#like I think they are going to cover this heavy subject matter

[arcadialedger]

Mark my words, now that they’ve done the 1990’s the next historical American Girl doll is going to be a Muslim girl living in the wake of 9/11.

Because, as the recent SNL sketch pointed out, we have to give these girls trauma.

[icallhimjoey]

I feel like Joe's the type of guy during a heatwave to complain about the heat but still insist on cuddles. And I just imagine both parties being grumpy from the heat but also from not being able to just cuddle.

lil short one! sticky sweaty cuddles with a lil side of grump! Wordcount: 1.5K

---

That Better?

"Where do you think you're going?" you can barely make out the words Joe's mouth tries to shape. He's pressed up against your chest, his whole cheek stuck to your skin in a way that makes his lips go funny.

It's uncomfortable. Way too hot and sticky. Outside you can see another flash, and hear the sky rumble in the distance. No rain yet, though. Just humidity.

"Joe," you warn when he tightens his grip on you as you try to move away a little. "Please, it's too hot." You use both hands to find his shoulders to create some space in between the two of you.

It's difficult, because you're fatigued with the heat, and Joe is stronger than you.

"The fan's on." Joe argues, though it's dry and flat, no energy to put any heat behind his words. It's already hot enough.

He holds on, quite tightly at that, and you huff a breath into his face as you relax again. You're too weak. The room already feels stifling and heavy without a person stuck to you, but Joe's lying right on top, and you desperately need the fan to hit the areas of your body that he's covering with all of his right now.

But Joe doesn't want to move.

He's grumpy for it too, but he needs the cuddles to get to sleep, no matter how warm and sweaty and gross it feels.

Which, it does.

Everything feels damp.

It's silent for a while, until you can feel a drop of sweat make its way down your scalp, sliding through your hair slowly and then picking up speed when it gets to your neck.

It's disgusting.

"I'm not even moving and I can feel myself sweat." you complain, but Joe just hums. Adds, "Yea, it's sweltering." in agreement. He can feel you sweat too, but knows that it just means that the fan feels nicer for it. He doesn't add that bit of information - fan feels like a sensitive subject now. You had just had a big fight over whether or not to sleep with the floor fan on.

It wasn't exactly a silent one - the fan or the fight.

Joe desperately wishes for the fan to be moved out of the bedroom; it's a big floor fan that sounds like an airplane taking off, he'd always say. But you need it on. You'll take the loud constant whir that will bring you an actual breeze over suffering in a dead silent humid room that feels more like a sauna than anything else.

"Baby, you know I can't sleep with it on. It's too loud."

"Can't sleep with a fan on, but can fall asleep in the middle of The Expendables." you'd sarcastically said, making a face at him. The Expendables was basically a whole film of big loud explosions. He'd insisted on watching it the other day, and then fell asleep about 15 minutes into it.

"You know that's not-" Joe sighed with frustration. "That's hardly the same."

You could feel the sweat sit between your toes, it was that hot.

"Joe, without the fan on, I don't even want to touch my own body! Let alone yours!"

You fought, back and forth until you'd cut it off by going for a cold shower. When you got out, you found Joe in bed with all the lights off and the fan on, and you silently accepted Joe's kind compromise.

When you'd laid down on the bed, Joe had immediately rolled half onto you, and you knew that in return for the fan being on, he wanted to at least be able to fall asleep the way he wanted to. Needed to.

Touching.

All snuggled up.

Breathing your breath, limbs crossing limbs, bare skin pressing into bare skin. Feeling heartbeats and hearing heartbeats, until one of you can't feel their arm anymore from lying on a shoulder weird. Joe needs the comfort of a whole person to make a psychical connection with to feel instantly at ease.

It not his fault that you calm him down so much. That he loves you.

And you love Joe too.

But it's definitely too fucking hot for any of it. You feel too grumpy, and you know Joe isn't in the best mood either.

Joe might feel at ease, but you don't feel at ease at all.

You're still holding out hope that the clouds that had threatened rain all day will actually give way. The heat needs to break already. So far, no luck though. Just some flashes and some rumbling thunder up high in the sky.

You're not a fan.

You don't like thunder storms. There's something so very threatening about them. Every loud crash makes you jump a little, surprising you every single time.

Joe knows.

He remembers the first time he'd been around you during bad weather, and he had watched you from up close for a little while until something inside of him took over.

I, big giant man. You, small little defenseless woman. Must protect.

Cave man behaviour.

Cute when you're after a little babying, but absolutely awful when the heat and the humidity had you in an awful mood. Like right now.

Another flash lights up your bedroom for a split second, and you can hear how the storm's getting a little closer.

"I'm not scared, you know," you comment softly, and Joe just hums again. Acknowledges what you're telling him, but keeps you close for his own comfort. Doesn't seem to care if you're scared or not - just pretends that you are, because he likes that a little better.

He ducks into his shoulders a little more, curls up to you a little more, and you can feel how the side of his face slides against your chest.

Slides.

You try to hold back an audible wince at how much you hate that, and you endure Joe's weight for a little while longer. But then, slowly, the itch under your skin becomes too much and it builds until you feel like you're about to burst.

"I can't," you suddenly sputter, pushing at Joe's shoulders again. "Sorry babe, but I cannot." you say definitively, groaning as you move to sit up. This time, Joe lets you go.

When you see Joe's sad little face, half of you wants to reach out to wrap your whole self around him. But the other half wants you to go sit in the freezer.

Unfortunately for Joe, the latter wins.

"M'sorry, just..." you turn in the bed and find a piece of cold mattress to lie down on, your head near the foot of the bed now, your feet near your pillow. You get the best bit of air from the fan from there too, right in your face, and it feels a little better.

It really does help that you're damp all over.

Makes the air actually cool you down.

You suppose that's what sweat's meant to do in the first place, so it makes sense.

Joe watches you from his spot.

Watches as you starfish on top of the bed in the dark, hair blowing in the breeze, and Joe wants to frown, because this isn't what he wants. But then he sees how the creases on your face slowly disappear, and just witnessing you be a little more comfortable makes his own frown smooth out a bit too.

"That better?" Joe asks, and you're not sure if it's a sarcastic question or not. If saying yes will hurt his feelings or not. You detect a little hidden bite in there though, so you don't answer.

Instead, you sigh a little contently and say, "Come over here."

Joe doesn't need telling twice.

In an instant, his legs have swung around on the bed and he finds a nice much cooler spot next to you.

"Here," you say, and you hold out your hand.

Joe gives it a glance before looking at your face. He knows you've only just showered, but your hair's mostly dry already. He notices it now as it drapes over the edge of the bed, swaying in the wind. You may be sweaty, grumpy, sticky, and uncomfortable, but you're still gorgeous. It's almost annoying how he likes the way the heat makes you look.

"Hold my hand." you say when it takes too long for Joe to grab hold of it.

It's your compromise.

Joe smiles.

Takes it.

It's not as nice, but Joe will take it, fingers intertwining as your palms glue together.

"That better?" he asks again, and this time there's no doubt about his intentions, voice much sweeter and softer, no hidden bite left in there at all.

"Hmm." It's your turn to hum now, agreeing as you add, "Better."

Joe gets to touch you.

You get the fan on.

It's not the best of both worlds - it's still fucking boiling - but it's definitely better than before.

And then, just when you think, maybe you actually could fall asleep like this, you can hear the soft patter of a few raindrops hitting the bedroom window.

Just a few at first, but it quickly picks up into a gentle, rhythmic pattern as the sound grows.

You squeeze Joe's hand, and there's still a slight slick to your palms and fingers, kind of clammy, definitely warm.

But it's kind of nice to be stuck together like this.

Joe squeezes back, and you let a happy sigh escape you.

You can actually fall asleep like this.

"Much better."

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @demonsanddemogorgons

@djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer

@everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @gri959

@hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @keikoraven

@kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @mandyjo8719, @mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr

@munson-mjstan, @munsonssweets, @nadixq, @niallersfreckles, @notverywise

@pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid, @readergf, @royale1803

@skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac, @solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson

@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @yunirgo

add yourself

[readychilledwine]

Headcanons on taking each High Lord in their beast form?

I'm sweating.

✨️High Lord Monsterfucking Headcanons✨️

Warnings- monsterfucking, beast forms, primal instincts, breeding references, mentions of knotting, implied size kink just on subject matter alone, primal play, biting scratching, marking, mating marks, picture references from Bad Dragon, unrealistic smut, dr. jekyll and mr. hyde type situations

A/n - This one might get me in trouble. A lot of thought went into this. We're going with a partial shift situation. Ignore the colors of things. Think of them as whatever color you want then to be.

Please remember, not all kinks are for everyone. If this one isn't yours, there is plenty of smut on my masterlist 💕

Rhysand

I firmly believe Rhysand would have a primal play kink regardless of if he's in his beastform, but mentally prepare yourself for bruises, scratching, and biting

Rhysand is typically a gentle but passionate lover, his beast is not. His beast has one goal: breed.

You aren't going to walk for a while. That's the reality. Sorry.

When picking for Rhysand, I was kind of drawn to the idea that he wouldn't have an overly scary monster cock, but it's very thick and heavy

It's going to touch places science doesn't have a name for yet. Once you relax, it's nothing but pleasure

I decided with all the animals Tamlin's shifted form looks like, he gets to have a horse like cock

Tamlin

I feel like sex in his beastform is something Tamlin is fan of.

Or at least, he'll shift part of himself to his beast form.

The interesting thing with Tamlin is he can shift his cock to whatever you'd desire. Fire drake, tentacle, normal but enhanced girth. Whatever you need to feel good, Tamlin will provide

He'd be down to shift his cock to every fantasy or based on your mood as well

What I'm getting at is sex with Tamlin is rarely not in some form of a beast form.

I am a firm believer in the form we've been told about not being Tam's true beastform, though.

I imagine sex with him in that form is delightfully dangerous for those of you who want to live on the edge.

Neck held between his teeth, plants holding you exactly where his beast wants you. I don't see Tamlin's beast being gentle in any way, shape, or form.

I firmly believe Tamlin isn't really all that into the idea of kids at the moment, and I think due to how often Tamlin shifts, he has control over that side of him and it's aware. So. No breeding kink here.

I almost went with Tarquin's beast form being a kraken. I landed on a leviathan instead. This was a missed tentacle opportunity. Sorry.

Tarquin

I couldn't help but to think "coral" with the texture of this, and that made me go "Tarquin"

I imagine Tarquin as a gentle and giving lover, regardless of form.

You'll still get primal play, but imagine deep growls of satisfaction versus dominance.

Tarquin is going to leave you covered in love marks and reminders when he is in this form.

Tarquin is all about breeding. His beast is going to pump you full and keep you full until it decides otherwise

Yea, I gave him a slightly scary one.

Helion

It's because I feel like Helion would find the idea of knotting delicious, but more easing into it instead hurting you.

Helion in his fae form is adventurous, but I think his beast is more straight to it. Hard, rough, and demanding.

The male knocked up Lady Autumn on accident. You'll be on purpose. He's knotting you and forcing you to lay there, exhausted, overstimulated, and whimpering until his knot deflates.

He will shift back after that and give you the best aftercare.

Helion has bit your neck and forever marked you as his. When his beast sees that mark, it's almost as if he purrs while he's affectionately licking what is his

I feel like Beron in his fae and beast form is a flip of a coin. If you're obedient and submissive, he's a generous lover. If you're not, well, expect to just be his playtoy.

Beron

Which, don't get me wrong, if you're into used and abused, let me introduce you to the High Lord of Autumn

Beron's beast form is straight up feral. Snarling, growling, biting, scratching. I'd recommend visiting a healer for a good healing Potion.

Beron clearly has a breeding kink. His beast form is no exception.

You need to be prepared to spend hours cockwarming his beast because he's not going to let you move for a while. That seed is too precious to waste.

His beast form cock is intimidating. Mainly due to the head.

Lots of prep going into him taking you like this. He may be cruel, but he has no interest in damaging his favorite part of you.

I'll be honest, I don't see Thesan as the type to enjoy monsterfucking.

Thesan

I see Thesan as a sweet bottom starfish who just wants to relax and have someone else do the work.

You can ride, maybe? How ambitious are you? Very? That's good. This dick tapers

You think it will be easy the first time since the tip and top of his shaft are slimmer. Hit the middle and get back to me

I loved the idea of his cock having bumps along the sides. Extra stimulation for you, and in my mind, extra sensitive for him.

I don't even really see Thesan as a power bottom. People normally like the opposite roles they present to the public during sex. I feel Thesan, even in his beast form, feels that way as well.

He's more than happy to lie back, watching you please yourself using him, watching you take things your pace.

Don't sleep on this male. I keep tell you all.

Kallias

Knotting. Knotting. Knitting.

All the time. Expect it when you are enjoying his beast.

He got Viv pregnant fast for a reason, so I hope you like Littles.

I wanted something smooth for Kal with the logic that their beast forms are supposed to be the physical representations of their powers. Smooth and cool like ice is what I was picturing, and this fit the bill

Still slightly ridged for your pleasure, but mostly a smooth ride to absolute bliss.

I imagine Kal can play with his body temperature. Making this colder at will for some interesting temperature play

I do see him as valuing intimacy and romance more than pleasure. With who he is at his core, I imagine his beast is about foreplay and aftercare.

There's a misconception that gentle sex is boring (thanks porn) and Kal is proof that is wrong. Very very wrong.

Yes, he will growl, bite you if asked, and run his claws down your back, but those harsher touches are followed by his snoot buried in your neck and hair, his tongue flicking a sensitive area of your choice, and purring. Comforting purring.

Kal's slow when he has you take his knot. He works it in inch by tantalizing inch until you are drooling below him.

That's his favorite sight in the world. You in a state of total Euphoria.

Tag List not attached to respect that this isn't everyone's cup of tea 💕

[fatuismooches]

Oml I just saw your tag on the Dadtorre with identical son post (same anon as last time here! Thank you for the kind words :3) if Traveller and Paimon meet the son it's going to be so funny but confusing for both parties 😭 It's a jumpscare!

The Traveller is in Snezhnaya, exploring the place, walking through yet another quaint scenery. Then they see a glimpse of a blury blue in the distance, a shade of blue they know all too well.

"Wait, Traveller - was that...?" Paimon whispers to her companion warily. "Uh, you saw that too right? That looked like—!" She gasps, her tiny hands cupping her mouth as she frantically whispers. "Do you think he saw us?!"

The Traveller gestures for Paimon, gaze hardening. "Get behind me."

They tail the all too familiar shadow. He may be wearing a heavy cloak to stave off the frigid heart of the Tsarista, but they would recognise that hair anywhere... It's shorter than last time, but this is not the first they dealt with a segment. The Doctor is stalking the village, what could he be up to?

It's a small village, far from the capital. What if he's here to exploit the vulnerable? There's so many ill and elderly residents here, it won't take much to station a lab here in the guise of a clinic, he would have his test subjects.

They have to stop him.

They continue to follow, but slowly, doubt starts to creep in.

What is Dottore doing? He's just... he's window shopping?

Sure enough, this familiar shadow is simply strolling through the streets without a hint of hurry, out of character for a man who does not waste time. Admiring the scenery and occasionally stopping. That's when the anxiety starts to build. Is this a trap? It must be.

If it is a trap he'd laid. They will bite - only to get closer to him.

They follow until the figure is in an isolated part of the settlement. The cloaked man is looking side to side, head turning this way and that. Not the most subtle way to check for your reinforcements, but whatever. They raise their sword—

Dottore turns around, an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. A shine that struck the Traveller as though a snake had reared its head and bit with venom to paralyse. Not one of deep seeping crimson of blood. Kind, gentle eyes - the red of a comforting hearth, the red of a sunrise.

"Ah! Perfect, there's someone else here!" 'Dottore' chuckles awkwardly. "Uh... I'm lost? Can you help me out? It looks like you know your way around here— wait, isn't that outfit a little too cold?"

What.

What is this.

Paimon yells this sentiment for them: "Huh?!"

(Dottore's son snuck out for a little outing. He inadvertently pulled the same headache of a stunt Dottore's lover had done ages ago: sneaking off when bored. Said father is tearing Snezhnaya through looking for his boy. It's only a matter of time before the Harbinger finds his son. He lacks the rigour to cover up his tracks.)

Meeting a Harbinger so quickly into their visit to Snezhnaya was not on the Traveler's agenda. Especially since they snuck into the nation without anyone knowing. But how could they see those familiar blue locks and not do anything about it? Sure, it wasn't the best idea, considering how they planned to hide out a bit more, not to mention there was still a wide gap in strength, but they couldn't pass up the opportunity. At the very least, they don't think the scientist would kill them. There seems to be a greater plan, one beyond what they know.

Of course, the Traveler's immediate thought is that the blue-haired man is up to no good. Perhaps immediately thinking the worst seemed a bit harsh, but this was the Doctor. What else would they think, especially after what happened in Sumeru? They had to be wary and cautious - there was no such thing as too much of it when dealing with him. And cautious they are, carefully stalking behind, not a noise made even in the crunching snow.

And so they cautiously watch with narrowed eyes as the "Harbinger"... casually strolls by numerous stores? Looking at outfits that certainly don't fit his style, peeking through the glass of some local restaurants. For some reason, civilians don't seem to bat much of an eye at his presence either. It's strange. Very strange. Unfortunately, the Traveler and Paimon still can't get a good look at the man's face, but they're positive it has to be Dottore. Who else has such fluffy blue hair? Are they overthinking it? Is he pretending? There are always so many questions to deal with when it comes to the Doctor.

Until they realize it's not the Doctor.

The man in front of them bears a striking resemblance to the Harbinger, but he simply couldn't be, not even a segment. A small smile that wasn't cocky, sweet eyes that could envelop another in a warm embrace if it came to that. These features cannot belong to a man such as Dottore. The laugh and concern for the blond was also something that couldn't be an act. After getting over their little surprise, they'd be an idiot not to take advantage of this outcome. Perhaps they could get some information... of course, they only end up more confused when they find out the truth.

(You, while also concerned for your son, know he's a capable boy and he'll be fine. You like to see how much Dottore secretly cares for his kid too, although you feel a bit bad for the poor Fatui agents who are currently dealing with his orders. If someone does end up hurting your son, however, well... you can be scarier than Dottore if you want to. At the end of it, Dottore ends up giving you both a scolding... but neither of you takes it seriously as you giggle with each other.)

[adventuringblind]

Oscar The Matchmaker: Chapter Four

Summary: Lando wants answers, Charles gets more then he bargained for, The trio surprises in many ways

Warnings: Lando and Charles are in the room hiding, PinV, Porn with minor plot, oral, Dom/Sub, Established dynamics (Kind of), sub space, cock warming, marking, bruising, overstimulation

Notes: pure, filthy, shameless smut.

Previous <-

Masterlist

The following work is for 18 and older. Minors, please DNI.

Lando had wanted to surprise his teammate. The horrendous season they’ve had thus far was taking a toll on the rookie and he wanted to cheer him up. He’d grabbed Charles and somehow managed to nab his room key. He’d planned to take the Australian and his ‘best friend’ out to the bar.

Everyone knows him and the AlphaTauri rookie are dating. It’s obvious. What he couldn’t get his mind around was Max. His friend who’d been spending an awful lot of time with the two.

Max had done well to avoid his questions and change the subject. And his motivation to take his teammate out and get alcohol in him definitely wasn’t to get to the bottom of it.

It’s not long that the two are waiting. Charles absently scrolling through instagram and Lando texting Pierre and Carlos to meet them there later. The door handle starts jiggling and Lando is up and ready to do.

What he was not expecting was three voices. One of them very clearly Max’s.

Lando grabs Charles and they dive into the closet.

“I’m confused.” Whispers charles urgently. “Aren’t we going out?”

“Yes but this is better.”

~

“I still can’t believe I lost my room key.” Groans an unpleased Oscar.

“Yeah, kept us waiting a whole extra five minutes.” The female teases and tosses herself onto the bed. “You’ve already been teasing me all day. I thought you might have done it on purpose.”

“Careful with that attitude.” Max is already hovering over her.

“You were the one getting handsy in the hall, Max Emilian.”

“He’s just inpatient.” There’s a hunger and lust in Oscar’s voice the makes her flush hard.

~

Charles is tapping on Lando’s knees rapidly. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Shush, I’m finally getting answers!”

“Pretty sure you’re going to get more then that.”

-

“I am inpatient because you two and your race suits tied around your waists does things to me.” Max smirks. His lips press soft kisses to the females collarbone.

Oscar is quick to get behind Max and rid him of his shirt. Tossing it somewhere in the room to be found later. “Glad you’re enjoying the view. But I Reckon you’re probably on the cusp of giving up tonight.”

Max groans. “Please tell me you weren’t winding me up as well so I’d give you control.”

Oscar lays wet kisses to Max’s spine. “You’re to pretty for that. I think you like when I take it.”

~

“Holy shit.”

“No way.”

“Did you know your teammate could do that?”

“How would I know that Oscar has the ability to make Max fucking Verstappen weak in the knees?”

“I don’t know mate. Sometimes teammates just know things.”

~

“Plus I’m pretty sure you were in charge last week.” Reminds the female.

“This is a true fact. I couldn’t walk on Monday.”

“My hips were bruised and we both were covering the stupid rope burns.”

“And yet neither of you were complaining.”

“Doesn’t matter it’s my turn.”

“… now look who’s inpatient.”

Oscar rids himself of his own shirt and the helps the female out of hers. The room is filled with heavy pants and muffled moans and they kiss each other with no hesitation. Their clothes being discarded in intervals.

~

“I don’t want to be here for the next part.”

“Fifty bucks says Max ends up on top.”

“Can’t believe I’m doing this. Fine.”

~

“We could always share the role.”

“Maxy, you are far to stubborn for that and we both know it.” Oscar lands another kiss to his collarbone. “Plus I quite enjoy the look in your face when you come undone.”

She was on top of Max. Him already inside her. She’d been told not to move and she was keen on not getting in the middle of their feud lest she become a victim.

Max is already a mess. Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing. It has been a half hour and he’d successfully brought the Dutchman into some reluctant form of submission.

It’s a game played between the two. Another race of sorts to see who could get control first. She was privy to whatever happened and always ended up on the other side blissfully fucked out.

Both of them like having it. Neither of them like letting it go.

Oscar sets himself in between Max’s legs right behind her. His hands reaching down the front of her to toy gently with her clit.

She blames it on the fact that being good with their fingers is part of the job and that’s why it’s an addicting feeling. She bites into her lip to suppress a moan.

“Nu-uh, you sound to pretty. I want to hear you.” And then she can’t hold it back. The sounds he’s pulling from her are soft and gentle whines.

Max is once again getting inpatient. He’s attempting (and failing) at thrusting his hips into her. Alas, Oscar is pinning his waist with his free hand. The weight stopping Max from really getting anywhere.

Oscars fingers are speeding up. He lets go of Max’s waist to guid his hands to the females hips. She can already feel the bruises forming. It’s Max’s only way of attempting to restrain himself from losing any sense of control he has left over his actions.

Her rapidly approaching edge is only being escalated by the feeling.

Then somehow they both move. Oscar makes to attack her neck and shoulders with his teeth and Max’s leans upward and attaches his mouth to her tit.

It’s overwhelming. Every nerve in her body is being stimulated. Their skin rubbing agains hers intensifying every feeling. Their names roll off her tongue like it’s the only things she knows how to say.

“Cum for us, love.”

Every thought in her brain disappears. A silent scream falling from her mouth as she falls off the cliff. Her body goes rigid and the boys are continuing through her high.

She almost collapses into Oscar, but his body keeps her upright. Her ears are ringing and her chest heaving.

But she is well aware this is far from over.

~

“Mate we are definitely invading their privacy.”

“Well it’s to late to go now.”

“So far, you still owe me fifty.”

“I highly doubt they are finished.”

~

She regains her breath eventually. Neither of them have moved since she came down aside from gentle touch’s and the whispers of sweet nothings. She can actively feel Max relaxing and melting at Oscars flowery words.

Oscar set the pace of how she moves. Complete control over her body and actions. He’s calculating the timing of everything.

Max has officially given in. His hands are now bruising her thighs but he’s past the point of fighting anymore. He just lets Oscar guide them through it.

He’s grinding her body into his. Max is a moaning mess beneath her. Quite pleas grace her ears as Max begs for anything more then this.

Oscars moans are also picking up. He’d taken to moving her in such a way the her body also presses against his. He’s essentially grinding into her ass as she moves.

“Fuck- your two are so hot.” Oscar breathes into her skin. He quickens the movements, slamming her hips down into Max. She can see the Dutch losing his grip on reality. Her finger dig in his shoulders as his dig further into her thighs.

Then Max is beginning again. His back is arching forward and he’s tipping over the edge. Somewhere she can hear Oscars approval and his broken moans as they both finish.

Warmth floods her body and coats her back. It’s times like this she wishes condoms were not a necessity at that he actually finished in her so they could do things with it later.

Regardless, she’s yet to finish a second time and she thinks that the boys will pull her off. She is wrong and instead Max is finally getting his wish and thrusting up into her.

She can’t even warn them as she falls over the edge again. Her brain now empty of anything except feelings and sensations and her attraction to the males in the room.

~

“How many rounds do you think they’ll go?”

“No idea. How many have you gone before?”

“When I have the stamina for it, maybe six. You?”

“Maybe five, that I can count.”

“What do you mean that you can count?”

“You’re telling me you’ve never lost track before?”

“Unless I was drunk, never.”

“We should definitely change that.”

~

Oscar’s turn with her now. Her thoughts are completely lost and her body feels floaty. Almost as if someone gave her laughing gas. It only increases her sensitivity.

She can barely register what’s happening. Oscar is inside her and Max is down her throat. She suffocates and chokes on him but the feeling of the Aussie pinning her down with his weight and his hips snapping rapidly counteracts it.

Max keeps placing her hand on him somewhere so she can tap out of he’s fucking her mouth to hard or just needs air. But it keeps falling. Her brain to foggy to control her own actions.

It’s not long until she’s at the edge for a third time and the other two are still chasing their highs. She registers their praise in there somewhere. ‘Good girl’ and ‘perfect’ can be heard leaving their lips in between pants, moans, and swear words.

Oscars hips stutter agains her and Max is leaking down the back of her throat. The sensation is almost as if they are conducting a symphony of highs and lows. It’s mesmerizing and she could get lost in it forever.

~

“He still hasn’t been on top and honestly, I’m shocked.”

“I really didn’t think Oscar had it in him.”

“I think you just hate the idea that you’re the bottom between you two.”

“I am not! Why would you even think that anyways?”

“I don’t know, you just radiate bottom energy.”

~

Normally, they’d start with oral. Tonight, it’s how they are winding down.

Max is between Oscar’s thighs sucking him off. Oscar is between hers lapping unceremoniously at every fluid coming out of her. And she is just a writhing mess.

She’s lost her words and her brain. Reduced to a pile of flailing limbs and floaty feelings. Her hands are searching for a body she knows is there but can only find soft brown locks and the hands that are prying her legs apart.

She's lost count out this point how many times they’ve tipped her over that edge. She knows Oscar must be getting close again as well. The moans vibrating her core getting progressively stronger.

She's hitting the wall in her brain where she can't go any further. "Osc, I can't." She slurs. She could stop them if she wanted to. But then the floaty feeling goes away, and she doesn't want that yet.

"One more, love."

Oscar digs his fingers into her as Max brings him to his breaking point. She follows after him. The look is his eyes sending her fave first once again into the abyss of pleasurable fire.

She does scream this time. Her body contorts in ways she didn't know were possible. She doesn't register the tears sliding down her cheeks or Max's lips on hers, trying to get her to calm down. The taste of Oscar is still fresh on his lips.

Her whole body aches. All three of them are panting heavily, collapsing onto the bed ungracefully to catch their breathes.

She looks between them. How did she get so lucky? And how on earth are they both so damn pretty?

"Next time, I'm in charge."

"Must we go another round to show why that's not happening?"

Their voices are pretty, too. Swimming in her ears as she continues to look between them.

"We gotta get you cleaned up, lovely."

Her body spasms once again at the touch of her lovers, and she violently shakes her head no. She doesn't want to leave this head space. She wants to stare here in this blissful state.

The bed shifts as the two males get up. She whines in disapproval is attempts to get her body upright.

She fails miserably.

Then come back with rags. It's a normal routine for them, getting cleaned up the reassuring and cuddling and spending time with each other.

"I think we bruised her pretty good." Oscar admires his work and caresses her skin thoughtfully.

"Os, are there extra towels? You have like two in here that aren't already used." Calls out Max from the bathroom.

"Should have extras in the closet, I think "

~

"Of fuck."

"Maybe he means a different closet?"

The two males anxuisly await what could be their demise. The heavy footsteps of Max make its way closer.

"Do you want your sweats, love?"

"Yeah, actually."

The two waiting for their doom are so grateful that Max at least will be covered while he kills them.

Then the light from the room is burning their retinas, and the two are shielding their eyes.

"What the fuck?!" Max slams the closet doors back on them. "We're going to put clothes on, and then you are going to explain yourselves and hope I don't kill you both."

"Can I have my fifty bucks before I die because if you?"

"Absolutely not."

[not-xpr-art]

Len and Tommy's life told through nine photos ~

A fanart based on the Inside no 9 episode 'Bernie Clifton's Dressing Room' because I loved it so much!

(09/2024)

See below for close ups and unnecessarily detailed explanations of each individual artwork lol

First wanna say that I spent wayy too long on these (like 25+ hours), especially trying to make them look like actual old photos lol... also trying to get their likeness right for the various ages was really bloody hard lol, but hopefully each photo has the essence of each character even if it might not look 100% right pfft...

Second thing is that the dates & locations are very much my own subjective thoughts on their life and not particularly rooted in the canon of the show lol

Also I did go really heavy with the colour symbolism lol...

Ravenhill School, 1965.

The year they met, both are around the age of 10 (give or take). Len is 3 from the left in the top row, Tommy 2 in from the left on the bottom row (also I tried to include references to the other 2 League Of Gentlemen guys... Though I think the only vaguely recognisable one is Jeremy pfft)

Also shout out to @lapis-lazuliie for the idea that they met at school!

(side note, this is the least detailed of all the paintings not just because I was too lazy to render all those children's faces pfft but ALSO because of the significance of them being less recognisable or prominent in each other's lives in this point...)

I was planning on making another childhood/early teen photo but couldn't really think of any good subject matter that could also fit thematically with the episode (also the fact both are coming from poor families who would have had limited access to cameras in this era means we can just pretend that there are just no photos that really exist of them at these ages pfft...)

Photo booth in Leeds, 1974.

Both in their late teens, they'd (well, mainly Tommy) gone to a photo booth in Leeds with the intention of getting some professional looking photos only for Len to immediately make Tommy laugh once they got in there lol

The middle photo is covered in lines as Tommy had planned on throwing it away, only to find he couldn't bring himself to do it in the end... Is it platonic? Romantic? Both? Who knows, you decide lol! I mainly wanted it to be a candid moment between two people that love each other lol

(final one is them play fighting because that's kinda just what 19 year olds are like pfft... also I think photo booths technically gave you 4 photos? so let's pretend there was another photo that they did throw away for whatever reason lol...)

Rehearsals, 1979.

Deep in the midst of practising their routine for some of their first performances!

I'll admit this photo was mainly me wanting to include something more episode specific lol and also to get in some much needed heavy handed symbolism (the crease in the photo separating them, the bottle in front of Len's face, etc)

Polaroids taken at Tommy's flat, 1985.

In-between shows the two often spent a lot of time at Tommy's place (featuring that god awful sofa the previous home owner had left). I did originally plan to have them in the sofa shot together, but was finding it hard to figure out who would have been taking that kind of photo so figured it made more sense to make it shots they took of each other.

Also marks the beginnings of Tommy's weariness (& Len's over drinking...)

Outside the Glasgow Pavilion, 1988.

The morning of that fateful performance...

Ok not much else I wanna say about this other than the reference I used for the pose had Reece sorta awkwardly clasping his hands in front of him which I really liked but unfortunately in my art it just looked like he was trying to cover his crotch so I had to change it pfft...

Tommy standing at Len's grave, 2024.

The sixth anniversary of Len's death, and the sixth time Tommy has travelled across from France to lay flowers at his grave. Photo taken by Leanne from the inside of a taxi (I'd like to have had more references to her in these photos but was unsure of dates/ages where it would have fitted...)

She couldn't get her phone to not focus on the raindrops on the window as she tried to take a picture of Tommy at her father's grave but then realised that she actually liked the pathetic fallacy and had it made into a print anyway lol (look I'll be the first to admit that this is the least 'realistic' in terms of a photo that people would take, but I couldn't resist the symbolism of it lol...)

There were a lot more ideas for photos I wanted to do but for obvious reasons had to keep it to just 9 lol

Also will be posting these on my ao3 with snippets of stories to go with each photo so keep an eye out for when I share that link!

[lauraneedstochill]

I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She is smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn’t. (or, alternatively: “No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now.”) pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he’s in love with. author's note: I’m working on 3 fics at the moment, and it’s taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn’t add anything to the story). also, I don’t think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don’t care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He’s been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn’t very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond’s never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He’s used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he’s some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that’s approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won’t be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He’s never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He’s been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it’s a topic he never brings up, it’s a humiliating secret that’s just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn’t withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it would always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn’t get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can’t bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it’s the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what’s going on.

“Aemond,” she approaches him, whispering. “What’s wrong? Is it the headache again?”

Aemond doesn’t want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain.”

“I don’t think we have time to fuss over me,” he declines with a pain-stained voice. “I was under the impression that we’re expecting someone to join us today.”

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

“Please don’t tell me you require motivation,” Aegon’s voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

“Undoubtedly you’ve interacted with women before,” he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond’s suffering. “Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won’t run away.”

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself,” her voice is tinged with irritation. “Just for one evening. Can you do that?”

Aegon’s body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

“As you wish, mother,” he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she’s approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It’s not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn’t seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won’t let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she’s used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

“Someone is about to get a piece of cake,” Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

“Someone needs to shut up,” Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn’t even tasted yet. Aemond can’t help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She’s seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

“You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I am surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience?”

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to her, astonished by his own reaction. It’s not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It’s just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they’re surrounded with.

“I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve,” he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can’t steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting her lead the conversation. She is easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would’ve really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That is until she abruptly stops.

“Are you feeling alright?” she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion. 

“I apologize if I’m not exactly the best at keeping you company. It’s been a long day,” he knows he should’ve come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then she moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It’s obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he’s the reason their conversation was cut short, but she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested,” she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he’ll get any rest as his head feels like it’s gripped in an iron vise again. The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he’s almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it’s the nausea, he doesn’t know nor does he care. He’s been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to King’s Landing for a man she’s never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there’s only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He’s passing by Helaena’s chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it’s not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She’s reading to them, and it’s a tale they’ve heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn’t need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N’s shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

“You are an impatient little thing,” Y/N giggles.

“That she is,” Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

“Pardon me, I didn’t hear you coming in,” she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. “Your sister was kind enough to keep me company.”

“I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven’t left her side ever since,” Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

“Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?” Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

“Make sure to be on time for dinner,” his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. She mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she’s telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, she pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she can ever be impressed by him.

“This is where you study?” she is admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative “hmm”.

“How many of these have you read?”

“Quiet a few,” he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

“I wonder what are your preferred subjects.”

“History and philosophy,” he doesn’t mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he’s had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady’s man.

“Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?” when she glances at him, there is a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she’s actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

“I am afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all,” Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

“Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time,” she presses the matter further but does so very gently. “Name just a couple.”

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don’t stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She’s never too pushy with her questions, she’s making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn’t dare to leave her hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

“I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting,” she says, almost whispering, when they are seated.

“You did not, no need to fret,” Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can’t curb the pain that’s spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. She is sitting on his right, and Aemond’s body can’t adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He is so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother’s gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it. He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They’re rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That’s why, when Aemond opens his eye, he’s startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

“I did knock but got no response,” she gives him a look that’s a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he’s unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must’ve had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks.

“The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago.”

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance.

“There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal.”

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what’s expected of him, it’s about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn’t want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

“The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other,” Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. “It seems like you’re getting along quite well?”

“I could think of no better woman than her,” Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn’t say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn’t know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

“Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you’d be happy to know,” Alicent gives him a lax smile. “I shall let you go back to sleep,” she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he’ll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N’s chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, she is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can’t find her in the library and she isn’t in Helaena’s chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He’s lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they are only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

“We must’ve passed each other, because I’ve been looking for you, too,” he confesses. She seems very pleased with herself though he isn’t sure why.

“I think the weather calls for a walk,” she blithely suggests. “Would you like to accompany me?” — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond is looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes her hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they’ve done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn’t. The feeling of holding someone’s hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He is blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can’t help but think that she was the reason for that.

“Your mother came to me this morning,” she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. “I assume she talked to you, too?”

“She did,” Aemond confirms. “Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?”

“Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses,” she mimics a man’s voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there as well. “Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech.”

“He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience,” the prince chuckles and she laughs.

Aemond holds a pause and then adds. “Forgive me if I’m being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you.”

“It was not,” she slows her steps. “I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I’m being honest...,” she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. “I am glad that it’s you,” Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. “We’ll make a pretty good team. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at her.

“It seems so,” he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There is a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

“But I shall give you a warning,” she says with a mischievous grin. “My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won’t shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two.”

“Can any of them outdrink Aegon?” he jokes, and she bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she’s listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it’s almost intimidating. But there’s a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can’t tell if she senses that something is wrong but she’s the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they are greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. She lightly squeezes Aemond’s hand.

“Tomorrow is a big day then,” — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won’t be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

“There is still time for you to plan an escape,” Aemond jests half-heartedly.

She looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head.

“Only if you’re planning one. We are in this together, remember?” her thumb brushes over his. “It’s all about teamwork.”

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn’t want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It’s the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn’t grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They’ve tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that’s known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother’s words — “I thought you'd be happy to know.” Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there’s more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider her his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep. He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn’t ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn’t get a chance to see her throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots her the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It’s hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N’s hand.

But right when they are standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, she lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That’s when it dawns on him that she’s well aware of the attention but she doesn’t really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he’s not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can’t tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he’s getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn’t remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

“Aemond, you’ve been dancing,” she can’t hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

“Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion,” Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

“It is, indeed,” she doesn’t let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

“I can assure you, this isn’t a cause for your distress.”

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn’t see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn’t alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on her face is unreadable. She’s oblivious to Aemond’s presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he’ll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

“... It’s not too late to change that, don’t you think,” Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

“It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser,” when she talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

“Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn’t of a frivolous kind,” he’s circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

“I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation,” she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at her and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it’s not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She’s looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

“I can be very persuasive,” his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. “I think you should appreciate the attention while I’m this generous and...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he’s not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she’s still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

“I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you’re forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it,” her voice doesn’t lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she’s not afraid of anything.

She lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He is frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

“You didn’t... You did not just do that,” there’s a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

“Did what, ser?” her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

“You will not get away with this,” he scowls, nettled.

“You are telling me that you’re considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe,” she seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

“You, insidious wre—!”

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man. “I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed.”

She flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

“Shouldn’t she watch hers? She’s talking to a lord,” Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

“And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?”

“It was a... a simple misunderstanding,” his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

“And what was the matter in question?” Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

“I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal,” the man fakes a smile. “Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly.”

“You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time,” Aemond looks down on him. “Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?”

“I shall rejoin the celebration then,” ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to her. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“Did he harm you?”

“He didn’t get a chance,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn’t sure how.

"Dare I say we’ve got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

“I will escort you to your chambers,” the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds, “I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist.”

She doesn’t move an inch.

“...You are not mad at me?” she’s looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

“I am thinking about cutting his arm off,” he says under his breath, but she catches it.

“Aemond, there’s no need!” she gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

“I will have to disagree,” he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond’s hand — finally — clings to her again.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me,” she confesses. 

“And I don’t want you to get hurt,” his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Her cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

“I think I... I was the one who did some damage,” she complains.

“You must imagine my surprise,” Aemond drawls, teasing.

“Oh, Gods,” a quiet groan leaves her mouth. “That was not very ladylike of me.”

She covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

“You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he enunciates each word. “He only sets an example of unseemly behavior.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t too far off,” she remarks, her voice relenting.

“Hmm, you are certainly not to be truffled with,” he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

“May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?” Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

“My father taught me that,” her tone is surprisingly impish.

“And how did you manage to talk him into it?”

“Talking didn’t help much, actually,” she grins. “And then I broke my brother’s nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine,” she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can’t hold back a small laugh.

She joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other’s company. But then her smile wilts.

“There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren’t very nice back then,” she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

“What did they do?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It’s just um,” she’s looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn’t any. “It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean.”

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, she spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

“Is it the headache?” her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn’t know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that.

She is quick to clear up his confusion. “I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive,” she explains coyly.

“By asking about my health?” he finds his voice again. “I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions.”

“We’ve only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you’re allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone,” she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who’s known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

“Did the ointment help?” she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on her face tells him otherwise.

“That was your doing?” he can’t hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

“I’ve been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required,” she informs him.

“And what kind of witchcraft is it?”

“It is not,” she playfully elbows him. “It was something my grandsire taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain,” she has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

“After her death, he wouldn’t let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret,” her smile is bittersweet. “Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again.”

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

“I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first,” she reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester’s face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

“I shamelessly boosted his ego,” she wrinkles her nose. “Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn’t want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she’s been a saving grace for him, but he’s somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

“It was way more than that and I...,” never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I must admit, you exceeded my expectations,” Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

“I am glad to be of service, my prince,” she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn’t register the moment she came a bit closer, but she isn’t shying away from shortening the distance. There’s something enamoring about her trusting nature but that’s not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would’ve been disrespectful and naive. He’s mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at her, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends. Lucerys’s name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond’s routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She’s never nosy or clingy; he is the one seeking her company at all times. She’s an early riser, too, and they are always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and she can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it’s all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she is terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives her enough confidence to pat Vhagar’s snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can’t help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he’s oblivious to how inseparable they’ve become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister’s chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — “You two seem joined at the hip!”, it startles him. But that moment doesn’t turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

“I will steal her away from time to time,” Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

“Bold of you to assume I will let you,” he chuckles, his gaze not leaving his betrothed.

“I think she’ll have the last word,” his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn’t think twice before admitting. “She will never say no.”

“My point exactly.” The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He has no wish to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. She asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that’s when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn’t want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn’t like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven’t been on good terms ever since. 

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks. “Must you really go?”

He ponders before answering with a sigh. “It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect.”

“I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you,” she frowns.

“It would be a little too late for an apology,” Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

“I still think you deserve one,” she says like it’s the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

“I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me,” and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile. “I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting.” Aemond doesn’t know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn’t involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that’s what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

“Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!” Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

“I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him.”

“I didn’t say I want to switch places,” he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

“Although switching places with you sounds tempting,” he sneers.

“And why would you ever want that?” Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

“You got yourself a pretty wife-to-be,” Aegon chants and whistles.

“Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged,” Aemond deadpans.

“ 'tis won’t be necessary,” Aegon's quick to object. “Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession,” his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Leaving her is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She’s standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they’re both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that’s not what motivates her. Instead, she’s an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar’s carcass away.

“You had a successful hunt, dear prince,” when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

“As usual,” Aemond answers indifferently. “Never took you for a hunter.”

“I cannot appreciate cruelty,” Lannister forces out. “And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear’s grip. So I am here merely to control my brother’s primal impulses.”

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

“Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him,” the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint. “I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother’s sympathy toward your—”

“You should not,” Aemond cuts him off. “Would be better to address his manners but it’s the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves,” with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn’t there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he’s never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would’ve been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it’s already too late as she is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

“...What am I missing exactly?” she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn’t care.

“You’ve been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing,” she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

“Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion,” her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland’s scared tone.

“But what are your accomplishments?” the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. “Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. The prince, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

She looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

“You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above.”

Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she’s seen enough.

“The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you’re clearly lacking,” she casts Jason a disdainful glance. “So from where I am standing, it looks like I’m the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn’t surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

“I would like it if we left earlier, my prince.”

“As you wish,” Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone’s attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond’s ire.

“Give me just a second,” he can’t help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn’t let him make a sound.

“That was the second time your brother couldn’t hold his tongue,” Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. “If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time.”

“Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like...”

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

“I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like.”

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

“Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore,” Aemond says, sitting next to her.

“I sure hope so,” she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

“Whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture,” way more than he cares to admit, “but there’s no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me,” Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

“I will.”

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

“No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now,” she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. He runs out of luck so fast, he must’ve jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. She notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

“Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?” she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When she finds out, she looks devastated.

“It must steep for a few hours, I can’t make it right away,” her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

“There is another way that I know of,” she slowly suggests. “But you will need to lie down."

“Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in,” Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

“Close your eye,” she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that she leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

“It was probably all the noise that caused this,” she presumes.

“Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil,” Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

“He is pissed I didn't choose him,” she laughs quietly.

“Choose him?” her words peak his interest. “You had a choice in the matter?”

“My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn’t like,” her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

“May I ask what was your decision process?” Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

“I’ve heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten,” he can’t see her smile but he can hear it. “That was impressive enough.”

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes. “That can’t be the only thing you’ve heard.”

“I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors,” she notes imperturbably.

“I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm...”

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

“I decided I would be the judge of that,” she says firmly.

“And what is your verdict?” he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn’t think for a second.

“All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn’t a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you.”

Aemond shouldn’t take it to heart but that’s precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn’t breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. She removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

“What do you see?” he exhales.

“Nothing scary, that’s for sure,” her gaze doesn’t leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

“Nothing I don’t admire,” her voice is a little above a whisper.

“Nothing I wouldn’t love.”

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

She lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it’s almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It’s her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what’s left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it’s on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn’t want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

“I must admit,” she tries to catch her breath, she can’t stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, “you exceeded my expectations.”

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

“It’s all about teamwork, as I’ve heard,” he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they are kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He’s lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn’t make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

✧ the title is a quote from Hozier’s song ✧ I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can’t help but mention the extensive research that @adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept. ✧ I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn’t add any music in this fic BUT I’ve listened to “Mr Sandman” a lot, especially the instrumental version. 💕 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[curio-queries]

Hi CQ, Thank you for your ask! I would also like to keep this conversation going as it tickles my brain in the most delightful way.

My question is kind of circling back to your comment about the use of Go-Pro's going forward when it comes to BTS content. It's such an easy way to add a very personal and up close pov to the scenes. YET, I feel like the scaled down crew of AYS and the use of Go-Pro's and especially the lack of attention to the audio has led to some pretty egregious technical setbacks. From choppy audio to a lack of proper coverage in certain scenes. This leads to an edit that has to cover a lot of potholes, so to speak. Do you think this is purely due to the intimate nature of AYS (less crew means more comfort for jikook, easier travel in between locations) or something else? Where's that Disney money 😩😩😩?

Hi Sol, I'm loving our exchanges, so thank you for keeping it going and sending me such an interesting prompt! I definitely had to think about this one a little bit to find how to encapsulate my thoughts.

The short answer is, I think this all just speaks to how the BTS production team is approaching experimental content and the financing required for such projects. Some comparables would be Suchwita and Jin's Alcohol Journey.

Let's start with Jin's show first.

(For anyone that hasn't watched it, I highly recommend. I don't drink but I still found it fascinating.) This is a 4 part episodic show that followed Jin as he learned about and made his own batch of a traditional drink. This show was a collaboration with Chef Baek Jong-won.

Personally, I feel this show was a success. Definitely leaned into more traditional filmmaking and storytelling (appropriately given the subject matter) and was a little more heavy-handed with the promo of Jin's solo music. In my opinion, this will lean the content to feeling more dated than it truly is but that may give us a hint as to how it was funded. There weren't any blatant sponsorships aside from the partnership with Chef Baek so it could have been reconciled as part of the promotions for The Astronaut. Wooteo is pretty prevalent in the show and it aired in the midst of the promo content.

I don't remember when the deal with Disney started to become known but I don't recall anyone in my circles angry that it wasn't getting the Disney release. (Could have been happening but I really limit where I spend my time engaging in social media so maybe that's on me for not being aware. Does anyone here remember if this was an issue?)

Now, let's move on to Suchwita.

(Disregard the quote on the above gif, I couldn't find a different one from the first ep.)

If you watch the first episode, it's on a different set and aired about a month before ep 2. When ep 3 airs, they first make it very clear that the show 'survived'. This is what leads me to believe that episode 1 was filmed on speculation. They could use that as a proof-of-concept to shop the show around to brands to secure more long-term funding. Suchwita's main focus as a show in the current events space is very focused on the guest's current projects and promotions.

Getting back to AYS,

We're far enough into the show that I believe we can rule out album promotions as being a financial driver. Not only because most of the member's songs that even make an appearance in the show were long-ago released but the manner in which they were incorporated is indicative as well. They're really only mentioned in the context of bringing us into the member's lives and sharing in the joy they have for eachother's work. (Also hopefully satisfying those fans that only ask the members to mention other member's songs when one of them would livestream...but that's a subject for another day.)

I think there's a strong possibility that the US eps were filmed on speculation as well. That there was no guarantee of a Disney release at the time. Just like the other shows, they knew they knew they could release on their own if Disney decided to pass so the footage definitely wouldn't be wasted. But I believe that's why the scope of the show seems vaguely undefined during eps 1&2.

Everything else that we've been discussing regarding production honestly seems within the typical scope of BTS's content under similar circumstances. Yes, there is plenty of room for improvement, but it's far from the worst show BTS has ever produced. I think one of the points that makes ppl think it's worse than it is is the management of expectations. I mentioned this in my review of Jimin's Production Diary but if we approach that show expecting that we're going to get detailed breakdown of all of the steps to create an album, we'll be very disappointed. Likewise, AYS is not a detailed vlog of how our members spent their time in these mini vacations.

One last thought,

BTS is not really given the space to experiment and explore. True experimentation requires space for failure, realignment, and growth. And that's just not something BTS has been granted the luxury of. There is such EXPECTATION with everything they release. Everything HAS to be success. That's one of the reasons I was so thrilled to hear RM had performed an unreleased song at the D-DAY concert. Crowdworking new material at concerts was a staple of tourning bands in the west and it helps bands get such critical live feedback DURING the creative process. Now, I don't think that was necessarily the goal with RMs performance but it's so lovely to see him able to even take a step in that direction. Such a thing woukd have been completely unheard of years prior. Fans (likely still) would have been clamoring about being led astray if the song changed drastically after that performance.

Anyway, I could very easily be completely wrong about all of this so let's all take it with a huge grain of salt.

[tyrantisterror]

You seem to have been enjoying Baldur's Gate III a lot. Would you mind giving your thoughts on the individual companions? I'm just curious to see what your take on them is.

Yeah sure! The game's been rotting my brain for months now in part because of its character writing, so I can stand to gush about the companions a bit.

Before we get to the companions individually, I want to talk about them as a group, because one of the things that makes this game so impressive to me is its commitment to its core themes, and that extends to how the companions were crafted as a group. See, each of the core six companions have the following things in common:

The mindflayer tadpole that threatens to turn them into a monster against their will (i.e. the thing that gets them all together on a quest)

A personal history of being abused and exploited by someone they trusted

A Want that comes as a result of their personal history of abuse that is self destructive but understandable given their circumstances

A Need that comes as a result of their personal history of abuse that they have written off or ignored because their past makes them think fulfilling it is impossible

A point in their character arc where they will come into conflict with the player character if the player character tries to advocate for their Need over their Want. If the player values the Want over the Need, the relationship will initially go smoother, but end badly.

The overall theme of Baldur's Gate 3 can be loosely summed up in one of its major recurring songs, I Want to Live, and that's ultimately what each character's arc is a variation of: the desperate desire to live in a world that has been trying to kill your mind, body, and soul to the best of its ability. Got it? Cool, we can talk about the characters now that we've got this established.

Oh, and, uh, this game covers some... HEAVY themes, given that abuse is one of the common denominators between the companions. I'm going to try to be gentle in talking about it, but this will cover some of that subject matter, so this is your warning if you want to avoid that.

Companion 1: Astarion, My Bisexual Awakening

I'm going to start with the companion I feel is the most talked about/popular/overexposed I suppose, Astarion. I feel like anyone with even the vaguest knowledge of Baldur's Gate 3 probably recognizes Astarion at this point, even if it's just as "that annoying vampire twink I'm sick of seeing." There's already a growing "he's popular so he sucks" movement about Astarion here on tumblr and at the cesspool of hate known as Twitter, because of course there is, he's popular, ergo he must suck.

...

I think Astarion is one of the best written video game characters of all time.

There's this one great tumblr post that summarizes Astarion's role in the narrative really well, with the great punchline of "Astarion is kinda like if they sexualized gollum," which is not only funny but perfectly accurate. I can't really top that, so I'm just going to talk around some of its points a bit, but I highly recommend reading it yourself, it's more concise and well-thought out than whatever this ramble will be.

But, ok, so, "I Want to Live" is our theme, right? Astarion is dead. Dead to begin with, Marley style. He has been killed, at a young age, before his time. Sure, he was brought back to a sort of life, being a vampire and a member of the undead and all, but the life he knew is gone. All the pathos one can mine from being a vampire is played up here, for as Astarion himself notes, he's not even a full fledge vampire, but a vampire spawn - "All of the drawbacks, few of the perks." Worse, as a vampire spawn, he's magically bound to the will of the vampire that turned him - forced to live out his undead life as a slave to a sadistic monster that abused him in every way a person can be abused.

Which is why Astarion is the only companion who's entirely thankful for the mindflayers kidnapping him and implanting a tadpole in his head - because they broke that magic connection to his master, and gave him resistances to many of the stock vampire weaknesses to boot (hungry tadpole doesn't want its meat suit burning in the sun, after all). Astarion's life was so fucked that getting a brain-eating parasite was a unilateral improvement.

But while the magic connection is severed, the psychological affect of the abuse Astarion suffered lingers. His master made him use sex as a lure to bring victims to his lair, and so Astarion still believes that he has to offer people sex to "earn his keep" - that his body is a tool for others to use for their gratification, and if he refuses their desires he puts his life at peril. Astarion hates putting himself out to help other people not only because no one has done that for him during his long undead life, but because doing so puts his life at risk. Astarion is power hungry - his Want is to be as strong, no, stronger than his master, so that way he can never be afraid again. Astarion Wants to be a true vampire.

His need, however, is to find value in the life he has now. He needs people who love him for who he is, not what he can offer, and who will protect him the way he has needed protecting for hundreds of years. His need is to be shown that kindness isn't a weakness, that charity is possible, that power does not have to be gained through selfish and cruel means. You're shown this in the game's approval mechanic - while Astarion will disapprove of you putting yourself out on a limb for others and revealing sensitive information freely, he has a soft spot for whenever you help someone who, like him, is being exploited. Because while he'll protest otherwise, Astarion wants to believe kindness is possible, and that the horrible things he's suffered don't define him. Astarion may believe he's just a tool to serve others' desires, but that doesn't mean he doesn't wish to be more than that.

And I know the cynics among you are like "Oh, ok, so the cute vampire twink has a ludicrously tragic backstory. How is that original or good writing?" Because that's the thing, right? If there's an effeminate, brooding bad boy character that lots of teenage girls like in a piece of media, it HAS to be shallow wangst at its core. Every tumblr sexyman is just Edward Cullen when you cut past the bullshit, right?

Like, I know I'm not going to convince the "Thing popular so thing bad" crowd on Astarion's quality no matter how many words I write, but, like, there is a reason for the hype. Dude's got fucking layers! The different interactions with him you can have, the dimensions you can bring out of him by how you choose to engage with him, all paint this great tapestry of a character who takes the concept of a vampire and explores it to a depth few pieces of media have every plunged to.

And he's fucking funny! Dude's got some of the best lines in the game, and his voice actor didn't just give him a sexy sultry voice, but, like, shades of Tim Curry that make him endearingly weird and goofy and witty as hell while still being very sexy.

And yes, he's a sexy vampire, that's a big point in his favor and what most people are dwelling on. And I'm standing by the sexy part - listen, for the past few years I've been kind of wrestling with whether or not I'm bisexual, and the question was laid to rest the first time this fucker flirted with me in game. My heart raced, my cheeks flushed, I reflexively giggled and went "Whoo!" like a Southern Belle in need of a feinting couch. Every time he's flirted with me since has given me the fucking vapors. Thank you, Astarion, I'm bi for sure now. you solved that fucking riddle pretty decisively.

Let's move on.

Companion 2: Shadowheart, A Fellow Lapsed Catholic

Shadowheart is a bundle of contradictions. She's got some of the best quips and quickest wits in the game, and she's also a huge fucking dork. She is oozing with confidence about the role she's been assigned to play and is incredibly assertive in group social situations, but on her own she's a mess of insecurities and is constantly plagued with doubts about her worth. She's constantly preaching about the need to be pragmatic and self-focused, but loves it whenever you are kind and generous. Depending on your choices during the tutorial level, she can become the first ride-or-die party member you get, and she's also a miserable pile of secrets who is terrified of you discovering what she really is.

See, Shadowheart is a cleric of Shar, the Goddess of Darkness, which is both in a literal and figurative sense - that is, Shar is the goddess of night and the absence of light, but, like, also the goddess of loss, and sorrow, and hopelessness, and secrets, and lies. The Goddess of Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss, basically. Being raised to follow the goddess has plagues Shadowheart with guilt over the secrets she's had to keep, the cruelties she's had to inflict, and the distance she's kept from all people in her life as a result of the church's creed. If you're a nerd who comes into this game knowing who Shar is, you'd probably be immediately suspicious of Shadowheart when you find out her alleigance, because Shar's basically one of the more prominent evil gods whose followers are always fucking things up for everyone.

However, I did not come into this game knowing that, but I did come into it knowing what's it's like to be raised in a religion that teaches you that many of your natural desires for companionship are wrong and to feel guilt and paranoia over how your every action will be judged, for like Shadowheart, I am also a Catholic.

Shadowheart's Want is to become a Dark Justiciar, which is basically the Sharran equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition, and to fully prove her devotion to Shar's will. The way she talks about Shar is so thickly coded with the way children of abusive parents talk about said parents that's it's legitimately frightening to witness at times. Shadowheart doesn't blame Shar for hurting her, she knows it's her fault for disappointing Shar in the first place.

Shadowheart's Need is to leave the fucking Catholic church. Depending on your choices, she can accomplish this with the help of two moon-worshipping lesbians, at which point she dyes her hair a color that would piss off her parents Shar and proceeds to indulge in a somewhat hedonistic rebellion of self actualization that only a lapsed Catholic can fully comprehend. I love her.

Companion 3: Lae'Zel, The World's Most Loyal Toad

Ok, so, brief tangent: one of my favorite games of all time is Dragon Age Origins, and it is one of my favorite games of all time in part because it has Morrigan, one of the best characters in all of fantasy fiction, fuck you fight me. Morrigan is a divisive character in the DA fandom because she is notoriously hard to please if you're trying to be a good person - it was so prominent a criticism, in fact, that "Morrigan Disapproves" was put on a fucking t-shirt to play on/monetize the controversy.

But, see, the thing about Morrigan is that she's 1. incredibly complex and 2. designed to challenge your worldview, and to be challenged in turn. Morrigan isn't just an evil bitch, she has a genuine philosophy for why she behaves as coldly as she does, which in part stems from her awful upbringing by her cruel, selfish hermit mother who was trying to shelter her from an even crueller world that would see her in chains just for being a witch. Morrigan has been taught that love is a weakness others will exploit, that kindness is folly, and that everyone is out for themselves. And you need to contradict her on that - getting to know her inevitably involves fighting her on this point, and you proving to her that the cruelty she's been taught is wrong. If you are willing to listen, to argue, to truly understand this character, she grows because of you. It makes her character arc so fucking satisfying, when you get to the end of the game and she realizes that she does love you, she does want to be kind, and that even though she now feels more accutely than ever how love has made her weak, she can't be without it. It's so fucking good.

I bring Morrigan up because almost all the companions in Baldur's Gate 3 are on her level, in part because they are designed like her - to challenge you and be challenged in turn. And none of the core six are more like her than Lae'zel.

Which, sadly, includes the fan backlash part. A lot of fans of the game hate Lae'zel - she's too mean, they say, too hostile, to proud of her strange and callous worldview, too critical of our normal and kind outlook, too difficult to relate to.

These people are cowards.

If Shadowheart is Catholic, then Lae'zel is, like, Christian Reformed. A fundie. She's been training at Githyanki Bible Camp for years to be her lichqueen's perfectly loyal soldier, only to run into this minor snag of being kidnapped by Mindflayers, the ancestral enemies of her people, and infected with a tadpole that will turn her into one of them, the Worst Fate that can become a Githyanki. Luckily, she's read all of her people's Chick Tracts, and knows that if she can get to one of the Githyanki creches, they can use their special machine to pray the tadpole out of her brain and save her.

Lae'zel has drunk the metaphorical kool-aid of her people, but only to a point. See, Githyankis are viciously racist, but Lae'zel is REALLY quick to accept you and most of the other companions (not Shadowheart, though, as like a true Fundie, she cannot stand a Catholic) despite them not being Giths like herself. Yeah, she'll preen and posture about the superiority of her kind a bit, but she sides with you within seconds of meeting you, and from that point on she is ride or die until you give her a good reason to think otherwise. Lae'zel can be mean, stubborn, and arrogant, but she is above all else loyal.

Her Want is to be a perfect Githyanki warrior, earning the respect of her queen and serving her endlessly in the Astral Plane. Of course, when you actually get to that creche she's pointing you towards early in the game, this all falls apart on her, because just like Fundamentalist Christianity, Githyanki culture is little more than a sham designed to uphold an evil and exploitative power structure where the rich drain the life and resources of everyone beneath them and declare it the will of the divine. In this case, that "drain the life" part is explicitly literal, as the Githyanki queen literally devours the life force of any gith that gets even a bit close to rivaling her in power. If Lae'zel tries to follow her dream, it will end with her queen eating her soul.

Lae'zel's Need is to not only break out of her culture's indoctrination, but to find a way to make her life worthwhile on her own terms. It's heartbreaking to witness, honestly, because unlike the other core companions, Lae'zel has no idea what a life outside of her Want looks like. What is she without serving her queen? What the hell does she want? If you've been taught God your queen is all that is good, then how the fuck you you figure out what good is when you realize she's actually evil?

And while she goes through this seriously traumatic existential crisis, she finds the energy to be invested in the struggles of you and your companions. When the other characters are going through The Shit in their respective arcs, Lae'zel is always quick to note that she thinks they are strong and deserve more than they're getting - even Shadowheart, that fucking Catholic!

Because the first word you'd ever use to describe Lae'zel, the one that most succinctly captures who she is, is LOYAL. She fucking rocks, I love her.

Companion 4: Wyll, The Unjustly Underrated

Almost no one talks about Wyll and it fucking sucks, man. I mean, we all know why (it starts with a Ra and ends in a Cism), but still it fucking blows dude. And yes, I include myself in this, anyone who's followed my blog can tell that Wyll's not the companion I fixate on the most.

But listen, I promise you, if the game let me take along four companions instead of three, Wyll... would be competing with Lae'zel for spot #4, and Lae'zel might win out because she's an angry girl, but... fuck I'm losing the plot.

Wyll is great though! He's severely underrated! He's one of the nicest companions you'll get, first of all, but he's not just a nice guy. Everyone's got layers in this, right? Wyll is nice, but he's also a bit arrogant - a glory hound, really. He's the only companion who's given himself a superhero name, and he routinely uses it. Dude wants to be fuckin' Batman so bad, it's wonderful.

He's also the most actively fucked member of the party. Everyone's got abusers in their past, but Wyll's is the only one who's followed him to your camp. Mizora, the devil he sold his soul too, frequently shows up to give him shitty tasks and shittier punishments, and is one of the most hateful fucking characters I have ever encountered in my life. Like, to put this in perspective: if you know me, you know that I have certain... preferences... when it comes to women. So if there was, say, a demon lady character who's also a bit of a dominatrix, and I fucking hated her guts, you'd probably be a bit surprised given, you know, my preferences.

But the way Mizora treats Wyll? The way she talks about him and to him? It's fucking heinous. She's not fun evil, she's evil evil, and she's got to fucking go.

It kind of reframes Wyll's kindness and cockiness as you experience it, because beneath the showy acts of heroism and the bluster, Wyll is a sad little dog in a burning apartment telling himself "this is fine!" over and over again.

Wyll's Want is to be a hero and make the sacrifice of his soul worth something. He has accepted that there is no redemption for himself, that Mizora preying upon his vulnerability in the past is something he can never recover from, that he cannot be free of her chains, and only hopes to use what time he has to do some good, even if it inevitably comes at the cost of his life.

His Need is to break out of Mizora's control, to wrest his fate back into his own hands, and to prove what has always been true: that he IS the hero he's selling himself as. It's a real Rango arc if you think about it.

Companion 5: Gale, The Friend With the Messiest Fucking Love Life You've Ever Heard Of Goddamn

Gale... kind of breaks the companion formula, a little bit? Like, for the other five core companions, there is a clear-cut situation where they were abused and exploited by an asshole - Shar exploited Shadowheart, Cazador the master vampire exploited Astarion, Mizora exploits Wyll, etc. Gale's fucked up traumatic relationship is a bit... messier, and harder to untangle, because by his own admission, he was not blameless in it.

Gale is a wizard, and like all good wizards in fiction, he's a bit of a mad scientist. He was so good at wizarding, in fact, that the goddess of magic itself, Mystra, reached out to him, and eventually the two had a little romance. Now, fans have gone back and forth interpreting this, with some saying that Mystra was grooming Gale from childhood and thus is as bad as Cazador/Shar/Mizora/et cetera. I feel that's kind of a bad faith reading of the character, one that's actively ignoring the concept of what an ageless immortal goddess is to try and fit it into a human context.

For nerds who know about the setting, Mystra is NOT an evil goddess like Shar. In fact, she's kind of a vitally important goddess to have around, as Magic is such an integral part of the reality of this setting that not having a god of some sort for it results in an fucking extinction event - which the characters in the game know for a fact because at one point in the past, a mortal wizard killed Mystra and made that extinction event happen. Mystra reformed, as gods do, and eventually things got back to more or less normal, but that doesn't do much for the shitload of people and creatures that died during the period of time where magic was dead.

And that's what ends up souring Gale and Mystra's relationship. Gale, being mortal, felt he had to prove he was Mystra's equal, and so set out to find a source of magical power not unlike that used by the wizard in the past who killed Mystra. And when Mystra saw Gale doing that, she freaked the fuck out because she thought she was going to get killed again - because the wizard who slew her in the past ALSO felt he needed to prove he was equal to a goddess.

Neither character takes the breakup well. Gale feels like fucking shit because he fumbled a literal goddess, and also got a piece of super destructive magic lodged in his chest in the process that's slowly killing him. And Mystra is worried that the super powerful piece of magic lodged in Gale's chest could kill her, and also about the cult using a very similar piece of magic (it's a big plot point for the game I won't go into it this is already too long), and so, in an act of cruel godly pragmatism, she sends D&D Gandalf to tell Gale to use his the magic murder ball in his chest to kill the cult, even though it'll destroy him in the process. "Hi sweetie, please kill yourself on my behalf, k thanx!" basically.

It's... it's a mess.

Gale's Want is to prove he is Mystra's equal by mastering the ancient magic he's found, and either win her back or, better yet, become a god himself and dethrone her. As I said, he's got a bit of a mad scientist in him.

Gale's Need is to move on from this relationship, talk things out with his ex, give her her dvds the ancient magic artifacts back, and move on with his life.

I like Gale. He's got funny lines, he loves his cat, he's a goofy nerd, and while his love life is a mess, his heart is mostly in the right place. He needs some nudges to do the right thing, but he's a good guy deep down, and I always love it when fiction shows a relationship that falls apart not because one person in it was "bad," but because the two people were just not compatible. Yeah, Gale fucked up, but you can understand why he fucked up, and he can understand it too if you help him own up to his mistakes and move forward. Also, he loves his cat, he can't be all bad.

Companion 6: Karlach, the Most Beautiful Woman I've Ever Seen

Karlach is my favorite companion in this game, which is why I saved her for (sort of) last. And, yes, sure, part of it is because of my aforementioned preferences with women...

she's so goddamn pretty

But it's also because of how she plays with those core themes I've mentioned. Karlach was sold into slavery as a teenager, where her devil master ripped out her heart and replaced it with an engine to turn her into a super-strong gladiator. She's been living in literal Hell for years, fighting every day to survive, and like Astarion she actually views being kidnapped by Mindflayers as a godsend since it freed her from her enslavement.

Unlike Astarion, Karlach doesn't have a long life to look forward to. That engine in her chest can't work properly outside of Hell, and it will eventually break, overheat, and melt her from the inside out. Karlach is the only companion who knows she's going to die soon whether or not the tadpole is taken out - no matter how this adventure ends, she will die.

At least, that's what she's told herself. Karlach's Want is to never return to Literal Hell, no matter what, because she's afraid if she does she will be taken as a slave again, and that there is no hope for a good life if she touches foot on that ground again. Following this want means she WILL die - either by the engine, by her enemies in the mortal plane, or by turning into a mind flayer (because while mind flayers can retain their hosts' memories, they are NOT the same being as their host).

And Karlach is convinced she's ok with this! No, really, she's fine! This is fine! She's got a few days left to live, and she's going to enjoy them! She is unfailingly kind and compassionate, always willing to help others, always cheery and taking the best view of her friends and people in need, a ray of fucking sunshine.

And beneath it all she's terrified and sad. When you get towards the end of the game, and Karlach feels how close the Inevitable End is, she reaches a breaking point where that happy facade snaps and it's... it's gut wrenching, man. It breaks your fucking heart, because as much as she's determined not to risk setting foot in Literal Hell ever again, she really doesn't want to die.

...

Karlach's Need is to go back to Literal Hell long enough to get that engine replaced. Her Need is to find hope, TRUE hope, not just a facade of optimism - a true belief that she can face the worst and come out of it ok, that she can survive, that she is not alone in facing the darkest shit this world can throw at her. Her Need is to find the strength to believe that she can live, even if it's hard, even if it's Hell to get there.

And Karlach is worth it. She is worth Hell.

Companions 7 - 10 Speedrun

I don't have as much to say about the four other companions you can get in the game, mainly because I already love these six so much that trying to take time to get to know four other weirdos who I don't get to recruit until halfway through the game just... like, there's a party limit of four characters and one is me, I can only take three of you along at a time, I'm prioritizing the one's who've been with me since all the goblin shit in Act 1, feel me? The rest of you seem real neat but I've got my nakama all set, we're good.

Halsin is the one I know the most of these four because he helped me at the tail end of the goblin stuff and he seems fine. He's a big nice hippie who turns into a bear and is into polygamy and carving wooden ducks. A lot of people thirst for him, but he's not my type - like I get the appeal but this is a case of Not My Favorite Pennywise Hentai But OK as far as I'm concerned. I like his subplot about restoring balance to the cursed forest, though. Felt like teaming up with Smokey the Bear.

Minthara is the companion that used to require you to kill a shitload of innocent people to recruit, but people found weird work-arounds that involved turning her into a sheep and so the developers sighed and released a patch where you could recruit her without mass murder using only slightly cheesey means. She is Genuinely Evil, but in a complicated way that's still fun from a character perspective. She's also a great comically serious character - i.e. someone who's so serious all the time that they end up being incredibly funny on accident just by their muted reactions to all the weirdness around them. From the clip compilations I've watched on youtube, her romance is basically a Lady Macbeth situation, and that's pretty hot. If it weren't for Karlach, I'd... romance Astarion, but if it weren't for Astarion, I'd... romance Shadowheart, but if it weren't for Shadowheart, I'd... romance Lae'zel, but if it weren't for Lae'zel, I might romance Minthara. Or Wyll. One of the two.

Jaheira is a character from one of the previous Baldur's Gate games, neither of which I've played, so I had no preconceptions or attachments to her going in this game. She basically becomes your surrogate mom as the game goes along, and I mean that as a compliment. She's pretty great and fills a nice emotional niche - I didn't use her that much because, again, I've already got six close friends to rotate out, I'm not going to ditch them for long periods of time to hang out with my MOM, but it was nice having her along for the ride a few times.

Minsc is the OTHER returning character from the previous games, and from what I can tell he's basicall Kronk from The Emperor's New Groove but with a funny accent. I like him, he's fun comic relief, and he throws a hamster at people while telling it to eat their eyes. I don't have a lot to say on Minsc, I just think he's neat.

At some point I might do a followup to this gushing about NPCs from the game, because goddamn the supporting cast is great too. Omeluum, Us, the Emperor, fucking Dame Aylin. Dame Aylin is so goddamn fucking cool, I want to read novels about her adventures, she rocks so hard. All glory to the Nightsong!

[xstargirlslutx]

Cock Warming || Theo Nott

Day 5 of Kinkmas

Kinkmas Masterlist

TW: grinding, slight exhibitionism, teasing, use of y/n, public sex, rough riding

Words: 1,171

You were sitting on Theo's lap in the common room, visiting with Pansy who sat adjacent on the other couch. Theo was reading a book, hardly paying attention to the conversation you two were having.

For a while, you and Pansy were just talking about school and the upcoming O.W.L.S., until she switched the topic and made you laugh. You shifted slightly as you giggled and repositioned yourself to be more comfortable.

You heard a heavy exhale behind you but it no mind, you were too busy laughing anyway.

"Oh Y/n, we really need to get the whole group together again, go out for butterbeers or something."

"Oh I know! We've all been so busy studying for the o.w.l.s., I've barely had time to do anything."

"Other than snogging Th-" You cough loudly,

"None of that either, mind you." Pansy smirked,

"Well you need to fix that then. Might help.. take the stress off before exams."

"You're talking as if I'm not here," Theo mumbled.

"That's because you're supposed to be reading obliviously since you insisted on staying with me all night."

"Note taken." He laughed,

"I think I'll run to the restroom real quick, before I piss myself." Pansy said, still laughing. She winked at you and walked down the hall.

As soon as she had disappeared Theo marked his place in his book and set it down on the couch.

"Maybe she's right darling.. It's been far too long."

"We've been far too busy."

"Well I'm here now." You shifted yourself to look at him better, he stifled a groan, "-Bella, you've got to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" You smirked, and he blew out from his mouth,

"Stay quiet."

"Wh-" Suddenly, Theo reached his hand down and undid his pants. It was only a matter of moments before he slid your panties to the side and sunk into you. "Ah- Theo-" You bit down on your lip at the lack of warning, "We can't here-"

"We're not." And he was right- technically. He didn't move one bit. Your skirt covered everything that was happening, but it didn't hide your face growing increasingly red. You could barely think straight, feeling so full of him. You missed it after so long, and you couldn't wait to be back up to your room with him later.

Pansy returned shortly after, with Draco, as well. You turned and buried your face in Theo's neck out of embarrassment, yet he was back to reading like nothing was happening. Except this time, he had one arm securely wrapped around your waist.

"Look who I found!" Pansy chimed, "He was doing nothing alone in his room so I thought he could hang out too."

"Perfect." You forced a smile. Immediately as Draco sat down he noticed something was off about you.

"Are you okay, y/n?" He asked,

"-Yes, yes of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I mean, it's a little cold all the way over there, isn't it? Don't you two want to come sit over here by the fire?"

"We're fine." Theo interjected, and Draco smirked knowingly.

"Very well."

"Um, so what do you guys think of that new professor?" Pansy asked, trying to change the subject.

"He's alright, bit of a downer in class though, won't let us talk to our friends until he's done with his lecture."

"Isn't that what most teachers would expect?"

"Maybe, but most of them have given up trying to quiet us down." You all laughed and Theo squeezed your hip. You mumbled an apology to him and reached back to play with his hair. He smiled slightly but kept his attention on the book.

The three of you talked for an hour longer, enjoying catching up after the chaos of the end of the school year. Theodore stayed a bystander, calming reading his book despite your attempts to arose him with your movements.

Eventually Pansy said, "I think I'm going to turn in guys, it's getting pretty late."

"Yea me too, we have an early practice before school tomorrow, I want to be well rested. Don't forget that either mate." Draco said, referring to Theo, almost knowing he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

"Well goodnight guys, we need to hang out again soon, after exams." You smiled, and they waved goodnight before exiting the common room.

You glanced around to find there was nobody left except the two of you. "I could fall asleep like this you know? All warm and full.." You had almost forgotten he was still in you, simply feeling complete.

"Oh really? Hm.. well I don't know if I can let that happen yet.. You still need to fix what you did to me earlier."

Heat filled your cheeks once again and you decided to make a bold move. You shifted and spun yourself to face him, not once letting it slip out. "Mm.. Theo, you wanna do it here? We may as well.."

Theo loved it when you were like this, giving him your innocent eyes yet begging for the nastiest things.

"I thought you were embarrassed by this darling, what happened?" He smirked and set his book to the side.

"Shut up-" You rocked your hips back and forth, suddenly desperate for friction.

"Fuck tesoro, you want me to fuck you right here? Where somebody could catch us?"

"I don't care- they're all asleep.."

"So bad.." He gripped both of your hips and wasted no time fucking into you with short but rough thrusts.

"Fuck- Theo- Gods- Ah~" Your words were interrupted by his sporadic movements, hitting your cervix just right.

"Shh.. darling- don't- want to wake- anybody up- now.." Though he preached for you to be quieter, he was slowly coming undone himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mm.. Theo- I'm close."

"Fanculo, bambina, already?"

You whimpered and nodded quickly, and he sped up, slid a hand down under your skirt, and rubbed fast circles on your clit.

You fell apart above him and buried your face into his shoulder to mute the sounds that were bound to fall out of your mouth.

"Mm.. fuck yes-" He moaned and released just after you, only sliding in once more and then staying there.

"Could we- go back up to your dorm?" He asked, and you nodded and began climbing off him, but he pulled you back down onto him.

"Mm, no.." He stood up and you wrapped your legs around his waist, keeping in the same position. "Good girl.."

The two of you made it back to your dorm room, and he laid you both down on the bed, keeping his dick in you the whole time.

"Can we stay like this tonight?" He asked, and you nodded nervously. "It's okay, darling, it'll be good I promise." He reached his hands and unbuttoned your shirt to make you more comfortable. "Just relax and go to sleep.. I know you're tired."

You nuzzled your head into his chest and quickly fell asleep, feeling full of him and as comfortable as ever.

[roomsofangel]

CHAPTER SEVEN

the act of holding on and letting go .ᐟ

wc 1.1k

if you’d like to be added to the taglist please either send an ask in my inbox or leave a comment to be added to the taglist! reblogs and comments are also very appreciated!

chapter warnings metaphor of torture. hint/talk of depression and suicidal ideation without it fully being expressed outright. y/n learns their feelings were manipulated at one point.

other with the further we get into this — the more warnings that will be more prominent — the lore and y/n uncovering everything alongside the way they all handle / go about things aren’t exactly what a healthy person would immediately go towards. ( and maybe, that one line you read in a previous chapter that didn’t seem like much, was actually a key thing for a later time x )

other 2.0 bringing my forever first baby back! i tagged those who i can remember asking to be on the taglist but no hard feelings if you want to be removed! i just deeply missed this series and it’s nowhere near done so i want to bring it back to finish it! at the moment, the masterlist was taken down so i’m in the process of redoing it so its not linked! however, click here to be directed to my old blog and the intro for this work! it’s all my work, i just moved over when that blog got shadowbanned!

“you’re absolutely fucking insane if you think i’d just sit here after hearing the stunt he pulled—“

seonghwa’s pitch and tone could make any grown man cower into submission, tears swelled up in their eyes while asking if he wanted them to bleed on his shoes or in his hands, seonghwa stared ahead focusing on hongjoong who was only speechless — how could you run into the arms that put you in harms way?

well, if he looked at it through an outsider point of view, that’s what you did with seonghwa constantly.

something told hongjoong you didn’t go to san with seductive undertones, that just wasn’t you. in every life, you still held the same morals. it was something he knew would never change.

“why did they go?” seonghwa’s voice began to lower, softly raspy when his emotions began fully processing, allowing himself to sit on the armrest chair and put his head in his hands, pushing his hair out of his face that draped over his forehead, “was it my fault?”

hongjoong shook his head, “though, i really want to say it is,” he coughed, attempting to cover the laugh he wanted to let out because he knew it wasn’t a comedic matter. “has anyone seen them?” he changed the subject, his skin crawling with unease after noticing the suffocating silence with himself and seonghwa in his living room

“besides san?” seonghwa sneered, fixing his posture before standing, dusting off imaginary dirt from his clothes, “i have to pay a visit to cupid,” he scoffed

hongjoong followed alongside, “something tells me this isn’t a usual business call,” he amused while catching up with seonghwa’s pace who made his way to the door, swiftly grabbing his car keys that hung from the wall storage hooks, “san knows all about those.”

seonghwa stopped for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to shake his head, though, his small peeking smile showed he found the reference amusing — opening the door, he swallowed his nerves.

he wanted to trust you. but how could he when you were surrounded by people he didn’t?

‎

‎

‎

‎

the room was cold, goosebumps illuminating each part of your skin that was more exposed than the other — you curled up on the couch with a heavy weighted blanket and a mug of hot chocolate — wooyoung only seemed to have a sweet taste, everything he owned in the food department was a major hint at his severe sweet tooth

you learned wooyoung was the god of love — though, most humans knew him as cupid despite some not fully believing on his reliability and existence, he seemed warm and inviting. he made sure you changed clothes and let you keep the dagger you swiped, clutched next to you.

it didn’t make sense that wooyoung was considered an enemy.

recalling san saying he met wooyoung however, had alarms going off in your head — what was his involvement? san never elaborated on the so called help.

but it was enough for him to be punished. how did you die the first time?

“if you keep frowning like that you’ll have wrinkles,” wooyoung prompted, taking a seat across from you with a strawberry cupcake in his hand, “at least, that’s what humans say — i never had any.”

you scoffed, biting back your laugh, “how lucky you must be.”

he nodded, smiling, “i mean, yn, i’m stuck as twenty three forever,” he kept a light hearted tone and facade, but you saw through it.

his eyes screamed of something you could recall as despair — desperate for an ending, he was tired. anyone with two eyes that struggled with choosing if they should stay or go, could see he was holding on by a thread.

because right now, wooyoung may have had the brightest smile — but you saw he also had the most saddest eyes.

“how did you get involved in this?” you asked, tone soft — you hoped you didn’t overstep a boundary, but wooyoung looked back at you with understanding

clearing his throat, “san told you he came to me, didn’t he?” he amused

you nodded in response.

“it was inevitable really, if san didn’t drag me in, one of the others would’ve,” he sighed, cleaning his fingers with his lips and tongue from the frosting excess of the cupcake he finished, “i felt bad for him, he was desperate for love and specifically from you.”

frowning, heart swelling, you knew if you were going to get the full story, you had to get your hands dirty and go to those who were all involved

it wasn’t smart in a sense — but with everyone telling different sides and their point of views, it was your job to pin point the consistency and bring it altogether.

for your final life.

‎‎

‎

“seonghwa is looking for you,” wooyoung mentioned, helping you wash the dishes — his eyes glancing to the side you resided, wet rag in hand focusing on the mug you drank from, “i can feel he’ll be here soon,” he frowned

“with hongjoong.”

your eyes lifted, attention gained fully, “do you know how long it’ll be?”

wooyoung shook his head, “i just wanted to tell you, give a heads up,” he pressed his lips together

you could see he was holding back, the same expression of wanting to say more than he was — was evident — you understood it all too well, that was your constant default.

words left unsaid.

“tell me what you want to, wooyoung,” you turned to face him

defeated, he smiled, “you made me feel human today, y/n,” his cheeks flushed and he looked away from you, “domestic even,” he teased which earned a small laugh from you

“i don’t know if i like it yet, but it’s not a bad feeling,” he briefed, finishing the last dish, “i just… want this with someone in particular..”

now this.

this was something you didn’t expect to hear.

“is it okay if i ask who?”

wooyoung laughed, “just as nosy as me, huh?” teasing, he cleared his throat and the amusement he held faded, recognizing the one thing you noticed, wanting the one thing you could never have.

“it’ll never happen, he’s been chasing after the same person for centuries,” he shook his head, “i can be blamed though.”

“i always helped him.”

then it made sense.

if wooyoung helped someone else, you weren’t aware of such — but something told you, whoever you thought of — was that person.

“why stay?” you asked

wooyoung contemplated on admitting it, tears swelling in his eyes before he whispered, “anything is better than being alone again, y/n.”

‎

‎

‎

you sat outside the porch, the talk with wooyoung left the two of you with overwhelming emotions — they weren’t directed at each other, but towards the confession and why wooyoung even got involved.

giving him time to adjust himself, you let wooyoung shower while you stared up at the full moon that shined down on you, appearing to slowly fade— nostalgic, you smiled.

you don’t know how long you had been staying with wooyoung, assuming half a night — at least, until the sunrise.

swallowing your nerves, you attempted to gather the information you received.

san didn’t give you an exact timeline but something told you he knew — you’d gather that later.

hongjoong and you had already been best friends — every life.

seonghwa was never meant to be your lover but somehow always made it happen.

and wooyoung helped san with you.

your expressions showed your progress and you couldn’t help but audibly gasp, “that fucking asshole.”

my yn never let a man control them.

“what a hypocrite you are, choi san,” you bitterly whispered under your breath

before you could stand and let wooyoung know you should be heading out soon, your nose twitched and felt a hand wrap around your wrist to pull you back

“yn, you have explaining to do.”

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[itskindofidontknow]

What dreams know about love?

Chapter 7

Dream of The Endless/Morpheus x Love!OFC

Summary: The Queen of Love has grown used to the absence of her husband, the Dream King. After banning her from the Dreaming, they only saw each other when Morpheus summoned her for social or marital duties. He would go decades without calling for her, enamorated by a variety of mistresses. It broke Love's heart. Not that her husband cared. However, after being imprisioned for a century, The Dream King wants to regain his Queen's love. She doesn't believe him, not after centuries of neglect. The question is: Can dreams repair a broken heart?

Tag: Established relationship, arranged marriage, regency romance, eventual happy ending, angst, morpheus is a dick prepare to hate, love is eoster from west germanic mythology, typos are to be expected

The morning bells outside the door woke Love in a jump. She didn’t remember much after leaving the Dreaming. The weight of her husband’s return, the changes and his new behavior overwhelmed her to a point of exhaustion. She didn’t want to get ready for the day, shoving her face back into the soft silk pillowcase, starting to fall asleep again, when the sleigh bells once again rang, followed by Elijah and the handmaids entering her room. Love put the covers over her head, as she ignored a few mumbles of ‘good morning my queen’. They abruptly opened the curtains, going with their usual routine, filling the bedroom with intense sunlight. Love turned to her side, dropping something on the floor, it didn’t shatter, but it was clearly made of glass. Love should’ve immediately looked for what she dropped, but her eyelids were heavy, and her head was spinning.

Elijah silently and quickly moved standing besides his queen, before the maids could see it. Not that they seemed interested in anything other than their work. Kneeling beside the bed and hiding a wine bottle from the Garden's royal winery, under his uniform, whispering "A single glass last night, nothing to worry about.” She knew he was lying, her headache and photophobia were clear signs of strong hangover. One or two glasses would’ve made her at ease, a full bottle usually made her pass out. Similar to what she was experiencing.

The last time she indulged in alcohol was before Morpheus' imprisonment, after a family reunion in Lord Destiny's realm. Fuel to an escalated argument that ended with her banning from the Dreaming.

The night before, the Cupid and the Emissary witnessed the Queen’s return. She went straight to the winery. It was a habit Love developed after decades of marriage. She either came back in tears, or if no one was around, looking for a bottle of something to numb her pain. Usually the cupid would go straight to her aid, letting her rant about the king, sometimes it made sense, sometimes it didn’t. Uselessly trying to explain, and although the cupid pretended to understand and stroked her curls whispering comforting words, until she was in a deep dreamless sleep, the truth was she felt much more than she could ever speak.

the Emissary didn’t let him go to the Queen this time, telling that she needed time alone. Elijah may be her longest loyalist companion, but the Emissary was a better observant than him.

The Queen was not in need of companionship. She needed time to soak in all the earlier events, to get a hold of herself, or to just not have to keep a posture, or care for her subjects feelings, and that included Elijah, however he liked or not. No matter how much he looked after his Queen's needs, it's forever her duty to be responsible for him. And Love always felt guilty of laying the pains of her failed marriage into the loyal cupid. It wasn't his responsibility to make her feel better. The Emissary knew that the cupid's presence would only burden her.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we will be able to have a lazy morning. There are-” Love sat in the bed, clearing her eyes, many stimuli all together, making a tight knot in her stomach. Did she eat, yesterday? Why was Elijah talking this fast? Was he even speaking coherently? “Arrangements. Yes. Can we-” Elijah reached for a small bottle in her bedside table with an amber liquor. After spending the night with the king, very often, Love would awake in pain in her lower stomach, between her legs, nothing unbearable, but not very comfortable. Results of a consensual but unpleasant coupling. She was very discreet, feeling ashamed by it, after all, as queen of love, she was the queen of eros, carnal love. She was supposed to be feeling wholesome after a night with her husband, not in pain and humiliation.

The Emissary was the first to notice the coincidences of ‘date night’ as he started to call, and seeing the Queen (when she thought no one was looking) pressing her hand against her lower stomach. Desire’s creatures were not fond of helping or giving a helping hand, they were usually selfish as their creator. The Emissary was proudly selfish as any other golden-eye creation, but millennials away from Desire, may have made him a bit soft (Although he would forever deny it) and empathic.

Contrary to his selfish nature, the Emissary offered Elijah to take to the Queen a medicine of his own preparation. As a cupid, Elijah was beyond empathic, he could see one’s true intentions in an instant, it was almost impossible to deceive him. Elijah could sense and feel his queen’s discomfort, but poor cupid was not trained nor have the abilities to remedy those.

After all, cupids were only made to make matches, create a bit of chaos in love triangles and accompany newly wed mortals that were the result of their schemes. The Emissary, on the other hand, was perceptive of the matters of the flesh, especially those related to lust and carnal desires, he knew the delightfulness and the unpleasantness of it, and had a better experience in broken marriages than cupids ever could.

The Queen felt much better and relieved after taking it, and ordered to always have a bottle of the amber liquid beside her bed. Elijah hated looking at the bottle, as it was proof of her suffering, but the Emissary advised Elijah to not indulge in imagining what goes on in private meetings of failing marriages. ‘If you think too much about it, you might commit treason, lover of mine.’

Eoster delicately shoved his hand away “No need for it, Elijah." He looked at her, confused, but abided, putting it down. She reached for his hand before he could stride away. " Could we please shut the curtains?” As Love spoke, barely opening her eyes, Elijah gave the order to the maids.

The rest of the day went by without much change. The court was still deciding who would accompany the Queen to the Dreaming and who would remain. Eoster explained the differences between the Garden and the Dreaming. It lack of social agenda, a formal court or established etiquette protocols. There wasn't a 'Fashion of the Dreaming' or daily concertos, courtroom balls, and poetry reading.

"Pardon me, my lady, but what does the King expect from us, then?" Love bit her bottom lip. She didn’t inform them that he didn’t expect anything. They were part of a bluff that their queen thought it wouldn't work. " Well, I believe since there is a lack of social protocols, my lord husband expects us to provide it to the Dreaming. We believe, as your Queen and King, that you will be perfectly able to install a proper social agenda to your sister-realm" It was a no-answer and a lie. Morpheus hated social agendas.

She couldn’t wait to deal with his broody mood, after seeing the calendars full of events that required his presence.

The next hours went by slowly, Love was distracted. All afternoon, she kept waiting for a call. It wasn’t usual for him to go silent after a fight. Well, he would go silent, but would make sure that Love endured being in his company while ignoring her. Or worse, make her do meaningless tasks, just to remember her place, a meaningless position.

Could she consider last night a fight? She basically left before they could start any arguments, and even when furiously walking through her husband’s palace hallways, trying to get as far from him as possible before returning to the Garden, he didn’t make any attempt to follow her, scream her name, demanding her stay. He just let her walk away. Thinking about it, didn’t aid the queen in calming her mind. She couldn’t remember the last time her husband occupied so much of her thoughts.

After finishing the afternoon duties, Love walked to Elijah’s study to dictate a letter to Lucienne, about accommodations and such for her court. A poor excuse to get a sense of the whereabouts and frame of mind of her husband. As she raises her hand to knock on his door, it opened with Lucienne looking pale and confused ”My Queen!” She bowed quickly after realizing who was in front of her. The brunette took a look over her shoulder seeing Elijah “Blessing from the Garden, Lucienne. I must say, I did not expect you today. Did something-” She was cut by the woman who was out of her breath. Lucienne was the image of poise and professionalism, to interrupt her Queen, something must be really distressing her. “It’s Lord Morpheus. He is-” Elijah finished for her, making his way to the door, pushing the librarian aside and inviting Lady Eoster inside, offering her a seat.

The paleness of the woman and the way the cupid walked around the room seeming unusually agitated put Love unease “He is in Morningstar’s Hell, he went there to retrieve his helmet, he-” This time, Love interrupts him, raising her hand, a small movement of her head indicating the open door behind them. Elijah was quick to close it.

They could be strained to each other, but any topics of conversation about Dream’s problems or realm’s affairs, the few Eoster got to know, she kept private. She trusted all her cupids for she knew the truth in their hearts, but they were still cupids. And cupids have friends scattered through a variety of realms. They are charming, charismatic and very talented conversationalists which means that any gossip, especially about an Endless, is a hot topic of conversation, one that could put any of them in the center of the attention. And cupids love attention.

Depending on which friend they tell, and who is acquaintance to that friend, it can lead, in best case scenario, to a simple misunderstanding, in worst case scenario, imprisonment, punities and death.

And Morpheus in Lucifer’s Hell? Love could feel the headache, from earlier, returning.

“Morningstar’s Hell? Was he invited there? Lucifer found his helmet and is returning it in good faith?” Immediately as the door clicked, Love said it, reaching for the tiny flimsy hope that her husband didn’t do anything stupid. Lucienne and Elijah looked at each other. “ Not exactly, he went there un-” The Queen walked to the window. Understanding where their concern came from. “Uninvited. And what does he plan on doing when getting there? Asking politely?!” She bitterly laughed, slapping her hand against the wood frame of the window, “What was he thinking?!” Everyone in the room felt shivers running through their spines hearing her voice growing in anger. Elijah rarely, to not say never, saw his Queen like this.

Didn’t Morpheus stop to think about this plan for a single instant? As one of the Endless, her husband not only outranked Lucifer but he is stronger than the angel. Usually. Before being kept by a mortal for a hundred of years. In his current conditions and in the demon's realm? It was a witless move.

“He is playing the game.” The Emissary said coming from the adjacent room with a golden tray and three white cups with hand-painted flowers decorating them. Some demon he knew from before creating roots in the Garden, sent him the word about the King of Dreams challenging Morningstar. Desire would jump in excitement with it, and the Emissary job was to first deliver a message to his creator. So he did. that was why, he was in Elijah’s study. finishing his letter. It wasn’t a secret that the Emissary had to inform Desire of the Endless, Elijah understood it. It was his job. The only reason Desire let him stay.

The cupid’s lover was preparing a hot tea since Dream’s librarian arrived. The golden eyed man was quick in offering to make tea. He didn’t bother Lucienne, he indulged in annoying her like he would do to any other dream creature. But her apprehension, and Elijah pacing in circles was getting on his nerves. He only appeared again, when he heard the Queen’s voice. She was the one that needed his information.

The Emissary might report everything to Desire, but his creator never said anything about not reporting to Eoster as well.

As The Emissary handed the Queen her cup, he bowed, hesitating for a second before saying “The oldest game”. Elijah was the only one who noticed, the Emissary never hesitated. He preferred to say sorry (Although he never did) than to think before doing anything. Elijah loved and hated it, depending on his mood. But hesitation was not a good sign. “Queen Eoster, if I may, the demons are quite…Euphoric with the game.” The Emissary had a vast net of informants, specially in realms considered inhospitable and unwelcome to the lovefolk, such as Hell.

From what he heard, every single demon already considered Lucifer victorious. He couldn’t say that. He chose his words carefully. Demons don’t get excited unless they know they are winning. Love knew that. Everyone knew that, and as they exchanged knowing looks. “ Thank you, Emissary. You should stay, send a dove as soon as the game ends and the winner is declared.” The Queen turned to the right hands `` Both of you, we need to go to the Dreaming. Now.”

@secretdreamlandmentality @littlemoistcarrot @lokigirlszendaya

[onwhatcaptain]

It's been ages since I posted a snippet from my K/S novel, so I'm back with one from Chapter 15!

“Well, I haven’t even asked you anything yet, Doctor.” He snorts. “And for your sake, you probably shouldn’t.” They make a small expression of sympathy that he’s getting far too used to seeing and they walk in silence for a few moments. “I understand you’re going through a lot right now, but I have a responsibility to at least try and ask you questions, Doctor.” “And why’s that?” “Because this story deserves to be reported fairly and accurately, and your perspective on the matter is missing. I think you might have some valuable insight and I just want to understand. To shed light on the matter.” “And what exactly needs my input?” “Doctor McCoy,” they ask, “were Commander Spock and Captain Kirk merely colleagues and friends? Or was there something more?” McCoy stops in his tracks without turning to face them, nearly tripping on the gravel lining the path. “What?”

If you are curious, my fic "I Shall Do Neither" is here at AO3.

I Shall Do Neither (87406 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 16/26 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 25 chapters, and will be updated on Sundays.

[arteastica]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (9)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27) | (28) | (29)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 1.8k

“It will start snowing soon.” The commander looked up at the darkening sky as if expecting a snowflake to land on his face any moment now. “The first snowfall usually happens around this time.”

“And it will be a heavy one.” You observed, trailing not far behind along the forest path that led back to the headquarters. You had spent the best part of the afternoon at the storage shed, checking the grain, cloth, and hay inventory, as well as the wood stock one last time. It was the final step in the tedious process of preparing for the winter, and judging by the way your fellow soldiers had taken off as soon as the commander had finally dismissed them, it was evident they too were grateful winter only came once a year.

“How do you know?”

“Well, for one, the acorns. Their skin is thick this year.” You explained while looking at the ground, covered in nutshells. “When they fall heavily and the squirrels stash them up high,” you pointed at the treetops, where, earlier, you had spotted their bushy tails between the foliage “the snow will be deep. Also, did you try the apples at breakfast today? Their skin was so tough it could chip a tooth. I think I’ll pass on them tomorrow.”

He let out a chuckle in response. “How reliable are apple skins when it comes to predicting the weather?”

“I don’t know about apples, but onions and corn… they never lie.” He looked back at you and raised an eyebrow. “The onion skins are thicker too, and the corn husks are especially tight this year. However, what has me really worried are the flowers.”

He waited for you to catch up. “The flowers?”

“They had a second bloom this fall. Did you notice? It’s going to be a bad winter, commander.” You shook your head like you were delivering the most ominous of news, but he just threw his head back laughing, and you couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across your face at the sight. There was something childlike in him, even though that was a word that you never thought, not in a million years, could be associated with the commander of the Survey Corps.

“How do you know all this? Assuming you are not making it all up.”

This time it was you the one lifting an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter. You know about chess and battle tactics, and I know about these things. And all you need to know is that I didn’t make it all up, and that winter is going to be harsh and unforgiving this year.”

“Well, we better make sure to stay warm then.” There was nothing mischievous about the tone or manner of his words, so nothing justified the mental imagery your head started to provide you with; something that had become somewhat of a habit ever since the ball. And you had to admit that images of his warm, muscular body tangled up with yours under soft, warm covers were looking especially enticing in this weather.

Since that night, at your doorstep, you had been looking inside to see if you could find in you an inch of the confidence you had felt then, to see if there was a little bit left of that something you had then, that something that had led your lips so close to his. But maybe it all had been gone once the final leaves fell from the trees, or when the few drinks you had that night wore off.

You glanced at him. He had a pretty nose, of course he did. High, with a prominent bridge and slightly bent at the end. His side profile alone was enough inspiration for later at night, when you were alone in your room, seeking a satisfaction that you knew your fingers couldn’t provide. But you would try regardless, and hopefully this time it would work. It was sad to see something that you usually found relief and comfort in, quickly turn into something frustrating.

It was as if your body was getting back at you for the betrayal of that night, after the ball. It was getting back at you for failing to provide the closure it had been seeking, and now it was punishing you for breaking a promise you had unknowingly made the moment you had let the commander walk you back home on that day. Now, your body was denying you of any form of self-provided pleasure. And it was a tragedy, especially because, ever since that night at your door step, you had been craving a really good orgasm. A life-changing orgasm that you knew could only be provided by one person in particular.

You knew you shouldn’t, but you stole a glance at his pants. How disrespectful of you. But, goodness, they were so tight. How are you different from those men at the party whose eyes made you feel all levels of discomfort? True and you would definitely reflect on that later on a journal entry, but the straps around his muscled thighs were only providing the frame to an already beautiful picture. And the front. Oh, the way his pants bulged at the front.

I bet it is beautiful. Some voice inside your head came in uninvited, and you had to agree with it. Something told you he was the type who would get veiny when excited, and rock-hard when you needed him the most. You were confident he would feel heavy in your hand, and that he would be the perfect amount of thick to fit exactly where you needed him to. And there was not a single doubt in your mind that he came with a custom curve to reach exactly where you wanted him to.

“Are you cold?” His interventions were usually well-timed, but you weren’t sure about this one.

I’m not, commander. But I’d like to be fucking you right now. May I? It was all you wanted to ask. But instead, you just shook your head, feeling a tide of relief wash over you when your eyes spotted something interesting to land on.

“Oh, we don’t stand a chance. Look at these!” You walked to a low shrub that was sprinkled with red dots, and picked some. “When berries are these plentiful, it’s always a bad sign. For people who dislike the winter at least.”

“Let me guess, much like any good old, boring calendar would, it foretells the arrival of a cold and snowy season.” You would have been hurt by his skepticism, but you knew it was just a matter of weeks before nature proved you right.

“Not only that,” you said as you walked up to him “But the thing about berries is that their knowledge is not limited to the near future, they can also tell you a thing or two about the following winter as well; and an abundant crop of these means that next year’s winter will be just as cold.” You explained, holding one berry between your thumb and forefinger. “Open your mouth.”

He obliged and you placed it inside. “What do you think? They’re perfect for a pie, right? Want more?” He nodded and you fed him another. And then another. And another. And sometime by the 7th or 8th berry, you started to get worried you would run out of stock, and that was a problem because, right now, you didn’t want to move, not when his hands were resting on your sides, holding your waist.

You smiled, making mental notes of all the things you wanted to tell your journal later. “What’s your favorite winter crisp?” He looked at you like you were talking in some foreign language “Apple? Cranberry? Pear? I have an aunt who baked pear crips way too often when I was little. Ate so much I don’t really like them now.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried it.” He said as you placed the last berry in his mouth.

“Your parents weren’t into baking?” Crisps were very common winter treats, everywhere inside the walls; and, while you understood that his priority as commander of the Survey Corps wasn’t to try every single dessert in existence, there was no way he never had them as a child.

“My father was good at a lot of things, but baking wasn’t one of them.” You chuckled at this confession. Your hands were now resting on his upper arms, while his were still holding your waist. “And my mother, well, she passed before I even started school.”

There wasn’t any nearby, at least not that you knew, but you suddenly felt like you had stepped into an icy pond.

“So if she ever baked it for me, I was too young to remember.” He gave you a gentle smile and you responded by bringing your hand up to his cheek, where your thumb started caressing him just as gently.

The way he talked about his father, in the few occasions he had, gave you the impression that he wasn’t around anymore, but you hadn’t heard anything about his mother. It didn’t look like he had any siblings either, but you really wished he still had some relative out there, someone to write home to. Because the thought of him spending the holidays alone, not having any family left, made your heart feel the same kind of agony lemons must feel when squeezed.

You stroked the rough, bristly skin of his chin, and as you looked into his eyes, realized how much you wanted to cuddle him under a warm blanket on snowy days, to let him fall asleep on your lap in the middle of a stressful afternoon, and to bake him all the treats he didn’t have as a child.

“You need to shave.” You told him softly, while hoping your smile could convey all those thoughts you just had to him. But he only chuckled. “I will bake one for you before the holidays. And a tart too. These berries will make the perfect tangy sauce.”

Your hand was still cupping his face when he spoke. “While I appreciate everything you do, especially the butter biscuits in the afternoon, it is not in your job description to bake for me or to bring me tea twice a day.”

“Fair. But it is not in your job description either to buy sweet treats for your assistant or to walk her home.” You replied, smiling broadly to match the grin on his lips. “Come on, commander. Let’s get warm. It’s getting cold out here.” You gave his chin one last stroke before heading to the castle and the warm lights that could already be seen glowing through its windows, including the one of your shared office, where the fireplace flames would surely be dancing to the crackling of wood.

-

next chapter

taglist: @elnyrae @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis

[convulsionofhonesty]

top 10 books of 2022

i read 50 books this year and i’m going to share my top 10 and what i loved most about them (in no particular order)

1. writers & lovers by lily king - this book legitimately changed my life by reminding me of how desperate i am to lead a creative life. there are certain books that make you want to be a writer. this is one. featuring clean-cut, economical prose that gets straight to the point, and the point is diving into one of the most compelling characters i’ve had the honor to spend a story with. i read it twice this year because i will never be ready to part with this main character.

2. last night at the telegraph club by malinda lo - this was a reread for me and i appreciated it infinitely more the second time. the vividness of the writing strikes me as a particular triumph of this work. you can feel every emotion, see and hear every setting. that and a deeply engaging narrative make it one of those books that i continue to think about constantly.

3. crush by richard siken - my favorite poetry collection i have read, and reread, both within this year. he is one of those writers that reminds you how amazing it is to be a human that can feel and say so much. sharp images, glorious repitition, and stunning formatting that has inspired much of my own adventure into the world of unique poetic structure on the page.

4. homegoing by yaa gyasi - probably one of the most ingenious books i have ever read. to this day i fail to understand how it is possible to cover so much in so few pages and not leave the reader feeling like something is missing, but she certainly does it. sweeping multi-generational story where each chapter reads like both an exquisite short story that could stand on its own and a part of the richly woven whole. phenomenal novel that i wholeheartedly believe will be a classic in the future.

5. the idiot by elif batuman - another character that weaseled her way into my brain and has never left. a plotless, indulgent, meandering character study that struck such a cord with me. i read this at the exact right time in my life and for the week that i was making my way through it, there was no distinction between the narrator and myself in my mind. i don’t know how to explain this, but i was narrating my own life through this character’s eyes. captivating.

6. piranesi by susanna clarke - an exemplary work of fantasy that explores the nuances of knowledge and gratitude, balancing expertly between critiquing the pursuit of knowledge and power and exalting wonder, curiosity, and science. a book written in journal entries which flows perfectly and never feels choppy. leaves you thinking differently about the world.

7. open water by caleb azumah nelson - a short novella you can read in a day, and you will have to, as it is so enchanting and haunting that you cannot stop. it fully took over my mind until i finished it. it features second person narration which creates an unmatched level of closeness between reader and narrator. triumphantly evocative, intimate, and precise prose. the most poetic novel(la) i've had the pleasure of reading since on earth we're briefly gorgeous.

8. the great believers by rebecca makkai - the highlight of this book is the dense prose; every sentence feels perfectly chosen and hits you just as hard as the last. there is never a break, never a breather from the stunning writing. for that reason it is a slow book to move through, but in the best way. also accomplishes using dual pov/timelines in a way that does not detract from the fluidity of the work. very heavy subject matter but imbued with hope, gratitude, and affection.

9. the starless sea by erin morgenstern - prior to reading piranesi, this was my favorite fantasy read of the year. the world is so engrossing and the formatting of the novel is unique and inventive. vivid world builidng and a meandering, cris-crossing plot that enthralls from the beginning. an ode to humanity and the interconnectedness of the stories we tell.

10. babel by r.f. kuang - a lengthy novel that is well worth the time it takes, featuring a slate of morally ambiguous young people bumping up against the limits of their social power. similarly to piranesi, it embraces curiosity, drive, passion, and learning while chastising the intrenchment of power in academia. kuang cements herself as figurehead of the historical fantasy subgenre, tapping into its full potential.

[howtofightwrite]

Why do some armies, militias, or rebel groups commit war crimes at much higher rates than others? If you're trying to go beyond designating good guys and bad guys by authorial fiat, what are some of the fail-safes you'd want a fictional armed faction to have to minimize their My Lais as much as possible?

So, an important warning on this, I'm mostly writing this off-the-cuff, and I'm not doing a lit review at all. So, if you're looking at this as a scholarly work, please consider this a rough draft at best. Also, somewhat obviously, the subject matter here will get pretty dark.

Unsurprisingly, TW for war crimes, and terrorism. Though, I'll try to keep this clinical.

The short answer is multiple factors with no individual one ever being universally true. I'm going to break down war crimes and atrocities into two general categories: Planned and Unplanned. This is because these spring from distinct factors.

There is another possible dichotomy, distinguishing between war crimes of action, and technically illegal behavior, such as the use of munitions or weapons that are legally prohibited, but are not directly associated with any atrocities. Examples of the latter could include deployment of chemical weapons against valid military targets, or even military buildups in violation of previous armistice treaties. For example: the Bismarckand Tirpitz were floating war crimes, simply by existing, and violating existing treaties (I'm not 100% sure which treaties off hand, and the legal status of these battleships is a little more complicated than I'm suggesting.) In general, I don't think this is what you're looking at, but it's worth remembering that war crimes cover a much wider range of topics that just atrocities committed against civilians.

Planned atrocities are intentionally executed by the faction, these are often deliberate strategies employed by those organizations. This can include things like terrorist attacks, or deliberate targeting of civilians and civilian infrastructure to demoralize enemy forces or the civilian population itself, these can also be employed to erode public support for ongoing military actions. Of course, in some cases, the deaths are the primary goal, and any effect on morale is incidental.

Unplanned war crimes and atrocities occur incidentally, often as a result of failures in the chain of command.

This isn't a strict dichotomy, a group may have policies or strategies that can lead to war crimes through insufficient discrimination (in this context, discrimination refers to the concept as it exists in Just War theory/doctrine, which is to say, discriminating between civilian and military targets.) For example, a faction who intentionally bombards military targets in a civilian population center (read, a town or city) would probably fall more on the unplanned side of the spectrum, in contrast to a faction who simply firebombs the entire city.

When it comes to planned atrocities, ideology is probably the biggest factor to consider. Particularly how their ideology regards the people they're killing. This can take a few really horrific turns, but if you have a group with no regard for human life, and no concern for international law, then you're likely to start seeing war crimes coming fast and heavy.

It's easy to simply designate these groups as, “the bad guys,” but that really undersells how subversive some of these thought processes can be. Unfortunately, the line between terrorist and freedom fighter is a question of perspective, and even groups you'd normally be sympathetic to may be responsible for some horrifying acts, which they justify to themselves by othering their victims. (Usually this othering is based on religious, ethnic, or political affiliation. Though, it can be any combination of the three.) A group of rebels may not have any qualms about “collaborators” getting caught in their attack, even if those people are considered guilty by simple proximity.

A classic examination of this is Battle of Algiers (1966), it's an excellent film, and absolutely worth the watch if you've never seen it.

Unplanned atrocities and war crimes can often lead back to two compounding factors: discipline and morale.

Discipline comes with a massive, “citation needed,” sticker, because it's not completely predictive. Nominally, well disciplined armies can engage in unplanned war crimes. Some of this ties into the second factor, morale, but some of it is independent of that.

Some of the difficulty with discipline is opportunistic crimes (such as looting), which can then spiral out into worse atrocities. In these cases, you're looking at the individual discipline and morale of each soldier combined with a lot of contextual factors, but that doesn't translate smoothly into a generalized model.

The simple model would be that low discipline forces are more likely to engage in opportunistic crimes. They're more likely to evaluate their current situation in relation to how it can potentially benefit them, and when you combine that with the chaos of war, it is a recipe for unplanned atrocities.

Morale is a little more complicated than discipline. In theory, troops who are suffering from low morale  are more likely to engage in unplanned atrocities. (While it's a gross oversimplification of the background factors, this is an apt description for the Mỹ Lai Massacre. Nominally disciplined soldiers, suffering from flagging morale, who incorrectly identified the villages' civilian population as collaborators, and started murdering people.)

However, in practice, morale can be a double edged sword, low morale creates a real risk of soldiers ignoring orders for personal gain, or engaging in illegal behavior out of desperation, however, a sharp increase in morale can also result in lapses leading to criminal activities. The primary example of this would be victory looting (which is a war crime, in case that was unclear.)

In theory, morale and discipline should slot together fairly cleanly to create a single spectrum, but the reality is a lot messier.

In the case of many irregular groups (such as militias, resistance groups, and rebels), the actual forces will be a coalition of different groups that may not see eye to eye on things. In this environment, it's basically impossible to effectively police the different factions within the group. And, unfortunately, history shown that these kinds of coalitions tend to purge their less radical members as they consolidate their power. (The only case I can think of where the radical and terrorist elements were shed by the more mainstream factions would be the IRA. In almost every other case, victory filters for the most ruthless.)

Importantly, coalitions like this tend to be regarded as a single entity by non-members, with the actions of each individual group reflecting on the coalition as a whole. The major exception here is with advanced analysis, where someone who is very well versed in the political or strategic details may be able to explain the different groups and how they fit together. But, for general public opinion, the coalition may as well be a single faction.

Coalitions like this are almost certain to have members who have no qualms about civilian casualties, either due to indifference to collateral deaths, or by identifying civilians as acceptable targets. This can cause problems for these groups as they alienate less radical members of the population. In extreme cases this can even result in recruiting difficulties, and the terroristic elements can cause problems for any peaceful negotiations with outside powers.

These terroristic elements, and atrocities in general, can bolster support against a faction. In some cases, these radical elements can become more of a detriment to the coalition as a whole than its real foe.

If you're hoping for a way to prevent this, there really isn't one. These kinds of coalitions are, “opt-in.” Worse, some radical elements are likely to spin up from existing members. In theory, these internal radicals can be a discipline issue, but in some kind of rebel group, they really won't have the resources to fight a war on multiple fights, especially not against themselves while their, “real,” foe is hunting them.

Radicalized organizations (whether they're part of a coalition or not) are also dangerous to their, “allies.” This is because they can provoke an escalated response from their foes. In many cases, if a group has proven that they're willing to deliberately target civilians, it will provoke a more severe response from their foes. That can come in the form of simple retaliation strikes, or could result in enhanced security and greater scrutiny. Finally, these organizations can provoke the emergence of radicalized organizations among their foes. For example, an renegade rebel cell with no qualms about civilian casualties could become the justification for an authoritarian regime's military to create death squads and deploy them in territory that the rebels operate in, taking a scorched earth approach.

While it's not frequently discussed in fiction, cultural differences can also result in, unintentional hostilities, which can also provoke escalation. At the very least, this can provoke resentment against foreign forces, which ensures that any rebel group would have a continual supply or recruits.

So, the original question you asked was, “how do I avoid this?” And, unfortunately, the answer is, “you don't.” Wars are horrific and messy, and unfortunately, the only way to avoid these kinds of horrors is if everyone agrees to, “play by the same rules.” In an asymmetrical war (such as with a rebellion or resistance), that's not possible. The, “legitimate,” government wouldn't view the rebels as a legitimate military force, and if the rebels operated openly they'd be arrested and executed. From there, the fuse is set.

-Starke

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