#the way you draw them here are so everything to me

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Cozened Indigo - Part Three

Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Mentions of murder, dark themes, smut, dubious consent, allusions to no consent. Dead dove; do not eat. Dear god, please mind the tags. Word count: ~9.6k

Summary: The article goes live and a verdict is delivered. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I have put my journalism degree to use here, to ensure as much accuracy as possible. However, as Westeros is a fictional place, I have warped certain laws and regulations regarding court reporting for the purpose of the story. Please suspend your disbelief for the sake of a fictional tale. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

“Rhaenyra has gotten wind of the fact that Aemond has spoken to the press, so now she’s doing an interview too – with White Knight Magazine.”

Larys’ words play on a loop in her mind as she sits heavily in her office chair, dread forming a pit in her stomach as anxiety flutters unbridled within her chest. Her interviews with Aegon and Helaena are set for tomorrow, she still has to do her background research on them both, alongside transcribing all of her interviews with Aemond. With just two weeks to do it all, and with Rhaenyra’s pending interview looming over it, it feels too huge an obstacle to overcome. She is being set up for failure, made all the more humiliating by the fact that the feature from the opposing side is to be featured in the publication that effectively put an end to her career. It has to be deliberate, there is no way it's a coincidence.

It’s not until she sees the droplet of moisture splatter upon her desk that she realises she’s crying. Burying her face in her hands, she draws in a shuddering breath, attempting to pull herself together.

Not here. Not in the office,

“Everything okay?”

Startled, her head snaps up to look at Royce, his features pinching into a look of concern as she sniffles and hurriedly wipes at her eyes.

“Doesn’t everyone cry at their desk occasionally?” She jokes, attempting to play it off with a watery laugh.

“Let’s step into my office,” he responds softly, not giving her a chance to reply as he turns and walks away.

She sighs, tipping her head back and uttering a quiet “fuck” before following him.

“Want to tell me what’s really going on?” Royce says, perching on the edge of his desk and folding his arms, as she closes the door behind her.

The weariness that has weighed upon her since her discovery of the upcoming Targaryen trial settles over her with a heavy finality, as she meets his gaze with exhausted resignation. 

“I can’t do this, Royce. Put me back on the Flea Bottom curfew piece.”

“What? Why?!” He narrows his eyes, leaning forward slightly.

“Rhaenyra - Aemond’s half sister - is doing an interview of her own.”

“So?”

“With White Knight Magazine.”

“Ah.”

“The deadline is too tight, I’ll never be finished in time.” She sags against the office door, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What’s the hold up?”

Exasperatedly, she drags a hand through her hair. “I have all of my interviews with Aemond to transcribe still, and that’s before I even begin writing the piece. On top of that, I now have to interview Aegon and Helaena, and I–”

“Woah”, Royce interrupts, “the brother and sister have agreed to be interviewed by you?”

“Yes, tomorrow, and I haven’t even started my background research on them yet. What am I going to do?!”

Royce reaches behind him, lifting the box of Kleenex from his desk. He gently tosses it towards her and she catches it, smiling gratefully as she plucks one out to dab at her eyes and nose.

“You’re going to go home, and do your background research, and prepare for your interviews tomorrow. You can leave your transcription with me. I’ll do it for you.”

“You?” She looks at him wide eyed with incredulity, balling the tissue up in her fist. “You didn’t even want me working on this story in the first place, why would you want to help me?”

“It’s not entirely selfless”, he says with a shrug, “this feature will be huge for The Gazette, it’s in my best interests to make sure you get it done.”

“Makes sense,” she admits with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Send me your audio files,” he instructs, pushing himself back into a standing position, “and then go home and get to work. Your runny mascara is bad for office morale.”

Face given a thorough clean with a wet wipe, a few hours later she sits curled up on her sofa, her gaze fixed intently on her laptop. Royce offering to do her transcription for her has shifted some of the burden from her, and she feels lighter as she clicks through each of the articles she finds regarding Helaena and Aegon Targaryen.

Helaena seems like an anomaly within the family, a blinding white beacon of joy within an ocean of misery. She is heavily involved in environmental conservation, an activist for animal rights and has received several awards for her charitable work. If she has anything at all positive to say about her younger brother, then it would be a huge help to the article.

Aegon, on the other hand, is not quite so impressive. There is little to no evidence that she can find which alludes to his morality or personality, though if the photographs splashed across trashy tabloids of him drunkenly falling out of nightclubs, and parading down the street with an ever changing array of women on his arm are anything to go by, then it’s not good. There’s a small article regarding his brief stint in a rehab facility, which offers a glimmer of hope, but only the interview itself will tell for certain.

As her taxi drives slowly up the expansive and seemingly never ending driveway of the Targaryen-Hightower mansion the following morning, she is momentarily stunned by the grandiosity of it all. She had known the family was rich, but this seems obscene. The property is located on a hill in the centre of King’s Landing, which overlooks the city, serving as an unnecessary physical reminder of how far above everyone else the family is, or at least considers themselves to be.

Her driver had been buzzed through the main gate via an intercom on the drive up to the house, so she is surprised to find no one is waiting for her once she steps out of the car. Standing in front of the large, forest green front door she lifts the ring pull of the bronze dragon head knocker and raps it against the wood three times.

She shuffles from foot to foot, anxiously waiting. A full minute passes and she is about to knock again, when the door swings open. A mop of disheveled, wavy, silver blonde hair and tired blue eyes greet her as she looks into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

As her gaze travels downwards she sees he is dressed in only a pair of low riding grey jogging bottoms and a dark green robe, which isn’t tied. She falters, blinking rapidly and clearing her throat, as she looks back at his face. The lazy smirk painted across his features is unnerving.

“Mr. Targaryen?”

“Aegon,” he corrects her. “You the reporter?”

She nods, shifting her bag to the opposite shoulder. “Right…Aegon. Am I too early? Larys said 11am.”

He gives a slight shrug. “I must have gotten carried away with my beauty sleep. Guess you’d better come in.”

Aegon leaves the door open, padding on bare feet through the foyer. She follows him, eyes wide as she takes in the opulence of the high ceilings and expensive art that adorns the walls.

He leads her through to the kitchen, opening the double doors of a large silver refrigerator.

“Get you a beer?” He asks, pulling a bottle out before biting the cap off with his teeth.

She winces. “Not for me, thanks, bit early.”

He takes a drink, nodding as he mulls over her response. “I’d offer you a bloody mary, but we’re out of tomato juice.”

She is about to laugh, until she sees that he’s sincere, so bites back the urge. “Honestly, I’m fine. Got a water bottle in my bag.”

“Fair enough,” he utters, leaning forward on his elbows on the kitchen island as he sets the bottle down. “So, how does this work?”

“I just want to ask a few questions about your brother, Aemond. Have you got a place you’d like to go to do that?”

“Why not right here?”

She raises her eyebrows slightly, taken aback by the informality, before nodding. He watches her intently as she rummages in her bag, taking out her dictaphone and placing it on the granite surface that separates them. “Will we not be interrupted?”

“Nah, mum’s gone with grandad to visit Aemond. That’s why Larys set up the interview for today. They’re pissed off that he’s spoken to the press, so better for you to be here when they aren’t.”

She purses her lips, pushing down her unease, before nodding towards the dictaphone. “I need to record this. That okay?”

His gaze rests upon the recording device for a moment, before he takes another long swig of his beer. “Yeah,” he finally says.

She pulls out a wooden bar stool, sitting upon it before she presses record. “We’ll start with your childhood. What was Aemond like growing up?”

“A twat,” Aegon shoots back quickly, causing the corners of her mouth to turn up into the faintest of smiles.

“Can you elaborate?”

Aegon sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He just…took everything really seriously. He never had a sense of humour about anything.”

“So, you didn’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s my brother, I love him, we’re just very different.”

“Different how?”

“Aemond is ambitious, he’s hard working. I’m not, I just want…”

She raises an eyebrow as he trails off. “You just want..?”

“To be happy,” he mutters.

“And are you?”

He scoffs. “I thought this interview was about my brother?”

“Do you think your brother was ever happy growing up?”

“He had his eye carved out of his skull when he was ten, of course he wasn’t!”

“By your nephew, Lucerys?”

Aegon’s brow furrows with anger, his tone dark and clipped. “Little shit got what was coming to him.”

Her breath catches in her throat, her blood turning icy in her veins as she stares at him, wide eyed. Slowly, with a shaky hand she reaches forward to press the stop button on the dictaphone. 

Aegon drains the remnants of his beer, heavily setting the bottle back down and lowering his gaze as he grips the edge of the kitchen island.

When she eventually finds her voice, it comes out as a strained whisper. “Do you think Aemond killed him on purpose?”

His mouth quirks, eyes obscured slightly by the hair that has fallen into his face as he looks slowly back up at her. The air feels thick, and she realises she’s holding her breath as she waits for him to respond.

“Is this the lady that’s here to interview us?” A quiet voice comes from behind her.

She jumps, turning on her stool to look at the woman that hovers in the kitchen entryway, dressed in a white vest top and powder blue harem pants. Her hair falls in soft, loose, silver blonde waves almost to her waist, her eyes hold a faraway, dreamy quality. This must be Helaena.

Aegon nods. “Yeah, she was just interviewing me.”

“Oh…” Helaena deflates slightly, clasping her hands in front of. “I’ve interrupted.”

Her brother shakes his head, pushing away from the counter and walking from the kitchen. “No. No, you didn’t. We’d just finished, all yours.”

She watches him retreat, before turning her focus to his sister.

Well, that’s the end of that then.

“Hi,” Helaena says with a soft smile, extending her hand as she steps forward. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

She takes her hand, feeling the Targaryan woman noticeably flinch at the contact, giving it the briefest of shakes before letting go. “You must be Helaena.”

“I am,” she says nodding, clutching her hands in front of her once more. “Sorry about Aegon, he just has a hangover…he always has a hangover.”

Her gaze turns sad and she looks away. For a few seconds it seems as if she’s not even there anymore, and she wonders where she’s gone, before Helaena returns to the present and smiles once more.

“Shall we go up to my room?”

She trails after her up the stairs, looking at the antiquities that decorate the vast amount of space that makes up the house, until they reach Helaena’s bedroom. Stepping inside she is taken aback by the brightness of it, it feels like she has entered another universe separate from the darkened surrounds of the rest of the mansion.

Floral wallpaper adorns the walls, with a variation of frames containing pin mounted insects and butterflies. She turns to a shelving unit, picking up an expensive looking crystal beetle to examine it as it sparkles in the sunlight.

“This is beautiful,” she muses more to herself than Helaena.

“You like it?” She asks, causing her to look up, suddenly embarrassed at having handled a stranger’s belongings without asking.

“Sorry,” she replies, flustered, placing the beetle back on its shelf. “Never seen anything like it.”

“You can have it if you want,” Helaena quips with an easy shrug.

She blinks rapidly, unsure if she has heard her correctly. “Pardon?”

“If you like it, you should have it,” she tells her, sitting on the edge of her bed.

It’s a sweet gesture that comes from a place of childlike innocence, but is also indicative of how shockingly out of touch wealth makes people. Of course she doesn’t mind if she gives away something so expensive, not when the resource is there to easily replace it.

“That’s very kind, but I couldn’t,” she says, taking out her recorder. “I don’t want to intrude upon too much of your day. Shall we get started?”

Helaena is easier to interview than Aegon had been. She speaks kindly of Aemond, and as she listens she finds herself feeling more and more sad, not just for Aemond but for the entire family. Helaena had always wanted a sisterly relationship with Rhaenyra, but with a seventeen year age gap and Rhaenyra’s apparent resentment at no longer being an only child, it never happened. Where Aegon had often made fun of her, Aemond had been good to Helaena when they were growing up, patient and understanding of her tendency to daydream and fascination with insects.

“I don’t want my brother to go to prison,” she says sadly, “I just want us to be a family.”

“Do you think that that’s what Aemond wants too?”

“I don’t know what my brother wants anymore. I don’t think he knows himself.”

As her taxi drives her back towards home, dread settles in her stomach like a heavy stone. She can’t help but wonder what Aegon would have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted them. There is no denying that the Targaryens are a family that are steeped in tragedy, but amidst it all something unseen and sinister lurks, looming with the sense that by the time she stumbles upon it, she’ll be too far in to back out.

“For you,” Royce says the following morning, depositing a USB drive onto her desk.

“Are those the transcriptions?” She asks, looking up at him with wide eyed wonder. “That was quick work.”

“It’s a tight deadline”, he replies with a smirk. “How did your interviews go yesterday?”

Little shit got what was coming to him.

She draws in a breath, unsure of what guides her actions. “I only interviewed Helaena in the end. Aegon was too hungover.”

“A shame, but one interview is better than nothing. Send me the audio and I’ll transcribe that for you too, so you can crack on with the writing.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

“I know,” Royce says with a wink, before walking away.

She picks up her dictaphone, hovering over the audio file for Aegon’s interview.

Little shit got what was coming to him.

There is no way she can allow Royce to hear that, though she cannot put her finger on why. Before she has a chance to dwell on it further, she erases the recording and gets to work uploading Helaena’s to her computer, then emails it to Royce.

Over the following week, she works hard on the feature, painting a picture of the enigma that is Aemond Targaryen in his own words, as well as his sister’s. It’s a heart wrenching piece, a tale of a misfit little boy, maimed at the age of ten and left to live with the consequences of it. However, instead of collapsing into despair or falling back on a comfortable lifestyle, funded by his family’s fortune, he had studied hard and was an accomplished solicitor within his grandfather’s law firm. He had overcome his disability to train in athletic pursuits such as mixed martial arts and long distance running, and is knowledgeable in the fields of both history and philosophy. There is no denying that Aemond Targaryen is impressive, even without having to navigate the difficulties of losing an eye.

Once the article has been thoroughly vetted by Royce, it goes to print, landing on newsstands the exact same day as Rhaenyra’s interview in White Knight Magazine. Aemond cuts an imposing figure in the photograph used in the double page spread, a sinister presence in direct opposition with the content of the article. And still there is something that niggles at the back of her mind, a stone she has left unturned. Was she right to omit Aegon’s interview? She supposes it is of little consequence, it’s too late now. 

White Knight is a larger publication, so occupies a more prominent shelf space than the Duskendale Gazette. However, upon news spreading that a feature with the elusive Targaryen second son is contained within its pages, it sells out quickly, with an urgent extra print run needing to be made to supply the demand for more copies, despite additional copies having been printed in the first place, in anticipation of the article’s popularity. But they hadn’t anticipated just how popular the feature would be.

As she stands in the newsagents, looking at both publications on the shelf, she is struck by the thought that this presents itself as forcing the public to choose a side, despite neither article making mention of the murder or impending trial.

She reads Rhaenyra’s feature, and cannot help but feel sympathy for her. A young woman whose world was rocked when her best friend had married her father after her mother had died, and then made to feel displaced by the children that that relationship had produced. Already having to deal with the animosity that divides the family in the wake of her father’s death, she now must cope with the grief of losing her son.

Whose side should she choose? She wishes more than anything that Aegon had answered her question, it would doubtless make for an easier decision.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket pulls her out of her reverie and she huffs an irritated sigh as she sees Larys’ name flashing on her screen. She had assumed her dealings with him would be over once the article went to print. It appears she was wrong.

“Nice work,” he drawls into the receiver once she’s answered. “You’ve painted quite the picture.”

“Has he seen it?”

“Aemond? Yes, I ensured he received a copy this morning. He’s pleased with how it’s turned out. That’s why I’m calling, actually.”

“The article’s published, what more is there to say?”

Larys clicks his tongue, his tone dripping with condescension. “Now, now, we did you a favour in letting you run this feature. You’ll have every publication in Westeros beating down your door to commission you after today. Don’t you think a little gratitude is in order?”

“Gratitude?!” She snipes back. “Isn't it enough that I’ve painted a rosy picture of a…”

Murderer.

She can’t bring herself to say the word, there is still a seed of doubt in her mind, yet Larys knows what she means regardless.

“Alleged,” he corrects her. “All Aemond wants to do is say thank you, surely a phone call couldn’t hurt?”

“Do not give him my phone number,” she seethes.

“Very well. But you’ll be at the trial?”

“It’s a closed courtroom.”

“It is. Selected press only, to avoid it becoming a media circus, but I can get you on the list.”

“I’m not supposed to be covering the trial.”

“And you won’t be, don’t worry, I can still get you in.”

“You’ve come this far. May as well see it through to the end.”

Aemond’s words echo in her mind, and she relents with a sigh. It’s not as if she isn’t curious. “Alright, fine.”

“Excellent. See you then.”

The line goes dead.

The trial is to last three days. A day for the prosecution to deliver their testimonies, a day for the defense to present their case, and a day for the jury to deliberate and then pass their verdict, with subsequent sentencing from the judge. Rhaenyra is pushing for a murder sentence, while the other side of the family argue it was an accident.

The tightly wound knots of dread that have made their home inside of her over the last month are prominent as ever as she arrives at the courthouse on the first day. She is ushered in after giving her name, though not towards the sparsely populated press seats as she had assumed she would be.

Bile rises acridly in her throat, her eyes widening in horror as she realises she is being led towards the public gallery to sit with Aemond’s side of the family. Despite wanting to remain neutral, she is being given a side, without the option to choose, though deep down she knows she had subconsciously made her choice the moment she decided to interview Aemond. The idea makes her feel nauseated.

The entire family is tense as she takes a seat next to them. Aegon side eyes her uncomfortably, while Helaena, though she forces a smile, is fidgety and withdrawn. It’s clear she would rather be anywhere but here. Otto bristles at the sight of her, rising slightly from his seat, before Alicent places a hand on his forearm, urging him back down again.

“Aemond wants her here,” she whispers, patting her father’s hand as he sighs and turns his gaze ahead.

Despite defending her presence, the Hightower matriarch doesn’t acknowledge her, keeping her eyes fixed upon her nails, which look red raw around the edges.

An eerie silence falls over the courtroom as Aemond is led out towards the dock, accompanied by a prison officer. He is stony raised as he is seated, keeping his attention fixed on a far point towards the back of the room, though she is certain that for just a second she sees his eye flicker to her, the briefest of smirks tugging at the corners of his mouth. Her stomach somersaults and she forces herself to look away. When she looks back, he’s staring towards the back of the courtroom once more.

“All rise for the honourable Judge Wylde,” a member of staff calls out, and she stands with everyone else, watching as the judge sweeps into the courtroom, taking a seat at the bench, before they are all instructed to sit once more.

Rhaenyra’s solicitor, Erryk Cargyll, delivers the opening statement for the prosecution’s case, claiming that his client has grounds to believe that the death of her son was deliberate and premeditated.

The hours feel as though they drag by as statements are delivered by Rhaenyra, her sons, Jacaerys and Joffrey, and her husband, Laenor. Though all are clearly emotional, and still reeling from the death of Lucerys, none of them actually saw what happened. The evidence is all purely circumstantial, with nothing concrete. Rhaenyra appears visibly distressed, and her heart aches for her knowing that Larys is likely to tear her apart during his questioning.

She isn’t wrong. Larys’ questions hinge upon the fact that her dislike for her half siblings is what guides her judgements and he repeatedly asks if she saw what happened. She appears flustered, stumbling over her words, growing more emotional as the questioning grows more pointed.

Looking over at Alicent, she sees a harrowed look in her eyes, her expression solemn as she stares wide eyed at her former friend from the public gallery, gripping her father’s hand tightly. It is awful to watch, and she is desperate to leave.

Unsurprisingly, Aemond is calm and collected as he is questioned by both Larys and Erryk, keeping his answers clipped and simple. Saying that he had been eager to get away from the family gathering, and had not seen Lucerys as he’d struck him in his haste to drive off. He never falters, even under the heated cross examination from Erryk, asking if he’d been motivated by the injury sustained as a child in his killing of Lucerys. Aemond replies with a simple “no, it was an accident”,

By the time the court is adjourned for the day, she is exhausted both mentally and emotionally. She feels for Rhaenyra, it is clear to see how much she loves her son, and she just wants justice for him. Yet her case is flimsy, and she knows that Aemond’s defense will deal the killing blow tomorrow. On the other hand, Aemond could be telling the truth, in which case, horrible as it is, is it fair that he should be hauled over the coals for an accident? He’ll serve a prison sentence either way.

Despite her tiredness, sleep does not come easy for her that night, knowing she will have to do this all again tomorrow.

The following day, as she’d expected, the defence tears apart Rhaenyra’s case, especially when they call Dr. Orwyle to the witness stand. He is apparently the doctor that had treated Aemond when he initially lost his eye, and had helped him with pain management and rehabilitation in the years that followed.

The doctor’s statement deduces that Aemond’s lack of depth perception means it is not advisable for him to drive at night, due to reduced visibility, so it is entirely plausible he would not have seen Lucerys at all as he’d driven away.

Larys’ closing statement underscores it all; “so, you see your honour, my client was in such emotional distress that evening that he felt he had no choice but to leave. It was an honest accident. Is Aemond Targaryen careless? Yes. But a killer? No.”

“Fucking liar!” Rhaenyra cries out, jumping to her feet, her voice fraught with emotion.

“Order!” Judge Wylde shouts across the courtroom.

She bows her head, drawing in a withering sigh. The trial is over, it’s just the verdict and sentencing to go now.

When she looks back up, a shiver runs the length of her spine; Aemond is staring directly at her. He’s smiling.

She allows her curiosity to get the better of her, once the court is adjourned for the day, catching up to Aegon as he walks from the courtroom. He whips around as she gently grabs his arm, his brows knitting together in confusion as he looks at her.

“I’ll never hear the end of it from Mum, if she sees me talking to you,” he mutters, attempting to pull away.

“I know,” she says, stepping in front of him to block his path, “but I’ll be quick. I just need to know, when I asked you the other day if you thought Aemond had killed Luceys on purpose, what would you have said if Helaena hadn’t interrupted us?”

Aegon sighs, rolling his eyes as he steps around her. “I think you already knew the answer to that when you omitted my interview. It doesn’t matter really though, does it?” He says to her, as he begins walking away. “He’s going to prison either way.”

His words bring her little comfort, and she stands, watching with unease, as he descends the steps at the front of the building. In a sense, he is right, it doesn’t matter now, and her article is already published. She hates herself for it.

She feels sick with nerves the following day, as the final closing statements are read out, and she’s unsure why. Aemond is nothing to her, and yet she feels that she has played a part in this all the same, will somehow be responsible for whatever verdict is reached, whether it’s the right one or not.

 The faces of Rhaenyra, Laenor and Jacaerys are sullen and angry on one side of the courtroom, while Alicent and Helaena look fraught with worry. Otto and Aegon sit stony faced and impassive.

It takes the jury just one hour to reach their verdict.

The clerk of the court calls out, “Will the foreman of the jury please stand? Have you reached a verdict on which you are all agreed?”

When the foreman answers in the affirmative, the clerk continues. “On the first count in the indictment, murder in the first degree, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Not guilty.”

Rhaenyra collapses into Laenor’s arms with a sob, as Jacaerys jumps to his feet, shouting obscenities. It’s not until Judge Wylde threatens to have him removed that order is restored in the court, and the verdict can continue.

She looks to Aemond, sitting in the dock, his gaze lowered, the silver strands of his hair obscuring his face, so she’s unable to see his reaction, but she can tell from the movement of his wrists that he’s fiddling with his fingers. Is he nervous? He has been so stoic throughout this entire process, to see him falter is unnerving. She finds herself unable to look away as the final verdict is read out.

“On the second count in the indictment, manslaughter, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?”

“Guilty.”

Aemond looks to his mother as the verdict is read out, her brown eyes doleful and filled with tears as she gazes back at him. Rhaenyra storms from the courtroom, the heavy wooden double doors flinging wide open as she departs, quickly followed by Laenor and Jacaerys.

“He’s going to prison,” Helaena whispers sadly.

“That was always going to happen,” Aegon retorts with a heavy sigh.

When the judge passes a sentence of ten years, Alicent buries her face in her hands and sobs.

“He’ll be out in five, if he behaves himself”, Otto says quietly, in an attempt to reassure her.

“But our family is torn apart forever,” she whispers tearfully.

She has seen all she needs to see, and cannot stomach watching or hearing anymore. Rising from her seat, she hurries from the courtroom and outside to the top of the steps, sucking in steadying breaths to help calm the rising panic within her.

Her obligation to Aemond is complete, so she doesn’t understand why this has affected her the way it has. Likely the result of being trapped in such a toxic setting for the last three days, which makes her all the more determined to get away.

Pulling out her phone, she is about to open the taxi app, when Larys calls to her from the entryway of the courthouse. “He’d like to see you.”

“What?!” She asks incredulously, turning to look at him with a scowl. “What for?!”

“To say thank you, and goodbye. You rejected the offer of a phone call, perhaps you can give Aemond a few moments of your time to say his piece in person?”

“I’ve just given three days of my life watching a grieving mother be made a mockery of for his benefit, don’t you think he’s had enough from me already?”

“I can get you into the holding room for a few minutes, before his family go to see him, ahead of him being transferred back to Dragonstone. Just a few minutes, and then all of this is behind you. He has asked to see you specifically.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose exasperatedly. “You aren’t going to take no for an answer, are you?”

Aemond would look handsome in the all black, expensively tailored suit he’d worn for court, were it not for the handcuffs that bind his wrists together, reminding her that he’s a convicted criminal.

“Speak then,” she says, as she sits down opposite him.

“I just wanted to say thank you, truly, for the article you wrote. You really are a talented writer, and I’m sure great things are in store for you.”

She purses her lips, humming in acknowledgement, uncomfortable with the compliment. “That’s quite alright.”

“I really enjoyed our chats together. I’m going to miss them.”

She frowns, not at the words themselves, but the fact that they are sincere. He means what he’s saying. “It was for a professional purpose,” she insists.

He shakes his head, leaning forward against the table. “I know you enjoyed them too.”

She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, they’re over now.”

“They don’t have to be,” he says with a shrug, “ten years is a long time, plenty of time for us to chat.”

She leans back, away from him, the familiar weight of dread settling over her once more. “Aemond, I don’t think that’s a–”

He lurches forward across the table, grabbing her forearm, almost painfully so, his tone desperate and pleading. “Say you’ll come to visit me!”

She is unsure of whether it’s because there’s a part of her that secretly wants to, because she can’t bear to see the look of anguish in his eye any longer, or if she just wants him to let go of her so she can leave, but she finds herself whispering back in a trembling voice “okay, I will”.

It is not a promise she keeps.

Larys had been right, her article about Aemond is the spark that reignites her career. In the weeks following the publication of the feature, her email inbox had been inundated with offers of work from editors across a variety of different media outlets.

She had spent a long time chained to a desk at “The Wall” of the Duskendale Gazette, she did not much fancy swapping one static position for another. Eager to spread her wings, she had handed in her notice, despite Royce’s offer of a promotion. She craved freedom, and with her pick of what publications to write for, she made a successful career of freelancing. Over the next few years she had articles published in broadsheet newspapers and glossy, high end magazines alike, covering current events and interviewing high profile public figures. She made a comfortable living, until eventually she accepted the job of commissioning editor at Gold Cloak, a fashion and lifestyle magazine with a huge circulation and an even larger salary. She is almost able to put to the back of her mind the person who put her there in the first place. Almost.

In the months following Aemond’s sentencing, she had received several calls from an unknown number. On the one occasion she had picked up, it had begun with the automated message “an inmate from Dragonstone Prison is trying to reach you…” She had hung up immediately, her heart lurching, remembering she had said she would visit him, but knowing full well she couldn't. Not because of the morality of the situation, but because of how strong her desire to go actually was. That was a part of her she was eager to suppress. As the calls had continued, she had eventually opted to change her number, and after that they had stopped.

Aemond Targaryen is no more than a meager itch at the back of her mind now. It has been five years since she last spoke to him.

The sunshine warms her skin through the glass of the café window as she sits at the rounded wooden table, leaning back in her chair as her eyes scan over the article she has just had emailed to her. Deadline day is approaching for Gold Cloak, as they gear up to go to print with their next issue, and the last few stragglers are finally submitting their copy. It’s an odd sensation to be appraising the words of others, instead of writing her own, but she’s worked hard to get to this point, and it’s satisfying to be in a position where she is considered senior enough to dictate the contents of a major publication, not just contribute towards it.

Making the most of a work from home day, she has elected to visit her local coffee shop, watching the world pass by on a busy side street of King’s Landing, while the spicy aroma of her chai latte comforts her as she works.

She frowns when the sunlight she had been enjoying morphs into muted darkness. Her breath hitches, and she lets out a frightened gasp as she looks up to see Aemond standing over her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly, “I saw you as I was passing and I wanted to say hello.”

His words do little to comfort her, and her eyes desperately scan the coffee shop. It’s relatively busy, with lots of people, witnesses. Good.

He smirks. “I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry.”

She swallows thickly, shifting to sit fully upright in her seat. “What are you–”

“I only served half my sentence, I was let out on good behaviour. I’m not an escapee, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Right, right…” she mutters, attempting to get her thoughts in order as her heart feels like it’s set upon hammering its way out of her chest.

“Mind if I sit?” Aemond says, gesturing to the empty seat opposite hers. “Might make you feel better if I’m not looming over you.”

What can she say? She looks around the café again, deciding she doesn’t want to cause a scene. “Yeah, sure.”

He pulls out the chair, sitting opposite her. Aemond is not quite as intimidating as she remembers him, though she supposes the only time she’d ever seen him before was in prison sweats or dressed for court. Today, as the sun dapples across his pale skin, he looks softer somehow, not nearly as scary as she’d once thought. His long silver blonde hair is pulled up into a low bun, and he’s dressed casually in a black leather jacket, a dark green henley and black slacks tucked into black Doc Martens.

She closes her laptop, perching her elbows on the edge of the table and resting her chin on her hands as she looks at him.

“I’m sorry I never–”

“So what are you–”

They both pause, smiling awkwardly as they begin to talk over each other, before Aemond gestures towards her. “You first.”

She nods, leaning back again, drumming her fingers softly on the table. “I never did come to visit you. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs out of his jacket, letting it drape across the back of the chair. “It was wrong of me to ask you, to be honest,” he admits, “I’d just never opened up to anyone like that before, and though I knew the consequences of the accident, none of it really felt like it was happening until it did. I panicked.”

The accident.

She finds it odd that he refers to in such a way, but he seems so different now, less tense, and she feels herself beginning to relax. Perhaps it really was an accident?

Wrapping her hands around her cup in a bid to ground herself, she nods. “So how long have you been out?”

“A few weeks,” he tells her, his hands coming to rest upon the table as he turns a stray sugar packet around in his fingers. “It’s been a bit of an adjustment.”

“You’re looking well through,” she blurts, before she has time to stop herself.

He smirks and she feels her skin grow hot as he retorts “I could say the same about you.”

She clears her throat, eager to switch gears in the conversation. “So, are you gonna grab a coffee, or are you just passing through?”

“Well, actually, since I’ve run into you, I wondered if perhaps you’d like to join me for something stronger?”

She raises her eyebrows. She knows it’s a bad idea, the trouble is the voice telling her that is not as loud as the one screaming at her to say yes.

“What are you having?” Aemond asks as they stand at the bar of Maegor’s Holdfast.

“Glass of Rioja, please.”

Aemond nods, turning to the bartender. “Bottle of Rioja and two glasses, please.”

“A whole bottle?!” She hisses, as the bartender moves away to fetch their order.

Aemond gives an easy shrug. “We’re both having the same thing, it makes more sense to share a bottle, than two separate glasses.”

“So, what are you doing with yourself these days?” Aemond asks, as they sit in a cosy corner of the pub, sipping their wine.

“Working, mostly,” she tells him, “I’m commissioning editor for Gold Cloak Magazine.”

“Impressive,” he says, raising his glass to her. “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“Thanks to you,” she replies quietly, a heated feeling of shame feeling as though it envelopes her. She’s keen to change the subject. “So, what’s going on with you?”

“I can’t return to Red Keep Legal, I’m no longer allowed to practice law. I figured I’d study in another field, maybe history or philosophy, see where that takes me. I’m living back with my mother until I get back on my feet.”

“How’s the family?”

“Mother is okay. Fussing over me far too much now that I’m back. Grandfather has retired, he’s gone back to Oldtown, got himself a nice little cottage. It’s fairly quiet at the house, feels empty.”

“Are Helaena and Aegon not there anymore?”

Aemond shakes his head, taking a long sip of wine before speaking again. “Helaena’s currently overseas in Qarth, doing a conservation study on some sort of beetle. Aegon’s gone to Braavos, he’s decided a life by the sea suits him better now that he’s sober.”

“Aegon’s sober?!”

“Yeah, it surprised me too. Apparently his drinking got quite a lot worse after I was put away. Mother finally had enough and forced him back to rehab. It stuck this time.”

“Good for him. I’m pleased.”

“Hmm. Enough about my family, I want to know all about your new job. Tell me everything.”

Over the next few hours, they fall into effortless conversation, and as one bottle of wine turns into two, it’s easy to forget the nature of their unusual relationship, it feels as though she’s chatting with an old friend.

She tells him all about the freelance work she’s undertaken over the last few years, as well as how she found herself with a job offer from Gold Cloak. They chat about music, films, share jokes and anecdotes, though always careful to avoid mention of Aemond’s incarceration or anything related to it. Aemond is witty, oddly charming and fiercely intelligent, if she hadn't interviewed him in the wake of his nephew’s murder then she could definitely see him as someone she’d be attracted to.

As she drains her final glass of wine, the second empty bottle calling out like a beacon that it’s time to go home, she feels fuzzy headed, her eyes and limbs heavy.

Oh shit, I’m drunk.

She stumbles as she rises from her seat, and Aemond places a steadying hand on her arm, the warmth she sees in his smile as he looks down at her taking her breath away. He looks nothing like a killer, just an ordinary man.

“Come on,” he says, offering her his arm, “I’ll walk you home.”

It doesn’t occur to her to ask how he knows where she lives as he walks her back to her block of flats. Her mind feeling thick from the effects of the wine, she doesn’t resist when he leans down, his lips pressing against hers as he steps her backwards over the threshold of her front door.

He dominates the kiss, the taste of red wine upon his lips potent and sweet. He holds her tight against him, his mouth devouring hers. Their movements are needy and desperate as her hands help to push his jacket from his shoulders and it drops to the floor, along with her laptop bag, with a soft thump. It’s enough to temporarily break her out of her passionate haze and she pulls back reluctantly, her voice a shaky whisper.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Hmmm, and yet it’s happening anyway,” he replies huskily, his hand coming to rest at the back of her neck as he kisses her hungrily once more, his tongue licking greedily at hers.

Every part of her mind that is screaming at her to stop is silenced by his lips, all sense and inhibitions dulled by alcohol. Having been career focused for so long, her love life has taken a backseat, she can’t remember the last time anyone touched her like this. It’s exhilarating to feel wanted, desired, and so she loses herself in the sensation, her mouth moving against his with equal enthusiasm as they stumble back towards the sofa.

He presses her into the plushness of the cushions, the pair of them hastily kicking off their shoes, before he settles on top of her. He trails hot, open mouthed kisses over her jaw and neck, before bringing a hand to the front of her blouse, a quick flick of his wrist tears it open, sending buttons clattering onto the glass top surface of the nearby coffee table.

Before she is able to protest, she is silenced once more by the feel of his mouth upon her, lavishing attention to the swell of her breasts, visible over the tops of the cups of her bra. How is he able to do that, to obliterate all of her thoughts through mere touch alone? It’s dizzying, and her breaths quicken, turning to soft pants as his path continues downwards, leaving a blazing trail in its wake as he shifts his lips to her stomach. His hands roughly tug down her leggings, as he pulls away, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder once they’re all the way off.

As he rests on his haunches over her, she is painfully aware of the imbalance; he kneels before her, fully dressed, while she is beneath him in just her underwear. She squirms slightly in embarrassment, feeling her skin grow heated.

It’s as if he’s able to read her mind, his lips twitching with the ghost of a smirk as his seeing eye stares her down, darkened with arousal. Grabbing the hem of his shirt he tugs it up over his head, allowing it to follow the same path her leggings had.

She feels her core throb with want as her gaze travels down his bare torso. Lean, lithe hardened muscle defines his chest and abdomen in a way that she has only ever seen before in Grecian statues. He descends upon her again, not giving her the opportunity to admire him for long, covering her body with his own as he captures her lips again, his teeth nipping delicately at her bottom lip.

His knee nudges its way between her legs, pushing against her through the lace of her knickers, and she whines into the kiss, her mind immediately racing back to all the times his knee had bumped hers during their interviews. Is this what he’d wanted all along? The idea makes her pulse thrum and her blood run hot. It’s sick and twisted, but she can’t find herself to care, not when the friction of his actions feels so agonisingly addictive. 

His lips pull away from hers, and his hand snakes between their bodies, taking up the space his knee had occupied until just a moment ago. He cups her mound through the fabric of her underwear, humming in satisfaction as she bucks her hips against his palm, chasing the pressure his knee had given her.

“Eager little thing,” he whispers darkly, hooking a finger into the elastic of her gusset and tugging it to one side.

It isn’t until the coolness of the air hits her bare flesh that she realises just how wet she is, and she’d feel ashamed were it not for the fact she can see Aemond’s pupil dilate at the sight of it.

He teases the pads of his fingers through her folds, spreading the stickiness of her arousal from her sensitive bud to her opening and back again. Her breath hitches at the sensation, every nerve ending in her body feeling as though it’s aflame.

“You’re soaking,” he murmurs, eye flickering up to meet hers.

She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can get the words out, he’s bringing his fingers away from her core and pushing them past her lips and into her mouth. She mewls around his digits at the tart taste of herself upon her tongue, and as he takes her hand, bringing it forward to cup the hardness of him through his trousers, she finds herself sucking on them, palming at him eagerly simultaneously.

He groans quietly, pressing himself against her touch. “Good girl.”

Withdrawing his fingers from her mouth and swatting her hand away gently, he unbuckles his belt, leaning back over her as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers, pushing them down along with his boxers just enough to free his erection.

She cannot see it, but the feel of it, heavy and leaking, pressing against her entrance is enough to have her walls clenching, eager to take him inside. The initial stretch to accommodate him as he presses forward causes them both to sigh softly in unison, his brows furrowing with exertion as he pushes all the way in to the hilt. The fullness of it makes her ache, and she rolls her hips impatiently, desperate for him to move.

“So needy,” he chastises quietly.

“Please,” is all she’s able to whimper in response.

His hand moves to the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and gripping it tightly. He holds her in place, so she has no choice but to look at him as he drags his hips back before snapping them forward again.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

She should stop this, they’ve gone too far already, but the buzz of the wine is still coursing its way through her, and with every brush of the head of his cock against the sensitive spot deep inside of her, the urge to put an end to what’s happening rapidly fades.

Her legs tangle with his, as she meets him thrust for thrust. He is slow to withdraw, but quick to slam forward again, driving him impossibly deep into her. His grip on her hair and the forced eye contact make it almost too much to bear. The intensity with which he looks at her, studies the contortions of pleasure her features morph into, is torturous, yet she never wants it to end.

Clinging to him tightly, her fingernails dig crescent moons into the flesh of his shoulder blades, his jaw beginning to slacken as with every push forward she feels him pulsate. He’s getting close, and she is too, the tell tale tensing of her thighs and quivering inside of her letting her know she’s edging closer to her peak.

She is desperate to turn her face away, not wanting to be staring directly into his eye as she falls apart, but Aemond’s grip on her hair is iron clad, she cannot move her head. With one last push forward, she tightens and spasms around him, a broken cry escaping her as she stares at him, eyes wide and brows knitted together as warm waves of pleasure ripple through her.

Something akin to a growl rumbles in Aemond’s throat, and she feels him still, knowing he’s about to reach his own end. Not wanting her own ecstasy to be short lived by him pulling out, she is quick to reassure him in a breathy whisper.

“I’m on the pill.”

“I know,” he groans, before letting go, spilling himself inside of her with a grunt. He lets go of her hair, burying his face into the crook of her neck as his body shudders, his length twitching and pulsing within her sensitive heat.

They remain tangled together for a few moments, both breathing heavily as they attempt to recover and slowly come back down to earth. As the blissful fog begins to lift, she is struck by a realisation.

I know.

“How do you know I’m on the pill?” She asks, her voice quiet and hoarse.

Aemond lays quiet for a moment, his breaths warm and moist against the flesh of her neck as they calm. When he eventually pulls back and looks at her, there’s something different in the way he looks at her. His stare is cold, almost crazed, similar to what she had seen the day they’d first met in the visitors room of Dragonstone Prison.

“I know everything about you,” he says with a soft smile, that doesn’t play upon the rest of his features.

Her heart lurches in her chest, fear turning her blood icy, the effects of the wine disappearing entirely as she’s left starkly sobered.

“What do you mean?” She asks quietly.

He hums thoughtfully, brushing her hair away from her face in a gesture that could be considered affectionate, were it not for the sudden change in atmosphere.

“I suppose there’s no point in keeping secrets, not now we know each other so…intimately,” he muses. “I enjoyed our talks together, I wanted them to continue, but when it became clear to me that that wasn’t reciprocated, I needed a way to continue to keep in touch. So I had you watched, followed, everything you did was reported back to me. It’s made the last five years more bearable still having a connection to you. It’s been better still being able to keep tabs myself over the last few weeks.”

Tears prickle her eyes, a wave of nausea sweeping over her. “You’re sick!”

“Am I?” He asks, cocking his head as he strokes her hair absentmindedly. “Or is that you? Because for me, our little tryst seems perfectly normal, an inevitability, considering my interest in you. However, for you, you barely know me. I’m someone you interviewed half a decade ago, and you opened your legs for me the very same day I happened to make you aware I was back in your life. I’d say that makes you a whore.”

“Get off!” She cries, squirming beneath him, attempting to push him off. The thought that his softening member is still nestled within her has her reeling with disgust. He is stronger than she is though, and refuses to budge, keeping her right where she is, as he grips her jaw tightly, forcing her to look at him.

“Behave,” he hisses, “you’ve seen what happens to people who anger me. You sat through an entire trial for it.”

“That was manslaughter,” she says in a trembling voice, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“That’s what I was sentenced for, yes, but I’ll tell you a secret…I saw Lucerys, and I drove my car towards him anyway.”

He laughs softly, as he gazes down at her, her eyes widened in horror, as her chest heaves. “His expression was rather similar to yours, actually, when he realised what was about to happen.”

“You’re a murderer,” she sobs, frantically trying to push him off of her.

“Oh, darling,” he soothes mockingly, “but you did such a wonderful job of portraying me as otherwise.”

“What are you going to do to me?!” She asks, panic fluttering acridly up from her chest and into her throat.

“Nothing at all, if you don’t overreact. Don’t get any funny ideas about going to the police either.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think your career could withstand such an enormous blunder, not a second time anyway. Imagine how that would look, the second time you’ve painted a criminal as a saint, and not only that but this time you’ve slept with him. That would be quite the fall from grace.”

He pins her wrists above her head, though all the fight has left her, she sags beneath him, hot tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I can’t believe this…”

“Believe it,” he hisses. “You’ve built your career on the back of me, and I think it’s about time you repay the favour. For five years you’ve enjoyed success, all thanks to me, while I rotted in prison. You owe me.”

“What do you want from me?” She asks weakly.

“Nothing I haven’t had already,” he tells her, leaning down to run the tip of her nose against her cheek. “Be sweet to me, and I’ll be sweet to you, because if you try to take me down over this, I can guarantee you have much more to lose than I do.”

Her stomach turns, her eyes closing in defeat. There is no escape from this, she simply has to accept her fate or endure mutually assured destruction.

Aemond’s expression has softened when she opens her eyes again. His hands move from her wrists to her hands, entwining their fingers. “There she is,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “No more tears now, you’ll spoil all the fun we’re going to have together.”

This is a nightmare, This is a nightmare. Wake up.

As she feels him harden inside of her once more, the heartbreaking realisation that she’s not dreaming settles over her. This is a waking nightmare, and it’s only just beginning.

[smallest-fish-inthesea]

I’ve seen a lot of people complain about tmagp and say it doesn’t have the magic or draws them in like TMA did and I think it’s for multiple reasons

1: some of the cases are written by guest writers so ofc it’s not gonna be the same as Jonny and Alex’s writing

2: they’re not bullshitting their way through it anymore you can’t unlearn how to write/soundscape a podcast and part of the reason the quality is so good these days is BECAUSE of us, the fandom, funding them. They’re not recording under a pile of duvets anymore and it shows [i understand the appeal of the rawness of the earlier seasons of TMA where everything isn’t quite as polished but also like. Why are some of you mad about this???{

3: and potentially most importantly this is a universe we already know

I’ve heard Jonny go on multiple times about how the thing with TMA is that it becomes less scary the more it goes on because you discover more and more, you can’t be scared of the unknown if you already know what is hiding in the dark, it loses a certain sense of power.

And tmagp is (to an extent) a universe we have already discovered, we already know it, we know about the fears and the entities and avatars, ofc things don’t seem to work exactly the same but that doesn’t take away the fact that if you’ve listened to TMA you already have a WEALTH of knowledge about how things tend to function so of course it’s going to seem less horrifying and less intense because that’s just how things work here

I just think it’s a shame and a lot of people aren’t necessarily giving tmagp a fair chance over something that is literally impossible to change. Like said before, you can’t simply unknow things and that’s part of what makes the Magnus universes so interesting

Anyway. This isn’t like a call out post for anyone specific I’ve just seen a lot of it on my dash and it’s been frustrating me a lil

[genericpuff]

(You can delete this ask if it makes you uncomfortable) Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist? It's been what I'd been wanting to for years yet from what I'm hearing, it's hard to get money and an audience and that the mainstream webcomic hosting platforms don't treat their creators well. It doesn't help that while my art is decent, I don't really know how to create webcomics beyond like really short 4-5 panel comics even though I'd been drawing for many years. There's also the issue of my ADHD making it difficult to commit to stuff but then again at least that can be hopefully fixed once I get medicated. So, now the career of a webcomic artist sounds like a pipe dream at best. Is it worth pursuing, even if I don't make much money with it?

"Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist?"

And this isn't just for you, anon, this is for everyone who follows my nonsense here.

Yes, it's hard to build an audience.

It's even harder to make money.

You should still make webcomics if you really want to do it.

The only practical piece of advice I can give you from the perspective of someone who's been doing this for years is to manage your expectations. Because that's the biggest mistake a lot of webcomic artists make (and I too, made this mistake) they go into it setting the bar that it HAS to result in them making a living off it, getting famous off it, etc. when that's unfortunately only the reality for the 1% who get lucky or have an advantage that the other 99% don't have. And then, of course, failing to meet those ridiculously high expectations makes the fall hurt that much harder if you fail, especially with odds like that stacked against you. That's not to say you shouldn't set a bar for yourself, but you have to set it in a place that's reasonable. Especially if you're an artist with ADHD (same, mood), we have a REAL bad habit of setting the bar unreasonably high for ourselves when we're still learning and getting our feet wet (it's why we're always taking on new hobbies after getting inspired by musicians or crafters and then getting immediately discouraged when we're not suddenly able to do the thing with that same amount of skill).

Set the bar in a reasonable place with reasonable expectations, and then when you MEET that bar, you'll have even more motivation and confidence to aim higher. What won't give you confidence is setting the bar alongside the pros who have been at this for years, because not only will it take way too long to hit that for you to see results, you might give up before you even come close because of how far away the bar is.

A career as a webcomic artist is about as guaranteed as making a career out of Youtube. But being a webcomic artist, period? You can do it. Anyone can do it. I'm still doing it in spite of everything. Like, I cannot even fully express to you just how much of what I do here is the culmination of a long list of failures. My art, my writing, the stuff I do here is built on the corpses of my failures. But those failures were still important, they had to happen to make me into the person and artist I am today. That person is STILL making mistakes, and that artist is STILL not rich LOL Failure is scary, but fear of failure is the true killer of joy and growth.

Do not tie the merit of being a webcomic artist to how much money you can (or can't) make out of it. Just like with starting a Youtube channel, you shouldn't go into it expecting money and fame right out the gate, but there are equal amounts of joy and experience you can gain by doing it. There's a reason people say you have to do it out of love and passion first because ultimately that's all you'll have to keep carrying you through if and when you fail to meet your goals. You don't have to be sure if you'll still want to do it a year from now or five years from now, none of that matters. If you want to do it now, then do it.

Make your 4-5 panel comics if that's what you enjoy doing. Make whatever tickles your fancy. Acknowledge your fears and doubts, thank them for their opinion, and do it anyways. "What if it ends up being a waste of time?" The time will pass anyways. Worst case, at least you'll be able to say you did it. That's better than never trying and regretting it in the end.

[starsreminisce]

SJM has a specific way of describing females when they meet their mate, often illustrated through the females staring at their mates unabashedly. This was particularly pronounced in the way she differentiated how Elain was when she first met Lucien and Azriel, and how Gwyn was the first time she met Azriel compared to the second time after her shellshock.

In regards to Elain, SJM made sure to show her fear towards the Illyrians, but with Lucien, she only cringed away once before allowing him to hold her while Nesta was under the cauldron and then staring at him when she was taken away from him.

In ACOMAF, Feyre's experience and Rhys's recounting of their initial meeting highlight this dynamic as well. Rhys described an underlying sense of fear and apprehension, yet there was an undeniable connection. This pattern suggests that SJM intentionally creates an initial sense of tension and unspoken attraction between mates.

Gwyn's encounters with Azriel, especially the second time after her shellshock, also emphasize this distinct dynamic. By having the females stare at their mates unabashedly, SJM underscores the unique connections and the deep, instinctual draw mates feel towards each other, showcasing this inexplicit yet powerful bond.

Feyre with Rhys

I stepped out of the shelter of my savior’s arm and turned to thank him. Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Everything about the stranger radiated sensual grace and ease. High Fae, no doubt. His short black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers, offsetting his pale skin and blue eyes so deep they were violet, even in the firelight. They twinkled with amusement as he beheld me. For a moment, we said nothing. Thank you didn’t seem to cover what he’d done for me, but something about the way he stood with absolute stillness, the night seeming to press in closer around him, made me hesitate to speak—made me want to run in the other direction.

Nesta with Cassian

Then, Mother above, Nesta shifted her attention to Cassian, noticing that gleam—what it meant. She snarled softly, “What are you looking at?” Cassian’s brows rose—little amusement to be found now. “Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall.” My face began heating, and I opened my mouth. To say what, I didn’t know. “Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process.” Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Gwyn with Azriel at Sangravah

“The first had just unbuckled his belt when Azriel arrived.” Silent, unending tears streamed down Gwyn’s face. “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate. But I could barely move, and when I tried to get up … He gave me his cloak and wrapped me in it. Morrigan arrived a few minutes later, and then Rhysand appeared, and it became clear some of the soldiers had gotten away with the piece of the Cauldron, so Azriel headed after them. Mor healed me as best she could, then brought me to the library. I couldn’t … I couldn’t bear to be at the temple, with the others. To see Catrin’s grave and know I failed her, to see that kitchen every day for the rest of my life.

Gwyn with Azriel two years later

Gwyn had been distracted today—one eye on the other side of the ring. Cassian could only assume she was watching his brother, who had given Gwyn a small smile of greeting upon arrival. Gwyn hadn’t returned it. Cassian cursed himself for a fool. He should have asked her if she’d be comfortable with Azriel here. Perhaps he should have asked all the priestesses about including another male, but especially Gwyn—whom Azriel had found that day in Sangravah. She’d said nothing about it during the lesson. Only glanced every now and then toward Az, who remained dutifully focused on his charges. Cassian couldn’t read the expression on her face.

Elain with Lucien

There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now. But his eyes were on Lucien as— As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—Cassian again stirred—trying to rise, to answer Nesta’s voice as she held my sister and cried her name again and again. .... Water poured forth, Lucien hoisting Elain in his arms and out of the way. The bonds on Tamlin vanished, along with the gag. He was instantly on his feet, snarling at the king. Even the fist on my mind lightened to a mere caress. As if he knew he’d won. ... Nesta slammed into Lucien, grabbing Elain from his arms, and screamed at him as he fell back, “Get off her!” Elain’s feet slipped against the floor, but Nesta gripped her upright, running her hands over Elain’s face, her shoulders, her hair— “Elain, Elain, Elain,” she sobbed. But Elain was staring over Nesta’s shoulder. At Lucien—whose face she had finally taken in. Dark brown eyes met one eye of russet and one of metal. Nesta was still weeping, still raging, still inspecting Elain— Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”

Elain with Azriel

Nesta was waiting at the head of the table, a queen ready to hold court. Elain trembled in the upholstered, carved wood chair to her left. I did them all a favor and took the one to Nesta’s right. Cassian claimed the spot beside Elain, who clenched her fork as if she might wield it against him, and Rhys slid into the seat beside me, Azriel on his other side. A faint smile bloomed upon Azriel’s mouth as he noticed Elain’s fingers whiteknuckled on that fork, but he kept silent, focusing instead, as Cassian was subtly trying to do, on adjusting his wings around a human chair.

[klttn]

Hi!! I love your writing a lot, especially how you write Vox <3 Can you write something where the reader works for Val and is about to have her first time with Vox, but she's scared about stealing him from Val :(

⁺˳✧༚ ˚ 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 ｡⋆୨୧˚

— 𝜗𝜚 vox x val x f!reader

ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 summary : val shares his little bunny with vox for the first time but she’s scared it might make them jealous. nsfw. sensitive reader. daddy kink. sir kink. soft dom!vox / hard dom!val. slapping. slight dumbification. bunny!reader. val is kind of a cuck.

“daddy, i’m scared,” your voice timid as you and val approached the gargantuan doors to vox’s penthouse, “what if he doesn’t like me?”

you’d met the man so many times, loved him even, so much time spent with him just by being valentino’s little girl. he’d always watch movies with you n look after you when valentino couldn’t.

but today was different, you didn’t think val would agree to sharing you with vox, he saw how you looked at him, yearned for him. so when val told you vox wanted that to, even for a night, it made you ecstatic. it’s just what if he doesn’t like me?

valentino purred, “look at you cosita, such a pretty thing, what’s not to love?” you blushed at his statement, twirling your hair a little and letting his long tongue lick a stripe up your neck. “mis dos amores, you will love eachother.” he slapped your ass, “even more than i know you already do.”

with confidence, valentino pulled away from his licking endeavours and pushed open the doors in front of you. your eyes widened in awe, the room revealing a sight so alluring, you were trying not to drool.

vox was man spread, softly trailing his own hand up his thigh, drawing all the attention to the slacks outlining his perfect bulge, hard and wanting. you didn’t miss the way it twitched when you both strolled through the door. tucked into those, was a button up shirt, barely there, exposing his collarbones, all the way down to his chest, slightly transparent from a thin layer of sweat, his forearms, veiny and fully exposed with the sleeves rolled up.

“voxxy, look who i brought for you!” val sang, your eyes still fixated on the man in front of you, glued to his groin. “am i the best boyfriend or what, mi vida?” in a way that question could be aimed at both of you.

vox let out a little chuckle, “and that’s why they pay you the big bucks, isn’t that right?” he was stroking vals ego like he was made to, smug smirk forming across the moth man’s face. vox’s gaze shifted, “and what do we have here?” his voice broke your gaze on his thighs. “the needy little bunny, i can’t wait to get my hands on you,” he sighed, “i can’t lie, pretty girl, ive wanted this for so long.” you felt the drag of his eyes on you, searching every inch of your body before you could even show him.

“don’t make him wait any longer, little bunny,” valentino’s hand pushed against your back inching you closer to vox. “show him why you’re my prized possession.”

you took a big gulp before seductively strutting over to the tv headed man, swaying your hips just so, only pausing when you found yourself stood inbetween vox’s thighs.

you tried to be as confident as valentino liked you to be with others but you found yourself shrinking under vox’s gaze, just like you did when val looked at you the very same way.

you turned to glance at val, he could tell how nervous you were by your trembling lips. “it’s okay, conejita,” his voice smooth as silk as he stalked over to you, standing behind you, vox intently watching everything. “he likes you just like i do,” val was now flush against your back, his hands finding their way to your tits, stroking them and freeing them for the other man to see. vox growled. “dumb, ditzy and obedient.”

vals hands were still stroking your body, lifting up the small amount of clothing you had on, flashing more of your soft skin, eliciting soft whimpers from you and horny groans from vox. “val, come on, fuck, i need her.” he reached forward, placing his whiskey on the coffee table and moving his hands to your thighs, caressing and wanting, you could feel the desperation in his touch.

“you gonna be a good little girl for him, cosita?” a pleasing whine left your lips as you nodded your head. “words.” vals grip on your tits harshened causing you to yelp.

“yes, daddy,” you felt vox stiffen, “gonna be so good for him, i promise.” you caught a glimpse of his cock twitch at that, which only went straight to your pussy. he must like that.

you felt the hands on your thighs wrap to your ass, playing with the flesh there, toying and teasing. “come here, little girl,” it was said as a command but vox did all the work, pulling you in by your ass, forcing you to straddle his lap. “good girl.”

a thought plagued you for a moment and vox caught on before you could hide it, his eyes narrowing, he always did know if anything was ever wrong with you. “you don’t have to do this, baby, you know that right?”

“i know it’s just-“ you huffed, struggling to find the words.

“just what pretty girl? tell me.” pause. “tell us.”

“don’t want daddy to think i’m trying to take him from you or- or that you’re trying to take me from him,” weak voice shaking as you spoke, turning to val. “cause i love you n i will always want you n i promise but i just i want this too, n i feel bad cause i want you n i want vox n i just- i want so much but i just don’t wanna make you jealous or mad at me” the men already taking action to comfort you, speaking a million words to eachother through their eyes as you spoke. “please don’t be mad at me.”

valentino laughed. “oh baby, of course not, if i was mad at you or didn’t want this do you really think i’d be this hard,” a subtle thrust gave you the answer. no. “such a sensitive thing.” he found this so cutely amusing, loving how pathetic you were right now. “and maybe, conejita, if that’s how you feel, you can be our little bunny, not just mine, we could share you, love you, cherish you just like i already do.”

your nose twitched cutely, a soft coo from vox going unnoticed. “be together? all of us? you n vox, me n vox, you n me?” your silly head was getting overwhelmed.

“that’s right baby,” val praised. “if he’d like that,” he added, “would you like that conejita?” your eyes went doe like with hope, idea immediately flooding you with excitement, “yeah?” you nodded slowly, looking back to vox expectantly, “we could both own your pretty little body as much as we own eachothers, do you like the sound of that baby?”

“please!” you begged, “vox please,” your begging making vox’s heart pound. both of the men’s hands rubbing soothing circles on you.

“you wanna be our little bunny? yeah, baby?” vox mused, clearly loving the thought of you being his.

“mhm,” you needed them both so close, forcing them to press into you more, your strength pathetic compared to theirs but them allowing the subtle pull non the less. “i wanna be yours, please.”

“i’ll tell you a little secret, bunny,” vox begun, nuzzling himself into your neck, taking in your scent like never before, “that’s partly why you’re here today. when daddy told me you wanted, this,” he gestured to himself, “we both knew us dating wouldn’t be far behind, we planned for this baby.”

“really?”

“really.” vox squeezed where his hands rested, pausing before adding on, “that means you’re mine now too.” you smiled and nodded giddily.

valentino could tell the moment had eased, letting out a chuckle that broke your soft moment with vox, “if she misbehaves, just scare her a little, her pussy will be dripping and she’ll be back to being this pathetic in no time.” valentino winked, his grip loosened as he slipped away, feeling a kiss on one of your lop ears before his touch was gone completely, instigating the sex you knew was gonna happen. but you were too focused on the doting man in front of you to care.

vox pulled his head back, attention now fully onto you, he lifted a hand under your chin, index finger and claw pulling your face closer to his. lips parted and soft, eyes pretty and excited. truly noticing just how beautiful you were up close. it was as if valentino’s absence caused something to shift in vox, dominant nature coming more to the forefront than it already was, “i don’t think you’re capable of being anything but pliant, are you bunny?” vox mused, using his thumb to rub over your bottom lip. “daddy thinks you might misbehave but i think i’ll have you too dumb to even think about doing such a thing.”

vox’s touch was nothing like vals. his was rough and demanding, a constant reminder of power and abuse, control over everything you did. it was poisonous and addicting. but this, this was anything but. his words like honey, so sweet. his touch so soft and intoxicating, it had you drunk on all the ways he could take care of you. the force so gentle you found yourself doing everything he wanted just to see what other compelling words would slip from his mouth and touch from his actions. they were two sides of a coin and you wanted, no, needed it all.

you were pulled from your thoughts as vox’s hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’m gonna take care of you, little one,” he whispered, deep and guttural, his hips softly grinding into you, “all you need to do is look cute and let me.” his hands now on your hips, guiding you to grind in rhythm with him. “no need for any thoughts in that pretty head of yours, just whimpers and letting me mold your body how i please.” a soft hold on your throat now had you looking at him with glazed eyes, “do you think you can do that, yeah baby?”

“yes, sir,” it was soft in the way that you said it, barely audible but crystal clear to vox, your cheeks were tinting pink and cunt becoming messier the more he spoke.

“sir?” he asked, “god, are you trying to kill me?” you bit your lip, hips still bucking with vox’s, pushing yourself into vox’s touch on your neck. “so adorable,” he started, “barely even put my hands on you and you’re already messy and pliable in my lap,” he cooed, “you’re just begging me to take care of you at this point,” you nodded gingerly, “need a little break from doing all the work with daddy, sweetie, is that it? need sir to get you cock drunk and helpless in his touch, yeah?”

vox words had you hanging off them and you couldn’t get enough of it, his grip moved to your hair, stroking the soft locks and playing with the fluffy ears nestled within it. “please,” your voice was hollow and desperate, your ears were so sensitive and his voice had you feeling dizzy. you felt like you could cry with the softness of his actions, it was everything you didn’t know you were missing with val.

“awh you’re so pretty when you beg, baby, cute little voice so soft i can barely hear you,” he preened, “don’t worry little girl, i’ll look after you.” his hands skated their way to your thighs to stand you back up, much to your dismay. he did it with ease, your face now eye level with him eventhough he was still seated. “but first, i need to get a good look at my new little bunny.”

you did a little spin between his thighs, your hair and floppy ears twirling, tits bouncing cutely as you did so earning a little chuckle from vox. “so, cute,” he muttered. his hands made their way over your body, wordlessly letting them drag over every inch of you, bit by bit sending shivers through you. his touch so alluring it had you melting in its wake, it was like nothing you’d ever felt before. he’d go extra slow over the peaks of your nipples, swirling his fingers and rubbing his thumbs over the buds just to hear you mewl for him. right now, you were just as much a drug to him as he was to you.

his hands finally stilled at the hem of your waistband, his head leaning forward to kiss the soft skin before it, “can i see the pretty pussy that’s hiding from me under these?” you nodded. he was asking? for some reason that made your heart flutter.

his hands slid the fabric down your thighs allowing you to step out of them at the end, now left in a little strappy top with your tits spilling out and frilly socks donning your feet, the same colour of your bunny ears. in some way the slight bit of clothing only made the situation hotter.

“just look at you,” it was as if he was talking to himself now, standing up to truly take you in. his touch never left as he admired you, leaving a kiss on your twitching nose as spun you. your thighs now plush against where he himself had been sat, knees touching closed and and arms flailing either side of you. his warmth and smell invading your senses, you could only think of him.

vox’s hands made their way to your knees, rubbing gently, easing your nerves and placing kisses their, “can you spread these for me bun? let me see you?” you looked away in shyness as you parted your legs, slight pressure of vox’s hands forcing them open too, so eager for you. “fuck me,” vox droned out.

“am i pretty enough for you, sir?” you whispered, not daring to make eye contact. beginning to try and close your thighs before vox’s hands could stop you.

“baby, baby, baby, you are the most beautiful thing i’ve ever set my eyes on, don’t you dare go covering up from me, this sight is the only thing i wanna see for the rest of my life.”

your head snapped to look at him, blush creeping up your neck, submitting and letting your legs fall back open

vox was eager, kneeling inbetween your thighs and loitering kisses all along them, eyes never straying from your pussy. “such a cute cunt,” he groaned, reiterating his words with his kisses, “matches those soft tits of yours.” you whined loudly, his words affecting you to the point of desperation.

“keep whining, bunny, it’s not gonna make me go any faster, all it does it’s gets my dick harder.” the way vox said it had you pulling your knees up and spreading further for him, showing him how bad you needed him. “how cute! spreading for me even more, what a good girl, already learning that’s how you should be for me.”

his head inched closer n closer to your cunt, watching the way you’d hump into him, so hopeful for his tongue.

“voxxyyy, are you gonna fuck our little bunny with your tongue or not, even im being teased here, mi vida.” vals voice made you both turn, your gaze now locking onto the man. he was in the corner, in nothing, his wings down, legs spread, hand stroking his cock, precum covering its tip, other hands groping himself, from his balls to his chest. “daddy needs to see their little girl in ruins.”

vox shot a wink to valentino and thrust his tongue inside of you, thumb immediately coming to glide over your clit at the same pace. the action elicited such a pretty high pitched whimper to spill from your lips. the sudden intrusion causing your head to lol back, eyes now glazed with bliss. it was heaven in hell. the long appendage, messy and stretching your tight cunt in a way you’d never experienced, had you fucking yourself back into it, moaning and writhing.

“good giiiirl.”

valentino was about to get the show of a lifetime from his lovers and you were gonna be the main star.

A/N : i love this concept way way way too much hehe <3

[motherofdogs1010]

Little Darling IV (Thomas Shelby x Reader)

Summary: Birmingham has received a new club, one that is showcasing a exotic type of dance that is drawing in crowds, but it is one particular dancer that catches Thomas Shelby's eye... one that goes by the stage name: Little Darling

Warnings: Warnings: 18+ only, eventual pinv sex, eventual smut, stripper!reader, heavy petting, dry humping, language, drinking, cannon Peaky Blinder violence

A/N: This takes place post S1 after Grace during that 2 year jump but before Grace comes back, but don't worry, we will be seeing Grace again!

Banner @firefly-graphics Dividers @vase-of-lilies

Part III

His lips against hers felt hot, a shiver ran through her at the sensation of their lips molded against one another and she squeezed her eyes as her hand twitched and--

Slap.

Y/N felt a sense of justification when she slapped Tommy, one of her long nails scratched the corner of his lip pretty good during the slap and the man smirked, his tongue coming out and licking the little blood.

His cheek was rosy from the slap and she felt vindication over it as she

"I'm not a whore", she hissed, shoving him away and standing up. "And I will never be your whore."

"Not during the day", Tommy replied, "not yet at least."

Her eyes widen at his response, the way he was making it out that she was going to be his whore and while the rational part of her felt anger, there was a slim, small part of her that reveled in the thought.

"I need you to leave", she demanded, Tommy held his gloved hands up.

"Fine", he said, "but you don't need to worry about your parents."

Her heart stopped as he continued, "I made sure to leave a generous donation to them, they should be getting a good amount of groceries for the next month."

Y/N felt confused, why was he taking care of her parents? Why was he spending all this effort on her? It had to go beyond what he was telling her; she watched as he turnt and left, wondering just what did Tommy want with her.

Y/N was due for new beauty products and it was on her way out of the store did she run into the famous Polly Gray, aunt to the Shelby boys. It struck her as odd since with the amount of money the Shelbys had acquired, they would have someone else do their shopping but here she was, wrapped in a fur-lined coat and a impeccable hat on her head.

Polly was everything Y/N had heard of, beautiful and sophisticated with eyes that cut you deep as she analyzed you to the bone.

"Y/N is it?" the older woman asked, Y/N clutched her paper bag of things.

"Yes", she replied, "what can I do for you?"

"Walk with me", Polly said, Y/N trailed after her.

After a few moments, Polly spoke up, "Tommy's pretty taken with you."

Y/N felt her eyes widen, had the bastard blabbed?

"Don't worry", Polly said, "he hasn't said anything, but I always know everything that boy does. He is predictable when he comes across a beautiful woman."

"Well, I'd rather he not", Y/N said as they walked.

"The man can't help but think with his cock", Polly said, "he just like every other man."

Y/N wondered what it was that Polly wanted as she said, "No matter, seems like you want nothing to do with the bastard. Much better than the last one."

The last one?

And with more questions than answers, Polly Gray simply turned around and walked away.

Some of the girls wanted to go to the Garrison since Cherry had given some of them the night off as appreciation for their hard work. Y/n had slid into a champagne-colored dress that accentuated her figure, curled her hair into a chignon bun at the base of her neck; her mother's pearls adorned her neck and ears as she finished the look with her usual, deep red lipstick.

"N/N, over here!" Diane said, waving her over.

Diane, stage name Lovely, smiled as she sat with Eleanor (Beloved), Phoebe (Babydoll), and Susan (Sweet Pea). Y/N had felt some apprehension at coming to the Garrison considering that it was prime Blinder territory, but it had been so long since she had gone out with her friends that the risk of running into Tommy felt overshadowed by it.

Walking over, Y/N smiled at the girls as she took a seat. The pub was busy since it was a Friday, the sound of chatter and laughter rang in the place as she slid into a empty seat with her friends.

"What took you so long?" Susan said in a teasing tone.

"You can't rush perfection", she teased back and her friends laughed with her.

Soon enough, gossip began to flow through them as they sat and relaxed, listening to the chatter of the Garrison as Eleanor was gossiping about another one of their co-workers, Beauty.

"She truly thinks that Mr. Lowe will leave his wife for her", Eleanor said with a 'tsk' in her tone. "Poor thing, she really does believe it."

"We all tried to warn her when she first started", Diane said, "just because they're repeat clients does not mean anything."

Y/N sipped on her whiskey as she listened, the cold ice cubes touching her lips as Susan said, "I'm not sure, myself. Y/N here has (Susan looked around before whispering) Mr. Thomas Shelby wrapped around her finger."

Y/N's eyes widened and she had hoped no one else had noticed the preference that he had taken to her, but it seemed it was obvious to everyone.

"Don't remind me", she said with a shake of her head. "He's like a pest that won't leave."

Susan giggled a little, "A pest that brings you loads of money."

"Well, that's the only upside", she said with a teasing grin. "I'm just hoping he doesn't turn up tonight."

"Why's that? It's not like he'd recognize you without the uniform", Diane said, Y/N shook her head.

"Sugar ratted me out."

Her three friends gasped and shook their heads as Eleanor said, "he's been following you, hasn't he?"

Y/N opened her mouth, about to respond when Harry, the bartender walked over and set a drink down in front of her.

"I didn't order this", she said with a frown.

"He did", Harry said as he pointed out the culprit.

And lo and behold, the bane of her days had been sitting in the corner this whole time, just watching her...

TAGLIST

@amanda08319 @crispynutella @neonpurplestars89-blog @forgottenpeakywriter @kxnnxy

[annegrey]

Late night surprise - a "Two for the price of One" story

Max x fem!reader x Kelly

Okay, I never thought that so many people would like my story, so you can imagine I was quite floored when I was actually ASKED to do another. So here it is! I’m always happy about feedback, so don’t hold back! Also: would you like some (domestic) fluff with them? Like, how they got together, how it would be open for discussion who would love the Disney movie more between the adults and P. Just let me know. And now: to the smut!

You didn’t hear the door, too focused on thrusting in and out of Kelly with the strap-on, which rubbed your clit almost the right way, like a constant tease, but when you mentioned it to your lovers before, they just kissed your cheeks at the same time, and Kelly whispered “We know, you should see how desperate you look when you fuck me with it. Concentrating on pleasuring me, and at the same time so frustrated because it just doesn’t work for you.” So you never replaced that stupid, annoying, wonderful strap-on, whining and panting while pushing Kelly’s legs up to get even deeper.

But it seemed like she heard something, maybe the lock, maybe the closing, maybe even the steps, as the woman turned her head, smiling at the man standing in the doorway, watching the scene before him. Only then you yourself looked up, and blinked in surprise when you saw Max. But when you started to slow down, a sharp slap to your butt told you to go on. Kelly was quite demanding, and you knew you would be rewarded in the best way possible whenever you obeyed.

“I thought you would come back tomorrow”, Kelly panted, and it was a bit annoying that she still had the brain cells to speak coherently. With a huff, you angled your hips a bit, and that seemed to do the trick, as she moaned loudly. Max still stood there, silent, with a smirk on his lips. He once admitted that he loved watching you two fuck, it was one of his biggest turn-ons. Especially after you started to feel more comfortable, often holding eye contact while still blushing furiously.

After another moment he pushed himself off the doorway and strolled over to the bed. “I convinced the others to let me go earlier. I missed you, with how stressful everything was, I just needed to be with you”, he mumbled, leaning down to give Kelly a truly filthy kiss, before turning and granting you the same treatment. You whined again, trying to chase after him when he pulled back, but another slap on your butt-cheek drew your attention back to the main program.

Almost as if you were apologizing, you kissed the woman beneath you, then slowly worked your way down to suck on her right tit, drawing another moan from her throat. Her hands immediately buried themselves in your hair, making sure you stayed in place.

You felt the mattress dip, signaling that Max finally joined you. But Kelly didn’t let up, making it impossible for you to look at the man. Which didn’t mean you were unaware of what he was doing. A hand, his hand, snuck between your bodies, starting to rub Kelly’s clit in a way that always drove her crazy.

Her moans got louder, with that specific pitch they only got when she was close, and you had to grin against her breast. As the ‘new one’ in this relationship, even after months, it always made you proud to make her cum. Both of them once praised you on how quickly you caught on, knowing now on how to make it more than pleasurable for both of them, if still not as well as the both of them. But to be fair, they had years of relationship behind, so it would be kind of weird and sad if you were better than one of them.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your hair was gripped so hard that you hissed in pain, and Kelly arched her back, her moan drawn out and raw, before she collapsed back, panting. Not that she let go of you, or that you stopped thrusting, it was just slower, gentler. Just how she liked when she came down from her orgasm. Only when the woman finally pulled your head up to give you a soft, deep kiss, you pulled out.

Immediately two hands were on your hips, pulling on the harness that kept the strap-on in place, and you didn’t even have the chance to help before Max had it off your body and pulled you around, until you laid next to Kelly, your face pushed into the pillows and your ass raised.

It always caused goosebumps and shivers when Max manhandled you like that, and your lovers teased you often enough about how much of a submissive slut you were, whether it was how Kelly commanded you or how Max used his strength on you. And you couldn’t deny it, you loved being their good, sweet girl. No matter that Max was actually the youngest in the relationship, by two fucking weeks. Which you never let him forget.

Any thought left your brain as you finally felt the hard length push into you, and you gripped the sheets, gasping for breath. One of your hands was carefully pulled away and intertwined with Kelly’s, and when you turned your head to look at her, her eyes were both loving and hungry. It apparently was a thing for all three of you, to watch two of you fuck, you were just as guilty of this pleasure as them.

Then Max started moving, and you closed your eyes with a soft moan. Normally the one watching would force you to look at them, but it seemed like today Kelly was in a merciful mood. She just ran her fingers over your cheek, while you drooled over the fabric beneath you, and then you heard her address Max: “Be nice, she was so good today.” Another shiver ran over your body, and you whimpered as Max gripped your hip with one hand, while the other reached beneath you, to softly rub your clit.

Whining and squirming, at least as much as his hard grip allowed, you pushed back against him, the frustrating teasing of the harness helping you to reach your orgasm even faster than normal. But you forced yourself to keep it together, because if you came now, you would leave Max hanging high and dry.

Once again Kelly proved her eerie ability to know exactly what you were thinking, as she leaned to you and softly kissed your cheek. “Just let go. As I said, you were so good today. You don’t need to take care of him, I’ll do it. Relax and enjoy it.” And you don’t even know when it happened, but somewhen in the last months your body became so attuned to her, to her commands, that you felt yourself going pliant, letting yourself just feel.

Max, in an attempt to help, placed soft kisses along your neck, until he came to that specific spot, just below your hairline on the back of your head, your sweet spot where only a small breath would cause goosebumps to appear all over your body, and bit down. That was the last drop, the last push you needed. With a guttural moan you came.

Clenching around Max, you sobbed, gripping Kelly’s hand even harder. But he didn’t stop, he kept thrusting into you, causing you to squirm again, biting your lower lip, until your mouth dropped open again, panting and crying out. Just to feel another orgasm approach. That was something you found out not too long ago, the fact that you were actually able to cum multiple times in a row, as long as Max didn’t change a single thing.

It was scary at first, the overwhelming feeling of pleasure, bordering on pain, and no end in sight. Just to end in another peak. The record was four in a row, and that ended in your actually crying and needing to be held even closer than normal. But as soon as you were able to speak again, you reassured both of them that you actually loved it, that it more than blew your mind, and that you would love to try it again. Just… not anytime soon, otherwise your body might break.

Equipped with that knowledge, Max just kept going, just as you kept gasping and sobbing. It didn’t take long for you to finally cum again, and that was the sign for Max to slow down. Two was the limit for normal days, when you didn’t prepare for the mind-mush that came with more than two. A few last thrusts, then he carefully pulled out, but you still hissed.

Rolling to the side, still holding Kelly’s hand, you tried to gather your thoughts and closed your eyes for a second. It must have been longer, you must have blacked out for a moment, because when you opened them again, Max was on his back, whimpering just like you were moments ago, with Kelly holding his hip down and deepthroating his cock.

You personally knew how talented her mouth was, and you had witnessed how quickly she could cause Max to cum this way, so you grinned to yourself and watched while the driver was driven crazy by that wonderful, wonderful mouth.

When the signs of his end were showing, you forced yourself up to lean on your elbows and kissed him, while playing with his nipple with one hand. He didn’t really kiss back, just some sloppy movements, another sign that he was close.

His moans turned to groans, and then he seized up with a pleasured cry, probably trying to thrust into Kelly’s mouth, but that woman was stronger than she looked, without any trouble keeping him pinned down.

A few moments after, he was panting as if he had just run a marathon, and Kelly crawled upwards to press a kiss first on his lips, then on yours. She gave you a few seconds, before patting both of your thighs, and grinning. “Come now, we all need a shower. If you are quick, I’ll change the sheets while you shower.” That was definitely an incentive, and while it took you both a moment, Max and you crawled out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Because sleeping in a sweaty bed was really gross, and not having to change the sheets yourself was always a plus.

[callmearcturus]

@vmprsm replied to your post “Raw MKV rip of Mission Impossible: Fallout:...”:

Theoretically, if one wanted their own copies of the MI movies safely on a hard drive....where would one go?

​I mean, there is a site where you can acquire a lot of movies via torrent. I tend to use (rot13) 1337k.gb and I got a heavily discounted Windscribe VPN subscription that I use on almost all of my devices.

But my thing is that... I want commentary reels and special features, and sometimes you'll download a movie but the fucking subtitles are either bad or they become desynced over time and I haaaaate it.

So I've been gathering bits and pieces over the past year to get a Plex system going in my house and it works like a fucking DREAM. But it requires some investment. If you just want to have a few local copies of your favorite movies, this is way overkill. But me, I am canceling all of my family's streaming services and pivoting to our Plex.

So what I have for actually getting the files:

I don't have this model but it's similar to this, a Pioneer External Blu-ray Reader. It sits on a little shelf and is connected to my PC by a USB cable. (I think I got mine for around 68 bucks so you can wait for a sale.)

I use MakeMKV which will rip the big honking raw files from a Blu-ray and leave them as matroshka (.mkv) files.

Because these raw files are ENORMOUS, I compress them in Handbrake. Handbrake is wildly powerful, can convert file formats and make them super small. I have my Handbrake set up special to dump all the non-English language subtitles and audio tracks to save space.

(SUPER BONUS TIP FOR HANDBRAKE: If you have a dedicated GPU, you can give Handbrake permission to use it, and it'll compress shit literally 10x faster, love it.)

At the moment, I am using a Western Digital portable 5TB external harddrive because it was one sale and I couldn't beat the price. Eventually, I want to upgrade to two 10TB HDDs so I can keep a full backup of everything I'm ripping. Because this is a bit of a time and energy commitment and I don't wanna lose all my progress here!

At first I was running Plex off my desktop PC and that worked totally fine, but my family hates having to touch my desktop to wake it up every time, so I very recently grabbed one of these guys:

This is a Beelink Mini PC S12 Pro. It is small enough to fit in my hand but it is a speedy little demon that runs Windows 11. (And eventually I am gonna use it to firewall out ads from our entire home network, I'm pumped for that project but ANYWAY.)

The upside of these mini boys is that instead of being a hefty workhorse like my main computer, this is small and has a low-power draw.

So I moved my Plex Media Server to the mini PC, plugged in my 5TB drive of movies, and now everyone in the house can easily stream anything I have added to the library.

This is what it looks like, if you're curious. Any device in the house that runs Plex and is signed in can select any movie or TV show I have and just watch it like it was Netflix or something.

A month ago, I has like.... 65 movies? Now I'm ripping a few and we're gonna break 100 soon.

"But Arc, where do you get so many blurays!"

My local library.

When I lived in Broward County, FL, I had an extravagantly wonderful library system. Tax dollars at fucking WORK, y'all. Now I live in Georgia and the library system is not nearly as good, but I have still gotten my hands on a frankly ridiculous amount of blurays. Every week I'm picking up 3 to 10 movies or shows, taking them home, making good copies, and returning them.

All of this is an investment and it is work. But as someone who built my computer, built my keyboard, cracked my 3DS and PS Vita-- this is fun to me! This is what I love to do. And through doing it, I've seen more movies in the past year than the last ten years put together.

So yeah, I can't recommend this to everyone, but if you wanna get out of your subscriptions and to just have high quality shit on demand, this is what I'm doing.

Cannot stress this enough tho, if this seems interesting to you: wait for sales. All the components here go on steep sale if you wait patiently. Take your time assembling the parts and keep in mind that shit is modular, you can upgrade parts later.

[urmultideadfandomperson]

To the Dearest Summoners...

It has been a wild ride in the ArTw server. Each and every Summoner were unique and fun to be with in very different ways. It was full of chaos and quirks, yet we embraced it all together, thus creating a big, happy family. I am happy to be one of the group, and I will forever cherish those moments.

I'd like to apologize for the unfortunate event that happened earlier. As much as I loved to stay longer, my interest in Arcana Twilight was long gone. I tried to hold on to everything, just to be with you. However, it slowly felt like I was forced to do it this way. I have always been honest of having the thoughts of leaving, and I am sad that it has turned into a reality.

Even if you don't believe me, I really tried to keep it together for the server. The ArTw server had its ups and downs, and we lost a couple of members in our journey as a family. I knew everybody was going through their own struggles, so I wanted to stay to help and support those who need it.

However—no matter how much I try—sometimes, a family is meant to fall apart.

The time of departure has arrived, and my senses were telling me that I needed to leave. Amber and I had talked about it, as well as Mint. I firstly decided of staying in the server, even if I was no longer into Arcana Twilight. Yet it just didn't feel right, and the choice of leaving became the only decision I had left.

It was a lot better than to ghost my dearest friends.

And now I have said my goodbyes, I am officially out of the ArTw server. And with this letter, I am officially out of the Arcana Twilight fandom. My Arcana Twilight era has come to an end.

Even so, that doesn't mean I cannot communicate with you anymore. I will still be actively posting in Tumblr, and I accept DMs in Discord. I will talk with you, but Arcana Twilight is no longer in the list of my interests.

I am glad to know all of you were understanding of my leave. None of you were toxic nor forceful towards my decision, and it hurts me further that I must go. Nevertheless, we are all aware that everything happens for a reason. You are deserving of my deepest respects.

And that means I will be thanking the Summoners I have known throughout my journey in the Arcana Twilight fandom.

@amber-of-tharaval, thank you for being the mother figure of the server. You were also an amazing friend to us all.

@marisssa1248, thank you for being a younger sister figure. You are a sweet and beautiful girl, always remember that.

@mumuscae, thank you for the most hilarious shitposts and memes you shared. I will always smile whenever I see them.

@mochalumii, thank you for being such a wholesome friend to us all. May God bless you all the time.

@gloriaglorheart, thank you for being an enthusiastic friend in the server. Your smiles and arts are very adorable, and I will look forward for more.

@pomegranateboba, thank you for being my first ArTw moot. Although we aren't very close, you were the first person I met that introduced me to ArTw content in Tumblr.

@sleepytwilight, thank you for being one of the people who introduced me to ArTw content in Tumblr. Your headcanons and arts will always remain to be amazing in my eyes.

@l-mint-l, thank you for helping me with my choice whether I should stay or leave. Although I couldn't stay for long, at least I was able to have some time with you all.

@cuddlybelphie, thank you for your posts and reblogs I often see in Tumblr. Your content made me closer with Arcana Twilight.

@mmpookie, thank for your adorable arts of the ArTw cast. You may or may not know me, but let me thank you for inspiring me in drawing.

@tophatmaker, thank you for your wonderful arts of the ArTw cast and the Summoners. Like the others, you have inspired me to improve my artworks better.

@f14loveisyou, thank you for being the first Filipino ArTw moot I met here in Tumblr. Although you are still fighting against your struggles, I wish you the best and I will always wait for your posts.

@leriblue, thank you for letting me draw your Summoner with Dahlia! You are a real sweetheart and I hope you continue to do more content.

@afluffypanda, thank you for your beautiful arts of your Summoner, Luna! She is one of my greatest inspirations why I continue to draw.

@honing-skills-for-the-end, thank you for the wonderful arts of various characters, both the ArTw cast and the Summoners. Your works will always put a smile on my lips.

@sspicat, thank you for your adorable artworks of the ArTw cast and the Summoners. Your arts remind me that it doesn't have to be the best by being entirely realistic. You taught me simple is enough.

@canon-vi, thank you for posting beautiful ArTw artworks in Tumblr. You are one of my inspirations how I kept going with Arcana Twilight in my heart.

@sillyest-cas69, thank you for being a good friend along with your cousin. We may not be very close, but you are very good company in the server.

@writerray, thank you for helping me out during my darkest days of struggles. You were a great mediator, and I hope I can still approach you when I need it.

@vivian-drawsart, thank you for posting adorable artworks of Vin and Arcturus together. Your cute works are one of my inspirations.

@guysimbluenow, thank you for scaring us all in a playful way. When we first met you in Tumblr, everybody in the server were panicking and screaming. Even so, I think you're a great person.

@redrubyz, thank you for making me smile when I discovered you were a new Summoner in the fandom. It is a pleasure to have you here, and I hope you will be one of the people that will keep the fandom alive.

@kaitlyn-pink, thank you for letting me join the ArTw server. Because of the server you once created, I met and made more friends. And that includes you.

To everybody I mentioned in this letter, thank you so much for being my friends. You were all amazing people, and I am thankful to meet each and every single one of you. If it wasn't for you, I have no idea where I would be.

The letter is now ending, and my last moments of enjoying Arcana Twilight has come to an end. Before I finally end, please remember our motto. Whether we are happy or sad, fine or struggling, let us all say it as one.

"We are in this together."

Thank you for everything, Summoners. I will never forget you. The server and the fandom will always have a place in my heart. For one last time, I shall say my outro.

Thank you for reading. This is Dahlia Rosenheim, signing off.

[batwynn]

This is about me and my relationship with art and activism and is not a statement that applies to others and how they show their support and activism.

The artist part of me has always felt strong urges to draw or create something that will have impact, or draw attention to something important or someone who is in need. In the past, I have drawn things with that intent. When I was younger, and I still believed that I had some ability to draw attention to important causes, even with like… 10 followers and no social networking. I really believed in the power of creation and imagery swaying people towards caring about things either by educating those who didn’t know, or reminding those who did. I really believed that a ‘profound’ drawing could make someone who previously didn’t care actually care about a thing happening in the world. I wish I could show you some of that art, but it went largely unnoticed and the places it was posted have long since been destroyed. I wish I could show you that person who believed that, because that person really believed in people.

That was a person who didn’t know that people could see live, real photos of horrors happening before them and not fucking care.

And the thing is… I can tell you the exact day that person stopped existing. It was the December 14, 2012. A day after I brought my 17 year old cat to the vet to end his life. The cat I had spent my entire remembered life with, and who I had never existed without before. So the day after I sat on a bench in the park, trying to find some kind of solid ground because I genuinely didn’t know who I was without him in my life. And I checked the news on my phone. And I saw the comments on the news of this horrible thing that was happening at a school. And I saw the years that came after that, and the lies and the so-assured people who knew they were right about these guns that fire so many rounds a minute being good. Being more important than the toddlers they ripped apart. And I saw leaders who swore up and down that they cared, swore up and down that they would make changes so this never happened again. And I saw them waver. And change their stances. And lie.

12 years later I sat here for over an hour, the ghost of that person heavy in my head, trying to think of what I could draw to make people care about people dying in horrible ways. A lot of images popped up in my head. A lot of interesting and maybe even powerful pieces of art, to someone. But every time I thought ‘maybe this one?’ I was reminded of the real life photos I have seen. And the comments under them. The lies. And the so-assured they were correct in saying that dead child deserved it.

And no piece of fucking art that I could ever draw can change that.

So, no. You won’t be seeing an ‘inspiring’ piece of art from me. If you care, you are already doing everything you can. You are already here, you are aware and we are already side by side. I can’t inspire you to care more than you already do. If you don’t care, then you have looked into the eyes of the dead and made peace with that. No amount of art from me can change whatever the fuck is wrong with you.

[gatorboys22]

Restless night

Bug huffed, annoyed at the fact they couldn't sleep. The leg that got fucked up was messing with them. So just saying screw it, they got up and hobbled to Bodie's room in the little cabin. Raising their hand to knick on the door, it opened in front of them.

"Bug? What're you doin out of bed? Your gonna mess your leg up even more." Worry in Bodie's voice was clear. Bug felt like a kid asking this but, sucking up their pride they asked him.

"I can't sleep, can....can I sleep with you? Please..." looking up they saw Bodie smile. Moving out of the door way he made room for them to walk in. His room looked really cozy with lots of decorations up which was nice to see. Like the drawing, a banner, and some rocks all over the walls.

"Here, I'll move some stuff around so you can sleep better and be comfy." Busing himself Bodie was focused on the bed. The human in his room just nodded and was looking at everything in awe. Was all these things made by his family? The question hit themselves in the heart.

"-ug. Bug? You good? I finished the bed- Oh!" The big gator was interrupted by Bug hugging him. Not passing up a good hug he gently welcomed it, mostly being mindful of his scales.

"Thank you for doing so much for me." Lots of emotions were in Bug's voice. Bodie heard them all, he decided that they both would just talk about this in the morning. It was around midnight and he was tired.

"Here, let me put ya in the bed, bug." Breaking the hug he picked them up bridal style and gently placed them down on all his covers and pillows. Giggling a bit Bug sank down in the plushness of the bed. Bodie smiled as he got comfy on his side of the bed.

"Night Bodie, thanks again." Shyly saying Bug gave him a closed smile.

"No problem bug, I know what it's like not being able to sleep. Good night." Soft words lured Bug to sleep. It was nice being surrounded by soft pillows and blankets. Along with a gator that's been taking care of them for a good while. Would it be so bad to just stay?

[aidenlydia]

How long have you been drawing? I really like your art styl. I've been wanting to learn how to draw, but I'm worried I won't ever be able to pick it up or have the patience or know how to start.

(video includes some of my art from 2017-2019)

Drawing has always been a hobby of mine, but I only got serious about it around 2017. The most important thing is motivation, that's why a lot of people get started with fanart and learn the fundamentals through it. Try drawing things you love! References are your best friend, I have entire folders for every character I draw.

All artstyles are a combination of process and appearance preference: I don't use multiple layers for lineart (my sketches are the lineart and I clean them up with an eraser) and semi-realism is the easiest for me because I was mostly into traditional realism at first - I learned I like fine details, clean but sketchy lines and rough textured brushes. It's kinda like handwriting, you already have your own unique way of drawing, but you can shape it to your developing tastes with practice.

For most folk anime and comic styles are usually easier to learn, because they simplify everything already. Especially at the very beginning copying other people's art and manga/comic panels is a great way to get into drawing, figuring out your preferences and build up muscle memory (don't upload copied art, but traced photos are fine).

Remember that the art you enjoy seeing and the art you enjoy making can look vastly different. Having multiple styles, changing over time and experimenting are very natural things.

To this day I struggle drawing chibis and cartoons because I've only studied realism :') Even semi-realism has only recently clicked for me by closely looking at other people's art, so don't stress yourself with only focusing on the fundamentals.

Another tip that really helped me understand better in the beginning was watching various artists draw in real time, just observing them can really clarify the process and break it down. It's also a lot less lonely than learning all alone - there's lots of art youtubers and tutorials.

Here are a few:

How to start drawing for beginners

What our brains do when we draw

How to learn to draw (as an adult)

Learn the sketching basics

Obligatory Drawfee episode

Tips for changing artstyles/get unstuck from patterns

Doodle date (caus they're wholesome and fun)

Guided drawing practice with Nathan

[66sharkteeth]

HIIII omg i am a H U G E fan of you and cob! cob is literally my favorite webtoon ever.... its not enough to just read it, i feel like i need to be enveloped in it (if that even makes sense 😭) every episode literally leaves me shaking with adrenilineeeEEEEE!! (side note i dont have a question i j wanted some way to communicate to you and im sorta new to tumblr so idk any other way lmfao) i literally talk about cob atleast once a day. at this point its an addiction lmfaoo

ive noticed that your tumblr posts are so sad and frustrated recently and i wish there was some way i could help :( if you ever wanted to share ocs or just talk im here and im sure all of your fans would appreciate your art too! maybe you could make another tumblr acct devoted to ocs - ik id definitely follow it immediately :D

also if you decided to take a mental health hiatus your fans wouldnt mind and would in fact encourage it! (ok sure wed be upset cause cob is SO GOOD but overall health is more important!!!) and youd also have more time to work on ocs and to just relax and think about yourslef for once (AND TO NOT LOOK AT THE MEAN COMMENTS ON UR POSTS FROM JEALOUS MEAN PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO THAN CRITICIZE PEOPLE WHO ARE BETTER THAN THEM >:( )

also side note but the more popular you are the more haters you have...its just statistics! so in some twisted overly optimistic way its actually a positive 😉 anyway those ppl r just jealous and have terrible taste.

anyway idk where this is going im j rambling at this point but idk i obviously know barely anything about you but what i can inference from ur posts is that you seriously need a break!!!!! we love cob ofc but we love the health of the creater (YOU) more!!! and if you ever want to talk to anyone or to share ocs youre exited about you can always reach out to me or anything :DDDDD or like anyone you know in real life too lmfaooo--

so uh idk how to end this....so BYE YOURE AWESOME YOURE SLAYING <3333333333

lol you're too sweet! i appreciate every word.

tho unfortunately, taking breaks aren't that easy, since when i don't make episodes, i just don't make money. besides, i actually don't mind the workload that much? it's everything...outside of working that seems to bum me out haha. i kind of like turning off my brain for 10 hours each day to draw episodes. usually when i'm sad, it's after work when that distraction is gone.

also, i do post more freely here already as is! i tend to be a bit more selective about what i share on twitter and IG, but since like 20 people follow me here, i'm a bit more open and share more things, both personal and CoB/OC related lol. i just haven't had a ton to share lately outside of text essays and answering asks.

[meraki-yao]

For ficlet Friday- 1 for firstprince 💕

(and if you think you want to…maybe 6 for taynick? 👀🫶)

HOLY SHIT THIS TOOK ME ALL NIGHT

1. The truth is… : Firstprince

Henry laughs a little when Alex finally tells him about the J14 magazine, the object of his confession sitting on the bed in their room in the lake house, still glossy with baby Henry’s photo after all these years. He was kind of planning on taking this secret to the grave. Okay fine, maybe not to the grave, he can’t do that to Henry. He’ll tell him eventually. Maybe after marriage though? But when he opened his suitcase during their weekend vacation in his dad’s lake house just to see the magazine that started it all lying on top of his packed clothes, with a post-it note in June’s handwriting “You’re Welcome :P”, and for Henry to walk in just to see Alex trying to figure out how to deal with the cursed magazine, scrambling to hide it behind his back, cheeks red and flustered, well, the explanation is demanded much sooner than he’d like to. So Alex flips open to the page with the first sight of Henry he’s ever seen, tracing over the faint grease marks left by his fingers throughout the year, and tells his side of the story, of being to oddly entranced by the little prince smiling on the page, sneaking into June’s room just to touch his hair, wondering how it would feel like underneath his fingertips, soft, golden locks twirled around his chocolate skin. The truth is, it felt kind of embarrassing to tell Henry that he has actually, subconsciously beaten Henry in the “who fell for the other first” competition. After all, he was kind of the person who started their initially antagonistic relationship, and he was the one who was too stubborn to admit that he liked talking to Henry when they were becoming tentative friends. He was also the one to tease Henry when his prince admitted he’s been in love with him since the day they met. But after he stammers through his confession, Henry just giggles, the sweet private smile when his ducks his chin. The last of the day’s sun shines through and highlights his hair, a golden crown, on the world’s most beautiful prince. Light pink dusts his cheeks, light sparkles in his eyes, and Alex is in love again. And all the stupid worry dissipates. The truth is, it doesn’t really matter who fell first. They’re here now, and no matter what they will always find their way towards each other. And that’s the universal constant.

6. Everything is telling them not to. : Taynick

“This is a dangerous idea.” Nicholas whispers.   “I know.” Taylor answers back. There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea. He hasn’t dated in years, and for a good reason, both emotion-wise and practicality-wise. His career is finally taking off in a direction he can be happy and even proud of, he’s been taking project after project, his schedule is filled to the brink… and that’s just the list of his personal concerns. There’s the issue of co-workers getting together, the issue of their personal relationship getting in the way of this production, the issue of neither of them being in a position where they can come out without their career being affected… And what happens if this doesn’t work, the memory of a beautiful summer tainted with the blood of a broken heart. Everything is telling them not to. Except their hearts. He didn’t expect to like Taylor this much when he took this project, or when he met Taylor in their chemistry test, or they were rehearsing intimate scenes, limbs tangled up while they tried not to laugh at their compromising positions. Truthfully, he really did see an immediate friend in Taylor. He didn’t expect to see more. It’s getting simultaneously harder yet clearer to draw the line between Henry and himself. Taylor is charming, and charismatic, and kind. That’s lovely, but that’s nothing new that Nick hasn’t realised as a friend. But Taylor being protective of him, being so caring and careful with him; that’s new. It’s different. And it’s… it’s making his heart beat faster and something warm in chest expand. He doesn’t know if it’s some sort of character bleed, of Alex’s attitude towards Henry creeping into Taylor. But a month into shooting, Taylor starts remember his breakfast orders, bringing his latte to set for him. During emotional-challenging scenes, he checks on him after every take and hugs him after they wrap, long arms around him, pressing him into his broad chest. He picks up the phone no more than three rings when Nick is rolling around on his bed, plagued by insomnia, It’s… nice. It’s not that Taylor’s pampering or babying him or anything, nothing of the sort, but it’s very endearing. And safe. There’s something so comforting about the way he and Taylor just connects and clicks, like a puzzle piece in the tapestry that makes him up finally finding its match to create another special thing. He can feel it, it’s precious, and rare, and miraculously beautiful. And Taylor can feel it too. Seeing as earlier today, two weeks before they wrap, he asked Nick for a dinner date to talk things out, figure out what are they going to do with this magnetic attraction.   Which is where they are now. “I’m in if you are.” Taylor says, his voice steadier than ever, and despite everything, Nick feels so, so safe, with his hands in Taylor’s larger ones, warm and loving. “We’ll figure this out. Step by step. Just like they did.” He faintly wonders if, in some weird, twisted arrangement of fate, they’re some sort of reincarnation of Alex and Henry, always tied by a red string of fate in every universe, in every name and identity. But regardless of whatever unknown forces are at play, right now, he’s Nicholas Galitzine, he’s an actor, he really likes his co-star, and he really, really wants to try this out. “I’m in.” Taylor smiles, brighter than a million suns. “Then let’s fucking do this, baby.”

Yeah I feel like I lost it at the end with the Taynick one... but hopefully this is okay?

Gonna write the rest of the prompts I got in the morning, night y'all

Prompt List

[small-z24]

Shadows of Fate 4

Summary:

Y/n, Cassian's shy and quiet sister, prefers to keep to the shadows. Unbeknownst to her, she is Azriel's mate. His shadows are inexplicably drawn to her, and as they grow closer, a slow-burn romance ensues. Cassian, ever protective of his sister, watches over her as the bond between Y/n and Azriel deepens.

Word Count: 803

Warnings: None

Chapter 4: The Protective Brother

The days passed in a tranquil routine, with Y/n continuing her self-defense lessons with Azriel. Cassian, though still wary, began to ease his constant vigilance, trusting Azriel more with each passing day. However, the protective brotherly instincts never fully faded.

One evening, Y/n was in the common room, sketching the flowers she had seen in the garden earlier. She found peace in drawing, her mind relaxing as her hand moved over the paper. Azriel was beside her, reading a book, his presence a comforting constant.

Cassian entered the room, his eyes narrowing slightly as he saw them together. "Y/n," he called, drawing her attention away from her sketch. "Can we talk for a moment?"

Y/n looked up, her heart sinking a little. "Of course, Cass." She glanced at Azriel, who gave her a reassuring nod.

Cassian led her out to a balcony overlooking Velaris. The night was calm, the stars twinkling above like scattered diamonds. He leaned on the railing, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"I need to ask you something," he began, his voice serious. "Do you really believe Azriel is the one for you?"

Y/n's eyes softened. "I do, Cassian. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. He understands me, and he makes me feel safe."

Cassian turned to face her, his expression conflicted. "I just worry about you. I’ve seen how harsh the world can be, and I don’t want you to get hurt."

"I know you’re just looking out for me," Y/n said, placing a hand on his arm. "And I appreciate it. But Azriel is different. He’s patient and kind, and he respects me."

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I see how much he cares about you. I just... it’s hard for me to let go."

"You don’t have to let go," Y/n reassured him. "Just trust that I know what I’m doing."

Cassian nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Alright. I trust you, Y/n. Just promise me you’ll be careful."

"I promise," she said, giving him a hug. "Thank you, Cass."

They stood there for a moment, the silence between them filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, Cassian pulled back, his expression lighter. "Go back to Azriel. I’ll be here if you need me."

Y/n smiled, giving him one last squeeze before returning to the common room. Azriel looked up as she entered, his eyes filled with concern.

"Everything alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes," she replied, sitting beside him again. "Cassian just needed to talk. He’s trying to trust us."

Azriel nodded, a look of determination crossing his face. "I’ll prove to him that his trust is well-placed."

A few days later, a sense of unease settled over the House of Wind. Y/n felt it in the air, a tension that seemed to affect everyone around her. She couldn’t quite place it, but it gnawed at her, making her restless.

She found herself wandering through the halls, seeking out Azriel. She found him in the war room, deep in conversation with Rhysand and Cassian. As she approached, the conversation hushed, and the three males turned to look at her.

"Y/n," Rhysand greeted, his tone warm but guarded. "What brings you here?"

"I just... felt like something was wrong," she admitted, her eyes flicking to Azriel. "Is everything alright?"

Azriel stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We’re just discussing some security concerns. Nothing for you to worry about."

Y/n wasn’t convinced, but she nodded, trusting Azriel’s judgment. "If you say so."

Rhysand gave her a gentle smile. "We’re handling it, Y/n. But thank you for your concern."

She nodded again, squeezing Azriel’s hand before turning to leave. As she walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was looming on the horizon.

That night, Y/n couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned, her mind racing with worry. Finally, she got up and made her way to the balcony, hoping the cool night air would calm her.

She wasn’t surprised to find Azriel already there, his shadows dancing around him like restless spirits. He turned as she approached, his eyes softening.

"Couldn’t sleep?" he asked.

"No," she admitted, leaning against the railing beside him. "I can’t shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen."

Azriel wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I understand. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together."

Y/n looked up at him, her heart swelling with love. "Promise?"

"Promise," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

They stood there in silence, the night wrapping around them like a protective cloak. In that moment, Y/n felt a glimmer of hope, a belief that no matter what came their way, their bond would see them through.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of Y/n and Azriel's story. Feel free to leave comments and let me know your thoughts!

[showmey0urfangs]

Mini Claudia Rant

TLDR: Who are you and what have you done with my Claudia?

I've been avoiding writing meta until the season is complete and we have a clearer picture of WTF is going on, but this felt like a crucial point that needs to be addressed. I've already discussed this with several moots in spaces and it seems I'm not the only one who feels this way. So here it goes:

Let me preface this by saying that I absolutely love Delainey's acting. She does an excellent job at seamlessly transitioning between the all the emotions that Claudia feels. She imbues the character with a sweet vulnerability that humanizes her completely, even in her worst moments. But she can only do so much when the script gives her so little to work with.

One important rule in storytelling is that if a plot point you need to happen requires for your characters to act contrary to their previously established traits, then you need to get rid of it, go back to the drawing board and think of something better to move your story forward. The reason I bring this up is because the way Claudia has been acting in this season, especially in past two episodes, is the complete opposite of how she was previously established, both in the book and in the first season.

In episode 6 and 7 of season 1, the writers go out of the way to show the audience that Claudia is cunning, shrewd, calculated, and most importantly, that she is ruthless and will not hesitate to do what needs to be done. Claudia manages to single handedly orchestrate Lestat's murder, outsmarting both him and Antoinette in the process. We find out that she was well aware that Antoinette was listening in and that she used it to her advantage. She plays on Lestat's arrogance and the fact that he underestimates her to gain advantage over him. Overall, Claudia is shown as a hypercompetent character, capable to overcome her limiting circumstances to free both herself and Louis from what she viewed as a toxic situation.

Hell, that was the entire point of the SA storyline in episode 5 wasn't it, to sell us on the gross and tired trope that somehow being raped turns women into the ultimate badass girlbosses. So WTF happened?

I find it very hard to believe that same Claudia is now completely oblivious to the fact that the theatre coven had been trailing them for months. I find it even harder to believe that she would not realize the danger she's in the minute she sees Lestat's portrait in their lair. That she would go as far as to scoff at Louis when he mentions the risk they are running by staying in Paris. I would expect that level of naivety and stupidity from Louis, but not from Claudia! Claudia takes after Lestat in that she's arrogant and often overestimated her own strength, but she is not foolish. As Louis says in episode 6, she can sense the danger coming from a mile away. So her reaction in episode 2 literally contradicts everything we've been told about her character so far.

The other thing I have a hard time buying is that Claudia would have any interest in these theatre freaks in the first place. Lestat de Lioncourt's daughter would have laughed at their cheap theatrics and turned her pretty nose at the poverty chic squalor they live in, so far removed from the pretty shiny human world that she loves so much. Just like her daddy, Claudia has very expensive taste, something Louis often deplored because of the gigantic hole it dug in his checkbook. 😂

In episode 1 she tells Louis she wants diamond rings and mink stoles to rain from the sky. We see her longingly eyeing a pretty lavender silk dress and then using her meager funds to buy it and get to tailored to her body. But you want me to believe that same Claudia would happily settle for a dusty coffin and blood-stained hand me down robes for the rest of eternity?

Another important point is, do we even remember why Claudia decides to kill Lestat in season 1? She found Lestat's control stifling. She refused to live under his authority and hated being treated as his subordinate—a state that she often compared to slavery. Claudia valued her freedom so much that she was willing to kill for it. And yet you want me to believe that she would willingly sign up to a club that imposes a curfew on its members? That dictates how and when they're allowed to feed, sleep, speak etc. The Claudia we see in season 1 does not like conforming to rules and she does not tolerate being told what to do or how to behave. She would have also scoffed at the idea of having to be deferential to the likes of Armand and the rest of the theatre coven in the same way her father does in episode 3. Lestat de Lioncourt's daughter would have rather gouge her own eyes out than lower them in front of any fucking body!

So again I have to ask, what happened to that Claudia? Why is she suddenly so eager to play resident stooge for a bunch of vampires that she would no doubt view as beneath her, in the same way her father did?

Claudia is fiercely independent and desperate for autonomy. It's literally the crux of her entire struggle; she resents the fact that in the body she's in, she will never truly be able to exist on her own.

We were told repeatedly in the promos and interviews that season 2 would be ✨Claudia's season✨. But I find that once again, she is used as a meere plot device and relegated to the background, as the main conflict in Louis' life seems to have shifted from profound existential questions of good vs evil, and grappling with the loss of his humanity to now being entirely about his relationship with his not-so-dead ex-husband and how much Louis misses him and can't stop thinking about him all the time. 🥴

I mean, how else are we supposed to interpret the fact that Louis no longer seems preoccupied with killing humans, or that he rolls his eyes at the profound philosophical discussions Armand tries to have with him, just before they're rudely interrupted by comedic gags of Lestat serenading him with an approximated karaoke rendition and Molloy struggling with his laptop in the worst stereotype of a clueless boomer.

Molloy is right that this is now a telenovela (and no, a character on screen pointing out a flaw in your narrative in a bout of meta self-critique does not magically stop it from being a flaw). It's The Young and The Restless, but with bit of blood and gore added—and no gay sex either because you can't have too much of that or the advertisers will clutch their pearls. You can show plenty of tities though, that is American A-okay, and it helps us sell more Carl's junior burgers and mercedes Benz SUVs. Good job AMC! 🙃

At this point the only thing that would rescue Claudia's storyline for me would be a reveal that Louis has mischaracterized the entire thing. That he is painting Claudia's time in Paris under the completely opposite light than what it was in reality. That Claudia was the one who sensed the danger and wanted to leave while Louis dismissed it because he was too dickmatized hypnotized by Armand's sexy hot cheeto eyes. It would certainly be more in line with what was established of their characters in season 1—and also with their book book characterizations, even though that matters a lot less since this is an adaptation and should be viewed as its own separate thing.

I know the strikes affected production a lot of ways, and part of that is felt in the inconsistent writing of the episodes we've gotten so far which imo hampers the show significantly. It doesn't matter how high your budget is, how pretty your sets and costumes are, how talented your actors are, how expense and lifelike you vfx is. It all comes down to the writing. If your script is shitty, you will invariably get a shitty final product.

That said, I'm still holding out hope that these are just growing pains and in the upcoming episodes, all the kinks will be ironed out to give us an overall brilliant second season. Fingers crossed!