#meanwhile... i strike this match

[tequiilasunriise]

In terms of Wenclair nicknames, I believe in ‘Enid using Willa’ supremacy and φεγγάρι μου (‘my moon’ in Greek) is especially beloved to me, but I also love little shit Enid who calls Wednesday any day of the week EXCEPT Wednesday (“Hey, Monday!” “What do you think about this Sabbath?” “Oh thank god you’re here Friday”) and it annoys her favorite murder goth to NO END but slowly said murder goth becomes endeared by her roomate’s antics as feelings start to tumble and bloom away. Besides ‘my moon’, I can also see her calling Wednesday ‘silly raven’ in Greek.

Meanwhile, Wednesday has this wholeass evolution from shit like “mutt” to way softer nicknames because Gomezifcation™️ is a powerful thing. She starts to pine and internally call Enid her Alectrona (a greek goddness of the Sun, known for sunrise or ‘waking from slumber’, a perfect combo of how Enid brings light to Wednesday as well as her inner wolf finally waking up), but slowly she starts using it out loud along with “mi sol” (‘my sun’, Spanish), “mon petit chiot” (‘my little pup’, French), and “la mia vita” (‘my life’, Italian). Enid melts everytime without fail and stutters in Greek and honestly? Who could blame her when Wednesday has that passionately lovestruck shine in her eyes as adoration drips from devout lips.

[thunderheadfred]

ok i'm trying not be a bitch (not very hard) and I'm glad my partner is visiting family because he gets something out of it emotionally, but his insanely rich family make me so ragingly pissingly infuriated, even when i keep my nasty ass at home for everyone's safety

[alectoperdita]

What you can't bury (23554 words) by Alecto Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto Characters: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler, Kaiba Seto Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Organized Crime, Internal Conflict, Power Imbalance, Power Dynamics, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Sex as Coping Mechanism, Unhealthy Relationships, Trauma Bonding, Codependency, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Degradation, Masochism, Impact Play, Asshole Spanking, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Breeding Kink, Sex Toys, Rough Sex, Painful Sex, Mild Painplay, Punishment, Cock & Ball Torture, Mild Breathplay, Come Feeding, Praise Kink, Under-negotiated Kink

Series: Part 17 of Lure

Summary:

As discontent swells amongst the Aoryu-kai's ranks, those wishing to seize power for themselves emerge. They threaten everything—Kaiba's leadership position, the tiny sliver of peace Jounouchi's managed to carve out for himself, and whatever tenuous bond exists between the two of them. Will saving Kaiba's hide save Jounouchi too? Or is this finally his chance to escape from under the kumicho's thumb?

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 

Jounouchi opened his mouth to speak but stopped short. He meant to announce his departure. Perhaps sensing his attention, Kaiba glanced up from his phone at last. That put Jounouchi at a further loss for what to say. A morning greeting, a goodbye, wishing the other boy a pleasant day—none of that felt right.

Too normal. Not them.

After a second, Kaiba's attention returned to his phone, ignoring Jounouchi as he typed. Who was he talking to so early? Certainly not Mokuba, who slept in till noon if not for a regulated series of alarms and Hanako's dogged insistence. Given how attentive Kaiba was to his phone, Jounouchi wondered if it was mob business.

Kaiba's mood had taken an upturn since the last time they saw each other. Maybe whatever issue set him off then was now resolved. If Jounouchi was smart, he'd steer clear of the subject.

"Did you find it?" he asked instead.

[peridot-tears]

Truths that Co-Exist

Barbie (2023) is a giant product placement that profits off nostalgia.

The writing is profound and life-changing and understands why we seek nostalgia in a way most nostalgia-driven entertainment doesn’t.

The film is self-aware about how even now, Barbie dolls set incredibly unrealistic beauty standards. Their “body diversity” does not even scratch the surface of what that phrase really means. I don’t expect this to change.

The film still made a beautiful statement with the scene on the bench about how societal beauty standards are narrow and restrictive! And that beauty comes from experiencing life and the marks it leaves on you!

Its feminist statements are validating. Many of us see our reality onscreen, and the great thing is that it includes how cishet men fall down a pipeline of toxic hypermasculinity. It also shows the solution, and allows men to express themselves despite what society expects them to be.

The film is a capitalist venture.

The cast (aside from the leads) and crew were probably overworked and severely underpaid during filmmaking.

We can still appreciate that something fun was made, and we all made another wonderful memory where we and our loved ones went to the movies color-matching in pink.

We should not feel guilty about seeing ourselves in this film.

Meanwhile, support the WGA and SAG-Aftra strike.

[stone-stars]

Full thread from Sam on the SAG strike and Dropout!

[ID: A thread from Sam on twitter, as follows: "A thread about the strike and Dropout production: 👇✊. I stand in complete and utter solidarity with our striking performers. I myself am SAG-AFTRA, as are others on our executive team, having come from the world of working actors. I am nothing but sympathetic to their cause and outraged by the mafia-like behavior of the major streamers and AMPTP. It is harder than ever to make a living in this industry, and that goes even for the lucky few of us who get to work on meaningful projects.

In the meanwhile… 🤑 Uber-rich CEOs and shareholders are cashing in like never before 💸 Major streamers are gambling millions on dubious projects and business models 🍾 Hollywood is hiding profits and playing the victim while drinking champagne aboard their superyachts

Dropout production is right now on hold. Because we aren't associated with the AMPTP, it's possible we may be able to reach an interim agreement with SAG that allows us to continue to produce content during the strike.

But we'll only do that, obviously, if we get the blessing of the union and the buy-in of our performers. If not, we have enough content in the can to last us a little past the end of the year.

I pride myself in that Dropout has always paid above SAG minimums. As the years go on and the company is healthier, we will strive to do even better, and then even better still. Without the talent of our performers, we are zilch. Zero. Nothing."

Attached is an instagram post from an actor reading: "The Netflix show in question is shorter than a traditional half hour. But @ collegehumor and @ dropouttv paid me MORE than that for one of their scripted series. Dropout was a brand new online platform at the time and they still managed to pay their actors more than NETFLIX for scripted short form content."

Thread continues: "Public companies don't do this for the very simple reason that they feel more indebted to their executives and shareholders than they do their workforce. It's why corporations are so often exploitative. Our industry, because our jobs are so desirable, is especially vulnerable to exploitation. Hollywood takes advantage of that by making us feel generally commoditized, cheap, and replaceable …which is ironic given just how personal our work so often is. That's why unions - and the power of collective bargaining - is so important: because public companies often won't pay their workforce any more than they're forced to.

As for me, I intend to honor my union's position that I not promote SAG productions as a performer -- even if they are produced by me. That means that I won't personally be promoting any of our shows for the time being.

Attached is a screenshot of Sam on Discord responding to the question "given the strike… what picket line chant will you be rockin'?" with "i'm a talent / CEO! me says me has got to go!"

Thread continues: "This year, instead of running a FYC campaign for Game Changer, we donated $10k to the Entertainment Community Fund in solidarity with the WGA. Today, in solidarity with SAG-AFTRA, I'm personally matching that donation with another $10,000. If you have any disposable income, I encourage you to donate as well: https://entertainmentcommunity.org. And as soon as I test negative for COVID, I'll see you on the picket line. ✊"]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

RAVEN HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW (NOT TWST) DISNEY MERCH WITH THE VILLAINS AND FLOWERS? It's giving me rot about Idia Leona Gidel and Fellow offering you a bouquet of flowers.

THIS???? 😭 I've seen it circulating and being used as a source of inspiration for fan art like like this~

whbjauliifaafi WHY DOES HADES LOOK LIKE HE'S OFFERING FLOWERS TO SCAR AND SCAR'S SO DISGUSTED BY THE GESTURE... My brain's projecting Idia and Leona over that and it's making me laugh asjdgvqwyuovqwe8qvyafas Meanwhile Honest John/Fellow's over there lookin' like he's trying so hard to seduce ya 💀Gideon/Gidel looks cute there, though it looks like he might be falling asleep while sniffing those flowers.

I'm allergic to pollen but... hey, if they're offering me free flowers, I won't say no? It's hard to say no to an innocent little gift from a kid, so Gidel definitely gets the greenlight. I'd be suspicious of the others, but I'm pretty weak when it comes to someone putting on the (fake) charm so I could easily be convinced by Leona and even Fellow. Idia though, maybe not so much???? He strikes me as someone who'd either be very quick and casual or a nervous wreck when trying to gift something.

I also happened to see this graphic recently:

Which is also very TWST-coded, seeing as the order of the villains matches the dorm order. Rollo, Fellow, and Gidel's Disney counterpart characters are also featured!

[kodasmind]

BAD BLOOD RETURN

An: that match was a mess so I tried to make it better (keyword tried)☹️☹️

Rhea Ripley x Reader

The lights inside Atlanta’s State Farm Arena flashed in rhythm with the roaring crowd. The air was electric, buzzing with excitement as the main event at *Bad Blood* was underway. You were hidden backstage, watching from the shadows as the ring became the stage for a brutal battle between two of the fiercest competitors in WWE—Rhea Ripley and Liv Morgan. This was no ordinary title match; it was laced with tension, betrayal, and bad blood, stretching far beyond the championship Liv had around her waist.

You hadn’t been seen for weeks, rumors circulating about your injury after a backstage attack. No one, not even Rhea, knew you were in the building tonight. The plan was simple: wait for the right moment to strike. You had a personal stake in this fight, and you weren’t about to let Liv have the last laugh.

The match was already chaotic from the start. Liv, quick and scrappy, darted around Rhea’s raw power, using her agility to avoid heavy strikes and counter when she could. Rhea, meanwhile, stalked her like a predator, throwing Liv into the ropes and slamming her to the mat with authority. The audience was eating it up—every near fall, every reversal, had them on the edge of their seats.

And above the ring, Dominik Mysterio, Liv’s new ally after his betrayal of Rhea, hung in a steel cage. He’d been a thorn in Rhea’s side ever since their fallout, constantly inserting himself into her business, stirring the pot between her and Liv. Tonight, the cage was meant to keep him from interfering, a symbolic punishment for all his past sins. But knowing Dom, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be that easy.

The turning point came in the middle of the match. Dominik, ever the opportunist, had somehow managed to jimmy the cage door open. The crowd noticed first, gasping in surprise as Dom’s legs flailed helplessly, his body dangling halfway out of the cage. He was stuck, suspended like a piñata, swinging back and forth in the air. The absurdity of it sent ripples of laughter through the audience.

Rhea, catching sight of the spectacle, paused mid-move. Her icy glare turned upward, locking onto Dominik with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Her lip curled into a wicked smirk. Liv, taking advantage of Rhea’s distraction, attempted a roll-up from behind, but Rhea kicked out immediately, sending Liv crashing to the mat.

The referee backed away, confused by what was happening above, but the crowd’s attention was now split between the ring and Dominik’s embarrassing predicament. Rhea, with her eyes still glued to Dom, rolled out of the ring. She stormed to the timekeeper’s area, tossing aside chairs and searching beneath the ring until she found her weapon of choice—a kendo stick.

The crowd erupted in cheers as Rhea marched toward Dominik, who was still dangling awkwardly from the cage. He had just managed to free himself, his feet now barely touching the top rope, when Rhea arrived. She cracked the kendo stick across his back with a satisfying *thwack*.

“Happy birthday to me!” she yelled, a wicked grin on her face as she raised the stick again.

Dom howled in pain, trying to scramble out of the way, but Rhea hit him again for good measure, sending him tumbling out of the cage and onto the floor, clutching his back. The crowd loved every second of it. Dom, who had tried to be the puppet master of this entire feud, was now reduced to a laughingstock.

But Rhea wasn’t done yet. She tossed the kendo stick aside and slid back into the ring, focusing her attention back on Liv. Liv, who had recovered from the earlier slam, met Rhea head-on, launching herself off the ropes with a flying crossbody. But Rhea caught her mid-air, showing off her raw power, before slamming Liv down with a vicious spinebuster.

The momentum shifted back in Rhea’s favor as she stalked Liv around the ring, each strike landing harder than the last. Every time Liv tried to mount a comeback, Rhea shut her down with brutal efficiency. It looked like Rhea was about to end it, lifting Liv for her signature Riptide finisher.

And then, the unexpected happened.

Raquel Rodriguez, and the crowd roared in surprise(yes I know it was quiet😭😭). Raquel had been out of action for weeks due to an injury, but it was clear she was back with a vengeance. She stormed down the ramp, her towering presence unmistakable. Rhea’s focus shifted, her eyes narrowing as she watched Raquel approach the ring with murderous intent.

Before Rhea could react, Raquel slid into the ring and charged at her, leveling her with a massive boot to the face. The referee, distracted by Liv, didn’t see a thing. Raquel wasted no time, raining down blow after blow on Rhea, targeting her midsection with vicious forearms and kicks.

Liv smirked from the corner, nodding in approval as Raquel continued to assault Rhea. The referee, still conveniently distracted, had no idea what was happening behind his back. Rhea, who had been dominating the match, now found herself outnumbered and overwhelmed by Raquel’s ambush.

That’s when you made your move.

Sending the crowd into a frenzy. No one had expected you to return tonight, least of all Liv and Raquel. You sprinted down the ramp, your heart pounding as adrenaline surged through your veins. The element of surprise was yours, and you weren’t going to waste it.

Sliding into the ring, you tackled Raquel to the mat, throwing punch after punch as the crowd roared in approval. Raquel, shocked by your sudden appearance, scrambled to her feet, but you were relentless. You hit her with a series of forearms, driving her back into the corner.

Raquel, furious, swung at you with a wild right hand, but you ducked, narrowly avoiding the strike. Her fist, however, connected with Rhea, who had just staggered to her feet. Rhea crumpled to the mat, and the referee, finally turning around, saw the impact.

It all happened in a blur. The referee called for the bell, signaling the end of the match. The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and boos as the referee declared Rhea the winner by disqualification. Liv, meanwhile, celebrated on the outside, clutching her championship with a smug grin. She hadn’t won the match, but she had kept her title, which was all that mattered.

You stood there, chest heaving, as Raquel glared at you from across the ring. The two of you exchanged heated words, the tension palpable as the crowd chanted for more. Rhea, slowly recovering from the blow, rose to her feet, her eyes flicking between you and Raquel.

Despite the chaos, despite the DQ finish, Rhea had come out on top—at least in spirit. You helped her to her feet, the two of you standing tall as Liv and Raquel retreated up the ramp. This was far from over. The battle lines had been drawn, and the war was just beginning.

Rhea smirked at you, her eyes gleaming with a mix of gratitude and amusement. “Took you long enough,” she teased, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth.

You shrugged, a smirk of your own forming. “Had to make a grand entrance, didn’t I?”

The two of you shared a brief, silent understanding before turning to face the crowd, arms raised high. Tonight was just the beginning. There would be more battles, more betrayals, but for now, Rhea stood victorious, and you were by her side, ready for whatever came next.

[chevelleneech]

semi-live blog

They are immediately the cutest fucking people when together. So soft, so giggly.

I know it’s part of their social culture, but they drink a lot. Maybe it’s because I don’t drink, but dang.

“Jungkook is currently doing his skincare.” They add to the screen after panning away for scenery, yet leaving the sounds of *slap slap slap*😭

Jungkook cycling through multiple pairs of sunglasses, and Jimin swanning in and picking the first pair is peak! They’re so similar I yet so different, lol.

Another thing I’m sure is part of their culture, is the way they pay for stuff, but I find it interesting still that we’ve seen Jimin buy almost everything during their trips, since as far as we know they have pretty lax hierarchy rules between the two of them normally.

Jungkook is in the most romantic moment of his life, lmao! “I love it here!!!” said a million times. That man was experiencing a real life Hallmark movie in his head.

I also thought they spoke/understood way more Japanese than they apparently do.

“Come on everybody!” I understood that reference.

The way they chose to animate over everything to avoid having to blur a billion people in the station is HILARIOUS!

Jimin is too funny bro.

This train ride is so peaceful, it’s selling me on visiting Sapporo despite being broke and not speaking a lick of Japanese.

Can we also discuss how “My man, my man, my man.” Jungkook is? Yet Jimin is too, and somehow both is more than the other, lol. They are perpetually on some, “Jimin will like this.” “Where’s Jungkook?” *films food, pans to Jimin* *films the outside world, pans to Jungkook* *cuddle even while walking* type stuff. Just lovesick.

Girl!dad Jimin confirmed🥰 He’ll be such a sweet dad too, I think. He’s so patient and kind, which is heavily required to raise another human.

I loooooooooe Jimin’s jacket dude.

The way Jimin immediately pivoted to making JK laugh when he tried to downplay himself. Like I said, “My man, my man, my man.” Don’t talk bad about his man, even if you are his man.

My most delusional Jikook theory you’ll ever hear from me: “Are You Sure?” actually became the title because they were asking it if each other, because they in looooooooooove.

Also, to answer my own question from my previous list… yes, the bubble is back.

Role play Jikook strikes again!

Jungkook is it slick! He played with that sip of whiskey the entire time, but the minute Jimin left he downed it.

Them forgetting to pay would’ve been me. And JK initially sending Jimin back to do it would have also been me. You got it, extrovert! Take the embarrassment for the both of us!

They’re so cute! This snow fight makes me want to be somewhere cold for the holiday☹️

The food always looks so damn good! Lord I’m jealous.

I need someone to compile all the times JM and JK go out to eat together, and let me know if Jimin is the one with his back always to the door? It’s a thing in America at least, that the “protector” tends to sit where they can see the door, and I don’t know if that’s a thing in SK as well, but it’s cute, because it matches their dynamic either way.

“Your fingers were all over it.” SIR!? You’ve had his sweaty ear in your mouth… he’s had his mouth on your neck… you’ve also had his fingers in your mouth before and vice verse… AND y’all constantly eat and drink off each other… in fact… yesterday he bit the very sausage you were in the middle of eating and then you continued eating it… before that you gladly allowed him to put his TOES next to your face while you were BRUSHING YOUR TEETH. Stop playing with me, Jeon Jungkook!

Jimin legit being ready to beat Tae’s ass over a dumpling is too crazy, lol. And folks be acting like he some docile helpless baby. Meanwhile, JK is a mediator. They definitely made for each other.

End of the episode. It was fun. Felt like the start of a holiday special. And I didn’t mention it up top, because I decided to “live blog” thoughts like ten minutes in or whatever, but Jungkook softly and sweetly saying he wanted to come back to Japan because it reminded him of their first trip together… SOBBING! He’s such a sentimental guy, with an equally as sentimental guy on his arm.

They truly do vibe so well, and I understand with each passing episode why them enlisting together was a non-choice choice. They click. Like they said themselves, they’re one person split into two bodies, and it’s clear as day they thrive off of being around one another.

Not to get too sappy either, but it’s insane they feel that way about their bond and dynamic, on top of all the things that already just so happened to bring them together. Not just born in the same country, but same city. Auditioned for the same music group. Actually made it into the same group… they were destined to meet, and even they feel that way. All that’s missing is them being the same age, and they’d be the same person. That’s an insane thing to say, but really tells you how deeply they value their connection.

[scarltzwitch]

BETWEEN CLAWS AND CHALLENGES — LOGAN HOWLETT.

PAIRING: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: Logan meets a young woman during a cage fight. Despite his reluctance to hit her, she challenges him to a fight.

The underground fight club was buzzing with excitement. Lights flickered over the steel cage, and the atmosphere was charged with adrenaline. Cheers and shouts filled the air as Logan Howlett, known as Wolverine, prepared for the next fight.

Logan stooned in his corner, his andamantium claws gleaming under the lights. His opponent, a burly fighter with an aggressive style was stretching and getting ready for the match. The crowd wass wild with anticipation.

A figure caught his eyes in the crowd. A young woman watched from a corner. Her presence was commanding, with an air of strenght that radiated from her. She possessed extraordinary strength and agility, her movements a blend of grace and power, honed by intense training.

The young brunette approached the cage. Its was her first time challenging someone as formidable as Logan, but her determination was clear. She wanted to test her recent discoveries about her own powers and see just how far she could go.

The fight began with a intensity that took everyone with surprise. Logan, though hesitant to hit a woman, couldn't help but be impressed by her skill and strength. She dodged with agility and countered his attacks with notable force.

Meanwhile, the burly fighter in the corner of The cage couldn't contain his curiosity.

“Who is this intruder daring to challenge Logan?”

The young woman met his gaze unflinchingly. “I’m someone who’s been waiting for the right moment to prove herself. You’re just another step on my path.”

Logan, with a mix of surprise and respect, turned to her.

“So you came here to challenge me? I have to admit, this is not something I expected.”

“Then,” she replied with a defiant smile, “get ready for a challenge. I’m not here just to entertain you, but to prove I have what it takes.”

Logan nodded, intrigued by her attitude. “I wouldn’t expect less. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The fight continued with both fighters showcasing their skills to the fullest. Logan threw powerful and quick strikes, but the young woman moved with fluid grace, absorbing and countering each attack with impressive skill.

During a brief pause, Logan approached her with a look of admiration. “I’ve never seen someone so determined in the ring. Where did you get that drive?”

She panted slightly, but her gaze remained steady. “I came here with a purpose. Not just to fight, but to challenge my own limits. Sometimes, you only learn when faced with a true test.”

Logan smiled, nodding. “You’ve got guts. And you’ve managed to keep me on edge.”

She returned his smile, her face reflecting the satisfaction of the fight. “Thanks. This was a real challenge.”

Logan watched her for a moment, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through him. “So, what’s next?”

She stepped closer with a playful glint in her eyes. “I’d invite you for a beer, but only if you can keep up. What do you say?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Is that a challenge?”

“Something like that,” she replied with a mischievous grin and smiling.

“It’s not a fight, but it won’t be easy to keep up with me.”

Logan look at her with a mix of respect and curiosity.

“I accept the challenge. Let’s see if you can keep up outside the ring.”

They left the fight club together, leaving the cage behind, with a new connection beginning to form between them.

@ipreferreadingtocope

It might not be the best one-shot, but I made my small effort. Apologies for any errors it might have. But I hope you enjoy it.

— Lily. 💜

[thiriann]

"The Darkest Place" - Oneshot

You can also find me on AO3

A smutty oneshot

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7k

Pairing: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+, Vampire Spawn Astarion  × Tiefling Tav ,Traumatized Astarion (Baldur's Gate) ,Getting to Know Each Other ,Falling In Love, Injury, Caring Astarion, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Vaginal Fingering,PIV sex ,one shot

Summary:

After a grievous wound Astarion does his best to take care of Thiriann while trying to figure out just when his simple plan fell apart completely.

It took one hit to take her down. A single strike from those shadowed claws sent her to her knees, writhing in agony. Astarion screamed at her to get up, even though he knew there was no way she could.  As he tried to run to her a wraith pulled him by the arm, its cold touch chilling him. Another sprung up next to it with a sickening sound effectively surrounding him. Somehow, he managed to recall Thiriann had given him a flask of holy water. He'd thought it a joke at first, something to throw at Cazador, as if it would help.  It decimated the horrors as it shattered.

By the time he reached her, shadow tendrils were already trying to bleed into her skin, her glowing blue eyes blackened entirely by the curse. Shadowheart was at her side before him, her eyes wide with alarm.

"I can't do anything about this out here. We must get her to camp—fast!"

He knelt to cradle her in his arms, holding her close to his chest. She felt cold to the touch, even to him, even through his gloves and fear clutched at his gut like a vice.

He hadn't even noticed how much she was bleeding until he stood up and her blood gushed down and onto his legs.

The return to camp was mostly a blur as they sprinted through the gnarly terrain.  

Upon their arrival, the group sprang into action, laying her on a bedroll beside the fire and Astarion was practically shoved away by the healers, his protest dying on his lips as he caught sight of her pallid face. She looked dead. Or somehow even worse than dead—her cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, her color drained from blue to an ashen white, with blackened blood smelling like rot trickling from her lips. The scent of decay was overpowering.

Gale began chanting in a loud thundering voice, magic crackling through the air like static. Abruptly, the air cleared, as if a cloud had been lifted. The curse was largely purged from her body, yet her appearance remained unchanged. Halsin, meanwhile, was a blur of motion, concocting a myriad of remedies at her head.

"I need to apply this on the wounds. Remove her garments." He instructed.

Astarion finally looked away from her face. Three long gashes ran over her stomach all the way down to her hips. With swift resolve, he spurred into action taking his dagger and splitting her top and bottoms in one swift motion. The fastest and worst way he'd ever undressed someone.

Halsin began applying the salve he'd made around the edges of the cuts and with a relief Astarion noticed the bleeding turn from a flowing stream to a trickle, though the stench of rot remained, lingering in the air.

"We need to apply this again in two hours and maybe attempt to give her a healing potion then as well. " Halsin stated as he prepared more of the medicine.

The group's panic finally started to ease. Astarion surveyed her form once more, finding it as gaunt and drained as her face. It made him feel ill. His eyes landed on the only part of her that still had some color. Two pink dots on her breast right above her nipple. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at. It was his bite mark. With her drinking healing potions every day it didn't really scar, smoother new skin had grown on the bite but because it was still relatively fresh, the color was pink not yet fully healed. She had matching ones on her neck as well as on her thigh.

The marks were practically glowing on her. He quickly glanced to the others to see if they've noticed, only to be met with Gale's stern glare.

"We should... ahem... cover her, to preserve her modesty," Astarion suggested looking away.

Dashing to her travel chest, he rummaged for any piece of clothing he could find. The party already suspected him of leading her into all manner of vile debaucherous acts —admittedly, they were not wrong—but such intimacies were meant to be private and now everyone had seen the evidence of their activities.

Regardless, none of that mattered now. And it wasn't as if their opinion of him could sink any lower.

He grabbed a loose robe, one he'd never seen her wear, and returned to her side. He draped it over her like a blanket, unsure if he should move her more than that.

“When do you think she’ll wake up?” he asked Halsin.

" We have no way of knowing for certain," Halsin responded, his voice betraying a hint of concern. "It could be hours, perhaps days. The curse has burrowed deep; she’s not out of the woods yet."

“Can we really leave her like this in the open, in the middle of camp?” Shadowheart voiced looking around.

“Bring her into my tent, at least she’ll have some privacy.” Astarion spoke. He hadn’t even thought about it as he said it but a strange surge of protectiveness rising within him pushed the words out of his mouth. 

“Not a chance.” Shadowheart balked at him.

“No offense but your tent is hardly a sanitary choice for an ill person, Astarion.” Gale spoke up as well.

“I’ll have you know my tent is the least cluttered out of all of yours, thank you very much. She's already quite accustomed to spending her nights there anyway," he countered, his innuendo intending to shock the others into agreement.

“That will probably be for the best,” Halsin agreed "In a confined space, I can prepare a steam inhalation to aid her breathing."

Gale narrowed his eyes but miraculously stayed silent.

And with that, the argument was concluded and she was carried to Astarion’s tent along with a solid stack of herbs, potions, and a steaming bowl of medicinal brew by her head.

Despite the sanctuary of his tent, Astarion was restless. He sat by her, attempting to read, but worry knotted his insides, rendering him unable to focus. Halsin was right; her breathing sounded terrible. She was wheezing on every inhale, the sound horribly resembling a death rattle. 

He was being foolish, surely. They had survived worse. By the morrow, it’d be as if nothing happened. Yet, the memory of that Harper wouldn’t leave his mind. The way he had succumbed to the shadows within moments, undeath claiming him irreversibly.

That couldn't be her fate. It simply couldn't.

“Did I say you could die?” he asked in his typical playful tone. It sounded deafeningly loud in the dark.

“Come on, wake up.” He continued whispering “We need you alive.”

No answer came but her quiet breaths.

Cautiously he leaned down and pressed his ear to her chest. Her heartbeat was quiet but steady, persisting.

A wave of calm washed over him and for the first time since entering the Shadowcursed Lands, he relaxed.

Exhaustion from the day's events and his lingering fears weighed heavily on him.

He laid gently beside her and let the rhythmic pulse of her heart coax him into slumber.

Astarion chased off the druid when he’d come with the salve a few hours later, insisting that he’d apply it himself. Backing up his claim with the fact he had intimate familiarity with her form already. Her wounds had stopped bleeding but as the morning came, she still hadn't woken up.

" What should we do? We can’t stay at camp all day," Shadowheart pressed, infinitely curious to learn more about her mistress’ domain.

“Normally, I’d agree but we can’t exactly leave when Thiriann is in such a grievous condition,” Gale interjected.

"A single affliction won't subdue her for long; she's bound to rally soon," Lae’zel asserted confidently. “It will be beneficial for us to look for supplies in the meantime.”

“Lae’zel’s right, our rations won’t last long,” Shadowheart added, her siding with the Githyanki betraying her eagerness to explore this “endless darkness”.

"If it’s all the same to you I’d rather stay .I’m not exactly dying to go back out there.” Astarion said, refusing to admit he wouldn’t leave Thiriann’s side unless they dragged him away.

"I, too, will stay," Halsin offered, “But should you find anything regarding the curse, please do let me know.”

The days melded into one another, with the party venturing forth and returning at dusk, leaving Astarion and Halsin to keep vigil. Karlach spoke of a sanctuary amidst the curse and a meeting with a Baldurian legend—an idol from her youth— but Astarion couldn’t find it in him to care at the time.

He was starting to get annoyed at Thiriann’s insistence on not waking up. But deep inside he knew the irritation was covering up the dread, the thought of what it would mean if she really didn’t wake, or woke up as something much worse.

He cared about her, more than he was ready to admit. He hadn’t cared about anyone but himself for so long, maybe ever. Staring at her pale sunken face in bewilderment he wasn't sure how it'd happened.

 But there stretched out on his poor imitation of a bed she looked so small and fragile and he felt an overwhelming pull to do everything in his power to make her better. It itched under his skin along with thoughts of her that buzzed in his head day and night- when her wounds needed redressing, when to make her a new steam inhalation, when to push healing potion past her lips but slowly so she wouldn't choke, he even gave her a sponge bath to wash off the dried up blood.

He hadn’t eaten anything since they left the mountain pass, and his hunger was gnawing at him relentlessly. He realized he must have gotten spoiled in the last month if a mere few hungry days were getting him this worked up.

He supposed he could go hunt back at the mountain pass but that would require leaving her side and she needed him.

The thought occurred to him that he could ask one of his companions for some blood but their disdainful glances whenever Thiriann permitted him to feed dissuaded him. He also may have lashed out at them here and there in the last couple of days. Possibly hissed at Gale. But it's not like they would have agreed anyway, most of them had strictly told him not to look at their necks weeks ago when everything had come to light.The only person he could see accepting to give him some would scorch him alive. Perhaps if she bled into a cup, and he waited a day or two, it might cool to a tolerable temperature. A miserable sigh escaped him; desperation was setting in.

One evening, driven by necessity, he approached Shadowheart.

"What?" She asked flatly and he flinched at the chill in her stare, the words he needed to say caught in his throat.

"I was just wondering if you might have an extra healing potion for our dearest leader," he chickened out, coming up with an excuse on the spot.

Her eyes softened immediately, of course for Thiriann they would " Yes, of course."  she replied, delving into her bag. "You know, you don't have to bear the burden of her care alone. We're here to help."

"She's not a burden," he snapped, snatching the potion and striding away.

"That's not what I meant," she called after him, her words lost in the distance.

He contemplated asking Halsin for blood,he certainly had some to spare. But he wasn’t sure he liked the way Halsin looked at her. Or at him for that matter. He'd been around long enough to know what desire looked like and he did not want to deal with that right now.

No, he could wait. She'd wake soon and then he could hunt, once assured of her recovery.

As night enveloped the camp once again, he grabbed a book and settled beside her. He’d taken to reading to her out loud as of late. It made the tense quiet more bearable, and he liked the sound of his own voice so that was a plus. She seemed to enjoy his voice too before.

 “As the paladin of Sune stepped into the forbidden temple, his gaze met that of a striking dragonborn cleric.”

"I've encountered my share of daggers, sir. Best not to brandish yours so carelessly," Astarion mimicked in a feigned feminine tone.

"Rest assured, you've yet to lay your eyes on such a mighty weapon. Brace yourself to take my blessed greatsword," he continued, deepening his voice for the male character.

A snort interrupted his dramatic performance, and his gaze shifted to Thiriann's face. Her eyes were open, filled with mirth as she stared at him.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account. Please, do tell more about your mighty sword.” She bit her lip trying to contain her smile, her voice was rough as gravel, but she was talking, she was awake, she was herself and she was talking.

“Darling, you…” His voice broke, emotion swelling. “You finally stop being melodramatic and the first thing you do is ask about my greatsword? Not surprised at all, my dear.”

She openly laughed then, and he felt as if the shadow curse itself had lifted. He wanted to hug her, he wanted to kiss her, just any type of touch that solidified that she was alive, instead he stood there, frozen, held back by his insecurities as she struggled to sit up.

“How long was I out?” she asked, wincing as she sat up.

“Four days,” he replied, closing the book and rising to meet her gaze.

“What a right mess,” she groaned, dragging her hands over her face. “We should have been in Moonrise by now.”

“I think the others will forgive you dear. They thought the Shadowcurse might have claimed you for good.”

She went quiet at that, staring at her hands.

“Perhaps it did, for a while.”

He stared at her shocked while she continued.

“I journeyed to a place... elsewhere. Somewhere dark, devoid of wind, absent of sound. It reminded me of…” she hesitated “…somewhere I’d been before, years ago. The darkest place.” She smiled but it was a twisted thing, like it hurt to do so.

Shaking off the shadows of her recollection, she turned to him with concern. " And what about you? Did anyone else get hurt?”

“We got away unscathed. Some of us have better survival instincts, darling.” he quipped with playful arrogance.

She laughed again then, bringing more brightness into his tent.

"Forgive me for lacking your uncanny dodging abilities."

"One cannot expect to match such excellence," he gestured to himself, then with a quieter voice he added, “Just don’t do it again.”

She swallowed before looking away. “I’ll try.”

“Why am I in your tent?” she asked as her gaze wandered the canvas confines.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly leave you in the middle of camp like a drying fish now, could we?” he remarked with feigned exasperation.

“Oh…” she looked away guiltily, “Sorry for imposing on you like that.”

“Nonsense, darling, you know my tent is ever open for you, any time.” He tried to sound flirtatious but came out shockingly sincere at the end.

She smiled a little before standing up, a slight wobble betraying her weakness, but she steadied herself with determination.

“I am grateful for your hospitality, truly. But nature calls and I’m starving so I’ll head out.”

He was at her side in an instant, supporting her as her knee gave out on the first step.

“I’ve got you. Why don’t you let me help? The last thing we need now is to have you collapsing just as you've returned to us."

Thiriann bit her lip, considering his offer. She was pretty sure she could make it on her own but was reluctant to lose the feeling of his arms around her.

“I’d like that.”

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

Astarion stood around the edges of the shadows waiting for Thiriann to finish her business when he heard her call out. “What happened to my clothes?”

“They were torn beyond repair I’m afraid. We had to discard them.”

“Damn, that was the only good leather I could find in this wilderness.” She bemoaned “And what of my small clothes?”

"Those too," He failed to mention his involvement in the tearing of those.

She looked uncomfortable as she emerged from the bush.

“That was my last pair.”

“How unfortunate.” his tone lacking any semblance of genuineness.

She offered a wry smile and an eye roll in response.

“Shall we, my dear?” he extended his arm in mock imitation of a courtly gentleman.

"Your gallantry is most appreciated, good sir. Lead the way," she accepted, allowing herself to lean on him just a little during their walk back.

And for a moment his mind drifted, away from this curse ridden place and into the parks of the lower city. Holding hands just as they did now, walking to a blanket setup in spotted shade, a bottle of rich red wine waiting for them.

Stop it! He chastised himself.

What was the point of these childish fantasies? They could bring nothing but more misery.

She wouldn’t want these things with him and he shouldn’t be wanting them in the first place. It was all so stupid. It must have been her close proximity that was bringing these on, that and the fact he had to play her nurse for the last week and his hunger and all the romantic books he’d been reading by her bedside, lack of sleep, they were confusing him, urging him to look for something that wasn’t there, to hope for something that wouldn’t happen.

And yet when she leaned against his side a little more, he felt his breath catch in his throat as her warmth spread through his side.

"Do we have any eggs?" she asked suddenly, breaking his reverie.

"What?" he asked in confusion, as she released his arm and began sifting through a supply pack. They had reached the campfire before he noticed.

"Never mind, found some," she declared, settling down to prepare her meal.

Her knife danced through the vegetables with a speed and precision he hadn't seen from her before. She moved with such ease, like she'd done this thousands of times, tossing her ingredients swiftly into the frying pan with a few eggs and some spices that Gale had left lying about.

"You know how to cook," he stated even though there was a question in his voice.

"Because I made an omelette?" She asked incredulously.

"Because of the way you handle a blade," he clarified.

She raised an eyebrow at that, unsure if he was trying to make a sexual innuendo. Knowing him, probably he was.

“I wasn't sure you knew how to hold one, what with that debacle back at the forge.” He smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory.  The only other time he'd seen her actually attempt to use a knife was when she had failed spectacularly at cutting off the drow's head and he'd had to intervene to help.

“I'll have you know I'm actually quite decent with a dagger.” She replied arrogantly, waving her blade around in the air in a way that did not backup her claim at all.

"And yes, I can cook. Had my heart set on becoming a chef once upon a time," she confessed, her gaze lost in the flames. " I travelled all over to learn from the best.  The quests I've taken for some of my recipes..." A self-deprecating chuckle escaped her as she reminisced. "It all seems so trivial now."

She retrieved her meal from the fire and took a mouthful, not waiting for it to cool. She always preferred it hot anyway.

"You've never cooked for this lot. Not up to your master chef standards, are they? " He teased.

" It's not that but I'd rather it stay this way. If they knew, I'd be roped into cooking duty, and I much prefer being served. Besides, Gale's ego might not survive any more competition."

"Understandable," he conceded, appreciating the appeal of having your meal delivered to your bed every night.

"So only you know my little secret. I’m trusting you to keep it." She said, trying to sound mischievous.

This is so typical of her, he thought with some exasperation. Her 'secrets' were nothing more than hidden talents and achievements. Nothing dark lingered around her, no deep pools of morally questionable choices. Sometimes it was infuriating how innocent she was.

" We should introduce you to a bit of corruption if these are the worst of your secrets, darling," he jested, turning back to the fire, oblivious to the shadow that crossed her face.

" We all have things that haunt us, Astarion," she replied after a pause, her voice heavy and unexpectedly sad.

He looked at her then. For the longest time, he'd felt like he'd had the most world experiences than anyone in their group because he'd been alive the longest. Thiriann's naivete especially made her seem so childish to him sometimes. Like she barely even knew the types of people that lived out there, all the possible worst the world could offer.

But looking at her now he finally saw her experiences etched upon her face. She looked worn down, aged, her shoulders slumped in defeat and her eyes filled with misery and acceptance.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that they didn't know each other at all.

That was understandable, they’d barely known one another for a month, and most of the time they were running around in some crisis or another.

What didn’t make sense though was his desire for that to change. He wanted to know what made her look like that, and to never speak of it again just to avoid seeing this misery in her.

But once again he remained motionless, caught in the uncertainty of how to reach out and offer the comfort she so clearly needed. So, he just nodded.

“You can talk to me, you know. We are technically in this together. “ He said in the end, his voice soft but uncharacteristically serious.

“Before I was taken by the Nautiloid, long before, there was a man I knew.” She began, uncertainty evident in her voice probably wondering if he was even interested in hearing her out. He turned his body fully towards her, trying his hardest to convey he was listening.

 “He was my senior, my commander. I served under him for years. And he was a right asshole, never had a kind word to say. You could do everything right and he’d still have a ready plethora of insults to throw at you. Our troops hated him almost as much as the enemy.”

She smiled faintly as if this was the fondest part of her memory.

"But he was also fiercely loyal, utterly devoted to the woman he loved. I admired him for that. He would do anything for her, even the most heinous acts. I thought there was something noble in that blind devotion."

Astarion scoffed. "Your ideas of romance are rather twisted, aren't they, darling?"

She shrugged, not particularly offended."Too many lonely years and trashy books, I suppose."

He grimaced, her answer hitting too close to home.

It’s not that he was in any position to lecture her on the matter given his own ideas of what was considered romantic came from much the same way.

“So, what happened to this rude smitten fool? I presume he met his grim end running after his lady’s coattails?” he asked unable to shake off the bitterness.

“Yeah, you could say that.”she replied and Astarion’s smirk fell as he saw the grim look on her face.

“When the tides of war turned and it became clear we’d lose and be accused of treason, we were instructed to infiltrate the rebellion ranks, a last-ditch effort to gather intelligence. But no further orders never came. Instead, we were sent to eliminate a hostile entity.

When we got there he already knew. Hells He had orchestrated it all. He wanted to die by our hands, by my hands..." Her voice trailed off, her eyes filled with a profound sadness.

 "I had to be a part of it, couldn't stop it, couldn't run away, couldn't…" She shook her head trying to push away the memory.

Astarion understood this feeling all too well. The helplessness, the forced complicity in acts he never wanted.

 A sudden overwhelming feeling of sadness and pity settled in his chest at the thought that she knew what those things felt like.

"You were a pawn in their game, nothing more. A toy to be manipulated," he said, his voice gentle. "It's pointless to blame yourself when you couldn't have changed anything. The best thing to do is forget and move on."

She nodded, a sad smile playing on her lips. "That’s easier said than done." she whispered.

“I know.” He said, voice filled with a quiet understanding as he handed her a bottle.

She accepted the wine, taking a deep swig without tasting it at all.

A moment passed before she spoke, her voice flat and devoid of emotion.

“He died an asshole, lived an asshole and no one mourned him.”

“Except you.” 

“Except me ," she confirmed, her gaze drifting back to the dancing flames. Lost in the countless memories, she seemed to relive a bygone era.

“He gave the most insane orders sometimes," she murmured, breaking the silence. "Once, he commanded us to hurl bird droppings at the enemy, a tactic he called 'psychological warfare'."

Astarion's brow furrowed in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

A wry smile crept across her lips. "Oh, I am. And it worked. The look of utter confusion on their faces was priceless."

“Tell me everything.” Astarion said, his curiosity sufficiently piqued.

As the night progressed, he could see her eyelids were getting heavy, her words slurred slightly as she slumped more and more. Soon they'd both retreat to their respective beds and settle for the night. His tent looked strangely dark and lonesome despite being close to the fire.

A gust of wind flew past them followed by an unsettling howl from the shadows and she shivered.

She looked at him with uncertainty and what he was sure was longing, resembling a stray puppy waiting at someone's doorstep.

“Thank you again for… before and for tonight, for staying with me. I-I’m not sure when was the last time someone did this for me. “

She looked at him with so much gratitude in her eyes and heat bloomed in his chest, making his heart clench.

Her words were plain, just a simple thank you yet they unexpectedly lodged in his chest. When was the last time someone had thanked him for anything? Or he done something worthy of gratitude?

“Don’t mention it,dear. I should leave you to rest.” He said preparing to walk out trying his damnest not to betray how his composure had crumbled.

“Astarion,” she called out after him “when was the last time you fed?”

“Well, you know,” he started gesturing with a flair “I pop out to hunt every now and then.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re starving.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and he had to ask himself how could she possibly know.

“Come, you can feed from me if you’d like.”

He balked at her, outraged.  “Have you lost your mind, darling? You just woke up.”

“I’m fine,I’m just tired.” She waved him off “The curse has left my body completely.”

He eyed her uncertainly. The thought of drinking from her now made him uneasy but even at her mere suggestion, he could feel his hunger resurfacing. His eyes trailed to her neck involuntarily and he felt his stomach clench violently at the sight. He hated this part of himself, more beast than man in his uncontrollable desire. But holding back was never his strong suit and when she’d offered so willingly, it was harder than ever to resist.

“Why don’t you come back to my tent then?” He asked suddenly “It will save you from the draft and we could have ourselves a little privacy.”

Laying her down on the pillows that he’d arranged his eyes drifted once more to her neck. He swallowed painfully, his throat dry as a desert.

 “Are you really sure?” He heard himself murmur.

“Yes,I’ll be alright. Now come here.” She moved to make space for him.

That warm bubble of affection in his chest which he'd largely been ignoring was pushing insistently at his ribs as he stared at her bright blue eyes.

Sliding his body over hers, Astarion lowered himself on top of her. He bit quickly, trying to minimize her pain.

Finally, it was as if a damn burst and all of the feelings he had felt the last few days- the fear of losing her, the stress of her illness, the relief of her finally awakening and the incredible joy of her blood - were threatening to overwhelm him. She was so warm and so alive and he felt that very life essence flow into him filling him with happiness and comfort.

He groaned into her neck, needy and desperate and it set her skin on fire. Lost in the sensations he let his body guide him closer and closer to her. Their bodies slotted together, her breasts pressing up into his chest, one of his legs sliding between hers.

Moving back from her neck he kissed her, momentarily forgetting his lips were still coated with her blood. He tried to pull away once the realization hit but she chased him with her lips unwilling to let them part.

As he dipped his tongue into her hot, wet mouth he found that it is not enough. She wanted him and he wanted more, more heat, more connection.

He could feel his body responding to her already. Her fresh blood going straight to fuelling his arousal.

She squirmed under him, dragging her thigh against his length sending a jolt of pleasure through him and he instinctively ground against it, trying to prolong the sensation. At the same time, he pressed his leg against her core forcing her to gasp into his mouth.

He was such a fool. But no one before had made him feel this way, no one had compared to her. 

Out of all the feelings he had learned to suppress, he had no experience dealing with this one in particular. He had tried to nip it in the bud but now he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop or that he could even stop it.

Maybe some part of him had wanted to fall for her. Wanted to allow himself to feel once again. Up until recently he hadn’t even considered love a possibility. What a terribly cliche way to realize one's feelings.

He glided his hand down her robe undoing the ties holding it together. She was still fully nude under and he wasted no time grasping a breast and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

She reached for his shirt trying to untuck it from his pants but the gesture brought a wave of unease so he swiftly grabbed the bottom of it and lifted it over his head. He nudged her knee with his own, fully settling between her legs and she wasted no time pulled him in for another hungry kiss. With their naked chests pressed together, he could feel her heartbeat against his ribs as if it were his own.

They ground against each other, the feeling of his leather pants against her naked cunt only fuelling her desire. She gasped at the contact and arched her back into him, her nails digging into his shoulders. He could feel her scorching heat against his member even through his pants and felt himself throb in response. Thiriann reached down to unlace them but he stopped her hands.

“Not until you’re ready for me, darling.”

She whined in protest but moved her hands back. Having her obediently listen to him always managed to bring a small thrill of excitement.

He reached between their bodies dragging his fingers over her centre. She was wet but not wet enough, it would most likely hurt if he entered her now. He started lowering himself down her body, but felt her tensing under him, her hands on his shoulders squeezing firmly, keeping him in place.

“No, don’t go.” She pleaded.

“Don't worry, I'm here, love.”

 “I want you inside me, can we…like this?”

"You'll have to come first, darling. Do that for me, just relax, I’ve got you.”

Astarion glanced at her face, intent on watching her expression as he eased his finger into her. She groaned at the intrusion but tried to breathe through the temporary discomfort. Moving carefully, he began pumping his finger in and out of her, focused on opening her up. Slowly she melted under his gentle ministrations and when he dragged his finger over that place inside of her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning his name. Her quiet breathy mews filled his tent as he continued to assault the delicate spot causing her eyes to roll back and her back to arch into him.

It felt unexpectedly embarrassing to be able to feel his muscles moving between them as he pleasured her. His soft gasps of effort by her ear combined with the scent of his sweat and perfume filling her nostrils proved more erotic than she was prepared for. Sooner than she would have liked she was nearing her climax.

“Come for me love, I can tell you’re almost there.” he whispered in her ear.

A furious blush took over her cheeks despite the blood loss but she did just that.  Moaning his name she came, her walls spasmed around him squeezing his finger so tight he feared it might break. She relaxed back into the pillows and he gave her a moment to recover, marvelling at the slick that now dripped down her thighs.

As he reached to unlace his pants, a part of him hesitated, the unease he felt every time before bedding someone would stubbornly not leave him alone. He still pushed it down.  Having no patience to fight himself he opened his breeches and swiftly took out his cock. 

Rocking his hips slowly against her opening, he inched his way inside before pushing forward and bottoming out in one swift movement. A soft sigh left his lips at how warm she was, how welcoming her body felt.

“Does this feel good, darling?” he asked, giving a few slow, experimental thrusts; she was still so very tight around his cock he could barely move.

“Gods,yes-...You know it does,” she pouted and he smirked, kissing her once again.

He set a gentle pace, pulling nearly all the way out of her before languidly rolling his hips forward, inch by inch, drawing moans from both of their throats. “You’re going to have to be quiet, you know,” he whispered against her ear.

He finished one particularly delicious thrust, groaning and burying his face in her neck, trying to muffle the sound. “Gods, you feel good,” he mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of her pressing around his cock, hot and wet and soft as silk.

Wordless little noises of pleasure escaped her as she started to rock back against him, joining into the rhythm he had set. Their motions felt like the waves of the ocean crashing against the sea. But his movements soon became practiced as instinct started to take over and he felt himself submerge into the fog despite his efforts to stay in the moment. He wanted to be here, with her, feeling this connection but his mind slipped away, beaches and vast waters behind his eyelids.

Suddenly he felt her grip his shoulders and push against him. When he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was the tent canvas before the rest of the surroundings began to come to him. The blanket that was under him, the stacks of books by side and various bottles of potions and blood strewn about. And finally, the woman on top of him who was straddling him now. The gentle feeling of her as she ground her hips against him and her glowing eyes attracting him like a moth to a flame.

“Oh? Are you looking for a ride, darling?” he teased, surprising himself at how even his voice sounded.

Thiriann answered him by leaning down, hair falling around him like wavy black curtains so she could kiss him again. He gripped her supple thighs as she rode him, savouring the sensation of her wrapping tightly around his length as they licked into each other's mouths, tongues sliding against one another.

She lifted herself up over him, letting her hands wander up and down his front, watching his muscles tighten and relax under the gentle pressure. Her fingers brushed over one of his nipples and she relished in the shudder the gesture drew out of him. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as she began to move earnestly on top of him.

Instinctively he gripped her hips pulling her down hard on his length causing them both to moan.

“That’s…cheating-” she gasped out as he kept thrusting from under her, refusing to surrender the upper hand.

“You were expecting me to play fair?” he smirked at her amused and Thiriann rolled her eyes. Taking the momentary distraction, he rolled them again and pined her under him once more.

“Fuck!” she hissed into his mouth but he didn't let her recover as he began bucking into her with desperate urgency. Driving deeper and deeper with every thrust he could feel the wetness gushing out of her, soaking him and the robe under her. She spread her legs further allowing him to pump freely as she held onto his shoulders, dragging her nails over his skin but keeping them far above his scars. He growled into her neck as her heat squeezed him impossibly tighter trying to draw him in even closer.

She saw stars as he ground his hips against hers, putting just enough pressure on her clit to push her over the edge.

“Astarion -” That was all she managed to get out before she came, hard, spasming and clenching violently around his cock. Ripples of pleasure spread through her body as her sweet moans slipped into his ear like sobs in tandem with the rhythmic contractions.

He bit into her neck again and followed her over, groaning into the mess he’d made of her throat. She held him as he shook with it, pleasure obliterating his every thought and for a moment there was nothing but the blissful sensations of her warmth. Half-gasps, half-moans spilled out of his throat as he rode the aftershocks, fangs buried deep in her neck.

After his body stopped shuddering and the fog of pleasure lifted, Astarion finally collapsed on top of her bringing a soft sigh from her lips.

He felt he should get up, move away, and dress himself but he didn't want to leave, to go out of her vicinity where the cold would surely sweep in and chill him to the bone. He wanted to stay here in her arms, to soak in the warmth of her body, of her presence. Every inch between them felt too much, too long.

He relaxed onto her further, head still buried in the crook of her neck and she could tell he had fallen asleep. Unusual as it was, he drew breath even in slumber, the gentle cold exhales caressing her collarbone. The way he curled up further reminded her of a cat, maybe an overgrown undead cat. He hissed like one too when irritated.  A wave of protectiveness surged within her and she wrapped her arms tighter around him. He would probably hate it but this felt nice, holding him like this, enjoying the security of his embrace and keeping him safe in hers, next to her heart.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Blossoms and Shadows

Summary: 

Nyx now all grown up decides to introduce his new love Y/N to the Night Court.

Word Count: 724

Warnings: None 

Velaris was as breathtaking as ever, its beauty magnified by the vibrant energy that filled the streets. The House of Wind buzzed with anticipation, its occupants eager for the arrival of Nyx and his guest. Feyre and Rhysand had meticulously prepared the house, ensuring everything was perfect for this significant introduction.

Nyx, now a striking young man with his father’s charm and his mother’s fierce determination, was bringing someone special home. The Night Court was ready to welcome her, though they couldn’t help but feel a tinge of curiosity and concern. She was from the Spring Court—a distant cousin of Tamlin.

As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the city, the door to the House of Wind opened. Nyx stepped in, his arm around a beautiful young woman with golden hair and emerald eyes that sparkled with intelligence and warmth.

“Everyone, this is Y/N,” Nyx announced, his voice filled with pride and affection.

Y/N smiled, her gaze sweeping across the gathered members of the Night Court. Feyre and Rhysand stood side by side, their expressions welcoming but scrutinizing. Cassian and Nesta were nearby, Cassian’s eyes twinkling with mischief while Nesta maintained her usual composed demeanor. Azriel and Elain were a little further back, Azriel’s shadows curling protectively around Elain as they watched the newcomers.

“Welcome, Y/N,” Feyre said, stepping forward and offering her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N took Feyre’s hand, her smile warm and genuine. “Thank you, Lady Feyre. It’s an honor to be here.”

Rhysand chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Please, call us Feyre and Rhys. No need for formalities among family and friends.”

Nyx squeezed Y/N’s hand, his eyes full of reassurance. “Come on, let’s sit down. There’s so much to talk about.”

As they made their way to the sitting area, Cassian couldn’t resist a teasing comment. “You know, there’s something about women from the Spring Court always falling for the Night Court. Must be our irresistible charm.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and musical. “Or maybe it’s because you guys keep saving us from all sorts of trouble.”

The room filled with laughter, the tension easing as everyone settled into comfortable conversation. Y/N shared stories of her life in the Spring Court, her voice animated and engaging. Despite her connection to Tamlin, she spoke with admiration for Nyx and the Night Court, clearly enchanted by their world.

As the evening progressed, Y/N found herself in a deeper conversation with Feyre and Rhysand, while Nyx was pulled aside by Cassian and Azriel.

“Looks like you’ve found yourself quite the match,” Cassian said, clapping Nyx on the back.

Nyx smiled, his eyes following Y/N’s every move. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

Azriel nodded, his expression thoughtful. “She seems to handle herself well. And she’s clearly smitten with you.”

Nyx’s smile widened. “I’m smitten with her too. She’s different from anyone I’ve ever met.”

Cassian’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Just remember, we’ll always have your back. But we’ll also keep an eye on her—Spring Court connections and all.”

Nyx laughed, appreciating his uncles' protectiveness. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile, Y/N was sharing a moment with Feyre, who couldn’t help but notice the young woman’s genuine affection for her son.

“You seem to care for Nyx a great deal,” Feyre said softly.

Y/N met Feyre’s gaze, her eyes earnest. “I do. He’s everything to me. I know our courts have a complicated history, but I believe we can build something beautiful together.”

Feyre smiled, reaching out to squeeze Y/N’s hand. “I believe that too. Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

As the night wore on, the bonds between Y/N and the Night Court members strengthened, the initial wariness giving way to acceptance and warmth. Nyx and Y/N stood on the balcony, looking out over the city, their hands intertwined.

“This feels like a dream,” Y/N whispered, leaning into Nyx’s embrace.

Nyx kissed her forehead, his heart full. “It’s our reality now. And we’ll face whatever comes our way together.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining with love. “Together.”

And so, under the starry night sky of Velaris, the Night Court welcomed a new member into their fold, proving once again that love could blossom even in the most unexpected of places.

[allaboutnayeli]

Hi! I loved your fic lovely jokester! I was wondering if you could do a part 2?

Basically reader deals with flirting and clumsiness when the team goes out for drinks to celebrate something?

Love your work 💕💕

lovely jokester pt2 [a.bonmati x reader]

prompt: aitana likes your jokes way more when she is drunk and being clumsy.

author notes: thank you 💞 i hope this is what you wanted. this is way more stupid than the first one so enjoy.

barcelona has once again won another match and this time around the team decided to go out to celebrate. it was the middle of season, so celebrating is a nice gift for all the hard work the team has been putting in so far this season.

you would think you would give the flirty jokes a break (your teammates wished you did), but no you have to continue being annoying like always. good thing this time around aitana was willing to indulge to your (loving) stupidity.

the team has been out drinking and eating for about a whole hour at this point. you are little tipsy, but not enough to cause concern. meanwhile your girlfriend has been sipping on cocktails since the team got to the restaurant. you have one arm resting on the table and the other around aitana's waist. she's leaning her head against your shoulder as she sips on some fruity cocktail patri gave her a while ago.

the team is spread out across the restaurant with some at the table, some at the bar and others on the dance floor.

with it basically just being you and aitana at the table, you decide it's the perfect time to strike again.

"bebe..." you say mischievously as you turn your head a bit to look at your girlfriend. she smiles up at you. too drunk to really care about the trouble making expression you had on that beautiful face of yours. however, salma and claudia did notice that look you had. they weren't about to listen to another one of your cringey jokes. "don't even think about it" claudia says as she glares at you. salma gives you glare as well.

none of their warnings mattered when aitana was still smiling up at you like you were the only thing in the world. "hm?" she hums up at you. awaiting your response.

"are you from tennessee? cause you're a ten" you say before laughing loudly. salma almost facepalms before getting out of her seat, "i'm too sober to be dealing with this today." she walks off, probably to the bar. claudia follows right behind her. aitana pauses for a moment, processing your joke, before laughing right alongside you. she couldn't help it; your jokes sounded ten times funnier when she has alcohol in her system.

the only one entertained at the table beside you and aitana was ona who has way too much alcohol in her system at this point to care about the cringe level of your joke. she laughs along with you two. keira sits beside the brunette spainard and just roll her eyes at ona's reaction.

aitana eventually stops laughing as she leans up to give you a kiss. at first it was short but soon leads to much longer kiss. a kiss full of tongue and the fruity taste of aitana's drink. when you pull away for much needed air, ona and keira are gone. now you two really are the only ones at the table.

aleast it wasn't your joke this time (or aleast not your joke entirely).

it was later on in the night when you finally got some more alcohol in your system. you had took a few sips of aitana's drink and took a few shots after alexia dared you, so now you and your girlfriend are both way too tipsy. with the spainish player being way more drunk than you.

most of the team was going to back to the hotel now. they start to leave one by one until it was just aitana and you. you two stand outside of the restaurant, watching people walk by. the street wasn't as busy as it was earlier, but still people are lingering around.

after a few moments you wrap your arm around aitana's waist and pull her close. starting to walk towards the hotel as she clings to your side. a drunk aitana is a sleepy, clingy aitana which was very cute in your book. "mm, mi vida.." you can't even contain your laughter as you think of another stupid joke. your girlfriend who was too drunk to process or even care about why you're laughing. she just laughs alongside you.

"are you a chili? because you make my face hot" you smirk down at her. she looks up at you, smiling, "bebe!"

she starts to laugh again. a giggly drunk aitana is not one who pays attention as her shoe collides with the ground in a bad way leading her to fall right on the ground. she laughs even harder as she sits up. you lean down to help her up but end up falling down right next to her. now you're both just laughing over basically nothing.

you two help eachother up after a few minutes. both of y'all legs feel a little weaker than before, but it's okay. you have eachother to lean on to.

[alyakthedorklord]

I’m having dramatic thoughts about Damian being born to Fem!Bruce ok I’m having THOUGHTS

(TW for alluding to Damian’s conception being nonconsensual)

Okay so set the stage of our Drama- Fem!Bruce (or just AFAB idc) is out on patrol or something and League Parent (Either Talia as in canon, or Ra’s if we’re feeling the creepy old man tonight) drops Damian off with “Hey, watch our son that you birthed and then I stole and let you think was dead for ten years, there’s some infighting in the league.”

(If we’re using Ra’s as dad then Talia is absolutely trying to kill Damian for the position of heir)

Bryce is, understandably, shocked. Her other children? Even more so. Because what do you mean you had a biological child? How did we not know about this?!

Damian isn’t old enough to be pre-robin unless he was cryogenically frozen. Did Bryce really hide a whole fucking pregnancy from them?

Dick is screaming, Jason shows up because he has to see this shit for himself, Bryce is standing in silence, staring at the results of every single test she can think of to confirm that yes, this is her son, this is her Damian, all the info matches up…

Tim tries to speak up, but Jason just turns on him, asking if he’s ready to be replaced too. Bryce didn’t even have to go looking this time!

Tim looks him dead in the eye and points out the birthdate(and death date) on file for Damian Wayne.

It’s exactly eight days before Jason was taken in.

How did Dick and Jason not know about this?

Because they weren’t there.

In the short period of time when Dick was striking out on his own, and before Bryce picked up Jason, League Baby Daddy of your choosing shows up and takes advantage. A simple greeting, a spiked drink, a blurry night, and a pregnancy test later…

Bruce is, as always, in any universe, is terrible at communication. But honestly she can be excused in this case. How exactly do you tell your wayward son ward that, after chasing him off because he was “being reckless” and “putting himself in danger,” you’ve gone and gotten taken advantage of, trusted someone that you had absolutely ZERO business trusting, and now you’re pregnant with an Al Ghul baby? And you’ve decided to keep it? That this isn’t you replacing him or demanding he return, because you understand his need for space, but also you desperately want him back with you because you’re scared but you can never admit it?

How do you do that in a text? Because Dick is not answering the phone.

You don’t. Thats a conversation you have face to face. So the messages Bryce leaves are all ���there are some changes and i’d like to talk to you” “there may be a new member of the family soon” “please answer me chum”

Dick doesn’t answer.

Meanwhile, Gotham crime is being weird because “hey robins gone! Dynamic duo is out!” And Bryce is being careful because of her belly and sometimes she has to take breaks and hormones are bullying her and nothing is going her way right now.

And them she goes into labor too soon.

And something goes wrong (League Baby Daddy happens) and she’s told her baby is dead, and now she’s lost two children.

She recovers, and goes back out onto the streets, taking her rage and pain out on the criminals that got a little too bold with her in a hospital bed…

And then there’s a street rat jacking the tires off the Batmobile.

The fucking audacity. The guts. The challenge in his bright blue eyes, the sneer on his lips, the shaggy black hair. Skin just a bit darker than hers, not quite an Al Ghul’s deep olive but somewhere in the middle.

Is this what her Damian would have looked like? Is this what her son would have grown up to be?

Maybe its the hormones, maybe she’s projecting. She knows its a bad idea, but Bryce takes the kid home. Alfred gives her a knowing and slightly disapproving look, but accepts the new child with open arms, because there’s worse things. Jason fits in easily, and soon enough, Batman has a Robin again, and Bryce is smiling again, and begins to heal from the pain of losing Damian.

But Dick? Dick is PISSED.

Upon seeing news of a new Robin/Wayne, he finally looks though his messages, and comes to the wrong conclusion that Bryce was looking for a kid to replace him this whole time. She might have tried to get his input, but had eventually made a decision like this without him. And so he’s back, and he’s angry, and Bryce gets defensive because Jason is a good kid and she can’t use her dead baby to win an argument, not when the wound is so fresh.

So life continues. Jason dies, comes back, is angry because he listened in on a few arguments and now ALSO thinks Bryce actively hunted him down to be Robin, and now she’s done the same with Tim.

Bryce keeps quiet, because how is she supposed to explain after all these years? Jason is right to be angry. She let her emotions get the better of her and dragged a sweet boy into her life. The loss of all three if her children was her own fault, because she put him into the line of fire. There’s no excuse for that.

So years pass. Tempers settle somewhat, Bryce holds her grief close to her chest because she can’t do that to her children, but… then Damian is back. And it all explodes.

The story comes out in bits and pieces. Tim figures out a timeline based on the rest of the info in the file, and Bryce and Alfred slowly fill it in.

And like- they’re all still angry, and it is justified, because what the fuck, Bryce. But also…

Dick is horrified. He had been so angry, so so angry, reading those messages that he now knows, with this new information, were a cry for help. Bryce had been desperate and scared and wanted nothing more than to just talk to him after their fight, and when he had come back after something like this had happened he had immediately started another fight.

Jason isn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been taken in to be a replacement soldier, he had been taken in to be a replacement son. What is he supposed to do with that? Knowing that Bryce had seen him at his worst, and taken him in and shoved down her grief to help him?

Tim is wondering if every time Bryce backed away with an unreadable expression, it hadn’t been keeping herself emotionally distant, it was grief for the sons she had lost.

Steph is realizing that Bruce wasn’t lying, when Steph had to give her own baby up and Bryce had hugged her and said “I understand.”

Damian is sitting in a corner wondering what the ever-loving FUCK is going on. Why is everyone crying this is pathetic. Father take him home he prefers the threat of imminent death.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Y/N's Song

This is part 2 of the story Tears To Shead. Sally's Song by Amy Lee TW: Violence, unrequited love, heartbreak, self injury (reader uses her banshee powers against herself), the executions

Years have flown by since you unleashed chaos upon Hell with your Banshee powers, manipulated by Alastor's manipulation. Deep down, you always knew he would disappear the moment he had the chance. While you led infernal wars, he stirred up trouble on Earth. But fate has a twisted sense of humor—Alastor eventually fell too, joining you in the depths of Hell.

Alastor, as if born of this realm, wielded powers that matched the most formidable beings in Hell. Meanwhile, you rose in prominence, becoming the trusted right hand of Lilith and Lucifer. You were their go-to strategist, granted the privilege to navigate the rings of Hell alongside them. Your wardrobe transformed from stark silver and blue to a vibrant tapestry of colors, a whimsical patchwork dress that reflected your new status.

When you heard about Alastor’s demise, you held onto the hope that you’d never see him again. The thought of facing him and revisiting old heartaches was unbearable. Yet, cruelly, fate had other plans. Alastor reentered your life, and a tentative friendship began to blossom amid the chaos of Hell. You, now a key advisor, and he, a resurrected overlord, bonded as you both tried to prove your worth to the community.

Years of solitude turned into years filled with laughter and camaraderie. Alastor found a new place in your heart, a place you were too scared to acknowledge for fear of rejection. You had watched him turn away so many suitors, and the thought of being another disappointment paralyzed you.

As Alastor climbed the ranks, a madness began to envelop him—a stark reminder of the man you first met. You could sense the darkness creeping in, the spark of insanity igniting his ambition. While you earned respect as a natural leader, especially as Lilith grew more despondent, Alastor’s descent into chaos deepened.

In a manic frenzy, he confided in you his grand designs to overthrow Lucifer and Lilith. He envisioned himself as the ruler of Hell, and his laughter echoed with a madness that sent chills down your spine. You recognized that look all too well—the harbinger of an overlord's inevitable fall.

You begged him to reconsider, to take a step back. But your words fell on deaf ears; he saw your concern as a hindrance. As tensions escalated toward a catastrophic clash, you knew that with his shadows and your Banshee wail, Hell would tremble under the weight of your conflict.

New sorrow washed over you. It became painfully clear that you and Alastor were not meant to be. No matter how hard you tried to carve out a future together, his relentless thirst for power overshadowed any chance for love or companionship.

Yet, your feelings for him lingered—a bittersweet ache as you watched him chase his destructive ambitions. You remained a quiet observer, mourning the man he once was while he sought supremacy over Lucifer. Each step he took toward ambition felt like a dagger to your heart, a silent lament echoing in your soul.

As you followed his trail of devastation, you sang a haunting melody that intertwined with your grief: “I sense there’s something in the wind that feels like tragedy’s at hand, and though I’d like to stand by him, I can’t shake this feeling that I have.” Your skin, once vibrant with color, dulled to an ashen gray, reflecting the weight of your sorrow.

When Alastor launched his assault on Lucifer’s castle, you felt a painful tug in your chest. With a single strike, Lucifer thwarted him, sending Alastor reeling back into the shadows. You reached out in vain, your heart breaking as he slipped away, determined to seize power once more. “The worst is just around the bend, and does he notice my feelings for him? And will he see how much he means to me?” The words echoed in your mind as despair consumed you.

In a desperate attempt to reach Alastor, you invited him back into your home, hoping that a touch of care might spark some reason in him. You prepared a feast, doting on him as you once had, trying to recall the warmth of your past camaraderie. “Try as I may, it doesn’t last. Will we ever end up together?” you wondered aloud, offering him a boon: if he would only cease his relentless quest for power, you would provide him with this nurturing life every day.

But instead of gratitude, you faced his fury—not at your affection, but at your opposition to his ambitions fueled him. He scoffed at your bold request and, with a bitter laugh, stormed out, leaving you feeling empty. As he departed, you sensed your essence fading, your song slipping further into despair.

The arrival of the executioners filled you with a chilling dread. Like Lucifer’s family, you found a semblance of safety within your walls, but your heart ached with worry for Alastor. Once the chaos settled, his anguished cries echoed in the distance—yet again thwarted by Lucifer, even amid the brutal executions. “No, I think not, it’s never to become…” you murmured, reaching out for him in vain.

When Alastor finally turned to you, the pain etched on his face cut deep, and he simply looked away. Each rejection felt like a dagger to your soul. As your powers surged within you, the weight of your sorrow transformed you. In that moment, you felt like a mere doll, your essence stripped away, a haunting reflection of love turned to anguish.

“For I am not the one…” you whispered, the truth settling heavily in your heart. You realized you would never be what Alastor truly needed. As the years rolled on, this reality became clearer: no matter how fiercely you cared, he would always seek something beyond your grasp. Seven years passed, and once again, he was lost to the very ambitions that had consumed him.

[syndrossi]

You brought up this AU idea from way back where Jon and Rhaegar were born earlier as Aemon and Jocelyn's sons, and thus Rhaenys' little brothers. How old would that put them compared to Daemon? Would he like having more cousins? For that matter, would Rhaenys like having little brothers? Would Aemon live in this AU, or would we get child!King Jon? (The sheer panic, lmao.) If so, would Viserys become his regent? I was just wondering about it and could not resist the curiosity. How do you think things would have changed in this sort of verse? 🤔

I sort of like the idea of them being right around Daemon's age, plus or minus a few years. I'm sure he would be thrilled about having cousins his age, too. Rhaenys is cool, but she's a girl and older. The age gap between her and Daemon is pretty significant in terms of being peers. Rhaenys meanwhile may find it a little disappointing at first. I expect she had dreams of her own that she might be queen someday after her father, long before she got her cold shot of reality at the Great Council. Twin brothers pushes her back behind both of them in the succession.

But Rhaenys is also a seven or eight-year-old, so it's not like politics and the succession are the primary things on her mind when the twins are born. Twins are fun, and the boys are cute/sweet, so I'm sure she warms up to them quickly and bossily assumes control over their education even though she's pretty much a child herself (Jocelyn, amused, lets her). She probably wishes at least one of them had been a girl, especially when she has to deal with the brat pack that is Viserys, Daemon, and the twins running around like hooligans at Dragonstone or the Giant's Toe.

If Aemon dies at his usual canon time and the twins are roughly Daemon's age, then Jon would be thirteenish, which isn't TERRIBLE. (The other alternative is the twins being born much later, aka when Rhaenys is married. Jocelyn gets pregnant, Aemon dies shortly after their birth, and chaos ensues. They'd be contemporaries of Rhaenyra in this case, and I expect Jaehaerys betroths Rhaenyra to Jon and plans for Baelon, and later Viserys, to be Jon's regent.)

Or my soft heart wins out and Aemon gets to live, who can say! That could be an interesting inversion--where Baelon dies, and it's Aemon who has to live on, only unlike Baelon, he has no enemy to strike down in vengeance, since it was sickness that took him. Viserys and Daemon both leaning on him in their grief, Daemon claiming Vhagar(???) instead.

It's hard to say what changes, exactly, without settling on some details! Is this a setting with or without warlocks (aka with or without messy Essos politics)? Does Aemon live or die? Are the twins contemporaries of Daemon or Rhaenyra?

I do think that Jaehaerys is faced with an interesting, difficult choice in the case of Aemon dies + the twins are babies. Because he has a grown son as a very valid alternative, even if standard male-preference primogeniture dictates that Jon and Rhaegar should be above Baelon in the succession. Then again, he did not immediately declare Viserys his next heir after Baelon's death, which shows he was open to Aemon's line stepping back into the position, even if the rest of the realm wasn't.

Things are much more stable if Aemon doesn't die (obviously) or if the twins are born earlier and Jon becomes a thirteen-year-old heir to the Iron Throne. Jaehaerys would have had enough time to get a sense of Jon's capability and know that he's an excellent option.

Otto's not sitting nearly as pretty as in canon (the daughter of a second son is no worthwhile match for the king's heir or his spare), so he may be driven to more desperate measures in his grasping for power.

(I'll bet the twins are Corlys's #1 fans. It is likely joked that no one was more excited when he wed Rhaenys, not even Rhaenys herself.)

[embroid-away]

What If: Captain America Were Revived Today? #44 (April 1983) by Peter B. Gillis and Sal Buscema; Original Image by John Romita Sr.

In this What If? Marvel tale, Captain America is unfrozen in 1983 rather than the 1960s. Without the leadership of Steve Rogers, The Avengers disband. Meanwhile, a Captain America imposter, who calls himself a "real American," has decided to use his newfound influential media status to publicly support a National Identity Card to "deal with illegal aliens,” to suggest that members of civil rights groups "ought to think seriously as to whether or not their actions contribute to the strengthening of communist enemies," and declare that if those groups tear the country apart with protests, martial law is justified "for the peace to find a solution.”

Neighborhoods with large black populations (e.g., Harlem) are walled off and forced into poverty, and one character even mentions that Jewish people are being “put back into camps.” The right-wing politicians make sure that things like this aren’t shown on television, keeping the majority of the American public ignorant of the horrors committed with their indifferent support. The public are simultaneously told that with some sacrifices, America can be free once again. The fake Captain America confronts a group of peaceful protestors, and he is shot by a sniper (in what reads like an inside job), allowing the police to have “reason” to attack the protestors. The imposter does not die and instead uses the attack to provide more reason for the violent crackdown against protesting groups.

When the true Captain America is unfrozen, he is horrified to see what America has become, especially with his emblem stamped all over it. He immediately seeks out the resistance forces (who clearly represent the Black Panther Party) and joins their cause, stating that "the wrongs [he's] seen will take much more than one man to right -- but [he's] got a name to clear, a costume to unsoil-- and a country to die for!!"

By the time Steve joins them, the resistance only has one chance left to stop the American downfall: a political convention where the "America First" party will be able to secure its support to sweep the national elections and allow them "to return America to the pure and great nation [the] forefathers envisioned."

The resistance strikes just as the convention begins. The Captain America imposter is no match in a fight against the true Captain America -- especially against a Steve Rogers who's fucking pissed. ("Get up so I can knock you down!!")

With the imposter knocked unconscious, Captain America addresses the convention crowd, warning that an America that does not represent all its people does not deserve to exist at all; that liberty can be "as easily snuffed out [in America] as in Nazi Germany" and "as a people, we are no different from them."

The crowd realizes that the man speaking before them is the true Captain America and cheers. Captain America holds his hand up and silences them, stating that he will not allow them the chance to simply replace one idol with another. He alone can’t undo the horrible damage, and he pleads that there’s still a chance for the people to “find America once again.”

Fascism doesn’t change its tune, just its singers.

A 2021 Marvel Trumps Hate ( @marveltrumpshate ) commission, completed on 22-count aida cloth with embroidery floss and watercolors on a 9" diameter bamboo hoop.