#and like. what do I do with this form of privilege??*
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You’re either being purposely obtuse or intellectually dishonest but what you are saying is literally patriarchal brainwashing and so bafflingly sexist that you clearly either hate AFAB people or don’t take harm against us seriously. It’s “transphobia” to demand and maintain sex segregated spaces? Transphobia isn’t the violent males who kill trans people, it’s the AFABs who won’t sacrifice our PHYSICAL SAFTY to protect AMAB ego? Classic AMAB entitlement. Yall tell on yourselves so loud. SRS does not erase male socialization idgaf how dysphoric a AMAB person is their emotional comfort should not be prioritized over AFAB safety. You really think it is acceptable for a AFABs to be victimized so AMABs can feel validated in some weird postmodern sense of constructed identity? We don’t need to check genitals I would have no problem with the manliest most masculine most passing trans man in an afab space because no matter what hormones or surgery are involved they cannot rape and impregnate me with their penis the same way an AMAB person could. We don’t need to check gender if we normalize beating the dog shit out of AMABs who threaten us and disrespect our safety by entering our spaces. D you think AFAB trans people should be put in male spaces, not only bathrooms but hospitals and prisons, where they will be at an even greater danger risk of rape than a AMABs trans person and also stand to suffer greater biological consequences since an AFAB person who gets raped by an AMAB one runs the risk of pregnancy. Also trans AMAB people commit sex crimes at an even higher rate than cis AMAB people, they are literally the largest recorded demographic of sex criminals, and I should sacrifice my safety and let them into my spaces (which again did not START segregated they became that way because AMAB people could t be trusted not to rape/assault AFAB ones)?
Also “capitalism is real because it impacts me in a negative way but all other forms of oppression where I might be considered the privileged one in the dynamic is just hysterical people distracting from capitalism” you aren’t even trying to be subtle in your misogyny go join MGTOW.
“If you include trans people who are also oppressed by patriarchy in your fight against patriarchy but don’t include your oppressors who benefit from patriarchy regardless of gender presentation you are hateful I hope you understand this uwu” literally such a long form way to say you don’t want AFAB people to have a movement where we address our own needs because AMAB people can’t emotionally cope with any reminders that they are privileged under patriarchy exclusively for being AMAB.
I have no problem with trans people, I know and love a good amount of people of both sexes who identify as trans. I trust them fully. That doesn’t mean that women who don’t personally know them are obligated to trust them. And it’s not just bathrooms, I spend a LOT of time in institutions specifically high security mental hospitals for violent/psychotic patients including people sent over from the jails for being too mentally ill to incarcerate. I have to take sleeping pills at night and fall unconscious in a room with these people where I’m only checked on every 15-30 mins which is PLENTY of time for something bad to happen. I don’t want to risk having to share that kind of space with an AMAB person. If trans AMAB people don’t want to be housed with cis ones, they can do the legwork and create those spaces for themselves like AFAB people did they do NOT have the right to commandeer our movement and literally erase our rights and protections because not allowing AMAB people into these vulnerable spaces might give them the big sad. My not wanting AMAB people in AFAB spaces is not from not knowing them, it’s because I DO know them and listen to what is said about AFAB people in TRA spaces and know just how AMAB they are in their entitlement to everything from space to sex.
“You are letting fear define your politics” YEAH MY GUY IM FORCED TO LIVE LIKE A FUCKING PREY ANIMAL!!! Some fear is completely rational. AMAB people can not be trusted in AFAB spaces and your suggestion that I should be okay with even a fraction of a percent of AFABs being physically harmed so AMABs feel emotionally validated is absolutely disgusting and proves how patriarchal you are.
Gender is literally fake and varies from culture to culture. Sex based oppression is real and fucks over the lives of AFAB people worldwide. I’m not basing my politics on protecting feelings, I’m basically them on protecting AFAB people from actual tangible oppression.
"OP is a terf" is a thought-terminating cliche meant to keep you from questioning the status quo and keep you afraid of being labeled a heretic should you come to your own conclusions about anything.
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❝a storm to remember❞
☾︎✰❛❀ Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Reader
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and the heir to the iron throne, you are sent to stormlands as your brother to Winterfell, to create allies when you are met with him. Aemond Targaryen, your childhood enemy.
𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence and threats, kissing, childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope, minor injuries and blood.
🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: He is my guilty pleasure, man who serves face while doing the shittiest things ever aka killing. This is my first Aemond fic ever, so I hope it's not too bad, and I would love writing advices or tips in my asks or messages, so feel free to send any.
The winds were soothing, although getting heavier as Stormlands grew closer. Your one hand on the rope, and the other touching along your dragon's raspy and rather itchy skin. You sighed, as the thought of having to negotiate with Borris Baratheon, who didn't hold a single regard for your mother or any woman for that matter.
You remember your mother's words; no fighting. No bloodshed. It had made you feel strange, as though there could be a need for it. You bit your lip as the dark castle came into view, with dark clouds forming already. You did not have a good feeling about this. But you couldn't disappoint your mother either, as the heir no less. You had to fight for your birthright, which Aegon took.
A strain coming to your head at the tactics of your dragon, who wanted to fly into circles as you had taught her. She wanted to have fun, not knowing this might be the most crucial occasion of your life. When you tried calling out to her, telling her to get down to some place where you could land, she refused. She was being erratic. With a few attempts at pulling the rope, she finally complied.
“Lykiri, Tessarion.” you say, as your dragon flies lower to the ground, to make a decent landing. You smiled as she grunted, in some annoyance. She always was stubborn, and it took some time to command her.
You wondered how much time it would take Jace to reach Winterfell, a part of you was envious. You wanted to be the one to see the North, yet he was the one who got to truly see it. ‘Borros was harder to convince���, as your mother said, how she needed someone with experience in that area. How it was your job as the eldest. Sometimes you felt it was a burden rather than a privilege, being heir to the iron throne. You don't know if you even deserve it, considering who your father is; your blood father. Laenor will always be your only father to you, the one who taught you how to sit on a dragon, or the great sea snake stories.
Hate, was what you used to feel when those rumours started reaching your ears. Of your parentage. Of your mother's king's guard, ser Harwin Strong. You did whatever you could to get away from those, from him. You didn't like it, he acted much closer to your mother than a mere guard should. And jace and luke being young, didn't see it as a problem. Even looked up to him. But you didn't. You felt so humiliated, that such low born could be your father, you—the heir, you, ser Laenor's true born daughter, as you tried convincing yourself again and again.
You didn't want to be a mutt, a bastard.
Harwin Strong tried connecting with you on many levels, but you denied all of them. You didn't even want to be near him, let alone speak with him. Flaunting your power and acting very rudely whenever he wanted to make conversation. You still remember the sadness in his eyes, as you told your king's guard to take him out of your sight. A filth, you called him. All out of insecurity.
That was the last time you saw him.
And now, all you had was Jacaerys's fond memories of him, nothing more. You wonder if you had cared to hear him out even once, what would he have said?
Shaking off the terrifying thought, you open your locks on the belt on your waist, slowly getting down. The storm had prevailed, with rain pouring down your black and red polish coat. You squint your eyes, trying to see better amidst the heavy rainfall. Tessarion let out a wail of joy, she loved rain. Given her so very nickname, the blue queen. After her blue scales and orange wings. That's when you heard a growl, a heavy one. That could only come out of a large dragon.
Your eyes widened, seeing the sight of that dragon.
Vhagar.
Which could only mean he was here.
“A letter from the queen.” you say, hesitantly as still processing the fact who you were to face very soon. The men guarding the castle nodded, letting you in. It felt like a dark cloud over you, as you entered. The black walls and steel throne, with Lord Borros sitting quite comfortably. You knew he was there, swiftly standing with a smirk, you didn't even want to face him.
“Princess Y/N Velaryon” one of the guards announced, “daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
You gulp, “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message.” you make sure to add, “from the queen.” he raises his eyebrows, “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it, king or queen?”
Your skin shivered as you felt Aemond's eyes constantly on you—not once did his gaze move. You remember when there was a time, a good time, in childhood, when Aemond was your closest companion. You both were around the same age, both quiet, wise, and mature. And you both lacked a dragon at the age all Targaryen children have one. You used to always defend him against the teasing of Aegon and your siblings, scolding Jace and Luke whenever they hurt Aemond's feelings. You remember how you pushed a hair out of Aemond's eyes, after the pig prank, kissing his cheek gently, promising him that he won't go without a dragon in his lifetime. How you had seen that for him.
Alas, after the driftmark incident, you didn't know who to defend, your brothers, or his taken eye. All you knew was that after you had moved to dragonstone, all talked bad of him, and with time, you started believing them.
“The house of the dragon doesn't seem to know who rules it.” Lord Borros sneered mockingly, as you clenched your fists. This was not at all how you planned it. “What's your mother's message, girl?”
You handed the envoy to one of his guards wordlessly, as Lord Borros—unable to read, called for his Mastor. Aemond Targaryen, wasn't a person you once remembered, you once loved. In a way your family would never approve. And you fear you still hold those feelings after all this time. You wonder what your mother would say, your brothers? if they knew the ways of your heart.
“Remind me? of my father's oath?” he says, sounding very offended.
At the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond smirking, as if he already won the bid. It infuriated you, as your hands curled up around your sword tightly.
“King Aegon at least came with an offer! my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” he continues, as you close your eyes in contrast to stop Aemond's winning stare on you, “now if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will your brothers marry?”
Before you could answer, he speaks again, “—or which one of my sons will you marry?”
Your mouth gaped, as his voice sounded so excited and thrilled, as if he was already imagining having Targaryen grand children. Especially when they could be potentially heirs to the iron throne. You grimaced, a picture of his sons, same as him, fat, bearded and a wild lust, came into your mind and it disgusted you. Aemond looked surprised, straying away from his smirking face. His lips had fallen down to a glare, fist tightening.
You cleared your throat, “My brothers are not available to marry my lord, they're already betrothed to another.”
He nodded as if uninterested, looking for a different answer. Eager to know about you. His head peaked forward in question, a one you didn't want to answer; whether you'll bore his sons children or not. You were just seventeen, and even if westeros considered that to be a grown woman—you were still a young girl. And believed to be as well.
“As for me” you took a breath, “I will have to discuss it with the queen. She shall consider your offer.”
“Hmm” you heard Aemond's voice, glancing at him just for a second. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not at all how you envisioned. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? now you had to go home with a rejection, while Jace would come with more support of armies.
Everything was a mess.
“So you come with empty hands?” Borros says, angered. You sighed, ready to mount back on your dragon and fly the rest of the way in self pity. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the lord of storm's end is not some dog that she can whistle up in need to set against her foes.”
Your jaw clenches, in disappointment “I shall take your answer to the queen, my lord.”
This was indeed, a failure. You failed to prove as the heir to the iron throne that you were capable. Especially because you are a girl. You needed to show it, to your mother and to everyone else, that you can take on that responsibility as well as any king. All because of him. It was his fault, and he sure looked proud. You hated this, hated his cunning smile, his swift posture, his one purple eye and oh, him. Everything you hoped you could achieve, he destroyed it for you.
He sure hated you; that was evident.
“Wait”
You hear Aemond, as you halt in your steps while turning back to the gates, “My lady strong.”
Your eyes widen, “What did you say?” he knew it, how to get in your skin. The dinner, with insults about your heritage, calling your brothers strong that resulted in a fight. It was exhausting, what did he want now? after all this time.
“You heard me.” he tilts his head, “did you really think, you could fly around the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, which makes him furrow his eyebrows. “Your brother's throne? or rather, Aegon the usurper's?”
“I would mind my tongue if I were you, my lady.”
You bit your lip, his audacity, after all he had done, to remind you of your place. As if he ranked higher than you? A beat passed by, tension thick in the air. Neither of you were looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the move. As if it was a chess board, with the winner taking all. A verbal battle. Aemond finally broke the silence.
“So you're here to usurp my brother's throne then?” he spoke with a calming chill, seeing as your eyes turned into anger, “Traitors.” he mumbled in his breath.
You control every urge to grab his collar and hit him across his face, “I am in haste. Is there something you want from me, prince Aemond?”
His head lies low and a dangerous glint comes in his eyes. You gulped, unknowing where he was about to go with this. He had changed ever since Luke had done it. Taken his eye. Somewhere, you didn't blame him. It was true that none of your brothers ever got punished for what happened, a result of your mother being the obviously favoured child. He was angry, at Luke—at you, that nothing happened. Everything was complicated; but, not unsalvagable. After you returned to king's landing, you tried everything to be nice with Aemond, to be civil, for the least. Alas, he denied all of them.
“Yes, there is something I want.” he looks up, eyes cold, “something that was stolen from me not long ago.”
A hitch escapes your lips, “Aemond—”
“You know..” he cuts you off, stepping a little forward towards your direction, “I always wished for your brother to know, what it feels like, to experience such a pain. To have your eye carved out by Valaryan steel, hmm. Unfortunately, now that he isn't here, I'll have to make him learn some other way. What it feels to have an eye cut out, or rather, a loved one's eye cut out.”
There was just the slightest bit of emotion flash in his eyes, pool of stars, in agony yet so beautiful. Your breathing becomes heavy, as you start to fear for your life. Your hands slowly pulled out your sword.
“I will not fight you.”
You intended to sound harsh, but your voice came out more of a tremble. Aemond and your relationship had gone down the drain, you knew that. Yet, was he really willing and capable of wanting to cripple you? had he started to hold such hatred for you? did he truly forget all the best memories he and you made together. He was acting like you were a stranger to him, that he did not care for your being. Even the mere thought of that sends a bitter taste in your mouth.
“Fight would be little challenge.” his voice is hoarse and cold, “No. I want you to put out your eye.”
A small gasp leaves your mouth when he pulls out his eye patch, a blue emerald stone in the place of his lost eye. He looked so very, beautiful, you thought. Majestic and soft. As even after such an attack on his face, he was born to look gorgeous, no matter what. For a moment you became oblivious to what he was demanding, staring in a trance like state. He was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, tall and long haired, pale skin with features that could start wars between great houses. Your heart fluttered and your throat became dry, unable to form any kind of answer. Aemond did not seem to notice, as he only held a sour and blank look in his eyes.
You only snapped back when he spoke again, “As a payment for mine.”
“No, I will not.” your voice is low, but clearly he heard it since something changed in his expression. He was angry. An emotion he hardly showed ever since the accident.
“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor.”
“You can't be serious ab—”
“Give me your eye!” he shouts all of a sudden and starts to walk towards you with rage, “or I will take it!”
You frantically back away, pulling out your sword on impulse. The guards coming in to shield you, as lord Borros stands up, saying something about wanting to have no such ‘bloodshed’ beneath his roof. You barely hear him over your own beating heart, fear taking over every one of your survival instincts. He orders for you to be escorted back to your dragon, as Aemond watches you exit the doomed castle. The rain has worsened, your clothes, that had been a little dried up, now went back to being wet again. You push your hair out of your eyes, raising a hand to itch your neck. Your hair was long, so it irritated your skin whenever they were soaked with rain or water.
But all you could think about was what had happened inside, his eyes, his face, all his hatred for you. Did he really want to send you harm? or was he faking? your gaze turned to the side, expecting the giant green beast yet, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen. You started to panic, if Aemond had already flown away, it could only mean two possibilities. He went back to king's landing, or he was awaiting to do something much worse. The latter scared you.
You walked towards Tessarion, her dark and orange eyes bored into your figure, wings flapping in excitement. You sigh, slowly getting on top of her and adjusting your straps.
“Sōvēs, Tessarion.”
She hears your command and swiftly takes out into the sky. She was futile and fast, if you were careful enough, you both would be able to make it to dragonstone with no harm done. Besides, rain, was her element of sheer power. You squint your eyes, rubbing water out of them as a few minutes had passed by, the storm nowhere to be stopping anytime soon. All you could hear was the flapping of her wings and the heavy rainfall that held out the dark clouds. It didn't matter anymore of Lord Borros's rejection, he couldn't be any more reliable than he already is. Besides, if you could reach your home safely, without the presence of a one eyed prince, that would be more than victory enough.
However wrong had the universe been out there to prove you.
As you were about to loosen your tight ropes, with a newfound relief—a snarl disrupts you. You looked back to see the giant mouth of the big monster in the name of a dragon, coming up towards you. Instantly you yelped, pulling the ropes sideways to avoid getting eaten. You can hear Aemond's malicious laughs, he was enjoying this. You let out a cry for help, struggling to keep hold of your now panicked dragon, as Vhagar flew around you, mouth wide open.
The rain was making it quite difficult to see, as Aemond chased you down.
Vhagar's giant claws kept trying to cut you and Tessarion, as Aemond began to mumble things in high valaryan, something you could not hear due to your panic and wanting to steer away from him and his beast. You tugged on the leash, pulling her away to the left. You knew Vhagar had a hard time with turning around, and it would buy you some time. His laugh, so cruel and emotionless, he was out to kill you. That was unquestionable. You had to get away from them, instead of processing how your childhood best friend, and the man you loved, could become the reason for your death.
A cannon appeared in your sight, and you quickly flew into the narrow path in between it. Aemond could only follow you from the above, waiting for you to come out.
“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Taobi!” You hear him shout, an unexpected emotion and anger in his voice. You owe a debt? No, you didn't. You did not take his eye, or tease and bully him all those years ago. In fact, you were the one who defended him. And he thinks you are the reason for his lost eye?
“For the god's sake stop this Aemond!” you shout, a whimper coming out of you. Tears running down, “please.”
Somehow, at that Aemond's demeanor softened. It looked like he was over playing with you. But your dragon wasn't done with him, instead, Tessarion disobeyed your own commands, flew out the cannon and let out a massive fire at Vhagar's face. Something that didn't do much damage. You cursed, as she shrieked in pain when you harshened the ropes to make her listen. Aemond was going through the same situation, yelling out every command in high valaryan to stop, but his dragon was angered. That's when you were remembered of your grandfather's words, the idea that we control the dragons, is an illusion.
“No Vhagar! No!” was the last thing you heard from him, before his dragon grabbed your coat with its claws, losing the balance off the seat, you screamed as you fell off. The height was above the clouds, and in nowhere will you be to survive.
Until the ocean hit your body, and you blacked out.
Rain droplets on your eyes irritated you, as you could still feel it was raining. Not as hard as before, but still. Slowly blinking, you open your eyes. You found yourself laying on top of some concrete—more over rocks and tiny stones.
A sharp pain hits you, as you realise you were having a hard time getting up.
“Ouch!” you hiss, as blood comes out of your forehead and possibly from your ribcage. With minor cuts and bruises on the tip of your fingers and lips. You were too focused on your injuries, without noticing the very familiar presence by your side. “Don't get up, or it will make whatever injuries you have received worse.”
You gasp as his voice speaks out, swiftly turning and locking your eyes with the very man who was at fault for you being here in the first place. Aemond stood a few feet away, with Vhagar a little further up. An alarm went inside you, what was he doing here? was he here to finish what he started? give you a slow and painful death? and moreover, where was your dragon?
“T—Tessarion?” you manage to whisper, the pain worsening at that. Frantically looking around. Aemond reassured, “That bundle of blue is fine, probably lurking around and searching for you.”
He tries to get closer to you, to which you quickly shift away, wincing in pain at the rocks grazing your bloodied back. “Get the fuck away from me!” you say, as you pull out your sword. Hands shakily holding it.
His eyes weakened, as if a guilt was forming in his throat. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You heard your dragon's roars, she was close somewhere. You bit your lip to suppress the pain, refusing to cry in front of him. The rain didn't leave mercy on you, as it continued to fall. You were soaked, both from the storm and possible blood by scars and fractures. If you didn't get help, you could die in a very slow way, taking around seven to nine days. Perhaps faster by starvation or dehydration—or by his very sword. You didn't know which was worse.
“Y/N..” Aemond breathes out, “I—I didn't intend to cause this.”
That was the first time in years, he spoke your name. Only your name, no titles or formality. It was raw. You didn't answer, not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. At first he was chasing you around like a mad man, and the next minute he was apologizing for almost killing you. You tried getting back up your feet, but winced at the sheer pain that came with it.
“Let me help you or—”
“No!” you immediately shake your head, pointing your sword further towards him.
In no world will you weaken your guard, let him get close to your body only for him to deceive you and strangle you to death. Or cut your throat with that small knife of his. You didn't know why he hadn't done that already? you were blacked out for almost ten minutes, he could have easily killed you with no difficulty. What did he even want? if not to kill you then why did he do all this?
“Y/N, let me help. Falling into the ocean at such speed is the same as falling in concrete ground. If not worse.”
“You tried to kill me! why would I ever trust you?”
He falls silent at that. Unexpectedly so. You bit your lip, struggling to keep up the strong facade with all the pain masking behind it. You didn't know how much longer you would be able to keep your sword pointed at him. Your dragon is far away and no one is here to possibly protect you against Aemond and his giant beast.
“I didn't want to kill you,” he says, his voice faltering from the rain that had now soaked his entire clothes and hair, “Only scare you.”
“Well you did more than that” you bite back, a bitterness in your tone. He scoffs, “Maybe, if your young and wild dragon hadn't leashed fire on mine, this wouldn't have happened.”
A baffled scoff of your own comes out of you, in disbelief, “Oh so this is—this is my fault?”
“Precisely.”
“Fuck you!” you spat, your throat burning up at the yell. Your condition was getting worse by the minute, and Aemond noticed that. He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself before matching up to you. You yelped as he reached over you, pulling your arms in order to get you up, but struggling as you put up a fight. You wince at the pain of getting on your feet, eventually giving up as he held on to you firmly, his hands of your waist.
You sigh, so tired like all the blood and mass from your body was being drained. You feel his eyes on you, worried as his breath was ragged. If you weren't on the brink of death, you might have realised you liked this feeling. But that moment is gone as soon as it came, you push Aemond away, roughly. This is your enemy. Not your protector.
“Y/N—”
“What do you want?!” you interrupted him, shouting amidst the heavy rainfall soaking both your breaths. “You threaten me, almost kill me, and then help me when it was you who put me in this position in the first place. I don't understand why you are here if you don't want to kill me! what other reason is there for you to do what you have done ever since I landed here?”
Aemond becomes silent, any words he could speak refused to come out. He looks at you hard, before taking his eyes off you, his jaw clenched. You were frustrated now, you wanted the answer. You needed it. He can't just ignore you after all this.
“Tell me. Why?” you inquire, again. When he doesn't answer, you furiously walk towards him, pushing his chest as he stumbles back a bit. “Why—”
“Because you didn't do anything!” he finally breaks, his voice was surprisingly inflamed with a touch of vulnerability.
You blink your eyes, taken aback, “what?”
“You...” Aemond breathes, willing himself to say those words he never wanted to say, jaw clenching, “You were my friend. My dearest one. Yet, when your brother took my eye and I was the one condemned for it, you didn't say anything. You just stood there, in pure silence. I—”
He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I thought you would always defend me.”
You were speechless. It was true. What he said. You didn't say anything because you didn't know what happened. You weren't there. And being overwhelmed by all the shouting and bruises on your little brothers faces, you didn't know what to think. But you believed your mother. You couldn't defend yourself, he was saying the truth. You didn't have his back and that's what broke what the two of you shared. You went numb to the pain you had, or the seemingly hatred you had for him. This, this was the Aemond you remember. And you weren't about to let him go.
“I'm sorry.” you say, “I'm sorry, okay?”
But it wasn't enough. You knew it wasn't when his face fell, shaking his head and turning around to walk away from you and this. You weren't about to let that happen. “Aemond!” you called out to him, but he didn't stop. The pain was excruciating, but you needed to make this right. “Aemond!” when he doesn't listen, you take all the best strength you had left and catch up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.
“Aemond I'm sorry!” you yell, wanting him to feel how much guilt you felt, “But I'm in a lot of pain here, okay? it feels like my body is cut by a thousand bolts of lightning, I can't even feel my back and my throat is burning. But still, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I did not understand what was happening—we were both children for god's sake! but even then, if I hurt you, which evidently now that I have I mean we wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't, I'm so sorry.”
You don't know if you made it better or worse looking at the stoic expression on his face. But you had tried. The rain had soaked all his emotions, but even then you could see just the little bit of stars in his pupils you once saw as kids. You cross your arms, feeling the cold embrace you as you shudder in your injuries and pain. He gulped, unknowingly laying his head low to avoid looking in your eyes.
“I apologize, for this. For everything. I lost my temper today. It won't happen again.”
Your eyes soften at his words, as if a wall had risen between you two again. You hated it. You wanted to break it. So you did. In a few fraction of seconds, you didn't realise what you were about to do before you walked closer to him, too close. His breath hitches as your face comes in between his wet hair, his hair touching your cheeks just slightly.
“Y/N—”
He was only able to mumble out these words before your lips were on his. So barely. He inhaled a sharp breath, hands coming up but not knowing where to go. You close your eyes and just for one moment, forget the war, the families, the armies. Just you and him. Before you pull away, Aemond finally found his senses and comes up to cup your cheeks. Kissing you back softly but with an unspoken passion. He was careful not to hurt you.
Your hands find his waist, carefully tugging at the black belts that were wrapped around it. It felt like this was what you both had craved all these years. This. All the fight left out of him the moment you kissed him. Like the sun finally just glanced one look at his star. The one closest to it. You were his sun. And he was your favourite star. You only pull away when the growl of your dragon reaches your ears, Tessarion was here. Just a few rocks away. Your foreheads were touching, and Aemond places a small kiss at your head.
“Get home safe.” he whispers, his thumb tracing down your lips.
You didn't know if you would get a moment like this again. But you were happy. That you finally got to have one taste of heaven. Your heaven. Your Targaryen. Your Aemond.
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛!
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#hotd#team green#team green x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower#criston cole#otto hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#jacaerys valaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys targaryen#game of thrones#aegon ii targaryen#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader
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Haunted (Sauron/F!Reader)
...by the kiss you should never have given me
Lots of mini-chapters add up to an omnibus of angst, as we follow Sauron through the centuries and discover exactly what happened before his coronation.
Sequel to To Have and To Hold // Prequel to In the Dark of the Night // AO3 Link
Soundtrack: Kiss Me Harder by Jordan Fiction, Judas by Lady Gaga, Angels by Within Temptation, Heaven's A Lie by Lacuna Coil, NFWMB by Hozier
Warnings: 18+! Angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, manipulation, toxic relationship (more overt towards the end), obsessive!Sauron, soft!Sauron (yes the two can coincide), knifeplay (just a tiny bit), blood magic, Sauron is a bit of a dick towards the end, sorry, accidental prey/predator kink, knifeplay (again, tiny bit), grinding, slightly dubious consent (you do want it, but I'll tag anyway), oral sex (female receiving), P in V sex, more blood.
A/N: little bit of jumping around in this one, sorry, we start just after the wedding, then we jump to the fall of Gondolin, a little magic ritual in the middle, then the fallout from the sinking of Beleriand (why do you keep getting caught up in this??), then we close out the First Age with a little argument before someone's coronation! Little slices of their romance in quick succession! I went a little experimental in the form of this one, with a bunch of flashbacks informing the main plot at the end. I hope it works 🤞
Special thanks to @olchr-1 for the idea for our revenge on Morgoth!!
Translation note: Amartherui translates in Sindarin to "lonely fate" [Fate (amarth) Alone (erui)]
Word Count: 6k!
Fingers entwined with his, head on his chest, you were enthralled by him, by every pretty word and sweet gesture. Every time he came to visit, you would spend days on end in your secluded glade, to make up for his inexplicably long periods of absence. Sometimes he would come to you with dizzying tales of his latest triumphs, preening under your undivided attention. But lately he had taken to returning under black clouds, tetchy where he was usually playful, and rough where gentleness once reigned.
You had pulled him close to your breast and sank down into the petaled carpet of the forest floor, stroking his hair and listening as he raged on about the war in the north. You had kin fighting the armies of Morgoth, and knew his sorrows all too well, but something behind his eyes told you it was more than he was letting on.
You weave strands of his hair into elaborate braids in your lap, before undoing them and creating something greater in their stead. He eventually quiets under your idle fiddling, eyes drifting shut with a contented smile gracing his face, like a cat napping in the afternoon sun. You love him like this; no cares, no worries of war. You can soothe him like no one else, a great source of pride whenever he mentions it.
You gaze down at his unearthly smooth features and trace each contour with your eyes; your fingers slow in their busy work, moving gently across his scalp, lazily twisting his hair around your finger, making a ring to match the one he'd gifted you, ornate and bejeweled, glittering with an impossible inner light, to replace the woven band of purple iris that he'd improvised on the night of your wedding.
"You're staring, love." He smiles, snapping open his eyes and fixing you with an affectionate expression that makes your heart melt.
"Is a wife not allowed to stare at her husband? Are there no privileges to marriage at all?" Your voice is soft but your tone is mischievous, and he smirks.
"I can think of a few, ah, privileges, dearest, in fact we have exercised a few already today." He raises his eyebrows, before pulling you down to meet his lips. "But if you need reminding, you need only ask."
-
You had agreed to meet in the same secluded glade at the next new moon, but he never showed. The hours you wasted awaiting his return were at first exciting, full of electric anticipation that only love's first bloom can give. As the moon slowly passed overhead, and twinkling stars gave way to blazing sun, you shed many a tear at your folly. Perhaps he had been some mirage, an illusion to tempt you? Or perhaps the depth of his feeling did not match yours, a fleeting thought you had to bury deep in case it irrevocably shattered your heart.
You frequent the glade every so often, convincing yourself that it was a perfectly fine place to pass your time, and that you were not reminded of his warm hands or even warmer smile, every time you visit. Deceiving yourself that it meant much less to you than it did, that if he returned now after so much time with no word or warning, you would not jump into his open arms without a second thought.
Your heartache is apparent to your friends and kin, who assume you're suffering the grief they all feel, having lost so many of their kind to Morgoth's rampage in the north. How little they knew; how little you knew.
It is only when one good friend mentions the siege at Angband, that you are struck with the terrible notion that the man you cursed for abandoning you, might not have done it willingly after all. That perhaps, Valar forbid, he had perished in the siege. He had mentioned fighting in the war after all, but you had not connected that with his absence. After all, he had promised to return to you, on the morning after you had met, having shared a blissful slumber in each other's arms. He held your hands to his lips and swore he would see you again, and now it makes sense. Now you have a real reason to grieve, you realise, and the anger roiling within you turns cold, an icy pit in your stomach as tears fall freely and your heart wrenches and cracks. You were to only have one night with him, and you might never even discover his true fate.
You reason with yourself that surely you would feel if the other half of you had flown this mortal plain. But the alternative was much crueler, and to believe him dead was somehow a less hopeless fate.
Centuries later when you look back, you curse yourself for not seeing who he was, and what he'd done, but how could you? He'd taken you as his own and that was such a strong spell to break, Eru himself would have had to step in.
-
To see your city fall at the hands of your husband’s master, you had no words, only wet hot tears as you watch your people die.
"Love, we have to go, come now," he holds you firmly by the arms, shaking you a little to clear your mind of the dust and debris and blood on the streets of Gondolin.
"I can't, I can't leave them, I have to find-"
"No, we're evacuating, you're not staying a minute longer. I should not have let you linger here when He appeared on the horizon, we should have-"
You tug your arm from his vice-like grip. "Should have what? Should have left my people to wrack and ruin? We have to..." Your mind is so murky, filled with thoughts of leaving, running as far as you can with him, despite your overwhelming urge to stay and help where you can.
"We have to leave. You know there is nothing we can do for them, He will leave none alive, and I won't have you-" he can't say it, he can't even entertain the notion of you coming to harm; his fingers tighten their grip, almost painful in their desperation.
He should have foreseen this, he should have gotten you to safety when he first had an inkling that his master finally knew where the Hidden City was.
"We have to go back, I need to go back, I can't leave-"
After a thousand years, his magic had kept your tiny wedding band of iris in full bloom, untouched by the passage of time, kept safe in an ornate gilded chest, made by his own fair hands. And it was sitting in your apartments on the other side of the city, where your kin doubtless waited for you to leave with them. The sentiment in your heart held you steadfast against his shaking and pleading.
"Love, we can't stay here-" he is interrupted by explosions overhead, as the enemy host draw closer.
"You don't understand-"
"Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, you're the only thing that matters. We have to go!" He never raises his voice to you, so you're a little dumbstruck when he growls at you.
"But we have to save them!" You stop in your tracks, feet rooted to the ground, indignant at the idea of abandoning your friends and neighbours to their doom.
"Amarië," his voice is suddenly so soft, it disquiets you, brings you back to the present. "Love, they're gone. There is no saving to be done."
Sauron is a stranger to remorse, to sorrow, but at the effect of his words, a pang of guilt sweeps through him when he tells you that in all the world, he is all you have now. He tries to ignore the warm thrill he feels in the pit of his stomach, that this great cataclysm has brought about the fate he always wanted for the two of you: just you and he, no one else to rob him of your attention.
You wanted to feel deeply all the grief and pain that one would expect at being told their life was over.
Instead you just felt numb, haunted by the consequences of his actions.
-
"I curse him." Your husband's eyes grow wide at your words, grasping your hands as if to quiet you, but you press on.
"I curse Melkor, Morgoth Bauglir, to roam this earth alone. To never know peace, to never know that which he so jealously craves."
You feel you're taking Morgoth's curse rather well, all things considered. Sauron had to beg you not to storm Angband yourself after he had told you of his master's new name for you, cursing you to a forsaken existence, sundering you from your husband in all but spirit.
You had fought your way back to him countless times, and he to you; you had both vowed to continue to do so, but the rage and grief had not lessened with time, stoked to a towering inferno of wrath that threatened to break you any time you were reminded of it.
And after the fall of Gondolin, your rage at the Enemy was insatiable.
So you had your revenge.
"Enemy. Tyrant. Now I name you again."
In the dead of night, flickering candlelight casting ominous shadows over your face, Sauron cannot help but admire you, crave you, as you corrupt his master's fate.
You slice open your hand, squeezing your palm over the parchment before you, watching as crimson splashes through the stark black lettering.
Amartherui.
"Help me." You look him in the eye, your simple plea making his chest ache; he has never said no to you, his sweet wife, but this is the first time he has been tempted.
"Amarië..." his soft sigh almost convinces you to abandon your plan, but the fury bubbling in your veins is too great.
"Beloved, will you help me or not? Your power would bring this curse to fruition, but if you will have no part in it, you should leave." You stand taller, drawing yourself up to match his gaze, impossible as that may seem.
"I have never asked you for anything. Please do this for me."
The crushing weight of the love in his hole of a heart moves his hand before he can stop himself. With gnawing doubt in his stomach, he wordlessly takes the knife from you, mixing his pitch black blood with your own on the page.
You smile, a weight lifting from your shoulders instantly, and you pull him down to kiss him hard, leaving a red streak on his neck.
"I name you, Morgoth, as my people have long titled you, Amartherui." His new name falls off your tongue like a dream, and you cannot help but smile, your wicked deed complete, as you set the parchment alight, the flames glowing a sickly grey-green as the candles flicker and the room darkens, long shadows growing where the light had tentatively reigned.
"Forever and a day, a lonely fate will be yours. You shall not know the word of a friend, the loyalty of a follower, or the touch of a lover. I curse you to wander the Seen and Unseen world alone, craving the connection you sought to sunder here."
In the back of your mind, there is some semblance of guilt. There is nothing good in the act you just performed, nothing virtuous or pure in your revenge; it's cold and calculated, vicious and spiteful.
Transcending the bounds of time and space, you can feel your curse has taken effect, something shifting in the air between you and your husband.
Sauron has never loved you more, and he shows you many times that night the depth of his feelings.
-
You watch as more refugees stagger into your haven with naught more than the clothes on their backs, waiting to help and heal and offer your comfort where you can. The war has left such a dreadful path of destruction in its wake; thousands of your kin are displaced as the host of the Valar battle their way to Angband, and your people had chosen where the river Sirion meets the sea as their secret haven.
It has been decades since the armies of Valinor first arrived on the shores of Middle Earth, and the end was drawing near, according to your husband, who was waiting with you in the safety of the havens and watching closely.
"I'll see you when I'm finished here," you whisper as you reach up to plant a kiss on your husband's lips. "It'll probably be late, don't wait up for me."
He gives you an affectionate smile; how could he not wait for you? Even if he did partake in sleep, he would not be able to rest without you at his side.
"I'll be up, return to me soon." He is reluctant to let you go, but your skills are in such dire need while the city is inundated with the sick and injured.
Before the War, it was uncommon for Elves to suffer such fates, being hardy in soul and body, but Morgoth's darkness had infiltrated much of the land and infected so many of your kin. Soldiers, innocent bystanders, there were hardly any who were unaffected, and fighting the darkness was a constant effort on your part, and the team of healers you had trained in the magics of your people.
"My lady, they are calling for you." The herald's voice shakes you from Sauron's gaze, and he huffs impatiently.
"I must go." You reluctantly begin to pull away, but he draws you back, pulling you close and wrapping you up in an embrace you could cling to for an age.
"I love you," he murmurs in your ear. "When this is all over, we shall establish the greatest kingdom this land has ever seen."
"If there is a land left." You try to remain hopeful but the news of the siege at Angband is never good, never hopeful, and you fear your home will never be free of Morgoth's influence.
"I am your home," your husband, your Mairon, reminds you, tracing your cheek softly, and you cannot help but return his radiant smile.
"I know, love, as I am yours." You press a soft kiss to his knuckles, taking the strength he offers, before departing to disperse your light where you can.
The darkness infects everything it touches, and it takes all of your energy and more to renew your broken and weary kin, who have travelled so far and fought so hard to reach the havens. Healing words and ancient spells woven into soft songs, settling over the city in a melodic shield, rejuvenating the minds and bodies of your people. You work late into the night, spreading the light where you can, easing the pitch black horror in the hearts of those who had seen the worst of Morgoth's endeavours.
The night is all-encompassing when you finally crawl into bed, nestling into Mairon's firm warmth, trying not to disturb him but feeling sweet relief when his hands trace your sides in greeting.
"I was going to come look for you," his deep voice rumbles in your chest as he presses himself against you.
"No need," you try to smile, but your voice cracks as his tenderness breaks your defences, and all the heartache of the day pours out of you like blood from a wound.
His heart wrenches. He has no business feeling such emotions as remorse, but once again you have him feeling in ways that he dislikes intensely.
"I'm sorry, my love." And he is. He is actually sorry for causing you pain, the rest of Middle Earth be damned.
You sigh and take his hand, holding it over your heart.
"I know, love." You ponder your next question, whether it is a good idea to ask, but you ask anyway.
"You cannot assist in the efforts against Him? I'm sure the Valar would be grateful for your help, might even look favourably upon you-"
He interrupts you with a sigh and a kiss to your neck.
"The Valar will never look upon me favourably, beloved. I could present them Melkor in chains and they would only bind me to him."
Of course, he has thought about begging clemency, thought about fleeing with you to the edges of the world, even thought of taking you back to his master. But in the end, it was more prudent to keep you safe, and to watch and wait for the triumphant side to reveal themselves. Better to beg forgiveness from the victor than choose the wrong side.
-
"Tell me I'm wrong." You dare him to speak against you, your voice shaking in anger as your fists clench.
"My love, I-"
"No, I don't want falsehoods, I don't want games or lies or deceit, just tell me. Did you go to Eönwë as you promised?"
"I did. And I found their response wanting." In truth he had tried to make amends, tried to do penance for the ages he'd spent in Morgoth's service, but when it came to approaching Manwë for his pardon, his fear overtook him and he fled back to Angband, but he couldn't tell you that, couldn't tell you he'd been weak, pitiful, his courage failing him at the final steps to absolution.
And he definitely couldn't tell you that in order for his pardon to be granted, he would have to give you up, to avoid blackening your soul any further.
He'd rather suffer your eternal wrath than be sundered from you for even a moment.
"So you traded forgiveness for more lies." You clench your jaw, your head beginning to pound, the subtle throb becoming a stabbing pain in your temple.
"I did it for you."
"How? How is this for me?" You mock him, incensed now that he would deflect his deceit onto you.
He stands to comfort you but you rip your hands from his grasp before he can claim you.
"I do not know what to say. I thought I knew you, I thought you would do the right thing." You shake your head and laugh, your scorn stinging him as if it were a poisoned blade.
"Love, please-"
"No! No more lies. I've had it with trickery and deception, I want out." You whirl around to face him. "Shadow of Morgoth, they call you. You gather his armies to you once more, you refired his crown! So is that what you want? Do you want to be his second coming?"
In all honesty, no. His master's plans were beneath him; Morgoth wanted to break the world, Sauron wanted to reshape it, to balance and perfect it, by any means necessary.
"Please, listen to me, I need you by my side, now more than ever." He clutches your hands, heart pounding, looking deeply into your eyes, willing you to fall for his pretty words once more.
"You didn't answer me." Tears begin to prick your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall in front of him, stepping back to take a deep breath, to steady your nerves to face the man you thought you loved.
"I don't need to. Love, you will join me." His desperation becomes honeyed, dripping with the devotion you so crave from him.
"Don't. Don't do that." You whisper, as he stalks toward you slowly, his deception burning a hole in your heart that you're sure will never be filled.
"Don't you want to be with me? For all eternity, that is what we always said." He circles you, hands on your shoulders, in your hair, overwhelming you with his lover's touch, just a mite too rough.
"Not if this is your plan. I didn't marry Morgoth, I married Mairon." Sauron, your mind reminds you, and for a second you feel a wave of nausea overwhelm you.
His face twists and he pulls away.
"That is not my name." He growls, an ugly grimace taking over his lovely features.
"I've told you before, don't look inside my head!" You retort, his presence in your mind suddenly overwhelmingly obvious.
You throw him out of your mind, slamming the door shut, refusing him access to that which would be so freely given if he deserved it.
The tic in his jaw is back with a vengeance and his eyes are ablaze with a fury the like of which you have never seen.
"Who do you think you are?" He hisses, venom in every word; you don't recognise him, cold terror in your heart at the sudden switch, as if someone had doused the candle burning for you in his heart with oil, engulfing him with wildfire.
"I chose you, of all your people, as my wife; I could have had anyone, but I chose you. Aulë’s greatest smith, Melkor's most trusted lieutenant, lord of all the dark things that creep and crawl in this world. And who are you? My beloved wife." His tone is like poison in your veins, burning and spitting fire in your heart.
Who are you? He's right; who the hell do you think you are?
"I know exactly who I am. I'm the woman who leaves you."
You shall not be forsaken this time, not that doing the forsaking feels any sweeter. It wrenches every fibre of your being, your heart pounding in your chest, but you make it to the door of his chambers, hand on the doorknob, before he breaks from his stunned daze, crosses the room and clasps his hand over yours on the cool metal.
"And where will you go? Your people are scattered and displaced, and who would take you in if they knew?" His sweetly honeyed words still bite at your heart, settling in the pit of your stomach.
"I cannot stay here, not now that I know exactly what you are." You look up at him, holding his gaze, somehow fighting the urge to scratch and claw and bite your way free like a feral animal, suddenly overwhelmed with the sense that you should run as hard and fast as you can.
His eyes betray nothing, his lips curving into a condescending smirk, as he runs a finger down your cheek, gathering the tears you'd fought not to shed. He examines them as if he'd never seen their like, as if they were precious stones from the depths of the earth, mined just for him; he licks his fingers clean, turning his attention back to you, trembling under him as he cages you against the door.
"Please... please let me go." The look in his eye says begging will be useless, but you try anyway.
"You are my Queen. You're free to do as you please." He replies, voice smooth, with a pretty smirk and that predatory glint in his eye that would usually thrill you so, that still sends hot arousal pooling between your thighs, mixed with icy cold terror.
"It would please me to leave," you try to appeal to him, softening your voice, lowering your gaze.
"I'm sure it would..." he utters breathlessly as he takes you in, leaning over you, watching the artery in your throat jump in time to his own racing heartbeat.
"Mairon... please..." His lips are on yours before you can finish your plea, his hands tangled in your hair.
He pushes his thigh between your legs, letting you grind yourself against him instinctively, and he groans, deep and low in his chest.
"Even now, your body betrays you, my love."
You sigh against him, fingers raking his hair roughly, letting him caress your neck, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he tries to expose you to his gaze. His clever fingers usually make light work of the laces of your corset, but his impatience defeats him, and he pulls a dagger from the lining of his robes, slicing cleanly through the fabric.
"That was my favourite," you admonish him, still angry with him; even as he takes you apart with his fingers and his tongue, you can't forget his plans, and you certainly can't ignore his gift to you, sitting by the window in all their glory.
Twin crowns, wrought in black iron, twisted and wicked, emanating a dark power that made you nauseous; ready for the heads of Middle Earth's new King and Queen. When you'd seen them, your blood ran cold, as you realised that once again, you'd been victim to Sauron’s deception.
"You will have a thousand more, dearest wife, whatever your heart desires," he promises breathlessly as he shucks off your dress, sliding it down your body, worshipping you with the lightest touch, soft kisses peppering your skin as he disrobes you. He falls to his knees, his head in line with your mound. He looks up at you, locking his gaze with yours, and delves into your folds with his tongue, seeking your pleasure.
You gasp, throwing your head back, as he spreads your legs to access your entrance, splitting you open with two fingers, still drawing every moan and whimper from your throat as he circles your clit, licking long strokes, tiny laps at your skin, letting you ride his face in your lustful haze. You grip his hair more roughly than you normally would, your wrath seeping into your lust, until you can't detect the distinction between the two.
He takes one of your legs and places it on his shoulder, letting you rest against him, both of you totally at the other's mercy. Such trust, such devotion, would you throw that away? Would you truly abandon him?
He worships at your altar, an acolyte to your pleasure, drawing unearthly sounds from deep within you, willing you to just stay and be his.
Your mind is racing as tendrils of his power cling to your lips, fighting for entrance to quiet your thoughts, and replace them with his sweet music. Wouldn't it just be easier? To let the darkness in?
You might as well, you muse in the back of your head, thoughts displaced by pleasure as the darkness feasts upon you.
He's solely focused on you; there is nowhere he would rather be in all of Arda. The unblemished shores of Valinor, the white trees that used to light the world, he can finally understand why his master was so hellbent on their destruction. For there is no beauty that should merit a comparison to you, and he would raze these lands to the ground to prove it.
You're drawing close, he realises, and briefly wonders whether to allow you your release on his lips.
You feel him pull away and moan, a tiny pitiful sound that makes him chuckle; of course you need him, of course you can't be without him, even in anger. Victory is nigh, and he pulls himself out of his robes to claim you once again.
He pushes you back, your name on the tip of his tongue, as he takes you in, breathes your air.
"You're mine," he growls, nuzzling your neck to better scent you. "Say it, say you'll always be mine."
"I will," you murmur softly, tears pricking your eyes as you hold him close.
"If you were to leave me," he moans against your heated skin, stroking his cock against your thigh, "there would be no rest for any bird, beast, or being in this land, no sleep, no sustenance, these lands would burn until you were returned to me."
He claims you in one thrust, filling you so completely, so sweetly, that you see stars, your breath stolen from your lungs as if it were the first time you'd ever laid eyes on him.
Your heart wrenches, pulling towards his, despite your entire being screaming at you.
You kiss him harder, your mind quietened as he bites your lip, droplets of blood wetting his tongue, quickening his insatiable need to be inside you in every way that is possible; mind, body, soul, all inextricably entwined.
The tears in your eyes threaten to fall, but you blink them back as he rocks into you, the chorus of your lovemaking drowning out all other notions. He plays you so well, a master in the art of drawing sweet melody from your lips; the harmony you both create together is unmatched to his ears, a Maia who helped sing the world into being.
A chorus of "mine" and "please" fill the air, and you're unsure whose voice is the louder, who is more desperate in their claiming of the other.
You feel him stiffen against you, his melody reaching a crescendo before yours, as he fills you with his pleasure, low groans in your ear bringing you to your peak as well. He wrings every last moan out of you, drawing out the coda of your song until there are no more notes to be played, no more pleasure to be taken.
Sweat-slicked and exhausted, you hold each other close, entwined so perfectly. You let him carry you to his bed, laying you down reverently, climbing in beside you and nestling you close, arms wrapping you tightly, refusing to let you move from his grasp.
You'd usually find such comfort in his embrace, but tonight there is an itch under your skin that his touch only amplifies, making you fight not to squirm beside him.
You cannot sleep for fear of letting him inside your head again, so when a knock at the door comes, you welcome it.
He sighs, long and loud in your ear, as evidence of his displeasure.
"I'll be back, love, there are matters I must attend to."
"Of course," you smile, fighting to make it meet your eyes.
He regards you carefully, brow furrowed.
"Do not fear, my love," he says softly as he leans down to kiss you once more. "I won't be long."
As he departs, he gives you one final look of longing, which you hasten to return with all the eagerness you can muster.
The door clicks shut, your expression falls, and you immediately disentangle yourself from the sheets,
Finding obscene amounts of your clothing and jewellery, and books beyond measure in his room was no surprise. He must have been preparing for this for years, if not longer.
Now that Morgoth was gone, the next phase of his plan could move forward, and that involved you, his Queen, taking up her rightful residence.
You dress as quickly as you're able, taking only what you can carry, and go to leave. But you notice a small ornate chest you thought you'd lost when Gondolin fell, sitting on the dresser by his bed as if it had always belonged there.
You feel as if you've been stabbed, a gut-wrenching heartache overwhelming you as you can do nothing but stand and stare.
He went back for it. He kept it all this time.
Your feet move of their own accord, and before you can blink, you've opened the chest, staring at the impossible artefact of your love for each other.
Unfurled purple petals, revealing a stark white centre, the woven band appearing as fresh as it did on the day he married you.
You hold it up, comparing it to the ring you currently wear. He really had somehow captured its likeness in a jewel, deep purple revealing a bright light in its centre, framed by ornate silver details.
You cannot bring yourself to slip it on, after all that has happened, his lies and broken promises, but you are loath to leave it.
Movement outside his chambers sends a shiver of panic through you, and you quickly move to hide behind the door. The subsequent banging has you quaking but you stand your ground, waiting for whomever it is to leave.
The door abruptly swings open, and you hear two gravelly voices discussing... you?
"Mistress?" The first call is softer, but their annoyance quickly becomes apparent as the other chimes in.
"Where is she then? They said to fetch her, but I'm not traipsing all over to find some she-Elf-"
"He won't even notice, Adar says he's too caught up in all his planning and his speeches, who cares about one missing Elf?"
"He wants them at least, over there. He'll have your head if we forget-"
"Why my head? You're the one he told-"
"Shut it and take 'em, careful now, there's magic in it still..."
Their voices fade as they shuffle back the way they came. As the door slams shut again, you realise that your husband already has an army of orcs at his disposal, and you reconsider what you're about to do, but only briefly.
Escaping the fortress is more of a task than you thought, requiring all the skills of subterfuge and swordplay that your husband has ever taught you; which is no small feat, considering the centuries you've had to learn.
Quietly slipping through the fortress mostly unnoticed, leaving the odd corpse in your wake as your husband's servants cross your path, unfortunately for them.
Thankfully the halls are mostly deserted, and you hear a clamour coming from deeper within, but you try to pay it no mind, focusing on your exit and nothing more.
It is only when you finally see daylight, pushing open the great black doors to the fortress, that you can breathe a sigh of relief. If you can just get a headstart, perhaps you'll be able to outrun him.
-
It is in the middle of his speech, appealing to his army for their continued support, that Sauron notices you are absent.
He'd sent for you when his moment of victory seemed nigh at hand, and had assumed you were readying yourself for your ascent, but now that he had persuaded Adar and his children to his cause, the sight of your face was all he wanted to see.
As he knelt before Adar, awaiting his rightful crown, he searched for you in his mind's eye. He did not expect to find you outside the black gates, breathing a sigh of relief in the watery sunlight.
A surge of rage overtook him as he clenched his jaw, settling on his knees. The mere thought of your abandonment had always made his heart twist and shatter, and at that moment, he had no heart. Just a void where it used to be.
Distracted by your torment, he barely noticed the first blow, as Adar struck him again and again with the crown that was meant to define your future together.
As he lay in a pool of thick black blood, his last thought was of you; how could you betray him? And thank the Valar you did.
-
A great blast of freezing cold air knocks you off your feet, and for a second you thought you heard his voice on the wind. It's all you can do to just lie there, covered in frost and shaking, trying to assess if you're at least physically intact, your emotional state another matter entirely.
Clutching your head as blood trickles down your face, you shakily get to your feet. It is as if someone has emptied the heavens of all its snow where before there was nothing but arid plains. The air is suddenly glacial, the ground frozen and cracking underfoot.
It is as you contemplate your frozen breath in the air, that you realise you can't feel him. A vacuum in your mind, a void in your heart that you haven't experienced in more than a thousand years, and you can barely recognise that it is his absence that has left such a hole.
You thought you might feel free when you were rid of him, but all you feel is empty, yearning for a presence that has haunted you for millennia.
#sauron x reader#halbrand x reader#annatar x reader#the rings of power#my fic#this is a bit jumpy but I'm hoping it works 🤞#I've been editing it for days and tbh there is such thing as overdoing it#thank you for reading!! 💜💜💜
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liberal democracy is not going to save us from fascism because liberal democracy is nothing more than a relaxed form of fascism. the core social units of liberalism, the citizen and the nation-state, are also the core social units of fascism. this is why communists often talk about fascism emerging or evolving from liberal democracy, not replacing it.
in liberal democracy the public, reconceived as individuated "citizens," consent (or are assumed to consent) to governance in exchange for certain guaranteed "rights" or "freedoms." this social formation serves the ruling (capitalist/property-owning/employing) class by obscuring the inherent contradiction in capitalism between the interests of the laboring masses and their bosses. the masses and ruling class both become "citizens" who are understood as having the same "freedom" to own property, even if that "freedom" is practically unactionable for the majority of citizens.
because this is an obfuscation of class conflict, not an actual reorganization of the unequal relationship that gives rise to that conflict, the ruling class still faces the constant threat of popular resistance, and must constantly mitigate that threat. they're obliged to provide a sufficient standard of living to the masses to prevent them from rising up. the concept of the "citizen" is very useful to the ruling class, because it lets them limit the number of persons to whom they are beholden. citizenship is exclusive. the constitutions of liberal democracies don't really guarantee freedoms to people, they only afford those freedoms to citizens.
a liberal nation-state holds power over a certain swathe of land, and governs every person on that land, but only the people defined as "citizens" are entitled to "freedom." whatever standard of living the citizens enjoy is secured at the expense of an out-group, non-citizens (and sometimes second class "citizens"). the out-group makes material contributions (labor; cultural production; land/natural resources in a colonial context where the indigenous people are the out-group) without reaping any rewards, and they're subject to the violent authority of the state without receiving any of the bribes (rights/privileges) used to secure the consent of citizens.
the transition from liberalism to fascism is not a sweeping reordering of society, it's just a tightening and fortification of the existing borders between citizen and non-citizen. when capitalism is in crisis and the ruling class faces rebellion from starving masses, they can get bread for their citizen in-group by violently taking it from the out-group. and that's what they'll always inevitably do because the alternative would be to give up their own wealth and power.
when I see white people in Europe or its settler colonies say that their liberal democracies can't possibly be fascist because they're still enjoying certain rights and freedoms, what I see is the in-group denying the transition to fascism because they're not (or not yet) part of the out-group facing its violence. I hear this from white communists almost as often as white liberals, in statements like "this isn't fascism, it's just liberalism operating as intended," which is almost on the right track but ignores the crucial fact that fascism is liberalism's built-in fail-safe, and stops short of the crucial conclusion that the ruling class already pulled that trigger a long time ago. it seems to be very difficult for left-leaning whites to acknowledge that they are benefiting from fascism, and easier to close your eyes and accept those benefits. wake the fuck up now
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nightfall's descent
When you're observing me, who do you think I'm observing?
This time, it is you, who's been left wide awake for far too long.
mature themes; implied insomnia, age gap, issues. nsfw content, but there is no actual smut.
The crackle of thick paper crumpling in your hands makes Alex’s arm twitch. It must be very late, or very early, it is hard to tell the difference because the sun has already gotten into the habit of being distant at all times. It is cold. The outside world is freezing, all shades of blue and uncomfortable.
He is snoring softly. Lying on his stomach, one leg bent, his face is squashed against his forearm. He would feel his eyelashes tickle his skin if he were to open his eyes, that’s how bad it is. He looks relaxed, almost miraculously so. His stubbly chin rests on his other hand and it makes you smile. You are not sure if there is an actual smile on your face right now, but it makes something deep in your chest pulse with aching fondness and that is enough. More than anyone else could make you feel just by existing, that is for sure.
You can’t sleep.
This is normally his problem. It’s not that your sleep schedule is divine, but he needs much more sleep than you do, you have come to find out. He’ll never pass an opportunity to take a nap. On the sofa, on his favourite armchair, sitting at the dinner table —
it is, a breathy whisper of “tired today...” when he stretches his arms and sighs, then yawns and his eyes are visibly more droopy by the time he closes his mouth. Or, “I am gonna need to rest me mind after this...” when you ask him to stir the pot and he can’t tear his gaze away from everything swirling and spinning effortlessly. You know, you always know, you are gonna find him later just like this. Heavy and content, snoring softly.
Alex will do anything to avoid going to bed alone.
The unexpectedness of it had caught you off-guard at first, making you wonder what else you had assumed wrongly about him. He says he does not wanna get used to it, sleeping alone, because he has a habit of turning things into habits, and that has never been a good thing. You take it as a compliment, really, when he waits for you like a good little pet, and you didn’t even need to teach him a thing. To be more specific, it makes you want to grab him and kiss him all over, eat him up in bruising bites, and isn’t that just the best thing you could do for him? He has everything else, doesn’t he? Money, reputation, even love — adoration, fascination, obsession, — might not be the healthiest forms of love, sure, but it’s still much more than you ever got.
He is always tired after making love, too.
Making love, apparently that is what you call it now. It is just what it feels like. It’s not the bad kind of love, either. Everything he touches turns to gold, and you are just happy to be underneath him, on top of him— he is never out of reach. You are never out of his head.
It feels like a privilege to see him this way.
You put your sketchbook to the side, shutting it closed and instinctively holding your breath for a mere second to hear the soft click it makes. You reach out for him with your hand, the one you had been holding your pencil and smudging the ink with. It makes your skin rough like ash would, although, it could not be more obvious how this is not ash or dust, not the remnants of finality, but rather the opposite of it — you wanted to draw him. Couldn’t sleep, and observing him like this is as close as you can get to dreaming without shutting your eyes and falling backwards into the darkness people call “sleep”... but, no... sleep isn’t like this...
This is not still and lifeless, it is pretty radiant here.
”Dreamland?” Oh, yes. This is it.
Bizarre, pretty, yours.
Your fingers touch the softness of his eyebrow, and his eyes tremble slightly, before he sighs and moves his head to the side a bit. His eyebrows furrow. So expressive, even in sleep, even when everything outside is cold and grim, it makes your lungs ache and rattle your ribcage a tiny bit.
Nothing new.
He is mostly bare underneath the covers, you are pretty sure.
A small part of his thigh is exposed from how his leg is bent. Firm, yet soft, kissable. You pull back the covers slightly to see his knee and– there it is. The bruise.
You had bitten him in the afternoon.
He was busy coming back down to earth. You had kept him all safe and tender in your mouth for long enough to make some part of him believe in the sacredness of this thing. That it wasn’t fucking or any kind of animalistic instinct when he held your head down and an obscene noise escaped his throat. Without his permission, too, he always tries to be quiet when your mouth is full of him. As an act of showing empathy, or maybe it would feel dangerously close to silencing you, and he doesn’t want to get used to that either.
The bruise makes his skin pretty like the sunset kissed it.
You lean down to kiss it now, softly, gently. He squirms.
“Hm?”
You watch his face as he slowly wakes up. Stretching modestly like a house pet.
“What time is it?” His voice sounds somehow even rougher than usual, you feel a shiver run through your spine.
“I don’t know.”
That sobers him up, for some odd reason, and his eyes search for your face. Alex holds a hand up before he drops it next to yours.
“I was waiting. For you to come back to bed when you got up in the middle of the night. But I couldn’t‐ could not keep my eyes open, you know? I tried, though...” his voice trails off into a quiet mumble. He is apologising for something you have never even mentioned or thought about.
“I know, Alex.”
“What are you doing?”
You pick up the sketchbook again, handling it with an air of carelessness that does not belong to you. As if this part of you, which you are holding in your hand, has somehow become less important now that he is watching.
“Nothing, really. I couldn’t sleep again.”
He moves closer to you, still on his stomach. Lazy boy.
“Wanna show me?”
Your hesitation is undeniably palpable and thick in the air, he could cut it with a knife. You’d pay him to do that if he could.
Your numb fingers grip your sketchbook a tad bit tighter, with his sleepy eyes following the movement, he takes a deep breath.
“I want to see, love.”
Alex looks more awake now than he did when he woke up in the morning. He loves the sun, but it is not always there for him. It is cold now, even in the morning. Especially in the morning. Still dark, still freezing, and you weren’t there. It felt like the day after a perfect day, and he woke up not with a hazy, blurry mind but a very clear head and thoughts so sharp that they hurt.
He grows amusedly suspicious when your eyes widen with hesitation. This is not the first time.
“Is it– mmm–“ his voice turns into a soft croon, the cartoonish quality of it making his own eyes twinkle. “Is it me? In there...?”
“Huh?”
“Were you drawing me?”
You let out a huff at the accusation. “I've not drawn anything for so long. And it is literally just a rough sketch, I don’t even like it. I’m not trying to hide, it is not a–“
“But it is mine, isn’t it?” He crawls again, just wanting to be closer to you. He does this thing, getting closer to you so you can hear him more clearly, instead of just raising his voice like everybody else does. He is pressed up against your form now with a smirk on his face. Only a second or three passes as he is observing you, expecting you to hand over the sketchbook, and then he is chuckling, his face scrunching up. “Are you hiding me from myself? Come on... that is my job.”
You can’t help but laugh with him. “You always say I see you somewhat differently, though... I wouldn’t want to end up making a fool of myself or whatever it is that I'm so afraid of."
Something glimmers in his eyes, just a subtle flicker of it, and it is almost as if he never slept, once again. “Never have I said that to you.”
“Not to me, maybe, no... Does it matter?”
“Are you– hold on, tell me when was the last time you slept properly, and don’t lie.”
You almost comment on his tone, but you decide to answer him, only to realize that you can not.
His eyebrows furrow, and he sits up. It is difficult to handle this, you don't think you are ever gonna get used to it. Being so close, he looks too real. His skin is shiny under the moonlight, the tan is gone, pale again from the way he has succumbed to solitary lifestyles similar to those they teach you about in the bible. His scent... Cigarettes, is it? Something bitter-sweet and addictive like thick honey on his skin, too, and it ought to make you crave more when you let your teeth cut loose.
Not again... what was he talking about?
“Honey?”
You look at him. Alex. Al. God, he is going to get actually old one day, isn’t he? You almost wish he isn’t. You almost wish you had met him when he was younger, he could have broken your heart that way, the casual way, it certainly would have been easier. All kinds of leather were tight over his muscles back then, hair slippery and tousled and apparently perfect. Dark, but shiny like jet, steel, something solid and useful. Something you definitely wouldn’t have seemed, if you had been the one standing next to him in those messy, flashy polaroids and countless paparazzi shots.
You always had this thought about how his hair and his leather jackets shone the same way, and that thought used to make you giddy then almost teary. At least you never forgot how to fantasise and daydream about and do everything but avoid men like him, because he is actually right here now and he is... different.
“Yes.” You talk in a whisper, your voice soft and quiet like the rustling of your sheets underneath him as he shifts to caress your neck with a gentle hand.
“Where did you go?”
“I’m here.”
“Hmm. Yes, you are. I believe you now.” Alex hums, smiles. Looking thoughtful for a second before his face is hovering over yours, and he leans down to press a kiss to your neck. There is a hushed mumble against your skin. You nudge his shoulder.
“Honeysop,” he mumbles again, but this time, a giggle makes his voice sound chirpy.
“What the fuck?”
“I said... I’ve got a new nickname for you.” Alex looks down at you. (Studying your face with the expression of a man who knows he doesn’t have to tell his kid that Santa Claus isn’t real or something along those lines.)
You smile — a toothy, sweet thing to make his eyes shine even brighter. You can not help but notice the way his chain is dangling from his neck. Why must every single part of him shine like that? You touch it gently, soft fingertips warm against the cool metal. There are tiny pink marks left on his chest from how the chain had pressed into his skin in sleep. You find it soothing to watch it rock back and forth above you, and you are very sure that he is amused by that fact.
Suddenly, you find your voice again. “I think, had this been some other time, any other time, I would have asked you to fuck me right here. You know, it’s midnight, you are all just the perfect amount of wound up and silly. I can’t sleep. But... can I...” You impulsively kiss the tip of his nose just because it is the part of him closest to your lips. His eyes are wide and sweet, intrigued.
“You could pose for me... I want to draw you. And when I’m done, I won’t hide it from you, no... I could even draw it in your notebook. I know you prefer the ones with blank pages, I do, too.” Alex ducks his head slowly, listening intently, but all of a sudden, too busy leaving loving bites on your throat and pressing his lips against your heart. You grab his hair firmly, hoping to keep his eyes fixated on you.
“Then I’ll let you fuck me. I want–," You giggle when his stubble tickles the softness of your chest accidentally, but you keep going. He can feel your heart thumping faster and faster. "I want you too tired and distracted after you're done, just– too stupid to care for finding whatever the hell I drew in there. Be- because God knows it is gonna be horrible, Al, don't even..."
Alex grabs your face with a firm hand, his thumb digging into the skin near your mouth and the rest of his fingers wrap tightly around your jaw.
"Shhhhh... dove..."
You whimper quietly at his cooing, the contrast between his soft murmurs and the strength in his hand causes your mind to get filthier with each breath. And not just your mind, really, you would be pressing your thighs together right now if he wasn't straddling them so rudely. He presses his cheek against yours, his mouth just hovering over your ear. Tilting his head back for a few seconds, just to see your pretty earring up close. It makes him smile, even though he can barely make it out of the darkness.
"You've got to stop it, love, stop hiding. I need to keep seeing you, all of it, okay?"
You nod the best you can, chest trembling and hips twitching from the intensity of his words. Alex keeps hushing you as his touches travel down your torso, stopping at the waistband of your underwear. Tracing the hem, tapping his blunt fingernails over your stomach like he might do to the strings of a guitar he's yet to be familiar with.
Alex sits back, pulling away from you entirely with a huff. He grabs your sketchbook from where you left it earlier. A twitch in his bicep and a weary sigh on his lips, as if he's been forced to pick up some of kind of evidence.
You try to touch his knee, or just any part of him that you can possibly reach, but your fingers accidentally curl over him right where a bruise is still blooming and tender on his thigh and he hisses.
Cool cat... or is he, really?
It is something of a blur after that. Like you pressed a button and you are waiting to find out if it was the good one or not.
Alex takes your sketchbook and lets the poor thing covered in charcoal marks rest in the drawer of your nightstand.
The sheets he has tangled himself in bother him way too much. And they smell like you, as always, it is messing with his head right now and more importantly, it makes him want to mess with yours. He pushes them away, your relentless pawing at the worn white fabric anything but helpful.
Alex tugs at your shirt to pull it up, too, so he isn't the only one feeling cold and exposed. He clutches your waist, settling lower on the bed this time and resting his cheek on your hip. You can feel his chain touch you. He looks up.
"This– can you feel it?" He gently caresses, presses down on your lower tummy with his fingers, before moving his face slightly and planting a soft kiss right there. "This is where I need to be."
Just that sentence, the last one — it makes you cry out, your shaky hand coming down to grip his hair.
"No need for any... paper or ink or cameras. It is just us, dove. Even put the sketchbook away for you, so just let me, huh? It'll feel much better, 'cause it is more special."
A muffled keen leaves your lips when he starts to slowly slide your underwear down your legs. You didn't even realize you were biting down on your knuckles until now. Until you see the red mark you have left on your hand and the string of saliva connecting your parted mouth to it.
Alex stops when he hears the desperate noise you make, frowning. Something felt off. He lies down beside you now. Face to face. His touches turning delicate and patient, instead of demanding. "What's wrong?" He asks, sweet and every single thing that makes your heart ache all over again. He strokes your cheek, gentle warmth spreading over the parts he had grabbed and got a bit close to bruising earlier. Your eyes grow softer and so does his.
"I'm cold, Al. But if you put a blanket over me... I'm gonna get sleepy, too."
He kisses your lips once. A reward for not hiding from him again, perhaps.
Alex studies your hazy gaze for a moment. He grabs the blanket you had apparently used as a pillow when you hopped on his bed a few hours ago. Pecks your collarbone, covering the both of you with that warm blanket and he smiles as you move lazily to curl up against him properly.
It is easy for him to adore the way you cling to him, let out a soft noise when you are shifting to your side and swinging your leg over his, remembering that the only thing you are wearing is your shirt not exactly right on time.
"Pardon me, if I sound too crude, but..." He chuckles against your neck, the sound scratching his throat. "You were– well, are, fucking dripping, girl."
You giggle. "What was that word? Ah, yeah. Honeysop."
"You are ridiculous." He shakes his head and tuts when you try to move away from him, wrapping an arm around your torso and hugging you even closer than before. "No. No hiding, stay here."
There is a soft smile on your face, your mind full of fuzzy, messy bits and you are sure that feeling his warm breath on your skin must be something from your personal heaven.
Your voice comes out as a quiet, soft murmur. "I don't know what it is, but, sometimes you say things in a certain way and it just... there is this moment after I hear you, when I feel as if you could do anything you wanted to me and it would– nothing else could possibly be better than that."
Alex kisses your temple, carding his fingers through your hair. "That's a lot."
You squirm. "Maybe that's what makes it special... no? You said it was–"
"You pay a lot of attention to what I say, you know? I think that's exactly what makes it special." Another kiss. "That I trust you to see me... like I want to be seen. Not differently, you used that word, and I got a bit silly over it. It's never about differences between us. I try not to make it about them, at least."
"Always had a thing for that," you say, a bitter-sweet tint to your tone. "Contrasting subjects, juxtaposition... maybe that's why I got into painting, too. And oh, yes, there we have another difference for us to avoid admitting to, I guess," you laugh.
"Is this funny to you? Or are you just... amused by it?"
"Why?"
"You are laughing."
"I'm tired."
He could close his eyes and he would still be able to see the smile and that hidden yawn in your voice.
Alex sighs, delighted.
"I guess you're just gonna have to sleep now, then, honeysop."
#uhhhhh#who else feeling kind of abnormal?#alex turner x reader#alex turner x you#alex turner fic#alex turner x oc#my fic#gn reader#i think !
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Have you seen Impeachment: American Crime Story? The show about Bill Clinton’s affair with Monica Lewinsky. Well, I was young in 1998 so I didn’t know a lot of details about Bill Clinton’s affair with Monica Lewinsky until I watched the show.
Honestly, while watching the show I was reminded of reporting in the royal world as there many parts of the show about journalists getting scoops, sources, catching someone in an affair, men’s bad behavior, etc. Andrew Morton even helped write Monica’s book, same as Diana.
My realizations:
1.) the people who worked to catch Bill Clinton dis jr because they thought they were doing it for the greater good. i think in some ways they thought it was their form of activism. It made me realize that a lot of journalists in the royal watching world probably feel like this as well and that’s why they go after William and Kate
2.) the scandal was so scandalous omg. It certainly made tampongate look tame. It makes me wonder why Charles and Camilla still get made fun of a lot these days and I hardly see anyone go after Bill Clinton anymore (might just be my algorithm)
3.) the journalists or the royal rota are so weak now. I wish if William was cheating, someone would commit a crime like secretly recording his conversations with the mistresses where he admits to the affair to get evidence. This, plus tampongate, shows me that the best way to expose an affair is by secretly recording lol.
It’s actually funny that anon said they became further convinced an affair is possible because Kate went home from the hospital unseen. That’s funny because it’s actually obvious. We don’t see them everyday. Of course they can move without being seen. Like obviously we wouldn’t catch William in the many many rooms of Houghton Hall where his secret rendezvous with the Marchioness probably is. ( Jk, don’t actually think this is what happens. Tbh I just said that to make that anon even more paranoid lol). Obviously their friends won’t talk. The rota said they searched for evidence but tbh theh probably didn’t work hard enough lol.
1 - Makes sense. I disagree slightly that they thought it was for the greater good - my political leaning and some additional reading I've done makes me see it more for the political activisim. On the one hand, yes, if Clinton (and any president) was abusing the privileges of his office, then absolutely, it should be investigated and it should be properly dealt with - as it was with the impeachment trial. But the investigation also did become a bit of a witch hunt by some of the people involved in the investigations, which made it feel more like partisan activism and ultimately hurt the actual impeachment.
I won't go much further because then we start getting into politics, but if you're interested, some things to check out:
Burning Down the House by Julian Zelizer
The Clinton Affair (2018 docuseries - available on Apple TV and most other streaming platforms)
the Monica Lewinsky chapter in The Rulebreaker by Susan Page (Barbara Walters' biography)
2 - No one goes after Bill Clinton anymore because he's not in the news anymore. He's a US statesman elder now so he gets trotted out every 4 years for the election and the inauguration, then he goes back into semi-retirement.
Also, Monica herself doesn't talk about the affair very much anymore either, which has helped "cancel" the story from the public consciousness when Bill Clinton makes a public appearance.
3- It's not that the journalists or the rota are weak now; it's that privacy and security standards have changed so much that it's harder for them to have that kind of access to infiltrate the inner royal circle. William especially is aware that all kinds of people are interested in his private conversations and would leap at the chance to hack his phone or his email (look no further than the hacking of Kate's medical records) so he absolutely safeguards everything as much as possible, with unlisted numbers, multi-factor authentication, strict password protocols, and a strict vetting of everyone they give their contact info to. If they even give their real contact information out in the first place.
Also, another anon - I think it was on another site entirely - said that the only reason the rota had that kind of access back in the '90s to hack the royal circle's phones was because Diana gave them the phone numbers in the first place. No idea if it's true or not, I'm just passing on what I read.
Edit: Diana giving the press the phone numbers has been confirmed true. Here’s the link: https://www.reuters.com/article/business/princess-diana-leaked-royal-directories-to-murdoch-tabloid-court-hears-idUSL6N0MA43E/
Thanks, @and-the-void-looked-back!
It’s actually funny that anon said they became further convinced an affair is possible because Kate went home from the hospital unseen.
That's not what the anon said. They said that because Kate went home from the hospital unseen, they're more convinced that William's cheating/affairs could be kept entirely private/out of public attention if he ever did cheat.
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so are we gonna talk about how blindfold brothers and wemmbu kinda just treat the empire as on call fighters for zam bc of mapicc. he's zam's scary dog privilege LMFAO
#lifesteal#devotion duo#prince zam#mapicc#like is mapicc zams scary dog privilege or ?#its funny bc I do gen believe mapicc would help zam#no matter what but also esp bc hes incapable of not teaming w his friends and caring for them#like look at ro and zam#bro ends up at LEAST allying w them in some shape or form in every season regardless of if theyve been enemies or not#and if mapicc asked i do think most of the empire would back HIM up#though i dont think zam realizes that he CAN rely on the empire due to his importance to mapicc#or maybe he doesnt want to? or he doesnt consider it an actual stable reliance since theyd be fighting to help mapicc#and bc its a common enemy and not necessarily FOR zam himself#lifesteal spoilers
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Right and his work menaces (Brent and Karen).
I don't remember last I mentioned it but apart from crude nicknames to people (except Chris), he also just puts them in his phone really weird (except Chris, who is literally in his phone as Chris). And I bring this up because in Right's phone, Karen is saved as "Lawful Obligation".
#my characters#oops i fell in love#can you guys tell im stressed and hyperfixating on my own fucked up ocs cause i am#also brents nickname at work and in rights phone is fuckwad#and hes like yeah if im called anything else at this point by right its weird and uncomfortable#and when it is finally approached as if paul is only in rights phone as shitty-ex (answer) now that hes an excoworker#what was he in rights phone BEFORE the transfer#and right is like annoying dickwad ... karen is like oh i see thats why you call him a dick still#thats like a nickname from his phone name#and brent has to ask why fuckwad and dickwad and right looks at him and takes a deep breathe before saying#because i like the word wad and it is very comforting bc like a wad of paper ? you can throw it away#and so if i realize i gotta get rid of attachment i wad it up#also dont tell paul that dickwad was a form of attachment or he will never shut the fuck up about it#karen and brent both swear to never mention it to paul#paul is honestly such a weird anomaly in the plot bc he doesnt directly work at the same police station#but he is CONSTANTLY a topic of gossip or annoyance or updates#hes literally karens best friend! aside from chris he was one of the few right worked with who HAD touch privileges before right banned it#hes also just genuinely well liked but no one can actually tell him or he will become insufferable#which is a crime that rick is guilty of once when he meets paul and karen introduces him#and rick is just OH i know that name! youre her best friend#and she looks so betrayed and paul looks so delighted and stunned and radiant over this fact#and rick makes up for it before the night is over which is why karen forgives him - he made paul back in his place#anyway yeah right has lots of fears and hes my bundle of anxiety and i love him and his atrocious nicknames#i think i would die if i gave someone a rude nickname even affectionately irl#also also final note on this ig#since right is a detective and not always at the station its worth pointing out brent and karen just work taking calls and#doing misc other work at their desks which are nearby so they 100% bond and its wonderful#ok i lied final note on them is#for a very long time karen has to check with right to make sure she isnt annoying brent because he doesnt emote well#and shes scared she wont know if shes annoying him please help youre like the only one who reads his moods accurately
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Hey if you're a white person (as I am too!) and reading the stuff about End OTW Racism (@end-otw-racism) is making you uncomfortable CONGRATULATIONS THATS THE POINT bipoc have been uncomfortable in fandom for decades and some of yall can't face being uncomfortable for five seconds and still have the gall to have shit like BLM in your descriptions.
Put your money where your mouth is. Be uncomfortable. Actually read what they're talking about and what changes they're proposing instead of jumping right to BuT wHaT aBoUt My DaRk FiC (they want to protect your dark fic and help ensure you're safer from harassment over it!)and ThEy'Re PrO-cEnSoRsHiP (they are explicitly not).
I'm so fucking tired of having my posts and those I reblog on this topic largely ignored on my personal account, but ESPECIALLY I'm furious about how ignored posts on racism in fandom are when I put them on the danmei art sideblogs.
I see racism every single fucking DAY as part of running those accounts. This isn't some nebulous thing happening elsewhere, this is us!
If you don't care, I really need you to take a long hard look in the mirror and ask yourself WHY DONT I CARE?
Because YOU SHOULD FUCKING CARE.
#unforth rambles#end racism in the otw#end otw racism#i was already at my breaking point on this issue a month ago when i started talking more about microaggressions in the mdzs tag#now seeing how impossible it is to get people to give a shit ive moved to fucking FURIOUS#WHY ARENT MORE PEOPLE ANGRY I DONT UNDERSTAND#(i do understand#its racism taking rhe form of complacency and disinterest#from people who have the privilege to ignore it because it makes them uncomfortable and doesnt harm them directly#im honestly gettibg so disgusted#do better white fandom)#im a jewish white woman with biracial kids#it horrifies me to realize that im genuinely not sure if the circles im in would be safe for my half black kids to join#im genuinely not sure i can let my kids join fandom when they get old enough#for fear of what they'll be exposed to here#do yall even realize what a fucking indictment that is?#note this is mostly not aimed at my mutuals#yall are awesome and ilu#but i only have about 75 mutuals#what about the rest of my 1900 followers like wtf guys
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i think that the desire for perfection when it comes to activism, organizing, and the like is truly the biggest detriment to progress in the present day. so many people labor under this fantasy that some perfect leader or solution or way of doing things will happen, and in the end we just end up going nowhere.
#a lots been going on in a different online sphere of mine and it's got me thinking about this topic specifically#the idea that things have to happen perfectly and that activism must be perfect is also an incredibly privileged take to have#most people don't have the time to be perfect activists#most people don't have the resources to be perfect activists#and the people who expect others to be perfect activists are often the people who both have the resources and are deeply imperfect themself#i'm a firm believer that the best activism is activism that actually sparks change and progress#and that activism is often imperfect and flawed along the way#but online leftists in particular are so caught up in the idea of being morally correct that they#overcompensate and don't get anything real done#or don't admit when what they did do was a mistake or didn't work out quite right#this is like a half formed thought i might revisit it later#personal#politics#activism
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“what to tell a doctor to get an autism diagnosis” “here’s what i learned from realizing i was autistic at 40″ “i would never want a professional diagnosis” “person first language is so regressive” “autism symptoms are only a problem because of ableism” “we dont need treatment” “no autistic person wants a cure” “four doctors told me i couldn’t be autistic so i found a fifth” “autism is an invisible disability” “dont disclose your neurodivergency to employers” “i/dd and autism have nothing to do with each other” “nt parents/advocates have no place in autism communities” “of course im autistic have you heard me talk about horror movies” babe i have nothing in common with any of you
#completely insane that i will go on autism twitter and somehow i am ''low functioning'' compared to the rest of the people on there.#what are you TALKING about. dont disclose your ''neurodivergency'' to your doctors?? autism is an invisible disability?#we live on different planets. like i think we live on different planets.#sorry but i am twenty two years old and my mother has a fippa exemption to access all my medical info bc if she did not#i would not be able to access healthcare.#the only reason i can live away from home is because i have a cell phone and internet and can keep in touch w family.#my legal government address is my father's house where i have not lived for seven years#because if an important document gets sent to my apartment i will lose it or forget about it and i know this because it's happened.#like ... yeah ! autism IS a spectrum ! and you are not doing such a good job recognizing and supporting people who are#in very different places on that spectrum than you !#it is. i mean it's kind of a form of hermeneutical injustice to argue that there is no meaningful difference between various groups#of autistic people#like yeah functioning labels suck ASS. also you DO need to be able to identify that there ARE people who need more support#because if you can't name that then you are going to forget that they exist#and i see that all the time. it's aspie supremacy by another name#by erasing people who did not have the privilege of self-diagnosing#who do not have the privilege not to disclose#who do not have the privilege of independent self-advocacy#you are going to end up achieving the same thing that actively dismissing those people achieves#like. i dunno. like i said it's completely bonkers in yonkers that EYE and the UNIVERSITY DEGREE EYE WILL BE GETTING IN TWO MONTHS#and my LEASE and my RESPECTABLE RESUME and my INCOMING SOCIAL WORK LICENSE#feel alienated by the default presumptions the ''autistic community'' seems to operate from about how autistic people function#like jfc if i feel erased and unwelcome then how are you EVER going to make your community accessible and helpful#to people who need miles more support than i do??#rhi talks#autie tag
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weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<
#im gonna go and do my food shop etc to keep myself busy and hopefully my 2nd meds will kick in and we'll be able to handle it together#i think i kind of do this so regularly bc my brain is just processing everything bc i dont rly have time during the week#all cool tho im doing good overall def on the up n i feel way more capable of coping emotionally which is nice. i <3 meds#also.. possibly settling on the idea that i might be agender. very tentatively. lots of experiences n thoughts coming together rn#ive been reacting in unexpected ways to a lot of gendered shit atm which has made me reconsider the way i think abt myself#but very difficult to articulate it to myself let alone anyone else. so ive been sitting with it for now until it precipitates#gender stuff has never rly affected me much or ive never been in a place to explore it which is why i havent thought abt it super hard#but im not the sort of person who needs a lot of internal exploration to figure out my identity like im v self aware tbh#and while im wildly indecisive abt most things in my life for some reason i never have been abt stuff like this. i learned abt lesbianism#like idk 9 years ago-ish and straight away was like yeah that makes sense for me. never looked back since#n similarly ive experienced forms of gender dysphoria before n just immediately dealt with it symptomatically n moved on#its never been smth to agonise abt for me like i know what makes me comfortable in my skin so theres no question abt doing it#and ik im privileged to be able to do that. and also it helps that gender for me is mostly divorced from external perceptions#+ that im v autistic so social pressures dont stick to me very well. i mean yeah i was bullied for it as a kid but i was stubborn asf#so yeah from the moment i realised i was genuinely uncomfortable/upset abt it earlier this week i was like okay. lets try this instead#its given me pretty instant relief from any distress i was feeling so far which is nice. rare respite from one of my torture labyrinths#just testing out internally whether it frames things more clearly n makes me feel more myself/at peace before i choose to stick w the idea#but not gonna do a whole coming out fanfare either way. dont think i wanna change how ppl interact w me + im still a dyke#so i dont consider it relevant to anyone else unless they share a similar understanding of gender to me. or if we're v close#ill prolly broach it w other trans friends eventually bc insert philosophers talking image. but to everyone else its business as usual#happy to play my cis-sona at work. + w new queer ppl i meet ive been introducing myself recently w mirrored pronouns instead of any/all#and i think i prefer that. virtually indistinguishable but theres smth nice abt inviting ppl to recognise me the way they do themselves#like translating + localising a non-gendered language into a gendered one... simplifying decisions abt how to perceive me#and ofc ppl are still gonna perceive me however but idc much unless we're actually friends. the rest is all a performance anyway#doubtful anyone on here ever has reason to refer to me but if u do for some reason... im freeloading off ur pronouns now btw <3#but yeahhh. much 2 think abt. i need to read more alien/ai sci fi.. non-human sentience has been such a comforting concept lately#but yea tldr i woke up one morning this week like damn im prolly agender but i have a full time job to go to rn so idc abt that#.diaries#okkkk my dex is kicking in im no longer on the verge of tears lets go get these groceries wooohoooo
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#so many posts on here I see and I want to go 'OP either you know an unusually high number of awful people or I know an unusually low number'#but (a) that's not helpful of me to say and (b) I don't know which it is#I do think I know an unusually low number of awful people *well*#like I've been blessed with an excellent family and I'm pretty good at picking friends#but even like casual daily interactions. apparently other people's regularly suck more than mine do#and like. what do I do with this form of privilege??*#I've been told that people tend to calm down around me which is nice I guess and perhaps insulates me from some deranged interactions#I also sometimes don't notice it when people are trying to be rude to me apparently#Believe me if I could bottle and share my 'judgmental weirdos repelling field' that I apparently have I would send you all some#*[it is of course linked with other forms of privilege but like. other highly educated white women still seem to complain of#more offputting interactions than I'm aware of happening to me]#it also occurs to me that this website is maybe not a perfectly unskewed barometer of everyone's daily pleasant or unpleasant interactions#in that one is more likely to come on here to complain than to come on here to rejoice#on average
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When people are unironically using the terms TMEs/TMAs or AFABs/AMABs or 'men, women and enbies' or fucking 'theyfabs'
#yes this is most often to try to deny some group experiences any abuse or oppression#some people need to be barred from ever talking about gender#until they learn about nuance#and to stop trying to reduce everything and everyone#down to a binary or *maybe* a trinary#also to stop trying to reduce everything down to a binary that's like#'the most oppressed ever can never have any privilege' and 'oppressors with every form of power and privilege'#also to learn to care about people whose experiences are even slightly different to theirs#I've even seen this on some post which was demanding 'TMEs' read it#as if it's about something that anyone deemed to be a 'TME' can't experience#and what is the post actually about? being misgendered#because absolutely nobody else can ever be deliberately misgendered#by someone who's meant to support or help them /sarcasm#I am sorry I truly am for everyone else going through any kind of shit like this#but your experiences do not give you any right to be bigoted or hateful or invalidating#or to try to deny the oppression of anyone else#and no this is not just about criticising trans women who do this so many people do this#trans people of all genders do this cis people do this#and I'm fucking tired of it
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queers who aren't radical about it like we just can't get along. we can't make out I'm sorry
#to me this is inherent#i do not understand how u can pretend otherwise and try to integrate into society like nothing is wrong out there#where is your fire?#your flame?#it's such a weird form of privilege for anyone to be apolitical much less somebody who actually is marginalized#like what even is that
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idgaf about the terminology used tbqh but idk how u can say trans women & transfems face a specific unique flavor of transphobia and nonbinary(etc) genders face a specific unique flavor of transphobia but somehow trans men & transmascs only experience like "normal" transphobia how does that make any sense to anyone
#like tbh im not rlly here for the term 'transandrophobia' for a number of reasons#but to assert that we somehow face less severe or less specific forms of transphobia makes zero sense#and tbh i think is often an underlying belief that we are Oppressed Women becoming Oppressive Men#which if u think for 2 seconds you'd realize that moving from CIS to TRANS is in fact the 2 steps back to that 1 (rare) step forward#the tiny minority of trans men and transmascs who are 'fully' transitioned and pass 100% of the time#still ONLY have access to that Male Privilege as long as they are stealth/closeted bc to a transphobe/to most cis#we are not men no matter WHAT we do
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