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arabellasleopardcoat · 1 year ago

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Capital (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You think you married the plainest woman on earth, and you look away for one second and suddenly she is not. Typical. At least, for Daemon.

Warnings: Mature language, sexual thoughts, canon typical violence.

Requested: Yes! But since I am particular about my aesthetic, I didn't answer there. Jealousy + arranged marriage. Brought to you by the seven deadly sins.

Gluttony /ˈɡlʌtəni/

the habit of eating and drinking too much.

Claw Island is as good as getting vanished from the court. You know it. Your Lord husband knows it. Even the tenants know it. Why else would the King order your marriage to Daemon Targaryen?

It was not as much of a punishment as the King had hoped. The Celtigars are a prestigious family, one of the few left with Valyrian blood. While not ones to flaunt their riches or seek for great power, you led a luxurious lifestyle.

The finest wines. Myrish rugs. The newest books. And of course, the riches from the surrounding sea. Beautiful pearls, a fleet that, while small, sailed with speed. The best foods.

The small island was your perfect little world, sequestered away from the troubles of the mainland. What else could a person long for, when they lived in a paradise? Claw Island had it all. Miles and miles of tempestuous sea, soft sands and gorgeous wildlife not seen anywhere else. Humble, but good people. Natural riches enough to last a lifetime.

But as of late, your breathtaking lands did nothing to bring you peace. Sometimes, in truth, as you walked along the shoreline, you wished for a tremendous sea wave to swallow you whole.

It would be better than this. Among the crabs, the sea life and wreckage of old ships, you would feel at ease. At home, even. And finally, finally untroubled. But things were not as you wanted them to be. With your Lord Father at court, someone had to mind the island. And no one knew the lands as you did.

You shuddered to think of something happening to you. In that case, the island, and its people, would go to your husband. Considering how much he hated it here, Prince Daemon would make a poor ruler.

You glare. He glares right back. Remembering your manners, you serve him a cut of spider crab seared in butter. The meal is rich and decadent, a show of the best Claw Island has to offer.

“Crab, Lady Wife?” Daemon raises both eyebrows. “Again?”

“What else does the Prince wish to eat?” You do your best effort at keeping your tone even. You try hard to not raise your voice at him, remembering the rumors about what happened to his last wife. So far, it seems to be working. Despite being older than you, the man behaves as a child. You have found he benefits from being managed as one, too.

Ever since you got married, he has been desperately trying to rile you up. The Prince always seemed to deflate when you refused to engage. He was clearly itching for a fight, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“You seem too willing to indulge in cannibalism for my tastes.” Daemon, in what he surely believed to be the absolute demonstration of cutting wit, smirks. You smile at him, sedate. You have heard enough remarks about crabs to last a lifetime. “It’s worrying.”

You could answer him. Perhaps make a mockery of his inability to perform in bed and the behavior of the female praying mantis. You do not. Instead, you force yourself to give him a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I will ask the servants to bring you fish.” You took your napkin out of your lap and placed it on the table. Dutifully, you rang the bell to call for a servant.

“Again?” Daemon complained, sounding much like a petulant child. You smiled and went back to your seat. Your crab was getting cold, and it would most likely be by the time your husband’s fish was served. But good manners dictated you could not start eating without him. You resigned yourself to another night of eating a cold dinner.

“You should write to the King, my Prince. I would serve you venison, were it not for the fact that your dragon has nearly extincted the population here.” While you were by no means poor, feeding a dragon was an expense you didn’t care for, especially one so picky as Daemon’s was showing to be.

While a dragon was a marvelous creature, and having one guarding your lands was a great perk, it was also hard. Caraxes ate the same as five grown men in a day, if not more. He didn’t eat just anything you served him, either. Much like his owner, he was picky. He had come with dragon keepers, and needed to be built a shelter.

You had hoped that his serpentine appearance would mean that he would eat a lot in one sitting, then hibernate, but no such luck. Your island couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard you tried. Animals didn’t reproduce at the pace required.

“Of course, my Lady. Of course.” Daemon says, in a dismissive tone. It’s then, when a servant comes in with his fish.

Your crab is cold. Again. Daemon is not pleased with the fish, but seems wary of extending dinner even more. For once, he doesn’t complain.

Dinner is eaten silently. In your head, you make plans for tomorrow's meals. Perhaps oysters, served cold, will withstand the wait better. You finish dinner and settle down to read some before bed.

When the time comes for it, you close your book. Daemon departs with a cold kiss to your cheek. You go to your bed, just as cold and empty as the kiss was, and fall asleep.

It’s around the witch's hour when he comes back to you, getting into the bed next to you. He stinks of cheap perfumes and oils. As he pulls you closer, to be able to hide his face on your neck, you can feel the smell of sex and alcohol induced sweat. It comes from the clothes Daemon hasn’t even bothered to shed before getting in bed with you.

You don’t like him drunk. He gets sloppy. You do better when he hides his indiscretions, the proofs of your failure as a woman. As a wife. He seeks his pleasure from other bodies, never yours. With you, he is unable to perform to completion.

Perhaps the same happens to him with others, on nights like these. That thought soothes you, and it’s the only reason why you allow Daemon to seek comfort in your arms. Sometimes, he has nightmares. It’s expected then, too, that you are the one to soothe him back to sleep.

Shifting in his grip, you rub his back, gently. You card your other hand through the matted strands of blonde hair, as a mother would do to his child. In many ways, you guess he is one. You pity him, your husband. A man with a void so deep, not even all the vices in the world could fill it.

You are unable to fall back asleep. You lay there for hours, staring at the ceiling. When you hear the rooster’s first crow, you roll out of bed. Sleep is not coming for you. Daemon, unperturbed in his slumber, only sprawls more. You tuck him in.

When you get to your vanity, you catch the servants leaving the correspondence for the day on it. She giggles when you point at the bed and the mess of clothes, gesturing for silence. It makes you feel better, that they think your husband comes from the pleasure houses straight into your arms for more than just cuddles.

One of the letters catches your eye. It’s written in the strange alphabet used for High Valyrian, bearing both the royal seal and the King’s name. You don’t mean to pry. In fact, you open it because you are worried your husband has upset his brother even more.

Marriage is like being tied to a ship. When the tides are good and the ship strong, you soar above the sea. But no one wants to be tied to a sinking ship. It’s that fear what leads you to heating a knife on your candle’s flame and lifting the seal.

You read as you brush your hair, unrushed. You know Daemon won’t be awake for at least six more hours. But the more you advance, skipping polite greeting, the more your stomach sinks, and you jump from sentence to sentence.

“And while I understand your dislike of Claw Island, it is a less harsh punishment than you deserve. Much you complained of wanting a Valyrian bride, and now the opportunity presents itself, ripe for the taking. Yet, you do not seem keen on it. Is it, again, the lack of a throne you find off-putting? Perhaps, the lack of a child bride you can manipulate? Your Lady Wife might not have purple eyes or silver hair, as you mention, but she is a maiden in the bloom of youth. Tales of her beauty have graced the court, shared among the eager mouths of her family and previous suitors. Both Lord Velaryon and Lord Mooton agree that the woman is a delight, well-mannered and easy on the eyes. She has impeccable breeding and education. I will not grant you the annulment. I will not allow you to go back to your whore.”

There is a coppery taste in your mouth. Blood, you realize. From biting your tongue so hard to avoid letting out a scream of rage. It feels like being stabbed, countless times. In your back, and in your heart. Betrayal and deep, hurtful sorrow.

What have you done to deserve this? To be blindsided so? You have stood firm through all the humiliations your husband puts you through. Never once reproaching the way he goes out after dinner and does not come back until sunrise. Never complaining of his audacity to search comfort in your arms when he is drunk and stinking of whores. Never once raising your voice at the insults to your people, your home, your family.

But for Daemon Targaryen, it wasn’t enough. You would never be enough. Childishly, when you had first heard of your betrothal to him, you had hoped for companionship, if not love. At least, you thought, you would have a friend. But you hadn’t been enough of a woman to keep him in your bed, you had not been enough of the blood of Old Valyria for him to give you children, and you had not been enough for him to stay married to you.

He took from you, and took from your island and from your family, and not once was he satisfied. Not once, he was sated. And now, Daemon has done the unspeakable. Not satisfied with making a mockery out of you, with his constant unfaithfulness, he seeks to ruin you further. It’s only King Viserys who protects you and your family from further embarrassment.

You have underestimated him, pitying him while he planned your demise. The ruin of your house. You have been sharing your bed with the enemy. The thought frightens you and fills you with anger at equal parts. What will happen, when the King dies and the awful Princess with whom your husband was so taken ascends? Will you be put to the sword, accused of an imaginary crime to get you out of the way? Treason, perhaps? Hands shaking in anger, you fold the letter and reseal it as carefully as you can.

That is the day you decide you will retreat into your shell, like any good crab. You will close yourself over, put up walls and keep him as far away as you can. And you will wait for the day to stab at his heels until his physique reflects exactly the useless kind of man he is inside.

One day, this man might kill you. You will have to make sure he does not get away with it.

Envy /ˈenvi/

the feeling of wanting to be in the same situation as somebody else; the feeling of wanting something that somebody else has.

It’s not often you are summoned to the court. But your father is about to be named Keeper of the Keys, a prestigious position often held by members of your house before being promoted to Master of Coin. The implication is clear. Soon, another Celtigar will be handling the finances of the Kingdom. It’s a ploy, to intertwine you further with the Royal Family. As soon as King Viserys dies, it will be your father who serves on Princess Rhaenyra’s council.

Hence, the need for a celebration. Traveling from Claw Island to King’s Landing is exhausting, especially considering that you do the journey by ship while your husband does so in his dragon. He seems overjoyed about it, but you can only think of how much the separate travel is costing your purses.

Daemon arrives early, because of course he does. Meanwhile, you spend your time preparing to put on the play of your life. You must be the most dutiful wife in the Seven Kingdoms, or else he might find a reason to get rid of you. Setting apart your most fashionable dresses, preparing gifts for the King and Queen and otherwise looking radiant.

Knowing Daemon, he is already whispering poison in his brother’s ear. You need to dazzle the King and the whole court, convince them you are not only an adequate wife but a perfect one. No stain must be perceived in your reputation.

You arrive punctually, just in time to prepare for the feast. It’s inside the Hall where you meet Daemon, and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. Chaste, but affectionate, performed under the King’s approving look. You are radiant in your house’s colors, with subtle references to Targaryen’s ones.

The feast is torture. Viserys, Daemon and Rhaenyra are all seated at the same table. They get along wondrously, while you, Queen Alicent and Ser Laenor are ignored despite being next to them.

The only thing that calms your heart is watching your father, sitting at the table of the Master of Coin.

“My Queen.” You say to her, hoping to curry favor. The Gods knew you needed as many allies as you could. “I brought you this.”

You take out a beautifully engraved rendition of the Prayers Book. It’s a gorgeous edition, with a gold finish. You hope that at least, if she doesn’t like it, she would think it is a gift to the babe she carries. It’s a thoughtful gift, the kind of thing you excel at.

“Oh, Lady Targaryen!” The Queen says, and takes it, admiring it in the light. Fortunately, she seems truly charmed by it. “It is the most wonderful thing!”

“I have one myself.” You tell her, as if you had not purchased it for exactly this moment. “When I heard you were from Oldtown, I couldn’t think of a better thing to bring.”

“It’s lovely.” Alicent says, as your husbands ignore both of you. Viserys and Daemon are too busy having their fun to care about what women are doing. “Will you join me in prayer tomorrow?”

“I would be delighted to.” It’s the first genuine smile you wear since your arrival. And it’s the first time that someone from the royal family smiles back.

You do attempts towards Rhaenyra and Laenor. They both ignore you, and so, you decide to keep strictly to conversing with Alicent. You decide to leave Viserys out of it, despite your gratitude to him because you would rather not look like much of a sycophant.

Your happiness at finally making a friend between your in-laws makes you oblivious to Daemon’s silence. During the whole dinner, he barely taunts you. None of the crab-based insults he so favors are present, either. That should have warned you. If you have learned something about your husband is that there is never a time when he is quiet.

He bides his time. The desserts are already served when Daemon delivers his greatest insult up to date. Some couples are even swaying to the rhythm of the music already, no matter if the tables have yet to be cleared.

“I wish to dance, I think.” Daemon says, getting up from his seat. You start to get up too, knowing you cannot refuse him, but he turns towards Rhaenyra. “A dance, niece?”

Rhaenyra preens under the attention and takes his hand. For a second, you stay frozen, hand falling uselessly by your side just when you were about to reach for him. You feel like you are being stabbed. Again.

The humiliation is so great you wish for some great disaster, perhaps one of the couples bumping against a table and overturning it, just to get the attention away from you. Half the hall has now seen you get rejected by your husband. In a celebration meant to honor your father, nonetheless.

You struggle to keep your face emotionless, curved into a polite little smile. You have made a fool of yourself. Hot tears gather in your eyes, threatening to spill.

Noticing your despair, Alicent places a hand on your arm, softly.

“Thank you, Lady Targaryen.” She exclaims, loudly. “With the babe getting bigger and bigger every day, I find it harder to stand. You are very thoughtful.”

Her rescue, as she stands and walks down the dais, helps you save face. Your smile turns more genuine.

“It’s but good breeding, my Queen.” You answer, just as loud. “What kind of noble could see a Lady of your station and not aid her?”

Alicent smiles, and she cradles her stomach.

“Indeed. Only a savage, I would think.” Her glance at her own husband is unmistakable. But Viserys is too busy watching Rhaenyra and Daemon dance to help his pregnant wife. His eyes never leave his brother and daughter, his expression twisted into one of annoyance.

Alicent makes her way towards a table where a few knights sit. Most of them are from Oldtown, and you cannot help but smile at her doing the rounds her husband so neglects. But her rescue, and quick exit, leave you in an uncomfortable position. King Viserys and Ser Laenor are engaged in conversation, including you only when they remember your presence, which means once every half an hour.

Without Queen Alicent, you have no conversation partner. The only thing you can do is watch. Daemon twirls around the room as if he were not a married man, taking every eligible bachelorette in the room for at least one dance. He is enchanting, pulling blushes left and right. He dances twice with Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon.

You play your part to perfection. Each time he glances your way, you give him an indulgent smile or a sweet tilt of your head. Even when he dances again with Rhaenyra, your expressions don't shift. Instead, you lift your cup to them and even find it in yourself to give a small clap.

It’s torture. It’s exhausting, having to play the devoted but never jealous wife, when he is doing his best to embarrass you. Finally, the King retires, but orders that the celebrations do not stop. You consider making your way towards your father, uncaring if leaving Laenor sitting on his own is rude.

Just as you are getting up, a knight, dressed in a fine green gambeson, steps in front of you. You look up at him, wondering what he could possibly want.

His voice is soft and eloquent, with the barest hint of an accent. His voice reminds you of someone, but you cannot quite place who.

“Lady Targaryen. You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.” You answer him, politely. Is he about to ask you for a dance? Is this a ploy for your husband to embarrass you further?

The knight smiles. He is tall and slender, very different from your husband, yet handsome just the same.

“If I had a wife as pretty as you, she wouldn’t be sitting here.” He compliments, and startles a laugh out of you. It has been months since the last time a man complimented you so. Before marrying, you had quite the suitors, but no one dared practice courtly love with the Rogue Prince’s wife. And your husband never once spoke to you kindly.

It’s a thrill, to feel wanted and appreciated again. You love having his eyes on you. It fills you with a forgotten kind of confidence. As the daughter of the man whose star in court is rising, as a beautiful woman and as the wife of a Prince, you deserve to be admired. It’s not your fault your husband can’t see it, you are desirable. People should be currying for your favor. You shouldn’t be begging for the scraps of a man whose only interest is his niece.

“Would she be on the dance floor?” You tease the knight, falling back into the practiced flirtations that had made you so popular before. You feel like you are glowing again.

The knight shakes his head, a hint of mischief appearing in his brown eyes.

“I would forbid her from leaving my chambers.”

At that, you laugh again, blushing. Despite how charming he is, you are still a married woman. You cannot give anyone reason to suspect or judge you, else Daemon might have basis to rid himself of you.

“I am not your wife.” You say, politely. The knight gasps, as if wounded, making you laugh again. You do not realize someone is glaring daggers at you, entranced as you are by him. “But perhaps a dance might suffice?”

The knight gives you a cheeky grin. He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, gently.

As he leads you towards the dance floor, you barely notice Daemon looking disgruntled on the edge of it. You look over and see Rhenyra dancing with some tall and broad knight. He is probably jealous of him.

“You must give me your favor, for tomorrow's tournament. We are, after all, celebrating your family.” The knight says, making you focus back on him. His eyes are brown and kind, so soft. They remind you of someone, but once again, you can’t tell who.

“Ah, I see you are a tough negotiator.” You tease, your tone turning slightly more girlish. This time, it is the knight who laughs.

“What can I say? It’s in my blood.” The man winks, as he starts to twirl you around.

“I think, my lord, you have yourself a deal.” You grin.

It’s only when a Hightower knight approaches the stands the next day and offers you his lanze, you realize the mistake you have made.

Wrath /ræθ/

extreme anger.

Daemon can’t believe his ears. Out of nowhere, a sweet sound reaches him. It’s the sound of a Lady’s laughter, but something about it makes him turn his head.

Perhaps, the fact that the sound has managed to catch his attention at all, despite the loud music, chatter and other laughs. Perhaps it is that the sound is familiar to him. He doesn’t know what it is, but as the piece finishes, he steps aside and tries searching for the source.

It’s then he sees you. His wife. Glowing and laughing on that Hightower cunt’s arm. And no, it’s not Alicent he is referring to. Otto’s spawn seems to have a proclivity for you because this is the other one. The elder.

Gwayne. His hands all over you, a gentle touch to your lower back to guide you forward. And are your eyes brightening? For him? As you pass by Daemon, you barely spare him a glance. He manages to hear a piece of the conversation.

“Your favor, for tomorrow's tournament…” The man has the gall to ask, as if he could win you the flower crown! The nerve of that Hightower pup, to think himself able to win. It’s clear he doesn’t remember the last time he faced Daemon, and while he was already planning on entering, now he knows with absolute certainty he is competing. Gwayne Hightower seems to have forgotten his lesson. He needs to remember his place.

“… Tough negotiator…” Your cheerful voice answers. Probably telling him he has to win if you do so because you are Valyrian and proud like him. Surely, the idea of getting crowned Queen of Love and Beauty appeals to you. You want a flower crown? Daemon will get you the damn thing.

When he was no more than a boy, his father used to have a particularly overzealous hound. Daemon had taken great delight in setting him free just when ladies were visiting. The dog loved sniffing beneath the ladies' skirts and humping their legs. The whole scene often ended up with Daemon getting yelled at, either by the ladies or their husbands. Now, as he looked at the proverbial dog humping his wife, Daemon understood why the ladies' husbands were so enraged.

He should cut his hands. Hightowers. No sense of shame at all, with their whorish ways. They were all the same. There went Alicent, throwing herself at Viserys when poor Aemma was not even in her pyre. There went Gwayne Hightower, placing his paws all over you and trying to charm you when Daemon was still in the room.

Couldn’t he tell you are his? It’s not that Daemon likes you, but it’s an affront to his honor. You are the wife of a Prince. The mere fact that a measly knight thought he could compare it’s outrageous. And the fact that he dared touch you! The nerve!

It’s Daemon who shares your bed, back in Claw Island. It’s Daemon you hold during the night, who pays for your silly little dresses. It’s for him you have clearly gotten all pretty today. How dare he, that Hightower fool.

He can’t have you. Gwayne Hightower is not allowed to just swoop in and try to steal his woman. You are meant to sleep by his side, be his solace. You are not the kind of woman for whom a simple knight would be enough. Just like him, you love the lush life. Could Gwayne Hightower buy you a dress like that? Could he use a dragon to protect your little island?

Daemon clutches at his cup so hard, he thinks he might bend the metal. You are his bride. He is the only one allowed to have you. If he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t want to, but it doesn’t mean someone else can.

Rhaenyra approaches him again, no doubt wanting another dance. But not even her allure, which is usually so hypnotizing to him, manages to get him out of his bad mood. He hates when other people touch what is his.

Daemon decides to retire for the night, before she can reach him. He needs to think. How he longs for your shared rooms back at Claw Island. At least that way, he wouldn’t spend the night tossing and turning, wondering if the Hightower cunt escorted you back to your rooms, and if so, at which hour.

Strange, isn’t it? Such a small act can cause such a big shift in perspective. So many months, he had spent thinking of Claw Island a prison, longing to be able to come back to court. Now, he sees it as it was. A shell made to protect the most valuable pearl the sea had produced.

Had Daemon known men at court would try to steal his bride, he would have never authorized this trip. Your father could have been named Hand, but you would have never stepped foot outside your castle if Daemon had known. You would not be taken with Gwayne Hightower if he had a say in it.

He had a plan. The knight would make a fool out of himself. Daemon just had to encourage him in the right direction.

Daemon is up and about as soon as the sun is. He strolls towards the space prepared for the tournament, armor in hand. He changes slowly, giving plenty of time for Gwayne Hightower to arrive.

The foolish knight does. So do you, sitting next to your father in the stands, all pretty and glowy under the sun. You wear a red gown that compliments not only your skin tone, but pays homage to both of your houses. After all, both House Targaryen and Celtigar have red on their coats of arms. A clear show that you were meant to be his, and his alone. What would you even look like, if you were married to a Hightower fool? Red and green would look hideous in a dress.

As the highest-ranking competitor, Daemon gets to make the first challenge. To no one’s surprise, he picks Gwayne Hightower.

Daemon waits with bated breath, already seated on his horse. Does the man dare? Oh, he dares! The Hightower cunt gallops towards the stands. You don’t rise, looking towards the Hightower whore. It’s then he realizes you must be truly innocent. You are either doubting the boldness of the man or are not aware of his house, and do not recognize him under the armor.

But as Gwayne Hightower reaches the stand, Daemon close on his heels, he takes off his helmet. You gasp.

The Hightower whore makes a move as if to get up. Her brother’s voice cuts her off.

“I was hoping to get a sign of your favor, my Lady.” The man says to you, and your eyes widen. You stand, shakily. You look at Daemon, then at the cunt, then at him, then back at the cunt. Daemon arches an eyebrow, visor lifted. “For you have already struck me with your beauty, and the fact that you cannot be mine. Allow me the consolation of placing a crown of flowers upon you, and soothe my wounded heart.”

You gasp at the bold declaration. Daemon has to admit it, the cunt has some nerve. Not only has he praised you in ways that are too bold even for a couple courting, but he has slighted Daemon in front of the whole court. He has made explicit mention of your marriage to him.

Viserys eyes him warily. Daemon scoffs. The distrust is unnecessary. Why would he slaughter the Hightower now, when he has the chance to plummet him into the ground without consequences in just a few minutes? Besides, it would be in bad taste, slaughtering the brother of his sister-in-law.

Your father urges you forward, with a forced laugh. You grasp one of the favors from your box, which has only two, and place it upon the Hightower’s lanze. The pretty ribbons sway in the wind. White and red from House Celtigar proudly displayed.

Daemon clears his throat, and presents his own lanze.

“How touching.”

You ignore him, as Rhaenyra approaches. Surely thinking how he will want to wear her favor, after his rejection of last night. Curse him, Daemon thinks. He should have danced with you. If he had known that up jumped son of a rat was going to try his luck, you would have not left Daemon’s arms the whole night.

“Thank you, niece. But today I fancy wearing my wife’s favor. For it would be a shame for her to be lacking her crown once her champion undoubtedly disappoints.” He loudly declares, uncaring if his niece’s face falls. Rhaenyra will get over it. But this has turned into a manhood competition. He can’t let Gwayne Hightower, of all people, win.

“Can I do that?” Daemon hears you whisper towards Viserys and his whore. “Can I have two champions fighting each other?”

Viserys, as if this is the most fun he has had in a while, answers cheerfully.

“Of course, my dear girl.” It probably is the most fun he has had in a while. Really. It must be very amusing to him, after hearing Daemon complain about you for months. Who would have known he would have to fight some Hightower for your attention? Laughable, really. A Prince groveling. “Double the chances for you to get the flower crown, is it not?”

“Of course.” Your father jumps in, clearly trying to prevent a scandal. “Go on, love. Give the other one to your husband. If more are needed, we will get more ribbons.”

You approach Daemon, pretty little favor on your delicate hands. You smile at him, pleasantly. But this close, he can tell you are shaken by the power play happening right in front of your eyes.

Daemon lowers his lanze as you stretch to place your ribbons. You give him a confused and hurt look. He stretches closer.

“Save that one.” Daemon says, as he places a hand on your hair and pulls out the red ribbon that holds it back. “I’m your husband, I get some privileges.”

His gesture makes you laugh. Daemon feels on top of the world. He gives a superior glance to the Hightower cunt, as if saying: Look at me, I do not need half your effort and get double the results.

Daemon is not so deluded as to think the laugh is more than half nervousness and half playing the part of the dutiful wife you are, but to Daemon is still a win. He can see why the other lords want you. With your hair loose, smiling and with your skin glowing from the sun, you are actually quite pretty.

He ties the ribbon around the pommel of the lanze.

“A kiss, for good luck?” Daemon knows he is pushing, but cannot help but be smug. His pretty wife gave him her hair ribbon to tie around his chosen weapon, for all the court to see. Smugness radiates out of his pores.

Without any expectation, the sweet peck you give him is even more of a delight. Even more sweet is the disgruntled look on Gwayne Hightower's face.

Safe to say, the man gets unseated so fast, it has to be the quickest defeat ever registered. The crunch he makes as he falls from his horse it’s the most satisfying sound Daemon has ever heard. The crowd gasps and cheers. The man does not get up.

That will teach him, he decides. Gwayne Higtwoer will never again even look your way. Daemon turns his horse back around, ready to face his next opponent, but it’s stopped by the pages.

“Ser Gwayne Hightower has requested to continue with the sword.” At that, his blood boils. He nearly jumps off his horse, discarding the lanze and unsheathing Dark Sister.

“What will it be, boy? First blood?” He saunters towards the man, and the sight of him this close only serves to anger him more. He shares Otto’s slender build, tall and slight. In Hightower armor, he even looks like him. Daemon is going to enjoy this.

“Why stop there?” The knight asks, hatefully. “Until one of us yields.”

“As you wish.” Daemon charges, forgoing his shield. He is just too angered for politeness. This is not jousting anymore, it’s his hate for Higtowers, and the fact that this man has tried to take something that’s his. He should have never looked your way. Never. And if it’s up to Daemon, perhaps he will leave the arena without the ability to repeat the feat.

The fight is quick and dirty, but even when he has disarmed and cornered him, Gwayne Higtower refuses to yield.

“What are you..?” Daemon asks, utterly confused because the little savage is grabbing Dark Sister with gauntled hands and pulling.

“Just as marriage is not an excuse for not loving…” He grins, teeth bared in a feral little grin, and Daemon lets go of his sword in surprise at the boldness of the fool. “No weapon is no excuse for yielding.”

He loses it, then. Later, he will only remember red. Daemon throws himself at him and starts punching him, until the asshole goes limp on his arms and has to be pulled away from him.

Only the fact that the Hightower fought back is what allows him to keep participating in the tournament, instead of being exiled again. The split lip and bleeding eyebrow do serve to build a case in his favor.

He wins the tournament without any opposition. With bloody hands, he places the flower crown on your head. Your horrified look is not as satisfactory as he would have thought.

Pride /praɪd/

the feeling that you are better or more important than other people.

Daemon manages to get a hold of you before you vacate the stands. You are trying to avoid the crowds, waiting patiently in your seat. He doesn’t allow it, urging you towards his chambers with a firm grip on your wrist.

Some other ladies titter and giggle, pointing towards the two of you. No doubt, they think he is about to ravish you. They are not wrong.

It’s not often Daemon feels desire for you. In truth, while you have a pretty mouth and a soft body, you do little for him. But today, you are enchanting. The flower crown still sits atop of your windswept hair, making you look like a forest nymph. There are a few red stains along your temple, left there by Daemon’s hands when he placed the crown on top of your hair.

Never has there been a woman more deserving of the title of Queen of Love and Beauty. As you walk with him down the halls, he feels a smug sort of satisfaction. Here is the woman half the court wants, Daemon wants to scream. Here is my wife.

The feeling is not unfamiliar to him, but it is in relation to you. His possessive nature so far has only extended towards members of his house. The lust is new, too. Daemon has experimented it many times, but never towards whom he should.

As soon the door closes after you, he kisses you forcefully, only for you to shove him away.

“What are you doing?” You ask, as you spit out some of his blood. You are remarkably strong, having been able to push him while still in armor. But what shocks him the most is the fact that you did it at all. Months of marriage and you have done nothing but smile, regardless of what Daemon does.

“Shh, Lady Wife. Nothing unusual, I assure you.” He pulls you back in, kissing along your neck. This time, you push him even harder.

Daemon stumbles and blinks, hard. Are you rejecting him? He sits down on the bed and takes off his helmet. He has beaten the Hightower fool half to death and won you the silly flower crown. Why would you reject him?

“You prefer him, don't you?” That has to be the answer, surely. You must be having an affair with the cunt. Why else would you reject him? It’s not allowed. While Daemon is not particularly keen on forcing you, you are his wife. He has a right to your body, and you shouldn’t deny him. You know it. Never before have you refused him, due to the same reason. So this must be something else.

“What nonsense are you on, now?” You barely lift your eyes from your work, busy with pouring some water in a bowl and taking out clean linens. Efficiently, as if a seasoned healer, and not a soft lady from Claw Island, you rip them apart.

“Don’t play daft, wife.” Daemon reproaches, scowling. Your innocent act is starting to tire him. You can’t possibly believe him so dumb. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“If this is about Ser Gwayne…” You start and he feels the urge to scream. He can’t help but cut you off.

“Of course it is! Of course it is about that fucking Hightower.” Daemon’s voice goes high-pitched, imitating yours. “Ser, Ser.” He rolls his eyes. “How easily they hand titles now. Is every scum in this realm a knight?”

Your face doesn’t even twitch. That is one of the things about you that drive him to insanity. No matter what Daemon says, he never seems to get a reaction. It’s infuriating. You are all manners and dimples, even in the face of the most vile insults he throws your way. You either have no honor, letting him stomp all over you, or you think him right. Pathetic. Even the Bronze Bitch bit back.

His nostrils flare. Softly, you step between his parted legs and dab at the cut on his brow with a soaked linen. Ever dutiful.

“You do know adultery is a crime.” Daemon says, in a low, threatening tone. You give him a pleasant smile, squeezing water out of the cloth. It runs red and fast down your wrist.

“So is incest.” Your voice is far too cheerful for someone who just got accused of a crime that’s punishable by death if he so chooses. And not only that, but you have the nerve to threaten him.

“I am a Targaryen.” Daemon practically growls. You glare at him. He should be angry, but instead, his loins seem to heat up. Who can fault him? Any man would feel the urge to take you over and over, when faced with those eyes and those lashes.

Surely, after it, you would understand you were his and not Gwayne Hightower’s. It was not such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a lesser man would have trouble with it, but not Daemon. Give him ten minutes between your legs and you would be singing his praises.

“And I am a Celtigar.” His pause has allowed you enough time to form a retort. You press down on the cut on his brow with a viciousness that startles him. Daemon winces in pain. No getting distracted, he notes. Less you murder him when he is not paying attention. “To stifle the blood flow.” You explain, but Daemon can see the bloodlust in your eyes. You want him to hurt. The past few months have not gone in vain, it appears.

“Mine, you are mine.” He replies, gruffly.

You let go of the cloth, hands on your hips. Your mouth opens and closes, astonished.

“You don’t have any right to speak those words to me.” How he longs to grab you and show you exactly who is in charge. There you are, screaming! You! The woman who Daemon doubted knew how to make sounds louder than polite conversation. “Am I not the bride you never wanted? Your chain? Well then, sail free. Go!” You scream, and Daemon needs to pick his jaw off the floor because never has he seen you this angry.

Are you screaming at him? He feels the urge to pinch himself, to see if he is dreaming. But the way you are pointing your finger towards the door seems very real. Still a bit confused by the sudden personality change, Daemon does not obey.

It feels like a dream. Like stepping into a parallel world. The words that come out of his mouth are spoken by a stranger, and he can only watch as you turn more and more furious.

“No. Come here.” Daemon grabs at your gown, trying to pull you into him. He doesn’t really know what he is going to do if you budge. Place you in his lap and placate you with a kiss? He doesn’t get to find out. Grabbing you has clearly been the wrong move.

You slip out of his grip with a harsh jerk. Daemon is not as young as he used to be, but the sight makes his lust bubble up. You are alluring when angry, all passionate lines, and bloody temples. Valyrian, in a way you had never been before, with your darker coloring and soft manners. Yet, when mad? You are a conqueror goddess made flesh.

“No! I will not. I am not yours. We might be married but I will…” You stomp your foot at him, all angry little crab. For the first time, he sees fire in you.

Such a shame this is the moment you chose to grow a spine. He couldn’t understand where you had been all this time. So many months wasted with the meek little wife, when he could have had you instead.

Why had you decided to show you had a personality now, of all times? It was not fair, if it was for that Hightower cunt.

“Why Gwayne Hightower? Out of all the men on earth?” Daemon mutters, clearly not low enough because you answer him.

“This is not about Gwayne Hightower.” You glare, crown of flowers balancing precariously on top of your head. As you move, a few petals fall down. Angry little dryad that you are, you bat them away.

“If not, what is it about?”

“You!” You scream at him. It’s hateful, it's rage filled, it’s everything you are usually not. A true Valyrian goddess, letting mere mortals feel her might. Daemon would have enjoyed the display more if he wasn’t the mortal in question. “I forgot what it felt like to be wanted. To be looked at as someone who was desirable. Do you know how I have felt? Begging for scraps of attention, trying to make this work?”

“Wife…” He pleads because now there are tears in your eyes, and while Daemon doesn’t do begging, he doesn’t do comforting either.

“Do not call me that! Didn’t you petition for an annulment?” And how had you found out about that? While he had not been exactly secretive with his correspondence, he didn’t believe you to be proficient in High Valyrian. He has no time to ponder on it because you intend to go further. “Well, you are in luck! I will make my own request!”

“Viserys will not allow it.” Even if Daemon has to go beg him on his knees to not grant it, you are not annulling this marriage. Not when he is just starting to see the real you.

“Fine! Then I am going back to Claw Island. Stay here.” You scream, and you look so determined it scares him. For a second, he actually thinks you have the power to ban him from the island and force him to stay, giving you plenty of time to receive visitors. Male visitors, all surrounding you, courting you, as if he were already dead and not just exiled.

“Look. I’m sorry. Can we start over?” Daemon offers, in his most pleading tone. He has not apologized since… Gods. He barely remembers how to do it.

“You made me forget I deserved more than scraps.” You laugh at him, as his first apology to someone in more than ten years is the funniest joke existing. Then, enraged. “It will be a cold day in the Seven Hells, when I give you another chance.”

Hurt. He realizes, as you throw the flower crown at his feet and slam the door. Hurt. You are hurt, not angry. He has done the worst thing a man can do to a woman. Damage her pride.

Lust lʌst/

very strong sexual desire, especially when love is not involved.

Much to your dismay, every time you try to speak alone to the King, you are swiftly intercepted. If it’s not Corlys Velaryon asking you to help him pick a book in the library, it’s your Lord Father summoning you to his chambers. It seems like the whole palace is in it because even Princess Rhaenys asks you to stroll with her through the gardens when you lurk too close to Viserys’s chambers.

Daemon was smarter than you thought. He had taken to using your own weapons against you. The need to be polite kept you from rejecting all these new invitations, and so, you often ended up stuck an entire afternoon with nonsensical plans.

As time passes, your rage starts to subside. Much to your disgust, it morphs into shame. You cannot believe how you lost control in front of Daemon. Everything you have worked so hard on could vanish for a single afternoon pf foolishness.

You would rather not be his enemy. When the time comes for the two of you to go back to Claw Island, Gwayne Hightower is still bedridden, despite it already being days. Daemon is a dangerous man to cross.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t seem angry, or even resentful. In fact, your husband has never been more attentive. With the talent of existing just at the right moment, Daemon appears at your side each time there is a door to be opened or a chair to be pulled.

“No one has ever seen him like this.” Queen Alicent marvels, as he watches him go fetch you a blanket in case the room is too cold for your liking. “Whatever you did to him…”

“Nothing, I assure you.” You answer, sternly. You don’t want her getting funny ideas, like that you are dabbling in witchery or the Seven knows what. It’s not something you can afford. Already balancing on a tightrope after the fight, any accusation could be your ruin. You do not trust Daemon’s change of heart. He is probably just biding his time.

Noticing something is amiss, Daemon comes back with the blanket, wrapping it around you. Alicent falls quiet.

Daemon stares at you, his hands lingering on your back more than necessary. He seems to be taking you in. His eyes fixate on your bosom a tad too long before you realize what he is doing, and you cover yourself more with the blanket.

Your cheeks heat up. You cough. Alicent’s brows raise.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” Daemon says, a bit dumbly.

“And you are a fool.” Your response is heated, and stupid, too. But you feel too embarrassed to care. Alicent is still sitting there, with a scandalized look on her face. Anyone would be ashamed to be the object of such obvious ogling, much less when they have never been exposed to it.

You are unused to this side of your husband. At most, when trying to consummate, Daemon would glance at you with disdain and proclaim it was all your fault. His eyes would never watch the heaving of your chest as you breathed, or the sway of your skirts when you walked. Were you superstitious, you would have thought him a man possessed.

Daemon laughs, either at your comment or your expression. It’s good, you suppose. At least he has not taken offense. You would have thought he would be angered, never one to suffer affronts to his pride without reacting.

“Your fool.” He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead, before walking away.

You stare at him. Alicent stares at you. Neither says anything. You are not sure what to make of it. It’s strange. It’s him now, who serves you dinner. The choicest cuts of meat, the sweetest of wines and meads, never asking for anything in exchange.

He has gotten unusually affectionate. Or possessive. Whatever it’s going through his mind, you don’t know. Daemon has never been open about his thoughts and feelings with you, unless they stem from displeasure.

Perhaps it’s a burst of boastfulness. He flaunts you, a hand on your waist, lower arm, whatever he can get away with. He is suddenly interested in the dresses you wear, commenting on them and gifting you new ones just because he thinks they would suit you. You do not miss the fact that the dresses are always in his house’s colors or styles he personally favors, with intricate needlework and embroidery.

It’s interesting. Once again, his testing of boundaries seems to come back. His hands are always playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, or the folds of your skirt. You have even caught him toying with the buttons of your bodice. It borders on the inappropriate.

“You are pushing it.” You say to him when his hands curls around yours as you dance. He is supposed to keep his hand extended for this step. He doesn’t seem to care. The other guests give him amused looks. No one is about to chide a Prince for his lovesick behavior towards his wife. Especially in a goodbye feast for the couple.

In truth, you are starting to think most of the fathers at court are relieved. If the Rogue Prince is chasing after his wife, then he is not chasing their daughters.

“Holding your hand is pushing it?” Daemon holds your hand more securely, as he makes you spin. This is another new and unexpected development. Now, he only dances with you. No heated looks at Rhaenyra, no longing glances towards Laena. You are not sure how you feel about it.

“It is. You are inconveniencing everyone.” You say, as he spins you again with a flourish. Despite wanting so badly to keep being cross with him, you cannot help but laugh with childish delight. What girl doesn’t want to be twirled around and made to feel special? “You are supposed to exchange partners.”

The balance of the dance has been thrown off by his refusal to let go of you. Any time there needs to be a switch, the couples flounder around the two of you. It’s childish on his part, but he seems unwilling to let you dance with another man.

“Oh, you haven’t seen me pushing it yet.” Daemon laughs, and pulls you in until your body is flush against his. It’s improper and probably not allowed. Scandalous, even. Yet again, no one is about to say anything.

Much less you, suddenly realizing that being pressed so close to Daemon is quite enjoyable. He smells surprisingly clean this evening. No trace of alcohol on his skin, or other women’s perfumes. Instead, he smells of the soap he usually favors and some sort of aromatic oil.

“Will you push further, then?” You raise your brows. It’s sort of amusing that Daemon is trying so hard. You would have not taken him for the seducing type, not when he had been so keen on dissolving your marriage.

“I will.” Daemon leans in, to whisper in your ear. His voice is low, thick with desire. It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I want you. I burn for you. I need you in my bed, on top of me, under me, any way you will let me have you.”

You give a scandalized little gasp, softly hitting his shoulder. Daemon grins, pulling you in even more. The two of you are so close, you imagine you can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I’m not done.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss your jaw. Daemon’s lips trail kisses towards your ear, teasingly blowing some air against it. “I want to spend the nights feasting between your thighs, on the valley of your breasts…”

“Stop it! We are in public.” You squeak, yet you look up at him like a flower searching for the sun. The attention he bestows on you is flattering, and you can't help but want to hear more.

“Do you want to hear a secret, wife? Every time you walk, I find myself lost in the sway of your hips. I want to drown on it. Drown on you. Until no trace of another remains, until the taste of your lips is the only thing I know.”

By this point, your skin feels so hot you worry you are about to combust. You gape at him. Not only has he dared to make a bold declaration, but he has done so in a room full of people.

You take a moment to gather yourself. Daemon could be bluffing for all you know, and so, you decide to match him. You brush your thumb against his cheekbone, feather-light.

“Then do it. No one is stopping you. Come to bed. Drown on me. Drink me, take me, ravish me.” You are trembling, and you only realize it when Daemon holds you tighter against him. You feel feverish, voice lowered to an urgent whisper. “Give me Valyrian sons, to hold my island when we are both gone.”

“No. No.” He says, against the curve of your neck, embraced much closer than the dance requires, making a spectacle. “I want them to have your smile and your eyes, and that infuriating curve of your shoulder. Give me daughters with your smart mouth, and your even temper. I want them to be proof of the love I had for you.”

You tremble more. Love. He really said… Oh, by the Seven.

“You are shaking.” Daemon kisses your brow. “Don’t. Unless it is from pleasure.”

Laughter rings in your ears. It's yours, but it feels foreign. You are too stunned to think clearly. Daemon tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Are you still there, Lady Wife?” He taps at your lower lip with his thumb. There is a teasing tilt to his smile, but his eyes are nervous. Vulnerable. Daemon was clearly not planning on confessing tonight. “Or have I broken you?”

“Prove it.” You say, still caught up on the love part. His declaration has sent your mind reeling, and shown you all of your latest interactions in a new light. You don’t know if Daemon knows what he is doing. He is a deeply passionate creature, much like his house’s sigil. Daemon doesn’t do infatuations, nor does he do dislikes. He loves or hates, and there is no in between.

“I will.” He promises, playing with a stray piece of hair that has fallen out of your up do. “Our whole lives. But perhaps I can start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” You frown, puzzled. You even pull back from his embrace to be able to look at his face. What an odd thing to say. Despite it, you admire the utter shamelessness he has about it. Were it you the one accidentally confessing, you would be a bundle of nerves.

Daemon doesn’t even blush. Of course, there is the small fact that he believes himself to be the Seven’s gift to humankind. You suppose if you believed yourself to be irresistible, you wouldn’t be nervous either. Cockiness wasn’t something you thought did it for you, but it seemed like you were learning new things every day.

“You will see.” Daemon smiles. You let him keep his secret, figuring it can’t be anything that bad.

You discover what he means when you arrive at Claw Island. A dragon egg waits for you, the fireplace clearly modified in a hurry, judging by the new stones and bricks that were added to the hearth.

“Even if it never hatches, I want you to have it. For you are as Valyrian as we are, and I was a fool not to see it sooner. You are worthy. It should have been on your cradle as a child.”

Greed /ɡriːd/

a strong desire for more wealth, possessions, power, etc. than a person needs.

The way his eyes trail after you now, it’s quite unfamiliar. Not lust, nor disdain. Something entirely new. Heavier.

Your afternoons have been filled with new entertainment. You coo at the egg, holding it over the fire. Sometimes, Daemon kneels beside you and helps you hold it, making a game of it. How long before either of you gets burned? How long can you endure, hands so close to the fire, before you are yelping and giving it to him?

When you think he is not looking, you speak to it in High Valyrian, whispering soft promises of how loved him or her will be once it hatches. There is no doubt in your mind it will. Perhaps not in weeks, or even months. Yet, your heart tells you there will be a dragon before your life ends.

Every night, you place the egg in the bed next to you. On your side, you curl around it, trying to share your warmth. Daemon reaches forward, sometimes. When he thinks you are asleep, his hand will curl over your waist and touch the egg, pressing it more against your stomach. You wonder what he means by it.

Does he know what he is doing? The low lullabies he half sings, half mutters under his breath indicate a yes. The way his lips curl into a soft smile against your nape show a longing that’s very much not subconscious.

Just as a pot of boiling water, the egg hatches a night no one it’s looking at it. Both Daemon and you are curled in a love seat, engrossed in a book. He is reading something about the doom of Valyria, your legs over his lap. You are submerged in a text about a man’s travels around the Free Cities.

One of his hands is wrapped around your ankle, in the sweetest of chains. Each time he flips a page, he will brush it with his thumb, softly. While not unwelcome, it’s strange. You are not used to being comforted in the same way you did for him during the first months of marriage. While Daemon doesn’t expect any kind of retribution, you find yourself granting it anyway.

The domesticity is quickly broken, however, when a strange noise fills the halls of your home. At first, you are unable to hear it through the background noise, but if you strain your ears, you can just make it out. It’s a shrill cross between a bird’s chirps and someone crying.

“Daemon?” You close your book and stare at him. Unable to help it, you get a little sidetracked, watching his face. His mouth is pursed in concentration, the candlelight giving his features a golden glow. Despite him being several years older than you, you cannot help but find him terribly handsome. Age has only turned him more distinguished. You betted he was dashing when younger, but unlike his brother, he has aged like a fine wine.

Sensing your eyes on him, he gives you a lazy smile.

“Little wife.” His voice comes out in a pleased rumble at having caught you looking. Your face heats up. Daemon's eyes shift from yours, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. You squirm under his gaze, trying to focus.

“Do you hear that?” You force yourself to utter.

“Hear what?” Daemon leans more towards you, his hand squeezing your knee. You give a small, delighted shiver. Good gods, what is it about him that gets you to turn into a puddle of want with the simplest touch?

“Some sort of animal crying.”

Daemon frowns. He tilts his head to the side, as if to listen better. You keep quiet, hoping to aid him. Then, his face breaks out in the biggest grin.

“It hatched! You amazing, wonderful woman.” He praises, pulling you into him. The hug is awkward, but it doesn’t last because you are too eager to see the baby dragon. Your dragon. You squirm out of his hold and rush out of the room, not even bothering to put on shoes, Daemon hot on your heels.

When you open the door to your chambers, you find the cutest thing ever. A baby dragon, slimy and confused, sits in the middle of his egg in the fireplace. It’s all big, dark eyes and long limbs, much like a baby horse. Unable to resist the temptation, you reach towards them.

“I do not…” Daemon tries to stop you, but the baby dragon climbs right up into your arms, curling close to your chest. Eager to touch it, you let it climb over your shoulder and nuzzle you, even if the sudden weight makes you stagger a little.

“That was really dangerous.” Your husband reprimands, trying to lift it away from you. The baby dragon snorts towards his direction, as if attempting to breathe fire. It only manages to give a cute little sneeze. Daemon glares.

“Aw, you are just like a baby.” You coo at the dragon, petting its head. Daemon looks even more disgruntled.

“Your dragon tried to burn me.” He complains.

“It’s a baby, husband. They don’t know any better.” You rub the scales on its back, soothingly. Unwilling to let go, you find yourself looking around your bedroom. “Let it stay here? Just for tonight.”

Daemon glares. You give him your biggest, most pleading eyes. He relents.

“Fine. But it’s not sleeping on the bed with us. And only for tonight.”

“Only for tonight.”

A month after, and the baby dragon is still sleeping in your bed. He has taken to laying between Daemon and you, leeching off your warmth. Daemon complains of having to sleep on the edge of the bed and his back being sore, but despite it, never once asks you to send the dragon outside with Caraxes.

The trouble starts, how not, with a trip to King’s Landing. This time, you ride with him, as a passenger to Caraxes, while the baby dragon follows. When Daemon lands, the dragon keepers fret around your baby, unsure of what to do with the unexpected visitor.

You command him to stay by your side, despite the protests of the dragon keepers. You are arguing and complaining and shielding your baby while Daemon only watches, amused.

Perhaps the commotion attracts more people, or someone calls for them, but you end up cornered as King Viserys makes his way to the dragon pit.

“What do we have here?” He asks, smiling at you. You give him a nervous look. Your dragon has gotten bigger, and so, you can not pick him up gracefully, but you usher him behind you regardless.

“Nothing, your grace.” You say, lacking your usual charm. You feel nervous about leaving the baby dragon on his own in the dragon pit. What if the other dragons don’t like him? What if he gets lonely?

With one hand, you reach for Daemon. His fingers meet yours halfway, squeezing reassuringly. More often than not, being a woman, your orders were not taken seriously. But if your husband gave an order, people would rush to obey. You hope he intercedes in your favor.

“Daemon, please.” You say, under your breath. “Don’t let them send him away. He will behave.”

“What do I gain, little wife?” He asks, interlocking your fingers together. Daemon gives his most charming grin to his brother, before pulling you into him. You go willingly, body lax and pliant for him. “A kiss, perhaps?”

“Please.” You turn to look at him, hoping to move him. This close, once again, you feel slightly distracted. Your husband smells so nice, and his hands feel so good around your waist, it’s no hardship at all. You press a kiss to his cheek.

“Must you always arrive with such a ruckus?” Viserys frowns. Daemon gives him a small smile.

“You know me.” Slowly, he starts to lead you towards the Red Keep, a hand placed protectively on your lower back. The message is clear. Daemon wants you to make your dragon follow you. You don’t even need to order it because your baby, smart as it is, is already following. The dragon keepers step back, muttering unhappily.

“Is it going inside?” Viserys point at your dragon. Foolishly, you had been hoping he didn’t notice, and so, your stomach drops. But Daemon doesn’t falter, strolling confidently inside as if he owned the place.

“He will behave. As long as no one touches her.” Normally, you despise when people talk about you as if you are not there. Currently, though, you can only feel relief that your dragon is not getting sent to sleep outside in the cold. He is just too little for it.

Viserys walks you towards his private dining room. A blonde child runs around, playing. The Princess and Ser Laenor are already there. And Alicent is even more heavily pregnant than before.

“How have you been?” You ask Alicent, sitting next to her. You half expect to be left out of the conversation as you were a few months before, and so, choose to sit next to someone who has been kind to you. The baby dragon hops on your lap when you take your seat.

Alicent looks absolutely horrified.

“Good enough.” She speaks, blinking slowly. It’s clear she cannot believe her eyes. She stares at the dragon in a mix of awe and fear.

“He is harmless.” You explain, petting it as if it were a small dog and not a baby dragon. “Do you want to pet him?”

Alicent reaches forward with a trembling hand. The dragon sniffs her, and curls to sleep again.

“… And I was thinking of changing the layout of the hall, to make sure he fits…” You hear Daemon complain, and your ears immediately perk up. Is he talking about your baby?

“So you keep it inside?” Viserys asks, sounding disbelieving.

“I have never seen such a close bond.” Daemon boasts. He sounds as if he is proud of you, you realize. It makes something warm flutter in your stomach. No longer are you the wife he never wanted and tried to get rid of. “Damn thing sleeps on the bed with us. It’s better trained than a dog, seriously. We should have given Celtigars dragons a long time away.”

“Why not leave it outside?” From where you are seated, you can’t see his face, but you imagine by his tone, Viserys is smiling.

“She will riot. She loves him as her own son.” Daemon explains. You keep your eyes trained on the nervous Alicent, who has managed to lay her hand on top of your dragon’s head. She looks about to bolt.

“Isn’t he the nicest thing?” You say to Alicent, excited. “He thinks I am his mom, or something. Isn’t it great?”

Alicent does not look as impressed as you hoped for, but she gives you a kind smile. She seems willing to tolerate your eccentricities if for the sake of not having to make conversation with Rhaenyra.

“Very nice.” She compliments. “Pretty colors. Prince Daemon was very kind, giving it to you.”

“He is.” You smile, softly. “Although he complains all the time.”

Alicent shrugs. This time, both of you tune in the conversation between Daemon and Viserys.

“Perhaps, as you build him something outside, you can distract her with an actual baby.” Viserys says. Alicent looks torn at the comment, and you can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic.

It’s not something you had thought about before. Well, you had. Never with him, though. As a girl, you dreamed of being a mother, and as a woman, Daemon and you had discussed the issue of heirs already. You had spoken about it during your last goodbye feast, in this same castle. But those words had been spoken in the height of passion, and neither of you had done anything about it.

“Trust me. Next time she holds a babe, it will be a proper human one.” Daemon says, and his hand finds yours over the table. You look up at him, meeting his purple eyes. He looks hungry. Starved, even.

You lower your eyes demurely. Viserys laughs. And Daemon, greedy as he is, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Sloth /sləʊθ/

the bad habit of being lazy and unwilling to work.

The light filters in through the open curtains, giving the room a soft glow. Daemon’s face scrunches up, bothered by the sunlight in his eyes. He has tried to convince you to sleep with them drawn, but you are unwilling. To you, the best way to wake up is slowly, with the sun. Or so you say. He is not very convinced.

Daemon stretches. You reach for him in your sleep. He gives himself a moment to savor it, the fact that he can finally pull you closer. The dragon is finally gone from his bed, although he is no way near distracting you with a babe.

Dragons are not pets. Daemon had been taught that since the cradle, even before he had a dragon of his own. Their control over them was only an illusion, and so, they should be trusted but feared. He had lived by that rule, never once questioning it. Until you.

Watching you raise yours as if it were your own child had proven interesting. You lacked his education about them, but you made up for it by sheer enthusiasm. The fact that your dragon had not bitten your hand off yet or burned you to a crisp could only mean two things: You were some sort of forest nymph, or they were mistaken about their approach to dragons. He knew which one he thought was true.

How much was nature, and how much was nurture in their relationship with dragons? Trying to answer that question would occupy his entire lifetime. Daemon hoped that watching you gave him some insight. Even if he ended up discovering you were a nymph in disguise or some sort of goddess of the hunt. He wouldn’t regret it, fascinating as you were.

No matter how much food for thought you gave him, Daemon had been enjoying the joys of marriage. Perhaps, a little too much. Seeing you with the baby dragon had awoken some unexpected feelings. Targaryens were dragons, after all. When the time came, you would make a good mother. Not only were your instincts well-developed, but you seemed to thrive on having something to nurture.

Ah, the joys of domesticity. Daemon loves that you trust him enough now to allow him to witness you at your most fragile. Asleep and wearing a soft white night shift, you are deliciously innocent. Giving, too. You do not complain when his hands find your hips or when he pulls you flush against him. Nor do you move away when his face hides in your lovely locks, mussed with sleep.

Your expression is open and vulnerable in ways you are never when truly awake. Your eyes open just the tiniest sliver, before you hide your face on your pillow, rubbing against it like the sweetest kitten.

He adores you like this. Worships you, even. Obsessed with the curve of your hip, or the soft flesh above your womb. Daemon can’t help but rub it, hoping to manifest a child into existence without actually fucking you.

If he believed in such a thing, as so many fools in this realm did, Daemon would say this was the Seven Heavens. But he knew the truth. Just like you, who worshiped the Old Gods of Valyria, Daemon did too. How could he not when he had a tiny goddess sharing his bed?

Your nose scrunches up. You twitch. Worshiping a little nymph, now that was hard work. Especially when the nymph in question does her best to escape his personal worshiping time.

If Daemon could spend all day in bed, just like this, he would. He would trace your features with his mouth, peppering your face with soft kisses. He would feast on the soft curve of your neck, drink up all your sweet little noises. Trace a path down your soft limbs, draw nonsensical patterns on your stomach. But you are an energetic little thing, always jumping out of bed, no matter the pleasure he tempts you with.

Convincing you to stay is hard, but Daemon likes to think it’s an art he has perfected. It’s not a ritual, by any means. Each morning goes differently. Sometimes, you need to be kissed silly. Sometimes, you need to be gently worshiped and coaxed back to sleep. But his favorite mornings are the ones that go like this.

“I have to go check on the tenants, down by the shore. The rain season just started.” You complain, as he noses along your hairline. Suddenly, Daemon’s arms are empty. He opens his eyes to find you sitting up and pulling your robe over your night shift.

You look delectable in red. He should buy you more robes like that one. Especially because he is about to ruin it.

“Did you say at what hour you are going?” Daemon sits up as well, toying with the edge of your robe. You bat his hands away, playfully.

“No.” You are hurriedly standing up, perhaps knowing what comes next. Daemon grabs your robe, and pulls you back in, using all his strength.

No matter how much you try to keep your feet planted on the floor, you end up tumbling back into bed. You give a girlish shriek, a smile already forming on your face. You struggle, kicking the blankets off the bed.

“Come back here, you little minx.” He tugs you by the ankle, making you laugh. Your hair is sticking up in all directions and your chest heaves up and down with the exertion of putting up a fight.

Daemon secretly loves it. He would never tell you because you would be outraged, but he enjoys the idea of overpowering you. Perhaps, once you fully trust him, he could ask you to play like that. But for now, he takes what he can get.

“Or else what Lord husband?” You tease, still trying to escape him. More blankets and furs are sent flying off the bed. You give a mean little tug to his hair.

“That was it!” Daemon complains, and starts tickling you. The night shift rides tantalizingly up your hips, giving him an unintentional show. He feels his blood warming, arousal turning into a dull throb in his loins. Your legs kick wildly, you squirm on the bed, and your eyes fill with tears from laughing so much.

It’s only when your poor body can’t take it anymore, and you are crying from laughter that he stops. He thinks of how it would feel, to overwhelm you in a different context, make your body take and take until tears ran freely down your temples. A different sort of crown for his forest nymph, one made from her own silver tears. The visual is too much for him to take without giving himself away.

Daemon lies on top of you, smothering you with his weight. He licks a few stray drops of sweat from your neck, making you flay once again. There will be a day when play wrestling will turn into something much less sweet. That day, though, it’s not today.

“Get off!” You complain. “That’s disgusting.”

“I could eat you up.” He teases, nuzzling into your neck. It's the truth. Daemon loves the taste of your skin and your smell. If he thought he could get away with it, he would crawl between your thighs and feast on you. “You are delicious, wife.”

“Daemon.” You push lightly at him, trying to get up. Again. But your words lack their previous conviction. Daemon can tell he is getting to you. “It’s getting late.”

“The tenants can wait. Let us hide from the world a little longer.” He pleads, clinging to you. Under him, exhausted after the play wrestling, you go limp. He knows he has won then.

You spend the whole day in bed. The tenants end up being visited closer to sundown. Daemon does not regret it one bit.

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pickingupmymercedes · 8 months ago

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The things we do for fashion - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

request: "Hey, drop something happy and sexy to get over this terrible weekend with Lewis in merc with that terrible strategy and that bad tire performance, burn that car pls. Thank you" - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities, penetrative sex (p in v), creampie.

Also, wrap it before you tap it

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Cutesy and fun smut, little to no plot, as all my smuts tend to be. Also, been gone (with food poisoning) but this request had to be written.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT.

______________________________________________________________

You started it without any intention for it to end like it did. An innocent clean-up of his spare closet was all it was meant to be. But, living with Lewis was seldom your typical experience, and things with him had a knack for turning into something else entirely within a matter of minutes.

You had the day off and your self-appointed task of the day was relatively simple: get Lewis's paddock outfits out of the boxes Eric had shipped them in and organize them on the racks so Lewis could see the full fit. It should have taken you less than two hours, ample time to spare until Lewis returned from the factory. At least, that's what you thought.

In the middle of the room, you sat surrounded by half-open boxes and only a few racks filled when you heard Lewis call out from the entrance of his London home.

"Hey, love! How's it going in here?"

You scrambled to your feet, pushing aside the box you were sorting through and greeted him with a sheepish smile. "Uh, not quite as planned, to be honest."

Lewis chuckled as he walked over to you, glancing at the mess of boxes and clothes. "Mind if I have a look at what you've got so far?"

"Go ahead, just…it's not finished yet." you said, a little embarrassed.

Lewis began to sift through the clothes, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he pulled out some of the pieces he recalled were his favorites.

"Oh, I've been looking forward this one!" he exclaimed, holding up a vibrant red jacket. "And these trousers! I can't wait to wear this combo."

He continued to go through the clothes, commenting on each piece he was excited to wear. The excitement in his voice infectious, getting you to instantly smile at his enthusiasm.

As he reached the bottom of one of the boxes, his hand paused on a piece of clothing. A black sleeveless turtleneck, skin-tight and oh so sleek.

"Oh, I love this one," you whispered, unable to hide your admiration.

A subtle shift occurred in Lewis's expression. His eyes meeting yours, a hint of intrigue and desire in them.

"You really think so?" his voice already lower, almost to a husky whisper.

"Yeah," you admitted, feeling a rush of heat spread through you. "They accentuate your biceps really well."

A wicked grin spread across Lewis's face, and he took a step closer, the atmosphere in the room growing more intense. "Is that so?" his murmur mimicking his eyes darkening with desire. "Maybe you'd like to see just how well it accentuates them?"

Your breath caught in your throat as Lewis took his sweats off and then slowly pulled the turtleneck over his head, revealing the defined muscles of his biceps. The fabric clung to him perfectly, emphasizing every contour and curve.

"Like what you see?" he teased, his voice low and seductive.

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your eyes away from him. "More than you'll ever know."

With a playful smirk, Lewis leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, the intensity of the moment leaving no doubt that this innocent closet clean-up had taken a decidedly spicy turn.

His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, the heat between you palpable. You responded eagerly, your hands roaming over his toned chest and back, reveling in the feel of his muscles beneath your touch.

Lewis's hands trailed up your spine, sending shivers down your back, and he broke the kiss to pepper soft, lingering kisses along your jawline and neck. His breath was warm against your skin, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

"God, you drive me crazy," his murmurs against your skin, voice husky with desire.

You gasped as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you over to the nearby sofa and gently laying you down. He hovered over you, his eyes dark with passion, and you reached up to pull him down for another searing kiss.

The world seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips on yours, his hands exploring your body with a gentleness that belied the intensity of his desire. Time seemed to stand still as you explored each other, the connection between you deepening with every touch, every caress.

Eventually, you both came up for air, breathless and flushed with desire. Lewis's eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of love, lust, and something deeper, something more profound.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with love and contentment.

With a simple exchange, the atmosphere in the room shifted once again, the intense passion giving way to a more tender, intimate connection. You held yourself up by his shoulders, drawing your body close to his, feeling his growing arousal through the fabric of his briefs. Between lingering kisses, his hand found its way to your core, teasing your clit through the fabric of your panties and shorts. Your moans filled the room, mingling with his as his lips stubbornly refused to leave your own.

Growing impatient with the teasing, you took hold of his wrists, his eyes opening wide with a mix of surprise and concern. "Lew, no teasing, please," you murmured in a ragged voice, locking eyes with him. His smirk formed slowly, mischief dancing in his eyes. "You don’t get to start this and not see it through, baby girl," he whispered, his voice incredibly low as he breathed in your scent. His arms wrapped around your legs and waist, effortlessly laying you down once again.

His fingers skillfully undid the silk ribbon of your shorts, slowing down each movement as his eyes met yours, his kisses trailing lower on your body. "When you see me wearing this turtleneck, I want you to remember me eating you up in it," he whispered against your skin.

Reaching your core, he caressed you for a moment before pulling the cotton fabric to the side, blowing gently on your sensitive skin before kissing you, causing your body to quiver in anticipation. Soon, his tongue was exploring every inch of you, his thumb on your clit and two fingers teasing your entrance.

"We need to get you ready, huh?" he said, not waiting for your response before curling his fingers inside you, the angle and traction causing you to writhe in pleasure, reaching your first climax, completely captivated by his touch.

Stepping away from the sofa to remove his sweatpants and boxers, you mustered the energy and courage to sit up and grab his arms before he could take the turtleneck off. "You, sir, you stay just like that while I engrave into my memory how ridiculously hot you look," you said with a playful smirk.

Kneeling in front of him, you took his member in one hand, the other tracing his abdomen beneath the fabric. The sensation of his growing body hair, his precum leaking from the tip, and the low whimpers from the man – who you literally had in your hands – left you feeling overwhelmingly elated.

His hands on the back of your head guided the rhythm as you took him into your mouth, the head of his dick reaching further with each thrust, synchronizing perfectly with your movements. If it weren’t for his hands on your cheeks and the fiery intensity in his eyes, you could have continued for hours.

The raw passion and connection between you two made every touch, every kiss, and every glance get you two more connected than the last. So, when he reached for your arms, he didn’t need to say he was more than ready to take you, fully. His hands on your waist guided you to one of the arms of the sofa, steadying you with one hand while the other spread your leg to get better access.

His first stroke was always the slowest; this time, though, it felt like torture. His eyes closed as he reached deeper and deeper, moans leaving his mouth and yours as you both adjusted to each other, his body coming closer to yours as he embraced you, his lips connecting to yours almost mindlessly. "Babe, I swear… it never gets easier holding myself back."

His thrusts got harder and faster as he continued, your moans turning into gasps the closer you got to another orgasm, his dick ever so slightly brushing that spot that got you whimpering, just for him to smirk down at you and change the angle. He wanted to build the pressure so he could choose when to release it; he was in control, and he knew how to show it.

Just after your eyes started welling up from the overstimulation, he pulled both of your legs behind his neck, making sure he reached your cervix and g-spot each time. His dick throbbing and his thrusts deepened as he let out a guttural groan, his seeds filling you as you saw white, his pubic bone hitting your clit just right one last time.

The room was filled with heavy breaths and a lingering warmth as you both came down from your high. Lewis’s expression soft and his eyes filled with tenderness and care as he looked at you "You okay?" his question gentle, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed but safe in his arms. "Yeah, just a bit worn out, I guess." Lewis smiled warmly, pulling you closer to him. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, as he carefully helped you sit up and stood to grab a towel from the nearby bathroom.

Returning to your side, he dampened the towel with warm water and began to gently clean you up, taking care not to cause any discomfort. Once he was satisfied that you were comfortable, Lewis took off the turtleneck he had been wearing, putting it aside to be washed before sitting back down beside you on the small sofa.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest, offering you comfort and warmth. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear. The intensity of the moment had passed, replaced by a comforting sense of closeness and affection.

"The room's a bit of a state, isn't it?" Lewis remarked after a while, bringing you back from the haze you found yourself in, glancing around at the mess of clothes and scattered belongings. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us." You chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I guess we do. But I wouldn't want to clean up this mess with anyone else."

"The things we do for fashion..." Lewis quipped with a playful smirk. You couldn't help but laugh at his remark, the tension in the room dissipating as you both shared a moment of lightheartedness, wrapped in each other's arms.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton #f1 x reader #ella asks

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thevagueambition · 3 months ago

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My feelings on the slash ships vs male friendships argument that occasionally pops up is that if other people shipping two male characters with each other genuinely ruins your ability to appreciate the intimate male friendship depicted in canon, that says a lot more about your personal anxieties and insecurities than it does about shippers or culture at large

The argument is typically about devaluation of friendships, right? that imposing romance/sex on these canonically non-romantic, non-sexual relationships between men implies that friendship without those elements is "lesser" or "not enough"

And I am sympathetic to a fruatration with devaluation of friendship and I do agree that the language shippers use or the argument they put forth in favour of why their ship is a valid reading of the text or going to become canon or whatever, that this is sometimes language or arguments that imply the superiority of romance and sex over relationships without those features

But the thing about it is that

1) the canon version of the relationship in question typically is a non-sexual, non-romantic one, the mainstream version of this story is one that puts emphasis on and values male friendship, which is proof in and of itself that there is no danger of stories about the importance of male friensships drying up

2) this is an issue far, far more prevalent in the depiction of relationships between men and women, like there actually is a lack of stories that center non-romantic, non-sexual male-female friendships, there genuinely are people who see every non-familial male-female interaction in the light of romance, yet it's the slash ships that get hit with this accusation of devaluing friendship

At the end of the day, how other people interpret a piece of media really doesn't have to affect your own relationship to a piece of media. It's perfectly fine not to like a ship! It's not homophobic to prefer a male friendship to a gay romance. Getting angry about other people engaging "incorrectly" with a fiction relationship is immature and in the case of the "devalueing male friendships" argument it is also homophobic

I have a straight male friend who really values Frodo and Sam's friendship and who doesn't personally read it as romantic, who indeed is a man with intimate, non-sexual, non-romantic relationship with other men and thus find that interpretation personally meaningful. But he's not immature or a homophobe, so he doesn't feel the need to complain or argue if someone else makes a reference to them as a couple in his presence. We all agree that the relationship is important and endearing, why would we have to agree on the particulars of whether they fuck or not?

If you find shippers annoying, that's perfectly reasonable because shippers often are annoying (I say as a shipper). But at the end of the day, the only reason to position slash interpretations and platonic interpretations as enemies is homophobia

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alastors-antlers · 9 months ago

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Being someone who sees a lot of talk about shipping Alastor (sexually, romantically) in fanworks, I just want to take some time to talk about both sides of the issue. It's long, I know - please, please bear with me until the end, and I hope you'll understand what I mean in a bit.

I hope this helps someone, but as an aroace person who understands the frustration and hurt, this is often how it feels to me:

Alastor, being one of the limited cases of aspec rep that I've seen and one of even fewer which I actually enjoyed, means a lot to me.

That being said, his canon rep establishes that he's aroace but not much about how this factors into his life or relationships at all -- and when there's a gap in canon, I turn to fanfiction, which tends to spotlight characters' queerness even when the source material doesn't or can't. Don't we all want to see ourselves in the media we engage with?

When I pull up AO3, there are already a good number of fics about him. Great! Some of them are definitely incredible; but as I read on, it starts to seem like a lot of fics I see acknowledge that he's asexual or aromantic in some way but don't really factor that into the story. It reads like you could have written the story without keeping his queer identity in mind, and it would've come out the same.

Even when representation that does resonate with me exists, it starts to be exhausting to pick through the slash tags to see which ones are written in an aspec-coded way, so I wonder if it would be easier to not read anything with slash at all. On the other hand, when you filter ships out completely, only a tiny fraction of the fanworks are left.

People often respond that aspec people can have relationships, and I think we tend to know that. They can have sex, some can experience sexual attraction in select situations, they can romance others beyond romantic attraction -- any combination of things. But some aroace people don't want either, and sometimes we're struggling to see ourselves in how Alastor is typically portrayed.

Out of all of the fics, sex-repulsed, totally aromantic Alastor isn't seen much. And when Alastor's limited canon seems to be pretty supportive of a reading where he is those things...

Sometimes, you start to feel lost. If fics were evenly distributed along the aroace spectrum of experiences, wouldn't you expect more fics of him being the "totally uninterested" brand of aroace? But there aren't. People seem to have a preference toward seeing him in relationships. Even if they mean well, it can make you think: what does that say about how we view asexuality/aromanticism as a whole?

Is there something less interesting about Alastor, when romance is taken out of the picture? Do others find him less appealing as a character if they can't see him dating, or in love, or having sex or wanting it? Why do we need romance, when romance is already everywhere else, when it doesn't even feel like he was originally really interested? It brings to mind a struggle to be societally accepted, even today.

Even when it's not technically wrong to write Alastor as you see him, being told that we should all be able to ship him however we want can feel like this:

It brings to mind people who try to swing in with misinformed good intentions, telling us "oh, you're aromantic? but you can still have romantic relationships, right? so you can still be normal." when all we want is to be okay outside of the normal.

Or trying to find a partner who can be with us, out of everyone who tells us "I know you don't enjoy sex, and that's okay, but I can't have a romantic relationship with you without it." and being so tired of hoping for someone who gets it.

Or talking with peers, and hearing them all commiserate and fawn over their experiences with love, then telling them about someone you like non-romantically and getting "aww, it sounds like somebody's got a crush!" but not being believed when you tell them it's not like that at all.

Alastor is not a big deal, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. But in an allonormative world, it can feel like a sudden splash of cold water when we were expecting a warm fire to sit around. Even within this ecosystem, we squint to see ourselves reflected.

Society isn't built for us. It can be exhausting to be reminded of that.

~~~

I hope to support people writing Alastor as any variation of aspec, or not even aspec at all. At the end of the day, I think that fanon is really whatever you want it to be, and everyone has their own reasons for writing what they find enjoyable. They should be allowed to do so, and I want to believe that people do what they do with good intentions.

They want to imagine scenarios with the templates of characters they love, and that's okay; even beyond sexuality/queer identities/etc., fan interpretations of characters can be incredibly, wildly different from who they really are in the story anyway, and that's what I try to remind myself. But still, I also can't help feeling disappointed about the aroace representation we could have seen.

(Is Alastor canonically sex-repulsed? Uhh, maybe. If I had to guess, that'd be my top guess, but this might be a hot take: I wouldn't really say there's enough to go off of considering that this view is supported by Angel propositioning him both times, and it's not like Alastor is a particularly big fan of Angel at those points anyway lol)

To my fellow aroaces struggling with Alastor's fandom rep: if you need a break from it all; if you need to block the tags that you hate; if you need to talk to someone about how you're feeling; that's okay. It makes sense that you'd want more representation in a way that helps you feel seen and validated and less alone. I can't speak for everyone, but I think I get it.

I don't have any solutions for how you're feeling, because sometimes I'm feeling the same way. I understand that you want others to get your position and you have the right to express your feelings, but even if you're correct, often being angry or frustrated won't help change others' minds, so let's try to save our energy and take care of ourselves.

Something that helps me to think about is that even now, asexuality is gaining more visibility. We're gaining support. Real change is happening in the world that's helping incredible amounts of aspec people feel freer to be themselves. And maybe one day, we won't be reaching to protect our scraps of representation.

Let's fight until that day together <3

#seriously I appreciate everyone who's out here posting about alastor I love being in the radio demon fanclub lol #just some thoughts that's all and maybe it'll resonate with others #please let's be patient with each other though it's rough out there already #alastor #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #asexual #aromantic #asexual alastor #aromantic alastor #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin #ace #aro

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antianakin · 3 months ago

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how do you interpret codywan?

I suppose I should've seen this one coming.

So, the appeal for me with Codywan is the idea of these two people in impossible positions during what is a really dark time for them both overall learning to rely on each other and trust each other. They come from such radically different backgrounds, but somehow those backgrounds also allow them to understand each other in a way few others have (discounting the Jedi for Obi-Wan and the clones for Cody). There's a feeling of equality and respect between them as they fight beside each other and the other person starts to become more real because they can see the other person get tired and bleed, mourn and celebrate. And from that, they start picking up on the other little things about each other that turn them from General and Commander who respect each other professionally to friends who care about each other personally.

They AREN'T the most important person in each other's lives. They don't necessarily understand each other better than literally anybody else they've ever met. Cody will have relationships with other clones that are very meaningful to him, and lots of shared history with other clones that Obi-Wan simply cannot hope to replicate. Likewise, Obi-Wan has relationships with other Jedi that have lasted DECADES before he ever even meets Cody, and other Jedi will have a deeper understanding of that part of Obi-Wan that Cody just doesn't and never will. But Cody and Obi-Wan do go through an experience together that binds them, an experience that is uniquely their own. They mean a lot to each other and they are important to each other, but they aren't necessarily the center of each other's lives nor does their relationship eclipse everything else they care about.

Cody and Obi-Wan are one of the relationships that, to me, is most appealing when it's VERY Jedi in nature. From an outside perspective (a non-Jedi one), it might not even look like they're in a romantic relationship at all. Their relationship is their business and neither one feels the need to flaunt it publicly. They're happy the way they are and just because they don't follow the usual standards of what constitutes a romantic relationship doesn't mean they're doing it wrong or that it doesn't exist. I mentioned in the last ask about shipping that I'm aroace, and that tends to impact my view of Codywan, too. I tend to like interpreting them as something in the realm of a qpr (which is how I define ALL Jedi relationships because I don't think most Jedi relationships that work and/or last would look all that similar to what society tends to portray as a typical romantic relationship). In a happy fix-it AU scenario, Obi-Wan and Cody aren't necessarily spending all their time in each other's presence, they may not even live together, they're not constantly touching or making sexual innuendos with each other, they don't have pet names for each other or use endearments.

They both have such a strong sense of duty that meshes well together. Obi-Wan is a staunch Jedi and that means he feels compassion for everyone in the galaxy and is dedicated to helping everyone in the galaxy. Cody is someone who was forced into a life of service, but I like to interpret him as someone who, after meeting the Jedi and getting to know them better, decides that he still WANTS a life of service if he gets the opportunity to choose. He wants, more than anything, to be able to help people. He wants to bring peace and protect people when he can, he wants to represent something greater than himself. This allows them to be happy and fulfilled in their relationship without either of them needing to prioritize the relationship above everything else in their lives.

Obi-Wan enjoys Cody's wit, his steady presence and level head in a crisis, and that he's a sponge for any knowledge he can get his hands on. Cody enjoys Obi-Wan's compassion for life, his zest for learning and desire to pass on knowledge, and his thrill for adventure (whether Obi-Wan would call it that or admit to it or not). They both know they can rely on each other to get the job done without letting emotions get in the way, but they also know that at the end of the day, they can relax and be themselves with each other and find acceptance no matter what. I think Cody probably grows a lot through his relationship with Obi-Wan, that it allows him to understand himself in a way he hadn't been able to do before, and Cody provides an anchor point for Obi-Wan during a time when he's often separated from his regular support system.

I've seen people say that the appeal of Codywan for them is the yearning, but I don't think that that's it at all for me. The appeal in it for me is that it ISN'T something that causes them pain, but something that only really ever brings them joy. Even with Cody being pretty new to relationships in general, I think that he and Obi-Wan are both people who just end up enjoying the feeling of being in live, regardless of whether you think that person is in love with you back or not. They both glean pleasure from making the other person happy or even just SEEING the other person happy. Their relationship flows pretty easily from a professional respect to a friendly rapport to love without there being an obvious distinction between the different stages. They love each other, and it's not an issue that needs to be solved, but an experience to be savored.

None of this means that they never have disagreements or things like that, but Cody's steadiness combined with Obi-Wan's Jedi teachings means that they're pretty good at managing their disagreements without them becoming full-blown fights or major conflicts. Communication would not be one of their problems.

One of the things I like about Codywan is that what we know about them lends itself to an interpretation that they are the OPPOSITE of Anidala. Anidala is defined by its desperation, its secrecy and lies, its lack of healthy communication with each other, its melodrama and heightened emotion at all times, and the pain and fear at its core that leads to its own destruction. My personal interpretation of Codywan is the opposite of all of that. It's not defined by desperation and pain and fear and melodrama, but by smaller things that perhaps make for a less compelling story to people. So many fics turn Codywan into a variation of Anidala, with one or the both of them unable to admit to their own feelings and stuck in a cycle of their feelings for each other causing them little but pain. But if I wanted Anidala, I'd just read or watch Anidala. I want Codywan to feel DIFFERENT than Anidala in pretty much every way. I want their relationship to be based on honesty and trust and simple small moments feeling more romantic than grand gestures. There's no melodrama in my version of Codywan unless they're playing it up as a joke in front of somebody else.

#star wars #codywan #obi-wan kenobi #commander cody #marshal commander cody #anidala critical

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awfulalignmentcharts · 2 months ago

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what the f%#$ does ____ mean on that stupid ass ship chart

saw a few questions, so ask (the air) and ye shall receive.

top section

"describe their vibe" — you can interpret this at will. it's just a space to put whatever you think encapsulates the vibes of their dynamic/them as a relationship. it can be like a list of tropes, a dumb tweet screenshot, some other type of image, anything really.

everything else should be straightforward lmao.

rest of the shit below the cut so i don't take up your dash space.

continuums section

"repressed vs (sexually) open" — as it sounds. repressed as in like they're a prude or open as in they're down to bang on the regular.

"no libido vs terminally horny" — not horny to very horny lmao

"aggressively romantic vs allergic to PDA" — kinda like how private the character is/how embarrassed are they by the notion of displays of romance. do they prefer lowkey displays of romance or are they dramatic about it?

"(severely) mentally ill vs mentally stable" — fairly self-explanatory. are they full of mental problems or are they actually mentally sound?

"kms'ing over being in love vs blushing giggling twirling hair" — pretty much their reaction to being in love, specifically with the other person. do they hate the fact they love the other person, or are they super giddy that they're in love?

"doomed by the narrative vs blessed by the narrative" — it's a little open to interpretation but my usage of it for individual use is like how fucked over by the canon events are they individually? (if the relationship's doomed, they're probably both on the doomed end; if the relationship ISN'T doomed but one was severely fucked over by the story's events, then they could be in the doomed section while the other one could be hovering elsewhere)

"big spoon vs little spoon" — self-explanatory. it's cuddle time. who's the big spoon, who's the little spoon.

"the weapon vs the wielder" — ngl, this continuum may not actually work too well for some healthier ships, but the general vibe of it is like the weapon is the one who tends to do things at the wielder's behest. the weapon is commonly more of a warrior type, more of the "protector" (and may also have self-worth issues), while the wielder is the one that typically gets protected, may have a great deal of importance for some reason, and is sort of the "user" of the weapon. you're more than welcome to make your own interpretations of it lmao

the pyjamas — based on this image: (who's the sleepy old man with the candle that goes snork mimimimi vs the beautiful wife who's likely also a damsel in distress)

"jealous vs chill" — should be fairly self-explanatory, but like is the person chill with their partner, or do they easily get jealous when the attention isn't on them?

"has zero game vs insane game" — are they bitchless or can they pull bitches? regardless of charisma (or lack thereof), can they actually get laid or not

"functional vs soggy loser" — are they a functional member of society with their shit together or are they born-in-a-wet-cardboard-box, perpetually soggy, capital P Pathetic?

the other shit

"what brings them together?" — what are some reasons that this ship actually has grounds? what do they have going for their relationship?

"what is keeping them/kept them apart?" — were/are there any reasons why they haven't just kissed yet? what are those reasons?

"poorly describe their meetcute" — describe how they met but be funny about it.

"list their reductive fandom tropes/fandom appeal" — reasons why people might ship them or like the ship. (e.g. enemies to lovers, angel and demon dichotomy, etc.)

"who's the armrest?" — two guys. one likes to turn the other into an armrest by sticking their arm on the other's shoulder (or something; done possibly with the intent to annoy). who's the one that's being used as the armrest more often?

"who's the headrest?" — two guys. one puts their head on the other more frequently. who's the one that's more often turned into a head rest?

"who fell first?" — who fell in love first?

"who fell harder?" — who fell in love harder?

"who cooks" — should be obvious lmao

"who cleans up more messes?" — can be literal messes, or who more often deals with the fallout of the bullshit one of them gets up to.

"who's the bigger yearner?" — who yearns more?

"who confessed first?" — should be literal.

touch

should be fairly self-explanatory, but it's kinda like what is or isn't off limits to contact of any form from the other person. say character A is entirely red while character B is entirely purple. A is allergic to any form of contact anywhere from B, while B fucking loves anything from A.

#not a chart

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

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A bitty bit and a poll... cw: post canon typical violence, blood, offer of smuttiness ship: Danny/Jason

“Danny.”

“Hood,” Danny said, pushing his hair back as he turned Jason’s way. His thumb ran over the shaved side of his head. A streak of blood trailed behind by the motion.

“What did they want?” Jason asked. He kicked at the side of one of the groaning thugs for emphasis as he strode over to Danny.

Danny just shrugged. “The usual.”

“Not supposed to be the usual in my territory,” Jason growled.

“Yeah, well,” Danny said with that crooked grin of his. There was something all the more feral about the grin that night between the blood and the way the harsh magenta neon that adorned the outside of Danny’s shop broke through the light rain. “I’m in that grey zone; not in one place or the other.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re my mechanic so you’re my territory.”

Danny’s grin widened and he had the audacity to wink. “Kinky.”

“What did I say about shutting up?” Jason asked as he started to look Danny over for injuries.

Danny pliantly, and almost with amusement, let Jason check him over. When Jason found a cut on the other’s arm, he huffed, tossed the bloodied tire iron Danny was holding away, and started to roll up the sleeve of the black over shirt.

“It’s fine Hood, it’s nothing,” Danny said as he peered around Jason.

Without letting go of Danny’s arm, Jason pulled out a gun and twisted enough to point it at the thug who was helping the one Jason had kicked off the ground.

“This street is off limits.”

“Ain’t Crime Alley!” the one said, spitting blood. “Old Gotham is—”

“Right over there. This street? It’s mine,” Jason said. He cocked his gun for emphasis.

“It ain’t—”

“It ain’t worth dying over! Leave it!” the other thug hissed and tried to pull them away. “If fucking Red Hood says it’s his then it’s his! Now come on.”

“Make sure you take the rest with you,” Jason ordered. He kept his gun trained on them until they were long out of sight.

“Do I still have to shut up?” Danny asked cheekily into the silence. “Because I can think of some fun ways for you to make me.”

Jason turned slowly to look at Danny. “What.”

It wasn’t exactly a question. Jason knew what Danny was implying, but what?

Danny just shrugged, still with that smile. “Can’t a man thank his knight in leather armor? I mean, totally feel free to turn me down. I’m not going to pressure someone into that sort of thing, but I figured it didn’t hurt to offer. You seem like you’re a little tense—”

As if they weren’t just in a fight.

“—and could use the release. I’m not going to pretend that I would mind being between those thighs. So what do you say, wanna let me blow you?”

Danny might as well have hit Jason with that tire iron for how his thoughts scrambled at that offer. Who the fuck did that? Danny had no reason to. Jason already made clear that Danny was under his protection. Jason had also been ramping up the amount of work he gave to Danny versus handling himself. It wasn’t like the guy needed to offer sexual favors.

Jason shook his head, as if that would clear his confusion. “Next time or something. I’ve got work.”

“Sure, wouldn’t want to keep you,” Danny said and took a step back.

“Wrap that arm.”

“What arm?”

“Danny.”

Danny laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets as he backed up into his shop. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll wrap it. Go out there and take on the big bad night, hero.”

“I’m not a fucking hero,” Jason called after him. “And lock your damn door!”

Danny gave a cheeky salute before disappearing into the shop.

Brat.

---

AN: NOW, you all know by now, I'm sure, that I love playing around with how balanced Danny is as a half and his hair color and things like that. This is the new idea I was whining about earlier. It's going to be about as pwp as I'm able to get and supposedly a one shot. Danny is very, very forward, Jason is very, very confused (and later very, very satisfied). So all that said...

#dp x dc #dead on main #offering on a chance

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allastoredeer · 5 months ago

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I have no problem with al being a bottom, I just have a hard time with bottom king lucifer as a top. May I have examples to try and see your side?

Exhibit A:

Dat smirk.

Exhibit B:

Soft Top Lucifer

Exhibit C:

Demon Top Lucifer

Exhibit C:

That sexy shoulder bop

Exhibit D:

Look at this guy.

Exhibit E:

Obvious one.

Exhibit F:

I just wanted to post this one cuz I like his smirky little face.

LOL no, seriously though, there's no specific way a character has to act or behave to be deemed a top, bottom or switch. It's a preferred sexual position that isn't dependent on outside factors, it's just what a person enjoys, and what the reader/viewer wants that character to be. That's essentially what it is. It's not based on logic, it's based on what position the fan prefers for them to be in.

Lucifer could do his sexy little shoulder bop and still be a bottom. He can give the most suave, seductive smirk and still be a bottom. It's different for everyone.

But as for why I like top!Lucifer, here are a few reasons:

A) I really like it when shorties top. So often, in almost all fandoms I've been in, the default for a popular ship is the shorter one bottoming and the taller one topping. As a shortie myself, I just...ugh, I get so tired of it. Especially since the bottom is typically softened, UwU-ified, and turned into this delicate little flower. Bringing personal feelings into this, I've been very short and very thin all my life. I've literally been described as "delicate" before, and as someone who enjoys sports, running around, and is just a loud, rough and tumble person by nature, I absolutely hate it. It's given me a lot of mental and emotional issues, and a lot of the treatment and comments I've gotten has made me feel belittled, vulnerable, and weak. So, while being a bottom doesn't mean you're any of those things, short characters have been treated like that for a majority of the fandoms I've been in, no matter what their personality, stature, behaviors, or attitude was, and seeing it brings out of love of dark and negative feelings that I'd rather not re-live when I'm trying to enjoy myself in fandom. (Which is another reason why I dislike so much bottom!Lucifer because he's so often softened down and turned into this naive, dare I say, helpless little lamb. The moment Alastor overpowers him or easily manipulates him into a deal, I am outta there.)

B) Lucifer has that top energy. Can't explain it. He just does. To be clear, I don't see him exclusively as a top. He's a switch. But I do headcanon Alastor as exclusively a bottom, so in any radioapple relationship I write or draw, Lucifer will top.

and C) the most important reason: I like seeing Alastor get railed.

Alastor bottoms in all the ships I have for him and Lucifer is no exception. Besides, I find a lot of versatility and potential in Lucifer being with/fucking a sinner, especially considering his distaste of them. Makes for a good hate-fucking scenario, or a very emotional and in-depth character deep dive of him coming to terms with his own bias and internalized hatred of them and finding love and companionship in one of the very people he despised. That's some delicious mental turmoil and the perfect opportunity for character development.

(LOL there's a lot of talk of Alastor not bottoming because of his ego, and yet nobody considers that maybe Lucifer wouldn't bottom for Alastor because he's a sinner. He is the embodiment of pride after all. So, combining that with his disdain for sinners, would he really "stoop" so low as to let one of them fuck him? Food for thought).

But seriously though, when it comes down to it, I just like Alastor bottoming and Lucifer topping. Yes, bottom!Lucifer and top!Alastor has been soured for me due to popular fandom depictions of it, but even before those were popular, I simply preferred Alastor bottoming. I enjoy it more, not just for his character, but just...because. I just do.

Thing is, I don't think there has to be a list of reasons for why you prefer a character topping, bottoming, or switching. People are allowed to do whatever they want with these characters. It's fandom. This is a playground. We don't have to have a reason, we're just here to have fun.

If you can't see Lucifer as a top, Anon, that is a-okay 👍👍Thanks for asking for a different perspective though, it's always awesome when a person seeks to understand someone else's point of view. I don't know how well of a different perspective I offered, though. I have a hard time answering questions like these bcuz they just don't make a lot of sense to me. It's hard to say why I like something when I just...do. I just vibe with it.

To boil it all down, my examples/answers are all based on what I like and how I feel. I like bottom!Alastor cuz I enjoy it. I like top!Lucifer because I love seeing Alastor get railed - especially by a big, powerful demon king. Very yummy.

Also, LOL, considering Alastor is exclusively a bottom to me, anyone I do ship him with will automatically be the top, regardless of who they are XD So I guess that's an important factor to consider too 😂

I don't know how well I did with answering this, but I do want you to get the perspective you were looking for, so! My fellow bottom!Alastor truthers who are reading this, drop why you like bottom!Alastor in the comments below for our lovely Anon!

I'm curious about what you guys have to say too.

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eloiseyybish · 2 months ago

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Touching on recent 9-1-1 fandom discourse, I think it's important to contextualise. You see, the thing is, I've typically in the past shipped non-canon ships, but they've taught me a lot about fandom culture.

Ngl, this kinda started with The Mighty Ducks (Charlie/Adam shippers rise) and keeps going onto fuckin Klance (I'm just mad about how the writers left Lance and Allura as individual characters regardless of their romantic status at the time) and Zosan (OPLA did not help this).

So I 10000% know what it's like to ship something and for it to never to be canon because that's like 95% of most ships (especially gay ones) in fandom.

I promise you...if Buddie doesn't go canon... you'll live. You'll still have the same fanon couple that you've worshipped for so long.

Just, please... stop the 'Tommy Bashing' fics just because he is hot enough to make Buck discover his sexuality (instead of Eddie). I don't have the energy especially when some people don't even un-tag Bucktommy with these fics. They still keep Buck/Tommy as the main couple even though all they're doing is making Tommy OOC and an asshole (idk I haven't actually read the fic because I muted the creator when I saw that's what they were doing)

This is all new to me.

Normally, I don't ship the canon one, but Bucktommy is cute, guys, and idk what to tell you if you disagree. There isn't a single interaction they've had (in canon, not fanon) to show you that they don't desperately want to know each other better.

My point is: YOU DO NOT NEED YOUR SHIP TO BE CANON FOR YOU TO SHIP IT. As a veteran, I'm so shocked at the entitlement of NEEDING your favourite ship to be canon because that's the only way it's valid.

Please, grow up and understand that things don't happen in this world just because you want them to. Canon or not shouldn't stop you from being able to enjoy the dynamic.

#911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #ngl i was a pretty chill klance fan (i understand there were buddie-like lunatics that ruined it for everyone)#so that should be a message to buddies everywhere that you dont get what you want just because you're loud #anti buddie #sorry but i have a few years experience in fandom and i hace never seen entitlement quite like this

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nekropsii · 1 month ago

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Hello! First of all, love your work. Wonderful takes and analysis on the alpha trolls, and also i’m a big fan of sovstuck - both the text and the awesome cool art. I love that every character gets introduced with their own unique artstyle, each oozing with character :)

I wanted to ask, - and please believe that i’m asking in good faith, - about your proship dni. I’ve been seeing discourse about ‘pro/anti ship’ for ages now, but i cannot for the life of me understand what the hell either side stands for. First i hear it’s about abusive or problematic (pedo/incest) ships in general, then it’s about the difference of portrayal/endorsement of those things, then it’s something else entirely and i can never fucking understand what the hell the issue is and why it is so heated.

By no means i’m asking you to speak for the whole discourse or even for the entire ‘side’ of it - if there’s one thing i got, it’s that no one can agree on their definition of what ‘their side’ stands for. But i would like to know what meaning you put into the terms, and what kind of ‘proship’ you would like to not interact with you; i trust that you know what you believe in and are able to put it to words in a way that makes sense and doesn’t contradict itself or common sense, as i sometimes see :”)

I.. understand that since the topic is so divisive, you may get a ton of bullshit in your ask box and notes, should you choose to answer this, both from people who disagree and those who choose to misinterpret what you say. So feel free to ignore this ask if you don’t want to deal with that. Still, i do hope i can someday gain some clarity on this topic haha.

Best wishes!! thanks for what you do :)

Hello! Thank you so much, the compliments mean a lot! They really keep me going, lol!!

First of all, congratulations on formulating the most normal ask adjacent to this topic. Since it's so god damn touchy, people have a tendency to start throwing rocks no matter what "side" they're on, and no matter if they know what the hell they're talking about or not. Frankly, some of the ruckus surrounding this circus act is embarrassing. On both ends. Second of all, while this isn't something I'm an expert in, I do know more than I'd like, so I'd be happy to give my perspective, even if it's potentially a bit limited/flawed.

Thirdly, I'm putting this under a cut, for anyone who doesn't want to read all that.

Content Warning: Discussions of Shipping Discourse, Sexual Assault, Abuse, Grooming, Incest, and Pedophilia.

Let me start this by defining what the Relevant Terms mean:

Shipping: The act of pairing two or more Characters together. Though the term is derived from "Relationship", and therefore is at its core - technically, theoretically - a Neutral Term, it - conversationally, colloquially - carries extremely heavy Romantic Connotations, with a strong implication that said Romance is found to be appealing - typically in the sense of being either Cute, or Sexy. Defining this is not me trying to condescend you - One of the key questions in this discourse is what it means to "ship" something, and whether or not the term implies the shipper is condoning the material inherent to the ship.

ProShip: Essentially means "All For All Shipping". It's the personal, discourse-based identity label equivalent to the phrase "Ship And Let Ship". There's a common misconception floating around that the "Pro" in "ProShip" stands for "Problematic", rather than simply being the positive antonym to the prefix "Anti". While I find this to be a failure of basic deductive reasoning, I can also understand how the conclusion was reached - Proshippers are most commonly associated with "Problematic Content"/"Problematic Ships", and they do tend to take pride in being "Problematic" themselves. Either way, the word "Problematic" is highly associated with them and often reclaimed by them. They also call themselves "Anti-Antis" (horribly stupid label, by the way), and "ComShip(pers)", with the "Com" being short for "Complex". To my knowledge, ComShip is a sect specifically trying to get away from the baggage that the term "ProShip" holds, and away from the very real predator problem within the ProShip Community. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

AntiShip: Essentially means "Against Certain Forms of Shipping". It actually used to be a term for people who were against specific individual ships, rather than a blanket discourse label - for example, rather than someone identifying as just an "Antishipper", they would typically label themselves as "Anti-VrisMeen", or a "VrisMeen-Anti", or whatever their focus was. An important thing to note is that Antis trend Young, and they trend Traumatized. They are typically Teenagers, and their stances are largely informed by their discomfort watching Adults Sexualize Characters who share their age or younger, and discomfort watching people Sexualize some kind of Trauma they've been through - and considering their general ages, it's not unlikely that that Trauma is either Fresh or Ongoing. This is not always the case, but it's such a large amount of the AntiShip crowd, and it's acknowledged so little, that it's worth mentioning. It's a very important piece of context to me.

The general Belief Systems of both sides, as they currently stand, are as follows:

ProShip: ==> Never Harass Anyone Over Their Ships: This is the bones of their beliefs, and where everything started. Essentially, it's rude and unnecessary to send people Harassment over a Ship they enjoy, because not only could you be doing something better with your time, but also it can be pretty difficult to tell the "How/What/Why" of someone's interest in such material. ==> All Forms of Shipping Should Be Allowed, No Matter The Content: This is the meat of their beliefs, and also where the arguing starts. It's exactly what it says on the tin - Anything Goes, including Rape, Abuse, Incest, and Pedophilia. This is why the label is so touchy - many people are extremely uncomfortable with the idea of Fandom going back to its habit of uncritically normalizing + romanticizing Rape, Abuse, Incest, and Pedophilia. Part of this is due to the fact that this uncritical normalization has led to genuine, tangible harm on people in Fandom Spaces, particularly Minors. ==> Being Problematic Is Based: The skin of their beliefs. Many people wrap up Shipping Discourse in terms that make it sound like engaging in it is Political Praxis, somehow. While your stance on Shipping Discourse can certainly be telling of your Political Beliefs, in the way that your stance on literally anything can be telling of that, calling Shipping Discourse on its own some kind of Radical Political Stance is... Deeply silly, and also keeps leading to people saying "Being into Incest/Pedophilia is Queer Nature", like, unironically. I keep seeing this happen. This part of it tends to be very... Spite-driven. ==> Fiction Is Not Reality: Basically their catchphrase - nothing that happens in fiction is real, and therefore has no tangible effect on reality.

AntiShip: ==> Please Tag Your Content Appropriately And Keep It Out Of The Reach Of Minors: The bones of their beliefs. Self Explanatory, typically followed up with "and if you can't do that, don't post/make it at all". To further illustrate this, I'd like to spark any reader's memory of the times where you couldn't Google search "Fluttershy" without being lambasted with hardcore porn. No additions of "R34", or "NSFW", just "Fluttershy". There was no SFW Filters. You just had to fucking fight for your life. Being a child on the Internet is and was extremely rough. There wasn't any Official Tag Filtering on Tumblr until... I think 2017. It was dark. ==> Abuse/Rape/Incest/Pedophilia Should Not Be Considered "Shipping": The meat of their beliefs. Essentially, these are extremely heavy, delicate topics meant to be treated with respect and tact, or not handled at all. This is not possible in Shipping Content. At least, not as we currently understand it, and will likely remain understanding in that way for years to come. They argue that Fanfiction is not ever going to be on par with Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. Which is true. They also argue that it's impossible for most Fanfictions to treat these sensitive subjects with any respect, which is... Dubious, but also fair, considering the Sturgeon's Law of it all. ==> Ewwwww...: The skin of their beliefs. Disgust. It's a whole lot of disgust. Again, worth reiterating that the bulk of AntiShippers are quite Young and/or Traumatized, and the content they are reacting to tends to be Extreme, so a gut response of disgust is... Honestly, healthy. No 15 Year Old should be stumbling upon art of a child getting frisky with their dad and going "hell yeah, brother!". Though I wish they'd handle their disgust with more tact, I find that it's just... A fair response, given their age, what their backstory tends to be, and what content they tend to be reacting to is. ==> Fiction Affects Reality: Not necessarily their catchphrase, but definitely their counterpoint to the catchphrase of ProShippers. They do not say Fiction is real, just that it does literally have a tangible effect on reality, and point to cases where this is observable. The impact Jaws had on real life sharks is a favorite, as is The Birth of a Nation, and The Turner Diaries. And, of course, the ways that the works put out by ProShippers has tangibly affected the lives of others, especially children.

It is worth noting, I am neither of these things. I do not identify as a ProShipper, nor do I identify as an AntiShipper. I identify as a Horror Writer. I have "DNI: ProShip" in my bio because their stances make me the most uncomfortable, and I have been victimized personally by members of their crowd and the result of their beliefs.

I was Groomed by an Adult ProShipper when I was 14 Years Old. She used her ideologies as a ProShipper to excuse herself and the (sexual) content she forced me to Roleplay with her, and used it to pressure me into writing more and more extreme content. I did not want to do it even at the time - it made me uncomfortable - but she made the idea of saying "No" to her... Quite scary, and like I was the one in the wrong for being uncomfortable with it. After all, Fiction Isn't Reality, right? I am not the only person I know with this experiences. I have met and spoken to countless - and I mean countless - individuals who have had similar experiences with that crowd. The sheer distrust kids and teens tend to have towards them is learned through that crowd's propensity towards grooming them. Because the celebration and normalization of that content breeds comfortability with "the real deal", and comfortability with harboring predators.

I'm sure some ProShippers have noble intentions, and don't realize what the controversy is about. I'm sure some of them are deeply out of the loop, and still think it only means "Being Anti-Harassment". But I do not care enough to give people the chance, just... For the sake of my own sanity. You understand, I'm sure. I do not think that this rift between worlds is ever going to get closed, or that these sides are going to experience amicability, because the question is nuanced and about morality itself, and one side is full of defensive, traumatized teenagers trying to keep themselves and their friends safe from what they are perceiving as legitimate threats to their safety, and the other side is full of people who just wanna jerk it to weird porn.

I'm not personally comfortable with, like, any self-identified ProShipper being near me, just due to my own experiences. Some might try to identify me as one against my will, due to the fact that I am Anti-Harassment and a Horror Writer unafraid to touch upon every single one of the aforementioned sensitive topics, but... I am simply not one, because I don't identify that way, I don't believe in their beliefs, and they creep me out, lol.

My beliefs are that people should be able to write about whatever they want, as long as they handle things with the appropriate amount of care, and as long as they keep things tagged appropriately. I think that harassing people for shipping Stridercest in fucking 2024 is lame because you could be doing literally anything else with your time, and I think shipping Stridercest in fucking 2024 is lame because you could be doing anything else with your time. Like, come on, man, it's not even interesting. They're not even doing anything interesting with it. Where are the themes? There are no themes. It's just brothers mackin' on each other whitely. Come on.

No topic should be off limits, but you should at least give it the care and respect it deserves, and you should make it interesting. Nothing is interesting on its own. Rape is not interesting on its own. Incest is not interesting on its own. Abuse is not interesting on its own. Pedophilia is not interesting on its own. Taboo subjects are not interesting on their own. They're mundane evils that happen literally every day to regular people. In writing, they need to be paired with themes, and, hopefully, with good writing. People who have been through these things deserve not only to have their trauma represented, but handled with care, and also for it to be interesting to read. They deserve to have options. They deserve to have good literature to chew on, to help them digest and cope with their own trauma. It's difficult to do that when you feel invisible to everything but the camera lens of a Fetish Pornographer, and I know many people who are suffering with the fact that their traumas seem to only ever be represented or referenced in shitty pornography.

Sure, some people cope with their own trauma by sexualizing it. I know that's the case for some ProShippers, and their reason for being within that group. But it's certainly not everyone's method of coping, and it shouldn't be the only option... Which is why I'm advocating for safe, non-fetishized exploration of extreme themes.

I think the reason why the discourse is so unclear is because "ProShip" and "AntiShip" aren't very tangible, definite belief systems, and also the talking points are evolving and maturing over time. A few years ago, the beliefs of "Antis" definitely broadly leaned more heavily towards total rejection of those themes being present in any fiction, but their arguments seem to have matured lately into "the problem is the nature of the depiction, not the presence of depiction itself".

That's all I can think of saying right now that wouldn't just be me walking in circles. And don't worry, I can definitely take the hit. I'm not sure what here could be very arguable other than semantics, or maybe a history lesson or two.

Thank you for the ask! Hope this helps!

#shipping discourse #cw assault #cw child harm #cw incest #nekro.sms

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cringefail-clown · 2 months ago

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the thing i find hilarious is that, when it comes to alpha trolls theyre all assholes, like its an objective fact, but they also have at least one characteristic that could make someone like them. like rufioh is a pos who cheated on his girlfriend for YEARS and when she finally snapped (after a long bullying campaign) he has the audacity to call her crazy and deflect any blame, but i do find his conversation with damara where hes like "girl you gotta stop talking about killing people and serving lord english somebody will one day understand you and youll get in trouble" kinda swee5lt. and he just. doesnt spill about that to anyone. mans lips are sealed and i can respect at least that. or meulin, whos simply a parody of your typical shipping fangirl, but her enthusiasm for life (or well, afterlife) and how she doesnt let the hardships get to her are both endearing traits. what i mean is theres generally at least one thing these characters do/say that implies some sort of depth, and can plausibly make someone like them because of that.

and then you get to cronus and mans got nothing going for him. its just all filth. i dont remember where but i saw someone say "cronus's one personality trait is sexual assault" and. yeah. hussie really just made this dude as a writing excercise to see if you can make up a fucker with no redeeming qualities and its fucking hilarious to me. the author tells you in comic "yeah hes the worst character in homestuck and theres nothing more to say" shdjfhxjdk

#at least when shes done roasting kankri she adds “but he has cute sweater and his relationship with porrim is cute” LMFAO #its just rambling but man rereading openbound can really give u a whiplash the fanon warps those guys so much #i forgor how much i like aranea like mannn homegirl deserved better than what she was served

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tintinwrites · 11 months ago

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ulterior motives | Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader (1 of 2)

A/N: Wow, long time, no Poe! And a long time without posts. I just haven’t been motivated to write (or finish what I start) and time is moving so quickly, I can’t even keep track of it. My goodness!!!!

Rating: 18+

Warning: Canon typical violence, naughty words, people assuming you were promoted for doing sexual favors and it is heavily discussed.

Word Count: 4,499, apparently!

Summary: Post-war with The First Order, your generals, Poe and Finn, promote you to commander of your squadron. Not everyone is happy about it, especially with how close you and Poe seem to be.

GIF Credit: ^^^^

You couldn’t help but smile as you hopped down from your ship, removing your helmet and tucking it under your arm, watching your fellow pilots leave their own X-wings to greet the people awaiting you all.

There was nothing more satisfying than a successful mission where nobody got hurt.

There were still remnants of the First Order, desperate people with no personality outside of the dictatorship, as well as new groups popping up. The galaxy simply couldn’t exist without someone with bad intentions wanting to rule it.

When one of your generals sent your squadron out to nip one of the groups in the bud, you hadn’t expected to be ambushed by their ships as soon as you broke the atmosphere for the planet their headquarters were on.

But, even taken by surprise, you managed to take each one of them out and suffer nothing but superficial damage to your ship and the others’. One day in maintenance and they’d all be good as new, like they never even left the hangar.

“Captain,” said a familiar voice from behind you and you nearly jumped, turning to find Poe was approaching you with a proud smile.

“General Dameron,” you breathed out, nearly stumbling over the name as you fought away your own shy smile.

He had that effect on everyone and you were certainly no exception. He was handsome already, but he’d grown a beard speckled with white since taking over as co-general and it made him so…distinguished. He let his hair grow out a bit and it was just barely graying at the temples. He was smart and strong and kind and toned and his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he’d smile at you or laugh or—

How could you not feel something? It was a little embarrassing, the way your heart would jump at the sight of him and your breath would catch when you spoke with him, and your palms would sweat just from being near him. But you couldn’t blame yourself or anyone else for that matter.

You tried your best to not reveal your feelings, hiding genuine yearning behind banter and what could possibly be construed as flirting. And sometimes you couldn’t help how you looked at him, especially when there were times where he looked at you in such a way that you thought that…maybe…

But he was one of your generals and you were just someone with a silly crush. Just like everyone else. You weren’t special, the two of you weren’t fated to be an item just because you liked him. It just…was what it was.

“Looks like Finn did a good job entrusting you with the squadron for this mission.” Poe looked around the tarmac at the other pilots, who were all animatedly telling anyone near them how intense and ‘cool’ the fight was.

You felt a touch of pride, but you just smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”

You looked at him to find he was looking at you now, like he was considering something. When he didn’t say anything and you found yourself wanting to squirm beneath his gaze, you cut through the silence.

“Do I have something on my face?” You leveled him with a jokingly annoyed expression and he looked away with a laugh.

“Nothing that needs fixing,” he said offhandedly, biting his lip in thought for a moment before he looked at you again. “I wanna talk to you about something. In private.”

Your heart felt like it leapt out of your chest, mind immediately racing as it tried to figure out what he would want to talk about. Had you done something wrong? Was he going to ask you out?

You waved the thoughts away and smiled a little too brightly. “Sure! What’s up?”

“No, no, go take a shower and get changed, come to my office after.”

“Are you saying I stink, General?” Your typical banter was only slightly delayed as you tried to calm yourself.

“I’m just saying, I want to be able to inhale when I talk to you.”

Despite him being your superior, you gave him a playful shove that made him stumble back a bit, shaking your head as he laughed. “You’re horrible.”

“And you like it.” You did. Because he never meant it and just wanted to make you…make people laugh. “See you in fifteen?”

“We’ll see if I even show up now.”

——————————————————————————

You were outside of Poe’s office fourteen and a half minutes later, clean and in comfier clothes than a flightsuit; you sped through the process, both eager and nervous about what Poe wanted to talk to you about.

You took a deep breath to fail at calming your nerves before you knocked on the door.

“No one’s here!”

“Oh, then I guess I can just come back another day.” You barely made it a few feet down the hall before the door slid open and Poe was peeking out, smirking at you. “Oh! I thought no one was there.”

“I snuck by when you weren’t looking. Come in.” He nodded and stepped away, and you followed him into the room as the door shut again.

His office was simple, a desk and a few chairs, some necessary technology, a few little personal touches like toys from his childhood or cool things he found on missions. There was one across the hall for Finn that was nearly identical, but he had a lot more personal touches as he discovered new, wonderful things he enjoyed every day.

You sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk as he sat in his, and you waited for him to start the conversation. He was just smiling at you. You stared at him before you squirmed in your seat, feeling awfully hot for some reason. “What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Oh, right, uh…” He sat back in his seat, clearing his throat. “You know how Finn asked you to oversee your mission because Commander Nichos had to step away?”

You nodded. Nichos and you weren’t too close, but he was nice and you respected him, so you were concerned when you found out he wouldn’t be on the mission.

“Well, his wife is pregnant. And he wants to step down as commander so he can just have a family…in peace.” He started to rearrange things on his desk. “Since we’re not in a war and I want his kid to have a dad, I agreed.”

“That’s kind of you.” Poe was a fair general as far as you were concerned. He could get a little worked up sometimes, but it was only when it was necessary.

“But that means we won’t have a commander for your squadron and I’ve been thinking about it and talking to Finn…and we want you.”

You stared. “Want me to do what?”

“Take over as commander…but only if you want to.”

Slowly, you started to register what he was asking you and a smile spread across your face. “I…I would be honored. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” He rolled his eyes playfully at you.

“This…thank you!” You’d been hoping to climb the ranks with your hard work and you so loved overseeing missions and your squadron. Not to mention, you felt so accomplished and flattered, knowing Poe and Finn thought you were capable enough. “Can I hug you?”

“You know I love hugs.”

You were around the desk and on him so fast, making him grunt as you hugged him tight. You would’ve been in his lap if you didn’t keep your feet on the ground. He laughed warmly in your ear and the sound made you melt, knees buckling as his arm came around you and he gently rubbed your back.

You pulled back after a moment and his arm loosened around you, but it didn’t fall. You stared at each other and you couldn’t help admiring how handsome he was, how soft his eyes were when he looked at you. Did he just glance at your lips? Were you imagining things to give yourself hope?

“General Dameron, I— oh.” You both turned to see a member of your squadron had entered; it was Valin, a typical tall, dark, and handsome man. He was a bit aloof, but a good pilot and fighter.

“Well, your breath smells fine to me!” you said quickly, inwardly cringing as you pulled away from Poe. He looked amused, but turned his attention to Valin.

“Hey, we were just finishing up if you wanna take a seat.” Poe nodded to you that you could leave, which you did in a bit of a daze.

Both from the awkwardness of Valin’s entrance and…whatever the hell that other feeling was. It felt like a strange mixture of hope, longing, and disappointment.

You were almost certain that you wanted to kiss Poe and that he wanted to kiss you back. You did want to kiss Poe.

But he was your general! And everyone wanted him! You were being ridiculous, making things up because you were excited and he was gorgeous. So unbelievably gorgeous…

It would never work, but it was nice to flirt and pretend. Even with your logic, you still wished Valin hadn’t walked in and interrupted whatever was going to happen.

Would Poe have kissed you? Would you be the one who initiated it? Would you both lean in, only to smack your noses together and laugh and break the tension that shouldn’t have been there? It was good that Valin walked in.

Great, even. It made things way less complicated that you weren’t able to kiss one of your generals.

You tried to shift your focus to your new role as commander and how excited you were, but you weren’t sure if you couldn’t stop smiling because of that or because it really seemed like Poe wanted to kiss you.

——————————————————————————

There was a celebration the night it was announced that you were promoted to commander and Valin was promoted to captain; everyone chattered, laughed, and even danced as they enjoyed delicious food and dizzying drinks.

Everyone but Valin, but it didn’t seem out of the ordinary given the distance he always kept between himself and the others. He just stood in the corner, sipping on a strong drink. You supposed he kept his emotions about being promoted to himself.

Regardless, you were having a great time with all your friends celebrating you, and other squadron members congratulating you and telling you how right you were for the job.

Poe observed for most of the night until you - a little buzzed, forgetting embarrassment despite the heat in your body - dragged him over to dance. He didn’t mind, joining in on the fun like he wasn’t one of your highest superiors.

Things were so different with the war over. While there were still problems to be dealt with, they were fewer and farther between, which meant you had time for celebrations and access to real food instead of rations.

You could enjoy your lives to some extent.

“Congratulations again. I gotta get this guy out of here,” said Kelsa, a member of the Blue Squadron, as she helped her husband Adharan out of the room. He was a member of your squadron and he was mumbling random things all the way.

There were few people left at the celebration as the night grew late and everyone felt the true effects of what they drank. It was you, Poe, Finn, a few new faces, and Valin left.

The group of newbies left and your eyes widened when you saw Finn with one of them. You looked at Poe in question when he plopped down next to you with a groan. “Someone made a friend.”

He laughed. “He’s been looking at her like a barghest pup since she joined. It’s about time.”

“Yeah…” You stared at him, the alcohol coursing through you doing a great job at making you forget why it was good you hadn’t kissed Poe the other day.

He had such perfect lips. He was made to be kissed and you wanted to do the kissing.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning in until you felt his fingers on your lips, stopping you from meeting his. He looked like he was almost in pain. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough to not know what I’m doing.” You mumbled against his finger tips, turning your head to lean into his touch.

“Maybe not, but you’re drunk enough to not think it through. I’m not gonna take advantage of that.” He slowly removed his hand, being sure you were holding your own head up and not relying on him. “I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.”

You knew refusing to take advantage of someone under the influence was the bare minimum a person could do, but you liked Poe so much, it felt like he’d just offered you a million credits. “You’re such a good guy.”

There was a snorted laugh and you looked over to see Valin walking by, but his face was so emotionless that you figured you heard wrong. You wanted to reach out to him even if he was distant, so you stood. “Captain.”

He just stared straight into your soul, only looking away once he was approaching the door.

You scoffed. “Talk about having a stick up your-“

Poe quickly stood and slapped a hand over your mouth, pulling you to his side as he grinned and waved at Valin with his free hand. “Goodnight!”

Valin’s eyes were darker as he left and you continued to mumble behind Poe’s palm. He made sure the other man was likely out of earshot before he moved his hand away.

“-and another thing, who stands in a corner and glares at everyone when they were just promoted? You should be celebrating! And I’ve been so nice to you and you just stare at me! Why?!”

Poe pressed his lips together and patted your shoulder, gently guiding you toward the door. “Yeah, you’re not in your right mind. Let’s get you to bed.”

——————————————————————————

It was a few days later that you noticed that people didn’t seem as excited for you anymore. It couldn’t just be in your mind that everyone was glaring at you, whispering to each other as soon as you were too far to hear them.

You wondered if you’d done something embarrassing at the celebration, but you remembered all of it and the most embarrassing thing you’d done was try to kiss Poe. That wasn’t reputation destroying, was it?

You did your best to ignore it, but the more people whispered without telling you what the problem was, the more irritated and nervous you became.

The tarmac outside of the base was crowded with people as Blue Squadron prepared to leave for a mission, but all conversations hushed as you walked through. The throngs parted, friends and acquaintances and people you didn’t even recognize staring at you. You felt big and small at the same time, like you were taking up too much space for the meaningless person you were in their eyes.

You just kept walking, wanting to wish the squadron luck before going.

Kelsa was about to get into her ship, but she stopped and looked at you with pity. That was better than being stared at like you were an abomination…maybe…pretty sure…you had no idea if it was better or worse. What was there to pity?

You approached their commander, Alsafi, and did your best to smile. “Hey, I just wanted to wish you luck out there.”

She regarded you for a moment like you were a lowly creature she could easily step on, then she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “You know, I was assigned as commander of the Blue Squadron because I worked hard.”

You furrowed your brow. “Yeah…you’re the perfect fit, anyone knows that.”

She hummed and started to climb the ladder to her ship, saying over her shoulder, “I don’t need luck from General Dameron’s pet.

Your eyes widened and you quickly grabbed her ankle to stop her ascent. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on!” She clenched her jaw and kicked you away easily, so she could hop back onto the tarmac and loom over you with her impressive height. “Everybody knows. How could he not grant you such a favor when you’ve been granting his?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times in shock, turning to the crowd where some were staring and others quickly pretended they hadn’t been. “Is…is that what you all think? I was promoted to commander because I’m sleeping with Poe?”

A murmur fluttered across the group, some people saying nasty and hateful things while others begrudgingly admitted their beliefs. A few people were silent, obviously not believing the rumor, but too frightened by the general consensus to stick up for you.

That included members of your own squadron, people you’d known the longest, who’d been the most vocal about how happy they were that you were their commander.

“You all know Poe would never do that! That I…I would never accept…I…” You were so flustered by all the anger and judgment pointed towards you. “Kolb, Navi, come on, you know that’s not why!” Your fellow pilots looked ashamed as they stayed silent, so you turned to the ever stoic Valin.

Something was different in his eyes.

“Valin was promoted to captain! Poe and Finn were just moving up their best pilots to fill a space. Tell them.”

“I saw them together with my own eyes,” he said as he stared at you coldly. “And now you claim to be one of our best pilots? Better than me or the rest of our squadron?”

Your face fell. “No…I didn’t mean that…I just mean…we should trust their decisions, I…and what do you mean, you saw us?!”

“In his office, after everyone left the party…”

You scoffed and laughed nervously because, while you hadn’t done anything, you knew the position was compromising and you were filling with unfounded guilt. Or was it unfounded? You did feel that Poe liked you. Did he just promote you because he liked you?

No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? He promoted Valin too. Maybe he liked Valin.

“We were hugging in his office because I was excited, and I was drunk at the party! Come on, you guys don’t really believe this!”

“If he was just promoting his best pilots, Valin should have been commander and you should have stayed captain,” Alsafi said before climbing into her ship.

Valin leaned in close to you as the crowd began to dissipate, their decision made. “Everyone sees how you look at each other. You think we’re stupid?”

You floundered, but couldn’t come up with a defense before he shouldered past you. What were you supposed to do? Nobody believed you.

All you could think was one thing; hide.

You ran, pushing past anyone who was left, bolting right back into the base so you could hide from their stares and assumptions, humiliated by their lack of faith in your abilities as well as them thinking you were sleeping with Poe.

You were just turning the hallway that held your quarters when you bumped into someone solid, hard enough that the two of you fell into a heap on the floor. He grunted and you gasped, panting.

“Hey, you okay?”

Your eyes widened when they met Poe’s and you quickly scrambled off him and crawled back until you hit the wall, wanting to put distance between you. You couldn’t imagine if someone walked in and found you on top of him.

His brow furrowed as he sat up. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You didn’t know what to say and you felt panicked as tears welled in your eyes; from how much you liked Poe, and how much you wanted to be commander, and how everyone thought there was a correlation between the two. You opened your mouth and all that came out was a sob.

“Hey…” Poe softened and reached for you, but you quickly moved to your feet and pressed your back against the wall.

“Thank you, but I don’t think I should be commander.” It was like you were replying to a conversation he hadn’t been let in on, and you saw the confusion on his face before you darted down the hallway.

“Wait!” You could hear him calling after you and heard his footsteps running behind you for a moment, but you didn’t dare look back.

Part of you wanted to cry in his arms. The other part feared someone seeing you in another compromising position.

——————————————————————————

You stayed in your quarters for days, too frightened to face the stares or to wrestle with your feelings for Poe. You were also too scared to see his reaction to you turning down the role of commander.

Everyone had rations and a private refresher in their room, so you didn’t even have any reason to leave.

Maybe if you stayed there for a year or two, everyone would forget about this and Valin would be the new commander.

You peeked out from under your covers when you heard a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s Poe.”

“—no one’s here.”

“Should I rephrase that and say that your general is standing out here, in the freezing cold hallway?” When you gave no response, the door slid open and in walked Poe with a sympathetic expression. He looked around before grabbing the chair from your small desk and moving it to face your bed, sitting down. “Kelsa told me what happened.”

You groaned and pulled the covers over your head. “So you see why I can’t be commander and you agree? I’m glad we had this talk.”

“No, I see that someone started a rumor because you’re capable and deserving…and Valin is jealous, he thought he would be promoted to commander.” He tried to pull the covers down, but you held tight. “Come on, I know you. You’re gonna let this ruin something so important?”

“They think I fucked you, Poe,” you said bluntly as you shoved the covers back and sat up to look at him. “Do you know how embarrassing that is? They think I slept with you and that’s why you promoted me.”

“Who cares? You know the truth. I know the truth. And, sooner or later, they’re gonna forget all about the rumor and move onto something else.”

“They’re not gonna respect me if they think I do favors to get what I want.” You looked at your hands.

Poe reached out to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. “I promoted you because you’re good and you deserved it more than anyone. They’ll get over it.”

You smiled a little, shaking your head. “I just don’t know if it’s right.”

“Well!” He stood and slapped his thighs. “Your squadron has a mission in a few days and I don’t plan to put someone in as commander, even temporarily. So I guess you at least gotta go for this one, or the whole squadron might be lost.”

“That’s just playing dirty.”

“Whatever gets you out of that bed.”

You watched him as he put the chair back and started towards the door, calling out before you could stop yourself, “Poe?”

You didn’t know what you wanted to say when he turned to look at you expectantly. Maybe you wanted to ask if it was all a rumor or if he did like you, if he looked at you the same way you looked at him.

But you couldn’t.

“Thanks,” you said lamely.

“Thank me after your briefing, first thing in the morning.”

——————————————————————————

The morning air was chilled as you finished packing what you needed into your X-wing, looking around at your squadron as they prepared themselves. Most of your group was being respectful and kind, though they hadn’t spoken up for you before.

The only one who didn’t seem to care for your orders was Valin. You didn’t care for him very much at all now, given how he started the rumor, but you would make sure he stayed safe.

You were just climbing the ladder when he approached you, data pad in hand. “General Dameron said he gave us the wrong coordinates, these are the right ones.”

You looked at him and then looked to where Poe was standing to see you all off, smirking a bit when he waved at you. You quickly made your expression neutral and looked at the coordinates on screen, nodding. Maybe even Valin was getting somewhat used to you being his superior, if only by doing something helpful that you imagined Poe was forcing him to do.

“Let’s get a move on, the sooner we’re out of here, the sooner we can come back!” You climbed into the cockpit of your ship and put in the coordinates before you let the canopy close, starting it up.

Poe was still watching as you lifted into the air, followed close by the rest of your squadron with Valin right behind you. You waved to your general quickly before you took off into space, surprised by how far the planet would be.

That’s what hyperspeed was for, you supposed. You were able to engage it once you broke the atmosphere and you were in the quiet expanse of stars.

It cut your travel time in half and you exited it once you were a few minutes away from the planet, pausing when you only saw one ship behind you. Where the hell was the rest of your fleet?

Your comm crackled to life and you could hear Valin, “I think they dropped out of hyperspeed too soon, this place is kinda in the middle of nowhere. We should go ahead and land, scope out the place.”

He was right about the planet being in the middle of nowhere and you knew your squadron was smart, they’d figure out the coordinates. It made sense to go ahead and get started, so you could see what needed to be done.

You took off your helmet once your ship had touched down, climbing out to take a look at your surroundings.

It was pretty barren, dirt as far as the eye could see, crumbling buildings and dead foliage. You couldn’t even hear animals or the wind.

“I think maybe we’re the ones who dropped out of hyperspeed at the wrong time,” you said over your shoulder as Valin jumped out of his ship. “I don’t think this is even livable. Maybe it was at one time, but not anymore…they wouldn’t want a planet without resources they can harvest.”

“No, I think we’re in the right place,” came Valin’s voice from right behind you.

You barely had time to register the pain of something being brought down on the back of your head before everything went black.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #poe dameron fic

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