#so don't take this as an insult or call out

[toiletcthulhu]

I really dislike our cultural need to format every mission statement or problem as concisely and simply as possible. I feel like this issue permeates across most aspects of society, as we can see marketing, academia, and politics all value short, simple, concise answers. This has left nuance by the wayside in many areas of pur society, as well as mass mobilization by propoganda-educated or uneducated masses (see the rise of the far right across the world right now). I do think the rise of the far right is partially based in the oppression, lies, and failures of liberal democratic empires, which I think should also fall, just not to Nazis. Regardless, I don't get why we can't say that, based on what we know about large scale radfem movements and some of their opinions about men who also experience oppression, it seems logical to say that some radical feminists hold harmful rhetoric in that it both damages a healthy worldview as well as displacing pain onto those undeserving of it, causing people who see that to become less likely to participate in those movments. We can also simultaneously hold accountable power structures that target those exact people who become disillusioned with socially progressive movements and give them a foothold into reactionary far right politics, as well as the people who get taken in by those reactionary politics for allowing selfishness, hate, etc. to mobilize them into harming others. I think all of these factors are varyingly responsible for the situation we're in, but leaving out or downplaying any of their parts in getting us here does nothing but reduce intersectionality and giving more examples of the left not holding people accountable or holding others exclusively accountable for the right to exploit. Also, I understand the kneejerk reaction to parasitism being used as an insult, but as with the case of Palestinians calling out the bloodthristy actions of Israel, there are some words that are just accurate to describe the oppression of a people. I still think we should be catious of throwing around the word "parasite" or "bloodthirsty" in our common vernacular; ableism and anti-semitism are still very prevalent and dangerous, but if someone is taking a majority of another's means of living and giving them nothing but the right to live, transactionally, for no other reason but greed, that is a parasite. If a nation seeks every opportunity to cause as much death as possible, that is bloodthirsty. If you can't differentiate someone needing assistance to live from housing exploitation, then perhaps you have negative internalized views that disabled people seek to gain power over those they rely upon for help or some other bullshit, but it does not paint a particularly favorable image of disabled people however you spin it. So overall, I agree large swathes of the left are fucked up and need to change (all genders), but disagree that parasitism can't be used to describe people exploiting others and giving nothing back for no reason other than unnecessary self-interest. That's all.

the whole "I got pushed into the far right, because radical feminists are so mean to men, and no one in the left criticizes them for it," routine would be more credible if not for the fact that at the exact same time radical feminists are saying "I'm getting pushed into aligning with the right, because the misogynistic left is bullying and silencing me for criticizing men,"

[befemininenow]

There, there, lovely. It's all going to be okay. You just had a dysphoria episode. We will get through this, I promise.

You start to tear up as you remember the nightmare you woke up from experiencing. You remember every little detail: you had a mistress, she kept insulting you, you were about to be r**** by an unknown man, you couldn't run away, and worst of all, you were a man in the dream! But not just any man; you were your old self in a much weaker form that even in your old feminization fantasies you couldn't picture becoming.

You grabbed your phone to call for some support. It's Melissa. She heard you crying in the background. "Babe, what's wrong? Why are you calling this late? Did someone try to hurt you?" You proceeded to tell her your entire nightmare and wondered if this was all going to be true one day. "Am I just... not a real woman?" Melissa knows all the answers. If you ever needed some help or a second opinion, Melissa was your go-to woman. "Babe, can you do me a favor, please, and look at yourself to the closest mirror?" You obey and do it.

"What do you see? Can you tell me in full detail?" You see yourself and are shocked! When did you dye your hair blonde!? Not only that, but you resemble a Barbie doll! You're wearing a pink lingerie set, white stockings, nice long pink nails, and a cute pink bow to flow with your beautiful long blonde hair. Your heart beats faster as you notice how femme you look. "This is... me?"

"Honey, you were always a woman. It's just that it took you long to embrace her on the outside." You fall in love with the bombshell you've become. Almost like a Disney princess*. "I'm... I'm beautiful.... I'm.. I'm really a woman..." "That's the spirit, girlie! You were just experiencing dysphoria. It's unfortunately common among trans girls, but you'll get through this!" Just as you thank Melissa for her therapy talk with you, she pauses you, "Ah, don't forget to take your hormones. I know it's not fun to take prog rectally, but it's what will help you embrace your change faster. Anyways, sleep well and we'll talk more tomorrow. K bye!"

You take your progesterone as followed and are not used to putting it inside. Meanwhile, you decide to observe the woman looking back at you. How did you became so beautiful? And how long have you been taking hormones? A rushing feeling of euphoria starts to turn you on as you stare at your image in the mirror. You start to rub yourself with your thighs and start to grope your breasts a bit. You start to pant from the steaming sensation and grind yourself a bit. Suddenly, you imagine yourself having sex with a man.

"Oh, god, I... I'm starting to feel so horny right now!" You can't contain yourself and start to play with your own body. Before you know it, you climaxed after having intense fantasies for a few minutes. "I... I.... I let myself out. Did I... really became a woman?" You haven't realized it, but you're well over 20 months in hormones now, 8 in progesterone. The only reason why you had this nightmare to begin is because... you're about to have your FFS tomorrow morning. SRS is about to be next. Is this really the point of no return?

(End of 20 months)

*The girl in this pic is Sabrina Carpenter, a former Disney child star turned pop star.

[tetzoro]

˖˙ ꔫ — SPITFIRE ˚

꒰ synopsis ꒱ : you and kid have an unspoken understanding but of course you need to test his limits to see how he truly feels.

꒰ contents ꒱ : MDNI. eustass kid x reader ; unprotected sex, brat taming, possessive kid, creampie, slight dacryphilia, mentions of overstimulation, impact play if you squint — WC : 1.5k

Kid was brash, reckless and mouthed off to anyone who dared to step in his way. Never one to back down from a challenge no matter the odds, he was driven and hardworking in his own way. And when it came to you, it was no different.

The little arrangement between the two of you was nothing new. The crew was unfortunately well acquainted with it as well, always forced to listen to you guys bicker to no end. Insults would fly left and right until he was red in the face, irked beyond belief at the audacity you held against your captain.

Kid demanded respect but something in him would falter at treating you like the rest of the crew. Besides Killer, you were the only one to truly get away with speaking to him in such a way. But that’s because he soon learned a failsafe way to have you begging for forgiveness, apologizing to him and giving him the well-deserved admiration he sought out from you.

But tonight you had gone too far.

The Victoria Punk was docked at an island for the evening for a typical restock and of course, the crew ended up at the bar. The alcohol was pouring and Kid held his smug smirk on his face as you sat next to him, chatting away with Killer.

The crew had decided to poke fun at the way you were stealing glances at the captain, making bets on when the two of you would sneak off.

That’s when you decided to play a little game, skipping off to one of the patrons of the bar and tapping their shoulder, gaining their attention.

The attention that belonged to Kid.

But you didn’t care. All you wanted to do was prove that you weren’t stuck under Kid’s charm, that you weren’t falling for him no matter how hard you tried to resist him.

A resounding bang boomed off in the cramped bar, silencing the room and halting you from getting too close to brushing your lips with the stranger whose name you never bothered to learn.

“Hell no!” Kid roared, standing straight up. All of the contents on the table were knocked around after he had slammed his fist against the hardwood, a definite crack splitting down the middle. “Get your ass over here.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” The question that sealed your fate. Within moments, Kid has you within his grasp and leading you far away from the bar. His cheeks are almost as red as his hair but you know better, the flush was more from just the anger boiling up inside of him.

It was far too easy to let yourself fall victim to his sinful touches as soon as you returned back to his quarters. The familiar dip in his mattress cocooning you further into his hungry jaws, refusing to let you flee from his grasp. Not that you were planning on it anyway.

“What happened to my little spitfire?” Kid smirks, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix in a way that has stars bursting behind your eyes. The intensity was almost too much, the pressure of his heavy length splitting you open was enough to make you come. But it wouldn’t happen until he said so. “I give you a little bit of cock and suddenly you lose all that attitude?”

It takes you a second to come back down from the initial pain as he begins to move, a brutal pace that never gives you a chance to catch your breath, stealing all the words you wanted to throw back at him but the only thing you could move were your hips. Your legs shook from the intensity, the back of the headboard slamming against the wall but you don’t have it in you to care.

“Kid-” You gasp out, nails digging into the broadness of his lightly dusted freckled shoulders.

“No.” He hisses out, giving your thigh a teasing slap, not enough to hurt but enough to warn you of what’s to come if you don't fix your mood. “That’s not what you get to call me right now.”

“Captain!” You cry out, your legs falling helplessly to the mattress, unable to hold them up around his waist any longer. He kept plunging into you, eyes sharp on your expressions and waiting for you to continue. You knew what he wanted.

“What was that? You’re whining so much I can hardly hear ya, speak up.” His grip digs into you more, unable to get enough of the way your skin feels against his.

“‘M sorry!” The apology slurs past your love drunk lips, hoping that he’ll forgive you and let you come.

“Couldn’t be good for me and use your words so you decided to be a brat?” He pauses, shoving himself deep into you to watch you writhe underneath. “Just wanted me to fuck you till you couldn’t think?”

“Y-yes!” You concede yet you don’t have it in you to care. The way your thighs shake, hips jutting up to meet his thrusts, pleasure swirling in your head and washing over your body has you saying whatever he wants. “Let me come!”

“I don’t think so.” A low laugh escapes him, his cock throbbing within your walls and ready to fill you up. The thought of him finishing without you zaps through your head, frustrated tears brimming your lashes and threatening to spill over with every thrust. “Aw, pretty little cry baby. Let me see those tears and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

A pitiful cry of his name escapes you, bottom lip quivering as the pleasure is too much to hold back. All you needed was his deft fingers pressing down on your nub and it would spiral you over the edge and have you floating above the clouds in a heaven he could only bring you. The tears glide down your cheeks, pleas spilling out of your mouth.

The sadistic grin Kid wears on his face so well only grows, captivated by your beauty as you lose your sense of self for him. To unravel you down to your core until all you craved was him just to build you back up and worship you like the treasure you are.

“Let go f’me.” Kid commands with a grunt, his fingers finally touching you where you needed him most. His heavy thumb pressing down on your clit was all it took for your body to lock up, shake with unadulterated need and release in a way that sends you heavenward. “That’s it, so fucking good for me.”

Moments like these you lay back, trying to catch your bearings as Kid uses you to finish himself off, thrusting into you at a pace that pleases him until he’s spilling his load deep inside of you, grunting out your name until he’s just as breathless as you.

The room is quiet save for the heavy panting coming from you both. Like clockwork, Kid hoists you into his arms, holding you close until your heart's fall back into sync and beat as one, planting soft kisses along your temple. There were never any words to say at this moment, just letting your bodies fall into a gentle rhythm together.

After a while, and the both of you settle back from your lofty state, he shifts slightly to face you. There’s a gentleness in his touch, one that is hard to miss as his knuckle sweetly kisses along your cheek. A caress so soft yet leaves a haunting ghost in its wake as soon as he pulls away.

“Back with me?” He asks, the roughness in his voice a comfort that has you curling closer to him. His lone arm coiled around you, letting you melt into his embrace. The closeness was not something that was always here, it’s something that had built overtime.

A foundation of trust and vulnerability that formed something so sacred that neither of you ever spoke about it – too stubborn to let the walls in your heart fall down before the other and truly lay everything bare.

“I’m here.” You nod, resting your cheek against his built chest. The steady comfort of his heartbeat lulled you into a drowsy state. The weight of exhaustion starts to settle into your bones, limbs tired from the way Kid never failed to manhandle you.

You knew you had to get up, clean yourself off and scurry back to your own bed. But it was just so cozy, so intimate that if you moved then everything might shatter and this time you may not be able to pull it back together.

Despite it all, you couldn’t fight sleep. Kid be damned, he can yell at you tomorrow for overstaying your welcome or hell, he can carry you back to bed like a true gentleman would. Not that you’d get your hopes up.

As your eyes flutter shut, fingers curling into his muscles, you hear the word that you’d never expect but the one you longed to hear.

“Stay.”

[parkersbliss]

Met Him Last Night | P. Graves

pairing: phillip graves x gender neutral reader 

synopsis: you make a decision to trust him, just this once. don't be surprised when it backfires.

warnings: graves, mentions of soap's death, possible timeline inaccuracies, one sexual reference

a/n: based on the song "met him last night" by demi lovato ft. ariana grande :) down bad for this man pls he's my american babe

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty!

—

“Red or white?” 

“Neither.” 

“White it is,” They tell the server, pointing to one of the names.

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. What were you doing this late at night here? With him? 

Graves is sitting in front of you, smirking at your sour expression and you want to rip it off his face. 

The server returns with the bottle and two glasses, pouring it for both of you. Graves thanks him and then gestures for you to take a sip. He grabs his glass, raises it to you in a toast, and waits. You hesitate for a second before grabbing the other glass. After all, what’s there to lose? You’ve already sat here with him, might as well make it more bearable. 

“That’s more like it,” He chuckles as you take a huge gulp. It has a hint of white peaches, delicate, but rich and intense as you finish it. 

You set the glass back down. “You’re an instigator.” 

“So they tell me,” He replies with ease. “But isn’t this so much more fun than drowning in your own sorrows?” 

You’ll give him that, at least. You weren’t sure why you thought this was a good idea. You don’t really believe in Graves and what he stood for. Or lack of what he stood for. 

Yet, here you were, sat in this restaurant with him, indulging him when you shouldn’t. A meeting with the devil. 

“You know you don’t have to like so sour to be here, darlin’. It was your choice to contact me.” 

“I’m starting to regret that,” You mumble, knowing he was right. In a moment of weakness, you begged for a contact with him and did some dingy shit, but you got it. You should at least give him a chance after all that hard work. 

“I’m not good enough company?” 

“I’ve had better.” 

He fakes a frown. “Hurtful, really. But I know you’re mourning, so I’ll let it slide.” 

You roll your eyes. “How generous of you.” 

“You know, they do say I am quite a giver.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Giver? He must have spoken wrong, he was a digger. Grave digger or gold digger. They both fit him. “Well, that’s some bullshit.” 

Graves laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “No, I’m generous to the right people,” He corrects you. “My shadows get bonuses every year for Christmas.” He extends a hand to gesture at the table. “I’m paying for our lovely dinner tonight. Think that must constitute for something.” 

“Thank you,” You said, honestly. He was right after all, you called him here and all you’ve done is hurl insults at him. “I’m sorry.” 

He quirks a brow. “For what?” 

“I could be better company.”

“Ah, nonsense!” He waves a hand, dismissing your apology. His voice lowers, “Anyone in your position would be the same way, snippy and all.” 

“I’m not snippy!” You’re quick to defend. Though the look on his face says you might have just proven his point. “A little snippy,” You admit. 

“And that’s okay. It’s never easy losing a teammate to something so… preventable.” 

You clench your jaw at that mention and he takes quick notice. “But enough of that. Let’s talk about you.” 

“What about me?” 

“Anything you like, darlin’.” 

“I have a cat,” You blurt out. 

“Do ya?”

You nod. “Yeah, my friend takes care of him while I’m away. He’s uh… a tuxedo.” You pull out your phone to show him a picture. “He’s a little shit.” 

Graves leans in to look at the photo of your cat. “He’s cute, can’t blame him.” 

You snort. “I can’t have a Christmas tree 'cause he scales that thing to the top.” 

“So he likes a little fun.” Graves shrugs. “Don’t see nothin’ wrong with that.” 

You shake your head, a little amused. Of course, he would say that. “It’s more than that.” 

“Then tell me.” 

The conversion becomes easy after that. After you stopped insulting him, at least. Anyone who knew you knew the easiest way to get you to open up was through your cat. Maybe the wine is getting to your head, but he’s not so bad. Phillip makes you laugh, you make him laugh. You banter, you rant, you cry, and he understands. He promises you exactly what you’re looking for.

“We don’t play by the rules, darlin’. Believe me, I can get you exactly what you want.” 

You’re gone after that, having split the bottle of wine between the two of you. Any rational thoughts of what’s wrong and right have left your mind. The devil has promised you something, and he always keeps them. And perhaps you’ve promised something you shouldn’t have. 

He pays the bill, he walks you home with a hand on your back, and he stands at your doorway saying ‘goodnight.’ 

But you don’t want to be alone. 

He spends the night. Once. Twice. Three times. Too many to keep track of, but you didn’t care to anymore. Not when you sang Phillip’s praises when he was between your legs, or when he’s bringing you flowers when he sees you, or holding you late at night as you continue to mourn and find comfort in someone like him. 

There’s something warm and fuzzy about him. Something that makes your head spin and your legs weak. You don’t think when he’s around (maybe that’s the problem), but you don’t need to. 

“Never have to worry your pretty head ‘bout a thing darlin’.” Phillip would say, and so you did. 

You let him take care of your plan, your revenge, his promise. You let him take of you, healing some part of you that hadn’t after you lost Johnny. 

At least that’s what you thought, but maybe you got lost along the way, turned around, and headed straight into his arms. 

He made it so easy after all, didn’t he? To believe in him, that is. And you did a fucked up thing, really. A mistake on your part. Phillip had loyalty to no one but his shadows. For you to even think he’d extend that to you? Well, you had to be stupid or in love. 

And you weren’t stupid. 

You storm around your apartment, phone gripped tightly in your hand. You were fucked.

“Are you kidding me?” You practically scream. 

“Darlin’, please, it’s not personal.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You used me.” You’re practically fuming at him. He was smart, finding you when you were vulnerable, and letting you reach out first. He prayed on your innocence, on your hurt. You damn sure weren’t letting that happen again. 

“Used is such a strong term,” Graves chides. “And really, I didn’t. You’re overreacting sweetness. This has nothing to do with you.” 

“It has everything!” 

You can hear his eye roll through the phone. “Would you just trust me on this?”

“Are you being serious? No! I’m never making that mistake again.” Graves didn’t wear disguises. You should’ve seen right through him. You knew better now. How could you ever have thought to believe him? Someone like him, with only a history of deceiving. You were there when he turned his back on you in Las Almas, at Shepard in the courtroom, and yet you believed him. He was your vice, your flaw, your reason. 

He was horrible in so many ways, but you came back every time. You craved him holding you at night, wiping the tears away. The way he’d kiss you when you would meet up, his hands roaming your body— you’d never felt this way.

“(Y/N),” He drawls and you want to fall for it, but you don’t. 

“No, I’m done. I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t be like this.” 

“You gave me a pretty damn good reason to leave. This is on you.” 

He chuckles through the phone. “If you’d let me explain, you’d see I’m not such a bad guy.” 

You shake your head. “No,” You said firmly. “No, you betrayed me and I betrayed my team.”

What were they going to think of you after this? You weren’t like this, so reckless, engaging with the enemy. No one expected this from you, and you certainly didn’t expect it from yourself, to fall so hard. But you weren’t going down without a fight. 

You bounce back like you always did. “This is the last call we’re having, Graves.” You practically spit his name out and he’s hurt when you hang up. You were always so stubborn with him. So quick to dismiss his reasons, like you’re looking for a reason to hate him. Whatever, you’ll come back. You’ll see he did this for you. He was not a bad guy, he was carrying out the plan you wanted. It just happened he had to screw over a couple people for it. He just didn’t expect you to get so worked up over it. 

You dial the next person, heart thundering. 

“(Y/N)?” A voice calls out, familiar to you and you hope they won’t hate you. That was the last thing you needed right now. You lost Johnny, and now you lost Graves (it’s a good thing you tell yourself, but your heart says otherwise), you couldn’t lose your team too. 

“Kyle, I,” You swallow, tears clouding your vision when you realize what you’ve done. “I fucked up.” 

– END –

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[thehollowwriter]

I've always found it so interesting how Vil describes himself and his actions as ugly, not his appearance. I'm tired af rn so I can't really put it into words, but it's very striking that Vil, at least to me, doesn't seem to believe in outward ugliness. In fact, he simply calls people potatoes. Not ugly. Potatoes. As some analysis' pointed out, it seems to be because he seems them as spudlings who haven't yet reached their potential. Like Quartz said, he doesn't want to change everything about you. He wants you to be the best you can be.

He is, as also Quartz said, a very selfless character and he seems to strive to be more than what he's been typecast as. That's part of why he had such an extreme breakdown from his actions and called himself "ugly." He was a villain. He was behaving just like others assumed he would. And if he's no more than the roles he's been trapped in, how could he possibly defeat Neige?

But in book 6, he had his "hero" moment. What he did was a huge sacrifice to make, especially when you consider what Vil risked. He risked literally his entire future and his reputation.

There are some fans who poke fun at him for being "shallow" crying about his appearance, but... wouldn't you?

Firstly, there's Vil's career. Remember, Vil is an actor and a model. He works in two industries that are centred around beauty. You can't have wrinkles, you can't be fat, you can't be unappealing for even a second. You must conform to beauty standards at all times. That includes not just your appearance, but what you eat and what activities you partake in, since certain eating habits and hobbies are associated with certain appearances (e.g ugly gamer).

Now that he's like this... who's going to want him as a model? Who's going to want to cast him in any role outside of an evil old hag, if they want him at all? How will his fans, the faceless masses who fixate on his appearance, react? Is there any guarantee they'll stick around?

Vil's entire future has potentially gone up in flames. He's been acting and modelling since he was a small child. What else could he possibly do?

Secondly, there's the fact that Riddle just got white hair, while Vil got all of his youth sucked out of him. He was not old just in appearance, his body was old. That's his entire future suddenly severed. He's human, and humans don't live for very long compared to fae.

From Vil's perspective, the decades of life ahead of him are gone. Now, in this frail body, who knows how much time he has left? Who knows what health problems might start ailing him and taking him early?

Well gee, no wonder he's crying! He might lose everything and he might also die much sooner than expected. I hardly find that shallow.

I find the comparison of Vil to a stereotypical mean girl overall very weird. Mean girls purposefully bully and tear down others to lift themselves up. When they insult people's fashion or appearance, it's not because they think they can improve. It's because they view those people as below them. Sometimes the outfit itself isn't even bad. It's just "poor people clothing."" Mean girls are also very manipulative and will tear others down to climb up the ladder and come out on top, even if they have to cheat and lie to do so.

Vil isn't like that at all. He doesn't insult, he criticises. And like I said, he sees people's potential and wants them to live up to it. His goal is not to tear them down and make himself feel better. As far as fashion goes, Vil knows different styles work on different people, and with how his character is, he's most certainly not going to hate or bully someone for using a "poor brand" or whatever.

Vil literally refuses to cheat!!! He does not want to win against Neige through cheating, because he knows that's not truly a win. He wants to earn that win. When he tried to poison Neige, that was a complete mental breakdown and he immediately regretted it.

So yeah. Vil is a harsh, but nurturing and actually very kind and selfless guy. Leave him.

(If I got anything wrong pls forgive me I haven't read book 5 in a while. @v-anrouge you're the Vil expert pls lmk if there's anything to add or correct)

Vil yap session

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 26 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: Aegon attempts to court Valeana properly this time. In his own, Aegon-y way. Word Count: 6018 CHAPTER WARNINGS: 18+ , MDNI. Horny!Aegon, Brief discussion of non-con things. Alcohol.

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

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: ya welcome👋

When Aegon awoke that morning, his mind was just as muddled and fuzzy as everyone else’s in the Keep, though his was much louder with chatter from last night. His voice, his mother’s, Valeana’s, and Catelyn Redwyne’s.

During their dance, he had an interesting conversation with her; she was young, four years his junior, and yet wiser. Cat read him like a book in the time it took them to do the ceremonial dance at the beginning of the ball, but instead of chastising him (which his mother did later that eve, and again that morning), she instead gifted him some of her feminine insight. 

“Is this faux courtship a ploy to help her win back Aemond, or help you win her?” She had said with eyebrow raised and mouth pulled in a knowing smirk. 

Aegon stared at her, completely stunned at how easily she pulled out her conclusion. He stuttered, trying to say otherwise, but then Cat begged him to stop with a cute little laugh before continuing. 

“It’s just like the book, The Knight and I. Lady Deana Bettley and Ser Tymond Hawthorne get into a fake relationship to help each other. Deana had been scandalized, and no suitor wanted her, but with Tymond courting her, suitors started to desire her out of jealousy. And Ser Tymond does not wish to marry, wanting to live the life of a rake for the end of his days, so he uses Deana –a maid from a higher house– to cease his father’s badgering. But! They eventually fall in love with each other, because of all the time they spent together in order to keep up with their charade. Unfortunately, by the time Tymond even realized he loved her, she had gained the attention of the Lord of the Vale, and was set to be betrothed. It was all very romantic.”

After she had just gushed about the plot of her book – which to Aegon sounded like a right bore – he just blinked at her. Catelyn blushed heavily, and looked down embarrassed. 

“I really like reading,” she said in a small voice, her eyes flickering around the ballroom coyly. 

“I can see that,” Aegon offered her a small laugh to ease her shyness. He wet his lips, eyes glancing over at Valeana and Jacaerys, who appeared to be having a discussion of their own. With a swallow, he asked, “What…What did Lord Tymond do… to win her back?”

Cat looked back up at him through her lashes and a small smile crept on her plush pink lips.

Emboldened by Catelyn Redwyne’s advice, Aegon ignored his mother’s lecture about conduct, her plea for him to stop pursuing Valeana, and her warning if he failed to do so. There was nothing she could do to him that she hadn’t done already; slapped him, insulted him, rolled her eyes in his direction, reminding him at every turn that he was a disappointment. What was she going to do now? Tell him that he isn’t fit to be king, and find a worthy one in Aemond instead? That would be doing him a grand favour indeed. At least then she could pawn Helaena off to him, and Aegon would be free to take Valeana as his bride. 

What a double-edged sword that would be for Aemond. Getting half of his desires, while Aegon frolicked with everything he desired: freedom and Valeana, heavy with his child. 

His cock swelled at the mere thought of it. Tits large and weeping with milk, stomach rounded with evidence of his claim to her body, cunt tightly wrapped around his cock as she bounced on his hips. Aegon had to call in Hildy to aid his intense desires last night after the ball, leaving the pale-haired maid in a sweaty mess on his bed, her three holes thoroughly wet and spent. 

Aegon never lusted for a single woman so intensely, it almost frightened him. Though what was more frightening was the prospect of her not being his, which is what drove him to orchestrate his first, official move to woo her. 

“Aegon, how the hell did you get in here? Hardy at the front,” Valeana whispered harshly to him, arms tightly wrapped around her chest, that maroon robe snuggly wrapped around her. 

They carefully walked out of her shared bedroom with Shyla, closing the door silently, leaving them alone in the girls’ solar. 

“The secret passage of course,” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. At her look of confusion, he elaborated, “There’s one in Floris’ room.” 

“How do you even know–” She cut herself as her memory caught up with her. “That is how you put those toads in her bed without being caught.”

Aegon giggled softly, “That’s what she gets for tattling. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” 

They moved quietly into Floris’ room as if they were approaching a den of lions. The Grafton girl was sprawled out like a starfish in her bed, occupying as much space as possible in her large mattress– twice as large as Valeana and Shyla’s. It seemed like a waste, in Aegon’s opinion. He and Val could have occupied that bed until the sun rose, and her family would be none the wiser for it. 

The gateway to the secret entrance was behind a squat bookshelf that housed more baubles and shoes than actual books. It was already ajar, Aegon didn’t want to waste time trying to find the latch to re-open it. There was a low dim of light from the torch that he left inside, a little down the way so the light wouldn’t wake up the beast in the bed. Motioning her to follow, they crawled into the portal, and with a gentle tug of the latch, the inconspicuous shelf-door closed behind them. 

Taking her hand, he guided her through the twisting passageway, ensuring that she didn’t trip over the narrow stairways that spiraled down. They then entered a cavernous corridor with arched ceilings that looked like a never ending tunnel to nowhere. With her hand still in his, and the torch in his other, Aegon led her not far from that point, until he got to another inconspicuous secret passage in the form of a slab of stone. 

“Hold this,” he handed the torch to her, and went over to put his entire weight into rolling the stone away. A gust of tepid summer night air wafted into the musky passageway, blowing at Valeana’s silvery strands that framed her face. The rest of her hair was in a very long loose braid, laying upon her shoulder before ending in a knot at her waist. The idea of wrapping it around his wrist and yanking her head back as he took her from behind was not lost on him. 

Beyond the stone slab was a balcony carved from the cliffside itself. It was large, overlooking the crags and the crash of waves of the Blackwater Bay below. There were some statues in the four corners, broken, littered with moss and barnacles. The balcony, if Valeana would call it that, was particularly low along the side of Aegon’s Hill, so it was safe to assume that during winter and autumn, and during the storms throughout spring, the waves of the sea would become so high it would fold over the stone fence that framed the terrace, soaking the area in ocean debris. That night was not one of those nights. The water was calm, though still dangerous as it pushed against the side of the mountain, foam splashing here and there as it attempted to reach the ledge. 

“Aegon…” Valeana stepped out in the open, head pivoting in every which way, seeing nothing but a moonless blanket of black and navy, dotted by stars and creased by waves. No city lamplights, no life, beyond the two of them. There were two braziers that were already lit; the light it offered at such a grand space was dim but enough to see without strain. When she turned around to face the cliffside, she saw what Aegon had left for her. A plush duvet, anchored by a dozen fat, plush pillows. There was a silver cloche sitting in the middle, flanked by amber goblets and two filled carafes of what was likely wine. There were candles there too, some still lit while others had been blown away by the ocean breeze.  

When she turned to him, eyes looking like two emerald stars, Aegon suddenly felt like a child wrecked with nerves. “... What is this?” 

The possibility of rejection lingered in the recesses of his mind, a foreign concept to him since Aegon wasn’t used to rejection. He would simply ask for a girl and she would be granted to him without complaint. A privilege of the title ‘prince’ that he had come to take for granted. Valeana could reject him, and be within her right, and he could ignore it and force himself upon her, and it would be within his right as prince of the realm, as he was entitled to everything and everyone he desired. 

But then she would hate him for an eternity, and curse his bloodline and soul, and Aegon would be left a shell of a man, with nothing but his regrets, all for one night of carnal release. No, forcing himself on her was never an option. He also wasn’t the type of man who wished to see a woman in pain beneath him. Nothing was more of a turn on than enticing world-shattering pleasures on a body with his own hands, mouth, and cock. It was the closest thing to power he had, and he wanted nothing more than to show that to her, if she’d have him. 

He didn’t answer her question, just simply smiled and gestured towards the little nest he had made for them, “Sit. I have cheese, bread, grapes, and salted meats.” 

She eyed him curiously, a tad suspiciously, but still trusted him nonetheless. Aegon watched her descend into the blanket and pillows with gleeful satisfaction. He quickly deposited the torch into the nearest brazier, then practically skipped over to join her. 

Valeana watched him for a beat as he gingerly lighted the doused candles using one that was still lit. “Are you going to tell me what all of this is?” 

“Well,” he began, lighting the last candle. “This platform was where the Old King and his Queen would land their dragons after taking them to flight around the Crownlands. It was a quicker and more surreptitious way for them to get into the Keep without stopping at the Pit and taking a horse or carriage back.” 

Aegon took the domed lid off of their late night meal and smiled up at her, “It’s said that Jaehaerys and Alysanne conceived Saera Targaryen on this very terrace.”

Valeana tilted her head at him, her suspicious gaze turned more like curiosity, “And why is it that you brought me here in the dead of night, Aegon?”

He was pouring the goblets now, “Well, I am… trying to court you.” 

Her mouth popped open, but words escaped her. When Aegon handed her the first goblet, she tentatively took it. 

“I know, I know…” He trails off, already reading her thoughts. Aegon stared into his goblet as he swirls around the red liquid, mixing the tannins around until they dissipated. “We have an arrangement. This was supposed to be a ruse, but… but, hells, this is difficult to say.”

“Aegon,” Val inhaled deeply, her shoulders sagged a bit, the load of an unsaid burden weighing her visibly. “I must speak to you abou–”

“Valeana,” he interrupted her, his smile pained, almost quivering as he tried to bite back his nerves. “Please. I wish to speak this before the words are lost on me.” 

She folded her lips under her teeth and nodded. 

Aegon took a generous sip from his goblet before putting it back down, “I remember what I said to you at the Ball last night. At least, most of it. I wish I had said it a little more… gently and less crass, but I do not regret it. It was the truth… and, hells, Valeana, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve grown fond of you. Quite fond. And I do not wish for us to be a charade anymore.”

His words tumbled through his wine stained lips, eyes looking everywhere other than hers own; her hands, the folds of her robes, the peak of her prosthetic that could be seen through the thin muslin material of her chemise. But his purple eyes found her green ones in the end, and the fear of rejection spiked. Aegon could read her hesitancy as plainly as the stars in the sky. Her eyes danced between his, searching for something in them. Glancing down, the prince took her free hand in his and ran his thumb over her knuckles. 

“If you do not want me, I will leave you alone–”

“Aegon,” her lids shut before the sting of her eyes became too much. “I would be lying if I said I haven’t grown fond of you either.”

Like the waves of the ocean, relief washed over him, but like the crags and spires of stone that protruded around Aegon’s Hill like a natural jagged crown, it crashed with more worry. There was a ‘but’ coming, the way her words hung there, at the edge of a cliff. 

“Aemond and I reconciled that same night. He–” she shook her head and cleared her throat. “I will spare you the details, but it was enough for me to let him back into my life. Not entirely, but… I am giving him a chance to redeem himself.”

His heart was beating frantically in his ribcage, telling him “you lost” over and over again. 

She squeezed his hand then, but the gesture felt condescending, and he considered ripping it away from her. But then Valeana pulled it to her lips and kissed his fingers tenderly, and he was back to putty in her hands. 

“I have not made a decision… My heart is hopelessly torn.”

Aegon felt that awash of relief again, this time the tides brought hope that filled his lungs, making it easier for him to breathe. “Don’t make a decision yet,” he watched her mouth as he moved his fingers so he was now holding onto her chin, thumb framing the lines of her lips. “I want my own chance, a fair shot. Please, Valeana, you said you would make it up to me all those days ago…This is all I want from you. A chance to win your hand.” 

He knew the answer before she said it, by the way she tilted her chin into the palm of his hand. There was still a sorrowful look in her eyes, and perhaps he didn’t entirely understand it, but he sympathized that she was truly of two different minds, trapped between an old love and the possibility of a new one. And… whatever the hells was going on with Jace. 

“Alright, Egg… Don’t let me regret it.”

Aegon grinned, “I’ll try not to, Crab Cake.”

Goblets clinked together and they were drained along with bits of bread, cheese, and meat. With the tense introduction of his motives gone, the evening was eased into a comfortable conversation about funny moments of their shared childhood, to more recent moments they shared together. The first carafe of wine was drained; a Reach vintage, provided by his co-conspirator and his sole supporter, Catelyn Redwyne. 

They now laid on their backs, faces flushed and minds a bit light and heavy at the same time. Valeana was popping grapes in her mouth, and Aegon was trying to make out constellations, but his vision couldn’t quite focus on them. 

“I wish I was a fly on that wall,” Aegon chuckled, the creases of his grin reaching his eyes.

“No, you were a wasp in my skirt that was causing me an immense amount of stress,” The humour in her tone told him that there were no hard feelings over the whole closet fiasco. Which felt like it happened ages ago; it was a bizarre feeling realizing that it led them to where they are now. “Why did you have to bite me?”

Aegon laughed loudly, his eyes trained to the sky, not at all aware that she had rolled her head to look at him. 

“I could not help myself, you looked delicious under there. I was a famished orphan, presented with a slice of warm cherry pie. I needed a nibble,” he shook his head, and then turned it just when she turned away from him, hands over her face. 

“Oh gods,” she laughed despite herself. 

From this angle, he had the perfect view of her chest. Her robes had loosened, creatina a wide V gap at her bosom, exposing her chemise underneath. In the firelight, he could make out the shape of her mounds through the light white fabric, including the small shadow of a beaded nipple underneath. The weight of her breasts sagged against her ribcage, falling just a bit to the side that when her arms folded, they pressed together, and he could see the depth of her cleavage. 

He bit his bottom lip, starting to feel the stir in his loins. His hand twitched and flexed, desperately trying to withhold back its nature to drive into his breeches. Seven Hells, why does she make him so hard? It isn’t the first time he’s seen breasts; he’s seen all sizes, shapes, some aged, some lopsided, some he nursed on like a newborn babe. Aegon was a young man who lived three lifetimes of depravity, and yet he is now reduced to a simpering boy on the cusp of manhood, desperate to see a tit. 

Then Valeana had to open her mouth and ask a question that did not help his present situation. 

“Do… Do you really have to… pleasure yourself after every interaction you have with me?”

His mind went blank, “What?”

“At the ball… you told me while we were dancing,” she cleared her throat as her voice lowered, as if quoting him verbatim would summon the ghost of Septa Jeyne. “That after every interaction we share, you have to find a corner to… fuck your hand.” 

“Ah,” Whipping his head back to the sky, he adjusted his legs by bending and crossing them in an attempt to shield his problem. Clearing his throat, Aegon nods his head, whether she sees him or not. She did, now that her head was rolled back to the side, looking at him, looking at the peaked fabric he was failing to conceal. “Yes, as embarrassing as it is to admit it. Even talking with you gets him all needy, and wanting for attention.”

If he were looking at her, he would’ve seen how her chest swelled and lowered with the laboured breathing of a woman overpowered by her wanton curiosity. A virgin who’s desire was like a new, unused candle, and she was willing to let him strike the flint to light it. 

“Like right now?” 

Her question took him off guard in more ways than one. Her tentative boldness that likely was spurred by the help of Catelyn’s strong wine (gods bless her), and Aegon’s shock of embarrassment from being caught. It was quite uncharacteristic of him; the flirt that he was, would have immediately taken the bait. Instead, the fool sat up and pulled a pillow over his crotch in shame. 

“You noticed, have you?” He gave a nervous laugh. There was a beat of silence where his mind yelled and berated him for allowing his prick to ruin the moment. This would surely not go well in his favour. Now Valeana would think him simply as a dog, with nothing on his mind other than to get his dick wet–

“Can…Can I help?” 

Aegon could have cummed right then and there. 

His head whipped in her direction; she was sitting up as well, her left leg bent up, enough for him to see the prosthetic, enough for him to see the outline of her thigh through her shift and the dark harnesses around it. Valeana’s gaze had a misty look about them, and Aegon realized it was because her pupils were dilated as they flickered from his face and down to his growing need for her. 

He decided to chuckle nervously again, wondering if she was joking, almost praying that she was. “Mayhaps we should call it a night. You are forgetting yourself, Crab Cake.”

“I’m not,” was her immediate reply. “I’m… I’m curious. And I want to see… I want to try.”

“Are you serious with me?” His eyes searched hers, trying to find any indication of a prank, one that he likely deserved after all those years of torment he bestowed upon her. But there wasn’t any. He saw curiosity, as she said, and he saw something else entirely. 

Hunger. She had hungry eyes. 

“If you do not need my help, Aegon, I can leave for five minutes–” she made a move to leave, but he caught her sleeve. 

“Oh, I need your help,” he allowed himself to grin, his tongue running over his bottom lip like a salivating dog. “Desperately.” 

Even in the night, dim with the orange glow of the braziers and contrasted by a deep blue hue of the ocean, Aegon could make out the pink blooms staining her cheeks. Like a shy little doe, he coaxed her with his hand to come closer, and she crawled to his side. 

Aegon laid against the stone wall behind them, a cushion at the small of his back and his goblet long forgotten. Valeana sat on her knees, her hands balancing her sides as she eyed his clothed erection, and he watched her closely, waiting for any indication of doubt. 

“You can back out anytime you want to, darling,” he whispered, his fingers moving down to the laces of his breeches, his legs spreading a bit out of instinct. “It will be painful for me, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” 

Val looked up at him with a curious expression, “Painful?”

He smiled and hummed, “It can be when I do not get release, but… You needn’t worry about that.” His eyes dipped down to his crotch, where the laces had come loose. Aegon gave a soft groan when he was finally freed, heavy in his hand and already weeping. 

Valeana’s mouth popped open and her breathing had laboured. He kept his eyes on her intently, waiting for her to change her mind, but all she did was stare and adjust herself next to him. Her thighs pressed together, and her hands balled into fists atop them. 

Aegon gave himself three strokes with his left hand before gently grasping her wrist with his right, “Here let me help you.” 

She let him take her hand, but instead of bringing it straight to his middle, he brought it up to his lips and kissed her palm reassuringly. Val blinked at him shyly, her teeth kneading the flesh of her bottom lip, the same lip that curled at the ends in a sheepish smile. With her hand in his, Aegon brought it down to his throbbing cock and wrapped her fingers around its girth. They both gasped at the contact. 

He could feel the trembling of her hand beneath his, “Do you want to stop?”

Valeana shook her head immediately, “No, no, I just– I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

Aegon ran his tongue over his bottom lip and nodded, “It’s alright. I’ll help you, my darling. Here, start by stroking up and down– Ugh, that’s it… Not too tightly. Mmm, yes, yes…”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, keeping his palm on hers to guide the slow, languid strokes. Aegon could start to feel her confidence after a minute, he was barely moving his wrist with her. Valeana found her rhythm, but that wasn’t enough for Aegon. 

“Spit on it,” he ordered with a rumble of his chest. Val’s response was a hum of confusion, her strokes halting for a moment. “Spit on it, Val. On the tip, it will help.” 

Valeana did not question it despite her tentativeness and coyness. She leaned over him, her nose less than a foot away from the reddened helmet of his cock. He could so easily just take his hand and push her head down, and her lips would be upon it. It took every muscle in his body to prevent him from doing so, especially when her lips pouted and a large droplet of saliva dropped down onto him. His dick twitched, and he groaned. 

He no longer needed to guide her hand. With him being decently lubricated, her strokes became faster, more confident. Aegon’s back arched when he gave a soft whimper, “Not so fast.” 

“Am I hurting you?” Her question was so soft and sweet. 

“No, no, I just– I don’t want to cum just yet,” he opened his eyes and looked at her through a hooded gaze. “Slower… Use your thumb on the tip– fuck, yes, like that. Fuuucking hells, Valeana, you’re a natural.” 

His praise emboldened her, excited her, enticed a rumbly moan from her chest that immediately caught his attention. Aegon has been around enough aroused women in his days to recognize one in physical need. He reached out and placed a hand on her thigh, his fingers curled around the fabric of her chemise, which was now fully exposed. At some point the belt of her robe had loosened, and it pooled behind her like a cape. 

Valeana startled under his touch, her strokes stopping when she looked at him, “Aegon…”

“Let me return the favour,” his plea was soft, his fingers were not when they started to tug at the fabric that shielded her vanity from him. “I’ll make you feel so good, I swear…” 

Aegon must have made a mistake, because she retracted from him, hands hugging her stomach, hiding herself from him. In his panic, his body went stiff as he sat up to immediately apologize. For what, he wasn’t sure, but now she looked incredibly insecure. Perhaps he tried to breach a boundary. 

“I’m sorry, Crab Cake, I didn’t mean– Please don’t stop, you felt so good…”

She nodded, giving him a faint smile, “I’m just not ready…for that, right now. But I don’t want to stop.” 

His smile was grateful, it was full of relief. Aegon planted a kiss on her shoulder, “I understand, darling. Hm…” he trailed off as he got an idea, birthed from the need to feel her as much as possible, in ways she would allow him. “Sit on my leg.”

Her brow furrowed, “Why?”

“Trust me,” impatiently he took her by the waist and pulled her onto him, prying her legs apart when her body moved over his. Now Valeana sat upon his thigh, the skirt of her chemise pooling around her legs as her bare cunt was on him. Well, almost bare. With his hands still on her hips, he could feel the outline of cotton shorts underneath. 

Valeana looked down at him, all wide eyed and innocent. He smiled at her like a fox to a rabbit, his fingers kneaded the supple flesh of her hips through the muslin. Then, Aegon took her hand and brought it to her own mouth. 

“Spit again,” his words were gentle, his eyes were dark. Valeana obeyed; her cheeks twitched as she gathered the saliva onto her pallet and deposited it into her palm. Aegon guided it back to his cock, which twitched in anticipation when her warm velvety touch enveloped it again. “Good girl,” he moaned through pouty lips. 

Val’s breath hitched in her throat at the praise. Her eagerness to please him was evident at her enthusiastic strokes, now pulling on his muscle from base to tip, using beads of his pre-ejaculate as more lubricant. Her thumb painted the head with it, moving along the crease, feeling every ridge and vein, drinking up every moan and groan that came from him. 

She hadn’t realized it, not until Aegon’s fingers dug into her hip, but she was grinding on his thigh. The thin seam of her cotton shorts was too loose to keep in place, and with every movement of her hips, the more it migrated off to the side. Her pearl was now flushed against the rough fabric of his breeches, making her core stir with heat, like a volcano about to erupt. 

“Mmm, does that feel good, my darling?” His nose hovered over her neck before he planted kisses. Her response was a meek “mhm” with her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “Good. Your hand feels fantastic, I can only imagine other parts of you…” 

After he said this, his hands pawed up her sides until they reached her shoulders. Aegon’s lips had never left her neck and sternum, peppering them with open mouthed kisses and licking her skin to savour every salty taste of her. His fingers curled around the neckline of her robe and chemise, yanking it down over her shoulders. 

“A-Aegon,” her plea might have been an attempt to stop him, but it was poorly communicated through a pleasured whine. Her hips did not stop, her hand did not cease, but her free one went to grab his elbow. 

“Please,” he whined into her clavicle. “Please. I am so close… I want to cum with your tits in my face.” Aegon’s hands pawed and gripped at her body in heady need. He was so desperate to strip her down naked, but he would settle for just her breasts. Always there on display, so close yet out of reach. Even pressed up against his clavicle, they were soft and inviting, he could see himself suffocating between them. A perfect way to die, next to having his nose buried in her cunt with her thighs crushing his skull. 

Aegon whimpered when she unlatched her grip on his cock, but her movements spoke to her motivations. He pulled away from her neck and watched her with baited breath and famished eyes as she snaked her arms out of the red robe, and then started to unlace the front of her gown. With slow, methodical movements, Valeana tucked her arms through her sleeves and pulled them out through the neck of the chemise, effectively pulling it over her ample chest and bunching it around her waist. 

“Maiden, Mother, and Crone,” Aegon groaned at the sight. Soft and pale, like white silk, her mounds glowed under the firelight. Her areolas were wide, light pink in colour, and her nipples were small pebbles nesting in the middle. There were splotches of yellow here and there, on her right areola, on her left breast, all evidence of his brother’s earlier expedition. The sight of it caused a rush of possessiveness in him, his lust for Valeana mixing with his desire to beat his brother. His lips and hands were upon her in an instant, desperate to erase traces of Aemond from her skin. 

“Ae-gon!” She gasped his name, and he moaned in return. 

Aegon gripped her hand and brought it back to his cock, wrapping her fingers around his girth and helped her resume her strokes, harder, and faster than before. His lips were bruising as he found one of her nipples and latched onto him. Taking both of his hands, he kneaded her breasts, pushing them together as Aegon’s tongue lapped up the plush flesh. 

His ministrations were not gentle, but not unwelcome, as evidenced from Valeana’s series of licentious whines and the vigor of her hips as they bucked against his thigh. Her hand worked him desperately, her fingers moving along the rim of his helmet, collecting pearls of seed to coat the sensitive flesh underneath. Her curious hand moved southward, finding the soft pouch of his stones, and testing the feel of it between her little fingers. 

“Ah-uh!” Aegon’s hipped buck forward, then he gave a soft laugh, “Oh, Valeana, you vivacious little creature.” He buried his nose in the valley of her breasts and gave a soft moan as she massaged his family jewels, which were tight and sensitive underneath the soft skin. 

He felt her cheek upon the top of his head. Her voice came to him, soft and coy, a sweet mask to hide her newly debauched mind, “Does that feel good?”

“Ohh, you have no fucking idea,” his chuckle came out like a growl. With a moan he captured a nipple in his mouth, biting it softly between his front teeth, and making her squeal. “Stroke me, love. I’m almost there…” 

Her hand found his cock again, the muscle flexing in her grip as she moved it from tip to base, collecting as many pearly tears as she could to make her strokes wet and seamless. Aegon began rutting into her hand, increasing the pace, which spurreed her to do the same with her hips. 

“Fffuck,” He growled into her chest. His hands roamed all over her body, gripping and pinching at every curve and roll he could find. His mouth found another nipple, sucking onto it with a long groan. Aegon’s arms pulled her snugly to his body, one splayed against her back, and the other one roaming over the curve of her arse, and gripping a cheek possessively. His fingers dug through the fat of her rear, grazing the puckered hole hidden beneath the prison of her clothes. 

“Y’so bloody gorgeous, Valeana. I wanna fuck you so fucking bad,” Aegon groaned into the meat of her breast. “‘M gonna… Fuck, I’m almost– Ahh!”

The built up was immense. His stones tightened and the base of his cock tingled at the sensation of his seed. Her fingers coiled tightly under the helmet, sending him over the ledge. A rush of pleasured release overtook him, shuddering his body as ropes of his spend shot out and coated her hand and leg. Valeana still stroked him through it, the good little girl that she was, but he was getting sensitive, and it became borderline torturous. 

Aegon’s hand shot out to grip her wrist to stop her, “Ooh, love…Y’can’t empty me any further.” His mind was blank with ecstasy and exhaustion, not being able to do anything other than lay his face between her breasts and try to breathe. 

When he at last lifted his heavy head, she was looking at the pearlescent seed all over fingers. Aegon wondered if this was the first time she has ever seen a man ejaculate – or a man, in general. The thought bolstered his ego, of course. Now he truly had something Aemond did not have. 

Not being able to contain his grin of victory, he nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck, and planted gratified kisses along the junction next to her shoulder. But she was quiet, a little too quiet for his liking, and the seeds of doubt started to take root.

Aegon lifted his head to look at her, his brow slightly knitted, “Do you regret it?”

Valeana turned to him, a small sheepish smile on her swollen lips. She’d likely been kneading them with her teeth the entire time, trying to stifle her moans as if anyone were able to hear them out there. 

“No,” she shook her head. “I actually… Liked it a lot.” 

A slow grin split his face. Her confession was enough to get him hard again, “Well, we can do it as many times as you like, Crab Cake. I’ll just have to let poor Hildy know that she can retire from my services.”

Valeana snorted adorably, then quickly covered her mouth, “Oh, gods, Aegon, my fingers will go nowhere near your bum.”

He mock pouted, “A pity. I have a nice bum, and you have such soft fingers.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN SNEAK PEAK Heat bloomed at her cheeks, “He was trying to flee my sister, and pulled me into a closet as his captive. He was a nuisance, that is all. And because I know this will fill you with joy, I beat him with a broomstick afterwards.”  Jace grins broadly, “You are right, that does fill me with joy.” He then clears his throat, “And your courtship with him… is that conjecture too, or…? Images of Aegon’s cock in her palm flashed in her mind.  “No,” she forced herself to say. “That… is true.”  He stared at her, face full of incredulity, “I was hoping that to be untrue. Valeana, why on earth would you be courting Aegon, of all people? He has not changed, at all.” “It is a long and complicated story,” she sighed, “One I am tired of explaining.”  Jace was unconvinced, though. No matter the reasons, whether they were rational or not, he was determined to convince her otherwise.  “You remember how Aemond was the only one amongst us that did not have a dragon?” Valeana stared at him for a beat, “...yes. And you lot teased him relentlessly for it.” “Aegon the most, if you recall,” Jace briefly glanced at her before returning his eyes to the path.

Notes: 6000 words dedicated to a hand job. That has to be the first, right? Don't worry, Aemond's gets his whole chapter too, and it's a chonky girl. Also shout out Bridgerton, XD The Knight and I was obvie supposed to be The Duke and I if y'all didn't catch that. Right, anyway, so my struggle is still going on, but I'm trying. Not liking how close the updates are getting to my current writing spot. But I'm hoping I can catch up soon. I'm trucking on, though, and I'm hoping I can get a chapter done before the end of this week. And if anyone missed it, if you're interested, check out my Fem!Aegon x Aemond one shot: Love Is With Your Brother.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

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

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

[spelled-like-pajamas]

Something I don't think I've ever seen someone talk about with TF2 (though there probably is someone) is a small detail in the Expiration Date video (which came out in June of 2014, for context that's important later). For context, here's the clip in question:

Did you catch something small? When Scout stands up and says he'll do the date without Spy's help, Spy does something he rarely ever does, something absolutely tiny, but that speaks volumes.

He smiles. A genuine, non-snarky smile.

If you were to watch this when it first came out, and notice this detail, I'd not make any sense, really. Why would he be smiling, when Scout is arguing with him, telling him that he's wrong, basically saying he just wasted his supposed final hours on this world teaching him something he's not going to use?

But then, in January of 2017, nearly 2 and half years later, and (okay spoilers but this has been around for like more than 7, nearly 8 years since posting) it is all but directly shouted from the heavens that Spy is Scout's father. And all of a sudden, this small detail, Spy's smile, takes on a whole new meaning.

As Scout's father, Spy is proud of him.

Even though for what has been presumed to be the finals days of their life, even though Spy has taken ever opportunity to belittle him, to tell him he is a failure and this won't work, that he won't get Pauling (which he probably won't regardless since she is, much like the Spy-Scout relationship, pretty much confirmed to be a lesbian), Scout stands up to him. He stands his ground for something he wants to at least try to do.

And Spy smiles because he is proud of his son for learning one of the best lessons he could ever teach him: stand up for yourself when you believe in something and really want it. He never got to teach him so many things with how he never got to be involved in his raising because of his job, but over the course of 3 days they have, he gets to teach him so much, and leaves him with the most important advice without even saying it.

And it helps to explain a good bit more. It explains why the only reason he interrupts isn't to talk back or put him in his place, but remind him that he's got a date to get to, and his smile only fades when Scout just flat out insults him, like he ruined their father-son bonding moment. It explains why he's so attentive, watching him attempt to start the date, and why when he seems him next, instead of telling him something snarky or rude, or telling him to fight better, he reminds him there is someone he needs to make an apology to, and try to give him the space to take care of that admits the chaos.

Spy can't show it, but he is proud of his son.

Anywho, happy 100th post (took me long enough). Hope to be more active on here, and post more things, and maybe even show off some cool things I make. But to everyone who has been a part of this, from the voice overs on YouTube that first intrigued me to check this place out, to the few but wonderful mutuals I'm so lucky to have, to every weird and amazing person that makes this site somewhere we can call home, I thank you!

okay, bye!

[bitchy-peachy]

I don't know whether I should find Trump voters freaking out after learning that Trump doesn't care about him funny or infuriating. It's funny bc literally every reason they had voted for this man was a bold-faced lie and infuriating bc ppl on both sides has be telling them over and over that Trump would fuck America over and now that it's affecting them and their precious gas and egg price, they want to cry about being duped.

I find regretful Trump voters quite pitiful and soulless. Which is quite a lot from me cos when I despise someone to the core I go completely apathetic towards any suffering they may have.

They voted as selfishly as possible. Some didn't even care about the prices or anything, but yes for "sticking it to the libs".

But... While a lot of maga voted for Trump because he openly hates those they hate, there's unfortunately a lot of dumbass people that actually believed he would "unify" America.

(I'm not even joking. I've seen some maga online that are that effing delusional. They really thought they were the "good guys" in voting for the orange skidmark. I swear they need to get slapped for the audacity but I don't want to catch shit from them. )

These are the same people that compared wearing a freaking MASK to slavery so they've always been stupid and also racist af. They blame and project their own mediocrity on minorities and women (even if they're women themselves cos holyshit do maga women hate other women. My own maga mother... Oh she's literally hates everything with a vagina, even animals)

Those voters regretting their vote now... They won't even get the concept of pity from me. (My maga mother and her crying over her VA benefits she voted away lost me forever too.)

They didn't even know what tariffs were ffs. Or that "Obamacare" (a nickname given by republicans themselves, btw 😂) is the ACA they wanted to keep.

They just saw "Obama" in the little nickname and thought "Evil Black Democrat President is robbing us blind. We only want ACA🤬!"

Some are trying to lie to themselves thinking the tariffs will bring back American jobs (😂) and make us buy only "American products" ignoring the fact that our "American products" have imported components that will be affected by these tariffs.

So our "Made in America" shit... Yeah. That's going up.

Oh don't get me started on how more than half of our agriculture is imported and the agriculture that's actually done in our country is done mostly by immigrants that get paid shit wages. (And when Trump deports them all and farmers are forced to hire Americans that couldn't be assed to work a field, the prices will go up for our local agriculture as well)

These morons, we have to call them that, voted for the most epic downward spiral that will tank the American economy for potential decades (not just a few years of "hardship" like that Immigrant-That-Should-Get-Pimp-Smacked-Back-To-Africa Musk claimed.)

Sad thing is that we already had poverty. The middle class no longer exists. It's everyone's poor but with a handful of rich fucks.

And these moronic ass people just freaking put that shit on steroids with their dumb fucking voting.

People tell me I shouldn't insult them so much but shit. They're fucking stupid as hell.

They don't even understand why even relatives and friends don't wanna talk to them anymore 😂.

Oh its not a "difference of opinion". They voted to make us poorer, take rights away from the lgbtqia, women (yes, you miscarry and you can die from it now cos the procedure to remove rotting fetus matter is an abortion which these stupid dumbfuckers are very deaf about.), they voted against ALL POC (including the idiots that voted against themselves. DING DING DING! DENATURALIZATION! America has done it before and Trump will be bringing it back with his fake ass "invasion" emergency to activate the army), they voted against affordable healthcare and therefore fucked over people with preexisting conditions/disabilities etc., they voted against education because republicans need only stupid people to keep them in power.

Heck, they voted against gender affirming care because they think it only affects trans people when there's people with health conditions that require this kind of care (like me. A cis woman that produces too much estrogen that causes me a variety of health problems.)

Red states are behind in everything. Education, health, minimum wages but they're sure winning by being higher in crimes, sex crimes, incest and poverty.

They mooch off blue states taxes. They don't give as much as much back as they take. If it weren't for "demonrats" they'd be completely off the map.

Republican voters like living that way without realizing they could have been so much better.

They keep willingly voting for people that keep them in that life or worse... considering that these elections had very high stakes.

These elections were not like others in the past. He has too much power with the SC, senate and representatives.

Trump voters regretting their votes now should wipe words like freedom and patriot off their vocabulary because they have selfishly and quite stupidly fucked America.

Damn this shit was long, LMFAOOO.

[rei-ismyname]

Resurrection of Magneto Highlights 1

RoM is a book that loses something in the highlight format as the big moments are truly earned and impactful. There's an ongoing narration, dialogue or soliloquy running through each issue tying everything together and to truly give context I'd have to annotate it. Lucky for us, Al Ewing and Luciano Vecchio are masters and every panel serves as a coda for Storm or Magneto from SWORD and X-Men Red. This is easily my longest Highlights yet, there's just so much to say.

I wish I dreamt about Magneto

Ororo has a dream of a full page splash - Magneto, Max, saying 'I was wrong' surrounded by five of his iconic helmets. 3 red ones, bloody and facing towards the world. 1 black, 1 white upright behind his back. It's been quite a while since Uranos the Undying tore his heart out on Judgement Day but it's good to see Ororo has some measure of peace and love on Arakko with Craig of NASA.

She's the deuteragonist of RoM so she chooses to follow her dream and seek Max in the afterlife. Ororo shows up at Adam Brashear/The Blue Marvel's underwater base and asks for help with exactly that. He lampshades how bozos like Reed would deem it impossible and leads her to a portal. He's in the middle of explaining how dangerous it is and requires... we don't hear because Storm takes a running leap and YOLOs into it. Tarn the Uncaring and a who's who of Marvel cosmology are there to greet her. Tarn is insulted that Ororo has come for the guy who exploded his head, but as above, so below - he loves to talk and she outwits him.

Ashake is often obliquely referred to but very rarely directly, so it's lovely to see her magical ancestor here to help. As Ororo pets her black cat, Ashake confirms this is a place of magic. Symbols and metaphors are powerful here - something Mags could use help with in his current state. It's also connected to the Kabbalistic tree of life, but I'm not very knowledgeable about that.

Two redrawn and recoloured keystone moments of Max and Ororo's relationship down the bottom.

She resolved to see this through and her thought carries her towards the Sphere of Judgement. Unexpectedly a bunch of Dominions bar her path, though luckily the two mutants are too small to truly be of interest to them. Still, a single mortal arriving in Overspace is significant and they prompt her to ask questions. The face of Dominions are shown but it's still fairy tale rules. The most important thing she learns is about Enigma, though she doesn't know it at the time.

The Sphere of Judgement is hostile, everything is inverted. Lightning is red, the river is lava, clouds are black, everything is broken. She notices this spot from her dream and the charred frames of Max's five helmets still sit in blood. Magneto has been here for months by choice, bypassing the Waiting Room Wanda built but refusing to move on. He believes he deserves this.

Finally she reaches Magneto weeping blood in front of a wall of names. Everyone he ever killed and he's counting every one, remembering their name. He's judging himself, punishing, and doesn't think he deserves to leave.

He shares his greatest shames, his most recent cruelties. Worst, the ones he convinced himself was necessary. He's overwhelmed by the red in his ledger and in this place of judgement lashes out, flinging names off the wall at Ororo while naming the person. What snaps him out of it is the mention that something happened to Charles, heh.

'The no-place of his heart' 👌

Max turns the judgement on Ororo but she rejects it, calling him out for extending Charles the grace he won't extend to himself plus a little hypocrisy. Magneto has always been prone to drama and that tendency can hurt as much as it heals.

That really gets him going, but he's judging himself more constructively now. Love, friendship, accountability. The things that are keeping some part of tethered to the living world. He pulls one more name down to say the name aloud before he sends it at Ororo - it's his - Max Eisenhardt. Still, he cries 'it's out of our hands.' He truly wants to give up but I think a part of him knows his story isn't done.

Ororo disagrees. Displaying why she's the only person who could assist in the resurrection of Magneto, she covers his eyes and remembers the rules of this place. The wall of the dead becomes its opposite - the wall of the living. Not those he killed but those he saved. It's enough to pull him out of punishing himself. Neither group should be forgotten but he can choose to save life rather than take it - to change.

Torturing yourself in a personal hell might appease some of those dead, but accepting responsibility to the living should be what comes after judgement. Suffering helps no one, and as he says to Logan as he's about to kill Charles much later - 'no more martyrs.' Part of why I enjoyed Magneto identifying Logan Behavior is because he himself is the king of it. Charles too. All three are prone to martyrdom but dying is easy. It's living that's difficult and worthwhile. Secluding yourself from the world, whether it's in the Sphere of Judgement, a mega prison, or with a pack of wolves - is senseless and selfish. Living is better.

Next time - what does that actually mean for both of them and how do they get out of this place? It's not as simple as turning a key. Choosing to live is hard work. Metatextually, change and rebirth requires a tour of all that he is, all that he's done. What's the point of killing a character and then bringing them back the same as they were? Comic books do it all the time, but Magneto's long history is a study of opposites and extremes. He, the writer and the reader all need to deconstruct Magneto so he can be reconstructed as a better person. With the benefit of hindsight we know he succeeds, but what does that actually look like for him? 60 years of his oversized influence on the world is a lot and it only gets better from here.

[gender-critical-analytical]

the way some of you clearly think bisexuals don't experience actual attraction and feelings for people, but rather decide ahead of time if they want a man or a woman this time and then just go and pick whoever comes into their line of sight next is so obvious and definitely makes me think you all don't need to speak on things you don't know about

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[daz4i]

fav thing in the bsd fandom (on tumblr at least) is everyone going ham with sigma's pronouns and no one's correcting anyone. like it's collectively agreed that sigma's gender is too fucked up to argue

[wild-at-mind]

I feel like tags like these were inevitable on the post about people traumatising themselves for the greater good or w/e... There is SO much emphasis on posting on tumblr and other social media being so important and so useful and we must never stop. But I would like to counterargue with the idea that posting on social media (especially tumblr) constantly does very little/nothing. If that was true then the point here becomes meaningless.

[dredshirtroberts]

it is not slacking off to write or create it is not slacking off to do things that are fun i am not slacking off or procrastinating right now i'm allowed to do things i enjoy doing for fun including playing games and writing and such

[sysig]

Endearments (Patreon)