#there are so many characters that this applies to

[teambyler]

The most hypocritical anti Byler argument:

"Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay!?"

Whenever I hear this argument or some variation of it, I think back to my two cousins, one a girl and the other a boy. (One from my dad's side of the family, the other from my mom's.) They were maybe six years old at the time, and they were innocently talking and playing and giving each other math and spelling-bee quizzes. ALL my family were giggling, saying they were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

I also think back to all the times I see young girls being judged on their physical beauty and told they're going to have a handsome boy when they grow up because they're so pretty.

From childhood, boys and girls have their sexuality assumed for them. Their SEXUALITY and romantic possibility are talked about openly in front of their face. They're made to look at themselves sexually before they even want to.

So when people yell at Byler fans saying "Why do you have to make everything gay?" I want to scream at them:

"Why do you have to make everything straight!?"

Why do you insist on sexualizing children to be heterosexual even before they're ready to start thinking of themselves in those terms?

Why do you have no problem with Mike kissing El in season 1 right after she asks him if he's like her "brother"?

Why do you idealize their relationship when they were children, while simultaneously trying to shame Byler fans for trying to "sexualize children" even though these are fictional characters and the actors who play Mike and Will are already adults?

Why do you shame any thought or possibility of homosexual romance, while imposing heterosexual norms on everyone?

It reminds me of people who say "You can be gay of course... just don't shove it in our faces (by holding forth that you're gay, kissing in public, etc.)." When no one bats an eye when straight people do the same thing. They're willing to give lip service to LGBT+ people, but actual equality they don't accept.

It's Straight Privilege in action: the norms and standards that straight people enjoy quietly do not to apply to us.

This hypocrisy even distorts how Milkvans view Mike and El. We're told that if Mike and Will get together, that would mean Mike "used El" and El would never be able to forgive him.

Not only does this disregard that people can have amicable break-ups and still be close friends: it also shows that the idea of a platonic loving relationship between a Mike and El is beyond their comprehension. To them, the only loving relationships boys and girls can have with each other are romantic ones.

(Now, before anyone objects: sure many people accept Robin and Steve, but that's because Robin is canonically gay. We all know that before she came out many of us (me included!) were shipping those two as a couple!)

If someone ships Mike and El WITHOUT her confronting him about his poor treatment of her in early s4, without there being an honest conversation about that, this definitely raises an eyebrow from me. The "love confession" didn't address this: his fear of losing her did NOT explain failing to comfort her or failing to say he loved her. Theoretically it's possible for these two to repair things. (And if Milkvan is endgame I hope that they do by addressing this!) But for some Milkvan shippers this need to address Mike's behavior doesn't even enter their minds because they're idealizing their relationship. In other words, THEY are imposing their idea of a relationship on these two, much in the same way my family was imposing their own ideas on my two cousins without regard to the people involved.

So if anyone asks "Why can't two boys just be friends? Why do you have to make everything gay?" it's purely hypocritical and dishonest. No, we just want THIS relationship between Mike and Will (which is clearly being built up as romantic) to be gay out of a sea of heterosexual relationships on TV.

No. THEY are the ones who rule out a boy and girl just being friends. THEY are the ones who insist on imposing romance on a boy and girl when they're not ready. THEY are the ones who insist on "everything" being one way.

-teambyler

[elipri]

Oh man this chapter was hilarious, I laughed so much! But it's also filled with political details and dare I say a setup for future plots and (much needed) character development 👀

Starting off with the confirmation that Ostania is indeed a nationalist country

This is also the first time that an outsider seems to view The Punch as something positive, as though Anya is standing up to right-wing extremism (which would actually be super cool ngl)

All the comedy aside, this is the first child character who's actually aware of politics and international relations. It makes sense that a prince has to keenly study politics and diplomacy, most of his thoughts are about his country and which repercussions his interactions in Eden could have on the grand scheme of things. This kid literally breathes politics, everything from his mannerisms, expressions and thoughts is deeply embedded in his political upbringing. That's quite a burden for a 6 year old kid...

Now let's talk about how this will affect my favourite brat hahaha

They are literal opposites in everything, but I find it interesting how the prince is basically a subversion of Damian (and could probably bring out the worst in him)

Damian thinks he's hot shit because of his father and acts as though he's royalty, but he's maybe a noble at best. He calls everyone who doesn't share his status a peasant and looks down on them. His expressions are brash and very rude and he has gotten reprimanded for it before. He aspires to become a politician, yet he lacks every single skill for that. However he's also courageous when it does matter.

The prince on the other hand is obviously of royal descent, but he's not arrogant at all. In fact, he's just scared of international scandal and a coward. He's humble and eager to befriend his Ostanian classmates and doesn't care if they're "peasants". He has actual diplomatic skills that he applies all the time. He's honest and straightforward in his thoughts and doesn't feel ashamed to openly befriend Anya, even going as far as suggesting that he should visit her home

I can also see him subtly and passive-aggressively make digs at Damian. There seems to be a suggestion that his kingdom is either politically centrist and/or left-leaning and Damian might incorporate everything that prince hates. He would also get away with provoking Damian because he's already mastered diplomacy (for a 6 yo lol) which could ultimately lead to Damian embarrassing himself in front of everyone (and maybe even earn a tonitrus that he kinda deserves ngl). Unlike prince, Damian is impulsive, emotional and just starts to scream at everyone around him. He doesn't know what composure is.

Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if most of their classmates will start to distance themselves from Damian and no longer put him on a pedestal. Why should they when there's a literal prince among them who treats everyone with respect and is always eloquent, even when he's internally freaking out.

All of this will hopefully trigger Damian's long-overdue character development. The clash with prince is inevitable either way, especially because Anya is involved. Yes I want to see jealous Damian, but I also want him to grow up a little and realize that he's not that important, he shouldn't treat others as beneath him and most importantly he should realize that he knows nothing. He doesn't know what actually makes a great leader and politician. He doesn't know how Ostania and his father are viewed internationally. He's not aware how his actions could actually bear political consequences.

I do hope he will befriend prince in the end though, he could learn many things from him. Only in Eden do international relations form during elementary school lmao

[flowerandblood]

The Song of Promises [1/3]

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity (both characters), sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, angst, abduction, description of eye loss, mourning, child abuse, Aemond being a self-absorbed, vain guy ]

[ description: Aemond's childhood is filled with loneliness and regret until Daemon arrives in the Red Keep with his first-born child, daughter of Rhea Royce. The fact that neither of them has a dragon of their own binds them together with a thread of understanding, and their slowly developing relationship gives birth in the young prince's mind to a plan of which she is a part. Slow burn, childhood companions to lovers, first intimacy, rude, insolent, arrogant Aemond with big ego. ]

This is story that describes the events of what would have happened if Aemond had met Daemon's daughter earlier (i.e. as a child). The characters are exactly the same as in the original The Price of Pride, but still, this is a standalone story that can be read separately: you don't need to know that story to read this one.

I have tried to show how the need for closeness matures in adolescents as they get older until they fully understand what they want and how to achieve it. Decide for yourself what happened between them when and at what age so that you feel comfortable with it (let's agree that the ages from the books and the series do not apply here, because at the end of the chapter we are still before Helaena and Aegon's wedding: everyone is simply older than in the source material, decide for yourself by how many years).

A big inspiration for me to wrtie this story was my relationship with my husband (everything was going very slowly for us and each new base was an achievement and a great event). That said, this story you will read alternately from two perspectives (not the same events tho).

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Aemond

That night he slept exceptionally badly: he wriggled in his bed for a long time, struggling to hold back tears of anger, thinking of what Aegon and his nephews had done to him. His older brother was spiteful by nature, but until now he had believed that they would support each another in the presence of the Strongs.

He was mistaken.

The pig with wings he had been given by them – according to Aegon's assurances, as a consolation prize – was eye-watering proof of the humiliation he had suffered at his hands for years. The way they all laughed out loud while he stood completely petrified with shame and the fact that they considered it amusing made his whole body begin to shake.

He wished the sun would never rise again.

When he woke up the next day, his meal was served as usual: to his delight, his mother, although she did not usually allow it, ordered his favourite sweet cinnamon rolls to be brought to him. While he still felt miserable, eating them made his spirits lighter, as the pleasant thought went through his head that his mother loved him.

During the sparring, Aegon acted as if he had forgotten what he had done to him the day before: he said something to him and laughed, as if he expected him to feel like replying to him after the humiliation he had suffered at his hands.

His silence, unfortunately, was not met with understanding from his brother either.

“Must you always be such a twat?” Aegon asked.

Again he did not answer, pressing his lips into a thin line with rage, and hit one of the targets with all his strength with a wooden sword.

He did not utter words that Aegon or his nephews could use against him.

He thought he would never give them a reason to mock him again.

Silence was safe.

However, he was snapped out of his reverie by the voice of Jace, who had been speaking to Luke during one of their short breaks.

“Mother said they would be arriving today. Daemon and his firstborn daughter. He killed her mother.” His nephew spoke in a whisper, clearly excited, but he stood close enough to understand what he said.

Daemon's firstborn daughter.

It was true that he had heard of her and knew that she existed, however, her person did not particularly concern him: she had no dragon and she was a girl, so she did not threaten him in any way, yet she also had nothing that would make him find the subject of her arrival interesting.

Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, as he involuntarily strained his hearing, standing with his back to them, pretending to stretch before his next routine, paying no attention to the fact that Criston Cole was shouting something to him and Aegon.

“He killed her mother?” Squealed Luke, and Jace shushed him and tapped him on the head, clearly wanting his little brother to be quiet.

“It's gossip. Mother says we have to be kind to her. She won't have here anyone but us.” Jace explained to him.

Although he kept telling himself that he didn't care about some pathetic little girl without a dragon, the next morning he sat with his face pressed against the window, waiting for them to arrive.

He didn't know what he was actually waiting for: Daemon had always seemed intriguing to him. His uncle was confident and ironic, on top of which there was no one, except perhaps Ser Criston, who could match him in wielding a sword.

Deep down he admired him and the possibility of seeing him again thrilled him.

He twisted in his seat, rising higher on his arms as the gates to the courtyard opened and indeed, he saw his uncle on a white horse and a little girl with long, dark hair sitting before him in the saddle.

He snorted at the thought that, like his nephews, the gods had not bestowed upon her the Targaryen colour that he wore proudly on his head.

However, she was a legitimate child and had certainly inherited the colour of her hair from her mother, so he felt that this was not reason to mock her.

After all, his mother also had dark hair, and he held her in high regard and respect.

Daemon jumped off his mount lightly, then grabbed his daughter under the arms and helped her down, without waiting for the servant to run up to them.

He saw that she had started to look around – he thought that she was certainly enthralled and overwhelmed by the beauty and grandeur of the Red Keep, but when she turned her face towards him he recognised that her facial expression was more one of uncertainty and fear.

She will have no one here but us.

He killed her mother.

For some reason, for a moment, but only a moment, he felt pity for her.

Although she was not a princess or anyone special, news of her arrival and the reason for it had spread through the fortress very quickly; he usually preferred to stay in his chamber or in the library, but on this day he had left his safe places to stroll the corridors and the castle, hoping to see her.

He wanted to judge her carefully in his mind: he had formed an opinion about everyone, and she could not remain an exception.

A sting of disappointment spread across his chest when, to his displeasure, he did not see her until the next day during sparring, in the company of Jace and Luke. They spoke to her, gesturing vividly, apparently showing her everything they could, she, however, simply looked at them with big eyes, terrified, and said nothing, looking where they told her to.

“My Princes. Come over here. Let's begin.” Criston Cole called out towards them, clearly impatient.

He grinned under his breath with satisfaction, feeling a pleasant pride at the thought that Ser Criston preferred them to the Strongs and was clearly showing it.

Jace and Luke stepped closer, and Daemon's daughter approached with them, her eyes wide, her small hands clenched into fists from anxiety.

Looking at her closely, he decided she was not ugly: her face seemed pleasant to him, her eyelashes and eyebrows long and dark, accentuating her skin tone in some interesing way. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, as were her lips: she was a little shorter than Jace, but like them, she was dressed in a training garment.

“Our cousin used to practise archery in Runestone. We thought she could do it here too.” Luke said.

Cole straightened up and sighed, clearly frustrated.

“Consent would have to be given by Prince Daemon himself. I cannot make that decision alone.” He replied matter-of-factly, causing the girl to lower her head, disappointed.

Jace, however, was not giving up.

“Then we'll ask him.” He said with vigour, glancing at his cousin, who shook her head.

“I don't know where he is. I can't find him anywhere.” She muttered.

“Prince Daemon, from the information I have, set off to Essos before dawn. Without his permission, I cannot take responsibility for your safety, my Lady.” Ser Criston explained, already a little softer.

An uncomfortable silence fell around them, one he'd experienced for the first time in his life: it wasn't filled with irritation or rage, but with the fact that it seemed to him that neither of them knew how to act in such a situation.

Usually when Jace or Luke didn't know or couldn't do something, it was a source of pride and mockery for him and Aegon: their nephews reacted similarly to failures on their side.

However, he didn't know what he should feel or think upon hearing that a little girl didn't know that her father was now with his second family.

He looked at her to witness her reaction and felt a strange squeeze in his throat seeing that she obviously did not know about it – her lips were slightly parted in disbelief, her gaze wandering from one person to the next, as if she felt humiliated and abandoned, left alone in a place foreign and frightening to her.

“With your permission, I will return to my chamber.” She mumbled and bowed, only to turn and move towards the cloisters, disappearing into one of the corridors.

“Did you see that? She is crying like a little baby. Would you like to join her, brother? You two fit together.” Said Aegon and patted him on the shoulder, making his cheeks flush scarlet with shame.

“That's enough.” Cole said. “Get back to practising.���

Although he occupied his head with various activities for the rest of the day – mostly reading books on Westeros history – his thoughts kept returning to her face then, when she found out her father was gone.

She wasn't as annoying and provocative as Jace and Luke, of that he was sure – nor had she inherited Daemon's aggressive manner, at least not in the way he'd expected. As much as he wanted to assign her to the Black party, as Daemon had always supported Rhaenyra, he wasn't sure she was even aware of the division between them and that she had to choose.

She was thrown between strange walls and strange people, left alone.

Even for him, it was quite cruel.

But it was not his concern, he consoled himself in spirit, trying to start a chapter concerning Winterfell.

For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to the supper with excitement: he knew that his father-king would surely invite his niece to it and say a few warm words to make her feel at home.

He hoped she would be seated close to them and not next to the Strongs.

She shouldn't spend time with the bastards, but he didn't blame her for doing so – he guessed that she simply didn't know who they really were.

Perhaps I should tell her about it, he told himself in spirit sitting down at the table in his seat, recognising that, in fact, he would be doing her a favour by doing so.

Indeed, there was one more chair placed at the table than usual. His cousin walked into the chamber, accompanied by his mother and sister. Helaena was saying something to her, and Daemon's daughter was smiling, looking down at her feet, apparently trying not to fall over in her long, brown gown.

Once again he felt a sense of pride, for it was his sister and not his nephews who had made their guest feel better.

To his satisfaction, which, however, he did not give expression to, trying to keep a stony face, his cousin took a seat next to his sister, that is, opposite him and Aegon. When she looked in his direction he did not leave her gaze for a moment – however, when she smiled, he turned his face away, feeling embarrassed.

He felt a sense of distinction because she had paid attention to him.

No one ever did that, because he was a second son without a dragon.

But she didn't have a dragon either, he consoled himself in his mind, and for some reason he felt relieved.

They were alike.

As he expected, his father greeted her in the presence of everyone, apparently wanting to give her courage.

“As I'm certain you all know by now, we have a guest. It is my brother's daughter, whom I welcome with great joy and love. From now on, the Red Keep will be her home and I ask you to treat her with kindness and understanding. A strange place, even more so for a little girl, can seem frightening. I trust each of you to care for her as best you can.” He said, then nodded and allowed everyone to begin their meal.

One more interaction occurred between them that evening: when he tried to reach for a pate that was too far away from him, she helped him by handing him a platter. She smiled at him again then, and he reciprocated the gesture awkwardly, feeling that for some reason his palms had started to sweat.

His king had said they should be kind to her, so he simply followed his order as any good son would do, he assured himself in his head.

Then Jace suddenly spoke up.

“My King. Our cousin is an excellent archer and we think she should be able to practice with us in the Red Keep as well. Ser Criston said that without her father's permission this is not possible. Wouldn't the King's order be more significant?” He asked, and all eyes fled towards his father.

“Little girls shouldn't be involved in such things.” Said Queen Alicent, taking a sip of wine, for some reason casting a long look at Rheanyra, sitting across the table.

“Why?” His half-sister asked. “Are all women in this world the same?”

His father decided to put an end to this brief argument by giving his own opinion on the matter.

Viserys decided that she could practise archery during their sparring, if it didn't interfere with their training.

She usually stood on the side and shot her bow at targets standing in a completely different part of the courtyard, so everyone quickly forgot about the dispute and stopped paying attention to her.

Or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

He often looked at her, because when their gazes met, she usually smiled.

It was a warm smile, devoid of prejudice or malice: he did not usually reciprocate the gesture, fearing that Aegon would see it and find another reason to mock him.

She spoke to Jace and Luke, also occasionally smiling in their presence, but when she did so while looking at him, she looked different.

Perhaps it was just his childhood desire to be special to someone, to be noticed, that made him live in the belief that his cousin wanted to know him better.

He craved it too: confirmation of his suspicions, of the fact that, indeed, he had caught her attention. The reason, after all, could have been any feature of his personality that no one had noticed before: his intelligence, his knowledge, his rhetoric, his calmness and composure, how different he was from his brother and nephews.

His pride, however, prevented him from taking the first step: he knew that if anyone found out he was seeking her company, his brother would again call him a twat and say that he liked to play with girls because he was one himself.

That left him internally torn.

The opportunity fell upon him like a thunderbolt from a clear sky when one afternoon, as always eager to search the library for more reading for the dull, monotonous evenings, he saw Daemon and his daughter sitting at the table, bent over a thick, old volume that he knew intimately.

High Valyrian.

His cousin lifted her head upon hearing someone enter the room and bestowed upon him a broad, soft smile – Daemon's expression was not as friendly and expressed boredom.

To his relief, she spoke up first.

“My father is teaching me the language of our ancestors. Would you like to join us?” She asked, surprising both him and her father.

Daemon sighed, but did not protest, spreading out comfortably in his chair, giving him a look as if challenging him.

On the one hand, he was terrified and just wanted to run away, but on the other, this was his chance to get closer to both of them.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling his hands involuntarily clench into fists.

The fear of humiliation was greater than the excitement.

“Sit down.” Daemon commanded.

No one had ever spoken to him this way, not even his own father; for some reason, however, it did not frustrate him, but made him feel even more respect for his uncle.

I want to be like you, he thought in the back of his mind.

Confident and fearless.

So he sat down on the other side, in the empty chair next to Daemon, and moved closer to the table – he was ashamed that his legs still didn't reach the ground, but he hoped it wasn't apparent yet.

Just a few more years and he would become a man.

He felt much more confident when he saw that they had just reworked a chapter he had already read before.

“Perzys zaldrīzī ossēnagon daor.” Said Daemon, glancing at his daughter expectantly, apparently wanting her to translate the sentence.

“Fire cannot…” She started, but fell silent, clearly not knowing what one of the words meant.

“Fire cannot kill a dragon.” He spoke up, proud to show his uncle how broad his knowledge was.

“Good.” Daemon said.

He swallowed quietly, glancing at his cousin: her downward gaze and her hunched figure told him that she was sad that he hadn't even given her time to think.

He decided that perhaps he shouldn't come out in front all the time, lest he come across as vain.

“Zaldrīzo ānogar.” Said her father – he stirred in his chair, excited, knowing exactly what it means and that it is a fairly simple, even obvious phrase.

Daemon did it so she could respond too.

“The dragon…” She muttered, incorrectly constructing the sentence syntax.

When she looked at him, his lips uttered quickly the soundless ‘blood of the dragon’. She drew in a loud breath, an expression of relief flashed across her face.

“N-no. Blood. Blood of the dragon.” She quickly changed the order of the words, and Daemon nodded, moving on.

He didn't know why he had helped her then, but he liked the way she looked at him from then on.

With curiosity and gratitude.

In secret from his mother, grandfather and brother, he would sneak off to the library to learn with his uncle and his daughter about what he had been studying with the Maester earlier. He didn't admit that he had a kind of advantage over her, but he would sometimes pretend that he didn't know something in order to give her the opportunity to prove herself to her father.

Daemon seemed to him the embodiment of everything he himself wanted to be. Unlike his father, who did not find the strength or time to teach him about the history of their lineage, his uncle shared it extensively with him and his daughter, seeming indifferent and matter-of-fact at the same time.

Daemon was a demanding teacher, but this made him turn on his natural desire to compete: his cousin, however, did not have as much knowledge as he did because she could not have it, so he did not treat her in the same way as Jace and Luke.

They did not speak with each other outside the library; sometimes she smiled at him, but he only reciprocated this expression when the others could not see it – the corner of his mouth then lifted slightly upwards in an attempt to present some pathetic caricature of cordiality.

He wanted to be liked and admired, but didn't know how to achieve it.

One day, to his surprise, his cousin visited him in his chamber when the sun had long since set – he was already lying in his bed while reading a book.

He didn't like anyone invading his private space, but he couldn't say that the sight of her made him uncomfortable either.

He remained silent, deciding to listen to what she had come to him with.

“Tomorrow I am leaving to Essos. My father wants me to meet my sisters and stepmother.” She muttered, lowering her gaze as she spoke the last sentence.

She didn't want to see her replacement.

He grunted quietly, fiddling with the page of the book he held in his hands, feeling some kind of regret and disappointment.

“I see.” He replied, not knowing what more he could add.

She, however, was still standing in the same place, as if expecting to hear something more from him.

“I want to thank you for... for helping me then. Before lessons with my father, I repeat everything he taught me, but when I sit next to him, I suddenly forget the words. My head is empty.” She choked out finally, making him involuntarily look at her, surprised.

He felt a pleasant wave of pride and self-satisfaction ripple deep into his chest.

He lifted his chin higher, wanting to look more mature and dignified.

“You're welcome.” He hummed, hoping to hear even more praise from her lips.

“Sleep well, cousin.” She said and turned away, leaving him once again with a cold feeling of disappointment.

He realised that he hadn't asked her when they were coming back.

As she and his uncle disappeared, he felt with redoubled intensity how invisible he was to the inhabitants of the Red Keep: or at least that was how he perceived it. Even if he had wanted to, he no longer had anyone to show his intellect and knowledge to, no smile waiting for him when he sat down to supper in the company of his loud nephews and his half-sister, whom he deeply despised.

He was the embodiment of all his father's dreams, he was the reason he opened the womb of his first wife while she was still alive: he was the son he was always waiting for.

But his father could hardly eat on his own, let alone pay attention to him or the other children Queen Alicent had given him.

“Pass me the porridge platter, sweet Aemma.” He said to her once, pointing his blue finger at the dish he was thinking of, causing everyone around him to freeze.

He felt some kind of constriction in his throat when he saw his mother swallow this humiliation with difficulty, reaching for the platter and handing it to her lord-husband without a word.

He lowered his gaze to his plate, trying not to think about it, realising that he would like to see her comforting smile again.

He was beginning to grow impatient.

It had, after all, been several weeks.

As always when something was bothering him, he went to the only person he truly trusted.

“When will uncle Daemon return?” He asked, feigning indifference, fiddling with one of the flacons of expensive oils that had belonged to his mother.

Alicent looked at him, sighing quietly, clearly tired and embittered, probably by what his father had done.

He didn't know how he was supposed to help her, so he remained silent.

“The longer he's gone, the better.” She replied, surprising him.

“Why?” He asked, and she sighed again.

“He's a dangerous, unpredictable man. I pity his daughter. He drags her around all the continents like an object.” She said with a kind of impatience that made him unsure if she really meant what she said.

Adult people often spoke in riddles, which frustrated him constantly.

He preferred it when someone was direct.

The conversation with his mother brought him neither answers nor relief; the only person who showed interest in him was far away, and he was once again learning High Valyrian alone.

That night he prayed to the gods to help him tame a dragon and for his cousin to return quickly to King's Landing, so that she would continue to be kind to him.

The gods listened to his requests, or at least some part of them.

After a few days, Daemon, his daughter from his first marriage, Baela, Rhaena and his wife, lady Laena, reached the Red Keep.

He came to see them because he hoped to see her.

Indeed, when he stepped into the chamber, where his mother, Rhaenyra and Helaena were also present, he spotted her at once, standing behind her father's back. She was looking at Daemon, as if hoping that he would turn his attention to her, but he did not – his uncle was looking at his brother, who was holding Baela hand in his.

His only child who had a dragon.

Although no word was spoken, he understood what had happened.

She had only regained her father for a moment and lost him again.

A pleasant shiver ran through him as she looked around the room, but her gaze stopped on him when she noticed him: he offered her a sad smile of comfort, and she reciprocated the gesture.

Although everyone at supper that evening was loud and chatty, she sat quietly, staring at her plate, immersed in her thoughts. He could see that she had not eaten much; her lips were tightly clenched, her gaze fled again and again to the silhouette of her father, who was talking aloud about the magnificent mansion they lived in Essos and their desire to stay there.

He felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the thought.

“Do you like insects?” He suddenly heard his sister's voice leaning over their cousin.

Her question seemed absurd and out of any context, but Daemon's daughter was clearly trying to focus and answer the question.

“I like butterflies. And bumblebees.” She said after some thought.

Helaena twisted in her seat, delighted, and invited her to come to her chamber later that evening so that she could see through her large collection of dried moths.

He sighed, trying to hide the unpleasant sting of jealousy that an object that raised his self-esteem had just been stolen from him.

He wanted her back for himself, so that she would say nice things to him.

He wanted her to admire him.

He wanted her to love him and cry for him with longing when they were separated.

He would never reciprocate this, of course, because these were tender, feminine concerns, but it would certainly satisfy his vanity.

He noticed, watching them from the sidelines, that a strong, cordial bond developed between her and his sister after that day: otherwise it would surely have caused his irritation, but at some point he began to see it as an opportunity.

The more she became attached to them and to the Red Keep, the more she would desire to stay with them.

To his surprise, Helaena too had begun to care that her new companion remained in King's Landing; she shrewdly tried to address the issue as they set off together to the Great Sept with their mother.

“I have no trusted lady of the court, Mother. I don't like the fact that they put things in different places than I want. They disturb my order and speak too loudly. She is kind. She always asks my opinion first before she touches me or my things. We embroider together and watch insects. I would like her to stay with me.”

Though his mother easily denied him and Aegon, to her only daughter she could not.

To his satisfaction, she turned to her lord-husband, and he convinced his younger brother that his daughter needed stability and a girl her own age as a companion.

Though reluctantly, Daemon agreed.

He couldn't say that everything had gone according to his plan: now his cousin was his sister's lady-in-waiting, spending a lot of time with her. This meant that she couldn't give him as much attention as he would have liked.

However, one day everything changed.

“Helaena said the Maester is teaching you High Valyrian. I was wondering if you could teach me too, as my father is not here anymore.” She mumbled, clearly fearing that her offer would not be attractive for him.

He sighed, pretending that her words made no impression on him.

“What can you give me in return?” He asked defiantly, though he knew he would have agreed even if she had not been able to give him anything.

“...and what would you like?” She answered question for question, staring up at him with her big eyes, playing with her fingers in a nervous reflex.

“You will obey all my orders without complaining.” He replied at last, feeling that satisfaction, not blood, was now flowing through his veins.

His cousin furrowed her brow at his words, clearly worried and concerned.

“What if you make me do something bad? Or something that will bring me disgrace?” She mumbled.

“I won't make you do such a thing. I am a man of honour.” He said proudly.

He blinked, shocked to see that she nodded at his words.

That's it?

“When can we begin?” She asked, and he pressed his lips together, struggling not to smile.

“Come to my chamber tonight. I'll draw you a map so you can get to it through a side entrance. And don't you dare tell anyone about this, or I will kill you with my own hands.”

She was clearly unaffected by his threat, because she smiled broadly, her face beaming with joy.

Indeed, his quarters could be accessed not only through a door, but also from the side of his bed: there was a small tower with stairs leading up to one of the rarely used corridors of the Red Keep.

He was worried, waiting for her, sitting over a mountain of books, whether the journey through the dark alleys of the fortress would prove too difficult for her: for some reason he was relieved when he heard quiet footsteps in the distance, and then saw her in the passage, looking up at him with big eyes.

She smiled broadly at the sight of him, apparently happy that she had managed to find the right way and not get lost; he grunted as she sat down beside him, pulling off the thin grey cloak thrown over her shoulders.

“Where did you and your father finish?” He asked, forcing himself to be indifferent – he swallowed hard, noticing with horror as he reached for one of the volumes that his hand was trembling with excitement.

He had never yet invited anyone to his chamber, much less without the knowledge of his mother and father.

It was their secret.

“On chapter twelve.” She said lightly, moving her chair closer to him so she could better see what they were about to discuss.

He felt relieved at the thought that he and Maester were already on chapter forty.

“Very well.” He hummed, pleased that he would be able to show off his knowledge and proficiency in this area.

His cousin, when her father wasn't around, proved to be a focused and curious student. She would ask him lots of questions and go back to things he had mentioned earlier, giving him proof that she was really listening to him.

He liked the role of teacher very much: he felt that it added to his esteem, while reassuring him that his time spent over the old tomes, contrary to what Aegon had said, was not time wasted.

He didn't know who he was really doing it for: whether for himself or for her. Certainly, in his own mind, he was convincing himself that the fact that he had agreed to teach her in Daemon's absence was an act of his favour, something for which she should be eternally grateful.

In fact, she was grateful to him.

He found it harder and harder to pretend he didn't see her during sparring or supper; some part of him, to his dismay, had come to the conclusion that he was enjoying her presence.

She cared for his older sister and was her faithful companion, but she also found time for him and his perpetually praise-hungry ego.

He was embarrassed by the way she smiled at him when their glances met in the courtyard or at the table: he had the impression that her eyes shone with joy for some reason, the expression on her face gentle and warm.

Kind.

He chastised himself for these thoughts and the strange yet pleasant feeling that filled his chest every time he lowered his head, stopping the corners of his mouth from rising with difficulty.

Then it was revealed that lady Laena was expecting another child, and something in her suddenly faded.

She felt less and less visible in the eyes of her father, who was far away, on another continent, while she was here, all by herself.

Looking at her and his own mother, Queen Alicent, sitting near her, he compared the shades of their hair, their eyes, the shape of their noses, hands and faces.

After thinking about it for a while, he decided that differences between them were not that great, and that if he had forgotten that she was the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce, his cousin could be the daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower.

His sister.

In truth, he was only a month older than her, but that did not change the fact that this would make him her older brother: this, in turn, would mean that since it was Helaena's destiny to marry Aegon, it would be his younger sister's destiny to marry him.

He lowered his gaze at this thought, feeling a burning red blush of embarrassment spread across his pale cheeks at the thought.

His heart thumped harder in his chest when he realised that nothing in that thought had rejected him.

But what if she didn't want it?

If she felt disgusted at the very thought of marrying him?

Rejection was something he couldn't afford.

It was safer to remain silent.

He felt his own blood under his tongue when his teeth involuntarily bit his lower lip at the word that her father wanted to take her to Essos.

“You have been away from home for too long. You should spend more time with your sisters.” He heard Daemon's voice outside her chamber door a few hours after her father had arrived in King's Landing.

Eavesdropping was not in good taste, but for some reason he couldn't help himself.

“What should I say to Helaena? I don't want to leave her.” Mumbled his daughter, clearly trying to come up with something quickly that would allow her to stay in the Red Keep.

“That you will now spend time with your true family.”

Your true family.

He didn't know why, but his jaw clenched in rage when he heard those words, a sharp pain piercing his heart, which beat harder in his chest.

And then Daemon took her away.

The first months without her presence had been the hardest for him, as he'd forgotten she was gone: he'd flipped through the books, wanting to prepare for their lessons, reminding himself angrily after a while that they weren't going to happen after all. Her chair had disappeared from the supper table, and her silhouette was not standing in the courtyard, aiming at a target with a bow.

It was as if she had never been there.

And then word reached King's Landing that lady Laena had died in childbirth.

It was a time of sadness in the Red Keep: previously Rhaenyra had mourned the death of her lover and father of her bastards, Harwin Strong; now, however, someone who was related to them all by blood, a close part of their family, had died.

He was ashamed that during the journey they had taken the whole family on to attend lady Laena's funeral, he had struggled to hold back a smile, feeling excited at the thought that the largest dragon in the world had just been left without a rider.

Although he tried to fool himself, he was enjoying not only the opportunity to claim a dragon, but also to see someone else.

The sea journey he had been forced to make, unlike his siblings, had dragged on mercilessly. When they finally reached the shore, he vomited: however, he quickly pulled himself together, recognising that neither she nor his nephews could see him in such a state.

His family were welcomed into the fortress with honours; he felt his heart pounding hard as he looked around the courtyard, hoping to see her. As he raised his head, he drew in a deep breath, catching sight of her silhouette in one of the open windows.

When their gazes met, she smiled.

Despite the fact that he should be concentrating on grieving, all he did during the funeral was listen for any sounds of the dragon that might be coming from afar and glanced at her, shocked that she seemed slightly taller to him – he also had the impression that her figure had become more girlish, whatever that meant.

When she caught him staring at her, he lifted his head up, embarrassed, pretending to look at the sky.

During the feast, which took place in one of the courtyards situated high above the sea, all he could think about was how to get her to speak to him. He did not want to be the one vying for her attention, running after a woman: this was foolish and, most importantly, unworthy of a man.

A man was supposed to be strong and proud, cold if necessary, but never weak.

Nevertheless, he longed to spend time with her, though she did not know it: she watched from the sidelines her half-sisters, embraced tightly by their grandparents, drenched in tears. Daemon and Rheanyra had disappeared somewhere, and she was left alone, not knowing what to do with herself.

After a while, their gazes met again – this time, though with difficulty, he did not look away. They continued like this for a while, until she made a slight movement with her head, as if pointing to the stone steps that led behind the wall, and then walked down them.

She wanted him to follow her.

He swallowed hard and glanced at his bored brother, who held a refilled wine cup in his hand.

“I'm going to take a walk. I have no desire to stay with these people.” He said to him dispassionately.

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

“Do what you want.” His brother replied, looking intensely at one of the servants in the distance.

He sighed silently and moved ahead, feeling his heart in his throat.

What if someone sees them?

Was this a good idea?

Maybe he should turn back?

Hundreds of thoughts beat against each other in his head, but his legs led him to the stone stairs anyway, and then down to where no one could see them.

His cousin stood by the wall, looking beyond it to the sea; her long hair was partly tied back with a blue ribbon, the rest of it was blown by the wind. When she heard his footsteps, she looked up at him and smiled in a way he knew very well.

She was glad to see him.

“I'm glad to see you, cousin.” She said softly when he stopped in front of her, as if she was reading his mind.

He nodded, embarrassed, feeling for some reason that despite the cool sea breeze around them, he was hot.

“My condolences.” He muttered, reminding himself that his mother had ordered him to say it to everyone he met.

His cousin lowered her gaze and nodded, accepting his words.

“Thank you.”

They both fell silent, looking out at the sea, simply standing side by side. He was afraid that he should say something and was thinking hard about what neutral topic he could raise, when he suddenly heard her voice beside him.

“She was a good woman. She never tried to replace my mother, but she did everything she could to make me feel that she cared about me. I regret that I never thanked her for it.” She muttered, her voice breaking more and more with each sentence.

He looked at her uncertainly out of the corner of his eye, fearing that she would cry.

He wasn't good at consoling, so he remained silent.

“But I couldn't love her. Nor my sisters. I couldn't form a bond with them. My stepmother died, and I don't feel anything.” She said in a breaking voice, tear after tear ran down her cheeks red from the cold.

“If you don't feel anything, why are you crying?” He asked, looking ahead, straight at the setting sun hiding behind the horizon of the sea.

“Because I'm ashamed.” She confessed, making him feel a squeeze in his chest for some reason.

“You don't have to. She was not your mother, and they are not your sisters. You don't owe them anything.” He replied matter-of-factly, feeling that this was exactly what he believed.

Contrary to what Daemon had told her, they were not her true family.

They only pretended to be one.

“Who then is my family, if not my own father, his wife and daughters?” She mumbled with difficulty, as if his words frightened her even more.

He pressed his lips into a thin line, wondering if he should say it.

“Unlike my nephews, you are a true blood of the dragon. You can decide for yourself who you will love and who you will despise.” He replied with emphasis on the last words, involuntarily glancing in her direction.

She looked at him in disbelief, her dark eyes larger than ever, as if what he was saying shocked her.

“We don't control who we love.” She said, looking him straight in the face.

“We don't control. We choose.” He finally stated and drew in the air loudly, folding his hands behind his back. “You also have to choose. If you wish, I will take you with me back to where you belong. To King's Landing.”

Her lower lip twiched at his words, as if he had stabbed a dagger straight into her heart.

“I don't believe you.”

He wanted to answer her, but he flinched when he realised that he had heard the screech of a dragon in the distance – he raised his head and followed with his eyes the small, dark silhouette flying between the clouds.

Then he made his decision.

“I will take you to the Red Keep on the back of my dragon.”

She did not understand what he meant, however, he preferred not to initiate her into his plan: she had promised to obey him, so when he commanded her to go to sleep and worry about nothing, she did so reluctantly.

He, on the other hand, set out under cover of darkness to meet his destiny.

The trip through hills full of sand and stones was difficult and exhausting, but what he saw was sufficient compensation for his efforts. Vhagar was frighteningly beautiful: she was big, magnificent, and she evidently saw in him what none but his mother and cousin could, for although she opened her maw to burn him, when he spoke to her in High Valyrian, she hesitated.

Climbing onto her back, his palms were sweaty from nerves and terror, his body trembling as he tried with great effort to reach her saddle. When he finally succeeded and lifted into the skies with her, he realised that the gods had given him a sign, revealing to him his fate.

He had made Vhagar his dragon, and in the future he would make his cousin his wife.

In that moment, as he screamed with happiness, flying between the clouds, it made perfect sense to him. He didn't see this idea as something to do with physicality, but rather the conviction that since they both held affection and respect for each other, someday they would surely be able to beget offspring together, to create a lineage they would both be proud of.

In that one moment, he felt like he was holding his destiny in his hands, only for the gods to flip a coin again.

As soon as he landed back on the ground his nephews were already waiting for him and gave him another gift, this time one he was never to forget.

If he had to explain to someone what the pain of his eye being pulled out of his eye socket was, he wouldn't be able to describe it: it seemed to him that not only he was screaming, but his whole body as well, that his fingernails would pierce the frame of the bed he was lying on, that he was about to die and would never wake up.

He feared death.

“Mother, don't let me die.” He mumbled out, choking on his tears, his hands clenched into fists on the sheets.

His mother squeezed his arm harder, giving him courage.

“You will not die, my brave son. One day we will have our vengeance.”

Though Luke had taken his honour and his face, he had gained something more: a dragon.

A dragon that no one could challenge.

He knew that what happened after he returned from Vhagar's liege had nothing to do with Daemon's daughter: he had ordered her to stay in her chamber until he came for her, and so she did.

When he walked into her quarters, she rose from her seat, her face flooded with tears.

Daemon had already told her what had happened.

“I –” She began, but he would not let her finish.

“Fly with me or stay. I won't give you a second chance to choose.” He said coldly.

He was a man of honour and he kept his word.

He was sure she would refuse.

He was sure she was a coward.

But she nodded her head.

Neither of them knew how furious Daemon had been when he and his daughter had taken to the skies without his knowledge: when, in his eyes, he had abducted her as it was in the tradition of Old Valyria for centuries, to one day make her his wife.

Lady Royce

Her father punished her escape with his silence: the very thing he knew would hurt her most. He didn't answer her letters or explanations, and for months, then years, he didn't visit the Red Keep even at the invitation of his brother-king.

She knew that he considered what she had done a betrayal, and she suffered greatly because of it.

Nevertheless, she could not lie to herself and pretend that returning to King's Landing did not bring her relief. Between her half-sisters, she felt invisible, her father's person crushed her, and now she was free again.

At least in theory.

Queen Alicent was enraged when she saw her in the company of her son as soon as they returned to the Red Keep: she considered it their act of disobedience and a reason for Daemon to take revenge on her and her children. Her husband, however, was not so harsh about their misdeeds.

“They are just children, my love. My niece can stay here as long as she wishes. My brother and his daughters are in mourning. Let her not surround herself with sorrow and death.”

Although, in fact, King Viserys was partly right, her father was not really focused on mourning, but on marrying another woman as soon as possible.

Rhaenyra.

Only then did she feel as if someone had drawn a clear red line between one part of her family and another: the one that supported Queen Alicent and the one that supported Princess Rheanyra.

She herself wasn't sure she supported anyone: all she cared about was keeping Helaena safe. She was unable to bond with Baela and Rhaena, but she treated the king's daughter like her true sister.

She was calm, quiet and kind, full of warmth that gave her a sense of safety.

“I'm worried about Aemond.” She said one day, bent over her beautiful embroidery depicting a spider. “I feel that he is retreating more and more into the darkness of his mind.”

She lowered her gaze at her words, understanding perfectly what she meant: she answered nothing, however, as her cousin forbade her to speak of anything they discussed or did behind the closed door of his chamber.

He had kissed her for the first time when they were thirteen; he was respectful and gentle when his hands cupped her soft, pink cheeks during one of their lessons in his quarters, his caress slow and warm.

He was clearly nervous and excited, his breath heavy as their skin pressed together in a wet, sticky act she had only heard about from girls older than her.

She was convinced that this gesture was not a proof of his affection for her, but jealousy that Aegon had more experience with women than he did.

Nevertheless, since then, there had been a change in him that she had not expected: he had apparently regarded that incident as a turning point of some sort.

He began to speak not of his lineage but of their lineage, not of his heritage but of their heritage.

“From now on, I will be to you like an older brother,” he communicated to her proudly, looking down at her, having long been much taller than her, “I will protect you and surround you with the care a man should bestow on a woman.”

She accepted his words with joyful disbelief, feeling her heart flutter like a bird in her chest.

On more than one occasion, she had witnessed Aegon encouraging him to join him in a brothel – according to his older brother, only intercourse with the body of a mature, experienced woman could make him a real man.

It seemed to her that her cousin was inwardly torn listening to these words – some part of him clearly wanted to prove to Aegon that he could be as good a lover as he was, but on the other hand he dismissed him, saying that he was interested in the arts of war and sword, not old courtesans.

Occasionally he would glance at her out of the corner of his eye, as if the fact that she was listening to this exchange of words made him uncomfortable; then, for a moment, the thought would cross her mind that perhaps she was the reason he was refusing him.

She realised then that there was some kind of plan in his head, a vision of which she was also a part.

She craved it and was terrified of it at the same time.

She was not a mature woman, let alone an experienced one.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw with sadness that, compared to the other ladies of the court, she still looked like a child; the delicate outline of her breasts under her gown could not compare with the full, plump shapes of the other women's chests, as much as with their wide hips and coquettish smiles.

She didn't know what to do to make the change inside her happen faster, until one day she found out that transforming into a woman wasn't as pleasant and beautiful as it might seem.

“You are bleeding, my love,” Queen Alicent told her, trying to reassure her after she woke up, all sticky from the blood leaking from between her thighs, “your flower has blossomed. It means you are fertile and can become a mother. It's natural, although unpleasant.”

“When will it end?” She muttered, twisting in her seat, already dressed in clean smallclothes, filled inside with materials that were apparently meant to stop the bleeding.

“In a few days. But it will happen again in a month. It will continue to happen for years, as long as you and your future husband do not conceive a child.” The queen explained to her.

“For years?” She squirmed, feeling that something in that thought had broken her.

She did not know why she had cried that day, lying in her bed. She resented her father that neither he nor his second wife had warned her what the woman's fate was.

She did not know that she would feel painful spasms in her lower abdomen, she did not know that the warm, disgusting liquid would flow out of her again and again, making her uncomfortable.

She felt that there was no glory in it, no reason to be proud – on the contrary, for some reason she felt an overwhelming, deep shame.

She shuddered and covered herself more tightly with a fur when she heard the door to her chamber open – her cousin stepped inside without a word, striding towards her with his hands folded behind his back.

It was the first time he had come to her, rather than she to him.

“My congratulations.” He said, stopping beside her bed, looking at her with some kind of curiosity and satisfaction.

“I don't follow.” She mumbled, surprised by his choice of words.

“Fertility is a reason for every woman to be proud.” He stated, cocking his head to the side.

She lowered her gaze, realising that he knew what was happening to her.

“I didn't know it would be so painful.” She finally confessed, wondering if he would scold her for self-pity.

He, however, was silent for a long moment before speaking again.

“That's because you're not carrying a child inside you. When you become my wife, I will see to it that you no longer suffer.” He replied at last, struggling to remain calm – she had known him long enough, however, to know that he feared her reaction.

She looked at him with big eyes, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

What?

“What do you mean?” She muttered without thinking, even though she understood perfectly well what he was implying.

She just couldn't believe he'd said it out loud.

She saw that he swallowed hard, struggling to keep a stony face.

“Do you wish to marry someone else?” He asked, a hint of frustration in his voice that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

She shook her head quickly, horrified at his suggestion and the direction their conversation was going.

“N-no.” She mumbled.

“Good.” He said and turned away without another word, leaving her alone with his suggestion of what he truly desired.

Despite his words, he didn't try to kiss her for a second time; apparently his pride wouldn't allow him to ask again for something that, in his mind, was no more than a naïve female fantasy.

That he was incapable of expressing and showing his feelings openly, she had known for a long time; anything that might make him be seen as weak or naive was an unnecessary risk for him.

His older brother watched him closely, mocking and commenting aloud on any behaviour he found amusing and worthy of his attention.

To her cousin, the thought that he was constantly being watched, and thus could not afford to make a mistake, was completely petrifying.

This was the reason he avoided using words; it frightened him how many undertones and misunderstandings they involved, how easily he could destroy his reputation in the eyes of others with one ill-considered sentence.

She was then left with no choice but to use her intuition, carefully observing his subtlest gestures and glances to understand what he was trying to convey to her wordlessly. It was a difficult process, because he too often did not know what his needs really were and what they stemmed from.

“I don't want to strain you. We can discuss this chapter another time.” She said uncertainly, seeing that ever since she had crossed the threshold of his chamber his figure had tensed and his face expressed cold displeasure.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye in a way from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

“If you want to leave, then do so.” He replied, making her blink in astonishment.

“I just want you to rest properly.” She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

She felt around him like she was with her father, never knowing what would satisfy him.

“Are you afraid of me?” He asked at last, forcing the words out with some strange difficulty, as if this thought had been weighing on his heart for a long time.

She swallowed hard, completely surprised by his question.

“No. I just… I just find it hard to comprehend what could possibly please you.” She choked out with difficulty, feeling ashamed at hearing how pathetic that sounded.

She thought he would laugh mockingly at her words, but his face was completely grave.

“Your kiss will please me.” He said with some kind of regret, as if he was suffering from having to ask her for it.

It hit her that he simply wanted reciprocation when, at the same time, she was afraid that if she offered it herself, he would consider it undignified behaviour on her part.

She sighed, trying to calm herself down and moved closer to him – she saw that he drew in air loudly through his nose, as if he was trying to mentally prepare himself for what was about to happen.

He shuddered as she took his face in her hands, exactly as he did then – her thumbs stroked his cheeks and he closed his eyelid for a moment, as if he felt relieved. She took advantage of the fact that he wasn't looking and leaned in, letting their lips join in a moist, soft kiss – he surprised her when he parted his mouth and gently deepened the caress, making his warm breath fill her throat.

She closed her eyes, for some reason not wanting to pull away from him – she let his fingers run through her long, loose hair, let his hands roam tentatively over the back of her head and neck, while their lips brushed and teased each other with the quiet, sticky clicks of their saliva.

Eventually they ran out of breath, so they broke the kiss, however, their foreheads remained pressed together.

“Leave, if you want to.” He whispered, clearly indicating that he had no intention of taking advantage of her in any way.

“I don't want to leave,” she mumbled, embarrassed by her own words, “I want to fall asleep by your side.”

“My mother would kill me.” He mumbled out, as if he was fighting the strenuous urge to succumb to her.

“Then I will leave. I don't want to be the reason for you two to disagree.” She said, stroking his cheek with her palm, trying to comfort him.

“No,” he breathed out, his fingers digging harder into the fabric of her robe at her back, “stay.”

So she stayed.

There was something naïve about the way they lay far apart on his bed, the way his hand grasped hers and squeezed it, as if he wanted to find out if it was really happening.

“Don't tell anyone.” He asked, a sort of childish desire in his eye, from which her heart filled with warmth.

“I won't.”

That night it seemed to her that he didn't fall asleep even for a moment – she felt his hand run over her fingers, over her shoulder, and when he was sure she was immersed in a dream, he smoothed her cheek with his thumb.

What surprised her was that every time he did this a warm, pleasant shiver ran through her body – she wished he would never stop, because this was the first time in her life she had felt so comforted by someone.

This event had changed him; clearly the realisation that she reciprocated his affection had emboldened him in some way.

When they finished their lessons, they often lay on his bed facing each other and talked, touching each other's hands, faces and hair at the same time. Her heart pounded like crazy as his fingers combed through her curls, as his hand closed around the back of her neck, massaging it gently.

“I like the way you smell,” he said once out of nowhere, surprising her completely, “and the fact that your skin is so pleasantly soft.”

She realised he was trying to offer her a compliment – the thought of the two of them taking a walk through the royal gardens or showing interest in each other in public filled him with embarrassment, however, he had clearly found that in the privacy of his chamber he was willing to give her something he was not offering anyone else.

His words.

She smiled broadly at his confession, feeling a pleasant warmth in her lower abdomen spilling over her insides like a wave.

“And I like your big hands,” she replied shyly, stroking the skin of his wrist with her fingers, “and your beautiful white hair.”

She saw that he swallowed loudly, and his lips tightened in an involuntary attempt to stop himself from showing any reaction to her words; nevertheless, his eye betrayed him – it grew large and full of something she understood perfectly.

He needed to hear that something of value could be seen in him too, including physically.

That he wasn't a cripple in her eyes.

The way he slowly leaned towards her, his lips that barely brushed hers in a gesture full of invitation, their hands that clasped in their hair seemed as natural to her as breathing – the caress of their lips was hotter and more intimate than they had ever been before, deep, filled with something she was yet to discover.

Kisses were a form of reward for them, but also some kind of consolation on difficult days; in this way, although they could not speak openly to each other about this subject, they gave each other a sense of mutual care.

Over time, although it carried a high risk of being caught, they took this caress beyond the thresholds of his room; it was enough for him to catch her in one of the less frequented corridors of the Red Keep for their brief – even rough on his side – exchange of words to end with his tongue invading between her plump lips.

He liked it when their tongues met and licked, because he was obviously aroused by how perverse and passionate it was; his healthy eye was closed when his body pressed hers against one of the cold stone walls, while their hot mouths melted together again and again.

It was a warm, wet experience, filled with their loud, raspy breaths, their hands tentatively trailing the silhouettes of their bodies, giving them only the promise of what they both desired.

In that moment, in some strange, chaotic way they were devouring each other.

Her cousin evidently believed that he did not need to explain or confess anything to her; no words of affection, if he had any for her, ever left his lips. On the contrary; as he grew taller and his physique grew stronger, so did his ego, and with it the impression that he could not afford to show what he thought was a mere feminine sentiments.

Perhaps this would have been the reason for her distress, had it not been for the fact that he paid more attention to her than to anyone else anyway; above all, to the despair of the other ladies of the court, she was the only person besides Criston Cole and members of his family with whom he spoke in public of his own free will.

He usually approached her when he had something to say to her and announced it to her as simply and quickly as possible – he would then stand erect in front of her with his hands folded behind his back and look off somewhere into the distance, glancing at her only occasionally, usually driven by mere curiosity.

“A wild dragon has been seen in the Vale regions lately.” He said to her one day, as she happened to be heading to his sister's chamber to help her change before supper. “He is said to be larger than Meleys.”

She blinked, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad – she looked around quickly, wanting to make sure no one had heard what he had said.

“Help me.” She whispered. “Please.”

Her cousin cocked his head and hummed, looking at her with his mouth formed in the shape of an o, as if he wanted to whistle in satisfaction.

He liked it when she begged.

“Hm. How can I be sure you won't use this dragon against me and my family one day?” He asked offhandedly, looking down at her, a kind of challenge in his voice.

She blinked, feeling cold discomfort in her chest at his words.

“I am your family.” She mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence fell between them – she could see in his gaze that he was thinking about something, at the same time unable to deny her words.

“We leave tomorrow, at dawn.” He finally communicated to her in boredom, leaving her bewildered.

“And the Queen and your grandfather? Do they know what you intend to do?” She asked, and he rolled his eye, clearly frustrated by her remark.

“Sheep don't understand the ways of dragons. It's beyond their comprehension.” He recognised with some kind of pride, from which she pressed her lips together to keep from expressing her disbelief.

Clearly something in the expression on his face must have betrayed her, for he looked at her suddenly with a piercing, watchful gaze, his jaw twitching in a reflex she knew well.

“Come to my chamber tonight.”

Just as she had done in their childhood days, to leave her rooms now she had to wait for the watch to change; only then would she slip out and take advantage of the moment to make her way down a dark, rarely used corridor through a side entrance to the prince's quarters.

She had no idea if anyone but her knew about it; presumably if they did, the guards thought the additional door remained locked. However, her cousin had left them open for her, and it was through these that she entered, stepping into his chamber, enveloped in the warm light of the fire.

She spotted his silhouette at once – he was sitting at the top of a long table, on which lay stacks of maps and letters, a thick, old volume in his hands.

When he heard her footsteps, he lifted a glance of his healthy eye to her, and then returned to his reading again, carelessly turning the page over.

She was not bothered by this; he was often in the habit of pretending not to see her at first. From her perspective, it was his attempt to cope with the fact that, although accustomed to solitude, he was hosting someone else in his private quarters.

She untied her cloak, placed it on one of the richly decorated oak chairs and, wearing nothing but her nightgown, took a slow, quiet step towards his bed. She knew she could do it, and that she was certain to stay with him anyway, so she simply lay back on the soft sheet and closed her eyes, listening to the pleasant sound of the sizzling fire.

For a moment, all she could hear was that and the rustle of pages being turned – the smell of him and the parchments pleasantly filled her nose, calming her.

The quiet creak of wood woke her from her half-sleep and she shuddered, opening her sleepy eyes – she spotted his silhouette heading lazily towards her. His hand rose to the belt of his tunic, undoing it with the quiet click of a buckle.

“Tomorrow. You must promise to obey me. Otherwise I will not fly with you.” He said calmly, looking at her with an expression on his face that pretended to show indifference.

“I will.” She said.

“Mm.” He hummed under his breath, finally pulling the leather material off his shoulders.

She made room for him and moved sideways on the bed as he sat on the edge of it and leaned over, pulling his boots off his feet. She watched wordlessly as he did the same a moment later with his eye patch, finally throwing it carelessly onto the stone floor. He sighed and hid his face in his hand, massaging the area around his scarred eye socket in some subconscious reflex.

Stress was causing discomfort to return to the left side of his face.

“You are in pain.” She whispered softly, raising herself up on her elbow.

He didn't reply, just swallowed hard and froze in stillness.

“Let me.” She insisted, and he finally looked at her and nodded.

She raised herself up on her knees and moved towards him, sitting down so that she could see his face. He looked at her silently with some kind of melancholy as her hands gently grasped his face and her thumbs began to massage his temples.

He immediately closed his eye and flinched as her thumbs moved over his brow arches and cheekbones – he twitched when she did it the first time, but relaxed more and more with each subsequent stroke, and his face took on an expression of relief.

“I wouldn't object if you did this to me all night.” He said quietly, his eyelid still closed. She smiled involuntarily at his words, running her fingers over his forehead, nose and cheeks, going back to the beginning – to his temples and brows.

“I can.” She said warmly, but he shook his head.

“We need to rest. Come. I want to sleep.”

She nodded and held out her hand to him, shifting back towards the middle of the bed – he moved obediently to follow her and literally fell into her arms, pressing his nose against the space between her breasts.

She wasn't sure if he was able to breathe in that position, but she could see that his chest was rising and falling, so she didn't comment on it, combing her fingers through his white hair.

She knew that he was hiding from the world now: he wanted to disappear for a while and simply not be, like a small, defenceless child.

The control that he, in his mind, had over his life had a high cost that he did not speak of – it superseded any of his other needs unrelated to survival and victory, whatever that victory would mean.

While it may have seemed complicated, in fact the truth was much simpler: he was tired. It wasn't so much a physical fatigue, however, but rather a spiritual one – the self-imposed compulsion to remain silent when he was still a child was something that kept him safe, but also imprisoned him in his own head.

She mused on this as she watched him in silence, playing with strands of his long hair, feeling his body grow loose in her embrace, the tips of his fingers wandering lazily over her bare arm, his eye remaining closed.

He craved her closeness, but in more ways than one; preferably ones he could see as safe in his mind.

Lying in her embrace was such; he could just lie there and let her stroke him, listening to the slow beat of her heart. He could smell her scent and feel the warmth of her body, hear her breathing, have her to himself and know that she would fall asleep with him.

It calmed him.

In the middle of the night, she was awakened by the touch of a familiar hand – when she opened her eyes, she was in the midst of darkness. Her cousin was still snuggled up against her body, and he was obviously convinced that she was deeply asleep – it was only because of this that he allowed his fingers to travel up to her breast and squeeze it gently, as if checking to see if it was as soft as he imagined.

She couldn't stop the hot shudder that ran through her body or the pulsing she felt deep between her thighs. Other than that, she didn't move; she felt him freeze for a while, but after a moment, when he recognised that she had reacted in her sleep, he went back to stroking her plump bosom with his fingers.

A soft, shaky breath escaped her lips, her hands tightened on his back, holding him close; she felt him flinch and he froze again, taking his hand quickly off her chest.

She heard him swallow hard as she grasped his wrist and, in a gentle, slow motion, placed his hand where it had been – her fingers intertwined with his, allowing him to sink into the softness of her flesh again.

She thought it was a very intimate experience, one from which her whole body grew hot and her cheeks lit up red. She closed her eyes, hearing both of them breathe a little louder, their bodies pressed tighter together, seeking closeness.

Her wordless consent apparently made him feel bold, because he leaned forward, closing his lips around her nipple, clearly visible under the thin material of her nightgown. Something between a moan of surprise and a sigh escaped her throat when she felt him begin to suck as if he were a baby – her fingers clenched on his hair, holding him close.

“– lēkia (big brother) –” She whispered and flinched as she felt something long and hard pulsate in his breeches, pushing against her thigh.

She didn't quite understand the purpose of what he was just doing, but it was pleasant; she thought perhaps it was one of the secrets Aegon had told him about the pleasures of the female body.

She kissed the top of his head as his hand slid down her waist, slipping uncertainly under her linen shirt to finally touch her bare knee.

She felt that something throbbed hard deep inside her, that something sticky ran down her buttock to the sheet beneath their bodies.

They both began to pant as his broad hand went higher up her thigh and then to her hip, squeezing it finally between his fingers.

She shuddered as his wrist slid lower, between her legs, and his hand immediately froze – exactly like her body – when he touched her moist, pulsing womanhood.

“May I?” He asked in a whisper, still snuggled into her chest, not daring to look at her.

“What… what do you want to do?” She answered question for question, unsure of how much she herself was ready for.

She heard him swallow hard, as if he was terrified of having to answer her out loud.

“I want to give you pleasure.”

She felt her heart pounding like mad under his cheek, her fingers gently stroking his head.

She wondered if she should say it.

“I'm afraid.”

He took his hand from between het thighs at her words.

“What are you afraid of? I would never hurt you.” He assured her with a kind of surprise and regret, as if he didn't believe he had to say it.

“It's such a… private place. I…”

“I didn't mean to rush you. Forgive me. Do not be afraid.” He whispered, his voice strangely soothing, as if he understood what she meant.

“I'm sorry.” She mumbled in shame, feeling that she had ruined something that could have changed everything between them.

Her cousin raised himself on his elbow to look at her, but her big, red eyes made him freeze.

“Daor, hāedar (no, little sister). Gaomagon limagon daor (do not cry).” He said in a quiet, melodious tone, his large hand gently cupping her hot cheek.

“It was happening so fast. Your hand…”

She didn't finish as he leaned over her and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. They stayed like that for a while without separating their bodies, her fingers grasping his, holding him close.

When he finally pulled away from her, his gaze was calm.

“I should have prepared you better. Explain what I want to do.” He said with a kind of weariness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat.

It was the first time he had spoken openly.

“Can you explain it to me now? So that I understand?” She asked, and he swallowed loudly, lowering his gaze for a moment.

He began to play with the material of her nightgown between his fingers, apparently struggling to find the right words to describe his desires.

“The source of a woman's pleasure, from what I understood from my brother's babble, is deep between her thighs. It is hidden there and must be found and caressed for a woman to achieve fulfilment.” He choked out finally, looking at her womb and hips, now hidden again under her shirt.

She twisted in her place, intrigued.

“The ladies of the court say that a man's tongue down there can perform wonders. But I don't know what they meant by that.” She said lightly.

She saw that he looked at her in shock, his nostrils twitched in a deep breath.

“You've heard about it too. From whom?” She asked amused.

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders, turning his head in the opposite direction.

“Aegon likes to brag about what he does to his whores and servants.” He muttered, feigning indifference, but his breathing, deep and uneven, betrayed him.

“Would you like to try it? That tongue thing.” He suggested suddenly, glancing in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

She drew in a loud breath, twisting in her place again, feeling her womanhood swell suddenly and pulsate around nothing at the very thought.

His mouth, down there.

“Doesn't it disgust you?” She mumbled in shame.

“You took a bath before you came to me, didn't you?”

“…I did.” She admitted, looking at him with wide eyes.

“So I can try. To satisfy our curiosity.” He proposed, apparently wanting to find any justification for what he wanted to do.

She nodded, feeling her heart in her throat, her stomach no longer filled with fear but with pure, hot excitement.

“If you don't like it, say so. I don't want to force you.” She said in a voice breaking with tension, watching in disbelief as he moved down, kneeling between her legs.

He threw her a meaningful look, in which she saw some kind of mockery.

“As if it's easy to force me to do anything against my will. Who do you think I am?” He asked with a wince, a slow, lazy movement of his hand lifting the material of her nightgown above her hips.

She had never been so exposed to anyone before in her life; she had to turn her gaze away to avoid looking at it and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. Her hands tightened on the pillow on each side of her head when she felt him gently take her thighs in his rough hands and spread them slightly apart.

For a moment nothing happened; she thought he was just looking at her, or rather at what was between her legs. She sighed and flinched, surprised when his thumb ran down the length of her opening, apparently wanting to collect what had managed to leak out of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked uncertainly, clearly not understanding if her reaction was due to discomfort or not.

She shook her head quickly, looking up at him only to close her eyes again a moment later, overwhelmed by the helpless position she had just found herself in.

She was at his mercy.

He won't hurt me, she assured herself in spirit.

He promised me that, and he is a man of his word.

This thought calmed her.

Her heart thumped harder in her chest when she heard the bed creak loudly under the weight of his body, and then his hot breath enveloped her throbbing womanhood – a quiet moan of surprise broke from her throat when she felt his slick tongue run over her flesh, causing an aggressive shiver to pass down her spine.

She didn't have time to calm down after that first, shocking sensation, and his tongue again clung to her smooth, dripping cunt, licking it like a cat drinking milk – her hands involuntarily reached into his hair and clenched on it, her hips made a motion forward as if trying to sink into his face.

“– oh – yes –” She breathed out, but it seemed to her that this voice was not her own, its tones squeaky and girlish, full of surprise.

She thought her body was on fire, arching as it rocked to the rhythm of his caresses – she heard him sigh, obviously feeling her wetness begin to run down her buttocks. His lips closed gently around the sweet spot she felt most strongly and began to suck, making her cry out loudly, throwing her head back.

“– Aemond –” She whined out pleadingly, though she didn't know what she was really asking for – all she could hear and feel were the wet sounds of slurping and licking, lazy and unhurried, full of a thoroughness that drove her mad.

As she glanced down at him, for some reason wanting to see him now, she noticed that his eyelid was closed and he was completely absorbed in his task – his head was moving back and forth, disappearing again and again deep between her thighs.

It felt like a bolt of lightning pierced her lower abdomen when she felt his tongue burst inside her body and begin to thrust between her fleshy, hot walls.

“– g-gods – gods, oh, fuck, fuck, yes, yes, brother, here, right here, yes –” She begged, completely losing touch with reality, feeling nothing but overwhelming pleasure as again and again the tip of his tongue teased a spot deep inside her, from which the tension in her loins became unbearable.

She felt that some sort of peak was approaching, that if it lasted even a moment longer, her poor womanhood would simply explode.

“– ah! –” She almost screamed out in pleasure as a convulsion shook her body – she threw her head back, feeling a wonderful, overpowering, tickling wave of heat spread across her insides, flowing through her mouth, her breasts, her belly, down to her throbbing, leaking cunt.

She panted for a moment longer, wishing the feeling would never go away, until she froze powerless, breathing heavily with her eyes closed. She only looked up at him when she heard the quiet rustling of fabric, followed by quick, rhythmic, sticky splats – before she could make any sound his mouth was on hers, tasting foreign, salty and sweet at the same time.

She moaned into his throat, surprised when she felt something warm and long rub against her womanhood again and again – at first she was frightened that he craved fulfillment inside her, but contrary to her assumption, he did not try to take her. He caressed himself with his hand, squeezing his manhood at the very root, teasing its smooth tip by running it over her moist, oversensitive slit.

She murmured contentedly, sinking her hands into his long hair, letting it fall lightly against her body. Knowing that he was balancing on one hand and just giving himself pleasure with the other, she decided to help him achieve satisfaction, exactly as he had helped her.

He looked at her with his mouth wide open, breaking the kiss for a moment when he saw her slide her nightgown off her shoulders, revealing the fullness of her breasts to him. He closed his eyes and gave her a quiet little moan as she lifted his shirt up, exposing his chest, and with a gesture of her arms, encouraged him to let their bare skin touch.

“– hāedar – mmm –” He breathed out into her mouth, sliding his tongue deep into her throat, his free hand grasping her breast so that with every movement of his hips her nipple rubbed against his chest.

Her body was all flushed from what she had experienced with him earlier, and his uncontrollable, almost animalistic movements were giving her some strange kind of pleasure. She knew he didn't want to take advantage of her – on the contrary, he no longer knew what to do with the tension he himself felt in his loins and was looking for a way to take her while not depriving her of what should not yet be his.

She didn't know what he thought of it, but she let her hands roam over his bare neck and down his back under his shirt, to his exposed buttocks from which he had slipped his breeches off. His body twitched each time her fingers explored a new region of his skin that no one but himself had ever seen or felt before – the slaps of his hand became faster and harsher, his breath heavy in her throat, the bed on which they lay began to creak loudly under their weight.

And then suddenly he made a sound of strange relief, as if he had sighed deeply and was about to cry – she squealed quietly, surprised to feel something warm and sticky spill over her abdomen and thighs, realising after a moment that it was his seed.

His body fell inertly on top of her, as if what he had done had cost him all the strength he had left, and he drew in deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself. She felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, pressed tightly against hers – his manhood, still twitching and pulsing, now lying between his body and hers, was nestled against her stomach.

She stroked his hair and his back, cuddling her cheek into his temple, trying to calm down with him and comprehend what had really happened: their bodies were hot and wet with sweat, she felt a drop of it run down her spine.

She had never been more exposed, but she had also never felt more safe.

She wasn't sure if she should say anything – she really wanted to, however, she feared that the barrage of words that would flow from her mouth would simply overwhelm him after what had happened.

She suspected that, like her, her cousin was in a state of some sort of shock.

She blinked and shuddered when she suddenly heard his voice near her ear.

“Forgive me.”

She swallowed hard, feeling discomfort at the words, for some reason filled with guilt and resignation.

“What should I forgive you for?” She asked in a whisper, looking uncertainly in his direction.

Their eyes met.

“I was supposed to protect you. I didn't keep my word.” He said finally, startling her completely.

“You can't protect me from lust. You can only make it a pleasurable experience for me, in your strong, safe arms.” She replied with a kind of conviction that evidently impressed him, for he remained silent for a long time, looking at her with wide-open eye.

“You don't resent me?” He muttered, and she shook her head, smiling for some reason.

“No. I am happy that we are discovering these fascinating mysteries together. I could not imagine a more beloved and trusted companion for this journey.” She whispered, and he snorted, but she noticed in the darkness of the chamber that the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Let's sleep.”

Aemond

When he woke up, the sun had not yet risen on the horizon – he always got up before dawn. The order of his day was predetermined and he didn't like anything to change his plans. First he would eat his morning meal, preferably one that would give him energy before sparring. Then he would move on to training his body, spending long hours in the courtyard with a sword in hand.

When this was behind him, he would take a nice hot bath in the privacy of his chamber, spending the rest of the day delving into old, thick tomes that smelled of dust. He was not fond of suppers with his family, for they bored him and were a time of mere, even simpering courtesy which he did not understand, he endured them, however, because he could then look at her in peace.

As in their childhood, she was sitting in exactly the same place now – opposite him, at the side of his sister Helaena, at the very end of the table.

To their right sat only Daeron.

Helaena was fond of her, because their cousin understood and respected her barriers. It was something he himself deeply valued in her – the fact that she could watch someone carefully and knew the boundaries she could not cross.

It made him, as well as his sister, enjoy being in her company – they knew they would not be surprised in an unpleasant way or put in a situation that would be uncomfortable for them.

In the case of her and Helaena, a sincere, warm friendship had grown between them over the years; he didn't mind this turn of events because he knew that his cousin didn't gossip about his sister with the other ladies of the court and that she kept her secrets, like his, deep in her heart.

He, of course, was not such a fool as to share his worries or thoughts with her, however, he would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy speaking with her, though he usually tried to give that impression.

“Will you stand to fight in a tournament in honour of our king's Name Day?” She asked him, putting her bow and arrows back in place while he sharpened his dagger, which he always carried with him.

Ever since she managed to tame Sheepstealer she has been more brazen than usual.

“Do you want to annoy me?” He answered dryly with a question to a question, not even looking at her despite his overwhelming desire to do so – her familiar scent reached his nose, making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches.

His tongue swirling around her hard nipple, his two long fingers thrusting deep into her throbbing, hot cunt, all leaking with desire.

He felt a pleasant shiver run down his spine and he swallowed hard, trying to keep a stony face.

He heard her laugh behind him.

“No, but my wreath will have to fall to someone else. Pity. Perhaps I'll give my blessing to your uncle.” She said lightly, and he struggled to hold back the grimace of displeasure that pressed against his lips.

Gwayne was fond of her, and his affection was reciprocated – when he came to the Red Keep to visit his father and sister, he often chatted with her during supper and teased her in ways that drove him mad.

Usually, however, one sharp look from him over the table in her direction was enough for his cousin to turn to Helaena and pay no further attention to his uncle.

“Do what you want.” He burbled coldly, and she sighed heavily.

“Just don't be surprised.” She said disapprovingly, but before he had time to answer her anything she turned and disappeared into the depths of the castle, leaving him with her words and the discomfort he felt in his heart.

Did she really have to give anyone that fucking wreath?

On the other hand, what would it look like if she refused to give it to anyone?

What would his mother have said?

Whether he wanted to or not, he had to watch the next day as his uncle, proud in his armor, sat on his gray steed, holding aloft his lance, on which his cousin had placed a wreath of field flowers.

He looked ahead as she sat back between him and his sister, pretending not to feel how she pressed her arm against his. His gaze involuntarily fled to the side, to her hand, when he felt her little finger brush over his.

He swallowed hard and crossed his legs, shocked that this public expression of intimacy aroused him.

Did the people sitting behind them see it?

Rumors about the nature of their relationship had been spreading around King's Landing for years anyway.

His fingers involuntarily began to pluck the cuticles around his fingernails in some subconscious, nervous gesture full of excitement, the source of which he did not understand.

That night he took her for the first time.

At the beginning, it was simply a coupling similar to others they had experienced so far, but more fiery and loud, full of his frustrations and her assurances that she was faithful to him.

But then, instead of just rubbing his long manhood against the space between her thighs as usual, he decided to experience the warmth that was hidden deep inside her.

“– now I will receive my wreath – the only one that matters –” He exhaled into her ear, involuntarily pushing the tip of his length, swollen with pain and desire, against her moist, pulsing opening.

She let out a moan full of surprise and effort, her nails digging into the bare skin of his back.

“– Aemond – we can't – we can't –” She mewled and gasped as she felt that with a steady, slow thrusts he began to force his way into her hot, fleshy interior.

“– fuck –” He mouthed, feeling his heart pounding like mad, thinking that he shouldn't be doing this, but he had to, because he couldn't bear it any longer.

“– just let me –” He asked in a breaking voice, and she complied with his request.

She stared at him with her mouth wide open, trying to catch her breath as he began to move inside her, sinking deeper and deeper into her body with each deep push.

He pressed his forehead against hers, panting along with her, and stroked her sweaty cheek, looking at her with desperation, wordlessly asking her for forgiveness.

He expected it to be pleasurable, but didn't know it would be that much – her insides were warm and moist, enveloping his manhood on all sides, while squeezing him so tightly that he had trouble taking a deeper breath.

He had the impression that he was in some kind of trance, and the sounds that left their throats were not their own – their moans were high-pitched, similar to crying, her fingers clenched on his buttocks, her hips seeking rhythm with his thrusts, rocking back and forth.

“– I need this – do you understand? – I need you –” He mumbled in pain, imposing a faster, sharper pace on her, finally filling her completely.

His hips pounded against her buttocks with loud, wet splats, her moist, hot walls throbbing around his manhood, clenching against it in a way from which he felt like howling with pleasure.

“– here – please, here, brother –” She sobbed, arching her back so that the entirety of his manhood brushed against the upper wall inside her hot, spasming cunt.

“– here? – here it feels good? –” He panted with excitement, grabbing her hips in his hands, deliberately teasing the area she had showed him now – she threw her head back, her girlish cries of pleasure had to be enough of an answer for him.

“– yes – g-gods – ah –” She whimpered out, clearly experiencing it as extremely as he was, wriggling under him in pure ecstasy.

He just stared at her as his thumb ran over her swollen, plump lower lip, as her breasts bounced lightly with each of his deep, sharp stabs, until he finally felt what he so craved approaching.

An almost animalistic sound of relief came from his throat as he reached his peak inside her – he heard her sweet sound of pleasure and felt the shudder that shook her whole body, her leaking womanhood squeezing his cock greedily, sucking his seed deep inside her.

He collapsed on top of her and snuggled into her warm, sweaty skin, letting their arms embrace their figures tightly. They were both panting and quivering, feeling each other more than ever, wanting to stay that way.

As one.

He had promised himself, however, that he would never beget a bastard, and having his cousin drink moon tea was not an option for him.

He was not going to kill his own blood, his own heritage, his own child.

Then he decided that the time had come.

“Marry me.”

[rametarin]

Nope! On the Boers thing.

When talking to people like this, wisdom and experience tells you the many asterisks to the things they say. They do not classify Boers as native to South Africa, because Boers are white. And whites, in their eyes, are not Indigenous to anywhere, because to them, whites are blanketedly, Oppressors. And invalid as a group, existing only via inertia and refusal to reject the falsehood.

It's why they do not consider ANY native European group to be indigenous, even to Europe, and thus able to have Indigenous rights over others, unless they are mixed and predominantly not European in appearance or character. So, the white Norwegians would be, quiet part out loud, considered colonizers and invasive. While the Sami, which are largely Eurasian or Asian, are considered the indigenous community native to Norway. And oppressed by the white Norwegians, who aren't legitimately there, but "occupying Indigenous land." That's the quiet part out loud of how this stupid shit interacts.

They do not classify white people, under any circumstance, as Indigenous. Not if they moved there, not if they've been there for thousands of years. Because for someone to be Indigenous and thus have a claim of rights to a place, the way they extend to Native Americans (north, south) or Palestinians, then that'd mean Europeans could demand things in the interests of their particular European groups. And they do not want that to be allowed. That'd amount to white ethnoseparatism and they consider any and all of that to be supremacist identitarianism.

Legitimacy for me, but not for three. Rules for thee, but not for me.

So to have their cake and eat it too, they'd consider the Turkic people of modern day Turkey to be indigenous, but the actual Anatolian people that dwelled there and exist before the Turkics arrived would be considered oppressors, because they're indo-european. They may not be fair skinned, but they would've been European.

This is how Marxists try to slip their definitions and social rules into situations and conversations where they do not apply and try to claim dominion over the conversation and the fundamentals of it. Injecting nonsense arbitrary rules that force you to go from realities to subjectives ("If [x] means [y], then [w] means [z]!"), when really, they have no basis to make such calls or enforce them or demand they be observed. To them, class struggle theory and grevience theory are why white Europeans are invalid and can neither be a people that share in this stupid separatist Pride phenomenon they encourage across anybody else to bolshevize modern liberal society, but everybody else is magically "protecting themselves and their culture" from being washed away in a miasma of "corrosive white supremacist modernity." Giving a white supremacism face to modern life, specifically.

Why Jews are struggling with this is they largely agreed with the things the academic far-leftists said.... about white gentiles... but take umbrige with the fact they aren't considered both an oppressed demographic separate from whites and thus absolved of any of their social crimes, absolved of their own culture's alleged crimes by being an oppressed minority, and also have indigenous claim to a place based on blood and culture. It's a very, VERY messy breakup, because many leftist Jews were just fine with the logic, until it was applied to Jews. Now that the hand has been tipped and the quiet part out loud is being said amongst Marxist-socialists in academia, and they were never really on the Jews' sides for anything but a weapon against the modern hegemony out of their own self-interest, they have regrets for trusting them or at least not demanding Jews be specifically recognized as beneficiaries of the oppressed/oppressor dynamic as just as oppressed as black people.

That part was not in the Jose Martinez Cobo definition of indigenous peoples.

Ironically the reason it was add was to prevent indigenous people from achieving self determination.

“Most Israelis are colonizers”- Jews are a single ethnic group either we are all indigenous or we are all colonizers.

[inbabylontheywept]

Babylon's 6 D&D Tips

I DM’d D&D for ten years. I started in middle school, and I kept it up until my sophomore year of college. This is my mini-guide for what the game is, what it isn’t, and how to play it well. So. From the top.

Tip 1: Don't make your main storyline time dependent. 

D&D is an amazing open-world experience. You can pick at any detail. Nothing is a non-interactable part of the scenery. If there’s a sewer manhole, you can lift it up and climb down. If there’s a house, you can look inside and rob it. If there’s an NPC that you meet at the market, you can follow them home and see their whole life. Their parents, or their partner, their trade - all of it. It will be made up on the fly by some sort of reasonably skilled improv speaker, but it will also exist after that. That’s how the world is built. That’s the secret sauce that makes D&D beautiful.

If your plotline is too urgent, it kills those opportunities. The worst example of this that I have isn’t even from D&D, but FO4. The game is clearly built around exploration and adventure. The plot is built around rescuing your kidnapped baby. There’s a lot of tension between those goals. The plot does not work with the game mechanics, and it's really, really, jarring.

Be wary of doing that. It's surprisingly easy.

Tip 2: Don't set up giant, epic, fantasy battles between multiple armies. 

D&D is not a very good epic-battle simulator. There are games that have streamlined combat mechanics to allow for whole armies to fight, but D&D is very detail oriented, and trying to control too many people at once makes combat slow to a crawl. That very creative DM who can tell you every detail of an NPC’s life is also just not very good at multitasking. 

If you really, really want to - fine. But you should be ignoring standard mechanics when you do so. Move to a “cinematic mode” and just go by vibes. And generally, take a moment to “get” the game before modifying it. If the kind of plot you really want is urgent, and involves epic scale armies, maybe look into different RPG systems. D&D specializes in exploration and small, focused parties. Using it for things outside of that is kind of like hitting nails with a wrench. 

Tip 3: Don't prepare your plot like it's a book. Kill your lore codex. 

D&D is a collaborative storytelling adventure. That's the secret sauce. Writing out codexes and trying to crystallize the world before you start playing ruins the collaborative element. It’s genuinely better if you build as you go. It lets your players give input. And it saves you a lot of time. Why bother trying to write up who the Mayor of Snoresville is if there’s a good chance your party never even talks to him?  

(I would also apply this to writing in general. If you want to write all of your world's lore before starting your book, you'll never start your book. And you'll go crazy. Fear the lore codex.)

Tip 4: Prepare your combats and your NPCS rigorously, but generically. 

This ties in to Tip 3. If you spend a lot of time preparing the lore of the Bandit Leader of Redgrove, things like his family history, or his trauma, or his deep-down character motivations, and then the party never goes to Redgrove, it all goes to waste. D&D evolves rapidly and chaotically, so building things in a modular, reusable way really pays off. 

So. I tend to have two big pools for my NPC work. One is a character sheet pool. I keep it small and focused. I can generalize most melee classes ahead of time, so I can have an Archer, a Brawler, a Tank, and some Generalist Infantry. That’s like, 80% of your martial enemies, done. Spellcasters are a bigger pain in the ass, but a few pre-mades thrown into a campaign pays off if you know your themes. If you’re dealing with a death cult, make some death clerics. A dragon will probably have sorcerer acolytes. 

My second pool is a pool of character mannerisms. Some should absolutely be practiced ahead of time. Figure out what mannerisms make your villain really pop. And if the party skips that villain, just move those mannerisms to some new guy down the line and you’ll still be fine. Nothing wasted. A lot of the mannerisms are going to be picked with no heads up when the party does something weird, like following a random merchant around for a few days just to see how they live. You can get through almost all of those extremely well with just variations on the 4 humors, the 3 socioeconomic classes, and regional dialects.

Tip 5: Give your players permission to inject themselves into the world. 

It is common for people to over-formalize the rules and responsibilities of “being a player” vs. “being a DM.” I think the most common way to phrase it is something like “The Players are in charge of their characters and their backstories, the DM is responsible for the worlds and its NPCs, and both need to stay in their lanes.”

It’s isn't just better to mix it, it's necessary.

Failing to share these roles forces the world to exist in a crystallized state before the campaign even starts - at least if you want to integrate backstories into the plot. Groups that fail to do this can often feel like the characters were born the day the campaign began, and did nothing interesting beforehand. 

So, for DMs: Don’t be afraid of trying to inject NPCs and details of this world into your player's past. Imagine that your party rogue goes into a town and finds a fence for selling some stolen trinkets. Maybe, have the fence recognize the rogue. “Gods of fire, it’s McClellan. I haven’t thought about you since the candy-rat incident. You took a real beating making sure I got away that day. Glad to finally have a chance to pay you back!” 

Now, the rogue still has a choice here. They can say something like “Ah, this guy is mistaking me for someone else, but I can roll with it to get a better deal.” It’s their character, and their choice. But they can also go, hey, I do know this guy. I was apparently part of something called “The candy-rat incident.” I can decide how I know this guy, and where, and for how long, and what that incident was. That’s not less control - that’s more! 

And for players: Don’t be afraid of injecting your past into the world. Maybe you’re a fighter in a wartorn setting and you run into a group of deserters robbing refugees by the roadside. The DM has clearly planned this as some vindication, some enemies you get to thrash without feeling bad. But you have different plans. You take your helmet off, and you look the deserter’s leader in the face, and you say “Jack, you saved my life back on Stone Ridge. You were a good man once. You could be one again. Ride with us.” 

Now that's powerful stuff. Do you even know what Stone Ridge is? Hell no. Are you gonna? Hell yeah. And what you just did was way better than the DMs plan of bonking bad guys to feel good. You changed the writing of the world, commandeered an NPC, and made the whole encounter far more interesting.  

Tip 6: Ignore all portrayals of D&D in the media. 

The best players that I get are people with no experience with D&D of any kind. The second best are those that are willing to drop their preconceptions at the door and just play. The worst are people that have seen D&D portrayed somewhere and are insistent on imitating the portrayal. The exact nature of the failure varies - at worst, they’ve seen some kind of tongue-in-cheek parody, like order of the stick, and then hyperfocused on all the worst parodied aspects as the whole point of the game. D&D is not about outsmarting the mechanics (which is trivially easy, and largely pointless - it just makes your own storytelling less fun), nor is about turning everything into shallow tropes about Horny Bards and Dumb Fighters and Insufferable Paladins. At best, they’ll have seen some kind of ultra-cinematic example of D&D played on a podcast, where the DM has a theatre degree and ever party member is a professional actor. Those people are nice, but they often have unrealistic expectations.

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I think the whole “the prefrontal cortex develops at 25” thing comes across as such a myth bc people are so variable and will apply themselves differently w time. It’s definitely true that older people are more mature (generally lol), and tbh I changed so drastically in terms of how personally I take things this past year, but I feel like it comes from so many factors like a workplace that fosters so many different dynamics, volunteering and working w people, falling out w friends and making new ones… all that stuff will build sm character and also some people just don’t end up doing that

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION: SHADOWCUTE, EGALITATION DU DROW, THE MAN WHO HAS NEVER HAD A COLD AND PROMISES OF FROTTING.

ALL I CAN DO FOR TONIGHT FOLKS, but I might end up doing another compilation very soon since the inbox situation is dire 💀

Thank you so much for showing so much interest in my character and my art! And an extra especial Thank You as always to anyone who has taken the time to leave a nice compliment or words of encouragement in my mail!

Now, onto the debauchery.

Surprisingly, no! While they may have been stuck at the hip since the early game, DU drow most definitely wasn't interested in becoming intimately involved with anyone at that stage - having lost all of his memories and seemingly kidnapped by mindflayers and all, he was a little on edge. Besides, Shadowheart struck him as rather juvenile in the earlier game, which kind of erased any possibility of his interest in her growing. By the time she """matures""" in DU drow's eyes he was already locked in with Astarion, and their friendship was also firmly established.

He did not. I think if he had been more observant as a Bhaalist he could have put two-and-two together - but he was far too self absorbed for that. He is under the impression that Helena (Orin's mother) had a divine pregnancy.

Besides women more often falling into a category that he is sexually attracted to (which doesn't affect his treatment of them by much either as long as he and Astarion are together, he may just steal a glance down their shirt or something) not really!

He has specific prejudices about women from the drow race for the same reasons everyone else has, but otherwise sex or gender doesn't impact his views. The one exception I can think of that may apply here is that he has a slight soft spot for mothers.

And don't worry, your english is perfectly fine!

Hello! I have gotten an ask about this before where I went much more in-depth, but I can't find it right now. The TLDR is that he doesn't care as long as you can still "pull your weight" outside of whatever the disability is. How reasonable his expectations are vary on how much he likes the person in question, but generally speaking he doesn't care and this would be something that bears much less weight than race or attitude - if they don't make it into a problem, he just won't bring it up.

He does have a vile sense of humor though; that might come up if he's trying to hurt someone's pride or, ironically, has built enough of a rapport with that he's comfortable joking around about such things with them.

Have a great day yourself!

I don't think there is anything wrong with relating to fictional characters, even if they are profoundly flawed or even straight up evil. Hopefully that's a vehicle for self-examination and introspection - after all, we are all flawed ourselves.

Honestly it is very hard for me to picture him old, at least in the conventional sense.

Truthfully, I am preeeeetty settled on DU drow being an immortal being at this point. I think it makes sense that Bhaal would have just stopped his aging at some point so he can be at peak performance while following through with his bidding, and that just seems to make sense to me based on prior BG lore. He changes over-time in other ways that I most certainly plan on drawing, but it might take a while for me to get there!

LOL, I think he retained knowledge of illness and disease just fine, so if he were to come down with something he wouldn't panic - probably quite the opposite. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn't walk into a hospital unless a limb was dangling off by an artery - and even then, his friends probably had to insist he went.

Luckily he must has the immune system of vulture after so many years of eating half-cooked wild animals and rolling around in the cold dirt, so he very rarely contracts disease. When he does, he likely just tries his best to hide it or dismiss the concerns of anyone around him about it.

I'm glad to hear that! I remember being concerned that DU drow's scars may get read as rather exploitative or disrespectful when my art first started getting traction - I'm relieved that not only that seems to never have happened, but that people like yourself can actually gain some self-confidence from it!

Listen now that I know that there is an audience for it -

I'm not sure how I feel about simply making a book with art that already exists online and charging people money for it - especially when I have prints for sale that are most definitely of better quality than a zine and can actually serve to decorate your home! But I suppose if an opportunity like that popped up and it made sense, I don't see why not!

Oh he hates her guts, LOL. He would respect The Hag Grind for the pure comedy of it if she weren't so disgusting to look at or so unpleasant to talk to. He's particularly irate at her during act 3 when she tries to trick him into killing that little girl's mother, since he almost follows through with it (one of my few moments of lore save-scumming because I felt like SUCH an idiot).

He definitely didn't take up on her offer in act 1 for the failed tadpole treatment!

And as a bonus, here are some Viscious Mockery inspired taunts Ethel definitely bombarded him with during every fight.

[nancysammy]

I'd like to offer a different perspective, and extend an invite to examine what assumptions are being brought in by the game, and what assumptions are brought in by its players.

Its likely that this is simply an offhand example from OP's table, but I was a bit surprised reading it, because I think that BitD might be more interested in the nitty gritty of its rules than it's getting credit for.

I think the Blades rules are fantastic, because they're flexible to storytelling and interpretation, they're not *prescriptive* but they are certainly assigned specific stats and mechanics.

With the example of crafted items here - - a crafted item won't have a +1 bonus the way it might in D&D, but all crafted items do have specific mechanical features in addition to their effects. Namely: tier level, number of uses, and sometimes drawbacks.

These follow from a combination of fictional and mechanical elements. The rules ask:

~What kind of effect does this item have, and how big is that effect?

+ This is a fictional element, based on player imagination

~what Quality level must be reached to achieve that effect?

+ This is a mechanical element, based on crew tier and the player roll

~From there, drawbacks and uses might apply

+ These are mechanical elements that are assigned based on established fiction

These rules are so fun to me because of the way that fiction and mechanic blend and work together! An item's tier tells you something pretty specific and non-negotiable, whereas drawbacks have a bit of both mechanic and fiction. The drawback "Conspicuous", for example: is it conspicuously bright, or loud, does it cause a ripple in the ghost field? That's up to the table to decide, but we know for sure that it will cause you to take +1 Heat whenever it is used.

Additionally, there does exist a list of sample creations in the rulebook that are "well known by tinkerers in Duskwall" that can be created without additional research/study. The list isn't prescriptive - - these aren't the ONLY creations that can be made, but a list to work from does exist in the rules as-writ.

(If any Blades players want to take a peek - the rules I'm referencing are pages 224-228 in my copy.)

I think there are games that come in with the assumption that the player will act and be interested in acting as a competent storyteller without much structural help (eg Fiasco). But ironically, I think the lighter a game is mechanically the trickier it becomes to actually play, because it relies on skills that the game won't teach.

And also, on a less related note, I think that quote-unquote "good tabletop storytelling" can be many things. Really "zoomed-in" and tactile stories that are really interested in individual character thoughts, feelings and motivations, and really "zoomed out" and abstracted play like moving pieces on a grid to represent faction interplay. I guess this is where game design might be interested in drawing the line between whether fiction follows mechanics, or whether mechanics follow fiction. Either way though, the mechanics and the fiction should be shaking hands.

Have to say, one of the biggest hurdles in introducing one of my usual gaming groups to a system like Blades in the Dark is the idea that items don't have defined stats and are instead props to twist the fiction in interesting ways. It often feels like I'm using therapy speak on a very literally minded engineer.

Player: Alright, I've spent some downtime crafting, what can I make? Me: What would you like to make : ) ? Player: Like, is there a list? Me: Nope : ) , you're limited by your imagination and what we agree would be best for the story. Player: Well are there suggested guidelines for what an appropriate item would be? What Bonuses It can give me? Me: Items don't really give bonuses : ) , now how about you tell me what emotions finishing this project stirs in your character? Player: What was even the point of this? Also stop saying ": )" I don't know how you're doing that with your mouth.

Honestly it's a fascinating study in what assumptions ttrpgs make about the people playing them: Namely that a prospective BitD player has some personal skill or desire to act as a storyteller, and doesn't put much emphasis on the nitty-gritty of the rules.

[medicallyfascinating]

I lied. Put your clothes back on. We're going to talk about how Edelgard is a product of her environment.

Edelgard's motives for change are purely based on her own experiences and what she does want for the commoners is poorly thought through and has no more depth other than "I want them to be our equals" whilst having no planned out steps to actually do anything about it.

It is Ferdinand who makes her realise that commoners require free education to even attempt to be able to attain the same level that the nobles are given on a silver platter.

But of course Edelgard wouldn't think about that, because she doesn't have to. She had grown up Princess of a kingdom with the promise of Emperor at her feet since she was around 10 years old. Even when she wasn't promised Emperor, she was promised a comfortable life. Her education would have been paid for her. Of course she doesn't understand the struggles of commoners, because she has never had to.

Edelgard has been through hell but she has not been put through inherited disadvantage so why would she ever consider what it is like to be raised a commoner????

And so of course, when Edelgard sees the church exploiting and hurting everybody she immediately blames crests and becomes so tunnel visioned on her own experiences to make her stronger, she becomes blind to the other very real and much more important issues happening around her.

Edelgard lacks basic empathy and whether it is just something about her or it comes from the intense trauma she experienced as a child, it makes it impossible for her to relate to commoners and pretty much anyone who has a different lived experience to her. To the point where she even treads all over Hubert's boundaries, and he's the person who is the closest to her at the start of the game and agrees with her and her ideals the most.

This not to say she lacks sympathy, I believe she has a lot of sympathy for people. But she cannot for the life of her put herself in other people's shoes and think about how they are feeling/would feel.

This partially causes her lack of basic respect towards Petra and her racism towards Brigid, holding their freedom over their heads in exchange for Petra risking her life for FIVE YEARS and if she doesn't. Well then. No freedom for Brigid. However, this is also caused by being raised within the Adrestian Empire, especially within the Imperial nobility.

But her lack of empathy extends to her friends. I've mentioned Hubert already but she repeatedly makes Ferdinand uncomfortable, she gets snappy with Bernadetta whenever she's panicking, she outright calls Byleth pathetic for grieving their dead father DESPITE STILL GRIEIVING HER OWN DEAD FAMILY. There are hundreds of instances where Edelgard just simply cannot understand anything from someone else's point of view.

I don't hate Edelgard. I don't think I'm capable of hating any character but I definitely do not like the way she goes about things and treats other characters. She has many many many flaws but I do believe she is a product of her environment. As well as a victim of shitty writing (but that applies to all the characters).

[elbiotipo]

Was thinking about something funny about D&D, there's a 1st level spell called "Ceremony" that does most things that one would associate with a Cleric (funerary rites, marriages, coming-of-age blessings, and all that) and I never heard of it before because nobody takes it as a spell, when at least to me, logically, it should be something that the class has as default. THOSE are important things that anyone that plays as a "cleric" should be able to do, and one should be able to think about how those ceremonies are made, how do they apply, how different beliefs interact with each other, etc.

Maybe I've heard too many anecdotes about this, but it's so jarring when playing in a setting where gods are actually demonstrably real and have direct effect on their worshipers and the world (how much depends on the setting, but in most fantasy settings this is a fact), many play clerics or other characters as just spell dispensers. I mean, that's how you PLAY them, sure, but not how you should ROLEPLAY them.

This is also common in many fantasy works, where the gods and the supernatural are real, but everybody has the attitude of a 21th century agnostic or atheist (GRRM I'm talking to you bitch). Even in our world, no matter your posture on the supernatural, the belief on it changes peoples lives and mobilizes organizations of millions of people. You should keep that in mind in your writing, in fact you should keep that in mind every time you write something related to religion.

[forsaken-headcanons]

I just saw the post where Builder is the second least headcanoned character here and I cannot stand idly by while this happens so uh

Builds is made up of many different things.

At first it started out with only metal in his Retro design but when he overhauled he added other materials like plastic and fabric for accessories; then he got Forsakened which led to his outer shell getting damaged a lot, and the way Builds was designed was to let any material be compatible with him to allow for quick emergency repairs– so parts of his body are made of entirely different things(I'll explain how I think his body works in a different HC eventually). His skin is still mostly metal, but around his hands there are off-colored parts that you realize is actually painted wood when you look closer. Part of his face was peeled off and so he just tore off a piece of a nearby generator and performed what was essentially a surgery on himself in minutes, but he didn't have enough time to paint it so part of his face is the same red as the back of a generator, so on so forth...

(Miraculously, his Hardhat is still made of the same materials)

One time a survivor(up to your interpretation who) brought up the Ship of Theseus and if that applies to Builder too and he had a crisis.

- Anon™️

Yay! Builderman headcanons!

The crisis over the ship of Theseus part might actually be peak. Yoinking that.

[luniviravosshipper]

Okay, I was initially going to include some of my thoughts in the tags but I did a quick google search on the symbolism of this flower and it ended up not being that quick so I’m just going to share my findings here.

So, morning glory flowers as symbols have been most prevalent in Mesoamerican, Victorian, Japanese, and Chinese cultures throughout history. I’m not going to go through each because from what I found I feel like if the cultural background of the symbolism of this flower is relevant in any way it’s through the Mesoamerican cultures (also because the specific flower used looks most like the Mexican morning glory to me, which I’ll talk about in a minute.)

Like what was already said, these flowers can represent the cycle of death and rebirth and that’s especially true for some of the Mesoamericana cultures. But additionally, I also found in a few they also can be a symbol of penance and sacrifice.

Which, you know, fitting for Viren.

Also, they were used as a way to induce visions, which again, is pretty fitting for Viren.

Outside of cultural significance, morning glory flowers and their symbolism oftentimes hinges on their colors too.

Blue morning glories for example, like what was shown in the series, are associated with connection, loyalty, and trust. (And I definitely think some things could be said about that and how it relates to Viren and Claudia’s relationship, and what happened after his dream sequence and catatonic episode.)

There’s even some stuff I found that hinted at the blue morning glory in particular being associated with the water element in some cultures, which would be really interesting if true because season 5 was all about the ocean primal and there were definitely connections made between that primal (specifically its arcanum centering around the ideas of control and freedom) and Viren’s arc.

(Unfortunately I couldn’t find any other sources that delved deeper into the supposed connection made between the water element and this flower, and maybe this source was just talking about the separate symbolism of the color blue and how that could be applied to this flower, but it’s still interesting and I wanted to point it out.)

Anyways but to actually get to the point. I thought the ones shown in the series look most like the Mexican morning glory which is actually a perennial flower unlike most other morning glories, but they’re still pretty common. They’re also known as heavenly blue morning glories.

Now, this part might be a stretch ‘cause I don’t think the flowers shown in the series looked exactly like these, but I did discover a specific type of Mexican morning glory that had an interesting name and could maybe relate to the series’ usage of this flower symbol. Particularly, a flower called a blue star or otherwise referred to as a glacier star morning glory.

Hmmm…

Hmmmmmmm…

(I mean, the fact that was the scene where we first saw her with the flower.)

And you know, thinking about how this specific flower is actually perennial…

And how Claudia was holding this in Viren's dream who had to literally die in order to be reborn… When it seems possibly representative of another character who cannot permanently die…

Also, apparently despite being used for medicinal purposes in many cultures throughout history, the seeds of these flowers are known to have some similar chemical makeup to LSD.

Which, well, could also explain Viren’s connection to the flowers through his dark magic dream. (Also kind of recontextualizes what the other source said about the flowers being used to induce “visions” as a medicine. I found this too, although I’m not sure how credible it is, that talked in more detail about how these flowers were specifically used to as psychedelics.)

Also, another fun fact. They're highly invasive. So if we're talking about Aaravos's connection to the flower symbol (which, again, I recognize is a bit of a stretch)...

would also like to point out that the flower Terry picks for Claudia and she has in Viren's dream

bears more than a passing resemblance to a Morning Glory 👀

a plant where each individual flower blooms only once, and dies on the same day 👀👀

frequently a symbol of death and rebirth 👀👀👀

[theresattrpgforthat]

System Overview: PARAGON.

For three weeks, I’m exploring various ttrpg systems and what makes them tick, as per what was voted on in this poll. This week I’m going to dive into the PARAGON system!

The PARAGON system feels very distinct in comparison to many other modes of play, because of the way it uses its dice. In many roleplaying systems, whether it be a serial investigation, a high-action combat, or a social intrigue, dice rolls are attached to discrete, individual actions, setting up beat-for-beat sequences. In PARAGON, however, a single dice roll can determine the results of an entire scene, dictating the results of an endeavour for a whole party. This can lead to a dramatic reduction of rolls, and the ability to navigate entire thematic arcs in a single session.

How does PARAGON accomplish this? Well, let’s look a little closer.

Agon by John Harper (mythic greek heroes) / Surge Protectors, by Sean Nittner (Transformers-inspired Earth defenders) / Chamber, by John Harper (super-secret agency dealing with an alien paranormal phenomenon)

Character Creation & Traits.

The names change depending on the setting, but each character has elements of themselves that are translated to different-sided die. In AGON, a character’s Epithet describes something about them that sets them apart from other heroes. In Surge Protectors, the Epithet is replaced by your Vehicle Form.

Characters also have Domains which represent areas of talent or expertise; these are broad categories that delineate different approaches the protagonist might take to solve a problem. In Endeavour, a sci-fi play-set inspired by Star Trek, these Domains are: Leadership & Negotiation, Science & Medicine, Operations & Engineering, and Strategy & Tactics. In CHAMBER, a play-set about sci-fi intrigue, these Domains are Advanced Systems, Applied Dynamics, Human Factors and Noetic Vectors. When choosing these domains, one Domain will be favoured, and the size of the die will increase from a d6 to a d8.

What changes the most might be the category called Divine Favour in AGON. I’d describe this category as the special genre-appropriate ways that your characters may be differentiated by each-other. In AGON Divine Favor reflects the blessings of various gods for your characters. But this could also represent different personal strengths, alliances with various civilizations, special weapons or subsystems, and so much more. The number of options here also varies, depending on what’s thematically appropriate - in AGON, since there are many Greek Gods, you can choose from the most commonly listed, or choose to gain Divine Favour with a minor god, as long as you can determine what special strengths that god can give you.

You’ll also create bonds between each player, a relationship that can be used during times of conflict and can represent the connections between the members of the party. If you use a Bond with another character, you can add a copy of their Name dice to your dice pool.

All of these pieces of your character, from their Name, Title, Domain, to their special mechanic, provide an extra dice to roll. Depending on the nature of the trait, the dice size will be larger or smaller, and you can increase the size of the die as your character gains a legacy, a reputation, or an increase in skill. From there, we move on to the Trial.

Believe It! by Evan Bucholz (apprentice mages) / Deathmatch Island, by Tim Renee ( deadly game show ) / Rising Tide by Dan Brown ( eco-justice rebellion)

Trials.

Any given conflict in a PARAGON game results in something called a trial - a single-roll dice mechanic that determines the actions and outcomes for everyone involved. This trial can be combative, but it doesn’t have to be - all participants may be competing against each-other, or some participants may facing against others.

When a trial is announced, the table has a conversation about what they want to accomplish, and how they want to approach the problem. The Strife Player, who has a role close to a GM role in PARAGON, will determine which of the four Domains matches the group’s approach. All participants must use the same Domain. The Domain chosen will determine which dice each player will roll.

For most trials, the Strife Player will embody an opposing force, often (but not always) an antagonist. To begin the trial, they will roll the dice associated with the antagonists’ dice pool, often a number of dice associated to Names, and descriptive traits, such as Monstrous, Deceptive, etc. Antagonists can often have higher dice than PC’s, or special abilities that grant them extra dice to roll.

The Strife Player rolls the antagonizing dice pool before any of the players, and locate the single highest dice. They will add a modifier based on Strife, which represents the current conflict, and use the result to define the target number for the contest. Players will then pick up their Domain dice. They will also have the opportunity to add to their dice by using thematically appropriate elements of their character sheet. This might be an alliance that is useful to you, a reputation you have, a relationship, or using a special resource to add a second Domain of yours to your dice pool.

If you don’t think your character would participate, or if you’d rather contribute in another way, your character can choose to sit out and provide support to another player. Your Domain die is added to your ally’s dice pool, and you earn a Bond with that player.

Once everyone has assembled their dice pools, the party all rolls. Each player adds the two highest dice, not counting d4’s, and then add the results of any d4s that were rolled. This is their player’s highest result.

If your character’s highest result is equal to or greater than the target number, you succeed. The highest total of the group is the best, and gains an extra reward. If a character’s total is less that the target number, they suffer, and potentially fail to contribute to victory. At least one character has to succeed for the group to clear the trial.

After - and only after - all of the rolls have been made and documented, the group can narrate how the conflict played out.

The Good, The Bad, & The Glory, by V2S Games (wild west vigilantes looking for revenge) / Storm Furies, by John Harper (stormcraft fighter pilots patrolling the solar system)

The Narration.

After the rolls, each player takes a turn narrating the actions and consequences that affect their character during the trial. The results of the roll determine whether or not your character fails or succeeds, but how they fail or succeed is still up to you. Depending on what you use in building your dice pool, you may have some clues as to what your scene looks like - if your character is known to be quick-witted, you might include a detail that shows how they use their wits to react, or if they have a relationship that they lean on, you might describe how they depend on a memory of an intimate moment to give them strength.

The player who does the best will likely get to describe what they do to deal the final blow, or clear the obstacle fully. A player who fails may describe what they attempt to do, and also how they fall short. Finally, a player who chooses to provide support instead of roll can describe what they do to boost a teammate.

Ares Ascendant, by cosmicbeagle (Martian colonists building a community) / Endeavour by Armiger Games (Star-Trek inspired voyages among the stars) / Ronin, by Hendrik ten Napel (rejected samurai trying to regain their honour)

The Extras

There’s a few extra pieces that fill out a session of a PARAGON game. This includes mechanics called Glory, Pathos, Fate and Boons.

Glory is meant to represent your reputation, or legend - what you’ll be remembered for. In Ares Ascendant, this is your Renown, which determines how much weight your character’s political views will have in the Martian colony that you are attempting to establish.

Pathos is a resource that can be spent to give you an advantage, but pushes you closer to Agony, which is meant to represent an ending for your character, and probably an unhappy one. Whenever you enter Agony, you mark a point of Fate; your track that determines how long your character’s story lasts. In Ronin, which is a play-set which is about shamed samurai attempting to regain their honour, Pathos & Agony are relabelled into Perseverance and Suffering, while Fate is called Karma.

Boons are another measure of character improvement, gained when you reach specific marks on your Fate track, as well as whenever your crew reaches specific milestones applicable to your play-set. These boons usually involve increasing the size of one your dice, or adding another resource from which to pull dice. Advanced boons may give you benefits when you act in a supportive role, or allow you to roll extra dice on special rolls. In Rising Tide, the play-set of global eco-justice, the Fate track is replaced by Dedication, and Boons are simply called advances.

Vatborn to Kill, by Adam Schwaninger (sci-fi military in an unending war) / Sea Kings, by Luke Edgemon (magical pirates)

Final Thoughts

One of the strengths I think the PARAGON system carries is the way it flips the pattern of play, allowing players to roll the dice before they describe what they do. This can be immensely useful for folks who are newer to role-play, as it allows them to play strategically and then build up a story based off of the pieces they choose to engage with.

If you decide that your character is sturdy, crafty, and good with tools, you’ll probably choose a lot of traits and abilities to describe that. Then, when you enter a contest, you can pull from those abilities, and decide how they come into play after you roll. This means that creativity isn’t required in order to play effectively; instead it can be learned, and filled in after you know whether or not you achieved success.

Now for a few final recommendations!

Aria of Extinction, by Greg Soper, is a game about mech pilots fighting post-apocalyptic monsters.

Starbones, also by Greg Soper, is a game about mystical pirates looking for treasure.

Ruins of Doom, by Matteo Sciutteri, is reminiscent of OSR fantasy dungeon crawlers, meant to be low-magic and full of brutality.

Baka Mitai, by ¡Hipólita!, is a city-pop, Yakuza-inspired playset about trying to survive in the entertainment district of Tokyo.

Odyssey Aquatica, by Old Dog Games, is a 1960's oceanographic playset about conducting research and rescue operations out on the open sea.

You can see my full PARAGON collection on Itch.io here!

If you like what I do and want to leave a tip, you can always stop by my Ko-Fi page.

[thecrashoutkid]

Okay, I really will not shut up about the fact they SQUANDERED Mystique's character so much in First Class.

They could have set her up to be the brawny brawler to Charles's debonair debater. They could have examined how growing up together gave them such an advantage in so many aspects, socially, physically, and mentally in contrast with their peers. Charles being really strong and fit because he's trying to keep up with Raven's enhanced biology. Raven having fantastic mental resistance and fortitude because she trains her brain with Charles all the time. They could have perfectly balanced things like Charles's willingness to lie in wait with Raven's tendency to act on instinct.

They could have explored that this is where Erik begins to really believe the kool-aid that Shaw was spouting about mutants being superior (because in my opinion he never really gave much weight to Shaw's theories, why would he? The only other mutant he'd met treated him like garbage. If anything, he should he pulling a No-More-Mutants like his baby Wanda) because he can see the strength and community they have and why humans benefit from keeping them apart.

They could have set up beautiful character dynamics, like Raven obviously being clever but refusing to 'think ahead' and apply herself properly because she doesn't want to try and measure up to Charles or Charles actually being absolutely pathetic at getting on with anyone because Raven is a natural conversationalist.

Raven getting upset realising that Charles isn't spending as much time with her because he finally found a mutant that was closer to being his peer (Erik) and Charles on the flip side doing his best not to squash her opportunities to make friends and have a proper young adult experience.

I'll probably add more when it's not twenty to two in the morning but yeah, they squandered her character.

[worlds-only-dbgt-enjoyer]

Dragon Ball Fic Recs

as many of us think (at least in my fandom buddies circle), dragon ball fic is plagued with The Bad*. however ao3 is one of the few things that renders correctly on my flip phone and im a creative writing major, a huge snob, and sort by new, so I got favorites. This will be an expanding masterlist.

This is personal preference. I read heavily for writing style, and have very few squicks. Please read tags. Essentially all of these authors have other fics in the fandom that are worth reading, but in interest of this being vaguely readable, Im keeping it largely to one per writer.

The Obvious Choices

Most of these came from other fic rec lists, but if I got a tip about it, and liked it anyway, here it is

Contamination-cosmicmewtwo

tags: Post-Majin Buu Saga, Horror Elements, Science Fiction. Kakavege

Summary: While training in the far reaches of space, Goku and Vegeta discover something alien beyond their understanding.

Homeworld Lost-astral_mariner

tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Raditz/Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs/Vegeta, Frieza/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Other pairings, Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Other Character Tags to Be Added, Horror, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Canon Universe, Torture, Genocide, Medical Experimentation ,Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Sadism, Masochism, Abusive Relationships, Slavery, POV Raditz, Grief/Mourning, Whump, Angst, Heavy Angst, Tragedy, Exploitation, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Existential Angst, Sad Ending, Mindfuck, Aftermath of Torture, Rape Aftermath, Blood and Gore, Major Character Injury, Dark, POV First Person, Sexual Violence, Manipulation, Gender Issues, Saiyan Culture, Vegeta Being an Asshole (Dragon Ball), Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball), Frieza Being an Asshole (Dragon Ball), Illustrations, Nightmare Fuel

Summary:

Via Raditz’s broken scouter, Bulma tries to recover access to Planet Trade networks and technologies to get an upper hand against the androids. But in so doing, she discovers Raditz’s private files—writings and recordings he kept for himself over his long travels with Vegeta and Nappa under Freeza. Tales of their exploits and descent into madness come to change her perception of Vegeta and her relationship with him. Homeworld Lost is a novel-length dark science-fantasy story with explicit violence, horror, and erotica (sometimes simultaneously). Generally canon compliant. Explores Vegeta’s backstory under the Planet Trade Organization and his fraught relationships with his comrades, particularly the twisted bond he and Raditz share. Most of the story is narrated by Raditz, but there are lots of twists. He is an unreliable narrator, and in places, altered mental states allow him to take other points of view. We also get interludes from Bulma as she reads and reacts to Raditz's account.

(be so for real, you're reading this too)

in sua viscera conversum-ovest

Tags: Post-Majin Buu Saga, Smart Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Vegeta (Dragon Ball), Introspection, Character Study, aftermath of death, Past Character Death, Spit As Lube, Vegito As A Non-Presence, Existentialism, Fusion. Kakavege

Summary: The Earth keeps on spinning. Maybe it's always been a love story.

Full Moon-Vakaara

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) kakavege week 2018, kakavege week, anxiety attack, Mentions of Death, distraught Goku, Background GoChi, Background VegeBul, Open Relationships, het relationships (background), Anal Sex, Oral Sex, slight liberties taken with how alien physiology works, Hurt/Comfort

Goku’s tail is back, but he’s not sure he’s happy about it - especially now that he knows what he could become at the full moon.

Deeper Cuts

may have double-digit hits, may be largely popular, but not recced to me. they do bang though

between friends-yamchacho (origami_monsters)

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Tenshinhan/Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs/Yamcha, Launch/Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball), Tenshinhan (Dragon Ball), Yamcha (Dragon Ball), Bulma Briefs, Launch (Dragon Ball),Slice of Life, Drabble ,Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, shy tenshinhan, idc that man is emotionally repressed, Canon Compliant, mostly i havent watched it in a long time so idk, Ambiguous/Open Ending, not much actually happens here, talking about feelings

Summary: Bulma and Yamcha think Tien and Launch are a cute couple. Tien and Launch don't.

these days (these nights) are changing-Resacon1990

Tags:No Archive Warnings ApplySon Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Son Gohan Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball) Krillin (Dragon Ball) Piccolo (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Master Roshi (Dragon Ball) Android 18 (Dragon Ball) Android 17 (Dragon Ball) Tien Chiaotzu (Dragon Ball) Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Son Goten Trunks Briefs Z FightersPOV Outsider 5+1 Things Fluff and Angst Fluff Angst Brief mentions of past Chi-Chi/Goku and Bulma/Vegeta Vegeta is Bad at Feelings (Dragon Ball) Awesome Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Goku is actually mature in this one guys Hurt/Comfort Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

Goku just smiles broadly back at him though, shrugging a shoulder in that effortlessly careless way only he’s ever been able to manage. “Wherever you want. The world is our limit.” Vegeta doesn’t budge an inch. “And what if I want to go somewhere else?” Goku’s smile softens. A lump lodges in Chi Chi’s throat as Goku steps closer, bracketing Vegeta against the tree, leaning down slightly into his space. That look is still there but it’s different, somehow it’s different. “I’m sure we can figure something out,” Goku murmurs. Or, five times a Z Fighter sees Goku love Vegeta... and the one time a Z Fighter sees Vegeta love Goku back.

Rather Fight Than Just Fake It-theeternalghost (iaintafraidofnoghostbear) (archive locked)

tags: No Archive Warnings Apply, Vegeta/Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Yamcha (Dragon Ball) Hate Sex, Choking, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Name-Calling, Degradation, Barebacking, Rough Sex, Scratching

Summary:

"You're such a fucking - ah!" Yamcha cries out. He tries to pull away, but Vegeta has an iron grip on his hips, the pressure sure to bruise. "I'm a what now?" Vegeta mocks."I can't hear you, Yamcha."

The Favorite Subjects

These particularly scratched my brain with ideas, setups, characterizations, or kinks

every time i look at you, it's like the first time-fairyfication

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Chi-Chi (Dragon Ball) Attempt at Humor, Porn With Plot, profoundly unsexy porn, son goku loves his wife, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Pregnancy, Love Confessions

Summary:

"Chichi, I think I'm sick." Chichi turns around, already brainstorming a chicken soup recipe to nurse him back to health. "What's wrong?" "When you look at me, my chest feels all warm, and I get sweaty hands, and my heart starts to beat fast... do you think I'm allergic to you?" "That's no allergy," she smiles, wedding band shiny in the midday light. - Goku and Chichi never seem to do things in the right order.

Provocative-cuddlesome

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Raditz/Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Vegeta & Nappa & Raditz (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball)Canon-Typical Violence Mentions of Xenocide Pre-Dragon Ball Z Team Dynamics Blow Jobs Size Difference Intercrural Sex Thighs Muscles Hair-pulling Slut Shaming Premature Ejaculation Unhealthy Relationships Verbal Humiliation Top Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Bottom Raditz (Dragon Ball) Virgin Vegeta (Dragon Ball) listen Raditz has thicc thighs he can be thicc elsewhere as a treat chunky monkey

Summary: Raditz is a vexing, mouthy weakling, which makes Vegeta's attraction to his body all the more irritating.

Shock to the System-sans_patronymic

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Bulma Briefs Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Trunks Briefs Krillin (Dragon Ball)Emotional Hurt/Comfort Angst with a Happy Ending Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD Past Torture Fluff and Angst Someone buy Bulma Briefs a beer Established Relationship i swear there's fluff Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: When bit of summer fun goes terribly wrong, Bulma is left to pick up the pieces, Trunks struggles to understand and Vegeta confronts old wounds.

migraine-Onyxim

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplySon Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs/Vegeta Son Goku/Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Bulma BriefsHurt/Comfort Fluff and Humor Headaches & Migraines Can be read as Goku/Vegeta They outright flirt with each other and it's just universally accepted Goku Makes Dumb Decisions™

Summary:

The heart virus sucked. There was no doubt about that. But he'd go through a thousand heart viruses if it meant he didn't have to deal with this all the time. - aka, Goku has chronic migraines due to his head injury. That's not going to keep him from sparring, though, because he's Goku.

Bleeding Me-Orphan Account

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Kissing, First Time, Canon Disabled Character, Brain Damage, Traumatic Brain Injury, Blood and Injury, Depression, Protective vegeta, sad Goku, Gift Fic

Summary:

Goku wasn’t himself, at all. He never had ‘off’ days to begin with, but Vegeta saw the changes. But he wasn’t going to ask what was wrong. Never. Then one simple accident changed Vegeta’s stance.

The Child-AveChameleon

Tags: No Archive Warnings Apply Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Kuriza (Dragon Ball)Adoption Emotional Baggage Terminal Illnesses Internal Conflict Parent-Child Relationship Light Angst POV First Person

Summary: A dying enemy has one last request for Vegeta.

Point of No Return-niteryde

Tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Major Character DeathFuture Trunks Briefs & VegetaFuture Trunks Briefs Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Nappa (Dragon Ball) Raditz (Dragon Ball) Frieza (Dragon Ball) Bulma Briefs Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Krillin (Dragon Ball) Son GohanAlternate Universe - Canon Divergence Action/Adventure Dark Gritty Canon-Typical Violence Time Travel Violence Alternate Universe

Summary:

Trunks was going back in time to warn the others about the androids, but instead ended up in a time when Vegeta was Frieza's most ruthless soldier... can he keep his power and identity a secret when he sees the brutality of his father's past? [Original run on FFN: 2010-2011]

Honorable Mentions

K18 NSFW Art-TinyGryphon

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplyAndroid 18/Krillin (Dragon Ball)Krillin (Dragon Ball) Android 18 (Dragon Ball)NSFW Art Sexual Content Digital Art Vaginal Sex Hand Jobs Double Penetration Foursome - F/M/M/M the foursome is just Krillin using multiform don't worry it's 18 and three Krillins Oral Sex Doggy Style Praise Kink Impregnation Outdoor Sex Beach Sex Height Differences Insecurity Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: A dumping place for any of my K18 art that other sites won't allow but AO3 will because AO3 is a real one

art, not a fic, but cmon. yall know it

Broken-YaminoBossBitch

Tags: No Archive Warnings ApplyBulma Briefs/Vegeta Son Goku & Vegeta (Dragon Ball)Vegeta (Dragon Ball) Son Goku (Dragon Ball) Bulma BriefsAngst Sad Sad Ending Ableism internalized ableism ableist slurs Self-Loathing disabling illness graphic descriptions of pain Vomiting Memory Loss death mention medical gaslighting Hospitals Medical Tests Denial suicidal ideations sex mention can be read as KakaVege if you squint Vegebul Chronic Illness Hurt with attempted comfort

Summary:

Vegeta develops mysterious symptoms, and they begin to disrupt every aspect of his life. It seems as though the more he tries to overcome them, the worse they get. An illness with no known cause, no treatment, no cure, and that cannot be overcome through sheer force of will. Will Vegeta find the answers he needs? How will he cope with this disruption of his life?

alright, I have to be honest, this one is a little rough. but just captured my mind in a way that it couldnt not be included.

*writing ooc/grammatical error'd/underplotted/any other form of "bad" fanfic is a vital part of fan experience and growth as a writer. Fanfic is donated time, and deserves appreciation at all stages. this is just a list of fics I personally enjoyed.

[taradactyls]

This is a really great example of how the reader's emotions affect our view of a character's actions.

We know from very early on that Henry isn't serious, and we have a pretty critical opinion of Maria and Julia, who he's toying with. It's just a mess of jealousy and selfishness and characters who aren't thinking empathetically of others or being very wise. We simply aren't sympathetically emotionally engaged with any of those characters or the situation.

Whereas the first time we encounter Sense and Sensibility it's natural to see Willoughby's intentions as generally coming from love, even when there are a few inconstancies raised. Because we don't know his history and we are more likely to sympathise and agree with kind and sensible Elinor and kind, if sometimes overly passionate, Marianne. When he abandons Marianne, and ignores her when they meet in London, discarding her for another, we hate him.

We don't know about his seduction of Eliza yet: only his falseness towards Marianne, how desperately he hurt her after encouraging her affections, and how little he seems to feel about it. That's all criticism which can apply to Henry Crawford - perhaps even moreso to Henry at this point, since as far as we know Willoughby isn't a repeat offender and we know Henry is. Both men deliberately inspired love in a woman they had no serious intentions towards and had done it before and would likely have done it again if the consequences of their lifestyles didn't catch up to them. The difference is in our (and Elinor's/Fanny's) sympathy towards the victims, our insight into the gentlemen's motivations from the beginning, and the focus of the narrative on the emotional fallout. If Maria had had the sensibilities of Marianne she might have fallen into the same level of grief, and if Marianne had the resentment of Maria she may've also made decisions based on spite. There is also something to be said, if we include Eliza into the mix, that only the woman with the sensible, caring, and emotionally and physically present support system was able to ultimately come out the other side of falling for these men without her future being irreparably ruined.

We do of course find out more about Willoughby that paints him even worse - seducing and abandoning a girl is horrific. But even before that the way readers view both Willoughby and Henry Crawford and their victims hugely differently is always surprising.

And then lets see how that also applies to how we view their seductions.

Eliza was younger and perhaps sheltered, and I do think that was objectively worse. But readers seem only too eager to forget that Maria was also expecting marriage, also deliberately misled as to the level of affection he felt for her, and in an emotionally vulnerable position and trying to escape an unhappy marriage (I wonder if anyone bothered explaining properly what her wifely duties towards Mr Rushworth - whom she neither liked nor respected, and who viewed her superficially - would entail, and then on top of that having power struggles with her MIL) literally the only way feasible.

Both women knew what they were doing would injure their families/caretakers and wasn't 'right' as such and were only too happy to accept the gentlemen's attentions, and they were both taken advantage of and deceived. They both suffered the consequences in a disproportionate amount to their male counterparts - not only in the narrative and likely the public perception of contemporary readers in an incredibly sexist society, but still so today. Even though I imagine so many readers hate victim-blaming, slut-shaming, and the like. The added cheating aspect can explain some of it, because Maria unarguably acted badly towards her husband, but somehow that criticism also seems to fall solely at Maria's feet and never Henry's, even though he also knew Rushworth, pretended to be friendly with him, and knew exactly what he was doing. It is absolutely a greater betrayal on Maria's end, but Henry is not an innocent and unknowing party in this, and does seem to view his own actions as akin to cheating on Fanny.

Maria is a great example of how someone doesn't need to be a perfect - or even that likeable - person to still be a victim of another; and how this general dislike of a victim (and I think disliking Maria is plenty justified) is often used to exonerate the actions of the person who preyed upon them.

We don't even know if Eliza Williams is that different from Maria Bertram, or Lydia Bennet, for that matter. She's a perfect victim because we never see her, and so the fandom has only sympathy for her and condemnation for Willoughby. But if we did see her, if we saw her being silly, selfish, vain, or any other number of dislikeable traits, would we have less sympathy for her situation? Would we think Willoughby less at fault?

Because we shouldn't. Willoughby's pursuit of self-indulgence without a care for her life being ruined is the same regardless of whether Eliza was as sweet as Georgiana Darcy or as silly and self-centred as Lydia Bennet at the time they they were persuaded to elope. And we should apply that to Henry Crawford, who, just like Willoughby, knew what he was doing, was happy to lie just as much in the pursuit of his enjoyment, held no qualms over manipulating women or breaking their hearts and (in Maria and Eliza's cases, respectively) ruining their life and reputation forever.

We shouldn't give Henry Crawford an easier time just because neither us as readers nor characters we like were deceived by him. He's cut from the same cloth as both John Willoughby and George Wickham when it comes to a general disregard of others and pursuit of their own gratification above all morals and empathy. And I truly believe that if his true nature was a plot twist, or his victims more sympathetic, readers wouldn't be so eager to forgive him.

In another note on Mansfield Park – the thing that bothers me most about Henry Crawford is that he is doing, repeatedly, exactly what Willoughby did to Marianne in Sense and Sensibility: charm them, get them to fall in love with him, give them all the social signals that he is about to propose marriage, and then drop them and act like they were reading too much into it. From the way he and Mary talk, he’s done this to dozens of women. Willoughby differs in that he ended up actually falling for Marianne, whereas Henry does not fall in love with his conquests (until he tries to play this trick on Fanny, who remains unconquered).

And we hate Willoughby for what he did to Marianne! Marianne’s experience with Willoughby came near to being life-ruining, she was so devastated by it.

Willoughby is worse in his seduction and abandonment of Eliza, Colonel Brandon’s ward, but not in any other respect.

And the excuse made for Henry Crawford seems to be the assumption/assertion that these offscreen women were all silly, shallow, and vain, and only their pride was hurt. But there’s no reason to actually believe this! It’s just placing the blame for Henry’s actions on the people that he’s mistreating and making miserable.

It frustrates me to see this written off as “flirting”. It’s much more than that! When he toys with Maria at Sotherton, he is telling her in clear symbolism that she should drop Rushworth for him and, if she does, he will marry her. He is lying. And saying of all the women he’s lied to, “They should have known better,” is not remotely an excuse.