#AND IT SURE AS FUCK ISNT JOY EITHER

[captain-lonagan]

the real horror of the silt verses is the tiny amount of people i can talk to about "Hm. Lights are back on."

[the-acid-pear]

the more i think about kris the more my insanity increases tbh there's just so much nuance with not only them but also the player and their relationship and it's layes upon layers of them and i keep tryin to peel them off inside my brain and its going to turn me into a dc villain or something

[d1s1ntegrated]

Fugk shigrli LSOEE LOSER SHIGARAKI PLZ PLS SAVE MEEUGHHHH...can yu do..like THIS SOUNDS CRINGE BUT READER ISEKAI AND THEY R OBSESSD W SHIGARAKI,,, like, they get plopped down into his bar, they explain his lore to him, his fanarts, shiparts ALL OF THAT🙏🎀

Love u munch plz dont die

love u too munch!! hope u enjoy <3

i died violently in a car crash and all i got was this weirdo virgin!

shigaraki x isekai!reader

cw: no use of "y/n" (i used "______" instead!), fem reader, loser shigaraki (aka early chapter shiggy), virgin!shigaraki, isekai, tw: implications of death/major trauma, car crash, oral (male rec), loss of virginity, slight musk kink if you squint, kinda canon shiggy? rough sex, unprotected, pathetic virgin moment lol, teasing, missionary, p/v sex, choking implied for a few seconds, desperation, premature ejaculation, sliiiiiight breeding kink? if u squint

not proofread! pls dont eat me im sorry but its 5am i dont have the energy to edit rn!!!!!!!

you don't know how it happened. there was a sharp, hollow static, paired with the feeling of drowning, choking, sputtering. you could hear screaming, you could feel the branches interlocking with your innards, pinning you to the car seat. but...everything was so soft, so light...

until it wasn't.

you figured heaven would be a little less daunting than this. even atheists could dream up a place better than this.

but here you were, plopped onto a worn stool, a long mahogany bartop splayed in front of you. maybe it was a sick joke, maybe this bartop was the tree you lost your life to. maybe it was one big metaphor. either way, the leather was sticking to your legs already, a loose nail prodding at your thigh as you shifted in your seat. there was a strange smell here, a mixture of sweat and blood and something smoky, and you couldn't place whether you liked it or not. you tapped your fingers against the worn wood for a moment before glancing around the sullen room.

it looked so very familiar. worn furniture, brick walls, and a dingy carpet splattered the room like dollhouse furniture. the bar was fully stocked, but no one was tending to it. there were a few rooms down a hall, but nothing you could recognize. across from you, a little tv sat, with a torn poster of something you felt on the tip of your tongue. you forced yourself to move, standing from the seat and rubbing your eyes as you approached the wall. with a shaky hand, you wiped dust from the ripped paper, revealing a heroic-looking man. little holes scattered the image, as if it had been used as a dart board. bold writing splayed beneath his portrait read: "ALL-MIGHT", and like a crashing wave, everything came flooding back. your favorite manga series, my hero academia, had a bar similar as the base for the league of villains. you sucked in a sharp, excited breath as your eyes took in another look of the room. maybe this was heaven.

but...this shit doesn't happen in real life. isekai's were a favorite trope of yours, like re:zero or konosuba, yes, now you remembered- you had loved the idea of another world rather than death or rebirth. maybe it was your version of heaven. you bit your nail at the idea of being able to see the base for yourself. sure, it wasn't at all what you had imagined it to be- it wasn't as enchanting, per se, as you had thought. but it was...all in front of you. as you swallowed your discoveries, a squeal of joy erupted from your core. shit, your core. your body, fuck, was it okay? you lifted your shirt, expecting to see the gory visual of your death still imprinted on your skin...but it was gone. as if it had never happened. shit. this isnt so bad then, right?

but something surely was missing. and no, it wasn't your life. well, technically yes it was, but fuck that, who cares? what you really were missing was them. if this was a true isekai...

the sound of metal clanging sends a freezing shock through your bones. you whip around in time to see a very battered and bloody league stumbling in, kurogiri rushing to the bar to grab supplies. you stay silent as you watch them all individually groaning and pushing each other for a seat, too scared to say a fucking word. sure, your obsession was there, but it was all-too-intimidating when they're right in front of you. your breath is stuck in your chest, until a voice shatters your glass-persona.

"boss? who the FUCK is that?" a raspy voice slices the air and you feel everyone's stares fall onto you.

your eyes widen as shigaraki slumps out of his seat wordlessly and slinks over to you, hand extended. he's much larger than you thought he'd be. his frame towers over you slightly as he approaches, a sinister smile creeping up on his cracked lips.

"good question, spinner" his teeth are bared, and he's inches from you now as you shake. "who the FUCK are you?" he repeats the question, a sickening twist in his voice that shows he's really not in the mood to talk. without hesitation, you slip underneath him and head for the door, but he grabs you before you reach it. he yanks you back with four fingers, his grip deadly on the back of your shirt. in a panic, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"please! i'm sorry! fuck, i'm your biggest fan i promise! i don't know how the fuck i got here i just died and woke up here pleasedon'tturnmeintoashesi'msorry!" your voice is rushed and trembling, but he releases you onto the ground with a thud. you catch your breath as you stand, wiping the dirt from your legs.

"...the fuck?" dabi's voice rings through the thick silence, and the group breaks into a bellowing laughter. except for shigaraki. he stands over you, a wide, confused expression on his face.

"fan? so you've heard of us?" his smirk reappears as he couches down into your face, and you nod rapidly.

"yes, yes, i know all of you, you're my favorite characters!" you point at all of them, reciting their names. toga's smile consumes her entire face as you do so, and grabs onto twice's arm as she squeals.

"characters? tch, what are we to you?" shigaraki shakes his head as he looks down at you.

your expression falls as you realize they all have no fucking idea what the hell you're talking about. you take a deep breath and begin infodumping about "my hero academia", your favorite manga. everything from deku and his quirk, to all might, to the league itself. shigaraki finally backs up a step and offers you space to stand, and you do so. he nods as you recite the plot, his eyes widening in confusion and anticipation. when you run out of breath, he raises a finger to you, and you go silent.

"she sounds fucking crazy..." twice mutters sing-songy through his teeth. you chuckle nervously as shigaraki glances to the rest of the group, still bleeding and beaten.

"tend to your wounds elsewhere. i want a minute alone with...this thing." he gestures with a curled lip to you and you wave awkwardly. the group sighs and exits to their own spaces, toga examining you head-to-toe before bouncing away, exclaiming: "okay, but i want her when you're done!".

you cant help the anxious fiddling as he guides you to the worn stools again. he throws himself in one next to you, poppy irises still fixated on you with furrowed brow. he scowls at you, but says with a hint of amusement, "tell the truth now". his voice has a twinge of agitation to it, and you smile weakly at him.

"that's the truth, i swear" you start, and he shakes his head. you can feel the annoyance leeching off of him, and you start your next sentence very carefully.

"have you ever heard of an isekai?" you drag the words as if it would prevent your death, and he nods. "okay okay, good. so i think that's what happened. see, i'm not from here, as you can tell...and i died in a car crash, really brutal shit man, like literal sticks in my lower intestines and shit, that sucked balls." you trail off as you describe the fatality and he sighs.

"sorry, i got carried away. but yeah, basically, no need for an introduction on your part, i already know everything about you". you smile gingerly as he raises an eyebrow at you and scratches at his neck.

"mhm. everything, eh?" he leans into you again now and your breath hitches. you can smell him now, and it's unlike anything you could have imagined. the smell of sweat is combined with a faint sugared citrus scent. it's strange, honestly you didn't imagine he'd smell like anything more than a general stink, but he isn't unpleasant in the slightest. he's also all-too-close to your face, and you're able to see every patch of dry skin, scar, and scrape on his delicate pale face. strands of powdery blue hair drape around his face, and he pushes it back with a brutish movement as he takes in the image of you. you fight the urge to reach out and touch him as he speaks again, his breath on your face.

"what else do you know about me then, hmm?"

him being that close to you was overwhelming as fuck, and it takes a minute to reboot your brain and respond.

"well, fuck i don't have my phone" you exclaim as you pat your pockets down.

"need mine?" he slips his out of his hoodie pocket with two fingers and you shake your head shyly. "no thank you" you creak out, and shrug.

"well, basically, you're like, all over social media. and people really love you" you start, and a smirk forms on his face again.

"so, in another world i'm...people like me? in this other world...do i kill all might?" he says excitedly, snaking his long fingers together with a clap.

"well," you start, "sometimes?" you bite your lip, thinking of how to phrase it. "people write stories about you, and draw you, hell, some people even cosplay you..."

"cosplay? like...dress up? like me?" he says shocked, and you respond with a content "mhm!"

"...in your other world, do i win?" he smiles manically and you frown. you know his fate in your world. but maybe, in his, it's different. maybe you can lie to him.

"yes." you recall the recent manga leaks and chapters, and force a smile out. "you win, victoriously. and...you're the best villain!"

he leans back in his seat, a cocky look on his face as he folds his arms. "and society...does it fall?"

"you make it yours, shigaraki" you nod, distracting yourself from the blatant display of his death that replays in your mind.

"excellent" he hisses out. "tell me how i do it".

you shake your head. "i promise i can!" a look of determination overcomes you, your confidence way too high for someone who just got obliterated by a fucking tree branch. "if...if i can join you, i can show you everything from my world and help you" you propose, fighting off the aching in your chest. he glares at you for a moment and purses his lips.

"hmph. i'll consider it" he raises a brow and you respond with a tight, flat grin. he rolls his eyes as you shimmy closer to him. at this point, he hasn't killed you, and fuck it, if you die again, who knows where you'll go.

"did you know that a lot of people want to fuck you?" you blurt out, and he chokes on air.

"WHAT?"

"yeah, and they write about it all the time. and draw it, too. they also think you and dabi are together, sometimes you and spinner, hell i've even seen you and eraserhea-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he shouts out, and you laugh. you feel the excitement from before come rushing back, making you slightly delirious next to this definitely unstable and unhealthy villain.

"yeah! in my world, you're like, so hot" you giggle.

"i'm going to need you to shut the fuck up while i process that" he raises a hand and takes a deep breath.

he takes a few seconds, rubbing his temples and sighing. "...in what world would i fuck dabi?"

you laugh, violently, and he grimaces. you cant reply, so you just shrug as your laughter continues to startle him.

"well, a lot of people also think you're," you whisper the next part, "a virgin". he scowls at this and flattens his lips. he doesn't respond, which causes you in your delusional state to scooch closer to him.

"...is that true?" you ask quietly, and he glares at you. you take his silence as a yes, and nod.

"hmm. thought so" you reply with approval, slightly satisfied your favorite headcanon was very much true. he grits his teeth and stands from his seat, stretching a bit before walking away with a huff. you immediately fling yourself off your own seat and follow him.

"you know, that's not a bad thing!" you say behind as he trudges down the hall. he flings open a door and slams it in your face, sending you back a bit. you frown, not realizing how far you've been pushing it. you reach for the doorhandle and somehow, it's not locked. you push the old wood and enter slowly, the smell of dirty laundry and that same citrus smell enveloping your senses. he groans as he meets your gaze and you smile sheepishly.

"hey, sorry, i'm not sure why that of all things bothered you..."

he rolls his eyes and flops onto his bed. the springs creak with exasperation as his weight squishes against the old frame.

"of course an idiot like you wouldn't understand. even in your world i'm still somehow seen as a loser" he grumbles and you bite your cheek. you close and lock the handle behind you, and shuffle over to the bed. you dont sit, but you sway slightly as you watch him. his body is more defined from this angle, you can see the gentle muscles under his tshirt-his hoodie has been flung onto the floor with the rest of the clothes-and his baggy pants fall just low enough to expose his porcelain skin just above the waistband of his boxers. you take him in with a greedy stare as you plan your next response.

"...well, yes, but...we all think it's hot." the words startle him and he sits up slightly.

"we??" his eyes narrow, "you're one of them?"

you cringe and nod slowly. "sorry, shiggy, but if its any consolation" he cuts you off with a snap-

"i should kill you right now and send you back to your other world".

your hands fidget uncomfortably at your sides and you fight the urge to take off sprinting again. seems as though when you died, your proper judgement died with you. you sit slowly on the edge of his worn mattress and raise your hands in defeat.

"i don't think that's how it works. if i die again here, i'll just be sent somewhere else, and then i can't help you". he interjects with a quiet "ughhh", and you shrug. "like i was saying, if its any consolation, everyone who does think you're a virgin just wants to fuck you all the more. so in my world you get like, infinite bitches" you grin, and he frowns again.

"are you also one of those freaks?" he retorts, and you wince.

"hmph. checks out. mystery girl from mystery world shows up and says i, quote, get infinite bitches, and allegedly wants to fuck me" he throws his hands up in defeat. "i don't suppose you actually want that, just the idea of it, hm? i'm sure you get off on your world's portrayal of me. for all i know though, you could be lying, you could be a narc little NPC that works for the heroes, and they sent you to weaken me. i don't think i'll fall for it this time, idiot. get out." he points furiously at the door and you pout, folding your arms.

"fair assumption, but with all due respect, even if i were a spy, i don't think i'd be so stupid as to lock myself in a room with you" you motion to the locked door, and he huffs.

"prove you aren't then." he challenges, and you very quickly oblige. at this rate, you're living a fanfiction fantasy and you're thanking that tree branch more and more. you yank your shirt off and climb into his lap, choking out an exclamation from him. you straddle him and almost immediately feel him harden underneath you, eyes blown wide in shock as you wrap your arms around his frame and plant your lips on his. they're cracked and dry, but you couldn't care less. it feels like death all over again, the swirling static enveloping you as you taste him on you. a sweet twinge of blood and candy and salt coats your tongue as you slip it in past his lips, swallowing him whole. he whines as you tug on his tangled hair, rutting into you from below desperately. his body is already shaking, a silent plea as you grind down into him again, the friction of his rock-hard dick against your already throbbing center causing you to both moan. you cant hide your excitement and desperation as you claw at his back. he pulls away for a moment and shakily points to his hoodie on the floor.

"g-gloves" he chokes out, and you nod. you spring up and reach for the pocket, pulling out two artists gloves and tossing them to him. your hands brush against Father in his pocket and you suck air in through your teeth, completely forgetting about that weird fucking thing. you shake off the strange feeling and turn your attention back to him. he's hastily strapping the gloves on and fiddling with the button on his jeans. you lower yourself down to his crotch, the fabric strained against his length. with a surge of newfound confidence, you bite the button and undo the zip with your teeth, and he gasps at the sudden motion. you silently fist-bump yourself as he shimmies the jeans down his legs, tossing them off the bed. you follow, peeling the fabric off your own body and placing yourself back on top of him. he finally reaches up and squeezes your tits with his gloved hands, groaning at the feeling of them in his hands. his eyes are lit up like stars as he ogles your chest, yanking them out of your bra. you silently chuckle and completely lift the article off of you, and his jaw drops. he looks absolutely blown away, and as he greedily cups your tits and squeezes them, he whimpers underneath you. you feel his cock twitch and you grind slightly against it, and within seconds, he's panting and cumming all over you and himself, crying out a string of vulgarities. you kiss him again as he coats you both in slick, hot beads of cum and he bites your lip in pure craze. you remove yourself from his wet lap and look at him with a soft expression.

"aww, you've made a mess already. your boxers arent even off, shiggy" you whisper out and he balls his fists.

"mmf, fuck you, mystery girl" he mumbles out, and you help him pull his boxers off.

"call me by my name, _________". you plant a chaste kiss to his cheek. as his cock springs free, you audibly gasp.

its much bigger, and much angrier right now, than you typically read about. you take it in your hand and feel it, the soft, delicate skin feeling almost out of place on him. it's surrounded by thick baby blue hair, going up to his navel in a sparse trail. its heavier than you expected, too, as it switches in your palm. the creamy skin of his length is offset by a very sensitive silvery-pink tip, already leaking precum again as you thumb over it, sending pathetic whimpers to escape his lips in a fury. you blink away your greater morals and bring your mouth to it, licking a thick stripe from the base, tasting the slightly salty precum against your lips. he shakes as you slip him into your mouth, stretching your jaw out more then you expected you'd have to.

you begin slowly, keeping a hand twisting around the base as your mouth adjusts to the sheer size of it. slowly, you gain comfort and confidence in your actions, and you let your hand go. you take him further into your mouth with a sharp exhale through your nose, and he grips at your hair. he pushes you down, shuddering, and you bury your nose into the mass of hair, breathing in the aroma of his sweat and warmth. you feel yourself slicken more at this, and you bob your head up and down graciously as he whimpers, your name spilling from his lips a few times between labored breaths. you feel the blood pulsing in his shaft, and you wrap your hand around his balls as they tighten, squeezing them as he shatters into you again, thick ropes streaming into your mouth. his grip tightens on your hair and he shoves you all the way down, gagging you slightly as his cum drips down your throat.

"hnng, f-fuck" he drools as his seed fills your mouth generously, adn you pull off with a sloppy mixture of saliva and cum dripping from your lips. you swallow it feverishly and he shakes, watching as you collapse next to him.

it takes him a moment to speak, and its barely above a whisper when he does.

"_______?" his voice is raspier than before as he says your name, and is thick with desire still. you turn to him, still aching for your own orgasm.

"i'm going to fuck you now" he says, a little louder than before. you look at him with wide eyes and nod, spreading your legs are he peels his tshirt off and centers himself between them. he grips a thigh with his calloused fingers, digging his dirty nails into your skin. you hiss slightly but your back arches at the contact.

"why aren't you afraid of me?" he presses himself against your soaking cunt, leaning in to bite your neck. you gasp and grab his face, bringing him to your lips. waves of desire crash over you as he throbs against you. for a virgin, his stamina is something else.

"because i know that if i die again, i'll at least die happy this time" you admit, and reach a hand down to grab his cock. you center it to your opening, and nod. he presses himself in sharply, without warning, and you shriek out in pain.

"gah, fuck, okay, shigaraki" you put a hand to his chest to slow him, "easy, slow, please". he shakes his head and rams himself back into you, snaking a hand to your throat as he pumps inside of you haphazardly. there's no real rhythm to it yet, and you do your best to adjust to the size of him stretching your tight hole hungrily.

"tomura" he replies through grit teeth, and you moan.

"tomura," you repeat with a desperate sob, "please"

his eyes glaze over and with a newfound glimmer of faith, he grips your hips and begins to slowly rut into you, allowing the both of you to finally adjust. he exhales slowly as he rocks his hips into you, and you grab one of his hands, dragging it to your core.

"try...fuck, tomura, touch me" you plead, and he immediately presses his middle finger to your clit. its hard, almost too forceful, and you pull his hand back. he loses concentration and falls out of rhythm for a moment as you guide his hand around, showing him what feels good. you recall a few stories you had read and get an idea.

"like an analog. thumbstick. fuck. you know what i mean" you stumble out, and he very quickly nods.

"so not like a trigger." he follows, and suddenly, his movements are a lot more fluid. he smirks as he rubs your clit steadily. he begins to thrust back into you shakily, then with harder, longer strokes. he follows your directions as you moan and squirm under him, beads of sweat forming on his forehead and shoulders as he gains momentum, the mattress squeaking rapidly under the both of you.

you feel yourself at your own breaking point, the fire inside of you melting like metal as it fills you, and you sink your nails into his back as you clench even tighter around his merciless cock. he snaps out with a cry and thrusts into you faster, becoming a little unsteady as you soak his length. your body splinters in ecstasy as he drives himself relentlessly into you, orgasm ripping your body like a hurricane. you call his name out like an unholy prayer as you fall from your high, and he throws his head back as his own climax tears through him. you feel it as he rams himself as deep as he can, filling you with sticky cum furiously. his jaw slackens as he huffs and pants, the most angelic sounds emanating from the villain's flustered body.

as you both crash hard, he pulls out slowly with a hiss. his arms turn to jelly as he collapses on top of you, the weight of him crushing the air from you slightly, and you giggle breathlessly. you wrap your arms around his sweaty, shaking frame and kiss the top of his head as he hyperventilates.

he gathers the strength to push himself off of you and rolls onto his back next to you.

"was that real?" he asks, and you chuckle lightly.

"well, as real as i am, i suppose". he shrugs and closes his eyes.

"did you read about this? in your other world?" he asks gingerly, and you turn to him.

"something like this, yeah" you admit, and he nods slowly.

"you can stay, mystery girl, so long as you keep telling me about those things you read. or just show me" he says, and you smile. "oh, and help me kill that all-might fucker."

your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss as his visage interrupts your greater thoughts. if this is what your new life would be like, then perhaps the violent death was worth it.

===============================================

this took me like 3 hours to write tbh, i hope its good! i think im gonna cross-post this to ao3 to get the ball rollin. thank u sm for the ask! it was a pleasure (literally) to write this :)

[silliest-heartaches]

Ohh my god DRINKKK!! Dude I love them sooo muchhh. I just love imagining them being head over heels for each other yet constantly denying their feelings, because of how they view themselves, yet still finding comfort and solace with each other. They are so. YES. PERFECT. AUGH.

SHARE MORE ABOUT THEM PLEASE!!!

And I love how you use they/them for Ink and she/her for Dream!!

GOD YEAH I LIKE THEM SO INCREDIBLY MUCH... tbh the main reason i started liking them was bc i was thinking abt them and how doomed yuri coded they were and. The worms Wormed in from there,,,,

I actually use he/they and she/they for ink and dream respectively but!!!!!! I love all hcs and interpretations of them for REAL. nonbinary people who are gay as fuck for real,, very inherrently queer ship regardless of how u see either of them i think...heart seeing them as t4t transmasc and transfem forever personally though so thats what i see em as hehe,, also in my head theyre both aroacespec (though the specifc kind varies from au to au though i do consistently see ink as ace and dream as demiaro :>>)

Im not sure how long these will be so...hcs under the cut lol

- okay well while in my mind while error is technically the First Entity ink sees that isnt just a normal entity, dream is like their First. Friend. you know. Like when error first saw him he was screaming and crying for the hills bc it was also his first time seeing another outcode so. that reaction BUT with dream she was more filled with gentle confusion... this is a bit after she unstoned in the apple incident but still was new to au hopping and naive to most danger so they became friends!!! Questionably so.

-to elaborate, when they first meet dream is still stuck on the ideals of toxic positivity and pushing through hardship no matter what... i think this is something they eventually grow out of and dream will eventually learn to see the need for balance eventually but one of their first disputes happens when ink is running low on ink and most of whats left are the Negative Emotions within him alongside the especially strong panic that he usually feels when they get like this... dream would try to comfort him and try to say that itll work out in the end no matter what and that they just need to push through and that itll be okay like normal comforting words because dream is an empath and can sense feelings right,,i feel like its comforting in some cases but when things get Really Bad and especially when the main reserves of feelings that ink has are Negative, they heavily override his normal sense of self and i imagine they get a lot more. Snappy.... theres also the additional hc thingy of ink also really overexaggerating his feelings and overplaying them a lot for the sake of trying to feel more intensely (doesnt work, just drains him faster and will never truly feel natural to him...personally think that ink feels a lot of disconnect from his feelings) which could be considerably offputting to dream (though before adding swap to the group she thought it wass normal because she had only seen the fake pretend nice joy of the village influenced by her aura and not Genuine Feelings)

I think eventually through the years they would learn a lot from eachother...like with ink learning to be more naturally charismatic and dream learning to see past toxic positivity and have his perception on emotions change for the better (ie in learning that having different emotions are okay, so long as there is a balance)

id do alot more hcs but tbh what it boils down to is: toxic codependent yuri. intensely up and down relationship where theres an insane amount of love and attachment but also a lack of self from the both of them because they are only able to see themselves as a Thing to the other. Also exes who turned out to be besties. Thry got together and broke up wayyy before blue (they casually tell him stories about it and for the parts that he does know about he is horrified for.) Oh and they share hobbies and do parallel play alot. dream is more music oriented and can play the cello and flute. ink can play the ukelele but hes more familiar with drawing and painting duh. Also they have a garden. they love growing flowers but their favourites are sunflowers. Also have writing sessions together. Also may/may not also have beautiful princess disorder. (The both of them)

im so sorry this is so incoherrent but erm. yeah im very normal abt them (half of this stuff comes from oc projection the other half is like. Mental illness while in the shower tbh)

[softness-and-shattering]

I dont want this to be a whole thing but like

This idea that trans guys have it easy bc the patriarchy prizes masculinity and therefore obviously welcomes us with open arms

If you follow that logic whats being said

Is that all babies are assigned male, assuned male, privileged male until some people vary from that and display femininity and become women. Bc women are oppressed and seen as lesser and men are valued and privileged.

I very much understand that for trans women in general you were assigned male and presumed to be a man and treated as a man until you developed or noticed your femininity and began transition.

That is very much NOT the experience of being a trans guy. We were assigned female, treated as silly little girls and lesser women, we grew up targets of sexism and misogyny, taught to be quiet and out of the way sometimes also with some gurl power etc but we've had the oppression of being women from day one. And then we realised, wait, they were wrong, Im a guy and we take steps to transition.

No one says to us "great, the more men the better, let me introduce you to your new privileges". They say "youre a woman and youre being ridiculous, put your makeup back on you look ugly now". Even out and transitioning we are still targets of misogyny, it doesnt go away it just changes. We're still dumb girls, now we're also autistic and being taken advsntage of by scary people on the internet or we are the scary people on the interbrt. We still have to shut up and let our 'betters' talk bc uh youre a man you have privilege your voice doesnt matter. That trans guy with the chair thing talked about trans guy abortion issues w ben shapiro and people said "thats a woman I dont care what she calls herself" and peoplr said "he spoke well but maybe a woman should have got the seat in case she had more to say". Either we're dumb women so shut up or we're privileged men so shut up its exactly the same thing we are still victim to misogyny.

Im not playing who has it worse. Im just saying. People arent all men till they display femininity and then theres misogyby to deal with. A lot of us are girl and lesser since birth and transitioning doesnt make us, to cis patriarchal etc eyes, men. It makes us fucked up delusional ugly women to those people.

And im talking in how they see us broadly. Of course we are all who we know ourselves to be and we are wonderful and creayive with endless capacity for joy and curiosity and compassion.

The default just isnt man, unless you were assigned male ans raised as a guy (i acknowledge intersex folk, im not sure how to word things includively for yall rn). If you were assigned female raised a girl your default is girl. None of us are welcomed for "switchibg teams", thats not supposes to be allowed for anyobr.

[beelzeballing]

good morning. dealing with the ofmd s2 finale Badly.

idk im really upset. not because "bury your gays" or whatever, apparently theres people saying that shit? no thats not the issue here. everyone in this show is gay. what are you talking about.

its that izzy was like... the personification of the show's message. he opened up, he learned to love and be loved, he gave that entire speech to ricky which may as well have been the show's fucking thematic statement... and they killed him. he found love and joy and community and they killed him for it.

and then they had the nerve to put the words "ed, i want to go" into his mouth. no the fuck he does not. his entire dying monologue was so bad i genuinely don't even have the words to describe it. parts of it were wrong, parts were inconsistent, parts were straight up antithetical to the show, i cannot believe how badly they cocked this up. and then there were just randomly like 8 minutes left of the episode? as if nothing happened?

and what for? what fucking for? this was not a natural (or satisfying) fucking conclusion to his arc, no matter how much djenkins insists on it. izzy died for no fucking reason. none of the plot threads that his death was supposed to messily tie up needed him to die. he couldve become the new captain, this time accepted and loved and supported by his crew, calling back to s1. stede and ed couldve continued sailing and izzy couldve remained first mate. probably a bunch more stuff that i cant think of rn cuz im not terribly creative and also too upset. but i fundamentally believe izzy dying wouldve been a fucking terrible choice either way, no matter the execution.

this ending was a rushed hack job. im sure this isnt fully on the showrunners, but im hesistant to fully 'absolve' them of the blame for this either. i dont know. if theres ever a third season coming, i seriously doubt im gonna watch it. i dont think it should be cancelled or w/e but personally, this writing decision doesn leave me with much faith for a third season. plus obviously my favorite character is fucking dead so. yeah. thats my take after sleeping on it.

[lexa-griffins]

Alpha Anya takes her little sister Omega Lexa out partying to celebrate her birthday. Lexa meets alpha Clarke in the club and there's instantly a strong sexual connection between them. Unable to wait until they get back to Clarke's apartment, they hook up in one of the club's private rooms

Lexa isnt the biggest fan of clubs. They're too loud an sweaty for her taste most of the time and any conversation she might wanna have gets drowned by the loud bass of the music. The scent of sweaty alphas and horny omegas isnt particularly appealing to her either.

Still, she finds herself being dragged by her older sister to what might be the most popular club in town, which is simply booming on a saturday night. Not really the birthday night Lexa planned for, with some nice takeout and some obscure documentary playing on tv while she got drunk alone on cheap wine. Hurray for 27!

Anya did promise she'd buy her drinks so Lexa feels just a little hint of joy as she asks what sounds the most expensive without really looking at the price.

Two drinks in, Lexa is starting to feel more at ease as she stands at the bar, staring at the sea of people dancing. Anya is in there somewhere, having been dragged by two very flirty omegas that didn't offer her a fighting chance.

"Is that one any good?"

Lexa hears a voice to her side and turns, nearly dropping her drink in the process. Leather pants and unbuttoned shirt with a generous amount of cleavege stand next to her, with a flirty smile on her face. A single whiff tells Lexa she's an alpha. A very hot one.

"Its drinkable. And way stronger than I thought." Lexa replies with ease.

"Most things here are." The alpha smiles, "I'm Clarke."

"Lexa!" She doesn't tend to share her name all that much with random people at a club. But the girl sure makes her feel comfortable.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl."

Lexa rolls her eyes with a playful smile.

"Yeah, that was lame." The alpha admits as she orders something before turning back to Lexa, "wanna dance?"

In any other circumstance Lexa probably wouldnt. She isnt a fan of being pushed around on the dance floor but something about this alpha compels her to accept. She downs the rest of her drink in one swift go and slams the cup on the bar "Why not!"

She finds herself in the middle of dancing bodies with little room to move about but Clarke pulls her closer to her. Hand on Lexa's hip she starts to sway her own and Lexa follows, enjoying the warmth of the girl's hand on her. It doesnt take long for the alcohol to fully hit them both as Lexa fully lets go, turning her back to Clarke and grinding her ass on her, Clarke palm agaisnt her thigh pulling her closer, moving around her body and groping her without caring who sees. No one does really, much more focused on their own dance partners.

Once Lexa turns around again they are both breathing heavy, Clarke's eyes hooded and dark, sweaty foreheads agaisnt one another. A third party clearly joining them.

"Wanna get out of here? My apartment isnt too far." Clarke is yelling but between the music and her drunkness, Lexa hears her as if shes whispering.

"I dont think I can hold on that long." Lexa replies, one hand copping Clarke's boner over the fabric of her leather pants.

"Fuck, Lexa." The alpha groans at the feeling, grabbing her wrist to stop her, "come with me".

Lexa doesnt know where they are. They moved through the crowd quickly but all Lexa could really see was the back of the alpha’s blonde hair and focus on the desire to be fucked.

A closed door muffles the loud music and Lexa is being slammed against it, attacked by Clarke's lips. She moans in response, kissing her back her fervor. She grabs at any fabric she can, ripping the remainder of the buttons that were still in place on Clarke's shirt and quickly grabs a handful of the girls chest who in return brings Lexa's dress up to her hips and palms her ass, smacking it once for good measure.

Soft hands make quick work of Lexa's underwear that falls to her feet before she's urged to jump and wrap her legs around the alpha’s waist.

The moment she feels Clarke's dick against her bare cunt she moans, "inside alpha. Please"

Clarke chuckles low, "Didnt take you for the kind of omega to say alpha during sex."

If Lexa was sober maybe she would have said she isnt, that she tends to dislike even saying it. But shes not, so the xan only moan at Clarke's low chuckle and raspy voice in her ear.

"Deep breath baby" she hears and suddenly there is pressure against her entrance, and Clarke slides her dick inside, slowly, inch by inch. Lexa lets her head fall back against the door, nails digging into the skin on Clarke's shoulders.

The feeling of lips against her neck makes her gasp, "dont tempt me to bite." She hears the alpha whisper before lips give way for her tongue to swipe the path from her color bone to her jaw, before she crashes their lips togethet and gives one last thrust, fully entering Lexa.

"Fuck."

"Shit, you feel so fucking good baby."

Lexa has never been fucked like this. Hard agaisnt a door, fingers digging into her thighs and she can only manage the strength to keep herself up with one leg, the other trying desperately to stay in place around Clarke's hips and keep her upright.

Its not long before Clarke's movements before desperate and Lexa legs are shaking far too much to help Clarke with her weight. The feeling of Clarke knot against her pussy driving her to the edge.

"Knot me alpha. Please." Its a whispered beg as Clarke as her nipple between her teeth.

Lexa isnt completely opposed to the surge of feelings that get to her when Clarke looks up, looking so softly at her.

"Im sorry baby, you know I cant do that."

The omega wants to whine and beg, but Lexa knows it would be a rather stupid decision on both of their parts to do so.

"Lexa, im cumming baby." Clarke moans as she gets closer.

Lexa doesnt answer verbally, instead she crashes their lips together as clarke releases inside of her, teiggering her own orgasm. She is slammed agaisnt the door twice as Clarke thursts hard inside of her until she finally stays and lets her cum fill Lexa fully before pulling out.

Clarke holds Lexa in place, the omega's legs still too shaky to fully hold her up. The kiss that follows is softer, the sweaty foreheads agaisnt each other in a much sweeter gesture than when it was done on the dance floor.

Lexa chuckles softly.

"What?" Clarke asks

"Its my birthday today." Lexa whispers agaisnt her lips.

Clarke kisses her again, "oh. Happy birthday. Hm, hope it was a good one." The girl says while a soft smile.

Lexa gives her a bright one and long kiss, "you made sure of that."

The moment is sweet and romantic almost after the passion of their quick. Clarke is about to open her mouth when Lexa hears her sister's voice outside calling her name.

"Oh shit."

[sunnynoki]

We don’t talk a lot - We haven’t talked in probably about a year or so now, since I left the fandom space we met in. I’ve changed usernames since then - I went by Wheat on discord. Sorry I’ve been so distant. I never knew how to talk to you since it’s been a while.

Even still, I want to tell you that you were important to me, and still are. I wish we could talk more. I want to talk about your new interests. What are you into these days? I’ve been getting into some older games these days, but I’ve been missing pokemon a bit. I want to get back into it. Do you still draw Sky? I never asked you about them with as much detail as I wanted to. I was always worried about being too intrusive, but I regret that now. Your OCs are really imaginative. I know you’re into tensura now, right? Season 3 is coming out soon. I’m excited for that.

I want to get to know you again. I don’t know what happened with whatever you left behind, and I don’t know if this is a weird message to send, but you’re important to me and I want to let you know that you are. I wouldn’t be who I am if you weren’t there in the beginning. Thank you for being you.

i dont know how to talk either. every sentence i say either feels fake or self centered, selfish. and dont worry about being distant; it happens, especially when interests change. i dont blame you.

youre important to me too. i wish we could talk more. im not into much right now. i just feel empty. i gave up su/bmas, after everything. it was too much, not knowing who i could trust not to fucking ship them, or think its ok in any circumstance. yet sometimes i still crawl back to the tag, despite blocking it a while ago. i dont touch anything though, just look. it doesnt bring me joy anymore. i think im finally letting it go. i dont know how i feel about po/kemon yet. its kinda just. there. maybe im just feeling particularly apathetic right now.

i don't really draw anything right now. i dont know if i can go back. it was my only hobby, yet my therapist said that it wasnt enough, even when i was at my lowest. well, at the time. ive set a new low score at this point. i dont want to draw. i don't know what id draw. i dont think i can. my computer is kinda a no mans land at this point. i don't really touch it anymore. im glad you liked sky though. i never understood why she garnered so much attention. i could never write a good enough character for her. she was a mary sue in that way, with no real character flaws, let alone the... everything else. either way, like i said, im glad you liked her regardless. it means a lot. the attention i got because of her made me really happy.

like i said, im not really into anything right now, but i guess tensura would be regarded as an "interest." im... looking forward to season 3. i read one of the light novels thats going to be adapted a month or two back though, so i guess its gonna be a moment before i get to "new" content.

i dont know if theres anyone to get to know anymore. i was already in a depressive episode before this disaster, now i dont know if theres any going back, if theres any way to recover. it isnt a weird message to send, and its appreciated that you care for me but. im not sure if i can trust anyone again. im not sure if i can even trust myself. even in the aftermath, the people i thought i could trust either no longer talk to me or still interact with those who hurt me. i guess its selfish to ask them to cut off those friends too. but ive always been selfish. self centered. egotistical.

regardless, im glad i had some positive impact despite my mess of a personality. thank you for your words

[lxndonorris]

Im so tired of people mocking Lance every day, 24/7.

"They are wasting a seat. He isnt performing at all. Get a new driver."

Yeah sure. By applying that logic you could easily replace half the grid but that doesnt matter, right? Because his daddy owns AM and thats the problem.

I dont know why people feel the need to insult or threaten him under every post, record stupid youtube videos or whatever.

It brings you joy, makes you money and probably takes a toll on Lance's mental health.

And if he was to retire, you wouldnt stop. No, you would harass him in anything he does. It doesnt matter what he does, hes fucked either way.

Its so fucking toxic and Im so exhausted and sad. He doesnt deserve any of this because his passion in motorsports is aided by his family.

Anyone in his situation would do the same, to race, follow his passion and hopefully win again.

I gladly say it again, that mental health matters to me, and I hope Lance is able to ignore all of that, even though it doesnt feel like it at times.

[alstroemerian-dragon]

man. thinking about how the survivors all desperately need new hobbies

like. okay. sonia’s a great example. off the top of your head what are her hobbies? probably learning about and researching true crime and the occult, and watching j-dramas/anime, right? but if you really think about it, her fascination with japanese culture very much feels like her just desperately wanting to fit in and massively overcompensating. so while i do think she probably enjoys those shows, theyre definitely not as popular in her kingdom as she claims (not that im saying she’s lying on purpose, just that. well, when you feel embarrassed about someones reaction to you liking something, sometimes you’ll try to make an excuse for why you do yknow), and plus, its not like they have access to a lot of entertainment media for a while post program. as for the occult/true crime stuff…

look me in the eye and tell me junko did not use that against her. do you really think junko enoshima would not see a girl obsessed with the study of serial killers and not try and warp that into a fascination with her?

i think that stuff leaves a bad taste in her mouth now. and after committing and being complicit in the committing of the kind of crimes she used to be fascinated by, its kind of hard to find the joy in that anymore, yknow? the occult stuff could maybe still be enjoyable, but with how often it feels like there are ghosts lurking around every fucking corner and her dreams are filled with screaming corpses its kinda hard to be fanciful about that stuff.

so. girl needs some new hobbies.

its not much better for the others, either. akanes hobbies were basically working out, doing parkour, eating, and sleeping. the first two are downright impossible for the first several months after waking up, and for the foreseeable future any kind of physical activity is going to be, to an extent, difficult just due to how much chronic pain and weakness she’ll probably suffer the rest of her life. she can get to a healthier weight and a stronger muscular build, but its not going to change the fact that she gets out of breath and sore much faster than before. as for eating… well. thats gonna be a sore subject for a while. so all she has left is sleeping, and sleeping all day is, as ive been told by many people, kind of a depression symptom? and theres no way the others would sit back and let her do that.

girl needs some new hobbies!

kazuichi, from what we can tell, had a few more normal hobbies. in game you can find him gaming with chiaki, and he seems to enjoy coming up with schemes and plans for silly stuff, but overall he just loves his tinkering. he may be the ultimate mechanic but first and foremost he just loves fucking with machines and engines and finding out what makes them tick. but even that isnt gonna work anymore. sure, he could game. if they had any fucking consoles. or a working computer network. or any games. but none of that is happening for a while, if ever. as for his tinkering, it’s gotta be a similarly sore subject to sonia’s training and tutoring as a princess. its too closely linked to what he did as a despair, too closely linked to his talent, to not make him feel like screaming when he smells machine polish. i think he definitely could get back to a point where it genuinely brings him joy again, and before that he definitely forces himself to use his talent and knowledge because they need it, but. its a complicated problem.

the guy needs some new fucking hobbies.

and of course… fuyuhiko.

fuyuhiko… doesnt have any hobbies.

like okay can you think of a single thing from the game (or fuck even the anime) that implies that he has anything he actually does For Fun. he has a sweet tooth. hes dedicated to his clan. he went to the zoo with peko one time. he got in fights at school. thats… those arent hobbies. fuyuhiko doesnt have any hobbies!!! someone get this boy some fucking knitting needles or a book to read!!!! please!!!!!!!!!! i think it would genuinely help him a lot to have something to do instead of just sitting and stewing in his own trash fire of a brain speaking from experience. learn to sew, read some fantasy novels, learn to play the guitar, something. im begging you.

and hajime is his own fucking can of worms.

he probably had hobbies before the Horrors. right? he probably played some video games, maybe liked martial arts films, maybe sketched in the margins of his notebooks. rode his bike sometimes. but now? nothing keeps his interest that long. everything becomes monotonous after a while, and sure, sometimes thats the draw. with stuff like fiber crafts the point is sometimes making it muscle memory so you have something to do with your hands. but other times its not. and his ability to basically excel in most things you put in front of him has to be so fucking boring after a while. a lot of the point of having hobbies is that you arent perfect. the draw is learning, is getting better. even reading can become nothing when any nonfiction book has knowledge in it you already know and any fiction book you can intuit the ending from the first few pages. he probably reads Lightning Fast now too, so it cant hold his interest for long.

he probably has to constantly be switching hobbies and outlets. cant stay on one thing too long, or the ennui starts to set in. that sounds miserable.

someone get these kids some hobbies, man

[meet-at-tycho]

sorryyy its late and i am filled with joy and whimsy. i love them so much, my sibling always gets annoyed with me cuz theyre all i talk about.. can you blame me? to have that vast boring nothingness shift into excitement and happiness and real true love? if you were me, youd talk about it too

its so funny cuz my life seems to move in cycles, familiar patterns that ive grown really sick of.. traumatizing and terrible, horrible bloody mess.... and then the most long drawn out boring slice of life youve ever witnessed. trauma! nothing! trauma! nothing! really tired of that.. i never thought that my nothing could be broken with joy, isnt that strange? for once, im not really hurting anymore. when i do hurt, i can handle it on my own and let go, and if its too much then i know im safe to express it

ive come such a long way, i dont tend to see myself positively, but.. its hard not to be proud. guys it turns out all you need to be happy is like. LOVE isnt that so corny isnt that so unbelievably predictable... APPARENTLY its true, i guess it feels different when yr actually experiencing it firsthand

im like on the verge of tears right now but. theres no sweeter joy than this, its so fucking BIZARRE. how did it happen this way? all the little bits and pieces that fell into place, delivered me angels and made me whole again.. cheesy, i know im being cheesy but i cant help it!! im sweet on them as often as i can be but theres still a lot of things i just.. dont have the strength to say directly. so i say them here, im sure only one of you will see this anyways. but i dont need either of you to see it, just speaking my feelings out into open air eases my mind a bit more

sometimes im like wow! theres no way this is healthy im . can i really experience true love? love that doesnt hurt? love thats REAL? as much as im tempted to deny it, im living it every day!!! i wake up and theyre both there to greet me, isnt that sweet? the first people i speak to when i wake up, the last people i say goodnight to when i go to sleep

i think i just need someone, i think im the kind of person that just.. ive been alone for a while, its OKAY its whatever, ive definitely grown used to it but. i thrive when im with them, its so? maybe all i need is someone else to keep me here.. ive got two!!!!!

maybe thats not clear enough

the way id get through that droning loneliness is escapism, nonstop daydreams and dissociation, i was barely here. only to eat and take care of my body a little bit, then its back to fantasy, because .. theres people who love me in my dreams! but.. im honestly finding it so hard to slip back into that habit now. its scary, because its whats kept me safe. hiding in fiction has kept me safe, kept me calm, happy.. but i cant shake it out of my head!!!! any time i try to fall back into those routines, the only thing i can think of is THEM.. like yeah this is great and all but.. i dont want to be trapped in my head anymore!!! theyre out there, i want to be out there..

if im honest? its terrifying. im forced to come to terms with ME as a person, who i am, something ive neglected to acknowledge for my entire life, but. im so completely wrapped up in my love for them that i hardly think about that!!!!! for once, it sorta almost feels like time is moving how it should be.. like every day that passes is different, every day that passes is SPECIAL. it hurts me to say this, but i think i love being alive? can you imagine that? how is it possible that two strangers could just.. fall into my life one day and before i even know it, im healing, im happy, im whole. MAKE ME SICKK its so foul. its almost pathetic!!! is that really all ive needed? this whole time, and i couldnt find ONE proper candidate throughout 20 years of life? its hard to really be upset about it, cuz.. ive got them now. thats all that matters

idk, i just. i think its really telling the kind of people they are, i know im only me, but.. for what its worth, theyve improved my life so drastically, i wouldve never thought id see myself happy like this. they do that for me, they do that and so much more. i love you 💞

[midnxght-sweet-time]

Before I start my bible about how much I liked "tart thief", I must clarify that English is not my first language, so I apologize if I am not understood 😔

I love how Riddle's personality is so canon! The more I read I thought of "THIS IS SOMETHING THE RIDDLE WOULD SAY", at the beginning of the story our red tyrant comes screaming and ruining the whole atmosphere of friendship between the students, I myself felt the fear of being caught! Even the dorm members felt afraid of Riddle even when they knew of his innocence and that was shown very well in the writing <3

I loved the obscenity and how he included Riddle's obsession with discipline in the Queen of Hearts rules (Excuses to fuck his lover <3)

Reading the previous anonymous I fully agree that the reader became pregnant. My mind is filled with thoughts of a pregnant darling and Riddle as a father, I feel like he would be such a sweet father afraid of making the same mistakes as his parents :(

In conclusion: I fell in love with his writing ❣️

• Anon 🦋

IM—

Thank you so much sweetiesss T o T

What a cute little butterfly you are~ I wanna squish you >;33

Dont worry I get what your saying and honestly— Im afraid to say but english is also not my first language. Im chinese so Im still trying to get use to modern day fanfic writing in english and practicing descriptive writing is an experience. Especially for smut.

Usually in chinese its either very straightforward because personifications and figurative speech is mainly used in poems.

But yes! I did my best to impersonate Riddle and make sure he stays in character while also having that sweet sweet chills 7w7

I wanted a Riddle fic to have the vibe of what if darling gets caught by the tyrant boi and said tyrant will have to punish them. Huehuehue- im not sure if anyone has done it before but atleast I took inspiration from the Alice in Wonderland live action scene. That poor froggie :((

It wasnt suppose to be a smut actually. But then I wanted a scenario where darling gets caught for doing something rash and Riddle sees this as an oppurtunity and takes it. His mind is all hazy with all the rage of you daring to cross the rules while also being lowkey horny to get you stuff full with his babies♡

Though it will be a troublesome aftermath with what comes with keeping the child, the joy that this small baby will bring to Riddle will be all worth it.

Riddle will be looking at the newborn with such wide and fascinated eyes seeing it snuggled up in a blanket the doctors wrapped it up in laying comfortable in your arms and Riddle is just so eager to hold his creation. Looking at you like "may I? Please? Gimme gimme-"

Mmmmm Riddle being such a sweet father tho! But also a very nice husband > <

He promise to take care both you and the child and live happily ever after with the both of you~

He will probably live somewhere far away with you and be so happy to have a life of his own away from his mother and hopes to give his child the life he never had, giving them proper care and love but also still needing to step in when his child does something wrong. He will be fustrated with how mischevious and reckless they are but cant help but notice how similar they are to their mother.

He makes sure he isnt too rough on them like how he is with you ;)

[anxiousgaypanicking]

sure why not?

okok.

so roman being arthur. logan being sally. patton being ollie. virgil being margaret. janus being uncle jack. let me explain.

there was never any doubt roman would be arthur. he's an inherently selfish character - its his entire personality! he took care of his disabled brother, but ultimately abandoned him on a train alone when he switched their passports. (the only real issue here is that percy was older than arthur, which is how arthur got away with using his passport, but we can say remus and roman are irish twins since thomas/the fandom celebrates their "birthdays" on different days anyway lmao). holds childish resentment for sally for doing something that truly she had no choice but to do (bitter exes, much?) but still comes to him for help anyway, only to abandon her when she can't leave immediately. when he eventually escapes, he's still given the choice to go back and forget, and live his life in oblivion

logan as sally is something i truly was back and forth on. both patton and logan would be great as sally for different reasons, but i decided i liked patton as ollie more. sally is great with chemicals, but also has a baby. she sleeps with the general for favors, while also supplying him and the constables drugs that they threaten her over. while taking care of her baby is what her gameplay generally centers around, shes a very self-sufficient character, and very smart, getting herself out of negative encounters with the general on separate occasions!

patton as ollie, whos mind has been so fucked by drugs that he hallucinates his supposed dead daughter. but margaret isnt his daughter, and is instead uncle jacks daughter, whom he got killed out of spite after uncle jack was making comments about the war. after this, he felt so guilty that he took a ton of drugs to make him forget it. he hates uncle jack with a passion, but is inevitably the one to expose uncle jacks last show where he implores everyone to go off their joy (a pill that makes them happy)

virgil as margaret - uncle jacks dead daughter. she's ollie's voice of reason, even though she's mainly a hallucination. ollie got her killed - not intending to, but it being done anyway - and so she sort of haunts his mind until he eventually overcomes this grief, remembers what he's done, and plays uncle jacks last show

and janus as uncle jack. he's a tv personality who interacts with sent-in questions, gives advice for living in the town, talks about joy, and in his last show - after margaret has been killed - exposes the town for starving to death because the joy keeps them from even realizing theyre hungry. he goes from a charming, charismatic face to someone distraught by reality. he also argued against surrendering during the war, which is what eventually led to his daughter - who he was hiding, after the town demanded that everyone's children be sent on a train over to germany - being found and killed

anyway yeah idk i love the story of we happy few sm and think the sanders sides characters fit so neatly into it <3

victoria byng was another character i thought either janus or patton could be. she's the one who initially made joy, and after no one was taking it, spiked the water supply with it so people would get addicted to joy even if they didn't want to. eventually she's forced off her own joy by ollie and realizes that the town is in ruins because of joy and so eventually destroys it all which people hate her for because what gives her the right, though they do eventually realize they were all going to die if they stay on it

[butchviking]

could u describe your feelings about Cheerard

ogh man. i am like always going off about this 2 people but u put me on the spot like that i get scared. um.

well. first of all she represents freedom 2 me. gerard has clearly always been kind of a feminine dude, "i was a girl to a lot of people growing up" "i have always identified a fair amount with the female gender" "masculinity has always made me feel like it wasnt right for me".. he expressed this 2 some degree w stage looks, w all the makeup & everything, and sure mcr have always had adoring fans but he also very much has always always been called a fag mcr have always all been called fags on the regular people have not always been kind. and hesitant alien era he was clearly going thru a lot and thinking about a lot. and from that angle it just meant the world to see him like. openly crossdress in the public eye for the first time (we know he's crossdressed before but never in the public eye u know?) and look so HAPPY. with his friends who support him. and u could feel the love u could see it u could almost hold it in ur hands. that was true of the whole tour ofc but it made me wail and cry seeing his buddies giving him a hug and everyone cheering and loving and supporting him. as a gnc person who has also gone thru Gender Issues. and the fact that he was doing it all at 45 with grey hairs and wrinkles and sinewy middle-aged-man legs. there is a future u know. there is a future. and theres happiness there. and he just looked like he was having so much fun and not giving a fuck.. again, vibe of the whole tour, but it was so special 2 see him dancing and jumping and twirling..

also. hm. hard to know how to phrase this one without just copying out a previously written essay. as a woman, who also was once a girl, feminity is something that has often been forced on me. the world has tried to make it a prison for me and i have chewed through the bars kicking and screaming. and over the years ive stubbornly gone very much the other way and eschewed anything that could b considered feminine and viewed all things feminine as evil and as a cage. bc thats what that was to me. but the thing is that not everything deemed feminine is necessarily bad. ive avoided gentleness and vulnerability as much as ive avoided superficial aesthetic markers of femininity like skirts and pink and whatever. (and i have lost some kindness but i was a girl too and you were just like me and i was just like you..) and. hm. you know that thing transmascs sometimes say about looking at transwomen and being like "i forgot that womanhood could be enjoyed i forgot that it isnt the burden to everyone that it was to me"? well obviously i dont agree with that. but as far as feminity rather than womanhood i think thats a fair parallel for how i feel about gerard way. there are things i have run from that i see him enjoy and it makes me see them a different way. and it makes me see that it doesn't have to be a prison and by god i do not have to move myself from one cage to another. i'll never be an aesthetically feminine person it's just not who i am or what i enjoy.. and dresses and skirts are superficial things.. but him doing his silly little twirls in his silly little cheerleader dress is a very visual representation of something more. its very symbolic 2 me. and i'll also never be exceptionally feminine in my behaviours or personality either and that's not a bad thing its who i am and im proud of who i am. sometimes anyway. but. there are traits i could do with letting in. that have been hard for me to let in. he/she (that is gerard/cheerard fjdksk gerard is a he hes a real human man but cheerard is a symbol a concept a character and she's a she to me. sorry i dont make the rules my brain does) is a representation of all of this 2 me.

all of this 2 say gender is fake and u can do what u want and u just have to be yourself and be what u want 2 be and be what makes u happy and what brings love and joy. and u dont have to sit in a hole about it u dont have 2 write emily or drugstore perfume u dont have to wish u could bring her back from the dead or whatever. sometimes u just gotta wear a silly little cheerleader dress and go have fun. metaphor but also very real 2 me i WILL be buying a custom made cheerard dress and it will probably b the only dress i'll ever wear in my adult life fjfkkdj

[winderlylandchime]

2/2 ‘So he showered but he couldn’t wash his hair? Is this kid sticking around?’ ‘this moment with Emy and Linds was nice. A true ted talk. Now back to what we all care about, Brian and Justin. Do they have a name like brangel- nevermind bad example. Forget i said anything’ he is now laughing at Mikey and actually enjoying him ‘they know they can’t just keep the kid right? But that’s funny. He’s actually funny when he’s not annoying as fuck. Or obsessed with Bri Bri’ ‘Okay Emy can actually plan a good party! Of course Mel is being bitter that she isnt the star. Why is she like this?! Okay Teddy, from one drugged up patient to another, dont mix with alcohol! And you can’t take too many! Gotta follow the rules of medical law’

THE REUNION SCENE IS FINALLY UP! ‘Mr Kinney!! OH THATS A KINK FOR SURE AT THIS POINT! Yes, please do come in! In more ways than one. *he is literally sitting on the edge while fully shaking* HE WANTED TO SEE HIM! HE SHOULD TAK- OH MY GOD HES NOT TALKING ABOUT WORK IS HE?! IF THATS THE CASE I AGREE! YES! Yes he would be making a bigger mistake! Fuck yeah! Cmon Bri Bri take him back. I allow it! OH HE UNDERSTANDS AND KNOWS?! HE FUCKING UNDERSTANDS AND KNOWS! FINALLY! Come on Bria- hard hours ha! Oh i bet it will be a pleasure after that boring bullsh- SIR?! oh we are in kinky town arent we? *pauses tv after Brian says no more violin music* oh fucking finally! Dont play it in my presence either. I think i have lifelong ptsd because of it. HE PROMISES! LOOK AT BRIANS SMALL SMILE! Oh are they about to fuc- OH THEYRE GONNA FUCK! FINALLY! LOVERS SPIT! I KNOW THIS SONG! I LOVE THIS SONG! THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG EVER! OH MY GOD! THIS IS GONNA FUCK ME UP ISNT IT?’ *watches the scene with his chin in his hands and a goofy ass smile* *said so softly i almost didnt hear it because he blasted the tv loud as fuck* ‘my boys are back.’ *waves towards the tv* ‘this is the best fucking thing to happen to me in such a fucking long time! Play it again please! Rewind it!’ He then watched the reunion scene again with the same goofy smile ‘i feel like i could cry tears of joy. It was the worst of times for me without them. You have NO idea how hard that was for me! And now theyre back. Oh i gotta tell mom! She’s gonna be so happy for me! *walks away while humming the song to himself* i will never listen to this song the same way again’ He then sat outside at night for 30 minutes while smoking and had Lover’s spit playing on repeat on his phone. I’d day he’s happy about the reunion.

Your brother is so not into Hunter. I'm curious if that will change when he starts flirting with Bri Bri.

Now back to what we all care about, Brian and Justin. Do they have a name like brangel- nevermind bad example. Forget i said anything <- LOL because you can't tell him about Britin because that gives away... Britin

Gotta follow the rules of medical law - I am curious what the rules of medical law are. Besides not mixing alcohol with prescription narcotics.

*watches the scene with his chin in his hands and a goofy ass smile* *said so softly i almost didnt hear it because he blasted the tv loud as fuck* ‘my boys are back.’ Can we bottle up your brother and sell him to QAF fans. For what, I don't know. But I love how invested he is. It makes me feel less insane for how much I love this show and this ship.

I'd say he's happy about the reunion is the understatement of the century.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Had me running to look up what the fuck draughts were KSJSJSJNSSM

Being a second born son isn't easy. Getting all the responsibilities and none of the recognition stings, yes.

The way I just saw a TikTok about this 😭😭😭

This is a war that will be fought through connections and resources, not violence. Aemond’s hatred cannot jeopardize that. Duty must come above everything else.

THE WAY YOU HAD ME CHECKING IF YOU WROTE THIS PRE S2 COS THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE DUMPSTER FIRE PLOT THEY MADE

What could have possessed your family to marry you to such a beast?

Kill him then and steal her away

Gods. If you were Helaena, or his wife, he would already have reprimanded you.

🗣️wELL🗣️ SHE 🗣️ISNT🗣️

Women, so easily offended. Surely, he would put you back in your place.

????????????¿??????????¿ Says The maN SO EASILY SET OFFF????

You do stop speaking, staring at him with hatred in your eyes. You either hate men, him, or being interrupted. Perhaps all three.

Murder

The omission of his title would have stung in ordinary circumstances, but not this time. He was too busy gawking over the fact that you were not Borros' wife, but his daughter. You two were nothing alike.

BOY YOU AND ME. PHEW I'M GLAD SHE WASNT HIS WIFE KXKDKDK

“I would marry you. You are beautiful, and clearly intelligent.” Aemond's expression turns malicious. Your face pales, turning an awful gray shade. You know as well as him that you can't deny him.

🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ ok but why is this kinda working on me

The insult stings, and Aemond has to fight the urge to slap you. [...] Instead, Aemond fantasizes about what he will do to you if he ever gets you as a wife.

BRUHHHHH HELLO????

“I would never force her to obey me beyond the reasonable respect a wife should have for her husband.”

“She would want for nothing. I would treat her as it befits a woman of her station. There would be no greater joy for me than getting her hand in marriage.” Aemond pleads. That is true. At least halfway. You would live comfortably, he would make sure of it. And he would be glad to marry you, if only to be able to get his revenge. Would you want for nothing? Doubtful. You would probably want your family, a loving husband, being away from the Red Keep… But financially, you would be set.

... Honestly I don't have anything to say at least I don't remember if I had... I love your writing so much I just want to requote it all back to you imma stop

“It will be an honor to join our houses, Prince Aemond.”

❓❓❓❓❓❓❓❓ IT TOOK TWO SECONDS WHERE WAS THE ENERGY FROM TWO SECONDS AGO HELLO???

You smile at him. Your smile promises pain. Aemond wonders, for the first time, if you have similar plans for him. If you do, he welcomes the challenge. It will be even sweeter when he prevails.

MIND GAMES AND MIND PALACES

“Gods know he needs it.” Borros muttered, under his breath. Aemond ignores him, choosing to squeeze your hands instead.

mKKkKSKSJDJJDNDND PFFFFF6 AEGOND CATCHING STRAYYYSSSS NSSJSNHAHAAHAH

You pet his hair. You smile. He is powerless to stop it. It is then Aemond realizes that you are more dangerous than he had thought. You were so used to bending men to your will, he had not noticed that you had done the same to him.

I LOVVE HEÉERR

Women had everything to lose when it came to marriage. It was their destiny. They lost their connection to their house and were sent to another. They changed hands like property. And the men, the owners, had everything to win. Trading a daughter off like one would do to a rook before starting a game of Cyvasse, they gained an alliance. And receiving a woman, they gained a dowry and vessel for their children.

💔(⁠༎ຶ⁠ ⁠෴⁠ ⁠༎ຶ⁠)

“Then think of it this way.” She interrupted, annoyed. She, too, had the Baratheon temper. “That man that you are rejecting and humiliating is the man you will spend your life with. Who will have power over you. You are smart. You know this.”

FLORSSSSSS 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

“[...] Fix your face. Before he decides to fix it with his fists.”

Aemond... Pls dont

He would have given anything to know exactly what you were thinking.

But instead, he felt oddly empty. It was much better, much more stimulating, when you fought back. Now, it felt oddly like a kidnapping. As if he were taking some poor, delicate girl from her home against her will.

Choke on bread aemond. But I mean at least youve got some bit of heart and mind

Was it, perhaps, that in certain lights you looked disturbingly like his mother?

The incest gene is WILDDDDDDDDDDD GOIN CRAZZZXYYYY

A Prince was not supposed to hurt women. It was what made him superior to Aegon.

Bare minimum but sure I'll praise you for it. 👍

His mind wandered. Rhaenyra. Loud, brash, bold. Charming when she wanted to.

OMG SKKDKDJDDND THE AWARENESS TO THE PARALLELS IS WILLDDDD THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT GOES CRAZZYYY

It was known that women were more carnal creatures. They lacked the impulse control men had. They were more prone to sinning, and they were more often controlled through their basal needs. That was why they had no business on the battlefield or in the throne. And why the thought of having a home and nurturing children spoke to them. They were just all instinct and emotion, with an overall lack of rationality.

“I am scared.”

🥺🥺🥺💔💔💔💔

Aemond is warm, and touches you very gently. Much more than he had the night of your betrothal. You had not expected him to conform to your unspoken offers of a truce, thinking him as proud as you.

OH MY FUCK 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 PULLING MY HAIR OUT

“You should not be. Vhagar is a well-experienced flier.” He soothes, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. You lean back against him, and Aemond seems to welcome the gesture. His breath changes slightly, but you can feel him relaxing against your back.

“Why are you scared? Aren’t you so proud, so self-sufficient?”

😭😭😭😭 STOP BEING MEANNNNNN

“Neither do I.” He answers, grimly. Prince Aemond kisses your temple, soft and sweet. And the idea grows in your mind.

😨😨😨😨😨😨 KISSES MSJSHSHSYGXVSHSSHSUSJSJSJZJS

“I want us to be friends, at least. Care for each other.” [...] “Or I shall wilt so far from home, husband. We have been doing better.”

We love a self aware queen.she like me fr.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity. Until you were no longer shaking in his arms, until you had no tears left. Only then, Aemond pressed a soft kiss to the first knob of your spine. And to the second. And the third. He softly traces the places they would be under your skin, lavishing them with attention.

When he reaches your bodice, he doesn’t tear the broken garment apart. Instead, he unmakes every button with care. The dress slips from your form with a soft murmur.

SOFT AEMOND SOFT AEMOND SOFT AEMOND 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

His hand goes to rub at your shoulder. There is a mark there. His teeth, bruising and awful blue. What had possessed him to do such a thing, you did not know. Otherwise, your lovemaking has been soft and tender. Not at all what you had expected.

I'm literally a chew toy wdym

“The only man I intend to share you with is the one who will be my heir.”

Ok. Ill give you 10.

Unforgivable (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond and you are tired of being pawns. Instead of chess, you decide to play draughts.

Requested: Yes! Because nothing is more PDA than murdering the man who dares touch your wife.

A/N: Isn’t like, a rite of passage writing Baratheon reader?

Warnings: Mature language, attempted SA (Bedding ceremony, ripping clothes), implied smut. Enemies to lovers to the cursed play.

“By the pricking of my thumbs,

Something wicked this way comes.”

Being a second born son isn't easy. Getting all the responsibilities and none of the recognition stings, yes. But nothing does more than knowing you are the spare, and that the throne is right at your fingertips. It is like throwing a steak in front of a dog and ordering him not to slobber.

Aemond is not a dog. He is a dragon. And that makes it much more worse. He can’t help but crave, but want. Sink his teeth on it and snarl, tear apart until nothing is left. As he rides towards the Stormlands, with the very real possibility of running into one of his nephews in his future, he thanks the Seven for his self control.

As he left, his mother had reminded him of the importance of behaving with the utmost decorum. To secure the alliance, Aemond must perform his duty and forget all thoughts of vengeance.

Were it to turn into an all out war, they are greatly disadvantaged. The number of dragons they have is not enough to form a real opposition to Rhaenyra. If they have enough soldiers, though, perhaps it will make the whore think twice about starting it.

But even without her, Aegon needs this. He will forever need to prove his legitimacy as a King to the rest of the realm. After all, their father had nearly twenty years to make him heir and had only done so as an afterthought. Everyone would wonder what did that say about his character. His brother needed to prove himself a capable ruler, one that would unite the Seven Kingdoms and protect them under his banner.

This is a war that will be fought through connections and resources, not violence. Aemond’s hatred cannot jeopardize that. Duty must come above everything else.

He only hopes duty doesn’t come with the face of an ugly cow. Securing the alliance with the Baratheons is vital, and his grandsire had made it apparent Aemond should use any means necessary to get what they required.

“Play your cards right, Aemond.” He had said, staring at a map of Westeros. If looks could make an entire nation bend the knee, it was for sure that after that glare, all the Kingdoms would be for Hightower. “Offer them trade, lowered taxes… Borros is an easy man to fool. Never was one for the letters, that one. But if he won’t budge… He has five daughters.”

Aemond had only nodded. Despite not being spoken out loud, the message was clear. Try not to, but if necessary, marry one of the little fools. For that was what they were, with a father as Borros Baratheon. Everyone in the Stormlands knew their lord could not read. And the so-called Four Storms were praised for their beauty, grace, and manners. Not for being particularly learned.

Five daughters. Surely, his grandsire had been wrong. Everyone he asked agreed there were Four Storms. It had struck Aemond as odd, that he would make such a simple mistake. Otto Hightower was a figure larger than life, a great thinker that commanded every room he was in, and blessed with an excellent memory. But it was not as odd when considering the amount of stress the poor man was under.

Everything felt urgent and not quite real. Aegon’s transition had been an easy one in the logistical side of things. His grandsire and mother had been already running the realm. But despite being prepared for Rhaenyra’s resistance, they hadn’t expected her to actually gain supporters. They had prepared, but Aemond still felt as if none of this could actually be happening.

His lack of a bride, purposeful in case an alliance was needed, was soon to come to an end. He felt much like he imagined maidens must feel like. Aemond was about to be sold to the highest bidder, and in this case, that was Borros Baratheon. And whichever of his little fools was the least annoying.

Well, he was in no need of a clever wife. If it were necessary, Aemond would pick the more pleasing one and be done with it. He could place her in another wing of the Red Keep and not have anything to do with her.

When he enters Storm’s End, Aemond is taken aback. He had done his research about the Baratheons. Four Storms. A couple of sons. Borros and his old Lady Wife. But the gossip he had been privy to had been outdated. Because next to Borros Baratheon sits a girl in a smaller throne. You. His new bride.

Borros doesn’t stand up to greet him. Neither do you. Aemond fights to remain calm, despite the display of disrespect. He focuses his attention, instead, on the contrasts between the two of you.

Borros is sprawled without a care, legs spread and belly sticking out. You sit primly, legs crossed at the ankles. You are a beauty, next to the man you are married to. A maiden in the bloom of youth, around Aemond’s age. What could have possessed your family to marry you to such a beast?

It had not been an indiscretion. You do not show any sign of being with child or being nursing. You also sit very proper and proud. If you are a little deviant, it doesn’t show in the way you hold yourself.

The lady of Storm's End, mother to the Storms, has to have passed recently. Otherwise, it would make no sense why Aemond had not heard of it. And while he understands the urges men tend to have, when faced with a second chance at marriage, this is a bit much.

Aemond was in no place to judge, considering his birth had been the consequence of a similar match. Yet Borros Baratheon was no king in need of heirs, and you were young enough to be his daughter. Seven Hells, if Aemond’s guess about your age was right, you were around the eldest Storms's ages. Disgusting. Your beauty was wasted in such an unmannered, daft beast.

“Prince Aemond.” Borros says, lazily scratching his belly.

“Lord Baratheon.” Aemond hates himself for it, but forces himself to bow his head. Then, he turns towards you. “Lady Baratheon.”

“To what do we owe the honor?” The answer is dripping in sarcasm. Borros, of course, must already know why Aemond is here. He has either already made his choice about what side he is on, or he intends to make Aemond grovel. Neither sit right with him. The thought of humiliating himself for a Lord’s pleasure is one that makes his back stiffen and anger burn hotly in his stomach.

He is a Prince of House Targaryen. Not some beggar that has come to plead for aid. But Aemond grits his teeth and starts sprouting the script he had written in his head as he rode here.

“It’s with great sadness that I inform you of my father’s passing. Of course in these trying times, we must remain united, and no house has stood with Targaryens…” The speech has as much emotional conviction as if he were speaking about the reproduction of cattle, which is to say, none. He knows this is not what will convince Borros. He is a simple man. Borros likes good food, good wine and women. The language he speaks it's not flowery, heartfelt speech, but rather gold and land.

“So you seek an alliance.” Borros extends his hand, impatiently. Aemond nearly bristles at the interruption. He only manages to keep his temper in check through years of taking Aegon’s insults. “Pass me the letter your grandsire has written.”

“Here.” Despite knowing the man doesn’t know how to read, Aemond hands it to him. Men’s egos are fragile things, and he knows too well how the sting of embarrassment can fuel hatred. He is not going to risk his chance and insult him.

Borros opens it. He scans it over, noticing the royal seal. Then, he shifts towards you.

“Girl, come here.”

Aemond's brows raise. Did Borros keep you by his side not only for his personal satisfaction? The existence of your little throne makes more sense that way. Surely, not even that fool would be so crass as to have you on display just to show off his younger bride.

You go to him, barely acknowledging Aemond. You skirt around him as if he were part of the furniture. He gets a whiff of your perfume, something expensive and decadent. It’s that what makes Aemond take a second look at you.

You wear a black velvet dress in one of the latest fashions of the capital. You are dressed better than most ladies at court, hands, and neck dripping in jewels. Your hair is held back by a golden hairpiece that emulates the antlers that the Baratheons are so famous for.

Perhaps you are a way for Borros to flaunt his riches. A power play meant to intimidate visitors. Not only has he managed to get a younger bride, but he showers her in jewels. It might be a way to show off his manliness, to show his vassals and other lords that he is still powerful and virile. It has to be the stupidest thing Aemond has ever seen.

You take the parchment from Borros's hands. All tiny steps and swaying hips, you get even closer, to whisper in his ear. Your muttering is fast and frantic, and despite how acute Aemond's hearing has gotten since the loss of his eye, he can't make out the words.

The expression on the Lord's face shifts, from annoyance to amusement.

“Taxes? Lowered taxes?” Borros asks, nearly laughing. “That’s all you are willing to offer?”

It had been, in fact, all that his grandsire had been offering at first. The best thing to do when starting a negotiation was to start lower than what you actually intended to offer. Then, when you gave in and offered more, the other person would feel like they were winning.

“No, my lord. Merely the starting point. If you read the last few paragraphs, you will see trade…” Aemond tries to redirect the conversation back to the important part, but he is surprised to find that he can’t. Because you cut him, smoothly, and with a smile so sharp it might make Vhagar nervous.

“We will see you offer us a trade deal that’s worse than what we already have. Are lowered taxes and worsening of our trade deals what we should expect from our new King? I shudder to think how King Aegon treats his enemies, if this is how he treats…”

Aemond's eyebrows raise. So you speak. And quite eloquently. Strange for a trophy wife. Even stranger, that your husband allows it. Men who marry little girls young enough to be their daughters are not known for their consideration towards women.

“My Lady, with all due respect…” Aemond needs to stop you because if what you say it's true, then his grandsire has made a grave miscalculation. Or a shrewd attempt to fool Borros Baratheon. Knowing him, the second one is more likely. He has a tendency to underestimate other’s intelligence. It was a flaw often found in bright men. Aemond suffered from it himself.

You do stop speaking, staring at him with hatred in your eyes. You either hate men, him, or being interrupted. Perhaps all three. Your eyes narrow, and you look on the verge of doing something very unladylike.

Gods. If you were Helaena, or his wife, he would already have reprimanded you. Aemond turns towards Borros, hoping to get some show of camaraderie from the man. Women, so easily offended. Surely, he would put you back in your place.

But instead of scolding you, the man gave Aemond an angry scowl.

“I will not tolerate any disrespect towards my daughter, Aemond Targaryen. Let her finish.”

The omission of his title would have stung in ordinary circumstances, but not this time. He was too busy gawking over the fact that you were not Borros' wife, but his daughter. You two were nothing alike.

Daughter. Of course. That’s why the man defers to you, why he has you seated to his right. At least that count his grandsire had gotten right. Five daughters, indeed.

“As I was saying. I do not understand why we should take your side. We have yet to receive an offer from the other contenders. Your terms are not generous enough to declare yet.” Your answer is clipped. You are clearly annoyed with him, but you do raise good points. Aemond sees no trouble in listening to you. If Borros wants to indulge you, a little girl playing politics, he won't be the one to stop you.

“So you think, my lady, that you should play both sides?” Aemond arches an eyebrow, leveling you with a glare. No matter how many good points you make, he is not above intimidation to get what he wants. He knows he cuts an intimidating figure, with the dark clothing and the eye patch. Many of the women at court avoid him for that very reason.

But unlike the women at court, you do not wither under his gaze. You bloom. Your back straightens, and you give him a calm look. Your eyes are sweet, almost as if Aemond were flirting with you and not looming menacingly.

“It’s hardly that. I’m simply waiting to make an informed choice. You barge in here, unannounced and in a hurry, hoping to pressure us into an alliance you clearly need.” Your speech is well pronounced and to the point. As soon as you voice it, you seem to lose all interest in him, brushing past to get to your tiny throne.

Aemond turns and stares, unashamedly. The nerve on you. While you might have seen through him, it didn't allow you to just disregard him like that. Who did you think you were? You were just a lady? He was a Prince, the blood of the dragon!

“And we Baratheons are no pushovers.” Borros adds, approvingly. He seems to take your opinion, turning towards you for approval. The man clearly loves you. “We are stags.” Your eyes narrow. Your father clears his throat and rushes to add. “And does. We do the pushing.”

It’s not a good line, but it gives Aemond an opening. If the man cares for you such, it's not wealth that will sway him, nor the promises of land. There is only one thing a man with five daughters could want, especially regarding his favorite one.

“I do have something else to offer.” Aemond says, eyes firmly on Borros. He is purposely excluding you from the conversation, knowing it will sting. Good. You have been horrible to him so far, you deserve it.

“Do tell.” You insert yourself regardless, and he turns to you with his more welcoming smile. You have just dug your own grave, and you don't even know it. It will make his victory much sweeter.

“I would marry you. You are beautiful, and clearly intelligent.” Aemond's expression turns malicious. Your face pales, turning an awful gray shade. You know as well as him that you can't deny him.

“And what use do I have for a second son?” Your hands go to your hips, and you jump out of your tiny throne. You stalk forward, all bared teeth and bravado. Gone is the pretense of sweetness. When cornered, you bite and bite hard.

The insult stings, and Aemond has to fight the urge to slap you. You got quite the mouth and a talent for knowing where to strike. It’s a dangerous combination. He wants nothing more than to exert vengeance, but confronting you now would be unwise. Instead, Aemond fantasizes about what he will do to you if he ever gets you as a wife.

Pinch you. Tug on that pretty hair. Maybe smack you in the arse until you were begging for forgiveness. His mouth twists into an ugly smile. The mental images give him the strength necessary to turn towards your father and try to sway him.

“My Lord, you cannot keep her here forever. You surely know what will happen when you are no more. She will depend on the mercy of his brother. The Lady needs someone to take care of her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way you are baring your teeth. Whoever said you were a doe was wrong. You look more like a boar, pretty features twisted in rage.

Lord Baratheon laughs. This time, it's not mocking, but full of humor. Aemond decides it to take it as a good sign.

“And so you now ask I give you my doe. You are a bold man, Prince Aemond.” Definitely a good sign, then. Now he is suddenly a Prince again. Aemond turns towards you and gives you a smug grin. Your hands wrap so hard around the fabric of your pretty gown, he hears a ripping sound. Your father remains oblivious.

“I would be her fiercest protector. Staunchest supporter.” Aemond hurries to reassure him. Borros just needs a little push to give in. He can practically savor it. What does a father fear the most when handing a daughter away? “I would never force her to obey me beyond the reasonable respect a wife should have for her husband.”

It is, of course, a load of crap. He fully intends to take you down a few pegs. But what Borros doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Father…” You cut in, urgently. Your father is too busy looking at Aemond like he is his hero to notice. The expression on his face is close to orgasmic bliss, as disgusting as the thought is. Any more, and the man will burst from happiness.

“She would want for nothing. I would treat her as it befits a woman of her station. There would be no greater joy for me than getting her hand in marriage.” Aemond pleads. That is true. At least halfway. You would live comfortably, he would make sure of it. And he would be glad to marry you, if only to be able to get his revenge. Would you want for nothing? Doubtful. You would probably want your family, a loving husband, being away from the Red Keep… But financially, you would be set.

Borros stands and gives Aemond a pat on the back. His expression lights up, looking ten years younger. In contrast, your face falls. You look between the two of them, shaking hands, and look ready to bawl.

“It will be an honor to join our houses, Prince Aemond.” The man boasts, joyfully. Aemond smirks. As petty as it is, he feels as if he has conquered a Kingdom. There is nothing sweeter than the look of pure defeat you wear.

But hearing your father so happy about the match seems to be the last straw for you. You step between the two of them.

“Why not Floris? She is the prettiest among us all. Or Maris? She is very learned!” The offer is desperate, and by the look on your face, you know it. Your face scrunches up in disgust, as if you cannot believe your words. Betraying your sisters for your own safety seems low. Aemond can tell you don’t mean it, but knowing that you are trapped so well you are lashing out pleases him.

Your father's hand goes to your wrist, and he pulls you forward. You go easily, and Aemond makes a mental note of it. He finds interesting how easy you are to subdue if handled properly. Your father seems to have a knack for it.

“You will have to forgive my doe.” Borros says, ruffling your hair affectionately. You stare, looking like a disgruntled kitten. It's clear you are not impressed. “She has the Baratheon temper, but can be quite sweet too. Hence, the name.”

“Of course.” Aemond says, magnanimous. He will need to play the devoted fiancée until he has you out of here, less your father regrets the agreement. But after… Oh, he is going to have fun taking you down a few notches. “Only looking out for her sisters. After all, it's odd the eldest is not married and this one will be.”

You smile at him. Your smile promises pain. Aemond wonders, for the first time, if you have similar plans for him. If you do, he welcomes the challenge. It will be even sweeter when he prevails.

“She is very sensible.” Your father plays with a stray curl behind your ear, tucking the hairpiece more firmly. He remains ignorant of the heated glares Aemond and you are exchanging. “Always has wanted to be swept off her feet, though.”

“Father, perhaps he should take a look at my sisters first. The famous Four Storms.” The words come out between gritted teeth, eyes still burning a hole through Aemond.

“I don't need to, my lady. Are any of them as politically inclined?” He does not dare reach for you, with your father on the way. He would like to touch you. Aemond is not sure about why he feels that urge, but he thinks it is due to your infuriating nature.

“They are not. Cassandra, the eldest, is the friendliest. There is also Floris, the most beautiful, and Maris, the most learned. Ellyn, I'm afraid, is too young.” You rattle, counting with your fingers.

Borros coughs. He eyes Aemond warily, as if expecting him to suddenly announce he doesn't want you anymore. The man loves you, but he is not blind to your faults. Something about his attitude makes Aemond think that this is not the first time you try to spook a suitor.

“I see.” Aemond answers, coolly. “I do not want a Storm. I want a Doe.”

You glare even more. You go sit on your little throne. By the Sevens, you truly are disagreeable. Spoiled, pampered, and with a temper unlike he had ever seen. A match made in the Seven Hells.

Your father gave Aemond a curt tilt of the head. Aemond sighed, and went to kneel by your side.

“I want to court you, if you will let me.” He grabbed your hand. Your skin was very soft, but your palm felt clammy and cold. Curiously, he dared slip his hand lower, checking your pulse. The beat of your heart was not steady, but rushed, and it filled him with a sense of achievement. You were terrified. Smiling against your skin, Aemond pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I did not lie when I said I found beauty in your mind and words.”

It was no lie. You were beautiful in the way young maidens were, sweet and untainted. But you had a mind as sharp as any man. It was a combination Aemond would have admired greatly, were it not for the fact you were a terrible, spoiled brat.

“A war is about to break out. I don't see where you would find the time.”

“If your father allows it, I would take you with me.” Aemond stepped slightly closer. Perhaps, he could entice you. “Would you enjoy riding a dragon?”

“Ah, so you can abandon me in some forgotten wing of the Red Keep and have me away from my family?” It comes out bratty, and scared. A little girl who fears being alone.

Borros tenses at the tone. Almost as if acting on pure instinct, he reaches towards you. His hand goes to grab at your arm, making sure you are still there. Aemond will have to tread carefully, else he missteps and loses all the progress he has made with the man.

“You would have a seat at Aegon's council.” Aemond takes your hands in his. He is on his wits end on what he could offer you. Never before has he met a woman so unimpressed by anything he has to give. In your tiny, sheltered world, everything is perfect already.

“Gods know he needs it.” Borros muttered, under his breath. Aemond ignores him, choosing to squeeze your hands instead.

“I would listen to you.” He pleads, but you, terror of a girl, are ignoring him. Your eyes are focused elsewhere, no longer in his. A guard is hurrying forward, and Aemond can tell the wheels on your head start to turn.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon!”

Aemond, kneeling next to you, straightens. You curl your hand around his.

“Don't!”

“My Lady…” Aemond fights your grip, trying to detangle himself from you. Your hand goes to his nape. You squeeze, as if directing a dog.

“You said you would listen to me.” Your grip is firm. “Prove it.”

Aemond is seething with rage, with the urge to chase and tear Lucerys apart. But you do not budge. Your hand turns into a chain around his nape, a collar for a dog. You force him to remain kneeling at your feet as your father dispatches Lucerys.

Humiliation bubbles up at his throat, choking him. Not even the Pink Dread incident had come close to this feeling. Utter, profound, embarrassment. He can feel his nephew's eyes lingering on you, in the display of affection that seems so casual. A suitor kneeling for his lady, resting his head on her lap. It could be affectionate, were it not for the fact that it’s you.

Aemond is not hiding his face in your lap to feel you pet him, no matter if you behave like he is. Instead, you are forcefully keeping him in place, and he rather look the lovesick fool than the weakling who can’t fight a woman’s grip.

You pet his hair. You smile. He is powerless to stop it. It is then Aemond realizes that you are more dangerous than he had thought. You were so used to bending men to your will, he had not noticed that you had done the same to him.

Not any longer. He would make you pay. He vowed it.

“When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”

You liked your life. Your sisters were sweet, if a bit distant. Your father was caring, to the point of actually listening to your opinion. The library was full of books, and you had warm furs and pretty dresses. Life was good. Why would you choose to leave this behind? Storm’s End was your safe haven, the place where you could be yourself. You wouldn’t trade it to go live at the Red Keep with a bunch of incestuous deviants whose reign was under question. You refused.

The thought of going away and having to play the dutiful wife to Prince Aemond made your stomach turn. You were not stupid. You knew the amount of freedom you had here was unusual. There, your voice would be silenced. Nothing you said would be of consequence as it was here. Even if they listened to women, they wouldn’t listen to a stranger. If you were King Aegon, you would rather have your mother’s council over the one from a strange goodsister.

Making sure the door to your rooms was locked, you threw yourself on the bed and screamed from rage, muffling the sound in your pillow. You were frustrated beyond belief. Anything you had tried, Prince Aemond had countered. And your father! Oh, your father had given you away so easily, as if you were no more than cattle. Did he truly believe that you would be treated as promised?

How could your father be so blind? He had not felt Prince Aemond tremble from rage, when he heard the voice of his nephew. The one who had taken his eye. He had not seen his expression sour as you interrupted him and proved yourself to be smarter than he was.

You stood up and looked around. You kicked your bed, and quickly regretted it. Your shoes offered no protection against the impact, and you swore.

“Seven Hells!” And you looked around, embarrassed from your outburst. But there was no one around to witness it, and that fact enraged you even more. You wanted to make your annoyance known.

Your rooms were empty, not a single maid in sight. They were probably tending to your sisters. There was to be a feast in honor of the Prince, but you had no plans to attend. Hence, you had called for no attendants.

You started to pace. Aemond Targaryen would regret taking you from your home. You vowed it. Despite knowing you were falling victim to childish pettiness and letting it cloud your senses, you couldn’t help it. You were angry. Angry. Angry. You wanted to claw his remaining eye out, pull on his hair, elbow him as hard as you could.

Women had everything to lose when it came to marriage. It was their destiny. They lost their connection to their house and were sent to another. They changed hands like property. And the men, the owners, had everything to win. Trading a daughter off like one would do to a rook before starting a game of Cyvasse, they gained an alliance. And receiving a woman, they gained a dowry and vessel for their children.

You knew the day would come where you would be plucked from your home, but you had foolishly hoped that being one of the many Baratheon daughters spared you from that fate. There were so many of you, your father could not hope to marry you all. You wanted to be more than just a way for a man to gain heirs.

But instead, you were going to be carried off towards a place far from your home, where you would not get to be a person fully. You doubted Prince Aemond would give you the same leniency your father gave you, or that he would listen to your opinions. No matter what he said, he was still a man. And not any man, but one you had humiliated.

Men did not often like realizing you were smarter or bolder than them. Those characteristics had served you well to keep marriage away during the years, but it seemed like this time they had failed you. Not only they had made Prince Aemond interested in you, they had also angered him. After seeing the look on his face when his nephew had entered the hall, you could tell he was not one to forgive and forget.

You could have handled it better. By the Seven, you were smarter than him. Why had you been so hostile? If only you had thought to manipulate him back then. How could you have been so stupid? You grabbed a vase and threw it to the floor with all your strength. It shattered into tiny pieces with a loud noise. It didn’t make you feel any better.

You sobbed. A look at the broken pieces and you thought of your maids, having to pick it up. The thought made more tears come to your eyes. There was a warm, wet feeling clogging up your throat. You were not such a bad person as to make them clean a mess you had made purposefully, so you kneeled and started picking up the pieces.

The commotion clearly attracted someone’s attention because there was a knock on your door. You ignored it, and continued obsessively picking up the pieces. You placed them all on top of a cloth, arranging them neatly. The ceramic was sharp, and the borders made your hands sting, but none drew blood.

The knocking became louder.

“No!” You shouted, denying whoever it was. Probably one of your sisters, checking up on you. Or a maid. Or guard. Who knew. You just wanted to be left alone to wallow in your misery.

“My lady, the Prince is requesting….” Of course, they weren’t checking on you. You did no longer matter. Now, you were little more than cattle, mattering only in regard to your owner. This what not the life you had envisioned, not at all.

“And I said no.” Why should what Prince Aemond wanted matter more than what you wanted? You wanted to be left alone. Be able to come to terms with what was going to happen and think of a plan. What was your next move? You had no time to think of it. Already he was imposing his presence.

The servant did not answer. You thought you were finally going to be left alone, but the respite was brief.

“Sister.” Floris’s voice echoed in your rooms. She had a loud, commanding tone, similar to your own. She had gone ahead and opened your door. “You should not behave like this.”

“I do not care.” You sat down on your bed, arms crossed over your chest. Despite knowing you were in the wrong, you didn’t need her to rub your mistakes in your face.

“You should.” Floris took a dress out of one of your trunks. It was one of your yellow gowns, made with intricate gold stitching. She laid it down on your bed, smoothing the skirts down, and gave a pleased sigh. “It is like a fairy tale. You get to be a princess.”

“I do not want to be a Princess.” You looked at the dress and scooted towards the edge of your mattress, trying to avoid it. Floris spanked your thigh, hard enough to make you yelp. “It is the truth! I don’t…”

“Then think of it this way.” She interrupted, annoyed. She, too, had the Baratheon temper. “That man that you are rejecting and humiliating is the man you will spend your life with. Who will have power over you. You are smart. You know this.”

“Father could…”

“Father is not going to change his mind.” Floris frowned. She smoothed your hair down. The hairpiece was making your head hurt, but just like your father, she only tucked it in more firmly. Your head felt heavy. Floris wiped your tears away, examining you with a critical eye. “You are a lucky girl. You have our father’s favor. Win the Prince’s.”

“I told him it should have been you.” The confession slipped from your lips, unprompted. It brought a smile to her face.

“Then you are a fool.” Floris smirked. You could tell she meant every word. Your sister had always had ambitions above her station, much like yours. But hers were more in line with what was expected of your sex. “Had it been me he had chosen, I would have not thought it twice. Fix your face. Before he decides to fix it with his fists.” She gave you one last look, before leaving you to your rapidly darkening thoughts.

You did not need the reminder of what Prince Aemond could do to you, once the two of you were married. You knew. But she had put it so coldly….

Floris was hungry. She had always been. Ever since you were children, she had always craved more. In a household full of girls, she had gotten used to fighting for her due. And not only that. Floris always managed to thrive. Were it her in your shoes, you had no doubts she would have Prince Aemond wrapped around her finger and a plot to get him either power or riches so she could keep a lush lifestyle. Her advice was blunt, but well-intentioned. This was an opportunity, and you should treat it as such.

You got up. You washed your face. By then, it was very late. The storm continued hitting the castle with the same vigor. There were hardly any servants in the halls. You went to sit at one of the windows, watching the rain fall.

Despite the late hour, something told you he would come to you. Sitting on the windowsill, you could taste the tang of metal against your tongue each time you breathed in. The night felt electric. You knew it was just what storms were like, but something about this one felt foreboding.

Watching the water made you feel calmer, and more focused. As the droplets tumbled down the sides of the castle, you reflected. But no rationalization helped you vanish the thought that this night was significant. Destiny was changing right under your eyes, and you could do little but watch it unfold.

“Here you are.” He spoke, after an eternity. You turned your body towards him, but made no move to get up. Somehow, watching him loom over you felt wrong. Like he shouldn’t be.

“Here I am.” You replied, before softening your voice. “I was waiting for you.”

Instead of softening himself, Prince Aemond scowled.

“You are the most impudent woman I have ever met. Haven’t you learned that you should address your betters properly?”

His comment grates on your nerves. You want nothing more than to scream at him. But then, you remind yourself of what this is. An opportunity.

“I apologize, betrothed.” You say, very gracefully. “Do you wish to sit with me?” And you add a good bat of your lashes for good measure. It usually works on your father, so why not on him?

The Prince frowns. He seems to take your much more subdued behavior as sarcastic.

“You are absolutely impudent. When we marry…”

You interrupt him before he can say more.

“You will hit me?” You raise your eyebrows. “Is that what you mean to say?”

He reaches for you. You flinch back, before remembering you are right at the windowsill. The window is high enough that the fall would kill you. You scream, panic taking hold. You reach for him, for the sides of the castle, for anything that could save you from certain death. Aemond grapples at you, desperately grabbing your shoulders and hair in a death grip.

“I have a right to discipline you. And I will, if you do not mind your tongue.” He snaps, pulling you against him. He is careful to move both of you away from the window. Your heart beats harshly in your chest. If he had lost his footing, if he had been a second slower… You could be dead. You could be dead.

“Discipline. Discipline.” You repeat to yourself, in a daze. “As if I were a child.”

“You behave like one. I will treat you like one.” His expression is very telling. Your face heats up. You swallow. Dead. He could have killed you. You are not too sure how you feel about your confrontation with mortality.

“And if I apologize?”

“I am not sure if I will believe a change of heart.”

And oh, how it stings. He wants to humiliate you. It makes your anger flare up again. You clench your fists and stare at the rain. You count to ten in your head, watching the droplets fall outside.

“Of course, my Prince.”

"Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf

Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark,

Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark,"

The storm passed, and so did your tantrum. You had become very quiet and subservient. The perfect wife. It unnerved Aemond.

Had the near-death experience rattled you as much as it had him? Aemond kept thinking it had been his fault. He shouldn’t have reached for you in such a manner, yet at the same time, the fear in your eyes had filled him with vindication. Your heart had beaten as fast as the one of a frightened bird. He had been able to feel it through your pulse points, jumping under his hands.

He had had your life in his hands. And it had felt great. That was what power was all about, Aemond thought. And oh, how low you had been brought by it. Gone was your uppity attitude, gone your terrible manners. You had clung to him like a frightened child, pale and anxious. Something roared inside him, Aemond had finally felt like the conqueror his ancestors were. A true dragon.

You had not made mention of the incident to anyone else. Of that, he was sure. His soon-to-be goodfather would have not allowed the wedding to go through. And your sisters would be much more afraid of him. Instead, Aemond had Borros singing his praises and little girls chasing after him, begging to play or older ones trying to curry favor.

Despite having been humbled quite throughoutly by fate, you were not one to sit idle. You were a spitfire, and so, Aemond could not help but believe he was being lulled into a sense of safety before you would strike. But what were you planning?

Your blank looks and serene smiles gave nothing away. No matter how cutting his remarks, or insulting his words, you did nothing but stare. At most, you would fake a laugh. Suddenly, it was as if you had become as empty-headed as your sisters. It drove him up the walls. He would have given anything to know exactly what you were thinking.

Your composure finally broke on the day the two of you were set to depart. You were to travel with Aemond to the capital, which meant flying on Vhagar. A look at his dragon, and your face crumbled. Perhaps, you remembered the last time the two of you had been alone and in the heights. Perhaps, you feared the oldest dragon alive.

“Girl, here.” Lord Borros ordered, passing your belongings to a servant. You stared sullenly. Your father gave you a look, becoming you over.

“I do not want to go.” You stomped your foot. Your antler headpiece shook with the motion. It made your face scrunch up even more. Were you…? Oh, you were. It was priceless. No matter his constant harassing, not even once had you looked close to tears. Not even when he had crudely remarked how he was going to bend you in half and spank your pretty little arse for your defiance before taking you during the wedding night. Not that he was actually going to do that. Aemond just liked frightening you.

“Lord Baratheon…” Aemond warned. He was unsure of what or why he was doing it. He should be loving this. You were finally breaking under the pressure. But instead, he felt oddly empty. It was much better, much more stimulating, when you fought back. Now, it felt oddly like a kidnapping. As if he were taking some poor, delicate girl from her home against her will.

It was stupid. Marrying was the duty of every noblewoman, and you were not a girl. You were his age, for the Seven’s sake! But you looked so hurt, so defenseless… It was not at all like he had envisioned.

What was different from that meeting in the tower than from today? Was it, perhaps, that in certain lights you looked disturbingly like his mother? You had the dark Baratheon hair, and when he watched you from behind, you looked just as powerless.

A Prince was not supposed to hurt women. It was what made him superior to Aegon. The maids in the corridors did not run from his mere sight, nor did the noblewomen avoid sitting by him at feasts. He was thought of as dutiful, not a deviant.

But frightening you had felt delicious. There had been something so primal in your fear, something that had made him feel sure of himself for the first time in years. Aemond had been in control then. He knew his mother and grandsire would be disappointed in him, but he couldn’t help it. He was as twisted as any other Targaryen. Must be the Valyrian blood.

Aemond had been raised under the faith of the Seven, and so, still had some empathy and principles. If he had not been as pious as he was, he would have been as lost as his brother after his first taste of real power. Aemond wasn’t, and so, still felt capable of being sorry for the woman he had so admired at the beginning. Despite all your disagreeable qualities, you were sharper than anyone else he had ever met.

“Girl, you are going.” Borros looked like he was starting to get angered by you. Privately, Aemond felt a bit annoyed at his hypocrisy. He said he was not escorting you to the capital because he had business to oversee as the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond could tell that wasn’t the real reason. He would rather not give you away because it would mean saying goodbye to you forever. You would no longer be his, but Aemond’s.

His ire, the only way Borros had of showcasing his feelings, had not spared anyone lately. Your Lady Mother had been called a dumb whore more times that Aemond could count, for not preparing you better. Your poor sister, Casandra, had been belittled by him after daring to ask about the fate of the dresses you wouldn’t take with you.

“If a daughter of mine is becoming a Princess, you can bet she will take all the dresses she needs, and I will not have you behaving like a vulture.” He had screamed, red with rage.

Floris had wisely hidden herself in her rooms. You, instead, had screamed right back that he was fuzzing too much and that he was overbearing. Which Borros was. The man fuzzed over you, making sure you had the best of everything to take with you, to the point of overwhelming. The row had been spectacular, and it had ended with you giving him the silent treatment, as he muttered fondly about his proud little doe.

It made Aemond think of his father. After his death, he had only felt panic and a sense of urgency. Never grief. But this man, so rough, so ignorant compared to his own father, would be wept thoroughly. He could already tell.

Right now, of course, similar as you were, neither of you got it. Instead, you gave your father a look of absolute betrayal and ran off, trying to hide your sadness at his scolding tone.

“Ah, that one. She is not used to harshness.” Borros shook his head, as if whatever you were going through was a product of female hysterics and not the fact that you were grieving the loss of your home and family.

“Or being told no.” Because you wouldn’t be like this if Borros hadn’t raised you like this. Most noblewomen resigned to their fate early on, they were not raised with delusions. Borros had a point, your mother should have prepared you better. He should have, too.

“I am afraid I might have done her more harm than good. I have always had a soft spot for her. Out of her sisters, she is the most like me.” Borros voiced exactly what Aemond was thinking. His reasoning, though, made him have to try hard not to cringe. While not exactly the prettiest woman on Westeros, you were tempting enough. You had nice manners, when you cared to use them, and a sharp intelligence that spoke of a deep cultivation of the proper arts for a lady.

“She has my temper, I mean.” Borros chuckled, once again guessing his thoughts. In looks, you took after whatever ancestors were blessed without a warrior’s physique. “And she is much more gifted with her letters.”

“Oh.” Aemond said, quite dumbly. He had underestimated Lord Baratheon, just as he had underestimated you. The great beast of a man wasn’t just a beast, but rather gifted with talents of his own. While he may not have been able to read great treatises of philosophy and history, he could read intentions and thoughts just from a man’s face.

“A good thing, in a man. But in a woman? She is not used to not being heard, she is loud and takes a lot of space. The world is not kind, not kind at all, to women like that.” Lord Baratheon spoke, again showcasing a deep insight Aemond would not have thought him capable of.

His mind wandered. Rhaenyra. Loud, brash, bold. Charming when she wanted to. Yes, the world wasn’t ind to women like the two of you. After all, weren’t him and Aegon trying to usurp the throne right from under her? Just because they didn’t agree with how she had chosen to live?

It had been the wrong choice, sure. But it had been the path Rhaenyra had picked for herself, just as you had planned to do before Aemond swept in. Lost to perversion and sin, perhaps producing your own bastards. No. Your course needed to be corrected, and thank the gods Aemond was here for it. You needed to learn your place. He would listen to you, but you would always follow his lead. That was the only way to keep you on the right path.

“No, it is not.” He agreed, still thinking of how he could help you. Stubborn little doe that you were, Aemond knew it wasn’t going to be easy. And worst thing? You were brave. Many women would have cowered at the sight of him, or at the threats he had thrown your way. Not you. Not even once, beyond that time in the tower, you had looked afraid.

“You have to promise to not try to break her.” Borros warned, clapping a hand against Aemond’s shoulder. The man threw all his weight behind the gesture. It was considerable, and Aemond was once again remembered of why they wanted the Baratheon alliance so badly. Borros Baratheon was a brute, yes, but a great warrior. Deadly with the Warhammer.

His hand squeezed Aemond’s shoulder so hard, he thought he might bruise. A threat, thinly veiled. Aemond prided himself on the fact that he did not flinch under it.

“Many men would. It is the easiest approach.” Because it was. What could you do with a woman who was not afraid, and who was used to doing as she pleased? The same thing his Uncle had done to Rhaenyra. You broke her. In whatever way it was necessary. Either through pleasure or through pain.

It was known that women were more carnal creatures. They lacked the impulse control men had. They were more prone to sinning, and they were more often controlled through their basal needs. That was why they had no business on the battlefield or in the throne. And why the thought of having a home and nurturing children spoke to them. They were just all instinct and emotion, with an overall lack of rationality.

“But you are not just any man, are you? You are a Targaryen. Your house needs strong women.” Borros argued. Aemond cringed at the word. He was right, despite the unfortunate wording. You were not just any woman. You had shown yourself capable of more rationality. Perhaps Aemond had to nurture that in you and get rid of your most instinctual behaviors. Teach you by example, until you understood the role you had to play.

“Then what? She will not come willingly, that much is clear.” But how? How? That he now knew what he had to do did not mean he knew how to get there. It could take years, and right now, you had to leave before sundown.

“Her anger will pass. And a bit of advice. She works better when it is the carrot and not the stick.” And it made sense, it showed rational behavior. You didn’t balk at the first sign of pain, but you were greatly tempted when faced with rewards. Much like him, you endured.

You had been raised a brat, yes. But an intelligent one.

“Come, you spirits

That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,

And fill me from the crown to the toe top-full

Of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood.

Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,

That no compunctious visitings of nature

Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between

Th’ effect and it."

The view from atop Vhagar is spectacular, but you can’t seem to enjoy it. It is a unique opportunity. Aside from those with valyrian blood, no one gets to just ride a dragon. Much less, the most ancient one. But Vhagar is too terrifying for you to sit at ease on her, and you keep thinking of that night in the tower.

You don’t want to die. A fall from here would mean plummeting to your death. You are overly conscious of your every move. You don’t want to die this far from your home. Lately, it feels as if death lingers around you. There is danger everywhere. On top of the stairs, near the training grounds, on top of Vhagar.

Aemond seems to be having the same thoughts because he grips you so tightly to him that it nearly hurts. Every time you breathe, his hands move with your stomach. He is holding you so close it’s making you feel awkward, but you are too afraid of falling to say something.

Storm’s End and the Stormlands are becoming smaller in the distance. Without meaning to, you start to tear up. You no longer can see the banners from the top of the towers, and you can’t remember what they looked like. It’s such a silly thing, being unable to figure out if it is the Baratheon sigil or just a plain yellow one, but it makes a pang of sadness take hold of your heart.

You suddenly wish you had spent your last days memorizing your childhood home and spending time with your family instead of trying to vex Aemond. He is now all you have. The only person outside yourself who will remember your home once in the capital. You bet Aemond never paid as much attention to the details as you did, but surely, he must remember something.

Perhaps that thought is what prompts you to curl your hands around his wrists, seeking comfort. He stiffens, and moves his hands higher up your bodice. You let him go without a word.

“What are you doing?” Aemond whispers against your ear. The wind makes it hard for you to hear him otherwise.

“I am scared.” You answer, trying to project your voice over the wind. He gives a put upon sigh, but reaches for your hands. When his hands envelope yours, you nearly jerk in surprise. Aemond is warm, and touches you very gently. Much more than he had the night of your betrothal. You had not expected him to conform to your unspoken offers of a truce, thinking him as proud as you.

“You should not be. Vhagar is a well-experienced flier.” He soothes, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles. You lean back against him, and Aemond seems to welcome the gesture. His breath changes slightly, but you can feel him relaxing against your back.

“It’s not about Vhagar.” You sniffle slightly. “I…” But how to explain? How to explain all of this to a man? This feeling of loss, of not belonging. Of being taken, yet at the same time doing your duty. He would never understand it.

“Why are you scared? Aren’t you so proud, so self-sufficient?” It seems Aemond hasn’t forgotten the slights you committed against him. While he might be willing to indulge you when it comes to fear of Vhagar or heights, he seems annoyed by anything else. You wish he wasn’t. Being comforted by him had felt really nice. For a second, you had actually thought everything was going to be alright.

“Don’t be like that.” You plead, voice breaking slightly. You don’t want to sob, but you feel on the edge of it. Aemond’s hands squeeze yours. He sounds tired when he next speaks.

“You have not apologized.”

“Nor have you.” You say, taking a deep breath. You are trying to keep your tone even, but anger leaks from your next words like poison from a wound. “I admit my tone was not the best. But you treated me like cattle. Or worse, a pawn.”

“Pawn?” He asks, the words seeming to give him pause. You jerk one of your hands from his grip, angrily wiping away your tears.

“On your brother’s game. Do not insult my intelligence, Prince Aemond.”

“We are all pawns. You, me, Aegon.” His tone is sharp. As if you should know this already. Are all men such fools, you wonder? Why would anyone be a pawn on someone else's game when they can play King on their own?

Cyvasse has always been a pastime of yours. You learned how to play it as a child, on your father’s knee. As he planned his ambushes against the dornish and commanded you to watch closely, watch better. There was always an out. Prince Aemond could not see it now, but you could.

“I do not want to be a pawn.” You whisper to him. A test. A prod, to see if he is willing to change the game.

“Neither do I.” He answers, grimly. Prince Aemond kisses your temple, soft and sweet. And the idea grows in your mind. Perhaps, this is not a Cyvasse board but a draughts’ one. They are easily mistaken, after all. Both checkered. But in draughts, even the most simple of the pieces can dominate the board.

And there it is. The opportunity you have been looking for.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me

The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee:

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.”

The day of your wedding ceremony, a storm rages around the Red Keep. You and Aemond exchange your vows inside the royal Sept, with an air of grim determination. None of your family is in attendance. His, instead, fills the seats of the Sept.

His grandfather proudly boasts of the alliance to anyone who is willing to listen. It is no secret to anyone that the dismissal of Prince Lucerys from Storm’s End has made Rhaenyra’s cause take a blow.

What did Borros Baratheon see, that convinced him to betroth one of his daughters to Aemond? The nobles ask themselves. Surely, if even a renowned fool like him could see something wrong with Prince Lucerys, it must be obvious for the whole realm to see. The question mark on the legitimacy of those Velaryons changes into an exclamation sign. His poor, Strong nephews, doomed not to inherit anything at all.

“Well done, Aemond.” His grandfather had said to him, pulling him aside after Aemond had returned with you and the promise of Borros Baratheon himself leading his men into battle. “The girl, she reminds me of your grandmother. Bright, but well-behaved. I am glad you found enjoyment in your duty.”

And surprisingly, Aemond had. He had warmed up to you on the ride home. You were sweet when you wanted to be, and he had finally managed to find some common ground with you, which made you more interesting.

You still had impulses. But when asked to cooperate and behave in front of his family, you had proven surprisingly agreeable.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to cause your Lady Mother a fright. I understand she is heavily burdened.” Your last comment had been said with a puzzling smile on your lips, and Aemond had found himself losing sleep over it. What did you mean by that? Were you making a subtle dig at him? Or was it at his siblings? Or perhaps, simply commenting on the near civil war about to break out?

The memory follows him all the way to the hand fasting and the wedding feast. The storm outside does not subside, perhaps a goodbye to the doe that is now becoming a dragon. You tear up during the hand fasting, and even manage to look the hopeful bride. If Aemond had not been betrothed to you, he would have thought you loved the idea of marriage. That you loved him.

You do not. It does not bother him. Both of you have agreed that love will come with time. For now, you are both trying. You are much better at it than him, less cold and guarded.

“I want us to be friends, at least. Care for each other.” You had said, holding his face in your hands as you shared your first dance as a married couple. Aemond had not been expecting the gentle touch from you, focused on not missing a step. He had startled. But you had guided him to look you right in the eyes, expression sincere. “Or I shall wilt so far from home, husband. We have been doing better.”

“We have. And I care.” He had brushed your hair away from your face, sensing your melancholy. It must have been hard on you, Aemond mused, getting married without any of your family present. You had been behaving spectacularly, but you were still very sensitive. Your father had warned him about it for a reason, after all.

“I do too.” You had reassured him, eyes glassy, before hugging him. Aemond had decided then that he would need to protect you from any harm. You were awfully fragile, nothing to do with the Storms you had as sisters. His doe. Dramatic, vain, but so sweet.

His new resolve faces its first test when the feast starts to die down. The bedding ceremony approaches, and your eyes, nervous, go from the increasingly drunk Aegon to Aemond and towards the empty seats left behind by his mother and grandsire.

Aemond only needs to follow your gaze a few times to understand what you are trying to convey. Gone are the only two possible moderating influences on his brother, his mother had retired when Helaena had become upset by the noise and his grandfather claimed being too old for such a celebration.

The crowd gets rowdier and rowdier as the end draws near. They are drunk and eager for a show, and know the best one is about to be provided by the two of you.

Aemond has already decided to endure this. While the thought of those hands all over his body it's not a pleasant one, he doubts the women would dare go any further. You, though. Your laugh is stilted and your eyes keep darting to the exit. Determined as you are to appear brave, you force your lips into tense smiles.

It’s not long after before someone calls for the bedding. All bravado, you get up on your own when the men, led by Aegon, approach you.

“Gods, you are a lucky bastard.” He says, as he starts to tug at the sleeves of your dress. Something tightens in Aemond's chest and he sees red. He had hoped that he had conveyed to his brother that he cared for you, but Aegon either didn’t care, or was stupid enough not to notice.

How could he? Even his grandsire had congratulated him for finding pleasure in duty, it was that evident. And Otto Hightower was not exactly the most perceptive of men when it came to emotions.

Aegon eagerly rips one sleeve out of the bodice, and you can't hide your flinch. Aemond sees it even among the crowd of women that are trying to divest him of his own clothes. Some lord's hands are greedily wrapped around your waist, squeezing your flesh. There is panic on your eyes. Brave, stubborn, little doe that you are, you don't say a word.

But even if Aegon had not noticed, how did he dare touch something that was his? The only thing to his name, and he dared envy it, try to take it away. Aemond had endured Aegon’s needs going first his whole life. Seven Hells, even marrying you meant catering to him and putting aside his own desires. But his brother was too selfish to even keep his hands to himself and not fondle his bride.

There is another ripping sound. The other sleeve of your dress, now gone. You struggle to keep the bodice up, a hand against your chest, but some lords are already jeering and tugging at the waist of your dress. You whimper, barely audible.

“Enough!” Aemond orders, pushing away the women and grabbing his gambeson from one of them. Enraged, he nearly throws the men off you. “Enough. No one touches her.”

“Brother, we were just having a bit of fun…” Aegon shouts, and Aemond grimaces. This close, he can smell the alcohol on his breath. What a poor excuse of a King he was, drunk and groping a woman who wasn’t his to touch.

You flock towards Aemond like a scared bird. He places his gambeson over your shoulders, trying to cover you in case the dress fails to stay up. You shrug it on, gratefulness shining in your eyes. It only serves to irk Aemond further. He wants to strangle Aegon and his stupid friends.

“I do not care.” Aemond barks, and pushes Aegon off him. “Where is the Septon? Send him in, now.”

“You should not take that tone with me.” Aegon warns, puffing up his chest and advancing again towards you. You flinch, huddling impossibly close to Aemond’s side.

“I do not care! What do you think this is? First night?” Aemond snaps, right back. The confused crowd stands back, starting to notice something is wrong. “Did you ever paid attention to your history lessons or were you drunk then, too? It is abolished!”

“I…I…I” Aegon splutters.

Aemond huffs. He grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, to the delight of the crowd. Many men cheer and hoot, but he makes sure to keep their hands away from you.

“I laid their daggers ready;

He could not miss ‘em.”

Your hands still shake when he sets you down. For a moment, you had thought you were being carried off to be bedded, and all the nasty promises Aemond had made you before your truce had come to mind. He had a right to it — now. Your father was not coming to save you.

Panic had threatened to drown you. But then, once the two of you were out of sight from the crowd, Aemond squeezed one of your hands and placed you down on the corridor for you to make your way there on foot.

“Thank you.” You say to him, once in his chambers. Yours, now. The thought brings tears to your eyes, and you are not sure why. You knew you were going to marry him, and he was not as bad as he seemed. Why were you crying?

The day had been taxing. Emotionally and physically. Sadness and excitement had all mixed into one, and the wedding preparations had not allowed you a second to rest. You had been on your best game, bringing Aemond over to your side, and enchanting the court. Laying the groundwork for when you decided to move your own piece.

You had not planned for the reality of Aegon Targaryen, though. Being almost assaulted on your wedding feast was not what how you envisioned meeting the King. It only steeled your resolve. You had to get rid of him.

But no matter how politically sharp you were, you were still a woman. The threat of assault and rape would forever hang over your head, no matter how high in the game you were. And it hurt. Because you could never win.

You sob. You had been doing everything right. How could this have happened to you?

Aemond approaches you from behind, loudly. He is almost always silent in his movements, a predator stalking prey, so you know he must be exaggerating for your benefit. One of his arms wraps around you, trying to comfort you. The touch is tentative, hesitant. When you do not pull away, Aemond hugs you fully from behind, pressing his forehead against your nape.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity. Until you were no longer shaking in his arms, until you had no tears left. Only then, Aemond pressed a soft kiss to the first knob of your spine. And to the second. And the third. He softly traces the places they would be under your skin, lavishing them with attention.

You don’t stop him. His touch is comforting and familiar. Aemond has saved you twice now. That night, when you were enemies in a tower. Tonight, when you were already his woman.

When he reaches your bodice, he doesn’t tear the broken garment apart. Instead, he unmakes every button with care. The dress slips from your form with a soft murmur. For a second, the reminder of Aegon, his friends, and what they had tried to do to you, makes you tense up.

Aemond doesn’t say a word. He just hugs you to him, cradling you in his arms. When you are calm again, he kisses your nape once more.

Your eyes dart towards the bed, in the middle of the room. Around it, some candles provide a low lighting. Aemond kisses your shoulder, and moves one of the straps of your shift aside.

You shudder. Your knees feel weak. It’s a new feeling, but one that fills you with warmth. Pooling in your stomach, towards your core. Making you slick between the legs.

His kisses move from your shoulders, down your arms and towards your wrists. Each kiss feels soft and warm. It makes you forget about King Aegon and his friends, and their dirty little hands all over you.

Aemond touches you softly enough to want to lose yourself in his touch. It is clear he has done this before, and that he cares. Your husband, your improbable ally. So you do. You lose yourself in him, in his body, in the kindness behind every touch. It is only as you come to be, laying with your head on his chest, that you think of it again.

You are satisfied and warm, laying under the covers. Aemond is by your side, eye closed. Softly, you run your nails down his chest, watching the skin and flesh give. His body is so different from your own, thin and elongated, but softly muscled from all his training. There are some scars on him, pink raised flesh standing out among the white.

“You are smarter than him.” You say, your voice low. You are speaking treason.

“Hm?” Aemond’s hand starts caressing your back. His eye remains closed.

“Your brother.” You reply, listening attentively to his heartbeat, You try not to tense under his ministrations, not give your move away.

“I was more dedicated to our studies.” Aemond’s heartbeat starts to feel faster. You feign calm, focusing on other things. It would not do to let your excitement show. You trace a more silvery scar on his side. You wonder how he got it. Training? Riding Vhagar?

“Your education was fit enough for a King.” You say, after a while. You are so close you can taste it. Shifting to lay on your stomach, you peer up at him from between your lashes.

“It is.” Not was. Aemond’s eye meets yours. Your look turns knowing. “It’s no use. He was born first.”

“The world is cruel. Princess Rhaenyra, too, was born first.” You say, boldly. What is it, to usurp a usurper?

Aemond smiles. Slow and cruel.

“He should not have touched you.”

His hand goes to rub at your shoulder. There is a mark there. His teeth, bruising and awful blue. What had possessed him to do such a thing, you did not know. Otherwise, your lovemaking has been soft and tender. Not at all what you had expected.

“With a brother like that, you have to learn to share.” You whisper, once again treason.

His grip on you tightens.

“The only man I intend to share you with is the one who will be my heir.”

It is only years later that you come to know the truth. Both of you are old and scarred by the many atrocities you have committed. The first, of course, the hand you had in the murder of the King.

The chronicles will tell, years after, that it had been a confusing incident. Someone had poisoned Aegon. Not you or Aemond, of course. A servant on Prince Daemon’s payroll, who had been tipped about what wine the King would drink. With him, goes each one of his sycophants. It starts a war. Aemond and you stand, silent watchers of it all, as both sides tear each other apart, conveniently sent to a diplomatic mission with Dorne that bears no fruits.

Is it more of a crime to be the hand that wields the sword, or the man who in the face of an atrocity just watches? His nephews die. All and each one of them, including Aegon’s children. Until both of you can march into King’s Landing, Baratheon forces at your back, and take the Iron Throne.

“Do you remember our wedding night?” Aemond asks, as you watch your grandchildren play on the foot of the Iron Throne. You sit on his lap, cradled comfortably. It has been worth it, you think. It has all been worth it.

“Of course I do.” You smile, so in love with him it hurts. Your sword and shield. Your King. The one that you chose to place on the throne.

“There was a mark on your shoulder.” Aemond rubs the spot where a scar has formed after all the times he had bitten you when you made love. “His fingers were all over it, and I thought, if I lack an eye, he will have to lack a hand.”

The next king wears an antler crown. History books will not remember you or know what you did. But both Aemond and you do, and as you share a secret, vicious smile, you know it. The most dangerous thing to walk the Red Keep was you all along.