#ive been meaning to reread this book for years

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Tell me more about this book blanket? I'm Fascinated

Omg yay!! Okay so I'm knitting two rows per book that I finish in 2024, and each book rows will be a different color based on the genre it is

So here are the books I've read so far. Everything that's in bold is what I've knitted, and the last book on the list is what I'm currently reading but haven't finished yet. So I've knitted everything before Fifty Feet Down, and read everything up to Annie on My Mind, but I'm currently like thirty percent through it.

I'm choosing colors as I finish genres, and I'm trying to do it only with yarn I have (cuz yarn is expensive and I have a lot of yarn. The reason I have a lot of yarn suitable for a blanket is because I took all of this yarn from a blanket I started knitting four years ago and never finished. Like I finished frogging that blanket yesterday and made it into cakes on my new yarn winder!!) I didn't really try to make the colors fit the genres. I just own a lot of navy yarn and knew I'd read a lot of LGBTQ books, and I own a lot of black and know I'll read a lot of horror books. Then for dystopian I just chose a yarn color that I had available, same with mystery.

Here's how it's going so far! You can see the four navy rows for the two LGBTQ books i read, the two purple for the one dystopian book (which is also very good, I highly recommend Debate Kids at the End of the World and that author in general, Alex Nonymous) and then a chunk of black because I read four I. S. Belle books in a row (you can also see all of the ends I didn't weave in, which I'm going to hate myself for when I finish the blanket)

"But Austyn, what if the book is more than one genre?" I'm so glad you asked! Most of these books could be considered more than one genre. Fifty Feet Down is a mystery, but also a romance. So I just consider what genre I believe is more integral to the story, if that makes sense. Fifty Feet Down could be relatively the same if the main characters were just friends, but the story would be vastly different if it wasn't a mystery. Therefore, it gets the mystery color instead of romance. Same with all of the I. S. Belle books. There's romance in them, but if you took out the romance it would still be pretty similar, but if you took out the horror it would be an incredibly different story.

So that's my 2024 book blanket!

[steelycunt]

dragging myself through the waves ill be so honest with you

[bunnyb34r]

I really hate movie theaters but I saw every hunger games movie in theaters and I'm really intrigued by the adaptation of The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (especially since the book just came out like two years ago??) so 👀 might have to go

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader (IV)

Happy Holidays! Remember your plans to visit friends and family back in your home country? Scratch that. The Yakuza men have other ideas for you in this cozy Christmas special. And you finally get to meet their fearsome Boss, who has a request for you.

Content: female reader, fluff

[Part 3] | [Part 5] | [Yakuza Masterlist]

You stare at your phone in disbelief, rereading each line and hoping you've misunderstood the kanji. Daitou and Kazuya are quietly frowning behind you, unsure how to help in such a situation. Their lack of response only confirms it.

The brief paragraph is written in bold, red font: Due to weather conditions, all flights are cancelled until further notice. Passengers have been refunded and will need to repurchase their tickets at first convenience.

One glimpse at the last-minute prices and you're certain of it: you won't be going home for Christmas. You slouch and sigh, somewhat at peace with the idea. What else can you do? You might as well get yourself a KFC bucket and stare at the holiday lights in the city center. You and the couples taking cheesy Christmas selfies, who will later wonder about the gloomy loner behind them philosophically crunching on spicy wings.

"Don't look so defeated, (Y/N). You can just spend that time with us instead. We're not such terrible company, are we?" Kazuya jokes, trying to cheer you up.

"We could even go on a trip around New Year."

Your eyes light up in anticipation, the sadness vanishing almost instantly. 

"Can we go to one of those hot spring inns? I've always wanted to visit an onsen." You put your hands together pleadingly. 

"Whoa! Take me out to dinner first if you're that eager to see me naked." The blonde man winks at you smugly. 

"How would I see you naked? The baths are separated, aren't they?" You inquire. 

"We can't go to the regular ones." Daitou pulls his collar slightly downwards, revealing a fragment of his traditional tattoos. True. A yakuza would never be allowed among the civilians. "We'd have to book a private bath, so there wouldn't be anyone else."

You blush at the prospect of being alone with the two men. Kazuya notices your nervousness and is about to continue his teasing, but Daitou speaks before him, unbothered and oblivious:

"Besides, you've already seen me naked. I can tell you Kazuya doesn't look much different. There's nothing to be shy about."

The blonde man can only gawk, taken aback, and you shove Daitou in a flustered panic, fumbling to find an excuse or a change of subject.

He didn't have to make your business public like that, or he could've at least announced it without you being present. Judging by the blonde's speechless reaction, you're guessing he hasn't been told about your sneaky office smooching that led to the occasional sleepover. If you think about it, there's nothing shameful about being intimate with your boyfriend, but...It's not something you're fully accustomed to yet.

As promised, after the coworker incident you were soon greeted with a job offer in the neighborhood. When you went to your old office to discuss the mandatory year contract, the managers nervously handed you an approval for resignation and refused to discuss any details. You were free to go, no penalty or obligation. They had a fearful demeanor and you hoped Daitou didn't dismember anyone involved. Regardless of his means, you were now at the liberty to pursue other careers.

On the other hand, you were rather anxious about your new workplace. You had flashing visions of drug cartels and gambling parlors, with thugs rattling their drinks at you and demanding proper service. Windows breaking and masked men rolling onto the floor, armed to the brim. Ginza hostesses scurrying behind you and asking for help against an angered client. The night before your first day, you restlessly shuffled in your bed, plagued by second thoughts. What could you possibly do for the yakuza? What ghoulish demands would they prepare for you?

Daitou was the one to accompany you in the morning. He showed you to your desk, and you could discern the blurred frames of people angrily discussing matters in the opposing meeting room, separated by a large window. You gulped.

"They're building a new apartment complex two streets down." Your boyfriend mentioned casually, helping you settle with your belongings. 

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry, I thought you were curious about their talk."

"I mean, I am, but...Is that it?" You gazed at him incredulously. 

"What else? This is a real estate office. Upstairs is the stock investments."

"Oh...Oh...I thought..." You were a little embarrassed. The imaginary scenarios of bloody battles and crimes that kept you awake felt quite ridiculous now.

Daitou seemed to have picked up on your assumptions, because he chuckled and ruffled your hair, following with an explanation. 

"Boss is very strict with our Ninkyo-Do. If you're caught with drugs or petty theft, you're excommunicated. We used to have a bunch of gambling casinos as main income, but nowadays there's too much pressure from the police, ya know? Half of our members aren't even officially registered with the Yakuza, so they can't be tracked. We mostly do stocks and real estate. That's where the cash is. 

Heh. Kinda boring, ain't it? I'm afraid you showed up way after the golden times. Even I'm too young for it. If ya want, I can ask one of the retired seniors to tell you about it. He has a lot of great stories."

You held your tongue from bringing up his frequent killing sprees and just nodded, amused by the fact that his code of conduct didn't register human casualties as wrong. The Yakuza have strict rules of ethics that set them apart from regular mafia. Depending on the Oyabun, or Head of the Family, this chivalrous way of living is reinforced to all members or conveniently swept under the rug. Daitou's Boss seemed to fit in the former category. 

Therefore your "office job" turned out to be an actual office job without the quotes. Although you were often reminded the people passing by weren't your regular salarymen. Many of them were entirely transparent with you, striking up conversations about their latest arrest, or complaining about the poor quality of their pinky finger prosthetic they'd ordered from the Philippines. 

But this isn't the time to reminisce. The prolonged silence is unbearable and one could fry eggs on your hot, burning cheeks. Kazuya is the one to break the awkwardness. 

"Oh, yeah...You coming to the Christmas thing this evening?"

"We'll be there." Daitou smiles innocently, unaware of the discomfort he just caused.

Kazuya raises his eyebrows in surprise and looks at you.

"Did you...?"

"Yup. It's all fine." The dark haired man nods reassuringly. 

"Then I'll see you at dinner, little (Y/N). Don't catch a fever with all that steam blowing out of you." He laughs at your still baffled expression and places his large hand on your head, departing.

Daitou holds the door open for you and you hurry inside. As you both walk down the hallway of the luxurious restaurant, you can't help the nagging feeling that he's once again omitted some vital information. 

"Can you tell me again who else is coming? Just Kazuya?"

"Oh no, it's a Family meeting. So Boss and the rest of the Seniors, too."

You gasp in horror, but before you can scold him, you find yourself behind the canvas screen divider, facing a table of older men in suits, holding their drinks and eyeing you suspiciously. 

"Oi, who the fuck is this, Daitou?" one of them growls. 

"I already told you before, (Y/N). My girlfriend."

"Huh? Did you seriously just bring a civvy to our meeting? I knew you got a loose screw, boy, but this tops it all."

Daitou frowns and steps in front of you, visibly annoyed. 

"If ya got a problem with my woman being here, I can settle it for you, old man. When was the last time you fought someone?"

"'s that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've gotten too comfortable sitting up there and barking orders. Let me remind you why they leave the killings to me."

The thick tension in the air is quickly dispersed by a loud, relaxed laugh. At the end of the table, a heavily scarred man with grey hair is clapping his hands in delight, seemingly amused by the events unfolding. He glances at you and pats a cushioned seat to his right. 

"There you are! Come join us, miss (Y/N). Ignore those rusty grumps, they ain't seen a woman outside a host club." He throws the instigator a brief glare. "Is that any way to talk to my guest, Oota?"

The man swallows dryly and mutters an apology. He goes back to his drink, preoccupied, and the rest follow suit. 

You hesitantly kneel down to your designated place, sheepishly peeking at the mysterious figure. Could it be? As if reading your mind, Daitou places an encouraging hand on your waist and lowers his head to your ear, swiftly whispering "that's Boss" before going to greet the others at the table. 

"I-it's a pleasure meeting you, Sir." You mumble nervously.

"No no, pleasure is all mine. I'm Eiji Ijichi, 8th Head of our Family." 

His introduction is unexpectedly warm and his easygoing way of speaking reminds you a lot of Daitou. The faintest grin threatens to appear, but you cover your mouth. With enough imagination, this could be the equivalent of meeting your in-laws. This is Daitou's family, after all. A criminally scary one, but nonetheless you've been welcomed with open arms.

"Do you drink?" The older man asks you, raising his porcelain cup.

"Naturally." You exclaim and lift your own cup enthusiastically. 

"Attagirl!"

As the night progresses, the men at the table are loosening up under the influence of expensive alcohol. Kazuya seems to be caught in a terribly involved conversation with Daitou and one of their Captains, gesturing dramatically and occasionally raising his tone. You notice your glass has once again been filled by the waitress and take another sip, satisfied with observing their fun from the sidelines. Boss has a similar approach, gazing nostalgically over the rowdy group of thugs.

He reaches for his pack of smokes and you scramble to pick up the lighter, politely bowing as you light up his cigarette. He smiles at your gesture. 

"I see Daitou's trained you already."

He ponders for a moment, gently blowing a cloud of smoke upwards. 

"You'll make a good wife."

"Excuse me?" You question, startled by his sudden remark. 

"It's hard to tell, but I'm getting pretty old myself." He snickers at his self made compliment. "Soon it'll be time to pick my successor. I have no children, unless you count that rascal I picked from the streets." He says as he tilts his chin towards Daitou. 

"I love him like my own kid, but I'm sure you noticed he's a little off. Everyone is terrified of him. You can't have a leader if everyone runs away from him, ya know? I was starting to get worried I'd work myself through retirement. Kazuya can only do so much!

Then he comes up to me grinning like an idiot. I thought, 'There it is. He finally lost it', but instead he asks me if I want to see a photo of his girlfriend. Girlfriend?! I was ready to witness some crusty body pillow, my hand was on the phone to call our Family doctor. He shows me a cute foreigner standing next to him. Now I'm pretty sure he's not smart enough to fake photos like that, so it must be the real deal. 'How the Devil did ya pull this one?' I asked him. Cause listen, I was rather handsome back in my day and I still wouldn't have been this lucky.

And would ya look at that, it's the miss that moved into our apartments! How's the living conditions, by the way? Everything going fine?"

You nod energetically.

"Good, good."

He crosses his arms and nods himself, satisfied. He turns to gaze at you intently, with a face you can't quite read.

"You gotta excuse a drunk old man for rambling so much. What I'm trying to say...well...

Take care of him when he becomes the 9th, will ya? If he has you, I'm sure he'll manage. But don't tell him I said that! You gotta keep them humble. See, that's a lesson for you too. If there's one person the Head of the Family bows to, that's his wife! But I doubt he'd let the power get to his head."

You both turn to Daitou. He just finished pouring more sake to his superior and notices your stare. He blushes slightly and waves, unsure why he's suddenly being observed. 

"I think so, too." You respond, waving back. 

How would that look on a CV? Ane-san of a Yakuza family. 

[incorrect-belgariad]

INSANE CROSSOVER ON MY DASHBOARD. heritage post

Botanic Tournament : Main Bracket !

Round 1 Poll N

Commentary by Adara's submitter :

This might be cheating because the flower was named after her but :D

TFW your cousin who you've known for a month creates a flower for you out of a stick and some grass and then it turns out to be a miracle medicine

Why this is not cheating, actually

(Buttercups)

[filibusterfrog]

Hi there!

I was screaming about this to a friend and then realised I should also send it to your face, bc why talk nicely about someone behind their back when you could also let them in on it!

Your art is incredible and always brings a smile to my face, I remember many years back when I was a lil 13 year old coming across some of your art that was stolen and reposted on pinterest and being instantly captivated and spending an hour finding one with your watermark so I could look you up.

Your art was a major turning point for me in going from just copying how to draw anime books in my local library to trying to figure out what sort of style I wanted to draw in and learning more of the fundamentals. I recently raved in a friend's DMs about your art and character design and they told me they could absolutely still see a bunch of your influences in my art and characters to this day, even over half a decade on, as well as countless costumes for larp.

Your art has always inspired me, and for years now, whenever I have art block (and I remember), I'll scroll through your art and remember what I like about doing art and think what I want to create, rather than getting caught up in what I feel like I should make.

Your art indirectly linked me in with amazing communities, and the best people I have ever met. Seeing your art during the bushfires was a huge comfort to me, it was a scary and terrible time and seeing someone else sharing my feelings and making them visible in a way I couldn't do yet was so helpful to me in ways I can't describe.

This has been long and overly sappy, but know that your art made an impact on a little 13 year old who felt alone, who's now an adult with a strong community.

Please look after yourself, and know that even if you never make anything ever again, you've still touched people's lives for the better.

hello anon! ive been rereading this ask almost daily since you sent it :) thank you very much for letting me know, there are few things i like better than people telling me that my work means something to them.

[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.”

[kiburebuc]

finished the book i was reading, Earthsea book 1, and dunno what i should go to next... obvious answer is Earthsea book 2 but i have a few other things ive been meaning to get onto.

finish my hitchhikers guide reread i started a year ago and dropped off

get to Green Creek book 2

retry Red Mars

finish up Dune book 2

finish Southern Reach boom 2

and ofc Carl Sagan cosmos has been kicking around on my to-read list, i dont knowwwwww

(or gimme book recs so i can keep abandoning the multiple series i have dropped off of)

[merlin-slut]

all the different arthurian legend related books ive read

so these are just books ive read that are either based in on the original stories or reincarnation related!! i have no ranking system so this is just based on vibes and is mostly in the order of when i read them, with the most recent at the top (except for the mary stewart series but im just very passionate about it lmao)

The Arthurian Saga by Mary Stewart: SO GOOD i loved it so much it was amazing HIGHLY recommend!!! it was more historically based and is so so so so so well done!! i read this about a year ago and im already thinking of rereading it!! the first book, the crystal cave, focuses on merlin growing up and learning about his visions! it covers up until arthur being conceived. it was SO GOOD and i desperately want to watch the cursed looking tv show based off of it!!

The Once and Future King by T.H. White (this included the Book of Merlyn): there was something about this i didnt quite vibe with. like i mean it was pretty good until the book of merlyn so maybe just skip that and leave it incomplete lmao definitely had more of the whimsical vibe attached to the legends, as its what the disney the sword in the stone is based off of. so, i would say it was only so-so for me

The Other Merlin by Robyn Schneider: okay so i was tricked into reading this by tiktok because i saw the author saying it was waaaaaaaaaay more gay than it was and very merthur inspired and please dont read it if you think thats the case. it does have some interesting concepts about sexism in magic (though not entirely in the way you think) and focuses on the merlin you're thinking of's children. it was alright on its own, as long as you separate it out from bbc Merlin. the advertising of the book skewed my perception about what it would be. so yeah, its not the best but its still a fun story!

Camelot Rising series by Kiersten White: ooooooooo these ones were fun!! its told from Guinevere's point of view but it isn't actually Guinevere!! she's a changeling who was sent to Camelot to marry Arthur and was told she would be his protector from something working to destroy what he was building! it was interesting and so fun to be in guinevere's mind while she tried to figure out who she is and what is trying to destroy camelot!! so fun!!

The Dragon's Call by Simon Forward: honestly no notes! so fun! its a retelling of episode 1 with some added details!!!! excellenttttttttttt

Gwen and Art Aren't in Love by Lex Croucher: ooooooo this one was fun too!! and is actually queer as advertised!!! so gwen and art HATE each other until they discover that they're both gay and decide on an alliance to help each other out and protect themselves!! so yes!!! actually gay!!!!! however i do think so bits were a bit slow and so it def couldve been paced a lot better but overall, wasnt bad!

Potions and Poison by Jacqueline Rayner: again another book thats a retelling of the show!!! it covered s1 e3 and 4! and is part of the younger readers collection so it def was written for young audience but it had some full illustrations and was still fun to read!!!

Once & Future by Amy Rose Capetta and Cory McCarthy: sooooooo I read book 1 but have not read the sequel! its set in space, in the future, and Ari is the 42nd reincarnation of King Arthur. so yeah, its a little different lmao. this one is also fun with ari discovering who she is, both as a reincarnation of king arthur, and with her queer identity! she meets a teen merlin, who, like in white's the once and future king, is aging in reverse, so it creates some fun dynamics! I read this one over a year ago so the details are a little fuzzy but i remember liking it, although some bits were slightly confusing i think??? i remember them trying to take down an evil government and ari being an illegal immigrant! so maybe i should reread this and then read book two?????

Avalon High by Meg Cabot: so yeah this is what that dcom is based off of but the book is pretty different!! i feel like the book is more stereotypical in the way arthurian legend retellings go, especially compared to the movie! still it was a fun and very fast read!! very like YA style book though, but its meg cabot so its to be expected and very much a 2005 book!

i think this is all of them???????? but im going to list what's on my tbr and if yall have an recs PLEASE send them my way!!!

the rest of the bbc merlin episode retellings

le morte d'arthur by thomas malory

bliss and blunder by victoria gosling

sir gawain and the green knight (are there any specific version recs???)

the fall of arthur by j.r.r. tolkien

[awrkive]

hi dee! this is gonna be such a long message and i hope u read the entirety when you got time ♥️ english is not my first language so im sorry if this is not exactly cohesive.

ive been reading ffs since since 2017 and i really feel u came right out of the 2017-2020 era of bts x reader fanfic community bcs the way u write makes me reminisce about those times. idk if this is just me being picky, but i feel like fics nowadays are focusing too much on the smutty parts instead of actually building a world around their characters. and i dont usually mind smut or pwp fics, i enjoy them time to time. but the problem with it is that it's honestly all i ever see now, esp with jungkook fics.

it feels like no one really wants to write a proper fanfic anymore? some of my fave x reader authors before here are gukyi, vankoya, btsmeetsweevil, kpopfanfictrash, fortunexkookie, prolixitae and many more that i cant really name anymore – all of which have deactivated or inactive now – and one thing about them was that as much as they wrote smut, there was actually more to their stories.

and that is honestly what i feel about your writing. its so simple but so profound in a way? like its so easily digestible but the simplicity of it does not exactly equate to plainness? i feel like the trend of writing pwp is to gain more traction (which was also a trend back then, but not to the point of overpowering) but i love that you dont exactly succumb to that and instead take time to build the world of ur characters in such a way that makes me feel so connected to them.

i just LOVEE how u create these backstory for ur main leads. like with nb, we are witnessing two strangers getting along with each other slowly but surely, and with tlp, we are witnessing two best friends navigating a crucial point in their lives relating to romance between them. and the YEARNING, the LONGING, and just the TENSION that you make me feel with those? its just so incredibly insane. the giddiness of it all – you dont get that from fics who just go straight right into sex.

and i know its just fanfiction and its not supposed to be that deep, but tbh fanfic is just as much of a form of art as other "published books" – esp when theyre written so well like yours.

i apologize if this is coming off as a rant at this point. i think im just frustrated with the lack of creativity im seeing nowadays with bts fanfics all over tumblr thru ao3, and ig im just frustrated that i cant bring back the golden era of 2017-2019 (or 2020 if u will) anymore for fanfics. but thank you so much for reviving that feeling for me♥️ i also know youre busy with college and all that, and im really really greatful you lend time to share ur writing with us all for free ♥️ i really adore your talent!! i hope u write for a long time ♥️♥️

- 🌱

this has been sitting on my inbox for the past three days and ive honestly just been rereading and rereading this over and over again because im so incredibly touched?

i agree that 2017-2020 was the best era for x reader bts ff esp 2018. writers were really putting in the work, and i just love how you mentioned all those lovely people. miss guyi (gukyi), miss ivory (vankoya), and miss lu (prolixitae) were some of my favorite blogs here EVER and they wrote some of the best fanfics in my life that i still read over and over again up to this time. they were literally a few of my inspo to also write fanfic on my own – and im so glad u think that my writing can make u feel like the way u do when u read theirs, bcs that means a whole lot to me!!

the bts fanfic community has truly changed for the past few years. prob cos the fandom has grown bigger overtime and things will just never be the same as they were before. its a huge factor that the great ff writers before are busy with their adult lives now and even if i myself am not really that much into reading ffs anymore these days, i still believe we'll pick up being better on the oncoming years!!

and lastly ur english is great and thank you so Freaking MUCH for sending this in. i truly am so moved and touched by this message 🥹 i hope u are having a great day wherever u are 🌱 anon!!

[help-is-on-the-way]

Ive finally reread the Lemonade Mouth book and i have feelings. This may be long.

Ive watched the movie countless times since i was like 12, it has always been one of my favorite disney movies. I had their songs in my mp3 and at school i liked carrying my house keys around so i could pretend i was Wen in Turn Up The Music. Anyway. Ive always known it was a story adapted from a book. I remember buying it when i was like 16 after watching the movie for the bajillionth time. I never finished it. I remember the different POVs threw me off a bit and the language didnt make it any easier (english isnt my first language and the book has never been translated). My bookmarker said i made it to page 152. But i honestly did Not remember at all like 90% of the changes. So im like pretty sure i read it without Actually reading.

Anyway. Now im 24 and i rewatched the movie 3 nights in a row this week. And im way more well versed in english nowadays. So i decided to give the book another shot. Now, like i said, i have feelings. I read the whole thing in 2 nights. Im not sure what im doing right now and im sure im overexplaining things, as i usually do. But well. I think i wanna say some stuff.

First of all, after reading the book i can confidently say the movie is a pretty amazing adaptation. Ive always known that, but like, now i have undisputable proof. The way they made the story flow in just under 2 hours always baffled me. They got like 7 character stories going on and it never feels too much. And the changes from the book are mostly all understandable, and some of them i even like way better in the movie in my opinion. I mean. Except their appearances changes. I love Bridget Mendler as much as the next guy, but .. Fat Olivia wouldve been so cool to see. Especially considering the movie/book themes.

I remember whenever i rewatched the movie as a 18 year old and onwards, i always thought something along the lines of. Wow. For a movie all about revolution, and being a freak, and not conforming to the social mold, and being a minority in an elitist society - the lack of queer related stuff is so Loud. I guess it always disappointed me. Not that we are necessarily freaks, but well. Im sure we all felt like it at some point. I remember being angry about it, then. But i get it. Of course i always did, in a way. It was 2011 and it was disney. And im not stupid either. Stella is a glaringly obvious lgbt subtext allegory - maybe its the Hayley Kyoko in her, but they all knew what they were doing, i think. I can see that. Its subtext. I just cant help it but feel a bit disappointed that it isnt text too. I kinda always secretly hoped the book had something more in this subject. Dont get me wrong. Stella's character in the book manages to be even more marvellous than in the movie (an impressive feat). I was in shock that she was written explicitly and diagnosed with dyslexia and ADHD. Being a different but similar kind of neurodivergent myself, that was really cool and genuinely surprised me, as ive always related to the feeling dumb sentiments she has. But, you know. Still kinda made me sad. You could make the argument that she didnt need a romantic arc or whatever, cause she was going through a lot, blablabla. And, yeah. I agree with you. She was going through a lot. Thats kinda the point though. All five of them were. Its the whole point of their characters. Theyre all going through their own personal stuff and they got school problems on top of it - the band and their music is an answer to all of it. Im not saying she needed a girlfriend or anything. She didnt, and her character is one of the most fleshed out ones. I just cant help but wish.

Which then brings me to my next point. Honestly. I feel like the book had a lot more romance going on than the movie. In parts it was really sweet, and in others kind of annoying. The movie always made it very clear that Mo and Charlie wouldnt be a thing, and i come from that reality and mentality. So imagine my surprise when they are actually a thing by the end of the book. Idk. Ive always disliked Scott, and hated that he got in the band and played with them at the Madison Square Garden by the end. He never felt like one of the band, he never felt like a lemonade mouth. I dont think he ever really understood their struggles as freaks. At least not in my eyes. So he always felt a bit undeserving of his spot. He's there because of Mo, for Mo and Mo only. He's even more of an asshole in the book, so im glad hes not really brought up again after he tries to apologize and Mo says she isnt interested. I really like that this is what happens in the book. I might be too much of a Scott hater, but, yeah. I do like it. I dont think Mo shouldve gotten with Scott in the movie either. But i also dont think she shouldve gotten with Charlie, is the point. Sure, Charlie's character in the book actually puts in the effort to get to know Mo, he is sweet, he makes her feel listened to, and he tries to learn about her heritage and culture. He does not feel like hes in love with the idea of Mo (aside the first few POVs of him) (he quickly grows from that when they become proper friends). He loves her for her. And thats something i dont feel like it happens with movie-Charlie.

In fact, im gonna go in a bit of tangent here, i feel like movie-Charlie is the most not-book character of them all. Hes got the most background change, and most of the time he isnt seem doing much (most of his scenes were passed on to Wen - going with Stella to ask about the lemonade machine, being the one that's approached by Lyle when he sells the Lemonade Mouth Live at the Bash CDs, etc). When theyre deciding if they should become a band or not at the pizzaria, his coin flip in the book matters because thats heavily tied to his way of seeing the world and the universe. Tied to his belief that hes the wrong brother to have survived, so Aaron (heads) also deserves a chance to choose his actions for him, just as much as Charlie himself (tails) does. And thats explored time and time again over the pages. Its incredibly interesting and original. When they get rid of his dead twin brother, and build up a living-in-the-shadow-of-a-perfect-older-brother backstory for him, the coin flip just seems like hes an undecisive guy, who doesnt have a good reason to say No, but also not to say Yes either. And while thats fine, i guess... it just doesnt hold the same value narratively speaking. It just feels more shallow, like hes simply a more laid back guy - and although that is consistent, it just couldve been so much more. I do like movie-Charlie, but book-Charlie is way more interesting. His book appearance is more fitting too. Hes described as a regular chubby guy with unruly hair. I like that.

Anyway, back to the romance thing. Its fine i guess. Im mostly against Mo x Charlie in the book because it just kinda feels weird after watching the movie for 12 years. I liked the "friendzone" arc. Its nice when a boy and a girl can just be friends in media, no ulterior motives behind it (though that doesnt really happen between them either) (we see that more with Stella and the boys). Also because idk im not a huge fan of how Mo eventually came around and confessed to Charlie in the book. I know that theyre 14 but Charlie was still hurt by what she had said, and though she did apologize and admited that she screwed up, i feel like i wouldve liked it more if she explained to him what was going on through her head better. Like if she had explained to him what she had explained to the reader, that she was too preoccupied desesperately chasing after a future that doesnt belong to her, it kinda wouldve made it a lot better for me. Cause Charlie said multiple times that he was confused by the whole thing, and still hurt, but they kinda ignored that and kissed twice. And that was it, they were dating now. But then again, if they were able to express themselves that well, they wouldnt be 14 year olds.

And then on the other side of the romantic things going on theres Wen and Olivia. Ive always liked them as a couple since i was a kid. And their moments in the book were pretty fucking good. I love the subtle ways in which Wen slowly begins to pay more attention to her, and notice how his feelings toward her change, even though he doesnt really understand what they are. I lost my mind when in the beginning he described her eyes as a simple brown, but the next time it happens he sees that it has hints of yellow as well. And their fight scene ?!?!??!! Bro !!! The peak-ism of it all..... the way Wen crosses the street without Olivia, and theyre shouting while on different opposing sidewalks, with cars going between them, a clear and visual indication of this rift they suddenly found themselves in, and how sometimes they can think in opposite ways. Its so good. Hurts so well. And it gives more of a reason for Olivia to lose her voice as well, cause she had to yell over the noise and stuff. While in the movie she lost her voice over yelling two sentences while they were 2 meters away from each other, which always striked me as odd.

Speaking of which i feel like i have so much to say about Olivia, and at the same time so little. I honestly dont know which i prefer better, movie-Olivia or book-Olivia. From a poetic and creative standpoint, i really like that Olivia's POV throughout the book is told solely through her letters to her dad (+ Naomi at the end). Its very charming. But at the same time it also kinda feels like it hurts her characterization a bit in places. She tells stuff through a letter format to her dad, so at times it feels like she is withholding stuff while at the same time saying Much More than a 14 year old would say to their dad. And, granted, that does say a lot about her as a character, but you know. The point of different POVs is to explore the characters more. But because shes stuck telling the events to her dad, i dont feel like shes explored enough, it almost feels like shes only allowed to be his daughter - and it also feels forced at times when she tells stuff to him that i know just needs to be said for plot reasons. Which is a bit sad. I have the feeling that it is intentional, but idk. I feel like after 336 pages i still barely know her. We mostly get to know about her through other people - we basically only see Olivia [daughter] and Olivia [quiet friend]. I wanna see Olivia, dammit!!! It kinda sucks cause i love her and the book did not answer the questions i had about her. Shes the main singer, for goodness' sake !!!! And in the book nobody else sings besides her too.

This paragraph from one of Mo's POV kinda sums it all. Im stuck in a fence trying to understand if thats a good thing or not, when shes still a mystery even to the reader, only a 100 pages away from the end of the book. I want to know whats going on in her head so badly.

The exerpt kinda brings me to another point, slightly connected to the romance thing. The girls barely interact with each other. Of course we know they all become friends, and by the time the Halloween Bash is over and Nancy dies, Wen is already describing them all as a family in his POV. So we know they are all closer than they were before. From this point on they always describe themselves as friends, when before there was always an uncertainty over their relationship. But like, getting to my original point. The girls' interaction is scarce. Mo and Stella have the fight scene in the beginning, when the band first tried to make things work and they butted heads during practice. And then they get a descriptive paragraph soon after of the two of them having fun while reading a magazine and coloring the pictures with a pen after practice. After that, all of Mo's scenes are with Charlie, Naomi, or the other 4 as a band (or her dad). At the end Wen mentions that Mo gives him the "shovel talk" so he doesnt hurt Olivia by dating her. But we never get to see Mo and Olivia properly interacting one on one. The shovel talk isnt effective if i dont know the lengths that Mo would go for Olivia. I guess its fine narratively speaking, but like. I wanna see, you know. Olivia's scenes are even worse, theyre all either with Wen or the whole band. Olivia has more scenes with Sydney than with the other girls in her band. And its not just the girls, Wen and Charlie also never interact with each other. I feel like the focus in romance is greatly to blame for this. The movie lacks on this too, dont get me wrong. But its easier to convey their closeness to each other when there's a visual representation of them happening in front of my eyes and i can See them all interacting in between themselves without dialogue. Like Wen and Charlie singing the jingle of Rising Star together when they were in detention, or later on the two of them walking around school together. Or Mo hugging Olivia and standing close to her after Nancy died and More Than a Band happens. The whole More Than a Band scene actually, cause it kinda becomes a "silent" montage of them having fun together. Or having Wen with Stella when she realizes the actions of her consequences and suddenly the whole school knows shes the one responsible for cutting Mudslide Crush's set for the Bash in half. You know what i mean ?? As a big fan of found family i just kinda wish there was more of the rest of the relationships between the 5 of them. And in the book thats especially jarring. Which kinda goes back into the thing i said about Olivia's POV.

She wont write about these details to her dad. The only time she wrote in detail about a conversation was when she fought with Wen, cause she was venting about it to her dad. So we're kinda missing out on a POV that Could help bridge the band together in a way for the reader to see more clearly. Cause its obvious they love each other and theyre family, but we dont get to see much How exactly that happens. The cloud watching scene is like the main bonding moment in between the group and practically the only one we get to participate in. And it's not from Olivia's POV, it never is. Her cat died and we're told what happens through Wen's eyes. She has a "nervous attack" before the Halloween Bash to the point of puking and we're told what happens through Random Girl #6 That Just So Happens to Be Hiding and Eavesdropping in The Next Stall Over. She takes the band to see her dad in prison (a pretty big deal to everyone envolved) and, again, we're told through Wen's eyes. I wanna know what she was thinking !!!!! Cause its obvious it was hard for her to do that, and she had to prepare herself before even telling them where exactly they were going. What was going on through her head, then ?? Was she scared ?? Was she nervous ?? Was she thinking that maybe they wouldnt be her friends anymore because of it ????? We will never know, i can only assume stuff !!!!!!! And its really kinda frustrating. I wanna know for sure.

In the movie, Olivia's mom died when she was really young (young enough to not remember her face), and her dad "made bad decisions because of it". The way she talks about it makes it seem that immediately after her mom died, her father got into trouble with the law. So like her dad has been gone idk 12 years or something. She doesn't know him, doesn't know her mom. We're never told what exactly he did, and i kinda always got the impression that it was something bad, something that Olivia kinda resented him by, at least a little bit. I know she simply stated that she never wrote him back cause she didnt know what to say to him, cause he was basically a stranger to her. But you know. I feel thats enough to resent somebody, cause maybe she doesnt even know what he did either. If something like this happened in my family, i probably wouldnt know either. Not until i was like 22 and my aunt spilled the story while drunk during Christmas. The point is: its not the type of thing you tell a child - it's the type of thing the child quietly accepts as just a part of their normal life. So, at the end, she decides to give him a chance by writing a letter to him. I quite like that cause she was kinda doing the same thing that she fought Wen about. He never gave Sydney a chance, and she had never given her father a chance either. I like hypocrisy in characters cause it makes them complex. It makes the fight more interesting as well, cause otherwise its just suffering Olympics. And it hurts Olivia's character in my eyes cause thats really annoying and pointless. But interpreting it this way i can make more sense of it.

Book-Olivia, on the other hand. Her mother didn't die, she simply left. Olivia also does not remember her face. Her mom and dad had a teen pregnancy, the mom had drug problems and the dad already had minor criminal records. Mom left when she was 1. And her dad was a good father to her until she was 8. And she remembers that he was a good father. He had dreams of being an english teacher. And then he got fired from his taxi driving job, couldnt get another because of his past felonies, fell into old habits, and accidentally caused an old man to have a heart attack while attempting robbery with a toy gun. So he's in jail. And Olivia knows this stuff because she remembers. She was old enough to ask questions, to demand answers when her loving father suddenly wasn't coming home anymore. So she writes letters to him all the time, she keeps him updated on her life cause she knows he would like to be present, but can't. She also knows he made mistakes, and isnt looking for excuses for him. But he's a good father too. And she trusts him a lot. He's the person she trusts most in the world. So when she invites the band to visit him, she's trusting them as well.

Theyre similar backstories but also so different. Theres things i like about both. The Sydney-dad parallels in the movie are pretty good. Its what really sells it to me. The book's scene of the band visiting dad in prison is fantastic. I feel like the movie did a good job translating the book and adaptating Olivia's backstory. I quite like that the whole movie is Olivia's letter to her dad, telling him about her band. It's a pretty good way to tie her to her POVs from the book. ..I dont remember where i was going with this, honestly. I like Olivia. I may like movie-Olivia more just because, like i said, the hypocrisy makes her more complex. And book-Olivia is unfortunately a mystery i cant solve.

Mo's story is also pretty good in both. I feel like the only significant difference between book-Mo and movie-Mo is that Naomi's whole character is gone. So is her family owned store and the obvious religious references and practices, and Mo is seen doing less extracurriculars. So the illness she contracts before Rising Star in the movie feels less like a burn out and more like a really unfortunate coincidence - which lowkey sucks cause the burn out she feels is essential to Mo finally understanding that she cant keep overworking herself like this, which ultimately results into her coming to terms with the fact that she cant plan her whole future and expect it to not go wrong at some point. Cause that burned out Mo isnt the real Mo. Which then leads her to her confronting her dad. I understand why they cut Naomi out, but the fact that Mo had a pretty good friend before the band makes so much sense. She doesnt really struggle socially, its more that she has a family influenced plan for her future, and doesnt have time for other stuff (doesnt let herself have time for other stuff, especially after Scott). Mo in the book and in the movie do not feel like two different characters, it's more that the book has bonus content of the same girl. Its nice. Same thing with Stella and lowkey Wen, i think. And because of it i dont have much to say about Mo. Shes like Stella in the way that shes a very fleshed out character. Everything she does make sense. I highly recommend the book only for her POVs cause it touches her religion, faith and heritage in ways disney could never do cause theyre cowards. It really enriches her character. I love that even though she doesnt see eye to eye with her father, she still went and prayed with him. She doesn't hate her culture nor her religion. She values her family a lot and its especially telling in the book. I feel like thats a bit harder to see with movie-Mo.

Wen also feels like pretty much the same guy. In the movie they cut his pointless popular social hierarchy chase and replaced it with self absorbed jokes, which is important characterization nonetheless cause it tells the viewer that Wen isnt really insecure. In fact, id say he is very confident in himself. If he could, he wouldve named the band Wen. I dont think he is as confident in the book, but he also isnt trying to be someone he isnt, and you gotta be confident enough for that. He never tried to change who he is; he knows he is a weird guy but he thinks he still can be popular and That could work in his favor if he plays his cards right. But, through no fault of his own, he couldnt play them and thats why he fell so hard down the social hierarchy ladder. And he isnt happy about that. The Sydney situation in the book is a bit different from the movie, and way more awkward. Wen is described as being in love with her and the photographs he accidentally brought to school with him were Sydney's self portrait nude drawings. Its a very uncomfortable situation to everyone involved, including me that had to read and imagine it. I personally prefer the movie version of this cause it minimally touches Wen's problems with his mom leaving them behind and the impact it had on him. Sydney bothers movie-Wen so much because her presence is sudden, everywhere, and to him she's trying to replace something she could never be - his real mom. So he's angry and he lashes out. Thats way more interesting to me than having a teenage boy crush on your dad's 26 year old girlfriend. But i do like that he eventually realizes he grew out of it when Sydney starts treating him more "motherly" - fussing over his injury and offering him leftovers. It slightly-but-not-really touches the 'replacing his mom' role Sydney could have. Idk. Again, i like my characters when theyre more complex. Sure, the crushing on your dad's girlfriend brought him quite a lot of guilt, and that was a positive to me for his complexity's sake, but i feel like we already know so little about Wen's biological mom and how that affects him as is. Both in the movies and in the book, we're only told that she left them. Literally only that. I guess one could interpret it as she leaving them cause of a potential death, but i personally always saw it as abandonment. And something like that is ALWAYS gonna affect a child. At least movie-Wen touches a bit on how that affects Wen, and i like that.

Also wouldve it killed disney to give Wen his fucking glasses ?! Thats literally all thats different from his movie and book appearances and that kinda hurts a lil bit. Well, despite that Adam Hicks is kinda ginger and Wen is described as blond. But i dont think that matters much.

I guess to sum all this "character study" stuff up.

• Same character as in the movie but with bonus content: Mo and Stella.

• Movie has a different interpretation of the same character: Olivia.

• Movie and book got completely different characters they might as well have different names: Charlie. (and they do have different last names)

• Wen: Wen.

I do love the movie's songs cause theyre all a BANGER and i grew up listening to them. I just wish the book somehow had a CD built-in with their songs. Just so i could know what they sound like cause its REALLY hard to imagine. Especially cause the book gives us some song lyrics as well.

Anyway. Now to talk about the band itself. The book is interesting cause they all use unusual instruments: Stella plays an ukelele (she does know how to play electric guitar, but she ditches it for the sake of the band); Charlie's got a bunch of bongos and im-assuming-at-least-some-drum-plate-thingies; Wen plays the trumpet; Mo plays the big bass instrument that i forgot the name of; and Olivia sometimes plays an accordion + her voice. Olivia is also the only singer. I really like this cause its yet another reminder that those kids are weird. And thats CHARMING as hell !!! It kinda makes me sad that the movie didnt embrace these instruments cause im really fucking curious to how theyd sound together. Like, really, thats a big complaint of mine. Its such a weird mix of instruments that i really wish i could listen to them - its frustrating, even. I feel like that could change me as a person. Cause thats what so magical about them as a band. By all accounts they should not work well together, but they do somehow. Their instruments are a visual and soundful (?) (thats definitely not a word) representation of their weird friendship, its a reflection of it. Theyre all really different people but they somehow work well together. Theyre a family. And you cant separate them cause together theyre an unstoppable revolution.

One thing i really did Not like about the movie after having Book Hindsight, is the way the band reacts to Stella and the lemonade machine situation. In the movie it really feels sometimes that Stella is the only one that cares about that. Especially during the jail scene. I do love the Turn Up The Music callback but i HATE that they all blame Stella so blatantly and they never properly apologize. While in the book theyre ALL in this together, theyre fighting for what they believe in, and they never fault her for calling them and making them come to the school. Cause they all know its not just about the lemonade machine. Charlie does say in the book that "its just a stupid lemonade machine, Stella" but we know he doesnt really believe in that because of his thiughts. Its a half-hearted statement cause he might know its a lost cause but we Know he's worried as well, we know he doesnt mean it. But, at least to me, in the movie when they say stuff like that it really does feel like they dont care, sometimes. Especially when theyre in jail. And it kinda really fucking sucks. Its the main fucking theme of the book/movie !!!!!!! The lemonade machine matters cause it symbolyzes THEM !!!!! Its in their band name !!!!! And when they lose the machine they dont even feel like fighting for the band anymore !!!!!! Thats how much it bothers them that the machine is gone !!!!!

I think im gonna reread that part and rewatch the movie and come back to this actually. So i can judge and hate on this particular movie choice with more arguments.

[antebellumite]

(since i sense you may be having an atticus finch moment rn) is go set a watchman "canon" to you? i always liked tkam but i never read gsaw (even though someone gave it to me when it came out) because i got a weird feeling about the circumstances of it being published among other things. never talked to anybody about it so figured i'd ask a certified tkam enjoyer

i am having Such an atticus finch moment that i have three fics in the works for him

ohhh boy so hear me out.

warning: i'm rereading tkam as we speak and its been a while since ive read gsaw

in my own personal head-interpretation of to kill a mockingbird, in which the irl reality of its publication is disregarded, gsaw is canon in the sense that it's the alternate universe of to kill a mockingbird, with the point of divergence being the tom robinson trial.

tom robinson is found guilty: atticus experiences Character Growth and becomes and remains the folk hero Defender of Rights and dilf we know today

tom robinson is not found guilty [or at least, not found guilty via the defense atticus uses in gsaw]: atticus basically remains on the natural course he was in the beginning of tkam to bigotry and Racism TM

tldr: gsaw, on its own, is not a good book, and nor is it fully canon, but it does serve as great contextualization to the person that atticus is in tkam and who atticus could have been.

at the beginning of the book and throughout the trial, atticus finch is clearly a very White Moderate in our Modern Terms, in the sense that he might disapprove of the racism exhibited by the citizens of maycomb, but he also is more than content to not do anything about it. his worldview is essentially: "man it sure sucks that my neighbors are prejudiced and more than willing to sentence an innocent man to death, and but i guess i'll tolerate it and spend time around them because they're good people at heart [to other white people]." you know how one of the most memorable lessons atticus teaches to scout is to have empathy for others? my argument is that atticus's practicing of that is what makes him to give too much leeway to the bigoted members of the community around him.

we see this with ike finch, maycomb's "sole surviving confederate veteran" and stonewall jackson fetishist. he makes his appearance early on in the book, prior to the robinson case even being introduced. according to scout, he comes by at least once a year to "rehash the war" with atticus. while i can assume this means that ike is representing the confederacy and atticus the union in this conversation, considering that in the immediate paragraph after, atticus states "this time we aren't fighting the yankees, we're fighting our friends. but remember this, no matter how bitter things get, they're still our friends and this is still our home." it implies that in this american civil war replay, either both of them are identifying with the confederacy, or ike is and atticus is more than okay to go along with it. and in addition, atticus's apparent determination to remain on good terms with the people of maycomb no matter how bitter it got adds questions to just what he would have considered bitter enough for the people of maycomb to no longer remain his friends. if the mob at the scene at the jailhouse actually managed to lynch tom robinson, which they were probably going to do, until scout saved the day, would that have been "bitter enough" for atticus to reconsider being friends with murderers?

actually the fact that he adds in 'and this is still our home' makes me think he was planning to leave maycomb entirely if that scenerio actually happened but i digress

and then you get to ms. dubose, who serves as another aspect to how atticus views the racism of his town. when ms. dubose dies, he calls her the most bravest person he'd ever known, for having the courage to die clean of her morphine addiction, and also a "great lady". which, i understand, in part, is because she Just Died and he's talking to Jem and Scout who are children, but the way that atticus talks about it makes you feel as though he's implying that her courage serves as either recompense or excuse for a. the racism and b. the whole thing where she essentially verbally harassed jem and scout whenever they came by for the horrid sin of walking where she could see them.

of course there's also maycomb trial in general. atticus obviously knows that he cant win-- the famous 'just because you're licked doesn't mean you can give up' quote-- because he understands the prejudice of the town. but i believe that behind the quote, atticus still had faith in the judicial process, just not in the people who were in charge of it in maycomb. its part of the reason for his appeal-- to get robinson to a higher court where the people there could be more open-minded.

so in essence, atticus at the turning point of his story [ the trial ], is someone who's

1. overly lenient and sympathetic view of his maycomb neighbors allows him to excuse much of the harmful rhetoric and actions they perpetrate

2. considers racism to be, while Bad, a certain type of bad that is ultimately forgivable/excusable. i think there's also evidence in tkam that he basically also thinks the same thing for other forms of bigotry but i'm not going to look for them.

3. has trust in the judicial system

so from there, we have the tom robinson trial.

i like to think that what acting as tom robinson's defense attorney did for atticus was that it forced him to actually reckon with the racism of maycomb as directed towards an actual human being rather than a Nebulous Construct. when tom robinson got declared guilty despite being innocent, it showed him the actual harmful effects of what the people of maycomb believed, on an actual human being, who was subsequently presumably murdered via 17 gunshot wounds. it showed the failures of a system that allowed for tom robinson to be murdered and sentenced for a crime he didn't commit in the first place.

in gsaw, without tom robinson being convicted, i don't think that lesson would have hit so hard. to gsaw!atticus, robinson being declared not guilty is proof that the racism of maycomb is ultimately Not That Harmful, proof that the system ultimately Works As It Should, and it allows him to sink deeper into interactions with more extreme racist individuals, and eventually become the verison of atticus we see in gsaw.

in addition, gsaw!atticus's defense for tom robinson that gets him acquitted is that the robinson's presumed rape of mayella was consensual, whereas tkam!atticus reveals that the rape didn't happen between robinson and mayella in the first place (although, you know.) which implies a contrast between gsaw!atticus and tkam!atticus where tkam!atticus was focused on exonerating robinson's public image in order to then acquit robinson, but gsaw!atticus was focused on acquitting robinson head on, even if it meant attacking mayella instead.

what this would mean is that gsaw!atticus might not even have had all that much of an interaction with tom robinson, and therefore wasn't able to do that whole tkam-trademark Understanding and Seeing Him As A Person, thereby Removing his past Blinders to Injustice TM TM TM.

and this leads to the changes in atticus from tkam and gsaw. they're still the same person, but with a different turning point.

[skyfallscotland]

Okay so Ive been rereading F&F (again. sue me) and i just realized smth…. third book wont be out for at least another year… no Remi Version? :(( I mean i know we dont even have T&T yet but i still wanted to ask (no pressure) what your plans were for pt 3? Are you gonna go your own way? Wait for book three? not write one at all?

i will live everything regardless ahahh

So Truth and Talon I plan on taking in a different direction to Iron Flame (not that I've gotten there yet). There'll be some similarities and familiar plotlines of course, but you'll notice pretty early on that we're...expanding on that and one particular plotline that should emerge in part two will take us well off-script if I run with it.

So if there is to be a third fic after I finish this one (I already have a name ngl lmao), it will be entirely dependant on where I can imagine taking it and its release will depend on when I finish the other things I have to write this year. I have a bunch of Xaden/Violet fics I want to write, more ACOTAR, maybe TOG if I like it enough? And I want to finish an original manuscript before mid-year haha.

So no, it won't depend on Empyrean 3, rather a bunch of other factors together I think. I won't lie though, it would be nice to have some insight on how they expect to solve The Problem 😂

[bookbitchx]

Hello again 😊 I knew i was gonna love chatting with u hehe

These are things that makes me wish anyone else would've written ACOTAR tbh. Her lack of planning and her retconning of characters so that she remains politically correct in current political climates is gross. It's been a pattern I've noticed, but it makes sense considering shes a zionist, but anyway 🥱

I do enjoy the world that she made and I think its an interesting concept to view a centuries old clusterfuck like the IC through a 20 yearold lense. But I wish it had a morsel of taste. Each of the books in this series left me wanting more, especially rereading as an adult.

So to compensate for the parts of the books I hate I just pretend its not upsetting me by psychoanalyzing the characters 😂 Rhys is one that I have a love/hate relationship with for that reason. He is genuinely one of the worst love interests ive seen be this popular in a long time and he has made the worst choices i have ever seen written and then defended by the author.

Feyre however, I would argue is his perfect partner for how awful he is after SF and CC3. But I wish a better author had written this book so we could've seen a decent redemption or a proper Rhysand villain arc. I think this series would've been so much more interesting crossover wise if it had been with tog and had been a mock feysand villain arc. Maeve has daemati powers, so making her an ancestor of Rhysand's through the HL bloodline would've made sense. Hybern could've been a mock villain to lure the reader into a false sense of security and think maybe the NC ARE good guys?

Nesta and Elain join Aelin's circle to take them down after they attempted to seize the dread trove for themselves under Amren's advice, (they dont like her having it clearly). And the emotional climax of the series is Feyre leaving him and joining her sisters, which leads Rhys to pull a tamlin by in turn going to koshei. Could even get Bryce quinlan in to fullfill a life debt to Nesta by using the horn and Feyre's fire powers to give Aelin her magic back somehow, and nesta never has her magic taken back by the cauldron?????? The cauldron had Amren in it and it should've been written that she had to sacrifice her true Daglan immortality to be with Varian. Boom full fucking circle.

But nope, we have Miss Maas.

thanks janet for ruining what couldve been my favorite thing >:^(

but a part of me hopes the Elucien book will include Tamlin's side of the story and Elain confronts Feysand for their *waves arms* everything. And taking Nesta and the Valkyries with them, they deserve better. it wont happen tho, so I'll read fanfic instead.

-🤠

Heyy again!

I get where you're coming from. I liked book 1, the way Feyre (and us, in a way) was discovering the SC and a little bit of Prythian as a whole, and I liked Feyre, who was this badass huntress, who had her own opinions, doing what needs to be done, etc... I mean, she went UTM knowing full well she wasn't coming out alive, but she still did it bc it was right, and she wanted to save her man.

Where THAT Feyre went, I'll never know.

As you said, It's an interesting concept seeing everything through a 20 year old's eyes, or it would've been for me if she hadn't started taking everything they said as truth.

Even though I haven't read any CC books yet, my friend spoiled CC3 that Nesta didn't actually lose her powers? That it was more of a bargain with the Couldron, but yeah, it would've been interesting to see crossovers between the series. I think Aelin, Manon, and maybe Lysandra would absolutely despise Rhysand. I would a 100% read a fic with what you described.

As for the Elucien book, like I hope she does good by Lucien because he, out of all the characters, deserves it.

I'm not holding my breath on Elain ever confronting Feysand bc as Rhysand once said, 'Elain is Elain', but a girl can hope.

Also, if Nesta and the valkyries ever become one of Rhysand's legions, I'm pulling a one woman riot before burning the book.

On another note, feel free to DM if you want to continue the conversation or if you're more comfortable this way, I don't mind that either.

🫰🏼

[justablah56]

Since you seem to be having a bad day, I threw together a little ficlet for you. Read/respond at your leisure (whether that's in 3 minutes or not until next year)

It had been a long fucking day.

It was a full day of teaching for Terry Jr, with a bad cold wiping out the entire drama department of San Dimas High (which had only been two teachers and a tech in the first place). There was screaming, and snotty noses, and one or two kids bursting into tears, and by the time the school bell rang, he was just about ready to collapse. And, of course, that was clearly asking too much, because it was drama club that day. 2 whole hours of dealing with kids who are meant to be off book two weeks ago, and still hadn't learnt half their lines. It was a fucking nightmare.

Now, dear reader, don't misunderstand. Terry absolutely adored his job and the kids he worked with. But today was one of those days where you just want to roll over and hide back under the covers.

The train had been cramped and noisy, even if the journey had been mercifully free from the kids usual loud arguments. (Why they insisted on riding back with Terry Jr, he had no idea. It was baffling though that Scary waited for him, and they were going to the same house. Although, somehow, her friends always seemed to stay over longer than expected.) Honestly, it was a relief to lock the door behind them all, the kids rushing off to the garden for soccer practice - mostly moral support to be honest.

Terry wearily pulled off his shoes, before turning to Scary.

"Hey, kiddo, I'm gonna go have a lie down. Let your mom know, okay?"

Scary, for once, didn't seem to protest either the request or the nickname. She just nodded, frowning.

"Yeah, sure. Go have a nap or whatever." He ruffled her hair a little (this did elcit an irritated groan. He may not be her dad, but she was still his kid and it was his duty to embarrass her in front of her friends after all) and headed upstairs.

Terry didn't bother to turn on the lights as he collapsed down into the bed, just letting himself he enveloped by the darkness and the comfy sheets. He felt bad about breaking his normal routine of kissing Veronica when they both got home, but honestly he just couldn't handle doing anything other than laying down right now.

He lay there with his head burried in the pillow for maybe a minute, maybe an hour, when he felt the bed dip.

"Hey, Tear-Bear. Bad day?"

There was his amazing wife, the light of his life. Her hair was flying loose from her bun, and even in the dark Terry could see that her office clothes were slightly rumpled.

She was stunning.

"You know, you gotta stop picking up Nicky's pet names. He has far too many." Terry mumbled as he grabbed her hand, tiredly bringing it up to his lips.

"Ah, but that would mean I don't get to hang out with your wife as much. Darling." A familiar weight draped itself over him, tail curling round his leg. "Dropping round unexpectedly and hanging out with V without you is half the fun."

Nicky's voice was a soothing rumble against his chest. Somehow, just having his two partners here made it easier to relax. Even if Nicky had definitely not announced that he'd be coming over. Veronica kicked her feet up and slung an arm over Terry's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Come on, time for you to rest, TJ."

okokok I've hoarded this fic long enough , ive probably reread this AT LEAST 5 times now xnsnmsms anyways it means *so very much* to me that you decided to write an adorable little ficlet for me bcs i was not feeling good <3333 this lil fic is literally *so* cute i don't know how to properly convey to you how much i love this but icy i love this so much . thank you <33333

[yurideification]

Current draft of chapter 1. Feedback appreciated, doesn't necessarily have to be constructive (though would obviously be appreciated):

Beatrice I

In a cramped, filthy apartment, surrounded by food scraps of various types, a woman dressed in all gray and with visible bags under her eyes sat hunched over a half-broken ThinkPad. As she observed the green-tinted imageboard that was currently displayed on the screen and mulled over its contents, a cheeto-covered hand shot down onto the keyboard - its left counterpart busy shoveling more cheese puffs down the woman's throat. At the top of the website, a large banner image decorated with various pyramids and eyes read,

“/OC/ - OCCULT & ARCANE”

With a swift move of her free hand she moved the mouse cursor to a small rectangle labelled “REPLY”. She clicked on it, and a large text box appeared on the screen. Moments later, she began writing. 

"Look, personally, this is all very interesting, but I think you're putting too much emphasis on the contents of the dreams, rather than WHEN they're happening. The Age of Aquarius is coming soon, which means what you're hearing is obviously some higher form of Enochian, and at BEST it's probably demons."

Click. Post. 

Another argument saved, she thought to herself as she scrolled up to the top of the thread and started rereading what had started off the whole discussion. 

TITLE: NIGHTMARES?

DESCRIPTION:

“hello /OC/ !! ever since i was a teen ive been having weird dreams almost every night. ive never really thought about them deeply but maybe one of you /oc/cultists could help me figure out whats going on, so here goes nothing. theyre varied and have shifted over the years but theres some common elements i can guess will always come up when i fall asleep. the most notable though is the language. its not really a language, but really a feeling? but ive always thought about it as one. i see visions of random things, and i associate it with a thing, and sometimes hear a sound or feel an emotion, but its all so random i can never make sense of it.

i see a mountain and i hear what sounds like a clock ticking. then im struck with a feeling of euphoria and i see the mountain melting into a valley. i see an apple. then two, then four, then six and eight and twenty, and with each new one im struck with a feeling of absolute dread. i see the planet, and i see a very large worm crawling out of it while a pop song is playing. melancholy. i dont know what it means, but it clearly means something, and ive spent the last couple years trying it out but im not getting anywhere on my own. please help me.”

Nothing she hadn’t seen before, though the thought of there being a pattern in what at first seemed like just random noise intrigued her more than she perhaps at first would have liked to admit. Scrolling down to the bottom again, she passed by several more snippets of dreams that the author had posted in response to people asking for more details.

A house burning in reverse, wind chimes, deep insatiable lust. smell of blood. then the entire thing plays in reverse again.

A woman she didn't recognize that gradually morphed into a lawn chair, combined with a chemical smell.

Screaming for several straight seconds until she woke up in a cold sweat, with no other associated imagery.

Naturally, the thread was filled with hundreds of other people speculating about what it could possibly mean and arguing with each other, the cheeto-covered woman only being one of them - not even being the first to suggest that it might be the language of the angels. One particularly persistent user kept spamming links to their self-published e-book about "Dream Linguistics: The Hidden Language of the Unconscious Mind." Another claimed they'd had the exact same dreams in 1987 and that they predicted the stock market crash that year.

"Classic hypnagogic hallucinations combined with sleep paralysis. Take some magnesium and try sleeping on your right side."

"The worm is obviously Ouroboros imagery, but inverted. Have you been experimenting with any chaos magick recently? IMPORTANT."

"Sounds like standard astral projection gone wrong. I can help but you'll need to wire me 500 crowns first for the proper materials."

"Anyone who says this isn't related to the planetary alignments is a fed or a fool. Look up the Ophiuchus Protocol."

The person at the computer finished scrolling down to the bottom, and hit refresh. The page took a bit to reload, but when it finished, there was a new reply.

“hey everyone, OP here. I really appreciate all the help, and youve all been really wonderful, but im gonna stop replying now. its late, and i need to get to sleep. im still not really sure what all the dreams are but i do feel somewhat closer to an answer. good night !!”

Over so soon after I found it, the woman thought to herself. 

Disappointing.

Upon having read it over a few times, she closed her laptop with a sigh, and laid down on it with her arms folded. Without the light of the laptop screen the room was pitch black - no lights were on, nothing shining in from the open windows subtly guiding the cool night air into the 11th floor apartment. If they were on, perhaps you'd be able to see the absolute mess on the floor. The scattered clothes, the filthy, days-old dishes stacked on the floor after they stopped fitting on the desk, the even older takeout containers and miscellaneous beer bottles. The occasional discarded cigarette pack, some visibly crushed. 

Here and there, evidence of her various obsessions littered the floor - tarot cards scattered like fallen leaves, crystals gathering dust in the corners, half-burned candles dripped onto printouts of ancient symbols. A dream journal lay open on the coffee table, its pages covered in cramped handwriting that grew increasingly erratic towards the margins. Books on symbolism and mythology formed precarious towers against the walls, their spines cracked from repeated consultation.

In the entrance hallway, having been covered by the same jacket for several weeks, there laid an unopened letter.

To Bea, with love ~

Adeline and Missy

A personalized hell, of sorts. 

As if straining against the dark itself, Beatrice raised herself up slowly and stretched for a few seconds, before letting her arms fall down again. She stared dead-eyed into the wall that had previously been blocked by her laptop screen, and then got up. Carefully, as to not step on anything that'd puncture her feet or make her slip, she walked through the apartment and out the open door onto her balcony - if it could even be called that. In truth, it was far too small, and only had barely enough space for someone to stand on. Her bare feet hit the outside exposed concrete, and she rested her arms on the metal of the outcropping, taking in the city outside.

It was beautiful, and so, so very large. Saint Vincent was one of the largest cities on the Magellanic east coast, and the cultural and economic capital of the Federation of Victoria, only surpassed by true giants such as Goldbridge and Sun City. Beatrice's apartment building, situated at the top of the large hill the city was built on, had a perfect view of its enormous, sprawling mass - The May Bridge on the far side, going into Greater Toone, and before that, all the various city districts;

There was Bayside right near the bridge, with its tall, imposing financial skyscrapers and the mayoral tower somehow towering above all of them, in turn bordered by The Lows and Little Vincent - the “rich kid’s club” - districts characterized by their large hotels, casinos and multi million-crown expensive mega-mansions that faced the bay. Go back in the direction you came from and you'd eventually reach Huttons, the former cultural and artistic center of the city, but whose prices were now rising to the point that it was becoming almost impossible for any actual artists to live there, although it still had some of the best bars in the city. In recent years there'd been sporadic attempts to de-gentrify it, but naturally all of those had failed at the hands of the very wealthy investors in the district who didn't want “criminals” to move in. 

Bordering Huttons was Bayside again, Central, characterized mostly by being home to the city's train hub and university - named, predictably enough, Vincent university - and the Lower Hills, where Beatrice currently resided. Beyond even here there was the Upper Hills, Teodora and the industrial district - colloquially called the smogs - and eventually Outer Vincent with its large, sprawling suburbia.

But really, who cares about a bunch of faceless smoke stacks and single family homes, Beatrice thought to herself. 

A cigarette was lit, the flame of her cheap lighter briefly illuminating her sunken face in the darkness. For a couple minutes, she stayed like that, silent, observing. It was a beautiful star-lit night, occasionally interrupted by something new from below - a cough, a shout, a police siren. More distant bangs than was perhaps usual. The kids playing down on the street below, their giggles and laughter softly echoing up to her.

A car whizzed by, its bright lights cutting through the night like knives through butter. 

The city breathed around her, alive with all its secret rhythms and hidden patterns, indifferent to her presence on the edge of it all. 

Eventually, with a sigh, Beatrice threw the cigarette over the edge and walked back into her pitch-black apartment, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. She stood there for a long moment, the door hard against her back, when suddenly, something echoed out and disturbed the dark stillness of the apartment. A pling, just once. Then again - pling.  It took her a moment to figure out what it was, and then, it hit.

My phone? Is someone trying to contact me? Fuck off… when was the last time I heard that sound? I should set it on do not disturb when I can…

Lumbering slowly, she made her way through the apartment, into the bedroom where her phone was sitting on a bedside table. Picking it up and holding it in her hand her first thought went to spam, and a soft irritation started growing inside her - then, however, she properly read the messages, and that irritation rapidly shifted into something resembling curiosity. 

“BEATRICE SCHWARZ: YOU have been graciously selected for an invitation to a ONCE IN AN AEON OPPORTUNITY. At VICTORIA MEMORIAL PARK, on the TWENTY-SECOND of NOVEMBER in the year 235, at 23:00, the GREAT SERENISSIMA will give YOU AN EXPERIENCE YOU CAN NEVER FORGET. (entrance fee: 50 crowns.)”

What is this, a circus or something?, Beatrice thought incredulously. She looked at the time. 

22:27.

Shit. 

Panicking, she rushed out into the hallway and put on the dirty, crumpled jacket that laid near the door. Five minutes later, she was down on the street. 

✿

As she walked, the city's geography unfolded around her like a well-worn map. She passed by the 24-hour laundromat with its eternal fluorescent glow, through the small park where the local cats held their midnight conferences, across the bridge over the commuter rail tracks that carried thousands of suburban workers into Central each morning. Each landmark, though familiar to her, simultaneously felt oddly strange - like seeing old friends again, an uncomfortable kind of nostalgia. It made her yearn for the comfort of her apartment again, though curiosity overpowered her every step of the way. 

The neon sign of Lucky's Corner Store buzzed and flickered as she walked by, its proprietor visible through the grimy windows, engaged in his nightly ritual of reorganizing the same shelf of canned goods he'd been fussing with for the past decade. She'd bought her first tarot deck there, hidden behind the counter with the cigarettes and lottery tickets. Mr. Lucky – not his real name, she assumed – had given her a knowing look as he rang it up, but never commented on her increasingly esoteric purchases she'd made over the years.

Victoria Memorial Park sat at the intersection of old money and new decay, a remnant of the city's more genteel past now caught in the undertow of urban change. During the day, it maintained a careful veneer of respectability with its manicured lawns and historical plaques. But at night, the old iron gates and overgrown corners revealed its true nature – a place where the city's carefully maintained boundaries began to blur.

As she approached the park's entrance, movement caught her eye – others were converging on the park from different directions. A woman in an expensive business suit, her heels clicking purposefully on the pavement. A teenager with a backpack covered in hand-drawn symbols. An elderly man leaning on a carved wooden cane that looked more ceremonial than practical. None of them acknowledged each other, but all moved with the same deliberate purpose.

The park's central lawn opened up before her, and there, in the soft glow of the antique lampposts, she saw them. Arranged in a perfect circle were perhaps two dozen people, seated on the ground. They were as diverse a group as Saint Vincent could produce – she spotted suits that probably cost more than her monthly rent sitting next to tattered thrift store jackets, gray-haired professors next to teenagers with dyed hair and facial piercings. Some sat straight-backed and alert, while others seemed to slouch with exhaustion or disinterest. All of them, however, faced inward, their attention focused on something in the center of the circle that Bea couldn't quite make out from her current position.

The air felt different here – thicker somehow, charged with an expectation that made the hair on the back of Bea's neck stand up. This wasn't like the amateur séances and half-hearted rituals she'd participated in before. This felt real. She took a step forward, and the circle parted to make room for one more. As she moved to take her place, she caught a glimpse of what lay in the center of the circle, and immediately felt an emotion she felt like hadn’t felt in years - not since she got that letter from her uncle, all those years ago.

Confusion.