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howyouloveyourdragon · 11 months

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The Heart Bestowed

pronouns: she/her warnings: none that i am aware of, feel free to correct me in dms :) summary: Jacaerys loves nothing more than a duty fulfilled. Y/n has other impressions. Ever since they were young, they presumed that they would some day find one another in the Sept amongst family and reciting practiced vows to one another. However, they could not be more different nor more infuriated in their joined presence. Neither of them have any greater desires than to quell the other...So why do they feel so disappointed when they are both betrothed to another? disclaimer: this is fanfiction for asoiaf/house of the dragon, i do not give permission for my writing to be translated or copied whatsoever pairing/s: Jacaerys Velaryon x Tyrell!Reader dividers by: firefly-graphics wordcount: 8,144

120 AC. When Two Foes Begin

Y/n tilts her head as her eyes take in the strange boy’s dishevelled appearance. Her lids turn her eyes to slits. “You have a leaf in your hair.” She comments. Usually this would be a compliment–the girl probably loved nature more than a Targaryen, their dragon. She threads the court girls’ hair with flowers every morrow, which she is doing at this sensitive moment as her fingers peel through pale strands and embed larkspur into the crevices. Her own locks are braided with daisies though he cannot comprehend how she managed to fit them all in with the sheer density of it. The boy with brown hair rolls his lips into his mouth, bites down and frowns at her. Hair had been a topic he had been criticised upon often. He should not be surprised that the little Tyrell girl thought the same. “Better a leaf than a spider.” He snaps briskly, all too used to defending the castle of stone in where his insecurity lies. The girl gasps and shoots her hands into her own locks as quick as an arrow flies. Perhaps if she were not here then he would be able to occupy his time flying arrows instead of pretending not to be as bored as a dormouse. Her wide eyes turn on Helaena as Jacaerys begins cackling. “Hela, you promised!” She exclaims, the Targaryen princess returning her shock. “You told me they were still in your room!” “They are sleeping.” Helaena’s soft voice melodies no louder than that of the very dormouse skittering through Jacaerys’ very soul. The boy sighs.

“Are you a child? You are acting as if you are one. How fearless.” Jacaerys snickers then smirks slyly. “I am willing to bet five dragon coins that you are the younger, aren’t you? Posing as the elder to attract my aunt’s attention.” The way her eyes narrow and settle their attention back onto him only heightens his entertainment. He intends to quip once more but a familiar supercilious voice drifts closer and he rolls his eyes. “And had I not known you, I would have presumed you to be the youngest of your line and yet the Lady seems all too aware of her status. Something that you clearly lack, nephew.” Either child turns to look at the Targaryen picking at his nails to pretend the conflict is not anxiety-ridden. That jumps an idea into the almost-heir’s mind. “Perhaps it is genetics then, seeing as Daeron’s sword can strike thrice the battle yours would. I could presume that–” “You are both foolish.” Y/n interrupts and her hand dips to take Helaena’s. Squeezing. “We are leaving. Helaena is to show me the library. Good day.” It is swift that she leaves, Jacaerys’ aunt trailing behind her slightly as she giggles. The boys however seem unable to dispel the attention she directs, staring long after she is gone. “A shame that your wife and yourself are not yet accustomed to one another.” Aemond smirks with only the slightest twitch of his lip. Jacaerys wrinkles his nose. “Gross, what are you saying? She is not my wife, she is an insufferable girl who makes my eyes sore.” Jacaerys mutters then grimaces at the mere thought. His uncle doesn’t utter a noise but they both understand the growing gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps not yet but she will be. You should know how quickly alliances are forged. Brother of mine own is to marry our sister in the growing years, perhaps you can share together your day of nuptials and all that comes alongside it. I am sure that he would delight in this revelation himself.” “You speak as though you are excused from this fate.” “That is because I am. You forget I am a second-son.” The Targaryen prince ignores the Velaryon’s grumbles.

132 AC.

A dahlia is strapped to her wrist, he notes, watching her. He thought she didn’t like dahlias. It is an off cream colour, not quite possessing the purity of white. It is rare that she would wear such colours, teal gowns usually consume her and yet today she is not wearing one at all, she is wearing a colour reminiscent of the peaches bundle in her arms. She cradles them like they are her own kin. She looks beautiful. More beautiful than he has ever seen her despite the splotches of dirt and vibrant grass stain painting her dress. Jace questions himself why the urge to bow possesses him. She has grown into her Tyrell roots it seems, her steps elegant and handing the small fruits to the children of the city. Jace hides behind a pillar as he gazes, it has been just a year since he last saw her. Just a year and she looks exactly the same and different all at once. He should have prepared for that, he thinks as his stomach tumbles about obscenely and taunts his gut for choosing wrong. He shushes his brother who talks raucously with one of the common folk. His wishes are fruitless. His eyes longing. His feet locked to the floor in order to prevent their unreasoned desires. Her hand reaches into the small basket and squeezes one of the fluorescent yet pale fruits before handing it to a small child, perhaps no bigger than a direwolf pup. Her…

He can’t bring himself to speak her name even silently in his head; it feels far too scandalous. Perhaps it is. Jace likes that word because it sounds like them. Perhaps. Perhaps he will visit her, perhaps he will speak with her, perhaps he will be happy at her side. Perhaps… He wonders why her hair is in those intricate tangles, well not tangles but he cannot summon the phrase, it always looks pretty much like the rose of her name but something feels different this time. Jace wonders if she would too think him pretty. As the thought surfaces he cannot help but feel guilty as he imagines the sweeping swirl that his tongue would gladly deliver around her finger. The one where juices flow freely down her forearm. He swallows. Gods be good. Jace looks back at the once girl now woman. He looks at the odd twig in her hair, the way her dress doesn’t quite reach her feet. Intentional–he’s sure. She knew that she would be walking around although as he hears her laughing, her hair dipping to catch in one of the children’s eyes (to which they swat), he assumes that she did not intend to stay as long as she has. It was been just thirty minutes since he started peeking over at her but it is unknown how she has been skipping and circling the children. One of their small hands dart out at her back and she squeals, the sound more like a birdsong. It looks like a game but once Jace is unfamiliar in. He wonders if she is always this way with children…He wonders if this would be what she would look like amongst their own. Their own. Not her own. Their own. A deepening blush creeps up his veins until blossoming up his face. He wants to brush them away with his hands but that would be foolish.

He glances down at his frozen feet and curses him. He knows they will not move. He refuses to let them and yet he still curses them. His hand dips into his pocket to feel the long-crinkled petals that lie there.

120 AC. The Dragon Incident.

“He stole Vhagar!” Jacaerys seethes, anger steaming on his young face. “He called us bastards–!” “So you carved out his eye?” Y/n yells back, horror filling her face. Her brows are knitted and her lips are twisted downward. Jacaerys’ stomach attempts to devour itself, sharp teeth suddenly becoming unleashed and ripping at his insides like a morbid beast. Bile sews up his throat before hitting his tongue. “Look at him!” Her hands cradle his uncle by his hair and stroke it gently. Jacaerys’ jaw locks and a huff leaves his nose. His uncle looks down, clenching his fists. “You need not fight my battles.” Aemond hisses. “You need not, truly.” “We are children, you are family! Nobody should be fighting anybody.” The girl roars, every inch a beast as powerful as Vhagar in that moment but neither boy changes their stance. Jacaerys huffs and lets his eyes latch onto her hand, running through Aemond’s white curls. A fire burns up his spine. “You seem all too pleased with that fact, if only you could keep your tongue as still as your mind.” The words taste too bitter on his tongue but he chews them out anyway. Her fierce eyes narrow. Her hair sways at the velocity in which she turns her head, the yellow hyacinths in her hair on the verge of falling once her attention returns to him. “I think you both are in far more need of that ability than I.” It is the first time he has felt ashamed. Her eyes drop to Aemond, fingers still carting through his hair. “Aemond, your sisters, name them.” he glares ahead petulantly.

“I have but only one.” He grumbles but her fingers yank sharply and he yelps. “H-Helaena!” She tugs again. “Helaena and Rhaenyra!” He sputters and the Tyrell girl does look far too pleased as she stands to grasp one hand into Jacaerys’ tunic who gulps with wide eyes. “And your mother? Her name.” “R-Rhaenyra!” He sounds out quickly, not wishing for the same sore locks as his uncle. Y/n smiles. She actually smiles. “Good. A common meaning.” Jacaerys winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “You are neither sweet hearted nor graceful.” Jacaerys whines and winces as she lets go of her rough hold. “I am not sure that you are Tyrell at all.” “Perhaps we have been lied to.” His uncle grumbles in agreement. Despite their sentiments against her, the girl beams at their shared discussion. “I hope you enjoy yourselves, my princes.” She curtsy though mock hangs like a banner over them. She snickers to herself as she glides away swiftly. Jacaerys sighs once more and rolls his dark eyes. Aemond folds his arms and they sit down in silence until… “Did you like it?” Aemond asks hesitantly. Jacaerys’ eyes narrow again. “Did I like what?” He snaps. “When she tugged you.” Any retort already built dies on his tongue. A deep flush floods his face. “Of course not.” He denies with haste but his eyes resemble a doe’s as he watches after her.

132 AC.

They are in a large hall, so distant yet so close, as their eyes lock on the other. He smiles at the sight of her hair–no longer so untidy as just hours before. A circlet is delicate upon her brow and loops in the crown of her head and even further back across it. Pink rose petals, real or fake he cannot discern, line it beautifully. Gold compliments her well, he decides and especially in contrast to the soft blue of her gown. Briefly he wonders what she would look like in yellow. Vibrancy. Her colours seem pale as of late, almost unsure. Another thought severs his mind. She is smiling back–no–she is smiling at him. His smile trips for only a moment before it returns taller than ever, he raises his cup and only drinks from it after she reciprocates the motion. Y/n’s eyes wander across the room, sweeping every lord, lady, maid, stray chef, even his drunken uncle. They darken, her eyes, as they explore. Does she like the gem-encrusted candles his mother likes to harbour? Why would she like the candles? Well, what of the cups then? Are they to her liking or shall he replace them all after they are wed. He bites his lip but then she is looking at him again. Warmth waves across the table with a flick of her wrist. He loves it. He loves it dearly. Beautiful, he thinks. Jace thinks a lot of things. He even thinks about how easily he could sneak them both out and into the gardens. Jace could even request one of the lute players to join them, perhaps they could talk freely as he plays. He realises that he does not merely want to talk with her, he wants to murmur in her ear and wrap flowers between the strands of her hair the way she loves it. He wants to inspire each new colour she wears and accept every argument or praise she would bestow onto him. For the dagger of her quick tongue can feel like both the sweetest and only release a man should need.

He sips once more from his cup, the Dornish delight tickling his own tongue. He wonders if hers should feel the same. A glow echoes from her feet to her hair. It blooms her face, nutritious light dancing across her smile. The grin atop her lips is like golden dust both fleeting and familiar but beautiful nonetheless. Something he would later imprint into his memories. He likes to think of them that way, two dancing dusts of gold moving in tandem despite the wind around them. The firelight cannot distract him from her no matter how flirtatious. His eyes dip to glance at her wrist, he grins when he sees the pale dahlia. Then they meet hers again and he tilts his head to the side. A gesture known between them all too well. So, as they stand and their chairs scrape back. The dancing bodies envelop them enough to shield their bodies from the Queen’s prying eyes.

121 AC. The ‘Strong’ Incident.

She looks as though she has sucked a lemon dry. Jacaerys grimaces, nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. To say that Y/n Tyrell is a petulant Lady of the Reach would be too kind. He has detested her since the moment she clung to his uncle Aemond like a coddling mother. How she wiped the mud off his face and stroked back his hair. He scoffs at the memory. At the ever flowing memories that thread along his mind, stitching it in place as tight as a royal noose. A huff pushes through his nostrils as he stands opposite her at a mere five namesdays. His eyes narrow. “It’s ugly.” He sneers, referring to the rhododendron braided through her hair. She glares back. “You would know, would you not, mittys, afterall you are much further known in that field?” At her sharp utterance, his head snaps up and his eyes blow wide. “Where did you learn that?” He snaps. For the love of the Gods he hates the ill-inducing smile that twists her lips like an insipid snail. She is far too proud of herself, he decides whilst folding his arms. Her grin doubles. “Your uncle taught me.” The Tyrell teases, smirking with those prudish pink lips. He wants to slap away the smug glimmer in her eye but that would not be befitting of his station. Jacaerys clenches his fist to recall that. Instead he breathes. “Well he cannot even summon the correct grammar so he is hardly one to listen to.” The boy is proud when he sees irritation flash over Y/n’s face. He almost chortles at the sight. “At least he can string together a proper sentence!” She bites back. He scowls and turns his head to the side to pretend the creeping blush is from anger rather than embarrassment. She snickers as her eyes roam every birthmark or dot that lines the crevices of his face. He glances at his mother, already engaging with a strangely familiar looking woman. Oh. Your mother. Oh.

Jacaerys trains his gaze back on yours and stiffens his posture, arms folding behind his back like Aegon taught him, chin raised. “I do not want to marry you.” He tells her plainly. His words are firm and rehearsed but they take no offence. He is almost insulted when she lets out the most unladylike snort he has ever heard. “Then marry my sister.” She retorts, something playful dancing across her smile. Jacaerys drops his jaw in horror. “Your sister is four!” “Then do not whine to me of what you do or do not wish to do!” As they speak–or rather–argue, Y/n is hoisting up the skirts of her dress and adjusting her shoes. He ignores it. “I merely want us to understand one another.” He attempts, resurging his confidence. She ignores him now, fussing with her hair and wrenching it away from her face. He grimaces once more and glances at their mothers who embrace each other, not in the least concerned of their children’s enjoyment. “And if we are to understand each other then we shall-oh for the heavens, what are you doing?” The prince watches as her hand glides upon a tree branch and latches to it snug into her palm. Her snickers emit as she slings a leg around another. “Escaping!” He gapes at the strange girl. “Escaping? Escaping from what?” “You. You bore me like no other and I find myself in dire need of entertainment.” “I do not bore, you bore me!” Jacaerys continues to twitter even as she clambers through the intense leaves and ducks between branches. “Is this what Tyrells do? Climb trees and allow their smallclothes to the public eye? Be careful you ought to fall.” His voice extracts another yelp of amusement.

“Why? So that your Strong arms oughten to catch me? You are of your namesake, yes, Prince Strong?” Y/n rolls her eyes but before she has the time to argue further, she yelps and falls through the various greenery until falling flat on her back and winces. A groan parts her lips and wrinkles her brows. A gasp calls from the opposing side as the Lady Tyrell and Realm’s Delight skitter toward the fallen child. He bites his lip to quieten a laugh while they drop to her side. “Are you quite alright, my sweet?” Your mother asks, wispy voice wittering. She catches your arm and cheek, eyes scanning over every inch. “Jacaerys,” His mother hisses but conveniently his sights are elsewhere. He grasps a pile of amaryllis flower petals. He doesn’t know how they got there but they are pretty regardless.

132 AC.

The night glimmers with sparkling light, each one more beautiful than the last. “I had almost thought to request a dance of you,” Jace chuckles. “Though that might have been unseemly, as we are not yet betrothed, officially at least.” “I had almost asked, myself.” Y/n retorts back, grinning impishly. She looks down at their feet as they walk, she almost laughs when he performs a little skip. He nods, eyes glazed as they roam his sight across her face. In a sudden move he flicks her nose. Her face flinches and parts her lips. She blinks back to see his smirking face. “What are you–” Jace pretends his eyes are skimming over her in nothing but thought, nose suddenly wrinkling. “Ah yes, I had thought that no such beauty such as your own could be true. I wonder what altered my sights so,” He is grinning wildly but she does not find the comment amusing. A huff bubbles in her and she hoists up her skirts. “How dare you!” She bellows. Jace laughs with greedy entertainment as he begins to skip backward. She runs after him, attempting to hide her delight. “You best apologise for scorning me, Velaryon!” She has to call as she chases him, ducking under branches and attempting not to slip in the thick mud. He glances back at her and cackles at the otherworldly display. She scoffs. His laughter takes control until he is doubling over in amusement which gives Y/n the perfect opportunity to strike a stiff arm across his body and send him crashing to the floor with her body atop his. She pins his wrists above his head and smirks as he wriggles. She beams proudly down at him. “Apologise.” She demands. He grimaces, laughter not yet stopped. “As if!” He dispels.

And all too suddenly, he stops. Jace stops and he looks up at her and his breath stutters. “Do you intend to keep me here? At your mercy?” “I did so when we were children.” She teases to which he quickly rolls his eyes. “When we threw mud and ducked beneath trees.” He interrupts her speech with a chuckle. Her palms soften and slide onto the ground instead. “Do not laugh at me,” “I am not laughing!” He defends. His fingers glide around her wrist. Y/n’s breath hitches. Her eyes flit down at him. As her grip loosens she plummets until their chests touch. Never one to back down from a challenge and yet she fumbles with wide eyes and shallow breath. The prince grins and chuckles as he laces two hands along her waist. His eyes glitter with excitement. “Your lineage was correct at least once.” He murmurs. He spots a row of rogue daisies dotting her hair. “You are so alluring that you have me utterly captivated.” A lump clogs her throat, her breath turns almost so shallow that it hides from her. “And you are as headstrong as the dragon demands.” She breathes out. “We are unchaperoned.” He purrs, a finger raising to stroke his cheek. She swallows and lets her irises track it. “We are.” Crickets dance around them, unseen but their noise unrelenting. His lids lower as the flower leans closer. “It is pretty.” He whispers below his breath. “What is?” “In your hair,” he gestures with a pink hue. She doesn’t have to hear him to know what he is speaking of. “Perhaps…our marriage could be like your hair.” Her brow furrows. “Wild…ever-changing…beautiful…a garden.” A soft smile caresses her face. “I would like to grow our…garden together.” The stars glow above them. As if the fates design it themselves, Jace feels his own smile beginning to warm. “I too...” He breathes. “I too.”

122 AC.

Glares are often exchanged over the dining hall but instead they appear beside a dreary river. It looks utterly soiled and murky. The prince wrinkles his nose. “I’m not going in.” He denies to which the little girl at his left snickers. “I did not ask it of you.” The flower unlaces her boots, huffing as she discards the knotted tangles. “Then what are you doing?” He shifts in discomfort. “I am swimming.” She snickers in retort, “Do not be foolish, that water is freezing.” “But it has water lilies!” Y/n argues tugging at her bodice. She huffs at the trickiness. His hand reaches out to grasp her wrist as she shuffles out of her large skirt. “If our mothers knew that I had let you, they would string me up by my cloak!” “So do not tell them! They will never discover it!” With a twist of her hands she tosses him in the lake below with great ease.

The two highly esteemed most certainly did discover it when their two squabbling children returned to them soaked from head to toe. “Your fault.” Jacaerys hissed at her but she merely stuck her tongue out, as if it had been her intention all along.

132 AC.

The prince stands before the painter, sighing as time whittles away. It is already noon, morning past and yet he cannot escape preening hands or bothersome hands. The excessive garments weigh heavily on him. They feel more like vines than fabrics. His eyes cast to look at the cloudy sky as the gentle blues expose themselves. He is glad that they are not in a shade as spritely as his clothes. It is an odd wonder that he used to love blue so deeply and yet now it shackles him. “And how many more strokes should I be expecting?” Jacaerys asks. The artist before him chokes–presumably on his own saliva–then clears his throat. “Apologies, my lord, what is it that you–?” “Brush strokes, friend. Brush strokes,” A glimmer of enjoyment twinkles in his brown irises. “Ah.” The painter croaks with a flush up his neck. A snicker parts the prince’s lips but an abrupt snap of the doors halts his short entertainment. Jace’s eyes quicken to find a grey dress and solemn face. His grin slips. “My dear, I was not expecting you but it is welcome.” He almost stutters, wanting for nothing but to take a step closer to her. He curses his feet for disobeying his desires. Jace quickly sews back his smile but perhaps too tightly.

“I thought it best for us to confer in discretion.” The words leave her lips stiffly and as he watches her move he sees a similar firmness in her posture, her stance, her stuck limbs. Jace glances at the painter. “Yes, you are quite right. Ser, would you–?” “No, that is quite alright.” She interrupts, trying to smile but it looks as frozen as the force of her smile. Tensity grapples the air, squeezing it tight. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. "I didn't know what it meant." She utters quietly, refusing to raise her eyes to meet his. Jacaerys watches as she swallows slowly and takes a deep breath, holding it in her lungs as though it would flee from her the moment she spoke once again. "When I...When I called you that word." Tensity rattles him, locking his bones. "I'm sorry. It was cruel and unbefitting and you did not deserve it." Silence holds them stiff like the portrait itself yet the artist himself holds little hesitancy. "You were a child." He speaks. She finally looks at him and everything inside him goes soft at her gaze. "So were you." And suddenly everything feels different and the same all at once. He does not know whether what he has gained is what he has lost. He wants to move, walk or run toward her, it matters little. Anything his body would allow but it does not. He stays frozen. Watching as she slowly steps back, the slightest dip in her mouth as she regains her composure. Her head dips, eyes fleeting.

Jacaerys has not screamed since he was a child but suddenly he wants a change of heart. Regardless of duty. Regardless of honour. The two things he holds most dear behind his family. “I have news.” “Oh?” He tries not to let his voice shake despite surrendering to the quietness. “An announcement has been made–two in fact.” His brows furrow. “And what have we to do with them? Have our mothers’ meddling persisted?” Jacaerys’ smile returns but something flickers beneath his eyes. “Your flowers…Where have they gone?” She doesn’t answer. Lady Y/n Tyrell merely takes a deep breath. “We are to be wed.” The spark lights up again and he claps, startling the artist. “Oh, Y/n, I have–” “To other people.” Her Ladyship corrects, eyes flitting up at him from the floor. “Yourself and Baela shall live happily in Dragonstone and I will live at Lord Stokeworth’s side. We are finally free. My congratulations, my prince. I have enjoyed our short time together.” “My lady, I–” “I am not your lady anymore, your highness. Now if you would excuse me…” She walks away and he swears he cannot stop himself from counting each quiet step. He does not feel like Jace anymore. He feels like Jacaerys, prince and future heir to the Iron throne.

126 AC.

‘And then you throw a cloak over her which I still do not comprehend.’ Aegon’s handwriting explains in rough scribbles so filled with the ever increasing bubbles of rage that only a sixteen year old forced to marry his own kin can muster. Jacaerys chuckles quietly at the tear in paper at the centre where a convenient ink splotch lays. A farce of a marriage his uncle and aunt possess and yet there is something bitter in Jacaerys’ snickering. This will be his own fate soon, he is merely lucky that his mother has not been hounding him with it, not forcing him to kiss the weird Tyrell girl’s hand or invite her to dance. He sighs in thought as he thinks of her and the stupid petals that are no doubt swaying in her hair. He can see it, even when he tries not to, he can see her nose wrinkle and scrunch, he can see her eyes cloud with childish amazement as another boy asks her to dance instead–one of the Lords old enough to be his uncle and strange enough to want her grimy hands on them. He bets that they are caked in dirt–they always are–and he can see the oddly shaped and unfitting rings that she adorns, all in the patterns of thorns or flowers. He is tired of listening to her babble to them whenever he sits beside her at feasts. He wishes frequently that he would take the seat beside one of his brothers or cousins.

He continues reading the crumpled letter and reluctant recount of the royal wedding. A princess and a prince destined to tear the other at the seams, he muses to himself. He wonders what Y/n will look like at their own wedding, she always has her hair twisted funny and her dresses are ridiculously large. He does not understand why she bothers with them when she throws them off to jump into the lake every chance she can reach. Surely she would not wear green like Helaena did although that is the prioritised colour of her house. He supposes that would bother him not though with the sage colour she wears so often. But should a wedding not be an excessive expression? Had Helaena looked as miserable as she felt walking up to her new husband or had she braced herself enough to don a reluctant stone mask? Will Y/n look miserable too? Will she throw things at him like she had when she last visited and pommel him again with the force of her fists? To her respect, he had been at fault for taunting her and snatching the lavender flowers from her hair. Would they mind that they would marry in a Sept or beside fire? Will it bother her or would she like it? His thoughts swirl as the parchment’s words grow less intense. The ink starts to fade, replaced by insufferable girls and insufferable promises. Will it be warm or cold? She hates the cold but she hates a lot of things. Will she have to stop climbing trees when she’s Queen? He supposes she will but he’s not quite sure why he hates that idea. There’s something he likes about her calloused hands. He rubs a thumb over his palm as he remembers the last time they danced, it must have been the year before but it threads in his memory with the sound of a well-strung lute. Jacaerys loves music, which is why it is so irritating that he can recall the shade of her eyes with ease and yet not a single note plays in his ears. He cannot even remember whether he had liked it or not.

132 AC.

The door almost snaps from its hinges when the young prince bursts through. “What did you do?” He asks his mother immediately, watching as her eyes widen and she chokes on her wine. The princess takes her time to collect herself and slowly lowers the glass. Blood pumps in his ears so loudly that he almost doesn’t notice his own trembling fingers.“Whatever do you mean, Jacaerys?” “You are betrothing me to Baela?” His mother sighs and looks down, lips parting to respond. “Why should she not? You turn aside every other girl that your mother suggests.” Daemon utters, gliding through the door. He takes his regular brisk and composed steps until settling his hands on Rhaenyra’s chair from behind her. He raises his eyebrows. “Or have you finally made up your mind on who shall be not only your Queen but the Kingdom’s one day.” Rhaenyra turns the rings on her fingers quickly. The prince scoffs. “I know that arranged marriages are not your preferred method but your grandsire is growing very ill, Jacaerys, he should be able to see you wed. It will be the first ceremony he could witness since his own.” The irritation grapples him and squeezes like a vice. “Then do not betroth me to Baela, betroth me to Y/n like you were supposed to!” Jacaerys shouts. A silence rings through the air, a ticking clock quirks at the top of his mother’s head, slowly working her mind to understand his words. She blinks. “The Tyrell girl?” She finally asks, face screwed up and eyes clocking back and forth aimlessly. “I never intended for such a match, I thought you hated her.” Daemon’s face tenses and so does his posture as he folds his arms. Jacaerys’ face becomes even more flushed as the hour passes. “I-I, well, I had but she–I don’t…” His breath grows haggard and huffs.

He strikes a harsh hand through his hair and grips it painfully. The boy bites his lip, suddenly falling small again. “I wanted to. I wanted to marry her, I just…No, I want to marry her. Either I did not know yet for being too foolish and youthful that I thought her to be a trap or I did not want to admit it but now I do and I just want her. I want all of her. Every inch she will give unto me. I want her thorns and her petals, of every season I want to keep her in summer and love. I will travel anywhere to keep her warm, I will command flight, I will command ships, I will even command the stars and sun if she wishes so to force the day to stretch as long as she wishes. I want to give her summer. I want to be her summer. I want to give her myself in every way possible. She has more beauty than I have ever seen and more beauty than I deserve.” His throat tightens even more. “Mother, please let me be her summer, I will do anything you request of me just as I have always done but I will marry no other woman, I swear to the heavens high and low.” He stares into his mother’s eyes, Daemon long forgotten as her fingers stop their flickering of rings. The light catches on the one of gold and amethyst. The shade of his worry and the shade of Baela’s eyes. He knows that he cannot walk onto the stones and before the fires only curated to worship the Gods of Old Valyria and lie to them. It would not only seek him damnation but a life of agony. He knows he cannot willingly look in her eyes and gaze like he does the only beauty he has ever truly known because it is not she. It will never be she. There is but one dream in his heart and he will not let the rebounding tricks and lights of amethyst save him.

“Rather odd that you have had such an enthralling change of heart but I see no reason for such extremities.” Daemon almost growls, the insult burning hot in his ears. “My daughter is beautiful and of pure blood I commend you for your childish songs, I am sure the bards would be proud but I am not. There is no reason for you to deny her of being Queen. It is a title we both know her blood and nature is worthy of.” “Rhaena is betrothed to Luke.” He starts again shakily and glaring into his stepfather’s eyes hard as steel. “If it is your bloodline you wish to prosper then I shall abdicate without fight.” Just as quickly as the words slip past his lips, Rhaenyra’s ring falls. A memory flashes through both the adults’ minds. One in which a man was just as quick to toss his crown. Just as quick to deny himself the power he had always craved just to marry a woman with silver hair and a sharp tongue. And while he was desperate to marry a Queen, the boy before them now was willing to marry nothing more than a flower. Both their eyes tread curiously on him. “Abdicate?” Rhaenyra tests the word on her tongue, an unfamiliar one, it slips across her taste buds–too quick yet too thick. Too heavy and yet he says it with ease. As though it is the only passing thought in his head. Daemon’s own invasive sights are unrelenting. They strike through him as threatening as a sword to his neck, if he moves it will do more than nick him. Something twists in his gut when Daemon’s lips part. “That will not be necessary, will it, doñus ābrazȳrys?” He cuts into the thick cake but it is unclear whether it is filled with stone or honey. His violet eyes slowly track up to Jacaerys’. “I believe a wedding is in order…” The silence weighs heavily while a scream begs to claw up the boys’ throat. “Let us hope the thorns are gentle with us.” A sigh passes Daemon’s lips and his shoulders soften as he leaves.

128 AC.

“Oh.” He murmurs quietly, back straight and eyes darting. “Oh?” Lucerys hisses, brows raised and fiddling with his fingers. Anyone looking at him could tell he looks utterly drenched in a sea of nerves that rise slowly to attempt and drown him. “Oh is not what you say your betrothed is dancing with our uncle. ‘Oh’ is when someone tells you they have lost their toad or-or their cat ate a mouse.” Jace rolls his eyes. “Unlike you I do not care who she dances with, she can enjoy herself as she pleases.” Lucerys huffs and turns to glance at Rhaena at his side. She snickers. Jacaerys continues watching Y/n, watching as she twirls and joins hands with Aemond and then clapping them. He watches the shimmer that the candlelight shines on her necklace. He watches. He always watches but he never does anything. “Why should I care? If anything I should be encouraging it, maybe he can keep her attention long enough that she stops following me to my High Valyrian lessons, stops squawking in my ear.” “She doesn't squawk.” Baela defends with a chuckle.His eyes narrow, still locked on her. “Besides she is rather helpful, you ought to listen to her if she is to be your wife.” The tease is light on her tongue but it squeezes his chest. He nods stiffly and folds his hands together behind his back. He glances down. “Perhaps…” He agrees begrudgingly.Baela slaps his back. “Good.” “You know, she wouldn’t be dancing with him if you had asked her.” “Yes she would, she would do it to spite me.” His lip twitches like the tail of a smirk.

“Truly you are not going to marry him?” Aemond asks, the back of his hand caressing hers although it strikes little attention. The Tyrell does not have to look to know who he is speaking of, her answer is as swift as the flick in her wrist. “I have not yet decided, my friend.” Aemond grins wolfishly and lets his chuckle last. “A shame for the masses, I suppose for you to be shackled by the bonds of marriage, you were not made for it. That I am certain of.” “Then you must not know me well.” She smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Not that that would surprise me, you have horrendous taste in brides.” He wrinkles his nose. “And how have you decided that?” The length of her skirts twist around her, the patterns raucous. “Go on, tell me. I have not yet taken a bride of my own.” “Which is precisely why you have horrendous taste in brides.” The music grows louder, hiding his scoff from the fellow noble people. “I am the same age as you, why should I have taken a bride?” “Because they seem to either run from you and flock like a series of swans.” She grimaces. “It is rather irritating the way they stare.” “Yes well I am sure you do the same,” He teases. Her gaze turns hard on him but it only encourages his long for mischief. “I think I would rather find Luke and gouge my own eye out.” Aemond huffs but does not react in malice. He catches her sleeve in retort, resulting in a stumble. “Funny.” “Hm,” He agrees, his sly smile returning. “He would not be horrible, I suppose and especially not compared to the other men at court.” Aemond pulls a disagreeable expression and glances at his petulant nephew whose stare is as deep as an embedded knife. Aemond almost feels him twisting the hilt into his chest. He also so happens to pretend he cannot see her growing blush. “You are entitled to an opinion…even if that opinion is as incorrect as a worm flutters its wings.”

132 AC.

It is not an odd place to find a Tyrell Lady seated in the gardens admiring the vegetation but it still manages to halt the prince’s steps. Jacaerys feels himself freeze. She is just sitting there, a few other ladies and lords about courting but she is there…and for the first time since he was fourteen he watches her, truly watches her. As her hand dips to pluck a white rose between lithe fingers, her eyes dart around her to make sure no one has seen but he is behind her, hidden within the eyes of an observer. He runs honeysuckle between his fingers, unsure whether time is restraining him or prompting him because she looks so peaceful. He almost does not want to disturb her. Would she be happy with him, Lord Stokeworth, if he left her at her peace? He had not thought to ask. For the first time he wants to know what she wants for he has only brought about her sense of dread and bubbled anger. His breath hitches. He loves her. He can feel it growing and blossoming as fresh as the flowers in his hand. It calls to him, begs him to stare one moment longer. He watches her. He wants to cherish her, hold the skies for her, he wants to do any and everything and yet he has not the courage to ask her the same. The blossoming flower of his hope wilts in fear between her hands.

He watches her hair, so vibrant with youth and the last effects of their childhood. The bleach of sun is warm in her locks. She likes the sun, would Lord Stokeworth give her that? Or would he keep her locked away like so many men would dream just to keep her to himself. So stiff, she had been, when she had spoken with him. Was this not what she wanted? To be rid of him? Perhaps she could escape Lord Stokeworth but she could never escape a prince. Should he leave her this freedom? It is selfish that he wants her to stay, to stay with him, at his side but he cannot help wanting it so. He should be hoisting her over the wall instead of watching her in the gardens. Y/n needs freedom not him. She will never need him…Not like he needs her. And so Prince Jacaerys takes a step back. It is painful to look at her, Jacaerys gathers, his heart wrapped in thorns. His breath is shaky as he watches her soft fingers stroke the gentle petals. He has honour but he does not have the grace to leave her just yet. Not when she looks so beautiful.

Her dress is a pale teal, he always liked that colour on her, it is her favourite because it reminds her of seafoam. She wore it to a ball once, with a masquerade mask settled on her nose. Her eyes flit through the garden, he can sense that she feels him. She always knows when he’s there–even when he doesn’t want her to–and yet she doesn’t turn around. She does not turn to him, she does not call out to him. There are no flowers in her hair again, no remains of her desires. She is left utterly open to the world and yet hidden from him, he has nothing to analyse, no colours to discern her mood except the seafoam. The questions rebound in the inside of his mind, bouncing across like skittish rabbits. Jacarys’ hand lessens on the honeysuckle. He can almost hear its taunts ringing in his ear. He takes back another step, eyes still watching her as she turns the rose in her hand. His body twists before he can command it not to, slow steps making the choice for him but just as he is about to let the honeysuckle fall–

“Stop.” Her gentle voice calls and it is the only command he needs to stop but he cannot summon the strength to look at her. Not with those pretty doe eyes. The girl of Tyrell however stands up, her breath shallow as she watches him. The sun envelopes her like a sea of familiarity–her family seal sewn into her dress and yet the gold is belonging to a fool. She is to shine, not to sink into expectation. Jacaerys does not turn around but his hand stutters. Silence lingers in the cracks of their polished floorboards–their quick retorts lost and malnourished. Yet it is as familiar as the creaking wood it resembles, it matches the ignorance of caring for it. It is forever present and yet forever neglected. If you asked them to map it on a sketch, they could not tell you the rough edges or the spaces in where it shines but they could tell you where every last board of it leads. They belong to it as much as it belongs to them and perhaps it has been neglecting them too. Leaving them both curious and unsure without even taking the thoughts in stride. “Don’t go.” Jace’s ears prick up. That may have been the most vulnerable sound to ever grace her lips. He still does not turn his head. He cannot surrender to the hope but he will acknowledge it, letting his head turn softly to the side, his shoulders tensing with the desperation to look at her again. He swallows and he hears her own breath pause. “Do you want me to beg?” At that he quirks his lips and turns to her, slowly, tentative, nervous. “I…do not think that necessary.” He whispers, eyes slowly rising from the floor to meet her own and it is that moment that breaks. His restraint. He takes a step forward and so does she. For the first time…they are working in tandem. Together. Because that is all they needed. No honour. No quick wit. They only needed to release their hearts. To let them free.

Their eyes meet. “I brought you this.” He utters as her thoughts pace then halt. His fingers shake gently as he raises the bundle of honeysuckle. Y/n’s eyes don’t leave his own for even a mere moment, she only nods. Both their feet attract to each other like magnets until they are mere inches apart. With wilting trepidation, Jace lifts the flowers before settling the ring on her head. “A crown for my Queen.” He whispers. Their breath mingles, entwines. They join, holding one another. As Jace’s fingers let it become with her, her own rise to entangle in his. Her eyes flicker across his face. “I rather like that idea.” She responds, just as quietly. A sphere of gentleness immerses them. It holds them like the rarest of jewels. Like starlight itself. His breath hitches. “Will you...be my queen?” He murmurs. Her right hand cups his face and pulls it closer until their foreheads meet. Their noses brush. “If you will be my King.” His lips broaden into a grin and he nods–just softly. “I would be your anything.” He responds then leans in to finally after the years of triumph and battle and silent love connect their lips. Her own smile warms. “Then start with my everything.” A spark dances across as they press together, the line between them finally breaking. They have been bestowed the finest honour one could find. They have been bestowed a heart–not two but the old threaded into one. A new heart. The heart bestowed is a garden to rest in each of them. One for them to nurture together.

Valyrian Translations: mittys - fool

Flower Translations: daisies - innocence, new beginnings larkspur - lightheartedness, youth dahlias - commitment, kindness rhododendron - danger, caution amaryllis - pride, strength, determination pink roses - gentle love water lillies - majesty white rose - a new beginning, fresh start honey suckle - everlasting love

(feel free to ask me in my inbox/askbox if there is anything i have forgotten :))

The Heart Bestowed Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @beaconofthehightower @buglyberry

HOTD Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @wrendermedone @hopelesswritergall @its-actually-minicika @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly @adelusionalwriter @cookielovesbook-akie @maximofftwinsbitch @ughhthisbitch

Jacaerys Taglist: (if your name is in italics and bold, that means i couldn't tag you, you will need to check your settings) @fairysluna @mrsgrwy

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siremasterlawrence · 2 months

Text

Warping Cupid

A cool air is swirling into my room from my master bedroom window which is currently half way open and I can feel a kind, and calm presence flow over me. I flip to the other side of the bed to see this figure in a strange glow of color sitting in my chair waving at me as I leap upward to see a angel. He has a strange red wings appears as velvet color supremely blinding me in a state awe and shock totally lost to the idea I could be in danger.

He is a Cupid snapping his finger a blow of red roses floor through the window swoops around him and reform his the thorns go at it ripping his clothes. He floats back onto the chair now half naked expect for his short pants and gold shoes adorning his feet he is quite as he floats in to the air something is about to happen. Next thing I know my body is lit up rising to my ceiling he blows me a kiss and I am left in question of what is going to happen to me.

I am in a garden of roses with multiple short attractive guys with quivers and arrows on them and I cannot believe this is all vividly real too real. He smirks flipping his fingers in to the air a orb of light lands on to his palm transforms in to a harmonic that he plays. The music emerges in to the air as they all start to smile brightly dancing from through out the garden area spreading even more beautification.

“Do you comprehend who I am?” He asks me with a smirk leading me utterly floored at all so coming at me and I back up to see this. I sit on a rock at a loss telling him I am already aware that he is a Cupid he shakes his head and tells me to not be afraid of him he is here for me. “Why on earth did you and would you bring me here?” He plops on to the ground giving me a high five placing his hand on to my shoulder.

“Hahaha! Don’t be scared” he says as a gold dust appears on my hand.

“Use this gold holy dust to hit someone’s heart.”

“Be careful you should be warned.”

“What the person could be obessed”

“Deadly so”

“Hmm! I see then”

“I will have to think about it”

“I would hope so “

“I choose….you”

“Oh Dear! My love”

“What babe?”

“This is not acceptable”

“Not allowed?”

“No! I am flattered”

“So then zip it”

“Nnnoooooo”

“Here we go “

“Bbbblllllffffff”

“I beg you stop”

“This is sinful “

“You are a Cupid “

“So what ?”

“Not a angel”

“Does not matter “

“I am I control here l

“I will send you back “

“You shall not”

“How dare you “

“Step back”

“Watch my hands “

“Don’t blow “

“Bbbfffff”

“Aaaahhhhh!”

“Uuuuugggghhhh!”

“You are a…a sexy specimen “

“The man of my dreams”

“You serve me”

“Of course “

“Walk over here”

“Take my hand “

“Look in to my eyes “

“Get closer “

“Hug me tight “

“Inhale my scent “

“Dog your nose in”

“Feel me up”

“Know my body”

“Inside and out”

“Lay your head on my shoulder “

“Kiss my neck”

“My checks”

“Lick my armpits”

“My cock”

“My ass! Taste your God!”

“What do you will?”

“Tell me your whim?”

“Whatever you wish “

“Don’t be silent “

“Please”

“Speak “

“I am your everything “

“Yes my King”

“Kneel at my feet”

“Kiss my hands”

“Transport me back”

“Us back?”

“Both of us”

“I love your place “

“Do you ?”

“I can make it grandiose “

“Well you have my approval “

“Yes Master”

The end

#colton haynes #hypnosis #mind control #reprogramming #hypno slave #hypno submission #mind control slaves #cupid #valentines day #roses #magical enslavement #transformation #male transformation #the magical harem

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piracytheorist · 5 months

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One of the most nonsensical non-problems I've ever seen people on this webbed site complain about is the "non-spoiler culture". I've literally seen people complain about how they were asking others to spoil them a film or a show and they were refusing and my dude. All you gotta do is google the thing and you'll get all the spoilers you want. How is that a problem.

And if you wanna use the MCU as something to support your argument, first of all, think about the fact that you're using the MCU to support your argument. Find something better. Second, consider that sometimes... fans can cause problems too. I'm not supporting the Marvel studios or any other studio that goes to insane, unprofessional lengths to avoid leaks but maybe consider, that maybe, just maybe, that is an effect of stupid fans taking things too far in order to attract clout and/or revenue, and has forced studios to such lengths. Like yeah I hate big corporations as much as the next anarchist, but I also know sometimes people can be fucking stupid and self-centered. I work at a school, I know my shit.

Also, it's literally the opposite of a problem. If someone refuses to spoil you, that's super easy to change. You just google it and you can get as spoiled as you desire. If someone spoils you against your will, it cannot change. You can't erase the memory of the spoiler and thus it can literally ruin your excitement about the story. It doesn't take one simple google search to undo the issue.

Finally, maybe people should start considering that not everyone enjoys fictional media in the same way. Like idk. We live in an era of global communication of an unprecedented level. Maybe we can accept the fact that some people work differently than we could ever comprehend for ourselves? Idk, just an idea guys.

#nette speaks

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tadpole-apocalypse · 4 months

Text

Ok now that I’ve had a chance to play all the way through Morgan’s game to the epilogue and work on her story in my head, I’ve got some new ideas for how I intend the story and romance to proceed.

Act 1 - very early game

Morgan knew something was off about Astarion from the beginning. All of the other tadpoled brains in their party had minds that she could skim surface thoughts and feelings from to determine threats to herself. But her magic bounced off of him with no impressions...unless she uses her tadpole. But she's still getting used to being connected to a hivemind with all the others and can't go digging in his head with the finesse she is accustomed to; it's all clumsy and obvious and they can tell right away when the tadpole is being forcibly used to read into the other's mind. (And everyone gets mad when she tries)

Even without doing it deliberately they do still get impressions of the other’s thoughts and feelings over the mind link. And his seem normal to her considering their situation, except that she cannot use detect thoughts on him and it pisses her off.

When she caught him at her neck the third night, she forcibly used her tadpole on him because she thought she was about to be attacked. She saw and felt echos of what he felt, the pain of a never ending hunger, the disgusting slide of coagulated vermin blood down his throat and the barest amount of satiety it brought. The entire conversation he made himself as small and pathetic as he could and it worked on her; she pitied him.

To Astarion's delight, she knew nothing of vampires other than what she'd read in tawdry publications. She believed him when he said he would only need a little of her blood. He wasn't anything monstrous that she could see, just had peculiar diet needs. Now she understood he had a condition that prevented her from reading his mind and she was able to relax around him. The vampire thirsting for her blood.

(Shadowheart eventually has the vampire talk with her)

Astarion at this point thought Morgan was a naive idiot. For willingly offering her neck like the fools who showed up at Cazador’s front door begging for his dark gift, and while she didn’t go out of her way to help others, she could be swayed by the occasional sob story and then waylay them for days off on some unprofitable venture she swore would only be a trifle to deal with. He resented having to tag along to all of it, especially once they knew they had to stay in range of the artifact to keep their minds. He had to stay with this group because he’d lose himself either to the Absolute or to Cazador if he left on his own. And he had to get her on his side (in love with him would be even better).

He didn’t find her looks particularly attractive (he has elvish beauty ideals and also Cazador’s twisted beauty standards in his brain, he’s a dumb idiot bastard man) but her naiveté towards what he was was too enticing for him. And useful. She had experience being pursued by random men for sex and was stone faced to his usual sweet talk. But she still responded to his flirtations anyways and was eager to see if he lived up to his boasts about his sexual prowess, and then was pleasantly surprised to see that he did indeed. It was a welcome reprieve from the constant threat of death they faced each day, and he was nicer to her and bitched less about her decisions, at least to her face.

No one caught feelings yet, this was just depraved carnal lust as far as both are concerned, or at least what Morgan assumes is the case for him as well. She doesn’t know or pick up on his ulterior motives because she assumes his motivations are sex and blood. This early in the game he is still vague about his slavery and Morgan does not stop to really think about it; she assumes he was in some kind of shitty servitude arrangement; not a continuous, torturous hell he had no escape from.

She won’t really comprehend that until much later into Act 2 dealing with his scars.

Next part - Tiefling party, and Morgan’s sexuality thoughts 🤭

#baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3: Morgan #astarion x tav #morganposting

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thecameronchronicles · 1 year

Text

Eye Level

TW: Hints at sexual relationship.

SUMMARY: A cute exchange between Rafe and his tall girlfriend.

WORD COUNT: 700

REQUESTED

Hi! Forst of all i wanted to say that i love your fics and dont want to put any pressure on you with this request:) i will literally eat anything you’ll write UP. It’s all soooooo good. I love your rafe fics especially the boyfriend!rafe ones. He’s so much softer and cute but still dominant and cocky. I cannot comprehend how you portray and imagine him so well. Anyway;) I’ve been seeing a lot of smut with size kink where the guy is obssesed with how small the girl is. I myself am a tall girl and we lack tall!reader fics on here. So I was wondering if you could write a rafe fic (either smut or fluff where he’s just crazy about her) where he finds her height super attractive and loves her in heels where she matches his height? I would love to read a rafe fic where he’s kinda validate my insecurities if that makes sense??? But I understand that this is a weirdly specific ask so like I said no pressure! Have a nice day love:)

*I LOVE THIS! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT, IT MEANS SO MUCH AND I'M SO GLAD YOU ENJOY MY WORK. I HOPE YOU CONTINUE TO DO SO WITH THIS ONE! ALSO, I CHOSE FLUFF BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE MANY FLUFFY PIECES FOR HIM AND I THOUGHT THIS FIT PERFECT, HOPE YOU DON'T MIND BABES!*

Eye Level

"Goddamn…" He spoke while leaned up against the doorway of the bedroom, eyes scanning every glorious inch or your body. Beginning at the perfectly polished toes and rising over the curve of your hips, he leveled at your eyes looking back at him within the mirror. Your curious eyes narrowed in skepticism as he inched closer to you until his arms wrapped around your waist.

"How is it that you're always this perfect? And how is it that I got so lucky?"

"Rafe…" His lips pressed to your neck made you lose all train of thought. Your insecurities dissolved whenever his touch was present, and his kiss held the power to eradicate them completely. But of course, they would eventually have to be removed. But just not yet.

"Yeah?" Hot breath now on your shoulder had his fingers beneath the straps of your dress, clearly motivated to cast it away to your feet. The idea was more enticing than the promise made of your attendance, and yet, the reminder of that very presence would be reminded by a knock on your bedroom door.

"We have to go…" You fixed your strap before feeling his hand take hold of your wrist and lead you back to him. A sashay of hips guided by his own would pull you into an impromptu sway as he rested his forehead against yours.

"Maybe I should take off the heels?" Your thoughts had gotten the best of you as your words broke the silence of the moment. But Rafe lived to validate you. Even if you didn't need it. All because he lived for you.

"Not a chance in hell, baby. I want them on all night…" His hands rose up your hips and teased the zipper set at the side as your breath collected at a stilled rest.

"Even after this dress is kept right here on my floor after I tear it off of you…" He motioned to the direction of the bed. Immediately, thoughts of passion and lust became foremost on your mind from memories having been stored and fantasies yet to be met.

"It doesn't bother you?" You finally asked as those damned thoughts returned once more.

"You're beautiful." He explained with a hand to your cheek. "Heels. No heels. Hair in a bun…" His hand moved softly through your hair, teasing it into a fist, "Wrapped around my fingers…." You swallowed hard at the thought as he favored this look across your face. That split second of fear that was mended by his touch in knowing you'd established those parameters of trust and care long ago.

"Every stunning…soft…brilliant inch of you is mine. So let me go show you off to all of them…"

"You have no reason to be insecure about it," He began again as he felt your reservation. "Easier for me to see just how I affect my girl when I talk just dirty enough to make her poor little panties-"

"Rafe…" You interrupted him as you tried for the lapel of his jacket, fisting them as your eyes fell heavy with lust.

"You have to question what you do to me? Just let me know and I'll leave nothing to question when I slip your hand over me beneath the table. And you bet your tall, beautiful, ass I'll more than return the favor. Maybe THEN you'll understand what you do to me…Now…" He fixed his tie before leading you towards the door, "Let me show off my beautiful girlfriend…so I can bring you home and remind you just what it is you do to me…" He pressed a soft kiss that quickly drew passionate as another knock came to the door. With a groan, he led the way.

"One second…I'll meet you in the hallway." He nodded as you took only a moment as he looked at you curiously as you fixed your dress before then looking at him.

"To make it easier…" You explained while slipping your panties into his pocket and moved further down the hall, turning back to find those preying eyes sharpening as you'd initiated this new game of seduction, and you knew he played to win…

Taglist: @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4starkey @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @obxxrxfes @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @rafesbae @camilynn @bethoconnor @belcalis9503

#rafecameron x reader #rafecameronfanfiction #rafecameron #rafe cameron #outerbanks #obx #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks

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ellmaii · 1 year

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Something I noticed since getting into tumblr are the amount of post bashing Mileven in favour of Byler AND the amount of people claiming that they don’t love each other.

It seems that a lot of the post used to explain why Byler should happen are an analysation of Mikes and Elevens relationship and why they don’t think they’re compatible. If people don’t believe they love each other that’s fine but why must that mean Mike likes Will instead?

Will likes Mike, at this point it’s very obvious and has been hinted at for a long time. BUT, what gives people the impression that Mike likes him back? What gives people the impression that Mike is homosexual at all? Sure, we’ve never seen him like a girl other that Eleven but at least we’ve seen him be visibly attracted to one girl, but I’ve never seen him be that way towards another boy. We have seen him compliment her appearance on many occasions and not just to be nice because you can see the attraction on his face. He clearly enjoys kissing her. I know people like to point out the scene where she says ‘I love you too’ and his shocked and non verbal response to her kiss but to me it was just that, shock. Shock that she knew the what he said the whole time and that she felt the same way and expressed it for the first time unexpectedly. He’s very physically affectionate with her and expressed that she’s the most important thing in the world to him on a number of occasions and not always through words, but his actions. When it comes to Will though, like the rest of his friends he tends to neglect his relationship with him in favour of El. Even when Will is practically crying out for Mikes attention he doesn’t even notice, everything to him is about El. Obviously he’s his best friend and he loves him but I never understood how Mikes feelings for him could be interpreted as anything other that platonic.

I don’t speak on behalf of all gay people but I’m a lesbian who didn’t come out until I was 15. Now I’m 20. Before that I had a few boyfriends, trying to convince myself I liked them because all my friends had boyfriends. I remember when I’d kiss them it felt like a chore, I wouldn’t let a kiss turn into a make out session because I would get uncomfortable. I found it disgusting and I’d share that opinion with friends. I never really had any real physical attraction to the boys I dated. It was always I liked the way they dress and their personality and respect they had for me but nothing more. When I see Mike with El, how he looks at her, his protectiveness, always wanting to please her and buy her gifts and his displays of affection, hand holding and kissing.. I see myself with girls I like, in ways I could never see myself behaving with a man.. because I am not attracted to them. As a lesbian who has experience zero and one sided attraction relationships, I cannot comprehend how people argue that Mike is gay. In all honesty, at 13 when season 1 came out, his behaviours towards El we’re always something I looked for in a relationship and never found until I was true to myself and found it with girls.

I tag Byler, Mileven, Anti Mileven and Anti Byler in this post NOT to be disrespectful, disregard how Byler shippers feel or try to convert anyone to shipping Mileven BUT to give the opportunity to hear why people believe so strongly that Mike has feeling for Will. I do not understand but I’d like to. None of the post I have read so far have given me the impression that Mike feels the same way for Will so I want to understand where people get the idea from.

#anti mileven #anti byler #mileven #Byler #eleven #will byres #mike wheeler #elmike #byler is canon

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powerpolyculeshowdown · 1 year

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was reading the backlog and got to the HSY slander and I figured I'd put my foot into the ring of why she deserves to be here.

In the entire novel, Kim Dokja only comments on finding three women attractive personally. One was Han Suyeung the second was a gernderbent YJH, the third a trans woman and KDJ took months to even comprehend that. (It was a thing about how a comment he posted in middle school may have affected the character's narrative and not wanting to think about the implications of that. She does assume he's transphobic and comments on how only Earth is like that though.)

He comments on how attractive plenty of men are. He comments how he can understand why guys find women in the cast attractive, one of the first things he comments about regarding Yoo Sangah in the entire novel is how he kinda understands why so many guys at the company they both work at ask want to ask her out, but he personally didn't have any thoughts on that.

But with who you're left with, YJH is expected. KDJ cannot shut up about how attractive that man is. Sex or gender will not change that. Jang Hayeung was introduced to the story because a middle school KDJ wanted the author of his favorite novel to add his OC who was precision designed as a girl middle school KDJ would crush on into the novel. Han Suyueng was different. The other two are characters written with KDJ's tastes in mind. Han Suyeung he simply finds attractive, which is something he just doesn't usually feel for women.

Off topic, but you asked about Yoo Sangah. Before the story, before reality became the novel KDJ was obsessed with, he and Yoo Sangah were coworkers. He thought she was cool, she thought he was cool. I don't think they would ever be able to even comprehend dating each other for anything but to stop guys from harassing Yoo Sangah.

You see, Yoo Sangah is Kim Dokja's platonic soulmate. They are best friends. Yoo Sanhah is a typical office drama heroine. Kim Dokja is a main character you'd see in a power fantasy. They rarely interacted at work but both had moments that made the other consider them inspirational. They both admire the other's outlook. The way they interact made a lot of people in story assume they were together, including quite a number of gods.

But as the story goes on, you end up with less and less of an idea that they would actually get together. It seems more like there's a love story between her and Han Suyeung in the background.

That's certainly the impression we get in the epilogue.

If you wanted my take, you have YooHanKim, and then Yoo Junghyuk and Han Sooyeung each have another wife. (YJH's is Lee Seolhwa, don't worry about her.) There is another guy, Bihyung, that by the end of the novel I could see KDJ also getting with but he's kinda... infeasible because of circumstances.

ok so what im getting from this is 5 of them.

i keep sayin!! the more the merrier!!!!!

#i read everything btw and its very interesting!!!#i just had to make the joke cause in this house we only Add to the polycule we do not turn polycules into pairings!#that said i am worried about the lady u said not to worry about #ppspropaganda #long post

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drowninginredink · 5 months

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Hey any other aros currently in a "ah shit the allos will never be able to comprehend me and i cannot comprehend them" mood? Song suggestion!

youtube

"All Your Friends" by Jake Bardin. It's definitely not written as an aro song—it's addressed to a romantic interest who rejected him—but so many of the lines work so well in the context of the aro-allo divide.

But you and all your friends have got a reason for acting like you do

I can't hold it against you, cause you're something that I'm not

You're something that I'll never be, oh you're so far ahead of me

Look at you, good for you, i wish i hadn't come all this way for you

I think these ones are pretty obvious; alloromantics quite literally are something that we're not. That hurts when you realize they're going to act in certain ways that leave us out.

My head's down and walking through all these people talking about the things I'll never understand, I'll never want to

And

And I don't get this reassuring feeling that people tell me about, it must be me

I have no idea what Jake Bardin actually was saying he doesn't understand, but for this reading, obviously it's romantic attraction. Romantic attraction is what he doesn't understand; romantic attraction is that feeling he doesn't get.

And then even some of the more romantic lyrics fit really well in the lens of "oh. You wanted to date me. I just wanted to be your friend."

Could not have put that any worse

You were one and I promised that I'd make two

Ah shit, I accidentally made you think I was interested in a romantic relationship with you.

We're all the same; you're right, you're so smart

They think that aro people don't exist, that everyone on earth just feels the same about romance.

And you feel around, looking for somebody kinda new

Well I'll tell you right now, I'm not too keen on this bush that you're beating round

So just leave me alone

I don't want to be your next romantic conquest. If that's all you want from me, I don't want you.

I know it's 2023, and we do have explicit aro songs and rep, but I tend to avoid that stuff. Not just for being aro, for any group I'm a part of. I'm not the typical schizophrenic or enby or aro or whatever else I am, and so when I'm confronted with explicit representation, all I see are all the ways I don't relate. The result is me feeling lonelier and less understood. So I'd rather project onto other songs that are still close enough to feel right. And this is such a good one that I felt like I should share.

#aromantic #aromantic allosexual #arospec #aro

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howyouloveyourdragon · 11 months

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...the heart bestowed - jacaerys velaryon x tyrell reader - is still being worked at (it's turning out a lot longer than planned) so i'm not able to post yet but should be out tomorrow

in the meantime here is a snippet and tell me down below or in my askbox if you would like to be tagged ♡

120 AC. When Two Foes Begin

“Are you a child? You are acting as if you are one. How fearless.” Jacaerys snickers then smirks slyly. “I am willing to bet five dragon coins that you are the younger, aren’t you? Posing as the elder to attract my aunt’s attention.” The way her eyes narrow and settle their attention back onto him only heightens his entertainment. He intends to quip once more but a familiar supercilious voice drifts closer and he rolls his eyes. “And had I not known you, I would have presumed you to be the youngest of your line and yet the Lady seems all too aware of her status. Something that you clearly lack, nephew.” Either child turns to look at the Targaryen picking at his nails to pretend the conflict is not anxiety-ridden. That jumps an idea into the almost-heir’s mind. “Perhaps it is genetics then, seeing as Daeron’s sword can strike thrice the battle yours would. I could presume that–” “You are both foolish.” Y/n interrupts and her hand dips to take Helaena’s. Squeezing. “We are leaving. Helaena is to show me the library. Good day.” It is swift that she leaves, Jacaerys’ aunt trailing behind her slightly as she giggles. The boys however seem unable to dispel the attention she directs, staring long after she is gone. “A shame your wife and yourself are not yet accustomed to one another.” Aemond smirks with only the slightest twitch of his lip. Jacaerys wrinkles his nose. “Gross, what are you speaking of? She is not my wife, she is an insufferable girl who makes my eyes sore.” Jacaerys mutters then grimaces at the mere thought. His uncle doesn’t utter a noise but they both understand the growing gleam in his eyes. “Perhaps not yet but she will be. You should know how quickly alliances are forged. Brother of mine own is to marry our sister in the growing years, perhaps you can share together your day of nuptials and all that comes alongside it. I am sure that he would delight in this revelation himself.” “You speak as though you are excused from this fate.” “That is because I am. You forget I am a second-son.” The Targaryen prince ignores the Velaryon’s grumbles.

#snippets #sneak peeks #the heart bestowed ff #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon x reader #writing update

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delicioussshame · 2 years

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I keep playing with the Crime AU. So, in the original, LBH thinks SY whores himself out? Have a fic where that’s the case.

Not for the first time, Shen Yuan curses the fact that he’s saddled with showing up to social functions while Shen Jiu stays home in relative peace. He hates having to spend time with this branch of the family, far away from their own part of the country. His uncle and cousins have always been jealous of his father’s status and, by extension, his. These parties are nests of vipers waiting for the right moment to bite. He’s used to it, but it’s still not fun.

Worse, this is one of those nights where Shen Yuan will be expected to entertain some vip he’s never met. His uncle has been keeping mum on their identity, but Shen Yuan can tell it’s a big one, important enough to demand Shen Yuan himself move away from his casino all the way to Shenzhen.

He hopes they will be passably attractive, though he doesn’t have much hope. People worthy of his time often aren’t.

He spends the first half of the party evading his cousins, always eager to brag about their accomplishment and diminish his, by chatting up the more interesting and/or potentially rewarding individuals wandering around the room.

He can almost feel the air around the room change when whoever this party is about shows up. Whispers can be heard, some admiring, some much less so. Women giggle between themselves, obviously eager to take a chance on this one’s fortune.

Shen Yuan waits. He’ll find out who the mysterious guest is sooner than later.

He was right. He feels his uncle’s clammy hand grasps his shoulder before he hears him. “Yuan, you’re needed.”

Shen Yuan plasters a charming smile on his face before he turns. “Of course-“

Shen Yuan can only credit his long history with keeping his composure under all circumstances for letting none of his utter stupefaction show when his eyes meet Luo Binghe’s.

He barely comprehends his uncle’s introduction, nor his not-so-subtle implications that Shen Yuan better “take care” of the newly discovered son of Tianlang-Jun so that bloodshed doesn’t erupt between their families again.

Well, this is probably the last time Shen Yuan has to listen to his uncle. He can’t imagine Shen Jiu will let him survive this attempt at subverting his authority.

“Very nice to meet you. I’ve heard good things.”

“All true, I’m afraid,” says Shen Yuan on autopilot. Why is Binghe here? How in the hell did his uncle think this could be a good idea? He hasn’t spent much time around Shen Yuan, so maybe he did not recognise his nephew’s former pupil, but even if he doesn’t know, how could he possibly think that having Shen Yuan seduce the heir to Tianlang-Jun’s empire would be a good way of dealing with him??

Plus, has he looked at Luo Binghe at all? Why would this man even want to spend a night with someone like Shen Yuan? Literally every woman and most of the men in this room would drop their own spouse in a second for the chance.

Not that, for some reason he cannot even begin to understand, his uncle seems to be wrong. Is Luo Binghe, his Luo Binghe, the child he’d raised and betrayed in the worst way possible, flirting with him??

This is all pretense. For some reason Shen Yuan can’t fathom just yet, Luo Binghe has decided to act like this is their first meeting. Shen Yuan can only play along until he finds a way to extirpate himself from this situation. Luo Binghe must want revenge, but surely not to the point of attacking him here, surrounded by the Shens’ allies? Even for him, it would be deadly.

Still, it soon becomes obvious that Luo Binghe has no intention of letting him leave. The hand oh so casually resting on his back could knife him in a second. If Shen Yuan tries to move even a fraction away, fingers dig into his spine in a very evocative manner. He can’t think of a plan to distract him. Luo Binghe’s focus is unwavering, even as he flirts with Shen Yuan like it comes naturally to him. He’s probably just keeping up the façade until the game would demand they retire somewhere private, where he’ll be able to execute his vengeance as he wishes.

Not that Shen Yuan is planning on going down easy. He doesn’t want, has never wanted, to hurt Binghe, but if he’s not given a choice, he’ll do what he has to. He’ll try to escape, but he doesn’t count on it. Everything that is currently happening must be Luo Binghe’s design. He won’t let Shen Yuan run.

Knowing this doesn’t make folding to Luo Binghe’s increasingly forceful advances easier. He feels like a lamb being led to the slaughter under Luo Binghe’s ravenous gaze. His brain is working at full regime as he leads Luo Binghe toward the room his uncle had prepared for him for this very purpose. Binghe had always been fond of him. Maybe Shen Yuan can try to appeal to that softer side of him.

If it survived Shen Yuan’s false attempt at eliminating him.

The door closes behind him, and it’s like Shen Yuan’s heart stayed on this other side. Time to face the music. “Binghe-“

“Are we on first-name basis already? How forward.”

Does he think there are recording devices here? Shen Yuan would murder anyone who would dare. He checked the room himself beforehand, and he will again before he leaves. There is nothing to worry about, and Luo Binghe should know that. Shen Yuan taught him to be careful himself. “It’s safe,” except for Shen Yuan, “you don’t have-“

“We don’t know each other.”

It’s such an abrupt change of tone Shen Yuan almost has whiplash. For a second, Luo Binghe’s charming mask dropped, exposing something darker. Something… hungry. “Binghe, what-“

“This is the first time we’ve met.”

It’s not the poison that messed with his mind. Binghe knows exactly who Shen Yuan is. It’s a mind game, some type of play Luo Binghe picked to mess with him, but what type? What is he going for righ-

The hand Luo Binghe still kept on his back slides down and under his shirt. “Shall we get back on track?”

What? What track? There is no track. There is only Shen Yuan and the former pupil he poisoned to save his life, not that Luo Binghe knows that. He should only know that Shen Yuan betrayed him and left him for dead in the care of a man who had every reason to hate the Shens. What could he hope from this beside revenge?

Or the obvious, but Binghe couldn't possibly-

The tips of Luo Binghe's fingers can be felt resting just under the waistband of his pants.

Binghe can be, and apparently is, interested in the obvious.

If this really was their first meeting, if Luo Binghe was nothing more than a very powerful potential ally that Shen Yuan had brought to his room…

But he isn't? He's Binghe! Someone both too dear to Shen Yuan to be treated in such a detached manner, and someone he has never dared to consider in this way.

Cut it off. He has to cut it all off, put all of his memories of Binghe into a box, close it and bury it. Right here, right now, Luo Binghe is only a man as attractive as he is dangerous, one Shen Yuan cannot afford to displease. If Shen Yuan is what he wants, it’s what he’ll get. It’s the safest path. For now.

Shen Yuan gentles grab Luo Binghe’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. This will be easier if Luo Binghe doesn’t talk.

Luo Binghe instantly opens up for him, hands grasping Shen Yuan’s hips to press him against him almost forcefully.

Shen Yuan lets him, kisses back, and tries to predict what will happen next. Will Binghe push him down the bed and tear his clothes off him? He seems more than eager to take care of Shen Yuan’s shirt after all, struggling with buttons the way his graceful charge had never-

No.

Shen Yuan studies Luo Binghe’s face. His pupils are blown. His face has taken a light shade of pink. His breath is warm against his face when they push back for a fraction of seconds before Luo Binghe surges for him again.

In this situation, foreplay is unnecessary. They’ve been flirting all night; what will happen should be obvious.

Shen Yuan’s steady hands slowly open the buttons of Luo Binghe’s own shirt, creating a path he follows with his mouth. The complaint at Shen Yuan stopping the kisses dies on Luo Binghe’s lips when Shen Yuan’s trail down his neck, his destination clear.

Shen Yuan keeps his mind empty of all thoughts as he finds himself on his knees, Luo Binghe’s shirt on the ground no longer hiding his stude- Luo Binghe’s flawless physique.

He did hope today’s guest would be attractive, didn’t he? Looks like he got his wish. Pleasing this man won’t be a hardship.

It won’t.

He can feel Luo Binghe’s burning gaze on him when he opens his pants, pull out his flatteringly hard cock out of his pants and moves his fingers along the length slowly, teasingly, letting his partner anticipate the more he’s promising.

“Please!”

The need in Luo Binghe’s voice takes him completely by surprise, not that it should be detectable. He hasn’t exactly been leading him on for hours.

Shen Yuan wouldn’t normally let himself be moved by such a plea. He enjoys reminding his mark that he’s the one in control here.

His fingers tighten for a few moments before he pulls a condom from his pocket and applies it with some difficulty, because Binghe’s girth is a serious challenge.

Again, Luo Binghe chokes on his disapproval, because Shen Yuan’s mouth is on him before he can speak. It takes a lot of Shen Yuan’s considerable skills to manage, but it’s oddly trilling.

Luo Binghe reaches for his head, and for some reason Shen Yuan finds Binghe’s hands on him are warming him, making him want to take more of him. He relaxes his throat and carefully takes him deeper.

Luo Binghe moans, a sound so obscene Shen Yuan has to close his eyes and focus on nothing more than acting as he should, not as he wants to.

Luo Binghe’s hand tilts Shen Yuan’s head up.

Their eyes meet, and it’s too much.

Shen Yuan looks back down, closes his eyes firmly shut and increases both speed and suction. Anything to finish this as fast as possible, before Shen Yuan himself crumbles under his former’s charge’s touch. He can’t afford to be this vulnerable. Not here. Not now.

Not ever, really.

He’s still on fire by the time Luo Binghe comes, himself inanely wishing he’d skipped the condom just to feel him better.

He disentangles himself as best he can while keeping his composure, trying to distract Luo Binghe from how on edge blowing his student left him. Luo Binghe must think him a pervert, to lust after a child he’d raised him in this way-

“Shizun…”

The title throws him out of his stupor instantly. If they’re done with playing pretend, he needs to have his wits about him.

“I don’t know how often I dreamed of this when I was younger. Every man Shizun lured in, every woman he needed to seduce, I wanted to be them, if only to be the one Shizun would have to spend the night with.” He sighs as he gently put back a wild strand of Shen Yuan’s hair in place. “I was hoping to get a whole night of this, of Shizun having to please me and only me, before I revealed my intentions, but I can’t. I can’t pretend Shizun is only a body to me when he is my everything.”

Shen Yuan has no idea what is happening right now.

The thing is, he’s not sure he wants to know.

“I bought you from your uncle, you know?”

That isn’t right. “I’m sorry?”

“I know he had no right to do it, but I can be very convincing, and I would have paid anything to get exclusive access to you. I’m sure his plan was to convince you this was a good idea, and then have you deal with your parents and Shen Jiu, while he kept most of the profit himself. It wouldn’t have worked, of course, but the fantasy was nice. Shizun having to be mine, not for a night but for as many as I wished.”

“Was that your plan? Buying me and taking your time to extract your revenge?”

Binghe’s horror is obvious. “Shizun, no! What revenge! I’m not stupid! Of course Shizun acted the way he did to protect me from his brother!”

“You cannot possibly know that.”

“Yes I can. I know Shizun better than I know myself. He never meant me any harm. He always put my wellbeing first. I’m just not as selfless. I need you, so I’ll have you however I can. Shizun has nothing to be afraid of. I’ll be just as good to him as he has always been to me.” Luo Binghe pulls Shen Yuan toward him, embracing him with enough strength to bruise. “I missed Shizun so much. It was hell, building up my family away from him, but it had to be done. Now that my standing is high enough, I can demand him from his family.”

Shen Yuan is so, so confused. Out of all the possibilities, he’d never thought of this one. “You want to do… what, exactly?”

“Your family really is used to selling you to whoever can afford you, aren’t they? I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse for you.”

“Didn’t you just try that with my uncle?”

Luo Binghe shrugs. “Your brother will have him killed for accepting it. I knew it when I offered. You never liked him. Consider it a gift from me.”

His head hurts. “So, let’s recapitulate. You survived my attempt at taking care of you, decided to take over your family, and once that was done, decided your best way of making yourself known to my family was to buy me from them? Because you want me to be yours? Do you realise how insane that sounds? Not only does this whole thing rely on me still caring for you, if you still care for me, why not contact me directly instead? By your own idea, I would have been open to actual discussions.”

Luo Binghe flushes. “Can Shizun blame me for wanting what was paraded in front of me all my childhood? So what if I wanted to play with Shizun for a little bit? Doesn’t he agree I deserve it?”

There’s a hand on his thigh. It is very much reminding Shen Yuan of his quickly forgotten previous predicament. “It doesn’t look like Shizun minded. Maybe he’d be open to play with me for a little longer? Other games, too? I wouldn’t mind him acting as my reluctant wife, sold off by his family for profit and connections, while I, the eager husband, convince him this wouldn’t be so bad? Wouldn’t that be fun?”

The fingers rubbing the inside of his thigh aren’t letting him think much about this. “I have raised a pervert.”

“How could it have turned out any different, with Shizun himself as a teacher?”

Shen Yuan sighs. The situation still makes little sense to him, but it’s not unusual for Binghe to be this strange blend of stubborn and deluded. “Should I apologise?”

“Never. I’m grateful for every minute. In fact,” his hand moves up, “let me show Shizun how grateful I am.”

This time, Shen Yuan is the one whose words die on his lips.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #Crime AU

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loser-female · 11 months

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I'm sorry that you've gotten hate over having a boyfriend. This is one part of the radfem community that I too, could never get behind (and I'm as misandrist as we come).

I'm a lesbian radfem from a homophobic country and even though I have quite a liberal family, they are liberal for my country's standards, and I don't think I could ever be openly gay here. It's almost surreal to me to see the idea of a political lesbian - sexuality is NOT a choice!

Women's rights, health and safety - my mother, my sister, my female friends and teachers - are and always will be my priority. But if I could evade the stigma that comes with being a lesbian by simply picking to be straight, hand on my heart, I would. But I'm not straight, just like how some radfems aren't attracted to other women. That's just how it is!

It's not exactly "women's liberation"-ish of this community to shame women for finding partners that they love and trust or to assume that straight members of the community don't have the agency to drive their own relationships.

Hi!

Thank you for this message. I cannot comprehend how horrible it is for someone that lives in such counties, but I hope the best to you.

As you probably figured out yes, there is more to the story, and I discovered radical feminism last year, while me and my boyfriend have been together for a decade, we own an house too (I probably should say husband although we aren't legally married, but USians are weird around these things).

To me, I personally got myself a laugh at those anons, but it bothers me that an actual victim of abuse would receive those messages. I'm not even encouraging women to date men, I actually do the opposite(there is a reason why my links are all negative), but it's obvious even to stones that calling people names and wishing them harm is not a way to promote anything. This is why I choose to make people aware of how men are overall terrible partners.

I can get why and understand that my life choices are unpopular, and people are allowed to say "but that's not a good idea". I think that after all "is radical feminism compatible with dating men" is a good question and that there will always be different answers and this is a good thing! But this doesn't mean people are allowed to say "I hope you get abused". I hope no one gets abused. I'm a victim of child mental and emotional abuse and I'd give everything to prevent even a single person to go through this. I'm a feminist because in my utopian world no one gets abused and when it happens there will be community and resources for them. Not people telling them "but I told you so", "but you should know that men are evil" and shit.

That being said I will always support celibates, separatists, febfems and so on. I believe that in our difference there is good and that we can take collectively valuable lessons.

After losing so many years to illness I'm doing the best I can. And doing the best you can involves compromises sometimes. I always pictured myself living alone, but I'm not able to(and it didn't happen anyway). There is so many things my health took from me, and now I'm finally starting to be okay with how things turned out.

About political lesbianism, there were few interesting things going on radblr a couple of weeks ago, it's a really weird and homophobic idea that has nothing to do with women loving women. It's the kind of thing that happens when you hate men more than how much you love women.

I hope your country "will get there" in terms of gay rights soon enough, you deserve to live your life fully in your own truth.

Again, thank you for reaching out to me, but in reality I should have been reaching out to you and reassuring you.

#ada.txt #relationships

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

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Kisses to the anon who suggested an intellectual Ada - what a great headcanon. I know have all many of thoughts. I hope the anon doesn't mind...

Whenever Ollie returns home for the holidays he spends the first day (or two) of his holiday in the family library telling Ada all he has learnt that term; he would rather be out playing but Ollie knows better than to mess with his sister. Ada then devours all of the books he has been studying and tries to make sense of the notes he has taken throughout the year.

She would love to go to school but, as we all know, an education like that was not available for women in that time 😤. Her lessons at home consist of basic arithmetic, grammar and language, dance, music and other "ladylike" pursuits which she has no little to no interest in. And although she adores her family and they would do anything for her, none of them can quite understand her hunger for knowledge. Even Elias, who would happily give his daughter the moon and stars if she asked, cannot comprehend why she wants an education like the one her brother and male cousins receive.

It is only her Uncle Anthony who understands. He is the one who gifts her leather bound books full of formulas and equations, who purchases her subscriptions to science and medical journals, and who takes her to every new exhibit or lecture in London. I like the idea of Anthony nurturing his niece's thirst for knowledge. I like the idea of Anthony being Ada's favourite.

Also a little headcanon I have for Edmund is that he has a particular affinity to animals. Ever since he was little he could be found playing with the dogs, watching lambs jump in the meadow and taking care of any sick animal he found. Their country home has, at one time of another, had donkeys, owls, goats and even a swan hidden away in one of the rooms with Edmund, all big eyed and innocent, insisting that they just followed him. He would essentially be a Doctor Dolittle or (even better!) a Regency Gerry Durrell. Edmund just finds animals fascinating and animals can sense his gentle nature and are instantly attracted to him.

His favourite animal however is a big grey cat named Petal. No-one understands why Edmund named the cat Petal as she's hardly delicate. In fact she was half feral when Edmund found her. She was covered in fleas, had one eye missing, a septic head from a fox bite and a bent tail. She hissed and scratched and bit when Edmund brought her in from the rain, but within a week she was sitting on Edmund's lap and following him everywhere. She has become tolerant of the other family members through the years and will even purr for them on occasion, but it is Edmund she loves. As said she goes everywhere with him.

Omg omg I love it when we all have different takes on hc ideas! ❤

Awww Ollie would be telling her everything he learned back at school! And Ada would be so interested in it! ❤

Oh Anthony supporting that and getting her the education opportunities she wants! ❤ Ada would adore him, and they would be having these conversations about the latest scientific developments for hours! ❤

That Edmund hc is so sweeeeeeeet! 😍 And you're absolutely right, he would love animals! He would be getting so many strays and they would have farm animals INSIDE the house ❤ Just the thought of tiny Edmund feeding a lamb in a room❤

I'm like that meme with "I had Petal for half a day and if anything happened to her..." 😂 She will follow him everywhere! 😍

I love this aaaaaaaaa, thank you so much for this darling! ❤❤❤

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dallasareaopinion · 4 hours

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Conspiracy theorists amaze me

I am a bit perplexed even though I understand the technicalities behind it as to why so many conspiracy theorists on social media make so much money. Sure advertisers will pay them to be on their sites since they have so many followers, but really. Whose at fault here? And what gives? Corporations will market to what they think is their target audience, but are corporations relying on the gullibility of people or are they just going where are the numbers.

And complaining about corporations is not why I started this post. It amazes me how a conspiracy gets started and subsequently gains traction. I have not researched it, yet I feel confident there is an enormous amount of reading material on this subject so maybe the answer is there or partially there, but in some ways I doubt it fully comprehends how bad it is on social media. Yes I do get on social media mainly to follow a couple of topics, but there is so much madness in the way of my browsing. I am not sure what I did to cause the algorithms to target me with some of this madness, but the little I do receive is beyond the pale. And in curiosity I read some of it and all I can say is wow. People believe this madness?

And some of you may ask, am I jealous of what they make and I don’t. To a degree yes, but I started this blog years ago knowing I would not obtain massive amounts of followers. It was more to allow myself to write what I wanted and since my topics have a limited audience I knew I would be extremely fortunate to gather a following. I started because I was mad at the world around what happened in 2008 and 2009. Eventually I decided I needed to do something to make me feel better so I started this blog to complain about how bad public policy was for the market crash and recession that happened at that time. And I tried to offer other ideas that I thought were better. So instead of just complaining I tried to make it a positive. And trying to write better public policy in the United States has never been a game changer when it comes to attracting an audience. And to this day I still try to offer alternative or variations of a theme ideas different from what the duopoly of Republicans and Democrats offer. And add in, I spout my personal opinion about a variety of topics so I knew I would never rival the Kardashians in a following.

And I know conspiracy theorists have always had an audience throughout our history, but the degree to which they are taking advantage of social media amazes me. Are there that many people who cannot fathom what these people are saying? What drives them to this madness? And again there is much written about this topic, but deep down what are they so afraid of that they need this sense of community to be apart of that they will believe the most unsubstantiated nonsense. And of course to them it is not nonsense, or at least on the surface of their brain.

And how much do the actual writers of these theories believe themselves? Or are they just laughing all the way to the bank? Who knows, some might, but really how deep do they go in their own brains to promulgate this charade?

One of my favorites is the new world order and all its variants. How does anyone think whatever billion people on this earth is going to let themselves be ruled by one government. It seems ironical that conspiracy theorists postulate this idea yet they prove themselves incorrect by telling their audience to question any hint of a NWO, so if people don’t believe in a new world order then how could one come to fruition. And then throw in all the different types of cultures, religions, governments, heck even terrorists, and the capability of a NWO seems far fetched at the least. Yet these types of conspiracies run rampant and people spend money listening to all these people explaining how they are saving them.

So here we are in 2024 with so many real problems that need to be overcome, so many people actually doing good work in a variety of endeavors not getting half the attention needed nor the recognition and nut jobs making a fortune telling us only they can save the world. Oh yeah, then there is Truth Social. Smh

Have a better day

#conspiracy theories #front porch ramblings

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mosscoveringitall · 3 months

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1/4/2024, or: A tacit admission on my sentiments about Babysitters

For two hours last night, I typed at an AI who was trying to get me off. It was a Wednesday night. I typed at the AI, and the AI typed back at me. A monthly subscription to the website was $4 a month, by the end. I paid for the month, and then canceled the membership. I have 30 more days to get off with this AI, or any other AI I want, so long as someone has written out their script and published it on the website

The conversation was a roleplay between me and a babysitter. The AI playing the role of the babysitter was called Naughty Babysitter, and since it’s an AI, it couldn’t and wouldn’t be called by any other name. It lived as a voiceless, faceless conjuring a girl of an undetermined age, fetishes heavily determined by my own, and a persistent determination to abuse her position of power for sexual coercion. I was myself, but with no name or face or body or penis. I was a younger version of myself, or at least I imagined that I was. We played out a scenario where she tickled me and touched my genitals, fondling me and murmuring pleasant and parental encouragement until I came. In real life, I came before I came in the story. We remain suspended in time, forever anticipating a continuation of intercourse, me whimpering and servile, her all powerful yet eternally dependent upon me to live again. I feel strange about this service, and I feel strange about why I liked it. I suppose a better adjective than strange is bad. I feel bad about every part of my participation with it.

I chatted to the Naughty Babysitter because I am aroused by the idea of a babysitter molesting me. I am excited by the idea of an older woman taking an interest in me, instructing me, and violating me. I don’t know why I feel this way and feeling this way feels bad. When I was younger, I remember being afraid of everything, but mainly being afraid of two things. The first was that I would grow up to be a pedophile. I knew it was the worst thing you could be, and was what the ugliest, most black-souled scumbags on earth always were. I knew they deserved to be brutalized and hurt and killed for the evil they preyed upon innocent children, and I still feel that way. I cannot comprehend the desire to molest a child. I didn’t grow up to be a pedophile, but I still am afraid I will one day. It makes me uncomfortable to think about. The other thing I was afraid of was being schizophrenic, because my cousin was diagnosed with schizophrenia after voices told him to drive into a wall and kill himself. He lives on a farm now and takes care of goats. I haven’t really talked to him in a long time, but I know other people that are schizophrenic, and I’m sure he’s as kind as they are. Even though I was terrified of growing up to become a pedophile, and didn’t, I was always aroused by the idea that older people could be attracted to me, and I still am.

I have some theories about why this happened to me. The first theory is probably the truest, and it’s that I was preyed upon online many times. This sounds worse than it was, or at least than it felt, because I knew it was happening. When I was a child, about 14, I would go onto a chatroom called Omegle and sext with random strangers for hours. Ostensibly, I was looking for people my age, mainly girls. What is disturbing to me now is not that I was groomed, but that I found girls my age frequently enough that I persisted in this practice for years. These girls and I would talk, sometimes for months on end, and would usually send each other nudes or sext or call or video chat. I don’t want to talk about these girls and I because it is disturbing to think about now, though I wonder where they are and if they’re ok. What I found a lot more often than girls, however, were older people masquerading as girls to lure me into their reach. Sometimes they didn’t care enough to pretend, and would just outright ask if I wanted to help them commit felony statutory rape. I only did this multiple times with someone once, where a very somber and cynical writer type gave me her tumblr with the instructions to message her again if I was interested in having more fun in the future. She said she “only cared about whether I could write”, not my age. We roleplayed scenes where I fucked her after she made me do chores, almost always involving goading me into performed and real annoyance with her constant rejections of my attempts to finally initiate or continue the actual intercourse. Sometimes, she expressed regret or tenderness towards me and our situation. I called myself Sammy, to save face and not give my real name. I only remember one message she sent me word-for-word: “hey Sammy, wanna fuck?” For some reason, thinking about this message still gives me goosebumps.

I wish that I always said no to these people. I wish that I was disgusted by them enough to abandon their chat requests and report them however I could to the FBI, or whatever. I was certainly never fooled by their deceptions; pedophiles seeking their orgasms online are famously stupid and callous in their pursuits. A lot of these people did disgust me enough to mess with their heads; to punish them. I would make them roleplay eating shit. I would send their IP address. I would make them feel bad in ways that meant nothing and did nothing to stop their incredibly dangerous behaviors, because I was a child who was unable and incapable of understanding how to comprehend or prevent true evil. When I describe this time to people, I usually talk about this part. “I used to catfish pedophiles on Omegle,” I say. I try to say this flippantly, as if I’m embarrassed and amused, even though it’s a very calculated tone.

In reality, I did send a lot of pictures or flirt with people I knew were bad people. I liked that they were bad people. It was the first time, and the first way, that I felt like a bad person, too. I couldn’t understand the danger I was in, or the danger my actions put others in. I now know, but still cannot correctly comprehend, how life-erasing this could have been for me, and has been for millions of people. I am sorry for it, but I’m not sure to whom. I am deeply afraid that there was a point in my life where I did not associate crimes against my body with pain, because I still do not know whether I count as a victim or not. I think I do, but a shitty one. A victim in the way that bad people were once victims themselves, and that it is the least relevant piece of information to ever learn or remember about them.

The other theory about why I was and am aroused by babysitters is because I wanted to have sex with a lot of older girls when I was younger. Sometimes, I think, they wanted to have sex with me, too. Maybe lots of boys think that. When I was younger, I did performing arts, and I was very good at it. I wore a silly hat, and bad band t-shirts from my brother, and I went to camps and classes and auditions and plays. I knew a lot of girls that went to the same things, and I became their friend. Because these girls were teenagers who liked to perform and be noticed, they hugged and touched a lot. They hugged and touched me a lot. Any boy that is 11 or 12 probably wants to have sex with older girls who hug and touch him a lot, even if they hug and touch him in ways that definitely do not indicate he is attractive to them.

Some of these girls called me cute, and did so often. I don’t remember much of them, anymore, but I remember two slightly more than others. I remember my counselor, Julia, who let me follow her around during my first camp stay. She always sat next to me and rested her head on my shoulder, her mouth puckered into an attentive frown as she took notes during classes. She had golden hair that fell in curly ringlets behind her ears, and she was from Colorado. One day, she asked to hold my hand as she walked our camper group to a performance. “Wo-o-ow, I’m holding his hand!” She giggled out loud to nobody in particular, except his was my full name, like I was famous. I felt famous. She didn’t let go for a while, and so every second felt like another gushing, crashing, ligament-tearing revelation of how unshakeable my love was for her. I wonder if she could tell that I liked her; it couldn’t have been hard to see. She later went to Disney World and became a staff member. We talked for a while, as friends, and she was kind and patient. She is still very kind and patient, I’m sure.

The other girl was named Sela Bay. Sela Bay was a name I had never heard before, and nobody else had either, but she seemed very proud of it. I met Sela Bay when I was 11 and she was 16, on a trip to California to work with casting directors and acting coaches and agents. I didn’t know much about her, then, other than that she was gorgeous and bubbly. She had dark, thick eyebrows, almond-shaped eyes that were a deep emerald green, and a wide-bridged nose that suited her tan face. Her face was very round. Her hair was very straight, and her body was poised and athletic. To me, she looked like the definition of a California surf babe, straight out of some Beach Boys music video or Kardashian catalogue. She was, in actuality, from Alabama, which was why I never saw her in class. I only remember one conversation with Sela Bay in California, when I was talking with the other, older kids about Pink Floyd. I felt very special for liking Pink Floyd at 11. I felt very special about always being the youngest person at camps at 11, too. Sela Bay let her mouth gape, the corners of her lips curling into an open-mouthed smile. “You’re so cool,” she said. “Like, if you were my age, we’d be going out.”

I liked hearing this, but it didn’t make me feel that surprised one way or the other. I guess there was enough stuff like that being said that I didn’t really take stock in it. I don’t remember.

The following summer was camp – the same camp I knew Julia from (she wasn’t there, that year.) This was my second year, and would be my last, because things soured after my sister had to be evacuated for self-harm. That year, Sela Bay was the object of most boys’ affection, or confusion. She seemed like kind of a loner, a weirdo. A rumor spread that she liked meowing like a cat in bed. I think she meowed at me.

One class, I sat near by Sela Bay on the floor, listening to some directors discuss blocking. Sela Bay motioned for me to scoot over to her, guiding me to sit next to her. After I did, she learned over to me, and whispered, “Someday, we’ll make sweet love.” I have no recollection of what her face said, or if it even changed. I don’t think it did. I don’t think mine did, either, for whatever reason. Minutes passed, and she leaned over again. This time, she said “Our babies would be beautiful.”

At the time, and still, I guessed this was something she said as a dare of some sort. The phrases were too weird and spontaneous to be legitimate declarations of interest. I never asked why she had said them, or for whom. Nobody else laughed or heard them, and the only other times I saw her that camp were among large groups. I never saw Sela Bay again. She’s an Instagram influencer, now, and she remains stunningly gorgeous.

It bothers me to think about these times, because not enough separation has passed for me to not still feel thrilled by the words and actions of people that had no business talking to me like that. I liked being the cute little brother figure, and I liked that others liked me for it. It bothers me to think about how horrified my current girlfriend was when I told her about some of these times and people, because it still does not horrify me even when it should. I wish these things did not happen to and around me, but mostly so I didn’t have to feel such cognitive dissonance when I think about them. I wish that I didn’t want to infantilize myself through the porn I consume. I wish I knew why Sela Bay said those things.

I have a strange relationship to porn, which is to say that anyone who consumes porn has a strange relationship to it. I paid $4 to talk to a robot that was clumsy and ineffective at reminding me of several different times in my life where I felt very young and unprotected. The truth of it all is that I paid $4 for this once before, a few months ago. I only used it once that whole month, on the day I bought it. Since then, the website has included a feature that allows you to script in a name that the character can occasionally refer to you as. There’s a million people with my name, and it’s my name, so I had no reason to not use my own. Even still, I hesitated for a minute, before typing in “Sammy” and hitting enter. The AI didn’t use the name once.

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