#I call you my favourite writer for a reason

[theo4eve]

I fucking love you istg

Req no4

A very clumsy Bae getting teased sm for how clumsy he is that particular day. Falling, tripping over, messing up smth idk what and spilling things

word count: ~2k

warnings: just extreme clumsiness and embarrassment

a/n: A request finally written, yippee! And no, this isn't a few minutes late, you're imagining things.

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

Bae had no idea what came over him that day, if he was cursed or woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but he didn’t like it at all, not a single bit.

It had all started out small: just a few slip ups here, a few stumbling around there. None of them were a big deal and thankfully most of them happened when he was alone, out of his caring, yet sometimes overbearing bandmates' sights. Like when he had just woken up and gotten out of his bed, or, well, tried to would be a better word to use. Instead of starting his day out normally and not falling onto his elbow, like usual, he had found himself in a heap on the floor, limbs tangled up with his blanket as if it was a snake coiling around its prey. He could only silently huff at that, frustrated, grumbling about it all the while he had quickly gotten ready for the day.

But then when he’d sauntered out to get something to drink in the kitchen, he had wonderfully managed to spill the cold liquid onto his fresh clothes, and he was sure he was looking like a grumpy, soggy cat. Silent curses left his lips as he went to change into a new set of clothes with a small, soggy trail left behind in his wake, happy that he hadn’t managed to stain those somehow for the remainder of the day.

Still, maybe staying in bed would have been better for him. Then he wouldn’t have found himself in the situation he was currently trapped in, already feeling the humiliation that was to come.

Because against all odds, a simple dance practice where the whole group was together managed to turn into a game of dominoes, all thanks to him and his horribly inept self. Usually he wasn’t this clumsy, at best it was only a spilled drink or a limb that caught onto a door handle.

But for some god forsaken reason that day his limbs felt like they weren’t his and instead were just molten lead wielded to his body, and that all led to a wrong step amidst practice, his body crashing into Minho’s. Only a low yelp could escape his lips before the sudden collision, unable to stop himself and the disaster in itself.

Bae didn’t dare face anyone, much less his hyung who he crashed into, and so he opted to instead bury his face into Minho’s chest and remain laying there on top of the extremely puzzled male. He could hear the others rush over, the music stopping and shoes squeaking on the wooden floor with increased haste. Their worry and confusion was practically palpable in the air and it only caused Bae to hide away further, hands now holding onto Minho’s hoodie almost desperately.

In the next second questions rained upon Bae like fire from the heavens, hands gently placed upon his back or shoulders in search of an answer or reassurance, he wasn’t sure. At his lack of answer someone took the matter into their own hands and carefully prodded at his legs, a relieved sigh leaving their lips at the lack of any visible injury.

Because Bae wasn’t hiding away due to pain, rather, he was too embarrassed to face them all. He wasn’t supposed to make such mistakes, he was part of their core dance team for a reason, however he wasn’t really behaving like he was deserving of such a title.

Before his thoughts could spiral any deeper, digging himself a hole he wouldn’t be able to climb out of, strong hands wrapped themselves around his lax form.

“If you wanted to lay on me so badly you could have just asked, you know.”

It was Minho who spoke this time, his voice teasing and devoid of any anger. Hearing that, Bae finally emerged from his hiding spot, skin flushing as he was caught completely and utterly off-guard. He just crashed into the man, in dance practice no less, the one member in the team who was more strict to them than anyone else when it came to dancing, yet instead of being scolded for it, he got teased?

Bae couldn’t believe his ears. Surely he was having auditory hallucinations, there was no way he heard that correctly.

But before he could dwell on it any longer, Chan entered his line of sight, a worried expression sitting on his face and Bae immediately felt bad. There was no need for their leader to ask once again if he was alright, he had heard the male loud and clear the first time after all.

“I’m fine, sorry. I just-... I’m sorry.” - he rushed out, turning back to Minho guiltily as he uttered the last sentence shakily.

His cat-like hyung gave him a soft smile, the one that had no teasing or jokes behind it, only comfort and warmth. Bae just blinked at the sight, carving the rare occasion into his mind hastily, not wanting to forget it for a good while. And he was just about to smile back when he felt a hand firmly grasp his ass, shoulders hunching due to the pure shock that visibly travelled up his spine. He could feel his skin burn, pale tones now tainted with a warm shade of red.

When he glanced back down at Minho the male was now sporting a sly grin, not at all ashamed at being caught in the act. Bae glared at him, but it only caused Minho to laugh, and he wasn’t the only one. The others caught onto what was happening rather quickly, not wasting a time to join Minho and his shenanigans.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” - the male taunted him from underneath, urging Bae to nearly start choking him to death.

Except before he could start doing that, a sharp smack could be heard in the air that was only followed by long silence. A loud yelp left Bae’s lips this time as he was unable to stop himself, slowly turning back to see Seungmin with his arm held up. A clear proof that he was the perpetrator, one who wasn’t sorry one bit. Felix wasn’t far behind and nor was Jisung, but they froze in the air at Bae’s sharp gaze before anything could be done.

Within a second Bae was after the mischievous puppy, long legs moving him quickly and flawlessly. Seungmin’s laughter rang through the room as he was chased around, the others yelling and cheering for one of the two. Thankfully Bae truly wasn’t injured in the fall, the soft throbbing in his ankle now nearly gone and allowing him to run at full speed. And he was close, oh so close to catching his playful dongsaeng when the beanie on his head slipped down, covering his sight. 

There was only darkness and a loud, dull sound and Bae found himself on the floor again, thankfully not on top of someone this time.

The floor felt cooling for his rapidly heating skin and so he laid there, wishing to become one with the ground. Or maybe he should start digging himself a hole and live there, that way he wouldn’t make a constant fool out of himself anymore. But seeing as how his day had gone so far, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea as his clumsiness would find a way to botch that up as well.

While Bae was praying for a deity to make the floor swallow him up whole, his bandmates laughed, several nearly suffocating from the lack of air. If falling down two times right after each other wasn’t humiliating, hearing them having so much fun over his misery surely was. A loud groan escaped him, deciding to just pull the hat over his entire face and save himself from further mockery due to his now entirely red skin.

“H-hyung, are you, are you okay? You fell pretty hard over there.” - Jeongin asked amidst laughter, although to his credit, Bae could hear the maknae trying his best to calm himself down. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that, he didn’t know at that point.

Bae silently huffed and gave him a thumbs up, as only his pride was hurt and completely shattered in the fall. Would have been better if it was a bone in his opinion though, as he knew the boys would keep teasing him about this for days.

“You sure? Your skin is all flushed and red, Bae, all down to your chest!” - it was Hyunjin this time, not bothering to hide the amusement dripping from his voice.

This time Bae lifted his arm and gave him the middle finger, his other hand tugging the hoodie resting on his fallen form to hopelessly hide his showing skin. It was of no use, he was well aware, but it made him feel just a bit better, much like laying there in the darkness did.

“Alright, alright, let’s stop teasing our clumsy lil otter for now. You can continue when we get back to the dorms, yea?” - Chan said, nearby voice much too entertained and Bae felt immediately betrayed.

He nearly gave his oldest hyung the middle finger as well but he’d caught himself, hands now crossed in front of his chest as he turned his head the opposite way to where he had heard Chan from. A few members gasped, probably having seen Bae nearly go against Chan, something he rarely ever did.

“Oh my god, is the baby pouting?” - Jisung asked and Bae could already imagine the quokka excitedly hopping around with, like a kid in a candy store.

He didn’t get a chance to come up with a reaction as his only line of defence was abruptly torn off of his face, Felix’s wide grin greeting him. Wide eyes blinked at the sudden action, unable to do anything even as the sunshine menace confirmed Jisung’s question, loud cooing filling the air.

Bae wanted to really, really disappear into thin air at that point. If he could, he would have done so a long time ago.

As if his prayers were heard, Changbin came to his rescue, shooing everyone away. It didn’t help Bae nearly enough for his skin to regain its natural colour, but at the very least it didn’t worsen the situation either. He felt like he could breathe again, although the will to stand up or even move a limb hadn’t returned to his body yet. What if he would just fall down again? He didn’t dare know the answer.

“It’s one of those days, isn’t it?” - his dongsaeing knowingly asked, voice so soft it nearly made Bae tear up.

He could only nod at that, a small frown nestling itself onto his lips at the memories of not just today, but at all the other ‘clumsy days’, as the others had started to call them. They happened, albeit sparsely. Something always went wrong whenever those days emerged and they never failed to nearly ruin everyone’s day along with it. There hadn’t been a day where Bae didn’t feel riddled with guilt, as he wasn’t blind to how the others without fail took an extra step to look out for him in those times.

Changbin nodded back with a warm smile, hands moving and sliding under Bae’s back and knees. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he felt his world shift and there he was, lifted up and laying in Changbin’s steady arms.

“I’ll be right back, just putting our clumsy lil ice prince into his room!” - the dwaekki shouted, the others only shouting acknowledgements as if it was a regular occurrence.

Because it was.

This wasn’t the only time that Changbin had just taken Bae into his arms or onto his back, a dorky, happy lil smile curving up the short idol’s lips without an exception. And each time Bae was stunned into silence, knowing fully well that he wouldn’t be able to fight his way out of it. If Changbin made up his mind to do something, then he would do it no matter the cost.

“So about my reward for carrying you…” “No, Bin, you’re still not getting a kiss.” “Aw come on…”

[algae-tm]

LOVE STORY

Max Verstappen x Author!Reader

Author’s Note: IM BACK!! To put things into perspective, I started this smau when Alex’s insta was still private! Tbh I started writing it cause I like love her, I can’t call her mother cause she’s like a month older than me, but that’s cousin right there. Anyways sorry for the hiatus i was spiralling due to a man 😔😔 it happens to the baddest bitches, and also sort of writers block so pls give me requests! But to make up for the fact that I’ve been gone, this fic is fat as fuck so enjoy

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous gorgeous girls are published authors!!!! y/n, y/n! I remember when you used to force me to read when I wanted to play princesses and now you’ve written a goddam book!!! In awe of u 📕🥰🥰

(tagged y/nreads)

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yn.reads : ALEXXXX!! my gorgeous sister! I couldn’t have done it without you!! Love you endlessly!

— user1 : wait r they sisters???!!

— user5 : no! hope this helps.

— user6 : pls use your brain

— user7 : they’ve known eachother forever! y/n moved to Monaco when she was 4, so they refer to eachother as sisters.

charles_leclerc: bravo y/n! Well deserved

maxverstappen1: 👏🏻👏🏻

— user43: 🤨🤨

— user10: wait do they know eachother?

— user15: not as far as i know…

— user12: Max doesn’t even follow Alex, why is he here?

— user17: interesting 🤭🤭

— alexandrasaintmleux: very interesting…

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yn.reads: @alexandrasaintmleux thank you for letting me shake ass on your yacht, and cosplay as a rich monegasque while doing it! Your support has meant the world to me, you’re the reason Everything I Know About Love was written, cause you have taught me everything I know about love, friendship, life! You can purchase my book in just under a week guys!!

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alexandrasaintmleux: I’m so proud of you baby xx

— yn.reads: i love you so much alex, i had to write 124,567 words to express it

— alexandrasaintmleux: 🥹🥹

—charles_leclerc: am i intruding on something?

— yn.reads: yes!

user12: no but Alex and y/n’s friendship is literally my favourite thing

user11: is y/n not a rich monegasque?

— user10: she’s not even from Monaco, and she grew up with a single mum who I’m p sure just has a normal job so no

user14: not y/n using Alex for her money

— yn.reads: do y’all never get tired? Or is hating on the internet like your job?

— user14: no I have an actual job you should try it sometime…

— yn.reads: girl???? I just wrote a book?????

maxverstappen1 : I will read this book

— yn.reads: thank you max verstappen, current f1 champion

— user16: 🤨🤨🤨

— alexandrasaintmleux: what am I witnessing rn

— yn.reads: 🙃🙃

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yn.reads: BOOKLAUNCHBOOKLAUNCHBOOKLAUNCH

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lewishamilton: 👏🏾👏🏾

— yn.reads: WHAT THE FRICK LEWISHAMILTON??? What are you doing here??????!!

— alexandrasaintmleux: girl you good??

— yn.reads: am I good?? AM IGOOD?? Lewis freaking Hamilton knows I exist!!!

— charles_leclerc: please stop embarrassing me in front of my coworkers

— yn.reads: kick rocks leclerc

pierregasly: well done, me and kika already have our copies

— yn.reads: 🥺🥺 thank you pear and kiks

alexandrasaintmleux: so proud of you mon ange

— yn.reads: I love you so much alex

— user12: their friendship is so cute I can’t

— yn.reads: friendship?? We’re lovers!

— user12: wait are you actually???

— charles_lecelrc: NO

— yn.reads: don’t be jealous sharl

charles_leclerc: well done I guess

— yn.reads: thank you I guess

— alexandrasaintmleux: aww my two favourite people getting along ❤️🥺🥺

— user12: I need my doctor to prescribe me whatever the fuck Alex is on EXPEDITIOUSLY

user14: girl no one gives a fuck about your book launch, we want to know wtf happened at the after party??!

—user15 wait, did I miss something what happened?

— user14: it’s all over social media but it starts with max and ends in verstappen

maxverstappen1: simply lovely

— user14: well well well

— user15: and she didn’t even interact with his comment

— user14: very interesting…

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maxverstappen1 just posted

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maxverstappen1: I’ve got a NYT bestselling author teaching me how to read

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charles_leclerc: I made this happen everyone! It was me! I did it!

— yn.reads: yes well done percy, we’re well aware

— user12: wait a minute Charles did something nice for y/n?

— user14: my moneys on the fact he was just trying to get rid of her so he could spend time with Alex

— charles_leclerc: what if i told you im a mastermind 😎

yn.reads: it isn’t much but it’s honest work 😔

— danielricciardo: has he learnt his abc’s??

— yn.reads: just about he gets stuck on x, it’s a very difficult letter

— danielricciardo: happens to the best of us 😞

— yn.reads: @/danielricciardo hey I actually have a question for you??

— maxverstappen1: NO!! Y/N DO NOT ASK UR QUESTION

— yn.reads: ☹️☹️

user16: is this a hard launch??

— user14: Idek anymore 😭

— user17: like knowing y/n she might actually just be giving him reading lessons

— maxverstappen1: guys of course I can actually read

— user16: yeah sure you can! That’s the spirit!

yn.reads: I bagged the baddest bitch y’all

—maxverstappen1: 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️💅🏼💅🏼

— alexandrasaintmleux: I thought I was the baddest bitch???

— yn.reads: oh my god… OH MY GOD, I didn’t think this through… @/maxverstappen1 what do you think of a throuple??

— maxverstappen1: NO

— charles_leclerc: NO

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

[bluegiragi]

What are some of your favorite fan fiction writers for Call of Duty?

in no particular ranking/order (and letting you know A LOT OF these authors write extremely explicit p0rn. read the tags):

queeniegalore (literally noone writes ghostsoap like queenie man, her fic called The Spaces Between The Light is my forever comfort read)

MildLimerence (literally the GOAT of this fandom, i swear she's written a solid 30% of everything i've ever read in cod, and i've read her entire catalog maybe 3 times over at this point)

noxmajor (their Seven-Year Itch fic broke my heart and put it back together again)

ANTchan (*coughs* iykyk)

applepieces (*coughs harder but in bottom!ghost*)

surveycorpsjean (writes for a ton of fandoms and is generally just an incredible witer, but their cod fic Poison Apple i think has the most kudoses in the entire tag and it's for good reason)

prettyunhinged (bestie)

congee4lunch (wrote solemn prayer, poppy in my hair which is so painfully domestic and lovely. they've moved on from cod and write for rw&rb now, so don't bother them and ask them for more)

thirteenbullets (writes a lot of ghostsoap hurt/comfort, my favourite is side by side)

kaijusalad (fell in love with i like you alive, continue to fall in love with every additional fic they write about these freaks)

highlonesome (for all your catholic soap and asshole ghost needs. the pain kink is strong with these two.)

[folkloresthings]

BECAUSE I LIKED A BOY / CL16.

in which the world’s favourite pop princess becomes tangled in the life of a certain formula one driver, flipping her entire world upside down.

( charles leclerc x singer!au )

track one: lonesome. track two: fast times. track three: nonsense. track four: opposite. track five: how many things. track six: bad for business.

✩⡱ warnings: like one curse word

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yourusername baby’s too pretty to be put in the corner

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landonorris BARK BARK

user mother is mothering

sza i’m so in love with you it’s silly

charles_leclerc pretty indeed

⤷ user unhinged charles spotted

⤷ user he’s making moves people!!!

lewishamilton are y’all seeing what i’m seeing

yourusername added to their story!

TWITTER.

the pre—race buzz was electric in the ferrari garage, your phone pinging with messages beckoning you to the mercedes garage on the other end of the paddock. you knew lewis wanted to see you, he’d been the one to invite you to the race in the first place, but there was something pulling you to the room filled with red. someone.

“hello again,” your smile widened across your face as charles dodged past mechanics to find you by the wall. his decorated race suit adored his lean figure, but his head was still free of his helmet, despite the clock ticking closer to when he needed to be in the car.

that godforsaken smile of his mirrored your own, knees wobbling as soon as it graced your gaze. without thinking, his arms pulled you into a hug. a friendly one, to be sure. a happy to see you, no matter how your heart yearned for another reason. the emerald in his eyes shone down at you, that same look he’d given you when you’d first met all those weeks ago backstage before your show.

and now here you were, after weeks of texts and late night calls, staring at each other through a fog of tension, waiting with bated breath. he speaks first, and you try so desperately to ignore how his gloved fingers brush your wrist when he does.

“what are you doing tonight?”

you blink, his eyes hopeful for an answer. your head shakes, shoulders shrugging, brain nagging to be an ounce cooler than you were being right now. “i don’t know. why?”

“let me take you to dinner. it’ll be my prize, if i win,” he speaks quickly, as though he needs to say it before hesitancy can change his mind. that familiar lump of nerves turns in your stomach, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. not since austin first asked you out — a feeling that had ended in catastrophe. could you face that kind of tumble again?

“charles, you have to go!” a voice nearby urges, every other driver already behind their wheels. urges him to move, and you to answer. his feet are moving backwards, slowly, but his eyes stay trained on you, awaiting your reply.

“well, you’d better win then.”

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charles_leclerc P1!!! so happy with today’s result, thanks to everyone who got me there ♥️ time to celebrate (even more)

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scuderiaferrari YES! 🍾🍾🍾

user THE THIRD PIC???

⤷ user bro thinks he’s slick

yourusername congrats again!! super duper proud 💌

⤷ user the hair in the pic looks so much like hers oml

⤷ user she literally just got out of a relationship like five minutes ago

yourusername i think i trust you enough to teach me to drive now

⤷ charles_leclerc only now? ouch, my heart ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

⤷ lewishamilton STOP FLIRTING

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yourusername what the fuck is patience?

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charli_xcx damned if i know

pheobebridgers a man? 🤢🤢🤢

⤷ yourusername so true bbz

user SQUINTING to see who the guy is

⤷ user maybe it’s just a friend?? who cares

⤷ user puh lease he got her flowers

charles_leclerc nice flower arrangement

⤷ yourusername i know a sexy florist, want his # ?

user I MOVED

TWITTER.

writer’s note: they’re getting there 😭 i’m emotionally attached to this fictional couple i can’t. fyi this is just a filler to move them along there’ll be drama soon dw

[additiva]

can u rec some lestappen fanfics pleaseee i feel like i’ve read everything and ur an amazing writer so i trust ur taste (even ones you haven’t read and want to read will do) tyy

Ooh I love this. Also that's so lovely thank you 🤍❤️

Lestappen Fic Rec List

Below the cut.

Ok not an exhaustive list, but here are the ones I remember LOVING.

Some are well known, some less so.

I can't rec any I haven't read yet sorry I'm super picky about the writing style, which you don't know until you get into the fic.

I've tagged some authors, some I couldn't remember their Tumblr names even though I follow them. I'll try to remember to tag them later, but also feel free to do so, if you know them.

Please leave kudos and comment on these fic if you check them out 🤍

I'll try to remember to update the list in future if I can.

Every Other Sunday by Anney

Obviously

Home (is wherever I'm with you) by actparci

Charles leaves Ferrari. There's a million of these, and this is my favourite.

Grapefruit Mignonette by slapshots

Restaurant au. The best of the trope in my opinion though the others are also good.

Set My Midnight Sorrow Free by PrincessElectra

-LOVE this series. Ugh. NOT an au.

Violent delights by grandprix

-ABO. Adore this series esp the second one.

Straight Lines by @alphatinies

Yes. Can't describe just read.

Blood Soaked Gown by sixteenthirtythree

ABO. Friends w benefits. Max is retiring and wants Charles to take his Red Bull seat. Adore it.

Canine teeth in the side of my neck by mintchocolatechip97

Silly! Biting. Don't look directly at me.

If I had words by @formula-fun

ABO. Charles has a miscarriage. Don't let the pregnancy themes scare you, it's perfect. The dynamics are 🫠 I adore this Max 😖

Called to the devil and the devil said hey by @creabirds

Yes. Sticks in my brain like glue.

A life in your shape by weiwuxian

- Max is Batman. This bit, I'll never forget:

But it was what made it fun — being taunted and kissed in the same breath. To fight and fuck and feel worshiped the whole time.

Top of the world (looking down on creation) by eaurouge-sangnoir

Sex worker Charles, virgin Max. 😖

Breathe You In (Like a Vapour) by @fabbyf1

🌶️🌶️❤️❤️

I'll Be Right Beside You by @fabbyf1

Max has amnesia. Charles is perfect.

Curious by LaurawritingF1

Charles is bicurious. Max is happy to help.

Heart Out series by @drivestraight

Girl!Max. Charles is bad at sex, but for some reason Max keeps doing it with him. Underrated. One of my fave series ever. Charles is a simp. He cannot handle Max, but he tries anyway, and I LOVE him.

Panem et circenses by Anney

SO underrated wow. Dystopian future of F1 fic, and like. Wow. Perfect. Wow.

Dirtbag, baby by mondaycore

All of their lestappen. Again, don't look directly at me. Look at the fic instead.

The Skirt by Anonymous

Silly! And short. But I love it.

Says he's going to teach me what fast is by @foggystars

Their lestappen are great but actually this Charlos one is my fave 🤌

And these are not Lestappen. They're Maxiel primarily, which I don't seek out in my life but they're SO perfect it makes me sick. I think anyone would enjoy them. The writing is just perfect.

To the Victor Belong The Spoils by @powerful-owl

Hunger Games AU. Wow the writing. The characterisations. Wow. It's all perfect. Wow. Please read it. You'll love it.

Steal the air out of my lungs by nahco3

Resident doctor au. Both accurate and compelling. Max is so dear to me. And Lewis. Love of my life, ugh.

Leave this blue neighbourhood series by tiredtiredsharl

This whole series I must've read 20 times. Multi-ship, though not Lestappen. Found family. It heals me with every word, it's just 😖😖❤️❤️.

Okay that's it for now. Lmk what you think.

[whousestypewriters]

taking care of you - a.w x reader

pairing: aaron warner x fem!reader

requested: yes / no

warnings: none?? a mention of a cut but nothing serious

a/n: guys im breaking out of this writers block forcefully. idc atp if these fics are shit (i do but wtv) im doing it ✊😔 wish me luck [not proofread or edited btw]

taglist: @nqds, @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @ecliphttlunar, @tornqdowarnings

@off-to-the-r4ces, @emelia07, @benny1989fredd, @shiftingtomydrs, @ruriloveshim

"aaron," you protest futilely. "i can walk perfectly fine by myself."

"you cut yourself," is his only response.

"on my arm! i can still walk."

apparently he's not hearing it, because instead of putting you down like you've been asking for the last ten minutes he only grips you tighter. i mean you're not complaining though, aaron's comforting smell of gardenias wraps around you like a blanket. and on top of the you're actually comfortable in his arms as he carries you up the stairs to your house.

unlocking the door he carries you inside and softly places you on the couch, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and telling you to wait there while he goes and finds the first aid kit for your cut.

after a few moments of contemplation.

ok like zero moments contemplation you get up and wander into your bedroom hearing a scuffle from your ensuite.

"aaron?" you call you.

the noise stops and aaron appears in the doorway with a small first aid kit in his hand, "what's wrong, sweetheart?" he asks moving toward you with a furrowed brow looking for any signs of distress. hands hands reach your shoulders first before the travel down to your waist settling there.

"nothing," you assure him. you gently pull his hand off your hip and lead him to the large bed in the room sitting down on the edge. "see i'm perfectly fine."

"you're hurt, sweetheart." he kneels down between your legs and inspects the cut on your arm, "let me take care of you."

ok on a regular day you'd protest and insist that he doesn't need to, but right now? you're tired after a long day, you've accidentally cut yourself on a fence and the tone in which aaron just spoke in has you weak. so yeah, no arguing today.

you sit there in comfortable silence while aaron softly bandages your arm. you watch his beautiful face while he works, his concentration only appearing ever so often when he creases his brow, his blonde hair occasionally falling across it.

you reach up and run your fingers through the blond strands. its soft. always soft. one of them many reasons you love it so much - that and it perfectly frames aaron's face.

a soft sigh releases from aaron as he lets go of your arm and turns to you, an adoring smile on his face. he stands up and puts the kit on the dresser before turning back to you, he gathers you back into his arms and climbs into bed, covering the both of you with the blankets.

you snuggle deeper into aaron's arms and inhale the scent of gardenias that lingers on him.

"aaron?" you ask quietly when he starts to play with your hair.

he hums softly in response, "yes?"

"i know it wasn't much, but thank you for taking care of me."

a chuckle runs through his body and into yours. "i'll always take care of you, sweetheart." he presses a kiss into your hair and soon enought you fallen asleep in your favourite place in the world.

a/n pt2: im manifesting that was good. idk its 10:40pm, im tired and in a writing slump sooo hm. i hope you liked it :))

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

The Assembly sees a cast of thirty-five interviewers who are autistic, neurodivergent or learning disabled, question an A-list celebrity for one extraordinary TV interview.

In this half-hour special, it's multi-award-winning actor and director, Michael Sheen, who is to face the grilling of a lifetime from the unique collective. No subject is out of bounds, no question is off the table.

On subjects as diverse as ex-girlfriends and on-screen kisses, to the OBE he gave back or his favourite motorway, how will the Good Omens star fare as The Assembly bring their unique approach to the celebrity interview?

The Assembly cast is a diverse cast ranging in age from eighteen to seventy-seven, amongst the group are musicians, artists, writers and students. Each will take their own approach in their attempt to get to the truth of Michael Sheen like nobody before has- whether that’s finding out his favourite sandwich filling or how he felt when his daughter was born.

The format is an adaptation of French show Les Rencontres Du Papotin, which saw the likes of Emmanuel Macron and Camille Cotin (Call My Agent) face the neurodivergent journalists of the Papotin. Gone was the flattery of the usual celeb fare – in its place, a mix of mischievous prodding, leftfield quizzing and profound exchanges. The superstars left completely off guard: actors asked about a driving ban or the death of a parent, the President asked if it’s really the behaviour of a role model to marry one’s teacher.

The show comes from Michelle Singer and Stu Richards' Rockerdale Studios, creators of mischievous content which seeks to put disabled agency at its heart. Stu is also known for co-creating and writing the BBC Three comedy, Jerk, and Rockerdale are most known for Channel 4’s Mission: Accessible.

Rockerdale Studios has worked closely with the BBC’s Creative Diversity Team, to ensure every element of the series works for and with autistic and neurodivergent voices.

The Assembly is a half-hour special to celebrate Autism Acceptance Week. Expect profound revelation, glorious chaos, and a lot of laughs.

The Assembly airs Friday 5 April, 10:40pm on BBC One and iPlayer

Interview with Michael Sheen

What made you say yes to being a part of The Assembly?

I said yes to being a part of The Assembly because it was just such an extraordinary and interesting idea. Then reading about the original French series, it just sounded so extraordinary, different and potentially a very revealing way to approach the tried and tested interview process, but obviously it is a lot more than just being an interview. The interview part of it is just one aspect of the project and I think there is still a lot of confusion, ignorance and fear around people with any kind of difference. I think being able to be involved in a project like this could maybe break down some of those barriers.

How is this different from any other TV show you’ve been a part of?

It’s very much unfiltered and that’s really exciting and quite nerve wracking for that reason! So much on TV is sort of smoothed out and filtered and made safe and this, certainly in the making of it, felt very not that! All the better and more refreshing for it too. I know a lot of work is put into the research and preparation for a show like this, but in terms of the actual questions being asked and the experience that you have in all being together when you’re filming, it feels very unpredictable in a really good way and really lead by the people taking part, which is terrific.

How did you feel going into filming?

Well I didn’t really have anything to go on, so I was excited. Sometimes when I’m going to be interviewed, I know what the interview is going to be about, I have a vague idea of the questions that will come up, I know the sort of things that I need to get across about what I’m there to talk about. But with this, I really had no idea what I was going to be asked, so I had to be prepared for everything and anything, there was a kind of freedom in that I suppose. Because of the unfiltered nature of what was going to happen and not being able to anticipate what might be asked, it was a little nerve wracking yes, but I was mainly just very excited!

Did your experience differ from what you were expecting and if so how?

Well I didn’t know what to expect really, so it’s not that it wasn’t what I was expecting because you can’t expect anything! There's no way you can expect anything because you just don’t know what’s going to happen, and because it is so unfiltered and unpredictable in terms of what might happen, where things might go, how people might be feeling on the day. For all the difficult questions that got asked at times, it just felt very loving and joyful and that everyone was very happy and excited to be there even though people were nervous or had anxiety at different times. There was a genuine feeling of community and I felt very welcomed into that community and ready to play so to speak, and you have to be ready to play. I felt very safe and looked after and it was just really, very funny as well – there was lots of laughter and wonderful things that people asked, responded to and performed, I mean I wasn’t expecting all of that, that was just wonderful! So many moments that I’ll never forget.

How does this compare to any other interview you’ve experienced?

It’s so unfiltered! The closest thing I can say is The One Show, where you go on to talk about one thing and then they ask you about everything else that’s going on on the show, so you get a question about your favourite bus route, then they ask you about otters! There’s an extraordinary pinball effect of questions and that’s the closest I could describe, but The Assembly is that x100. It really is extraordinary and that’s very unlike any other interview I’ve done really, usually everything is meant to follow on logically and have a kind of smoothness and polish to it, and this is just really raw and unfiltered and uncensored and I love that, I thought that was wonderful.

What can viewers expect from the show?

I imagine it will be very funny and I think quite moving. I was quite moved at times by seeing how much people had to struggle to overcome certain things they were dealing with in order to ask questions at times. That was uplifting. I think it will be different, it will be thought provoking I hope, and challenging in certain ways; challenging certain kinds of myths and stereotypes I think and ultimately just really entertaining and fun and joyful. I can’t really remember what I said, so I don’t know what people will learn about me... but it’s not about me, it’s about that fantastic group of people, but I certainly got a huge amount out of it too and I hope an audience will as well.

[little-diable]

Kinktober 2 - Spencer Reid

Finally time for the next Kinktober drabble! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated. Enjoy my loves. xxx

🖤Phone🖤

Warnings: 18+, smut, masturbation

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (800 words)

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

header by the best @theanythingbuthuman

It was late by the time (y/n) reached for her phone, letting her thumb hover over Spencer’s contact. He had been gone for over a week, chasing another unsub he hadn’t been able to tell her much of, just enough to underline the cruelty of the crime they were working on. And even though she didn’t like to distract him whenever he was working on a case like this, she couldn’t help but ache for him.

No longer was she used to him being away for that long, no longer was she used to not feeling him close whenever the rising sun woke them. So, (y/n) finally decided to call him while sinking further into their mattress.

“Hi, baby.” His soft voice drew a smile onto her lips, unable to shake the giddy feeling she still felt after months and months of dating. “How’s my favourite girl doing?”

“I miss you.” (Y/n)’s confession drew a husky chuckle out of Spencer, a sound that instantly vibrated through her body. She tried to stop herself from saying another word, knowing that he’d be able to pick up on her longing for his closeness all too easily – if he hadn’t already that is.

“I miss you too, sweet girl. Talk to me, what’s going on?” She could hear the smirk widening on his lips, telling (y/n) that he knew all about her reasons for her call, the need for some relief even if it was with him hundreds of miles away from their home. A few beats passed before she mumbled his name, unable to express what she found herself longing for. “Use your words, be brave.”

“I miss your touch, I need you, Spence’.” Another chuckle left him, a sound shooting shudders down her spine as she pressed her thighs together. She could hear him moving around, seemingly making himself comfortable on his hotel bed, grateful that it had been his turn to stay on his own for a few nights.

“Take off your panties, baby.” She instantly complied, shuffling out of the already damp panties that were dropped onto the floor seconds later. Her heart raced in excitement, guiding her every move while waiting for his next command. “Move your hands up your thighs, remember how I always touch you?”

“Mhm, nothing feels as good as your hands, Spence’.” Another gritty sound, another glimpse of his movements as she picked up on some more shuffling around. She could already picture him grasping his cock, slowly pumping to the sounds she made for him only. A visual that made her walls clench around nothing.

“I bet you’re already dripping, aren’t you? Feel how wet you are just from thinking of me.” Her trembling fingers found her heat, brushing along her folds, feeling her arousal sticking to her skin. A soft moan managed to claw its way out of (y/n), ringing through the line to reach Spencer who followed up with a moan of his own.

“I miss your hands, your tongue, and fuck, your cock. I need you to fuck me the second you return home.” Her voice had a slight commanding touch to it, leaving Spencer laughing while making a silent promise to them both to follow her words the second he touched down back home.

“I will, baby, of course.” He began to move his hand faster, pumping his cock to match the rhythm of her breaths. “Tell me how you’re touching yourself.”

“How you always do it, trying to make it feel as if you’re right here with me.” Her fingers circled her pulsing bundle, adding enough pressure to leave her toes curled and her back arched. Her free hand palmed at her chest, trying to imagine Spencer hovering over her, how he’d look down at her with mischief swimming in his pupils, how he’d litter her body with marks that wouldn’t fade for days.

“Fuck yourself with your fingers, let me hear those pretty sounds you always make.” Another moan, another groan, followed by wet sounds – a sinful mixture Spencer couldn’t help but find himself addicted to as both their orgasms crept closer. (Y/n) fucked herself with her fingers, burying them inside of her while her mind kept painting a picture of Spencer doing all of this to her, oh how much she’d give to feel him close.

“Spence’,” she choked out his name, trying to stop herself from giving in just yet. “I’m close, want you to cum with me.”

Her words were followed by another choked moan clawing through them both, wordlessly communicating. (Y/n)’s eyes rolled back into her head as Spencer murmured a soft “Cum”, allowing her to give in with him following her almost instantly. He painted his hand and lower stomach white as she rode out her high, softly sighing the second she relaxed on the mattress again.

“I need you to come home, quickly. I don’t want to wait any longer for you, Spence.”

[monnn]

When you know, you know.

staring: Idol! Mingyu x Non-idol!, GN! s/o

wc: 1.4k-ish

genre: slice of life(?), FLUFF. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO LOVE MINGOO, comfort-ish(?)

warnings: mentions of food, reader being sick(in love), tooth-rotting fluff.

a/n: hi omg hello, i am alive and finally out of my writer's block(ig?). i'm terribly unwell atm and i've never craved the comfort of a person as much as i do with gyu, so here's a highly self-indulgent fic! i hope you are doing okay and i just wanna say, i'm so glad to be writing again. have a great day/night and hope this fic reaches the person in need of a cutie mingoo atm! ♡

the song rec for this fic would be Margaret by LDR ft. Bleachers!!!

Mingyu's on his way back, with your favourite meal and boba. Was there a reason to get take-out? Definitely not, he really just felt like it. If you had made food, Min could convince you to have it next day. That's how it usually went and he was mostly successful. With his manager dropping him off, he heads inside the elevator and straight to your floor. Since he already knew the code to your apartment, he quietly let himself in, eyes immediately searching for you.

What he doesn't expect to find, is you sitting in the dark on a chair, curled up in one of your fav blankets with a flask coddled in your arms. Your head's supported by a chair on the dining table, mouth slightly open as you doze further away. Min quietly trots through the living room to you, slowly putting the bags down, careful not to wake you up. He adores you for a good minute, slowly lifting you up to rest in your bed. Their neck must hurt, but they keep doing this >:( he wonders to himself while carrying you.

He lets you rest while he does all the chores that you weren't able to do cause of your sickness. A few hours pass by, you wake up with Mingyu sitting by your side, barely touching you in the process of waking you up. He knew how extra sensitive you were to touch when sick, hence he decided to call out for you than kissing you to consciousness. You wake up slowly while he adjusts pillows behind for you to sit straight, he really is a nagging Asian mum in disguise. Handing you warm water to hydrate, he looks at you with all the love in him to see if you need anything from him. You catch him looking and reach for his hand, realising the love you have for him is unbelievable.

"You know love, I can't ever thank you for being so kind to me. I feel like there isn't enough of me to be so damn grateful for you." you say, lovingly gazing at the love of your life. A faint pink's spread all over his face as he nuzzles his face to your hand.

"And I'm ever so happy to be the receiver of your gratefulness, regardless of the amount. It takes two to tango I guess." he says, ever so lightly pressing his lips to your hand. After basking in each other's presence for a while, he mentions about the food he's got, which gets you outta bed in no time.

You head to the kitchen to unpack the boba, while he joins you in heating the food up. It's then you think how freeing it is, to be doing the most mundane things with Mingyu. He just seems to make the littlest of things much more better and you love that about him. A bump against your shoulder gets you back, where the food to your side is all ready to be devoured. Quickly removing the covers around drinks, you move to place them on the dining table. One where you're sitting and the other next to you. That's the thing about you guys, Mingyu never likes it when he's not next to you. He hates how all the fancy restaurants have seats across and not next to each other. But now, he gets to have a meal with you next to him and he thinks about how this is his highlight of the day. Min loves being around you and having a meal, so it's like two of his favourite things put together. You spread out the mat for the hot pan to be put on while settling down in your seat, waiting for the food to arrive. Looking at this, Mingyu hurries to place the pan down while grabbing two spoons before sitting down. Both of you look at each other, nodding in agreement to start eating. It's absolute delight running through your body and eyes for Mingyu. He loves it when you enjoy things he does for you. Raising your boba drinks to cheer, both of you devour in silence, enjoying the food and each other's presence. By end of the meal, you're much more comfortable to let Min under your skin and he's never been so much happier to be as affectionate as his heart needs. Taking the last bite, you stand up to call dibs on cleaning up since he literally did all the leftover chores. And right when you're about to get the pan, Min's grabbing you by the hand, turning you to face him. You're glad to be seeing eye-to-eye since he's on his butt and you're standing.

"What's up?"

"Can you please let me do the dishes? You're literally sick, doing more work would just worsen it."

"But Min, you did all of the chores! It's really unfair if you don't let me, you know." you say as he scoffs.

"I don't care, I love you but please let me do the cleaning."

"I love you so so sooo much too my Min, but I cannot let you do the cleaning up."

"Okay, how about we rock-paper-scissors this?"

"Alright. On the count of three, two, one!"

And to his luck, you throw a rock while he throws a paper. The council has decided and you accept your fate, slowly moving away from the pan.

Right at the moment, Mingyu pulls you in a hug, nuzzling further to your middle while almost sounding like a puppy adjusting to fall asleep. You wrap your arms around him, leaning down to lay your head on his. But, you're suddenly pushed away just to be pulled back onto his lap, while he holds you dearly and continues to be adorable. Again, you have no choice but to stay limp for him to recharge himself. It's hard not to admit how secure and loved you feel in Mingyu's big beefy arms, you kiss him on the side of his head impulsively to convey the same. That loosens his hold on you, him whining on how you always catch him off-guard with your actions. Now, there's nothing but giggles filled in your living room, both of you so knee-deep in love and into each other cause when you know, you know.

-------------------------

a/n: comments and feedback are highly appreciated! hope you enjoyed reading this work of mine, thank you! x

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

-

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

-

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

-

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.   

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

-

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don’t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

[eightmakesonebraincell]

[fic rec mlist] ot8 x reader | multi x reader

main mlist | next (member-specific)

only general themes and tags are listed - please read through the author's specific tags and warnings

both sfw and nsfw fics are included. minors please dni with nsfw fics and respect the age restrictions put into place by the writers (suggestive, smut, and trigger warnings are highlighted in red)

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last updated: 01 april 2024

[saintsenara]

Thoughts on Ron and Hermione as a ship?

thank you very much for the ask, @thesilverstarling!

i’ll state my position straight away: book ron and hermione are the best of the canon couples.

they will have a long and extremely happy marriage made rich by great and stalwart love, lust, fun, and faithfulness, rather than held together by duty and couples’ therapy like so many readers and authors (including jkr, who seems to have decided to spend the years since the conclusion of the series failing to understand anything about her own characters) tend to think.

i will state another position straight away: lest i seem like i’m just a fan with blinkers on, i think this even though hermione is, by far, my least favourite member of the trio. if she were real i would detest her, and i dislike how she is treated by the narrative as always justified in her negative characteristics. i like fanon hermione - perfect and preternaturally good - even less.

as a result, i think that it’s ridiculous that jkr has said that she thought ron needed to ‘become worthy’ of hermione. they belong together as equals - which is what they’re set up in the narrative as being from the off - and i hate seeing that undermined.

because ronald weasley? he’s an icon. and he doesn’t get anywhere near the respect he deserves in fandom.

there are multiple reasons for this - ron’s narrative purpose is to be the everyman sidekick, and so he is able to be less special than harry or hermione (the helper-figure); the amount of aristocracy wank in this fandom means that the weasleys’ ordinariness is less appealing to writers than making harry have twenty different lordships and call himself hadrian; the narrative interrogates ron’s flaws - especially his capacity for jealousy - much more intensively than it interrogates either hermione’s (cruel, inflexible, meddling) or harry’s (reckless, self-absorbed, judgemental) - but one i feel is particularly significant is that ron is such a british character that many of his traits are not understood as intended by non-british readers.

in particular - as is outlined in this excellent meta by @whinlatter - ron’s sense of humour isn’t indicative of immaturity or a lack of seriousness, but is, in fact, evidence that he’s the most emotionally aware of the trio.

ron is shown throughout the series to understand how both harry and hermione need to have their emotions approached - and i think there is no piece of writing which says this better than crocodile heart by @floreatcastellumposts:

That was what she liked most about Ron, she thought vaguely. He was very good at being suitably outraged on your behalf. For Harry, for her, for Neville. That sort of thing mattered, when you were hurt or embarrassed or wronged in some way. You needed to have someone else on your side, to be as emotional as you felt, maybe even more so, so that you might feel a bit more normal. It was very decent of him, and she was not sure he realised he did it.

ron’s inherent emotional awareness is an enormous source of comfort to other people. he does the work which isn’t flashy or special - he makes tea and tells jokes and is just there - but which is needed in healthy human relationships far more frequently than a willingness to fight to the death for the other person.

[as an aside, this normality - even though i think it is assumed rather than justified by the text - is also what ginny provides for harry. if you believe that hinny are a good couple but romione aren’t… i can’t help you.]

but let’s look at some specific reasons why ron and hermione belong together:

their communication styles mesh perfectly. ron is the only person hermione knows who feeds her love of being challenged and debated, and who is able to engage in this way of communicating without becoming irate when she refuses to back down. ron is good at picking his battles, but he’s also good at recognising that hermione’s tendency to argue isn’t intended to be confrontational a lot of the time - it’s just the way she works through feelings and problems. he’s far more easy-going about her tendency to nag, interrupt, try to provoke arguments, or speak condescendingly than he’s given credit for - and hermione evidently respects this, since when he does tell her not to push a situation (above all, when she’s trying to needle harry into talking about sirius), she listens to him.

that ron and hermione’s tendency to bicker is taken by fans to be a bad thing is because it’s something harry - from whose perspective the narrative is written - doesn’t understand. harry is extremely conflict-avoidant - he tends to take being pushed on views and opinions he has to be insulting; and he has a tendency to assume that he is right which is just as profound as hermione’s. he and ginny communicate not by debating, but by ginny having no time for his rigidity and refusing to indulge it - but ron and hermione bickering about everything is not a negative thing within their specific emotional dynamic.

[as another aside, this glaring chasm in communication styles is why harry and hermione would be a disaster as a couple.]

they each provide validation the other needs. it’s clear - reading between the lines - that hermione is a tremendously lonely person. the friendlessness of her initial few weeks at hogwarts seems to be a continuation of her experience as a child, and - outside of ron and harry - that friendlessness endures through her schooldays. i’m always struck, for example, by the fact that, when she falls out with ron in prisoner of azkaban, she has no-one else to spend time with, and that this is only avoided in half-blood prince because harry decides not to freeze her out. i don’t think her friendship with ginny is anywhere near as close as fanon seems to imply (ginny has no interest in being nagged either), nor do i think that she’s anywhere near as close to neville (not least because she is so condescending to him) as she’s often written to be.

and this loneliness seems to stretch beyond hogwarts. the absence of hermione’s parents’ from the narrative is - in a doylist sense - clearly just a device to maximise time with the trio all together, but the watsonian reading is that she doesn’t have a particularly good relationship with them. hermione’s obviously upper-middle-class background - the name! the skiing! the holidays in the south of france! - can be presumed, i think, to come with a series of expectations from her parents which she feels constantly that she’s not entirely meeting, particularly expectations attached to academic success.

[for example, the grangers - were she a muggle child - would undoubtedly have ambitions for her to attend an elite university and then go into a prestigious career. tertiary education of the type that they’re familiar with doesn’t seem to exist in the wizarding world - most careers seem to be taught by apprenticeship - and this, alongside all the other divides between the magical and muggle worlds which contribute to the distance between them, would be one very obvious area in which she felt the need to prove herself to them.]

ron, too, has quite a difficult relationship with his position in the family - voldemort’s locket is not wrong to point out that he seems to receive considerably less of his mother’s emotional attention than ginny or the rest of his brothers - and he too is constrained by expectations which he doesn’t know how to explain he has no interest in - above all, molly’s desire for her sons to achieve top grades and go into the ministry.

he also suffers while at hogwarts from being ‘harry potter’s best friend’, something which harry never appreciates. but hermione does. she recognises ron’s jealousy and never allows harry to minimise it (and she and ron are very much aligned on having no respect for harry’s saviour and martyr complexes). she appreciates ron’s strengths - above all his kindness and his sense of humour - and makes him feel as though he’s achieved things with them. and ron does the same for her; he is hugely observant when it comes to her, and he challenges and defends her.

the two of them clearly spend a lot of time together one-on-one while harry’s involved in his various shenanigans (including outside of school - hermione has often arrived at the burrow days or even weeks before harry, and they seem to write to each other frequently when apart). they do this within a relationship which is fundamentally equal. one issue with hinny is that, post-war, harry is going to have to get used to seeing ginny as a peer, rather than as someone he has to protect. but ron and hermione never have that issue - equality is baked into their relationship from the off.

because, to be quite frank, fandom overstates the role that jealousy plays in their relationship. it’s true that ron certainly doesn’t acquit himself brilliantly when it comes to hermione’s relationship with viktor krum (it’s because he’s bi and doesn’t know it yet), and a tendency to externalise his insecurity into trying to make others also feel insecure is one of his primary negative traits (hermione does this too, via her patented lofty voice when she’s trying to condescend to people). but this is often taken as the initial red flag for how the relationship would crash and burn, and ron’s toxic jealousy is often used in fan-fiction as the trigger for emotional and physical violence towards hermione which, frequently, seems to drive her into the arms of either draco malfoy or severus snape… who are, of course, the first people we think of when we hear the words ‘not prone to jealousy’...

but i think it’s important to point out several things in defence of ron’s jealousy over krum. firstly, hermione evidently regards his jealousy as ridiculous - she’s upset by it, yes, but her upset must be understood as being caused by the fact that she wanted him to ask her out. she doesn’t think he’s being possessive, she thinks he’s being stupid. secondly, hermione is equally as jealous over ron’s crush on fleur delacour and relationship with lavender brown. she behaves just as cruelly when it comes to lavender as ron does when it comes to krum - and the narrative only treats her actions as more sympathetic or justified both because harry dislikes lavender too, and because, by that point in the series, jkr has dispensed with any inclination to ever criticise her.

but, outside of this teenage pettiness, ron is never jealous of hermione over things which matter. he is never jealous of her intelligence or competence or ambition or success (indeed, he defends her constantly from attacks designed to undermine her in these areas). for someone who struggles with being overshadowed by harry, he is never upset at being overshadowed by her. he is clearly going to be happy to support her in any of the career ambitions she can be written as having post-war.

and, on this point, i think it’s worth interrogating why so many readers still seem to feel uncomfortable with the idea of ron and hermione having a dynamic where she is the more ‘powerful’ one. [it’s always a bit trite to say ‘but what if the genders were reversed?’, but actually that’s not irrelevant here]. if hermione ends up taking the ministry by storm and ron becomes a stay-at-home father or has a job which is just to pay the bills, what, precisely, is wrong with that? why, precisely, should hermione regard ron making that choice for himself as a negative thing? hermione so often seems to leave ron in fan-fiction because of a lack of ambition - something which seems to be particularly common in dramione - but, in canon, she is shown to not particularly care if ron and harry do the bare minimum when it comes to studying etc. she nags them to do their work so they don’t get in trouble. she doesn’t nag them to do it to the same standard that she would.

and, actually, i think that ron being less ambitious than hermione is something which is key to how well they work. because ron provides not only emotional support, but emotional clarity.

hermione is shown throughout canon to - just as harry does - have a tendency to become obsessive to the detriment of her own health. she is also often - as harry is - emotionally or intellectually inflexible, and finds it hard to move on when what she feels or believes is proven to be wrong. both she and harry are micro-thinkers, who lean towards knee-jerk assumptions and stubborn convictions (and, indeed, hermione has a remarkably hagrid-ish tendency towards blind loyalty).

ron is none of these things. ron is a big-picture thinker (it’s why he’s so good at chess). he’s a pragmatist. he’s the least righteous of the three. he understands that faith and loyalty are choices, and that sometimes these choices will lead to outcomes which are bad or hard. he is the one of the three most willing to own up to having made mistakes. he is the one least likely to act on gut instinct (and, therefore, the hardest to fool - i think it’s worth emphasising that he clocks that tom riddle is tricking harry immediately, the only one of the trio to do so). he understands that things are a marathon, not a sprint. he is the least obsessive.

and these traits contribute to aspects of his character which are underappreciated. ron worries about hermione making herself ill during exams, or when she is using the time-turner, and makes an effort to get her to set healthy boundaries and redirect her anxiety. ron stands on a broken leg in front of sirius or goes into the forest to fight aragog not out of righteousness, but out of choice. ron takes over the burden of preparing buckbeak’s defence when it is clear that hermione is approaching burnout. ron is completely right that harry hasn’t done any long-term planning for the horcrux hunt, and his anger does force harry to tighten up after he leaves the trio. ron has a clear head in the middle of battle. ron makes harry and hermione laugh. ron is unafraid of human emotion. ron arrests harry’s tendency to brood over the little things by looking at the bigger picture. ron will always come back.

ron is bringing his politician wife regular cups of tea and making sure she doesn’t work all night. he is helping his lawyer wife to feel less upset over losing one case by reminding her that she’s won ten others. he is noticing stress creeping in and whirling her off for a dirty weekend, or even just a takeaway on the sofa. he is teaching his daughter to be proud of her ambition and his son to treat women as equals and both of his children that all you can do when you fuck up is apologise and try to do better. he is making hermione smile on the worst days of her life. he is helping her strategise her long-term goals when she gets stuck on the short-term ones. he is telling her straight when she needs to get it together. he is seeing a misogynistic head of department call hermione a ‘silly little girl’ and choosing to tell him exactly what he thinks of that.

ron is the ultimate wife guy. hermione is a very, very lucky lady.

[breeyn]

An essay rebutting the “bad writing” claims of s2 ofmd. Spoilers herein.

I’ll preface this with saying you’re obviously allowed to like and dislike whatever you want. I am in no way opposing that. And your reasons are your reasons. Have at. (Also - this is a collection of observations from the past few days, I’m not calling anyone out)

I AM going to rebut the idea that season two was poorly written and lost the spirit of what the show is about.

My favourite movie of all time is Empire Strikes Back. It’s been my favourite movie since I was four. I’m pretty sure it’s a fave of David Jenkins, too. He and Taika have made absolutely no attempt to hide their love of all things 80’s - Prince, the Princess Bride, Kate Bush, Star Wars, etc.

I have ancient video tapes (that I can’t play because who has a vcr) where Lucas is interviewed by Leonard Maltin? Malkin? I dunno. Who cares. Maltin asks him about the Star Wars (original trilogy) story arc. Lucas says “in act I, you introduce all the characters. In act II, you put them in a situation they can’t get out of, and in act III, they get out of it.”

That’s how it works. This is how stories and literary structures work.

Of course you’re not satisfied with season two. You’re not supposed to be.

The arguments I have read on why s2 loses the spirit of s1 is because no one heals. No one learns anything. No one moves forward properly. The person who makes the biggest move towards healing dies. The two main characters end the show doing the exact fucking thing they had promised themselves and each other they wouldn’t do. Our romantic lead still doesn’t understand his value or make any headway on addressing his tragic flaw. It makes no goddamn sense.

My gremlins in weird: it’s not supposed to. In Act 2, EVERYONE LOSES. This is how it goes.

I’ve read a lot of people saying “but this felt like a series finale, not a season finale.” We all know that outside politics play a part here, the strikes make everything precarious. I remember the last writers strike. It destroyed tv for fifteen years. Anyone remember Pushing Daisies? Some of y’all have never had your fave show cancelled with zero resolution for the characters and it shows.

Daddy J did us a kindness. He softened the blow of a tough season. After the brutal cliffhanger of s1, he gave us a little softness and hope. All those things you’re mad aren’t resolved? It’s because THE STORY ISN’T OVER.

No one on earth thinks “stuff all your trauma into a box and ignore it” is good advice. A way to actually live. This show did not have enough screen time to throw out dialogue for no reason. There was foreshadowing in s1 for s2, and there is foreshadowing for s3 in s2. This is a well-crafted story by very smart people who care very much for these characters. There is zero chance Frenchie explained the box in his head for no reason. The reason people have not resolved their trauma and growth is because they haven’t done it *yet*.

And friends - it’s not thinly veiled. They straight up fucking tell us what they’re doing.

Luke Skywalker spends the first two movies fucking up and desperately trying to prove himself and just generally being an idiot. Sound familiar? He ignores the lessons he is supposed to be learning to go off and do what he feels like doing, and loses fucking badly. At the end of Empire, Han is gone, Luke and Leia wave goodbye to the Falcon that has Lando and Chewy - the rest of their crew - aboard. Everyone has lost everything they care about. Vader is undefeated. Yoda is pissed. Nothing is resolved.

You see where I’m going?

If you think I’m stretching this too far, welp, when Ed tells Stede he loves him - the climax of the finale - Stede quotes Han fucking Solo. Like - *it’s right there*. The story structure. The reason everything is unresolved.

So yeah. They wave goodbye to their ship because they have wounds to heal (like Luke’s hand). The people aboard the ship have things to find. Ed and Stede have *not* learned their lesson about whims and how not to be like Anne and Mary. It’s not stupid that they’re doing the same thing, and it’s not pointless that we were shown Anne and Mary. It’s all relevant.

The resolution comes in Act 3. None of these people are done. The story is far, far from over. And just in case the studios want to be dicks about it, David Jenkins was lovely enough to not repeat my enduring heartbreak over Pushing Daisies.

Thank you, @davidjenks 🖤

[delqcate]

hi angel!!! im aware of how super busy you are rn, but I can't get like frenemies scott barringer and reader out of my head, imagine it, like he's so annoyed by everything she does, she's the total opposite of him, sweet and kind, but also the sarcastic angry feminist, and he's the self-righteous football captain arsehole.

But no matter what he does, she's constantly stuck in his head, and it's kinda like the song "you look so pretty, pretty like the sun, i could watch forever while you shine on everyone" and he's so in love and a little insecure, which he covers up with this pompous arrogant fboy persona

anyways, you're writing gives me life more than anything! when i first discovered your flannel shirt fic on scott, i became obsessed and stalked your profile and obsessively read through all your fanfics, hayden characters or not, I read them all, and im head over heels in love w u :) you genuinely write the best fluff ever, like your my favourite blog for fluff, like don't get me wrong smut is cute and that, but god i would kill for some forehead kisses and hayden fluff

because i love you.

scott barringer x reader

anon you own my whole heart ilysm!!! you're soso incredibly sweet and being your favorite fluff writer??? such an incredible honor 🥹 i'm sorry it took me a while to get to writing this and i feel so bad cause i feel like i just didn't have enough inspiration for this so it's all messy but I hope it's still good. scott and shelby don't get together here but they're still good friends

summary: you and scott don't necessarily hate each other, but you can't tolerate both that much either. after a plan gone wrong, turns out there's a reason why.

warnings/cw: swearing, kissing (i don't know if that's warnings but yeah), fluff fluff fluff

word count: 1.9k

Where does Scott even begin with you? The Cliffhanger's sweetheart, the epitome of the sun in this hell hole, is his friend. Well, sort of.

Because every time he was near you, it felt like he was constantly basking in the sun, yet at the same time, he was warmed up by everything you did, from your smile to your voice. It was almost like he was constantly taunted.

He couldn't get enough of you, though. You were everything he's ever wanted—the warmth and love of another—and yet he still seems to be pushing you away.

But then that all changes when a little surprise is left on one of the class boards one morning when Scott and the other Cliffhangers are called to meet up with Peter and Sophie.

Scott walks into the classroom, wearing a sweater he just threw on due to the cold, and looks at the board in confusion. "Morp? Wh-what's a morp?" His brow was furrowed, and he frankly didn't care too much about decoding it until Auggie followed from behind him. "Oh, cool, a prom?"

Scott looks at Auggie, realizing everyone else is inside already. His eyes land on you, and he suddenly can't focus on anything but you. Everyone was taking a seat, and it took him a moment to realize you sat with him until a hand waved at his face.

"Scott, y'there?" Your voice rings out, and he looks at you, his face brooding as always. "Why? What's up?" He clears his throat and focuses his gaze on you. Despite hating you, he seems to be interested in what you have to say. Probably just sucking it up so it would be over.

You look at him, and suddenly you find yourself drawn to his eyes. Do they seem more blue than usual lately, or have they always been this way? But you don't have time to ponder about that because now it’s his turn to snap you out of your thoughts.

"Hey, are you there?" He gives you a small smirk, and you playfully roll your eyes. “Yeah, sorry,” you say, clearing your throat and resting your head on your palm. “Sophie and Peter paired us for morp planning.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he immediately covers them up with his emotionless stare again. “Why us? ," he asks, sounding annoyed. “Dunno,” you reply. “Probably ‘to build a stronger relationship between us’,” you say, playfully mocking what Peter constantly tells everyone whenever there’s a team activity.

He let out a soft scoff but couldn't help but let a smirk form on his lips. He was starting to let his guard down, something he rarely does around people; besides Shelby, she relates to him more than anyone. "Yeah, all that bullshit."

You nod and chuckle, watching as he bounces his leg, a habit you share with him. "All we have to do is plan the music, so it shouldn't be too bad. They're letting us use Peter's office and a couple more gadgets, I think." You shrug, but all you could think of was Scott.

Spending time alone with him in a room for days on end sounded both eventful and terrifying. But at least it was him instead of anyone else; at least you could get some peace and quiet for once.

————————————————————————

It had been days since you and Scott were assigned to make the playlist, and despite the bickering and constant grogginess you two would feel the next day, it was bearable. It caused something in Scott to brew—something he thought he could keep in, but it was just waiting to burst.

Scott dragged Shelby away to a corner in the common room—not the best place to have a private conversation, but it'll do.

"Let me guess," Shelby starts, her gaze landing on Ophelia talking to Peter and back at Scott. "You need advice to ask her out?" Scott scrunches up his face, annoyed but thinking about it. "Well, yeah," he says after a moment.

She chuckles and looks over at you again, trying to think of anything. "Morp's tomorrow, Scott. How are you sure Auggie or someone else asked her out?" Scott suddenly seemed upset at the thought, however. "You think Auggie has more of a chance than me?" His angry question was a little too loud, loud enough to catch your attention, at least.

Shelby quickly looks away and narrows her eyes at Scott, slapping his arm playfully. "Will you keep it down, you idiot?" He whines and leans against the wall, crossing his arms and staring at you from afar. "How am I ever going to ask her out? I'm just the cocky football star, a pompous asshole fuckboy. Every bad thing you could think of."

She sighs and moves closer, taking his hand and watching his expression before continuing, "Sure, you can be a complete asshole." He scoffs and looks at the floor. "Great way to start that off," he muttered. She rolls her eyes and continues with, "But all that matters is what they think of you. You wanna go all out and be stupid with your promposal? Go ahead. I'll be there every stupid step in the way."

He moves his gaze on her and mutters, "Stop calling me stupid. But, thanks."

————————————————————————

The plan was perfect. You and Shelby would be hanging out together, saying some good stuff about Scott, and Scott would play football with Auggie. Auggie would throw the ball at you, and he would save you. He would tie that to some smooth way to ask you out, but he would worry about that later. What was the worst that could happen?

Scott watches nervously as Shelby and you sit at the bleachers, taking a deep breath as Shelby discreetly nods and Scott starts to play. Your gaze moves to Scott, and a small smile grows on your face. Seeing Scott play football was cute to you. Despite being an ex-football captain, he still never lost his love for the sport, and you admire him for that.

Shelby notices your stare and chuckles, looking at Scott and back at you. "You eyeing Scott?" Your cheeks heat up and your eyes land on her, shaking your head as your face gets all flushed up. "No- well yeah, but not in that way! He's my friend; I just want to watch him."

Your gaze moves back to the two boys playing, and you swear you saw Scott wink at you, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you; he probably got something in his eye.

But you didn't even have time to think because the football started flying towards you, and Scott's amazing plan came crashing down as soon as the ball hit him right in the face.

"Scott!" You yell out and rush down to him with Shelby. He lets out a loud groan and covers his face. He's never felt so much pain and embarrassment before. "Auggie, fuck!" He groans out. "I didn't mean to, I- I'm sorry!" Auggie frowns and looks at the two, watching as you take Scott into your arms and prop your leg up for him to rest on.

"Shit- Scott, move your hand." You frown and try to move his hand, watching as a crowd of people form, someone rushing to grab Peter. Scott whines and shakes his head, saying something about how it really hurt, but it's muffled from his hands.

"C'mon, please? I swear the pain will be gone soon; I need to see how bad it is." You were trying to stay calm for the both of you, and after a moment, he moves his hands away to reveal a bleeding nose and some tears.

You wince and help him stand up. With the help of Shelby and Auggie, you guys safely bring him to the girls rooms and onto your bed, hurrying off to the bathroom while the two find something that could help Scott besides a wet rag.

You return to him on the bed and move his hand away. A small hiss escapes you, and you start to clean him up. The silence was killing you after a while, so you mumbled out, "That was stupid, y'know?"

He looks at you with an annoyed expression and scoffs, trying not to move too much as you clean his nose and check if it is broken. "Well, I'm sorry for saving your life," he says sarcastically, clearly upset that you didn't appreciate him saving you. Maybe his plan was just stupid.

"I mean, I appreciate it, but look at you now." You frown and place the rag on your side table, grabbing some tissues to clean the spot better. "Why'd you do it? Ruin your oh-so-perfect face for me?" He smirks and looks at you. "You like my face, huh?" You roll your eyes, and he lets out a small laugh as you punch his arm.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it." He lets his laughter die down and listens to the two of you breathing. It calmed him down to hear your breath, especially because he definitely needed to calm down. He took a deep breath and calmly let out, "Because I love you."

You stop your arm and move your gaze from his nose to his gaze, which was locked onto yours. You couldn't tell if it was because he was frozen in embarrassment or because he wanted to show you he really meant it; either way, it left you shocked.

How does he like you? He's made it very clear that he has some hatred towards you , so it didn't make sense. "But the way you act around me—" he quickly interrupted you. "It's because I'm insecure." He sighs and looks down at his hands, feeling the embarrassment creep up on him.

"You're just so- so gorgeous. You make everyone smile and laugh; it's like the goddamn sun. You shine so bright, and I can't help but feel this jealousy towards you because everyone gets to experience all of that." Although he didn't outright say it, it was clear to you that he was jealous, and it was incredibly adorable.

You let out a soft laugh, and at first he thought you were laughing at him, but a small smile formed on his lips when he realized you were laughing with him. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel like I shine brighter when I'm with you. You make me sparkle, I guess."

He chuckles and moves a little closer, sensing the change in tension, and he was sure you did too because you moved closer. "Sparkle, huh? What are you, a vampire?" He smirks and wraps his arm around you, making you roll your eyes and cup his cheek. "Just shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am." He smirks wider and kisses you gently, immediately crash-landing into heaven as soon as he feels your lips. They were soft and felt heavenly, just like he imagined. The kiss grew deeper but didn't last too long as someone threw a box of bandages at them.

Scott pulls away in annoyance but quickly gets flustered as soon as he sees Shelby and Auggie; he completely forgets they were coming back. "Congratulations, lovebirds!" Shelby smirks and moves her gaze between Scott and you. "But do us all a favor and get a room, will you?"

You let out a small chuckle and quickly helped Scott clean up, hearing the pair's footsteps as they headed outside. Despite both of you being complete opposites, Something told you it would all work out in the long run.

taglist: none!

[badaseyebags]

Hello, lovely! I hope that you're doing well! I'm so happy to see a new Bada blog/writer! Welcome! Would it be alright to request a smut/fluff fic with Bada and Idol reader gf? Where Bada absolutely loves to spoil her, is super protective and a bit possessive? Maybe she takes reader on a shopping spree but they get interrupted by someone trying to flirt with an obviously uncomfortable reader and Bada is not having it..

hiii!! thank you so much for being my first request asdfghjks i hope i didn’t fail your expectations, enjoy reading! >_<

jealousy is a disease

(dom!bada x fem!reader)

fluff, very suggestive/not full on smut, MDNI

word count: 2,2k

warnings: angry bada, hot bada, bada being a pervert and mocking reader, teasing in public, dirty talk, low-key exhibitionism, bada stealing your panties, slight dollificafion, bada 🤤

as bada’s girlfriend you’ve gotten used to people staring at her, drooling over her, fangirling, sending her letters and trying to get her attention in general. i mean come on.. it’s bada lee we’re talking about. you’d be in the same spot if you weren’t this lucky. it’s a part of her job to provide fan service and make her supporters feel seen. after all she never hid the fact she’s in a relationship, besides she found your occasional jealousy (you said you’re not jealous and kept whining and complaining) cute. never missing the chance to tease you about it and shower you with extra affection afterwards to make up for it.

bada on the other hand… might of had a harder time dealing with the obvious attempts people had at flirting with you, or straight up just trying to get in your panties, as bada claimed.

of course they all failed because for one you were a total airhead who couldn’t tell someone’s flirting with them unless they held up a “i’m flirting with you” sign, however once you got the hint, you weren’t scared to shut them down. you weren’t exactly quick to catch on to such things. which made bada even more protective over you and your so called innocent heart. she wasn’t the only magnet for attention in this relationship, and she wasn’t quite used to that. you being the kind of person that turns heads when they walk in the room without even trying or wanting to, there’s never a time where your looks and aura go unnoticed. you were quite the opposite of bada, far from tall, feminine, soft and almost fragile looking. you know the type of girls you swear aren’t human and definitely have to be some kind of a fairy because they’re so pure and mystical? (bada’s words to describe you every time someone asks about you) that’s also one of the reasons bada is always attached to your hip, her need to protect you is always prominent. she knows you can take care of yourself just fine but her dominant nature and need to be there for you wins every time.

she wants you to depend on her and be the person you run to when you need someone. unfortunately for her, she isn’t the only one who views you as a little porcelain doll that needs someone to take care of her. and she can’t stand when someone actually has the guts to try and become that person, especially if it’s in front of her.

today was sunday, or as bada likes to call it “pamper day”. it’s her favourite day of the week. (she says that everyday) she lets you decide an activity that focuses on pampering you and spoils you all day, and then spoils you differently when the day is over. wink wink

today you decided to go shopping since the weather is starting to get a little warmer and as much as you love being bundled up in bada’s large clothes and cuddled in her arms for extra warmth, it was time to buy some cute clothes, part of it was to impress bada herself even tho you clearly didn’t have to do anything in order to achieve that. you and bada walked into the store hand in hand, matching shirts and bada’s tall body gently pressed against your side. you guided bada to sit in the chair that was in the corner of the store, leaning down to peck her on the cheek as you told her you will pick out a bunch of outfits and try them on for her to surprise her. she loved the idea, you all pretty and dressed up for her giving her a little fashion show. however what she didn’t like is the way the shop assistant so kept checking you out in a non subtle way, his eyes kept wondering down to the outline of your chest, the tight fabric doing nothing to hide your flattering shape. you didn’t notice nor pay attention to the man himself or his stares as he kept following you around recommending a bunch of lingerie and rather revealing items, grabbing a bunch and holding them for you as he kept running around you.

bada watched with a raised brow, eyes following his every movement, scoffing as she read him like a book. was he that dumb thinking he will get the chance to see you in those? she scoffed putting her phone in her pocket, getting up and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest.

you looked over at her giving her a small smile and focusing your attention on picking out more items as you were excited to try them on for her. you’re sure she’s going to love this. the man kept making strange comments about your body and how great your “tits look in that tight top” and how unfortunate it is that he can’t go into the changing rooms with you to see you try all those pieces on. you started to have a weird feeling, contemplating on telling bada to try a different shop but then you realised it’s his job to help you pick the best items and thought he might be gay and that’s why his words were so direct, i mean he didn’t touch you or anything so why assume such things, right? he’s just doing his job. yes that’s it! oh, you were so wrong and stupid.

he guided you to the changing rooms with all of the hangers in his hands, aligning them up on the wall of the cabin, as bada made her way towards you with a big grin, a irritating voice stopping her in her tracks.

“i think you can wait for your friend outside of the changing rooms, it’s a little unnecessary for you to both be in there, don’t you think?” he said a little too comfortably making bada snort as she bent down a little to match his height, intimidating him as she towered over him despite crouching down. “i think you can wait behind your little cash register while my girlfriend tries these on for me. it’s a little unnecessary for you to be checking her out like that, don’t you think?” she narrows her eyes at him watching his face turn red as realisation hit him. his lips parted to say something but it only came out as stutters, bada shutting him down with a low chuckle. “look at that pretty little face, i don’t want to ruin her day with me beating your pathetic ass in front of her. she doesn’t deserve that now, does she?” she leaned in whispering slightly, with you having no idea what’s being said. he shook his head slowly, eyes peeking at you and back at her. “good, now piss off.” she gives him a fake smile through gritted teeth as she shuts the curtain in front of his face leaving him speechless, walking away in shame.

she turns to you, confusion painted all over your face as you just stand there letting her come up to you before you can say anything. “shh.. it’s not your fault he couldn’t keep his little dick from getting hard when he saw you” she whispers cradling your face as your cheeks grow warm. “h-huh?” you look up at her with eyes slightly wide from what she just said. she just shook her head smiling as she leaned in your neck, cooing at you. “don’t worry your pretty little head and give me a show, hm?” you nod blushing as your hands reach for the hem of your shirt in attempt to take it off.

“no no, let me. ” she smiles as her much bigger hands slide over yours, caressing your fingers before lifting the shirt slowly and pulling it off your body. “no wonder he couldn’t contain himself…” she whispers eyes focusing on your chest as she slides her hand down to your pants, toying wit the zipper before undoing it with one hand. “bada..” you whine feeling embarrassed by the amount of effect she’s having on you and making you feel needy in public while you were supposed to have a innocent shopping spree. “what’s wrong sweetie? i’m just helping you undress so you can try these on for me” she gives you a artificially innocent smile that you fell for and bite your lip nodding, totally believing the facade she set up. just how empty headed are you? “m’sorry i just..” you trailed off feeling even more embarrassed for assuming she was trying to get in on with you in public, as if it wasn’t what she’s actually trying to do.

she chuckled dragging the pants off your body as she successfully managed to slip the dress on you as if you were her doll for her to dress up. she stood behind you, wrapping her large hands around your waist, caressing you and smoothing the fabric on your skin as her hands felt you up. “sorry for what, babydoll?” you widen your eyes shaking your head. was she playing with you right now? was it all in your head? we’re you just so needy for her attention that you started interpreting her intentions wrongly? so many questions filled your head as you grew more embarrassed yet more needy.

she lifts your chin with one hand making you lock eyes with her in the mirror. “answer me when i’m talking to you.” she whispers leaning into your neck, pressing a gentle kiss that has you sucking in a breath. “sorry for.. for assuming that..” she hums trailing kisses further down your neck waiting for you to continue, her lipstick leaving traces of red on your skin. “..that you wanted to do something more then just watch me change in here..” you manage to spill the words so directly making bada chuckle, sending a chill down your spine. “what a naughty little girl… thinking she was gonna get fucked in the changing rooms? how dirty of you.. and here i thought you were a good girl…” she shakes her head in false shame, further mocking you as if this wasn’t what she planned all along. your face turns red, freezing in your tracks as you struggle to let out any words feeling embarrassment hit you like a truck.

“i- i” you stutter not being able to get any words out as you shook your head. “shh… there’s nothing wrong with being a pervert who wants to get fucked in public and have a man who hit on you listen to me fuck you in a way he will never be able to” she further mocked you making you squeeze your eyes tight and press your thighs together making her raise an eyebrow. so you were getting off to this? her mocking you? she smirked learning such a interesting fact about you. “oh?” she grins, one of her hands now sliding down your hip. “i bet he’s dying to hear what you sound like… but we can’t have him hear your pretty moans, can we?” she asks voice so gentle as if she wasn’t asking you a lewd question making you obediently shake your head no. “good girl, now let’s get out of here so i can take care of you properly” she smirks making a quick use of her hands to dress you back up, you being too impatient to get home to notice her slipping your panties off you and putting them in her pocket as she guided you outside the changing rooms.

the man physically straightened up, swallowing hard as he locked eyes with bada. “d-did you decide to purchase any of the items today?” he asked his voice cracking, not even daring to look your way.

she smirks handing him the dress you previously tried on, bada’s lipstick stained on the white fabric making his eyes go wide as he put two and two together. he quickly finishes the transaction with shaky hands, as bada hands him her credit card.

“happy, princess?” she asks affectionately stroking your hair as you nod. “yes ma’am! thank you!” you excitedly lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. he watches the scene, his eyes rolling back in annoyance. “oh and here’s your tip.” she tells him you’re about to leave, making sure you’re turned in the other direction as she slips your panties into his hand making him freeze, and audible gulp leaving his lips. he swiftly shoves the thin piece of fabric in his pocket, so thankful she didn’t beat him and even even more thankful for the present she was generous enough to give him. “thank you ma’am!” he looks at her with respect, knowing he’s still not allowed to turn his eyes to you. you then turn around whining and glaring at him. “only i get to call her ma’am! stupid idiot we are never coming back!” you huff dragging bada outside of the shop, as if you’re in the spot to be the jealous one making bada giggle.

“what a weird ass couple..” he muttered under his breath watching you leave, clinging onto each other.

[queenaeducan]

In Defense of Spirits

Or, alternatively:

I. Introduction

Spirits are one of my favourite parts of the Dragon Age lore, but they didn't start that way! Initially with Origins the various demons I fought I considered little more than cannon fodder, enemies put in my way to cut down so I could move on with my mission. With the introduction of Justice in Awakening and Dragon Age II coupled with Merrill’s alternate perspective also introduced in the latter, my feelings about them started to change. Solas and Cole crack those feelings wide open come Inquisition, and when replaying the games I found myself questioning the motivations of encounters with people I once considered one-note enemies.

I wanted to compile a list of these alternate readings of the various spirits we meet throughout the series, starting first with Origins. I'll be detailing some common themes and, where it’s appropriate, to defend their actions. This list is not comprehensive as there are some encounters I don’t consider significant or interesting enough to mention, although if someone’s curious about a particular spirit I’m happy to oblige. For the purposes of clarity, if I use the word “spirit” I am still referring to all denizens of the Fade, whether they call themselves Pride or Compassion. I may use the word “demon,” as a treat.

The purpose of this retrospective is to reflect upon the motivations of the spirits we kill through the series and how I think Bioware successfully created a world where, in this instance, we were sucked into their preconceived biases regarding spirits. And hopefully to make you feel as bad as I do when I’m forced to kill spirits who probably are better people than my player characters. I am also not arguing that everything I put forth here was intended by the writers. I have the reach and flexibility to pull out threads they didn’t expect me to.

Finally, this won’t be an exhaustive examination. There are a lot of spirits and some don’t invite discussion on my part.

II. Analytical Lens

There are several recurring themes that will crop up when I’m recontextualising the motivations of the spirits throughout the series. We’ll be going over these in detail as we talk about individual spirits, but for now:

The Veil is a construct. There was initially no barrier stopping them from moving back and forth freely, and in many ways their desire to manifest physically outside the Fade is a natural inclination. The problem being that going there and back again isn’t as easy as it once was.

They don’t understand this world. Again, I think the presence of the Veil exacerbates this. Time and again we see spirits who do have enough will to manifest safely have difficulty adjusting. 

Trying to help hurts. Spirits can’t sicken with Blight or the common cold (that we know of), but intense emotions or cruel intentions can twist them from their purposes. Those who reach out in the honest urge to help may find themselves burned, sometimes through no fault of either party.

Their design encourages dehumanisation. For lack of a better word, considering this is a land of elves, dwarves, qunari, and so on. Many of the spirits we’re asked to empathise with are humanoid, with those we are at odds with being more likely to be monstrous or animal in design, making it easier to justify why we need to choose violence.

III. Dragon Age: Origins

Mouse

Mouse is among the first spirit players will meet in Dragon Age, depending on whether or not they play the Mage origin or not. Narratively he is meant to introduce the player to the role spirits often play in the lives of mages, that is to say: an evil that is not always self-evident. He tells a sympathetic lie, presents himself as someone who was once in a position like the protagonist currently is, and wants to make sure they don’t end up like him, only for it to be revealed that the entire reason he’s there is to possess them. At least, nominally that’s his role. A second pass at Mouse’s actions does raise questions as to his true intentions.

Throughout the test Mouse encourages two things within the protagonist: their self-worth and their questioning of the ritual. The former makes sense, he is ultimately revealed to be a spirit of Pride and so to stoke the protagonist’s own pride may inflate their confidence to a point where they can’t see the potential harm in dealing with him. Still, in a society where magic is feared and mages prisoners, there is something radical in encouraging that in someone. Especially when paired with remarks Mouse makes where he questions the logic of the Harrowing itself:

“It isn’t right they do this, the Templars. Not to you, me, anyone.”

This is one of the first things he says to you, and is one of the first pieces of Circle critical rhetoric in the entire series. From the perspective of the protagonist at the time, it would seem he’s referring only to apprentices, but is he? Spirits are drawn into the Harrowing as much as mages, ostensibly willingly with the promise of a body to possess, but we see in rituals such as the one that drew Wisdom into the world that the Circle isn’t above shackling spirits into doing their bidding, be it as a means of protection or garnering information. Once inside, they’re subject to the will of the apprentice, who have been taught to fear and mistrust the Fade since they were first brought to the Circle. So is Mouse expressing bitterness about the situation of the apprentices, or is he looking at the situation as being equally unfair to all involved?

Furthermore, what’s most interesting about Mouse is he never actually tries to possess you. He makes some requests, which Surana or Amell can’t agree to, but even if you avoid catching onto his game for as long as you can it never goes farther than that. He reveals himself as the final test and before the Harrowing ends he dispenses the to-be Warden a warning:

“Simple killing is a warrior’s job. The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust… pride. Keep your wits about you, mage. True tests never end.”

A piece of wisdom, if you will.

I don’t believe Mouse ever truly intended to possess you, although it’s impossible to tell if he truly would or not without the ability to agree to his bargain. He gives up the game too quickly, with the Warden only needing to vaguely doubt his story before he reveals it. By following the Warden through their Harrowing he helps them successfully bargain with spirits like Valor and Sloth and safely introduces the idea that not everything here is as it seems. Rather than being purely a Pride demon, I think Mouse is a spirit of Wisdom influenced by the Warden’s preconceptions towards what some might call the darker aspect of the values he represents. 

While I don’t think it’s out of the realm of possibility that Mouse was exactly what we’re led to believe, nevertheless I believe it probable that spirits aren’t always gleeful participants in the Harrowing and that the rite is damaging to them as well as the apprentice mages.

Desire

We go now to another spirit from the Circle, specifically the Desire demon we meet in the Broken Circle quest. When we come across her she’s possessed a Templar and letting him live out a fantasy of having a wife and children. When the Warden and their party come across her, she argues that she’s giving him what he wants and doesn’t see the harm in it. Upon my first playthrough I took this as a lie and killed her, although it was difficult not feeling bad, as from the perspective of the enthralled Templar he died defending his family from bandits. To him the Warden was unequivocally the bad guy, and it’s tragic thinking about what his final thoughts might have been.

As for Desire herself, I think there’s an argument to be made that she simply didn’t see a difference between her making a life for herself and the Templar all within his head and a physical, lived life. We see in Inquisition especially, where we talk to more spirits, that the nature of the physical world is as alien to them as the Fade is to mortals. Command wonders out loud why the rocks do not move at her command, and Cole asks Varric to talk to his shoelaces for him because they “don’t listen to him.” They existed in a world where will mattered more and where dreams were real, so it stands to reason that to Desire there is no discernable difference between giving him what he wants for real and dreaming it.

Interestingly, you can choose to let them both go, and we get no indication of where they go from the Circle. Leliana also approves because she thinks what counts is that he’s happy. Personally I don’t feel there’s a right option in this quest as either leaves the Templar in a tragic spot, but I do think the Desire demon’s motivations aren’t as evil or manipulative as they seemed on my first playthrough.

Lady of the Forest

The Lady is perhaps the first spirit in the series given a more complicated character than “spirit good, demon bad.” We have Valor in the mage origin, Wynne’s spirit of Faith, etc, but they aren’t given much characterisation and their benevolent nature is taken as a matter of fact. We have a biased introduction to her, we see the damage she has done to Zathrian’s clan and hear his side of the story. We go into the forest to carve the heart from her chest.

But when the time comes to actually speak with her, his bias and deception is plain. She has all the trappings of a demon: summoned at a point of great tragedy, as a tool of vengeance, enacting a literal curse upon Zathrian’s enemies. Yet now she is an advocate for non-violent solutions, only compelled to violence by desperation (she sent letters but Zathrian left her on read) or by the player’s encouragement (potentially). I do think this was an end she worked towards, and didn’t come by naturally, saying to the Warden at one point:

“Then the time has come to… set our rage aside. I apologise on Swiftrunner’s behalf. He struggles with his nature.”

While she is speaking of Swiftrunnher, given she is the curse’s origin, I think the same could be said of her nature (as it is her curse). Zathrian implies much the same, saying to her:

“Your nature compels it, as does mine.”

I think it’s very likely that had we encountered the Lady those hundred years ago when she was first made, she would have been to our eyes a demon, rather than the semi-benevolent force of nature she appears as in-game. Interestingly, her outward nature doesn’t change if she is compelled to kill the Dalish. She isn’t thrilled, but neither is her nature twisted. She’s pretty quick to move on, afterwards. Of the major spirits in DA:O, I do think she is an outlier in the series. Killing her is the bad option, especially when a mutually beneficial solution is forced upon you. She also has a stronger presence of mind than many of the other spirits, perhaps accounting to her age and the fact that she is tethered to the world through not only Zathrian but her ‘followers.’ It’s fitting that the Dalish quest is the one where a spirit is presented not only sympathetically, but (as far as I can tell) exclusively referred to as a spirit whether they are doing right or wrong.

Rage

We meet many Rage demons in Origins, and throughout the series, but the spirit I’m referring to are the ones we meet in the Alienage’s orphanage. The recent site of a massacre, the orphanage is now home to a spirit of Rage who attacks those who enter. Rage, I thought, was a curious choice, when Despair and Terror exist. Although the fact that they probably didn’t want to make a new spirit model for this one sidequest would probably explain it on a development level, but then I wondered— whose rage?

The spirits don’t seem to embody the rage of the people who massacred the orphanage, or even the rage of the victims. They tell the Warden and Ser Otto that they “do not belong here” and one is furious that the party has killed “my brood.” I think the presence of the spirits here is indicative of how helpful or benevolent spirits can be twisted by the horrors of our world, that they were drawn by the misery of what happened at the orphanage and upon witnessing it they became enraged. They are ultimately protecting nothing, just an empty building that’s probably best torn down or cleared out, or whatever the elves of Denerim’s Alienage decide they need to properly mourn. Yet as we walk through the building the screams of children still play around us, it’s still happening for its current residents.

In the final encounter of the quest, the Rage demon targets and kills Ser Otto (assuming those mabari you encounter like two minutes in don’t get him first, like they do for me every time if I’m not paying attention) first out of your entire party. It makes sense, although his motivation was pure, he is representative of the human justice that allows horrors like this, and what’s more— how many orphans were taken from the orphanage’s midst by people wearing armour just like his, never to return?

The rage demons had every right to be angry, even if their anger manifested in a harmful way. The tragedy is that, outside of Denerim’s Alienage, most people weren’t.

IV. Other

These are spirits whose roles I don’t have much to say about, for one reason or another.

Kitty. I don’t have much to say about Kitty, who as a reminder is the spirit held captive in the basement of Wilhelm, the former master of Shale. Given Kitty can agree to not possess Amalia, content simply to be free of the basement, and then doubles back on that promise once you complete the puzzle, I don’t have the highest opinion of Kitty. However, can I do want to point out that Wilhelm held Kitty captive in his basement for decades for his research. Research which, by the way, was to find ways to prevent mages from becoming possessed. A little ironic that he essentially possessed a spirit to do so. I want to point this out only because I think it highlights how spirits are casually used by people and at no point do we stop and wonder what decades of being locked up in a basement outside of their intended realm of existence might do to someone, even a metaphysical someone.

Herren. The merchant and life partner of the blacksmith Wade, who may have made your Warden some nice armour from all those endangered dragons they killed. In the Darkspawn Chronicles Herren is fought— as a desire demon. Gaider says this is not canon, but he doesn’t even go here anymore, so instead I’d like to put forth the idea that Herren is a desire demon taken physical form who lives out his existence peacefully (if somewhat grumpily) with his eccentric husband. I have no evidence of this being a fact, in fact I have the opposite of evidence, but I like my version better, so.

The Grand Oak. I think everyone with a modicum of taste likes this guy, but I do think he's an interesting lens to look at how spirits in Elvhenan might have lived. I like to think all of them had a period where they just vibed as a tree for a hundred years or so.