore, he started to connect the dots on almost everything about Them, having had a similar childhood. Out of curiosity, he decided to press further into Yuu's life before Twisted Wonderland.

That evening, Leona's food was a bit burnt due to all of Ruggie's attention being placed on Yuu and their story.

From that point on he took them under his wing in a sort

he would teach them all about how to cook when he could, and would take them with him when he'd go looking for ingredients in the forest behind Ramshackle to teach about how they could be used.

He offered to let them stay in his neighborhood over the winter break, but they had declined in favor of staying at NRC with Grim

to which he accepted their answer and left them with a head pat.

Ruggie sees a lot of his younger self in Yuu, maybe that's why he wants to take care of them as much as he can...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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istoleyoursk1n · 9 months

Note

Hello and Happy Holidays (whatever you might celebrate)! If you have time, could you please write something about the BG3 Companions (or specifically Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Astarion and Karlach if there's too many) with a disabled reader who feels insecure about it? I personally am autistic and have a few physical disabilities so I need help with some things, am very clumsy and can struggle in social situations. Bonus points if you include things like them being protective over the reader because I personally have weak bones and chronic pain because of my disabilities so I'd like to think they'd be extra protective 🥰

Thank you so so much, I hope you have a wonderful 2024 ahead of you!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How they would react to a Tav who is insecure about their disabilities

(Happy holidays to you too! I hope you enjoy your new year!)

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

The bully

He wasn't aware of it at first so he came off as plain mean. He’d tease you for the little things you struggle with during the early moments of you two together but don't worry, he gets better.

The more he starts to care for you, the more he realizes that perhaps teasing you for things you clearly struggle with isn't something he should be doing. Especially if he's starting to value you and how you feel.

It's subtle at first, he quits most if not all his mockery towards you and usually speaks up in situations where you cannot. He eventually comes to do all the talking for you both.

Comes around to ask what you’re particularly struggling with to better understand you. And help you with such struggles in the near future.

While he used to laugh at you every time you fell/tipped something over, he finally started helping you up, disregarding said mistake as a “happy little accident”.

He’s surprisingly far more forgiving and patient with you, of course, there's the usual snarky remark but it's never directed toward whatever disability you possess.

Further into your relationship, he straight up starts defending you if anyone but he decides to laugh at your struggles. He’d verbally assault them with words that even make you shake.

It's difficult to stop the man once he starts telling off someone, at least it's entertaining, and hey! He’s doing it for you.

Further along the line, he’d finally come around to apologizing for his former attitude towards you, understanding that approaching you in such a way was wrong of him given your circumstance. He shouldn't have taken advantage of that.

Regardless, now you have a sassy lover who's quick to snap at anyone who tries to make fun of you.

: ̗̀➛ WYLL

Incredibly understanding that it's almost startling for you.

It doesn't take long for him to notice what you're struggling with and is quick to help out without having to make mention of whatever disability you possess.

He doesn’t judge you at all despite your struggles, already noting your worth to him and that you are not inconveniencing him in any way.

He was actually the first to accommodate your disabilities, defending you if the others become too ignorant of them.

He’s dealt with people of all shapes and sizes, it isn't his first time handling people who need extra special care nor is he burdened by it.

He’ll make it very clear to you that you don't have to feel any shame in asking for help or if you simply can't do a certain task, he’ll gladly be there for you!

And hey! There's no need to feel about being clumsy every now and then. He's certainly knocked a few books off shelves due to his new horns. You both can laugh at each other’s clumsy little accidents together.

If anything, he hardly sees your disability as something abnormal. Barely even reminds you about it to make you feel more comfortable with yourself.

He’s always linking his arm with yours whenever you struggle with walking long distances, walking slower than usual just to make sure that you can keep up and feel included.

Overall, he’s very sweet and sympathetic when it comes to your condition, he doesn't even have to be your lover to make sure you're always being tended to.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

Didn't even realize it at first.

He just thought you were clumsy/weaker than most but it wasn't something he felt bothered by. You provide your own form of help for the group every now and then and that's already valuable enough.

It would take him a while to realize or you’d have to tell him yourself but eventually he’d come to ask you directly if you have *insert condition*.

After which, he's surprisingly understanding. That would honestly explain a lot for him.

He wouldn't pay much attention to you until you both start growing closer, that's when he starts offering his own assistance in regards to your condition.

He's not the best when it comes to medical treatment but hey! Guess what he does have? Magic!

And with your permission, he’d gladly use said magic to make your situation more comfortable/easier for you to handle.

He's quick to offer his help in tasks that he sees you struggling with whether that be with the use of his magic or figuring out ways for you to do said task on your own without struggling as much.

He goes out of his way to better understand your condition and does his own in-depth research about it.

You've never seen someone so stressed whenever you experience mild chronic pain. In moments, he's all over you like a worried mother hen. It's almost funny to watch if you weren’t in pain and struggling right now.

He's the one who worries the most if he sees you doing a mundane task you tend to struggle with. He has to be certain that he's at least there to help you if ever you end up hurting yourself.

Similar to Astarion, he ends up taking control of most conversations in social gatherings if you're having a hard time doing it yourself.

: ̗̀➛ KARLACH

Didn't notice it at first, she simply thought you needed the occasional hand but that was all.

You’d probably have to directly tell her about whatever condition you may have if you ever wish for her to actually figure it out.

Even if you don't tell her, she’s still assisting you here and there whenever possible. She doesn't even need to know about your disabilities to be accommodating.

If she does find out about it, she’s shocked at first if not slightly worried that she may have come across as overwhelming to you.

Regardless, she’s still awfully kind to you, never once dismissing your struggles.

A bit concerned about touching you/being a bit too rough for her own good but she handles you as gently as she possibly can.

Would probably (or already has) beaten the shit out of anyone who's dared undermine you for your struggles.

She will carry you around whenever whatever internal pain you’re feeling gets too much, she has no problem with doing so for hours! Won't even ask for much in return.

Having you in her arms is a reward enough! Besides, you both seem to be having a blast.

No worries if you have a hard time processing social situations, she's there to cut in for you! Unprompted as well, she might as well be rambling to the unfortunate soul who decided to confront you two.

: ̗̀➛ SHADOWHEART

She’s a cleric, she’d take notice of it quicker than most.

You did save her from that nautiloid pod so she sees no reason why she shouldn't be helping you with your condition.

She does try to relieve whatever pain you feel, especially if your chronic pains are getting too much for you to bear.

Her treatments don't last permanently but they are enough to make you feel far more comfortable in the state your are in.

She doesn't mind helping you with tasks she sees you struggling with, you can tell she's being as careful as possible when it comes to you.

She checks up on you whenever she has the time, especially if she grows to trust you. She constantly makes sure that you’re well enough to continue on with the journey or if you need to stay in camp for a while.

Gives you surprisingly good advice on how to treat/cope with the things you struggle with, especially if it comes to medical struggles. Other than that, she's there when you need her.

She's stern in dismissing anyone who tries to mock or make fun of you for your struggles, her words are enough to make anyone feel bad for even trying.

She likes keeping you close whenever possible, not just because she likes you but to also make sure she can give you immediate care whenever you're suddenly in pain.

Always asks whether or not you are capable of doing certain tasks so you have the freedom to do certain things by yourself.

But, she also ensures that you don't feel bad for depending too much on her.

: ̗̀➛ HALSIN

Quickly comes to your aid when he sees you struggling, with or without the knowledge of your condition.

He’s always willing to help you, you needing extra assistance wouldn't burden the man at all.

As big and tough as he may be, he's surprisingly gentle, making sure that when he holds you, he does with the utmost care.

If you are having difficulty with speaking and/or being around social gatherings? No worries! You don't have to ask at all, he’d kindly do the talking for you.

Of course, he’d make sure he’d hear what you’d like to say first before relaying the words to whoever both of you were speaking to.

If said social situations get too much, he’s more than willing to get you both out of it in favor of some peaceful quiet time in nature.

He probably knows a few remedies to help lessen the pain that comes with your condition, ensuring that you always have time to rest and relax as to not push your body too much.

Likely the most protective of you among the others mentioned, comes with the merged animal-like nature he obtained.

He’s never far from you at all, always lending a hand to make sure you have something to hold onto at all times. Besides, no one dares to mess with you when you have someone as towering as Halsin by you.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 headcanon #bg3 headcanons #bg3 x reader #bg3 halsin #bg3 wyll #bg3 astarion #bg3 gale #bg3 shadowheart #bg3 karlach #astarion #wyll #halsin #karlach #shadowheart #gale

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gnocchibabie · 2 months

Text

Desire and Blood (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen/Strong OC (Jaenara Velaryon)

Tags: AU - canon divergence, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, Targcest (uncle/niece)

Warnings: mentions of SA; Aemond has slightly horny thoughts?

Wordcount: 6.1k

Summary:

Against all odds, the love between childhood friends prevails and the Dance of Dragons is avoided.

However, peace comes at a cost. With the unexpected proposal of marriage between Alicent Hightower's son and Rhaenyra Targaryen's only daughter, can love truly blossom between sworn enemies? Or will Jaenara Velaryon be reduced to a mere pawn?

Love may yet arise where enmity once thrived, but Aemond's relentless pursuit of power threatens to shatter everything they hold dear, including each other.

A/N: You can find the previous chapters on my masterlist!

If you are liking this series, please consider showing some love on my AO3 posting of this fic :) thank you x

During the fortnight that had passed since his half-sister’s coronation, Aemond Targaryen had hours on end to think.

And his thoughts, he had found, utterly consumed him.

They consumed him in the dead of night, whilst he lay awake in bed. They consumed him in the training yard, leading Criston Cole to best him again and again. They consumed him high in the skies atop Vhagar, where he once felt solace in the clouds. They consumed him at dinner, when he sat next to his niece and tried to ignore the echoing of her brother’s confession.

You can always tell when she’s lying.

Jaenara Velaryon was consuming him. Wholly and fully. She washed over him like the unrelenting waves (waves that her so-called “father’s” family prided themselves on conquering), that left Aemond struggling to resurface.

The most ironic part of it all, Aemond had thought, was that she was blissfully unaware of it all. Unaware of how her twin had revealed her true feelings in one simple sentence.

It hadn’t taken Aemond long to discern the meaning of Jacaery’s words, though he could still scarcely believe the insinuation.

She likes to pretend she doesn't care…

Amidst his schemes of treason, Aemond hardly thought his undoing would be the revelation that his betrothed had somehow come to care for him. Aemond could not — would not, understand it. He had given her nothing to care for, while she only gave him more and more reasons with every encounter.

Though it made sense, to him at least, that the unveiling of such feelings would lead to his own ruin. No one had cared for him his entire life. Surely not his father, nor his mother — at least not since he was a small child. And he knew that Jaenara had not previously held such affections for him. Something had changed, and he was not sure what he did or when it occurred.

But was this not what he wanted? If Jaenara truly did find herself now caring for Aemond, now attracted to him — he should be elated. It meant everything was going to plan. The more he charmed his niece, the less likely he was to be caught with the blood of Jacaerys Velaryon on his hands. The more Jaenara grew to care and trust for her uncle, the more power he would hold at Dragonstone, and eventually— the Seven Kingdoms.

Despite his ambitions, it is much easier for Aemond Targaryen to convince himself that his nephew had simply been lying. Perhaps in order to toy with him, just as he did in their youth. Or perhaps to elevate his sister’s standing in the eyes of her betrothed. Though the thought that either twin should have to do such a thing made elicited guilt from Aemond.

No matter the reason, Aemond resigns himself to believe that his nephew tried to fool him. He remembers the words he uttered to Jaenara on her first evening in King’s Landing:

You can expect a union that does not harbor any illusions of love. But one founded on mutual…respect. Understanding.

What could he have said that would make his intentions of their relationship any clearer?

The two had agreed that their marriage was nothing more than an avoidance of mutually assured destruction — his niece had no need to feign attraction to him.

“But you care for her, do you not?” Sylvi voices beside him, running a hand through his white hair. The woman had carefully considered Aemond’s confessions, patiently waiting for him to finish his recounting.

The Targaryen prince had been frequenting the Streets of Silk more often after the coronation. The reality of having no one to voice his inner thoughts to, and no one to find consolation from was something not even Aemond could bear.

So he sought out comfort from the whore that had damaged him. She who was forced onto him at the hands of his brother, all those years ago. Aemond found he did not mind the arrangement that much. It was much safer to run into the arms of a whore, to tell her his troubles. She had no power over him. She did not truly care for him.

Sylvi listened and comforted Aemond with honeyed words that easily fell from her lips. She ran warm hands through his soft hair. She held him close and let him lay his head atop her chest. She let him nip at the supple skin of her breasts.

Against his better judgment and in favor of all his most selfish desires, Aemond found himself imagining she was Jaenara. He imagined Jaenara’s words of comfort, how sweeter — how truer they would be. He imagined her soft, deft hands tangling through his hair — imagined his own rough hands finding their place in her beautiful dark locks. He imagined laying his head atop her own breasts, going as far as to pepper soft kisses on the supple skin. He wondered how she would gasp if he were to latch onto her nipple. He wondered what her bare form would look like, nestled at his side, taking the place of Sylvi.

His fantasies leave him reeling. He did everything to convince himself Jaenara could not regard him with such sincerity or console him so sweetly, and yet here he was yearning for such realities. Was it wrong to think of the woman who was to be his wife in such a way?

Aemond finally remembers the madam is waiting for a response, “I…I do not know.” He says quietly. A lie.

“I think you do,” Slyvi tells him “You speak of her softly. You probably think about her even more. She is to be your wife. It is good to be attracted to your wife.” She chuckles.

Aemond hums. A beat.

“What else troubles you, my prince?”

Aemond takes a moment to collect his thoughts, but finds he is unable to. Not fully. His good eye shuts, the other socket holding the vibrant sapphire remaining perpetually open. He feels the scar itch and all at once Aemond thinks of his niece, his nephews, his brother, his mother, a pig, blood dripping into his palm, and a dozen more childhood memories he’d rather not dwell on.

“They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different.” Is all he says. The leather eyepatch lay discarded on a corner of the warm bed.

Madam Sylvi sighs and brings the fearsome prince closer to her chest.

Silence settles over the two once more and Aemond sinks deeper into soft, silk sheets. Despite the comfort he feels at the moment, he feels an inkling of worry at the thought of what his niece would make of him in such a position. Jaenara’s stoic, fearsome uncle reduced to such a state.

Because of her.

Outside the privacy of their room, Aemond hears footsteps draw near. Slurred voices and crackling laughter follow. He pays little attention to the disturbance, knowing they will continue on their way when they see his room is occupied.

A hand yanks at the drapes covering the chamber, and Aemond hears a familiar scoff. Whirling around to meet the disruption, he feels his heart stop in his chest.

Aegon and several of his half-witted friends are staring back at him, mouths agape. His brother breaks out into an uproarious, drunken laughter, the noise making the color drain from the prince’s face. Aemond is quick to move, sitting up and attempting to cover himself. Slyvi looks between the brothers and sits up hesitantly.

“Aemond the fierce!?” Aegon booms. He lurches towards his brother, staggering and reeking of alcohol.

He settles on the bed behind him, “You have come so far, and — and yet you still lie with your very first! What a fine…sweet thing.”

As Aegon’s giggles once again bubble up, Aemond remains silent. A rage begins to smolder deep in his stomach, rising up his throat, poised to scorch everyone in the room. His eye remains devoid of emotion, belying the turmoil he harbors inside.

Aegon’s friends shift around uncertainly, not even able to fake a smile.

“Oh…wait…I — I know what brings you here Aemond,” his brother begins again, words slurred and voice full of mockery, “You are practicing to bed our sweet niece!” Aegon cackles again and it is wild and wicked and loud. “And what a fine way to learn! Only from the best!” Aegon motions to Sylvi, who squirms uncomfortably on the bed.

“So, will you fuck the bastard princess like a hound brother?” Aegon pauses his laughter to howl and bark. Madam Sylvi and Aegon’s company startle at the noise.

Hearing those words from his brother, Aemond feels a cord snap inside of him. Aemond turns to his brother, his face even and serious, though his eye is dark and brimming with fury.

“You will not speak of my wife in such a way again.” Is all he says, though his vitriolic tone ceases Aegon’s cruel laughter. While Aemond’s rage could be likened to that of a real dragon's, he makes no attempt to truly on it. The Prince only rises from his spot on the bed and marches out of the room. Aegon’s laughter is replenished at seeing his brother stride out into the brothel, never once looking back.

Amidst the royal apartments of Maegor’s holdfast, Alicent Hightower’s chamber brims with activity. Jaenara Velaryon sits at a table within the room, alongside Alicent, Helaena, and Rhaenyra. The women — mostly Rhaenyra and Alicent — had spent much of the evening going over grand plans for the ever approaching wedding. The women had all met after dinner, when the sun was still on the horizon. Now, they found a full moon high in the night sky. Planning had carried on late into the evening, as Jaenara found her mother was hardly available at any other hour due to her Queenly duties. While the discussions had started out productive for all parties, Jaenara and Helaena became less and less enthused about being kept awake at such hours. Candlelight emphasized the shadows forming under their heavy eyes, though their mothers seemed to take little notice as they continued with their dialogue.

The planning encompassed everything from the ceremony itself, to the feast afterwards, to the additional two days of celebration that would occur. Jaenara had almost fallen out of her chair at the last revelation, but Rhaenyra and Alicent had urged her that the prolonged celebration was necessary. The realm needed to see how united House Targaryen now stood, with ample time to partake in its splendor and festivities.

Jaenara had stifled a laugh when imagining how Aemond would take the news. She imagined her uncle would barely be able to withstand simply standing in front of her and reciting vows — but two days of celebration? In which they would be the focal point of every festivity? She could almost picture the look on his face.

As the princess melted into her chair further, eyes barely managing to stay open, a thought suddenly came to mind.

The bedding.

The realization made Jaenara sit up straight in her chair. She had almost forgotten the barbaric tradition, and the mere mention of it made goosebumps appear on her skin. The thought of being touched and undressed by all those people…Jaenara could already feel hungry eyes and rough touches burning holes in her skin. She didn’t much care for the thought of Aemond being subjected to such indecencies either. The thought made her all the more queasy.

She cleared her throat, causing the mothers to cease their conversations.

“Um…Mother. Alicent,” Her throat felt scratchy from not having spoken for several minutes. Maybe hours? She could not even remember. Time had blended together.

“I was wondering…well. Well…is it really necessary that we have a…a bedding ceremony?” The words struggled to leave her throat, fearing the reprimanding she may receive from suggesting such an idea.

“Oh,” Her mother’s voice was soft and light, “You needn't worry about that my dear. We will not be having such a cruel ceremony.”

A mix of confusion and relief overtook Jaenara, “What?”

Rhaenyra smiled at her daughter, “Didn’t I tell you, Nara? Now that I am Queen, things will be different.” She relaxed at the assertive and reassuring tone her mother took, and then looked to Alicent.

“I cannot fathom that Aemond would be eager to partake in such a horrid tradition either. I only wish every woman could be spared such a humiliation…” Alicent’s gaze drifts to her daughter, who has fallen asleep in her chair, then back to Jaenara. She gives her future daughter a tight smile, “I expect you both will still consummate your marriage regardless of a bedding ceremony.”

The princess bows her head to the two women, “Thank you.” Her relief is tangible, though Alicent’s mention of her and Aemond’s impending…duty does dampen her gratitude.

Jaenara looks to Alicent once more, “Your Grace? I was wondering…well, a while ago, Aemond asked me of my favorite dessert, so that he may ensure it will be included in the wedding feast…”

The Lady’s eyes softened, “Yes, he told me of it. Lemon cakes.”

Rhaenyra looks down and smiles as the reminder of her and her daughter’s shared sweet tooth. Jaenara continues, “Well, I was wondering if you had any idea of his own likes or interests? I would ask him myself, though I would like to surprise him.”

Alicent Hightower’s expression fills with uncertainty, her eyes dimming. She thinks for a moment before responding, “My son has always been…reserved. Very secretive about his wants and desires. I am afraid I will not be of much help to you.”

Jaenara’s heart falters at the woman’s words. “Not to worry, Your Grace. I understand. It can be…difficult to penetrate the heart’s of those who keep them closely guarded.”

Alicent hums thoughtfully at the princess’ words. Beside her Helaena, now awake, stirs uncomfortably. The young princesses share a look. Despite her own words of reassurement, Jaenara could not fathom how a mother could know so little pertaining to her children. Alicent’s inability to name even one thing that Aemond might like to have at the wedding left the princess feeling befuddled. She settled her attention on the candelabra in front of her, the yellow flames dancing across her lavender eyes. A white teardrop of wax slides down the length of the candle, pooling around the bottom.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Rhaenyra slowly rises to her feet. “It has grown late rather quickly, shall we resume our planning again? Say, tomorrow evening?” The Queen looks around the table.

“I should hope this all is nearly drawing to a close…” Jaenara’s dramatic tone and joking groans elicit a small laugh from Alicent.

“We have only planned the ceremony, my dear. There are still two more days to go over.” She tells Jaenara.

The princess sighs and forces herself to her feet, Helaena slowly coming to a stand as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. The door of the room is opened, revealing a torrential downpour that cascaded outside of Maegor’s Holdfast. The sounds of rain and distant thunder washed over the court. As the women file out of the chamber, Jaenara hears a voice beside her.

“Princess Jaenara, if I may have a moment?” Lady Alicent asks.

“Oh…certainly.” Jaenara looks at the other women, “Goodnight, mother — and Helaena.” Her aunt gives her a tired smile, while Rhaenyra looks to Alicent, giving her a questioning nod.

“Goodnight, my dear. I wish to see you at breakfast tomorrow.” Her mother asserts. Time between mother and daughter — time between Rhaenyra and all of her family — had been limited at best lately. She savored every moment she could spare with them.

As the women depart, Jaenara turns her attention back to Alicent. The lady gingerly takes Jaenara’s hands into her own in an attempt to ease the obvious uncertainty in her expression.

“Jaenara,” Alicent begins, “I wanted to take a moment to…clear the air. I know that our history has been strained. But I hope that you…you can find it within yourself to forgive me. Though I do not deserve it, not truly. For all the things I have said about you — about your family. For all I have done.” Jaenara searches the woman’s dark eyes and finds only sincerity and determination.

“And Aemond…” Alicent takes in a sharp breath and looks towards the ceiling for a moment, “Aemond’s animosity towards you — only I am to blame for it. Ever since my children were babes, I have sown seeds of hostility for your family in them. Thankfully they never took root in Helaena but…But I see Aemond now — really see how he acts around you. He seems…alight.” Alicent falters a moment and looks to the floor. Jaenara squeezes her hands lightly, trying to provide some sign of reassurement.

“Lady Alicent,” The princess begins, “I sincerely thank you for the apologies…but I am not so sure I deserve them. Not entirely.” She takes a deep breath and continues. “It's true that your sons were not kind to me or my brothers in our youth…though I cannot help but think about that night with Aemond…at Driftmark….” A pained look flashes across Alicent’s face.

“My brothers and I changed Aemond forever. There is no denying that. We were but children, yes…but the folly of youth has followed us into adulthood. And I cannot imagine what a mother must feel in such a moment. And now,” Jaenara lets out an incredulous chuckle, “Now he is asked to marry the woman who partook in taking a…a piece of him?” The princess’s voice lowers to a whisper and her hands weakly drop from Alicents.

“For that, I am sorry.” Jaenara finishes.

Alicent Hightower studied the princess for a moment, the soft glow of the room shining on her face, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Jaenara's lips formed a sympathetic pout, her brow furrowing slightly. A choked sound escaped Alicent's throat as she reached for Jaenara's hands once more.

She took a deep breath. "What has happened in the past must remain there, for both our own sanities, and families' sakes. But the future is still unwritten," Alicent said earnestly, meeting Jaenara's gaze with conviction, “I believe the gods had a hand in forging this union. You may still believe it is nothing more than the product of a peace agreement. I thought so too for a time…but I choose to believe there may yet be a greater purpose.”

“A greater purpose?” Jaenara echoes the Lady’s words.

“Redemption.” Her smile is faint, as if it were nothing more than a shadow casted upon her face.

Aemond slithers back into the Red Keep with ease. He had come to know the secret passages littered throughout the castle like the back of his hand. Perhaps it was the one thing he could thank his brother for, as it was Aegon who showed Aemond the tunnels.

The prince is soaked from head to toe now, having gotten caught in the middle of the storm that raged on outside. A trail of mud tracks litter the floor behind him as he enters Maegor’s Holdfast, watching the rain pour down around the royal apartments.

After suffering such humiliation at the hands of Aegon, Aemond had marched straight back to the Red Keep. He found that in that moment, sitting on that fine bed with its silk sheets, Aemond felt like a boy again. Aegon had a way of making people feel like that.

Aemond One Eye. Aemond The Fierce. The man who claimed Vhagar. Reduced to nothing more than insecure whelp.

On top of this, his brother’s disparaging remarks towards Jaenara did not sit well with him. And that was putting it lightly. After that, Aemond felt his humiliation replaced by utter hatred — the only thing stopping him from knocking Aegon to the floor was the fallout that would ensue after. Aegon would surely go spouting off about Aemond’s whereabouts to Jaenara. He could not even stomach imagining the look on his niece’s face if she were to learn of such things.

As he quietly makes his way to his chambers, drawing the curious looks of a few guards standing watch, Aemond sees a small figure on the opposite end of the corridor. The figure holds a candle and stops in front of Jaenara’s chamber. The prince speeds up his pace to greet the shadow, his voice coming out hushed and thick.

“Niece?”

The princess almost drops the candle from her hand, letting out a quiet string of curses. When she regains her composure, she looks up at Aemond with wild eyes.

“Aemond?” she whispers harshly.

“What are you doing out at such an hour?” Jaenara finds a surprising edge in his tone. Even more surprising was the tinge of concern in his voice.

“I have been planning our wedding. With my mother — and yours…and Helaena.” She feels her cheeks heat up. Her words of defensiveness shift to ones of inquisition as she looks over her uncle, sodden and muddy.

“I should be the one asking where you have been. Why are you soaking wet?”

Aemond stiffens. He was not in the mood to have such a conversation with Jaenara. The prince looks down the hallway for a moment, then back at Jaenara’s door. His eye narrows at the empty space in front of them, where a Kingsguard was supposed to be standing watch.

“Where is your sworn sword?” While Aemond was truthfully attempting to shift the dialogue, he was still in disbelief of what he saw.

Jaenara looked away and shrugged her shoulders, “I…have not chosen one yet.”

Aemond felt embers spark within him once more, “What?”

“Well if you have not noticed, I have had much to worry about as of late! This was simply not a priority of mine…but I will choose a knight soon.” She finishes her half-assed defense, voice stiff.

Aemond feels anger bubbling within him. Had she such little care for her own well-being? And why hadn’t anyone else taken notice of this issue? His mother and sister had sworn swords, and yet his betrothed was left to wander about the castle unprotected?

“You will choose a shield. Tomorrow. I will see to it and attend with you.” He is firm and there is no room for discussion.

The sound of rain still echoes around the two, almost heightening their silence. Jaenara looks over her uncle. Drops of rain drip down his face, slide across his cheeks. She looks at his scar a moment, thinking back to her conversation with Alicent.

Aemond notices where her gaze falls, and his posture stiffens. He is about to take his leave for his chambers when Jaenara speaks.

“Come in and dry off.”

Aemond feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.

“Do you care so little of your reputation?” He whispers.

Just as your mother did not - Aemond thinks to himself, though he knows better than to voice the thought aloud.

“If you haven’t noticed uncle,” She gestures throughout the corridor, “There is no one here. As I do not have a sworn sword…as you have so graciously pointed out. And besides, I am not meaning to imply anything…indecent. I only meant — well — I only thought you appeared troubled this evening and…” Jaenara’s words trail off and Aemond feels his heart soften.

He looks around the hallway once more. “Let’s go then,” he breathes, “I will not be staying long.” He wills his tone to stay even, as if Jaenara could sense the racing of his heart.

With the door locked behind them, Jaenara instructs her uncle to sit at the armchair in front of the fireplace. Aemond let the flames fan over him, his damp clothes saturating the plush seat beneath him. The princess returns from her bed chamber, a set of weathered clothes in hand.

“Here.” She extends a men’s tunic and cotton pants to Aemond. He unfurls the clothes and Jaenara has to bite back the laughter elicited from the befuddled look her uncle gives her.

“Where…in the Seven Hells did you get these?” Aemond asks.

“I stole them from Jace — quite a while ago actually.”

Aemond scoffs, “You have a hobby of cross-dressing?”

She rolls her eyes, “Well…you are not the only one who apparently enjoys sneaking around King’s Landing.”

Aemond feels as though his head is on the brink of imploding with every word that Jaenara speaks this evening.

“What?”

“If you mean to lecture me once again I truly do not wish to hear it at this hour-”

Jaenara's words are halted by a hand gripping her wrist. She turns to find Aemond standing over her, having risen from his seat. His expression is grave, his eye intense. The smile fades from her face.

“Jaenara, I know you do not mean to tell me you sneak out into the streets at night. You are…you are a woman! You are the princess. And if people — if men — were to find that out, do you know what they would do to you?” Aemond seethes.

She snaps her wrist away from Aemond’s grip. "I have no intention of being found out," she replies tersely.

He gives a wry chuckle and shakes his head, walking back to the fireplace. After a moment of staring at the flames, Aemond looks to his niece once more.

“What do you even do? When you sneak out — where do you go?”

“Where do you go?” Jaenara shoots him a look.

Aemond’s throat goes dry and he looks back to the crackling coals once more.

Jaenara rolls her eyes and retreats to her bed chamber, speaking over her shoulder, “You may change in here. Just leave your wet clothes on the hearth to dry.”

Aemond scoffs. His niece was an unending enigma — one he had not anticipated in the slightest. Though he found himself pleasantly amused by her. Sometimes. And while Aemond felt betrayed by her secret antics, and unnerved by her disregard for her own safety as well as her own reputation, he understood it was presently much too late, and they were much too tired for him to press the issue.

The prince hesitantly begins to peel off his wet layers of clothes. Starting with his long hooded cloak, moving onto his doublet, and then his tunic. Aemond is left only in his pants when he glances at the entrance of Jaenara’s bed chamber. Not even an hour ago he lay in front of a woman completely nude without a worry in the world, but the thought of undressing in the room next to his betrothed made him feel uneasy.

“I am changing…do not come in.” he announces aloud, the words sounding oddly timid.

“I was not planning on it.” Jaenara calls back.

Aemond grunts in annoyance at his niece's persistent cheekiness as he removes his pants and braies. The firelight dances across his body, though he has no time to appreciate the warmth enveloping his bare form. Hastily, he dresses in borrowed clothes, silently thanking the gods that Jace happens to be his size. Aemond clears his throat, a signal to his niece, but receives only silence in return.

“I am done.” He voices the empty room.

He hears the pitter patter of footsteps on stone, and is soon greeted by Jaenara at the doorway of her bed chamber. She is dressed in a white nightgown mostly concealed by a vibrant blue robe adorned with intricate embroidery along the edges. Her hair falls off one shoulder in a braid. The prince tries not to think about the woman undressing only a few feet away from him, leaving herself as bare as he was. Instead, his gaze rests on his favorite shade of Targaryen eyes.

Aemond thinks she is beautiful.

Jaenara regards her uncle, clad in her brother’s white tunic and black cotton pants. The drawstrings of the nightshirt hang open loosely, leaving a window of his bare chest exposed. She struggles to wrench her gaze away from it. His hair hangs loose, and begins to curl ever so slightly at the ends from the rain. The princess allows for a glimpse at Aemond’s covered eye once more, hoping he does not squirm under her gaze.

Jaenara finds him beautiful. As beautiful as a man can be, she thinks.

“Might you sit for a while? Warm yourself by the fire.” She motions to the couch opposite the armchair he previously occupied. Jaenara could tell that something troubled the prince deeply, enough for him to slip out of the castle seeking solace. Though she couldn't pinpoint the exact source of his distress, she was determined to divert his attention from it.

Unbeknownst to her, she was the very reason for Aemond's anguish.

With a huff, her uncle takes his seat. The princess sits next to him, quite near. It was only now she realized the couch was rather small.

Aemond finds himself looking around his niece’s chambers. His eye settled on a pile of books she had surely procured from the royal library. He tries to read the titles in an attempt to discern more of his niece’s interests. His eye settled on: Flora and Fauna of Old Valyria, when Jaenara’s voice pulled him away from the text.

“I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news to share.”

Aemond's concern is piqued by her sudden seriousness. "What's the matter?"

“Well…during the wedding planning today,” Jaenara shifts closer to her uncle, causing their knees to touch, “It was revealed to me that there shall be two additional days of celebration after our initial wedding. These are apparently meant to demonstrate our... commitment to each other and to the realm. It's a way to show everyone the strength of our house."

“Gods…” Aemond groans, “So they mean to parade us around like puppets on a string?” He bites.

Jaenara observes him as he closes his uninjured eye and flexes his knuckles. She considers asking whether spending more time with her in public was truly so objectionable, but opts not to.

Besides, she understood her uncle’s sentiment — they were not trophies to be displayed.

“I knew you would not be happy with it. I am not so fond of it either, really.” She sighs, “I did try to tell Alicent you would not care for the arrangement.”

“She cares little of what I want.” Aemond said evenly, as though the sentiment did not bother him in the slightest.

Is that what troubles him? She wonders.

Jaenara remembers the conversation she shared with Aemond’s mother once more. She ponders if Aemond had said the same thing to his mother when their betrothal was revealed to him. As much as she was coming around to her uncle as of late, she had to keep in mind that she was ultimately one thing to him:

Tolerable.

“Your mother…” Jaenara begins hesitantly, feeling as though she is trekking across ice, “She seems rather…detached from you all. From her children.”

Aemond sneers, light from the hearth rippling across his sharp face, “That may be the understatement of the century, niece.”

Jaenara falls silent, weighing her words carefully and wondering if she has overstepped a boundary. Even in their youth, Jaenara recalled a young Alicent Hightower having a rather strained relationship with her children — as if she were unsure of what to do with them. Though her most vivid memory of Alicent was from the night Aemond lost his eye. The Lady became a woman possessed, demanding retribution for her son. And while Jaenara had been on the receiving end of the vitriol, she understood it to be evidence of the mother’s love for her son and the indignities he suffered.

From the corner of his eye, Aemond watches the princess bite her lip nervously. He is about to scold her for the habit when she turns to him.

“Rhaenyra tells me that by the time Alicent was my age, she already had two babes of her own,” She studies Aemond’s face for any signs of discomfort before she continues, “I believe she cares for you…though perhaps she was never afforded the chance of learning how to show it. Not properly at least.”

The princess swears she sees a flash of anger surface in Aemond’s eye, though it leaves as quickly as it came when he meets her eyes. Now, he just looks sad. The unfamiliar look causes Jaenara’s heart to burn. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it swiftly.

Aemond shakes his head and takes a deep breath before attempting to speak once more, Jaenara waiting patiently at his side. Opening up to the princess seems a more impossible task than claiming Vhagar ever did. It was much easier to confess to the Madam these sorts of things, though perhaps, as Aemond was realizing — that was because he cared for Jaenara more than he could ever care about Sylvi.

And perhaps anyone else for that matter.

Another deep breath.

“I never understood…Rhaenyra — She…She loves her bastard children more than my mother ever seemed to love her legitimate children. Your mother’s love is palpable. It is…real.” Aemond can only manage a whisper. He fears his voice will brim with too much emotion — too much vulnerability.

Jaenara pays no mind to the comment on her parentage. “Alicent’s love for her children — for you — is real, Aemond…My mother bears a scar on her arm to prove it.” Her intense stare falls to his eyepatch, and Aemond almost believes she can see past the covering at the jagged scar underneath. Aemond feels it burn. He has nothing to say.

The princess almost wishes to raise a hand up to her uncle’s cheek and run her thumb across the rough leather — though she knows Aemond would despise the intimacy. And wasn’t she supposed to feel the same way?

Aemond yearns to feel some kind of touch from his niece, though he would never dare to reach out for it. He knew she would shrink away from such amity. He feels shame from garnering such pleasure from fantasies she would not delight in.

The prince savors her eyes a few moments more before rising from his seat.

“It is very late, Jaenara. I should retire for the night.” Jaenara finds her uncle’s voice surprisingly gentle.

Ignoring how his usage of her name made her stomach stir, Jaenara places a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, halting him halfway from the door.

“Do you want to be caught leaving my chamber at such an hour, uncle? How indecent of you.” She hopes that her playful jabs may lighten Aemond’s spirits before he leaves her.

Aemond does not turn towards her, feeling betrayed by the heat that arose in his cheeks.

Jaenara moves to a corner of her room adorned with a grand tapestry depicting King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne at The North. With a gentle sweep, she brushes the tapestry aside, exposing the cool stone wall beneath. Aemond's attention is caught by a section of the wall that appears subtly raised compared to the rest of the room. The princess presses her hand against a specific stone, and Aemond is stunned as the wall starts to shift, unveiling a hidden passageway before them.

She turns to her uncle, flashing him a mischievous grin before pressing her hand against the wall. Gradually, the stone starts to shift, unveiling a secret passageway leading out from the princess's chamber.

"If you follow this path, your chamber should be about... four doors down — I think?" Jaenara says, brushing her hands clean of stone dust.

Aemond finds it impossible to keep his composure at such a revelation. He thought he knew of every winding path behind the walls of the Red Keep, though this had somehow escaped him. What had Jaenara been using these tunnels for?

“What…How — how did you find this?”

“You forget I too lived here in my youth, for a time.” She grins.

Aemond raises a brow, “Now I fear how many times you have spied on me without my knowing.”

“I assure you uncle, I do not partake in such depravity.” Jaenara yawns, sleep beginning to tug at her eyes once more. She steps aside, making a grand gesture towards the tunnel, “I suppose I shall see you tomorrow, to choose my shield.”

Aemond hums and makes his way to the passage. He pauses at its entrance and looks down at his niece. She looks up to him with a sleepy smile. It is then Aemond decides to tell her what he couldn’t that night she followed him out of the Great Hall.

Jaenara’s eyes are barely open when she suddenly feels a gentle hand tuck a loose strand of her braid behind her ear, “Goodnight, Jaenara.”

Her eyes shoot open, barely quick enough to see Aemond retreating into the dark of the winding passage. The prince did not stick around to see if his princess truly would recoil from his touch.

Alone in her chamber, Jaenara wonders how she is to sleep after such a thing.

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