#but also it was just one of those days when the other person is tired or not feeling it and i'm a burden

[bluerosefox]

So... This was inspired by listening to EPIC (FREAKING LOVE ALL THE ALBUMS, SO GOOD) and by @noxcheshire post of Tim being Odysseus reincarnated and Danny (maybe also reincarnated) being his Penelope (Here) so I had to turn it into a Dead Tired idea.

The song The Challenge is the main one here. (Cause I LOVE that song... along with Would You Fall In Love With Me Again)

So WHAT IF Danny IS the reincarnated Penelope, after becoming the Ghost King Danny's memories of his past life as Penelope returns and remembers how before dying/ or being reincarnated both Penelope and Odysseus promised to find each other in their new lives, no matter who they are, what new form they take, they will find each other.

So Danny/Penelope, just like before waits for their Odysseus to return to them, but also tries to find him in their new life (CW is laughing whenever Danny asks for hints and gets a 'In due time, just wait' answer, ugh Danny wants to smack CW for that)

However just like in his previous life with being in a high position of power, Danny is being pressured to marry/take a spouse (now its not just men/males though so its a huge headache, I head canon Ghosts don't care much for gender preference) mostly by the dang eyeballs that Danny is still trying to find a way to get rid of without upsetting the Infinite Realms dedicate (but slowly healing) balance even if Danny wanted nothing more than to punch all of the suitors out.

So Danny decides to play the long game again.

And waits for their Odysseus return.

Danny's wait is over when they suddenly feel the Realms shift one day, as if welcoming someone familiar home, and the same feeling Danny had when he had been Penelope and saw the storm that was sign of Odysseus coming home, Danny decides its time to bring out The Challenge once again. (CW gifted Danny a few things from his past as Penelope as a coronation gift, like Odysseus's bow (now enchanted to be unbreakable), a painting of when he was Penelope, with Telemchus, and Odysseus, and the Marriage Bed/Olive Tree, AND the Palace Odysseus made that Danny takes to being in over being at Pariah's Keep)

-x-x-

Meanwhile

Tim Drake, aka Red Robin, always had strange dreams as a child.

War, Death, Monsters, Gods, Goddesses.

His dreams were more like nightmares, haunting him and he sometimes woke up in cold sweat.

He hated storms. Hated being in the water for to long. Hated how he felt both tense but also at home when around Greek heroes, as if he was afraid to 'disrespect' them (Cassie was the only one he didn't feel that way around, mostly cause they had been somewhat friends before their heroing since their parents knew each other) but also knew how to appease them should he insult them. He also had a strange hatred for the CoO with a burning passion because he felt like they were mocking real Owls.

The worst part of nightmares that always pop up are of what feels like should be his home is being invaded by unwanted guests (they aren't guests), how they are angry over trying to string a bow and shot an arrow through axes, of the terrible terrible things he hear them saying they were going to do to his loved ones (two names that keep getting muted out).

How it ends in bloodshed with echoing of begging, pleading, mercy, and screams.

However in those nightmares at the end. He also finds himself looking for something in them.

Or rather he always found someone waiting for him at the end of the nightmares. Calling him by the wrong name but it sounds just right coming from them.

The dream always ends with the person asking 'How long has it been?' and before he can answer he wakes up.

So yeah Tim has horrifying nightmares/dreams he could never explain.

And the urge to find someone. To go home to them.

It isn't until he and his friends from Young Justice are hit by a spell from Klarion (who may or may not had a visit from a certain chaos encouraging Time Keeper) and sent to a place called the Infinite Realms in the middle of their fight, that Tim is hit hard with déjà vu when he spots a certain Palace in the distance and overhears some of the 'people?' (they glow and float and some don't even look human?! where are they?) talk about how the 'King' has issued a new 'Challenge' for his 'suitors'.

A Challenge involving a bow, and axes.

And Tim, feels like he knows this all too well and needs to do it.

[davidlikebowie-noturaccountant]

okay this is fully rushed and just the first part because i’m sleepy tired but

i wasn’t TOTALLY sure if the au was meant to be like neil still tries and fails or what but that was how i read it and so the following also tw for references to suicide (canon compliant)

anyway there will probs be a part two… tomorrow? idk but i hope u like it op (i may have accidentally made it less of a silly goofy au and more of too much internal serious reflection whoopsies)

When Neil comes to, it’s in a sterile room. Bleak, white light filters in from the open door, and he is…… completely alone. It’s silent, save for the intermittent beeping of the machines, and everything hurts. For a moment, a blessed, easy moment, he can’t remember where he is, or why he’s there. And then it all comes crashing back, a 12-foot wave of pain, guilt, and regret. Then the heavy sadness. It didn’t work. He’s trapped. God fucking damn it, can he do anything right?

In the drawing-room, Tom and Eleanor are sitting by the phone, quiet. Grief had washed away the anger that stood staunch in that room only days before, and uncertainty continued to pool in them. And then they got the phone call. It felt like a miracle. Eleanor had fallen into Tom, crying, once again, but for the first time in ages, the tears were those of relief. Their family was going to be okay. They could heal from this.

The months that followed were hard. The hardest they’d ever had to reckon with. Neil, somehow, blessedly, escaped without lasting damage to his brain. When he was left alone for any longer than a moment, it weighed on him. When he had gone into the study that night, he had felt… steady. Sure. More sure than he’d been in a while. Resolute. And– in the wake of that– to find out he’d been foiled by a shaky hand, it felt like a cruel slap to the face. As time wore on, he tried hard to find the lust for life he’d briefly gotten his hands on, but his parents had deliberated, they’d decided to send him away, and they only told the school he’d- nothing after. And send him away they did, somewhere where he couldn’t make long-distance calls, and any calls he would have tried to make were long-distance. He was completely cut off from the person he used to be, and the people who had made him that person. Total isolation. He barely heard from his parents, save the occasional letter reminding him of the expectations they had. Forget lust for life, he hardly had it in him to resist. He was back to square one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At 32, Neil felt as if he stopped needing to adjust to things, or maybe he only just realised it. Suburban New Jersey was both exactly like Vermont and a far, far cry from it. He rarely let himself think about Vermont, though. The person he was before he went to military school in Scotland. Before what he only lets himself refer to as “The Incident.”

He’s a far cry from that person now. Dwelling on it only serves to make him sad. So, he settles into his new routine, and for a while, he forces himself, pointedly, not to think about how close he is to Vermont. Then, as time continues to pass, that becomes routine too. Suppressed without him having to think about it. He finds, in time, that he likes the bustle of the hospital. There’s no time for him to think past his cases. Saves him from himself some days.

The pager on his belt beeps, and he sees the code on the little screen. The one which means he has a new patient. And he steps back into the routine, going to the emergency room to do his job. One foot in front of the other. He has to remind himself sometimes not to mourn. He did his time, he felt his grief. Even 16 years later, it tries to get on top of him. But, his job keeps it at bay. Occupies his mind. Most days, he can hardly remember he used to be a different person. Some days he feels it brewing, just under the surface of his attention. It doesn’t get on top of him though. Never.

So, when he pulls the curtain back, clipboard in hand, his mind is blessedly empty, his gait is sure, and he doesn’t think twice about only skimming the chart he was handed for symptoms. Usually, he just takes the patient history himself. So, he walks in, as secure as he can be, doing the job he knows he’s good at.

He knows the EMTs had to resuscitate. From the beeping, he can tell that the pulse is still thready. But there. He knows the basics from his perfunctory skim of the chart. Overdose, patient’s pulse was lost for 3 seconds while unresponsive. This seems fairly easy, comparatively. He knows what to do. He’s well trained. He’s secure in his knowledge. Resolute.

And then he looks up from his clipboard.

It’s amazing how much 16 years can change a person. Features age, the angles of youth soften. But there are some things about a person that don’t change. A laugh, a smile.

Big blue eyes.

There are some things about a person you can never forget. He glances down at his chart. And there it is, the thing he didn’t read, in the same swoopy handwriting he remembered from- then.

Todd Anderson.

Fuck.

after seeing clips from tape and house I can only think of an anderperry au where Neil doesn’t die, but gets sent away and becomes a doctor. The next time he and Todd meet? Todd overdosed. You just have to hear me out for this one:

“Neil! We all thought you died!”

“Well I didn’t. You though? You did. Legally. For three whole seconds. Todd what the fuck?”

[anyarose011]

"I Would Not Change it Each Time" {Aemond x Reader}

Summary: After the assault you faced, all you wanted to do was crawl into your childhood bed and never come out. Yet, as days pass in with your absence, a certain prince regent takes notice.

Part 4 of 3 (Masterlist)

Warning(s): Past attempted SA, past grooming, emotional manipulation, coercion, and spoilers for future seasons

Heyyyyyy, it's meeeee. I'm SOO sorry it took almost 3 months for this entire chapter, but besides wrongfully starting/continuing other series, school has also been killing me. Also, despite this being a long ass chapter, I do not mean for it to sound rushed. I feel like how I ended this may be controversial, but I also wanted to keep it both happy and realistic; so please keep that in mind. I also imagine the character Evrin to be played by Assad Zaman, but you can imagine just any actor you personally find beautiful.

Word Count: 10.1k

You were still covered in his blood when you awoke, your wrist had turned brown, and you had finger shaped bruises on the inside of your thigh.

It was strange…despite ripping a man’s throat out with your teeth, you didn’t have any nightmares. What woke you up was having to use the chamber pot. Something so small and natural.

Dragging yourself out of your room, you stumbled through the hall and went into the closet with the chamber pot and shut the door. After relieving yourself in darkness, you left and was greeted by-.

“Seven Hells!” Your grandmother gasped. You jumped a little, only to then hiss in pain, clutching your stomach.

She held you up as best as she could. “Vivi, sweetie, what happened to you?”

You shook your head, only groaning and trying to escape her hold. Despite being in your state, you managed to slip away from her. She tried to follow after you, but you slammed the door in her face when you were back in your room.

Something caught your eye, and when you looked down, you were met with a sapphire; Aemond’s eye. You bent over slowly, picking up the gem with your unbroken wrist.

Without thinking clearly, you hobbled over to your dresser, opened the top drawer, and buried it under what little clothing you owned.

The dress on you had become too heavy, so you slipped it off your body and collapsed onto your bed; falling into the darkness of sleep once more.

You must have been dreaming, because you thought you heard your grandmother call you by your name for the first time in a while.

Opening your eyes, you were too weak to even sit up in alarm at her standing over you. Your heart quickened and soon slowed once you realized it was just her eyes staring back at you (and not a man’s).

“What happened?” She touched your face.

You groaned, turning away. “Really bad job.”

“Let’s clean you up.”

“Tired.” You inched yourself under your covers, hitching your breath with each movement.

Gigi frowned. “You’ve slept the day away; the sun will set soon.”

“It hurts to move.”

“Then I’ll bring in the pail and rag.”

“Just let me rest.”

She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. “You’re covered in blood that I hope is not yours.”

“Most of it isn’t.”

Sighing, Gigi begged. “At least eat something.”

You laughed painfully. What was there to eat? You only had but a few slices of bread, two carrots, and a little less than a pound of cheese. You were considered wealthy even by those standards. Aemond had closed off all the ports…

No one could get in, and no one could get out; including food.

“It’s not funny.” She frowned. “I’m going to make you something, and you will eat it.”

Gigi didn’t give you enough time to say ‘no’. She wandered out of the room, leaving you alone. The only time you moved to get out of bed that hour was to force yourself onto your feet and lock the door.

No matter how much she banged on wood or cried and begged for you to let her help, you did not open it.

It hurt to cry, but how else would you mourn your old body before it had been bruised and beaten?

You heard countless horrific memories the girls in Sylvi’s brothel would share of being violated; many worse than yours. Still, just as how nothing could’ve prepared you for how pleasureful sex could be, the same was for the pain it brought.

Gigi lessened her attempts in trying to get you to come out of your room. She’d manage to slide food under your door, and you only would eat when you were sure she was away.

Most of the days (how long had it been since you last saw a familiar face?) you spent under the covers in your bed. If you were not sleeping, your mind would wander. Seldomly, it would be to happier memories of your childhood, your mother, Aemond…

And then they would turn cold and dark; especially at the thought of him.

And then you would cry again, and then your eyes would hurt.

It wasn’t an hour later when you were still under the covers that you heard a man’s voice coming from outside your door. No, he did not knock, he kicked it open. You only had time to flinch at the abrupt entrance before Gigi’s voice broke through.

“How dare you! You’ll frighten her even more than she already is, you mindless oaf!”

“I worry for her.”

Aemond…what was he doing here?!

“Do you think I have been neglecting her all this time?” She dared.

“No.”

“Then…please be gentle with her.” Gigi gritted her teeth, and you heard her leave the room, shutting the door but it creaking slightly open.

Sighing, you pictured Aemond turning to look at the lump on the bed that was you. “Do you have any idea the troubles your grandmother would have faced if I were not outside the Red Keep today?”

Silence was your reply.

“It’s almost sunset, if you were wondering.”

You said nothing again, and that was enough for him.

“There I was, heading to spar and clear my mind from the past few days, and I see her rattling the gates, begging the guards to speak to Jahearys.” He hissed. “Had I not rushed over in time, they would have seen it as insult and…”

Though you had no more tears left to cry, the pain in your chest was heavier than ever at the thought of your grandmother being killed like a dog simply for her dwindling mind. Aemond sighed, and you felt a dip at the foot of your bed.

“It was already a risk to travel into the city now. Many of the smallfolk are…troublesome. I’ve neglected you for a day, and I apologize for leaving without telling you two nights ago, but you should not hold that against me. I went to see you last night and you were not there. I asked every girl in that brothel, and they either did not know, or refused to tell me anything more than that you were hurt. I offered coin, and they did not take it.” He scoffed. “I’ve never seen a whore turn away gold. You must mean the world to them.”

Never in your life had you thought that.

“Will you look at me?”

You didn’t want him to. He had caressed and gazed upon every inch of your body, but you wanted to sink into the mattress underneath you, and then into the earth so he could never find you.

But you didn’t get to do that.

The blanket was ripped off you, the cold air of your bedroom penetrating your bare body. On your back, cradling your wrist to your chest, you watched as Aemond sat above you. The eyepatch he wore only proved that he had rushed over from the Red Keep. For the first time since you had known him, you saw that look on his face: Fear.

His mouth parted as his wide eye ran over your body; every bruise and scratch, and all the blood that had tried to meld itself into your skin. His eye lingered on the inside of your thighs, and you whimpered when he placed his hand on the bruises of it.

“Who did this to you?”

His voice hadn’t changed. He asked it as if he was wondering how your day had gone.

Your breathing stuttered when you attempted to glare at him. “The man you sent to have pleasure with me.”

Aemond’s eye softened. “What?”

You forced yourself to sit up despite your painful cries. “Leave me.”

He said your name, sitting at your side and placing his hands on your shoulders. “I haven’t sent anyone-.”

“-Stop!”

“Wait-!”

“-Go away!” You shoved him, trying to stand, but his hands gripped your waist too tightly as he forced you back down onto the bed.

“Listen to me when I speak to you.” He commanded, but you still struggled beneath him. When you were nearly out of his grip, he gripped your face in his hands. “I said listen to me!”

You were both out of breath, huffing together as you calmed your racing heart. His voice was heavy with emotion, and tears were beginning to form.

He took a shuttering breath. “When all of this is over, it’s you who will bear my children. Even if I have to marry a Lannister or a Martell, I will not lay a finger on them. I will be king when Aegon is dead, and it will not matter what my mother, fucking Larys, or any of them think! Centuries will pass and history will remember you as my wife. How could you believe I would ever send a man to taint you after everything you have done? You-you have been the first and the only to ever show me kindness. Do you hear me?! I love you.”

“You’re hurting me.” You sobbed as he squeezed you tighter and tighter.

Aemond immediately loosened his hold but held you close. You placed your hands on his shoulders, steadying yourself through your sniffling breaths. He dried your tears with his hand. “Avy jorrāelan. Say it.”

“Aemond.” You shut your eyes.

“Avy jorrāelan.” He kissed them both and trailed his lips over every inch of your face.

Relaxing into his embrace, if you cradled yourself any closer to him you would sink into his skin. He held you for what you wished was the rest of your lifetime.

He set you down too quickly but shushed you when you protested. “I need to fetch hot water to clean you and wrap your wrist. It’s broken.”

Aemond disappeared from your room. When you finally managed to sit up with the pillow supporting behind you, he came back in with a bucket of steaming water, some cloth, and two sticks from the fireplace.

He first began on your wrist, wrapping the cloth around your elbow to your wrist. He then placed the sticks alongside your arm, securing them with more of the cloth tied tightly around on the ends.

After that, he took another spare piece of cloth and dipped it into the water, wringing it out and placing it upon your face. You inched away, hissing.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“A little.” You whispered. “It’s warm and…and…”

“What is it?”

“It’s silly.”

“Tell me.”

Swallowing thickly, you professed “I feel-I feel like I’d be more relaxed if I wasn’t the only one…bare.”

He looked at you, nodding. “You’re right, that is silly.”

You thought you were being overdramatic how you felt in that moment; you had just gone through something frightening, of course you would be red in the face at his comment.

Still, you weren’t for long. The Prince Regent, the kinslayer who could wipe out all of Kings Landing with just the snap of his fingers, slipped off his eyepatch and his shirt.

“Is that better?” He grinned.

You nodded. Aemond tried his best to be gentle as he cleaned the blood off you. There were times though he’d have to scrub until your skin turned red. When he was finished, he tossed the cloth onto the floor.

“Your nose is bruised, along with your ribs. Besides your wrist, nothing is broken; just abrasions.” He explained.

Again, you merely nodded. Aemond titled his head before unlacing and kicking his shoes off, then bringing his hands to the ties of his trousers. Once untied, he pulled them down along with his undergarments, his cock springing free.

You sat up, your body tense. “No. I-I don’t want-.”

“-Neither do I.” He sat on the empty side of your bed, lifting up the blanket. “Let us hide and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

You didn’t have to be asked again. Slowly as to not damage yourself, you finally slipped yourself under the covers, and Aemond followed.

As soon as you were completely covered, you enveloped yourself around him; your legs intertwining each other and pressing your chest against his. He wrapped his arms around you, fingertips traveling up and down your back. You hid your face within the crook of his neck, and it was then, when you felt safe, did tears fall.

“I didn’t send him.” Aemond repeated into your hair. “You must know that.”

“Where were you?” You cried.

A shameful sigh escaped him. “The Red Keep. A messenger came for me; my brother had taken a turn for the worst.”

“You said you would stay.”

He only pulled you closer. “Tell me what happened.”

“He-.” You took a quaking breath. “He tried to rape me.”

“But you didn’t let him.”

Your lips moved, but barely a sound let them.

He hummed. “What was that?”

“I’m a monster.”

Aemond shook his head. “There is nothing you could have done that would be more horrific than anything I would do if he were still alive.”

“I ripped his throat out with my own mouth.” His gaze traveled down to you, and you shrunk under it. “I-I had to pretend I enjoyed kissing him; I had nothing to defend myself but my teeth.”

“Fine then; you’re a monster.” Your eyes grew round with fright, but before you could refute, he continued. “You are a monster who fought for your survival and won. I know a number of men who would have crumbled if they wore your skin that night. You bared your teeth and refused to lie down and let him steal you. I’ve been told until my ears bleed that every woman is the image of the Mother, but I have not believed it until I saw you tonight. Painted in the blood of the man that had tried to taint you, you have never looked more beautiful.”

Tears had returned to your eyes before you could stop them, and he kissed each one that fell. You pulled away from him to lie flat on your back but clutched his hand.

“It was the man at the brothel when I was first wounded. The one who said he’d give me a little death.” You whispered. “Sylvi came in after I killed him. She-she said you left with a man and…”

His hand went to your cheek, making you look at him. “I did not send him.”

“I know.” Your words were immediate. “I…I think she did.”

“Why?”

You covered your mouth to swallow a sob forming. Breathing deeply, you took your hand away. “She was envious of me, she was envious of you, maybe she thought I was distracted-.”

“-Why would she be envious of me?”

“She had feelings for my mother.” You admitted tiredly. “She was drunk one night and told me. I jested in my mind that perhaps those feelings carried over to me because she’d constantly tell me I looked exactly like my mother. I don’t know for certain but…”

He ran his fingers through your hair. “Every ounce of struggle you have faced has only made you even more fierce.”

“You are not the first nor the last man who will tell me that.”

Aemond hummed, interested in your words. “How old were you when you first heard it?

“Ten, when I went to the pleasure house to find my mother. Thank the Seven I didn’t wander into any men wanting to bed me, but I found a few who were fine speaking to me about their life; their wives, children, and how they hated them. Maybe they wanted to fuck me, maybe they didn’t; I don’t know. All I knew was that I was excellent at talking to them; and I shouldn’t have been.”

He said nothing, nor made a sound. No words of comfort, no verbal indication of anything.

No, he did something far greater.

Aemond moved down the bed until he came to your legs, parting them gently. As you were raising your neck up to see what he was doing, you felt his lips on your stomach. He kissed your skin then up to the scar on your side.

Your breath hitched as he covered it with affection, all the while, tenderly stroking your hip. There was something else that weighed on your mind. Something that wouldn’t matter to him, but it mattered to you. Your hand trailed down into his hair, stopping him.

“You need to tell me the truth with what I ask you next.”

He glanced up at you as his head was still between your legs. “Go on.”

“Would-.” You sniffled. “If that man had violated me…would you have been disgusted with me?”

 He lowered his mouth to your center. He didn’t kiss your cunt, but instead, the bruises close to it. “I will skin the part of any man that touches you, even if it is his shoulder that brushes yours in a crowded street.”

You hated how often you cried that night, more so from his tenderness than of sorrow. Still, it was perhaps the first time in all your life you felt cherished. You felt safe.

“Av-avy,” You babbled, both from the overwhelming emotions and the already difficult pronunciation. “Avy jor-joral.”

Aemond trailed his kisses up your body until they hovered over your mouth, his hands by your head to hold himself above you. He said the words again, slowly.

“Avy jorrāelan.”

You repeated after him. “Avy jorrailaan.”

He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb caressing your lips and whispering into them. “Avy.”

“Avy.” You matched his volume.

“Jorr.”

“Jorr.”

“-āelan.”

“-āelan.”

“Say it to me.” His mouth was so close to yours.

Sighing at the feeling, you finally said. “Avy jorrāelan.”

He kissed you like you’d never been kissed before. He kissed you before with shyness, vigor, passion, but never like this. It was a kiss that held a safety to it; where you felt as if he could protect you from the darkest corners of the world, and the darkest parts of your own mind.

When he pulled away, he rested beside you, running his fingers through your hair. You wrapped your arms around him, trapping him in your embrace.

“I wish we knew each other when we were children.” He gently confessed in the silence of the night.

You nodded against him, then asked. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

He kissed the hollow of your throat. “I’ll be here when you awake.”

“Thank you.”

“You do not need to.”

“No,” you corrected. “thank you for being the first to kiss me. If not…then it would’ve been with the man a few nights ago.”

“Sleep.” He uttered your name into your ear.

And you did.

You don’t remember what you dreamed of, but you know that it wasn’t either bad nor good; it was just strange.

What you certainly remember was Aemond stirring beside you.

You were on your back, but you hadn’t opened your eyes when you awoke. His arm that was once draped over you left, and he slid out of the blankets. You listened as he tried to quietly shuffle around the room, putting his clothes back on. When you heard him sitting to put his shoes on, you finally looked at him.

“What are you doing?” Your voice was hoarse.

He glanced up at you, his eyepatch already on. Sighing, he finished lacing up his first boot. “The sun will be rising soon.”

“How do you know that? You said you’d stay until I woke up.”

“And you’re awake.” He moved onto his other shoe.

“Because of you.”

Aemond groaned your name. “I cannot spend the morning here and cook you and your grandmother breakfast. My brother is on the brink of death, the realm is in shambles, and I don’t even want to ponder what Rhaenyra’s next course of action is.”

“You gave me your word.”

“Did you even listen to any of the words I said just now?”

“I was almost raped and murdered!” You cried, sitting up. “You cannot do this one thing I-?”

“-And how many women will be if I am unable to prevent the Pretender from stealing the throne?” He challenged.

Your face dropped along with your heart. If your body wasn’t weak, you would have left the bed, your room, and perhaps even the house. You wouldn’t know where to go, but you just had to be away from him.

It scared you how that was your first thought.

Upon seeing the fear in your eyes, Aemond sighed, shaking his head. After finishing with his other boot, he sat on the side of your bed.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He ran his finger over your arm. “I do not want what happened to you to happen to any other woman or child. I only want you to be safe.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to your lap.

He put his hand under your chin to look at him, saying your name. “I do love you. You must understand that.”

You took his hand, lightly kissing his palm and whispering into it. “Avy jorrāelan.”

A hint of a smile spread across his cheeks, and he stood swiftly. “I will not be able to see you on the morrow, but the day after that, I will meet you at Sylvi’s.”

“I-I won’t be able to perform-.”

“-Does it surprise you I only wish for your mere presence?” He questioned. “You’re not a whore; you are perhaps my greatest treasure.”

With one last kiss upon your head, he left. You heard the front door shut, and you were left stark naked in your bed.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t even feel like wanting too. You had never felt the way you had with him. You never laughed like that in your life until you met him, you had never been so in love with someone. He was a perfect match for your intelligence and your humor.

He never hurt you as you made love. He’d leave his own marks, but the moment you told him ‘no’, or said that you were in pain, he’d stop. He’d pull every orgasm out of you with such ease, like your bodies had been made for each other.

Gods above and devils below, you wanted to wear his skin and become one with him.

And yet…you still felt strange.

You were just sitting there in your darkened room, wrapped in your blankets and staring at the blank wall in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed Gigi came into your room until she was right beside you, holding a tray with two slices of bread and a steaming bowl.

“They say a Targaryen sent ships to feed us.” She smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and placing the tray down. “Marija managed to fight some men for vegetables and chicken of all things!”

The soup was thick and filled with all the contents she mentioned that Marija fought for. It took everything within you to savor it and not burn your mouth while devouring it. You ate silently while Gigi took a slice of bread and dipped it into the soup.

“I thought Jaehaerys would never leave. He’s a nice young man, but-.”

“-How did you know you were in love with that Dornish man?”

She glanced up at you, and after getting over her initial shock, she smiled. “You mean my Qoren?”

“No, that’s not his name.”

“But it is.” She beamed. “He gave me a false one at first but then told me after he had enough drink.”

You giggled with her, despite already being told the story several times. Still, what she was saying was new.

Gigi continued. “Oh, he was so lovely. You know they say Dornish men are passionate, and Seven Hells he was. There was one night after he walked me home-.”

“-What else?” You asked, not particularly wanting to speak of her intimate life and categories of men from Dorne.

“He was gentle with me.” She recounted, grinning shyly. “Not just with my body but with my mind. He loved me proudly too, and loudly. If there were any other men in a tavern who tried to grab onto me, he’d tell the lot of them I was his and that he was mine.”

You smiled. “He sounded very kind.”

“He was.” She nodded. “His eyes were green; very unusual for anyone from Dorne…or were they blue? Or-or were they just brown?”

Sighing you set your meal aside, embracing her. “Were his eyes nice?”

“They were my favorite part of him.” Gig admitted softly.

You hummed, pulling away. “I wish to be alone. Is that alright?”

She rubbed your cheek. “Of course. Please come get me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

She left the half-eaten supper with you, and walked out of your bedroom, trying to shut the door completely.

As you lay in your bed, staring up at the ceiling, your mind began to ponder. You had been a secret to everyone in Aemond’s life. You were certain no one within the Red Keep knew of your affair, let alone your existence.

But the people in your life, Sylvi, the girls, even your own grandmother? Of course they were aware of you two.

You understood to an extent; what would the royal council in their fancy castle think if the prince regent had fallen in love with a member of the Smallfolk? Would it be better if you were a prostitute?

Immediately, you thought ‘no’ because of Lady Mysaria. There would be past gossip you’d hear throughout the silk street of the whore who had been married to one Prince Daemon and had nearly birthed his child.

It was then that you remembered the war that had been simmering within the walls of Kings Landing for weeks at that point. No doubt, with so much death from both sides, would it finally take place. Thus, you were forced to determine what would happen with only your personal knowledge of the situation.

The best outcome is that the Greens win the war, Aegon dies one way or another, and Aemond is named king. You are his royal concubine while he marries a noble girl, but he never beds her. You are the mother to all his children, and you live comfortably in the Red Keep for the rest of your days.

You would have done the impossible amongst the Smallfolk; be chosen by the prince out of genuine love and not of lust or a weapon in an issue of the family.

Yet, you had many concerns. The first being you didn’t understand how he could be married to a woman from a different house yet not have her produce an heir without being ridiculed by her family. Was that unimportant?

And how was Aemond so certain of his own brother’s passing? Would he be responsible for it if he were to make a recovery?

As these questions rattled on, you then had to face the worst outcome.

On the off chance they would lose, and Rhaenyra was to take the throne as you were officially Aemond’s lover…you had read it in one of the books Aemond had brought you to teach you his mother tongue.

‘When the winners slaughter and maim the man in battle, they shall rape and torture his woman in her own home.’

That was what made your head ache, and you try to sleep. The phrase plagued your mind for hours as you tossed and turned.

The next day, you finally left the house. Draped in the same hood you stole on your night out with Aemond, you entered Sylvi’s pleasure house with your heart churning in your stomach. You felt sick as soon as you stepped into the doorway. A young girl whose name you couldn’t remember was sweeping the entrance.

“We’re not opened yet,” she said. “the men and women need to rest before you can dive your cock into them.”

You pulled your hood down, revealing your bruised and battered face. She stood still at the sight of you and said your name softly. “What happened?”

“I need to speak with Valda and Chansey.” You uttered.

She swallowed, nodding and dashing up the stairs. You leaned against the wall to steady yourself, your wounds still extremely tender. Sooner than you thought, the two women came rushing down the stairs.

Valda’s face fell upon seeing the state of you, and she was by your side in a moment. “Gods above.”

“Is Sylvi here?” You questioned.

Chansey took a quivering breath, coming to your other side and resting her hand on your cheek. She whispered your name. “She…she’s gone.”

Your stomach only tied itself into more knots. “What?”

“No one’s seen her since last night.” She explained. “We looked in her room, but she wasn’t there.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor as they led you to one of the curtained off rooms in the great hall. Normally, you would’ve refused to even step foot into one of them, but your need to sit was far greater.

“You limped out of here after being brutally raped, and you haven’t been here for days.” Valda scolded, but you could hear the pain behind it. “Aemond comes in demanding where you are, and we are none the wiser. What exactly happened?”

Your eyes furrowed as you glanced up at her. “I-I wasn’t raped. I mean, I was almost, but I killed him.”

“You what?!”

“I ripped his throat out.” You explained. “Sylvi came in soon after and said it was Aemond who sent the man. I went home, and a few days later, Aemond came to tell me he didn’t. I-I think it was Sylvi.”

The girls glanced at one another as they processed your account. Valda spoke first. “It…it doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. There was one night when Aegon arrived with other men, seeking Sylvi. Unbeknownst to him, Aemond was here with her. After being taunted, Aemond let them do whatever they wanted to her.”

You didn’t know that, and if you had been told it prior to being attacked, perhaps you would’ve looked upon Aemond with more disgust. What you felt was more so perplexion; did Sylvi send a man to assault you to get back at Aemond for letting men do the same, or did Aemond only see you as a warm place for men to stick their cocks?

No…he loved you. He told you in Common and in High Valyrian.

“You believe she did it to spite him?” You asked.

Valda shook her head. “I only tell you what I know. We all know how dangerous a woman is when she is scorned.”

“I wouldn’t preach the importance of consent and then send a man to molest a girl I’ve known since she was a child!”

“Is it easier for you to believe that Aemond sent him then?!”

You never heard Chansey speak so desperately. What she meant to yell in anger, she instead cried in shame. Her breath quivered in an attempt to repress tears, and both you and Valda coddled her.

“What is it?” You questioned.

She swallowed before speaking. “There was one night but a week ago you hadn’t met with Aemond here, wasn’t there?”

“Chansey-.”

“-You weren’t here one night because he told you the one prior he had to attend to a council meeting.”

Your mouth parted. “How-how did you know?”

 “He asked for eight girls to be sent to the Red Keep.” She whispered. “I was one of them. There was no meeting; we were there to entertain and to please.”

“What do you mean?”

Chansey said your name softly, taking your face into her hands. “I had no say in what he wanted to do to me, or what I to do to him.”

It would have been gentler for her to stick a dagger into your heart and twist it. You thought you had used up all of your tears days prior, but as you sat in that curtained room, you were proven wrong.

You sank into her embrace, feeling Valda wrap her arms around you from behind. Tiny sobs left your throat, but that was it.

“Did he hurt you?” You managed to ask.

She shook her head. “I was worried about hurting you.”

“No.” You pulled away, wiping your face. “You didn’t want to. He…he…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop!” You cried. “Stop it. It’s his…he…what?”

Valda brushed your hair. “May I ask you something?”

“Okay…”

She took a deep breath, dropping her volume. “The three of us and all of King’s Landing knows that the war has already started, it is just a matter of time before it comes here. One of the captain’s my brother works for has offered us passage out of the city; I am allowed to bring one other person.”

“How? You asked first. “They’re not letting any ship in or out of King’s Landing.”

Valda smirked. “Who says they won’t?”

“What?”

“No matter.” She shook her head. “We will make for Pentos first, and then after, everyone may go to where they desire.”

 “That-that will take weeks-.”

“-Weeks to be free over years of possible suffering.” She said your name. “You do not need to say yes…but please think of it.”

Your eyes drifted to Chansey. “Are you not jealous?”

She smiled. “When she thought you were in paradise with the prince, she asked me. My answer is no; my life is in King’s Landing, whether the Targaryens want to make it a living hell or not.”

The offer was tempting…start a new life, leave everything behind and be anyone you wished to be. Still…

“My grandmother.” You stated. “What of her?”

She sighed. “You stay with her or leave without her.”

“But-but is there any way you can speak with your brother? You mustn’t be letting on too many people-.”

“-They are sailors making a profit off of people’s fears.” She interrupted. “Where they are merciful in the offer, they are still greedy.”

It was then that it hit you; the genuine possibility of leaving her behind. What were you to do? She couldn’t take care of herself, but what would happen if the Greens lost? What if they won?

How much of Aemond’s vow was true?

Would it be kinder to tell her you were leaving, or just running away?

Would she even notice?

“When can I give my answer?” You asked.

She swallowed thickly. “We’re leaving tomorrow at the crack of dawn.”

So…no time to ponder what to do. Taking a deep breath, you folded your hands and nodded. “My presence or lack thereof will be my answer.”

“I understand.” She held your face in her hands, saying your name. “The third tower on the left of the Iron Gate. That is where we shall meet. Do what you must.”

You embraced her and then Chansey as if your final answer was that you were staying; it wasn’t, but you decided to act as if it was. The whole day had exhausted you, and you didn’t even want to try to find Sylvi; what would you have even said to her? So, you merely made your way back to your house.

You sat there on your bed, holding yourself and pretending your arms were someone else’s; but whose? Gigi? Valda? Your Mother? …Aemond?

Sighing, you had gone over in your head for the hundredth time the endless possibilities of either staying or going.

If you stayed, no matter what, there would be war.

If you left, no matter what, there would be war.

If you stayed, Aemond would possibly keep his promise and treat you like a queen once he was king (though, he never promised you would be the queen).

If you left, you could travel outside of King’s Landing and perhaps be the first in your family to ever do so; see the beauty of all of Westeros.

If you stayed, you could die (but you’d be with Gigi).

If you left, you could die (but you’d be with Valda).

And those were the thoughts that flooded your mind for hours, even when the day bled into night, and with the absence of the sun, came the coldness of the moon.

You got up once you began to shiver, and the blankets weren’t enough to shield you from the freezing air. You pulled out the top drawer of your dresser, pulling out the few clothes you had to layer up.

Something blue fell to the ground with a ‘clang!’

Looking down, it shined in your eyes, blinding you momentarily. You bent down and picked it up.

The sapphire…the forgotten sapphire.

Just as soon as the air had left your lungs, it returned with vigor. You left your room, and knocked on the door of Gigi’s. You didn’t wait for her answer before barging in.

She lay on the bed, knitting and looking up at you.

“Vivi?” she questioned. “What is it?”

You showed her the gem in the palm of your hand, and asked quietly as if you were a child again. “Would you like to visit Dorne with me?”

You didn’t sleep that night; and perhaps that is horrible, but you are still alive. After packing lightly, you and Gigi left an hour before dawn; having enough time to quietly navigate the streets of King’s Landing, all the while avoiding the City Watch, and helping Gigi.

Once you arrived at the third tower on the left of the Iron Gate, you saw perhaps four people there in total. All bearing similar, darkened cloaks that you and Gigi wore.

Immediately, you recognized Valda’s eyes. They were filled with joy for only a moment until they saw Gigi.

She said your name with a warning. “She can’t-.”

“-Let me speak to the captain.” You bargained.

The tallest man among you approached, a straight look on his face. “I assume you are the one Valda requested?”

You nodded.

“So then…why have you brought an old woman with you?”

“Wherever I go, so does she.”

“We cannot-.”

From your pocket, you took the sapphire and held it in front of his eyes that had grown to the size of plates.

“The Eye of the Prince Regent.” You affirmed. “If you wish to not call it that when you sell it for hundreds if not thousands of dragons, that is fine by me. Just know that if you do not take the both of us, I shall return it to Prince Aemond myself and perhaps I shall tell him of who refused to take it.”

It was a horrible thing to say, especially with Valda staring at you as if you were carrying a disease. The captain eclosed his hand in yours that held the jewel, shaking it,

“There’s no need to threaten, now.” His smile tightened. “It’ll just be a tight fit.”

You didn’t know exactly what he meant by that, but you didn’t have any other choice than to trust him. Soon after your bargain, the now six of you approached the gates. The captain had paid off one of the guards, because that was the only explanation you could draw from how the gate was opened.

All of you moved swiftly to the beach, and there waiting on the shore, was one of the ships Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had sent to feed the Smallfolk. It had been pillaged clean, and the captain was right; it was certainly a tight fit.

Yet…everything somehow fell into place. You would make way to Sharp Point first, where the captain had a contact and could only hope would give him a bigger ship. Still, just the mere thought of escaping King’s Landing was enough.

You spent nearly a week on that small boat, and it was a miracle you did not run out of food to feed all six of you. You had grown seasick for the first few days, but it soon surpassed.

Your stay in Sharp Point was short. Gratefully, the captain had managed to convince his friend to give him the ship he hoped for.

Not from the kindness of his heart; only from the sapphire he had recently obtained.

Much debate had gone into how long the five of you should stay in Sharp Point to recover from the week long journey. The ship had also gained a few other travelers who wished to board, considering its size.

Once the ship was acquired, it was settled that you would all leave the next morning.

You would make for Pentos first, then Tyrosh, and finally, Sunspear. It would take a month at least, two at most. You assumed that nothing noteworthy would happen on the journey until perhaps a week or two while at sea.

Never did you expect, as you sat above deck with your grandmother on the first day, to watch as Vhagar soared through the sky above you. You didn’t even see Aemond as he rode her.

To the majority of the people on board, it was an hour-long conversation of excitement and fear. To the few who knew of what had happened between you and the Prince Regent…it kept the lot of you up the whole night.

It wasn’t until you passed by another ship a week later, that it was revealed Aemond Targaryen had set fire to Sharp Point. If you had stayed in the city just a day longer…

The thought alone kept you up for two nights.

Nothing else happened until you awoke one morning having to throw up. It perplexed you; you hadn’t gotten sick from the motion of the boat since journeying to Sharp Point. You grew weary after it stayed with you for a few days, assuming it was a sickness.

When no one else showed any signs of illness, it only wore on you even more. Valda had brought the one doctor on board to you, and he confirmed something you always knew but never wanted to speak aloud:

You were with child.

You were a foolish girl; of course you thought he had genuinely loved you, he was the person you gave your maidenhood too. Still, you had Valda and your grandmother to support you through the long days of sickness and hormonal shift, as well as the nights of depression.

Rumors spread across the ship when it had been evident you were pregnant. Luckily, orders from Valda and the captain (because you were the sole reason he had gotten the ship in the first place), commanded that if there were to be any more gossip around the father of your child, they would be thrown overboard.

The captain was bluffing of course, but you knew Valda wasn’t. Still, the rumors began to stop.

 It was a long month and a half on that boat, only with a few days on Pentos and Tyrosh. Yet finally, you landed in Sunspear; the capital of Dorne.

To your dismay, Valda wouldn’t be staying with you. Deciding that she enjoyed traversing the sea with her brother, she said it was better for her to stay with him.

“We will see each other again.” She held your hands tightly. “Even if it is when you are holding a swaddling child. There are always rich lords and ladies who wish to spend their holidays in a beautiful place as this.”

You wiped your tears away. “I love you. Please don’t do anything rash to get yourself killed.”

“When have I ever?” She kissed your cheek, walking backwards to still look at you. “Bringing you and Gigi was completely sound.”

With what little money you and your grandmother brought, you secured a room in an all-women’s boarding house. Even with it being only for women…that did not stop them from inviting partners over; men or women.

You had known how free people were with affection and sex in Dorne, yet it was different seeing, hearing, and gods above, even smelling it. Despite working in a brothel since you were essentially a child, it more so off put you how…how happy people were.

It should come as a surprise to no one; not every girl working in a pleasure house wants to be there. Almost every sexual act you witnessed was one where the girl wasn’t so willing or desiring to do. You thought that part of you had been healed with Aemond, and perhaps it was…but of course you felt tainted at the end of all things.

Perhaps you were jealous, perhaps it was the pregnancy hormones, or perhaps it was just culture shock.

You never found out what had happened to Sylvi; although, you had a suspicion Aemond had something to do with her disappearance…you do not know how you would handle it if it were ever confirmed.

The one large difference that eased you within Dorne, was their treatment of bastards. Seven Hells, most of the women at the boarding house had bastards, yet were never treated any differently when they would go outside.

Yet…if your child were to be cursed with their father’s white hair…than you weren’t sure how well they would be treated.

You spent more time trying to find Qoren, the man who was Gigi's first love. It did not take long before it was revealed he shared the same name with the current prince of Dorne; making him the grandfather to him.

So there was a reason he had given Gigi a fake name…and there was little chance you would get a meeting with him of all people.

Still, you did not drag your ailing grandmother across the sea only to escape possible prosecution in the Dance of the Dragons (that was what the Smallfolk were calling it as you overheard conversations of whether or not the war would come to Dorne).

With a large amount of luck, you secured a job as a tailor for the prince’s daughters. With a miraculous miracle…you were to be welcomed with a feast.

You brought Gigi without question, wearing both the finest outfits you could find. Another thing about the Dornish was how extravagant in joy their festivities were. Even though it wasn’t anything like a fancy ball you assumed many of the lords and ladies in Kings Landing would host, it did not make you feel less alive.

You had almost forgotten your entire purpose for being at the feast as you socialized with several people, until the music suddenly stopped along with the excitement. At the head of the room where the members of the Martell family sat, you watched as the old Prince Qoren slowly made his way through the crowds of people who were once dancing.

He stopped in front of your grandmother, who was sitting by herself, and kneeled down to be at height with her. In the quietness, everyone heard him utter with his throat growing tight.

“Yelena?”

You’d nearly forgotten that was her true name.

Gigi's mouth parted at the sight of him, and with no shame or hesitance, she gently placed her hand upon his cheek. She smiled.

“I knew your eyes were green.”

20 Years Later

“Mama, may I speak with you?”

Despite your eldest daughter Siobhan, named after your mother, being nine and ten, she still spoke to you with the same gentleness she had as a child.

Oh…and how beautiful she was even then.

She was born with her father’s curly hair that was white as Northern snow, and his mouth; yet, she had your eyes and nose. When she grew up, there was no possibility in hiding who she was; considering no other children or adults for that matter shared her hair.

Stil…with the help of the Martell family, and the overall understanding of the Dornish people, neither you nor Siobhan were ever ridiculed.

When Gigi and Qoren were reunited at the feast, you and she were essentially treated like royalty. You lived in the palace with them, spending most days exploring and learning of your grandmother and her lover’s history as they begun to rekindle their relationship.

They never married though; a mere four moons after they found one another…Gigi died.

To try and soothe yourself and Qoren, you had accepted she passed after fulfilling her lifelong goal to find her true love again and felt safe to finally leave this earth once finished.

You were surprised yourself that your birth had not been premature from the stress…but you had someone else to guide you through your grief.

Evrin Sand was the leader of the Dornish Guard, and close companions with the younger Prince Qoren. When you first met him, he presented himself as stoic and silent. Yet, there was something that attracted you to him.

Call it an interest in mystery, call it your past self being drawn to the quiet ones, but it felt different.

It certainly was different; the more you got to know him, the gentler you found him to be. He smiled more often around you, and he never needed to pull you into private areas so much as to speak with you.

He was the first person you confided to about Aemond while you were pregnant, and he never once judged you. When Siobhan was born, he raised her as if she were his own; after you consented of course.

You knew he had a deeper fondness for you, and you with him. Yet, he understood the torment you went through with Aemond and was patient with you.

Three years later, and after much time for healing, you found yourself marrying him. Not so long after, you were blessed with your first boy, Leandro.

Another three years after that, your son Yeray came. Four years later, Yanette was your first and last daughter with Evrin; deciding that four children was perfect.

She was six when Siobhan entered the dress store you owned, and she immediately ran to her older sister.

“Shivi!” Yanette cheered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Siobhan laughed, the tension leaving her shoulders as she picked her up. “Hello, my little darling! How are you?”

“Mama’s being mean.”

“I’m simply teaching you how to sew a button!” You laughed, standing. “What is it, Siobhan?”

Her smile dropped, and she set her little sister on the ground. “Could you go upstairs and help the ladies with the dresses for the other little girls? I need to speak with mother.”

You knew that if you were to have made the same request, Yanette would throw a tantrum. Yet, because it was her older sister who she aspired to be, she gave no complaint, running up the stairs and leaving the two of you alone.

“What ails you, child?” You questioned yet began to clean up your workspace.

“I don’t know what I want to do with me life.” She sighed, sitting at your desk.

“You are not alone in that.” you tried to comfort, placing rolls of fabric back onto their respected shelves. “I have spoken to numbers of mothers and daughters who both worry about that. Do you remember Lumila? You used to walk to the beach together during holidays and-.”

“-I was thinking of leaving.”

You finally looked at her, and though she stood tall, the moment her eyes met yours, she shrunk.

“Leaving?” You repeated. “Leaving Sunspear?”

“Dorne…” She corrected.

Setting the rest of the fabric down, you placed your hands on your hips, thinking. You had often heard of the fear and grief parents would go through in letting their children go, but never knew you would feel it so immediately.

Wasn’t she just a babe in your arms a day ago? Not even able to open her eyes and gaze upon just how much you loved her?

“Where would you go?” You questioned.

She picked at her nails, and you took her hands into yours, halting her bad habit. “Aunt Valda said I could travel to Essos with her and the cousins…and we would be in King’s Landing too.”

Valda was nearing five and forty, yet she still traveled the same path you both took in your escape from King’s Landing. She had become the captain of the ship after her brother, and had somehow found a husband, birthing a few children of her own.

Of course you were still the closest of friends with her, after all those years.

“When did she tell you that?” You questioned.

“Two moons ago when she last visited.” She explained. “She’ll be here in another one, and who knows if her offer still stands-.”

“-Is it what your heart desires?”

Siobhan titled her head. “What?”

You repeated. “If it is how you want to live your life, who am I to stop you?”

“But I don’t know!” She exploded into tears, and you immediately embraced her. She sobbed. “I don’t want to leave you, and-and father and everyone, but-but-but-!”

Shushing her, you pulled away only to reach for a handkerchief on your desk. You handed it to her and she blew into it until all the snot left her sinuses. She pocketed it, and wiped her eyes.

“Why else are you in such turmoil?” You questioned, knowing it wasn’t simply the question of if she should stay or go.

Siobhan took a shuttering breath, saying softly. “I’ve heard rumors of a boy at Harrenhal…one who shares my hair.”

It wasn’t news to you, although hearing it always brought another thorn into your heart. It was common knowledge that, not long after your departure from King’s Landing, Prince Aemond Targaryen retook the castle Harrenhal from Daemon, as well as the castle’s nurse, Alys Rivers.

As years had passed, it was apparent that there was a possibility in her birthing Aemond’s child after his death. It was only luck that you had heard that rumored uttered years after Siobhan’s birth. If the word had spread quickly…the heartbreak and shock surely would have overtaken you.

He had taken Harrenhal only a few weeks after you left Aemond.

“And you wish to find him…” You finished for her.

She sat down on the steps, and you sat beside her. “It may be pointless, and I may not find him…but I wish to know. I love my home with all my heart, but it also longs to live and breathe in places I have only seen in books and heard from travelers.”

You sighed. “I cannot promise you that people will be as accepting as those in Dorne.”

“And I know that.” She ran a hand through her curls. “Papa has trained me well enough to defend myself, you know this. I will travel with Aunt Valda and her children, so I will never be alone.”

“Then you have your answer.”

“I don’t.” She shook her head. “I do genuinely love working with you. I love creating the most beautiful gowns, I love going to the beach every day, I love my friends, I love Leandro, and Yeray, and Yannette, and you and papa.”

You giggled, taking her face into your hands. “And we will all still be here when you come back! Shivi, you’re so full of life. You can decide one day you’re tired of me yelling at you in the store and decide to pick up your things and go on an adventure of your own. You can decide too as you’re traveling all of Westeros, whether it’s a moon, or a year, when you want to come home.”

She looked at you as if you were somehow the only person in the world who understood her completely. Then, with a nod, she said.

“Okay.”                                                                                                                

Smiling, you kissed her forehead and embraced her once more. It was when she pulled away did Siobhan ask.

“Mama…can I ask about Aemond?”

She never referred to him as her father. It was always easier to speak of him as if he were just the historical figure everyone viewed him as. Yet, it was also strange to do that, knowing that he was a part of her creation.

It was strange for you too.

“Well,” you folded your hands in your lap. “what would you like to know that you already don’t?”

In her defense, you did not tell her that much prior. It wasn’t as if you had much to say in the first place; in hindsight, you only knew him for a month at the most, yet that doesn’t mean your time with him didn’t matter.

Siobhan began. “I know you said he was mean at times, and you thought he would hurt you…but did he love you?”

“…Yes. I like to remember that he did, and it being real.” You answered with a far off look in your eyes. “If I second guess that it was for himself and not for me, then it would tear me apart.”

“And you loved him?”

“I…I think I did. He was the first person to make me feel good, and we had moments where we would just talk, and I’d selfishly wish everyone else in the world turned to dust just so I could have him to myself.”

“Do you think he felt the same?”

You shook your head. “Not in the way I did.”

She drew her eyes away from you, taking it all in. You reached out, holding the back of her head so she would look at you.

“I do not regret any of the time I have spent with him.” You solidified. “It led me to a safer place, and to having you.”

“He wasn’t a good person.” She whispered.

“No.” You shook your head. “He was mistreated as a child, and even when he was older, but you’re right, he wasn’t a good man.”

“Still, I…I wish I could’ve met him. Is that bad?”

“No.” Was your immediate response.

She smiled. “I mean, besides the obvious, it’s for one reason.”

“And what is that?” You chuckled.

“I’m really a princess.” She said with false pride. “And if Aemond was meant to be king, do you think he would’ve let me ascend to the throne?”

You sighed, both out of playful and genuine surprise. “Shivi, if you keep looking into ‘In another world’s-.”

“-Then what world would it be for it to have been true?”

“…In another world where his mother and father were different.”

She looked at you in question. “As in…not the king and queen?”

“No just,” You shook your head. “different choices. Even so, perhaps many things would’ve been changed for your father to be content in being the youngest.”

You don’t know if it was ever possible for Aemond to have not been blinded by a lust for power. You liked to think so, but the more you dwelled on it…the more you began to believe there was no universe it which it was possible.

“I understand.” She said softly. “I just wished to know.”

You combed her hair through your fingers. “And there is no harm in curiosity. So…do you know if you want to leave or not?”

Siobhan sighed, laying her head in your lap. “I don’t. At least I have another moon before Aunt Valda comes to visit.”

“You will.” You comforted. “I have faith you’ll know what to do.”

She hummed, and the two of you stayed in silence together for perhaps another minute before your eldest daughter rose to her feet.

“I promised my friends I’d visit them in the market this afternoon. I’ll see you at supper?”

You nodded. “I’ll make your favorite tonight.”

“I love you!” she kissed your cheek before waving goodbye and rushing out the door. There you were, alone again with your own mind.

It drifted back to when you had heard the news of Aemond’s death. It had been nearly a year since you lived in Sunspear, holding Siobhan was she was just a moon old. When the Dance of the Dragons ended, there wasn’t much of a celebration or mourning, for Dorne had decided not to participate at the start of it all.

So, to hear the news that the Prince Regent Aemond had died spoken so suddenly…you felt your body grow cold. There was a shame in admitting that some of you still loved him.

How couldn’t you though? You held the proof of it in your arms as you cried. You dreamt of him that night, and it was strange. He didn’t do anything but stare at you.

Night after night, you would see him. Sometimes he would talk to you, other times, touch you; again, most of all, he would just look at you.

Apart of you felt like you only slept just to see him.

Yet now, as you sit in your dress shop, and hear your youngest daughter (the proof of Evrin’s unconditional and unselfish devotion to you) rush down the stairs in excitement…

If you were given the choice to go back to the night you first met Aemond Targaryen at the well, you would not change a single thing.

[rmgkyle]

Omg sorry I’m SO late I was busy doing all the FANART for people and with work which made me really tired and sick. Yes, I’m really sick, my asthma is getting worse and my head has been hurting.

But I’m making this post for Christmas special for people I enjoy talking to/ hanging out with.

First is @smg-24

Man…you make so many art of RMG which I really appreciate by the way because you drew her A LOT, and that’s not all..I really enjoy ur company and helped me with stuff I was struggling with. You put a smile on my face every time I see you online or whenever we are on call. I love our friendship so much I never regret meeting you at all tbh, you make my day so much better because of ur personality and being around you makes everything better . I hope we stay best friends forever.🫶🏻💗

Next up is @mikchi8

Mikchi. How do I even start-

You are really funny in general and have good jokes, it makes me laugh every time. And also, you just are interesting too..I MEAN like you crazy and all but you still are a good person. Whenever I see u in the vc’s I join because you light up my mood, even when ur only in there. I like the way u act and I like ur style with ur ocs, it very classy and adorable.Im so glad I met you because you’re the most I talk to in the server. Your friendship has brought so much joy and positivity into my life.🫶🏻💗

Then is @knightedmares

Bro..YOU ARE SO FREAKIN COOL AND AWESOME I LOVE U MAN. I really adore you a lot and you are just WAY too cool in general.You are an amazing friend and buddy, like I literally want to be you so bad. You have good taste in music and fashion on your ocs.KNIGHTMARE I wish I could give u a big tight hug for being an awesome person to everyone, including me also.You should honestly be proud of yourself for being a chill dude. I love you man🫶🏻💗

Other is @neo91502

Hahaha…YOU..YOU SILLY SILLY LITTLE CREATURE..First, I just want to say that your yapping in the vc’s are like music to my ears, you yap about anything which is impressive if I’m going to be honest. In general, you make silly art of the silly meme Guardians and yaoi, makes me smile every time I see them.Jokes are funnier when YOU tell them because you’re just silly crazy, possibly insane.Literally everyone loves you if you think about it, we are going crazy of you.How do you make everyone laugh? 💗🫶🏻

More @libbytwq LORE!!

I get excited everytime I see you like I’ve been a fan since 2023 when you had those non-smg4 characters.You make really creative ocs and art I mean, you had so many cool ocs I just want to eat them one by one, Especially cee cee skies.Whenever you join the vc’s I spam ur name because i love when you’re hanging around! I gotta say, you grew more for the past months that I lowkey miss ur non-smg4 characters/silly anyways 🫶🏻💗

@nxva-blogz ( I know you can’t see this but ima send it to you on discord.)

Nova I just want to appreciate the fact you lighten my day and your jokes make me crack up everytime, they are really funny and the silly stuff with hexsy.I know u are a little goofy sometimes but idc, I can be goody with you😈. Anyways- I love when you joke around with hex3 or hex4 the “Tomm you should make a comic about hex3/hex4) it makes me laugh. The stupid quotes from hexsy is hilarious bro I can’t get it outta my head.💗🫶🏻

@moonlight12086

Oh my dear moon..my little silly crazy kitty..

YOU..!!!! YOU!!! YOU I LOVE U SM BRO UR SO COOL AND I LOVE UR STYLE SO MUCH!!! Your animated shit is so cool I swear like- I love you pookie, I’m so glad I met you because you’re not leaving me /j💗I REALLY hope we stay bffs forever and ever and I wish I could hug you rn I miss you. Your style is beautiful and delicious I just want to eat it right now because I bet it would taste like Cotten candy or biscuits, possibly caramel. You put a smile on my face every time we talk💗🫶🏻

@coralalala64

Girl... You're Hilarious with ur gifs and personally, makes me weeze all day 🤣. You are a nice and good person in general to begin with and I wanna say..ur art..doodles..anything..IS YUMMY I SWEAR ESPECIALLY THE ANGST AND LITTLE FETUSES YOU MAKE AGHHH. You literally slay all day queen /j but I also want to mention that YOU EAT CHIPS IN A BOWL🤣😭 nah girl same- anyways I want to give you a million hugs because you're the best :) 🫶

@tiredsmashbros

Well....well...well..what do we have here..

YOU SILLY SILLY BURGER GOOBER MAN I SWEAR-

YOU MAKE AMAZING DELICIOUS FOOD THAT I MUNCH ONE BY ONE. YOUR COMICS ARE SO DELICIOUS, EVEN THE BOWLUIGI ONE BECAUSE I LOVE THEM SMMMM😭😭 AND U JUST MAKE ME FEEL BETTER WHEN I TALK TO YOU CAUSE UR LITERALLY TOMM?!?? WHO WOULDN'T FEEL EXCITED AND NERVOUS?! I also want to say that ive been looking at your account for a while now and when you brought up 'discord server' I was nervous and excited to meet you for the first time. We both have same interests in fandoms which is surprising tbh😟 you make me smile when u talk to me because you are my top BIGGEST IDOL. 🫶

@kittykibbl

Hey kitty... 😈

Kitty you make really good angst of van and hexsy because its so scrumptious and tasty. You are a cool, chill dude in general, literally I swear- when you draw characters they look so cartoony and jiggly it looks amazing. Sometimes you peek in the vc's to Either scare us or see how we are doing. Just to let you know, you are the most important person in the server rn this second. 🫶

If I didn't ping you or make you fanart, I APOLOGIZE BECAUSE IM REALLY SICK SO I CANT THINK RN.

MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! LOVE YOU GUYS

[msilwrites]

The Mystery of Who Dressed the LT Like That? (Simon 'Ghost' Fic)

Sassy! Ghost, Sassy! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Sassy! Simon Riley, Stylish! Ghost, Dapper! Ghost, Domestic! Ghost, Domestic Goddess! Ghost Genre: Comedy

A/N: Same Y/N (Which is You! :D) from How I Met Your Mother? and Midnight Snack Mystery! This one’s all about the lads at the base figuring out the mystery of why their LT. suddenly looks like he stepped out of a posh catalogue. Spoiler: It’s not as complicated as they think—Simon’s just got a good woman (YOU!!) behind him making sure he’s looking his best. But when it comes to teasing, it’s a whole different ball game, and the lads are getting a taste of their own medicine. Enjoy the banter, because it’s all being thrown right back at Johnny and Roach!

Summary: As Simon's partner, you’ve taken on the unofficial role of his personal stylist—dressing him, picking out his clothes, and making sure he’s always looking sharp. The lads at base start to notice the transformation, and they can’t help but poke fun at their LT, who now looks like he’s stepped straight out of a Zegna/Uniqlo/MUJI catalog. They can’t quite figure out what's going on, but they’re determined to crack the case of why their tough, no-nonsense Ghost has suddenly become the poster boy for high fashion—and, more amusingly, started baking, flower arranging, and fully embracing his inner domestic goddess. But Simon? He’s perfectly comfortable in his masculinity, and no amount of teasing is going to ruffle his feathers. In fact, he’s got the perfect comebacks for every jab, turning it all back on Johnny and Roach—leaving them in stitches as they try (and fail) to get under his skin.

----------

It all started with a haircut. Not the usual military buzz or the "I couldn’t care less" trim they were used to seeing, but something deliberate—a sharp undercut with just enough length on top to sweep back neatly. The kind of cut that suggested time spent in front of a mirror, not the usual wake-up-and-throw-on-a-mask routine they associated with Simon. That was the first clue.

Then came the glasses. These weren’t the standard-issue, utilitarian frames meant for reading classified reports or aiming downrange. No, these had sleek black frames, with lenses that darkened automatically in bright light. Practical? Sure. But also stylish—the kind of stylish that made Soap and Roach exchange looks the moment they first noticed them.

And the hoodie Simon used to wear on endless rotation? Gone. Replaced by a knitted beanie that somehow managed to suit him. Sometimes it was dark green, other times navy blue, charcoal, or black. Even the ever-present balaclava he used to wear religiously underneath his hoodie had disappeared. In its place, he’d adopted other ways to cover his face—a sleek black surgical mask, occasionally printed with a faint skull design. Paired with those transforming glasses, which doubled as reading glasses, the whole look naturally drew attention to the hair underneath—the very hair that started their suspicions in the first place.

Price noticed too. He didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow now and then, his sharp gaze taking everything in. Kyle, of course, already knew the full story. But he wasn’t the type to share someone else’s secrets, so he stayed quiet, leaving Simon to decide when—and if—to let the cat out of the bag.

But Soap and Roach? Patience wasn’t exactly their strong suit.

The clues just kept piling up. Take his boots, for example. Those scuffed military-issued clunkers he used to wear without a second thought? Replaced. Was that a pair of full-grain leather, dark brown Doc Martens the other day? And hold on—were those reddish-brown Derby boots last week? They’d exchanged a quick glance, equal parts impressed and suspicious.

Then there were the trousers. Gone were the tired, faded jeans that had been his off-duty staple for as long as they’d known him. Now it was joggers on some days—still practical, but clearly high-end—and fitted chinos, khakis, wool, or even linen trousers on others. Twill made a regular appearance too, all in a careful rotation of muted tones: black, navy, charcoal, and an occasional deep green. It wasn’t just the variety that threw them; the cuts were sharp, tailored just enough to make it obvious they weren't just off the rack. They were chosen so well, it might as well have been. It was, frankly, unsettling. Simon Ghost Riley had gone from “whatever fits” to looking like he’d just stepped out of a bloody catalog.

And the hoodie? Either styled differently or swapped out entirely, paired with pieces that screamed effortless style in a way that definitely wasn’t effortless. It was only a matter of time before Johnny cracked, unable to keep the teasing at bay.

"What the bloody hell, LT? You hire a stylist or summat?" he blurted, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Roach, standing off to the side, stared expectantly, arms crossed, waiting for some kind of reaction. Captain Price, ever the one for a bit of amusement, arched an eyebrow and waited too, clearly curious. Kyle, however, had a different approach—he crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a smirk tugging at his lips. He already knew the answer, but he wasn’t about to spoil Simon’s fun.

Simon, as usual, didn’t flinch. His answer came out in that trademark raspy, nonchalant tone. "It’s called a magazine, Johnny."

Johnny and Roach exchanged looks, clearly unimpressed. Roach let out an exaggerated sigh, "A bloody magazine, Simon? Right. And I suppose next you’ll be telling us you’ve picked up a proper skincare routine, yeah?"

Simon didn’t even bat an eye. "Actually, I do," he said, his voice dry as ever. "‘The Ordinary,’ if you must know. It’s decent, keeps the skin smooth, and softens scars too. Might even help with those ones you’ve got under your eyes, Roach."

Roach’s face twisted in mock horror. "Wait, you’re telling me you’ve gone and started doing all that face mask, serum nonsense now? You’ve officially become a bloody beauty guru, mate."

Simon smirked. "Could be worse, I could be slapping on cucumbers and calling it a 'spa day,' eh?"

Roach shook his head, muttering, "I swear, you’re becoming like Kyle. Into all this skincare bollocks now."

Simon’s eyes flickered towards Kyle, who was quietly observing the scene with a small grin. He didn’t miss a beat. "Well, at least Kyle’s got good taste. Besides, better a smooth face than looking like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards, Roach."

Kyle chuckled, adding, "He’s not wrong, mate." Roach rolled his eyes dramatically. "This is just bloody brilliant. The whole team’s turning into a bunch of bloody posh lads, I swear."

Johnny rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, here we go. What’s next, LT? You getting a bloody personal shopper? Or did you pick up some new hobbies like yoga or bloody knitting?"

Simon just looked at them, unfazed, and shrugged. "Not yoga," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. "More like running, hiking—stuff that actually gets the heart pumping." He paused, eyes narrowing playfully. "I’ve picked up embroidery as a hobby now. And, uh... flower arranging."

Roach froze, eyes wide. "Flower arranging?!" he spluttered, utterly dumbfounded. "What in the actual hell, Ghost? You’re out there on Ops, dodging bullets, and then you come home to stick flowers in a vase? Are you serious?"

Johnny burst into laughter, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, this is brilliant. The 'Ghost' , now picking daisies like a bloody florist." He wiped a tear from his eye, trying to calm down. "Next thing we know, you’ll be hosting a garden party for the lads."

Kyle, who had been quietly listening, was now laughing hysterically, clutching his stomach.

Simon, completely unfazed, took another sip of his drink. "It’s a lot more relaxing than you think," he said dryly. "You two should try it sometime. Might help with all that anger you’ve got pent up."

Johnny’s expression darkened, and he slammed a hand on the table. "Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?!" he snapped, clearly annoyed. "I ain’t got anger issues!"

Simon leaned back in his chair, a knowing look in his eyes. "See what I mean?" he said coolly, his voice laced with dry amusement.

Johnny’s jaw tightened, and he shot Simon a glare, clearly more annoyed than ever. "You’re pushin' it, LT."

Kyle and Price both chuckled in the background, not saying anything, but clearly enjoying the exchange. Roach, who had been holding back his laughter, finally lost it, nearly choking on his drink. "Mate, you've definitely got a temper," Roach laughed, nudging Johnny. "I don’t care what you say, you're wound up tighter than a drum."

Johnny shot him a death glare. "You wanna say that again?" he growled, clearly not finding the humour in it.

Simon raised a brow, unfazed, clearly enjoying annoying Johnny. "It’s all right, Johnny. We can’t all be as zen as me," he said coolly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Johnny sighed heavily, knowing that if he lost his temper again, he'd be playing right into Simon's hands. He clenched his fists briefly, trying to keep his cool.

Kyle and Price chuckled quietly in the background, very much enjoying the back-and-forth. Johnny shot them a glare, but they didn’t back off, their grins widening. Finally, Johnny turned back to Simon, raising a finger in exasperation. "You know what? I can’t even keep up. You and Kyle, you’re both turning into bloody high maintenance. What’s next? Face masks, spa days? Gonna start wearing silk pyjamas instead of camo?"

Kyle burst into more laughter, clearly enjoying Johnny’s frustration.

Simon’s lips curled into a smirk. "I can’t help it if I like to look after myself," he said coolly, his tone laced with sarcasm. "You lot should try it sometime."

Johnny groaned, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Don’t start with that. You two are like the bloody dynamic duo of luxury now."

Roach grinned, shaking his head. "What happened to the hard-as-nails lads we knew?"

Price, who’d been quietly observing the whole exchange, finally spoke up, amused. "Aye, keep it up, Johnny. The man’s still got his edge, don’t worry."

Kyle, still chuckling, chimed in, "Yeah, Johnny, Ghost still got that edge. Don’t worry about it."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed. "Oh, right, now you’re both ganging up on me, are you? Just because you and LT have turned into a couple of posh lads, now you’re clearly siding with him!"

Kyle raised his hands, feigning innocence. "Oi, I’m not siding with anyone. I’m just enjoying the banter," he said with a grin. "And for the record, Price isn't 'posh'—he’s bloody Captain Price. But Ghost? Still got that edge. You don’t lose that after a few bloody flower arrangements."

Johnny groaned, rolling his eyes. "You're all useless."

Roach laughed, shaking his head. "Bloody hell, Johnny, you’re just jealous 'cause they look good, aren’t ya? Posh lads clean up right nice."

Johnny whipped his head towards Roach, eyes narrowing. "Oh, so you planning on being one of them now, Roach? Gonna start sprucing up, get yourself a bloody silk robe?"

Simon laughed under his mask, clearly enjoying the chaos he’d caused.

Roach raised his hands in mock defense. "Oi, don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm just saying, they look sharp."

Johnny scoffed, his voice dripping with frustration. "Yeah, well, I don’t need to look like I’m about to sign up for fine dining classes to get the job done, mate."

Roach grinned, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe you should give it a go, Johnny. Could use a bit of refinement."

"Refinement?" Johnny snapped, now fully turning on Roach. "I’ll tell you what I need, mate—someone to knock some sense into you."

Roach raised an eyebrow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, I think you’re lacking refinement, Johnny. Don’t know if that’s your temper or your manners, but something’s definitely missing."

Johnny's face flushed with annoyance. "You think I’m lacking refinement? Look at you, mate, wearing a smile like you're a bloody tea butler."

Roach chuckled. "Oi, you’re the one who’s about to blow a fuse over it. Maybe I should suggest you try a bloody spa day for that anger problem."

Johnny’s eyes narrowed dangerously. "Spa day?" he repeated, as if the very idea offended him. "I don’t need a spa day, Roach, I need a bloody escape from you lot."

He paused, shooting a pointed look at Roach, "Spa day, yeah? Maybe I’ll sit in a mud bath with cucumber slices on my eyes, calm me right down—while I think about how I’m gonna throw you in one."

Roach grinned wider. "Oh, I reckon you'd benefit from it, Johnny. All that anger you’ve got pent up? A nice, warm soak might do wonders. Hell, I’ll even join you. We could make it a bloody spa day bonding session."

Johnny shot Roach a glare, his temper flaring. "You’re really taking the piss now, aren’t you? You wanna go to a spa with me? You and me, surrounded by candles and scented oils? You bloody trying to get me to join the soft-lad club or something?"

Roach just shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, I'm just trying to help. Might even get you a nice lavender-scented massage while I’m at it."

Johnny clenched his jaw, struggling to keep his cool. "If you think I'm getting a bloody massage with you, Roach, you’re out of your mind. I'll take you to a pub, buy you a pint, and let you cool your head down the proper way."

Captain Price, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth, finally chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stand down, Mctavish, Sanderson, please, don't start a bloody pub brawl over a trip to the spa."

Kyle and Simon couldn't hold back their quiet chuckles at the Captain's comment, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Price, still smirking, added, "Although, Johnny, you might actually benefit from it."

Johnny's eyes went wide, and he snapped. "Oh, for the love of—!"

The team burst into laughter, and even Price gave a low chuckle at Johnny’s reaction. Roach slapped his knee, trying to stifle his amusement, while Kyle wiped away a tear. Johnny, now thoroughly flustered, shot them all a death stare, but the laughter didn’t stop.

"Not helping, Price," Johnny muttered, but there was no denying the grin creeping onto his face despite the playful roast.

----------

During Deployment.

The team was deployed on a covert operation, deep in enemy territory. The quiet hum of the comms filled their ears as they moved through the dense terrain. Simon’s mask had clearly evolved since the last time they’d been in the field—no longer the rough, stitched-together skull it once was. This new version looked more refined, almost sleek, the skull etched with sharper, cleaner lines. It wasn’t just a simple piece of fabric anymore; it had depth. The 3D skull design made it look more menacing, almost as if it had been custom-crafted for maximum intimidation.

Johnny, who had been giving Simon a hard time the whole mission about his ‘high-maintenance’ look, couldn’t resist another jab.

"Oi, LT," Johnny’s voice came through the comms, the hint of a smirk in his tone. "What is this now? You hired someone to redesign your mask? Looks like you’re auditioning for a bloody fashion show."

Simon’s voice came through, dry and unbothered. "It's called 3D printing and fabric glue, Johnny. You should try it sometime. Might improve your style."

The silence over comms was deafening for a moment as the rest of the team heard Simon’s response loud and clear. Roach snickered in the background, and Price let out a quiet chuckle.

Johnny, clearly annoyed, grumbled into his mic. "Bloody hell, don’t start with the tech talk. I can barely keep up with your bloody mask upgrades."

But Simon was already back on track, unaffected. "You just focus on keeping up with the mission, Johnny. Leave the aesthetics to the professionals."

As the team continued their watch, the occasional chuckles from the comms echoed, but it was clear: Johnny wasn’t winning this round.

The truth behind Simon's mask wasn’t as complicated as Johnny might have thought. It wasn’t some random upgrade or designer piece—it was all thanks to Simon’s love. Sweet, sweet love. She had taken the time to 3D print, back stitch, and fabric-glue the skull head onto the balaclava, making it look far more refined and menacing than before. She’d made several of them, so Simon didn’t have to wear the same one all the time. The way she had 3D-drawn the skull made it seem almost alive, a sharp, intimidating look that Simon couldn’t get enough of. He loved it.

The evening came, and after the usual MREs, the team settled down to relax. As they unwrapped their meals and poked fun at the blandness of the pre-packaged food, everyone was caught off guard when Simon, usually the quiet one, reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a mix of dried fruit, candies, and confectionary, all wrapped up in a single bag.

He unrolled a toffee caramel-flavored sweet, casually lifting his mask just above his mouth, popping the candy in with a satisfied look.

The team stared at him, taken aback by the sudden indulgence. Kyle, however, wasn’t fazed. He had his own homemade stash of treats, happily consuming his goodies on the side, clearly uninterested in sharing.

Johnny couldn’t hold back his disbelief. "Wait a bloody minute, LT," he said, eyeing the bag of sweets. "You’ve got all this—caramels, dried fruit candy—and we’re stuck with MRE desserts that taste like cardboard. And Gaz has his own little stash, too, but he’s off in his corner like some sneaky, stingy bastard, not sharing with anyone. Where the hell did you get all that, huh?"

Simon glanced at him, his tone as dry as ever. "It’s called baking and confectionary making, Johnny."

At that, Johnny and Roach exchanged a glance, grinning like a pair of wolves who’d just spotted their prey. They could already tell this was their opening.

"Ah, so you’ve gone soft now, eh?" Johnny said with a mock gasp, leaning in. "What’s next? You baking cakes, wearing an apron, putting strawberries on top like some bloody pastry chef?"

Roach smirked, picking up on the game. "Yeah, maybe a little tea party for the lads next, LT? You can serve us biscuits and jam while we talk about our feelings."

"Or maybe we’ll all sit around, and you’ll teach us how to frost cupcakes with your fancy icing tips. I can already see it now—‘Here’s a batch of skull cupcakes, topped with ribbons and flowers. Really adds that tough guy flair, yeah? 'Who’s the hardest in the bakery' vibe.'"

Simon raised an eyebrow, his voice low and measured as he looked Johnny up and down. "You know, Johnny, I’d offer to teach you, but it’s clear you’d eat the icing before you even knew how to pipe it."

Johnny flushed, his jaw tightening as the rest of the lads snickered.

Simon then turned to Roach, his tone dry but sharp as ever. " And Feelings, Roach? Last I checked, I’m a pastry maker now, not a bloody shrink. You want to cry about your feelings? Book an appointment with someone who’s trained in making grown men weep. But don’t do it over my desserts—if you’re sniffling and snotting everywhere, you’ll miss the flavor entirely."

Roach burst out laughing, throwing up his hands. "Fair enough, LT. No tears near the baked goods. Got it."

Simon unwrapped another piece of candy, this time a marshmallow coated in smooth chocolate. He popped it into his mouth without a care in the world, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting over his lips. The sight was almost smug, though Simon, true to form, paid no attention to the reactions of the others.

Johnny and Roach exchanged a long, drawn-out sigh, their eyes drifting toward Simon’s carefully sealed bag of treats. The temptation was practically carved into their expressions, as plain as day. Neither of them bothered to mask the silent scheming that was clearly going on—both biding their time for the perfect chance to pilfer something from Simon’s stash.

Price, meanwhile, had been quietly grimacing in the background, his irritation thinly veiled. Between Kyle off in the distance munching on his private stash of homemade snacks and Simon now indulging in sweets without so much as a glance in anyone’s direction, it was becoming too much. With a pointed clearing of his throat, he finally broke the silence.

Price cleared his throat, stepping in before Johnny and Roach’s plotting could escalate further. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “Give me a piece, yeah? You don’t have to share with those two.”

Johnny and Roach immediately protested in unison, their indignation loud and theatrical.

“Oi, why not us?” Johnny exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “What makes you so bloody special?”

Roach nodded in agreement, pointing an accusing finger at Price. “Yeah, We’ve been suffering through these MREs just as much as you!”

Price ignored their complaints entirely, keeping his eyes locked on Simon with a faint smirk. “C’mon, Ghost. Just one. For your captain.”

Simon tilted his head slightly, his voice as dry as ever. “Or else?”

Price’s smirk stretched into a full grin. “Or else, I’ll have you scrubbing all the pots and pans after Johnny’s cooking. And trust me, after the mess he made last time, those little pots and pans are practically welded together from the burnt food.”

Johnny immediately shot up from his seat, face reddening. “Oi! What’s that supposed to mean, huh? My cooking’s perfectly fine!”

Price didn’t even look at him, keeping his eyes locked on Simon. “It’s your call, Lieutenant.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’ll happily scrub. I’ve always wanted to experience the horror of Johnny’s cooking firsthand.”

Johnny’s face turned a shade redder, his annoyance evident. “You two are bloody awful, you know that? You’re both on my list for this!” He crossed his arms, glaring at both Simon and Price. Roach, in the background, was laughing hard, clearly enjoying the show.

Simon, however, still wasn’t fazed. As much as possible, he really didn’t want to share. Those pastries were a rare treat—something he’d made with his partner, and in a world full of MREs that tasted like cardboard, those sweets were one of the few things that felt remotely normal. He wasn’t keen on giving them up, not for anything. But if Price pushed him, Simon would fold. After all, he could always make more, but for now, he’d enjoy every last crumb of his stash.

Price huffed, clearly not getting what he wanted. “Alright, Ghost,” he said, uncrossing his arms. “If you’re not gonna share, then I guess I’ll have you do some sit-ups. See how long you last, yeah?”

Simon raised an eyebrow at Price's suggestion. "Sit-ups? You trying to kill me, Price?" He smirked, eyeing the sealed bag of treats. “Tell you what—save me from physical exhaustion, and I’ll give you three pieces.”

Without missing a beat, Simon tore open the bag and handed the sweets over to Price with a resigned, yet amused look. "There you go, Captain. Enjoy the sweets... before I’m forced into a bloody workout."

Price, satisfied with his victory, sauntered back to his seat. He eagerly unwrapped the confectionery, popping a piece into his mouth with a grin. He chewed slowly, clearly enjoying it, savoring the sweetness.

Johnny and Roach, arms crossed, stood off to the side, both narrowing their eyes at their captain with obvious irritation. Johnny's lips were pressed into a thin line, and Roach let out a frustrated huff. They were both seething, but neither dared to make another move.

As they fumed, Gaz strolled back in, having just finished his own share of treats. He quickly glanced around before hastily shoving his stash into his bag, attempting to keep his own little stash under wraps. His eyes flicked nervously between Johnny and Roach, knowing exactly how this game was about to play out. Gaz had learned from experience that whenever food was involved, those two couldn’t resist stirring the pot. Johnny’s temper was always on the edge, and Roach’s humor was sharp enough to keep things uncomfortable. Gaz quickly stashed his treats away, hoping to avoid being the next target of their banter. ----------

As Simon and Price gathered their things, preparing to leave their watch and head back to camp, Simon reached into his vest pocket. With a practiced flick, he unwrapped the last of his pastries, the soft rustling of the paper catching Price’s attention. The Captain narrowed his eyes, studying Simon closely as he popped the treat into his mouth.

“Got any more of those, Ghost?” Price asked, his tone a mixture of curiosity and barely-contained frustration.

Simon looked at the last pastry in his hand, then met Price’s gaze. “Last one, Captain,” he replied, offering a small shrug.

Price groaned, clearly irritated. “Bloody hell, you’ve got me all worked up for nothing.” He didn’t bother hiding his bad mood. Simon could see the shift in him—the tight jaw, the way his brows furrowed. Captain Price in a bad mood was a whole different animal.

Simon chuckled quietly, reaching for the last pastry in his vest pocket before finishing it off. "Tell you what," he said with a grin. "When we get back to camp, you can have the rest of my stash. I’ll just make more for myself when we’re back on home."

Price, still irritated from earlier, gave Simon a side-eye as he followed. "Good," he muttered with a nod, clearly pleased by the promise of more treats.

But when they finally reached camp, they were greeted by chaos.

Johnny and Roach were already at Simon’s stash, both of them hunched over the sealed bag, shoving and laughing like a couple of kids. Their movements were erratic, each one trying to outmaneuver the other in a ridiculous game of who could grab the most. The bag was half-open, with bits of wrappers spilling out onto the ground, and both of them were clearly struggling to keep their hands off the rest of the sweets.

Simon sighed deeply, watching the two fight over the remaining pieces. His arms crossed, looking resigned to the chaos unfolding before him. He had known it was coming.

Price, on the other hand, looked furious. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened as he watched Johnny elbow Roach in the ribs to grab another pastry. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Price muttered, clearly losing his patience. “How much sugar can two grown men stuff in their faces?”

Johnny let out a triumphant laugh as he held a piece of pastry aloft, dangling it just out of Roach’s reach. "Sorry, Roach, this one’s mine!" he grinned, eyes dancing with mischief.

Roach responded by shoving Johnny to the ground, grabbing the piece, and popping it into his mouth with a self-satisfied smirk. "Told you, mate, this one’s mine now!"

Simon shook his head, arms crossed, watching the ridiculous scene unfold. "And this is why I couldn’t bring more back," he said to Price, a smirk tugging at his lips. "See how they act with it? Can you imagine if I’d brought extra?"

Price didn’t even answer. Instead, his eyes locked onto the mess in front of him, and he marched straight toward Johnny and Roach. Both of them froze when they saw him coming, instantly on high alert. Price reached into the bag and yanked it away from Johnny's grasp, the movement swift and unforgiving.

Johnny and Roach stood there for a moment, completely silent, as Price looked down into the bag. His eyes scanned it quickly before his face twisted into a scowl. There, in the middle of the wrappers, was one lone pastry—no more, nothing else.

Price's jaw clenched. "Are you bloody kidding me?" he growled, his temper flaring. "This is what you’ve left me with?"

Johnny and Roach exchanged nervous glances, suddenly very aware of the storm they’d just unleashed.

Johnny gulped. "Sorry, Captain. We didn’t think—"

“You didn’t think? That’s the bloody problem!” Price cut him off, stepping closer. His voice dropped to a dangerous low.

Roach’s face went pale, and Johnny instinctively took a step back, clearly regretting the situation. The Captain’s bad mood was enough to freeze the air around them, and right now, they were square in the line of fire.

Price didn’t give them a chance to recover. “Now get moving!” he snapped. “Both of you—laps. Around the whole damn camp. I don’t care if it’s a hundred degrees, you’ll run ‘til I say otherwise. And if you stop, I’ll add more.”

Johnny and Roach exchanged worried glances, but neither of them dared to argue. They hurried to start running, the weight of Price’s gaze heavy on their backs.

Simon watched, an amused smile tugging at his lips. He gave Price a sidelong glance, who now looked like a man who’d had a weight lifted off his shoulders, but still clearly pissed off.

Price shook his head, watching Johnny and Roach running their laps around the camp, both of them visibly regretting their decision. The Captain turned his attention to the bag, now completely emptied except for the lone remaining pastry. With a sigh, he unwrapped it, popping it into his mouth with satisfaction, despite the sour mood that still clung to him.

His gaze then shifted to Kyle, who had been standing off to the side, laughing at the commotion. Price raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. He knew Gaz had a stash of his own.

“Oi, Kyle,” Price called out, his tone casual but commanding. “You got anything hidden away in there?”

Gaz, knowing exactly what was coming, shrugged with a grin. “I might,” he said, reaching into his bag. He didn’t put up a fight, just casually pulled out his own stash of treats and handed it over. "Here, Captain. Take it. Wouldn’t want to end up running laps with Johnny and Roach."

Price took the bag from Gaz without hesitation, nodding in approval. “Good call,” he muttered, already unwrapping a pastry. Gaz wasn’t wrong—they were about to head out in an hour anyway, no point in exhausting himself with the other two.

----------

As the plane touched down on the runway at camp, the familiar hum of the engines winding down as they came to a stop, Simon exhaled in relief. The long deployment was finally over, and home was just ahead.

He made his way off the plane, nodding to his team as they began unloading gear, and headed straight for his 4x4. The familiar surroundings of camp didn’t need to come into view—they were home now.

Pulling into the driveway, Simon got out of the vehicle and made his way inside. The door swung open as he entered, and he could hear the faint clink of pots and pans from the kitchen. His smile stretched as he walked towards the source of the sound.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he didn’t hesitate for a second. He wrapped his partner up in a tight hug, the weight of the past weeks melting away the moment her arms were around him. The comfort of her, the warmth of home—nothing else had ever quite compared.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her face and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, letting the simple pleasure of being home linger.

“Hey, love,” he said, his voice low, “missed you.”

She smiled up at him, eyes twinkling with affection, before asking with a teasing tone, “How was the deployment? Everything all right? Anything you want adding to the stash, or need more of anything?”

Simon shook his head, shrugging. “Nah, it’s all good. The stash is perfect, love. But…” He paused, a cheeky glint appearing in his eyes. “I could do with something extra next time.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Oh? What’s that?”

He grinned, leaning in a little closer. “You know that ginger candy you make? The one with the proper kick to it?”

“Yeah?” she replied, looking at him curiously. “What about it?”

Simon’s grin widened, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Make sure there’s a bit of that in the stash next time. Just enough to get up Johnny and Roach’s noses when they help themselves. They’ll never know what hit ‘em. A proper surprise.”

She let out a laugh at the thought. “You are evil.”

“Only when it’s deserved, love,” Simon smirked, already picturing the chaos it would cause when Johnny and Roach got a taste of the ginger burn.

A/N: Well, I hope this gave you a good laugh and you enjoyed it in some way! I’m thinking about writing another one-shot for the same Y/N (Which is still You! Lol!)—maybe a continuation, but that depends on if inspiration strikes me again. 😂 Cheers, and thanks for reading!

[ihfmseatsoch]

ok ok ok so if i may be so bold as to request something, ive been enamored wiht the idea of an older, controlling, borderline abuse boyfriend jimmy, like he and reader live together on earth, and reader goes to college, while jimmy works physical jobs trying to support them both. he's a SHITTY person though, so hes jealous of any man the reader talks to, reads through their phone, makes sinde comments about their weight and appearance, and (im totally not projecting here) eventually pressures them into dropping out, for like his perfect little live in partner/gf fantasy sjdhasd feel free to do whatever with this, but this specific scenario has not left my head for days

WHEEE this was fun to write ^w^ i rushed this a bit but i just didnt want you to have to wait any longer... :p

—

Jimmy Zare x fem!reader

reader uses fem terms (girl, girlfriend)

genre: how do i categorize this.... fic that makes you feel bad or horny depending on how you handle verbal abuse lol

word count: 1.8k

warnings/content: age gap, domestic abuse, manipulation, arguing, fat shaming, several references to the readers body/appearance, jimmy being the biggest asshole oh my god i hate him (i want him so bad it makes me look stupid)

(is it bad that writing about jimmy yelling at me turns me on... WOAHHH who said that .....😰 also dont kill me for the weight shaming part IM A FAT GIRL !!!!!! i like when evil men are mean to me !!!!!! RAAAH)

—

"He's a good guy, he can actually be really sweet!"

That's a sentence you find yourself saying out of complete muscle memory at this point whenever someone questions why your boyfriend–... well, they question an awful lot about your boyfriend.

For example, why he's over twenty years your senior whilst you're still going to class on the weekdays. Why he doesn't allow you to see your friends, wear certain clothes, leave your apartment without him, and why he takes up so much space in your brain, completely distracting you from your own life and goals.

You've missed at least four assignments this semester alone. It's stupid, really. You thought you'd be done with obsessing and crying over boys after you graduated highschool. It's completely immature for a so-called adult like yourself, but then again, you're hardly into adulthood at all.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has a lot more life experience, many of those experiences negative. That might be why you've taken some form of pity on him, going so far as to move into his apartment so you can take care of him when you're not busy. He needs someone to make sure he doesn't fall off the deep end.

The thing is, it's become hard to fit him in your schedule, but whenever you're unable to make time for him after he comes home from work, that familiar scowl on his face indicating it was another shitty day, he throws a fit.

He'll accuse you of everything under the sun; Infidelity being the primary thing.

"You don't love me. There's someone else, isn't there? It's that one kid that asked you to help him 'study' last week, isn't it? No? Give me your fucking phone, then."

This is what you come home to everyday, so it's nothing new. In fact, you're pretty used to it by now. Though today, Jimmy seems particularly pissed.

"Where have you been?" He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, eyeing you up and down like he always does when he's about to grill you on something.

"Sorry..." You mutter, way too tired to deal with one of his moods again. "Traffic." You answer simply, not having enough energy to overexplain yourself like you normally do.

"Uh huh. Traffic." He mimics you in a way that already tells you he's not buying it. Great.

"...It's the truth." You shrink into yourself at the way he's looking at you. Contemptuous as always. You're in for another argument, it seems. A million, desperate pleas run through your mind;

'Please don't give me another lecture about how you're my only financial support, and how grateful I should be. Please don't ask to see my phone. Please don't tell me to drop out.'

But, of course, you can't actually change the outcome of this. You're gonna get yelled at. Belittled. Degraded.

"You're two hours late, and you're gonna tell me you were just stuck in traffic?" He pushes himself off the wall and walks towards you.

"You're never home when you're supposed to be, and when you are home, you're all tired and upset.” He pokes a finger into your shoulder, hard. "What do you think that looks like from my point of view?"

"I'm sorry." You rub your face, exasperated. God, you wish he would shut up sometimes. Sure, he can be amicable, but lately... he's been a raging dick. Yet, you can't help but cling to the memory of his good moments. "I'll try to make it back on time tomorrow."

"Yeah? And how many times have I heard that before?" He sneers, "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

The way he accuses you so confidently, so sure of himself... it's insulting. Does he really think that little of you? "College has been kicking my ass, Jim. You know that. I'm not hiding anything from you, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, college this, college that. Always complaining about fuckin' college," He scoffs, his eyes stay narrowed, still glaring. "How about what I'm going through? You think I'm having a great time every day at work, hm?"

"No, I–" You stammer, hating the way he's turning this around to make himself the victim. Oh, woe is him, having to provide for himself and his girlfriend. How tortured he is. "I know, alright? I'm sorry. I just– what else do you expect me to do?"

"Be here. Like you're supposed to be. And I expect you to stop acting like I'm the bad guy for asking you to be a decent girlfriend."

Jimmy's voice raises slightly as he takes a step closer, towering over your sheepish figure. He nudges your shoulder again, even rougher this time.

"I'm busting my ass every day to put food on the table, and you can't even have the decency to show up on time, let alone look happy to see me?"

"I– I am happy to see you! I am, I'm just– you don't get it. I want to be here, but... I'm not even halfway through this semester, and–" You stumble over your words as you attempt, in vain, to defend yourself. It's not like he'll ever feel sympathy for you. It's always about what he wants. What makes him happy.

Jimmy rolls his eyes at your attempt to reason with him. It's as if he doesn't even register a word you say. "But what? What's more important to you, huh? Some stupid classes, or the guy who keeps a fuckin' roof over your head and feeds you? Be grateful, goddamn it." He snaps, grabbing your arms and giving them a forceful shake.

You flinch from being handled like you're not even a human being, much less one with feelings. "Stop, please, I'm– I am grateful, I really am..." You're not lying, either. To be honest, his guilt tripping works wonders on you. Are you really acting unappreciative? He wouldn't be this upset if you were in the right...

He seems unfazed by your frightened demeanor and continues to hold a firm grip on your arms. He looks you up and down, not even having to say anything for you to know he's judging you, as a girlfriend and person in general.

"Oh, you're grateful? Then maybe you should act like it for once." Jimmy gives your arms another firm shake, a harsh reminder of who's in charge here.

"I'm not asking much of you. I just want you to be here, and you can't even do that. Do you think I'm just gonna sit back and accept that bullshit?"

"No..." You shake your head, looking down at the ground in shame. Were you really that awful? You didn't want to be a bad partner, it's the last thing you ever wanted. If you could make eye contact without feeling guilty, you'd see Jimmy's face light up with satisfaction as he finally notices you're not even bothering to put up a fight anymore.

There's a condescending lilt to his tone as he speaks, "No one will ever love you like I do. You know that?"

You nod, knowing there has to be some truth to his claim. He takes care of you, doesn't he? He keeps a roof over your head, gives you money for groceries, and he's not always that unpleasant to be around...

He's a good boyfriend. You're the problem. You always are.

"Exactly."

The grip on your arms eases, moving them to place a hand on each of your shoulders, contrastingly gentle compared to his behavior only moments ago.

"You oughta thank your lucky stars you have a man like me who puts up with all your bullshit. You get that, right? How lucky you are to be with me?"

You know he's right. You were blessed with someone who still loves you, despite your many shortcomings. You're too fat, the acne on your face and body is repulsive, the way you do your makeup is weird... all of this being things Jimmy has told you directly. At least you have an honest boyfriend, isn't that what every girl wants?

He gives your shoulder a pat, like he's treating you like a small, petulant child. "You realize I could have literally any girl I want, right? Pretty, skinny, smart ones, even. But I chose you. Because I care about you."

He pauses, letting that sink in.

"But it would help if you'd actually put the effort in to look decent." He adds as an afterthought.

You've internalized every single snide remark he's thrown your way, reminded of them every single time you look in the mirror. Yet he still loves someone like you. Someone so difficult and embarrassing to be with.

"Jim, I don't... I don't know how I'm even gonna be able to free my schedule at all with school and stuff..." You mumble guiltily. You know he wants you to drop out, he's suggested it more times than you can count.

"That right there, that's why I'm frustrated, goddamn it," He says with an exacerbated sigh. He moves one hand from your shoulder to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. "Why don't you get it? Dropping out isn't the end of the world. Just quit and stay home. Done. Easy."

"It's not that easy... I want to get a good job and help out too, you know..."

It's true that you want to pull your weight around your shared home. With your combined income, it'd make everything easier. But... with how shitty college makes you feel, leaving you beaten down and tired by the end of the day...

You find yourself listening to Jimmy on this for once.

He can tell you're seriously contemplating it this time, which makes him feel... more in control. He's got you thinking and believing exactly what he wants you to. Soon, he'll be able to get you to obey him without another word from you.

The thought of having you as his subservient, stay at home girlfriend is more than appealing. It's his goal to mold you into what he wants you to be.

"Yeah, yeah, I get that, I know. But you're stressing yourself half to death, and for what? Some stupid degree? Listen to me, I'm not gonna ask you again. You're just creating problems that don't need to exist. Just quit. You'll have plenty of free time that you can spend with me."

You can't deny how tempting the idea is. Hesitantly, after several moments of pondering the hypotheticals and what-ifs, you speak up,

"...I guess... dropping out wouldn't hurt too much."

He perks up at that, barely being able to contain a delighted grin. You're actually putting him and his wants first, and acknowledging that he's right. You're doing as he says, without any of the usual arguing or excuses. He'll finally have his dream complaisant, docile girlfriend to come home to every night.

It only took a month or two to finally get you to cave. You'll be easier to control from now on. Hell, maybe you'll lose some weight with some free time on your hands, stop wearing that shitty makeup...

"Good girl," He says in a patronizing tone, like he's addressing a child, "That's what wanna hear."

God, you really hope this isn't a bad idea. Jimmy looks pleased for once, so...

This decision can't possibly ruin your future too badly, right?

—

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[entering--hyperspace]

Cannot imagine whatever is going on through Mr Leonard Echowatcher's head. You spend your life yearning for a world where you lived differently, where the day wasnt soaked in war, blood, and battle. Where you could envision a future where you have a partner and a family with friends to live gracefully with. But then you are given such opportunities only to find you were never taught to be gentle, you have a gentle, empathetic nature and yet the physicality of it is a stranger to you. You are expected to raise a child with gentle hands so that she saves the world, What does that even mean? How can you accept your growing love for your friend when you were never taught how to love, that intimate love is a luxury best left forgotten, there are no need for such things in war. He has to learn to become the things he wanted bc he grew too old to develop it naturally. He becomes a father to taimi fumbling his way into learning how to care and parent, he is defensive of Aurene bc he is from a culture where they arent expected to raise their own young and yet has to do so with a dragon. It feels like a test, He has to prove both to others and to himself he is capable of being a father, of nuturing, that calloused, stained hands can still be gentle. He has to accept that love is a terrifying leap of faith in vulnerability in order to gain a partnership that is considered a rarity. I love the idea that he spent 30 years yearning for things he thought he would never have and when he is actually given those opportunities (albeit admittedly through unusual circumstances) he has to learn how to actually live in them, becuase they were always just Concepts until now. Ohhhh my god Mr. Leo you are my everything

[sysig]

He’s my little meow meow, my darling, my bbygirl (Patreon)

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

All I've seen on the left this election has been a loop of

"I'm not voting Harris cause she's pro-genocide"

"But then you're letting Trump into power! It'll be on you when trans kids die!"

and

"I'm voting Harris cause I don't want Hitler Jr in charge again"

"So Palestine doesn't matter to you? Someone finally showed their true colors!"

I feel like we're saying the same things here. Some coordination would be nice, people.

[peachiyyy]

lol extremely religious people are always objectively horrible people it’s crazy i thought you guys were supposed to be the good ones!!

[bredforloyalty]

well not every shift is good it took me a while but i have taken notice of this

[gynaiko]

ㅤㅤㅤSTELLA   IS   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   AT   ALL;   QUITE   NEGLECTFUL,   ACTUALLY.   THE   KIND   TO   SAY   ‘THAT’S   NICE,   DEAR’   WHILE   NOT   EVEN   LOOKING   AT   VIA.   HOWEVER,   I   DON’T   SUBSCRIBE   TO   FANON’S   GENERAL   INTERPRETATION   WHERE   SHE’S   APPARENTLY   WILLING   TO   KILL   HER   JUST   TO   SPITE   STOLAS.   WE   STILL   HAVEN’T   SEEN   HER   INTERACT   WITH   OCTAVIA   BUT   IF   SHE   TRULY   HATED   HER,   SHE   WOULD   HAVE   THROWN   A   FIT   WHEN   ANDRE   POINTED   OUT   VIA   WOULD   GET   EVERYTHING,

ㅤㅤㅤ&   WHEN   SHE   WAS   SCREECHING   AT   STOLAS,   ASKING   IF   HE   WAS   ‘TURNING   HER   ( VIA )   AGAINST   HER   ( STELLA )’   —   CLEARLY,   SHE   CARES   FOR   VIA.   AGAIN,   SHE’S   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   PERHAPS   NOT   CODDLING   OR   ‘MOTHERLY’   BUT   ENOUGH   THAT   VIA   HAS   GOOD   MEMORIES   OF   HER   ( PER   THE   LOO   LOO   LAND   EPISODE ),

ㅤㅤㅤREAD   THE   TAGS   FOR   MY   TINFOIL   HAT   RAMBLINGS ,

[girlcrushau]

[sluttyten]

I still have 5 hours left in my shift 😭😭😭

[fatcowboys]

doctors? bad.