#This is followed by a very grateful “thank you”

[eggtargaryenii]

EAST OF THE SUN | PART IV

 “Aemond has always been very jealous over you," Jace said doubtfully. "And protective.” “Not because he wants to bed me,” you dismissed, sipping on your wine. “I was his only friend for a long time, so naturally he likes to hoard my company. And he likely is only so protective of me because he thinks of me as a kind of elder sister to him.” “Ah—so you mean he wants to bed you and wed you.” You choked on your drink, giving Jacaerys a scandalised look.

7k words, aemond x fem!reader x jacaerys. childhood friends to lovers (except it's cousins), political drama. chapter warnings for targaryen incest and themes of xenophobia/racism and misogyny. dividers from @/cafekitsune.

SERIES SUMMARY & MASTERLIST.

XII. FIVE OF SWORDS

You did not really know what to think of Rhaenyra Targaryen.

On a political level, you did not think highly of her. Once you were old enough to understand your role in court—that is, a womb to be eventually traded in return for gold or swords or support—you became confused with Rhaenyra’s behaviour. She married Ser Laenor Velaryon and then immediately began to fornicate with another man, which was fine. But it was strange that she chose a man with fair skin and dark hair for her paramour, rather than someone who looked more like Ser Laenor, and it jeopardised her standing in court. It felt silly to you, and was one of the reasons why, at the tender age of ten, you vowed to marry a handsome lord who was inclined to desire women: if you were too busy being happily bedded by your husband, then you would not have the time or wherewithal to lay with another man and give birth to any bastards. (Certainly, you would not be interested in having any affairs if Cregan Stark was your lawful husband.)

On a personal level, you misliked Rhaenyra. You had never forgiven her for Aemond’s eye. As a child you had been furious at turns with Jace, Luke, and Aemond for the debacle, but as an adult you could not fault three children for an accident. What you did fault was Rhaenyra’s actions following it: treating Aemond’s eye like it was an afterthought to the bastardy talk, as if her son had not just irreversibly rendered him half-blind. As if Aemond did not lay feverish in bed for weeks after, as if he did not need to spend months retraining his body to his altered vision, as if he were not twice as vulnerable to attacks from bullies and swords and morningstars. As if he did not need to live with the knowledge that his very body was a disposable thing to his father, something that could be overlooked so long as Rhaenyra’s claim could be protected.

No—you did not like Rhaenyra.

You were certain that Rhaenyra did not feel so poorly about you, however. She never concerned herself with you when you were a child, and you did not fault her for it: you were not close in age, and she was heir apparent to the throne. She mostly knew you as someone whom Jace had befriended, and she liked you for it. Occasionally she would invite you to dinner with them in the Small Hall, or let you break your fast with her family. Sometimes she would talk with you then, and humour your questions about the Small Council (Do they know where my father is? Will they banish me from the Red Keep? Is the Hand really going to betrothe me to an old man?), and sometimes she would look at you with something close to pity.

Rhaenyra probably did think well of you. Still, it felt like an obvious lie when she called you into her chambers the day after your father’s funeral and said, “You know I have always been very fond of you.”

“Thank you, Princess,” you said graciously, immediately. “I have always been so grateful for your kindness, and especially for allowing me to spend time with Jacaerys.”

She smiled at you. You returned it, careful not to let the wariness show in your eyes.

“It was the least I could do. I owed it to your father—he was very kind to me. He would sail back from Lys and bring me trinkets, and I loved them so. I do not think Prince Daemon liked the attention he gave me, however.”

You shuddered to think of the suggestion of romantic jealousy between Daemon, your father, and Rhaenyra. You truly would walk into the sea if she disclosed a sordid relationship between herself and your father right now.

Outwardly, however, you only gave her a sentimental look. “I had never known that. Were the two of you close?”

“He was often away from King’s Landing, so I knew him not well—but I knew him well enough. And my husband, of course, was fond of him.” She smiled. “Now that your father is gone, Daemon and I feel that it is only right that we care for you.”

You did not comment on the fact that your father had been gone for nearly ten years already. “Oh,” you said, your eyes growing hot as you remembered to cry. The tears were easy to summon and mostly from frustration at knowing that your father’s death was being used in these petty games of court, but Rhaenyra need not know that. “That's—that’s very kind of you.”

“I know Jacaerys is very fond of you too,” she continued. “If you need to continue leaning on him, know that I will be happy to see it.”

“Of course.” You wiped your eyes. “I am ever so thankful for his help during my petition. And your husband’s too. It is a kindness I cannot repay.”

“As I said, it is only right.” Rhaenyra gave you a long look, then seemed to make a decision. She reached for something on the table beside her, then placed a velvet box in front of you. “Please—take this.”

Your look of surprise was genuine when you opened it. Inside was a pair of earrings—from the rippling sheen of the reflected light, Valyrian steel, so dark that it was nearly black. Rubies glimmered among the delicate metalwork, a bold red. You knew only of one person who had ever worn jewellery like this: “My mother’s?”

“Not quite, but close. Your father brought it back from one of his trips to Lys and gifted these to me, but I have not had much chance to wear them as of late—they are a young person’s jewels.” She gave you a look that was distinctly motherly, which made you feel distinctly uncomfortable. “I feel that it is only right that these go to you, rather than being wasted on my vanity.”

“Oh,” you breathed. “Thank you, Princess.”

You had a feeling where she would be going with this.

“It would be a great honour to me,” she said, “if you were to wear these at the upcoming feast.”

It was with great effort that you did not sigh.

“Of course, Princess.”

XIII. TWO OF SWORDS

There was nothing less you wanted to do than to attend the banquet meant to precede the next day’s tourney. This reluctance had less to do with the loss of your parents (though that was undeniably a factor; you were still looking forward to the day you could crawl into the dragon pit and wail in solitude) and more to do with the dread of navigating the court. Within the Red Keep, wearing the wrong colour dress to sup alone could earn you the ire of half the castle; choosing the wrong one for this banquet could quite literally kill you.

Alicent expected you to wear green, as would the Tyrells. Rhaenyra expected you to wear her earrings, which were obviously meant to be paired with black and red. It would insult one faction or the other if you did not respect their wishes, but at this point, you also had no desire to align yourself with either. Rhaenyra had not convinced you of her cause, and if you played too nicely with the Hightowers now then they would take that as a sign that they could further abuse you as they pleased in the future.

On the other hand, you did not want to offend anyone too much. Cultivating a relationship with the blacks might be useful in the future, though your greatest concern was the Hightowers—neither your coin in Braavos nor the power of your dragon could save you if the Hand decided to poison you. That could be a very real risk as you currently had no heir. Should you be killed, the money in the Iron Bank would fall to your next of kin: King Viserys on paper; Alicent Hightower in practice.

No, you could not openly antagonise the Hightowers. However, appalling them? Probably fine. Alicent already found you appalling on a daily basis, and the Hand made it no secret that he was happy to write you off as the daughter of a foreign bed slave whenever it was convenient. You were sick of it. If they were going to accuse you of being a whore, then let them suffer the shame of having raised one.

When you walked through the heavy oak doors into the Great Hall, a hush fell over all the lords and ladies present. A few noblewomen covered their open mouths with their hands, emphasising their shock and disapproval. It was already difficult not to laugh at them, but you almost barked when you saw Jace’s reaction to what you were wearing: he very clearly choked on his wine and nearly spat it out. The sudden flush on cheeks probably was not from the Arbor gold, either. You winked at him, hoping Alicent would notice.

Rhaenyra, sitting next to him, seemed amused at the Queen’s own scandalised expression. Of all the King’s party present, you greeted her first, curtsying as best as you could in your delicate, green silks. Lysene clothing was really not made for Westerosi customs, you thought; there was not a lot of material around your waist to lift, as most of it was cut to reveal your thighs, and the view it gave of your décolletage as you bowed the was… well, it did not leave much to the imagination. Nor did any other part of the dress. The silk was so sheer that it revealed far too much when the light struck it a certain way.

“What an interesting choice of dress,” Rhaenyra remarked, the corner of her mouth lifting. Her gaze caught on the rubies dangling from your ears; you smiled.

“I chose to wear Lysene silks today to match the earrings you gifted me, Princess,” you said. “The dress was from my mother’s old wardrobe. The colour clashes a bit with the red, but it was all I had on hand, I'm afraid.”

“I’m sure.” She seemed neither convinced or upset. “Well, both the earrings and the dress look beautiful on you, my dear. Wouldn't you say so, Jacaerys?”

Jacaerys composed himself quickly enough, but you noticed that he was careful to look only at your face as he spoke. Still, he composure had returned when he replied, “You look very lovely tonight, my lady. I shall need to ask you for a dance later.”

“I look forward to it. Come find me when it pleases you, my prince.” You curtsied again, turned away, and tried not to cackle at the expression that Jace made when he realised just how much leg your dress showed. You were fairly certain that Rhaenyra was herself trying not to laugh at her son's expense, smiling into her goblet as she watched his reaction.

Alicent, on the other hand, did not seem nearly so amused.

“You… Lyseni,” she said, managing to make a very neutral word sound incredibly pejorative, “have very unusual styles of dress.”

“I would not know. Having been born in King’s Landing, I am unfamiliar with Lysene styles as a whole, my Queen,” you replied calmly. “This dress is from my mother’s old wardrobe. It was the only green dress I owned—you know I do not wear the colour much.”

“I would have been happy to have had a dress made for you,” she said, voice tight. “You are our kin, after all. We are happy to ensure that members of the royal family dress as royals should.”

“I did not want to burden the Crown’s coffers, as I know they are limited,” you parried, and Alicent’s expression nearly put you in stitches. “Is my betrothed here tonight, my Queen? I should like to finally meet him, if he is.”

Part of you had hoped that this outfit would disgrace you too much for an introduction to the great house of the Reach. You were even hopeful for it when Alicent advised her father that you were not dressed suitably for a formal introduction, but the Hand insisted on it. In the end, Alicent had you meet Lady Tyrell at the behest of her father.

Lady Tyrell seemed an interesting woman. She served as the regent of Hightower given her son Lord Lyonel’s young age. Apparently significantly less pious than the Queen, Lady Tyrell took your appearance in stride.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” she said after a curtsy. “I saw your petition in the throne room a sennight ago, and I could not help but ask for an introduction after that… you are a very eloquent speaker. I am sorry to hear about your father, by the way. I recall it was said he was a diplomat in Lys and that your mother was a woman of the Lysene court—is this dress something of hers?”

Woman of the Lysene court. You liked the way Lady Tyrell talked, as well as her values: apparently irreligious. You wondered what she and her house wanted from you. If she saw you during the petition, it was most likely all the gold you were arguing over. Highgarden was not short of wealth, but they always wanted more for it.

“It was indeed left behind by my mother before she returned to Lys,” you replied. “And I thank you for your kind words. Everything I know, I have learned from the Queen—she took my education into her own hands after my father passed, you see…”

The two of you exchanged pleasantries with one another. You painted an image of Alicent that had her in the golden light of the Seven and wearing a halo; the Queen’s posture relaxed visibly as she listened from nearby. When it came time for you to meet Arthur Tyrell, though, you noticed her stiffen again.

Ser Criston next to her also bristled. His eyes were heavy on Ser Arthur. He was startlingly handsome with his Tyrell features (though not as handsome as any Stark men, you noted), with a full head of mahogany curls and honey brown eyes that nearly shone gold at times in the chandelier light. He had a charming, playful smile that you did not see very much in your circles. Jace was too serious to make that sort of expression, Aemond too frightening, and Aegon too slovenly.

Most importantly, though, Arthur seemed not to mind your dress, taking you without hesitation to the dance floor.

“I was not told my betrothed would be so beautiful,” he said.

“And I was not told mine would be so handsome,” you replied swiftly, deciding to humour him. Then you added, wanting to know why Ser Criston seemed so disdainful of him, “Though I have heard tales of his bravery in the Marches.”

“Exaggerations, I'm sure,” he replied.

“Then I would like to hear the truth of it from the man himself.”

Arthur was humble, yet glib of tongue. He replied to all your questions respectfully, but not without a little flirtation or humour, and always with charisma. You found yourself frustrated: you could not tell how such a charming and well-accomplished man had earned the ire of Ser Criston. His only damning trait seemed to be that he was a bastard, which you could not care less about.

It seemed that you could only get the truth from the white cloak himself. When you were nearly about to signal for Ser Criston to ask you for a dance—the two of you had such a protocol, for times when you were made to dance with some lecher and Aemond was not around to extract you—when the one-eyed prince himself instead came to your aid.

“Pardon the interruption, Ser Arthur,” a familiar voice said behind you, “but I would like to trouble my cousin for a dance.”

“Of course, my Prince,” the knight replied, and he handed you off to Aemond gracefully. Once you were in Aemond’s arms, he nodded at Ser Arthur, his mouth curling into a kind of smile. You could not decide if his expression was handsome or unsettling. Certainly, it was not friendly.

“You do not like him,” you said in Valyrian, as Aemond led your feet across the marble floor.

He brought you close to him before he replied, in the same language, “I do not like him being around you. I spoke with Ser Criston and found his background… troubling.” Aemond had you twirling, the sheer silks around your waist swaying with your movements. “The knowledge makes me worry about the way he was looking at you.”

Your brow arched. “He looks at me the way that most men have looked at me my entire life.”

“I do not like it when most men look at you.”

A laugh. “So many japes from you lately!” The two of you circled one another as a lute sung delicately. “Well, why do you dislike the gaze of this man? Tell me about the crimes of my betrothed—I shall soon die from suspense if you do not.”

Aemond brought you close. Your hand on his chest, his lips against your ear, he said, “The man raped and pillaged towns in the Dornish Marches. Some of the worst crimes Ser Criston has ever seen in battle—an offence to the Seven, he said.”

Your expression fell. Aemond led you along in the dance, not allowing you to stop—likely remembering the watching crowd. He kept his face so near to yours; it took a moment to realise he was hiding the shock in your eyes from the gazes of others.

After a long moment, you remembered yourself, and you began to think of all the implications. It now made sense that Lady Tyrell did not care about your choice of dress: it was fine that you were a harlot, as she meant to marry you to a raper. What confused you, though, was that Queen Alicent had so readily agreed to the match as well: she may have disapproved of whores, but she openly despised rapers and felt they should all be gelded, just as the Seven-Pointed Star commanded.

“Does your grandsire know?” you asked, moving deftly around your partner. “Your mother?”

“I cannot say for certain,” Aemond said, “but I suspect they do.”

You nodded, tried not to look too grave as you said, “I will find a way out of this marriage.” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the Tyrells watching the two of you. You pressed yourself against Aemond, likely more intimately than any dance would warrant, so that you could whisper into his ear. “Were you serious about finding a means to avoid my betrothal?”

“Not only serious—I have already planned it.” Aemond smiled in his unsettling, handsome way once more. “Play along in the morrow. Remember: Any consequences will not befall you.”

What consequences? you meant to ask—but then you were interrupted.

“Pardon me,” a new voice said in the Common Tongue, and the both of you broke apart to see Jacaerys. “I wanted to make good on my promise to dance with my cousin.”

It was a command, not a request. Aemond studied him for a moment, and you wondered for a moment if they would begin to posture with each other, but he then acquiesced.

“Of course, nephew,” Aemond replied. He then switched to Valyrian: “Take care not to pass her off to any untoward characters. I'd rather her stay even in your hands than certain others. Bring her to me once you are done.”

Your cousin gave you a long look, his single eye glinting strangely. He brought your fingers up, and you did not realise what he was doing until his lips were pressed chastely against your knuckle. You stared blankly at the foreign sensation, at the soft touch of his mouth against your skin, unable to comprehend what was happening. But the realisation came only a moment later, suddenly and violently:

Aemond Targaryen was kissing your hand.

You nearly jerked back. What are you doing? you wanted to ask, but Aemond did not give you much time before turning to leave, smiling as he retreated to the high table.

You gave him a bewildered look as he disappeared into the crowd. Jacaerys, himself, seemed equally surprised. As he took your hand into his, he began questioning you: “Did I misunderstand,” he asked quietly in the Common Tongue, “or did my uncle just entrust you to me?”

Your speech remained in Valyrian: “You understood correctly, though you may have missed the backhanded insult. I believe he doesn't want me back in the arms of my betrothed. Aemond and Ser Criston mislike the man.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. Or, well—it is more like they abhor him.” You were uncertain if Jace knew the words for ‘rape’ or ‘pillage’ in Valyrian, so you adopted the Common Tongue once more, smiling brightly: “Nevermind all of that. We can talk later, when we are somewhere more… private.”

Multiple eyes glanced away, eavesdroppers averting you now that they'd been caught. You figured that those around you thought you were speaking of the kiss, and not of the reputation of Ser Arthur. Certainly, Queen Alicent must have, for her jaw was so tight and angry that she could have only been thinking of her son’s open favour toward you, or perhaps the betrothal that he just put into jeopardy. You supposed it was also a particularly sordid sight for her given the new whispers surrounding you: Jacaerys was said to have carried you back to your room in the early hours of the morning a few days ago. To anyone who believed the rumour, it must have looked to some like you were seducing both princes, their hearts in your cruel thrall even though you were now betrothed to a Tyrell. Luckily for you, however, the whisper had come from a kitchen maid who was a reputed liar: even though it was true, most were sceptical of the tale.

Alicent likely believed them, though, for she had given you a long lecture about preserving your innocence for your betrothed during your last meeting, followed up by an implication that there were ways in which one could feign virginity on a marriage bed should they have fallen into sin before their wedding night. She alluded to the old trick of staining one’s sheets with chicken’s blood while their groom was distracted. Though you were not offended at her belief that you had ruined yourself, you were offended at her belief that you would be stupid enough to jeopardise a marriage in this way. Using chicken’s blood was good enough for commoners, but it hardly worked for noblewomen. Septas and maesters would not be fooled by such a lazy deception, and you were both well-aware of it.

Thinking of the conversation made your head pound, so you turned to your only solace at a time like this: “Would you like to sit and have some wine, Jace? I have not yet tried the Arbor gold.”

“Of course.” Jace took your hand in his, led you to the high table at the front of the hall. A maid promptly approached with goblets and wine, which you were glad to drink, hoping for the sweet oblivion of complete inebriation. Jace’s brow lifted as he watched you.

“I did not know that you had grown into such a drinker.”

“Only during banquets,” you said dryly. “I find that I cannot otherwise endure them.”

“How ironic,” Jace remarked. “This is my first in the Red Keep, and I find myself envying you for having attended so many.”

You were startled as you realised that the Crown Prince, of all people, had neither attended a tourney nor a banquet in King’s Landing solely because of the petty infighting in his family. “Sorry,” you said immediately. “I’d forgotten this was your first feast here. I’ll try to be better company.”

“You are always good company,” Jace reassured you, “though I would enjoy a proper dance with you later. We’ve never danced together before, you know—I meant it when I said I would want one.” He smiled, and you felt your stomach flutter in a dangerous way.

Crown prince, crown prince, crown prince, you repeated silently, trying to remind yourself that you could absolutely not become besotted with the heir to the throne. If Jacaerys were to be the object of your longing (a futile one, for it was an impossibility that you could ever marry him), then you would never find a lord for yourself whom you could be happily bedded by. There was not a single noble man in the Realm who had a face that could compete with his—not even Cregan Stark!

“I'm not a very good dancer,” you remembered to reply. “I may step on your feet.”

“You seemed fine with my uncle.”

“Only because he's strong at leading. It isn’t unlike swordplay, which he excels at.” You sighed. “It is a wonder that I did not embarrass myself in front of Ser Arthur.”

Jace gave the Tyrell a sidelong glance, contemplative. “I have heard from the Queen that he is now your betrothed,” your cousin said, “which I imagine must make my uncle unhappy, as he clearly wants to bed you.”

You gave Jace a tired look. “Many people believe that I am Aemond’s lover, but I can assure you that the assertion is false.”

“That kiss did lead me to believe that he would prefer it to be true.”

“I would not pay it any mind. A kiss on the hand is a simple enough courtesy, not necessarily a sign of courtship. And even if it was unusual for him, he is likely only plotting something.” Something that the Queen will hate as much as the Tyrells, you supposed.

“Plotting something, or acting on a lifelong desire?” He studied you carefully. “Aemond has always been very jealous over you. And protective.”

“Not because he wants to bed me,” you dismissed, sipping on your wine. “I was his only friend for a long time, so naturally he likes to hoard my company. And he likely is only so protective of me because he thinks of me as a kind of elder sister to him; it was the role I played to him when we were children.”

“Ah—so you mean he wants to bed you and wed you.” You choked on your drink, giving Jacaerys a scandalised look. “What? Sibling marriage is the custom of our family.”

“I meant that he thinks of me as a sister in the Andal way.”

“Yet none of us are Andals—including yourself, dear cousin. You are a Targaryen.”

Your mood soured as he reminded you of the fact. You could not help but think of how eager you were to run away from that Small Council room a fortnight ago, so aggrieved were you by your kin.

“Can you ask your lady mother to disown me from the family?” you begged, and Jace snorted.

“Only you would reject the life of a trueborn Targaryen,” he said, shaking his head. He likely meant it as a jape, but the words had a bitter timbre to them, and you felt torn between guilt and resentment. Trueborn or not, Jacaerys had a number of people protecting his place in this family—yourself included. The same could not be said of you.

“My trueborn family rejected my mother. I may as well be a bastard.”

“Every bastard still wants for a family.”

“A family, sure, but I imagine not always their family by blood. Most of them do well enough. I feel I would.”

“You wouldn't really want to leave it all behind,” he accused.

“No,” you admitted. “I thought briefly of running away, after I was told of my father's death. But now there are people here I care for too much. Like Aemond, or Wildfyre.”

“And?” Jace prompted.

“I suppose I like Luke well enough.”

“How cold.”

You smiled at the prickly look he feigned. “I would miss you terribly, Jace. But I tire easily of all the politicking in these walls.” You sighed heavily. “If she cannot disown me, could you ask Princess Rhaenyra to marry me off to someplace far from King’s Landing? And not to any Targaryen men, please.”

“I have little say in such matters, but if you'll take a Velaryon, I could get you as far as Dragonstone.”

Aemond was nearby, clearly listening, and you realised now that Jace must have noticed. You smiled at your dark-haired cousin, amused.

“A tempting offer,” you replied playfully, “but you’d become a Targaryen once you ascend the throne, and I'd also be back here once more when that happens. I'm afraid I'll need to decline.”

Jacaerys played at disappointment, clicking his tongue. “Ah, well, it was worth a try.” He picked up his own goblet from the table, took a draught. “There’s always the King Beyond the Wall. Is that far enough for you?”

“I would rather face the Others than Otto Hightower,” you said dryly. “Certainly, I would fear them less.”

You expected Jace to laugh, but he only studied you, as if curious. After a moment of consideration, he leaned in and asked, “Would you care to step outside with me, my lady? For some fresh air.”

Fresh air was clearly not what he wanted. Nevertheless, you agreed and allowed Jace to help you out of your seat. As you rose, you glanced at Aemond, worried for his reaction, but his attention was not on you. He was speaking with Ser Arthur, you realised, who did not seem pleased by whatever Aemond was saying. Your brow furrowed, and you wondered if you should intervene, but Aemond glanced at you then, the corner of his mouth hooked slyly, his gaze as unsettling as it was reassuring.

Play along in the morrow, Aemond had told you, so you decided whatever he was planning was not your business tonight. You turned on your heel and took Jace by the arm, hurrying away.

IX. SEVEN OF CUPS

The night was cool and quiet, but you knew that it was not empty. You were certain that there would be many curious about why the Crown Prince would want to step outside and close the doors to the Great Hall behind him, obviously seeking privacy. Guards were posted in the courtyard below despite being within the inner castle walls; the balcony above you was silent when there should have been chatter and music from the banquet drifting from its threshold. Someone had stepped outside and closed the doors to escape the noise—meaning they could now listen to you rather than the noise of the feast.

You had long ago noticed that some of the sordid rumours about you involved your moments when you believed you were utterly alone with another person, or when you moved through supposedly empty halls and corners of the castle. From this, you suspected that there were eyes and ears placed all throughout the Red Keep. When you brought this up to Aemond (talking quietly in the dragon pit, where Wildfyre and the many other dragons ensured that you were both alone), he outright confirmed it. Larys Strong is quite adept at collecting whispers, he had commented. The Queen often consults him on them. King Viserys, though, has never paid him any mind—he does not see the value in knowing the whispers of King’s Landing.

When you asked Aemond how he had collected such whispers, he merely smiled.

After this conversation, you quickly surmised that all adept players at court had eyes and ears to aid them. You had not realised how much you had taken this knowledge for granted until Jacaerys disclosed that he had wanted to step onto the balcony to get some privacy.

“Privacy?” You made a face. Dragonstone had evidently spoiled the man. “This is not a private place. I do hope you aren't planning on saying or doing anything that may be seen as untoward. The Queen already believes that you have taken me abed and thoroughly ruined my innocence.”

Jacaerys cleared his throat. Moonlight tended to wash out the colour from anything illuminated by it, but you suspected he had gone red. “I will say nothing that will fuel those rumours. I only wanted privacy from my uncle, lest he be offended by my suggestion.” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “Is someone truly listening?”

“You’re within the walls of the Red Keep. Someone is always listening, except for in a scarce few places. I can show you some other time where I like to go for real privacy.” You tilted your head. “But let's hear your suggestion. I am curious to know what would offend Aemond so.”

“The Hightowers,” Jace started, “have mistreated you these past few days. You japed about it just now, but the Hand and the Queen have sche—”

You placed a finger to his lips, and his eyes widened, startled. He swallowed thickly, only relaxing when you moved your hand away. You then smiled and finished for him: “Yes, the Hand and the Queen upset me during my petition. But it is well-known that they always have the best interests of the Realm at heart—it is clear they were only acting for the benefit of the Seven Kingdoms when they contested my inheritance.” Giving Jace a meaningful look, you asked, “What of it?”

Jacaerys caught on quickly, thank the Seven. “It is understandable that they have the best interests of the Realm at heart, but I keep the best interests of yours in mine. I was not entirely jesting in the Great Hall: I would take you away from the Red Keep, if you so wished.”

You stared. “Take me away?”

“To Dragonstone,” he offered plainly. “Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon would happily host you for as long as you desired. I would be there to keep you company during your stay, as would Luke.”

“Ah. Do they want to take me as their ward?” It was unsurprising, you thought. They likely wanted your inheritance. But you played the fool: “Or do they need a dragonrider? I know Lord Velaryon has trouble with pirates every now and then. It would be sensible for Prince Daemon to solicit my help as they are allies, I suppose.”

“They aren't inviting you. I am.” You blinked at him, obviously uncomprehending, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “You could see the castle,” he began slowly. “Visit the beaches. Fly to Braavos to oversee your wealth, and I would accompany you if you liked. Vermax would be happy for it—I do believe he misses you.”

It was hard to believe in the generosity of the offer, though you knew generosity was in Jace’s nature when it came to you. Still, you needed to confirm it: “You want me to come to Dragonstone… for leisure?”

“If leisure is what you want, then yes. If for some reason you wish to labour, though, I am sure there is plenty to be done.” He smiled. “You could teach me Valyrian, to start.”

There was really nothing in the world that sounded more appealing than living in a darkly beautiful castle by the sea and tutoring a gorgeous prince who wished to take you to Braavos. Certainly, it would be the fantasy of any other maiden.

Still, you hesitated. “I am unsure if this is wise…”

Jacaerys leaned in then. “You've always wanted to get away from the Hightowers,” he said quietly, “even when we were children. Now is your chance.”

You raised a brow, wondering how you let that slip to anyone other than Aemond. “Did I tell you that?”

“You quite literally told me to rescue you from them.”

“Did I?” you asked, perplexed. But you recalled it a moment after: when Princess Rhaenyra was sent to Dragonstone and Jacaerys was downtrodden about parting from you. He had just lost Ser Harwin, so you’d felt poorly for him—had Aemond not been so feverishly ill from the loss of his eye, you might have actually asked Rhaenyra to host you so that you could stay with Jace a while. It made your heart ache that you couldn't be with him, especially since you knew what it felt like to see your father leave your home and then never return. So of course, you promised Jace that you would someday be reunited, and that you would stay by his side then.

You hadn't thought about those words in years.

“Oh,” you murmured, oddly touched, “yes, I suppose I did say that, didn’t I? I thought you would have forgotten about it by now.”

He gave you an expression that you couldn't quite decipher. “Of course I remembered,” he said earnestly. “You asked me to take you away—so let me.”

You stayed quiet for a long moment as you considered the offer. You heard the scrape of soles against brick on the balcony above you, the clink of knights’ armour below. All the eyes and ears of the Red Keep pressed upon you, and it made your heart pound.

“I can't,” you spoke carefully. You leaned forward—close enough to murmur into his ear. “The Queen has already arranged for the Tyrells to take me as a ward. If your mother were to take me on instead, then it would put both her and the Queen in an uncomfortable position. The Tyrells would be offended by them both. I do not think Princess Rhaenyra would want to malign a great house.” And I do not wish to know what Otto Hightower would do to me if I put Queen Alicent in such a sensitive position, you left unsaid.

You could see, in Jace’s eyes, his understanding, acceptance, and eventual disappointment in the reality of your situation.

“It would be wiser for you to stay,” he finally agreed, “but do know that if either Highgarden or the Red Keep become unbearable, there will always be a place on Dragonstone for you.”

You peered beyond the balcony, into the dark night where you imagined many eyes watching you. From the way Lady Tyrell had talked to you, you could tell that Highgarden would likely not be too different from the Red Keep—full of silver-tongued flatterers, keen whisperers, and elaborate schemes. It was exactly the kind of politicking that made you so eager to get away from King’s Landing—the kind of politicking that you would find anywhere there were those who thirsted for power.

And few people in the Realm desired power more than Rhaenyra.

“It is generous of the blacks to offer this,” you said finally. “If I could follow you to Dragonstone, then I would.”

“It is not the blacks who offer it,” Jacaerys replied. “I meant it when I said that I was inviting you. I only wish to offer you a place in which you are safe. If you ever find yourself wanting a home without flattery and falsehoods, then come join me on Dragonstone. I shall never turn you away.”

You gave him a wistful smile.

“You are very kind, Jace,” you replied gently, “and I love you dearly for it. But no such home could ever exist for a Targaryen.”

END PART IV

bonus: I posted a super horny excerpt of a fic where Jace is thinking about ******* you in that dress. enjoy! (yes he was losing his mind fr during that scene. aemond too but he was better at hiding it)

[anomalyaly]

The Nut Cracked

Summary: Sebastian Sallow doesn't understand muggle holiday traditions. But this one, he could get on top of.

OR, a spoof of 'The Nutcracker', but make it feral.

NSFW. ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+. MINORS DNI.

AO3/Wattpad

3k words. Written for a NSFW discord server event: The Naughty List.

This is NOT canon to the 'Secrets' universe hahaha or is it

Tags: Explicit sexual content, objectophilia if you squint, seventh year, orgasm denial, Sebastian has blue balls and doesn't know how to handle it

Sebastian didn't understand muggle holiday traditions.

The brightly decorated Ravenclaw girl presented him with a small parcel that he had initially been excited to unwrap. But, as much as he loved seeing the look on Elsie's face as she handed it to him, he couldn't understand why, out of all the gifts she could have chosen, she had picked out an odd-looking wooden doll.

"It's a nutcracker!" She beamed. "My parents can never be bothered to figure out what to get me or my siblings, so they usually send us a whole slew of stuff."

"And...you saw an old man doll and it reminded you of me?" Sebastian turned it around in his hands questioningly. He tried his hardest to seem grateful, but truthfully, he was utterly confused.

She scoffed. "It's not an old man doll. It's a traditional gift that originated in Germany to ward off evil spirits and –"

"Evil spirits?" He laughed. "The only evil spirit we have to worry about during this time of year is Peeves."

"Well, if you don't want it –"

He abruptly yanked his arm away from her and held the wooden figure closer to himself. "I never said I didn't want it. I just think it could be more...appealing."

She tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. "How so?"

Sebastian grinned slyly and picked up his wand, waving it in front of the nutcracker and transfiguring it to look like a girl with wavy, dark hair and freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks. He held it up proudly. "There. Much prettier to look at."

He was met with an eye roll as she stood from the couch and stretched. "If you say so."

Sebastian hadn't been particularly secretive about his feelings for Elsie in recent months. In fact, he thought he was being blatantly obvious, doing everything short of outright telling her due to her relationship status being a bit complicated. Even so, he did his best to hide his irritation every time she brushed off another one of his comments as a sarcastic quip.

It certainly hadn't helped that the other day, she had trudged back from another one of her adventures in the Highlands sopping wet from the snow, the already thin material of her blouse nearly transparent as it clung tightly to her form, her nipples peaked from the cold. He had spent half of the night restless, the other half with his hand wrapped around his cock every time the tantalizing image replayed itself in his mind.

The castle was nearly empty as the two of them spent Christmas at Hogwarts together, and all he could focus on was how frustrated he had felt.

"I should turn in for the night," Elsie sighed, glancing at the time. "I promised Lydia that we would still leave milk and cookies out for Father Christmas. She's very adamant about keeping to tradition."

Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek as he forced himself not to beg her to stay with him for the night. It wasn't like the prefects or professors cared to parade the halls during the holiday with so many students gone. But she likely didn't see him that way. His streak of terrible luck would have him falling for someone he couldn't have.

"Alright," he murmured, hiding the disappointment in his tone. He held up the wooden doll. "Thanks for the, uh...gift?"

She grinned. "Have no fear. We'll exchange our actual gifts tomorrow. But," she tapped the nutcracker's brunette head, "I suppose now, you'll have the nutcracker version of me to help keep you safe."

Sebastian's eyes followed the sway of her hips as she headed toward the gate of the Undercroft. He quickly averted them when she turned back to look at him. "Happy Christmas, Sebastian. See you tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Yeah, see you. Happy Christmas."

She gave him one last soft smile, and the gate clanged shut behind her. Sebastian sighed. Guess I ought to head back to my common room for the evening. He grabbed the tiny doll and sauntered back to his dorm, feeling even more tense than he had been hours before.

It was going to be a long two weeks.

~

Sebastian awoke the next morning, exhaustion creeping in. He needed to get control of his thoughts before he –

"Good morning!"

A light, feminine voice chirped at him from his bedside. The rest of the dorm room was noticeably empty — Sebastian assumed Ominis had left for breakfast early, not wanting to wait while he slept in.

It still didn't explain why Elsie was standing by his bed on Christmas morning. She would never sneak into the Slytherin common room without good reason, let alone his bedroom, even with how often he had teased and prodded her to spend time with him there.

He rubbed his face, his eyes still bleary. "Elsie? What are you –"

The words died in his throat once he finally took a proper look at her. She was smiling coyly at him, her raven hair free and cascading down her back. But what surprised him the most wasn't the expression on her face or the loose, dark strands that curled along her freckled, pink cheeks. It was what she was wearing.

Instead of a Christmas jumper, like she had promised she would have on, Elsie donned the bright red uniform reminiscent of the nutcracker she had gifted him the night prior. It was loose on her small form, barely hanging on to her shoulders, and short enough that it hardly covered the creamy skin of her thighs. He knew he should look away, or at least tell her that she was far too exposed for her liking.

"You're uh..." He cleared his throat. "What...what are you wearing?"

"Oh, this?" She playfully slid the top further down her shoulders. His hungry gaze followed the line down her collarbone and towards the curve of her breasts.

This wasn't like Elsie at all. The girl he knew wouldn't have been dressed like this in his presence, especially because they hadn't so much as kissed yet. She would be flustered, finding anything she could to cover herself up, and likely avoiding him afterward for days out of sheer humiliation.

"Why so shy?" She asked. It was definitely her voice but with a sultry tone. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Sebastian swallowed. How could she have known that? "W-what do you mean?"

Elsie shrugged. "You made me. I heard your wish, and I'm here to grant it."

He blinked. Made?! "If this is some sort of muggle holiday prank, Elsie, it's really not funny."

She chuckled and sat next to him on the bed, draping an arm over his bare chest, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "It's not. I'm your nutcracker, silly."

Oh. Oh.

The nutcracker he had mindlessly transfigured last night to look like Elsie had somehow become sentient. And now, Elsie, or at least a perfect copy of her, was practically on top of him, half-naked and promiscuously alluring. It was something he had only dreamed about in the darkest hours of the night, alone in his bed with a silencing charm cast over him.

His thoughts were racing wildly as he drank in the sight of her. She was close enough now and leaning in at just the right angle that he could see entirely down her top, and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that, underneath, she was completely bare. He shifted on the bed as he felt his erection press tightly against his pajama bottoms, quickly losing any scrap of restraint he had left, which hadn't been much to begin with. This was wrong, wasn't it? He couldn't deny how badly he had wanted this – wanted it for months now.

Moments later, her lips and tongue were tracing a hot trail of kisses along his neck, and as she lightly grazed his pulse point with her teeth, the last thread of his control snapped.

In one swift move, he took her face in his hands and fiercely captured her lips with his own, the sensation nearly enough to send him over the edge. Months of pining - of gentle, innocent touches and cuddles that the real Elsie had naively passed off as what two good friends would share - had made him ache with need.

For an imitation, the nutcracker-Elsie felt wonderfully authentic.

His fingers snaked in her hair and tugged lightly, eliciting a soft moan from her that had him shivering. Realistically, had it been their true first experience together, he would have wanted to savor every moment, taking his time as he mapped out every sensitive plane and curve of her body that would make her writhe with pleasure underneath his touch.

But, since this was his Christmas wish, he was going to be self-indulgent and take exactly what he wanted, just as he had imagined doing for so long.

A soft brush of her hand against his very hard and throbbing erection nearly sent him into a frenzy, and he let out a mewl so pathetic he would have been embarrassed had he not felt so ridiculously desperate. His hands scrambled to tear the baggy nutcracker uniform off of her, and as he ran his hand along her inner thigh and traced his fingers along her core, he realized without a doubt that she was soaking. For him.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

Sebastian groaned as he practically dragged her into his bed and flipped her onto her back. His body vibrated with anticipation when her fingers tugged at his pajama bottoms and yanked them down abruptly. His cock sprang free, already aching with desire, and he melted into a moaning mess when she wrapped her silken hand around him and stroked.

"F-fuck...so good, Elsie —" The way she held him, so expertly gentle and firm at the same time, was better than even his wildest imaginations could conjure. His hips bucked into her touch while he stared down at her through hooded lids, understanding that he needed to take every second to memorize her body in case he never had an opportunity like this again.

Her face was flushed, the smattering of freckles along her nose and cheeks standing out, just the way he liked to see them — one of the reasons he would purposely try to make her blush. His hands followed his gaze as it traveled further down, past her parted pink lips and onto her voluptuous breasts, and he couldn't help but lean forward and take one of her pert nipples into his mouth.

Elsie's sighs and moans as he swirled his tongue around it were music to his ears. He reached out with one hand to cup her other breast while his other slid between her legs once more and lightly circled her clit with his thumb while he pumped two fingers inside of her. The sounds she emitted were delightfully sinful, and he decided that he didn't want to wait any longer. He had waited long enough, trying his damndest to be a gentleman all this time and letting the real Elsie take whatever their relationship was at her own pace.

He had earned this. It was bloody Christmas, and she was his present, and he fucking deserved it.

Sebastian slotted himself between her thighs and pulled back to look at her again. The unbridled need on her face mirrored his own, and he momentarily wondered if he should have spent more time making sure she was ready for him before taking her. After all, if it were the real Elsie, he would have made sure she felt good and reached her release many, many times before he had even attempted to fuck her.

All reason and logic flew out of his brain as he fitted the sensitive head of his cock at her entrance, her slick coating him completely. The needy cry that she let out at the feel of him was all the encouragement he needed to know that she was as desperate for him as he was for her.

"S-Sebastian," she moaned, the sound so erotic he hadn't thought it possible for it to have come from her. "Please — please fuck me. I — need...inside me — please."

Elsie begging. As if he couldn't come undone anymore.

"Anything for you, Princess."

With one abrupt motion, he pushed his hips flush against hers, sliding inside her easily and simultaneously letting out a disgustingly pitiful whimper. He was internally grateful that Ominis had decided to go to breakfast early — he would never have let him live down the sheer humiliation of the chorus of wanting coming from his lips.

Though the doll had been made of wood only moments before, the tight heat of her cunt felt very, very real. It was her body, her silken skin under his fingers, her normally elegant hair mussed and tangled against his bedsheets, and, best of all, her voice crying out his name as he fucked her relentlessly.

"S-Sebastian! Don't — don't stop!"

The high-pitched squeals she refused to hold back egged him on further as he roughly snapped his hips against hers, releasing a low growl as her legs wrapped tightly around him and pulled him deeper into her. The heady scent of her filled his nostrils — the distinct smell of vanilla and jasmine that had so often intoxicated him now enveloped him, and he tucked his head into the crook of her neck to allow himself to be consumed by it.

"Fuck, Elsie. I'm so fucking close."

It was happening too quickly, his release approaching dangerously faster than he would have preferred had this been the real Elsie. He teetered on the precipice of wanting to slow down and make it last longer, to enjoy every sound and feel of her as much as possible, or rewarding himself with what he had been dying to have for so long.

Fuck it — it was Christmas.

She dug her fingernails into his back and muttered a terrifyingly incoherent string of expletives in his ear, but somewhere within them, she was encouraging him to let go.

He was right there, so bloody close now — only a few more thrusts as he selfishly chased down the reality that she was finally, finally his.

"Sebastian!" Yes. Say my name again.

"Sebastian, please!" Just like that, almost there —

"Sebastian, wake up!"

Sebastian's eyes flew open as he sat up abruptly, blinking furiously in an attempt to gather where exactly he was.

Elsie, fully clothed in a Christmas jumper and trousers, her hair in its normal, elegant plait, stared at him from the side of the Undercroft couch, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Are you alright?" She asked worriedly, and her hand softly stroking his arm was almost enough to drag another pathetic groan from his throat. "You were making all these noises in your sleep. It sounded like you were having a nightmare."

Sebastian rubbed his face as reality came crashing down on him like a bucket of ice water. He had been too tired to head back to his common room last night and had fallen asleep in the Undercroft after Elsie had left.

As if to confirm his misfortune, the nutcracker she had gifted him was gingerly tucked under the crook of his arm, still transfigured to look like the girl who currently stood in front of him eyeing him curiously.

He would have laughed at the idea that she referred to his wet dream as a goddamn nightmare had he not still been so fucking hard, left to wrestle with the infuriating ache of incompletion.

Sebastian cleared his throat and muttered a thank Merlin to his last night's self that he had thought to cover himself with a blanket, lest she be subjected to his current state when she had only been trying to check on him and make sure he was okay.

"Uh, yeah. A nightmare," he grumbled, lowering his gaze to hide the heat that was beginning to creep up his neck and along his cheeks. "That's all. M'fine now."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically, and he knew she had good reasons to wonder if he was telling the truth — especially considering he could barely look at her. Not without imagining all of the unholy acts that his dream self had been moments away from —

"I guess the nutcracker didn't help ward off the evil spirits after all," she teased.

The nutcracker. His face reddened further at the memory of Elsie's desperate cries that would forever be branded into his memory.

"Are you sure you're okay?" She reached out to brush her hand along his forehead. "You're looking a bit flushed –"

He smacked her hand away, one touch further from losing himself right in front of her. "I-I'm fine! Just...got a bit warm down here, is all."

It was a blatantly obvious lie, considering he had slept in the Undercroft, which was always perpetually cold. Thankfully, she didn't question him further.

"Well, if you're alright, then get up soon," Elsie said, interrupting his immensely impure thoughts as she turned on her heel to leave. "Ominis is meeting with us outside the Great Hall to exchange gifts." She wagged a finger at him in mock warning, the sly smile on her face reminding him all too much of his dream, and he suppressed another shudder. "And don't be late. A bad back from sleeping on the couch is not a good enough excuse to miss Christmas."

He only offered a curt nod in response.

When the sounds of her footsteps receded, Sebastian flopped back on the couch, once again left alone with his miserable frustrations. The 'Elsie' nutcracker still lay on the couch next to him as if to taunt him, reminding him of what he had been so close to enjoying and what he could never have. He angrily batted it to the floor before grabbing one of the cushions, bringing it to his face, and smothering a mortified, unending scream.

Happy fucking Christmas to me.

[khaire-traveler]

Hello there! I'm very new to hellenic polytheism and came across a question that I am not sure how to approach. I would be really grateful if you could let me know your thoughts on this (please don't feel obligated or anything, tho. I know I am just a random person asking a random question 🫣). So, for a while now, I've been getting more into greek mythology and from there into fandoms that depict the deities (e.g. Epic the musical which I love a lot). Would you say it is inappropriate to seek out fanfiction or fanart (especially those including ships) in those fandoms, or should I refrain from doing that as it would be disrespectful? Or are there limits I should be aware of? Thank you so much should you choose to answer this 💜 (I apologise for missing paragraphs. I am not sure how to do those on mobile.) (Also, is there a right way to end these kinds of letters/messages/questions? Like a way to express my gratefulness?) (Sorry if none of this makes sense. I always get anxious messaging strangers, but I couldn't find answers anywhere, so I thought I'd just ask🫣)

Khaire, Melie!

Ah, yes. The age-old question. How sinful is fanfiction, exactly? /joke (wanted to start this off light-hearted)

In all seriousness, I'll start with this: If you want to know how the gods feel about it, ask them. There is no better answer than the one that comes directly from the source. I understand the nerves around asking this question; some Hellenic Polytheists feel VERY strongly about it, and honestly, seeing their strong opinions has made me doubt my own interests in such media. Remember that some rando's opinion online, however, isn't the law, regardless of how strongly they feel about it or how desperately they want you to do exactly what they're doing. Opinions are opinions; facts are facts - they are separate things. Personally - and this is MY opinion -I think never engaging with modern media depicting the gods is a little too strict of an approach, and by following that, I feel that a lot of people are banning themselves from engaging with fictional media that they might enjoy. Each piece of modern media about the gods is a creative interpretation of Greek mythology, and people have been doing this kind of thing with other religions - that they don't believe in - for AGES. It's entirely normal, even if it is kind of annoying sometimes. Now, some retellings, games, shows, etc. genuinely take things too far, in my opinion, and warp the mythology so completely that it might as well be a different story entirely. I'm bordering on a tangent, so I'll move on.

Modern media about the gods isn't an inherently abhorrent, evil thing that should always be avoided, however, but personally, I do draw the line of engagement at shipping.

First and foremost, live your life the way you want to. Engage with your practice however you wish. I'm not the law-maker of this religion - no one is - and while I might disagree with someone's approach, I'm not going to shit all over them for doing things differently from myself. Now, into my opinion. I don't think shipping gods - be it from a modern form of media or not - that you worship is appropriate, personally. In my experience, it will blur your actual perception of those gods. I've seen it happen over and over again that people confuse the fictional representation of their God in media with the actual god, then feel the need to distance themselves from the media in order to regain something they feel that they lost. Like I said, you do whatever you wish, but I find it's just better to avoid the awkwardness of shipping entirely.

If you want to read fanfiction about the gods in fictional media, go for it, but I'm not personally a big fan of that. I don't know how the gods feel about it; I can't speak for them (no one can). For all I know, they could be reading the fanfiction themselves and laughing their asses off, who knows? But as a worshipper, I'm not personally comfortable with the idea of reading it. Again, do what you want with your life. If you want to read some spicy fanfic of one god with another, I'm literally not going to stop you, but make sure you're able to separate the fictional characters from the gods you actually worship before you do so - that's my advice. Too often, people end up conflating the two. When a fandom or fanfiction begins affecting your worship, practice, or even just the way you view the gods, that's when it's a problem.

I think the community has been torn on the topic of modern media for a while. Some people love it, while others utterly despise it, and you'll notice that answers will vary from person to person. In my opinion, these pieces of media become problematic when they swarm the fuck out of a small religious community that already struggles to be taken seriously. An example of this is what happened with Lore Olympus a while back. When the comic got popular, a ton of people would swarm and attack worshippers of Apollo online, calling them all sorts of extremely vile things, all because of a comic that literally wasn't even mythologically accurate. In my opinion, fandoms can get out of control sometimes, and when you're engaging with one based around the gods, I advise you to just be careful and aware. For some people, fanart and fanfiction of the gods are extremely uncomfortable, similarly to if someone were to ship Buddha with Jesus in the regard that it just...feels weird for people who actually worship those figures. Other people could care less, being able to fully separate the fictional characters from the gods they worship. Base it on your comfort, and the comfort of your gods.

I hope this helped to give you my perspective. I'm not going to tell you what is or isn't the right choice because honestly, different people will give you a different answer, and I'm anything but a religious authority. You're allowed to do as you wish, but I will always advise you to tread with caution and check in with yourself about how it feels for you personally. Reach out to your gods and directly ask them (such as through tarot, or another form of divination), "Hey, how do you feel about me engaging with this?" Asking directly is ALWAYS a good idea, in my experience. Take care, Melie. 🧡

[barblaz-arts]

Your drawing and creativity are growing every day. I really want to read or see more of your ideas. My first impression was of the Lapidot drawing you made. (I must say, because of you, I started shipping sapphic) //back in that time I don’t even know what AO3 is // I can’t see friendship between female characters and not shipping them! Also, your points of view and explanations are very interesting to read. I think it’s because you write with consideration and critical thinking, and you don’t jump to the steam of conclusions just because most people think that way. You listen to other people’s opinions, but you still stand your ground and explain your reasoning.(I really respect you in this)

Right…I suppose to ask you something.

Have you ever watched a short on YouTube about a bird name Prince aka pRiNcEtOpHeR from Tamia(@tamiaoveres) ?

I don’t know why but Prince reminds me of Vaggie some how (I’m certain because she is a bird too)

Hypothetically, if Lucifer showed pictures of a young Charlie to Vaggie and saw how happy it made her, he might realize it would be unfair to his daughter if only her girlfriend got to enjoy seeing younger versions of her. So, using magic, he could turn Vaggie into a child, allowing Charlie to be just as happy as Vaggie. However, he didn’t stop there—he had also transform Vaggie’s mind to match her younger self!

Vaggie is one of the more well-mannered adults in the show. While she has her issues, she’s still polite to those who earn her respect. I’m not sure how common it is, but many decent adults were once chaotic and main reason why their parents had grays hair when they were young , so I imagine Vaggie might fall into this category as well.(I want her to terrorize the hotel)

Oh whoa thank you! Such kind words 🥹🥹🥹🥹 Always amazed and grateful to know when someone's followed me since the literal beginning.

That hypothetical does sound interesting. I'd like to say it'd be cute if Vaggie agreed to it, but with how kookie Lucifer can get, i can see it happening kinda sorta on accident too. I could see Vaggie maybe being a pain in the ass because she's an angel surrounded by demons and forgets they're her friends. Like, her trying to kill them in this campy, loony toon way

[ordinaryschmuck]

Full Family AU Part 38

Manny awoke slowly and groggily, the lack of sleep already hitting him. But his body decided it was time to be awake, and he couldn't refuse no matter how much he wanted to. At the very least, he could reach over and hold his wonderful wife tightly so they can suffer through this together.

Sadly, for him, Camila was nowhere to be found on this bed, no matter where Manny reached or how far. He peeked his eye open to confirm said suspicions. With a groan, Manny slowly got out of bed and went to search for Camila, already having a suspicion of where to find her.

Groggily, he left their room to make his way to the computer room, where Camila was already sat at the desk, typing away search after search in a mad rush for answers.

"Please tell me you got some sleep," Manny begged.

"Of course I did," Camila said numbly. "I passed out in the woods, remember? You helped carry me in."

"I meant after." Manny made his way over and put his hands on Camila's shoulders.

"Don't think you can use your magic fingers on me right now," Camila told him, slapping his hands away. "I'm too focused on my work."

"And what's your work?"

"Figuring out there's a way we can fake Vee's birth records legally."

"...You're trying to figure out a way to legally break the law?"

"Yes."

"And how's that going?"

"TERRIBLY!" Camila yanked out the keyboard and chucked it at the wall. "I hate this!"

"Camila--"

"No! I hate it!" She got out of her chair and started stomping around the room. "I can't believe that I have to break the law for this to work! The most we had to worry about was whether or not you would survive treatment. At first, when you got better, I thought that was the last of our problems, but then the universe said, 'NOPE! Here's a little girl who needs a home and can't be legally adoopted into yours! HAVE FUN DEALING WITH THAT!'"

"Camila!" Manny grabbed Camila by the shoulders, this time making sure his grip is tight so she can't push him away this time. "Take. A. Breath."

"I can't!" Camila shrieked, which was quickly followed up with a sob. "I can't...It's all too much...Too much to do with no clear idea of how to do it right..."

"I know." Manny pulled her in for a hug, letting Camila cry into his shoulder. "I know..."

"Why...?" Camila sobbed. "Why does it feel like our family is cursed...?"

"It's not cursed."

"You got sick and almost died, we're unable to give a poor girl a home, and there's a witch sleeping on our couch! An actual witch! Seems pretty cursed to me!"

"That isn't a curse. It's...character," Manny tried to explain. "It's what makes us more of a unique family than we already are. And when it's all finally over, which it will be, we'll all look back at this and laugh."

"How can you be so sure?" Camila asked, pulling away just enough to look at his face.

"Because you're freaking out," Manny confessed. "And I'm just trying to help you feel better. Even if it means painting a pleasant picture to get your mind off the insanity. Just for a bit."

"...When you think we'll start laughing at it?"

"I'm guessing...at a barbecue."

"A barbecue?"

"Yeah, I'm teaching Vee how to work the grill, and she's being super grateful for this nice, bonding moment. I tell her, 'That's good. Your mother and I worked very hard to get you something like this.' She'll asked how bad was it, I'll tell her there was a freak out or two, and we'll all just chuckle over how we blew a small issue out of proportion."

"It's not really a small issue."

"Well, right now, it isn't. But in the future, when this is all solved, it'll definitely seem like it. As do most things that feel huge in the moment."

Camila hummed in thought. "By any chance, do you think that witch will be there?"

"Probably," Manny said with a shrug. "Most likely so she can steal a burger or two."

"Over my dead body."

Manny chuckled. "You see? We're laughing already?"

"I...guess we are." Camila breathed out a sigh. "Thank you..."

"Don't mention it. Now, how about you call in work for work today. Even if it means asking someone to cover for you. You clearly need more time to rest."

"Yeah...I do. I'm so tired, it's making me loopy to the point where I swear I'm smelling eggs for...whatever reason."

"Huh..." Manny sniffed the air. "That's weird. So do...I..."

Both his and Camila's eyes widen at a horrible thought. Someone's cooking in their home, and it's neither of them.

In a flash, they both rush out of the room to investigate.

[dr-cruces]

Some little white lies can be quite nice and make someone feel useful, like saying you can't quite get the clasp.

close-ups under cut

[zuzusexytiems]

sharing some jeanpiku doodles I received on my straw page 🥺

this isn't everything yet btw!! I'm going to compile it all soon but every submission has really made my week so far, tysm everyone 😭🙏🏼

PS if you have a straw page lmk too!! I'd love to send something over 🥹💜💜

[indiestsnake]

I love when people recognize me in comments and act like I’m a big deal. like “omg it’s Mr. Snake!! the artisaint guy!!!” and it’s just this

[callsign-relic]

It happened… idk how. But it happened.

900 people who like my posts enough to follow me and see more… I’m truly honored.

In this case, I’d specifically like to thank @velvetwyrme for mentioning me in their amazing art, as that was what gave my blog the boost to finally reach this milestone. In the grand scheme of the internet, 900 might not appear to be much, but that’s a full auditorium of people. And whether or not some of these account are even active, it’s still a very big amount. Even when I feel like I haven’t posted anything substantial enough in months to even really earn it :,) haha

So really. Thank you all so much. As someone who struggles with being herself and embracing my interests and who I am, seeing so many people who want to see and even share in what I talk about means so much to me.

I can’t thank everyone enough ❤️

[suusoh]

gonna b slightly honest here. but i've been losing my writing flow lately because of how terribly shy i've gotten..... which, is really ironic and no bueno for a blog that's built and thrived on being shameless at the start 💀

[ducktracy]

i've been in a very "nostalgic for SpongeBob" mood lately and that's warranted a lot of reflecting on Baby Me being a Sponge fanatic and thinking of what she'd think of now. and i have to say that one of my favorite parts of doing what i do--and also the most stupidly niche--is that one of my first online hyperfixations i recall having was SpongeBob production music. i remember animating magical girl transformations in Flipnote to SPONGEBOB MUSIC. i remember feeling so smart researching all the songs and getting to hear them without any dialogue on top. very gratifying to 11 year old me. i was and am still very fixated on production music, and so i always get very excited when seeing uploads of these songs and spotting a screenshot of a scene i worked on among them. one of my favorite aspects of watching episodes premiere is seeing what music they added on top of scenes i touched. it's just neat how many facets my thankfulness for Doing What I'm Doing gets to reach. i'm never not thinking of how grateful i am to be doing what i'm doing

[bonnibuckets]

i just reached 1k followers!! thank you sm!💗 so here’s a poll for 1k special (suggestions are welcomed!!) most likely will be about leon unless a lot of y’all want someone different!

also just so i can gush. tysm for all the support you’ve given. i started this tumblr about a year ago and i never thought i’d find such love from you guys. you are all very sweet and funny💗 i love all my followers and moots UGH I LOVE YALL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY CHICKEN SCRATCH

tags bc i love you (very sorry if i forgot to tag you!! even if yr not tagged i still love you muah) @i9fairy @valslullaby @abadtzmaru @xoxostarlet @leonfucker3000 @mooflwr @tipsyleaf @squazmine @lysa1201 @thevirgincherry @localkiss @argreion @mrswinters @mairablue @leonstoenailunderhisbed @rigorwhoring @leonw4nter @angelofwoe @redvleanli @leonkennedygvrl @porcelainseashore @mychoombatheroomba @iheartuwu @cherubify @admirxation

[delicatebeauties]

I feel sometimes like a dinosaur 🦕, bc i come from the time period where i was used to ship based on vibes and read queer coded in every blinks.

Very grateful we moved on to explicit ships and even pairs but i sometimes miss the levity to be able to multiship or crosship characters based on vibes and finding other fans for it.

Feel free to let me know for what shows you would have loved to do alternative pairings (any gender mixes). I loved only friends but wish there was even more mess and hungry for the fanfics that got generated.

Also would love to see more less predictable dynamics even for established pairs like earthmix, eg. would love to see mix as the top and more dominant one in the relationship, we got hints for his capacity for playing a manipulative seducer babe in only friends last episode and i was left hungry for it.

On another note, nothing makes me more sad when characters are nerfed down for the sake of amplifying a kink dynamic (eg weakening the "bottom" personality).

Hell mix x gun would be interesting 👀👀 and hopefully have a high budget wardrobe.

On a thai gl side, there is quite a bit of tomboy women in the culture and I would love to see it represented! Sad but amusing that china actually used to have more f butch rep in asia.

A "stud" x "stud" gl with a "femme" x "femme" bl when xD

[ohtobealady]

We did it, gang! We finished it! The last chapter is posted :)

Preview under the cut

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

He chuckled and it was a weak, dry bounce in his throat. “Not Mary.”

“Not Mary, indeed,” she smiled at him, and the image of Aunt Mary pushing Donk’s chair through the gravel came to her mind. “She really does have the family’s best interest at heart, doesn’t she?”

He chuckled, again, in a way. A dry choke of what should have been a laugh. “She’s the champion of us all.”  The air in his thin chest vibrated with his long exhale. “The heroine of the story.” 

“Yes.” Sybbie grinned; again she stroked his fingers. “The heroine of Downton.” 

But Donk shook his head against his pillows. “No, not that.”

“Oh yes,” Sybbie passed her thumb against his hand. “That was Granny.”

“I was wrong.” She watched him close his eyes and move his lips, quietly, before looking back at her again. His mouth sounded dry as he spoke, dry but very solemn. “The times I’ve thought Downton needed saving. My life’s work: saving Downton. Protecting Downton. Only now that I’m at the end of it all can I see what it’s really been.” 

She didn’t like this. But she’d listen. She swallowed down the feeling that had risen up high in her throat at Barrow’s cottage. She swallowed down the feeling that had lodged itself tightly at reading through Granny’s letters. She swallowed it all down, and she breathed around it. “And what’s that?”

“Downton saved me.” He nodded, slowly, and his lips trembled into a smile. “Only I was far too self-important to understand that. Hubris.” 

“But—” Sybbie adjusted herself in her chair. “You did save it, too. By marrying. And Uncle Matthew. And now with Georgie—

“—yes, the house.”

“What?”

“We worked to keep the house. The Abbey. Oh, but Cora always knew, I think. And… in her gentle way, she tried to tell me so many times.”

Sybbie blinked. “Knew what?”

Donk exhaled a long, but shallow breath. And then Sybbie watched him smile. “Downton is more than just this house.” He turned his hand beneath Sybbie’s, and his soft fingers squeezed her own. “It’s given me far more than I have ever done for it.”

[artilite]

TYSM FOR 500 FOLLOWERS

this is actually 2 weeks late HELP i'm not usually super vocal about milestones but 500 is a big number !! that's halfway to 1000!!! huge huge big loving thanks to everyone who's followed or even just interacted w/ my art, it means a lot to know people enjoy the stuff i put out there ♥

extra special loving thanks to those who regularly interact with my posts too 💕💕 i see you and point happily in recognition !!! i appreciate you so much !!!!

[just-another-star-47]

I'm not a big fan of celebrating milestones myself because I'm bad at voicing my gratitude and because I don't want to focus on the numbers in general and more on each and every interaction. 🥰

It's just that I'm currently very happy, because it's April - the best month in the entire year - and spring and I'm finally able to create again and do things in my personal life that I wasn't able to do for a long time.

So noticing that I reached now more than a hundred followers hit different. Maybe because I never thought it was possible? Or because I struggled (and still do) a lot with seeing the worth in my writing? I don't know. I'm just so grateful for each and every one of you. 💕

Every like, comment, kind message or reblog means the world to me, in a way I'm barely able to describe.

Yes, I'm creating mostly to get my own feelings out of my chest, heal in a way, or sometimes just because I'm curious and want to dive deeper into a topic - but connecting with all of you over this, feels even more special.

This is why I really want to celebrate this time, but I'm not sure how. 😅

I thought about creating some snippets with your MCs/OCs? Or maybe some drawings? Or I try to create a 90s Seb bot or a Lieutnant Sallow bot? Or a little challenge we could all do together?

I don't really know what you would love most, so please tell me, so we can celebrate together.😊