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ipushhimback · 3 days ago

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we were drunk, it happens part 1 - part 2

pairing: lando norris x verstappen!reader warnings: none? words: 2200

summary: lando and Y/N meet at a dinner with other drivers. they were drunk and landed in bed but what when her brother max finds out

there will probably be a part 2 bc i have many ideas!

this is my first f1 x reader fanfic i have ever written so please be kind

Y/N has never really liked Formula 1 which surprised everyone she told that as she was no one other than Max Verstappen’s little sister. She of course knew the basics and has watched some of the Grands Prix, but she has never enjoyed being there.

But one Friday evening that changed. Her brother had told her that he had been invited to a dinner with some other drivers, and they were allowed to bring a +1 and because Kelly wasn’t in Monaco that week, he asked Y/N to come with him.

At first, she was reluctant but eventually she agreed. But now she was standing in front of her mirror and wasn’t sure what to wear. What clothes do people wear when they are at a dinner with literal multimillionaires? An hour (and a long call with Kelly) later she was dressed in a simple black dress with a split on the right side, her curled hair falling over her shoulders perfectly.

She felt a bit weird as she stepped down the stairs to her kitchen where she drank a glass of water while waiting for her brother to pick her up, as she had a feeling that she would be absolutely underdressed at the dinner.

Only a few minutes later she heard the doorbell and opened the door to find Max standing in front of her in dark blue jeans and a white button-up shirt.

“Hey, are you ready?”, he asked as he pulled her in a quick hug.

“No. Not really but let’s go. How many people are gonna be at the dinner?” Y/N was a bit worried as she hated to be around too many people – rich and arrogant people in particular as she had experienced that enough when she was still a kid, and her dad had always invited other rich people to their home.

“I only know that Charles will be there, and he will probably bring his girlfriend, Alex. I am sure you’ll like her. Also, Lando is probably going to be there as well as Carlos and his girlfriend Rebecca. George is also going to be there and that means his girlfriend will be there as well, Carmen. And probably the other drivers will be there as well, but I am not sure because George has planned it all.” Max paused to look at his little sister. “If you feel uncomfortable at any point we can just go. But I am sure you will get along just fine with everyone.”

Y/N just nodded as she sat down in the passenger seat of Max’ car. An Audi RS Q3 he always said was perfect for everyday tasks but Y/N knew he mostly had that car so he could easily drive around with his whole family. Kelly, Penelope and their future baby. Even though nobody knew about the pregnancy yet, not even their parents as Max and Kelly wanted to keep that to themselves for as long as possible.

Only a few minutes later they arrived at a nice and expensive looking restaurant where they stopped in the parking lot.

They stepped in the building where they were greeted by a waitress almost immediately. He brought them to a separated room where some people were already sitting around a big table.

“Hi guys. This is Y/N, my sister. She was kind enough to join me today. Y/N, you already know Charles, Carlos, Lando and Oscar? And there is the back we have Lewis, Checo, Yuki, Pierre, Fernando and Franco”, Max introduced her while his sister tried to continue smiling even though she just wants to be at home and watch on of her favorite tv shows.

“Yes, I do. It is really nice to meet y’all. Where can I sit?”, she asked as she didn’t want to be standing there being stared at by everyone.

A young woman pointed to the chair right next to hers and opposite three other women, who looked just as good. “You can sit here. I am Lily by the way. Oscar’s girlfriend. And that’s Alex, Charles’ girlfriend and Rebecca. She is Carlos’ girlfriend. And there we have Carmen who is here with George. So, you are Max’ sister?”

Y/N was a bit taken aback by the kindness of Lily. She didn’t think that anyone of the WAGs would be like that. She thought they would be more arrogant. More… reserved. Like she used to know them. But Lily and also the others seemed different.

“Uhm… Yeah, I am. He brought me here because Kelly’s abroad.” Y/N took a sip of the glass of water that was placed in front of her by one of the waitresses.

“Oh, that’s sad I was looking forward to finally meeting her, but it is nice that you are here! Max talks about you a lot. It feels like he loves you more than he loves Kelly”, Alex said laughing.

“That’s because he does,” Y/N said and was scared that the others wouldn’t get her little joke when they didn’t react but sighed relived when they started laughing.

They continued chatting a bit, but Y/N just had eyes for one person in the room. Lando. She had seen him before. Of course. But now that she saw him up closer, she couldn’t help but admire his looks. His curls were a nice brown color and couldn’t curl more. His eyes were a pretty blue that looked even better with him wearing this blue hoodie right now.

When Lando looked in her direction, she immediately looked away and grabbed her wine glass. No feelings for arrogant multimillionaires. She didn’t want, nor did she need that in her life.

***

The next morning Y/N woke up with the worst headache existing.

She opened her eyes and regretted it right away when the bright sunlight blended her.

She definitely made a big mistake drinking so much alcohol the day before.

It wasn’t until then that she noticed something warm next to her. A body. Not anyone’s body, she realized when she looked to the right. Lando.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. This can’t be real.

But no. This wasn’t a dream, she quickly noticed when she wanted to get up and couldn’t find her clothes from the day before.

She got up and went to her closet in the exact moment she heard the doorbell ring. Now she remembered why she even woke up in the first place.

Y/N took a hoodie and sweatpants which she put on quickly before going downstairs to open the door.

“Hey! Wow, you look even worse than yesterday when you left”, Max said, only a second after Y/N had opened the door.

“Thanks”, she groaned. “What are you even doing here so early?”

“It is 1 pm. And I wanted to give you your purse. You forgot it in the car yesterday. Now, are you gonna offer your big brother a coffee as a thank you?”, Max asked and before Y/N could stop him he pushed her to the side and went straight to her kitchen.

“That’s not a good idea. I wanted to take a shower and then I have an appointment at- “, she couldn’t even finish the sentence when she heard her bedroom door open and heard footsteps on the stairs.

Only seconds later, Lando stepped in the kitchen, his hair tousled and only wearing his boxer briefs.

“Hey, Y/N do you- “, he immediately stopped when he spotted Max leaning on the counter. “Oh fuck.”

He immediately turned around and ran upstairs, figuring out that the following conversation shouldn’t happen with him just in his underwear.

“Lando! You fucking bastard. You slept with my sister?!” Max pushed himself off the counter to run after the Brit while Y/N just stood there, unable to react. And honestly, she didn’t even want to react. If she had the choice she would just go outside and hide somewhere to not be involved in the situation, but she knew that wouldn’t really work longer than a couple hours, so she could also just get it over with now.

“Max! Stop! Let Lando at least get dressed so he doesn’t have to talk to you about all that in just his underwear.”

“He fucking slept with you! I don’t care if he is wearing anything! Lando let me in you can’t lock yourself in the bedroom forever!”

Knowing she can’t convince Max to go downstairs she made her way upstairs.

“Max. Go downstairs and calm down. We were drunk. I also made the decision yesterday to sleep with him. So go downstairs, while Lando gets dressed, make a cup of coffee and wait.” Y/N glared at her brother, and it finally seemed to convince him.

“Fine. But you will both come to me immediately after he got dressed.” Reluctantly, the Dutch made his way to do what Y/N told him to do.

When Max was gone Y/N knocked at the wooden door.

“Lando. It’s me. Let me in.” Only a moment later, the Brit opened the door and peeked outside.

“Is he gone?”, he practically whispered.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at how scared he looked. “Yes, he is. Now let me in because we have to talk about what we say to make sure Max doesn’t insult you even more.”

“How about we don’t say anything and just hide in here? I am scared of him, Y/N. I can’t go out there again. He will kill me because I slept with you! His little sister!”

“Lando. You know we can’t do that. We will go out there and tell him that we were drunk, and it won’t happen again. It was a one-time thing, and that’s- “, Y/N wanted to say more but was interrupted by Lando.

“What if it wasn’t.” The woman just stared at Lando for a couple seconds, suddenly frozen in place.

“Sorry?”

“What if- what if I want to do it again? Listen. We had fun together, didn’t we? So why don’t we continue with it? No feelings, of course. Max would kill us. Just fun.”

Y/N took her time to proceed what Lando had just said. They did, in fact, have fun. But it didn’t change the fact that it was stupid. But she couldn’t help it. She did like last night. It was one of the best nights of her life.

Lando had known exactly what to do. He touched her in all the right places, he was demanding yet gentle. Rough but soft. It was everything. It was almost intoxicating how he touched her – made her feel seen. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Yes. Yes, you’re right. But then, what do we tell my brother?”

“Either the truth or we lie and say it won’t happen again. He doesn’t necessarily have to find out, does he? I am for the second option. Less of a risk to be killed, you know? But I think we should just see where the conversation takes us.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Ok”, she nodded. “Then let’s do that.”

Together they went downstairs. Max’ face was as red as a tomato since he was still mad at Lando. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that Lando wasn’t the only guilty one. His sister also decided to sleep with Lando, but it was easier to be mad at a colleague – even – than his little, innocent (or so he had thought) sister.

“So. Anyone here who wants to explain what happened yesterday?”, Max asked with an annoyed, maybe even hurt, look on his face.

“Max. I promise nothing bad has happened. Lando and I, we were drunk. It happens. I am 22 years old. I am pretty sure you know that what happened yesterday, has happened before. Just with other people. So, please. Don’t be mad at Lando for what happened. It was my decision as much as it was his.”

Y/N felt Lando standing next to her. He looked at Max calmly, trying to deescalate a potential argument, by just not saying anything. The Brit knew it was the smartest thing he could do in the moment.

“I know that it is normal what happened. But, Y/N, you also have to understand my point of view. He is a colleague. A rival of mine. And to be honest, he is not known for being the guy for long term relationships. I simply don’t want you to get hurt. And definitely not that you will have a broken heart because of him.” Max looked seriously concerned, protective.

“I won’t, Max. I promise. And even if he did break my heart, I would tell you right away so you can kill him on your own as soon as possible.”

The blonde man laughs while nodding. He stepped forward and wrapped Y/N up in his arms.

“Ok. I just want you to be happy. Do whatever you want just don’t tell me about it”, he mumbles in his sister’s hair before releasing her from his hug and turning around.

“I will go now. See you. Bye!”

Lando and Y/N flopped on the couch after saying their goodbyes and just a single minute later, Lando’s phone made a sound that signaled an incoming message.

If you hurt her, you are dead, just so you know. – Max

#f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula one #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris x y/n #ln4 x reader #ln4 x y/n

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leadyoutothelight · 23 hours ago

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Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia

This wasn’t supposed to be your place in life, you were the second daughter, a spare given to the temple of Minerva to serve as one of the many temple maidens. But when your father comes to you, telling you of your sister’s sudden passing, suddenly you’re thrust into a new role. Expected to fill her place in a political marriage to the famed General Marcus Acacius Rome’s beloved war dog.

Rating: Explicit +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Dubious Consent/Coerced Consent, Age Gap (no specified ages), Virginity Loss *discomfort mentioned, no blood* , Implied physical abuse from a parent, Patriarchal world and expectations of women, Grinding, Unprotected p in v sex, reader is a virgin, first time sex *please let me know if I miss anything*

Word Count: 8k

Author Note: Hello, first time writing for a Pedro Pascal character, but finally saw Gladiator II and I couldn't resist writing this! Please note, there is very little research into Rome actually done, I'm not writing this based on historical accuracy, just had an idea and wanted to write it. The title is based off a common Roman wedding vow meaning, Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia.

Please let me know what you think!

Your sister is dead, you shall be the one to marry General Acacius.

It had been the most your father had ever spoken to you in your entire life, the most he’d even looked at you.

Being born the second daughter of a noble family is about as important as a new pair of sandals. Especially when you were the last born of five, and three of the five being boys. Your father was more than happy to direct his attention to his sons and his wars. Your sister and yourself were content to live in the house learning from your mother, waiting for the day your father drafted a marriage contract and sent you to a new household.

Until it was decided that in a bid to gain the gods favor you were given to the temple of Minerva as a temple maiden, at ten you were bundled up with your few worldly items and left to the Priestess' devices.

It was a sudden and chaotic change. But after the first year you found, you didn’t mind this new living arrangement. Yes, you had chores now, and you needed to share things. But you grew to like your new home with other women and girls working in the temple. Learning the day-to-day needs, and expectations of your new home. You flourished, and your mother and sister visiting every now and again helped you settle as well.

The last time you’d seen your sister she’d been an excited mess talking the whole time of her engagement to General Acacius, that they’d be wed as soon as he’d returned home from another conquest.

“Just think sissy, me, a famed general’s wife!”

Her eyes glowed in the lamplight as she’d clutched your hands in hers. You’d given her a smile and a nod, as she went on and on. Whilst you’d thought to yourself that you’d be stuck cleaning the temple floors for the next week due to staying out longer than allowed.

“You’ll be there right?”

Her question pulls you out of your glum thoughts, and you give her a wide eye-scrunching smile. You don’t have the heart to disappoint, maybe with your father’s status you can ask for the time…

A pain twinges through you at the thought, the high priestess had been kind, giving you the time in exchange for you doing more chores when you returned.

But today, a day you expected your sister to visit, with her finished bridal veil in tow. You expected to ‘oh’ and ‘aw’ over her hard work, compliment her delicate needlework, ask her jokingly which parts your mother had helped with. To comfort her, she’d mentioned fainting spells had started since the date had been announced.

Maybe you’d even offer to bring her into the inner sanctum to ask the goddess to protect her, and her future husband. To give her calm in the coming ‘battle’ of marriage.

But now you sit across from your father. A beast of a man, skin tanned and leathered from the sun. Scars criss-cross along his arms, you resist the urge to glance at his left pinky. Where only a ghastly stump sits.

His voice brokers no argument, yet, you can’t stop yourself.

“What do you mean?”

He blinks, those dark eyes boring into you, and you see a flash of anger, mixed with surprise. Again, your existence has been a fleeting one in your father’s opinion. He was the one who sent you here…he was the one who gave you to the gods. He can’t just–take you back.

“I wasn’t aware you were an imbecile–”

“I’m not, but you cannot take me from the temple–from Minerva herself–”

“I have made the appropriate tithes and the priestess herself has granted your hand–”

“I am to serve the goddess, that is what you–”

“And now you shall serve the family!” It’s the way he stands, the clatter of the chair he once occupied. The roar of his voice, the one you know he uses to order his troops into battle with. You cower, well aware that this rage is one you don’t survive.

Tears brim over your lashes, and you bite your cheek to stop yourself from arguing further, here in the temple, you are free to share your opinions. Voice concerns, even vent frustrations, rare luxuries in this male dominated society. You’ve found you enjoy the thrill of conversing, and theology the other maidens and priestesses provide.

But now, that’s all being taken, when you’re so close to the priesthood. To take the sacred robes of Minerva, learn the sacred rights. Bless soldiers, generals, and emperors in their great conquests for the Roman Empire.

That was your purpose, your place in this world. Being born a woman was a curse in this empire, but here you were safe, here you could make a life.

“You shall be collected in the morning, the wedding will take place in a week's time.”

That tone again. One brokering no peace, no argument. The voice he commands thousands with, and you are one of them.

The next morning passes in a blur, your few things taken by slaves. You’re barely given enough time to hug the girls, and women you’ve come to see as your new family. Careful to hide your tears as the High Priestess stops you outside the temple doors.

“Go with Minerva’s blessing,” her voice is soft, though there is an edge to it. You don’t respond, for fear that you’ll fall to your knees and beg her to stop this. Claim Minerva’s hold over you, refuse your father’s demands.

But she won’t, your father is a powerful man, marrying you to another powerful man, and not even the goddess of war can prevent it.

You’re whisked away on a chariot handled by one of your father’s trusted soldiers. A clear warning to behave, the city passes by. A few of the bustling crowds pause to watch you entourage, but it’s fleeting, they return to their day-to-day lives as it's nothing new to see a noble pass in their gilded transports.

A blink and you’re home. The home you hadn’t seen in years, still a marbled behemoth, a villa of luxury befitting one of Rome’s finest generals. The sandstone pillars glow in the mid-afternoon sun. Banners the color of blood mark the door, along with coal black braziers that will be lit when the sun disappears behind the mountains.

Awaiting you is a group of slaves, heads bowed, they drop to kneel as you are escorted from the chariot and into the house.

It’s barely changed, since you last ran about the halls, as a wild precocious child. Tripping over your feet to follow your older brothers. The large atrium, with a lapis lazuli lined pool. Filled with various plants your father brought home to your mother. More braziers and torches line the halls.

Gold, and weapons decorate the walls, all of them spoils of war taken by your father. Silk curtains billow in the afternoon wind, and distantly you smell the incense your mother uses throughout the villa.

Your sister used to smell of it, well, the incense and rose water. A pang ricochets through your chest. Her voice doesn’t greet you, and you’ll never hear it again. Instead it’s the rush of silks, and the patter of feet, and your mother enters the atrium, in the warm glow of the sun she shines.

Dark hair in tight ringlets cascading down her back, her eyes shine with unshed tears. She stops seeing you in the entrance, then her arms spread wide, and like a child you rush into them.

She smells of her personal fragrance of jasmine, and cinnamon. The mixture your father had gifted her after a long campaign many years ago. She buries her nose into your hair, fingers threading through the tresses. She presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head.

“Mama,” you whimper into her bosom, and she shushes you. Pulling back, her hands cup your face, thumbs brushing against the apples of your cheeks.

“Well, not the way I expected my beloved child to return to me but,” another kiss is pressed to your forehead. Her lips are soft and warm, tears well and threaten to spill a lump gathers in the back of your throat. “I am grateful to have some time with you again.”

For a moment, you’re grateful for the reprieve as well. But it’s short lived. She ushers you into the house, into her personal chambers. Where she sits you on the lounge, it’s darker here. Not as many windows, and most of them blocked by curtains.

The incense is thicker here, and you stifle a cough as you settle into the dimness with her.

“Oh my dear one, how I’ve missed you.” She smiles, and again her eyes take you in. Just as you do her, she’s aged in the years you’ve been gone. Where once was smooth skin, you see wrinkles in the corners of her eyes. The creases of her lips, a few grey hairs decorate her dark curls.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t under…better circumstances.” You mutter, fingers toying with the robes you had left in. They’re still the temple robes, a simple woven woolen tunic. Good for completing chores, and easy to move in.

Not like her opulent robes, her pure white muslin, with a deep blue dyed sash. A golden belt cinching in her waist. Her smile falters, a look of pain crosses her expression.

“Y–your sister fought hard against the sweating sickness,” her voice wavers, and tears spill over her lashes, smudging the kohl lining her eyes. “But, she has been given her last rights, and she rests now in Elysium.”

You nod, your chin quivers, as your own tears rain down from your eyes. Your mother tuts, and leans forward her hands warm and soft, unlike your now calloused fingers and palms.

“She would not want us to mourn–”

“But Mama, she wanted this,” you gesture to the room of grandeur around you. Feeling your mother’s gaze watching you as you struggle with your next words, “I was promised to Minerva–to the gods!”

You stand beginning to pace as you consider everything, and are finally able to do so.

“She should be here, I should be at the temple, learning the rites, blessing soldiers–”

“My darling you’re here now,” your mother’s voice is firm, a tone you recognize as her warning, and just like your father you know she’s not going to entertain you abandoning this marriage. “Come.”

She offers you a bedecked hand, rings, and bangles gleaming against her skin. All the finery a woman could want. Sullenly you take her hand as she pulls you beside her, her hands take yours in a solid grip.

“Your sister’s passing was a tragedy, but the gods have smiled upon us, in that Acacius is willing to continue the betrothal with you,” her voice is soft, you stare at your clasped hands. She’d done this before, when you’d first been promised to the Temple of Minerva.

How strange to be here again, a child begging her mother to see reason and send you back. She pulls your hands up to her lips, pressing a warm kiss to them, as more tears spill from your eyes. Rolling warm, and wet down your cheeks.

“I don’t want to marry him Mama,” a soft sob leaves you, and you bury your face into her shoulder, losing yourself in her smell once more, you forget how much you’ve missed her. Missed this, just being with her, but there’s a hollow feeling inside of you, your sister should be here, and that makes more tears form. Another tut and her arms wrap around you, a hand goes to your cheek, another to your back. “I was happy at the Temple.”

She hums low in her throat, the hand on your back rubbing soothing circles against your spine. She is warm, and solid, a soothing presence and she lets you weep. You don’t know how long you cry for but finally the hiccuping sobs ebb and you calm.

She pulls back her hands returning to your cheeks as she takes in your red eyes, and tear-streaked face.

“My love, I will say this to you, I understand more than you know,” she brushes a stray strand of hair out of your eyes, curling the wayward pieces behind your ear. “I know the fear of marrying a man, much less a military man.”

You sniffle as she gives you a weak smile. “I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.”

She pulls back, her hands resting on her lap, your tears have dried and you sigh, nodding, face downcast as you consider her words.

“I swear my love, I know your sister dreamed of love, and of a grand marriage, I assure you that General Acacius is a good man,” her fingers lift your chin and your eyes meet, she gives you a final wistful smile, “it may not be a marriage of love, but…maybe it can be a marriage of equals.”

The next week passes in a blur, and suddenly it’s the hour before your wedding. The final adjustments to your sister's dress are being made. You stand alone, a slave placing pins in the areas the garment might drag.

Silently staring at the reflection in the copper before you. You don’t recognize the girl in the reflection. Your hair has been styled in the traditional bridal braids. A golden hairnet pinned against your scalp, a few strands have managed to escape. Make up paints your skin, mica shimmers on your eyelids, kohl darkening your waterline.

The slave pauses in her adjustments, she glances up with a fearful look.

“M–my lady, I’ve run out of pins–”

A spark of your father’s rage courses through you, of course it doesn’t fit you it was meant for your sister.

“Go fetch some then!”

You don’t mean to snap but your nerves are shot as it is. She jumps and with a fearful bow leaves the room. Alone you slump, staring at yourself, unwilling to keep staring at the stranger before you. Your sister truly spared no detail, the embroidery along the edges is her finest work. With golden thread painstakingly sewn into the edges, when it catches the light it almost seems to glow like fire. The main shawl dyed a deep burgundy, is decorated with words of protection, along with her favorite flowers, pale lilies blooming along the skirt.

I want him to think me a goddess made flesh.

You hear her in the back of your mind, and wonder…if you should have admonished her. Maybe her vanity was her downfall, and the gods sought to correct her error. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought, no, they couldn’t have.

She was good, and kind; her only wish was to marry and give her husband strong sons. Now she lays alone, and cold in the family crypts.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a loud chorus of calls from the atrium.

You hear it somewhere below, the revels have begun. The boisterous voice of your father as he jokes and cajoles with his old war fellows. The wine is flowing freely tonight, he has much to celebrate.

“-it’s a good thing you had another one!”

A laugh from your father as he claps someone on the back.

“Ha! The only thing a second daughter is good for!”

The rage sparks again, and before you can stop to think, you’re grabbing a jar of perfumed oil. Throwing it with a shriek, it lands with a satisfying shatter against the copper mirror. The thick liquid drips to the floor in a dark puddle on the sandstone.

Your outburst has called attention to the crowd, a few moments of silence and your mother appears with the slave who left you. She gives a withering glare to the woman, who cowers, before turning her gaze to you. You clench your fist ready to fight, the rage in you growing, daring your mother to say something, anything.

“My love–” there is no time to admonish you, as a great rushing of horses and the wheels of a chariot sound, along with calls from the atrium.

He's here.

Before you can think your mother and the slave rush to finish the last minute adjustments, and finally the fine veil is placed over your head. You're dragged through the halls, almost tripping on the skirt, that’s still too long for your legs.

Your sister’s belt is cinched so tight it cuts into the soft fat of your stomach, at least an old pair of your sandals fits, one of the only things of yours on you tonight. Your mother stops you just outside the atrium. The crowd is rowdy, the sweet smell of wine, the smokey herbs of the many roasted beasts, and finally the mixture of the florals from the many bundles of your sister’s favorite flowers fills your nose.

It’s beautiful, and your sister would have been beaming. You feel your stomach churn, your mother’s fingers rub soothingly along your arm, but it doesn’t quell the fear to run, the deer forced into the hunter’s trap.

You don’t want to, but your eyes search the crowd, none of your brothers are in attendance. Your mother mentioned that all had been called away to far reaches of the Empire, one a rising commander in his own right. Another a promising scholar in Alexandria, and the last is a Senator, most likely schmoozing with the twin emperors to gain more political favor.

Of course none of them felt it dire to come to their younger sister’s funeral, and the other’s marriage. You’re not surprised…though maybe a bit hurt, after all…they should have at least come home to give your sister her last rights. But even that is too pitiful a request compared to their great lives.

There are others here, all your father’s friends, and their wives, entertaining themselves with food and drink. Dressed in the finery expected for nobility, none of them take your attention for too long.

You see your father speaking animatedly with someone you don’t recognize. He wears the traditional Generals uniform, the armor a pitch black, with the extravagant golden embellishments. A long red cape, fastened at his shoulder, you almost wonder if the man came straight from campaign.

Then again…the twin emperors have been insistent that their empire grow, and the General has been the ever faithful war dog. You’d never met him in person, only the high Priestess of Minerva could bless the generals before a campaign.

You are loath to admit it, but he's handsome. In a rugged way, a strong jaw, full lips, a proud nose, with tanned skin. His beard is shorter but well kept, and his hair, was probably once a deep brown, has greyed and silvered with age, is kept in neat curls.

His eyes remain on your father, but as if the gods enjoy your torment, seem to feel your gaze upon him. He turns, and those eyes the color of polished mahogany lance through you.

For a moment you forget to breathe, forget to think. Those eyes take you in, just as you had done moments ago. But it’s short lived as your father spots you, and your mother.

“Ah! Acacius, your bride arrives!” He leaves the General to come usher you over, you’re grateful for the veil, the fabric is thick enough it hides your face, so he can’t see your face very well, can’t see the panicked look in your eyes, as your father yanks you from your mother’s protective grasp.

You want to reach out to her, to claw your way back, scream, dig your fingers into his eyes till he releases you, but resist. As he pushes you to the General, up close he’s nothing like you thought. He bows his head to you with a soft, “my Lady.”

You respond in kind with a low bow and a muttered, “my Lord.”

And with that the ceremony begins, with Acacius taking his place besides the officiant. One of your father’s many senatorial friends.

Your father’s grip is a painful shackle around your wrist, the stump of his left pinky digs into your arm.

“You will do well to make him happy girl,” he snarls beneath the music, his gaze burning a hole into the side of your skull. “It’s because of me, he accepted you, remember that.”

You bite your cheek, the taste of copper filling your mouth as you ignore the remark, in favor of staring at the man who will take his place.

The ceremony is short, the officiant stumbles over your name, as he clearly practiced for your sister’s name. It makes the ache in your chest grow, through the ceremony you feel the General’s gaze upon you as the final call for the gods to bless your union is made.

“General, you may now reveal your bride, and take her to your home as is commanded by the gods.”

Your heart has leapt from your chest to your throat as his hands take the veil and lift, revealing your face to him.

Your eyes meet his, and he stares silently at you, those dark eyes taking you in, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. His lips are soft, the rasp of his beard against your skin sending a chill down your spine. The kiss is quick, emotionless, before pulling away, he glances to the side, you follow his gaze. Your mother stands beside your father, tears stream down her face, and your heart breaks seeing her in such despair.

“Take a moment with your family, I will collect you in a moment.”

You don’t waste a second rushing away from him to your mother’s arms, she collects you with a soft sob. You can’t help the tears that spring forth.

“My love, my dear,” she weeps into your hair, and you cling to her, a little girl once more. Afraid of your father’s anger had you broken something, or worse he had come home from a failed campaign, and no one would be spared from his rage.

She would be alone after this, alone with only your father for company, and he barely stayed home long enough to acknowledge her. She presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Please…Mama, please,” a whimpered plea into her bosom, where your tears stain the silk, you look up to her eyes wide and terrified. “Don’t let him take me.”

Her lower lip quivers, and more tears spill from her beautiful eyes, she shakes her head, her answer, and it cleaves your heart into two. She can’t stop this, no matter how much you beg, plead, all she could do was make sure he was a good man. You feel it then, Acacius’ arms wrap around your middle, the shriek that leaves you is animalistic, your fingers claw into your mother’s dress.

“No! Mama! No!” It only takes one pull from Acacius for your mother to release you, your fingers pulled from her dress by your father. So you go to the next best thing, his arms, nails dig into skin. He grunts, the only sign of his pain, as he hauls you away from your mother who wails in chorus with your panicked shrieks.

Your mother collapses, her palms slapping against the marbled floors in grief, your father just stands there, no better than a statue. No one will comfort your mother tonight…though you hope, somehow your sister will. That her spirit will curl about your mother’s form and give her rest.

Or maybe she’ll spare you the horrors of the wedding night, but as you struggle uselessly against Acacius you know neither of those things will happen. As he drags you from the atrium to his chariot. You struggle, scream, and cry a final plea to Minerva to intervene.

But alas she does not answer, and you're dragged from the safety of your mother’s arms and to Acacius’ villa where your wedding night awaits.

It’s quiet in the spacious bedchamber, as you consider the marble flooring beneath your feet. Acacius hasn’t appeared since he placed you here. You don’t know how long it’s been, but you’ve ripped the veil and golden hairnet off. Your hair remains in its painful tangle of braids, you’re unsure of how to get them out without help.

You take in the room around you, and from what you could see of Acacius’ villa like you thought it’s a luxurious home, maybe even greater than your father’s.

You take in the fineries here, golden chairs and marble-topped tables. The fires of the braziers warm the room comfortably, and a soft breeze from the outside keeps the air fresh. The light of the fires gleam off the cups, and decanters of wine placed about the room, even the bed silks are a fine fabric you’ve never felt before. You absentmindedly run your hand over the softness, considering your options. The bed is pushed to the farthest wall, a behemoth of dark wood, and fine muslin curtains.

Large windows line the eastern wall, to let in the light of the morning, and doors lead to what you can only assume is a terrace. Your legs twitch as you consider rushing to the doors, seeing how far the drop is, escaping into the night, the General none-the-wiser.

But the idea is foolish, he’s a General with thousands at his beck and call, you are a noble girl, raised in the halls of a temple…You’d get no further than the city gates if you’re lucky.

Your thoughts are interrupted as the sounds of footsteps echo into your silence. Your head snaps to the noise, a deer suddenly aware of the danger lurking somewhere in the trees.

He stands in the doorway, orange light of the fires play over his face, his eyes black pits, face unreadable. Your heart stutters in your chest, as you both consider each other.

He’s removed his armor, though it does nothing to soothe you, he still stands with the rigidity of a military man. Prepared for battle should he need to be. You consider fighting him, but it’s a laughable idea.

He could kill you with a flick of his wrist if he so dared, but he hasn’t moved closer. So you both remain silent, observing.

It is a tense standoff, both of you sizing the other up, Acacius makes the first move. Taking a chair and settling into it with an exhausted huff.

You tense, watching him as he takes a cup and decanter, pouring a healthy swig of wine, before drinking deeply. He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his fingertips trace the rim of his cup.

“I am pleased to see you haven’t run yet,” he gives a humorless chuckle, and takes another drink. “I will say, this is not how I expected my wedding night to go.”

You remain silent, waiting for his next move, he doesn’t say anything for a moment staring into the cup with a pensive look.

“Those braids look uncomfortable,” those umber eyes meet your gaze. You can’t find your voice, so you nod. He sets the cup aside and stands, you can’t help your gaze falling to his exposed legs. The bunching of his muscles beneath his skin, the subtle strength there as he approaches you, a subtle grace to his movements that years of swordplay, and war-making has refined. The glow of his skin in the firelight, paints golden highlights along his flesh.

A clearing of his throat stops your exploration, your gaze snaps up to Acacius, he gives you a small gesture to turn around. Tense you follow his directions, a moment of indecision, before the softest touch against your scalp.

You can’t stop the yelp that leaves you, and the jolt of your body. The touch leaves, and there is a sigh through his nose. You wince, awaiting the strike that’s sure to come.

Acacius surprises you again, a hand cups your chin and turns you to face him. You’re shivering, and fearfully you look up at the General.

“I–I’m sorry–”

“I promise, I will not strike you my Lady, I just want to unbraid your hair.” His hand is warm, his fingers large, and his palm is rough with calluses from holding a sword. You try not to notice how his hand easily encompasses your lower jaw. You nod, and again turn away.

This time when his touch returns you steady yourself. For such large fingers, you’re surprised at their delicate caresses. As he finds the pins, and ties that keep your bridal braids in place. Slowly the pain of the too tight braids are relieved.

His touch is gentle, the final braid is undone and he takes a moment to card his fingers through your tresses. A ripple of something courses through you, goosebumps alight along your skin. He chuckles, you finally find your voice.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He doesn’t answer, instead you feel the brush of his knuckles against your cheek, again you jolt away.

You know what must be done tonight, but you had hoped, and prayed, that he’d busy himself with his something, anything else. That you’d be forgotten and left to your own devices for the night. Acacius sighs through his nose, disappointment clear in his tone.

“It is our wedding night—”

“I know my Lord–”

“I do not wish to force you.”

The statement silences you, your heart pounding in its cage as you clench your fists in your lap.

“My Lord Acacius please–”

“My Lady,” he kneels beside you, one of his hands easily encasing both of yours. You resist every urge in your body to pull away from him, to scream, shout that you won’t allow him near you. “Your father told me, he would visit in the morning, to assure his daughter had done her duty.”

You will give him this, he looks disgusted at the prospect, those full lips pulled into a grimace as he considers you. You glance down at his hand over yours, before meeting his gaze again.

“Lord Acacius please, I was given as a child to the Temple of Minerva, I have no…no sense of the things required of a wife.”

You press forward, one of your hands leaving the captivity of his to cover it. He seems surprised at the touch, glancing down at your hand before meeting your gaze again. His eyes are beautiful, and considering him for a moment, you recall your sister’s voice.

He’s handsome sissy, you would agree.

You can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes, you do agree, he’s handsome. A part of you was jealous that she remained at home, with your mother. But after settling in the temple you knew this life would never be yours, and some small part of you…knows that hint of jealousy still lingers, somewhere deep in your mind. It would have grown a bit more seeing who she married today.

“You can learn–”

“I was given to Minerva,” you snap, a spike of your father’s rage, Acacius’ brows lift, a flash of surprise crosses his face. The hand beneath yours tensing.

“What’s done is done, and your father would sooner kill you then return you to the temple.”

His eyes darken and your shoulders slump, he’s well aware of your father’s reputation then. Well aware of the violence he so easily wielded even when not in battle.

“But you could return me–”

“I do not intend to.”

That statement leaves you bewildered, and scrambling to come up with something, anything for him to change his mind. He leans forward, in the glow of the braziers he looks otherworldly, and you can’t find your voice.

“I swear to you, I shall be a devoted husband, and I am willing to give you liberties in this union,” you consider silently, gaze going from his eyes and to his lips, “I cannot give you all the freedoms priesthood promises, but you will want for nothing.”

You bite your cheek, searching his umber eyes for any hint of a lie. His other hand comes up once more to cup your cheek. This time you do not flinch from his touch.

“I can make it pleasurable for you,” heat rises to your face as his thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “but this union must be consummated tonight, as the gods demand.”

The silence between both of you is thick, he’s right, you know he is. There is no way you will be able to return to the temple, it is either death or Acacius.

I swore to the gods, I would never commit the sin of marrying one of my girls to someone like their father.

Your mother’s words ring out in your mind, you close your eyes to stop the tears forming there, and nod.

“I need to hear you,” he whispers, he’s moved closer to your face, the warmth of his breath ghosts over your lips. “Please, my Lady.”

“I–I accept Lord Acacius, but–” you don’t know why it tumbles from your lips so freely, “but please, I don’t want it to hurt.”

His lips press to yours suddenly, your eyes snapping open at the touch. The kiss is quick, he moves on from your lips to your cheek, then jaw, ending at your neck.

You gasp as his tongue slips from between his lips, wetting the skin above your pulse. A heat rushes through you as his lips suck on the skin there, teeth nipping.

Your fingers turn to claws as they grasp at his tunic, his hands shift easily, one going to cup your head. The other around your waist pulling you against him. His lips continue their exploration of your neck, finding new bits of flesh that he attends to.

Pulling noises from you that surprise you, as a feeling courses through you, like you're hot and cold at the same time. You can feel your pulse between your legs, his mouth shifts further up your neck, Acacius pauses at your ear.

“As we are going to be husband and wife,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, his lips sending electric zaps along the cartilage. You shiver as his voice drops to a rasp, “please call me Marcus, can you do that?”

He nuzzles into the corner of your jaw, giving the skin another nip, a soft keen leaves you, as the nip sparks with a soft pain before dulling to a throb. As your fingers flex again in his tunic, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push you both apart.

He has to be doing something, must have given you something, for this–feeling, this sensation to be burning through you.

The hand at your waist is quick, fingers plucking at your sister’s belt, and it releases with a soft clink. The soft leather falls away, leaving your dress to sag, heat rises again to your cheeks and you squirm a moment.

Acacius’ hand in your hair tightens, and for a moment you fear you’ve angered him. But all he does is move lower, the tip of his nose trailing down your neck, along the path he created with his lips.

Marks of varying colors have bloomed across your skin, before stopping just above the cut of your bodice. Those deep brown eyes meet yours in silent question, you give a nod. The pulse between your thighs is growing.

He works quickly finding the folds of your dress that keep it around your shoulders and covering your breasts. The silk falls away, you move to cover yourself, only the other temple maidens, and the priestess’ had ever seen you naked.

Embarrassment fills you, should he see you, but Acacius is quick, his hands find your wrists. The short tussle sends you back onto the bed, Acacius hovering above you. He positions your hands beside your head. For a moment you consider fighting once more, thinking he intends you harm, but freeze as you see his eyes explore your newly exposed flesh. You can feel every touch of his gaze as he takes in the swell of them, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill.

“M–Marcus–ah!”

Saying his name spurs him into his next move, his face descends and he presses a kiss to your sternum, then shifting to your right breast. The scrape of his beard on your skin sends flutters of pleasure through you.

A surprised moan leaves you as his lips find your nipple, pulling the hardening bud between them, sucking lightly your body convulses. Your eyes roll, the muscles of your abdomen clench, fingers twitch digging into his knuckles as he keeps them pinned. You gasp, back arching, pressing harder into his mouth. As if your body begs for more of the sensation.

“M–Marcus,” you whimper his name as his tongue swirls around the bud, and gives it another suck, toying with it gently between his teeth. “Marcus please!”

Your mind is becoming a fog, unsure of what you’ve begun to beg for, but the pulsing between your thighs has grown almost painful, and even as Acacius switches to your other breast giving the neglected bud the same attention.

You squirm, thighs pressing together, another soft moan leaves you as the pressure gives some relief. Acacius pauses in his attention to your breast, his eyes are changed, that umber brown swallowed by the dark of his pupil. He presses kisses to the swell of your breasts, before asking, “What do you need of me my Lady?”

You whine struggling to understand his question, as your thighs writhe, you bite your lip whimpering.

“You said it wouldn’t hurt–”

“Where does it hurt?” His reaction is quick, he returns to your face pressing a kiss to the underside of your chin. “Tell me.” His breath is warm, and smells of the sweet wine he indulged in before all this.

“B–Between–” it feels foolish to say it, to mention the heat between your legs, the strange throb that’s continued to grow since he began to touch you.

“Where?” he asks again, another soft kiss to your jaw.

“Between my legs,” you whine, the writhing of your thighs no longer offering the necessary relief. You feel feverish, unwell, your stomach tightening uncomfortably. Acacius huffs a laugh against your neck, he releases your hands trailing his fingers down your arms. Over your breasts, where he pauses a moment to toy with your nipples once more.

Your body reacts back bowing, pressing yourself into his palms, Acaius hums appreciatively, before his hands delve lower. Pushing down the rest of your sister’s wedding gown, you’re left bare to him.

Again the embarrassment of it floods you, but Acaius is quick to stop you, laying on his side, he pulls you against him, one hand cupping your hip, cradling it between his legs where something rubs against you, your other hand nestled between your bodies, the other splayed to the side finding purchase in the sheets.

Acacius pauses taking his bottom lip between his teeth whilst considering you.

“I promise this will make the pain go away,” he whispers against your cheek, and you nod, half mad with the overwhelming sensations devouring every coherent thought.

“Please.” You whine, and his hand slides between your legs, a noise leaves you that’s closer to a howl than anything. The rough pads of his fingers find your clit, two circle the bud slowly, teasingly. Before pinching it between them, your hips buck into his palm. He groans softly into your hair. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, the sudden onslaught of pleasure leaving you reeling in its wake.

Only a few garbled pleas, and his name can leave your lips, it’s all your mind can remember to say. As his fingers release your clit, and return to swirling in indiscernible patterns around the sensitive bundle.

It feels like too much, the rough stroke of his finger pad against your clit, your fingers close around his wrist.

“W–Wait–” your tongue can barely form the words, it’s too much, and if he keeps touching you like this, you fear you’re going to break. A sensation you can’t name growing in your belly, the throb between your legs. The wetness there drips down your thighs, staining the sheets beneath you.

“T–too much, it’s too much.” Acacius hushes you, the muscles of his wrist flexing against your palm, as he continues his pattern. Every touch sends bolts of lightning up your spine, clouding your thoughts.

“It’s alright, let it come,” he whispers against your throat, the rasp of his beard adding another feeling that makes your body ache. Muscles bunching, toes curling, your mouth opens in a silent scream as something washes over you. Overwhelms you, your nails dig into his shoulder. He muffles a noise into your collarbone.

This must be the gods, or death, or–or something. Your body convulses, the throbbing between your legs pulses with every beat of your heart. Eyes rolling in your skull, Acacius groans as you settle. Something hard presses against your hip, but you're still caught in the undertow of whatever spell he’s placed you in.

“M–Marcus,” you whine, as his finger toys with your clit again, the feeling borders on painful, as the touch causes another throb to race through you. “Wh–what did–”

“To help with the next part,” he hums, his fingers leave between your legs. He pulls away from you. Body shivering at the loss of his warmth, the solid form of his body against yours, and you feel more exposed than ever before. A deer caught in the line of Diana’s arrow. As those soft umber eyes look over your exposed flesh, pausing at the swell of your breasts heaving with every breath. He pulls instantly at his wedding tunic, shucking the last article of clothing off.

His skin is a sun kissed tan, and scars lace across the expanse of his flesh. Swords, spears, knives. All manner of brutality has marked him, as your gaze travels lower you stop. The hardness you felt against your hip, long, with a mushroom-like head, a pearl of fluid leaking from the tip. It bobs with his breathing, veins pulse along the shaft, it looks painful. You pull your hazy gaze to meet his, and your breath hitches.

His eyes gleam in the firelight, he reminds you of the towering Jupiter, or Mars. A god made flesh, and your heart stutters as he kneels on the bed between your legs. That fear returning full force. You stumble, and scramble in the sheets. They stick to your sweat-coated skin, and you can’t escape as he settles over you.

Caging you beneath his form, you struggle, Acacius traps your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I will go slow,” he whispers, as again, tears brim along your lashes. His thumb rubs the hollow of your cheek, in an attempt to soothe. It doesn’t, as your heartbeat spikes, and your hands go to his chest weakly. His skin is rough, the scars knotted and strange against your fingers. He makes a noise low in his throat as your hands splay over his flesh.

“But–I thought–” he settles between your thighs, you look into his eyes, pleadingly, a gasp leaves you as his length brushes against your core. He grunts, and his length twitches, you feel it, sudden and foreign. You squirm, and a hand lashes out grabbing your hip to still you.

“Be still,” he whispers through clenched teeth. It’s a command and you listen, forcing your eyes closed, his hand leaves your hip to trail between your bodies. For a moment you think he only means to pleasure himself, but you tense as the head of his cock brushes against your cunt.

“Acacius what–” you're silenced by the pain, though his previous ministrations helped, he’s large. The stretch of him entering you burns, your fingernails dig into his flesh, as if that will quell the pain of him entering you.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, as all your mind can focus on is the stretch of his cock filling you. The way his length spears you, opening you, a soft whine of pain leaves you. Acacius huffs above you, the fingers beside your head curl into the sheets. He leans down forehead against your shoulder.

“So tight,” he rasps, he almost sounds to be in pain as well. You think for a moment, maybe he’ll stop, that it’s too much for him as well. But he presses on, inch by painful inch he opens your cunt. “I’m sorry.” It’s whispered to the flesh above your heart, his lips brush the skin, sending a jolt of something through you once more. Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he settles. You whimper feeling the press of his hips between your own.

“Acacius, please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for, as the uncomfortable fullness settles. You swear you can feel every part of him, the throb of his cock as it rests heavy and thick in your cunt a warm sort of pain that lingers behind your navel. His cock twitches and you jolt, Acacuis grunts above you, again that hand returns to your hips.

“Y–You must be still,” he gasps, your fingers flex, you glance down, seeing the red half moons where your nails dug into his flesh. You silently hope he felt a bit of the pain he put you through. “Tell me when it stops hurting.”

You glance up, those eyes giving you pause, he’s watching you. Taking in every wince, every hiss of breath as he remains still inside you. For a moment you consider lying, telling him it’s too much, but as you both remain there you feel it. The burn subsides, though the fullness remains.

You take your lip between your teeth considering him, the greatest General of Rome, waiting for your lead. You shift, and Acacius gasps, your cunt flutters around him. He shudders above you and his length throbs again inside you.

“D–Don’t–move,” he pants his fist clenching again on your hip, his head lowering to press his forehead to your shoulder again. A stutter of breath against your skin. “Does it still hurt?”

A whispered plea into your breast, you hesitate to answer him, fearing another onslaught of pain. His voice is soft, as his hips give a subtle thrust, “I swear my lady, I will make sure we both find our pleasures.”

A choked noise leaves you, as his pelvis grinds against your clit, your cunt walls quiver around him. Acacius gasps, his arm shakes, and you whine.

“Please–” he grunts, “tell me I can move.” His dark eyes meet yours and your lungs refuse to breathe, your heart stops beating for a moment, and the world slows. His skin shins with a layer of sweat, he’s trapped his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Move,” a whispered acceptance, Acacius takes it with fervor, pulling his hips back, your head falling back into the softness of the sheets. You feel every inch of him, every pulse of his veins as he pulls from your soaked core.

Acacius curses under his breath as he begins a steady, hard rhythm. Every thrust of his hips sends new shock waves of bliss up your spine. Your cunt flutters around his shaft, with every thrust he seems to plunge deeper.

Your legs shift, thighs settling on the solid form of his hips, the movement making you tighten. Acacius gasps, you feel it, another pulse of his cock. He grunts a hand moving from beside your head to between your bodies. Fingers finding your clit again, you keen, toes curling as another wave threatens to overwhelm you.

“Are you close?” He huffs, his hips continue in their thrusting, his fingers dance along your clit. Your eyes can hardly focus on the man straining above you, all you can offer is another high pitched moan, your hips beginning to rise to meet his thrusts.

Acacius groans again, his arm shaking as he pistons into you with a gratuitous fervor, the sounds of your coupling fill the room. Your skin shines with sweat, as does his, those eyes meet yours as he grits his teeth.

His fingers press against your clit, and his cock thrusts so deep inside of you that for a moment you see stars. Your body stills, you forget to breathe for a moment, you think a scream of his name leaves you, as your back arches pressing into Acacius who shouts.

Your cunt quivers around his length, you feel a warmth as his cock throbs inside of you. Both of you remain still, breath returning in soft pants as your vision returns to you. Acaius huffs above you, his hair, once well styled is mussed about his face. But you think distantly that it suits him, he leans down pressing his forehead to your chest.

For a moment you wonder if you will have to remain like this, until with a slow movement Acacius pulls from you. A whine leaves you, as he pulls from your cunt.

You lay on the bed, eyes closed, sweat cooling uncomfortably on your skin. None of your muscles wish to work, and you don’t sense Acacius still in the room.

You’re shocked to feel…disappointment worming its way into your mind, after everything you should be grateful that he’s left you be.

But you’re surprised again as his footfalls sound, with a tired blink you open your eyes and glance up. Acacius has put on a robe, and he kneels beside the bed with a rag, he takes his time cleaning you.

It reminds you, for a moment, of the baths in the Temple where you would clean, and help clean other initiates. His hands are careful as he reaches between your thighs, noticing you tense he’s gentle. Careful of your still sensitive core the roughness of the rag makes you whine, hips bucking away from it. His hand steady's you as he works.

The rag cleans away the wetness that drenches your thighs, and butt. He finishes his cleaning, and then moves to lift you from the edge of the bed to the middle, carefully tucking you into the soft sheets. Your body doesn’t respond to anything, not even the want to help him does it respond, until he turns to leave.

“Marcus,” your voice is soft, unsure, but he stops and turns looking at you, “aren’t you…going to stay?”

His eyes seem to lighten at the question, he bows his head, “Would you like me to?”

You nod, and he relaxes moving back to the bed he settles in beside you, careful not to move you too much. You don’t mind it though, you notice that his sheets smell of jasmine. You huddle into the sheets, staring at the general silently.

And you consider…this marriage my not be one of love…but maybe…of equals.

#marcus acacias x reader #general marcus acacius x reader #marcus acacius x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #gladiator ii

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8-evil-annoying-catboys · 2 days ago

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also, something crucially important is that you can let go of what someone did without forgiving them. functionally, it’s practically identical to forgiving someone who you don’t keep in your life anymore (be that by your choice, theirs, or merely circumstances), bc it’s only in your own head either way. you’re not going to hit this person up to say you forgive them if you don’t want to keep that connection open, and you’re not going to hit them up to say you’ve moved on and you’re letting go, either. the only difference, truly, is that choosing to let go instead of forgive the other person centers YOU over them.

if someone isn’t in your life anymore, it doesn’t really matter to them if you privately and internally forgive them or not, nor does it matter to them if you let go or hold on. it can’t matter to them when they can’t know what your decision is. when people say you need forgiveness for your peace, what they actually mean is that you need to let go of what happened and not hold on to anger or pain or sorrow. but forgiveness isn’t necessary to let go of all that stuff.

i’ll never forgive my first two exes for what they did to me, one of them having been overtly abusive (to the point that after breaking up with me, she manipulated my next gf into breaking up with me too so she could lure me back in, and it worked) and the other having been more mild than her younger counterpart but she was simply 18 dating a 14-year-old and expecting her 14-year-old partner to act her age, which was 4 years older than my age at that time. both of these girls, now women, hurt me immensely. and i still have work to do to uncover exactly how much they hurt me and what i can do to keep their effect on me from affecting others around me, through me… but i HAVE let go. i can’t hold that anger and pain and sorrow from 10 years ago anymore. i can’t change the fact that they did what they did to me. i can only tell myself that i refuse to let them continue holding power over me, and release that power by letting go of what they did and their presence in my mind. i did this quite a while ago, when one of them texted me a long rambly message and, instead of telling her how fucked up she was for dating someone 4 years younger than her at 18 and expecting me to act like someone her age, i just told her she had the wrong number and then blocked her. this was about 5 years ago now. at that moment i realised that i didn’t want to be miserable like that. she had held onto whatever hurt she got out of our relationship for like 5 years at that point, to the point she couldn’t be in the room when a movie we both used to love came on and restrain herself from sending me a text, wailing as a wounded animal. i didn’t want that kind of future.

i still think about them both, but i’m over being miserable about it. i have shit to unpack but when i’m done, i’ll be done. i’m not trying to wallow in that. THAT’S what letting go and protecting your peace is about. that’s the core of it. you can choose to forgive them, or you can choose not to, but you can’t wallow in your pain. it’s hard, but you have to let it go. it’ll only burn you more if you hold on.

it’s not about forgiveness. that part is completely optional. it’s about release

Think I used to get bogged down in “do I forgive this person” “do I even out the scales” “should I stand my ground” but really the question I should be asking is “what would be better for me” bc really. What would be better for me in the long term. What would stay true to my self respect and boundaries and values? What would provide the best outcome? What would make the most of our time? Sometimes that’s forgiveness and sometimes it’s not and I don’t think either route is necessarily morally superior to the other so long as it minimizes harm and is fair while also prioritizing your happiness

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izvmimi · 2 days ago

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momentum - izuku x reader

cw: very slightly canon divergent. post-chapter 431. friends to situationship to lovers. missed connection. angst with eventual happy ending. original character(s). bakugou as perhaps too good (and too bad) of a friend, but remains platonic. reader went to med school. selfship-coded. female!reader. alcohol mention. a/n: part 1 of likely 2. 3.1k words.

For what is worth, despite all the years you’ve spent trying to give Katsuki a taste of his own medicine, he’s grown to be a trusted and dear friend of yours, which tonight just may turn out to be his biggest mistake.

He’s been at this bar with you for close to an hour by now, and while you’d stumbled in here haughtily, acting as though you weren’t the one demanding to see him well after work hours (it’s nearing 9:30pm, close to his bedtime for a Thursday night, and he had to leave his house for this), now you’ve slumped onto the bar counter, your eyes looking directly ahead, a pout on your face.

Your eyes shine wet in the dim light but you haven’t explicitly cried yet, but he knows it’s coming. You’re one of the most dramatic women he’s ever known - save for your friend that he’s rather uncomfortably fond of - and even the reason why you’re out together is a sign of that.

You sip the last of a Long Island Iced Tea through a straw dejectedly, then turn to him.

“Kacchan…”

He braces himself, taking his last swig of beer, knowing that when you use his friend’s childhood moniker, it only precedes a ridiculous statement.

You bring a finger onto the counter and trace a circle onto the hardwood before looking at him and a shiver practically runs down his spine.

“Yes?”

“Am I ugly?”

He groans, and you sit up quickly and pout. “Is that a yes?!”

He rolls his eyes and does not bother to answer, instead focusing on a group across the bar that appears to have recognized him. Secretly, he hopes no one will ask him for an autograph, having recently been told to work on his demeanor while in the general public, but he’s already starting to develop a headache between you and Izuku asking him to come out to talk.

“You’re not ugly,” he says, flatly.

You don’t seem satisfied by this answer. Pressing further, you lean in a bit closer.

“Okay, well what if we-”

Katsuki’s eyes immediately narrow as he picks up on your intention. “No.”

He can practically see your cheeks darken in the dim light as, flustered, you fire back, your hands on your hips as you balance on the barstool.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

He raises his eyebrows and you lower your voice then slump back onto the counter. “Fine, be that way.”

Katsuki’s limit has finally been reached.

“Okay, listen to me right now.”

You look up at him and he’s annoyed enough that you actually feel embarrassed, running your hand through your hair. You’re being unreasonable, whiny, pouty even, all because a man you’ve pretended not to like for nearly a decade actually believed you and considered moving on with someone else. Katsuki is gracious enough to have tolerated your whining this far, but perhaps this might have been the last straw, and you’d deserve it.

“One, I’m not going to fuck you to make Izuku jealous, firstly because I’m not interested, secondly because YOU’RE not interested and thirdly because I’m not taking a rain check on a future ass-beating when the two of you do eventually get together.”

Your mouth opens and he raises a finger.

“Shut up for a second, let me finish.” You bite your lip but nod, and he continues.

“Two, both of you need to talk to each other, not to me.”

Your eyes flutter. “What has he been saying?”

Katsuki’s eyes open widely and you let that thought die, curiosity truly being the killer of many cats, and potentially you. He continues further.

“Three, we’re leaving, you’re drunk and pissing me off.”

With that Katsuki gets up and you drag yourself off of your own chair, his stern gaze on you somehow steadying you better than an actual hand on your shoulder would. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you remember that you have to make sure not to look upset or too drunk lest the two of you end up in the tabloids, the same way Izuku and Ochaco’s mere handshake in the square ended up in the tabloids and messed up your entire week.

Despite this, Katsuki steps aside for you to walk in front of him, his hands in his pockets as you walk out.

…when the two of you eventually do get together.

How can he be so sure, you think?

You should ask, but you don’t. Instead, you get into the passenger seat of his car and buckle before Katsuki can tell you to.

You can’t stop thinking about Izuku and Ochaco together. A date last weekend with a so-called investment banker with an ego bigger than his financial portfolio didn’t help, calling your mother and your female best friend and venting your feelings didn’t help, and you’re not sure this particular conversation with Katsuki is helping at all.

Although he seems to know something you don’t know, and always has, ever since he asked you about your own very blatant crush on his friend.

You have to tell him first.

Katsuki had maintained this while you oversaw one of his last physiotherapy sessions years ago. All you had asked was an innocuous question about Izuku, and Katsuki had surprised you by telling you it was time to make your intentions clear, that way you could ask those questions yourself. Natural dispersion after graduation had made it easier for you to lose touch from the others, especially since you’d chosen not to go the route of joining hero agencies, so it wasn’t an unreasonable question, and you’d felt quite taken aback.

But he had a point, and you’d taken the point enough that you’d reached out to Midoriya that evening enough to become friends. Friends enough that you knew everyone of his students’ names by heart, even if that offer as UA’s part-time school nurse is still pending, friends enough that his mother calls you for every ache and pain or just to say hello, friends enough that tubs of ice cream in the flavor only he likes are taking up valuable space in the freezer.

Friends, but you know what his lips feel like still when you’d ‘kissed’ and quickly wrote it off as a desperate use of your quirk.

Friends, but here you were lamenting because if he wanted you, he had to be the one to tell you first.

And clearly that hasn’t worked out for the best.

“Why haven’t you told me to get over him yet?” you ask Katsuki finally, breaking the silence in the car. Your voice is soft, perhaps the depressive effects of alcohol setting in.

He keeps his eyes focused on the road.

A few days ago, he and Izuku were at the same bar, and Izuku was asking him for advice.

“I feel nervous, like I’m forgetting something crucial.” Izuku pauses, takes another sip of beer. “I haven’t talked to a girl in years that way and I just-”

Katsuki frowns at the thought. Even then he’d felt guilty - something about offering his friend relationship tips knowing full well how much you love him while keeping your mouth firmly shut feels wrong, but it’s of your own accord.

It shouldn’t come from him, he decides. If his friend shoots his shot at the wrong hoop, it’s not on him. And after all, even if he’s convinced himself that you are perfect for each other, what does he know?

And yet you look at him expectantly and he frowns.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should move on,” Katsuki says. He watches your face visibly pucker and his eyes shift back to the road.

—

“Can you delay any longer?” your friend asks you, leaning in over a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The way her breasts look in her low cut nightie is distracting even to you, so you can’t imagine how Katsuki felt when he shoved your inebriated self into her arms for safekeeping, leaving without much more than a grumble but a clearly protracted look away from her face. You tuck the idea of teasing him away for safekeeping in the corner of your mind and answer your friend’s question at hand.

“I think I’m just going to say no,” you offer, stirring your own hot chocolate. You’ve mostly sobered up by now, but the discomfort is still there now that it’s out in the open.

Maybe you should move on, you repeat Katsuki’s words in your head.

Considering that you’ve been in love with the same boy for almost half your life, you doubt it’ll come easy.

“Just because of him?” your friend exclaims. “___!”

“Don’t get your tits all in disarray, it’s not just because of him,” you lie frankly. “I’ve been hesitating for a while and it’s probably too distracting to have too many gigs all at once. After all, your company still uses me for consulting and I have the clinic and I’ve considered getting on the field…” you trail off as she raises an eyebrow, shockingly reminiscent of your surlier friend from earlier today.

She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. But then a couple moments pass, and she smiles again.

“Okay but did they look good though?”

You give her an annoyed look but her smile is so genuine your frown cracks and you end up giggling.

“Amazing, actually, I know Mr. ‘Routine and Discipline’ is not going to sleep at a reasonable time tonight.”

She blushes and you laugh.

Crawling into bed together later that night, you find yourself staring at the ceiling a little too long.

“Stop thinking about him,” she hisses without even turning. “Or I’ll send you home before you put bad energy into my house. Ran out of sage.”

You sigh loudly, then wrap your arms a little too tightly around her shoulders.

“You’re right! And speaking of bad energy, just so you don’t hear this misconstrued from someone else, I did ask ‘Bold and Brash’ if he would help participate in revenge fucking and-”

You don’t finish your sentence, promptly kicked out of bed, which has you bursting into louder laughter.

“He said no, very quickly, might I add.”

“He should have said yes, what a missed opportunity,” your friend says, but she leans over to help you back in, knowing you would never have meant it in the slightest.

You nuzzle your face into her back cloyingly. “He was very upset, probably thinking about you the whole time.”

You can practically feel her rolling her eyes into the back of her head but she doesn’t push you away and soon, you both doze off.

—

Two weeks have passed since the UA reunion and it’s blatantly obvious to Izuku that you are actively avoiding him.

In the first week, he’d been foolish enough to think something was truly wrong, that perhaps something awful had happened to you that he’d be the first one to notice, sending increasingly more concerned texts after many hours then days passed before you bothered to return his message, culminating in him showing up at your doorstep with fried chicken and the sparkling soda you prefer over beer in hand.

An update to your Instagram story with your best friend from the inside of your apartment he no longer had access to made it quite clear that you were busy entertaining anything but him.

Katsuki had reassured him nothing was wrong with your phone, saying nothing more to him to assuage the situation. Izuku had found this suspicious, but wasn’t sure exactly what to say to him that sounded any more substantial and non-whiny as the simple words:

Why won’t she talk to me?

In the second week, Izuku would find himself a bit too concerned with every one of your social media updates, his stomach in knots as he watches your bright smile in video after video, old and new, the sight of his own face and voice far too frequent in your archives only worsening the firm twist in his intestines.

He didn’t realize how close the two of you truly were until suddenly you were no longer.

He could delude himself into believing that you were simply just that busy, but no one is, not you who naturally makes time for anyone you love no matter how busy your schedule gets. When his thoughts drift to the foreign arm in some of your most recent pics, he’s quick to slip some sneakers on and go for a run and as more days go by it’s harder and harder to outrun his thoughts.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion, one he intentionally gave up when it came to you years ago.

When you finally respond to his messages with something clear, direct and painful in its professionalism stating that you appreciate him caring for you all this time but for now you may need some space, something lying deep within his chest feels far uglier than jealousy but far more vulnerable and tender than the smallest of newborn babes.

…

Four weeks pass, and he’s sitting with Ochaco over afternoon coffee, who is gushing over an admittedly gorgeous woman she’s met at a civilian safety conference, and Izuku encourages her to make the trip to Australia to meet her. By the end of their second date, they’d found that there was not much in common aside from collective trauma, and a kiss on the cheek had enticed more, but their lips meeting had felt wrong, and arms wrapped around each other had felt bulky and awkward. Comforting somewhat, but more like a hug between siblings than anything else and clearly lacking passion.

Izuku, optimistic as always, may have imagined that it might have gotten better over time, but Ochaco had quickly said what they were both thinking.

“That wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

The good humor in her voice made it impossible to be embarrassed but it was clear romance would not be in the cards for the two of them.

Izuku woke up the next morning with the sensation of his lips tingling, remembering the spark of your Quirk coursing through the length of his body, and everything he’s been trying to deny as the reality of his situation, crashes into him at once.

—

Today, you have the genuine blessing of being on a date and this man genuinely, in no uncertain terms, sucks ass.

“Naturally if you invest in stock in these three venues, there is no possible way your financial profile won’t grow, but I understand that this might be a difficult topic for someone such as yourself,” he starts, and you raise an eyebrow, but he continues to wax poetic about investment schemes that start to sound suspiciously close to insider trading, and you instead let your eyes glaze over, a piece of bread dipped in oil stuffed in your mouth.

Perhaps you just have remarkably bad taste.

When the two of you part ways, and you plan to immediately never see him again, you’re quickly texting your friend the beats of the date, a to-go bag hanging on your forearm as you let the train take you home.

“I think I’m going to give up on dating completely because I feel like at this point this is a sign. You know he expected me to pay the bill and said, verbatim, I “make enough” per my profile so I should consider taking him out to show I’m different from the rest of the other girls he’s considering talking to. Mind you, this is the same guy trying to give me a finance 101 lesson I didn’t ask for an entire hour.”

The elaboration comes on a Facetime call, as you kick off your heels and pull down your updo, a bobby pin dropping and bouncing on your apartment floor and out of reach. She grimaces as you bend over to look.

“And let me guess, you actually paid.”

You rise up and scoff.

“What was I supposed to do? Argue? I was trying to get out of there.” You sigh. “I’m soooooooooooooo sick of going on these dates,” you insist.

“I mean the easy solution to this is to… I dunno, perhaps tell one freckled dumbass that you actually care about him.”

There’s a quick pause in the conversation before you quickly reply, “I told you this was a forbidden topic,” then add, “Especially since I literally don’t.”

Your friend sighs then mimes flicking at the screen of her phone. “Shut up. A month is enough time to persist on this tsundere act. If you didn’t have any feelings this stonewalling would be completely meaningless by now… In fact, I’m tired of supporting it!”

“Well, it’s not like you’re having to do anything.” You’re rolling your eyes as you reach for makeup wipes.

“Do you know exactly how hard it is to be mean to Midoriya? Not all of us have scorn to carry us through.”

You look away from the mirror to glare at her for a moment, and she grimaces, then double downs.

“Don’t act like I’m not right.”

You go back to washing your face, then look at her again.

“All I’m saying is it takes a conversation. You love him and from the looks of how hard he’s trying to get into your good graces again, calling both me and Katsuki-”

“How’s he, by the way?” you interject.

“We weren’t talking about me,” is her flat response.

“We are now, lovebutt,” you insist after a splash of water onto your face. Your friend gives you a long look, then tells you she’ll speak to you later when you’re sensible and you laugh as she disappears off the screen.

She’s just as flighty as you are, you think.

Contrary to popular belief (literally just your own expectations), a month without Midoriya is harder than you anticipated. The very towel you dry your face with right now was bought for you as a gift from a toiletry specialty shop on one of his missions, extra soft and delicate enough that it’s one of your favorites, and as you pad through your apartment, you subconsciously take notes of all the things in your apartment that are either his or touched by him.

An extra pair of dress shoes in the genkan from when he fell asleep on your couch despite having class the next day, an unnecessary precaution; the slightly imperfect hanging of your medical school graduation photo he’d helped you with; stuffed animals on your couch you’d won on multiple outings together over the past decade; scratch paper in a small box below your coffee table from his impromptu long-winded stories to help you keep track.

Perhaps this is a testament to the fact that you were always far too emotionally reliant on him, even if he doesn’t love you the way you love him, and perhaps you should work on clearing your home.

But that’s an issue for tomorrow’s you to handle, you tell yourself as you crawl into bed and indulge yourself in a book.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes #mimi writes: momentum #cw angst #cw alcohol

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starsandsuch · 3 days ago

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Some notes on Chitra 💎🍡🐅

The 14th Nakshatra. It’s ruled by Mars and is the bridge between sidereal Virgo and Libra. Being contained between 23.20 degrees Virgo and 6.40 degrees Libra.

Deity: Tvastar the celestial architect

Their symbol is a Jewel/Pearl. Some sources would say it’s symbolized as a diamond as well. Their yoni is a female tiger.

This can apply to Sun, moon, Ascendant, lagnesh or Atmakaraka in Chitra. Honorable mention ketu in Chitra.

Here are some observations I’ve made about them:

↠ They look good on camera.

↠ Usually have thick defined eyebrows.

↠ They’re one to obsess over their appearance in a very thorough way.

↠ They have round eyes that look glossy like marbles. Their face is heart shaped.

↠ At a certain point they learn people like looking at them; as many find them physically attractive. They’re not one hide away from that gaze of others, but embrace the attention that comes with being attractive.

↠ They love attention and being the center of things.

↠ They hate having body hair. Many opt to getting laser: permanent hair removal. Ironically enough a lot of them tend to be genetically very hairy.

↠ Even Chitra men hate having body hair. My Chitra guy friend used to shave his legs and I thought it way so weird for a (straight) guy to do that??.😭

↠ Chitra women are thicc. They usually have full hips and big butt.

↠ Fun fact: when I used to do astrology readings , I offered a reading where I’d describe your physical appearance based on your birth chart , and literally every single person who bought that reading had Chitra Sun, moon or ascendant. Mainly ascendant though.

↠ They are good at orchestrating drama. They highkey love drama.

↠ They live for controversy/ creating controversy

↠ Being the conductor of the drama then being the one to try to fix it , is a classic Chitra trope to me.

↠ They actually have a masterful talent of orchestration of drama but never get caught or blamed for it.

↠ They know how to be manipulative of social narratives. They know how to act or say things in order to get a certain reaction from others.

↠ This why they make good lawyers, bc during prosecution you have to make the defendant person look guilty through power of suggestion & insinuation. And put that seed of doubt in the jury’s mind based on their line of questioning. Basically indirectly accusing them without saying it directly.

↠ They’re naturally passive aggressive. They can display the mask of cordiality but secretly plot of someone’s downfall.

↠ They can poke and prod people to get an emotional or angry emotion out of them.

↠ A lot of them are very critical and judgmental. They can be judgmental towards family members especially.

↠ One thing I’ve see with Chitra that no one ever talks about is how good they are at predicting social trends. They usually know about /do something a few years before it’s popular.

↠ I sense they’re good at trend forecasting since Libra naturally has Aquarius in their 5th house. 5th house= talents, Aquarius= the future. So they have a talent for predicting the future.

↠ Two examples of this:

↠ #1 Kim Kardashian (who has Chitra Sun) and her affinity for social media was ahead of its time. Her long-hair-bbl-aesthetic was arguably the first prototype in the copy paste look you see on Instagram.

↠ Also when I watched KUWTK , in a 2012 episode she had a selfie book, and would take selfies with a mini LED light attached to her DSLR camera. Now it’s the norm to have mini lighting equipment in your purse. But she had that even before iPhones were that mainstream.

↠ #2 Soulja Boy (who has Chitra moon) is a known pioneer with music artists/social media. He was one of the 1st to have an online image as a rapper / go viral /have a viral dance for a hit song etc. Basically that formula is the mainstream strategy for success in the music industry in present day. But he did all that in like 2008 before iPhones/IG/tiktok etc.

↠ They will thrive in any career where you have to curate the aesthetics of something. Being a stylist, decorator, image consultant are all very Chitra-like.

↠ These natives are good at making money. Any Chitra person I’ve known IRL is good at money management or they are wealthy. 💰

↠ They’re good at party planning or event planning.

↠ I’ve also seen this be a successful social media influencer Nakshatra. They will post on socials and in a relatively “short” time gain a lot of engagement/followers etc.

↠ They seem to be always on the pulse of social trends/ pop culture etc

↠ They love dressing up as different personas, they are good at impersonating people. They like to personify different cultures through their aesthetic.

↠ They attract very aggressive people as partners.

↠ Libra naturally has their 7th house in Aries so they attract people with Martian energy. Aggressive, straightforward, blunt, controlling.

↠ They have a spouse that is a different ethnicity than them. Likely to be in an interracial relationship.

↠ A lot of them are very intelligent and get high marks in school, some even be valedictorian, magna cumlaude, summa cumlaude etc.

↠ Many get involved in politics or law.

↠ They are social climbers

↠ They love to argue.

↠ The especially like bantering. They’ll be sports commentators, podcaster, fashion critic, pop culture critic, etc.

↠ They get over things quickly. They don’t dwell on the past and let that hold them back from future endeavors. They’re always trying to achieve something new.

#astrology #vedic astrology #chitra #sidereal libra #venusian #sidereal virgo #astro observations #astrology observations #starsandsuch #2024

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velvetvexations · 3 days ago

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[CW for mentions of rape, murder, assault and forced pregnancy/birth. Nothing detailed.]

Gonna be real for a moment. I hate every single person who says "trans men (or transmascs) benefit from misogyny/the patriarchy". I hate all of them so much.

Like. Tell that to the trans men who went through FGM. Tell that to the trans men who were married off at 13 and had three kids before even reaching adulthood. The trans boys who died giving birth because of that. Tell that to the trans men and boys who were murdered by their parents and husbands because they showed signs of not being an obedient, submissive (future) wife and mother. Tell that to the trans men who have been "correctively" raped upon coming out, or even just showing signs of not being the "perfect women" they should be. Tell that to the trans men who have been impregnated to force them to detransition. Tell that to the trans men who aren’t allowed to leave the house without a hijab on. Tell that to the trans men who aren’t allowed to speak, go out, do anything without their husbands' supervision or permission. Tell them. Tell them how much they’re benefitting from the patriarchy and misogyny.

But I forgot only white trans men from western countries who’re perfectly accepted by everyone around them and pass the second they come out, and also somehow don’t have and never had a uterus or vagina or at least not any of the problems that often come with that, exist and we’re only allowed to speak on the misogyny in other places as if all people affected by it are cis women, because we all know transmasculinity and being non-binary were invented by white women and girls AFABs TMEs to feel ~*special*~ and it’s not actually a real thing outside of western countries (my best friend doesn’t exist and all…). And just mentioning that some of the people in those countries affected by those laws might not be cis women is horribly misogynistic and means you don’t care for women.

And I’m sick of acting like any of that implies anything about the treatment of trans women. Trans men and trans women aren’t opposites. Two things can be true at once, for fucks sake. Trans men and women can be, even are, in fact, treated horribly at the same fucking time, and both of these things are important to talk about. Talking about the shit that happens to trans men does not mean "so none of that happens to trans women" or "and what trans women go through is nothing in comparison", it just means "this happens to trans men." And that is a full statement.

Not every conversation about trans men needs to include trans women, just like not every conversation about trans women needs to include trans men; same with non-binary people. These are separate but overlapping conversations; and yes you need all of them to understand transphobia as a whole, but trans men talking about their problems isn’t taking anything away from anyone. Fuck.

I'm so mad. Sorry for the long rant. I block anyone on sight who makes these stupid takes but there’s still always more for some reason. It’s exhausting.

I'm sorry anon. <3 I know how frustrating it is.

#transandro phobia #cw rape #cw pregnancy

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tea-and-secrets · 1 day ago

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My apologies for the length.

My girlfriend's dad is an absolute bastard who disowned her for dating me because we met online and he's convinced I'm a scammer (I have never asked her for money and never would, and she's never given any to me). I'm a fucking adult who owns his own business and pays taxes. I don't need her, or anyone's, money.

I'm a diagnosed sociopath (ASPD). He doesn't know this. She does. She's cool with it. I'm good at acting normal around people because I've had about a decade of therapy now, but she's seen me at some pretty low points and is aware of what I'm capable of and still loves me. (Note: This is not a "I can fix him" situation. I'm still working on myself actively, and I am not using her as my therapist. Also noting that I've never hurt her in any way/shape/form. She's seen my behaviour towards other people, she's never been subject to any of my episodes).

She's starting university soon at a prestigious uni, and he's going to ruin her life and her future because he's angry at me for stealing his little girl and think she's too stupid and naive to make her own decisions in life and decide who she wants to date. He doesn't like me because I'm a man and she's only ever dated women previously.

She's the kindest, sweetest little thing. He's an absolute bastard who has abused her all of her life and she's so, so forgiving and she still was trying to forgive him and build a good relationship with him up until this despite all the hell he's put her through. He doesn't deserve her. He doesn't deserve her love or her dedication, he doesn't deserve a relationship with her after how much he's hurt her and fucked her up, he doesn't deserve to be in the life of someone so incredibly good. He has given her so many mental issues and I shouldn't have to be the man to show her how to love herself. That was his job.

He should've been a good dad and taught her to stay far away from men like me. But I'm gonna do my best to make sure she never goes another fucking day feeling like she isn't loved.

I know where he lives. I'm not going to hurt him but I am a mechanic and am going to fuck up his stupid fucking truck in about two year's time when this has all blown over and he forgets about me. I don't even care if I'm still dating her by then, he just deserves it because he's that big of a bastard. I'll slash his sidewalls, I'll key his doors and guards, I'll drop his tailgate and take the fucking thing off and put it in the back of my truck and ditch in a ditch somewhere on a county line backroad where he'll never find it. I'm gonna wage psychological warfare on this dogcunt by leaving mangoes on his fucking doorstep on the first Monday of every month for 6 years and then stop one day and just when he thinks he's safe I'm gonna break his truck window and leave a smashed mango on the driver's seat.

20/10/24

#long post #abuse #abuse mention

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chaotic-orphan · 2 days ago

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Whumpuary No. 3

Choice // storm // black eye

Whumpee was an idiot. She was a stupid, dumb, idiot and now she was going to die and it was all her stupid fault. They warned against women on ships, they said it was bad luck, but did she listen? Hmm? Did she actually heed the warnings and ill omens?! No!

She dressed as a boy, cut her hair short, wrapped thick bandages to suppress her chest — not that she had a lot of ampleness to her bosom — but still! Maybe if she had more than an appropriate level of bosom, she wouldn’t have played with the boys when she was a child, and would have worn pretty dresses and not ripped and ruined them climbing trees, or chasing cats in the forest and her brain would never have been filled with the temptation of the sea and now she was—

A strong wave cut into the ship and she was flung starboard, her sea legs failing her while her brain turned over and over on itself again because… she swallowed as she pushed herself into a standing. All of these men, the brothers she had got to know while working as part of the crew, she doomed them all.

She doomed them all.

“Whumpee?” Whumpee’s head snapped in the direction of the door. She didn’t hear it open in the storm. Caretaker stood in the doorway, his crystal eyes wide as he took her in. She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and let him hold her while she apologised for bringing this storm upon them. “Whumpee… what are you doing down here?”

“This storm,” Whumpee said with bright eyes and a startled gasp. “It’s—” she grabbed her chest, the bandages suddenly too tight as a searing ache cut through her chest. She longed to cut through the blasted things and breathe properly for the first — and possibly the last time. “Oh gods. I did this… I brought this storm upon us.”

“What’re you talking about?” Caretaker demanded. “Whumpee, no man can control the weather nor the seas.”

Oh, she wanted to reply, oh that was true. No man could influence anything on something as tumultuous as the sea except a woman with her iron will, and her wiles that the skies and storms like to punish for daring to venture too far away from the life of parasols and proposals.

“I did—” Whumpee said, her inhales becoming more frantic and then another jostle of the ship and she was thrown forwards this time. Caretaker caught her, hands on her shoulders and pushed her to her standing, shaking her slightly.

“Whumpee! Now is not the time to lose your steadfastness. Trust the captain, trust me, have we ever steered this ship wrong?”

Whumpee’s chest loosened slightly. “No,” she said, looking up at him from below the rim of her hat.

Caretaker beamed his handsome smile down at her that made her heart quicken for an entirely different reason than panic. Something sweeter, something her sister Anne talked about when she started to court her future husband.

“Keep your balance low in your hips, drop your weight to your feet. Keep your eyes steady on the horizon and we’ll survive this.”

“Yes sir,” Whumpee said with a smile and a salute.

“Good,” Caretaker beamed. “Now, Captain said we have to—”

“PIRATES!”

Their expressions wiped clean from their faces, mirroring the horror on the other’s face. Caretaker frowned. “Pirates in a storm… that… it doesn’t—” he trailed off and then his head snapped up, eyes focused on Whumpee’s. “The Black Dread.”

Whumpee lurched forward when Caretaker turned and bolted up the stairs to the deck. “The what?!” She cried after him. She only barely caught herself on the door frame when the next wave struck the hull but then she smelled the gunpowder in the air and she blanched. She sprinted up the stairs after Caretaker and onto the chaos of the surface.

Winds howled, pulling at her hat and clothes, carrying the screams and orders barked around the ship but Whumpee wasn’t looking for an order to follow she was searching the sea with her sharp gaze. She didn’t see any sign of pirates.

Her eyes found Caretaker’s distinctive first mate jacket and took off after him over the deck, ignoring the shouts from her fellow crew mates to help tie the sails and secure the masts and life lines. She didn’t have a life line, either did Caretaker.

She didn’t think as she raced after him, up to the quarterdeck. He was speaking frantically, gesturing to the captain who had taken control of the helm. Captain’s eyes widened at Caretaker’s words that Whumpee couldn’t hear. A bang to the stern and Whumpee whirled on her feet.

It was hard to see in the mist and the fog, but she could’ve sworn she saw a glimmer of clear weather behind them. In the opposite direction than what they were sailing.

She ran up to the helm and interrupted their conversation. “Captain! We have to turn around!”

Both men’s heads snapped down to Whumpee.

“Who do you think you are, boy?!” Captain gruffed. Caretaker caught Whumpee’s gaze over the Captain’s shoulder and shook his head in warning.

“Please, Cap’n. I saw a ray of sun towards the stern, sir. If we turn around now we can outrun the storm and not—” another blow jostled the ship, but it didn’t stop after the wave struck. The sound of screams and creaking wood behind her drew Whumpee’s gaze.

The main mast creaked and groaned, threatening to split in half and fall onto the deck. “CLEAR THE DECK!” Captain ordered frantically. “All hands to the quarterdeck now!”

“Captain, it’s the dread—”

“Aye, I know who the blasted devil is,” Captain snapped. His steel gaze found Whumpee’s. He started to furiously turn the ship around until they were 180 degrees and sailing with the wind. “But soiling our britches won’t solve any of our problems, Caretaker, will they?” He gruffed.

Caretaker nodded resolute, his eyes slid behind Whumpee, then to Whumpee directly before he took off. “Whumpee,” Caretaker commanded. “With me. We’ll loose the sails.”

“You better be right, Whumpee.” Captain said as they turned and disappeared down the stairs, running through the throng of sailors and crewmen who were ascending the stairs. “By the Gods, Whumpee” Captain grimaced. “You better be right.”

A strong hand, big enough to encase Whumpee’s upper arm stopped her in her tracks. Whumpee’s eyes went to the owner. It was Struman, her bunk mate, his eyes hard. “Where’re ya going? Cap’n said to—”

Caretaker was at the bottom of the stairs and climbing the ladders to the sails. “We have to unfurl the sails, we’re sailing out of this storm. Caretaker’s orders.”

Struman nodded stiffly. He released Whumpee’s arm and gestured for three other crew men to follow him while the rest retreated to safety. Whumpee ran to the main sail on the starboard side and began to climb. She was small, swift and agile, her hands already calloused before she joined the crew. She wasn’t like Anne or any of her sisters with soft, dainty hands. And it was a good thing in a storm like this, giving her grip so she didn’t blow away. Her masculine muscles keeping her strong and steady as she ran across the beam and began to unknot the ropes securing the sail.

Caretaker was crouched down opposite her. He flashed her a handsome, charming smile as his ropes came undone. The salt and sea spray mixed with the rain and the wind pulling at his shirt and hair made him look more attractive than Whumpee thought a man needed to look. Why couldn’t she be pretty like Anne? Would he smile at her like that if she would act like a good wife?

Oh blasted! That’s not what she should be thinking about at a time like this! Her hands worked quickly and the sail unfurled down, material rippling against the wind as it shucked down and immediately caught the wind. She glanced back at Caretaker and sighed a sigh that was stolen by the wind. It wasn’t her fault he consumed her thoughts like that, she thought looking at him, Caretaker looked like a God of the sea, with his tanned skin from so many days spent in the sun on the ship.

Another crack against the sky and Whumpee flinched. Caretaker ran by her. A hand brushed hers. “Come on! To the deck.”

She turned and followed him. She would follow him anywhere, she realised as the wind caught his shirt and sent it billowing. He turned and dropped to the first rung of the rope ladder and looked up at her, his smile golden and Whumpee melted a little.

Then his gorgeous eyes flashed with a horrible, terrible danger and he screamed her name, but Whumpee didn’t hear it over the crashing sound behind her. The crack ripped through the sky. The mast wobbled and she slipped on the wood. She screamed as the mast turned and toppled. She grabbed a rope but it slipped through her fingers and she cursed as she fell. A strong hand grabbed hers as her feet slipped from the wood and were falling with nothing below her but the sea.

She screamed as her wrist snapped against her arm and her descent was halted. Caretaker. He… Whumpee was swung into the rope ladder and she cried out, gasping as it stole the wind from her chest.

“Caretaker!” Captain? Whumpee couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the clouds that roared like an angered beast; over the sound of the crack of canons; over the rushing sound of blood in her ears. “THE LADDER!”

But it was too late. The mast dislodged. The rope attached and it was falling. Whumpee and Caretaker tried to hold on as much as possible, shifting, trying to get to the deck but the mast fell too far out and they were dangling above the sea.

“Whumpee!” Caretaker screamed as her grip faltered. “Whumpee! Let go!” He ordered.

Let go.

Just… just let go.

Why wasn’t she letting go?

If she let go she would drop into the water. It was the most logical thing to do. She just had to let go. She wouldn’t even hurt breaking the film over the sea. She was in the perfect position of a solider dive so…. Why….

Her fingers wouldn’t release the rope.

She shook with the wind, no. She trembled with the paralytic fear that consumed her blood and turned her muscles rigid and heavy.

“I—” she stammered. Wet eyes met Caretaker’s gorgeous gleaming crystals. “I—” but she never finished her sentence. Another car tore through the sky and her grip faltered and she fell with a yelp. She didn’t know if Caretaker followed, but she only had a moment of a gasp in breath before she hit the icy waters below.

She opened her eyes but the waters were black and she kicked her legs on instinct more than anything else. She broke the surface with a gasp, her lungs screeching at her and grumbling as she gasped. But the salt water entered her mouth and she spit it out as the rocky tides overwhelmed her and she was submerged again.

Something above them. Another crack and Whumpee glanced up. The mast fell now, falling towards them and Whumpee didn’t think. Her body pushed against the water and she tried to clear the hulk of wood before it crashed into her.

Too slow.

Something hard and unrelenting caught her ankle and she heard a crack throughout her body and she gasped, swallowing lungfuls of water as she was dragged below the surface of the angry tides.

She yanked her ankle forward and screamed into the water as it caught on something. She turned and tried to quiet her mind, she could free it. She could free it. Her eyes found the rope ladder it was caught in like a fish in a net. She hooked her other foot to the rope and yanked herself closer, knees to her chest as she grabbed the injured foot and pulled it free from the rope.

She unhooked her other leg and pushed up, her lungs screaming for oxygen. She pumped her arms up, she could see the light, see the sun, feel its heat and she let out a startled yelp as she surfaced again. The waves pulled at her bad ankle and she winced as she kicked with her good leg to keep herself afloat.

But there was no sun… they were still in the storm… but the heat? Whumpee gulped as more debris fell around her. Burning debris.

“Caretaker! Caretaker!” She screamed. Her bright eyes searched the sea around her but it was no good in the fog and the darkness. A hand found her shoulder and she screamed and turned. And two eyes made of crystal found hers and she weeped. “Oh Caretaker… oh, thank the gods you’re okay.”

“Whumpee! Are you hurt? I was looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m— I—” I love you, she shouldn’t say. Even if they were about to die. Right? “My ankle,” she finished pathetically.

Caretaker nodded. He searched the tides with his calm, eagle eye. “There,” he said, and he put a hand around Whumpee’s arms. “Hook your hands around my shoulders,” he said.

Whumpee blushed at the command, but she obeyed, happy he couldn’t see what effect his words had on her. She clung to him, she could feel his defined muscles in his shoulders and back as she clung to him. “Okay. Hold on. Don’t let go! No matter what. That’s an order.”

“Yes sir!” She screamed against the tides. Caretaker started swimming, and Whumpee locked her fingers together in front of him as he pushed against the frigid waters. They would freeze if they stood still, Whumpee realised as the chill of the sea seized her burning leg.

They reached a floating piece of debris from the ship, Whumpee couldn’t really make out what it was from. Caretaker unhooked Whumpee’s arms from him and wrapped them over the debris that acted like a rafter.

“Okay,” Caretaker said. His lips were blue from the cold. “I need you to wait here and—”

But Whumpee didn’t hear the final command. Another bang and something fell and Caretaker screamed and then darkness.

*~*~*~*~*

Whumpee woke up bleary eyed, only vaguely aware that they were being dragged somewhere. They didn’t manage more than a groan and a whimper before they passed out again.

*~*~*~*~*

A splash of cold water jolted Whumpee awake. She gasped reflexively, eyes open and mouth gaping like a fish. She went to her side and hit something solid. Whumpee frowned at the boots in front of her. They were some fancy looking boots for her crew and her arms weren’t responding to her commands.

She was on deck. She knew that. The waves quietly tippling them along.

“Get them up,” a voice commanded. Whumpee’s eyes widened as hands were upon her and putting her on her knees again. She yelped as her weight was put on her broken ankle and shot up on her good leg.

The sound of a pistol being cocked froze her in place. “Stay down, shark bait.”

“Please…” she said, biting her lip to stop from crying out in front of unfriendly sailors. “I— I hurt my foot, I can’t put weight on it.”

“Whumpee…” Whumpee’s head shot up at the voice but she didn’t see Caretaker in front of her. No, instead she saw a woman in an exquisite purple captain’s jacket and tricorn hat with a long, inky black feather that gleamed in the sunlight.

The woman smiled down at Whumpee. She crouched so she was at Whumpee’s eye level. Her eyes were unlike any Whumpee had ever seen. They were as radiant as the woman herself, enthralling Whumpee and leaving her speechless, but she also reeked of danger and pain so Whumpee cowered away from her despite her alluring beauty.

“Whumpee?” The woman purred, a soft hand found Whumpee’s chin and pulled her back so there was little distance between them. Whumpee flinched at her name. “Is that your name, sweet thing?”

“Get off of him!” Caretaker said somewhere to Whumpee’s right. Whumpee jerked her head in his direction but it didn’t budge, the woman didn’t release Whumpee’s head enough for her to turn and see Caretaker… but he was alive… he was alive.

Her eyes glazed as that realisation set in and she had to keep the relieved smile off her face this close to this beautiful lady with such soft hands for pirate.

Oh…

Oh.

The relief was washed from her bones and replaced with cold quick dread that flushed her body and made her shiver. The grip on Whumpee’s chin tightened.

“I asked you a question.”

“Y—yes, yes ma’am.”

“Tch. Ya hear that lads?! This young pup called your Captain ma’am!” A chorus of jeers and Whumpee flinched, but the woman wouldn’t release Whumpee’s chin from her iron grip.

“I’m sorry, Ma— I mean… Captain. I really— I didn’t mean any offence, I—”

The woman placed a dainty finger on Whumpee’s lips which instantly silenced her. Whumpee trembled as she stared into the woman’s eyes like coals that burned as bright as her inky feather.

“Whumpee is your name?”

Whumpee blinked. “Yes,” she squeaked.

“Your real name, darling?”

Whumpee shivered. “Y-yes.”

“Get away from him! He’s just a ship hand—” a dull thud cut Caretaker off with his own groans of pain.

“Please—” Whumpee pleaded, trying to turn her head. “Please…” but she didn’t know what she was pleading for. For the woman to release her, or not tell this group of hostile, male dominated sailors that she wasn’t in fact a man. “Please,” she whimpered against the Captain’s finger.

The Captain’s lips were painted a glossy red, so bold for a lady to wear, but Whumpee got the distinct impression that the woman in front of her was anything but an ordinary lady.

The captain pursed her lips. She released Whumpee’s face and stood. “This one comes with me to my quarters,” she announced. Whumpee flinched. “Wha-what?!”

A chorus of raunchy voices cried out in disappointment and approval. “You know the best pick of them, Cap’n,” someone said as Whumpee was hauled to her feet. She cried out as she put weight on the bad leg and Caretaker called her name again.

“Oh, whoops. I forgot about your foot,” the captain said with a smile that could cut through the hide of a whale. Whumpee gulped. “First mate, darling, be a dear and carry my loot back to my quarters, I will be there in a moment.”

“Wait!” Whumpee cried. “Wait, please! We’re peaceful, we’ve surrendered!”

More scathing laughter that boiled Whumpee’s blood. “Please! Just bring us back to—” Whumpee’s head jolted to the side suddenly. A warmth bloomed on her cheek as she righted herself, eyes shining at the woman in front of her. Did she just slap her? Only her governess had ever slapped her before and that was when she was a girl.

“First of all, sweet thing,” the captain said, grabbing Whumpee’s chin again and tilting her head up to look the startling woman in the eye. “You didn’t surrender, you were overwhelmed and invaded and now you are prisoners and spoils of battle well fought.”

“We were a trading vess—” Another slap. Harder this time. Whumpee cried out. “Oh, I love it when they’re mouthy,” she purred, as she stepped closer and planted a kiss on Whumpee’s cheek she just struck. Twice.

Whumpee went colder than she thought possible.

“Let him go!” Caretaker screamed as Whumpee was picked up and thrown over a broad shoulder. She raised her head, her eyes briefly met Caretaker’s wide gaze as he was wrestled back into a kneeling position. The Captain stepped between Whumpee’s eyesight of Caretaker.

She started to struggle, but it was a vain, pathetic effort. With her hands tied behind her back she probably looked like a fish on a hook. “Don’t touch him! Get off him!” She screeched, but the First Mate took her further and further away until the deck disappeared altogether as she screamed. “Let go of me! Get off of me you brute!”

First Mate threw her to the ground as soon as they entered the captain’s quarters. Whumpee saw stars as pain shot from her ankle up her leg and she cried out.

“Oh, the captain’s gonna have fun with you,” First Mate told her in a gravelly voice. “So pretty, too. She likes pretty boys, you’re exactly her type.”

Whumpee scurried back on her hands and her good foot but the first mate followed her. “But she always tires of them after a while, and when she tires of you, gorgeous, I’ll be next in line.”

Whumpee couldn’t speak she was that scared. There was nothing in her brain, in her body, nothing except whimpers and screams and fear and SHIVERS. Why couldn’t she do anything except tremble like a frightened dog?! She was stronger than this!

“You wait right there, shark bait, the captain will be with you shortly.” The brute turned and grabbed the door. Before he left, he stopped and chuckled darkly. He glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes half lidded and filled with something monstrous. “And when she’s through with you, you’ll wish you stayed with the sharks.”

With that the door slammed shut with a bang. Whumpee flinched. Then she waited and prayed that Caretaker was okay.

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maglors-grief · 22 hours ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/teleit/764731859378847744?source=share

Team radioactive wastes' coping skills will never not amaze me lmaoo

Anon this is why I never venture into the hotd tags because I know if I come across posts like this then I won't be able to stop myself from responding 😭 I truly meant for this post to be short but it got pretty long so apologies for that lol. Also you sent me this ask like a month ago so sorry for taking forever to respond.

First of all, them saying "team black stans is being almost hysterical, trying to convince us that Saint Rhaenyra would never dare to kill Alicent's children" is immediately disproven by this quote in the book:

"Her first act as queen was to declare Ser Otto Hightower and Queen Alicent traitors and rebels. "As for my half-brothers and my sweet sister, Helaena," she announced, "they have been led astray by the counsel of evil men. Let them come to Dragonstone, bend the knee, and ask for my forgiveness, and I shall gladly spare their lives and take them back into my heart, for they are my own blood, and no man or woman is as accursed as the kinslayer"."

I have no idea where team green stans get the idea Rhaenyra is the bloodthirsty monster of the story because the paragraph right after that one is Aegon II saying:

"I want them attainted, I want them arrested, and I want them dead".

He said this at the start of the war, before there were deaths on either side, and yet he was still ready to kill his sister and her family. Aegon II then went on to throw a party for Aemond when Lucerys was murdered. But some people still think Rhaenyra was the monster.

Rhaenyra was willing to accept her siblings if they joined her side because she knew they had been manipulated by Alicent and Otto all their lives. While Aegon immediately wanted every single one of them dead and had to be talked down from it.

Of course I know there will be some team green stans that will say that Rhaenyra was bluffing and she would have murdered them anyways but she gave mercy to Alicent of all people simply because she was her father's wife even after declaring her a traitor and a rebel. And this was after Rhaenyra already lost multiple children because of the war and was going slightly mad from grief. Rhaenyra still didn't have Alicent killed even after Alicent mocked and belittled the deaths of Rhaenyra's sons and acted like the deaths of Rhaenyra's son mattered little compared to Alicent's own children by saying "bastard blood shed at war".

Let not have it forgotten that Rhaenyra herself did not commit any kinslaying during the war but Aegon II and Aemond did. Rhaenyra tried having mercy on her enemies who never once tried showing her and her family any.

It is insane to me how much team green stans will focus on Rhaenyra possibly killing her siblings but yet they fail to blame Alicent and Otto for making Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron targets in the first place with all their scheming. Alicent and Otto apparently did what they did because they feared Alicent's children would be killed by Rhaenyra, so they started a deadly war that ended up killing them all anyways, it makes no sense.

I dislike that Rhaenyra gets all the blame in the tense relationship between her and her siblings. Do team green stans think Rhaenyra just woke up one day and decided to not get along with her siblings? Do they really not think that Alicent was not heavily involved in them not liking each other?

Her siblings were made to be a threat against her since day 1. Rhaenyra was a 9 year old child who just lost her mother but yet she still accepted Alicent as her stepmother when she easily could have thrown a fit over her father marrying again.

"Princess Rhaenyra poured for her stepmother at the feast, and Queen Alicent kissed her and named her "daughter". The princess was amongst the women who disrobed the king and delivered him to the bedchamber of his bride"

That was not someone who wanted to dislike her stepmother and future siblings. Alicent turned against 10 year old Rhaenyra as soon as she gave Viserys sons. Alicent was the one turned the court into two fractions.

Op said that us team black stans think: "that Otto and Alicent are the second and third coming of Satan, and they are must be blame for everything"

By the time the book mentions that 3 of her siblings have been born in the book we have seen nothing negative from Rhaenyra about Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. But we do see multiple attempts from Alicent and Otto to discredit her and push for Aegon to be made successor:

"The amity between Her Grace and her stepdaughter had proved short-lived, for both Rhaenyra and Alicent aspired to be the first lady of the realm... and though the queen had given the king not one but two male heirs, Viserys had done nothing to change the order of succession"

"Those who asked, "What of the ruling of the Great Council of 101?" found their words falling on deaf ears. The matter had been decided, so far as King Viserys was concerned"

"Still, questions persisted, not the least from Queen Alicent herself. Loudest amongst her supporters was her father, Ser Otto Hightower"

"Even after Ser Otto had returned to Oldtown, a "queen's party" still existed at court; a group of powerful lords friendly to Queen Alicent and supportive of the rights of her sons"

They were the ones that made her siblings be her enemies by trying to rob her of her claim to the throne to give to her brother. What was young Rhaenyra supposed to do in this situation?

Also during this time is when we see Alicent say: "'Ser Criston protects the princess from her enemies, but who protects the princess from Ser Criston?' Queen Alicent asked one day at court" and I am convinced she did not say this in court, in front of other people, out of genuine concern for 13 year old Rhaenyra but as a way to slyly question the heir's virtue for the first time, something they loved using against her later on.

So yes I do completely believe that Alicent and Otto are to blame for everything. Between the years of 107 AC - 110 AC we don't see much of Rhaenyra at all but we do see Alicent and Otto actively working against her and splitting the court apart. And this is just the very beginning of their actions against Rhaenyra. In an effort to keep this post from getting insanely long, I won't even be mentioning everything they did over the next couple decades, such as being the ones who committed treason and started the Dance while Rhaenyra was minding her own business on Dragonstone.

And if we're talking about House of the Dragon, the idea that Rhaenyra would kill her siblings came from Otto Hightower. Otto was removed from his position as Hand of the King because of Rhaenyra and Alicent was trying to defend her and so I believe that Otto made up that Rhaenyra would harm Alicent's children in the future because he wanted to keep control over Alicent. He would not be there anymore to ensure they remained divided so he came up with some egregious lie to make sure Alicent would remain loyal to him and the future plan of usurping Rhaenyra.

We see no such indication from Rhaenyra herself in season 1 that she means her siblings any harm. Even in season 2 she's still incredibly reluctant to hurt that side of her family (except for Aemond because he killed her son) and was upset over the death of Jaehaerys because she didn't want to hurt Helaena.

Teenage Aegon didn't seem to feel threatened by Rhaenyra until Alicent made him feel threatened by her.

As you all know, Rhaenyra was just so scary and threatening during her time living in the Red Keep that she was somehow the one getting mistreated and bullied by Alicent to the extent she had to move to Dragonstone to get away from it 🤔 but yeah Rhaenyra was the threat and meant her siblings harm...

Otto was scheming to get a half Hightower/Targaryen on the throne before Rhaenyra was even made heir in the show. Rhaenyra got in the way by being made heir and so Otto began plotting to have the throne usurped. Alicent participated in this and helped. She raised her children to hate Rhaenyra. Alicent knew what her father had planned and did nothing to stop it. So yeah once again Alicent and Otto are the bad guys and I truly do not understand the mental gymnastics that team green stans do to defend them.

I was just going to ignore the rest of their post and only focus on the beginning of it because I didn't want this post getting any longer but I couldn't resist including some honorable mentions. From here on out, I'm not using the book as a reference because the original post seems to be mostly based on House of the Dragon and the person even discredits using the book as proof lol.

Op says: "As proof, you are given quotes from a book that these fans have hardly read in its entirety, their own opinion, which, of course, is an indisputable fact". - I have actually read the book in its entirety and I don't even know what to say here because yeah the proof is actually in the book and it's in the show that Alicent, Otto, and the rest of the Greens are to blame for everything. My opinion is always based on what I have seen in the book and the show. Meanwhile I believe that most team green stans have hardly even read one single page of Fire & Blood and their "proof" is usually just based on whatever their feelings are.

"Stories like Dance of the Dragons require you to dive into the personalities of both teams so you can understand the tragedy of the situation" - Op says this but then does nothing but bash all of the Blacks. They seemingly refuse to see their point of view, all while focusing on the Greens and their feelings. Doesn't seem like they have dived into the personalities of both teams because from everything they say the Blacks are all monsters while anything the Greens did can be excused. It's the hypocrisy for me because they're mirroring the exact behavior they just criticized others for.

"Your father doesn't care about you, and you don't understand why. Did you do something wrong? Why does your father love your half-sister and her children, but not you and your siblings? Why doesn't he protect you from your nephews' bullying?" - Alicent didn't protect her son from the bullying either and she was actually aware of it whereas Viserys didn't seem to be. She pretty much told Aemond that he needed to not make a fuss about it because their side of the family needed to appear united. Also why only mention Jace and Luke bullying Aemond and not the fact that Aegon was the ringleader of it all?? Jace and Luke were much younger than both Aegon and Aemond and they only wanted to impress Aegon so I think it's ridiculous that they tend to get all the blame for it while team green stans usually make up excuses for Aegon's treatment of Aemond.

"Your half-sister Rhaenyra HATES you. She shows no shame in showing her disdain, barely tolerates your existence, and never punishes her children for bullying you. She won't talk to you, won't play with you, and even seems to hate your name." In the show we don't see Rhaenyra hating her siblings. Where is her disdain? Where does she barely tolerate their existence? Where are we shown that Rhaenyra is aware her sons are bullying Aemond? Due to the large time jumps, we can't say for certainty if Rhaenyra ever did interact with her siblings or not in season 1. We only get to see one episode of Rhaenyra with her sons living in the Red Keep and it doesn't provide enough information for any of us to be making statements about her relationships with others. Also Rhaenyra is a grown woman with her own children and responsibilities to worry about, I can't blame her for not playing with her siblings.

"Your father yells at Aegon because Aemond said that Aegon is the one who lied about your nephews being legitimate Velaryons." - Yeah Viserys yelled at him but Alicent straight up slapped him right before that for not keeping an eye on Aemond even though that should be her responsibility as their mother. Aegon was forced to take the blame and get yelled at because he didn't want to blame Alicent. Maybe Alicent shouldn't have been telling dangerous gossip to her kids if she didn't want them possibly getting in trouble for it.

"Laenor dies, and you hear that Rhaenyra has married Daemon, ignoring the mourning period. You remember this man - he laughed at Laena's funeral" - Op goes on to be sympathetic towards Vaemond, neglecting to mention how Vaemond was using his eulogy for his niece's funeral to take shots at Rhaenyra and her sons. Daemon, who probably laughed in disbelief over Vaemond's audacity, is the bad guy but not Vaemond?

#I definitely wrote way too much but I wanted to get my point across lol #team black #hotd #hotd spoilers #rhaenyra targaryen #anti team green #house targaryen #anti alicent hightower #anti otto hightower #pro team black #house of the dragon season 2 #hotd season 2 #pro house targaryen #pro rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon

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