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Chapter Text

☆♡ Rhaenyra ♡☆

He was trying to be subtle.

He was failing to be subtle.

The jingle of the bell over the door broadcasted his arrival, as did the bitterly cold breeze that followed him into the cozy shop. It was unavoidable in November and because it was November she was bundled up to the point where she scarcely noticed the temperature shift.

Still, she shivered a bit—not from the wind, but from the intensity of his stare, because no winter coat could keep her from noticing that.

She tapped her foot, willing the barista to finish making her drink so she could leave.

She liked this place because it was family-run with an authentic sort of rustic charm. The staff was friendly and everything about it felt more inviting, especially compared to the identical Starbucks you could find on every corner.

She avoided the big chains like the plague. She didn't like spaces or people who had been streamlined into something dull meant to appeal to the largest part of the population possible.

She had been the byproduct of that once, and she didn't like being reminded of that. 

The downside was that without corporate quotas hanging over their heads, the people here had little motivation to be fast. 

When the mystery man stepped up to the counter to order, he was in her line of sight for the first time and suddenly she was the one staring. He was tall, dressed sharply in a collared shirt, slacks, and wingtip loafers polished in a way that made her confident he had a cobbler on speed dial. 

It was typical high-end business attire, but instead of pairing it with a predictable and boring overcoat, he had on an aviator jacket—that was different. 

And then he turned and caught her staring—fuck. 

She should look away.

She didn’t look away, though, because he was hot. Like maybe he got that Brioni jacket when he was modeling for them sort of hot. 

It was still rude of him to stare at her but it was less bothersome now that she knew he looked like this. 

Fuck. He was walking towards her.

Ugh. She should have known he would—that was men for you, a single look in their direction was seen as an invitation that you were down to fuck. Which she kind of was—it had been a while—but she probably wasn’t going to fuck him.

(Key word there being probably.)

Annoyingly, given that he was rude, he was even hotter up close. A bit older than she had first thought—definitely in his forties, when she usually stuck to guys in their thirties, but maybe it was time to branch out? He didn’t look old-old , just like…legitimately old enough to be her father, which made her daddy issues sing in a way they never had when she was with her last boyfriend.

(She had seen Criston’s ID. He was thirty-three. But she swore he was blessed with eternal youth, he still got carded when he tried to buy beer.)

What came next was funny, since it validated the assumption she had made based on age alone. 

♡

“I’m sorry for staring, I was trying to decide if it was more polite to ignore you or to say hi while admitting I don’t remember your name,” he said with a bashful grin.

It was distracting. So much so that she blinked a few times as she tried to comprehend his words. Before she had even managed that, he was talking again. 

“I swear I listen to my daughter! She just has a lot of friends,” he said, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of anyone thinking he was a neglectful parent, not even for a single second. 

His tone was light though, ending with a soft laugh, “I just can’t keep up—she is too lovable and I’m too forgetful—can I blame that on my age?” 

Oh. 

He had mistaken her as one of his daughter’s friends which meant;

1. He was an actual daddy. 
2. Presumably, she was close enough to his daughter’s age for her to plausibly be friends with her.
   
   

A normal response would probably be: gross.

Her response was more like: hngh.

Could she blame that on her fucked up childhood?

♡

“I think you might have another decade or two left to wait before you can use that excuse—" She said, because really, he wasn’t that old, “But if it’s any consolation, we haven’t met before and I don’t know who your daughter is, so it would be a bit strange if you did remember my name.” 

Though it would hardly be the first time.

She had dealt with her fair share of creepy dads who dragged their kids along to meet-and-greets just so they’d have an opportunity to try and grab her ass during the photo op. The fact this guy couldn’t even remember her name was a green flag if she’d ever seen one. 

And, she was pretty sure he wasn’t just playing coy—because he looked really embarrassed, though he recovered pretty quickly, shrugging it off and offering an apology, “I—well, fuck. I’m sorry. You looked so familiar I just assumed…” 

The woman behind the counter interrupted him—a fact he looked grateful for, right until she started speaking, “You aren’t bothering her, are you?” The older woman asked, “I won’t have you chasing away good girls from my business—and where are your girls? I practically raised them and now you let them forget me!” 

The man no longer looked so grateful. 

“I’m not chasing anyone, I’m having a conversation—and you didn’t raise them, you babysat them twice. It’s been two months, not two decades, Alarra—they remember you just fine.” He said, exasperated. 

The woman—Alarra?— huffed, setting down the drink and pushing it towards Rhaenyra, “A double tartufo affogato for you, you—"  she pointed at the man next to her, “Will have to wait twice as long, punishment for talking back. I raised you better than that.” 

He sighed when she turned away, “She didn’t raise me, either, for the record.” 

Rhaenyra’s lip twitched, yeah, she could believe that, but the fact he sounded fond even when dispelling exaggerations made him all the more attractive. She reached for her drink but made no move to leave, instead asking, “How old is your daughter?”

He smiled—lighting up at the mention of her, fuck, she wanted someone to smile like that when they thought about her.

“My oldest is seventeen, Baela, my youngest, Rhaena, is thirteen.” 

Ah, well, that explained it. 

She cleared her throat, “Well—I still don’t know who your daughter is, but she probably knows me. I was kind of a big deal a decade ago on Disney Channel—so you might recognize me from that.” 

Ugh. This was awkward. She wasn’t sure she had ever had to explain the reason for her fame, and she hoped she never had to again.

He took it in stride, though, looking confused for a single second before recognition flooded his face—and then he was laughing, “Fuck—I can’t believe it—of course you look familiar, Baela begged me for a backpack with your face on it for her seventh birthday. Wow.” 

He looked amused by the situation but otherwise indifferent which was a welcome change from the usual response she got when recognized. 

“Do you want me to sign something for her?” She offered, because, all things considered, he had been pretty respectful and she liked to reward that unfortunately rare behavior. 

“No—no, I didn’t come over here for that, I’m sorry to have bothered you—can I make up for it? Cover your coffee?” He asked, “Or something sweet? You look sweet.” 

She wasn’t sure if he was trying to flirt or just that smooth, “You can’t buy off embarrassment,” she teased, “And I can afford my own pastries.” 

He frowned, “Well, I can try.” 

“You’ll have to try harder, Mr…?” 

His lip twitched, “Targaryen. Daemon Targaryen,” he extended his hand to her and she clasped it offering her own name, since he had already admitted he didn't know it, “Rhaenyra Arryn."

She may have been looking a little too hard at his hand. At first, she was looking for a ring, though she was pretty sure Alarra would have dropped the nugget of him being married. Since she hadn’t, Rhaenyra soon found herself admiring his fingers rather than searching for anything. 

And damn it, she mourned the loss of his fingers on her skin when the handshake came to an end. 

“Will you give me a chance to try harder?” He asked, “Over, say, dinner?”

She should say no. 

Instead, she said, “It will have to be a very expensive dinner.” 

She didn’t get out of bed for less than five figures—the price to get her into someone else’s bed was even higher.

He grinned, “Of course. Anyone who agrees to go out with me has exquisite taste, and I don’t make a habit of disappointing them.”

It was a cocky statement—but she thought it might be true, too. 

☆

It turned out all it took to get her into his bed was a very fancy and very private dinner. It must have cost a small fortune.

He just grinned, “A small price to pay for your happiness.” 

Really, how could she not fall in love with him? She was only human.

☆ Baela ☆

At this point, Baela was pretty sure most of the population in english-speaking countries would recognize the face of child star turned pop star, Rhaenyra Arryn.

Baela wouldn’t really call herself a fan—not anymore, at least, but when she was younger, she had definitely been a Disney Channel fan. 

And, for a time, the Disney Channel was basically the Rhaenyra Channel.

The girl was everywhere and in everything, as, in typical Disney fashion, she went from guest spots on a slew of shows to being the star of her own—with a few original movies in between to test the waters before fully turning her budding career into a blooming one. 

She was highlighted and promoted heavily for several years— years that happened to coincide with Baela’s interest in the network 

Baela liked to think she was a bright child, but the marketing strategies set up by the juggernaut that was Disney were smarter than any individual, especially individuals who were under the age of twelve. She had fallen right into their trap of thinking their stars were just like her, and fully convinced that if she actually met Rhaenyra Arryn, they would be best friends.

At the time, when asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, she had happily informed the teacher she was going to have her own Disney show, because if Rhaenyra Arryn who was raised by a single mother in a tiny mountain town in the middle of bumfuck nowhere could make it, then surely Baela could too. 

That never happened, obviously. She grew up—and Rhaenyra did, too. Right before her eyes, even. The girl who was four years her senior was just a couple of years shy of being a beautiful woman by the time Baela quit watching—choosing to enjoy her awkward pre-teen-to-teen transitional era with far more mature pieces of media and literature. 

Twilight. It was Twilight. 

But that was ages ago. Baela’s career aspirations had well and truly changed, and Rhaenyra’s had, too.

By then Baela wasn’t a fan—but she also wasn’t not a fan, she just didn’t care that much. But you didn’t need to care to know what Rhaenyra Arryn was up to, because anyone who used the internet knew the gist of how her life was going, you simply couldn’t escape it.

Because Rhaenyra Arryn was an anomaly.

Everyone before her—and pretty much every one after her—had spent their years post-escaping the Disney machine doing one of two things:

1. Rebranding and marketing themselves like crazy with hopes their adoring fans would still like them now that they were grown up. Desperately trying to balance their PG reputation and appease parents by not being too grown up or too sexy while also trying to appeal to people their own age.
   
   
2. Rehab.

Rhaenyra had done neither. She had just…disappeared—well, kind of.

☆

☆

Rhaenyra Arryn bought a huge house and spent nearly two years posting occasional updates to her Instagram. Not the sort you’d expect, either—she wasn’t on red carpets, sets, or glitzy nightclubs. 

She posted fucking paint swatches, bragged about her garden, and complained about her neighbor’s goats eating all the wild berries before she could pick them.

It was bizarre in its normalcy and her refusal to speak to the press made fans go crazy with speculation because she hadn’t announced retirement, but she didn’t hint at a comeback, either. 

She never did. 

When she had an announcement to make, it came in the form of her first album—one that was composed of twenty songs and released on her corresponding birthday.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: I’m thrilled to sit down with you today and excited to get some answers to the questions you’ve probably heard nonstop since you traded the limelight for growing lime trees. 

I: For starters, can you tell us what motivated you to step away? 

R: I’ve been working since I was four years old…I didn’t have a childhood, I didn’t have control over my life at all and there is no changing that. But when I turned eighteen, I could control it and I wanted a fucking break, there wasn’t much more to it than that. 

I: Understandable. Then I suppose the next question is, what motivated you to come back?

R: I’ve always been a performer, even before I had an audience. When I learned something new, I wanted to tell people about it or show them. I thrived off the validation that came from people paying attention to what I was doing. I don’t think any length of time can change that—two years certainly didn’t. 

So, I suppose the motivation was the fact I made something I am proud of, and I wanted to show it off. 

I: The ‘something’ you’re proud of is your new album, yes?

R: Yes! It was a huge labor of love.

I: You can hear that in each song, it is really phenomenal—but you’ve always been best known for your acting. What inspired you to go in this direction? 

R: It wasn’t intentional. My first therapist—who I saw for like a month after my mother died, told me to start writing whenever I felt something. If I was angry, happy, sad, whatever, I should put it on paper…so I did, and I never stopped.

It’s easy to feel like a robot when you’re acting so much and so young and it was comforting to look back at a diary and realize I was my own person with my own thoughts and feelings. 

So I have this documentation of the last decade of my life and it differs so drastically from what people have seen from me, and who they think I am, and that is…frustrating. I suppose in some ways that protected me from the negativity since it wasn’t really directed at me, because they didn’t know me. But the flipside was feeling like people’s support was undeserved because they didn’t know who they were supporting.

I knew if I ever returned, I’d want to show people who I am—I’m allowed to do that now. But I wanted to be really confident in who I was before I let people see it, and the past years have been devoted to figuring that out. 

I confronted a lot of my past along the way, and I wanted to share it in some way, the way I remember it. But I’m twenty years old I’m not going to write a fucking memoir and I don’t want my life to be a lifetime movie.

Music…it was a good compromise. A way to market the emotions I felt when exploited at such a young age, but this time it’s on my own terms, in my own voice, and the sales are going into my own bank account. There is no other form of media that would give me that, it had to be music. 

I: If it was just a compromise, does that mean you will be returning to other types of media in the future? Film? Television?

R: Maybe…probably. I really loved it, you know? At least at first. My mom never wanted me to be an actor but I loved performing, I wanted to be on stage and to be seen and she indulged that. It was my choice. But it isn’t a choice I—or any kid—should be allowed to make, I don’t think. 

I: What makes you say that? 

R: Parents are supposed to protect you when you are too young to know better. It’s why I couldn’t have chocolate for breakfast. But forgoing my childhood was allowed, even if it was far more detrimental because it paid $20k a week. That is a hard thing to say no to. 

By the end of it, I didn’t love acting at all. I didn’t have a choice. I hated that. I don’t think I ever hated acting, but it is hard to separate those two things right now.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Since then, she had been everywhere. Maybe not physically, but in terms of the internet, she had an inescapable presence. Offering both an intimate look into her home life while making the occasional public appearances that proved she was alive but little else. 

She had released some more music. A movie too, Baela was pretty sure—there were pictures of her on the red carpet with some hunk, but Baela had never gotten around to watching it. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: It seems like a crazy question to ask now but did you ever worry about returning to the industry? Irrelevancy seems to be the enemy of many child stars, even ones who never step out of the spotlight.

R: No—relevance and happiness have very little connection in my mind. I want people to like what I put out, obviously, I’m human and maybe a bit of an attention whore. But if people don’t like it, or no one watches it, or if I cease to matter in the eyes of the public then so be it. I'll still matter in my private life, and that is what...well, that is what really matters, I think.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela had a good childhood. 

There were some cliches—an adulterous rich dad, divorced parents, a shitty high school boyfriend when she was a freshman, and an even shittier girlfriend when she was a junior. But she had come out alright. Her senior year was going well—no, her entire life was going well, she had even gotten into her first choice of university.

Her parents were good parents, too.

It turned out the whole adulterous dad thing was actually more of a, ‘we’ve been officially separated for years but didn’t want to tell you thing,’ The split was amicable enough that her six-year-old self didn’t even notice anything had changed, it took her until she was eleven and someone in her class showed her the photos for her to ask questions. 

Her family wasn’t famous, but both her parents came from old money and her dad had expanded the fortune even further with his investments. They were the gutsy and high-profile sort or investments that caught the attention of even wealthier people that he now called friends. They were rich enough to be interesting for that reason alone, but not interesting enough to like… follow. 

She had never had to worry about cameras, but they had caught her dad doing some things—or rather, some people—that she really didn’t like to think about.

But technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, her mother had made that very clear by affectionately saying, “He is guilty of being an asshole, not an adulterer,” and that was that.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Who is here with you tonight? 

R: Oh—this is my boyfriend, Harwin Strong. A man is my favorite accessory, you know, especially this one.

I: That is so sweet, how long have you been together?

R: A year, I think? Or thereabouts. 

I: How did you meet?

R: He was my bodyguard, actually, though he is pretty enough for big pictures, I know. It sucked to lose him in the capacity of guardian but it was worth it to gain him as a partner.

I: That is very sweet indeed—though I think we’re all a bit surprised! No Hollywood stud? Shipping magnates? Quarterbacks?

R: Oh, god no. I’d never date someone famous. Dealing with my own celebrity is bad enough, I don’t need another one. 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Her mom and dad were still weirdly good friends. Her mom had kept the house in the suburbs, while her dad kept the apartment in the city. They shared, and vacationed together, at both the cabin in Aspen for two weeks every winter and the estate in the Hamptons for at least a month in the summer. 

It was all weirdly civilized. Like, they got along way better than most of her friend’s parents—even the ones who were still married. 

When the divorce was announced she had received nothing but looks of pity for weeks, like the fact her parents were getting one meant she should expect lawyers, court dates, fighting, and even throwing things, to be the norm in her household until it was over.

But that never happened. 

Her dad never even fully moved out. 

He loved her mother—he loved her, and he loved her sister. He wanted to be close to them, he just didn’t want to be married to her mom anymore. It made perfect sense to her, but her friends couldn’t even comprehend that level of maturity and respect. 

It was kind of sad. 

But even Baela could admit it was a little weird when her mom brought her boyfriend with them to the beach house and her dad just…didn’t care. 

She had been fourteen then, old enough to understand when he shrugged and said, “I do care, I care about her a great deal, you know? I care about her happiness and I couldn’t give her that. But if he can…so long as he is good to you girls, and good in bed then I’m happy for her, not jealous.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Gross.” 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: For a while, you were considered a role model—do you worry about alienating the audience who appreciated those elements of your public persona?

R: Nope. I spent eighteen years trying to appease the public—I was contractually obligated to. I’m done with that. 

Maybe I’ll lose all my fans because they are so upset to learn that I’m not the innocent virgin they thought I was and wanted me to always be. But that is OK. I’d rather be hated for who I am than loved for someone I’m not.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Her dad’s ‘birds and the bees’ talk had gone a bit differently than her mother’s. Where Laena had been thorough and emphasized educating her about her anatomy Daemon had told her, “I don’t care if you have sex, so long as it’s safe sex and good sex.”

At that point, she hadn’t had any sex and his candid approval did not make her any more excited to change that fact. But she would much rather have supportive parents than ones who called her a slut for ‘looking at a boy with lust in her eyes’—seriously, some parents are crazy.  

She knew hypocrisy was plentiful among her friend’s parents, so it wasn’t like this had to sway her parent’s view of her—but it would be really hypocritical if her parents fussed over her fooling around because her dad was like…the definition of a manslut. 

Like, you could google that word and his picture would probably come up as the definition. And there were a lot of pictures to choose from.

She had never met any of the many many women that he had been photographed with in her lifetime—save for her mother, of course. 

Briefly, she had wondered if he was embarrassed of her—but he had been quick to squash that concern, “Fuck, I’m embarrassed of them, Baela, not you—never you. It’s nothing serious, it’s just sex. None of them mean enough to me to introduce to my girls who mean everything .” 

That was nice, but she really wished her dad would get a hobby other than fucking blondes every other weekday. She had even suggested golf once, or tennis, and he had shrugged, “Women are more fun—and hey, it’s sort of like a sport, balls are involved.” 

Gross. Gross. Gross.

Still, she loved her dad a lot. He might be a bit too open at times, but I made her feel like she could be open with him, too. She was never embarrassed or afraid to go to him, and she treasured that fact. 

Most girls didn’t have that. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Some people say your music is an ‘ode to your daddy issues’  do you think that is accurate? 

R: No—not at all, it’s impossible. How can I possibly have daddy issues when I don’t even know who my father is?

I: You do tend to date older men, don’t you?

I do. But I don’t see how that is relevant. A daddy kink and daddy issues aren’t synonymous—though I will neither confirm nor deny having either.

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

Baela had, at a young age, been forced to come to terms with the fact people found her dad attractive. 

The rude awakening had come during her eighth birthday and very first sleepover. The gaggle of girls had giggled their way through dinner, sneaking looks at her dad which turned into proclamations when they returned to the privacy of her bedroom. 

The boldest of the group proudly said she was going to marry him someday—as if he wasn’t already married to her mom, and, you know, almost three decades older than her. 

Obviously, Amabel didn’t marry her father—and she didn’t get an invitation to Baela’s ninth birthday, either. 

But she couldn’t cut off all of her friends for crushing on her father—if she did, she wouldn’t have any left. So instead, she had been forced to hear them swoon over him throughout the entirety of her pre-teen years. 

When her actual teen years came, they got worse, now she not only heard them gush about him, she had to see their sad attempts to catch his eye during pool parties and throughout summer vacation. 

Thankfully her dad wasn’t a creep, he was just a slut, and he was both unfazed and uninterested in their childish attempts to flirt. Never sparing more than a quick smile towards them and taking zero interest in them outside of the fact of the friendship she shared with them.

She never really considered who he might be interested in or if there was any pattern there, she was just grateful for the fact he wasn’t interested in teenagers. 

But apparently, her friends had thought about this, and on one summer day Barba loudly blamed her dad’s disinterest on the fact she wasn’t “his type.” 

Baela assumed by that she meant her age, since “his type” was older than fourteen.

Barba had scoffed, “Well, that can change. But I’ll never have tits like that or hair that light,” she said with a frown, “Haven’t you noticed? He is never photographed with anyone brunette.” 

She hadn’t noticed—she didn’t pay that much attention. But once it was pointed out…well, it became pretty obvious that he had preferences. 

Gross.

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: Your first time taking on a big acting role in almost four years and one that is quite the departure from your previous work—what drew you to ‘Stormland’ ? 

R: Everything. Stormland is the sort of film I never could have done before, and the sort of script I’d never read before. It’s the type of movie that would have been vetoed before I even heard about it. 

It got me excited. It felt fresh given what I've done in the past. And the more of it I read, the more I realized it was fresh for the genre, too, and really good in its own right and not just because it was ‘different.’ I thought I could bring something fitting to the role, and I’m glad they agreed.

I: Were there any parts that made you uncomfortable? It is a very unnerving film at times. Very adult.

R: It does have more mature elements, but I felt very safe and respected on set. And yes, it is ‘very adult’ but I’m very much an adult, so…

 

I: “More mature elements,” is minimizing it a bit, don’t you think? 

R: Ah—okay, maybe it is a bit more than just mature. There are exorcisms and orgasms and a lot of nudity. 

 

I: And you’re at the center of it all—the heroine and the villain. Was it hard to be bad? To shed the ‘good girl’ image when acting?

R: No…it’s easier, much easier. 

That bubblegum pink ‘never been kissed’ vibe is so disingenuous to who I was—and to who I am. It was very shallow, too, because they [Disney Channel ] don’t write complicated or obviously flawed characters—they write these unattainably perfect role models that lack any substance beyond that. 

 I was surprised at how much easier it was to slip into a character with such obvious faults. How much easier it is to portray a layered character like that than the surface-level smiling made to appeal to kids. 

 

I: Do you think this will shock people?

R: Absolutely. My tits are fantastic to the point of being shocking, so—sit down when you watch it. 

 

╚═══════☆♡☆═══════╝

She was in NYC for a film shoot, apparently, and had been spotted at a few nightclubs with friends, freshly twenty-one and having fun showing that fact off in public. But she wasn’t a sloppy drunk or some fuck up, she looked composed—happy—she just also had a drink in her hand.

The headlines were scrambling for something juicy but she gave them nothing, much to the chagrin of columnists and the gossip-hungry girls at her school. 

“You should visit your dad this weekend, maybe you’ll bump into her?” Ysilla suggested—since apparently, she had not quite escaped the conditioning of their youth and still thought it was plausible to be Rhaenyra Arryn’s bestie.

Yeah right.

Even if they did bump into each other, she had literally nothing in common with her. It wasn’t like they were going to see each other in a coffee shop and instantly forge a bond that would change their lives forever. 

That just wasn’t how things worked. 

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

I: You are single now, aren’t you?

R: I’m no longer with my previous partner, Criston Cole, no. But I’m also not looking.

I: Well, if you were looking, can you describe what you want in a man in three words?

Tall. Handsome. Rich.

I: The first two are pretty self-explanatory, the latter though—that is a surprise! Looking to keep your fortune all to yourself? 

R: No, of course not, it’s not like I don’t have enough to go around. But with past partners, it has gotten to them—made them feel a bit interior, I think, when I left a big tip or get them a present. I don’t keep score or expect them to pay me back, but they feel bad for the fact that if I did, they wouldn’t be able to. 

So then it becomes a point of contention—asking how much things cost, like sheets or shoes or whatever. It makes me feel embarrassed about being generous and buying things for myself—but it is my money, I’ve earned it, so fuck that.

So I say ‘rich’ not because I need a man wealthy enough to spoil me, I don’t need to spend their money. I just don’t want to be judged for spending mine, and I want to be able to spoil them without it turning into a fight.

I: Have you found someone who fits the ‘bill’? There are rumors about love brewing on Broadway.

R: I can’t speak for anyone else in the production, but I’m not involved in anything like that.

I: So you aren’t seeing anyone? 

R: I didn’t say that. But I solemnly swear I’m not dating anyone involved with my current professional projects. 

I: You can’t tease us like that! Tell us more!

R: Nope. I’m not giving you anything. He’s all mine. 

I: Already possessive? Sounds serious.

R: Ah—well, for me it is. But it doesn’t take long to get there…and once I am, I usually don’t want to leave. When I was growing up my time was dictated by contracts—you didn’t give up on things or half-ass them, you had to commit to them for the duration of your legal obligation. 

It has made me a very…intense person and adulthood since I tend to apply those principles to relationships in a way I probably shouldn’t. I can’t do casual. I find someone I’m obsessed with and hope like hell they are obsessed with me, too.

I: And is your mystery man obsessed with you? 

R: Time will tell.

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Baela rolled her eyes as she scrolled past the article, seriously, who fucking cared who she was dating?

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“Holy fuck! How did you get these?” She asked, looking up at her dad in shock and thinly veiled glee, “They must have cost a fortune.” 

He smiled, his lip twitching before he repeated, “Eh, it was a small price to pay for your happiness,” which he had said to her thousands of times over the years—when he bought her a coffee, a candy bar, or a fucking car. 

Still, these were harder to come by than any of those things—the pop princess turning to Broadway was a big deal. Tickets were flying as speculation about whether she would sink or swim swirled. 

“Plus,” he said with a smile, “I know someone close to the production, so don’t give me too much credit.” 

“Well, make sure to thank them for me, this is awesome.” 

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I: Broadway, that is new! What prompted this?

R: I really enjoyed my time here when wrapping Stormland , it made me look for other projects close to the city. When I heard about ‘Oh Great!’ it seemed so fun—I was a big fan of Six and Hamilton and I think this is in a similar vein, based on Catherine the Great it is half biography half pop opera. 

I: Did they approach you for the role? It seems like a perfect fit for you.

R: Oh no, god no—I sent in a demo take filmed on my phone, very old-fashioned and without prompting. You hear about influencers and actresses getting chosen for these things based on their names alone and, well, then you hear the final result and it’s sort of insulting to everyone else involved. I didn’t want to be that.

So I applied like everyone else, and I’m shocked they even saw it, really, but they did! Two weeks later I was called in for an in-person audition and here we are, just a week to go until it opens.

I: Are you nervous? 

R: Ridiculously so. If you have a bad day on set, you can reshoot it or cobble it together in editing. It’s expensive, and not ideal, but it’s possible. A live performance on a stage is like a two-hour long take and you have no leeway—it has to be perfect every single time.

I: That is a lot of pressure—how do you manage that sort of anxiety?

R: You really want me to say drugs, don’t you? 

Seriously, though, just spending time with people who remind me how good life is outside of performing. How, even if I totally bomb on stage, I’ll still have them to go home to.

I: That sounds very domestic—any hints for us as to who “them” is? Have you moved “them” in?

R: It is very domestic—and very wonderful. They are wonderful too, and though he hasn’t moved in—well, I suppose home is where he is, or that is how it feels these days. That is terrible and cheesy, I know, but it’s true. 

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It was her mother who noticed it first—“You seem happy,” she said in the direction of Daemon, who looked up from his phone with a sort of surprise and panic on his face that Baela didn’t recognize.

Like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Though now that her mother mentioned it, he had seemed happy recently. He was never unhappy but he had been laughing more and seemed more relaxed over the past few months.  

“I recognize that look,” Laena said, sounding victorious, “You’re smitten.” 

What?

“Who is she? How did you meet? When can we meet her?” Laena asked, eager, while Baela was looking toward her sister and looking for hints of what she might have missed. 

Her dad combed his fingers through his hair—a nervous habit, as the phone fell to his lap, “I am happy. Maybe I’m a little smitten. You wouldn’t know her, she is from a different circle—we met at a coffee shop of all places, and uh— never.” 

Laena pouted, “I’ve been waiting a whole decade for you to get serious about someone and now you’re keeping me from them? I’ll play nice, I promise.” 

He shook his head, “I know, it’s just…I don’t think she is ready for that, yet.”

Laena’s eyes narrowed, “Are you more into her than she is into you? If you are, break up with her, you deserve better. Or let me talk to her, give me an hour alone with her and she’ll declare her love.” 

He laughed, “No—no, she is just…young, young enough that a boyfriend coming with an ex-wife and two children in high school is intimidating.”

“How young?” Baela asked, her mother butting in with a, “She better be legal, Daemon.”

He snorted, “She’s legal—in her twenties.”

Baela’s nose wrinkled, she supposed that wasn’t terrible, she could be a decade older than her which didn’t sound like a lot, but Baela couldn’t imagine where she would be in life when she was twenty-eight or nine. 

It was only a tiny bit weird.

No, fuck that, this was all weird. 

It was hard to imagine him dating when he had never shown any inkling of interest in that in her lifetime. Sure he fucked around, but she had come to expect that—this was different. 

Still, she would give the woman a chance if her dad liked her. She owed her that.

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I: Do you have any comments on the leaked images?

R: Yeah, I would like to give my sincerest of fuck yous to this hacker. But the joke is on them, my camera roll is exactly what you see on Instagram just with some blurry nudes in between. Please give me some privacy and watch Stormland (now on prime!) you can see me naked in HD and everything.

 

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Baela rolled her eyes at the dudes giggling over their phones like they had never seen a naked woman before. Fuck, you could already see that woman naked but apparently it wasn’t as hot when she had consented to them being taken.

This is why guys were the worst.

Well. The girls were pretty bad, too. 

Apparently a handful—or more than a handful if rumors were to be believed—of dick pics were shared from her camera roll and now the internet was going wild trying to figure out who it belonged to. 

She really didn’t get it. She had blocked at least a dozen dudes for sending those to her unsolicited, she wasn’t going to seek one out—not ever.

Still, no one at her school could compare to the sexist shit the media was slewing in her direction. Her comebacks had been pretty inspired, though. Baela might not be an obsessed fan or even follower of the woman, but seeing her response to this had made her consider becoming one for the first time in years.

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Rhaenyra Arryn once again proves success is the best revenge in a stunning AND scandalous photoshoot.

Carrying on in typical Rhaenyra Arryn fashion, today the star announced the release of a 2026 calendar featuring twelve recreations of the leaked pictures, photographed by the awkward winning U.W with styling by Elinda Massey. 

Images include the star draped in a sheet, wearing oversized button-ups with nothing beneath them, modeling lingerie, and wearing nothing at all.

‘Nothing at all’ is exactly what she plans to make for this stunt, with all proceeds going towards charities focusing on providing free health services, housing, and representation to victims of sexual assault and revenge porn.

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I: People have called you a bad example for girls because of this incident, do you agree with that?

R: No. I do not. You know what sets a bad example for girls? Trying to drag a woman down and calling her a slut and whore because she likes her naked body enough to take pictures of it. I don’t give a fuck about people seeing me nude, I care about the invasion of privacy—but the press ignores the latter and fixates on the former in a way that is far more detrimental to girls and women than any photo I have taken.

I: So you aren’t ashamed of anything that has been posted in this leak?

R: Not at all. And I hate that people think I should. What is shameful about them? It has to be the subject, right? My body. So by telling me to be ashamed of people seeing my body, you’re telling every girl and woman out there to be ashamed of their bodies, too. That’s fucked up. 

But it’s extra fucked up that they do this under the guise of caring about girls having ‘good examples’ when they are the worst example of all. 

I: The explicit photos weren’t all of you, though, would you like to comment on that?

R: I don’t see why I should. The pictures are pretty self-explanatory. My boyfriend has a nice dick. I took pictures of it, just like he took pictures of me—now can we please move on?

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Baela was all the more excited to see the show after that—originally her interest had been born out of the nostalgia factor and buzz over it all, it was easy to be hyped about it even if she wasn’t interested in the performer or performance at all. 

But now she was. Rhaenyra’s handling of the hack had earned her Baela’s respect, the concept for the musical was neat and her voice was getting rave reviews from pretty much everyone. Even the harshest of critics begrudgingly admitted she had a good stage presence and sense of comedy. Her vocals might not be the best to ever echo through the Lena Horne Theatre, but they were 'definitely adequate.' 

Her dad had snagged her three tickets a couple of months ago, suggesting she take her friends—or her sister and mother—the latter of which she eventually decided on. It would be awkward trying to choose which two friends to take, and seventeen-year-old girls weren’t the most understanding sort. 

So it was a girl’s trip—a family day, seeing the matinee and then grabbing dinner with her dad before returning home. 

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It was a good day with good company, great food, and an excellent show.

“It’s hard to imagine she is only twenty-one,” her mother mused.

“She’s almost twenty-two,” her father butted in, earning him a look of surprise from everyone else at the table. 

Laena ignored him, “That isn’t the point—it’s impressive either way, that she is so accomplished already.” 

Daemon sighed, “It is, but—of course she is—she has been working for like fifteen years already. Can you imagine that? Twelve-hour days on set before you’re even a teenager.” 

No, Baela couldn’t imagine—but she couldn’t imagine why her dad knew that, either. 

“When did you become the Rhaenyra Arryn expert?” Rhaena asked, which was good—it meant Baela didn’t have to. 

He shrugged, muttering something about an interview and how, “It’s all on wikipedia,” before swiftly changing the topic to what Rhaena wanted to do for her birthday—it was only a few weeks away, after all. 

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I: It has been a big year for you and now you’re one year older!

R: It has been! The biggest and the best I’ve ever had.

I: We know, we’ve all seen the pictures, but I’ll leave it at that—any plans to celebrate?

R: I wouldn’t call it a celebration, more like a worship session each night—oh, you mean for my birthday? Yes—my boyfriend is taking me away when my run of Oh, Great! is done. He’s promised me a week on the beach where no one can bother us.

I: That sounds fun, somewhere exotic I imagine?

R: Maybe. But being with him and relaxing are of more importance than country or level of luxury. 

I: You speak of him fondly, can we have any more hints? The story of how you met?

Nope, no hints—but, if you’d believe it, we met in a coffee shop, and I’m going to leave it at that.

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It was like ten-thirty on a Sunday morning when she found out—still lazying about in bed when her friends started texting her like crazy.

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What the fuck?

She opened the rarely used app only to find her feed full of pictures—no, one very specific picture of Rhaenyra Arryn. The caption of which said, “Pictured on a private beach in the Hamptons, our pop princess fooling around with a mystery man. Could this be the prince she has been gushing about for months?”

Rhaenyra was bikini-clad with a huge grin on her face. There was a man behind her, and his hands were linked around her waist.

She looked happy, and he looked—smitten.

That was what her mom had called that expression when her dad wore it.

And it was, undeniably, her dad in the picture. 

What the actual fuck?

.

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