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#like i said im very inconsistent

meowmeowmessi · 1 year

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This whole "Messi returning to Barca" has wholly torn me. On the one hand, I know that he'll once again become the scapegoat for their failures (thankfully there aren't many recently). On top of that, there are the coolers. Some of them have already started to spew shit like "We don't need him", "we should look at the future", "he can't do what he used to", and "let's not bring him back". They say these things as if Barca's relevancy for the last two decades isn't because of Leo. He gave his blood and sweat for this club and they're so ungrateful for that. They're already saying "he won't fit" or "he'll take someone else's minutes" like STFU <3 Lionel is the reason your club has had any glory in the past two decades whatsoever! Also, I'm afraid they're only calling him back to earn more, instead of a long-awaited reunion. If that's the case, they'll just treat him like a cash cow and I don't want that to happen. He loves Barca too much.

On the other hand, I am sobbing at the idea of him being presented at Camp Nou and being cheered on by thousands of his fans. If they let him showcase his world cup too, I'll evaporate. Paris has literally sucked the happiness out of him. He has always said he loves football and wants to enjoy it as much as possible but Pee Ess Gee has taken out all the joy from the sport so I want him out at any cost. I would've loved for him to go to City but Barca is the best second option simply because the real fans love him more than anything and he deserves to feel all that love in the last years of his career (said while sobbing). Plus the teammates! I can't wait to see him play with Pedri, Busi, and Lewa! I understand we might be clowning for no reason but I genuinely want him to leave Baguette FC.

i don't think there's anything i can add to this— you basically summed up all of my feelings regarding the transfer saga lmao. i'm already seeing true coolers and messi fc duking it out on twt, one accusing the other of being "plastic fans" and whatnot.. literally got me rubbing my forehead while staring at my phone wondering what fresh hell is going to be unleashed upon us if messi does by some miracle return to barça

but speaking of twt, i do think we have to keep in mind that the club isn't making decisions based on what people are posting on social media of all things lmao. i think we fans tend to get lost in the noise of sm and forget that the board members and players and coaches actually have lives outside of the internet and they're not going to get rattled just bc the supposed "genuine supporters of fc barcelona and not dickriders of that pathetic midget who left us bc he's too greedy!!!" started making #xaviout trend for the umpteenth time (see: the aftermath of barça vs man utd)

at the end of the day, it's out of our hands. what i can say is these true coolers are daft the way they're already pinning the hypothetical future downfall of barça (as if it hasn't already happened; the club went from messidependencia to pedridependencia and the kid's been getting bodied by injuries bc xavi's been playing him like a workhorse lol) on messi bc the man you're putting all your hope and faith in this season, xavi himself, is apparently "obsessed" with the idea of having him back. even tebas has expressed interest in his return 😭 acting like you're financing barça with your tax money as you type away on twt isn't going to get you a catalunya passport so chill 😭✋

#genuinely some of these ppl are so inconsistent in their feelings even they don't know what they want #when messi drops a masterclass in a match they see his sofascore rating and stats and are salivating to have him back #then a few days later they come down from the high and it's back to the good old 'oh he'll hurt our rebuild' rhetoric #it does hurt the way these coolers act like messi didn't shed blood sweat and tears for them #but like luis said: football has a very short memory #in general im trying not to dwell on this issue til the summer transfer window arrives bc that's still two whole months away #so no use getting a headache over these things this early. whatever happens will happen #i just hope by the end of it all he escapes from pee es gee #but bottom line i completely understand your hopes and fears 🫂#asks

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spectr3inl0ve · 3 months

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Age gap Bruce Wayne and reader going to their first gala together and a bunch of Bruce’s “friends” talk about reader in a very misogynistic way, talking about how lucky Bruce is to be dating someone younger, and Bruce defends reader telling them that she’s more than that

- 🦪 anon

ooh the person u are 🦪 anon 💗💗(im soso sorry for the inconsistency of 2nd and 3rd person in my posts, idk y I do it 😭😭)

so, obviously you're both nervous to go the gala together, you more so than him. getting pát the paparazzi at the front isn't actually that bad when you're not stopping to answer questions or pose for front covers.

cradle robber!bruce wayne leads you to his so called friends, the people that he had to stay in good terms with for business and status. you're introduced to three men, george, scooter and fernando (not real dc characters btw). "hi there, little lady." scooter, a middle aged man with the face of a tomato says, smiling sideways at you. you want to grimace, but smile back, "hi, nice to meet you.". you extend a hand to him, and shake his pudgy, red hand. george shakes your hand too, grinning at you, a few gold teeth flashing in the light. fernando just smiles and nods at you, "he doesn't do handshakes." bruce says helpfully in your ear, thank god.

while bruce and his three associates catch up, you busy yourself with going to get drinks for you and bruce. when you turn away from them to find the bar, you swear you heard a whistle. when you come back, you hand bruce his drink and sip your own, "aren't you a little too young for that? shouldn't you be doing you homework, little miss?" George chortles, and the others laugh along with him. you smile politely, "and shouldn't you be looking for a retirement home, george?". bruce chuckles, patting you on the back. "aren't you a delight, bet mr playboy here loves it." George says good-naturedly. you drown out most of the conversation, thankful that they didn't really try to include them. you caught a few words here and there, but nothing worth paying attention too.

that is until you hear a rather misogynistic comment, "I guess you could retire alfred, now that you've got her. at her age she could do all the house work in half a day!" your eyes snap towards scooters, glaring. before you say anything, bruce cuts in, "alfred is fully capable, and [reader] will not be doing such a thing.". "you know, bruce. the one thing I regret is not bagging a young thing like her before I got old. take advantage of it, while she's all smooth and pretty." my jaw drops, and the three men laugh. "that mouth could definitely be used for something." fernando smirks. as quick as a whip, bruces lands a punch across fernandos cheek, and my hands come up to my mouth. people around us gasp, watching us. "dont fucking talk to her like that, you shit piece of scum," he says lowly, in a menacing tone. scooter and George are staring at bruce, wide eyed as he turns on them, "and she's worth way more than what you have tried to reduce her to. now leave before I put you in early retirement.". both scooter and George turn on their heel, rushing away before anything else happens.

bruce turn to you, a hand cupping your face, "you alright? im sorry about those assholes, they shouldn't have said that shit." you look up at him, nodding, "thank you, but next time let me deal with them.". bruce downs the rest of his drink, "wanna get outta here?", giggling, you reply, "yeah, lets go."

if you can't tell I'm not great at dialogue 💔💔

#°○☆spectr3inl0ve #cradle robber!bruce wayne #🦪 anon #monty loves dc #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne headcanon #bruce wayne imagine #batman x reader #bruce wayne x y/n #bruce wayne smut

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clarks-letterman · 4 months

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Even though Ryan didn't get a whole lot to do, he was REALLY doing it for me with his obvious displays of interest, so Ryan x Male Reader request where both are preparing for the Thanksgiving parade, he's expressed being attracted to the reader in the past, & has been heavily flirting while in the pilgrim costume with lots of holiday appropriate innuendos. When everybody else clears out, it leads to him fulfilling his promise of "stuffing" the reader.

sososo good omfg

a/n — brought to you by slotslights! would've been posted sooner if finals and holidays didn't exist ayyyy ... little late for the holiday im so sorry

summary — check the ask!

warnings — standard smut, jokefic cause this movie is unserious, spit as lube and this was rushed sorry!

words — 2.4k

~~~

You stood on top of a small, obviously fake ship. It was comical in design and size, being barely enough to fit you, let alone two people on it. There’s some kind of block—a wooden crate, you think—at the very back of the narrow space to stand. The ship was a bit taller than the rest of the floats, overlooking the living cornucopia of little kids painted to be greens and sweet fruits to your left, the dinner table with some townsfolk in pilgrim costumes sitting around it to your right, and your ship was spearheading the order precisely in the middle. Their costumes only reminded you how itchy yours was, being composed of spandex and knit cotton that caused the perfect combination of skin-hugging discomfort.

Behind all three was the large inflatable turkey, inconsistently staring at people as it bobbed and billowed. On the opposite end of things, in front of your float, were the marchers and mascot of the holiday. You envied him the most, as he stood out past the large opening in the building that housed the whole show with a thick, full-body costume on. He had to be as warm as being in a literal oven.

The organizers handed you two mic-packs with an earpiece for each rectangular receiver right before you boarded the ship, except it was just you on the deck. You started securing the receiver to your hip. Footsteps scaling up the warehouse stepladder drew your attention, and shortly after, the mock-Mayflower shifted a bit on its stand to make room for another voyager.

You turned, immediately recognizing the man under the Pilgrim hat. “And the king of putting his arm around people’s shoulders returns!”

“I said I was sorry.” He rolled his eyes, acting as if his blunt advances last week should be forgotten about.

“Don’t, Ryan.” Your cheap costume wouldn’t be the only pain in the ass on this boat. Unfortunately, they had already wheeled the mobile staircase that was your only escape away, making the only viable option to wait and ride this out at about three miles per hour.

If there was one thing about Ryan, that felt like it defined him entirely, was how forward he expressed himself to be. “Come on, stop playing cold turkey. I know you’re addicted to me.”

“Here.” He wore an identical costume that you got to eye up and down when you had to begrudgingly hand him his ticket aboard. His rite of passage to be putting-his-arm-over-your-shoulder-length away from you.

Ryan took it from your hands, a smirk on his face with his bottom lip jutting out in confidence. “Someone’s defrosting.”

The fleeting moment got away from your hands like a bird that could fly, unfortunate for the turkey that took its place. The revving of engines signaled that the parade was about to start. A messy collaboration of trumpeters, drummers, and every kind of walking noisemaker started to play in united dissonance. They marched, heading straight down the road. It only took a moment for your float and the ones on either side of it to start their slow roll out into the daylight.

The sidewalks were occupied with people and striped barriers made out of wood lined the street, separating the modern from the old. Old might not have been the right word to describe it—defunct, maybe? Something that was a dead mode of transportation and classified as primordial for a reason, because, as soon as the ship had to hold its own on the tail of a pickup truck, it was shaking and rocking against the bumpy main road. Even a small pothole rocked the ship, sending you stumbling towards Ryan. He held on to you, making sure you were on your feet. He looked back to the wooden crate, moving towards it as you pulled away from him. He sat down on it and extended his hand.

“Seriously?” You scoffed, occupying your hands with the divots of your elbows as you crossed your arms.

“Just swallow whatever mouthful of pride you have and sit with me. This thing is held together by tape and staples and a dream.” His eyes pleaded with the words he knew he couldn’t say.

Falling off this ship might not be lethal, but it sure is embarrassing. So is being in the arms of someone who so obviously wanted you, but at least one of these wouldn’t lead to a hospital visit… you think. Ryan was painfully right, you had to stomach your pride like a dish a family member got you to try that tasted like utter trash. From the slow roll of your parade float to the pace of your steps, it was like you were acting in slow motion. Thankfully, the crowd had the modern mindset that meant you could get a little historically inaccurate in costume. You placed yourself on the upper part of his thigh, legs pouring down into the space between his—indiscernible from the black cloth coating his legs down to his ankles as it covered yours, too.

You scratched at your neck, peeling a bit of the white ruff clawing at your neck away for a few seconds. Momentarily, you could breathe. In that breath taken, you spoke to Ryan, “I need this off me.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” His eyes lingered on the bare spot on your neck, ready to dive in if it weren’t for the lack of privacy. When the public was staring at you, he came in closer. Whispering, “Just a few more blocks, then you’re mine. I’ll tear this off you, yeah?”

“Like the skin on a turkey.” Your patience was like a meat timer that had popped. Your skin felt hot, and you needed this costume off as soon as possible. Ready to escape the open air and go somewhere more private, confined with an excuse to be pressed up to Ryan.

He never left your side, keeping his closeness while you were leaning into his hold. One arm running over both your shoulders was enough to send shivers down your whole back. His other hand waved so that it looked more natural like two optimistic travelers were on their way to discover already-found land. But when the hell were museums about American holidays rightfully celebrated the way they were meant to be? He added in his closeness, “And I’ll stuff you like one, too.”

The old firehouse in Plymouth was where the floats would go after everyone screamed their lungs out and waved their hands into the sky since it was big enough to store several of the old firetrucks that had all been moved downtown. It was a slow ride to your final destination.

As each display of the town’s affection for the holiday pulled into the makeshift warehouse and parked, the worst part proved itself to be how slowly everyone filed out of the depot. There was an agonizing wait for the required assistance down from the float, meaning that you had to stay closer to Ryan longer, the attraction between you the both of you growing stronger each second.

When you did have to leave him, you almost missed his warmth and hands. Almost, because he was back on you in seconds of your feet hitting the smooth concrete in the firehouse. Pitter-pattering was heard as your buckled shoes tapped away from everyone and up the stairs to the second floor, being led to the spot by a knowledgeable Ryan. The second floor was an open area, helmed by a kitchen as you reached the top step. It was arguably only slightly more private than the parade float you were standing on moments ago, but the shuttling of the bay doors downstairs let you know that no one who belonged there would come up to see Ryan feasting on you. Sure, you and Ryan had no business wandering away from the organizers, but two heads leaving their sight wouldn’t do much now that the parade was over.

He had you backed against the dusty counter in seconds, lips to yours, and grabbing what he could through the cheap costume. You two ditched the hats on accident, knocking them off in your attempts to pull one another closer with your holdings. It seemed to be a large kitchen island of sorts, from what you saw before Ryan pulled your attention away, now cluttered with taped-up boxes and a thick layer of dust that was wiped away by you leaning against it. There was a stove on the opposite side of where you and Ryan were cooking with your own heat. Ryan made sure that people would know of your presence by lifting you up on the counter.

“I’m gonna explode if I don’t undo my pants, fuck.” Ryan complained, breaking away from you like a wishbone—his dream coming true as he had you at his mercy. He had done the hunting, the alluring, and now, he was ready to claim you.

“Can that drumstick even fit on my plate?” You asked when he dropped his pants and let them bunch at his ankles. The black fabric of his suit must have hidden what he was packing. “Looks a little too big for me. Maybe you should just butter stuff up instead of trying to fit that in?”

“Trust me, I’ll make it fit.” Ryan tugged on himself a few times before grabbing you by the hips. He slid you towards him. “Lean back, pumpkin pie.”

“You’re so funny,” you feigned a laugh and leaned back on the cold countertop. Ryan pushed your legs up so that you got the message to keep your knees tucked into your chest, giving him an easy entrance to your ass after he undid your pants just enough to see it clearly.

You didn’t have to hear him spitting in his hand to know that he was lubing up your hole with a quick solution. Wet, warm saliva was spread over your entrance and his fingers lightly dipped in with a tasteful slip of his fingers into your tightness. Not all of it went to preparing you for his massive girth, though. The hand he didn’t use to tease you was slicking up his cock with his own spit, a remark flying out of his mouth as he welled up another wad of spit in his mouth. “I don’t usually master-baste like this but…”

“Shut up…” You said softly, too inebriated by the feeling of Ryan’s hand playing with you. The only thing that could send you out of this comatose state of pleasure was the pain of him stretching you out.

“Oh, fuck.” He moaned, feeling his tip be fought against by the constricting feeling of you constantly wrapped around him. His pleasure heightened knowing that he had effectively dominated you after you let him do this following his many, many advances.

Ryan delved further, exploring your cavity in its entirety. He loved how he constantly felt the tightness around any part of his cock at any given moment, yet he was still being gripped by the rest of your insides—though, it was much softer, like a gentle hand tugging on him without any part of him left untouched. You liked it, too. For as much as it hurt, stretching you out beyond what you felt you could take, there was still this feeling of letting him hurt you in a way that caused pleasure.

Ryan eventually bottomed out, pulling all the way out to regain that feeling of tightness along his entire cock. But, he noticed that you were gaping for him, your muscles relaxing for him like they wanted to welcome him back in. He let his cock sink back in, fucking you properly after getting to know the space he was dealing with and being accustomed to the pleasure.

It was almost ironic that last week, you wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole. But now, you wanted him inside. You needed him, like an addiction. His humor, his charm, and most importantly, his high-quality assets that he was more than happy to whore out to you. You figured that you should add his knowledge onto there, too, because he was handling himself like a champ. While he was losing his composure, his thrusts growing sloppier each time he forced all of himself into you, he kept up the pace like he was mashing potatoes—or, churning thick, creamy butter with each pump. And look, he was doing it with no hands! Well, excluding the ones he kept on your legs to keep you from sliding back or having your legs get too tired. He was still considerate, even when fulfilling his selfish desires.

That’s why he slid one of his hands down your thigh and past your pants, reaching into the small window formed by the stretching of the fabric between your legs and your ass. His hand went straight for your cock, playing with it as his thrusts shook your whole body. He wanted you to feel all of the euphoria entangled with pain that he experienced at that moment, his shaft feeling suffocated by your entrance, only to have wide walls to fuck and tug his dick along on the inside.

His hand was calloused and cracked from the cold weather, but he still felt good on your sensitive skin. Little maneuvers like rubbing his thumb over the head of your dick and keeping his grip tight when he moved his hand along your length sent you spiraling. Grunts and moans filled the air like the wafting scent of a momentous dinner being laid out on the table. The sight of you alone, but mixed with Ryan’s primal energy made this feel more fulfilling than any food could.

Eventually, you announced that you were on the verge of coming, but it probably sounded a lot less clear in your head. Ryan was still jerking you off but stopped as felt sticky white spray over his fingers and he watched it cover the stomach of your cheap costume. As he saw you unfold, he finally came, leaving you with a mix of creamy white and meaty stuffing still filling you up. You enjoyed how full he made you feel a little too much, missing it as he pulled out with a softening cock coated in his own release. Some of it hit the floor as he was still leaking out the last bits of it. Your hole could barely contain his homemade stuffing.

You sat up, catching your breath. “I need two things from you. Some paper towels, and an invite to your family’s Thanksgiving dinner.”

#fanfic #x male reader #x reader #gay #fanfiction #ryan thanksgiving #milo manheim x male reader #milo manheim #milo manheim x reader #thanksgiving x reader #Ryan x reader #wally clark #milo manheim x male!reader #milo mayhem fanfic #x male!reader #male reader smut #horror movie fic #thanksgiving movie #thanksgiving 2023

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path-of-grass-and-leaves · 8 months

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How to Handle Difficult Spirit Communication

UPG Warning: All of this information comes from my personal practice and is not universally true.

To start, spirit communication can be challenging when done solely through divination, but that doesn't mean it's impossible. For beginners, I suggest researching how to sense and perceive spirits. After a while you'll likely begin to develop your own personal methods.

That being said, you don't need to have highly developed spiritual perception in order to communicate. This is where divination comes in. It can be difficult and sometimes frustrating but the more you practice, the easier it will become.

Let's dive into some of the common causes of unsuccessful spirit communication:

You don't know who you're reaching out to or why.

I think this happens more often among beginner practitioners. It was definitely one of my first mistakes when starting. You want to get into spirit work so you dust off your divination tools and start searching for the first spirit willing to talk to you. This IME has resulted in spotty or inconsistent communication and downright unpleasant experiences.

You should know why you're opening channels for communication. Are you attempting to contact a specific individual? Are you searching for a spirit guide or familiar? Are you seeking information or help with a working? Maybe you just want to honor your house or local land spirits. Maybe you suspect that a spirit is trying to get your attention and you want to find out why.

Whatever the reason, you want to make sure that you have a vague idea of who you're contacting and what your intentions are. One thing that I've found when reaching out without direction is that sometimes several unrelated spirits will come through, tying up the lines and confusing the reading.

Divination method is too limiting.

Some spirits prefer specific divination methods so it's important to experiment. Not getting results while using the pendulum? Try something else, like automatic drawing/writing, shufflemancy, or scrying. Tarot meanings not lining up? Try reading the images or elements and numbers instead, or adding an oracle deck to the mix.

I find that using two or more techniques at one time yields the best results. This includes asking for signs and performing dream work or spirit travel.

Results are being overlooked

I always make sure to write down results during divination. Otherwise it's very easy to miss out on key information. Let's say that I'm doing some bare bones spirit identification. I choose to use tarot and shufflemancy. During the session I notice that I'm pulling a lot of wand cards and many of the songs mention fire in some way. So, okay, now I know that this spirit is likely connected to the element fire. Good enough for now.

The next day I ask a follow-up question and don't get any results. This is when I would go back to my notes and review them. It's possible that my question was answered during the previous session and I had overlooked it while focusing on the more obvious information (the fire themes), and the spirit is frustrated with having to repeat themselves.

Questions are too broad or too restrictive.

Let's go back to general identification. I break out my tarot cards and ask, "Who am I speaking with?" and the cards that I pull aren't making sense. In my opinion this question is too direct and open-ended. I might want to rephrase it and ask something like "Which of the images on these cards best represent your preferred form?".

If successful, I would at least have a general idea of appearance and go from there. I might take note of additional details like the suit of the card, it's elemental and planetary correspondence, and assigned meaning.

I would avoid yes/no questions completely. In my personal experience they're always inconsistent, frustrating, and require a lot of guesswork.

Certain actions are required for contact.

Depending on context, culture, folklore, personal path, etc., some spirits may require that you perform a certain ritual or provide an offering before they will speak or work with you.

Now I'm not suggesting you leave offerings for just any random spirit, but there are some situations where it's appropriate. If contacted by an unknown spirit, for example, I would skip all forms of veneration and go straight to divination. But if I were to try and work with, let's say the spirit of my local river, I would have my offering ready before introduction.

You're communicating too often.

Just like any activity, spirit work takes energy. Overdoing it can and will result in burn-out.

If your attempts at communication are unsuccessful you might just need a break. Make sure to step back often and focus your attention elsewhere, like self-care, socialization, and hobbies. Answers will often present themselves after or even during a period of rest.

#witchcraft #spirit work #divination #witchblr #witchcraft community #witchcraft 101

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just-some-random-blogger · 1 year

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Scale Soother

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: "Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight. "The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Word Count: 10k+

Warnings: Fem!reader, VERY alternate universe, very self-indulgent fic, made up lore, internet translated high valyrian/Astapori Valyrian, ye old misogyny, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: if you have any quarrels with my made up lore or my high/astapori valyrian, i'll tell you right now, youre right im wrong, so just roll with it ok. also i made a song for this fic cos im a music student and i well wanted to (very self-indulgent as i said) and YES my pronunciation in it is inconsistent and i missed some syllables but its fine shhhhhh roll w it. Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui

dārilaros se zaldrīzes

(princess and dragon)

konīr iksin iā zaldrīzes bona glaestan isse se guēsin (there was a dragon that lived in the forest) konīr iksin iā dārilaros bona vāettan iā gevie vāedar (there was a princess that sung a beautiful song) se lanta sia mēre isse Perzys Ānogār (and two were one in fire and blood) se mēre tubis kessi udrāzma se tegun (and one day they will rule the land)

I lick my lips as I blur the dark line on my paper. I look up and move to throw some mutton to the fox I was drawing, but perk up from my spot when I see that I would not be able to feed any beast, as I was now by myself.

Immediately, my instinct is to turn over my shoulder. I look behind me and roll my eyes at the man walking over to me, "sȳz syt doru gine." Good for nothing rat.

The tan skinned man shakes his head, making his longish, dark hair brush against his angular jaw, "ao ōdrio nyke." You wound me.

"Why are you even here?" I eye him, "you know nature despises you."

He sits down next to me on the ground and shrugs, "you know, just because the name of your house means 'red beast', doesn't mean you have to make it a point to draw foxes every single day," he eyes me and says the name of my house rather mockingly, "Milidyni."

I throw my head back and scoff, "this again?" I raise a brow at him, "you do know you are the worst perpetrator of living up to your name, Gael Valzȳrys," I stand and brush off my skirt, "and besides, I am helping my father as a beast scholar to catalog the creatures of the woods. You do nothing of the sort."

Gael watches me and I give him a look.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowns as his thick dark brows move close together.

I knit my own brows at his expression and look up at him as he stands and towers over me, "are you seriously pretending you don't 'wife up'--" I look away and begin to walk off, "or at least attempt to-- every woman you set your eyes upon--" I turn back to him and give him a look, wording sardonically, "Husband?"

Gael scoffs, "it's hardly my fault women are willing to give up their maidenhoods to me. It's not like I make myself look as though I would actually be their valzȳrys," husband.

I cringe as I begin to navigate through the forest on the path back home, "no you are too correct," I clutch my notebook and my skirt in hand, "belonging to house Valzȳrys was too generous a name of the gods to bestow upon you," I look over my shoulder and raise a hand, "you should have belonged to house Live." Whore.

"Asha," Gael exclaims and makes a face, "how original."

Gael and I walk through the forest, bickering over names as we did. I smack him in the shoulder for insulting the name Kotova.

"Kotova is a beautiful name!" I point a finger at him.

He looks at me as though he is actually pained, and I do hope he is, as he should. He rubs his arm, "ao brōstan zirȳla se ēlī run bona istan ezīmagon aōha bartos!" You named her the first thing that went into your head!

"Sīr?" I quip, "ao ydragho hae ao ȳdra daor qogralbar se ēlī run ao ūndegon."

So? You speak like you don't fuck the first thing you see.

Gael laughs and moves close, "I have yet to fuck you, my s--"

He does not get to finish as suddenly there is a loud shriek from overhead, followed by the sound of long strides of large wings.

Gael flinches as we both look skyward. I grin where he exclaims out to the Harpy for deliverance. I turn to Gael as he grabs onto my arm. I laugh at him, "serves you right, cretin."

"Fucking cock block."

The assembly hall smelled like oranges, for the king had been haughtily eating them in the middle of his meeting. He looked like he was paying more attention to peeling the skin of his citrus rather than the droning report of Otto Hightower. But then again, that would not have been too out of the ordinary; he never liked him. It's a wonder he's still on the council.

Daemon had his feet up as sucked on an orange bud, unsure if he appreciated the fact it was wholly sweet with no hint of tanginess. He let out a soft belch and turned to his side, "cupbearer."

Rhaenyra straightens and turns to his uncle.

"Mirri averilla, riñītsos," says the king. Some wine, little girl.

Daemon raises his cup to his niece as she walks over with an ewer of wine. He pulls his legs off the table and assesses his cupbearer's dress, the one he gifted her for her recent nameday just a few night ago.

"Se ēnka iksis sȳz va ao," the king utters in their shared tongue, the color is good on you.

Rhaenyra smiles at him, "kirimvose, ñuha dārys."

Thank you, my king.

Daemon smiles as Rhaenyra pulls away after pouring him some wine. His smile flattens when his sight catches the cunt-Lord turning from the other Targaryen to him with pursed lips.

"I don't remember asking you to stop your report, Hightower," he raises his brows and shakes his head expectantly.

Otto shifts from where he stood, "no, your majesty."

Daemon leans on his chair at the head of the table, downing a large gulp of wine. It's bitter and sour, just as he hoped, and it complimented his oranges exquisitely.

"And then there is a matter of a dragon, your grace," Otto says rather gravely, out of character even for his usually tedious demeanor.

The rest of the council members turn to him while Daemon looks out the window and thinks, 'ah, yes, I would so adore to ride off with Caraxes at this time'.

"Many of our trade partners from Essos have given consistent and wearisome accounts about the dragon in the area nicknamed Forest Fire."

"Huh," the king chuckles, turning back to Otto. He finally has Daemon's attention.

"How quaint."

"Yes," Otto speaks flatly, "the quaint abomination has burned down forests for sport and left a great many casualties in its stead, hindering trade and damaging goods, our trade goods"

Daemon puts his cup down and shrugs slightly, "so? There is a lose dragon in Essos. My business with the savages that live there are as far and few as my business with the dragon toying with them. We do not rely on Essos. Cease trade if you must."

Otto rolls his shoulders back and clutches his hands in front of him. He clenches his jaw and allows for the faintest of grins to pull on his lips. Daemon was actually unsure if it was a grin or if he was in pain.

"That would have been my own thoughts as solution, my king, had that dragon not had a rider."

Daemon blinks.

Otto relaxes his shoulders.

Rhaenyra from the side looks between her best friend's father and her uncle with a lowered jaw.

A chorus of utterances fall from the lips of the Lords at the table, things along the line of 'a rider?,' 'impossible,' and general grumbles of disbelief.

Daemon reaches his hand out to the marble sphere before him and tilts his head at Otto. He swirls his tongue on the roof of his mouth, savoring the remnants of snack, then tilts his head to the lord, "are you implying that someone from my family has adopted one too many mounts in their keep and has made a game of toying with some low lives in the east?"

"I am saying," Otto shifts on his leg, "that there is a dragon out there whose mount is not from your family."

Daemon stills.

Rhaenyra's mouth falls wider.

The lords lose their shit.

And for a moment, there is a continous streak of worried mumbles.

Lord Velaryon from across the table, in fact, adopted a deep line between his brows upon hearing this.

But then suddenly, the king laughs and silences everyone.

Daemon laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach as his amusement echoes around the room.

Rhaenyra is extremely agitated by the response of her uncle and how the council reacts to him.

Daemon lets out a sigh once he's satisfied himself and slumps on his chair, "my," he lets out a deep breath, "I do say I believe a thanks is in order, chum," he wipes a tear, "That is, in all honestly, the funniest you have ever been the entire time you've been at court," he straightens up, "or, methinks, your entire life," he chuckles.

Otto Hightower does not share the sentiment. He does not find himself particularly fond of being called chum by the king either. "I assure you, your grace," he shakes his head, "I do not jest."

Daemon's smirk does not falter.

"You would agree with me when I say I do not know how," the lord adds.

Otto sees no change or belief in the king's expression so, he instead turns to the king's hand, Lord Strong, "this issue has come to my attention less than week prior, and since then, I have been securing information about the so-called Forest Fire so that I could raise the matter to the king."

Lord Hand meant speak, but the King beats him to it, "and why did you not notify me of this the said week prior?"

Otto turns to the king.

Daemon is now hard and unamused. He leans on his elbows and raises his brows accusingly at him.

Otto narrows his eyes, "I did not wish to add to the flame of a mummer's farce, my king."

"Then humor me, Hightower," he raises his brows, "in detail," he leans on the table, "what do you know of this Forest Fire?"

"Kiba," I huffed as I entered my home through the back door, "I spied four horses come down the road on my way here. Did you-"

I halt in both my steps and my words when I am face to face with a tall man in a deep green coat. The scent of his oils and perfume are poke into my nostrils as though it was done with a stick.

I walk back and let out a breath, "skoros se qogralbar?" What the fuck?

"Five horses," someone mutters. I hear a laugh and turn to my side, "my, I see the lady has come just in time."

I move back at the sight of the devious looking man with alabaster hair and purple eyes. I clutch my skirt and turn away from him, finding my father holding cups and a pitcher, same with our servant.

Immediately, I rush over to the man and mutter in a low voice, "kiba, issi ao isse pelrar?" Father, are you in trouble?

My father hands me a cup and cocks his head to the side, quickly muttering, "daor, ñuha prūmia, issa ao qilōni iksis isse pelrar." No, my heart, it is you who is in trouble.

My eyes dart to the silver haired man muttering something to a silver haired girl. My father pours into the cup in my hand, then the one in his.

"King Daemon," my father says and offers the drink to him.

I wordlessly follow suit and offer the cup to the person beside King Daemon.

"Thank you," she says to me.

The man beside her raises a brow, "will you not greet the princess?"

I turn to the king then the princess, offering a curtsy, "princess..."

"Rhaenyra," he adds.

I turn to him and repeat, "Rhaenyra."

The king tilts his head. The high collar of his leathery black tunic was adorned with an eccentric ruby necklace and the fingers that were gripping the bronze cups we only used when we had guests were all clad with golden rings, "do you honestly expect me to believe you don't know who she is, who we are-- who I am?"

"Kepus," mutters Rhaenyra. Her dainty hand comes to the arm of her uncle. Her violet eyes and rosy cheeks move to his duller face in comparison. Her features are complimented by the deep velvet red of her dress and the intricate braids of her light hair.

I smooth out my orange corset and red skirt, "you are King Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen," I smile softly.

I can practically feel my father tense in anticipation of my next words.

"You are all guests to our humble abode."

Father lets out a soft breath.

"I am here for your Forest Fire," the king replies quickly.

I pull my head back and frown, "forest fire?"

King Daemon narrows his eyes and looks past me.

"We have reports-"

I turn and find the odorous man was speaking.

"-that a dragon has been going about burning through trees and people, thus the nickname, Forest Fire."

I suck in a breath and feel my breathing tighten at the insulting words of the man, "I assure you, ser," I knit my brows and frown, "I have no knowledge of this monster which you speak."

The tall man looks down upon me and tilts his head, "no?"

I hear my father call out my name lowly. I ignore his cautious tone, for he knows my words are true.

"Then tell me, Lady Milidyni," the man steps forward, "would you deny it still if I tell you your father has told all of us," he raises a hand, "that you came from the riverbank after riding upon the back of your dragon."

"I do not deny riding a dragon," I retort quickly, "but I say to you, whatever talk of forest fires you know of was not the doing of my mount."

"Pār emilā nyke pāsagon bona aōha zaldrīzes iksis rāpa se sȳz?"

I turn over my shoulder and find the raised brows of the king. He taps his finger on his cup and looks at me expectantly.

The princess watches me as I stare. She starts, "my uncle said, 'y--"

"Then you will have me believe that your dragon is soft and kind," I repeat the words perfectly. The silver haired princess presses her lips together.

"Nyke ȳdra daor gimigho skoros sȳz zaldrize emā isse Vesteros lo ao odabagho konir sagon skoros nyke nūmāzma," I retort.

I don't know what kind of dragons you have in Westeros if you think that is what I mean.

The king laughs through his nostrils then takes a sip of his wine. He pulls the cup away from his mouth and looks at it before saying, "you are amusing, little girl."

"I am not a little girl," I reply simply.

I hear my father call out my name. I turn over to him as he give me a look, "he is a king."

"Well, he's not our king."

"Beza tala kessa sagon se murgho yno," he sighs. This girl will be the death of me.

"Daor vasīr." Not yet, says the king, making me turn to him with a scowl. He hands my father his cup as he steps forward, "you will take us to your dragon at once."

I look up at him as he stands far too close to me for my liking. I raise my hand up to his chest and step back, "all of you?" I turn to the man in the green coat, the two armoured guards, the princess, then back to him, "my dragon is not used to seeing so many people."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, "ah, are you afraid he might hurt us?"

He turns to my hand when my palm connects with his sternum. I slightly push him back to prevent him from drawing any nearer, "I am afraid you might do something to taunt her."

"You think so-" he grabs my wrist, "-lowly of a king."

"No," I tilt my head up, "I assume what I know of your nature, Valyrian conqueror."

He seems to be pleased by that name. His lips curve into a lopsided smile, "then do not make me waste my time any further by stalling."

We stare at each other for a moment then I pull my hand away from him.

I turn about and gather my skirt, "lēda nyke." With me.

"Ñuhe kepe hobrenke usōvegon syt otāpagon bona ao lī daor shifang Valyrio Eglie," princess Rhaenyra offers as she walks up next to me.

I must apologize for thinking that you would not understand High Valyrian.

I turn to her as we walk over some branches on the ground.

"Gaomagon daor qubemagon aōla, dārilaros," the king mutters behind us, "ziry ȳdrā iā nādrēsy lūs hen īlva ēngos."

Do not lower yourself, princess. She speaks a bastard kind of our tongue.

"Kepus," she mutters, looking over to the king.

The king turns to me as I do the same. He raises his brows at me as he marches over a large rock, "iksin nyke pirta?" Am I wrong?

I ignore him and turn to the princess, "your uncle is correct. Astapori Valyrian is a branch of Bastard Valyrian languages. It has remnants of Old Ghiscari, which may be why you won't understand some of my words. I however I can understand you perfectly."

The man called Otto Hightower, as I was told, swats a bug flying over to him.

I turn to him and the two Kingsguard tailing after him just as the princess excitedly says, "that is so fascinating. I suppose that must be why your mount listens to you."

I chuckle at the words of the girl and push back a branch in our way, "my dragon does not merely listen to me because I speak Valyrian."

"Pray tell," the king steps between us, "do explain how why Forest Fire listens to a lowly wench like you."

I stop in my tracks and furrow my brows. He purses his lips and gives me a look.

"I wonder if you think I am inclined to give a courteous response to your crude words, Daemon Targaryen."

The corner of his lips twitch into a smirk, "King Daemon Targaryen."

"King," I repeat dryly. I turn away and walk off, releasing the branch, hoping it hits the man on his way.

Judging by his grunt, it does. I smile to myself.

"Insolent bitch, I ought to--" the clamors of the king are silenced by the shriek that causes a flock of birds to fly away.

I hasten my movements and secure my skirt in my hand, "I do suggest you calm yourself, king."

He does not respond as we all continue to the tread deeper into the thick, green forest. By the time I spot the flowing river, I turn to the king and mutter, "we're here."

I take the same route I always do, feeling the man follow closely behind me. He catches my arm when my shoe slips from a damp patch of soil and eyes me darkly as I turn to thank him out of instinct. I still thank him, but do so rather reluctantly.

"Do not do anything that will startle your ride," he mutters, releasing me.

"She is not extremely jittery like you, your grace."

Before he can respond, I am walking off.

"Iksan kesīr, Kotova," I call out as the familiar scent of dragon hits my nose, "eman sindita ragero lēda nyke."

I am here, Kotova. I have brought friends with me.

I turn to Daemon as he looks around. I cannot help but chuckle at the solemn look upon his face as he anticipates the dragon.

"She will not eat you," I hold back a smile, "I swear it."

"I am no fool," Daemon turns to me, "she does not have to eat me to kill me."

There is then a crescendo of crackling screeches. From the far off side, comes out then a largish, white winged beast, head cocking left and right as she slowly crawls out toward us. She was, in truth, only so much bigger than a carriage but her wings made her look larger than she really was.

I smile as I walk over to her while she lifts her head up and roars with jaws wide open.

"Asha," I exclaim and raise a hand to her.

The dragonling stops her cries and lowers her head a fraction, turning to me. She bleats gutturally and stretches out her wings, beating them rapidly, much like how she usually greets me. She then rolls her long neck over and under then settles down and inches near me.

She huffs and rests her wings beside her. Her snout comes me as reach out to her.

Daemon watches the pearly white creature submit to her rider. He sees the shine of her blistering white scales and the shape of her head. There was something about the creature that made him think she did not look right, something about her snout and the shape of her body. He was unsure if it had to do the ghastly lack of color her or the rather bird-like demeanor it had with the wing-flapping.

"Kotova," I speak as I caress the face of my dragon, "rytsuragon se dārys se dārilaros." Greet the king and princess.

Kotova pulls her head up and steps a few paces back. She then stretches both her wings, rather effectively blocking a good amount of sunshine and bares all her teeth as she screams at the Targaryens.

Rhaenyra's jaw parts into a small open mouthed smile as she brings her hands to her ears. Daemon steps one pace back and averts his gaze as the gush of hot dragon breath hits his face. He huffs and waves his hands by his nose.

I laugh as Kotova bleats once more for approval as she curls up and turns to me. I laugh and stroke her wiry scales, "olvie sȳz, ñuha jorrāelagon." Very good, my love.

Rhaenyra watches our exchange and pulls away her hands from her head, "her name is Kotova?"

I turn to the princess and smile. I nod "she is my Kotova."

"A quaint name for a dragon," she notes, lightheartedly.

I laugh and raise a hand to her direction, "it is the Astapori word for strong, princess," I turn to Rhaenyra then to Daemon, "I shall introduce you to her, your graces, yes?"

Rhaenyra turns to her king for approval. Daemon nods then motions for her to follow.

The moment the princess nears, Kotova instantly begins to stir with curiosity and heavily sniff the air.

"Asha, Kotova," I mutter as I take the hand of the princess, "ȳdra daor sagon tolī olvie." Hush, Kotova, don't be too much.

Kotova does her best to contain her excitement as I gently lead the girl's hand to the dragon's snout, "bisa iksis Rhaenyra." This is Rhaenyra.

"Rystas, Kotova," she greets hello with a breathy tone.

I catch Rhaenyra's smile as Kotova huffs and moves her head a bit in acknowledgement of the contact. I watch how Kotova turns her head in a telltale manner. I immediately stop her from continuing what I know she was planning to do.

"Daor, Kotova," I speak 'no' sternly.

She huffs in response.

Once I feel the dragonling calm, I release Rhaenyra's hand and allow her to touch as Kotova as much as she'd like. Her hair, strikingly like the tint of my dragon scales, blows back with the wind. She turns to me and smiles, moving towards me, "she is a sweet and kind thing."

"Indeed," I smile and nod, "she is precious to me."

Rhaenyra turns to the side, "uncle, it's your turn now."

Daemon looks as I circle around his niece and reach out to him.

He waits for a few seconds to pass before walking over to me, taking my hand in his. He confidently strides to my dragon and it makes her pull away from Rhaenyra. She then raises her head and tilts it to the side as looks down upon us. The spikes on her hair raise as she breathes in and huffs.

"Kotova," I warn.

Rhaenyra smartly backs away slowly.

I sense no agitation from Daemon, save for how he tightens his grip on me. I turn to him and inhale deeply, "it's because you smell like dragon," I mutter to Daemon as I raise hand, "gīda ilagon, Kotova." Calm down, Kotova.

He mutters without tearing his gaze away from Kotova, "I did not ride my dragon here."

"Didn't you?" I turn to her as Kotova cautiously lowers her head, "you must not have washed properly."

Rhaenyra chuckles from the side.

I continuously hush Kotova until she is comfortable enough to near us.

"Rysta, Kotova," Daemon says hello to the dragon.

I release a soft snort as I turn from the king to the head of the dragon. I bring our hands to her snout and "bisa iksis Daemon, Kotova." This is Daemon, Kotova.

Daemon is shocked by the coolness of the skin. He furrows his brows as Kotova huffs and leans into us.

I pull away from the king and allow him to touch her as much as he wants. I watch him as he scrutinizes the creature before him.

Kotova leans into Daemon's touch and shakes her head. I step away and withhold a smile, doing nothing to hold her back from what I know she's going to do next.

Kotova darts her tongue out and licks Daemon's arm, coating it in thick slober.

I instantly break into a laugh as Daemon curses and pulls back. He turns to me as Rhaenyra joins in with my giggles.

"Ah, so you meant for her to do this," Daemon dryly states, swatting his hand in my direction, making Kotova's saliva splash to my dress. He does not allow his niece to laugh with no repercussions either and baptizes her with dragon spit.

Rhaenyra is hit straight on the cheek, immediately halting her laughter. She growls at her uncle, "Daemon!"

Daemon shrugs, grabbing my skirt, pulling me into him, then wiping his arm there. I grip onto his shoulder as he bends down and dries his dripping arm off on my dress.

I grunt as I lean into him, falling a tad out of balance because of his yanking. I watch as Kotova examines us but makes no attempt to defend me. I nearly scoff at her passivity. She was normally did not take kindly to people touching me. I wonder if it's because she recognizes the dragon in him.

Once he is done wiping the dampness, he straightens himself up and looks down at me, "that was quite amusing."

I shove him away with my hips, "a honor to bemuse you, dear king."

Daemon's shoes dig into the dirt as he keeps himself upright. I move to the other side of Kotova's face, leaving him standing in front of Kotova by himself.

He startles when Kotova huffs as he leans into him.

This time, I hiss in displeasure, "daor, Kotova."

She huffs.

I repeat, "daor."

Kotova pulls back obediently. She tucks her legs in, proceeding to then curl into herself, around me, and rest her head on the ground.

Rhaenyra watches as the dragon's neck curls over to her tail. Kotova pushes me into her body, tucking me under her wing. I grunt as I am covered by the heavy thing, "Kotova!"

She does not respond as I push her wing up and escape the leathery prison.

Upon seeing how I carelessly lean into Kotova and step over her neck to get out of my spot, Daemon furrows his brows and wonders if he would ever to the same with his own dragon. He moves to the side of the glimmering white beast and stops when he sees her face, one eye looking back at him. He only now realized it blue and gold.

He turns to me with furrowed brows as I walk over.

"Fine," the king quips, "tell me, then, how it is you managed to tame this dragon?" He looks off to the side and watches as the creature stares at him, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight.

"The secret is, your grace," I shake my head, "I did not."

Daemon turns to me, an unimpressed expression on his features.

"Kotova, as much as she is dear to me," I raise my brows, "does not belong to me." I look at the dragon as she buries her head into her wing and sighs deeply.

I smile at her catlike action and turn back to Daemon, violet eyes glued on me already. "She is free, king. I do not confine her, I do not stop her from flying far off without me; she is her own keeper.

"Between us, I think, is a bond of mutual respect and affection. I found her when she was no larger than an overgrown lizard and cared for her, thinking she would grow no larger than a small dog." I cross my arms and turn to Kotova.

Rhaenyra walks over to us. I look over to her and, in turn, catch sight the other three men with us, looking out from a far enough distance.

I turn back to Daemon as he says, "surely as the daughter of the Master of Beasts, you would know the difference between a lizard and a dragon."

I ignore his incredulous tone, "Kotova's wings barely resembled what they are now when she was a hatchling, and her skin was translucent," I give him a look, "trust me, king, you may think yourself a dragon expert, but you wouldn't have thought she was a dragon then either."

Daemon does not appreciate the way his title is said.

"I think she was rejected by her clutch, which was why she ended up here in the green lands."

King turns to Kotova, thinking it made sense, considering his own thoughts about her and how she did look like an odd-one-out.

"So, she is amicable," king Daemon utters, "but only borne out of your presence. It does not solve my concern with the forest fires, nor does it change the fact," he turns to me with raised brows, "you are a dragon rider outside of my blood."

I look at Daemon and he clutches his belt and scabbard. A gush of wind blows between us as I asses the man's face. His violet eyes looked almost clear because of the sunlight, and though his expression was blank, I knew better than to mistake it for something like kindness. I turn to Kotova and find myself thinking about how similar they appeared. Even now, the connection between Targaryen and dragon was uncanny.

I speak, "allow me to solve one of your problems then, Daemon."

Rhaenyra pulls her head back at the lack of use of king and looks at her uncle, who narrows his eyes at me.

I whistle then call, "Kotova."

Kotova ignores me.

I suck in a breath and walk over to her, pulling my skirt up, placing my sole on her body, shaking her with my leg, "bē, tala." Up, girl.

Kotova peaks through her wing then huffs, before giving a dramatic protest, throaty and loud.

"Asha," I hush, "rȳbagon," obey.

Kotova stands, and if she could, rolls her eyes as she did so. She stretches her wings out for effect, incidentally pushing both Targaryens in her side away as she did so.

Daemon and Rhaenyra grab each other and move back to the side as Kotova raises her head and flairs her short, stubbly, leathery horns. She gives a shrill squawk then shakes her head.

I call out her name and she rolls her eyes again.

I extend my arms out to the side and crane my neck up at her, commanding, "drakarys."

Daemon and Rhaenyra stiffen with wide eyes. Instinctively, Daemon reaches out for his niece and pushes her behind him as he too steps away, "are you mad?!"

Kotova lowers her head to me and shoves me back with her snout. I am nothing against her strength and nearly topple back. I shake my head and regain my footing as Kotova begins to walk past me slowly, absolutely done with my bullshit.

"Keligon, Kotova," I command 'halt' as I walk in front of her again, "rȳbagon," I mutter 'obey' again once in front of her.

Kotova twists her long neck and hisses.

I recoil when her spit splashes on my cheek. I wipe my face and then rip out a bunch of weeds from the ground and throw it in front of the dragon, "drakarys."

Kotova growls as I point to the weeds.

Daemon watches the dragon huff through her nostrils and shake her wings in annoyance. So, her point is to get herself killed and be done with it?

"Drakarys, Kotova!"

Kotova, after a loud cry that made everyone, including the lord and the two knights, step back at the shrillness of it, finally obeys. A great many flock of birds fly overhead as the dragon breathes onto the tiny strands of grass. She gives out all the air in her lungs, in turn making the weeds shoot off in various directions.

Her exhale is so aggressive, spit splutters out.

Air, spit and more spit, but no fire. No fire at all.

Once Kotova was done, she looks at me and screams.

I recoil at her ear piercing cry and cringe, raising my hands up to her, "krimvo, tala. Emā dohaertan nyke sȳrī." Thank you, girl. You have served me well.

I reach out to her face and she opens her mouth, threatening to nip at me. It was an empty threat I knew, but a threat no less. I pull back and give her a look, "asha," I drop the tone of my voice, "keligon." Hush. Halt.

Kotova shakes her head and wags her slender tail.

"Sȳz!" I wave her off, "Henujagon. Jikagon va." Fine! Leave. Go on.

Kotova gratefully yelps and rather quickly takes off. She makes sure to hover over me, and cause dust and dirt to fly all over my body, as well as my skirt and hair to whip all over, before ultimately ascending, up until she was so high you could barely make her out, especially with how white she was in the sky. She blended well in the clouds and the harsh sun light.

Once she was gone and all of us were reeling with the sand in our eyes and mouths and ears and folds, I turn to Daemon and find him spitting out dirt in between spitting out curses.

I walk over to him and wipe my face, "as you can see, Daemon, Kotova is incapable of breathing fire."

I glance to the face of the lord from the distance, "whatever you and your company know about this Forest Fire is not about my dragon," I turn back to Daemon, "and as for your other concern. Like I said, she is free creature," I shrug, "she barely answered to me, as you bore witness."

Daemon dusts himself off just as Rhaenyra did.

"Of course, you could always wed me-"

The two royals halt.

I raise my brows, "or kill me and my fireless friend."

The king stares at me for a moment. He watches as I brush off my corset and roll my shoulders back. He feels ire prick into his veins, "gaomagon ao mīvindigon nyke, asp?" Do you taunt me, bitch?

I pull my head back and chuckle, "se ānogar hen zaldrīzes dakogon qumblie. Sīr adere naejot zālagon." The blood of the dragon runs thick. So quick to burn.

Daemon struts over to me and leaves little space between us. "Gaomagon daor ȳdragon hen zaldrīzes ānogar naejot nyke," he quips between his teeth. Do not speak of dragon blood to me.

He leans into me, "daoruni gīmī hen drakarys."

"You know nothing of dragon fire?!" I repeat his incredulous words, "ñuha gierion issi se ñuqir hen aōha drakarys, zaldrīzes āzma." My people are the ash of your dragon fire, dragon born.

I shake my head, "Astapor knows more about dragon fire than you ever will."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "you excite me with such pretty notions."

"Then forgive me for putting ideas in your head," I retort, grabbing my skirt, then curtsying dismissively. I then curtsy to Rhaenyra, and look back to her uncle. I stare at him for a moment before walking off.

I hear him scoff and angrily march, catching my arm, "I did not dismiss you, impudent wench."

I turn to him and smile twistedly, "oh, apologies, your grace," I pull my arm away. He does not release me. I huff, "I had already given you solutions to your problems. I did not think it would make you so taken by me so quickly."

"OH HA!" someone calls from afar, making all of us turn to whom called rather carelessly.

The two knights are immediately alerted and unsheathe their weapons as Gael storms over to us.

"Unhand Lady Milidyni this instant," he barks, pointing a finger our way.

"Valzȳrys!" I quip as Daemon releases me and unsheathes his own sword.

Daemon does not hesitate to meet him and surely enough, Gael is quickly cornered at the tip of 3 swords.

"Ao doru-borto qogralbar," I grunt, you stupid fuck.

"If you want to keep your head on your shoulders, you will keep your mouth shut, peasant," Daemon bristles, both hands on his hilt, fully intent to strike.

Before Gael could speak, I bark and point, "shut up, Gael!"

Gael looks at me then Daemon.

Daemon watches as Gael clenches his jaw and raises his hand up in surrender. He scoffs, lips tilting into a smile, "good to know your mutt is obedient to you as well."

Gael turns to me, "skoros gaomas bisa timpa ōghar orvorta jaelagon lēda ao?" What does this white haired cunt want with you?

I roll my eyes at his attempt to speak freely.

Daemon laughs manically and presses closer to him, bringing his blade against Gael's cheek which then rips into his skin, "iderēbagon aōha hembar udra wisely, syt kostis sagon aōha mōrī." Choose your next words wisely, for they may be your last.

"King Daemon!" I call, running towards him, grabbing hold of his arm, "ignore the fool. He's good for nothing."

"Finally something we agree on," retorts the king, although he does not withdraw his weapon and instead shoves me away from him.

"My king," Rhaenyra calls, storming over to him, "please! That's enough."

"Yes," Daemon mutters, "I am king," he words firmly, "and I decide what happens and what does not."

Gael flinches when his ear is poked.

"I say, I might enjoy making your ear into a necklace," Daemon mutters, pressing his blade into the side of his head, making blood drip down his neck.

I curse under my breath.

"But for now, I use you as leverage," he mutters, turning to me, "if you want your dear husband to remain unmutilated, you will make no fuss and obey me. Understood?"

"Understood," I blurt quickly.

Gael lets out a shallow breath when the king pulls away his blade, prompting the knights to do the same.

He then takes my arm and eyes Gael as he drags me off.

"Well done, Hightower," Daemon says, as we pass the bearded man, "though your information is skewed, it seems you shall keep your head after all."

Rhaenyra watches her uncle drag me off then turns to Otto who sighs, "most generous of you, my king."

Gael looks out to the king and heaves, "where are you taking her?!"

"King's Landing," Daemon mutters, looking over his shoulder, "come on then, Rhaenyra."

"Rhaenyra!" Alicent calls the moment she spots her friend, undoubtedly walking this very corridor in order to speak with her.

When the two girls meet, they clutch each other's hands affectionately.

"I am most remorseful for not greeting you the day you arrived. My father was strict about making me finish my lessons on bookkeeping before releasing me."

Rhaenyra makes an amused face of disbelief, "and what exactly where the ledgers that took you three days to finish?"

"The Hightower logs."

The princess laughs, "lessons? My dear, I think you were duped into doing the work meant for Lord Hightower."

The Hightower raises a brow, "you think?"

The two share a laugh.

The princess and the lady immediately link arms and begin to walk off to nowhere in particular.

"So my father has returned with his head," the red haired girl speaks, making Rhaenyra look at her incredulously, "I wouldn't have let Daemon kill him, Alicent. It's why I joined the trip, if it wasn't already obvious."

The girls lean into each other as they walk leisurely.

Alicent releases a breath, "oh yes of course. It was not to see whether or not there was, in fact, a non-Targaryen dragon and a rider in Essos, no?"

Rhaenyra grins and leans into Alicent, "well of course, there's that too."

"I hear it was a woman who tamed the beast, and that she was at the back of the king's horse as you came home."

Rhaenyra presses her lips into a flat line, "a funny thing, Lady Milidyni-- her name. She said she never ridden the back of a horse before, and it both made a lot of sense and no sense at all."

Alicent thinks then shrugs, "perhaps she is accustomed to riding in a carriage."

"Or her dragon," Rhaenyra looks at Alicent's dark eyes with her lighter ones, "you know, her dragon is, perhaps, about as old as Syrax, and a ghastly shade of white."

She nods, "father told me the thing looked like a monster who fled the burn of winter for a taste of spring."

The princess pulls her head back, "Otto Hightower said that? He is quite the poet."

Alicent looks off and shakes her head, "he is not."

Rhaenyra laughs, shaking her blonde hair as she did.

"What does the king plan to do with Lady Milidyni?" Alicent turns to Rhaenyra, "wouldn't it have been easier to kill her to avoid any sort of trouble with the dragon?"

Rhaenyra sighs as she looks at the curve of her friend's cheek and the blush on her lips and cheek, "the day I understand the way my uncle's mind works is the day your father starts liking him."

Alicent holds back her laugh.

"Oh but did you know her name means red beast in Astapori Valyrian?" the princess says excitedly, "Mili is red, and dyni is beast," she smiles, "and the animal of her house is a fox! I think it's rather smart."

Alicent is more fixated over the fact her friend was telling her there was a variant of Valyrian being spoken in Essos.

At this point, there is a vague, far off sound of a gatekeeper announcing the entry of a Lord. It takes a moment for the princess to think of who could possibly be coming to King's Landing at this hour for a visit. Then she remembers.

Instantly, Rhaenyra grips her skirt and yanks Alicent along with her as she runs to the side of the entrance from the floor they were on.

She grins from ear to ear as Alicent hastily keeps up with her, unsure of why they were running and who they were going to see.

They look out the window and the two girls behold a large man with a broad build and dark hair. Rhaenyra gleefully looks down as the Lord with a pointed nose and a thin beard dismounts his equally massive mount.

Alicent looks at the handsome man and then finally notices the emblem on his horse. "Ah, that must be Cregan Stark."

Rhaenyra grins, leaning into her, though her eyes do not leave him "he is quite a looker."

Alicent turns from the man to her princess, watching as her lips curl in delight and her hair blow with the wind, same as hers, "quite."

The two girls turn to each other, "shall we greet him?"

Alicent turn back to the lord, "if it pleases her grace."

Rhaenyra grins and leans against the window, "Lord Stark!"

Everyone from below looks up to the caller, each of them paying dutiful regard to the princess. The Lord Stark himself lifts his eyes upon the two looking out to him, nodding his head when the red haired girl greets him as well.

"My young princess," he bows, "my young lady," he nods, then looks back up at them.

He takes kindly to the eager look upon the Targaryen's face as she asks, "did you bring one of your direwolves, my lord? I would so love to see them."

Cregan grins, lopsided and wolfish in his own right, "I did not, princess. I do not think any of my wolves would appreciate the balminess of your palace, especially at this season," he leans on his leg, "see, I, myself, am already quite fussed by the temperature."

Rhaenyra laughs, "well, I say. I do hope you do not find your stay here too uncomfortable."

He tilts his head, "with two fair maidens greeting me at my arrival? Impossible."

Rhaenyra gives a pleased grin. Alicent smiles softly.

"An honor most high, fair maidens," he bows, "I must now see to the king."

Cregan is directed to take a certain hall in order to where the king would be at the moment. He walks to the end of the corridor as he was told and stops before a door.

He promptly knocks and announces himself.

He listens for a moment, then clears his throat upon hearing the moan that seeps through the cracks.

He presses his lips and moves away from the door, eye twitching at the crashing sound that comes next, along with 'ah yes, more, fuck, yes-'

He clenches his jaw and walks down the corridor, deciding to wait there, leaning by the window.

Cregan pulls at his collar, feeling his sweat clump in the corners of his flesh. He wonders if it would be too improper to remove his coat. He decides it won't and feels better after a layer of clothing was now off his body.

His attention is commanded by the beastly cry from across the grounds. He looks out to the far off area, narrowing his eyes at the vague sight of what he could tell was a dragon. Even at this distance, it was a mighty sight to see. He thinks about what it would feel to see the thing face to face.

He wonders who the red creature's master was. Perhaps the king's? Or was it the princess's?

He then thinks of the rumors of a wayward dragon flying under the ward of a rider not of royal blood. Perhaps this was the very dragon, now captured and under the keep of the crown.

He wonders if one of the people surrounding the behemoth was the rogue rider, now also in the clutch of the king.

"Lord Stark?"

Cregan turns and sees a woman with tan skin, glistening with sweat, and brown hair, wild and unkempt, cascading down past her shoulders. It appears as though she was tying her laces from behind her, "is that you?"

"Yes. I am Lord Stark."

She smiles as she pulls on her laces, "the king says you may enter now."

Cregan nods, "thank you."

He watches as the woman walks off as she tightens her corset from behind.

He blinks and finds himself asking as she makes a strained sound, "do you require assistance?"

The woman looks at him from over her shoulder, lips curling into a smile, "that depends. Will you be undressing me as well, sire?"

Cregan licks his lips and thinks, "No. I don't think I will."

"Then best not keep the king waiting, milord," she says, turning away, walking off.

Cregan thus enters the room, finding the king sat at the end of a messy bed. Tables and chairs were disarray, things that should not be on the floor were, and the king, himself, was not with a shirt.

Though, in truth, he probably should not be looking at the lilac eyed man, and his scars, and his messy hair, both blown out and sticking to the sides of his face, still he does and thinks enviously about how he could freely let himself cool down at present.

He grips the coat he hung in his arm, "King Daemon."

"Wolf man," Daemon says as he drinks from a cup, "how do you do?"

Cregan knows he could not care less about how he does but he answered curtly nevertheless, "I am well, your grace."

Daemon downs his drink and then stands. He walks over to the table, out of place where it was, and pours himself another cup, "thirsty?"

"No, thank you."

Daemon empties the ewer in his cup then turns to Cregan, "Alina," he says andwalks off, grabbing his garb that was thrown on the bedside table, "a pretty little distraction, the whore, very good with her mouth," he puts on his top, "though greedy with coin," he slips one sleeve on, "but I doubt you'll have problems with that."

Cregan watches as the king clothes himself. A moment passes.

"I doubt you requested me to come down from the North to discuss your favorite whore, your majesty," the lord says.

The king chuckles, raising a brow, "just a whore," he adjusts his collar, "they're all the same after you've emptied your balls."

Cregan chuckles.

The king walks over to his drink and takes it, "though I will say we are to discuss something of a whore."

Daemon walks past Cregan. The man follows suit.

They walk down the hall silently while the king drinks and ignores everyone that greets him.

They then arrive to a room and Daemon opens the door to it, pulling his cup away, swallowing heavily. He walks in deeper and Cregan follows suit.

He is then certain the room is empty and chucks his cup to the side and screams, "SERVANT!"

Cregan watches the king as he storms to the door, just as a servant girl comes running over. Daemon seethes, "where is the Astapori bitch that I put here?"

"My king- I- I-"

"You mean you lost her?!" he grabs her face, "you let the cunt escape?"

The servant cannot respond.

Daemon shoves her away.

Caraxes screeches out, tongue flicking as he did, and my heart races at the sound. I clutch my chest as the dragon keeper orders him to heel.

The king's mount reluctantly follows, jowls dripping with slobber as he is continued to be inspected and groomed. I think about Kotova everytime I bask in the glory of the Blood Wyrm, suddenly realizing my dragonling was immensely kinder, more patient, and warmer than what I thought she was. Never have I seen such a bratty, dramatic, and spoiled creature such as Caraxes. Not only was he a picky eater, ten times that of Kotova, but he was a whiny thing, and threw tantrums at every moment he got.

There were times when I spectated that I even called out to him myself, unable to contain the command from my lips as he terrorized the keepers.

Of course, Caraxes could not care less about me, but there was a moment, I swear that he did heed to my call.

I clutch the paper in my hand and hurriedly sketch Caraxes' profile as he is lead on by the dragon keeper to one side of the pit.

Say what you will about him though, he, regardless, was a kingly steed. His blood red scales were vibrant and so reflective of the house Targaryen that even if its rider was not the king, you'd think it was. Though I found penchant to be excessive, it echoed the fact that he belonged to Daemon Targaryen.

I rip my paper into my chest and gasp when I hear a voice mutter right into my ear.

"You are overly comfortable with your stay here," the king quips. He then rips out the object in my clutch, making the charred pieces of wood I was using to draw with drop to the floor.

"Your grace, please-"

"I warned you not to leave your room again, did I not?" he says as he eyes me.

Caraxes makes a huffing noises upon recognizing his rider.

Daemon inspects my sketches as I make futile attempts to snatch them back. He chuckles, "very good."

I heave as he turns to me with a grin, then to his dragon, "Caraxes," he calls loudly, "māzigon valītsos!" Come boy!

Caraxes immediately pulls away from the dragon keeper, who nearly shoots off as he could not release his rein on the dragon quick enough, and comes to his master.

I freeze as Caraxes nears, both in great awe and fear of the creature.

"By the gods," a voice calls from behind, making me turn over my shoulder, finding a man with dark hair and wide eyes, stepping back in fear.

Daemon throws the paper off to the side and walks back, haphazardly pushing me along with him as he did so. He blurts, "drakarys,"

I yelp and jolt back, shielding my face with my arms when fire the shoots out of the jaws of the mighty creature.

I peak past the shoulder of the king, thinking Caraxes was overly dramatic for exhaling that much fire for a few measly pages of paper. It goes without saying, there is absolutely no remnants of my sketch at all.

I release a sigh as Caraxes ceases his fire and looks at his master who sings him quick praise.

"Bisa iksis skoros iā real zaldrīzes jurnegon hae," Daemon says as he turns to me with a soft but utterly pleased smile.

I scoff at his words. This is what a real dragon looks like.

"Was the slobber stain on your tunic not enough?" I retort, furrowing my brows, "Kotova is a dragon no less real than Caraxes."

Daemon takes his turn to scoff, but he does not get to retort for Caraxes, seemingly recognizing his name, moves close to us, huffing as he did.

"Keligon," stop, we both command with a hand raise, making Caraxes cease his pursuit and whine as he pulled his head back.

Daemon snaps at me, "I do not take kindly to you commanding my ride."

"I am merely trying to not be devoured by him," I snip back.

"Then maybe you shouldn't keep sneaking out of your room to draw beasts, fox cunt!"

"At least my pastimes are not uncouth like yours, dragon spit."

Daemon laughs, "dragon spit?" He looks at me like he was predator surveying his prey, "that's somehow disappointingly unoriginal of you."

"Your grace," the dark haired man interjects, seemingly disinclined for a brawl to spring up between us.

Daemon grinds his teeth the turns to him, "yes, wolf man," he says, "I've not forgotten you." He then grabs my arm and shoves me toward him, "meet the Astapori bitch-"

I topple over into large man because of the king's excessive use of force.

"-your bride."

The two of us turn to the white haired dimwit as he laughs and claps his hands, "congratulations, Stark."

The man, presumably Stark, helps me to stand upright, though his eyes are locked on his monarch, "your majesty?"

He giggles under his breath, not unlike a child that was found in the middle of a chaotic act meant to amuse him, "I do think it a happy pair, a wolf and a fox."

I brush myself off roughly and Stark stares blankly.

"Actually," Daemon shakes his head, "I could not care less not if you do not marry the wench. You may keep her as a plaything, or a slave," he waves his hands, "just keep her."

"I do not understand, your grace," he speaks, "you've summoned me to tell me-"

"To command you," Daemon raises a finger, "to keep this thing under your paw," he turns to me, "lest she thinks of doing something with her mount."

"Her mount?" he knits his dark brows.

"Yes," Daemon turns to him. He watches the man scrunch his nose in confusion. He makes a face, "oh you slow, slobbering pup. This is the dragon rider from Essos-"

Stark turns to me.

"-the scale soother herself," the king chuckles dryly, turning from me back to him, "why even now you witnessed how she tried to command my own mount, Caraxes, as though she had the blood of a Targaryen."

I glare at him, "what insult to compare your blood and mine."

The king gives one loud, exaggerated laugh, "agreed."

Stark blinks as Daemon slaps his arm and walks off, "I cannot keep her here, as you can tell. She grows more confident around my dragon by the day. Though I do not doubt his loyalty to me, I much more do not trust the mind of a plotting woman."

Caraxes makes a sound as Daemon nears him, "I trust you will invite me to your wedding feast, if you ever find her useful enough to marry," he gives a look to Stark, "and do inform me if she poses to be too difficult."

I look at the dark haired man as he looks at the floor.

In truth, I was shocked by the news as well, but then again, I was rather expecting to be kept in a prison cell for the rest of my days, and so this was a rather mellow note to conclude with. It sure beats being dragon food. I do wonder why he did not think of making me into a snack for his dragon.

I take in the man's pressed lips and large frame. I then wonder if this Stark fellow is much more unsavory than his Targaryen counterpart.

I decide not let myself believe this and to start with no ill feelings, "Lady Milidyni," I curtsy, as I tell him my first name.

He turns to me with knit brows, "you are a lady?"

I am partially confused and offended by his shock but I play it off. "We do have nobility in Essos, sire," I look at him then off to the king that was now cooing to his dragon. I scoff, "though I'm sure your king would make us all out to be barbarians with no wits and no governance."

The man finds himself letting out an unexpected laugh. I turn back to him as he chuckles. I watch as his lips curl upward. He is rather handsome like this.

"Cregan." He nods to me in regard, "Cregan Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"My father is Lord of Woodway. He also the Master of Beasts."

Cregan slowly nods his head at the information.

I chuckle, recognizing his confusion, "he studies animals and catalogues them accordingly. I think he would be something like a maester here."

"Ahhh," he nods more surely, "I see. Is that were you get your love for animals and why you risked your life for a glimpse of this terror?"

I chuckle under my breath, "yes. I do think I get my love for animals from my father, but he says I get my insanity from my mother."

He chuckles again, covering his mouth as he did, "your mother reminds me of my own."

"Is she also dead?"

He lifts his head to me with a surprised look, "... aye."

"Then they indeed they are the same. May the gods rest both their souls."

I turn to Caraxes as Daemon dotes on him. At the very least I can respect they way he treats his magnificent ride, "he is not so much a terror, I think."

"The king?"

I scowl and shake my head, "Caraxes."

He lets out a breath as he surveys the said creature, "I will take your word for it."

I turn back to the man and offer a smile, "I would say it is good to meet you, but it really isn't and I would much have rather not meeting you at all."

Cregan chuckles again, though this time, it is much louder.

I purse my lips and give him a look.

Daemon, who was stroking Caraxes by the cheek turns upon hearing the sound. He makes a face at the sight of laughter across him.

"Are all the ladies in Essos as honest as you, my lady?"

I snort and cross my arms as I turn to him, "no. Only me."

Cregan laughs. I chuckle under my breath, decidedly thinking he was far too easy to amuse.

He catches his breath and he turns to me to offer out his arm. I hesitate momentarily, in disbelief of his actions. I take his arm nonetheless, and he then leads me off.

He speaks my name softly, as if measuring the way it rolled off his tongue.

I says his name in return, though with less care and more inquiry.

"You are a scale soother?"

I roll my eyes, "your king mocks me with the title."

"Ah," Cregan nods, "that does seem to be a rather unbelievable skill to be had outside the royal lineage."

I let out a half-amused sound.

"Is it correct of me to assume that your dragon is being held here in the dragon pit?"

I watch as he raises a brow. I shake my head, "Kotova is not held anywhere. Her company is her own to keep."

He knit his brows, "I do not follow."

"Kotova," I explain, "the dragon I have bonded with, is not a dragon that I keep the way the Targaryens do. I do not ask of her to do anything for me, save, perhaps, to keep me company and to scare off some men, in exchange for venison or rabbit."

He chuckles and shakes his head, "I am in disbelief."

"Fortunately, I do not mind if you cannot believe me."

"No, I believe you," he says, "I merely think it is a tale you would tell a child," looking off as he pushed his chest, "a beautiful maiden, friends with a dragon."

"Asha," I snort, "I see you are no less insolent than your king."

Cregan holds back a laugh, "it will do you well not to speak of the king all together if you do not have anything well to say, vixen."

Well, he's not wrong.

"I wonder, then, why your dragon has not come to you here to save you from your captor?"

I shake my head, "Kotova sometimes leaves for months at a time. She may not have noticed my absence at all. I doubt she would even look for me, in all honesty."

"Well, how long have you been here?"

"A good four days, including this one."

Cregan nods, "then let us not wait for a fifth then and depart for the North after a meal."

I look at him as he turns to me, "I am loathe to stay in such weather for too long."

I raise a brow, "is the north very cold then?"

His eyes glisten, "worry not, I will not allow you to perish in the cold."

I am inclined to believe he means to protect me, that he means not to harm me, and those words of his were proof of it. But I do not allow myself to be deluded by his pretty smile. He is a man, and men rarely know how to do anything but harm.

Still, I smile back at him and nod, "of course, Lord Stark."

"Cregan," he corrects, "I wish you to call my name, as I wish to call yours."

I nod once more, "Cregan."

#daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfic #daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #cregan x reader #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan fanfic #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark fluff #hotd fanfic

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wonbokkies · 1 year

Text

9:14 pm han yujin. ☆ ͏

word count: 0.4k

syn: a typical late night w/ han yujin.

wrote this bc i was feeling delusional and im in love w my (real) bf yujin 😊😊

“you didn’t have to wait for me, you know,” the boy next to you mumbled softly, his slim fingers gripping the strap of his bag while eyeing your figure that was currently leaning against the cold wall. now aware of his presence, you looked up at him, mindlessly shrugging while removing yourself from the hard surface and making your way to stand next to him, the streetlamp immediately illuminating your features. “practice ended much later than i thought.”

“but i wanted to.” you said.

“but it's late.” yujin replied. looking at the imaginary watch on your wrist, you faked a thinking expression before sending him a lopsided smile.

“not that late.” you retorted.

“it's almost 10.”

“and? the ice cream shop closes at 10:30, we have time.” you said, causing the taller boy to look at you skeptically.

“ice cream? this late?” you grinned up at him and nodded beamingly.

“what? don’t wanna get ice cream with me?” his glazed face then broke out into a panicked expression, causing you to stifle a laugh. intertwining your hand with his much larger one, you gently placed them into the right pocket of your puffer jacket, cold fingers still interlocked. the small action ignited an indescribable emotion in the boy, the apples of his cheeks hueing pink and the tips of his ears turning peachy. unconsciously rubbing the top of his hand with your thumb to create warmth, you stared up at the shy 5’9 boy beside you.

his messy, slightly sweaty locks fell around his face, allowing him to look even prettier than usual. he always looked pretty in your eyes.

tightening his grip on the sports bag slung around his shoulders, he inhaled when you slowly removed your intertwined hands from your pocket and placed a light, feathery kiss on it, your strawberry chapstick leaving a very slight print. a shy smile instantly formed in the corner of his heart shaped lips, his pretty bunny teeth peeking out.

“doesn’t matter because you’re coming anyways.” you mumbled and his smile only grew.

yujin deeply appreciated it when you waited for him after his inconsistently late soccer practices. knowing the fact that you were willing to wait alone in the cold weather just for him made a familiar feeling bloom in the pit of his chest. but he wasn’t gonna let you know that. too bad- you already did.

“what flavor are you getting?” you asked.

“strawberry.” he replied.

“again?” he smiled.

“it reminds me of you.”

send an ask if you'd like to be added to our permanent taglist!

perm. tl: @nyangified

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g-xix · 3 months

Text

OKAY, GUYS - I HAVE ANOTHER SDMN-CENTRED FEMINIST RANT.

Okay, so, hopefully you all know TheBurntChip (Josh Larkin), and his lovely jovely gf Sabina:

Beautiful couple, seem happy together, no problems there.

One thing i think im seeing with the YouTubers' Girlfriends (let's call them YTer gf's, abbreviated) is that there's a certain trend in assets for which fans pick and choose to determine whether or not a YT gf is "per standard" and collectively liked.

For example, Faith and Talia have gone through shitloads of hate from fans because they actually speak their mind and are consistent with their own personal ethos within whatever content they produce and share online.

Like the whole Mia-sat-on-Ethan's-lap incident which resulted in Faith making a TikTok and speaking out on social media multiple times to call out the fact that yes - she's unhappy about it - and also the fact that it's a very valid thing to be unhappy over

Aaand this created a lot of backlash and hatred from Sidemen fans, because they don't like hearing anything that's inconsistent with what is a stereotypically immature male opinion, generally consistent with patriarchal societal roles... And this is shown through a lot of Talia and Faith's comment sections by the adolescent male SDMN fans

Hence the assumption can be made that Sidemen fans dislike YTer gf's that are too vocal about problems they've faced which aren't relevant to male audiences.

Thing is, there's obviously some YTer gf's that these fans really like, but...

Why do they like them so much???

Well, I think that both Sabina and Tennessee are two YTer gf's that can be used as examples of wamen that are completely adored by these adolescent male SDMN fans.

But their reasons for being so liked to much are so very contrasting.

Tennesse is loved because she's beautiful. We've been through this quite a bit when i went through the whole "I can't believe Danny would put his ex through that" pipeline following Locked In... But it's worth pointing out that (as far as I know), the toxic Fifa fanboys seem to love her because she's a clearly good looking woman who's undeniably got personality too (watched the saving grade pod w her on it last night) and i don't think she's said anything too inconsistent with male opinions yet, sooo... Makes sense why she's liked; imo she plays into the ideal woman from a man's perspective very well

Alternately, Sabina seems pretty reserved on social medias - not really speaking that much as a social media personality, rather just sharing her life on insta n tiktok, whatever - nothing wrong with that.

I think that the fanboys like Sabina quite a bit though, as she posts cooking content on TikTok, and idk why but there's an agenda on social medias atm, that a woman who can cook is wifey material... This woman-must-be-good-at-cooking culture ofc stems from historical patriarchal roles for women to fulfil the duty of housewives, thus being able to cook n clean - but i really have no idea why this still exists in a modern day society considering there's been so many changes within the world which now enables women to work equal jobs as men

I don't know whether this belief of cooking-women being a blessing is a toxic sorta concept though, because there's a certain tenderness and nicety to having someone cook you a meal - regardless of whether it is a male or female tbh

Either ways, Sabina does make meals and does her cooking thing on TikTok really well - like - honestly? Some days I'm jealous that I'm not the one able to eat some of the stuff she can bake n make... Back on track - yes - Sabina bakes/cooks her things n films Chippo's reaction to trying them out

Male audience love this ofc, bc it fulfils the whole woman-cooking-for-partner thing which is favoured amongst males

What's this big whole rant about though?

Well, the male fans hate Faith. Love Sabina.

Okay, cool.

These two facts weren't directly correlated until Sabina's recent post though...

Sabina chefs up some tacos for Chip, and whilst some of the comments are normal cooking TikTok comments, a lot are a bit more... targetted towards Faith:

First time Faith's ever been slewed in Sabina's comment section n the point that i made this whole rant for is that:

BIG UP FUCKING SABINA FOR ACTUALLY REPLYING STRAIGHT WITH THEM

Perfect response imo, not just disagreeing and leaving it open ended, but also pulling Faith up when Faith's been demeaned by these weirdos online

I'm a big supporter of the "you can big someone up without pulling someone else down" notion, and big up Sabina for pulling Faith the fuck up when someone's tried to reduce Faith to praise Sabina

So much respect for Sabina for this one negl - didn't really have any idea about what she was like as a girlie - but this reply's firmly sold me into believing that Sabina is one for the girlies 🙏

(post-writing, blooody hell i realise there's a lot of unecessary waffle here... apologies everyone)

#WAFFLE!!#sabina #chip #chippo crimes #theburntchip #faith kelly #behzinga #ethan payne #tennessee thresh #tennessee thresher #talia mar #danny aarons #sidemen #feminism #youtube #youtuber #girls supporting girls

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v-arbellanaris · 1 year

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PLEASE share about the Cullen Cult Arc

sighs. this is my second time writing this post ;~; literally why does the autosave option exist if tumblr doesnt actually bother to autosave anything, i dont fucking get it.

this is going to be much briefer than the original post i wrote because im still REELING over how tumblr just ate the entire fucking post. its fucking gone. and idk if i have the energy or mental capacity rn to rewrite the whole thing. basically, this arc - which is the arc i developed for him in vee verse - is the arc i think cullen should've had in dai.

firstly, i'm not retconning anything he said or did in dao or da2. this is because those things serve a narrative purpose. cullen is a good templar - that's the entire crux of the problem. he exists in these two games as a narrative tool; he represents the views of the chantry. as such, anything you do with his character arc cannot be divorced from the reality of the mage/templar conflicts, and the glaring issues of the chantry and must, actually, address and involve those things, because cullen is a product of his surroundings. i'm not saying this to minimise or give him excuses for anything he's said or done, but that is made true for him by his very positioning in the narrative as being the chantry's voice. for most of my playthroughs, which lean pro-mage, cullen is an antagonistic force - he has to say and do horrific things, and it would be stupid for me to retcon the horrible things he did.

secondly, my main issue comes from his writing in dai - probably to no one's surprise. i am not unopposed to having a redemption arc for him in dai - this is villain-fucking the blog, sorry not sorry - but the problem is that he does not have one. to have a redemption arc, the following two things needs to happen:

the realisation/acknowledgement/knowledge/whatever that he caused harm to people with his actions/inactions

addressing the False Belief that he has embraced that has previously justified his harmful actions/inactions in order to accept the Truth (this is just basic character narrative construction).

and dai fails to do both of these because the writing team in inquisition is physically incapable of admitting the chantry is wrong and has done wrong and will continue to do wrong. they are physically incapable of looking at fucked up power dynamics and clear cases of oppression and not going "but what if the oppressed people. wanted to be oppressed. NEEDED to be oppressed, even."

which leaves his character arc - whether you want to consider it redemptive or not - confusing. he's trying to shake a lyrium addiction? sure, okay. but why is he addicted to lyrium? why is being addicted to regular ol' lyrium bad? it's not blue lyrium that killed meredith, it's not blue lyrium that corypheus and samson are using.

you get confusing things like cullen's entire character arc being centered around lyrium addiction... but no one seems to give a shit if the inquisitor takes lyrium and becomes a templar, except cullen. you get confusing things like cullen's entire character arc being centered around recovering from lyrium addiction and the templar route in dai and you get to the scene where all the templars get their lyrium draughts. the ceremony and chanting and celebration around getting the lyrium, when barris takes his draught, which is frankly revolting. but it highlights the inconsistency - lyrium, this scene tells us, is good. because the templars are good, and they use it for good. yet cullen's entire arc is about overcoming his lyrium addiction, but don't worry!!!! templars are still good and lyrium is still good. its fucking INCOHERENT!!!!!!

he is addicted to lyrium because that is how the chantry maintains absolute control over its templars. it is a mind-altering substance that causes paranoia, which the chantry specifically takes advantage of and feeds with their all mages are inherently dangerous rhetoric, which is a false rhetoric, as i've pointed out before. but instead of acknowledging any of that, dai's writing goes "lyrium is Bad because [mumble mumble] and its So Important that he doesn't take it so that [mumble mumble]".

because the story is physically incapable of uttering anything even vaguely critical of the chantry.

so, this covers my main issue with his writing in dai. i would ideally try to fix it - without retconning anything he did in dao or in da2. this is what the cullen cult recovery arc is referring to.

i'm not going to go into it in too much detail but the templar order - inclusive of the seekers - fits a lot of the parameters of a cult. specifically, the BITE model, but also this checklist, and a whole bunch of other parameters i found when researching into cults for this specific reason. (which. makes sense. seeing how the orlesian chantry is was also technically a religious cult that becomes the main religion of the lands by actively slaughtering all the other sects)

but what's particularly interesting about it specifically is that, in-world, no one else seems to think it's a cult. for all of cullen's views, he is not the extreme end in da2 - alrik is. meredith is. what's particularly disturbing to me about cullen's point of view is that because he's a product of his environment, because he's a narrative tool representing the chantry's views, cullen's opinions and actions are actually a normality test. people in thedas don't find cullen's views repulsive because most average joes in thedas agree with him. i think it's easy to forget cullen isn't the outlier in-universe - we are.

but, canonically speaking, this is what happens: cullen, like most good antagonists getting a redemption set up, misses his chance to Embrace Change at the end of da2. he sides with meredith too late for it to matter or make a difference - mages (who you learn on the templar route, he's not exactly eager to kill) who he's supposed to protect are already dead. but what happens in kirkwall shakes him to his core and he looks to leave the order entirely - a good step.

the problem is that he leaves the order to join the inquisition. the inquisition, which is headed by the left and right hands of the divine. the right hand of the divine is a seeker herself. the inquisition is spearheaded and justified by the divine, who he has been trained for most his adult life to be subservient to. the divine who formed the inquisition to replace the templar order and hired him to essentially train and recreate the order.

worse, still. no one thinks he did anything wrong. kinloch was not his fault, it was the fault of greagoir and the older templars who were simply not vigilant enough, meredith told him. how he acted to keep order in the circle and the city after the viscount was executed is admirable, cassandra tells him. he was only following orders, leliana admits grudgingly, he stood up for what was right when meredith went too far. no one thinks he did anything wrong, because he is a good templar. because all the atrocities he committed were not committed against people - they were committed against mages, who are not people, not like you and me.

cullen hops from one cult to the next. the inquisition is the exact same thing he's always done and known, just repackaged - quite literally, considering the inquisition's symbol. but canonically, he thinks it's something different. he wants it to be different.

it's not, though.

so, the thought process behind my thoughts for him boils down to this: how does he get the language to describe exactly why this is wrong? how does he get the language to describe why it matters, why it's important, that he hurt real people? how does he get past the Lie that he believes - that he has to be a good templar, to stop anything like kinloch from happening again, since kinloch happened because they weren't vigilant enough, because they were too sympathetic to mages?

his arc shouldn't have just been about overcoming lyrium addiction. his arc should have been a story about recovering from being part of a hate group, a story about recovering from part of a cult.

there's several ways to go about it, i think. and if you want to specifically know how i'm going to do it, you guys should encourage me to write vee verse 😌

#asks #vee rewrites da #admittedly i cheated a bit but i gotta leave SOMETHING for the fic!!!!#cullen critical #just in case #bioware critical #dai critical

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sraksha · 11 months

Text

I've said this before, but i struggle with inconsistency, and it was only last year when i started to figure out how to draw humans. So i thought it'd be fun to compile my fave drawings of the LU boys faces, as i feel that is the biggest thing i struggle with.

Let's begin!

THIS-

THIS IS PERFECTION. It's from an angst piece, but this is the best man face i have ever drawn. I have mainly drawn girls, and like, boys are easy enough to draw, but i struggle so bad with more masculine men. But this, to me, is just so so good. Honestly i really like how i drew Time in this one. With the shading and highlights he just looks so good.

This is from the same angst piece and i really like this one. Twi is one of the oldest Links, but in my eyes he still has a bit of a boyish look to him. There were other drawings that looked similar enough, and that im happy with, but this one still speaks to me the most.

ANOTHER NEAR PERFECT ONE.

Whenever i draw Wars, this is the one i pull up as reference, and i say to myself "This is what you're aiming for. Please, for the love of god, try to do this again." Idk, i just REALLY like this one. And he is very pretty, even with his hair a bit messed up.

Ah, Wild from the Links in dresses series. Overall, probably one of my fave drawings lol. In this one his chin is smaller than i usually try to draw it, but come one, he is gorgeous. And he knows it.

To my shock, i haven't drawn Sky that many times to have a lot of variety. He is mostly calm and/or happy in my drawings. But i like this one. Plus he is talking about Sun!

Hyrule is another one i don't have too many drawings of, but this is just so cute. Little fae on a mischievous mood. I just like it so much. With Hyrule, his hair is what i struggle with the most. It's pretty easy to sketch, but i ALWAYS have problems lining it?? I don't get it. But in this one it turned out good.

This is a one-off that i've never been able to draw again. He somehow looks more mature in this?? Idk i just really REALLY like this one. My precious wet rag covered in glitter is processing so hard.

This is in my more relaxed, not-so-fleshed-out style. It's just really cute. The shock! The disbelief! Adorable!

WIMDY. This just feels pretty on brand for him, being a toon Link and all. This is actually the first time i drew Wind! He's adorable and i love it.

Bonus!

This is from my learing curve, and first time drawing Ravio. Im not too happy with the hair, but i really like how his face turner out. He just looks so soft and happy.

Shadow just has cat vibes imo. Line art and eyeliner on point. I just vibe with this whole drawing. Gosh i need to draw Shadow more often.

#linked universe #lu chain #lu ravio #lu shadow #sraksha's art #sraksha rambles

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gottagetback2u · 10 months

Text

✰ ateez doing ur makeup!

warnings: boyfriend ateez makes me very lonely. lighthearted joking! cursing, emojis used. established relationships! don’t expect too much from these boys lol. inconsistent use of correct spelling.

gotta match it up with the skz one 😋

-✰ seonghwa

im gonna guess that this man has memorized his own routine that the makeup department does for him, so doing ur makeup is no problem. he is honestly so good. u sometimes ask him to do ur base when ur tired bc he’s just that good. will take his sweet time with u, his boba eyes just holding so much attention to ur face 🥹

-✰ hongjoong

SURPRISE SURPRISE. this man is not tHAT good, i will say, but it’s the effort that he puts in that takes him up a notch. will definitely want to do something edgy, like black smudged eyeshadow all around ur lids, harsh contour and a lip color that stands out. nothing is perfect, but he’s so passionate about it! (if u ask nicely, he will try is best to do something more “soft”)

-✰ yuhno

menace. more than u think. it will start out with soft stares and compliments to ur complexion, until he gets to the “hard parts”. eye makeup is not his thing. will put a bright blue all over ur lids messily, stating that he just wants u to “try something different”. will be laughing the whole time too 😐

-✰ yeosang

another member that i think is surprisingly good! the application might not be the best (will put foundation on a brush before he puts it on ur skin 🥲), but he will blend it all the way out! even if it does look cakey at the end, he’s like “ur skin never looks like this, what did i do wrong :/“

-✰ san

tell him what to do, and he will try his best! it may seem unlikely, but he is really good at following directions 😭 especially if u show him an example first! wants to do his best for u, so will constantly ask u over and over “is this ok? it looks bad doesn’t it 😕” reassure him pls!

-✰ mingi

a mess. he’s more nervous about messing up than anything,, he just wants to do a good job for u :( if u ask him, he will INSIST that it has to start out with just concealer and powder, until he works his way up to a full face. u guys have a schedule once a week that he practices on u :’) quality time 😫😫

-✰ wooyoung

so sassy with it. doesn’t even want ur help, just brags about how he has seen it all before and knows what to do. next thing u know, powder contour is going on before foundation and he’s constantly putting more concealer over everything to “fix it”

-✰ jongho

doesn’t even want to do it. “who said this is a thing ur bf has to do 🤨” but, when u beg him for a bit, he lets up, agreeing to doing anything other than foundation. he has confidence in ur eye makeup, and if he messes up, just covers it with ur “sparkly eye stuff”. honestly turns out wearable and kinda cute! don’t ask again tho, he will say no

masterlist!

taglist: @strawberrimarchi

#sapphire’s log~#🤍#ateez #ateez seonghwa #hongjoong #ateez yunho #yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #wooyoung #jongho #atz imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez fluff #atz drabbles #ateez headcanons #ateez imagines

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