#debaser spoilers

[spleeninthemailbox]

wave of mutilation/debaser you will always be famous

@sharpth1ng

[sharpth1ng]

A wonderful scarred Stu courtesy of an ao3 user who wanted to remain anonymous 🖤

[sharpth1ng]

😭😭😭 debaser except then the object of their affection has a gay little crisis and runs away to smoke far too many cigarettes

cliché but classic trope: when the person who almost died wakes up in a hospital bed, looks around and sees the object of their affection sleeping uncomfortably in the chair next to them because they haven’t moved in days.

[cerealkilleratmidnight]

Fanart of my favourite scene from WOM

Fanfiction written by the talented douchefag @sharpth1ng <3

I haven’t drawn stuilly in ages and also definitely haven’t drawn humans in a little bit, was very refreshing to :)

[theclaravoyant]

he’s !!! such !!!! a !!! bitch !!!

[sharpth1ng]

NCJJFJFHFJFJEKEKDKDK 🤯 WHAT THIS IS SO COOL???

You did such an incredible job this is pretty much exactly what I was imagining and it’s crazy to see it outside of my brain. THANK YOU SO FCKING MUCH??

|| Artist Rendition Of Chapter 15 Scene ( September 27th, 1996 ) ||

This scene popped into my head last night, y'know how sleepy drawing ideas go and the moment I woke up the next day (today), I was cursed with needing to paint it. There aren't many references for Stu's house that I could find, so most likely, the way I've drawn has inaccuracies! I need to paint more and this was a nice little thing. I really enjoyed reading Debaser ( By @sharpth1ng ) and Sharp described this scene ( most scenes ) so well, that it was easy to compose this. Of course, It isn't going to be 100%, I did take liberties obviously but I tried my best to properly represent the scene! I haven't really rendered houses / large-scale buildings before. I don't know yet if I liked doing it or not. (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿)

[armchairaleck]

Now thinking my most eager student means Kpp’Ar was training a whole raft of wanna be dark mages.. blowing up all my Viren/Kpp’Ar head cannons at once.. but opening up the new possibility of intense dark mage student rivalry, academic factions, fighting to be the first to debase themselves while crawling obsequiously to curry favour.. which has err.. other possibilities I also like tbh..

[sharpth1ng]

Not anonymous cuz I'm not a pussy.

OK so is it just me or is it SO fucking annoying when stu macher gets turned into this stereotype alpha mf and billy is like a little subby "I love you.. b-but I hate you!!" It's just so like ughh!!! Gag me with a spoon why don't you?

Honestly this happens to both of them in fanon. I think there's a tendency to turn characters into generic archetypes rather than to consider their actually characterization. Especially when we're talking about archetypes around sexual/romantic dynamics and kink, there's a tendency to see a larger person and decide they're the one doing the penetrating, the one in control, being dominant, ect. And vice versa the smaller one is the one receiving, being less dominant.

When you think about it a lot of these associations are very gendered, even when they're applied to same gendered pairings. Masculine = larger, dominant and active, the one who initiates sexual interaction, the one who does the penetrating, and feminin= smaller, submissive and passive, the one who gets penetrated. I constantly see characters being altered to be portrayed more in-line with these kinds of tropes.

Honestly it's just boring to me lmao, but also it doesn't suit these characters the way I understand them. It's a lot more dynamic, exciting and true to life to mix up these dynamic imo. Like a smaller dominant character? Suddenly dominance isn't defined by physical force, the person submitting could chose to flip the script but they don't because they're choosing to give up power.

Similarly, having a submissive person be the initiator is really interesting. It allows for the fun of resistance/ that "I shouldnt" moment without it feeling predatory. The person trying to start things is asking to be hurt, to be used, they aren't trying to use the other person, and I think that really switches the power dynamic.

And again something similar applies to submissive tops and dominant bottoms.

With Billy and Stu what we see in the movie is that Billy is sort of the boss, Stu follows his orders but also Stu is the one who initiates physical contact with Billy in the kitchen scene. For a lot of the movie Billy is either in jail or pretending to be dead (and yes I think he stayed in that room while stu was chasing people around, it would have been a big problem if Sid had gone back up to that room and he wasnt there), so we also have Stu being an active doer. Stu is also the one who begs to be stabbed.

What this says to me about their dynamic is that Billy is the more dominant one, he's the boss, all of what's happening is essentially happening for him. That said, Stu is the more active partner despite being the more submissive one in general.

Even with Billy being the more dominant partner he's not completely in control, he constantly feels like he's being taken hostage by his own emotions and by his desire for Stu, which I think also creates interesting motivation for his need for control. this dynamic is why Billy allows Stu to have slightly more control sexually when he feels more secure and is allowing himself to have feelings for Stu.

But still the way these characters interact with dominance and submission is different because they are different characters. Billy's submission is bratty, he needs to be wrangled, and he talks back the whole time, whereas Stu also talks back but it's all baiting, begging, asking for more, and for the most part he'll follow orders without question. In contrast Stu's dominance is service oriented, its all about making Billy feel good while Billy's dominance uses more degradation (which makes Stu feel good).

Its also worth noting that the nature of their dynamic shifts back and forth over time ( and you'll see more of that happening in WoM), because the characters needs, insecurities, and levels of comfort shift over time. If the dynamic was always the same it would get old and repetitive fast.

At the end of the day fitting complex characters into archetypes isn't going to feel satisfying for most people, and allowing for characterization that expands outside of and mixes tropes from different archetypes results in a more compelling and realistic dynamic.

Alright thats a lot lmao I wrote another essay 😭

[widowshill]

bigger spoiler warning than usual on this for character death and also major plot points. but occasionally ds will show me a death scene and i ... feel a little bit like i'm watching something else. you know?

[sharpth1ng]

HRHDHDHDHJRHRJE YES I LOVE IT 😭

That last panel is EXACTLY how that went btw. Maureen was definitely in the Family Guy death pose.

@wolfpeppersss fr thank you so much this is so cool!

Also ps. Thank you for Billy's little earring. Amen.

Short comic based on chapter 6 of Debaser by @sharpth1ng :3 Had this in the works for a bit hope you like it!

[eemamminy-art]

If you're willing, would you share some of your thoughts about zenos? I just met him in my playthrough and I'm already obsessed and curious about how people misinterpret him

I have many thoughts on Zenos ahaha you can find a lot of my long-winded rambles about him in my tag for him! There will definitely be spoilers in this for both stormblood and endwalker, so if you're just going through stormblood for the first time I'd advise saving this to read later!

But in reference to the thing I was talking about with my partner yesterday was mainly like, how there's this idea people have of Zenos that he enjoys killing when it's simply not the case. Now don't misunderstand-- he doesn't hate it either. He's not remorseful. He's not even trying to justify the action. It's just totally meaningless to him.

When he's urging on the wol to be more violent and to let themselves loose against him, it's not for the sake of simply sowing more destruction. He wants to bring the wol down to his own level in order to debase himself. The reason he wants to encourage the wol to hurt him is because being challenged by them is the only thing making him feel alive. The destruction is something of just a natural consequence of that, of showing the wol that Zenos sees them as two sides of the same coin. Zenos is the emperor's attack dog more than his son, the wol is in turn the alliance's attack dog more than their ally (or so he thinks!).

When he talks about "the hunt" it's less this whimsical mass murder that people point it out to be, and really him seeking purpose, meaning, and happiness in the only messed up way he knows how. As a child he was only given praise and attention for causing harm, so he seeks an opponent that can harm him in return so he can feel something, anything. When he's collecting weapons from fallen warriors, they're not trophies or spoils of war, he's specifically interested in the history of the weapons.

I think it's maybe easy to forget, I mean stormblood was so long ago now and while the characterization is still there in endwalker, it's colored by the perception of others. Isse and the other Domans choosing freedom over fear, no matter how hopeless things are.

Jullus wanting to know why he would betray his countrymen and pleading to his empathy, when Zenos was shaped into a weapon by that empire and holds no love for his nation. Alisaie telling him that while he may have found a spark of joy in fighting with the wol, without empathy for others he will find himself alone and bereft of the one thing that makes him happy.

Zero trying to wrap her head around the way Zenos discarded lives as though they were nothing, while bearing some undefinable emotion toward the wol (obsession, competitiveness, devotion, fondness-- she's not able to define it and I think it's meant to be vague for the player's sake). All these characters in their words with and about Zenos do lay it out clear that he is someone who is devoid of emotions except for the relationship he has to the wol, but I think because they are rightly condemning him for the lives he has taken and destroyed, people misconstrue that to mean he likes killing. There's a sort of malice attributed to his actions when it's really just nihilism.

Now, I'm not saying that because he didn't like it, it means it's fine or something. I know people like to interpret it that way when you like a villain in anything lol. All this to say, this idea of Zenos being a psychopath gleefully murdering people is so far from the truth. He's a very broken man with deep traumas and depression, finding happiness only in wanting to be hurt and killed by the wol.

Maybe at the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether he likes it or doesn't-- I find to most people it makes no difference, so it's easy for them to conflate the two things. But I think Zenos' very existence challenges how the player views their own actions. In the same way that Elidibus in the ShB 5.3 quest Faded Memories reflected back at them all the death and destruction that the wol has caused-- intentional or not-- I think Zenos serves a similar purpose narratively. He questions why, he questions what are good or evil really, and asserts that there's no point in trying to find a justification for death and murder.

I can see why it makes people uncomfortable! He's reminding the wol that they have killed just as much as he did, and questioning the "justice" behind the wol's actions. It's an uncomfortable thing to think about. I think it would be fun to have a wol that comes out of endwalker as a pacifist tbqh!

(Not to get on a tangent, but I totally thought post-HW and especially with the DRG 70 quest, that Estinien was going down that road. I was really sold on the idea just by my own interpretation of his actions and words, only for him to be not only just fine with fighting still but to be actually kind of into it for the sport, just with more humility and empathy now. Total missed opportunity imo! But this is not a post about Estinien!! 😤)

Going back to Zenos though, I think it's easier for people to not grant him a shred of empathy and to write off all his actions as those of a madman. He does after all say he wants the world to burn, for the selfish reason of having the wol all to himself. I get it's uncomfortable for the player character to be the one at the center of his attention. I get it!! But gosh there is a much more interesting character in there than just "guy who gets off on killing", if you just open your eyes and ears for a moment.

I do think that, given the themes in ffxiv's story overall, that granting empathy and forgiveness to even the worst of people is kind of the driving force behind a lot of characters' motivations. Raubahn recognizes Ilberd did all he did for the sake of their shared nation's freedom and future; Estinien recognizes Nidhogg was grieving and in pain as much as he was, leading to vengeance; Hien recognizes the cruelty of her family and others in Doma failed Yotsuyu every moment of her life, shaping her into a tyrant; Lyse recognizes the unrest in Ala Mhigo failed Fordola, pushing her into the false hope the Empire offered; all the scions and the wol recognize how the unsundered ascians bore the responsibility of their entire people on their shoulders and did the unthinkable to try to save their own; Wuk Lamat recognizes Sphene acts out of love and preservation for her people, no matter what it takes. On and on and on.

So I find it odd that Zenos never gets that sort of grace! It's easier to just make an enemy out of him than to see things from his perspective, even while most of the other antagonists are given some degree of empathy while still acknowledging they were wrong and had to be stopped.

He's really neat. I'd put him under a microscope and study him if his ass wasn't too big to fit on the slide.

[guywrestlingaddiction]

Everything Great About a Match: Austin Cooper v Z-Man (bgeast.com)

Everything Great About a Match: +7

Austin Cooper v Z-Man (bgeast.com)

SPOILER ALERT: I highly recommend viewing this match in its entirety before reading this post.

So let's begin:  +1: For the flex fight. Now at times these types of matches can seem gimmicky but not this - this is pure masculine energy channeled into flexing.  Both men have something to prove and both men want to prove it by showing off how they can dismantle the other via forced flexing - I mean who are we to complain, am I right?  Hell this deserves a bonus point [+1] for enlightening me on the ways of the flex match.

Z-Man: You see these? Austin: They're small.

Austin: Do it. Flex your biceps for me!

Austin: No... *AHHHH* Alright, alright I'll flex

Austin: Flex, I want more flexing.

I love how smug and proud Z-man is to show off his handiwork here.

+1: Along with that, can we talk about the shear athleticism at work here?  Austin is a beast plain and simple.  

I mean how many guys can pull this off? 

Austin showing off on his terms

+1: For all the ab beat downs.  Why is it I love some good ab work?  I may never know but there's something about a tanned chiseled six-pack on a cocky guy getting worked over that definitely deserves a point. 

Z-man slumped over and flexing those abs gives Austin an idea. Pummel the man and show him those abs mean nothing.

Just an upside ab bash to really show off how much he owns you.

+1: For the close up camera angles.  Throughout this match, we are constantly treated to our two muscle studs groaning and flexing within an inch of the action.  

Every muscle twitch is captured in this match, Every ab is clearly visible.

You can almost feel Z-man's breath as he cries out

+1: All those damn pec claws! Austin shows off how he can dominate Z-man with this move only to have the tables turned on him.  Both wrestlers' drool-worthy pecs make tempting targets here and I can't fault them for wanting to take a piece of that chest home with them. 

Z-man fights back to get free only to get caught once again.

Z-man gets his turn on those impressive things.

+1: Humiliating your helpless opponent on the turnbuckle.  I recently have come to appreciate this move ever since I saw a helpless Chace LaChance laid on the turnbuckle while Donnie Drake had at it on him.  Austin and Z-man have their own variation and really make this move work.  You can feel the helplessness on Austin's face along with the thrill coming off of Z-man to have his man laid out and ready to take whatever he can throw. 

Z-man: Dammit, flex for me! Austin: *Groan* No... *Groan* I won't flex...

Austin using up all his willpower and hoping to hang on

------- Everything Great About this Match: +7

So there you have it.  This is a solid match showcasing Austin and Z-man in their prime.  I initially had my reservations about a flex match but these two really sell.  The beatdowns, the anguish over having to flex, all come together to make this work.  I can feel Austin's breath as he cries out in submission or Z-man having to debase himself with a flex. Thank you Austin and Z-man for showing me the light - a flex match is all about showing your beaten opponent off as your latest trophy.  

[sharpth1ng]

FEELING SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS

finally... it's here.... the long awaited Debaser comic!!!!!

btw if you haven't ready Debaser (by @sharpth1ng on ao3) yet WHY ARE YOU HERE GO READ IT

this has been such a long time coming, I read this fic last year and I am truly changed...... this shit is SO GOOD

shoutout to my homies in the debaser discord for being awesome and following along as I drew this you guys rock (yknow who you are hehe) <3<3<3

[poltergeist-punk]

“rot in hell-“

debaser spoilers under cut

the ref

debaser belongs to @/sharpth1ng

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 25 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary:Daemon and Alicent try to give Valeana advice. Spoiler: she does not listen to either of them. Word Count: 5464 CHAPTER WARNINGS: AnnoyingUncle!Daemon. I only proof read this chapter once, so there's probably going to be more spelling/grammatical errors than usual.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: I'm going through a lapse in muse lately, but I'm trying, really. So updates will be weekly, or every ten days depending on how things go.

Daemon Targaryen was hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia at the sight before him. If he squinted, it would have been like staring into a window that framed the past. Perhaps the gods did have a sense of humour, because the parallels were just too perfect. 

Aemond and Daemon.

Valeana and Lysa. 

She was nearly the spitting image of her mother, had she had Lysa’s slimmer frame and wheat coloured hair. Daemon only met Valeana a few times, maybe less, though he never had a good look at her. She was younger than she was now, more fuller in figure, ashen from the lack of sun. He didn’t see Lysa in her until the day he returned to King’s Landing. 

“We were just having a reprieve from the ball,” the girl answered, sending a quick look at Aemond, who looked as if Daemon insulted his mother. 

Daemon wanted to laugh at her answer, “I can see that. You two look quite reprieved indeed.” 

Aemond’s nostrils flared, “What are you doing here, uncle?”

That had to be the first time Aemond Targaryen had ever spoken directly to him. They never met, not formally at least. Daemon was too busy in the Stepstones and then in Pentos to even look upon him as a child, let alone as an adult. 

“For the same reason,” Daemon replied coolly, still leaning against the archway at the foot of the stairs. “A reprieve from the ball.” 

“Then we shall leave you to your peace, Prince Daemon,” Valeana rubs her hands together before putting something into her skirt pocket. “Prince Aemond?”

The one-eyed prince didn’t say anything, just kept his eye on Daemon, waiting for the slightest movement to give him reason to lunge at him like a guard dog. He made a low growling sound in agreement, his elbow extending for Valeana to take. When her arm wove through it, Daemon immediately saw the way his nephew’s shoulders broadened, as if he had just won a great prize. 

“And where are you two intending to go?” 

Aemond stiffly turned to Valeana, his jaw taut with irritation and impatience. Perhaps it came with age, or because he was a father of two girls, but nothing was more amusing to Daemon than cockblocking young men that were keen on debasing a woman’s skirts (as ironic as that was). It was especially entertaining that it was his green nephew, sired by that snake of a woman. 

“To retire,” Aemond bit out his reply. 

“Is that what the kids call it these days?” 

“Oh, gods,” Valeana bowed her forehead into Aemond’s shoulder before forcing herself to look at Daemon. “Aemond is just going to escort me back to my apartments. Nothing untoward, Prince Daemon.” 

“Was ‘nothing untoward’ going to happen in this cellar had I not interrupted?” He didn’t give them room to reply as he sauntered closer to the couple. “Need I remind you, Lady Valeana, that you have an agreement with my step-son, the heir to the heir. You are supposed to be courting him.” 

She glared up at him shamelessly, just like Lyra used to do when no one was looking.

Daemon tutted, “Your father would be greatly disappointed in you when I tell him where his daughter was, and with whom. I dare say, ol’ Barty might go ahead and take away his promise of choice.”

He was sickly satisfied at her reaction. Caught between her anger and her fear of her father. Valeana leaned into Aemond’s arm once again, who in turn pulled her closer, all the while keeping his eye trained on his uncle. If Daemon was a sentimental man with a soft heart like his brother, he might have cooed at the lovers and let them go on their merry way. 

But he wasn’t; he was far more ambitious than he was empathetic. Even if the two mirrored his past so symbiotically, he almost wished he hadn’t interrupted just so he could bear witness to that treasured memory in real time. 

“I’ll escort Lady Valeana back, nephew,” Daemon continued before he did get sentimental. “It is just as well; your mother has been asking for your whereabouts. Something about a Baratheon girl.” 

Aemond’s lip thinned just before he made a threatening step forward, only to get held back by the ivory anchor at his arm. 

“Aemond,” she said softly. The younger prince looked down at her, the muscles in his jaw relaxing. “My father cannot know.”

He considered her words for a moment before nodding stiffly, “I will call on you.” Aemond’s hand hovered over her cheek, only stopping when he re-remembered that they now had an audience of one. He ended up letting his hand fall to his side, and giving her one last look before turning around to give his uncle one last glare. Keeping eye contact, Aemond strode by him, shoulder nearly checking him from the sheer proximity. 

Daemon’s smug smile did not wipe from his face as he nephew passed by him and bounded up the stairs two steps at a time. He hummed his amusement, and then brought his attention back to Valeana, who stood with her arms crossed, and green eyes venomous and lethal. 

He just smiled at her, irking her even more. 

“My Lady,” he offered her his elbow. 

Grumbling, she walked by him, marching up the stairs, muttering about how her mother should have slapped him harder. Daemon simply followed after her, keeping her in his crosshairs and ensuring she didn’t flee after her lover. 

Once they were in the corridors above, Daemon easily caught her stride, “The apple does not fall far from the tree, I see.”

His comment earned him a confused glance, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Formalities already forgotten. Perhaps the apple did fall farther from the tree, but he blamed that on her hot Valyrian blood. “Lysa Lannister also coveted the affection of royal blood. How far down are you planning to go? Should I worry for Lucerys or little Joffrey?” 

If eyes could slap someone, that’s exactly what she did to him, “You know nothing of my mother, and if you do not wish to feel another bite of a bejeweled slap across your cheek, I suggest you keep her name out of your mouth.” 

If Daemon was any other man, he would have bristled at her words, but instead he just laughed; louder than a hummed chuckle, softer than a loud guffaw. His hand went to his cheek, reciting the twenty-five year old memory in his mind. 

“I still have a scar from that, just above my left eye.”

“I can assure you that I can continue where my mother left off.” 

He peered at her interestingly; she was bristly walking, trying to keep a foot ahead of him, but failed miserably.  He was much taller than her, making his long languid strides match her pace with ease. 

“I would watch your tongue if I were you, Lady Valeana. One day I will be your king.” 

“Consort,” she shot him a look over her shoulder.

That wiped the smile off his face. His tongue rolled around in his mouth, a bitter taste of the truth that the closest way for him to reach the Throne is by being a consort to his niece. Not even his own sons would inherit it. Daemon had half a mind to slap the Celtigar girl across her face for reminding him of his place. 

He didn’t, for the sake of his wife. For the sake of his brother. For the sake of Lysa’s ghost. 

“I know plenty about Lysa,” Daemon’s voice was low as he acknowledged her previous statement. “More than your father. Certainly more than you.” 

“You’re assuming my knowledge of the woman who sacrificed her body and soul for me? My father has told me everything about her; he wanted me to know her as if I had personal memories of her.”

“Lysa lived in the Keep years before she started courting your father, or even met him,” his lips were in a thin line, eyes forward as they made it to Maegor’s Holdfast. “There are things that Lord Bartimos was not privy to, and I daresay he would not wish to know if presented with the option.” 

Her brow was still furrowed in indignation, but his words casted a frown upon her face. He could see it in her profile, the thoughts rolling around in her head like a collection of marbles. 

“What things?” 

“In another life, Lady Valeana, you and Clement would have been my children,” his confession startled her enough to falter her step and whip her head in his direction. “Had it not been for my grandmother’s insistence on marrying me to the Bronze Bitch, and your mother’s relentless stubborn devotion to Aemma Arryn.” 

Alysanne’s marriage arrangement with Daemon and Rhea Royce was politically sound from an objective point of view. Rhea was set to inherit her own title in Runestone, Daemon was third in line and effectively not set to inherit anything. This would have given him land and title, and would turn the second most powerful family of the Vale into a Targaryen dynasty. Lysa Lannister wasn’t to inherit anything, but she was the only female Lannister born in generations, until Jason’s daughters. She had a hefty dowry that could buy land if he so chose. But that was not the reason he wished for her hand, oh no. 

Daemon was absolutely obsessed with Lysa Lannister. She captivated him as much as she infuriated him, and the truth was he didn’t have an answer as to why that was. 

Turning to her, he allowed himself to openly examine Valeana’s features, grasping onto all the similarities, and ignoring the Valyrian attributes she inherited from her father. Peridot eyes and all. 

“Your mother refused to marry, not until Aemma died. She refused every eligible lord and knight in the Seven Kingdoms, claiming that her duty as the Queen Consort’s Lady-In-Waiting was more important than being a wife and mother. And for some reason, when she did decide to become one, she chose your father over everyone else.” 

Over me. 

Valeana let out a long groan, instantly reading into the subtext of Daemon’s little diatribe of being rejected by her mother. This isn’t the first time she has heard a lord tell her about how he tried to woo her mother only to be jilted politely in preference of being perpetually unwed – until Bartimos Celtigar came in with his jewels and his gold. 

“Prince Daemon, I am already juggling three princes, I do not need another, especially someone who is married, and so old—”

“I’m not old–” He instantly snapped back, but quickly switched off his offended tone. “And if I wanted you as my bride, I would not have wedded Leana. Your father would have no qualms betrothing you to me if I had asked–”

“I was five!”

“And that would have not mattered after ten years— what am I even bloody talking about?”

“How you wanted to wed me when I was five!”

“I did not– Hmm,” His hand swept over his face in frustration, a barely contained growl muffled in his palm. “You are more infuriating than your mother.” 

“Then why did you want her in the first place?” Valeana stopped walking when they reached her floor. Her family’s apartments were not long from there, but she did not wish to have Ser Steffon bear witness to this conversation. 

Daemon’s lips pouted in thought, one hand on his hip, the other on the pommel of Dark Sister, always attached to him wherever he went. 

“I wanted her because she infuriated me,” he finally said, voice low. 

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “And she did not want you, because she did not love you. That is why she chose my father.” 

At that, he tilted his head, “You really think your mother loved your father?” When she didn’t answer right away, too long to formulate an answer to what should have been obvious, he continued. “She loved someone else, someone she could not have. That was the real reason she didn’t accept anyone’s proposal. It was not until she could not handle her own loneliness did she decide to finally look for a husband. Your father offered her contentment, a life of comfort and ease, and in the end she chose to settle. That is the truth that your father would not want to hear.”

Valeana was silently digesting, though not entirely freely. He could see the defiance in her eyes, the clear unwillingness to believe a single word coming from his lips. He knew that feeling well, when he saw the truth before him the first time; it tore his innards out like an army of crabs feasting on a corpse on the barren lands of the Stepstones. 

“Trust me when I say this, Lady Valeana. Your mother would’ve wanted you to wed Jacaerys Velaryon. She would’ve wanted you to be the wife of Aemma and Viserys’ grandson.” 

She stared at him long and hard, the crease between her brow never wavering. Her mouth went from a frown to a tight line as she lifted her chin up, very distinctly Lannister in its nature. 

“No,” Valeana shook her head. “You really don’t know my mother, Daemon. She would have wanted me to marry for love, or not at all.”  

Valeana’s morning began blessedly late, as did everyone else’s she’d wager. Fast was broken in silence; Barty and Ursula were hung over, Shyla looked as if she was keeping a secret she did not want to share, Arthor seemed the same way, Clement  scarfed down food as if it would be his last meal, and Floris… Seemed rather content, bizarrely. Especially since Valeana recalled her being contrite for the entirety of the ball. 

It was just as well, Valeana much on her mind. Aemond leased her dreams that night, as well as all the things that could have happened under Balerion’s nose. Some of it didn’t make much sense, but she remembered being nude before him, hiding her intimate parts from him. Then he would respond by undressing himself in front of her, eye patch gone, hair undone, all without shame. Her mind stirred at that point and suddenly she was slimmer, younger, with golden hair instead of silver. Aemond before her had two eyes, shorter hair, youthful, and definitely not himself. 

Then the room filled with salt water, and she was submerged in an ocean, completely alone. Her hands reached out, clawing at the surface as a black mass flew in the sky above. Then… she woke up.

Valeana looked down at her breakfast: eggs, toast, and herb & honeyed bacon. Resting her chin on her fist, she moved the contents around her plate with her fork. Instead of swallowing down food, she tried to swallow down the pit of dread lodged in her throat. 

On the morrow, she will have to spend part of her day with Jacaerys, an obligation that she must entertain. Valeana knew the dark-haired Prince was not what she wanted, even if he could have been worse. He wasn’t that bad when he was a child, unlike his brother, and at the very least he had grown handsome. It still would be a short courtship, no matter how much her father and Daemon wanted it. Val simply could not see herself falling for Jacaerys, even if they had all the time in the world. 

Then there was Aegon, a surprising yet not unwanted addition in her life. But presence simply just makes her life so painfully complicated. His drunken confessions, lewd and scandalous as they were, took root in her privy parts vividly. Valeana never had a voracious appetite for carnal pleasures; she was a maid, whose experience of her own pleasure has always been curious fingers whenever she felt lonely, felt the need for romance that she was convinced was not in her future. Though even before then, she couldn’t deny that his companionship had become a balm in her life recently. What he did for her would not be forgotten, and that made the notion of even tossing him away for Aemond feel traitorous and unfair. Even if their arrangement was constructed with that goal in mind. 

But giving up on Aemond after last night… that felt like she was spitting in the face of the gods themselves. Surely, they were the ones that put them together in the first place, and they had always intended to keep it that way, one way or another. The image of Aemond on his knees, sapphire and amethyst eyes, his hands upon her in desperation, his kisses on her brow and hands, his gentle laughter in her ear… it all pulled on her heartstrings like a lyre. She could not give him up now, now that he was finally back in her arms; now that she found her Aemond.

Her mind also drifted to Daemon, and all the things he said about her mother. Valeana doubted much of what he said, but she also doubted her own confidence in how much she really knew her mother; how much her father knew about her. Val supposed that the only person that would have the answers for her questions was… The King. Of all people alive, he knew her the longest, outside Daemon, who already showed his biases with a decades old grudge over a rejection. There wasn’t even a Lannister relative alive that was old enough to remember Lysa, so Viserys was truly her only option. 

Fitting the Queen for her dress offered Valeana a respite from her thoughts. The distraction was a blessing, now that she was able to concentrate on something more productive than matters of her indecisive heart. Rosy had come with her, her ever faithful assistant to these things. She tended to like doing the more tedious tasks, so Valeana had her cut the scales from the fabric that would cover the skirt of the dress. In the meanwhile, Valeana worked on the bodice, making sure it fit Alicent snugly so that the scales that she planned on sewing would appear more like a second skin rather than fabric. 

“You have quite the eye for detail, Lady Valeana,” Alicent commented as she watched her map out the designs using a chalk pencil. 

Val smiled up at her, a genuine one, despite being marred by stress, “You flatter me, your Grace.” 

Alicent had not been one for conversation ever since Valeana revealed her leg to her. There was a point in which Valeana wondered if she even remembered that she commissioned this dress from her, but her doubts were proven wrong when requests were brought to her by servants inquiring about the progress ever since Alicent returned from Dragonstone. 

There was a beat of silence in the room, the only noise was Rosy’s snipping of scissors and the birds chirping outside the slightly ajar window. Then the Queen broke it after spending several seconds watching Valeana work. 

“May I ask you something, Lady Valeana?”

Val looked up, surprised by the request when she needn’t ask permission. But at the same time she wanted to deny her, because she had a good list of possibilities of what Alicent could possibly ask of her, none of which she had a desire to answer.   

“Of course, your Grace,” Valeana replied anyway. 

“This business with Prince Jacaerys…” She trailed off, eyes flickering to the girl, and then down at her diligent hands as it worked the fabric. Alicent was afraid to tread on these waters, it sounded like. Almost as if she wanted to inch closer to something more delicate, rather than simple curiosity. “Is it something you want?” 

Valeana ran her tongue around her teeth before sucking against them in an attempt to stall. The answer was no, obviously, but she did not know if it would hinder or benefit her if she told Alicent the truth. With the tensions between the greens and blacks, Valeana toed the line between the two families, not knowing what side she should choose.

“It never matters what a daughter wants,” she decided on answering truthfully, without being direct. It didn’t entirely feel safe confiding in a woman who very well may be her political enemy in the future. Or future mother in law. 

Alicent accepted the answer, even hummed in agreement. She allowed the silence to settle for a moment again, but Valeana knew the questions were not over. Eventually, the Queen broke the silence again when she inhaled, the words finally finding her. 

“It came quite a surprise to me and his Grace that upon our return, we learned that our eldest son has been courting you, Lady Valeana.”

There it was, the real thing she wished to talk about. Val hadn’t even thought about what the Queen and King would think about her and Aegon together, if it was something they considered, if it was something they wanted. It would surely benefit the green’s cause, though Valeana suspects that Alicent still wanted Aegon to marry his sister. Which left… Aemond. That was why the Queen had tried to talk her into forgiving Aemond when she first arrived. Gods, how that felt like it was eons ago. 

“It was as much of a surprise to me, your Grace,” Valeana trained her eyes on her work. She felt Alicent was particularly good at gauging someone’s thoughts with just her eyes. They were so large and doe-like, which reminded Val of Aegon, the puppy-dog that he was. “Prince Aegon and I were not exactly friends as children.” 

“Which is why my husband and I thought it a strange development, one that no one foresaw,” Even if there were just the three of them in the room, and Rosy was on the far end, sitting on a settee, Alicent spoke in a little over a whisper. “Whatever did he do for you to overlook his past transgressions?” 

“Well,” Valeana collected her thoughts when she turned away to grab a needle and red thread, “He apologized sincerely, and he also has been nothing but kind, caring, helpful… and eventually affectionate.”

Alicent looked utterly unconvinced. The image that Valeana just wove with her red thread was of a complete stranger that had been calling himself Prince Aegon, playing her for a fool. 

A thin eyebrow was raised at that, “Kind, caring, and helpful?” she repeated the words, foreign descriptors of her eldest son. “Excuse my skepticism, but I’ve only known my son to be the very opposite.”

Valeana shrugged bashfully, “A moon ago I would’ve agreed with you.” She paused briefly in thought, then added: “But if it comforts you to know, your Grace, Prince Aegon is still just as cheeky as a monkey.” 

Alicent smiled in spite of herself, “That is comforting. I was afraid he was swapped with an imposter.”

Val bit her tongue before she could say, “Would that be a bad thing?”

The Queen cleared her throat, the tell tale sign of someone gearing up to say something difficult to say and hear. “I wanted to say, Valeana, that…knowing Aegon, I… I think it is within your best interest to not pursue things further with him.” 

Valeana glanced up at her for a moment, then back at her work. She decided not to say anything just yet. Alicent appeared to have much on her mind, and the younger, subordinate lady didn’t want to appear dismissive over her apparent worries. She was a mother, afterall, even if popular opinion dictated that she put the title of Queen before the other. 

“I will be plain with you. I owe you and your dear late mother that. I watched you grow up since the moment you were born within these very walls, and I would not wish to bear witness to another one of my sons hurting you again.” 

Val’s hands stopped working as she listened to Queen Alicent’s words closely. It was true that she knew the woman since birth, but Valeana had very few fond memories with Alicent. There were few sporadically, but she always seemed to keep Valeana at an arm’s distance, almost like she couldn’t trust her existence. She wasn’t cold, but she wasn’t warm. Not to mention, Valeana still remembered how much she advocated for Aemond not to get punished for what he had done. 

“You feel that he intends to take advantage of me,” it wasn’t a question. Valeana could feel Alicent’s eyes penetrate her profile once she resumed her stitching. 

“You must know it is in his nature to do such a thing,” the woman bowed her chin in an attempt to capture the younger’s eyes. “Aegon has an… appetite for chaos, as much as he has one for drink and pleasures of the flesh. I fear he may be using you as a weapon against Aemond, simply out of entertainment.”

And this is the man you are trying to put a crown on? Another thing Valeana had to bite her tongue for. 

Val forced herself to smile up at her reassuringly, “I’ll take your warning to consideration, your Grace. I only hesitate because he has not shown that unscrupulous side to me. It has only ever been the very opposite.” 

The ends of Alicent’s mouth tightened, but she nodded nonetheless, “I only wish for you to be careful.”

“I will, your Grace. Your concern is appreciated and noted.”

“And–” she inhaled, squaring her shoulders, “I hope that you may extend Aemond the same courtesy of forgiveness as you did Aegon, in time at least.”

The memory of last night was still fresh in her mind, like that blessed dream that had her wake up with damp thighs and a sense of carnal hunger. Her cheeks pinked at the memory of Aemond’s gentle kisses on her palms and head, reverent in contrast to his devouring kisses on her breasts so many nights ago. 

It was hard to stop herself from smiling, and albeit small, Alicent noticed it immediately. 

“My relationship with Aemond is… complicated, your Grace,” Valeana carefully spoke, deciding to tiptoe around the truth. She wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing the breadth of the story just yet. “But… the steps towards reconciliation have taken place.”

“You speak true?” Alicent’s doe eyes glittered hopefully, “When did this take place?”

Valeana bit her lip, an attempt at reigning in her smile from becoming a full grin. She wanted to bury her face in the fabrics of the half-finished gown, embarrassed of the glow upon her face. Alicent was the first person that she had told this to, even a fraction of it. 

“We had a long discussion sometime during the Ball last night,” Val confessed, surprising herself for doing so. “It is still early days, your Grace.”

Alicent’s brow twitched slightly as she tried to recall a moment in which that could have happened at all. There was one when she could not spot Aemond in the crowd, sometime after she had dismissed Valeana to reprimand Aegon for his drunken display. A great, albeit silent sigh caused her shoulders to sag, as if a large weight of stress had been lifted off them. 

“Oh, my dear Valeana, that brings me much happiness,” Alicent pulled her little seamstress to her in a hug. Valeana’s eyes bugged out of her head, body stiff under the embrace of the Queen. “It brings me much peace.”

The rest of the day went by in a blur. After she had finished up with Alicent, she had brought the dress back to her family’s wing to finish a few adjustments. That evening she shared her supper with Ellyn, Wylla, Shyla, Catelyn, and Sharis and Malora Tyrell on the terrace above the training yard. There were men still down there, even when the sun was setting, trying to get as much training done before the beginning of the tourney. The seven girls simply watched in silence, sipping wine and eating grapes and berries. When the wine started to ease their sensibilities, they started to wolf whistle at every man who removed their shirt to combat against the evening humidity. 

Valeana squinted down at the men, not recognizing a single one. One of them walked around languidly with confidence, his brown hair was braided down to the nape of his neck, the sides shaved, giving him a rugged appearance despite his shaven face. His tunic was loose on him, covered in dirt and a bit of blood from the sparring. He was the loudest of them all and the most boisterous when it came to his audience of women that were seated above the yard. He would grin and bow at them after defeating his opponents, blow kisses and throw winks. The Tyrell sisters were absolutely smitten with him. 

“Who is he?” Valeana asked, narrowing her eyes at him. He seemed familiar, but from this height, she could barely make out his face through all the dirt and sweat. She took a sip of her drink in contemplation.

“Dalton Greyjoy.”

And then she spat out her drink. 

While Ellyn, Wylla, and her sister laughed – being the only three people present that knew the lore – Dalton turned to look up at the commotion, his intense steely blues on Valeana in an instant. At the sight of her sinking into her chair like a dying python, he grinned and laughed, giving her a small wave. 

Cat laughed in confusion, “Do the two of you know each other?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Valeana pulled a cushion off the sofa and put it in front of her face. 

Suddenly the girls started to wolf whistle again, and Val – out of morbid curiosity – moved the pillow away from her face to take a look. Dalton had finally pulled off his filthy tunic, exposing his lithe and muscular frame, littered with aged white scars, and black tattoos that she couldn’t quite make out. 

He grinned up at her with that shark grin of his, “What are you lookin’ for, Celtigar?!”

Val’s eyes narrowed annoyingly, then looked over at her sister who was giggling like a maniac. Suddenly numb to her embarrassment, Valeana sat up in her seat and peered down at him over the balustrade in clear distaste. 

“Bruises!” 

He threw his head back and laughed loudly. Then he turned around to face back towards his audience. To her absolute horror, Dalton shimmied down his breeches to expose his pale rear end. 

“All cleared up, I’m afraid!” 

The girls screamed and whistled, and Valeana sank down to the floor, face as red as the crabs that marched across her house’s banners. 

Valeana called it a night shortly after that, dragging a reluctant Shyla with her.  As they got dressed and clambered into their beds, the exhaustion of the last few days slowly seeped into her bones. Shyla was the first to pass out, as usual, but despite her body’s fatigue, Valeana had a difficult time shutting off her mind. Eventually sleep started to creep up on her, with her final thoughts lingering on the wish to not have to bump into Dalton “The Red Arsed” Greyjoy again. 

Just when her mind is pulled under the surface of her subconscious, Valeana could feel a dip in her bed. Too tired physically and mentally react, she simply remains still, trying to cling to sleep, convincing herself she just imagined it. 

“Valeana,” She could hear her name being called next to her ear, but she was convinced it was simply auditory hallucinations produced by exhaustion. 

“Valeana, wake up.” 

She made a loud snore when she inhaled violently, which made the voice chuckle softly next to her. Then, just when she thought the mysterious voice left her, something pinched her nose, causing her to gasp through her mouth and jostle up from her pillow. 

In her delirium, she did not notice anything immediately, not until her eyes focused on the body laying next to her on her bed. Shock jolted her awake immediately, her mouth opened to scream, but a firm hand covered it.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he said, putting a finger to his lips. “It’s just me.” 

Val’s eyes settled into a glare, her lips curling into a snarl when his hand dropped from her mouth. 

“Aegon, I am going to kill you.”

He laughed softly, “All in due time.”

“What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“Get up; put your robe on.” 

She eyed him suspiciously, “...Why?”

“Strap on your peg leg, Crab Cake, and get your pretty little arse out of bed. Then I’ll tell you.” 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX SNEAK PEAK

He decided to chuckle nervously again, wondering if she was joking, almost praying that she was. “Mayhaps we should call it a night. You are forgetting yourself, Crab Cake.” “I’m not,” was her immediate reply. “I’m… I’m curious. And I want to see… I want to try.”

Notes: So before you ask -- yes, there will be a prequel MINI series about Lysa Lannister, staring our favourite perverted uncle. Won't be out for a while, but you're gonna be seeing the ground work in the next few chapters regarding her mom's past. For those that are waiting on the Fem!Aegon one shot, please be patient with me, I keep on rewriting the last section of it. I'm not super satisfied with it yet. I don't want to give a definitive date, because I don't want to make promises I can't keep.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[pouralaura]

pinned post: writing

spoiler alert: most of it is about the devil guy

my take on Raphael is very whimsical and indulgent; I like to highlight his flaws (pride, namely) and his weird idiosyncrasies. I generally write him with some more borderline taboo proclivities and as a bit of a fetishist because, to me, that's decadent and indulgent and the height of whimsy and core of his character. my Tav (both the faceless version I use in my longer fics and my own Eris), meanwhile, is also very prideful, but she's extremely self-aware and in her own head about it all the time. she finds Raphael pathetic and endearing and incredible; Raphael finds her to be his perfect vice. they're absolutely apeshit about each other in everything I write and they're both big time switches

asks open, prompt fill requests are more than welcome, and I am always open to taking comms through DM here or on twitter!

fic links below (all explicit, please heed the tags when you get there):

who will burn who: a university AU in which Professor Raphael and his favorite student have a Mutually Pleasurable Arrangement (read: he gets her off during his class and she gives him her underwear which he then enjoys thoroughly)

teeter: an exploration of Raphael and Tav in Act III and how they're far too proud to admit their feelings for one another, even when things escalate and become extremely sexually charged between them

I won't speak of love: a oneshot focusing on Tav's indecision and dislike for playing the hero, where her time with Raphael is the only thing that makes her feel normal and in control of something for once

your pout or your fist: a VERY silly pre-relationship oneshot in which Raphael taunts Tav with a portrait of himself and Haarlep in Tav's likeness and she gets extremely salty and horny about it

Indulgences: a theatrical and dramatic oneshot where Raphael and Tav enjoy a little priest and confessor punishment roleplay teehee

tomorrow means nothing: a white lotus AU where Raphael is a hitman and Tav is a pretty young thing who can't stop running into him on vacation

debasement: this one is feet. I wasn't kidding about the fetishist thing. but it's not about the feet, it's about the indulgent whimsy of it all and how Tav embraces it and indulges him in turn. give it a shot I swear it's actually really fun

other stuff:

if the shoe fits: a lil Astarion x Tav fic that was literally just an excuse to put a pretty man in a corset and thigh-high boots and write about him using said boots in extremely explicit ways

tumblr-exclusive ficlets:

reflection (my Eris x Raph)

hold your applause (potatocrisp's Zarra x Raph)

anyway, hope you enjoy!

you can find me on twitter and ao3 at the same @.