#latin spanish voice acting

[piratesonthesemanticline]

A reminder of who he was to the supernatural fandom in LatAm ✊🏾😔

[florecienta21]

Disney: Lampwick's voices

Frankie Darro (Original dub)

Juan Ricardo Bertelegni "Semillita" (Latin Spanish dub)

[welcometogrouchland]

Okay I think I actually love the Brazilian dub of toh (<- I do not speak Portuguese)

[thesecretingredientislove]

I just listened to "Pink Elephants On Parade" from Dumbo in english FOR THE FIRST TIME

And I just jave to say...

Why did whoever that did the dub to spanish needed to make it so freaking terrifying what the hell!?!?!?!? The animation was already unsettling enough!

[tqlepatia]

─ SEVIKA × LATINA!READER. (HC) 𖹭

⌇ food.

─ Sevika is obsessed with your cooking, she practically begs for your abuelita’s recipes. Her favorite? Spicy empanadas and flan.

─ She’s addicted to both coxinha and empanadas. Every time she visits your family, it’s like a culinary challenge.

─ The first time she tries it, she doesn't stop until you pull the plate away.

─ You tease her when she tries to act tough against spicy food, but she breaks a sweat and denies it every time.

─ She learns to grill picanha and ends up being the designated at every barbecue.

─ She tries making arepas and moqueca with you, but somehow always burns something.

⌇ dances.

─ You get her to dance forró, salsa, and reggaeton. She complains about her coordination but loves the way your hips move.

─ “I look ridiculous,” she grumbles, but you just laugh and pull her closer.

─ Her secret move? Holding you tight while swaying to slower rhythms

─ Sevika is more of a "stand and watch" type, but you drag her onto the dance floor every time.

─ She secretly loves slow dancing to bachata, where she can pull you close.

─ Watching you do forró or samba with that mesmerizing hip sway makes her lose focus entirely.

─ When cumbia or funk carioca plays, you tease her until she begrudgingly starts moving — stiff at first, but gradually loosening up.

⌇ family.

─ Introducing Sevika to your loud and vibrant family is a wild adventure. Your cousins grill her, but she holds her ground with a confident smirk.

─ Your tia insists Sevika eat more, and she dutifully obliges, earning brownie points.

─ "They like me," she mutters smugly as you roll your eyes smiling.

─ Your abuelita or vó spoils her with food, telling her stories about their youth.

─ She stands by your side as you dance in vibrant crowds, her arm protectively around you.

⌇ parties.

─ Loud music, drinks flowing, and Sevika standing as your protective shadow at every family festa/fiesta.

─ "Is it always this loud?" she asks, amused as your relatives sing and laugh.

─ Your tío challenges her to a drinking contest, and Sevika wins, earning the family’s respect.

─ She ends up grilling meat during churrascos/asados, becoming the center of attention despite herself.

⌇ languages.

─ Sevika loves when you speak Spanish (or portuguese) even if she doesn’t understand half of it

─ Hearing you call her gata or meu amor makes her weak in the knees.

─ When you’re angry, your rapid-fire Spanish (or Portuguese 2×) leaves her grinning like an idiot. “What was that, bunny? Say it slower.”

─ You teach her terms of endearment, and hearing her call you mi reina in her deep voice makes your heart skip.

─ She gets flustered when you switch languages mid-sentence: "C'mon, baby, pick one!"

⌇ music.

─ Sevika grows fond of listening to Latin music while working, sometimes humming along just to make you smile.

─ Her guilty pleasure becomes Brazilian funk, though she’ll never admit it

─ You catch her humming bossa nova tunes under her breath when she thinks you're not listening.

⌇ affection.

─ Sometimes you’ll switch to Spanish mid-argument just to mess with her. She hates that it makes you win every time.

─ Sevika melts when you call her mi amor too! , though she tries to play it cool.

─ Forehead kisses are her favorite, followed by wrapping her strong arms around you!

─ "Come here, amor," she murmurs, pulling you into her lap after a long day.

─ Sevika is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you. Her hand always finds your waist or the small of your back.

─ Public displays of affection are subtle — a protective arm around your shoulders, her fingers brushing yours.

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 007

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+

CW: Child trafficking

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin @justablondeeee @feyresqueen @yduimobsessed @pinkluv29

Side note: I think my writing style from my latest work accidentally leaked in, but oh well.

WC: 14.3k

As you and Helaena flew back to King’s Landing with the goods secured, your gaze drifted downward. The world below stretched out in an endless patchwork of greens and browns, but it wasn’t until you spotted that same spring again—hidden like a secret among the hills—that inspiration struck like a lightning bolt.

“The Romans,” you murmured, tightening your grip on Helaena’s waist. The idea was perfect. You’d introduce the Roman water system to Westeros and claim it as your own invention. Clean water would not only make you beloved among the commons but also mark a monumental step toward the progress you envisioned. A woman who brought both clean water and a functioning sewer system to all of Westeros? Invaluable.

The only issue? You didn’t know the exact formulas.

You began to mentally map it out, your thoughts racing as you soared over the land. A close water source would be ideal. The river running through King’s Landing was an option, but not a good one. Its waters emptied into the sea, and rivers like it were rarely suitable for clean drinking water—especially in a place like King’s Landing, where waste and pollution had long since claimed the current.

A spring, however, was pure. Untouched. Exactly what you needed. And now, you’d found one.

The next challenge was funding.

Your jaw tightened at the thought. Right now, you were broke—your entire fortune consisted of a single gold dragon. One. A pitiful sum that wouldn’t buy the loyalty of a stray cat, much less the resources for an ambitious engineering project.

This was of course thanks to your ‘business’ on the Street of Silk. 

But ambition wasn’t something you lacked, and you were nothing if not resourceful. 

The woman at the door stood firm, her thin robe clinging to her frame, revealing more than modesty allowed. Her voice dripped with disdain as she let a man pass.

“We do not serve women,” she said flatly, the faint smell of stale sweat and sex heavy in the air.

You squared your shoulders, ignoring the assault on your senses. “I’m here to speak with the madam.”

“It does not matter who you ask. We do not serve women.” Her tone remained cold, practiced.

Your eyes flicked over her, noting the hard set of her jaw, the hollowness in her gaze. She wasn’t much older than you. That thought disturbed you, but you pushed it aside. “I’m not here for service,” you said firmly. “I have a proposal for your madam.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment’s hesitation, she rolled her eyes and stepped aside.

Inside, the stench of sweat and perfume hit you like a slap. The air was humid, cloying, heavy with the sounds of grunts and moans from every corner. You blinked, taking it in—the writhing bodies, the shadowed alcoves where no act was too obscene, no boundary respected.

But it wasn’t the orgies that churned your stomach. It was the private rooms.

Your steps faltered as you caught glimpses through half-open doors: a boy’s small frame crushed beneath a man’s weight, the blank stare of a child too broken to cry. Your throat tightened, bile rising as you forced yourself to keep walking.

Savages.

The word seared through your mind like a brand.

Savages, all of them.

You lifted your chin, forcing your face into a mask of composure as you entered the madam’s chamber. The older woman sat behind a low table, her painted lips curling into a calculating smile as you approached.

“You have the product you promised? Or are you here to reconsider my offer?” Her voice was smooth, almost mocking.

“I have the product.” You placed the jar on the table with a steady hand. “But the conditions have changed.”

The madam’s brow arched. “Conditions?” She reached for the jar, turning it in her hands. “My price remains the same.”

“You don’t even know how to use it,” you countered, your voice cool. “I can teach some of your workers how to apply it properly, but you’ll abide by my terms.”

The madam leaned back, signaling for one of her girls—a nervous-looking young woman who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “She’ll learn, and she’ll teach the others.”

You shook your head, your resolve hardening. “No. You will stop selling children. Anyone under fifteen comes to me. I will teach them.” You leaned forward, locking eyes with her. “If you refuse, our business is done.”

The madam’s smile faltered, just for a moment. “I’d lose considerable profit,” she said, her voice low, almost amused. “Women can still shave.”

Your nose twitched in disgust. “You’ll find other uses for this product. And if you don’t, the next whorehouse will. What happens when this becomes a trade, and you have to buy it back at a premium?” You sat back, folding your arms. “Stop selling the children.”

The room was silent save for the muffled noises from beyond the walls. Finally, the madam exhaled through her nose. “One gold dragon, then. Instead of two.”

Gold was gold. And if it saved even a handful of children, it was enough. “Done.”

She handed you the coin, and you pocketed it without looking. “Gather all your workers under fifteen. I don’t care if they’re in service—bring them to me now.”

The madam hesitated but eventually obeyed. A handful of children were brought into the room, their eyes hollow and frightened. But not all.

You scanned the faces, your stomach twisting. He wasn’t there.

Without a word, you stormed out, ignoring the madam’s shouts. Room by room, you searched until you found him.

The boy.

A man loomed over him, his hand gripping the boy’s hair as he forced him down. Rage boiled in your chest as you shoved the man off, pulling the boy to your side.

“Sinner,” you spat, your voice trembling with fury.

Behind you, the madam appeared, stammering apologies, but you didn’t care. You turned, the boy clutching your arm, and stormed out of the house, your jar tucked beneath your other arm.

It wasn’t enough. It never would be. But it was a start.

The turn of events was brutal—messy and unsightly—but it carved an opportunity. Now, you had eyes scattered throughout the city, keen and unblinking. If wielded correctly, they’d be more than informants; they’d become your personal choir, singing your truths to the masses. A better life than the squalor they came from, surely. It had to be. You wouldn’t allow yourself to doubt it.

As the dragon-carved gates of King’s Landing loomed farther, your thoughts spiraled to the tasks at hand. Your newly assembled web of spies awaited their first test. The Miswak shipment needed delivering, and the children would have hopefully grounded enough charcoal by now. Was that child labor? Perhaps. But you’d gifted them the tools to climb higher—the basics of English, etched into the same rudimentary book you had created for Dyana.

Reading. Writing. Seeds planted for the future, and one day, they would bloom.

…

“Any new developments?” Alicent’s voice pierced the quiet like a needle slipping through silk. Her watchful eyes held you in place, and you swallowed back the biting words that nearly leapt from your tongue. It had been a month, and you couldn’t hold off Alicent—or Otto—much longer. They were shadows at your back, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Nearly finished,” you lied smoothly, then allowed hesitation to creep in, as though you were carefully choosing your words. “However, there is… something else I’d like to discuss.”

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. This had to work. Ever since your reckless encounter with her son, Alicent had grown colder, more measured. You prayed to whatever gods might listen that Aemond was clever enough to keep his mouth shut. Still, the whispers of the maids lingered in the halls, their eyes darting toward you whenever you passed. Your carefully applied makeup covered the marks, but not the rumors. Not entirely.

Alicent raised a single brow, her sharp gaze unnervingly still. Your own eyes flicked to her necklace—a symbol of faith, of purpose. Religion had always been a distant, abstract thing for you. You’d been born into one but never truly embraced it. Still, what was one more belief to add to the list of masks you wore?

“As you know, I am not of this land,” you began, weaving threads of sincerity into your tone. “Yet, I find myself yearning for something greater. A connection… to the gods.” You paused, watching Alicent’s expression shift—a subtle softening. You pressed forward. “I do not know much about the Seven, but I want to learn.”

A flicker of approval lit her face. Strike.

“Do you think I could accompany you the next time you visit the…Sept, is it?”

Alicent’s brow smoothed, her lips curving into a faint, almost maternal smile. “You wish to turn to the Seven?”

“Yes,” you answered with measured conviction. “I want to cultivate a relationship with the gods. I know the Citadel… may not look favorably upon me. But I hold no malice for them.” A small lie. “I seek guidance. I fear I may become lost.”

A threadbare trope, perhaps, but one that never failed to tug at the hearts of saviors. Alicent’s posture shifted; her gaze softened.

“Sweet girl,” she said, smoothing a hand over your hair. “I am glad you have turned to the Seven. I go to the Sept once a week. On the morrow, you shall join me. I will guide you.”

Perfect. You smiled demurely, lowering your head in feigned gratitude. If you couldn’t infiltrate the seediest corners of the city to keep them under your thumb, you’d dismantle them entirely. The parallels between this world and your own were sharp as blades. The Sept—like the medieval Church of your history—wielded untold power, with its followers hanging on every whispered word.

If the Citadel wouldn’t accept you, the Seven would. You would start here, under the Queen’s banner. Her blessing would open doors, and soon, the citadel and the Septons would know your name—not as an outsider, but as a force of change, anointed by faith.

And when the time came, you’d see to it that your web of influence didn’t just spread—it consumed.

With the matter settled, you bowed gracefully and took your leave from the Queen’s chambers. As the heavy doors closed behind you, Otto strode in with his usual air of self-importance. You offered him a polite smile, masking the unease his presence always stirred, and quickly made yourself scarce.

It had been two days since your return to King’s Landing, and time already felt like a double-edged sword. Waiting for your plant to dry had been maddening, leaving you stuck in limbo. Meanwhile, King Viserys, to your surprise, had resumed his seat in the council room, much to Otto’s visible displeasure.

You’d been avoiding the Targaryens as much as possible. Rhaenyra had taken Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Rhaena back to Dragonstone during your absence—a disappointing turn. You had hoped to visit Dragonstone again, at least once more. And as for Jacaerys? So much for his promises. 

Well, it couldn’t be helped. It was time to make new alliances.

Friends in high places, you thought. Yet the options were limited.

Helaena? Too peculiar, her words often tangled in riddles you had no patience for. Aegon? Transparent in his intentions and utterly repugnant. Daemon? He hated you, and the feeling was mutual. Rhaenyra? Impossible, not with her husband hawk-like vigilance. Viserys? A King’s favor could be a double-edged sword, and you had no desire to invite further burdens.

Alicent and Otto? Neither seemed genuinely invested in you. Alicent only saw someone she could shape into her ideal, and Otto viewed you as a piece on the board—disposable when no longer useful.

That left…Aemond.

The very thought made you shudder. Aemond Targaryen, the one-eyed prince. A bitter regret clung to the memory of that night, a reckless mistake you’d been running from ever since. It was half the reason you had leapt at the chance to join Helaena in the Riverlands. Facing Aemond again was a prospect you were still too cowardly to confront, though you suspected it would be unavoidable. If handled carefully, though, he might not be the worst option.

Later. That could wait.

Right now, your mind was preoccupied with the daunting task ahead: the water system. You needed to figure out the formula, but where to begin? All you knew was it needed a steady decline for gravity to carry the flow. Underground would be ideal, but if forced above ground, arches would save on materials. The bricks needed to be durable, made with marble cement. And getting it into the city? That would require tearing apart King’s Landing itself.

Reconstructing an entire city—it could take years.

Years.

The word hit you like a falling stone. Years you would spend here, in this medieval nightmare. You froze mid-step, the weight of realization crashing over you. This was the first time you truly thought about it and let it set in. You would never see your family or friends again. Never watch another movie or binge your favorite show. No degree. No cars, planes, or air conditioning. The life you once knew—the future—was gone, slipping further away with each passing day.

Could you even build a life here? Marry? Have children? The thought was sobering. You could survive, but what would survival cost? Medicine here was archaic at best. Pain relief during childbirth would be nonexistent. Vaccines, nonexistent. Plagues, inevitable. You had always fought to survive back home, but this… this was a different beast altogether.

A pang of homesickness rippled through you. How you longed for a lazy afternoon in bed, reading with music playing softly in the background. Scrolling through social media, catching up on sports, watching the Olympics or the news—or even just indulging in Animal Planet for a moment of calm.

You sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose as you stopped outside a pair of large doors. The library. Maybe you’d find something useful here—anything to distract you from these spiraling thoughts.

Focus, you reminded yourself. Stay focused. Keep your head above water. Make yourself invaluable. You could mourn the loss of modern life later. For now, you had work to do.

The library was a sprawling maze, the shelves seemingly organized by no discernible system. Scanning the spines, you felt the weight of frustration settling in. No math books. Certainly no physics. You scoffed, shaking your head.

“Why would they have math formulas written down?” you muttered. “Wishful thinking.”

As you prepared to give up, a title caught your eye: “Book of Coin - Crispian Celtigar (First Master of Coin) Aegon I ‘The Conqueror’ Targaryen. 1-37AC.”

Your lips twitched into a smile. Of course. The economy here was primitive at best—a loose network of trade and agrarian reliance. Taxes funneled from the smallfolk to lords, and from lords to the crown. Laughably inefficient.

An open market, ripe for the taking.

If you could establish a proper economy, it would mean wealth beyond imagination—and perhaps a system that bore your name. A fully realized, capitalistic economy. It would take years for anyone else to grasp the concept fully. But you’d need to tread carefully; monarchies and capitalism rarely coexisted peacefully. Then again, when had monarchies ever worked well?

Your grin widened. The pieces of a plan were starting to form. The library hadn’t given you what you’d sought, but it had handed you something far more valuable: an idea.

The idea of modern monarchies intrigued you. Weak relics of bygone eras, their grip on power was tenuous at best. Take Spain, for instance—a nation with a king who held no real authority while a president governed the people. Monarchies, by their very nature, stood in direct opposition to the principles of democratic equality, the very ideal you found yourself gravitating toward. Yet here you were, sitting in a castle steeped in the bloodlines of a dynasty that would scoff at such ideals.

You flipped through the book in your hands, letting your mind wander.

The thought of devoting your entire life to dismantling the monarchy felt exhausting. And really, was it even worth it? Life expectancy here couldn’t be much past the thirties—what a chilling reality. Building an egalitarian society would be an uphill battle, and some changes, you reasoned, had to come organically, from the collective understanding of society itself. A leader could nudge the masses in the right direction, pipeline ideas, and light the way, but the responsibility would ultimately fall on those who came after you.

Then there was the media—a double-edged sword you understood all too well. In capable, ethical hands, it could inform and inspire. But unchecked? It could mislead, manipulate, and turn progress into chaos. The thought was sobering.

Still, you couldn’t ignore the monarchy’s unique allure. For all its flaws, it offered something a democracy couldn’t match: continuity, a living link to the past. Monarchs embodied history, culture, and heritage, grounding a nation in its origins while carrying it forward. The public’s attachment to royalty wasn’t logical—it was emotional. They cried for a royal death, cheered for a wedding, and celebrated the birth of heirs they’d never meet. The late Princess Diana was proof of this—her influence enduring even decades after her tragic death.

You grinned, the beginnings of an idea forming. Perhaps the media wasn’t such a bad tool after all, not if wielded correctly.

Otto and Alicent were closing in, you could feel it. You needed something to turn the tide in Rhaenyra’s favor. Numbers alone might confirm the legitimacy of Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, but public opinion was another entity entirely. People doubted what they saw with their own eyes; they’d cling to rumors if given the chance. But with the right narrative, a loyal following could be built around Jacaerys, the future heir. A fan base so devoted, so unwavering, that whispers of bastardy would fall on deaf ears.

Even if the worst happened and the truth came out, a beloved figure could weather the storm. A king who won the hearts of his people would render lineage irrelevant. It wasn’t just about legitimacy—it was about loyalty, influence, and the ability to inspire unwavering devotion.

You leaned back, smiling to yourself. Maybe, just maybe, you’d found your strategy.

You pursed your lips. Yeah…get Rhaenyra on the throne and make her children beloved. Those at the bottom are what keep those at the top standing. A country is not made of just numbers. That’s how should be.

First, you’d have to create a source of constant and neutral information. A reliable source. A true neutral source.

Something simple. 

 A newspaper! 

You snapped the coin book shut, grabbing a piece of paper and a quill, heart pounding with excitement. You sketched the first rough outline of something new, something revolutionary. Journalists. Editors. Writers. You’d need them all, but first, you’d start small. One piece at a time. It didn’t matter that Westeros wasn’t ready for it. They’d need it. You’d make them need it.

People, no matter the time, love gossip. You’d have to recruit someone for that. Actually, let's start thinking of the jobs that need to be filled. 

‘Journalists, senior editors, assistant editors, editorial assistants, staff writers, printers, Painters?’ Then of course you’d have to do one for every subject you choose, politics, gossip, health, fashion (you needed to start pants or something. These skirts were too much.), travel maybe (You really needed to get out more), business, science, lifestyle, sports. Hell, maybe you’d even start the Olympics here. Make your own city and it will be the capital of progress. Call it Olympus, home of the Olympians, and have major athletes living there and universities there so you’d have the brightest minds. Wouldn’t that be something? Actually maybe… “Ugh! This is so much work already!” You threw your head back and your jaw slackened. Above you was standing the last Prince you wanted to see. 

Aemond stood there, his presence suffocating, cutting through your thoughts like a blade.

You shot to your feet, heart thudding. Not now. Not when your mind was on fire. You gave him a tight smile, forced but polite. “Perfect timing,” you muttered. Time to go.

“Journalists?” Aemond spoke and you gave a smile. Definitely time to go! Once this newspaper was started it couldn’t be linked back to you. It wouldn’t give it the fair and neutral reputation you wanted, especially once you started making headlines and you would. The whole of Westeros would know your name once you were done. 

You smiled, but it was a wolfish thing. “Just playing with words…” Your heart raced. It was a lie. A flimsy one. But it wasn’t like he’d ever heard of the word before.

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. His gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, unreadable, as always. "What does it mean?"

You looked around, feigning thought. The heat of his stare burned into you. "I don’t know yet. Would you like to help me give it meaning?" You let your words hang, soft but charged with a promise. You ignored the way his eye darkened as they lingered on your collarbones.

“Help you how?” His voice had an edge now, dangerous and tantalizing. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned away quickly, trying to steady yourself. No. Not again. You couldn’t fall into that trap again, especially not after making peace with Alicent. You forced a smile, playing dumb. “Figuring out what the word means. I just said that.” Your voice was light, almost too light.

Aemond stood still, his gaze on you sharp and unrelenting. The air between you thickened.

He stepped closer, his presence a magnet pulling at every nerve in your body. You instinctively took a step back, but the intensity in his eyes held you in place. “I thought you were a man with no taste for depravity.” You threw his own words back at him, the challenge in your voice unmistakable.

Aemond said nothing as he leaned in. A sudden and sharp pain hit the left side of your brain making your eye sting. You hissed and covered your eye. Aemond lifted a brow and your jaw slacked for the second time that day. Damn. This second time you’ve probably offended him about his eye. To your credit, you really did get hit with a sharp pain which was now forming into a headache. The worst thing that could happen and it’s happening. Rather break a bone than another migraine. However, your migraines usually come with a side of vomit, but that wouldn’t be till much later. You knew you shouldn’t have eaten anything here. It was a miracle nearly two months and with no sickness, hopefully, it was a simple upset stomach.

“Excuse me.” You barely managed to breathe the words, your senses assaulted by a pungent smell that seemed to grow stronger with every heartbeat. Your head throbbed, a sharp pulse blooming at your temple, and you instinctively pushed past Aemond, ignoring the startled lift of his brow.

The moment you stepped into the corridor, the pain in your head flared again, forcing you to slow your steps. Each movement sent another spike of agony through your skull, and you clenched your teeth to keep from groaning aloud. Behind you, Aemond followed in silence, his measured steps too close, his gaze too heavy. You could feel it trailing you, scrutinizing your every falter. Thankfully, he seemed wise enough not to speak.

You finally reached your chambers, but the moment you opened the door, a sickly sweet smell hit you like a punch to the gut. Your stomach churned violently.

“Shit,” you hissed, slamming the door shut and turning away as a fresh wave of nausea rose to your throat.

“What are you doing?” Aemond’s voice broke the tense silence, his tone edged with curiosity and the faintest trace of irritation.

“Headache,” you gritted out, squeezing your eyes shut as you pressed your fingers to your temples. The small circles you rubbed brought only the barest relief. “Strong smells make it worse. Please—I’m terrible with pain.” The words tumbled out unbidden, desperation seeping into your voice. The sharp, stabbing sensation on the left side of your head had morphed into a vise, squeezing tighter and tighter. It was unbearable. At least with a broken bone, the pain had a clear source. This—this all-encompassing torment—was driving you mad.

“Should I call a Maester?” Aemond asked, his voice steady, though you thought you detected the faintest flicker of concern.

You shook your head sharply, regret washing over you as the motion worsened the throbbing. Another wave of nausea rolled through you, and you turned away, swallowing hard to keep your stomach’s rebellion at bay.

“Unless they have fucking painkillers,” you snapped, the words slipping out before you could stop them, “then they can’t do shit for me.” You barely registered the silence that followed, too consumed by the relentless pressure in your skull. But a part of you imagined Aemond’s reaction—his sharp features drawn in surprise, maybe even offense. You’d never spoken like that to anyone here, least of all a prince.

“I need air,” you muttered through clenched teeth, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue further.

“Breathe,” he said simply, placing a hand on your back. The gesture, though likely meant to comfort, did little to ease the suffocating pressure in your chest.

“No,” you groaned, shaking your head weakly. “Clean air. Fresh air. Not the sweet rot in my room or the filth of King’s Landing.” You turned to him then, desperation flashing in your eyes. Another sharp wave of vertigo hit, and you reached out instinctively, gripping his arm for balance. “Please.” The word escaped as a plea, raw and unfiltered.

“Where?” Aemond’s expression was unreadable, his voice calm despite the urgency in yours. Perhaps, if you weren’t so consumed by the pain, you might have noticed the faint crease of his brow, or the subtle glance toward the nearby shadows where watchful eyes lingered.

 “Dragonstone,” you whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding in your skull. It was the first place you could think of—cool, constant, and untouched by the suffocating air of this place.

Aemond’s brows furrowed, his expression sharpening with intrigue. “Dragonstone?” he echoed, as though the name itself warranted suspicion. He hadn’t known you were even aware of the place, let alone familiar with it. Has Aegon taken you? His brother had often bragged about his soon to be conquest of you. Fucking you atop Sunfyre’s back whilst you both flew above King’s Landing. Though it did little to bother Aemond. He had already beaten his brother to it in any case. Aemond had dismissed it as a typical Aegon bluster, but now…

“You’ve been to Dragonstone? On dragonback?” he pressed, his eye narrowing as he studied your face.

You nodded weakly, your eyes still closed, every movement threatening to unleash another jolt of pain. The invisible belt tightened further around your head, and you winced.

“How?” he asked, his voice remaining flat, though the edge of curiosity softened his tone. Perhaps it was your vulnerability that tempered his usual sharpness—or perhaps it was something else entirely.

“Does it matter?” you managed to mutter, each word a struggle. “If you’re worried about Aegon, I promise you it wasn’t him.” Your voice cracked with desperation, your patience shredded by the unrelenting pain. “Please, Aemond—my head is killing me.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening as if debating whether to press further. His gaze lingered on you, an unreadable storm behind his eye, but your words seemed to settle something in him.

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stepped closer, his towering presence both grounding and overwhelming in your current state. “Very well,” he said at last, though the question lingered in his gaze. “But if not Aegon, then who?”

“Not now,” you hissed, cradling your head as a fresh wave of pain pulsed through your skull. “I’ll tell you later. Just… please, Aemond.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. You could feel the tension in the air, his curiosity warring with some other unspoken instinct. Then, without another word, he extended his arm toward you, his fingers brushing your elbow with a touch so surprisingly gentle it made you open your eyes.

“Come,” he said simply. “We’ll take Vhagar.”

You blinked, your breath catching. “Vhagar?” What the hell was a Vhagar? You didn’t have time for riddles—what you needed was fresh air so you could follow your usual migraine routine: a restless nap where you’d feel every pulse in your head, waking up nauseous and dizzy, throwing up, and finally, one last nap to reset. But that wasn’t happening in King’s Landing, not with the air reeking like it did. Yeah, you really needed to figure out those formulas for the sewer system.

“My dragon,” Aemond clarified.

Oh. He had a dragon. Right.

Wait—Vhagar. The name tugged at a corner of your memory, but the pounding in your skull made it impossible to chase the thought down. Whatever. You’d piece it together later.

You gave a stiff nod and started walking, each step down the stairs making your head throb like your brain was ricocheting off your skull. Damn migraines.

You took each step carefully, gripping the railing as though it might steady the pulsing in your skull. Aemond followed silently behind you, his presence a heavy shadow against your increasingly unsteady footing. The scent of the city—a sickly mix of sweat, rot, and filth—clung to the air like a physical weight, and it was all you could do not to gag.

As you reached the courtyard, a sharp wave of vertigo hit. You paused, eyes squeezing shut, willing the world to stop spinning. Behind you, Aemond’s voice cut through the haze. “Are you sure you can manage this? You look—”

“Like hell,” you finished for him, waving off his concern. “I’ll manage if it gets me to fresh air.”

Vhagar was there, looming like a mountain brought to life, her sheer size making your breath catch for reasons entirely unrelated to your headache. Her massive head turned toward you, eyes gleaming with an intelligence that made your stomach twist with both awe and unease. The migraine and nausea suddenly felt like the least of your problems. Nearly made them go away actually.

“That’s Vhagar?” you managed, your voice cracking slightly. Great. Just great. Show no fear, right?

Aemond stepped beside you, his posture as effortlessly poised as ever. “She won’t harm you. Not unless I command it.” His tone was calm, almost casual, but you caught the faintest flicker of amusement in his gaze. Of course he was enjoying this.

“That’s…reassuring,” you muttered, not feeling reassured in the slightest.

Aemond extended a hand toward you. “Come. If it's the fresh air you need, Vhagar will take you there.”

You stared at his hand, then at Vhagar, then back at him. The last time you’d been on dragonback was with Helaena, and even then, it had been an ordeal. Now, with your head pounding like a war drum and your balance barely holding steady, climbing onto the back of the largest dragon in Westeros felt like a death wish.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, but even as the words left your mouth, you felt the heat of Vhagar’s breath as she leaned in closer. The air was hot, yes, but surprisingly clean—free of the acrid stench that seemed to saturate King’s Landing. You inhaled deeply, and for a fleeting moment, the tension in your head eased.

“You said you needed air,” Aemond reminded you, his hand still outstretched. “Trust me.”

The words lingered between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. You looked at him, his face unreadable but unwavering. Normally this would be a no-brainer to get on but right now you weren’t feeling the best, but nonetheless, against your better judgment, you placed your hand in his.

“Fine,” you relented. “But if I fall off, I’m dragging you with me.”

Aemond smirked, but said nothing, keeping his grip firm as he helped you up toward the saddle. 

As Vhagar shifted beneath you, her scales scraping like thunder against stone, you squeezed your eyes shut and muttered a silent prayer to whichever god was listening. Fresh air. That was all you needed. You could survive this. Probably.

And if not…well, there was always the chance that you’d get home somehow. 

Vhagar’s sheer size made her every movement feel monumental. As she shifted beneath you, you clung tightly to the saddle, your fingers white-knuckling the leather straps. This wasn’t like flying on Vermax or even Dreamfyre—those dragons, while mighty, felt agile, almost playful in the air. Vhagar, by contrast, was an ancient power given form, each step and breath a reminder of her dominance. She felt…unrelenting, as if the sky itself bent to her will.

Your head still pounded, but as Vhagar began to rise, the ground slipping farther and farther away, the faint breeze turned into a steady rush of air. It was cool, fresh, untainted by the filth of the city below, and for the first time in hours, you felt a thread of relief unwind through your body.

Your stomach, however, had other plans.

“Ginger ale,” you murmured under your breath, your voice barely audible over the growing wind.

“What?” Aemond called back, glancing over his shoulder as Vhagar’s ascent steadied into a glide.

“I need ginger ale,” you repeated, louder this time, though the absurdity of the request hit you even as you said it. “Helps with nausea.” You groaned softly, pressing your forehead against the saddle, hoping the coolness of the leather would soothe your migraine.

Aemond gave you a look—half incredulous, half bemused. “What is ‘ginger ale?’”

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, clutching the straps tighter as Vhagar tilted into a sharp turn. The motion made your stomach lurch, and you pressed your teeth together, determined not to vomit. “I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like wine or rot.”

The Prince said nothing, though you thought you caught a flicker of something akin to concern in his eye. If he had a remark, he wisely kept it to himself, focusing instead on guiding Vhagar.

As the dragon soared higher, the wind whipped against your face, stinging your skin but bringing with it that precious, unpolluted air you’d been craving. You tilted your head back, letting it wash over you, even as your grip on the saddle remained ironclad.

Every movement of Vhagar felt heavier, more deliberate than Vermax or Dreamfyre. Where their flights had been smooth and almost playful, Vhagar’s was a commanding march through the skies. You could feel the weight of her wings as they sliced through the air, each beat a reminder of her power. The vibrations resonated through your body, making your migraine pulse in tandem.

“Hold tighter,” Aemond called, his voice steady but edged with a warning as Vhagar banked again. You didn’t need to be told twice. Your arms ache from holding on, but letting go wasn’t an option. Not here, not on this dragon.

“Does she always feel like she’s trying to knock you off?” you yelled back, a mix of fear and awe slipping into your tone.

“Only if she doesn’t like you,” Aemond replied, and you swore you caught the faintest trace of a smirk.

Great. Just great.

“Tell her I’m very likable,” you shot back, though the trembling in your voice probably undermined your point.

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” he countered, turning his gaze forward as Vhagar leveled out.

Alive, yes. Comfortable, no. But as the air cleared and the scent of saltwater reached your nose, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t King’s Landing. It wasn’t the suffocating sweetness of your chambers. It was fresh, untainted, and as the horizon opened up before you, you allowed yourself a moment to simply breathe.

“Oh god.” You gripped the saddle though through the sound of the harsh wind your ears sounded a high-pitched, almost "cackling" roar, with a mix of screeching and whistling sounds. “What was that?” You squint your eyes looking forward, almost forgetting you had a migraine in the first place. Your eyes try to adjust to the blinding white of the clouds. A small figure flies through a cloud. “Is that?” 

Was it Vermax? No. Vermax’s deep green coloring would strongly contrast the clouds. No this one blended in with the brightness of the clouds. Was it white, maybe gold? Do they come in those colors? Clearly they came in green (Vhagar and Vermax) and blue (Dreamfyre). 

For a couple of seconds you were able to clearly see a smaller yellow dragon with a familiar face riding on top. 

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“Goodness, do all Targeryens have dragons then?” You asked, watching and turning back as you watched Rhaenrya go to land her dragon at a bay. Was that the bay where you arrived? 

“Majority.” Aemond answered and you nodded. 

“What about the King?” If all Targeryens and dragons you would like to see all of them. Study them if possible or to simply interact with them. Jacaerys had spoken of bonds, you like to understand these bonds and how they work. 

“My father rode Balerion the Black Dread once before it passed away from old age.” As Aemond spoke, you furrowed your brows. “It was the last creature who had seen Old Valyria in all its glory.”

“Old Valyria?” You asked. What was that? Or more so where was it? Was this like ancient Rome or something?

“Are you not from the East?” Aemond asked and you simply looked back at him over your shoulder with a brown lifted. 

“No.” 

“Not the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai?” Aemond looked down at you while keeping a steady hand on Vhagar’s reins.

“No. I’ve never even heard of it. Now what is Old Valyria?” The more you spoke you saw suspicion in Aemond’s eyes. Maybe you should’ve just said yes. You weren’t in the best spot right now for you to provoke such things. Yes, you might go home but y’know, you’d rather not fall more than what seemed 200 ft like last time. What if you didn’t fall into water? Regardless you weren’t in a good place to warrant any kind of reaction from Aemond that was not positive.

“Where are you from then?” Aemond asked and you noticed Vhagar’s speed notably decreased and you bit the inside of your lip.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening instinctively on the saddle as Vhagar’s wings beat slower, her flight becoming almost lazy. Was it intentional? Aemond's way of stalling until you answered? Or maybe Vhagar simply felt the change in his mood.

“Far away,” you finally said, deflecting as best as you could.

“Clearly,” Aemond murmured, his tone skeptical. “But ‘far away’ is not an answer.”

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. Something that could at least buy you time, but your thoughts felt jumbled, your headache dulling your ability to think quickly.

“It’s… not a place you’d know,” you muttered, hoping the vague answer would suffice.

You purse your lips, keeping your gaze forward, trying to keep the dizziness from making you look weaker than you already felt. “Well, the first time I told all of you, you looked at me like I was crazy, so clearly you don’t.” The words slipped out sharper than you intended, but it was too late to reel them in now.

Aemond’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel the slight shift in the air, a sharpness that hadn’t been there before. Something between you was changing, but you couldn’t decide if it was good or bad. Whatever it was, it was pulling you deeper into something you weren’t sure you could control.

“Old Valyria is the place of origin for the Targaryen bloodline.” Aemond spoke moving past his attempt to figure out where you were from. You gave a small sigh of relief. 

Targaryen men. Always so unstable. Maybe it was just the white haired ones.

“Daenys Targaryen or otherwise known as Daenys the Dreamer, predicted the doom of Old Valyria twelve years before it happened. Her father, Lord Aenar Targaryen, heeded her dream and sold his holdings in the Valyrian Freehold and moved his family and all of their belongings to Dragonstone.” You stayed silent as Aemond spoke, trying to focus on his words instead of an uncomfortable feeling in the back of your throat. “With them, they took five dragons, including Balerion. When the Doom of Valyria came, House Targaryen was the only family of dragonriders which survived. Daenys was married to her brother Gaemon, who followed their father as Lord of Dragonstone. Their children were Aegon and Elaena Targaryen. Elaena married her brother, Aegon, and together they had two sons: Maegon and Aerys Targaryen and from them continues the line until the line reached Aegon and his sister wives.” 

At this point the Targeyen family tree is a circle. Why is there so much incest!? Whats with the sibling marriages!?

You couldn’t help but blink, the confusion clouding your thoughts for a moment. "So, the whole bloodline... it's just... incest?" The words slipped out before you could stop them. You bit your lip immediately, regretting it.

Aemond, ever composed, didn’t seem taken aback. His gaze, however, darkened slightly. "In our family, the bonds of blood are sacred," he said, his voice still smooth but edged with something harder. "It keeps the power of the dragons pure."

"Pure?" You repeated, the word feeling strange in your mouth. "What’s pure about it? That’s not... how it really works or at least from what I know." You barely managed to keep your voice steady, the migraine pressing heavier behind your eyes, like a constant hum beneath your skull.

"You speak of customs I do not understand," Aemond remarked coolly, his eyes narrowing as if searching for something in your expression. "But I will not apologize for the Targaryen way."

You met his gaze for a moment, feeling the tension thick in the air. "No one’s asking you to apologize," you muttered, turning your attention back to the sky. The rush of wind felt cold, too cold against the feverish heat inside you. "But it’s hard to understand... that."

“Not all Valryians were dragon lords. We are the last of our kind. Only those with our blood may command a dragon. Marriages within bloodlines are necessary.” Aemond spoke firmly and you nodded trying not to let your biases control even though, from what you know incest is wrong both morally and ethically. 

You hummed and turned back to him. “So say I want to claim a dragon, I can’t because I don’t have Valyrian blood?”

“You would be burned alive the second you stood in front of a dragon attempting to claim it, not just because you don’t have Valyrian blood but because you do not have Targaryen blood.” he spoke with an air of self-importance. You suppose it does warrant that kind of feeling. If only your bloodline can control dragons, you’d be pretty self-absorbed too. “There are those who still have Valryian blood but are not dragon lords. Those in the free cities for example. Many came from Valyrian colonies thus many have some Valryian blood though diluted. Lys has the purest, one can tell by the silver-gold hair and violet-purple eyes, characteristics not found amongst any other people of the world. This can vary from white to silver-gold to blond hair, and from lilac, to deep purple, and pale blue eyes.”

“Okay so your blood is magic and because of that you can control dragons. I understand, I suppose that would warrant…incest,” It was a hard pill to sallow. Admiting to yourself that incest was okay. That was something you never thought you’d say. “So do the people of Lys also have incestual…traditions?”

Aemond was quite seemingly thinking while you tried to keep your ‘little’ headache at bay. “I do not know. They say even the small folk have Valyrian features. I do not think they would. Many call Targaryen customs..queer.” There was a small hit of exasperation in his voice. 

Understandable. 

(Again you’d never thought you’d be justifying it.)

“I thought you had a headache.” Aemond chastised and you simply looked forward. 

“I do. It’s not as bad anymore. The fresh air is always nice.”

It wasn’t long before Dragon Stone came into view. A small smile came to your face. Cold winds. Finally. 

Vhagar's landing is definitely a lot smoother and if you’re being honest preferable to any other dragons you’ve been on, despite the fact that she’s as tall as the bridge you fell from. 

“I’d like to stay near the beach if it’s not too much trouble.” That was probably the nicest way you had spoken to him today.  

Aemond said nothing but Vhagar’s body shifted and you held on tight. Finally when she landed you sat still. 

“How does one get off?”

You watched Aemond slide off his dragon. 

You took thirty minutes trying to climb down. 

Finally on the ground you took off your coat and laid it out before you. Finally to take the first step into getting better. A nap. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond asked you as you bent down to lay down. 

“Take a nap. My head still hurts. I need to sleep.” You looked up at him as if it was obvious before you laid on your side with your arms to prop up your head as a makeshift pillow. 

“You begged me to bring you here to nap?” Aemond spoke unamused and you looked up at him half offended. 

You never begged. “I never beg.” 

“You begged.” Aemond said and normally you’d go back and forth but right now getting rid of this headache took precedence. You went to close your eyes trying to focus on numbing the ache in your head.

Some ginger ale. It was all you wanted.

As you focused on the sound of the waves an Vhagar’s loud breaths you felt as if Aemond was watching you. Listen you knew that both you both knew each other in ways that were not appropriate for the relationship you’re supposed to have but you’d rather not have him watch you while you sleep.

Speaking of you’re glad he has the decency to bring it up. You’d rather not deal with it now. 

“You don’t have to stay y’know. I’m fine, you can even go back to King’s Landing.” You spoke without opening your eyes. 

“How would you get back?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I’d figure it out. Besides, I probably won’t be better till tomorrow morning, and her grace, Princess Rhaenrya, will have questions as to why you’re here.” Wow, look at you, using titles when it’s not necessary. 

“My half sister has no jurisdiction over me.”

“Is this not her land? Prince Jacaerys told me he has been living here for the past couple of years.” Before Aemond could answer you Vhagar laid her head on the ground not too far from you. The thud of her head landing on the floor made you jump a bit. She was enormous. It was amazing to see just how big a dragon can get. 

“If I were to leave you’d stay here all night all by yourself on the beach?” Aemond questioned and you paused. 

You…actually hadn’t thought about that. You had been so focused on the pain. You’ve been camping before. Besides these dresses were compact. “I’ll be fine. While I could do with a blanket, I can manage.” 

Aemond didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel the weight of his stare, heavy and considering. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to let him see even a flicker of hesitation. If he wanted to hover, fine. That was his prerogative, but you weren’t about to entertain his protectiveness.

“I should leave you here then,” he finally said, though his voice betrayed no intention of actually doing so.

“Please do,” you muttered, shifting slightly to get more comfortable. The cold sand beneath your coat was a relief, soothing compared to the relentless pounding in your head.

Aemond huffed lightly, the sound almost amused. “And if wild animals find you?”

You cracked one eye open, staring at him with as much conviction as you could muster in your current state. “I’m sure Vhagar would scare off anything stupid enough to wander close.”

His lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still here,” you retorted, closing your eyes again.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the distant caw of seabirds, and Vhagar’s deep, steady breathing. It was peaceful, almost enough to lull you into sleep despite Aemond’s looming presence.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond said after a while, his tone softer now, though no less resolute. “In case you try to do something foolish.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, half a laugh, half frustration. “Suit yourself.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable. You could still feel his eyes on you, sharp and unyielding. You shifted slightly, pulling your coat tighter around you.

“I’m not going to disappear into the waves or get eaten by some mythical beach monster,” you said, not bothering to open your eyes this time.

“No, but you do have a habit of finding trouble,” Aemond replied smoothly.

You grunted in response, too tired to argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The sound of shifting sand caught your attention, and you cracked your eyes open just in time to see him settle down a few paces away, leaning back against a smooth boulder. His sword was propped up beside him, his posture as regal and composed as ever, even in the wild.

“Are you really going to sit there and watch me sleep?” you asked, incredulous.

Aemond smirked faintly, his one good eye gleaming in the dimming light. “You begged me to bring you here. Consider this my penance for indulging you.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face to block him out. “I didn’t beg,” you mumbled again, your voice muffled.

His quiet chuckle was the last thing you heard before the sound of the waves carried you into uneasy sleep.

Your routine continued in a haze: ‘sleep,’ though it felt as if you were awake the entire time, struggling to control the relentless headache. Then you’d wake to throw up.

Now, it was dark, and the biting chill of the night cut through the air. Your eyes adjusted slowly to the shadows, a groan threatening to escape as every movement sent sharp, echoing pain through your skull.

Finally standing, you glanced around. Aemond was nowhere to be found, though Vhagar’s hulking form still loomed in the near distance, her steady breaths the only sound apart from the waves. That was fine. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this anyway.

With slow, deliberate movements, you stripped off your dress, leaving yourself in the thin white gown customary beneath it. Normally, you’d mutter endless complaints about these heavy, cumbersome period costumes. But tonight, the layers, even the flimsiest ones, offered some semblance of protection from the icy winds.

You shuffled toward the waves, whimpering occasionally as the pain throbbed with each step. The cold water lapped at your feet, a sharp contrast to the feverish warmth that always radiated from your skin. You pressed on until the waves reached your waist, your body trembling as the chill seeped into your bones.

Lowering your head, you gagged, and your stomach heaved violently. Your meals from earlier surfaced, leaving you choking and gasping as tears streamed down your face. It was disgusting, humiliating even, but slowly—mercifully—the iron grip of the headache began to loosen.

“I hate medieval food,” you murmured, rinsing your face with the salty water. The thought of submerging yourself entirely lingered for a moment before you gave in, diving headfirst into the cold waves.

The shock of the water stole your breath, but you stayed under, letting your body adjust to the temperature. When you surfaced, the fresh air of Dragonstone filled your lungs, sharp and briny. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the sting of the salt. This was the first time you’d been to the beach since arriving here, and despite everything, it felt... nice.

You let yourself drift, floating on your back, the waves cradling you like an old friend. The nagging thought that something might be lurking beneath the surface tugged at the back of your mind, but you shoved it aside. The dull ache in your skull was finally easing, and for once, that was enough.

The water around you grew warmer—too warm to be natural—but your exhaustion dulled your caution. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed at you to get out, to flee the dark, unknown waters of a world filled with magic and monsters. But you stayed, the pain in your head too fresh a memory to relinquish the relief now washing over you.

You don’t know how long you floated in the water shivering in the waves. The water seemed to grow warmer around you, almost unnaturally so, but the relief in your skull dulled your caution. A part of you screamed that this was a terrible idea—floating in magical waters under a night sky that might hide anything, especially in a world like this.

Had you been in a better state of mind, you’d have bolted from the waves the moment you stepped in. Unknown waters, magical creatures, the dark—none of it boded well. But the pain had been unbearable, and now that it was subsiding, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You rinsed your mouth with seawater, grimacing at the salty sting as you tried to erase the acidic taste clinging to the back of your throat. It was crude and far from what you were used to—damn, how you missed a toothbrush—but it would have to do.

The waves carried you lazily back toward the beach. With your ears submerged, the world grew muffled, as though the ocean had swallowed all sound. And yet, it felt as if you could hear every secret the water held—a low hum beneath the surface, ancient and endless.

Above you, the night sky stretched impossibly vast, the stars scattered like shards of broken glass across a dark tapestry. No matter how long you’d been here, the skies of this world never failed to leave you breathless.

It was beautiful in a way that almost hurt.

You stared up at infinity, caught in its embrace, swaying in the currents of another. Forever trapped between two infinities.

Forever was a long time.

The thought pressed heavy on your chest. You were a long way from home, farther than distance could measure. Your family, your friends, your world—they were all an infinity away, unreachable, untouchable.

And for the first time tonight, the ache in your chest felt sharper than the one in your head.

Still, a nagging thought crept into the back of your mind, one you tried to suppress as you stared at the horizon. The warmth of the water wasn’t normal. The fact that you felt better wasn’t normal. And standing alone in the dark with Vhagar’s massive presence behind you wasn’t particularly smart and Aemond wasn’t here if she decided she wanted a midnight snack.

But the pounding in your skull was gone, that alone, at least to you, was more than enough for you to stay.

You stayed in the water a while longer, letting the gentle rhythm of the waves soothe what was left of your frayed nerves. The cold wind nipped at your cheeks, sharp and biting, but it was a welcome change from the suffocating heat that often clung to your skin.

Finally, with a deep breath you dove under the water swimming with the rhythm of the waves until you rose from the waves. The thin fabric hung tightly to you leaving nothing to the imagination. As you walked the weight of the waves wore you down  making the trek more arduous than it should’ve been. By the time you reached the beach, your toes were numb, and a deep shiver rattled through your body.  

As the wind blew you felt your hardened buds against the wet fabric. It was cold. 

Vhagar shifted slightly, her massive head lifting just enough to acknowledge your presence. Her glowing eyes tracked your movements, unblinking, as you wrung water from your gown and sat on the cold, hard sand near the waves lapping at your feet. It was strange how something so immense could feel so alive, so keenly aware.

“You’re not very subtle,” you murmured, glancing her way. “I know you’re watching me.”

The dragon let out a low rumble, the vibrations coursing through the ground beneath you. It almost sounded like understanding.

You sighed, running a hand through your damp hair, pushing it back from your face. Above, the stars blazed brighter than you’d ever seen. You’d heard stories of a time when Earth’s skies had looked like this—before light pollution, when you could see Saturn and its rings with the naked eye. But that world was gone, and this one was an infinity apart.

Your thoughts wandered as they often did. There was so much to accomplish, but would there ever be enough time? Could you even manage it on your own? Lately, it felt like you were spinning in circles, chasing impossible dreams. Maybe it would be easier to give up, to settle into whatever semblance of a normal life this world allowed.

You imagined it for a moment: marrying some minor lord, living quietly far from King’s Landing. 

Dragon Stone really was perfect for you.It was remote, beautiful, and peaceful in its own austere way.

Too bad Jacaerys was already betrothed. Not that you wanted to be queen—what a nightmare that would be. Still, the idea of staying here, on this island, far from the chaos of the realm, was tempting.

Your musings drifted to Aemond. Where had he gone? Had he truly left you here alone for the night? Or was he somewhere nearby, watching? Perhaps he was inside the castle, receiving the hospitality due a prince, while you were left out here with the dragon. You could only hope he’d given Vhagar strict orders not to burn or eat you.

Your eyes flicked toward the dunes, half-expecting to see the pale glint of his hair in the moonlight. But there was nothing—only the quiet rhythm of the waves and Vhagar’s occasional huff.

The headache that had plagued you earlier was gone now, leaving behind an odd hollowness. It wasn't a relief, not exactly. It felt more like the eerie stillness that follows a storm.

Hugging your knees to your chest, you rested your chin atop them and whispered to no one, “This place is beautiful. But it’s not home.”

Vhagar rumbled again, softer this time, and for some inexplicable reason, it felt like a response.

You sat in silence for a while, soaking in the world around you. The air carried the sharp tang of salt and seaweed, the waves shimmering silver beneath the starlight. It was peaceful in a way that almost made you forget the strange, perilous world you’d fallen into.

Almost.

The cold eventually drove you to move. You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, and eyed the faint outline of a cave further down the beach. It looked shallow, but it would block the wind well enough. Glancing at Vhagar, you asked, “Don’t suppose you’d let me sleep under your wing, huh?”

The dragon huffed, almost dismissively, and shifted her massive body to face the sea.

“Didn’t think so,” you muttered. You waded back into the waves to rinse off the sand clinging to your skin, then retrieved your clothes and trudged toward the cave.

The cave wasn’t much warmer, but it was shelter. You spread your coat on the ground and folded your dress into a makeshift pillow. The chill seeped into your bones as you lay down, shivering, but exhaustion overtook you anyway.

Sleep came fitfully, filled with dreams of fire and shadow. Unfamiliar voices whispered in the darkness, speaking words you couldn’t understand but felt in your very core.

When you woke, the sky was a faint, pale blue, dawn creeping over the horizon. You sat up, shivering, your body stiff and cold, and froze when you saw him.

Aemond stood at the cave’s entrance, silent and imposing. His sharp gaze pinned you in place, unreadable as ever.

“You’re back,” you rasped, your voice rough with sleep.

“I never left,” he replied evenly, stepping closer. His eye glinted in the dim light. “You’re more impulsive than I gave you credit for.”

You shivered slightly as you stretched, your limbs still stiff from the cold. Your hair, now dry from the saltwater, felt rough and brittle beneath your fingers—its natural state enhanced but worsened by the seawater. “How much did you see?” you asked, running a hand through the unruly strands.

“I saw you dive into the water, swim in it, and parade yourself nearly nude.” Aemond’s lone eye never left you as you reclined back on the sand, stretching lazily.

“Is that all?” you asked lightly, masking your relief. If he had been far enough away, he wouldn’t have seen the more private parts of your ordeal—the headache and the mess you had to "resolve."

“You are reckless,” Aemond said, his voice sharp with disapproval.

“Reckless?” you echoed, the word sitting oddly on your tongue as you rolled your shoulders, joints popping with every motion. “That’s rich coming from you. And, may I add, I wasn’t ‘parading myself.’ I was walking.”

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver, though there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips—amusement, maybe, or something close to it. “I am reckless with purpose,” he said evenly. “You, however, seem intent on tempting fate for no reason. What if someone had seen you in such a state, leaving little to the imagination?”

You scoffed, pulling your coat tighter around yourself against the chill. “Then they’d have seen,” you said with a shrug, as if the idea was hardly worth considering. “It’s not like I have anything to hide, but besides ‘parading myself’ what else exactly did I do to offend your sense of self-preservation this time?”

His eye narrowed slightly, the movement subtle but telling. “Swimming alone in the dark when you’ve no idea what lurks beneath the surface. Lying exposed on the beach with nothing but Vhagar to protect you. Shall I continue?”

“You already mentioned the second one,” you said, tilting your head as though to soften the bite in your voice. “As for the first… Well, life without a little danger is a little boring, don’t you think?”

Aemond’s silence stretched for a moment before he tilted his head, his tone suddenly laced with something more cutting. “Do you always allow others to see what you hide beneath your clothing?”

As you stood up there was a faint pop that punctuated the tense air that your legs gave. “No,” you replied, meeting his gaze evenly ignoring the slight dull paint that was beginning to seep into the bones of your legs. “But if someone happens to come across me… what am I supposed to do about it? It’s not the end of the world.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, his eye flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Then our… encounter,” he began, his voice quiet but firm, “I assume it was not an uncommon occurrence?”

You flinched at his words, quickly looking away. So much for never speaking about it again.

“No,” you admitted after a long pause, your voice quieter now. “That was… out of character for me.”

The air between you grew heavier, the distant crash of the waves filling the silence. You shivered, tugging your coat tighter and debating whether to pull on your dress for more coverage. Aemond, as always, was impossible to read, his gaze steady and unwavering even as you avoided it.

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the space, thick with unspoken tension. You felt the ends of your hair being tugged by the breeze before the warmth of hands settled on your shoulders.

“You smell of the sea,” Aemond murmured, his voice low.

You instinctively stepped away, narrowing your eyes. “In a good way or a bad way?”

Aemond’s expression remained inscrutable. “In the way you always smell.”

His gaze lingered, and you suddenly found yourself thinking of that night—a memory that had lingered too close to the surface.

“Well,” you pressed, shifting uncomfortably and picking up your belongings, clutching them against your chest to guard against the wind’s sharp bite. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Aemond didn’t answer. Instead, his eye bore into you with a look that felt far too knowing, though unfamiliar in its intensity. You rolled your eyes and strode out of the cave, the wind whipping against you like a sharp rebuke.

“Me duelen los huesos,” you muttered, the ache in your legs creeping higher with each step.

“Where are you going?” Aemond’s voice carried over the sound of the wind, and you turned back to see him still standing in the cave’s shadows.

“To Vhagar,” you replied, your tone curt. Where else would you go? There was work to be done, and indulging in any more moments of weakness was a luxury you couldn’t afford. You had responsibilities—stressful ones that, if neglected, could mean far worse than wrinkles or gray hair.

“She’ll burn you,” Aemond said flatly, turning his back to you as if dismissing the conversation entirely.

“Excuse me?” you called, incredulous, but he disappeared further into the cave. Huffing, you marched back after him. “Hello! I’m better now. I need to get back to King’s Landing—some of us actually have things to do. Things that, I might add, very much determine—”

You cut yourself off, biting your tongue before you said too much.

Aemond turned, his smirk sharp enough to cut through stone. “Like what? What could you possibly have to work on? My father has resumed his place on the Small Council. Isn’t that the extent of your duties?”

His mocking tone, paired with that damned smirk, lit a fire in your chest. He had backed you into a corner, and he knew it. You glanced toward the beach, considering the slim possibility of escape. Jacaerys might be able to help if you found him, but would Aemond even let you leave?

Frustrated, you slipped off your shoes and stomped out of the cave. Vhagar loomed ahead, her massive form outlined against the horizon, her ancient eyes gleaming with something that felt unsettlingly knowing.

“Let me through?” you muttered, stepping cautiously toward her.

Vhagar didn’t budge. Instead, steam hissed from her nostrils in warning, stopping you in your tracks. The heat singed your exposed skin, and you hissed in pain, though the cool wind quickly soothed it.

Meeting her gaze, you felt a shiver run down your spine. There was no getting past her. With a sigh of defeat, you turned back toward the cave, glancing briefly at Aemond, who now watched with a smug, satisfied look that only worsened your irritation.

Once inside, you sat down heavily on the sand, wrapping your cloak tightly around your legs and hugging your dress close for warmth.

“When can we go back?” you asked, your voice heavy with displeasure.

Aemond leaned against the cave wall, arms crossed, his sharp eye glittering with amusement. “When you answer my questions.”

You furrowed your brows. “What questions?”

He paused, tilting his head slightly, almost predatorily, before pivoting back toward you. “What exactly is it that you do, besides tend to my father?”

“Nothing.” The response left your mouth too quickly, too defensively.

Aemond’s lips curled into the barest hint of a smirk. “You’re lying. I’ve heard rumors of your... misdoings.”

You crossed your arms, lifting a brow in unamused defiance. “That’s hardly a reliable source. If you’re going to accuse me of something, at least have the decency to find the evidence yourself.”

He leaned back slightly, gaze sharp and unrelenting. “I’ve seen you use the secret passages. How is it that you discovered them?”

The memory made you smile despite the tension. “Funny story, actually. I leaned back against a wall one day, and it just... opened. Coolest moment of my life. Felt like a super-spy. Like Carmen Sandiego.” No actually you were listening to music and you were being dramatic while acting out whatever imaginary scenario you had that day and just so happened to open the wall.

The name, foreign and bizarre in this time, had no effect on him.

He said nothing, his expression an unyielding mask.

“You’ve gone to a whorehouse.” It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.

God, the spies here really were everywhere. You winced, trying to recover. “Well, I’m avidly against human trafficking—”

“What is a journalist?” he interrupted, cutting you off with no patience for your deflections.

You blinked. “Rude. But as I said, I was messing with words.”

“You invent words, then?”

“Yup. That’s me. An innovator. Ahead of my time,” you quipped. Quite literally, but he didn’t need to know that.

“A journalist.”

“Why are you so caught up on that? Look, it’s just two words smashed together—actually, no, scratch that. I thought of someone who makes journals. Hence, journalist. Boom. Genius at work.”

He didn’t look impressed.

“That night,” he pressed again.

You groaned loudly, leaning back and throwing your arms up. “Ugh! What more do you want from me? My soul? I’m tired of your interrogation.”

“You’ll answer until I am satisfied,” he said flatly, his tone brooking no argument. “What was on the table?”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach tighten. You hesitated, weighing your options before sighing. “Do you really want to know? It’s the reason I need to get back. My life quite literally depends on that sheet of paper.”

He pushed off the wall, stepping closer to you and sitting down. Instinctively, you scooted back, putting a safer distance between you.

“What is it?”

“It’s... not as interesting as you think,” you deflected.

“What is it?” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through your weak attempt to delay.

You sighed, knowing there was no escape. “It’s an equation.”

“For what?” he demanded, his impatience evident.

“You said earlier—what purpose do I serve other than tending to the king? Truth is, I don’t have one. The second your father dies, I lose the little protection I have. Your uncle isn’t particularly fond of me, and the feeling is mutual. I have to build my value to stay alive.” It was a half-truth, but it would keep him at bay.

His expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of interest in his eye. You swallowed hard and continued. “I’m no one here. No family name to lean on. The Citadel despises me because I’ve accomplished in a month what their ‘maesters’ haven’t managed in decades. And, of course, that leads to accusations—witchcraft, blasphemy, what have you. So I’ve earned the ire of the Faith as well. No wealth. No rights. And worst of all, I’m a woman. What value do I have that guarantees my survival?”

“None,” Aemond said without hesitation.

You nodded grimly. “Exactly. So I’m creating one. That project you saw on the table? It’s my ticket to longevity.”

“What project?”

You hesitated again, knowing how dangerous this could be. Otto and Alicent had been clear. No one was to know of their request, and you couldn’t agree more.

“To find the pH balance of the spring near King’s Landing,” you lied smoothly.

Aemond furrowed his brows, confused. “What?”

“I’m creating a water system to deliver clean water to the people of King’s Landing,” you explained, hoping the truth buried within the lie would be convincing. “And to establish a sewer system to reduce illness. It’s basic sanitation, really.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “You mean to do what the maesters have failed to achieve for centuries.”

“Precisely,” you said with a small smile, leaning into the absurdity of it. “Like I said—innovator. Ahead of my time.”

You shivered again, warmth creeping unbidden up your face as you and Aemond locked eyes. The silence between you stretched, heavy and unspoken, until you broke it with an awkward cough, quickly averting your gaze.

“Anyways,” you began, your voice a touch too loud in the stillness. “I need to go back. I haven’t figured out the equation yet, and there are people breathing down my neck.”

Aemond tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though his single eye seemed to pierce straight through you. “And how do you intend to fund it? Do you expect the crown to pay for such an undertaking?”

His words carried a subtle edge, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “The crown?” you scoffed lightly. “Please. If I even hinted at asking for funding, the Hand would have me thrown out on principle.”

Aemond’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or disdain, you couldn’t tell. “Then how will you manage it? A project of that scale requires significant resources.”

You avoided his gaze, staring instead at the fire crackling nearby. “I’ll find a way,” you murmured, your voice softer now. Heat flushed your cheeks, and despite the chill in the cave, a fine sheen of sweat began to gather at your temples. “Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

Aemond studied you in silence, his sharp gaze catching the faint tremor in your hands as you brushed them over your arms. “You’re unwell,” he stated flatly, his tone more matter-of-fact than concerned.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to sound composed. Clearing your throat, you added, “It’s just cold in here.”

“Is it?” he asked, arching a brow. “You seem flushed for someone who claims to be cold. You were foolish to go into the water.”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “I’ll be fine. I’m not sick.” You couldn’t be sick. Not here, of all places. Your immune system couldn’t fail you now. Still, the growing ache in your bones hinted otherwise.

No, you decided. You were just dehydrated. At least, you hoped so.

You stood up, but your legs wavered beneath you, and the chill seemed to cut deeper. A disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. No, this couldn’t be happening. You only got sick once a year, and you’d already had your turn. Right?

Aemond’s eye flicked to you, unamused. “You need more clothes,” he remarked, his voice cool and matter-of-fact.

You sank back down, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I’ll be fine.”

“You need to be inside. Somewhere warm,” he insisted, his gaze shifting toward the castle.

You shook your head stubbornly. “No, I’ll be fine right here. Just a little more rest.”

Aemond stepped closer, deliberate and measured, his presence imposing. You stiffened, refusing to meet his gaze as his shadow fell over you. “Rest won’t help if you’re running a fever,” he said.

“I don’t have a fever,” you muttered, though the unsteady wobble in your voice betrayed you.

His eye narrowed as if testing your words. Before you could pull away, he reached out, his fingers brushing your forehead. The coolness of his touch against your overheated skin was both a relief and an unwelcome confirmation.

“You’re burning,” he observed, his tone devoid of sympathy.

You said nothing, pulling your cloak tighter as you curled up on the sand. Closing your eyes, you hoped he would leave, though the faint ache in your bones refused to relent.

Then came the rumble.

Your eyes shot open, heart leaping as the ground seemed to quake beneath you. You turned just in time to see Vhagar looming over the cave entrance, her massive jaws parting as an ominous red glow flickered in the depths of her throat.

Panic overtook you as you scrambled to your feet, legs shaking beneath you. “Okay! Okay! I’ll go! Please!” you shrieked, stumbling forward in a half-run, half-crawl. Your limbs felt like lead, each step a monumental effort.

You collapsed onto the sand, gasping as heat surged behind you. Bracing yourself for the worst, you closed your eyes and waited for the fire to consume you.

But it didn’t.

The warmth grew, yes, but it was strangely gentle. Tentatively, you turned back, expecting an inferno but finding Aemond standing before Vhagar, his figure shadowed against the glow of her fire.

He looked at you with a near-mocking smirk, one brow arched in that way that made you want to slap him. “What are you doing?” you demanded, your voice hoarse.

Aemond’s smirk deepened. “You thought she’d burn you?”

You hesitated, feeling the heat of embarrassment join your fever. “Well, yeah! She had her mouth open and everything!”

The deadpan look he gave you only made you feel more foolish. Slowly, you stepped closer to the dragon, your legs still trembling. Vhagar’s warmth washed over you, and despite yourself, you leaned into it, feeling the tension in your body start to melt away.

“You could have said something,” you muttered, refusing to meet Aemond’s amused gaze.

“And miss the show?” he replied, his smirk never wavering.

You pressed your cloak closer to your body, trying to stave off the shaking that you hoped he didn’t notice. “You’re so funny I forgot to laugh.”

Aemond raised a brow but said nothing, his gaze lingering on you as you slumped against a nearby rock, the heat from Vhagar providing some relief. The silence between you stretched for a moment before your vision swam slightly, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

The ache in your bones had worsened, and the clammy sweat that clung to your skin was impossible to ignore. Your head throbbed with a dull, persistent pulse, and the warmth you’d sought now felt suffocating, as if it was seeping into your very core.

“You’re getting worse,” Aemond said, his tone cool but edged with something unreadable.

“No, I’m fine,” you replied weakly, though even you could hear how unconvincing you sounded. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that didn’t make the ache in your muscles more unbearable.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he remarked, stepping closer. “Your stubbornness will only make this worse.”

“Thank you, Maester Aemond,” you muttered sarcastically, your words slurring slightly.

He crouched beside you, his sharp eye scanning your face. “Your fever is worsening. You need proper care.”

You shook your head, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness overtook you. “I can’t. I told you, King’s Landing is crawling with sickness. If I go, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Die there?” Aemond interrupted, his voice colder now. He tilted his head, regarding you with what could only be described as irritation. “Your logic is as flawed as your health.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a wave of exhaustion hit you like a crashing tide, and you found yourself leaning against the rock behind you, your body too heavy to fight gravity.

Aemond’s expression shifted, his usual stoicism faltering for a moment. He reached for you again, this time his hand resting against your cheek. The coolness of his touch was a stark contrast to the fire coursing through your veins, and you found yourself leaning into it despite your better judgment.

“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his voice lower now, as if speaking to himself.

You shook your head, even though you didn’t believe it anymore.

“You’re not staying here to prove a point,” Aemond countered sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You pushed his hand away, forcing your eyes open to meet his. He was closer than you liked, his presence crowding you against the unyielding rock behind you. Your instinct was to retreat, but there was nowhere to go, so instead, you averted your gaze, focusing on the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

“King’s Landing or Dragonstone,” he pressed, his tone firm. “Either way, you’ll be treated by a maester.”

The ultimatum hung heavy between you, and you glared at him, lips pressing into a stubborn line. After a moment, you relented, lifting a shaky hand to gesture toward the mouth of the cave.

“Speak, woman,” Aemond snapped, his frustration palpable as he leaned in closer. You stiffened at the proximity, your discomfort now twofold—his nearness and your mounting fever. Last night’s tension still lingered between you, and you couldn’t forget the distance you’d carefully maintained.

And, of course, your toothbrush was miles away. Oral hygiene was non-negotiable for you, even now.

You shook your head, stubbornly pointing outside again.

“You were speaking fine a moment ago,” Aemond said, his voice low with irritation. “Speak!”

But you ignored him, leaning back against the rock and closing your eyes. The fever had sapped whatever energy you had left, and the only thing you could do now was focus on conserving warmth.

“King’s Landing it is, then,” Aemond muttered, the words barely audible but enough to make your eyes snap open.

Your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could make a move. You didn’t have the strength to argue, so you simply shook your head and pointed toward the cave’s entrance again.

“Dragonstone?” he questioned, his voice softer now.

You nodded, releasing his wrist and pushing weakly against him to create some space. His steady gaze lingered on you, but you avoided it, focusing on the task of standing.

Aemond extended a hand to you, his sharp features unreadable. You glanced at it briefly before shaking your head, lifting your trembling hand in polite refusal.

You pushed yourself to your feet, your legs wobbling dangerously beneath you. Each step felt like dragging lead, and soft groans of discomfort escaped your lips despite your efforts to suppress them.

You’d get over this. It was just a cold—nothing more. Right?

Aemond’s gaze followed you closely as you staggered forward, his expression unreadable. He didn’t offer another word, but the intensity of his scrutiny made it clear he wasn’t about to let you falter.

For now, you trudged on, stubbornness and fever battling for dominance, with only the distant promise of Dragonstone to keep you moving.

You walked outside, swayed by the harsh wind that bit through your coat like it wasn’t even there. The salt in the air stung your nose, and every gust seemed to leech more warmth from your fevered body.

Tilting your head back, you took in the towering heights of Dragonstone looming above you. Its jagged cliffs and forbidding spires seemed endless, cutting sharply into the gray sky. You let out a dejected sigh, your breath visible in the cold. There was no way you were making it up there in your condition.

You turned your gaze to Aemond, who stood just behind you, the firelight from the cave catching on the sharp planes of his face. His lips curved into a smug smirk as he regarded your shivering figure, his eye glinting with something close to amusement.

“Do you admit defeat so soon?” he drawled, taking a deliberate step closer.

You turned, keeping close to Vhagar's massive frame, using her bulk to shield yourself from the relentless wind. Each step was a trial, the cold gnawing at you, and every ache in your body screamed in protest. Your arms felt as heavy as your legs, your fever-fueled fatigue dragging you down with each passing moment.

By the time you reached the stone stairs leading up to the castle, your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest burning with the effort. The journey that should have been manageable felt insurmountable, and yet you pushed forward, dragging your feet up the uneven steps.

You managed only a handful more steps before your legs finally gave out beneath you, crumpling like they’d forgotten their purpose. The cold stone bit into your hands and knees as you fell, but you barely registered the pain. The icy wind whipped past, tearing through your coat and into your fevered skin like knives, making you tremble violently.

Leaning back against the cold, unyielding stone wall, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gather what strength you had left. Your body felt like it was on fire, each pulse of your heart sending fresh waves of heat through your veins, only to clash with the icy air around you.

This fever—so sudden and all-consuming—had never taken you like this before. You’d been sick before, of course, but never under these conditions. Then again, you’d never tried to climb a mountain of stairs in freezing winds while your body waged war against itself.

Your breathing slowed, each exhale a visible puff in the chill. Despite the danger of the cold and the impossibility of your situation, your exhaustion was overwhelming. Just a small nap, you told yourself, just enough to regain your strength.

The stone at your back felt harder and colder with every passing second, but you couldn’t summon the energy to care. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy and unwilling to stay open. You let your head tilt back, your shivering starting to subside—not from warmth, but from sheer weariness.

Somewhere distant, a voice—sharp and commanding—called your name. But you were too tired to respond, too drained to move. Surely, just a moment of rest wouldn’t hurt.

Would it?

Note: This is in honor of me getting sick for like the first time in a year. Anyways lemme know what y'all think! Also So sorry for the delay. Finals are ass.

Previous I Next I Masterlist

To be added to Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

[flagellant]

It's funny. Maybe it's the way and the place I was raised but Spanish is, and always will be, the holiest language of Roman Catholicism. Ecumenical Latin, Greek, even Aramaic, the original languages the Bible was written in--I get it, I really do. But I wasn't raised in Christianity reading, hearing, singing Ecumenical Latin, Greek, or even Aramaic. And while a lot of it was in English, I'll admit, my strongest memories of my time in religion will always be in Spanish.

There's this musicality to it that I don't think I know how to fully comprehend how I can explain. Because it isn't about the musicality, really, though religious Spanish is a beautifully lyrical language. If I'm being perfectly honest, it's that I hardly speak any Spanish at all. I would often go to Spanish mass with my best friend growing up because we'd hang out on Saturdays and I'd go back home Sunday afternoon--after I went to church, of course. I didn't comprehend the language in the slightest (though I learned some through rote repetition, of course). But hearing the passion, the adoration--in the truly Biblical sense of the word--of the voices of the (my) abuelas around me raised in song, Señor, ten piedad, Cristo, ten piedad, Señor ten piedad de mí? How could I forget that in my life?

Maybe it's the history of it, y'know? Maybe it's the little ember of Marian heresy I'm convinced exists in the heart of it. Sure, Jesus and the Father and all that, but I mean, it's practically sacrilege to act like it isn't the Mother who rules the house of God in Guadalupe, right? I still remember the smell of the tamales I was too picky to eat. Every week for years. After a certain amount of time it became habit and sublimated, misplaced pride rather than any actual desire to not try them. I still never did, though. Somewhere inside me there is a little boy who made his first friend in the world and a second family refused to let him try and pretend that he wasn't that. Maybe one day I'll forgive him for not knowing any better and being too scared to try new things. Who knows? Maybe one day he'll forgive me for growing old. I tried pizza for the first time a couple months ago. Twenty-eight years of fear and pride and resenting all the other little boys for loving something but hating me. It's just bread and cheese and pepperoni, kiddo. Ain't nothing to be afraid of. Ain't nothing to be afraid of.

[sole-di-fragola]

Super Late but Wish redesigns and rewrite

Update: I changed Mizar’s design a little bit

I tried to recreate the 90s Disney art style in this drawing since I imagine the rewrite as a 2D movie

(Click image for better quality)

There’s some details about my rewrite (copypasted for the Notes App and modified a little bit)

Asha is the daughter of the deceased king Tomas and the royal seamstress Sakina

Rosas used to be allied with a kingdom in the sky called Al-Jady and both battled the black hole monsters who attacked their kingdom

Both kingdoms had a good relationship during the years, but when Magnifico came, Al-Jady decided to cut ties with them

Her dad Tomas and Magnifico are brothers. Tomas was wise and loyal and was a philosopher and astronomer, while Magnifico is ambitious and power-hungry and is a sorcerer. Tomas was chosen to be the heir to the throne

Magnifico’s real name is Marion

Magnifico, jealous kill Tomas.

Then he lies to Asha that her dad was killed by thieves from another kingdom, and then she is banished with her mom and grunkle

They now live in a Hamlet, in which Sakina is the matriarch

She works undercover by the name of Layla. Layla means night in Arabic and is a pretty common name, and Asha is a rare name. (Referring to Aurora’s Briar Rose and Mulan’s Ping)

Asha is a quiet, reserved and studious. But also she is snarky and quick tempered

She likes to draw, animate and learn about astronomy. Her drawing skills are shown more often than in the original movie

Layla (undercover Asha) works at the palace as the royal librarian and reads stories to children

Although Asha considers some stories, as fantasy and childish stories, including the origin of the kingdom of Rosas she likes to practice magic (probably she thinks she is more mature or realizes that these stories may be fake, idk)

Her friends live in other hamlets outside the kingdom

Her Mom and Sabino still exist

Sabino plays the guitarra morisca (or Mandora) as his instrument (to make it historically accurate)

Sabino is Asha’s grunkle

The Star being a shape shifter (like the concept art) and his name is Mizar. His appearance is like a moth creature, when he turns into a human he looks more like an Afro-Arab teenager, chubby and shorter than Asha (I make him different than the average Disney Prince)

He has a companion named Najm, he is inspired by Tinkerbell and only Mizar can understand him

Also the main couple both having sidekick has been seen in many Disney movies (ex: Ariel and Eric, Jasmine and Aladdin)

Najm was a gift from Mizar’s parents to him in his 18 birthday

Mizar can fly and transform into various living things

Mizar likes music and he can play the flute (inspired by @a-storytellers-wish’ s version of Star)

He also likes to study about The Mainland and it’s inhabitants (Yep, I called it like how the fairies in Tinkerbell called the human realm)

Najm can make animals talk and give cosmic dust to make a person fly

His inspirations includes Genie, Peter Pan and Maui

Mizar has the same powers as Merlin (shapeshift,make objects move and see the future)

Magnifico and Amaya are an evil couple (like the concept art) with a pet lynx named Lola and a daughter called Celeste

Celeste is Asha’s cousin, she is 25. She acts like a big sister for Asha

If you are a writer and you had you own rewrite, please I need your help, I’m not good at writing

Sort of spoilers of the rewrite but I will put it anyways

Magnifico summoning the blackhole monsters who are jailed and attack Al-Jady (referring to Hades summoning the Titans to attack the Olympus in Hercules)

Magnifico dies pulled by the Black Hole monsters like Dr Facilier (also referencing Kira’s death in JoJos since both have the same voice actor in Latin Spanish)

I might make a separate post about the designs, but idk yet.

(I don’t like to randomly tag users, but they inspired me to do my own rewrite, although I found the movie decent but it still has flaws and was a nothingburger movie for celebrating the 100th anniversary of one of the most historical and important studio in the animation industry. If I said my unpopular opinions about the movie, some people would probably burn me in a stake)

@rylxdreams @your-ne1ghbor @annymation @uva124 @rascalentertainments @erijuice @cerulean-crow @signed-sapphire @mythartist21 @strawbxerri (I know the last one is not in the “fandom” anymore but “Asha being a refugee monarch like Simba” is kinda similar to their rewrite and it was just a coincidence. The idea just came when I was brainstorming the AU with a mutual of mine on Twitter)

[hydrngea]

before the party

request : omg I was looking through your blog and I saw you listen to Rauw Alejandro, who is one of my current obsessions! Can I request an imagine with Rafe where the reader is listening to Rauw while getting ready for a party and he just loves watching her sing along and dance to the songs without having any idea what they mean?

a/n : i’m so glad i got this request bc i’ve been so into rauw lately!!! hope you guys enjoy this kinda smutty fic 🫣 this is a repost bc for tumblr was being annoying w it!

notes / summary : rafe didn’t realize your spanish playlist had such horny lyrics. reader is spanish speaking, but i left race/ethnicity to interpretation! pls be 18+ when reading!!

——-

rafe remembers absolutely nothing from high school spanish.

well, with seniora baldwin as a teacher for four years in a row, there’s no way he remember more than two percent of what he learned.

kinda ironic that his girlfriend is fluent in the language.

there’s no reason for him to be annoyed that you speak spanish. your knowledge comes with a bunch of perks.- acting as a free translator during deals down in florida and mexico. makes navigating vacations much easier too.

there’s one thing though; he can’t understand for the life of him what you’re saying when you start speaking it. or in this case, when you’re singing it.

your voice echos from the bathroom into your shared bedroom while you sing along to your playlist which is mostly consisted of some latin party music. b

rafe walks into the restroom to grab some hair gel when he finds shaking your hips and dancing along as you draw on your eyeliner in the mirror.

he lets out a chuckle, panning his eyes over your figure. “what’s he saying about the party?”

your reflection tenses at his question, and a flush begins to pool over the face of your skin.

“he’s saying…things.” you drag your response while you clean up your eyeliner.

“sure.” rafe rolls his eyes before exiting into the bedroom, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

he sits down onto the bench in front of your bed and searches up “party” by rauw translation. he clicks the first link and starts reading the translated lyrics line by line.

he has to hold in the laugh that grows in his throat while he takes in the absolutely vile lyrics.

“i’ll smack that ass” he repeats outloud, and the music from the speaker immediately pauses as you push your head out the doorway with a confused look on you face.

“what?”

rafe almsot chokes at the next lyric, eye widening and brows lifting. he gets up and walks towards you while reading it out, “that booty is for me to use.”

you relax once it clicks in your mind that he’s reading off something, letting out an annoyed sigh before stepping back in front of the mirror.

you notice rafes hand approaching the backside of your skirt from the reflection of the mirror and you swat at it before he can touch it.

“uh uh! vamos a llegar tarde a la fiesta por tu culpa!”

rafe blinks at you in confusion. you turn around, facing him “it’s your fault we’ll be late to the party.” you reiterate so he can understand.

“i didn’t realize this rauw guy sung such horny songs, baby.”

you roll your eyes, unpausing the music on your phone and resuming with patting on your blush. “well, if you’d learned spanish by now you would’ve known.”

rafe gets closer behind you, putting a hand on your hip and forcing you to turn around and face face him. your back leans against the edge of the vanity and you set down your compact onto the counter.

“you’re going to ruin my clothes!” you squirm as his hands begin to run over your bare thighs, trailing up under your skirt.

he leans forward to bring his lips to your neck, pressing kisses down to your collarbone “i don’t care.”

“rafe,” you shudder when his lips reach the top of your breast, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

he shushes you, his breath grazing over your skin while he starts pulling down your bottoms.

you lean your head back which allows him greater exposure to your skin, giving into his actions.

“we need to make this-“ a gasp cuts off your words, two fingers slipping up your entrance and hitting deep against your walls. you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and use them to keep you steady while he plunges them in and out and a deteriorating pattern, slowly cracking down on the tension in your body.

“you like that, y/n/n?” he questions as he quickens his pace, thumb grazing over your nub. rafe’s lips catch yours in a hard embrace, and he swallows the moan that falls from your throat. you tighten your grip on his biceps and arch against his fingers, enjoying the sensation of his slender digits pumping into your core.

a familiar burning feeling forms in your abdomen, and your begin to writhe on-top of the counter, bucking your hips up to meet the him as he curls his fingers inside you.

you let out another moan into his collarbone and he smirks, pulling his fingers out right before you cross the edge. “baby, please-“ you cry but he retreats from you, walking away while lapping at the wetness left on his fingers with concerning nonchalance.

rafe shrugs, walking out of the bathroom into where he came from. “we’re gonna be late to the party,”

he abandons you on the vanity with your skirt pooled on the tile floor, your chest heaving and wetness dripping down you leg into your calves.

you can’t help but let out a small laugh.

of course rafe would do this—he loves teasing and making sure that you know who you belong to, even though he knows he has no competition.

——-

taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!) : @maybankslover @mrsstarkey1 @a-aexotic @penny4yourthoughts @poguesworld @tee-swizzle @sangytv

masterlist / recent fic

[valefurry]

ALT-ZADR WEEK DAY 6: YOUR OWN AU

@alt-zadr-b1tch3z

Hello, this will be my first time talking in detail about my AU, “Lovesick” but I would be really grateful if you read this all the way to the end, I'm putting a lot of effort and love into this project, and oh, by the way… this AU is aimed at mature audiences, since it will cover heavy topics such as cannibalism, rituals, depression, and more.

What is Lovesick about? “It’s been a decade since Zim and Dib first met, and both of them have changed a lot. Zim has suffered a drastic transformation: he is now aware that his mission is false, and is no longer part of the Irken Armada. On top of this, for some strange reason, he has become interested in occultism. On the other hand, Dib has turned into a bitter adult.

Dib has not been doing well in life, specially because of his constant nightmares that make him remember his childhood and the events he went through before meeting Zim. There is, however, a specific nightmare that torments him the most, one that involves his mother. Through these nightmares, Dib has realized that he has forgotten everything having to do with his mother, and now he wishes to know more about her. To his misfortune, the only one who can help him is Zim."

What do I have planned for Lovesick? My idea is to develop a completely free Indie RPG. If the demo is well received, I will continue to release more chapters; otherwise, it will remain as a single release. This is why I need as much support as possible. This is my first RPG, but I have basic programming knowledge, since I have studied about it. I will also be using RPG Maker, so the development will be slow and I’d rather not promise a release date. I’m doing this for fun and because I love Invader Zim.

What should you know about Lovesick?

Zim and Dib are clearly adults (Zim is 20 years old, and Dib is 22)

This series is based on the original show, so none of the events related to the movie are canon in this AU.

Dib will be the protagonist, but Zim will also have a significant presence on screen.

There will be multiple flashbacks through Dib’s dreams.

The events of the AU happen in the year 2011.

The AU will be primarily developed in Spanish and there is a possibility of voice acting (I don't promise anything). I want to make it clear that the voices will be based on the Latin dub, in which Zim's voice is done by a woman, and this will remain the same in the AU.

Yes, there will be an English version, and it will be released simultaneously with the Spanish version, so don't worry.

I really hope you'll be interested in my AU and will give me your support. I'll show teasers whenever I'm able to. Thanks so much to those who were interested to read until the end. And credits to my best friend who will be the one helping me translate everything into English, he even translated this for me @grinchy-skellington

[mrsjavierp]

Where you belong?

Chapter 11 - Hell and Back

Javier Peña x latin!f!reader

Summary: Running away from life as you always knew to start a new position as Head Chief on a DEA Office, far away, on Colombia. There, you'll face violence, as you never thought you could. There, you'll meet Javier Peña, your stubborn agent...

Warnings (to the whole fic): +18!, MDNI!, age gap, angst, smut, cheating, last relationships, prostitution, violence, dub-con, drug dealing - Narcos Universe, bad spanish, english is my second language, use of Y/N and Y/LN. No physical description of the reader, only clothes (sometimes). The POVs are shifting between reader (first person and Narrator in 3rd person)

(If I forgot anything, tell me, pls!)

Word Count: 2,8k

A/N: I'm sorry for keeping you waiting, loves! so much happened: i started a new job, i'm studying again, so i'm on crazy hours... anyway, i just hope you like it!

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

Tag: @creedslove | @pedrostories | @mjoee13 | @immyowndefender | @iamsherlocked-1998 | @pedroswife69 | @szde8-blog |

Narrator’s POV

After you busted out of your own office, your mind was rushing, thinking about what to do, people to alert. Ben was, indeed, dangerous, and he had help getting out.

Who's help was the most important and dangerous thing to know.

It had to be big.

Javier counted up until 10 and went up to look for you.

When Javier started to get closer to his and Steve's desk, Steve said:

“Archive room, Peña. But hey, I need to talk to you later.”

Javier just nodded, not being able to relate what Steve meant by that.

As Javier stepped into the messy room, it looked like a messy library.

“Missed me?” - a female voice called Javi, as random hands tried to grab him.

“What the fuck!” - He yelled, dodging the touch. The lights were off, he didn't see who touched him at first, but he knew it wasn't you: the perfume was wrong.

“Oh, Javi, it's me, Valerie… I missed you…” - her voice was making both of you sick. You were jealous, Javi was nauseated.

She tried to kiss him again, but he took a step back.

“Don't touch me, Valerie. Back the hell off!”

You were hidden in the back, hugging your file, hearing Valerie and Javier.

You didn't know what to do, so you waited. You took a breath, calming yourself down.

Your mind was going crazy enough.

“Was there anyone who he didn't sleep with? Oh fuck!” - you thought.

“But Javi…” - her whine annoyed both of you. If you rolled your eyes, Javier probably did the same.

“Valerie, leave me the hell alone! You were a quicky in this archive room. Don't flatter yourself.” - Javier were really fucking rude with her.

You heard steps in heels leaving and the door shutting.

You almost wished to see her face.

“Cariño, I know you're here. I'm not leaving until you act like a goddamn grown-up!” - Javier yelled at you.

“I don't wanna talk, Peña. Not now. I don't wanna say or do anything I might regret.” - You continued to hide.

“Cariño, don't make me find you. You're not gonna like me when I'm mad.” - his tone seemed serious. - “I know I went behind your back, but so did you. It's your last chance to appear.”

You didn't move.

“Your funeral, cariño. Ready or not, here I go…” - He spoke to the darkness.

It felt like a sick joke to you: play hide and seek with Javier.

God, you wish you could kill him.

You had two options: escape the archive room and, by all means, escape once more of Javier or let him catch you.

You scoffed low.

“As if I'd let you win, Peña… Come and get me.” - You thought.

You both started a kind of hunt: you had to get out through the door and Javier had to catch you before it. The room was poorly illuminated by hot, weak yellow lights, while filled with bookshelves and file storage cabinets.

And lots of paper, of course.

You could almost feel Javier get too close sometimes, when you realized: your heels were the ones to blame - clapping on the floor, telling on you.

You took them off, fast and as quietly as you could, and tiptoed around the room, like a kitten.

“Cariño, you can't hide forever… If not now, it's gonna be way worse when I have time to plan on what to do.” - He spoke again, in a way that mixed pain and pleasure, like only Javier knew how.

It went straight to your folds, as if he was just right next.

Any sound seemed like a loud noise and you were trying so hard to keep it down… It all felt like a labyrinth, messing up your senses.

Even breathing was loud.

Your muscles tensed up, you really felt like a prey, a little bunny being hunted by a wolf.

God knows Javier wouldn't have mercy on you. And you needed to buy time.

For a moment, you felt you could run to the door, felt hope that Javier would only hear the door closing and you could escape.

And you did: you ran, but as you arrived at the door, you felt Javier’s hands on your waist, holding you against him.

And as on the first night, you were pressed on the door, facing him. Your file and your shoes were all over the floor.

You could feel his hot breath on you, his body tensed as he touched you. Javier’s blood was boiling with rage and desire.

“Gotcha, cariño… You're gonna hear me, whether you like it or not." - He whispered in your ear.

You tried to move your body, but Javier turned your back to him, held your hands tight and threw his body on you, making it even harder for you to do anything.

Truth be told, he manhandled you like he would do to a criminal.

“Peña, we're here for too long, we need to get out…” - You were nervous, your mind struggling to make a point, while he held you and you could smell his perfume mixed with his scent and sweat, his dick going even harder in your ass. - “It's been too long already, people will talk… We can talk about it later, at my place…” - you're trying to make a deal.

But your voice was barely a whisper.

“No, cariño. You had your shot.” - Javier grunted. - “I'm done with your running away. I'm gonna make my point now, and you're going to pay attention. Are we clear?”

You swallowed hard and nodded positively.

He pinned you with his hips, pissed. You could feel his length getting harder and bigger. Unconsciously, you arched your back like a cat, letting him go further.

Be damned the moment you decided to use pants.

“Words, cariño… Are you gonna listen to me?”

“Yeah, Peña, I'll listen.” - your voice was still low and weak.

It's not like you had a choice, anyway.

“No, cariño, I'm not Peña now. Do it over.”

Javier, for the first time, was being ruthless against you.

“Yes, Javi, I'll listen.”

“See? You really can be a good girl when you want to… Now, here's the thing: We're gonna discuss it in more detail, but, for now, I'm gonna sum it up. I know a little about you and your ex… I know he was a dirty cop, I know you arrested him. Yes, to me, that note was a threat, since we discovered together that he's out. That's what I know. Yes, I went behind your back and talked to Joe about it, I called him. And yes, before we found out about Ben, I was jealous. It's been two months and I already feel like you're mine.” - His tone was low and deep. He said those words, and you wanted to believe him, but you were afraid.

“Peña, I…”

His grip tightened around your fists.

“No, cariño, I'm not Peña now.” - He repeated.

“Javi, come on… I need to get back to work.” - neither you could convince yourself.

“We'll be back in a few, cariño. First things first… Tell me you understood what I said.”

“I did, Javi.” - You continued to feel him getting under your skin. - “Javi, please…”

“Good girl, cariño… Do you believe me?”

His question was sincere. He needed you to believe him.

And as much as your brain insisted you didn't, your heart responded for you:

“I do. I wish I didn't, but I do.”

He also believed you. Javier knew how hard it was for you to admit it, and he would take it under consideration when he punishes you.

His grip loses a bit, so he could hold you with just one of his hands and grab your hair.

God, if you could, you would kill him: you were supposed to be mad, not horny… You could feel your core getting even wetter.

“You're, indeed, such a good girl when you wanna be, cariño…” - he had such a husky voice. It went straight to your folds, as your pussy clenched over nothing. - “After our shift today, I'm going to your place, with a good bottle and an even better cigar. And we're gonna actually have a full conversation about it. Be home at 7.”

You gulped, overwhelmed and sensitive.

“Yes, Javi.”

Javier let go of you, slowly. He got on his knees, just like the first time, as you turned to look at him.

You wanted him to do what he did best: make you cum.

He picked up your heels, put them on your feet, one by one, calmly. He picked up your file, got up, handed to you and said:

“You can go now.” - He got up and kept a friendly distance, as if you never touched each other.

“Why are you so far away, you're not even kissing me goodbye?” - you complained, feeling empty without his touch.

“I'm not touching you again, at least not until we walk through this.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed, and left for your office, banging the door.

At 18:55, you were already at home, ready and waiting for Javier.

“That bastard…” - you cursed Javier.

You spent the whole day rubbing your thighs against each other, craving for Javier. Unholy be that man, who not only teased you in that archive room, but during the day, saying things in a way that kept you still throbbing… Your mind played with his words, his discreet, yet noticed by you, looks, lightly touches that no other human being would suspect.

At seven o'clock sharp, Javier knocked at your door. As you opened the door, he was holding an incredible bottle of whiskey and your favorite cigar.

“Are you gonna let me in?” - he asked, with a playful tone that, right now, you were hating.

“That depends, Peña… Where you want to come in?”- your words had the same tone he used the whole day.

He raised his eyebrows and responded:

“For now? At your apartment, cariño.”

You take a step back and let him in.

At that point, he knew where you kept your things, so he just went to the kitchen cabinet and picked up the scotch glasses and your ashtray.

You observed Javier, it was kinda funny how he just belonged there.

It felt right.

Bother line painful right.

“There you go, cariño. It's probably older than you, this one.” - He handed you a scotch glass, and raised his. - “A toast?”

“To?”

“Solving things up.”

You toasted with him, in silence.

Your mind was still rushing from all that had happened.

“So… Who's gonna start?” - Javier asked as you sat down on the couch.

“I'll, Javi. I gotta warn you, it's bad.”

Javier took a deep breath and held your hand.

“I'm here, cariño. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“Okay, Javi… Leave the questions to the end, please. I promise that I'll do my best to answer.”

Javier just nodded.

“My parents never wanted me to be a cop, but never prohibited me as well. They wanted me to be a lawyer or an ADA, whatever. I joined the academy at the same time as college. It was intense, but I knew I was at the right place. I met Ben as soon as I got into the academy. He was already an officer, just before he got promoted to be a detective. As we both know, the drug war is going nuts in the whole US… I was transferred to the DEA.”

You take a sip, as Javier observed you.

“Ben and I…” - you took a deep breath. - “We were an okay couple: people seemed to like us and I liked him. We had a normal life: dates, our families liked us and each other. Nothing alarming… But something always felt… Wrong. Ben never used the word “slut”, but his comments were things like: “why do you wanna try these things? Who fucked you like that?” Or “why do you need a vibrator, I'm not good enough for you?”... In such a mean tone, making me feel bad for having curiosity or desire.”

“Fucking asshole…” - Javier scoffed.

“Until I started an investigation among prostitutes and cicarios that traced all back here to Colombia. Ben wanted me to let him join the investigation, but I couldn't. He wasn't DEA… As it got bigger, we had a closed door operation… Looking back, the rumors started just after… I remember the looks, the pitty, the gossip.” - You scoffed, mocking yourself.

“Cariño…”

“Joe told you, didn't he?”

Javier just nodded.

“ ‘She's such a good cop, but can't even notice what's happening under her nose’ or ‘if he's doing this, probably isn't getting any at home’... but my favorite was ‘she probably knows and ignores it. A woman shouldn't be a cop.’... I only found out about it later. And Ben was so fake…” - your voice had a bitter tone. - “He pretended to support me. He wanted to know how it was going… He said he didn't mind me getting home late and leaving early. He knew it was temporary, that we were meant to be for life… God, how stupid was I…”

Javier tried to hug me, but I raised my hand, holding him back a bit.

“Until the investigation was always traced back to the same NYPD… Ben's station, by the way… Cops were involved, FBI got involved.”

Javi raised his eyebrows, knowing what that meant.

“Weeks later, the day to bust into the main brothel arrived. The adrenaline was so intense inside my veins… My gut was weird, like it was preparing me. We busted in, silent, aiming to the main office. I asked to lock all the “clients” room, arrested the main cicario, it was so satisfying… The clients tried to escape, but couldn't. Joe and I invaded Ben's room, by coincidence, it was the closest to the office. Joe arrested the prostitute and I slapped Ben's face. Joe knew better than saying anything. We had a fight, he tried to be violent to me… But I held him, my rage and frustration gave me the strength. When I showed up with him, everyone was in shock… We took everybody to the station to book'em, but the stupid rookie didn't search Ben properly, and he had a knife. The cicarios all had a specific signature knife, and as Ben was one of them, the cartel gave him one. I interrogated him, it escalated to a physical fight, when Joel and the others came in, he had stabbed me… but not before I gave him a few too…” - You laughed, a bit ironic.

“Joe didn't tell me he stabbed you, Y/N…”

“He feels guilty for it. He was supposed to be there with me, but I didn't let him.” - I responded.

I finally picked my file on the table and showed him a few pictures, investigation, data and records.

“Remember I said to you my brother is an ADA? He was the one who did the trial. It became a family matter… My brother sold himself to the devil to be the prosecutor on this case and it worked. I don't know what he did nor who he sucked up to, but it worked… Ben was convicted, but I don't know how or why he got out.”

“Fuck, cariño…” - Javier didn’t know what to do or what to say.

“I talked to him earlier, they all know, the FBI is protecting everyone's family. If I had to bet, the FBI is investigating something about the US’ judiciary and Ben is the bait.”

In an impulsive act, Javier hugged you, as if he was going to protect you from everything and everyone. His hand went to your scar, caressing it, his hand under your shirt.

You closed your eyes, feeling his soft touch, your eyes watering.

“You never asked about my scar…” - you said.

“Since you told me it was a field scar, I kinda just let it be.” - Javier admitted. - “Now that I know the story… I fucking hate your ex… More than when I talked to Joe.”

You giggle.

Javier caressed your face, played with your hair, like you're gonna break.

“Javi, I'm not a fragile little thing…” - You complained, while he was drying your tears.

“I know…” - He said, holding your cheek, looking deeply in your eyes. He knew you weren't, but he wanted and needed to take care of you.

You, in the other way, needed to feel alive again. You needed to make it hurt.

You needed Javier to make it hurt again.

“Javi...” - you started, with your eyes closed, almost purring. - “Make it go away, please.”

“Cariño, what do you mean?” - he asked, still holding your face in his hands.

“I need to feel alive again, Javi. Make me forget about everything… Make me hurt, please. Like that night, when we got back together.” - You put your hands on his, holding them.

“Cariño…”

“Please, Javi, please…” - You beg, looking at him, desperate.

Next

[oddent]

SNATCH ME UP | b.chan x latina!reader

implied angst + spanish words + idol!au + making up + cat owner reader + fluff

the air is chilly and your racing heart only makes you acknowledge how nervous you are. which means you feel colder than usual because of the nerves. you can hear the crowd, muffled by your heart beat but you only dwell on it more than usual.

“n/n,” the maknae of your group whispers behind you, the nickname she specifically gave you brings you back to reality.

“hm?” you hum, not trusting your voice.

“are you ready?”

“no,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a whimper.

she hugs you from behind, reassuring you that you got this. “-and chan-sunbaenim will be very proud!”

you relax for a moment but that is exactly why you’re nervous. chan is somewhere in the crowd, definitely waiting for your amazing performance alongside your group but what he doesn’t know is that you and emi have a duo opening act and more importantly you will be singing in spanish (or whatever latin american language you speak). your native tongue.

“we got this, you’re not alone.” emi assures quickly before the backtrack starts to play in your in-ear monitors.

you take a quick deep breath before taking your first stride down the stage. the instrumental is slow, darker than what the original song is but it’s perfect. you’ll sing it just as slow and full of pain, acting has always been your forte. you’ll just have to pretend like always, making your heart calm down sooner than later.

“VE~N,” you scream-sing into the mic, looking darkly at the crowd, you know everyone must be startled at the foreign language. “Y CUENTAME LA VERDAD.”

“TEN PIEDAD,” you takes a shuddering breath, “Y DIME. POR QUE~!? NO. NO, NO~!”

and emi goes in, translating the verse that comes afterwards in korean as you move to back her up in the dance. you manage to get a glimpse of a screen, seeing chan and minho stare intensely at the performance. you make yourself believe that there wasn’t any pain in chan’s face. you didn’t even want to see him, really. what a coincidence that was.

and just when the trumpet’s instrumental dies down, the transition to your group’s latest comeback plays. you and emi move in sync, her voice filling up your in-ear again and soon, your other members join in.

your composure lasts all evening. you feel relieved when you finally get off the stage. emi and the others exclaim how happy they were, that you did amazing. that everything will be alright.

you weren’t sure but hopefully everything did go well. whether chan and you make up or not, whether the two of you break up, you knew you had other things to focus on. you were fine before him, you could be fine aft-

“y/n.”

you freeze, last in line as your group files out to leave the backstage and head to the seats outside.

“y/n we need to talk,” chan whispers loud enough for you to hear.

you peer over your shoulder, “now is not the time, chris.”

he can hear the underlying venom in your voice. he takes a deep breath.

“well look at my messages and you’ll deem what day is fit.” is all he says before walking away, preparing for the stage.

you swallow, rushing your steps to catch up to the girls. you get some praise from idols you pass by, a lot of soft claps and “loved it!” whisper-shouted. your back hurt from all the bowing.

by the time you sit, stray kids’ performance already started. you can only hold back tears as you see your possible ex-boyfriend shine.

“we can leave and let him come here to talk,” your leader says.

“i don’t know…” you say softly, sullen.

“i think it’s best, our dorms aren’t known by the public yet, unlike theirs, and the dorms are safer than a cafe or whatever you two originally had in mind.”

you stare at her, sighing in defeat. “okay, i’ll text him then.”

she pats your shoulder, smiling warmly.

“thank marie,” you say to her, jokingly adding a french accent.

“yah,” she says while ruffling your hair as she exits the kitchen.

you go to chan’s chat, staring at all the messages and all the registered missed calls. your hands tremble and sweat, your mind races. what if he changes his mind and immediately just says the 3 words? what if he gets aggressive when he gets here? what if-

“stop overthinking,” emi’s voice startles you, causing your thumb to send the message you had mindlessly typed.

“ai- mierda!” you groan, whining as you slump over the table.

“if this is about chan you shouldn’t be like this!” she scolds, “you act like he’d hurt you.”

“he already has-“

“on purpose.” she strains, “and physically. he would never hurt you in that way! plus. he wouldn’t have any reason or right to, he’s the one at fault.”

“i know,” you groan as you hear your phone ding.

chan’s reply was a simple “alright”. you weren’t sure how to feel about that. but it didn’t matter, emi made sure you were in decent spirits by the time she and the girls left. all of them gave you words of encouragement and you relaxed just a tiny bit but the nerves returned while meet up time got closer.

you shut yourself in your room, playing with you cat to try to relax once more. yet, you couldn’t. everything frustrated you, everything made you want to cry. especially how cute your cat looked in the white vest chan gave him a few weeks ago.

when the doorbell rings, you jump. your cat scurries away, surprised at how jittery you are. you close the door behind you, locking your baby inside your room.

your heart is racing, you already want to cry.

but you have to be strong. you have to face reality. nothing has been easy up until now, foreigners as trainees never do.

a break up is nothing.

chan us standing on the other side of the door frame, looking charming in his grey sweats and black hoodie. he doesn’t have his beany on, but he looks dashing as ever.

“hi,” he tries a smile, you reflect it as well.

“hi, come in,” you step aside, allowing him to do so.

both of you are quiet and tense as you head to the kitchen. he sets his bag on the table, and quickly strikes conversation.

“i want to apologize.” he starts, you silently sit down on the stool. “for constantly putting you aside, for diminishing you, for taking out my problems on you and treating you like that’s all i have you for. y/n,” you manage to make eye contact and you see the tears brimming in his eyes.

it makes you reflect that same expression.

“i love you. i truly mean it. i know me having problems these past few months aren’t an excuse, i know better than to treat you like that and still did it and i hurt you and that makes me feel horrible. because the moment i let you in my life, i’ve never been happier. you’ve been nothing but supportive and loving and i’ve tried my best to return it but i’ve failed you so horribly these last few months. i’m really sorry, for doing that. for making you cry.”

you wipe your tears, realizing that you indeed were crying at that very moment. you sniffle, looking down at the ends of chan’s bag’s straps that you’ve been messing with these past few minutes.

“i’m tired, chan,” you say.

his shoulders sag, “i know, and i know i caused that. you’re so patient… i actually hit your limit.”

you swallows thickly, “but even so, i still want to give it another try,” you look at him again, “because i love you too. we’ve been together for a year and a half, chan. i don’t want to throw that away. and if we ever do then i don’t want to end on bad terms. that would hurt me more.”

“i know,” he says softly, “i know. baby.” he leans over the table, reaching out and placing his hands over yours. “will you forgive me?”

you nod.

“and will you give me another chance?”

“yeah,” you sniffle.

“good, because i brought this.” chan grins, sniffling a bit as well. he removes his hands from yours and pulls out a box from his bag.

“and what’s this for?” you question as you take the box.

“a present,” he simply says, biting his bottom lip as he watches you set it on the table to open it.

you gasp as you see the custom made cat collar that you had made a few days ago. you didn’t really have money for it, most of your check went into the trainee debt you’ve earned and are close to paying off. you found a beautiful site with expensive but pretty customizable options. with every collar purchase, the seller would send a matching ring or bracelet (to obviously match with the kitty).

you couldn’t help but grin as chan put the bracelet on. especially when he said he purchased the ring so the three of you have family jewelry.

“cosita linda mia,” you squeal, swooping up the fluffy orange cat that comfortably laid on your bed in a loaf position. “look what daddy brought you!”

chan grins, adoring how you cradle and kiss your cat. he hugs you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“i’m serious,” he says softly. “i love you, i always want to see you happy.”

you sigh softly, melting into his arms as your cat jumps out of your arms. the two of you watch the feline walk away to the bed, to resume its previous position.

“always?”

he nods, “always,” he kisses your neck, “and i’ll make sure to achieve that. i don’t want to lose a talented, beautiful person because of my stupidity.”

“yeah,” you grin, “cus like lilly says, i don’t like stupid people.”

hearing his laugh in your ears makes you feel warm and fuzzy again. and thats how you know, you’re back in his hold for sure.

[quackpackweek]

We usually don't post anything unrelated to the Quack Pack, but this news has us pretty upset. Although this is not an English speaking area, but a Latin American Spanish speaking area, it is still sad to say that a Latin American Spanish speaking voice actress named Erica Robledo died last week. :(

Yes, she acted in many series and gave many voices in Latin American Spanish dubbing, especially in the roles of Tanya Ratonovich (Tanya Mousekewitz) in An American Tail, Princess Ariel in The Little Mermaid Disney TV series, Dorothy Gale in The Wizard of Oz (anime version), Princess Esmeralda in Magic Knight Rayearth, Ran Mouri (Claudia Guzman) in Detective Conan, Nemo in Little Nemo: Adventures in Slumberland, Princess Irene in The Princess and the Goblin, Princess Flora in the Babar series, Hollyhock, Wanda Pierce and Maude in Bojack Horseman, Heidi in the film of the same name, as well as the role of Mary Magdalene in the film Jesus, Princess Zarina Leprechaun 4: In Space, Vanessa in Lupin III and some roles in the Maradona series and in other dubbings she gave. Wife is Leonardo Araujo, director of Latin American Spanish dubbing and mother of son Álex Araujo, who is an excellent voice actor for Latin American Spanish dubbing.

Yes, she also voiced Louie Duck in Quack Pack, in the Latin American Spanish dub and was very successful at it. Although the original American version is not bad, the Latin American Spanish was really great and you should listen to it (if there are those videos available on the internet at all) and a big thanks to her for voicing Louie. It is a great pity to lose her. Source: https://www.instagram.com/p/C2oVz1mN0wB

Spanish:

Erika Robledo fue una actriz de doblaje de Los Ángeles. Hermana de la actriz de doblaje Rocío Robledo e hija de la fallecida actriz de doblaje Guadalupe Romero. Estuvo casada con el también actor y director de doblaje Leonardo Araujo y es la madre de Álex Araujo, razón por la cual durante un tiempo fue acreditada como Erika Araujo.

Fue conocida por su versatilidad al poder realizar voces de niños y niñas, mujeres jóvenes, adultas y ancianas, talento que compartía con su hermana Rocío, actualmente retirada del medio. Ambas hermanas dieron voz a Ariel en Las nuevas aventuras de la sirenita. Entre otros de sus personajes más conocidos destacan la Princesa Esmeralda en Las Guerreras Mágicas, Tania Ratonovich en Un cuento americano, Claudia Guzmán (Ran Mouri) en Detective Conan y Dorita (Dorothy Gale) en la versión anime de El Mago de Oz doblada en Los Ángeles. También fue la voz de Luis en Quack Pack, Mimi Cardona / Siniestra en Las aventuras de Saint Tail y de las actrices Anna Kendrick en la saga de Crepúsculo, Alicia Silverstone en Ni idea y Natasha Henstridge y Michelle Williams en Especies, entre muchos otros personajes.

Asimismo, Erika realizó doblaje al inglés, destacándose el rol de la actriz mexicana Verónica Castro en la serie original de Netflix "La casa de las flores".

Falleció el 22 de enero de 2024.

Source: https://doblaje.fandom.com/es/wiki/Erika_Robledo

Rest in peace, and thank you on a beautiful childhood. Amen.

[gl1tt3r-gutz-and-r0b0tz-sl]

They brought a star talent to voice megatron in my regions dub for the transformers one movie.

Im literally sobbing rn, the guy knows jack shit about voice acting, and his voice is awful 😭😭

I was looking foward watching it on cinema but I know it will be unwatchable in latin spanish.

I will just watch it in english :/ still dissapointed.

NOOOO IM SO SRRY GURLYPOP.😭😭😭😭😭😭

[aaronofithaca05]

Hi! Aaron here, if you don´t know me I´m a just a silly guy here on tumblr.🖐

But I have seen so many posts that Odysseus is a womanizer, incel or whatever; usually is from people that had a tenuous understanding of The Odyssey and when talked to are so kind and really interested in that. Nobody is born with knowledge of everything and I respect that (I don´t know everything either)

And I usually reply with long posts so nothing I say is forgotten, but what get´s me on my nerves is after having a civilized and kind conversation with the op´s the next comment usually is something like: yeah Odysseus SUCKS!! or Odysseus is a pos (regarding his fidelity and love to Penelope), skipping over the fact that:

First, I try to talk about the Homeric version (canon) not other retellings (Madelleine Miller´s Circe comes up so many times, I´m not saying I hate her book, I have a love-hate relation with that book for other reasons)

Second, op said they were wronged or had a skewed perception of the matter and changes the post (usually) and alter the tags to say sorry or something.

Third, I´m usually not the only one who shares information regarding the topic, there´s so much people more knowledgeable than me in that matter and mythology in general (YOU HAVE MY UPMOST RESPECT AND PLEASE IF I´M WRONG CORRECT ME!!)

And so many people become upset when other says, read the reblogs and see, they become offended and so on.....

What I´m try to say please let the poor man alone, he had enough of that. He is a pos, but not in that matter, he´s a pathological liar, there´s no denying that.

But if you need proof that Odysseus was forced into sleeping with Circe and Calypso, here it is:

Circe´s case

I apologize before hand as my book is in Spanish and because of that has a tendency of calling Odysseus Ulises (Spanish translation of the latin Ulixes)

translation:

...and I hugged her knees, supplicant and the goddess heard my voice.

And with winged words I said:

-Oh Circe! keep up the promise you have to send me to my home, as my soul compels me, and my comrades pound my cherished heart sobbing around me when I´m not with you.

That´s how i spoke and the noble goddess answered my act

-Divine son of Laertes, cunning Odysseus, stay no more in palace against your will...

The knee hugging was the utmost vulnerable action an Homeric character could do, Priam hugged Achilles knees imploring Achilles to let him have the body of Hector (his son), it is shown when a character is in such poor situation, they´re begging for mercy, not casually.

This is a snippet of the end of Chant VIII, in this chant he narrates everything of what happened in Aiaia (Circe´s island) There are more fragments where is reiterated that his there against his will and is not happy there.

Calypso´s case

This so heart-breaking T T

V Chant

“Said so the powerfull Argophontes (Hermes), he rosed, and the venerable nymph (Calypso) after hearing Zeus’s orders went where the magnificent Odysseus was.

She found him in the shore, with never ending tears that never dried as his sweet life was being consumed by grief, longing for the Returning (Nostoi), as the nymph wasn’t kind to him. Although at night he slept with her in the concave cave, with whom (Calypso) she longed; the day was spent alone, crying and sitting at the shore, his heart ravaged in tears, screams and pains, contemplating the untameable sea with bitter cries.”

And this is his answer after Calypso says he is going to be freed

Said so, the pacient and divine Odysseus, shacking, answered with these winged words.

-Surely you have another thought, nymph, different of my part when you send to cross the sea on a raft the immense waters of the sea, terrible and scary, that even the symmetrical boats helped by Zeus´s breath would crossed those scathed. I will not go to the raft, as you wish, if you don´t vow to the gods that you are not plotting my demise before hand.

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 001

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

cw: Misinformation, cannon-typical violence

Rating: 13+

Not proofread

WC: 4k

“Yes! I will call you both when I arrive at the airport.” You spoke in a hurried voice excited to leave. It was your first time leaving the country without your parents. Your first trip alone, well not exactly alone. Your best friend was in the car. Saying your final goodbyes you grabbed your three large suitcases and stuffed them in the back while taking one in the front.

“Why did you bring three!? What even is in there?” Your best friend spoke as she was squished to the side.

“Basically all of my clothes and shampoos, soaps, scrubs, sanitary pads, sanitary wipes, toothpaste, y’know all the stuff you need to be clean.” You listed the things on your fingers as you spoke to her.

“You can’t bring liquids on a plane.” She stared at you with a blank stare. “You’re so gonna get stopped by security.”

“If they’re over 100 milliliters. I did my research. You can never be too clean, and you never know when you might need them!” You urged with an exaggerated tone of voice.

“Girl, we’re gone for two weeks, we can buy anything we need once we get there.” She rationalized with you.

“We’re on a budget. Why waste money on useless things when we can simply just take from what we already have, duh!” You rolled your eyes and chewed some gum while smiling then offered her some. Your best friend hummed and shrugged while taking one and popping it in her mouth.

“Anyways, these jeans are gonna be the death of me, I know it. This plane ride is like 10 hours!” Your best friend complained as she unbuttoned her jeans.

“Airport crushes. Gotta look your best.” You spoke as you touched up your makeup and adjusted your sweater. “Anyways, I hope it’s cold on the plane. I hate it when it’s too hot, but just in case I wore this.” You unzipped your sweater showing a cream-colored, halter-style top with a square neckline. “The cold is better because you can always put on more layers, with the heat, only so many layers you can take off.” You hear your best friend hum in agreement.

You watched the world pass you by and the sunset as the music sounded in your ears from your headphones. The car came to a slow stop to pay the highway toll before speeding up again. You looked into the darkness of the night. This bridge that you were crossing was quite long. Deciding to prep ahead of time, you downloaded movies and songs on your phone.

Red lights flashed on your left and you heard a honk. You looked over and saw a semi-truck switching lanes. It was far too close to you. You simply sat still watching as the semi-truck hit the front of the car. There was nothing you could do. Another collision hit you from behind, jerking you forward. Your best friend screamed. You only screamed when the car began swerving closer to the edge of the bridge. The only thing below this bridge is the black ocean.

The car gave a screeching stop as it crashed into the concrete wall. The back of the car hung over the edge. Both you and your best friend were screaming and crying for help, though the driver only quickly unbuckled themselves and got out of the car. Your screaming drowned out anything else as the car hung in the balance. The car door opened on your right and your best friend was helped out by a bystander.

She called your name as the car slipped backward. Acting fast you stuffed your phone in your purse, crawled over your suitcase and finally stepped onto solid ground again. As you tried to walk forward you got stuck. Looking back, your sweater had gotten stuck in the suitcase. In desperation, you pulled, and it pulled the whole suitcase out. However, the suitcase fell over the edge. You heard your name being yelled at as you were yanked backward. You screamed and swiped for anything, your hand only hit the car. As you fell you screamed even louder as you saw the car fall after you, the bright red tail gates chasing after you. It was a long drop, every second you felt as if you would hit the cold black waters. You moved mid-air and curled yourself into a ball before you felt the sharp hit of the cold water.

As you sank down you extended your body swimming upwards, but you felt heavy. Nevertheless, you persevered. Swimming with desperation you felt a cramp in your calf. You groaned as you stopped moving your leg. Looking down, you saw nothing but black, but as you looked back up red lights crashed into you. The blow was hard and the wind was knocked out of you. Reflexively you breathed in, only to swallow water, coughing, and you swallowed more water. You failed your arms trying to get to the surface. Everything burned and you tried to breathe once more, only to take in more water before you finally gave up.

…

Your body jerked to the side and you threw up seawater while crying. More and more water came out and you couldn’t breathe. Every time you tried a water shot from your mouth. Finally, you took a big deep breath in and grabbed on firmly to what seemed to be an armored shoe.

Looking up the sun blinded you, as well as the shine from the armor.

“That’s her…we just found her…when…what…wearing?” Voices came in and out and you flipped back over onto your back letting the sun hit you. You simply breathed, looking up towards the blue sky. You simply laid back trying to refocus, though it didn’t seem to be working. Large dark figures flew in the sky, you didn’t know what they were but you blinked trying to figure it out. As your eyes focused on them, a man stepped in front of you, he was bald with thick white eyebrows and a matching beard.

“Are you…” The words he spoke sounded blurred.

“Huh?” From behind him, a large creature, what seemed like a… well a… a “Dragon?” It was the last thing you spoke before you felt your body give into the exhaustion once more.

…

“Though it is the great hope of the court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As a hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” All watched as Otto finished his speech and then sat on the Iron Throne much more comfortably than Rheanerya would like. “The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.” Otto called upon him and he stepped into the middle of the hall.

“My Queen, my Lord Hand, the noble history of our noble houses extends to the times of Old Valyria.” Vaemond began. “For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valeryon has ruled the seas. When the doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean an end to their bloodlines, and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true and impeccable blood runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring Laenor Valeryon,” Rhaenerya spoke. It would be a cold day in the seven hells before she lets the heritage of her sons be questioned. “If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

“You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenerya,” Alicent spoke, a cold look in her eye as she looked at her. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

Vaemond turned with a mocking smirk. “What do you know of the Velaryon blood princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” He turned away from the mother of bastards to address Otto once more. “My Queen, my hand, this is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of survival and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor. The Lord of Driftmark, Lord of the tides.”

“Thank you Ser Vaemond,” Otto said, nodding as he acknowledged the claim. “Princess Rheanerya, you may now speak for your son Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenrya stepped forward, annoyed and aggravated with the whole situation. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago in this very-” A door opened interrupting her. She turned and saw her father, standing with all the glory, once more coming to protect his heir.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Everyone in that room watched as he hobbled down the steps, then to the Throne. Dropping his crown, they watched as his ever loyal brother, Daemon, placed it back on his head.

“I must…admit…my confusion.” Viserys breathed heavily. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer a kenner insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” Everyone looked towards her as Viserys spoke.

“Indeed your grace.” Rheanys spoke and she stepped forward. “It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor, his trueborn son,” She looked towards the dark haired boy. “Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rheanerya has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughter; Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I…heartily agree.”

“Well the matter is settled…again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the driftwood throne and the next Lord of the Tides.” As Viserys spoke a scoff broke through Vaemonds lips.

“You break the law.” He spoke to Viserys. “And centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon.” Vaemond spoke, anger clear in his voice and face.

“No!” A faint yell was heard, but no one paid mind to it.

“No. I will not allow it.” They were words of defiance. He would not let his house fall into ruin because the King was short sighted.

“Allow it?” Viserys spoke, offended that he thought he had a say in the matter. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” The warning was clear.

“That!” Vaemond yelled pointing towards Luke. “Is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Go to your chambers.” Rheanerya spoke, ushering her sons away but they did not move. “You have said enough.” She redirects herself to Vaemond stepping in front of her children.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson and you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” Viserys spoke once more. This was treading too close to the line.

“Let go of me!” Another voice yelled, though it was muffled and once again, no one paid it any mind.

“You may run your house as you see fit.” The initiation was clear. “But you will not decide the future of mine! My house survived the doom and a thousand tribulations besides.” He turned back to Rhaenyra. “And gods be damned…” His eyes shifted to Luke. “I will not see it end on the account of this-” Vaemond held his tongue, but just barely.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, tempting him.

A grim smile bloomed on Vaemonds face as he looked towards Rhaenyra. If no one else had the gaul to say it, he would. “Her children…are BASTARDS!” He yelled for everyone in the Seven Kingdoms to hear.

King Viserys leaned forward. “And she…” Vaemond turned to look towards Viserys with conviction in his eyes. “Is a whore.”

Viserys stood up taking out his knife ready to cut out Vaemond’s tongue himself. “I…will have your tongue for that!”

A sharp slice followed and the top of Vaemond’s head came flying off. “He can keep his tongue.” Daemon said.

“I said unhand me you twats!” Once more the voice sounded, this time, closer, as if behind the doors.

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, ignoring the yells from behind the door.

“You smell horrid! All of you!” The voice yelled once again and this time everyone turned as the door opened and they watched a woman nearly fall back while she gave a small yelp of surprise.

The sounds of swords unsheathing sound. “Woah!” The woman yelled once more and lifted her hands high in the air. Her accent sounded clear. She was not from here. The court watched the event unfold. Guards surrounded her. “Those look a little too real to be fake so imma need y’all to stay a healthy distance away from me!” They heard her yell, such an informal way of speaking. A common born they all deduced, but why was a common born here in the throne room, why was she even in the Keep at all? However, what most caught the attention of everyone was her clothes. What was she wearing? It looked very inappropriate.

“Listen I don’t know what kinda freaky stuff y’all got goin’ on, but as you can see.” You gestured to yourself and your clothing. “Look at my clothes, and look at yours” Your hands moved sporadically around trying to explain yourself. “Ergo, I am not a part of this … .role playing? Whatever you guys got goin’ here.”

They watched as the woman tried to reason and the guard stepped closer, and she left a high pitched scream. All winced at the volume. “Stop! Please! I’m unarmed!” She yelled. “Look! My hands are up as you can see!” She gave them all a spin and for the first time, the people of the court saw the woman’s face but only for a second. “No weapons. Please put the swords away, I don’t care if they’re fake, they’re a little too real for me and it’s freaking me out!”

“Lay down your swords!” Commanded Viserys and all the men sheaved their swords

“Oh so you listen to the man and not the girl whos been pleading for you to stop? Okay.” You spoke with annoyance. You turned finally taking a look at the court. “Ooh….” You sucked in a breath as you saw the old man in a chair or what looked like to be swords. “Uhh, good make up artist.” You murmmed.

“Step forward girl.” Viserys commanded. You looked around, the men in armor had their sharp eyes trained on your, as if they were hounds waiting to be told to strick.

“Uhhh, I’m a little hesitant to uh move…” You gave an awkward smile.

“They will not harm you, I have told them to stand down.” Viserys spoke once more, a headache become more potent by every moment that passed.

“Okay….” You moved slow making sure to show your every movement and keeping your hands visible. “I’m moving, I’m just moving, no weapons.” You spoke as you slowly walked forward. You didn’t know where you were, but you didn’t want to find out if the props were real or not. It all looked so real, a nice place they had. Their dresses and attires, it was all very surreal. Very nice wigs as well, they almost looked real. A man who had half of his white hair pulled back and the rest down looked at you. You looked down to his sword noticing a red liquid, you stopped right in your tracks.

You pointed at him while your hands remained in the air. “Uhh what about him? I’m seein’ a little…a little red there.” You looked him up and down then back at the rough looking old man who sat the sword?? Throne thingy.

“Daemon.” You watch the white haired man step aside and you gasped and turned around.

“Oh my god!? What? Is! That!?” You yelled your back turned not wanting to look any closer at the…person?? Who was on the floor. “That uh! Thats ummm…. very good props? The anatomy is uh…very good. Wow! Uh yeah… sorry I don’t… I don’t wanna look at that, I have a weak stomach, I can’t even watch animals get killed, I start crying.” You began babling.

“Take him away.” Visery spoke and the silent sisters whisked him away. As you turned you looked around taking in the sights of people. So many white haired ones. Peculiar. You eyes caught one with dark hair and a semi bad haircut, but he was good looking nonetheless. Damn, you hope you didn’t look too rough. Looking to your right, you caught sight of two with white hair.

“Damn.” You whisper wiping the underneath your eyes hoping to take away any mascara that may be running. “Please let me look good right now.” You whispered.

“Is it safe?” You called out no longer hearing the sounds.

“It is.” The old man spoke and you faced him. “Who are you girl and what are you doing here. Commons are not allowed here.”

You made a face at the word commons but rolled your eyes and introduced yourself and gave where you were from. You were met with faces of confusion. You scoffed. “Listen uh, your highness? I don’t know. Can we uh, quit role playing or whatever this is. I- I don’t do that, its not for me. So listen can we be real here for a second? I gave you my country, and my continent. There is no way, you would not know that. Unless…” You looked around and breathed but quickly covered your nose giving a noise of displeasure. “Listen you’re a..what? King? So uh forgive my insolence your highness, but uh…there no way you wouldn’t know unless you all are…uneducated?” All in the court made a face towards you.

You sucked in a breath. Wrong move. Oh well, it is what it is. “Yeah sorry, uh disconnected because uh clearly…y’know your attire, your buildings….the smell, god it’s potent, uh everything it’s just y’know.”

Everyone stared at you in confusion. They had never heard of the place where you claimed to come from. Perhaps it was a place in Essos, of in the Shadowlands beyond Asshai.

“Are you from Essos then?” An old man to your, now left, asked. “What? What is Essos?”

“Are you sure you are not the one who is uneducated.” A voice sounded behind you. You turned swifted to glare at the man who spoke. It was the one with the sword.

“Uh excuse you, I’m not the one who doesn’t the seven continents. Comeone everyone learns those. You don’t know Asia or Africa, what about Europe?” You asked him as he looked at you with an unamused face. “North America? South America? Antarctica? Oceania? No! Exactly, you wanna know how I know? Because of that stu- I’m yelling. I probably shoudln’t be yelling in my position.” You caught yourself and turned around to face their king.

“But come on Essos?” You scoffed. “Listen I may not be the best at geography, but,” The words got stuck in your throat and you sighed out a breath of defeat. “You wanna give me a hint where it’s at?” You heard a scoff behind you and your eye twitched and you smile became forced.

“It’s in the name.” The man behind you —Daemon they called him— spoke once again and you scoff. “What East?” You smiled as the white haired woman to your right gave no signs of a smile. You smile fell from your face. “What? Seriously? What do you call the West?” You laughed. “Western Land? What about the South? Southlandia?” You give another laugh.

“You’re is Westeros.” The old man on your left said.

“What kind of- Okay,” You murmured. “And South?”

“Sothoryos.” He said once again. You face morphed into an approving expresson. “That one is actually not bad. Sounds really actually cool. Okay North?”

“We don’t have a North, it’s part of Westeros.” Once more he answer your question and you nodded turned to him and pointing. “So Westeros leads to the polar icecaps?”

He furrowed his brows. You made a sound of understanding. “Ah I see, you haven’t discovered them yet. So no South pole or North pole. Okay. These are your continents? Okay…so I’m gonna assume Essos is just Asia, this seems a lot like the UK, England? The accents match, or maybe Ireland? No…I think imma stick with England. Okay so I’m in England.”

“As my uncle said…you seem to be the one who is uneducated.” A male voice rings out, and the one with the eyepatch has an aggravating smirk.

“Excuse me? You try getting into a car crash, falling off a bridge because a damned suitcase, wake up in who knows where and figure out where you are. Might I add after not being told common continents.” You looked him up and down. A shame he was good looking, well as one can be with an eye patch. Him opening his mouth really just ruined him. “Tell me, if you, I don’t know, what do you guys have here? Carriages? Do you guys have bridges? Probably not as big as the one I fell from. Have you ever fallen say 200 hundred feet or… sorry uh…. 60 meters? Thats what you guys use right? Well say you fall from 60 meters, into water, drown, then wake up on a beach not knowing where you are or who anyone is. If you fell from that hight and landed on say…oh I don’t any island on Micronesia. Do you know what or even where Micronesia is?” You tilted your head. “No? Well…I think I’ve made my point.”

“You speak to a Prince girl” The King spoke and you turned to him then back towards the one eye man who seemed a bit shocked that his father would come to his rescue.

“Thats your son? My apologies. Is every white haired person here your child?” You asked but the King suddenly let our a groan. The woman in the green dress ran to him.

‘His wife? No? She’s too young. Are those her kids? No…she’s too young…right?’ The thoughts raced in your mind.

“Get the Maesters!” The woman yelled.

‘Maesters? Masters? Weird accents, definitely in the UK.’ You looked around standing there unsure of what to do.

“Get him milk of the poppy, and the get the leaches!” The Maester called.

“Milk of the poppy? Opioids!? Well I mean, I suppose it's common, but um, as long as he doesn’t get addicted to it.” As you spoke the white-haired woman looked back at you with an expression you couldn’t quite describe. “Did you know, there are only two drugs that can kill you if you just quit them? Opioids, which is what your ‘milk’ is, and alcohol funny enough. Once your body becomes dependent on it, or in other words, you get addicted, if it is ripped away from the addict. Your body will go into shock, thus killing the addict. Just a little fun fact to think about if you feed him that stuff every day.” As you spoke the room became silent as men in white clothing came and grabbed the King. From your left, you heard a scoff.

“You think you know more than the Maesters?” The old man asked once again.

“Well…if my ears do not mislead me and I heard you still do leaching, or bloodletting. Then I think I just might.” You smiled and shrugged at him. “If anything, you’re doing more harm than good. While leeches can be used in other ways that would be beneficial, this is not one of the ways. You’re idea of leaching and blood letting comes from the notion of bad blood or good blood right? Something along those lines.” As you spoke the Maester stopped and let go of the King and another took his place walking him down the Throne. Everyone was looking at you and the sounds of the King.

“Well, there's no such thing as bad blood or good blood. What there is in the body is something called bacteria. It's on a microscopic level, don’t think you’ve discovered it yet, that's okay. Misinformation is common these days. Well in any case, when you bleed the patient, I’m pretty sure you deprive them of white blood cells and then force the body to focus on the cut instead of the actual issue that the body is facing. White blood cells are kind of like the fighters, they fight off the bad bacteria.” You continued. “Well it might not be exactly because of that reason, but it's one of the many reasons why it doesn’t work.”

“Well if there are these ‘white blood cells’ as you call them why isn’t our blood white?” The Maester asked. He had a smug expression on his face.

“Well, there is white blood and red blood cells. Also as I said, it is on a microscopic level. It’s not visible to the naked eye. They’re very very very very small. Also, there is a chemical reaction that makes blood red.” You answered with a smug smile of your own.

“How much do you know of medicine?” The white-haired woman asked.

“More than him it would seem.” You gave a blank smile.

“Would you be able to cure him? My father, the King.” The woman, who was a princess asked once more with a pointed look.

“Uh I’d have to take a look at him. Can’t make any promises.” You spoke and she nodded walking away and you stood still unsure of what to do. You looked over to the boy with the bad hair cut and gave a smile. He gave you a small curt one in return before following the Princess. The the seconds dark haired boy left. You turned to look at the man with the eye-patch and what you assume are his siblings or cousins.

The shuffling of feet stop and you look towards the Princess who looks at you with an expectant look. “Oh! Oh! Right, sorry!” You turned back, they were royalty, it felt wrong to just leave, but you didn’t know what to do. “Um, bye.” You said in a small voice giving a small bow before turn and giving a small run to catch up to the Princess.

Next I Masterlist

Note: This is self-indulgence and I'm not gonna research anything trying to make it as real as I can. If an average person was just randomly there.

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