#adult and child counseling

[sylvancastor]

Aemond: I'm about to commit some crimes that are so one dimensional

[tacthescribbler]

I hate complaining in public (in this case, on my blog where strangers on the internet can see it), but I need someone (other than my close friends who hear me bitch about this all the time) to know how much I need my sibling to move out.

I am a solitary person. They were only supposed to live with me "for a few months," to quote their own plans.

They have been living with me for over 5 years.

There are a myriad other issues I have, but this is what I'm frustrated with at this moment.

It's dumb. Cost of living is high. Groceries cost too much. 5 years isn't even that long, in the grand scheme of things. I should be happy that my sibling isn't on the street with no roof over their head.

But in this moment, there is nothing I want more than:

To rearrange my apartment back to the way I had it before my sibling moved in.

To not have the presence of another human being pervading my space for all hours of the time that my sibling is not at work

To not be forced to leave my home to get any time/space to myself

To be able to do things without feeling like I'm always being heard/watched

To know that when I put my dishes away, they go where they belong and won't shift places every time they get washed

My sibling flew to visit our parents a few years ago. They were gone for a month. The moment they left the apartment, I felt so much freer and happier. My depressive symptoms practically evaporated.

I'm sorry I feel this way, but I'm also having strong feelings and I'm frustrated.

[annarborcounselingservices]

Counseling for Adults in Ann Abor, MI

Often the hardest thing one can do is designate time for self-care and improvement. We work with professionals and students who are coping with the unique challenges we face in today’s world, the loss of normality, connection, and security. If you have experienced first hand or secondary trauma, are coping with new life demands with your children or family, or are managing major shifts in your career or financial security we are here to provide support and the tools to help you through this.

Some reasons why adults have chosen counseling:

Feeling down, depressed or hopeless

Having anxiety that is getting in the way sleeping or letting go of intrusive thoughts

Difficulty managing substance use

Stressedrelationships

Coping with grief or loss

Managing the work and family balance

Coping with a personal trauma or pandemic trauma and the effects it has had on your life

Managing life after a divorce

Coping with the pressures of parenthood

Get the help your child needs. Schedule An Appointment

[violetsandshrikes]

I met a girl when I was fresh out of high school in undergrad who frankly, annoyed me quite a bit, but I also had an inkling to continue to be compassionate to her given a few things about her life/background/family

I ran into her two years ago. Last week, her daughter turned 1. This girl, let’s called her “P”, is a really good example of why I never feel comfortable mocking trad wives

Her perfect trad husband, who was a shining young figure in the local religious community, volunteered in all sorts of groups, well loved in his workplace and everything else, beat her up at 1 month post-partum. I reached out to her after seeing her desperately asking for a stroller on a page, confused and slightly concerned knowing both of them came from wealthy backgrounds.

The reality for lots of tradwives living “perfect lives” is this: P was immediately ostracised. All the wealth of her husband and her family meant absolutely nothing if she wasn’t in favour and doing what she was told. Her child and her well-being didn’t matter. P, at 25 years old, was basically deemed an oopsie, and left on her own to figure out how to pay for herself, a baby, find housing, and every other task you can think of.

Having known many of these women (and supported many of these women), another factor most people don’t consider is this: they are intentionally raised to be helpless. When I immediately offered my support to P, she really needed it. This young woman needed to be guided through how to apply for government assistance, how to weigh up rentals and apply for them, how to apply for jobs, how to sign up for childcare. How to sign up for your own power and internet, and how to connect them.

It wasn’t that she was “stupid”, or incapable, or spoiled. While it looks like they’re being sheltered, in reality, these women are practically being held hostage. Sure, they might be allowed to learn things that are expected of them (see: basic cooking, baking, cleaning, child rearing, women’s bible studies, hosting, and so forth) but they are heavily controlled from family life into marriage life, and they are never given the opportunity or the reality of what many of us would consider basic adult tasks.

She’s doing okay now. Her daughter turned 1, is happy and healthy. They live frugally, but they have a roof over their heads and the essentials. I often babysit for her so she can attend counselling, or go to a woman’s support group. She is painfully aware that she has so much to learn about how to live as an adult.

I don’t envy tradwives, but I don’t find any joy in mocking them either. Even when they live the most picturesque lives, they’re also practically living a real life Jenga game. If (and often, when) it comes tumbling down, they’re screwed too, and they often have 0 skills to help themselves or find community (that again, isn’t carefully curated).

[maargamindcare1]

Pediatric mental health specialists | Pediatric psychiatry

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[yasipen]

[iphigeniacomplex]

stephen king was right when he wrote about mr keene at the derry pharmacy selling sonia kaspbrak tap water aspirators because he knew she was overmedicating her son but did not want to "make himself a party to the woman's foolishness" and he was right when he wrote about mrs dumont, the former teacher of a boy believed to have been murdered by his abusive stepfather, being told by the entire school system not to report the child's injuries, because "suspected child abuse [...] always comes back to haunt the school department at tax appropriation time" and he was right when he wrote about mike hanlon researching the history of his town and finding a culture of silence surrounding each discovered terror ("...and yet that—what shall i call it?—that quiet fits the pattern, too.") and he was right when he wrote about the creator of the universe providing counsel but no real help in the face of it all. and he was right because there will always be another adult in the room, but this is no guarantee that the child will be saved.

[bestspeechtherapistinludhiana]

Inattention In Children With ADHD

Inattention can be simply defined as a lack of attention. Now what is attention? Attention is defined as the concentration of mental powers upon any activity or a task which is being done. Everyone becomes inattentive in some situations or the other but for some inattention becomes a serious condition that leads to significant problems in school or other work.

Inattention is basically a feature of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) but is also present within Autistic children. Children with inattention finds it difficult to concentrate and focus on a task. They don’t even listen well to directions and due to this they miss some important details and are not able to finish the task which they had started.

Some signs and symptoms through which we can know that the child is inattentive are as follows-

Attention span of the child is very less.

The child gets easily distracted.

Seems not to listen when spoken directly to the child.

The child makes careless mistakes. e.g.- while doing any kind of work related to school.

Doesn’t follow the instructions which are given.

The child is not able to remember much and forgets things easily.

Is not able to stick tasks that requires mental efforts.

The child finds it difficult to organise the tasks.

Due to poor concentration, the child quickly shifts from one activity to another.

Some examples of children with inattention are-

Avoids school work (both classwork and homework)

Difficulties in completing household chores.

Trouble maintaining focused during games.

There are many possible causes of inattention-

Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD)

Learning Disabilities

Autism

Oppositional defiant disorder (ODD) which often co-exists with ADHD

There are some common causes of inattention, which can be due to-

Sleep derivation

Being tired

Hungry

Some causes of inattention can be cured but most of the causes of inattention (i.e., ADHD) do not have an easy cure. So, to overcome with inattention or to decrease inattention at some extent, it is important to involve the parents and family of the child along with the teachers. Therapies and trainings to be included are -

Behaviour Therapy

Parent skills Training

Family Therapy

Anger Management Training

Read more: ADHD therapy for child

[impish-baby]

HEAR ME OUT!!

Demon king caretaker! You are a sacrifice from the people of your village to have another decade or peace and prosperity,but instead of sending the normal sacrifice how is a adult woman/man to became one or his "partners" they send a child!

The rest is with you;)

-💫

So rot, ferment, and decompose so all the things can grow - platonic! Yandere demon x child reader

Your head hurts and your knees are scraped and there's rope burns on your wrists-

You feel pitiful whining and sniffling, but it hurts! It hurts and you're upset, you're allowed to cry! Doesn't seem that way though when a woman from the village snarls at you to be quiet. They're just idiots, the whole lot of them..

They can't whisper to save their lives either, although they're obviously trying to. Hushed utterings echo around you as the council drags your already battered body through the forest, "the changeling child, we'll be rid off it and ensure our good tidings." with a stupid smug grin on their faces!

You're a plain old human like them! Just.. just because father said you weren't doesn't make it true. You wish the demon would just wipe out the entire village for a moment before quickly dismissing the thought. There's the farm... what would happen to the animals if the village was gone? There'd be no one to take care of them! You... you aren't going to see them again...are you? Nor pet a dog or or share a loaf of bread with the birds..

Before you know it, big fat tears are rolling down your face. What were once sniffles turning into broken sobs. The woman from before is about to snap at you again, but the village cheif shakes his head. It does not matter if you cry. No one is going to save you.

The alter used to be pretty, now it only feels like it's taunting you as you're made to kneel on its steps.

"Aeron," the chief's voice booms in the night, even the crickets silencing in the wake of it. "O Mighty Lord, we have once again come to offer a gift in exchange for your blessings. Please, heed us.." There's nothing. Not a sound, not a sign, nothing.

The chief clears his throat, about to speak again before suddenly choking and dropping to his knees clutching at his neck. Whoever was holding the rope tied around your wrists drops it as the rest of the counsel rushes to his side. You.. you think there's blood, but your attention is quickly drawn away when a hand cups your face.

"Oh, poor dear.." the man looks like an angel, despite the mangled wings. "How foolish of them, giving away something so precious.."

He hums, and before you know, you're lifted into his arms. You.. weren't so tired before, you're sure. All you can do now is lie weakly in his embrace, eyes drooping even as there's screams in the distance. An adoring smile graces his face as he gently pushes your head against his shoulder, hiding anything from view. "Sleep.. you'll be safe when you awaken, little one.."

[osmanthusoolong]

“A Canada Post worker says she was suspended after refusing to deliver flyers that compare gender-affirming medical care to child mutilation.

The flyer from Campaign Life Coalition, an anti-abortion group based in Hamilton, Ont., calls for a ban on "child sex-change."

Shannon Aitchison said she is the mother of a transgender adult and given that gender-affirming surgery is only available to people aged 18 and above, believes the wording of the flyers is harmful and discriminatory against transgender people.

"It's misinformation. It is lies and misinformation being presented as truth," she said.

This is the third flyer sent by the group since August. The first two were in support of the Blaine Higgs government's changes to Policy 713, requiring parental consent before school staff can use a child under the age of 16's chosen name and pronouns.

Higgs's campaign manager, Steve Outhouse, has previously said the Progressive Conservatives have "no involvement with this flyer or the actions" of the group.

The most recent flyer calls for banning gender-affirming health care for youth.”

“The Medical Consent of Minors Act in New Brunswick gives anyone 16 years or older the right to consent to medical treatment, including taking medications, such as hormones, or going to counselling. Medical professionals may grant parental-consent exceptions for younger teens who are deemed mature enough to make decisions.

Gender-affirming surgeries are available for those over 18 years of age in New Brunswick.”

…

“Aitchison said she's delivered mail in the past that she personally didn't agree with, but the flyer goes a step further.

"This is the first time I have ever drawn a line in the sand and said … I will not be party to delivering propaganda," she said.”

…

“When the first of these flyers showed up in New Brunswick mailboxes last month, the Canadian Union of Postal Workers said its workers "have been given the option of not delivering the offensive material if it would cause them mental anguish or if they fear for their health and safety."”

…

“It's not clear whether the option was given by the union or Canada Post, and why Aitchison was suspended despite what the union said. The union has not yet responded to CBC questions on the issue.

After three days of suspension, Aitchison said she had a disciplinary meeting and is still awaiting a decision. She said the union has filed a grievance on her behalf.”

I really hope she wins, this is horrendous.

@allthecanadianpolitics

[annarborcounselingservices]

Trauma Counseling in Ann Arbor, MI

There are many statistics that show a significant number of first responders, essential workers, those diagnosed with a pandemic virus, as well as children and adults who have experienced quarantine or a shut down due to a pandemic, experience symptoms of PTSD. You may have experienced fear regarding your health or the health of your loved ones, loss of your job, loneliness due to the separation from family and friends, anger over lack of support or resources, and difficulty coping with rapid and uncontrollable life changes. Post traumatic stress disorder and vicarious trauma can be expected during these times and are symptoms of the extraordinarily stressful circumstances. You are not alone in this. We are trained and experienced mental health counselors who can help you or your child cope with these traumatic events and move through it to get to the other side. Whether you are a first responder, essential worker, parent, high risk, child or teen, we can help you cope, teach you skills to manage your moods and thoughts, and build resilience.

These events could include a wide array of situations like experiencing or witnessing abuse or neglect, being bullied, experiencing gender discrimination or racism. Other times it might involve a main caregiver who was battling addiction or mental illness, or a going through a divorce or separation.

Such events can leave lasting effects and cause us to form beliefs about ourselves, others, or the world around us. Our Certified Trauma Specialists guide and support you towards resolution so you can feel empowered to move forward.

Body

Aches and Pains

Ticks

Clenching Jaw

Guarded or without any guard

Headaches, Migraines

Tightness in Chest

Stomach Aches

Back Pain

Thoughts/Emotions

Emotionally numb or intense emotions

Anxiety

Depression

Feeling Hopeless

Feeling Violated

Feeling Unsafe

Feeling Out of Control

Difficulty trusting others

Thoughts of being defective or unworthy

Behavioral Symptoms

Agitation

Distancing in relationships

Reactive

Coping with food

Risky behaviors

Phobias

Exaggerated reactions to certain sounds, smells, events, or people

Learn to move past traumatic life events and seek help today. Schedule An Appointment

[trans-axolotl]

ID: Intersex activist Max Beck standing in front of the American Academy of Pediatrics with a sign that says Silence=Death.

On October 26th, 1996, the first ever protest for intersex liberation in America took place when activists from Hermaphrodites With Attitude took to the streets to protest the American Academy of Pediatrics. Later memorialized as intersex awareness day, this important action was a milestone for the American intersex movement. Max Beck, one of the intersex activists from HWA, documented the entire protest and later published their recollection in the Intersex Awakening Issue of the Chrysalis Journal. The full piece is pasted under the cut.  

"But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. 

I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America. One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. 

We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!" 

Hermaphrodites With Attitude Take to the Streets: By Max Beck, 1997

In late October of 1996, Hermaphrodites with Attitude took to the streets, in the first public demonstration by intersexuals in modern history. On a glorious fall day, the like of which you can only find in New England, under a crackling, cloudless sky, twenty-odd protesters joined forces to picket the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians in Boston. Deeply aware of the historical and personal significance of the action, and — correctly — surmising that a notebook diary would not be practical on such a whirlwind, windy week-end, I took a small hand-held tape recorder with me. What follows are excerpts from the resulting transcript.

October 24, 1996 2:45 PM, Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport

The trip has only just begun and I am already exhausted. Hot. Starving. Fifteen minutes until take-off. Every businessman boarding the plane looks like a pediatric endocrinologist, Boston-bound. Silly thought, testimony to what? My anxiety? My fear? My giddy anticipation? If these bespectacled, suit-and-tie sporting men were pediatricians, would they be flying coach on Continental, with a layover in Newark? I’m headed for Boston, for the Annual Meeting of the American Academy of Pediatricians (AAP). Tens of thousands of pediatricians. I’m not a pediatrician, though, nor am I a nurse; in fact, I barely managed to complete my B.A. I’m a manager of a technical laboratory. We don’t work with children, and the AAP certainly didn't invite me, so why am I going?

With the plane taxiing toward take-off, this is a lousy time to reassess. I’m going. I’m going because I am intersexed. I’m going because the doctors and nurses who treated me as an infant and a child and an adolescent, and those who continue to treat intersexed infants and children today, consider me “lost to follow-up.” I was lost— that’s part of the problem. Now, I’m back.

9:02 PM: Boston’s North End

I’m comfortably ensconced in Alice’s warehouse condo in Boston’s North End, a renovated warehouse with a view of the city skyline, ceilings easily twenty feet high, exposed beams and brick, gorgeous tile floor. As I speak, my hostess is preparing an absolutely phenomenal meal. The aroma of roasted peppers permeates the entire space. Tomorrow, the work begins; my project this evening is to unwind and enjoy this wonderful meal. Easier said than done. I’m feeling excited, enervated, I feel very alive, something I don’t feel very often, I feel very present and aware. It could be my exhaustion, it could be the Chardonnay. But I think, rather, that the excitement is anticipation about what we are about to do. Being here, finally being prepared to raise a voice, to be heard, to be seen, a vocal, out, proud hermaphrodite who is standing up to say, “Let’s rethink this, this isn’t working, we’ve been hurt, stop what you’re doing, listen to us!” I’m really looking forward to meeting Morgan at the airport in the morning; it’s always amazing to make eye contact with someone else who has been there.

October 25, 7:38 AM Boston Commons

En route to my encounter with the AAP, walking the approximately two miles from my hostess’ domicile to the Marriott Hotel at Copley Square, I pause in the Boston Commons to enjoy a park bench, to sip my Starbuck’s decaf, and to watch a group of senior citizens performing Japanese swordsmanship on top of the hill beneath a monument to some forgotten general. The city is cool this morning, but clear, and it promises to be a beautiful weekend. That’s good: we won’t be rained out. I’ve got a stack of about ninety ISNA brochures in the bag at my side, crammed in the inside pocket of my leather jacket. If I want these pamphlets to get inside, I’ve got to get to the site of the Nurses’ Panel at the Marriott before they close the doors. Then it’s back out to the airport, to pick up Morgan. My feet are already killing me.

October 26, 9:15 AM: North End

Morgan and I are sitting at our hostess’ breakfast table, pulling our thoughts together. In a few minutes, we’ll have to leave to pick up Riki at the airport. The logistics of pulling together an action are mind-boggling. There’s no describing the thrill, though, of all that work, all those phone calls, all those miles. Riding a clattering subway on a Saturday morning, seated beside another living, breathing, laughing, swearing intersexual, hugging near-strangers at unfamiliar airports, then riding back, together, defiant, determined, organized, to the heart of so much of our pain, so much of our anger, so much of our need. We gathered in front of the huge Hynes Auditorium, pamphlets and leaflets in hand, and met the AAP attendees as they left the convention center for lunch. The next hour-and-a-half was a blur, as we positioned ourselves in strategic locations before the Hynes, held signs and “Hermaphrodites with Attitude” banner aloft, distributed our literature, engaged AAP members and passers-by in conversation and debate, spoke to microphones, to cameras. In all that time, I recorded only one fragment of a breathless sentence. 

Saturday, 12:20 PM Outside the Hynes

We’ve got all the exits covered, and it’s an incredible, incredibly empowering experience. I remember the words I spoke to the TV camera, if only because I had scribbled a rough outline on the airplane, pirating mightily from Cheryl’s press release. And because the moment was so salient, so real. Me, Max, bespectacled, with blisters on my feet and chapped lips, speaking out to untold numbers of invisible viewers (and a few bewildered pediatricians behind me.)

"When an intersex child is born, parents and caregivers are faced with what seems to be a terrible dilemma: here is an infant who does not fit what our society deems normal. Immediate medical intervention seems indicated, in order to spare the parents and the child the inevitable stigmatization associated with being different. Yet the infant is not facing a medical emergency; intersexuality is rarely if ever life-threatening. Rather, the psychosocial crisis of the parents and caregivers is medicalized. 

Intersexuality is assumed to be a birth defect which can be corrected, outgrown and forgotten. The experiences of members of the intersex support groups indicate that intersexuality cannot be fixed; an intersex infant grows up to be an intersex adult. This hasn’t been explored, because intersex patients are almost invariably “lost to follow-up.” The abstract of a talk that will be given at this very conference by a doctor who treats intersex infants concedes that “the psychological issues surrounding genital reconstruction are inadequately understood.”

Part of the problem is that we were lost to follow-up, and there were reasons for that. But we’re here today to say we’re back, we’re no longer lost, and we’d like to offer some feedback. We’re here to say that the treatment paradigm for “managing” intersexuals is in desperate, urgent need of re-examination. We’re back to say that early surgical intervention leads to more than “just” physical scars and sexual dysfunction. We’re back to say that the lack of education and counseling for intersexuals, our families and the community at large does not lead to a blissful, healthy, well-adjusted ignorance. Rather, it too often leads to a life-threatening shroud of silence, secrecy, and self-hatred. I’m here representing over one hundred fifty intersexals throughout North America.

One hundred fifty intersexuals are saying: Please! Listen! You doctors, you pediatric endocrinologists and urologists treating intersexuals, you nurses interacting with intersexuals and their families, listen to us! We understand intersexuality, not because we have studied the medical literature — although many of us have — not because we have performed surgeries, but because we have been grappling with intersexuality every day of our lives. We’re here to say that those who would have us believe that intersexuality is rare, cloud the issue by breaking us and separating us into narrow etiological categories which have little meaning in terms of our actual, lived experience. We’re here so that other intersexuals can find us — for many of us, finding others like ourselves has been a lifealtering, even life-saving, experience. We’re here to reach parents before their intersex child is born. We’re here to elicit the help of other sympathetic professionals. We can take a stand as openly intersex adults without being crushed by shame! And we did!

7:20 PM: Boston’s North End

Goddess, this is so sweet, so liberating! I was so reluctant a week ago, having my Jesus-in-Gethsemane experience, reluctant to accept — not an onus or responsibility but — to accept who I am. And here’s where the hard work really begins. I’m exhausted when I think of the road before us. But then, it’s nothing like the road behind us. 

Max Beck, 1997.

[codenamesazanka]

Cynical and bitter but I've been wondering if the League getting such a downer ending was indeed the plan all along.

Originally, Horikoshi never wanted to do Villain profiles. He wanted the Villains to be scary. Maybe he always intended death to be the answer to them, even as he expanded on their backstories.

In an old interview from 2018, when asked if Shigaraki is a villain who should be saved, Horikoshi does answer 'yes', but then follow it up with: "I think that we have gotten to the point where Shigaraki can no longer turn back though."

Movie 2 ending - which Horikoshi said was the ending he originally planned - has Deku and Bakugou punching Nine (pseudo-Shigaraki) to death-as-they-know-it.

Once again, technically, Shigaraki's heart was saved. Deku smashed his hatred. Deku took Tenko's hands. Unfortunately Shigaraki didn't immediately convert to Heroism and still wanted to fight for the League - point where he didn't turn back - so Deku gave up trying to save him physically.

A few weeks before, I thought that Horikoshi just got tied and wrapped things up in the quickest and sadly weirdest way possible. I still am willing to allow that, but ever since Horikoshi started Act 3 three years ago, he never actually wrote Heroes giving the Villains' grievances any serious consideration until it comes out during the confrontation and the Heroes giving a few words towards it at best, and at worse, not even knowing the problem (quirk counseling, Tenko's Walk). He let Uraraka and Deku still adhere to insisting on practically dehumanizing their opponents/Villains the day before the final battle (probably so that when Uraraka and Deku realize they still can't ignore the pain they see in their Villains and finally reach out a bit, that's the height of compassion and heroism.)

But really, sorry not sorry to sound like a broken record, Act 3 had Deku acting like a dipshit the entire time. He says he wants to save The Crying Child he saw inside Shigaraki's heart, and not necessarily Shigaraki the person, and never actually takes killing off the table. He only vaguely keeps up this idea. He never reveals this desire to anyone, never involves his friends or adults in this plan. He doesn't even have a concrete plan, and all he never did was just to keep punching Shigaraki to kingdom come. He never actually protested when Gran Torino told him he should kill Shigaraki, he never opposes the creation of a battlefield called "Sky Coffin", he does not speak up when the Heroes says they prefer the AFO persona to be in possession of Shigaraki. During their whole fight, Deku barely talks to the guy.

The best Deku ever does is to hold back on giving Shigaraki an annihilation blow until he could find out why The Crying Child was crying, which he does by literally smashing into Shigaraki's core to pry his trauma open. And even then, when Tenko is spilling out his guilt and grief that he killed his family, as well as his fears that his existence is cursed, all Deku has to say is "Well, holding hands feels nice, so I'm here." I get that's supposed to be like, Deku accepting Tenko despite Tenko having a deadly quirk and blood on his hands, but come on. As an act of Greatest Heroism that it's supposed to be, that's so... low bar, to put it mildly.

(Then when Shigaraki gets repossessed, Deku gives up any thinking on saving Shigaraki, and then readies up the annihilation punch. Volume release even expands on just how much power and preparation Deku is using to smash Shigaraki's body to pieces. There's no intent to figure out if Shigaraki is still there to bring back or minimize harm to Shigaraki's body so there's something left after AFO is gone. It's not an accident. Deku fully goes in for the kill.)

It all feels like truly saving Shigaraki - from possession, from AFO, from his distorted worldview, from a Hero System that hurt his friends, from his belief that the world isn't worth preserving - just wasn't a real goal for Deku. Never was, in Act 3. He wanted to understand The Crying Child and give some relief there, but that's it. Like exorcising an evil spirit and then forcing them to move on, never actually wanting the spirit to remain and continue existing - because there's no place for them in this world. (Which is why Deku also never has a vision for what comes after, for Shigaraki. Shouto wanted a meal with Dabi, Uraraka promised her blood to Toga, but Deku? Nothing.)

Overall, the ending actually does fit Deku's writing in the last act. He wants to save the ghost of The Crying Child but nothing else. He expands minimal effort in actually connecting with Shigaraki the adult man. He has no interest in addressing Shigaraki's grievances (nor in also saving the rest of League that Shigaraki is doing all this for) (and also it turns out Shigaraki's grievances aren't real because AFO made most of them up). His strategy is just to beat up Shigaraki until Shigaraki throws up his trauma.

Adding to that, Deku's last words to a dying Shigaraki is that he can't forgive him, so basically he's considering Shigaraki as having past the point of return - exactly as Horikoshi stated in his interview. There might be something to Deku regretfully telling All Might that he couldn't save Tenko's life, but when he follows it up with "Even after I smashed his hatred, he still wanted to stay the League's leader," that really can't be anything but Deku basically putting some of the blame on Shigaraki, for not ditching his friends (who, to Deku, apparently don't deserve to be saved alongside Shigaraki). Sticking with the League is being past the point of turning back... which is the same conclusion Hawks comes to with Twice, in Act 2 (...so it seems that's been there all along.)

The ending fits Deku's writing - and overall - in the last act (and even before that.) Deku's utter non-progress fits Shigaraki's conclusion. His half-hearted actions made sense and so of course led to his final battle of just giving Shigaraki a giant Smash (but with pity and some sympathy, because he's not an cold killer but a Hero who can even spare emotions towards a monster).

I really had toyed with the idea that maybe Horikoshi got tired and just ended it this sad way. Now I'm no longer so generous.

[chuubian]

solace and secrecy

Tags Fyodor x fem reader, angst, religious imagery, religious guilt, alcohol consumption, abuse, blasphemy?? kinda?

Summary Fyodor is determined to live as a righteous, holy man. Dedication to his god is all he has ever known and he would never stray away from it, but he starts to view his faith differently when he met you.

Intricate architecture and stained glass windows were familiar views to Fyodor. Spending all his free time as a child in the church, working on his faith. Terrified of what could happen if he were to ever give up his religion. His dedication bordered on obsession. When the time came to make his career choice, he chose something that would be worthy of going to heaven.

Becoming a priest involved things like teaching the congregation, performing sacraments, and counseling. Fyodor did all this with love and passion in his heart. It was familiar. There was no place he would rather be.

Fyodor is sitting in his office, offering counseling to his brothers and sisters is a welcome break from standing and preaching for hours at a time. Most problems people come to him with are not too serious. Family disputes and disobedient children, occasionally infidelity and thievery. Though… those are few and far in between.

Fyodor is cleaning up his desk while waiting for his next meeting. Stacking his books and arranging his vase of flowers to be just right. He opens his door and invites in the next person he’s supposed to meet with. Gesturing for you to sit down.

“Please, have a seat”

He takes a seat across from you, the golden light from the sun casting a heavenly glow. Fyodor looks angelic. It's hard to not immediately start begging for mercy. Suddenly feeling like you are unworthy of being in the presence of his divinity. Fyodor starts off.

“What can I help you with?”

You hesitate to speak, unsure if this is even something you could ever admit or speak out loud.

“Father… I’ve been having some strange thoughts and feelings.”

Fyodor hums softly, thinking. His voice is soft and reassuring, representative of his care for your wellbeing.

“Strange in what way?”

You hesitate. Can you really say this? Would he report you? While you’re taking your time considering what to say, Fyodor interrupts.

“I notice you are being awfully quiet. This is a confidential conversation, nothing you could say would make me think of you as unworthy or strange. I am a servant of God, sworn to secrecy. Everything said in this room is between you, myself, and our lord and savior.”

With that reassurance, you take a deep breath. Fyodor is looking at you with such kind eyes. It’s hard to not to get distracted. How do you even word this? What can you really say?

“Father… I’ve been having thoughts about murdering my mother.”

Fyodor's face remains unchanged. He almost doesn’t look shocked. He sits up straight and speaks in the same soft reassuring tone. It’s eerie.

“I see… Why is that?”

Old painful memories flood your mind. Your mother choosing her new repulsive boyfriend over you. Your mother isolating you from friends and family. Making you kneel on rice for hours at a time. Inventing new barbaric punishments just for you. She had never put as much love and care into anything, as she did torturing you. Being an adult now, you wrongfully believed that she would let you live your life. But that is not the kind of person she is.

"She's cruel and vindictive, I hate her. She's never cared for me in my entire life and I can't leave. She takes my money, traps me, beats me when she’s angry and drunk. I have nowhere to go. I've given up on my life, but if I can make her suffer one last time I think I could die happily."

Fyodor remains abnormally calm. It feels like the calm before the storm. You should've kept your mouth shut. What the fuck were you even thinking? Obviously that's not okay to say, why are you even here? For him to talk you down? Your legs are shaking. Although Fyodor is gazing at you tenderly, it's like he's looking right through you. Like he can read you.

"And you believe that this is the solution?"

You feel trapped. Breath hitching, your eyes start watering. You try to speak up but your voice is shakier than you expected. Why is it so shaky?

"I don't know what to do, Father."

He slowly stands up, making his way around the desk. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for what he might do. Maybe he'll restrain you and report you. But before you can let your thoughts go wild, he reaches out for your hand. His skin is cold, but it curiously makes you feel warm. It's like a shock to your system.

"I'm sorry that happened to you"

At those six simple words, you break down. No one in your entire disgraceful, miserable life had ever given you an ounce of genuine kindness. He gently wiped the tears from your eyes. You didn't even realize you had started crying, your throat and eyes were burning. There was a big lump in your throat.

"Do you not think that instead of doing something so horrible, so sinful, maybe you should turn to god?"

You pause at those words. Is that even a real choice at this point? This is a cry for help, you aren't looking for a god to follow. What use is he to you? God is the reason that you've had such a dreadful life.

"I have never seen you come to mass before, so why are you here? Is it because deep down you are hoping for god to save you?"

Taking a deep breath you try to calm down.

"I'm not a follower, I would never do that. God is the reason my life is so awful."

His eyes narrow. Fyodor's gaze is piercing and chilling. He takes offense to you talking about his deity in such a blasphemous way.

"I know you may feel that this is our lord and savior's fault, but that could not be further from the truth. This is the work of the devil, and the devil alone."

Shaking your head, you refuse to accept it. Is God not supposed to fix this? Is he not supposed to be all knowing? How could he allow this to happen in the first place? What did you even do to deserve this? Fyodor notices that you're deep in thought.

"I am sorry to be the first to tell you this, but you are not as innocent as you think you are."

His voice is much colder than it was before. It makes you shiver and tense up.

"All human beings are sinful. Do you not think it is better to acknowledge that and ask for forgiveness from our Father? What happened to you was unacceptable, but is the solution really to victimize yourself and act so foolishly?"

You were stunned. Looking up at Fyodor, who towers over you. He's so tall and imposing, it makes you feel small. He's so cruel. You had done nothing and now he was trying to make you feel guilty? Who does he think he is? You stand up angrily, deciding you don't have to take this.

"I'm leaving."

Fyodor raises an eyebrow.

"Please, sit back down. I understand that this seems harsh but violence is not the answer. Why are you even here?"

"I'm not sure."

Fyodor hums softly. Sitting back down he reaches over to his vase, taking a hold of a white rose, looking deep in thought. He gently runs his slender fingers over the petals and then holds the rose out for you.

"This is my offering to you."

You furrow your eyebrows, confused.

"What? A rose?"

Fyodor chuckles softly.

"Yes, a rose. But I am not only offering this rose, I am also offering you a chance to start over. So that you do not have to go back and see your mother."

You stay silent, completely bewildered.

"Why?"

He tilts his head, he looks almost baffled that you would question him.

"I am a servant of God. It is my job to help those in need, but in exchange I would like for you to start coming to church. I would like for you to at least try and follow the word of God."

You sit back down, considering the offer. Could he be telling the truth? This seems too good to be true. Fyodor notices your hesitance to take him up on this.

"I will provide you with a place to sleep and help you find employment. I am a well known priest around here, I promise this is a genuine offer."

He holds out the rose for you again. You finally accept it, nodding.

"All right then. I’ll take you up on it."

He smiles at you softly. As your fingers gently close over the stem of the rose, one of the thorns pricks you, drawing blood. You gasp softly, letting go of the rose as it falls to the ground.

"Are you okay?"

Fyodor looks concerned, taking your hand in his gently and inspecting the punctured finger.

"It is only a small cut, I could fix you up easily."

You look up at his face, noticing the kind look in his eyes. He's so ethereal. Delicately, he pulls your hand closer, cleaning the blood up and bandaging your finger.

After this, Fyodor shows you around your new living quarters and helps you get a job. He requires you to come to mass at least three times a week and have talks about how things are going afterwards.

Getting away from your mother wasn't easy. She was always watching you, looking for mistakes or something that may be off about you. Eventually, you finally saw a chance when you could leave without her noticing.

Since that fateful day, your days have been spent surrounded by ornate golden walls. The high cieling of the church make you feel like a small bug, crushed under the weight of God's will.

Fyodor has helped you see the mistakes in your thinking patiently. At first, you didn't even want to admit it but it was true that you're a sinner. However, God could cure you. He could forgive.

At this point you hardly ever spent any time outside of the church. Right after work you went inside that large, lavish building, repenting for your sins and working on your relationship with your lord and savior. Fyodor had even started planning for your baptism soon after you made the deal with him.

Spending so much time around that mysterious man, made you feel even more captivated with him. What is his story? Was he always like this? His eyes are so kind but so empty, there's something so off about him. Despite the bad feeling in your gut, you couldn't help but like him more. Whenever you would walk into his office, it was always beautifully decorated with white roses, fresh, blooming and shining in the sunlight. The bookshelves along the walls are always full of vintage books, smelling like parchment and wine. His demeanor is always serene. He would just sit there and listen to you, never once trying to interrupt you.

You came to appreciate his advice, he seemed to be on a higher plane of existence than you. In a way, he was your savior. Whenever he looked at you now, you could feel your cheeks warm and your hands get clammy. Disappointing him would be devastating.

It's night time now, about six months after you first met Fyodor. The church was completely empty at this time. Soft glowing moonlight is sparkling and radiating off the gold and stained glass decorations inside. Fyodor decided to sit on one of the pews at the front, admiring the large crucifix behind the altar. It fills him with a sense of pride. Pride to be one of the Lord's soldiers.

As you walk in, you feel uneasy. This is a building you love, with a man you care about inside, but it feels so cold… so isolated. No one else is here. It's just a big empty building. You can't help but notice how exquisitely it's decorated, compared to your cheap clothing. It doesn’t look like you should ever even step foot in here.

Sitting down next to Fyodor, he smiles at you softly.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Fedya."

"It has only been a few days."

Shrugging, you take in his appearance. He's still wearing his white baptismal robe, contrasting with his dark shiny hair. He looks so pure, so divine, it's hard not to be completely enchanted.

"A few days is too long. You're my only friend, you know?"

He hums softly.

“Do you need anyone else anyways?”

You go quiet for a few seconds, thinking.

“I guess not, I like spending my time at the church with you anyways.”

He slowly stands, walking up the stairs to the altar. You stay sitting.

“What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, standing in front of the crucifix, facing you. He pulls a chalice out of the communion table, filled with red wine.

“Come here, we may as well enjoy ourselves while you are here right?”

Your eyebrows furrow, letting out a little chuckle.

“Are we even allowed to drink from it under these circumstances?”

Fyodor tilts his head, almost offended that you would question him.

“Does it matter? Do not tell me youre scared.”

He pauses, sighing softly, noticing your hesitance.

“It is fine, you will not get in trouble for it.”

With that reassurance, you walk up the steps of the altar and stand next to him. He holds the chalice up to your face, intending to feed you the wine himself. Your cheeks flush, feeling babied and embarrassed.

“Can’t I drink it myself?”

He shrugs.

“Just drink, it is not a big deal.”

You nod, leaning closer and taking a sip. The metal of the chalice feels cold on your lips, while the wine makes your throat and stomach feel warm. Fyodor tilts the container up to help you drink more. Once you drink about half of the wine, you lean back, cringing at the disgusting taste of alcohol.

“Wine is always so bitter.”

He chuckles at your reaction.

“You are such a baby, it is not that bad.”

Without hesitation, he gulps down all the wine that was left over. His pale cheeks grow pink from the alcohol, and of course, you can’t help but point it out.

“You’re blushing, you know that?”

“So what? At least I can handle my alcohol.”

Suddenly, it’s not so funny anymore.

“Hey, I can handle it just fine!”

He chuckles quietly, gazing into your eyes. His stare is so intense that you grow silent and still. The effects of the wine are now messing with your head. Your eyesight grows fuzzy and your muscles feel heavier.

You can’t help but stare at him, he’s so handsome it’s unreal. The tension in the room thickens. Fyodor reaches up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. You gasp. His touch is electrifying. It feels like your skin is on fire where his fingers brushed against the shell of your ear.

“Is something wrong, dear?”

Your eyes widen at the pet name. Were you really close enough to be this affectionate? It felt too intimate, it felt wrong. You look around the empty room, suddenly feeling guilty. What are you even doing here? You’re not supposed to be here, you don’t belong. You’ve never belonged anywhere. Not at home with your mother, and especially not in a place so sacred.

Fyodor places a hand on your shoulder, making you flinch.

“What is wrong?”

Shaking your head, you sigh softly.

“Nothing… I just…”

You pause for a few seconds, trying to articulate your thoughts. Fighting against the haze of the alcohol, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth, making you slur your words.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

When you finally look back at Fyodor, he looks concerned. There’s something so angelic about him that it’s hard to not immediately lean in and kiss him. He looks genuinely confused, as if its unheard of for you to be undeserving.

“Why is that?”

You hide your face with your hands, sheepish and uncomfortable.

“I’m not a good follower of god… I… I don't belong here.”

Fyodor takes a step forward, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. It feels too close, but instead of shaking it off and backing away, you let him.

“Come on, let us sit down.”

He leads you over to sit on the stairs in the altar.

“Dear… Why do you not think you belong?”

You pause. Can you even admit this? This is wrong. You have thought worse things and he knows it, but this is different. This time it involves him.

“I’m a sinner…”

He looks at you like you’re stupid.

“So is everyone.”

This is so frustrating. He doesn’t understand.

“Fyodor… Do you ever think we’re too close?”

“Why would I think that?”

Your hands clench, grabbing onto the skirt of your dress.

“You’re a priest… you should act like it.”

At that, Fyodor's eyes narrow. He takes offense to the suggestion that he isn’t acting in a godly manner.

“Explain yourself.”

His tone is sharp, he’s clearly unhappy because of you. You grow nervous at his anger, fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket.

“I just mean… I don’t mean to offend you or anything… but you called me ‘dear’ and I feel like we’re getting too close…”

He still seems peeved that you would suggest he isn’t doing his duties properly, but his gaze softens a great deal.

“I see… Well, you do not have to worry about that. We are friends, are we not? In fact, I am your only friend.”

You nod. It felt embarrassing to have him casually talk about how lonely you are. You really rely on him for everything at this point.

With everything finally calming down, you both sit silently, looking out at the dark empty church. It isn’t awkward. Fyodor is someone whose presence you can enjoy even when you’re not talking.

Slowly, you both grow closer and closer. Maybe leaning your head on his shoulder is too intimate but you can’t seem to care anymore. Fyodor doesn’t seem to mind and the wine is messing with your sense of balance and judgment.

Fyodor’s hand slowly slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you closer. You suddenly feel too warm in your own skin. You feel restless but you don't dare move from where you are.

Looking up at him, you notice he’s already looking down at you, studying your expression, looking at your features so lovingly. The tension in the room rises. You don’t know what to do, but you don’t want to look away. You can’t let this opportunity pass.

“Fedya…”

Your voice sounds much softer and weaker than you thought it would. It’s clear you're nervous, even to yourself, and especially to someone as receptive and smart as Fyodor. Your heart is racing. You can barely even speak. A warm, heavy feeling pools in your stomach.

“Yes, dear?”

The pet name makes you feel warmer and causes your skin to prickle. You sit up, you’re so close now that his breath is fanning over your face.

“Fedya… I… love you.”

Those words hang in the air, echoing throughout the vacant room. Fyodor doesn’t react. After a few seconds, his gaze travels down to your lips before looking back at your eyes again.

“I see…”

He looks away. Your stomach drops. This can’t be. Did you read things wrong? Why were you so stupid?? Your eyes are starting to water, even your nose is burning. This is so embarrassing. How could this happen??

“I am truly sorry… I-I think we had too much to drink.”

His voice is soft and understanding.

“I am a part of the clergy, we are not allowed to be in relationships.”

Despite the reasonable explanation, you feel upset. After all, emotions aren't rational are they? You can't even look at him anymore. The humiliation is too much.

“Please dear… It is not your fault, but the Lord comes first to me. I would never do anything to jeopardize my position.

He notices your expression and body language, pulling you into a hug. You can’t help but break down. The embarrassment and guilt finally catching up with you. You just wanted to be loved. Is that too much to ask? Even when you thought you had a connection, of course it had to be with a man who is unable to return those feelings.

“You are beautiful, you have a great personality. I am sure that one day, you will find someone who can love you back, but that person can not be me. With time, these feelings will pass.”

After a while of Fyodor comforting you and holding you close, you finally calm down. You both sit quietly. Even with the rejection fresh in your mind, even with your heart feels like it’s been beaten and abused, you can't find it in yourself to hate him. You should’ve known this would happen.

Fyodor and you sit silently. He reassures you that this has nothing to do with you, and after a while, he leaves. You sit alone in the dark empty church, feeling much more alone than when you first came in.

You decide you can’t just let your friendship with Fyodor wither away. So you stick around, still talking and enjoying each others company as always. When you next visit Fyodor's office, you notice his vase lacks the same bright white glowing roses. Instead, they have all wilted and dried up.

[sapphire-writes]

hey! I was just passing by and wanted to know if your requests are still open? If so, I would like to request one about Aemond x yn (who is the daughter of Rhaenyra) yn is visiting Kingslanding, she is seeing Viserys and begins to receive "timely" visits from lords who want to ask the king directly for her hand since Rhaenyra has not been able to convince her to marry one. She ran away from all these suitors since she was a little girl and Aemond helped her when they were kids but the adult Aemond doesn't want to do such "childish things" so she keeps coping, eventually he gets fun by the ways she scares them away everyone, until he sees a persevering one who is still there and when he sees him talking to her, he feels jealous and scares him with Vahagar, she is happy and thinks that in a certain way, they can still be united as when they were children. After that she has no visitors (Aemond is in charge of scaring everyone away with Vhagar) and spends time with him, eventually she returns to Dragonstone and he appears one day and finds her hiding because she heard that she would receive a visit of a new suitor, he helps her hide while she talks about how she will scare off the new idiot who comes to ask for her hand, how he will make his stay in Dragonstone a hell and Aemond is just there, watching her with a smirk while hears her bc he's the idiot who came to Dragonstone to ask for her hand. sorry if this is too long or specific, but i was thinking in this idea so long and i don't found one with this dynamic i just want a Aemond with a soft spot with a sunshine and witty reader that is his opposite. Thanks! x

Catch Me If You Can ~ Aemond x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

note: I absolutely loved this idea! all my lovely requests are always so creative, I'm enjoying writing these so much! Also haven't been tagging people on requests - is that something people still want me to tag them on? just let me know, happy to do so! word count: 2.3k masterlist warnings: mentions/descriptions of fainting 💚requests are open💚

The first lord who tried to kiss you returned to his father with a blackened eye. Your grandsire, King Viserys had laughed, a sound deep within his chest at your angered expression and reddened knuckles. 

“The blood of the dragon burns fiercely in your child, Rhaenyra,” he told his daughter while placing a loving hand atop your head. Rhaenyra had smiled weakly at her father, knowing the trouble you were likely to give her was a lot like what she gave her father. 

Though you were a small child, lords flocked to your mother desperate to arrange a betrothal for your hand. As the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra, it was quite the competition for your hand. Your mother looked for your counsel, wanting to share with you the same autonomy her father had allowed her. 

“I do not wish to marry,” you told her, a fierceness in your small voice. You sat atop your father’s lap, as the maester applied a salve to your reddened knuckles. Ser Harwin stood close behind you, inspecting the damage done. 

“Sweetling, you need not be wed for quite some time,” she assured, “but a betrothal-”

“Ever.”

Rhaenyra’s brows lifted and she looked towards your father and Ser Harwin. Laenor shrugged, while Ser Harwin chuckled, a soft expression on his face as he gazed upon you. 

“She shall grow out of it,” Laenor insisted to Rhaenyra later that night, “look at us, we said very similar things and are married.”

But Rhaenrya knew her daughter well. 

As more lords approached Rhaenyra, more attempted to court you. Lords laughed at Jacaerys and Luke, saying they were unafraid of the young princes, lest they attempt to scare them off from marrying their sister. 

“It is Y/N you need be fearful of,” Jace and Luke would say, causing faces to drain of color. 

You were a clever child, evading suitors in the gardens, hiding within the walls of the sept. There was even a time you told a lord of the Reach to meet you down near the black cells. The boy left screaming, causing you to snicker. 

Your uncle Aemond would help you with your antics as well. You often pretended to have fainting spells, as many maidens did in hopes of wooing a suitor. You did so far less gracefully. When your mother forced you on a stroll with a lord from Riverrun, you crumpled to the ground as soon as he began talking of his adventures fishing. 

Aemond was quick to your side. 

“I must apologize for my niece,” he said, scooping his arms underneath you, as though to drag you from the scene. 

“Is she quite well?” the lord asked, a look of concern on his face. 

“Yes quite, she shall be alright,” Aemomd insisted, as you let your legs hang heavy as though weighted with lead, your head hanging over your shoulder. You fluttered your lashes holding a hand to your forehead. Aemond suppressed a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oh uncle, I had the most terrible dream,” you said as he dragged you away, “ a rather large fish was trying to swallow me whole!” Aemond burst out a sharp laugh before composing himself.

After the events of Driftmark, your mother does not bring up the matter of a betrothal for many years. Rhaenyra requested the help of her father to set you up with a match and sends you to the Red Keep as you reach maidenhood. This is unknown to you, as your mother has you believing you are going to the capital to spend time with your grandsire.

You fill your days with visiting your grandsire, whose health is steadily declining. You sit in his chambers and read to him often, though you are unsure if he can hear you. Soon after you begin this, Queen Alicent begins depositing lords to sit by Viserys bedside, keeping you company. You spot the trick right away, furious. 

You have just stormed out of your grandsire’s chambers when you run into your uncle. Aemond looks down at you, a smile playing on his lips as you crash into his sturdy chest. He has grown to be a fearless warrior, the years of training have hardened him. He towers above you, looking like a knight from a song with his long silver hair, and eyepatch that covers the memory of years ago.

“You must help me,” you tell him, and Aemond raises a brow. 

“With what, niece?” he questions, taking in your blushing cheeks and annoyed expression. 

“There is a plot to marry me off,” you tell him, glancing behind him and seeing the lord walking down the hall attempting to catch up with you. 

“Quickly, I shall faint,” you whisper to Aemond, who holds you upright as you begin to lean into his lithe frame. 

“Stop that foolishness,” he insists, wrapping his fingers around your forearms, “you are not a child anymore.” 

You frown at him, tearing your arms from his grasp, cheeks burning at his insulting tone. 

“Princess Y/N!” the lord says, standing next to you, “I had thought I lost you-”

You cut him off with a sharp stomp on his foot. The lord yelps in pain, hopping on one foot as you speed away from him. Aemond raises his eyebrows in surprise, watching as you dash away. 

Though Aemond refuses to take part in your antics, he does find humor in them. You enlist Helaena to help, having her cover you in fuzzy caterpillars one morning during a walk in the gardens. The lord you are with turns green as you place a caterpillar on his nose. 

It is all in good fun, and Aemond enjoys watching how you laugh and laugh when one by one the suitors disappear. He doesn’t believe any of them are worthy of you anyway. 

That is until a lord of the Westerlands comes to win your hand. He is a dashing fellow, with a sly smile and golden locks who sets his sights on you as though a lion cornering its prey. The lord takes your antics in stride, the first is you knocking a goblet of wine on his white shirt during supper. 

“I do apologize, my lord,” you told him, “I am a terrible klutz you see, hardly a lady who can be expected to run an estate.”

“Nonsense, it is no bother,” the lord says, “besides, you are a princess, you behave how you like.”

This shocks you, and to Aemond’s displeasure, the lion lord keeps up with you. Even when stepping on his toes while dancing, even when arriving late for dinner. The lord simply smiles and continues to dote on you. 

You grow frustrated and worry that Queen Alicent will send word to Rhaenyra that this is a good match. You try to concoct a plan one day and take him to visit your dragon at the dragonpit in hopes she shall scare him off. The lion lord is not easily frightened and instead calls your young dragon sweet. You frown in displeasure. 

As you exit the dragon pit, a shadow covers the entirety of the clear blue sky. Your lion lord looks up, stricken with a fearful expression. You follow his gaze, a wicked smile appearing on your face. 

Vhagar is a monstrous beauty. She is far too large for the dragonpit, and she lands instead behind it. You look at the lord’s face and take his hand.

“Come now, let us greet my uncle,” you say happily, dragging him behind you. 

As you reach Vhagar you watch as Aemond descends. 

“Niece,” he says, “my lord.” 

Aemond had watched you on your way to the dragonpit, an uneasy feeling of jealousy in his stomach. He had observed your attempts at ridding yourself of the lion lord, and how desperate you had become. Aemond had seen your dragon; your dragon would not scare a small dog, let alone a man. Aemond told himself he had no choice but to come from your aid. 

“Uncle!” you say, smiling so wide Aemond feels his heart nearly stop beating, “would you care to introduce Vhagar to my lord?” you say, gesturing to the man beside you. His knees have begun to buckle, his face is pale as he looks at Vhagar. 

Aemond’s smile is feline and Vhagar roars loudly, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You laugh as she does, a sharp joyful sound. 

“Come my lord,” Aemond says, beckoning the man forward, “though I must warn you, Vhagar is very temperamental. The last time she met someone she did not like, it ended rather unfortunately for them.”

The lord’s eyes nearly pop from his skull. He shakes his head and Aemond scoffs. 

“My lord,” he says, in a disapproving tone, “you wish to marry a dragon, and yet you cannot face one?” 

Your grin is wicked as you watch the lord’s mouth open and close, a squeak leaving him. Aemond chuckles darkly.

“You are more of a house cat than a lion, my lord,” he sneers, “run along now.”

The lord leaves hurriedly with the permission of the prince, racing back towards the streets of King’s Landing. You laugh and laugh, much to Aemond’s pleasure. The sounds send warmth throughout his body. You look towards your uncle, a strong feeling of unity in your heart. 

After that, you do not have any other visitors as you spend most of your days on dragonback with Aemond. Those who try to gain your affection must face a trial to deem them worthy of you. This mainly includes Aemond introducing them to Vhagar. Not one lord lasts long when staring down the beast that lived beside the Conqueror. 

Eventually, Queen Alicent writes to Rhaenyra that the efforts are fruitless and you are summoned back home. You depart King’s Landing, promising Aemond you shall write to him, as you have greatly enjoyed his company during your stay. The last month has rekindled a fire within your heart for the one-eyed prince. Aemond hates watching you leave, your presence in the Red Keep was a warmth that is not easily replaced. 

Weeks go by, and there is no news of any suitors coming to visit you at Dragonstone. You spend your days flying and attempting to learn High Valyrian, something that has not come easily for you. 

“Y/N,” Rhaenyra calls, “come here my love, we are to have a visitor.”

You freeze with fear as you hear your mother’s voice from the great hall. Slowly, you back down the hallway urgently trying to find a place to hide. Rhaenyra knows Dragonstone like the back of her hand, better than you do. You curse at the thought of her finding you and presenting you to another dreary lord. 

As you pitter-patter down the hall away from your mother’s calls, your back hits something sturdy and warm. You turn and to your surprise, come face to face with Aemond. 

“Aemond!” you say in a hushed whisper, relief flooding through you. You smile at him, throwing your arms around him. He hugs you close, burying his face in your hair. Reluctantly you pull away. 

“Thank the gods you are here,” you tell him, taking his hand in yours, “you must help me.”

You pull him towards a nearby veranda, as a smile plays on his lips. 

“With what, dear niece?” he asks, eye flickering all over your face. He has missed the sight of you this past month. 

“A suitor, how mother keeps finding these fools is beyond me,” you whisper, gazing over the edge of the veranda, “perhaps this time I have a spell, I shall fall over here.” You motion to the edge of the balcony. Aemond looks at you, an amused look on his face.

“You mean to throw yourself to your death?” he asks and you shake your head. 

“You shall catch me,” you tell him, smiling eagerly, “ride below on Vhagar and you shall be my savior.” Your eyes are aglow with glee at the thought. 

“Ingenious, I know,” you tell him, “the fool shall wet himself with fear. Surely that shall be enough, lest I am sure you and I can make his stay here dreadful.”

Aemond cannot keep the smile from his face as he watches your face light up with mischief. 

“Y/N, I cannot,” he says, though reluctant to deny you. Your smile falters, brows knitting together in confusion. Aemond has always proved to be your partner in crime in the end, and his denial of your wishes sends a stabbing pain in your heart. 

You believed you would never feel ready for marriage, wanting nothing more than to fly on dragonback for the rest of your days exploring the pleasures of the known world. But after your stay in King’s Landing, you decided marriage may not be so bad if your husband enjoyed similar pleasures. 

“Please uncle, just once more,” you beg, clasping your hands in his. Surely he wouldn’t let you slip away from him, not when he had so willingly scared away previous suitors. 

“I cannot,” he repeats, and you feel like screaming. 

“I do not understand,” you tell him pouting, “you have helped so much before-”

“I cannot help because it is I who has come for your hand.”

You blink, looking up at him, your lips parted in surprise. You look down at your hands that are still intertwined with his. 

“I am the fool,” Aemond tells you, an amused smirk on his handsome face. 

He lifts your hands towards his mouth, placing a kiss atop your knuckles, violet eye never leaving yours. Aemond watches you closely, sizing up your reaction to his reveal. You do not speak for several moments, as a blush forms on your cheeks. 

“I feel quite faint,” you whisper, and Aemond chuckles. 

“Do you jest?” he asks, eyes narrowing.

You shake your head, a dreamy expression on your face as you smile.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” you say and Aemond drops your hands, snaking his arms around your waist to press you against him. 

“Do not fret,” he murmurs, placing a kiss atop your head. You can feel him smile into your hair. 

“I shall catch you.”