#not enjoy the withdrawal effects

[dittolicous]

its really. cool. how i actually got tickets early for onicon this year to save money and asked off for saturday... just for them to turn around and short my hours so badly. so i wont have any money to spend there on art or whatever. itll still be fun but =/ its bad enough that i have to scrounge for rent, electricity, and food/meds (probably going tp have to dip into my emergency funds) and hersheys lasy vet visit forced me to use the credit card i just paid off... and to top it off, my roommate and her baby daddy have trily broken up, which is like. their deal, and i dont interfere. wxcept HE was the only one give me any for of bill money. and now hes started skippi g out on that since hes been staying with his new gi more than our house, and i feel bad bothering him since roommate hasnt paid me anything in months since they were injured at woork and lost their job.

its just like. im so tired of scrimping a s scrounging and putting out application after application and just.

when am i going to be allowed to live and enjoy life without worrying about how ill keep electricity on.

im tired.

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

��—

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

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[pascaloverx]

STARVE

FANFIC: LUCIUS VERUS X READER X GENERAL ACACIUS

Author's Note: As a test to see if this fanfic might appeal to anyone other than myself, I decided to share a preview with you all. If you enjoy it, feel free to leave a comment—I haven’t yet decided if I’ll continue writing it. The characters do not belong to me but rather to the Gladiator II universe created by Ridley Scott.

one

PREVIEW

Gladiators fighting for their lives in the most savage of manners. The savagery does not startle you; you are accustomed to it. Your late husband often had to fight, quite literally, with tooth and nail to survive. He perished as he fought, dreaming that one day you both might escape. Left alone, hollow within, you were spared by General Acacius.

General Marcus Acacius delivered you from the fate of becoming a courtesan to Emperors Geta and Caracalla. In an act of calculated benevolence, he claimed you as his concubine (concubinatus), securing your liberty through this arrangement. For this, you harbor a profound sense of gratitude each day of your life. From that moment forth, you and the General Acacius have maintained the appearance of a romantic entanglement. He graciously granted you leave to serve as an attendant to Ravi, the steward responsible for tending to the wounded gladiators.

"I have heard that you are Macrinus' new gladiator. It seems the battlefield has taken its toll on you," you remark, approaching the gladiator. Hanno—that is what you heard him called. His blue eyes fix upon you, studying you as though he seeks to unravel your very essence.

"I belong to no one," the gladiator replies, his voice strained as he winces in pain. "But I do appreciate your company. Ravi may be a skilled healer, yet nothing compares to the presence of a beautiful woman." His words are accompanied by a grimace, his arm bearing a wound, likely inflicted by the blade of a sword. Positioning yourself before him, you reach for one of the tools Ravi uses to stitch the torn flesh of gladiators. With steady hands, you then lift a cup of wine laced with opium, offering it to the gladiator to ease his suffering.

The gladiator drinks the wine greedily, allowing the liquid to trickle down his lips. "If my appearance pleases you, I suggest you focus on that," you remark coolly. "For what I am about to do will bring you little satisfaction." Without hesitation, you begin stitching his wound, prompting him to release several groans of pain.

"You seem to take pleasure in causing me pain," he mutters between groans, a chuckle escaping him despite the agony etched across his face.

"Do not misinterpret me so gravely. I take pride in being of service to the recovery of gladiators," you reply while continuing to stitch his wound. "I lost my husband to one of the games orchestrated by Emperors Geta and Caracalla. So rest assured, my dedication lies entirely in aiding you." As you work, his expressions shift, the pain visibly dulling—likely the effects of the wine and opium taking hold. Yet, his hand from the uninjured arm suddenly grips your leg firmly, near your thigh. The gesture appears unintentional. You glance at him, startled.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, withdrawing his hand swiftly, your silent gaze alone conveying your disapproval. "I believe I lost control of my actions for a moment." You offer no verbal response, but the unspoken understanding in your exchange pleases you.

"There are rumors circulating that you have come in search of something," you say, your gaze lingering on the ring adorning the gladiator's finger. "I wonder if what you seek is vengeance—or perhaps a love lost." He lifts his eyes to meet yours, as though carefully crafting the right response.

"Vengeance for a lost love," he finally admits, his voice laden with the fury of grief. "My wife perished under the command of the General." The intensity of his words is mirrored in his eyes, now burning with a hunger that seems insatiable.

A fleeting discomfort stirs within you as his words settle. You owe much to General Acacius; your life, your freedom, and perhaps even a part of your heart are tied to him. He has been nothing but an honorable man in your eyes, despite his marriage to Lucilla. A genuine affection for him lingers within you, though you respect the boundaries of his union.

"Since you do not know me, I feel compelled to warn you—should your vengeance be aimed at General Acacius, you will find no ally in me. I am among the many who will not stand idly by should harm come to him," you declare, finishing your care for his wound.

"Ah, and we have only just met, yet I seem to have displeased you already," the gladiator replies, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "But allow me to ask—if you had the chance to kill the one responsible for your husband's death, would you not take it?"

His gaze is unwavering, piercing into yours. You avert your eyes, exhaling slowly before stepping closer to him. "When my husband died, vengeance had no place in my heart," you say firmly. "I was consumed with fear—wondering which emperor I would be forced to lay with to survive, or whose entertainment I would become. Fortunately, General Acacius spared me from all those fates and ensured I was kept far from the gladiator who killed my husband." Your eyes meet his with an intensity that demands understanding, your voice steady and resolute. He listens in silence, his focus unbroken.

"Then you are indebted to General Acacius," the gladiator remarks, his tone probing as he holds your gaze. You step away, irritation rising within you, though you refuse to admit it aloud.

"You could say so—I am indebted to General Acacius. Does that make you angry with me?" you ask earnestly, taking a cloth soaked in wine and carefully pressing it against the gladiator's wounds.

"No, I do not feel anger toward you," he replies, his voice steady despite the sting of the alcohol against his skin.

"Gladiator, you are ready to fight once more. Should you suffer any wounds in the future and prefer Ravi's care, I will not take offense," you say, finishing your work.

He smiles softly, gradually regaining his composure. "My name is Hanno. You may call me that, and I would like to keep you as the one responsible for my care." Hanno says, taking your hands as if in gratitude.

"I am Y/N, since we are introducing ourselves," you reply. "And since we are being friendly, I will ask a favor of you. If you plan to seek revenge, do it properly. Confront General Acacius in a fair manner, that one of you may die an honorable death."

You hold Hanno's rough hands, hoping to appeal to his sense of reason. "I will take your words into consideration, but I cannot guarantee anything," Hanno responds, his gaze never leaving you.

"I recommend you rest before being taken to your cell. Surely, we will meet again soon," you say as you step away, gathering the healing supplies Ravi entrusted to you.

Hanno bids you farewell, settling down in a corner of the place where you had been tending to him. You leave him there, knowing he will soon be escorted to his cell. Meanwhile, you make your way to General Acacius, as he often summons you when he returns from his campaigns, and you follow him without hesitation.

"Mea domina, I have waited so long for you to come to me..." Marcus Acacius' voice fills the space around you. The setting is a private garden within his residence, shared with Lucilla.

You approach him, adjusting the stole around your body. He moves toward you slowly, holding a goblet of wine in his hands.

"I had to attend to the treatment of one of the gladiators," you speak softly, drawing nearer to him. He extends the goblet to you, and you drink from it. Then, he rises slightly and places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I have a wound as well; I would like you to tend to it," General Acacius says, his fingers brushing lightly against his lower lip. Gently, you rise toward him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss so soft it could scarcely be called one. It is delicate, restrained—you have no desire to overstep any boundaries.

"Our charade may now conclude, General Acacius. I believe any servant or guard lingering nearby has been sufficiently convinced by our display of affection," you say, fully aware that this romantic gesture is but a performance to solidify the illusion that you truly belong to him.

"Just a little longer, mea domina," he murmurs, placing his hands gently on your face and pulling you into another kiss. This time, it is more fervent, as though he is intent on committing the feel of your lips to memory.

[bubblegumgothglados]

Aftercare should generally involve the opposite of the things a scene involved, it should balance the "negative" physical and psychological impact of the scene.

This is a fairly neat summation and simplification of a very complex and nuanced topic. But it's a good place to start if you're new and don't quite understand the concept of aftercare or if you're experienced and trying a new type of play. It's a simple framework to build upon as you learn more about your individual needs and the needs of your play partner(s).

So what are the physical and psychological impacts of a scene. (Do note we're specifically talking about those impacts we don't want to last past the end of a scene, puppies don't want to be told they're not puppies as aftercare)

I'm not going to separate these because what effects you psychologically is also going to effect you physically and vice versa. These things are not separate.

A good example on the more psychological side might be degradation which damages a submissive's self worth, self image, ego, etc. To balance this aftercare should focus on affirmation and rebuilding /healing those things. Similarly fear play damages a submissive's sense of safety/ wellbeing, aftercare for which should involve being made to feel safe, comfortable with their dominant, and st ease.

Having said that, a good example of this balance on the more physical side is replacing lost energy. Basically no matter what type if play you're engaging in you will burn a lot of energy, so to balance that you should replace that energy. I write about this in much more detail HERE.

Getting a little more complicated; sub drop. Coming 'down' from a submissive headspace, especially one that includes pain play, can be very unpleasant. The neurotransmitters released during a scene fade away, this feels something like the crash after an adrenaline spike, and can leave a submissive feeling lethargic, empty, sad, etc. To balance this aftercare should involve things the submissive enjoys to bring those neurotransmitter levels back up a little and alleviate some of the withdrawal symptoms. This can include but shouldn't be limited to; cuddles, kisses, warm snugly things like blankets and stuffies, their favourite snacks, their favourite movie or TV show, etc

"Top drop" is less a neurological thing and more of a social thing. Although the top headspace also includes it's own share of neurotransmitters which also drop off it's almost always to a much lesser extent. The most common major effect of top drop is guilt; hurting someone you care about is something deeply ingrained as bad and even if they like it, even if they're begging for it, it can still effect you really deeply. Aftercare for this should involve affirmation that the bottom isn't hurt beyond what they want to be, that they still care about and trust their dom, etc.

This is an infinitely nuanced topic, I could write until the character limit and still not cover all the ways that aftercare could go. But I have to draw a line in the sand somewhere so let me make one final point. Don't worry too much about getting this perfectly right the first few times, you'll figure out what you need and what your play partner(s) need. The most important part is the "care" half of "aftercare" show them you're willing yo put in the effort to make sure they're OK and you can't go to wrong

[blindmagdalena]

A Taste of Heaven

18+ 1.3k homelander x afab reader, no pronouns. breast play/sucking, pet names, coming untouched. written for this ask from @chubbunnyy 🖤

Homelander just can't help himself. He's addicted to you.

It starts with Homelander's head in your lap, face tilted away from you as the two of you watch a movie together. He's barely paying attention to it, eyes half-lidded, every blink a little slower. The sound of your nails scraping deliciously along his scalp has long since drowned out the drone of the television.

It doesn't take much longer for his waning attention to fall solely on you. He brings his head forward to stare up at you, the sight of you bringing a loose, charmed smile to his face. Your attention is still set on the film, lips slightly parted as you watch.

The curve of your breasts is a particularly tantalizing view.

Licking his lips, a pang of arousal shoots through him like a bolt of lightning that settles neatly between his legs, growing into a steady, warm throb.

As if feeling his eyes, you glance down, huffing a soft laugh when you realize he's staring. "What?"

"Nothing," he says, though you clearly don't believe him. As you shouldn't. "Don't mind me. Watch the movie."

Though your eyes narrow with a touch of suspicion, they do drift back to the screen.

Smile turning sly, Homelander nuzzles into your lap, inhaling deeply. The comfort of your scent—your heat—is unparalleled. With your plush thighs cradling his head, he brings his ungloved hand up over his shoulder, hooking his fingers into the space between your thighs, his index finger pressing in against your cunt through the layers of your clothes.

He gives your thigh a squeeze before he starts to rub back and forth. Although you resiliently keep your eyes trained on the movie, he can sense your excitement in the shifting cadence of your breath. Hear it in the skip of your heart. Feel it in the steady way your body warms, blood rushing to flush your skin.

His cock begins to fill out, the signs of your arousal sending his own into overdrive.

The way you pretend not to notice makes it feel like a game, like he's doing something he shouldn't, turning these otherwise understated, intimate touches between lovers into an exciting taboo.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he pushes further on your restraint by moving his hand to the hem of your shirt, toying with it a moment before bypassing it entirely. The backs of his knuckles slide up your torso, sensitive enough to feel the goosebumps prickling your skin as he does.

Your fingers have gone still in his hair, which tells him that—regardless of where you're looking—every ounce of your attention is fixated on his touch.

Perfect.

Reaching further, he cups the underside of your breast through your bra. He uses his thumb to rub slow circles until he coaxes your nipple into a solid peak. He squeezes, wringing a rough little exhale from you that goes directly to his fully hardened cock.

He bites back a groan, shifting subtly. The leaking head of his cock presses up into the curve of his cup, the miniscule amount of friction more than enough to rattle him while he's so intensely fixated on you.

The longer he works you with his warm palm, the hotter you get. The shallower your breaths become. Watching the effect he has on you is intoxicating, as is the way you try to resist him in this unspoken game.

He's half tempted to ask if you're enjoying the movie—despite knowing full well that you're not absorbing a single word of it—but he doesn't want to risk breaking the captivating spell his touch has over you.

Greedy for more, he catches the middle portion of your bra between his fingers and deftly snaps the fabric, freeing your breasts, which startles an inhaled little noise from you.

Every sound you make feels heightened, more delicious and hard-earned than the last. Eager to pull more of them from you, to satiate his own burning hunger for you, he withdraws his hand and hooks his fingers under the hem of your sweater, shifting it up until he can finally see the naked curve of your breast, nipple swollen from his teasing.

It makes his entire body throb.

Mouth watering, he swallows the hard lump of anticipation in his throat and parts his lips, shifting close enough to take your breast into his mouth, moaning into the soft pillowy feel of it.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, coaxing another muffled keen from him. The build to this moment has worked him up to the point where he's rocking his hips against nothing, seeking relief for the desperate ache of his leaking cock while his tongue swirls hungrily over your nipple, cheeks hollowing slightly when he sucks.

"Mmm, fuck," you breathe, composure shattering against the wet, hot pull of his mouth. You drag your nails all the way down to the back of his neck before taking another firm handhold of his hair, cradling him to your chest.

His eyes flicker halfway open, lids heavy, eyes glazed over. He nudges in against your breast in a half-hearted nuzzle, alternating between swipes of his tongue and sucking, swallowing as if he's drinking you down, and not just his own wet mess. You start to murmur mindless little nothings, encouraging him, your own eyelids flickering.

The praises falling from your lips wash over him like sunlight, adding to the feverish heat building under his suit. He's thrusting more shamelessly now, one boot planted firmly on the ground, the other propped up on the couch.

You're watching him, all former pretenses dropped. Your eyes are blown black, your own pleasure etched into every line of your face. You taste incredible, sweet and slightly salty on his tongue. He's certain he'll never be over the novelty of you, of this body and heart of yours that you give to him without hesitation.

Mine.

He pants softly through his nose, wishing you'd touch him, slip your hands into his pants and jerk his aching cock.

Anything to relieve the mounting pressure.

Instead, your other hand cups the side of his face, thumb stroking his cheek. "That's good," you coo, making his rhythm stutter. "You feel so good."

His brows pinch tightly together, eyes screwing shut. Like a mind reader, you manage to press every one of his buttons. His thrusts grow jagged, his breaths turning into soft whines as he chases the climax building between his thighs, his entire body practically vibrating with it.

He comes with a muffled cry, his legs lifting clean off the couch with it. He might drift away entirely if not for the way you hold him through it, moaning your own pleasure so very sweetly as he comes untouched in his pants, worked into an absolute frenzy by the feel, taste and smell of you.

Wave after wave of pleasure rolls through him, turning his vision red hot. He keeps his eyes tightly shut, still and silent until he has breath enough to gasp wetly, finally releasing you from the molten heat of his mouth.

Gravity returns gradually and his lower half drifts bonelessly back down onto the couch, his iron-wrought muscles reduced to the structural integrity of jello. Still cradling the back of his head, you bend down. He weakly pushes up into the kiss you press to his forehead. His lids are heavy as you stroke his hair, his face, soothing him through the aftershocks of his release.

Once enough of his senses return, he opens his eyes, smiling lazily up at you. Only then does he become aware of the movie credits playing in the background.

"Good movie?" He asks, a slight slur to his words.

You laugh. The sound of it is more divine than any gospel.

"My new favorite, I think."

His smile widens, the taste of your skin lingering on his tongue.

It tastes like heaven.

[anantaru]

I was thinking about kuni crying during sex bcz he never felt this loved hwkwjdkwjw

cw. rough but also cute, fem! reader

"i love you, kuni."

"..."

"...i love you too."

undermost his pressing words, there was a gloom of vulnerability entwined around scaramouche's voice, it's quivering, remotely jittery, on the assumption that he was attempting to hide his current emotions.

as he withdraws, he lets his head slant against your own, the warm blows of his exhales covering your wet lips and you shudder quietly through your entire frame when he bumps his cock right back into you. kuni was touching the insides of your knees, moving upwards until they're resting on his shoulders, "i don't know what's going on." he mutters, almost cursing and he couldn't believe he was on the brink of losing it, right in front of you— during a moment where you should be enjoying yourself, where he should be the one making you take pleasure.

his fingers knowingly feel at your sweat effected flesh, kneading your skin before grinding into you, your oozed out liquids sticking on his v-line.

you moan, splitting your legs apart, "what— what do you mean?" and cradle his cheeks to make him look at you, and then, you saw it, all of it. beginning with one single crystal pebble, his eyes become wounded, sewn in warm tears.

"no." you panic, "don't cry." your hands quickly smooth across his slender back, along his neck and resting beneath his hair. "what's wrong baby?"

scaramouche breathes in wet gulps of air, his forehead pressed against your own, pulling his entire weight on top of your body so your legs automatically wrap around his waist. it was difficult to focus on him while he wouldn't stop moving in and out of you, but it feels so good to him, when your walls blanket into every crevice of his erection. without a pause, his hot palms wrap around your cheeks and starvingly move you to his lips, his cock filling you to the brim before you even have a chance to react.

he groans into your mouth when you clench down on his erection, "it's nothing." he says, repeating it again, but you know he's lying, yet you do not pester him about it either, don't want to make him share something he wasn't comfortable with— so all you did was to keep him close, your limbs practically caging him in as he rests his head into your neck, composing himself, although not before saying one more thing.

"i just never felt love before."

2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[nothingbutsweetwords]

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰɪx ʜɪᴍ (ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ)

ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

"ᴛʀᴜꜱᴛ ᴍᴇ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʜᴀɴᴅʟᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ᴍᴀɴ, ɴᴏ, ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ."

Word count: 9,700. (sorry)

Fandom: House of the Dragon.

Pairing: Aemond x Reader!Sister.

Warnings: Angst, smut, incest, mention of non-con, violence, blood.

The sunrise on the garden balcony was a spectacle of light and color. The sky bathed in shades of pink and lavender, reflecting its warm glow over the colorful petals of the flowers and the cool fountains surrounding them. They were in that corner of tranquility, enjoying one of those rare moments when time seemed to stand still.

Away from the exhausting bustle of the palace and the endless boring lessons that usually occupied them, they were seated on a marble bench. Lucerys gazed at the horizon, where the sun was slowly rising, while she looked at the small piece in her hands, a little sky-blue horse that belonged to him, her best friend, who always carried it. Her mind was at peace, enjoying a restorative calm, complemented by the sound of the leaves rustling and the gentle waves caressing the sand.

Suddenly, he broke the silence, rising above the murmur of the garden. He cleared his throat, a sign that announced the importance of his forthcoming words. His eyes sparkled with a light that was more than just the sun’s.

“Have you heard the news?” he inquired, his tone soft and gentle as he regarded her. Though his tone was casual, the faintest hint of a smile revealed his restrained excitement.

Intrigued, she turned her head toward the sound of his sweet voice, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes met his. “What is it about?” she asked, filled with genuine interest.

Lucerys leaned forward slightly, an air of mystery about him. There was a palpable warmth in his anticipation, akin to the whisper of a breeze through the clouds. “It appears that a proposal has been made,” he began, pausing dramatically for effect before adding, “between the two of us.” 

A wave of emotions washed over her, a mixture of surprise, relief, and an uncontainable glee. Her brows arched in astonishment as her mouth fell slightly open.

In an instant, her lips broke into a smile, accompanied by a small laugh. “I am pleased it is you” she said. “We will be together for all time.”

Seeing her reaction, he returned the smile with one that illuminated his entire face. His cheeks took on a rosy hue, and his eyes reflected a happiness that seemed to mirror her own.

The promise of a shared life, now formally announced, felt as natural as the descending sun. Their friendship had been a constant source of joy and stability, from their childhood games to their conversations filled with dreams and confidences, and in that moment, the bond was evident.

As the day melded into morning, they dreamt aloud of all they would do when the time came. They would live in Driftmark, sail the open sea every day they could, and the others would fly on Arrax's back, exploring every realm and enjoying adventures far, far from King’s Landing.

She moved hastily toward her brother. Each stride, each heavy step seemed to echo in her mind, a reverberation of the anguish she felt as she traversed the silent corridors of the palace. Her face, impassive and devoid of expression, could not reflect the emotional storm that tormented her.

Upon reaching the door, her hands trembled slightly as she turned the knob. The maester, who was in the midst of his work, offered a respectful bow before withdrawing, leaving them alone in the deep gloom, barely interrupted by the faint rays of light filtering through the window.

The room was enveloped in a dense atmosphere, and the air was thick with a penetrating smell of blood and medicinal ointments, a constant reminder of the suffering manifesting within.

The tense friction between the children of Rhaenyra and their own siblings had always been present, but what occurred that night surpassed any expectations of enmity, turning the journey to Driftmark into an explosion of chaos, destruction, and despair, marking a turning point for all. And now, Aemond lay mutilated, wounded inside and out beyond repair, his body marked by the traces of brutality.

The bond between them had never been one of great closeness; she respected and valued him, of course, but always felt they aimed at very different things. He had a powerful, dominant presence, determined to protect her from what she perceived as invisible enemies and to educate her on intricate politics from which she only longed to escape.

Despite all this, he was her brother, and the sight struck her with unrelenting force, tearing at her from within, and the blood tie was felt immediately, throwing her toward him with urgency. His face was bruised, with traces of dried blood scattered across his skin, and his left side was completely bandaged.

She approached the bed cautiously, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile balance of the situation. She sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. The coldness of his skin and the sharp pain reflected in his features made her feel as though the world was crumbling around her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks uncontrollably.

The silence of the room was broken by a fractured whisper. “Let me take care of you now” she said, almost like a plea, the weight of regret and sincerity in her promise resonating in her voice, clinging to the hope that she could offer some comfort. 

She felt lost, trapped between the piercing pain of seeing Aemond suffer and the cruel disbelief that Lucerys was the cause.

He nodded slightly, squeezing her hand and showing a small smile with the remaining strength he had.

Over the following moons, she stayed by his side, reading aloud fragments of books he used to enjoy, trying to distract him from the pain and make him feel he was not alone.

One time, while they were in his chambers, the weight of her questions prevented her from thinking about anything else. Her family had preferred to keep the details from her ears, but she needed the full, raw, and unadorned truth to face her own pain and sense of betrayal.

“May I ask you something?” she murmured with cautious hesitation. Aemond looked at her, his uncovered face showing his wound, which, although it had not diminished his beauty, bore testament to the deep suffering he had endured. He nodded, granting her permission to continue. “What precisely happened that night?”

His expression darkened with anguish as he began to recount the events in detail, sparing no harsh truth. He described how he had been ambushed, how ruthless insults and merciless blows had rained down on him just because, and how the violence he had suffered had left an indelible mark not only on his face but also on his spirit. His narration was laced with a sharp sense of injustice and humiliation.

Lucerys had brought a dagger and his siblings and cousins, under the assurance that Aemond would be isolated, and it seemed that the conflict had left a bitter sense of dissatisfaction.

Each word and revelation felt like direct strikes to her gut, leaving her paralyzed, her hands quivering as she struggled to grasp the gravity of what she had heard.

Her dearest and closest friend, the one with whom she had shared laughter and secrets, the one with whom she had dreamed of building a life, turned out to be the perpetrator of such indescribably atrocious violence that she could hardly believe it. The actions of that boy, in whom she had placed all her trust, felt like a treachery that cut to the very essence of her being, shattering her deepest convictions.

She recalled all those times Aemond had told her about the callous jokes he faced and the dangers of associating with cold, ambitious people, and how she had thought he was exaggerating. Now, she understood the truth with terrifying clarity: he had always sought to shield her from the darkness of their world, and his warnings had materialized in him.

“They will not be satisfied with this” he intoned gravely. “They will not rest until they have eradicated all who pose a threat to their rise — Aegon, Daeron… me.” Fear enveloped her strongly, realizing that unity was more crucial than ever, and recognizing that she had lost the one she loved most in the world.

“And to think we were to be married” she whispered later, more to herself than to Aemond. The acceptance that the future she had once envisioned was no longer hers shattered the heavy silence, leaving behind a sound of broken dreams.

He regarded her with an intensity that was both earnest and fierce, his gaze reflecting deep sincerity.

“I would never have allowed it” he declared firmly, charged with a fervor that made clear how much his love and desire to protect her meant. Tears welled in her eyes as she faced him. “He is a bastard, and every bastard is a monster by nature” he added with disdain. 

She had always abhorred such notions; she knew Lucerys for who he truly was and had never believed he fit such descriptions. Yet now, she found herself doubting.

She nodded, relieved to have avoided what seemed like it could have been a curse, and grateful to have Aemond by her side, who seemed to be her only refuge amidst the storm that her world had become.

As the years went by, her feelings began to transform in ways she had not anticipated. At first, her heart was flooded with excruciating pain. Seeing her brother suffer was a torment, every lament, every sign of ache, cut deep into her, creating a sense of helplessness that seemed inexhaustible. It also hurt her to adopt a new image of Lucerys, with a completely different light.

That pain gradually dissipated, replaced by something more intense, a relentless fury towards Lucerys and blind devotion towards Aemond. His resilience and bravery which he showed without complaining, were worthy of worship, and fascinated and inspired her in ways she had never imagined. 

Her life began to revolve around him, at a pace that seemed synchronized with his needs. While he dedicated most of his time to training, challenging his physical limits, she became a constant and discreet presence, a faithful shadow moving through his surroundings. She took it upon herself to nurse him back to health, and she manifested in every small gesture, from carefully bringing his meals to delicately cleaning his wounds and changing the bandages with loving precision.

Each night, when sleep eluded him, he would call for her, and she would come, ready to provide a refuge of comfort and support, trying to make the hours of wakefulness a bit more bearable.

Amidst all this, something withered while something else bloomed, an emotion that overflowed and transformed into something much more mature. The first sign of change was the blush that would take over her cheeks every time he whispered his sweet thoughts to her.

He told her that her care was the greatest comfort he had received, that her love was the greatest blessing in his life, that she was everything he had always wanted, and that he hoped to have her by his side forever, forever. These, filled with genuine affection and a fragility he did not share with anyone else, began to penetrate her vulnerable heart.

Aemond, who had grown into a man of imposing beauty, now occupied a special place in her heart. Every feature of his, every gesture, every look seemed to be wrapped in a strength that captivated her completely. The way he moved, the way his eye shone with an intensity that only she seemed to grasp, made her pulse quicken, as if every beat of her heart was an ode to his existence.

As the sun began to sink below the horizon, painting the sky with golden and orange hues, she sat on the edge of the window, her gaze lost in the vast expanse of the sea, which reminded her of what once was, while listening to the restless waves crashing on the shore.

Her mother entered with a resolute step. “I wished to speak with you, my dear” she said with a voice trying to remain calm and her face marked with tense lines. She turned to her, a faint smile on her lips at recognizing her presence, and nodded softly. 

Alicent gently took her hand and guided her to the nearby settee. They both sat down, and the silence that followed was laden with a heavy anticipation, palpable as the pressure before lightning splits the darkness.

Feeling the weight of unspoken words, she looked at her with concern. “What troubles you, mother?” she asked, intertwining her hands in an attempt to share the emotional burden as the sadness in her mother’s eyes did not go unnoticed, even though the reasons behind it were not clear.

Alicent sighed deeply before murmuring, her voice breaking. “I am worried about you.”

She looked at her, her curiosity growing with each passing second. “Worried about me? Why?”

Her mother paused, looking at her with apprehension. Finally, she gathered her resolve to speak. “Your relationship with Aemond…” She cleared her throat and licked her lower lip before continuing, carefully choosing her words. “Your brother… he is not the same since the events that befell him. And I wonder whether it is wise for you to remain so close to someone like him” she said cautiously.

Her eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. “Someone like him?” she asked, her tone reflecting her unease.

“You know what he is” her mother replied in a whisper, as if fearing the consequences of voicing her thoughts.

“He is just hurt, rightfully so,” she defended, “and I can help him” she added urgently, trying to make her mother see the determination on her face.

“No, you cannot.” That was an unexpected blow. “Besides, do you not think that what you are feeling may not be entirely genuine? You lost Lucerys, and you needed someone to fill that void.”

Her mother’s words struck a sensitive chord. She looked at her with seriousness, her expression shifting from confusion to profound sadness. “That is not true” she whispered firmly, her voice trembling. “And do not say that again.”

“You may view matters from a different perspective than I, from where you stand” Alicent continued, still gentle, attempting not to alarm her further. “And you have seen how your sister has been since she got married” she said, tears beginning to pool and her lips pressing together to stifle them. “I wish not to condemn you to the same fate”

Exasperation took hold as she defended their relationship, knowing that not all could comprehend. “Their love is not the same as ours” she said, her voice rising with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Aemond is not as you believe.”

“Perhaps it would be wise for you to distance yourself from him” Alicent finally suggested. “A change of scenery, some distance, might offer you clarity.”

Suddenly, she stood up, pulling her hand away sharply. “What are you trying to do?” she demanded, her eyes blazing.

“I am going to send you to Old Town. There, you may meet new people and choose the husband you desire.”

“I want Aemond!” she retorted, shouting as she neared a breaking point. “Do not do this to me” she pleaded, her face reddened by the tears that finally began to fall as she clutched her chest, which seemed to be closing up.

“I merely wish to care for you” her mother said through tears, rising to follow her as she began to pace around the room. “I seek what is best for you” she added, her hands reaching out in an attempt to touch her.

“He is what is best for me,” she countered, “and I am what is best for him.”

“No, he is not” Alicent said, her voice rising into a cry filled with anguish. “He will ultimately tear you apart.”

With a heavy heart, she faced her mother. “Attempt to keep me from him if you must” she threatened, her voice full of defiance. “Send me to the ends of the earth if you want, he shall always find me upon Vhagar.”

Alicent reached her side, cradling her face in her hands with a tenderness that contrasted with the intensity of the moment, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a love that contradicted her words. They stayed like that for a few minutes, their foreheads touching, both trying to steady their breathing and meet halfway.

“If you will not do it for yourself, at least do it for me” she pleaded, a call to empathy that made her waver. She finally pulled away, stepping back. “It is decided, then” she said with a trembling voice before retreating, shaking her head, her face soaked with resignation.

The rest of the day dragged slowly as she remained locked in her chambers. She had leaned against the wall, seeking solace in the cold of the stone and the salty air that seemed to try to dry every tear that rolled down her cheeks. Shadows lengthened as the light began to fade.

She couldn’t get out of her mind the vision of another future that had collapsed before her eyes. The image of a destiny that once seemed promising and full of hope had now turned desolate, again.

She would be bound to an unknown lord, forced to accept a marriage she did not want, raising children fathered by a man she did not desire, facing a life that offered no freedom or happiness. The weight of an existence with no option to choose her own path pressed on her little by little, like sinking into water.

The door creaked open almost imperceptibly, and Aemond appeared in the doorway, his figure marked by exhaustion. He walked towards her with silent steps, calling her softly, but she was so immersed in her thoughts that she barely heard him. Only the warmth of his proximity pulled her out of her reverie.

When she slowly turned to look at him, the sadness in her face, with swollen eyes and tears still filling them, made his expression shift to one of alarm. “What is it?” he asked, his voice thick with worry as his brows furrowed.

She endeavored to speak with resolve, but her voice betrayed her struggle to remain composed. “Mother is going to send me away,” she said, her voice cracking, “to find a husband.” Aemond’s reaction was immediate. His eye widened, and his jaw tightened, indignation clear in his demeanor.

“She dares to take you away from me?” he exclaimed, his tone rising. One hand encircled her waist with a strength that was both tender and firm, while the other rested on her neck, ensuring she felt his sincerity.  “I will not allow it” he declared with fervor. “I will not allow you to be wed to some mere lord.”

She bit her lower lip, the effort to contain her sobs making her tremble. “It is decided, she said” she whispered, the sorrow in her words intensifying his grip.

“She has no word in this” he asserted with a voice seething with fury. For a moment, he allowed her tears to flow freely as he held her, her forehead resting against his chest.

After a few moments of finding comfort in his embrace, he gently pulled her away, taking her by the roots of her hair and compelling her to look up. “To whom do you belong?” he asked with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

She met his face, her devotion undeniable in her eyes. “To you” she whispered, her voice soft.

He nodded slowly, a small, approving smile curling the corner of his lips, casting a soft light over his stern features. Despite the roughness of the skin of his hands, calloused from the sword, his thumbs softly traced hearts on her blushing face as their gazes interlocked in a silent dance.

“Then prove it” he whispered, his voice low and laden with deep meaning, a glint in his eye. “Let no tongue dare question it.”

Her pulse began to race with a nearly painful speed, each beat pounding in her chest, marking the rhythm of an uncontrollable desire, and her breath grew labored. She looked at him with a mixture of expectation, her eyes shining. Then, her lips parted, a gesture that sealed a tacit pact.

She had imagined this moment countless times, each scenario more vivid than the last, but she had never felt brave enough to act on those desires. Excitement enveloped her like a surging tide, threatening to sweep her away into uncharted waters.

Without warning, he leaned in, and their lips met in a tentative kiss, igniting like the first flicker of a flame. She responded with a relieved sigh, the initial caution melting away into a deeper surrender. Their breaths intertwined, ragged and heated, as the kiss grew fiercely.

Although their mouths had joined before, never with such haste. The tip of his tongue gently slid over her lips, seeking to pave the way for a more intimate exploration, while her hands gripped him tightly, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.

Her fingers glided over his chest, ascended his neck, and finally tangled in his soft hair, pulling him toward her with an uncontrollable need.

In that moment, she was aware that she was transgressing established rules, breaking from the expected, and that her mother would undoubtedly feel a profound disappointment, but for once, she allowed herself to be swept away by the force of impulse, yielding to him without reservations.

Her lips, red and moist from the kiss, were slightly parted, gasping for air as their eager hands hurried to undress one another. He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bed with a sense of urgency.

With her back pressed against the cool sheets and him dominating above her, she couldn't help the jolt of nerves that coursed through her stomach. She delicately removed his eyepatch, placing it on the nightstand as if shedding the last remnants of restraint.

As he kissed her fervently, she felt his hardness pressing against her entrance, intensifying her longing. She moved her hips toward him, seeking the union.

When the need for another breath became imminent, without uttering a single word, he began to trace a path of kisses that glided softly down her neck, where each touch made her skin prickle, awakening sensations she had never experienced. 

As his lips descended, warmth grew within her, and the air became hotter. He reached her breasts, where he placed his hand over one, provoking a shiver that coursed through her body. Gently, he caressed it with his long fingers, while with the other, he dedicated himself to leaving wet kisses that marked her skin with desire. When his mouth settled on her nipple and began to suck, the slight contact of his teeth left her breathless.

To her dismay, he stopped, looking at her with an eye full of promises, the intensity of his sapphire shining under the moonlight as he continued his descent, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

He buried his face between her thighs, and she gasped as she felt his tongue on her puffy folds, exploring her sensitive flesh. Her cries grew louder as he licked the length of her wetness, drinking deep from her core.

Then, as his tongue flicked against her bud, he inserted one of his long fingers inside her. One of her hands went to his hair, desperate to hold onto something as she felt him savoring every drop of her, in perfect synchronization with his fingers sliding in and out of her.

She threw her head back while pulling his closer, and uncontrollable moans began to escape her lips, each deeper and more filled with surprise than the last. She felt her body begin to tremble under his power, a pressure building inside her, her back arched and her hips pressed against the mattress.

"I feel like... I feel like" she cried, her brows slightly furrowed and her mouth open.

"Yes, my love" he whispered, his thumb expertly attending to her most sensitive spot while his fingers kept working wonders inside of her. “Let go for me” he said, and she felt herself slipping over the edge, her body convulsing and her legs quivering as the ecstasy washed over.

As the waves receded, she lay there, breathing heavily, her body still pulsing. He rose from between her legs, his eyes fixed on hers, and as he kissed her, she could taste herself. 

He loomed over her, his arm planted firmly on one side of her body while the other went around her neck, taking her hair and pulling her back again. "Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice a whisper thick with desire, “see who is taking you."

She obeyed, still breathless as he aligned himself with her center, and her legs locked tightly around his waist as he sank agonizingly slowly into her welcoming warmth. A delicious burning sensation settled within her as he stretched and filled her so, so right.

A loud moan escaped her kiss-swollen lips, a symphony of pain and pleasure flooding her every sense. When she brought one of her trembling hands to her mouth to stifle the sounds, he firmly pulled it away.

"Let everyone hear that you are mine" he declared, increasing the speed of his movements, drawing forth more whimpers, resonating in the room while her body writhed, responding to every harder thrust of his hips. “And mine alone.”

After the simple wedding ceremony, held before the eyes of the seven to avoid "upset them any further" her life seemed to have been ripped away from a dream. 

Days passed in a constant sway on Vhagar's back, as he showered her with gifts and spent nearly every moment of the day making love to her at every hour and place, sealing their affection in a nearly oppressive manner.

But time, like an unrelenting moon, began to shift the waters. The maester confirmed her suspicions, that a life was growing inside her, and everything changed abruptly. When she revealed this to Aemond, she had anticipated several reactions: surprise, joy, gratitude, but she never imagined the stoic expression on his face, marked by a veil of displeasure, as if the baby, instead of being a pure blessing, had become an imminent threat to their exclusive bond.

"How can this be?" he erupted, his expression laden with disbelief. "I never allowed any of my seed to remain in you, and" he stammered, shaking his head, “and you, you have drinked the tea, have you not?”

She remained composed, her voice steady as she explained. "The maesters said that, even with our precautions, it is possible. It is not that surprising, given the frequency with which..." She smiled wryly, trying to ease the tension in the air and lighten the mood, but it faded when she saw he was not convinced.

One evening, as she looked at herself in the mirror, the curve of her pregnancy prominent, she saw Aemond enter with his usual gravity. The baby, already making its presence felt, began to move—a small reminder of the life they shared. She smiled and called him, eager for his reaction.

"My love, come here" she beckoned, hoping to draw him near. He approached with an impassive face, deliberately avoiding her gaze. She placed his hand on her rounded belly, but he brushed it away with a slight brusqueness. "Why do you pull away?" she inquired, her voice trembling with hurt.

Then, though wounded, she lifted her hand to caress his face. "I like to think I shall have a little version of you" she commented tenderly, trying to infuse hope into a situation that seemed to be crumbling. However, rather than sharing in her enthusiasm, he appeared troubled.

Her eyebrows arched in surprise. "What is it that troubles you, my love?" she asked, concern lacing her tone.

"I cannot help it" he replied. "The baby... it changes everything. It used to be so simple, just you and me."

"But it is a natural part of our life together" she attempted to explain, filled with a desperate calm. "It is merely a new phase."

"One I did not ask for" he retorted sarcastically. "Every time I look at you, I feel as if I am losing you. How can you expect me not to feel threatened by this?"

She frowned, her frustration growing. "And what would you have me do?" she asked, with annoyance. When he looked at her, his gaze indicated something deeper. "Aemond" she reproached, her hurt more apparent.

"Do you not understand what this means? It will draw your attention from what truly matters."

She looked at him, still struggling to grasp his anguish. “You are being unreasonable.”

"Do you believe that?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation. "Because I am not so sure. The baby will require all your attention, and I... how can I compete with that?"

She took a step back, shaking her head slowly. “Compete?” she murmured, a note of sorrow in her voice.

"Yes" he admitted, and seeing her reaction, he sought her gaze almost pleadingly. "I never imagined I would have to share you so soon. It is just that..." He hesitated, struggling with his emotions, his eyes drifting to her belly. "The baby... it will separate us once it is born; I will be lost in the change."

Her voice quivered as she responded, desperate to bridge the distance. “No, he will not.”

"The idea that another might possess a part of you... is unbearable" he said, breaking down, frustrated, unable to accept her words.

"But, my love, what we share will not fade. This love we hold for one another does not divide; it only grows" she countered, striving to offer comfort.

"It is hard to trust when everything I know seems to be changing" he confessed, his voice revealing his vulnerability. 

She sighed, with a growing ache in her chest, and embraced him softly. "You are not losing me, you never will" she assured him with a conviction that tried to counterbalance his growing unease.

"No matter what?" he insisted, his tone carrying an intensity that felt more like a demand than a mere question. His embrace was a blend of desperation and control, as if he needed her promise to calm his inner turmoil. “Promise me.”

"I promise" she sweetened her words even further. "Just be good and let me help you, do not shut me out, yes?" she said, planting a small kiss on his furrowed brows. 

However, promises and caresses were not enough to fill the void that had opened between them. In the weeks that followed, his attempts to reconnect with her through gestures, though well-intentioned, did not align with what she was willing to receive or give at that time. It often resulted in awkward and mismatched moments, as his efforts did not meet her current needs. Frustrated, he began to spend more time away under various pretexts and excuses.

"What if it turns out to be twins, as I had?" asked her sister with a playful smile. The scene was serene, with both of them in the room while Helaena meticulously embroidered blankets for the cradle, each stitch an act of anticipatory love. She remained silent while her heart raced. Aemond's concern for their child was already overwhelming; the idea of facing that anxiety doubled terrified her.

Unable to respond, Aemond entered the room bearing a bouquet of flowers. "I thought these might brighten your day" he said, offering them.

She regarded the carnations, her eyes reflecting surprise and a hint of sadness. "They are quite beautiful" she murmured, accepting them with a grateful smile. "Thank you." 

Seeing that he was about to leave, she stepped towards him, her eyes conveying a silent plea for more. "Perhaps you might stay with us for a while. I was thinking we could choose the babe’s name together" she suggested, her tone gentle but laden with hope.

He casted a fleeting glance at the door with an inscrutable expression, and replied, "I shall leave you both to it.”

She felt a pang of disappointment, and with a resigned sigh, returned to her place. Helaena, witnessing the exchange, gave a gentle caress to her belly, trying to offer comfort. "What troubles you?" she asked after a few moments.

"I am worried" she confessed, trying to contain her sadness. "I fear Aemond is not entirely happy about this." Noticing her sister's concerned face, she quickly added, trying to downplay the severity of her feelings. "He simply has not yet come to terms with it."

"It is only natural to feel overwhelmed, but it is not fair for you to bear all the burden" Helaena gently said.

She sought to soothe her, her voice a whisper full of justifications. "It is just that everything has unfolded so quickly for him. At times, I believe he fears losing me more than confronting what lies ahead."

Helaena, clearly preoccupied, took her hands. "Once the babe arrives, you will need to devote a lot of time to him. He must adjust to that reality now" she advised.

"Perhaps when he sees the babe, he will come to understand" she said, though her tone betrayed a lack of conviction. "Did you experience something similar with Aegon?"

Helaena shrugged, her expression showing sadness and frustration. "Aegon was always a devoted father, always happy" she whispered. "I only fear that I was not the mother he had wished for his children."

Although the distance hurt, she faced the pregnancy with the support of her siblings and her mother, hoping that he would overcome his insecurities and find his way back to her. But when the babe was born, the situation did not improve, it only worsened.

As she dined with her sister and mother, the conversation revolved around the latest court topics and the children. It was at that moment that Alicent, with a touch of nervousness, announced:

“On the morrow Rhaenyra’s family shall visit us.”

The words hung in the air, and both Helaena and she looked up from their plates. Her pulse quickened immediately. Although she had maintained a steady anger towards Lucerys, the mere fact that he would be nearby again stirred a whirlwind of emotions. The thought of seeing him, of confronting the past, filled her with a crushing anxiety.

During the court session, Aemond instructed her to remain in her quarters, claiming that she should not concern herself with trivialities. She had suspected a more hidden motivation behind his decision but accepted his command without questioning too much, she would learn the details through Helaena after.

Hours later, she found herself on the balcony of the gardens, her gaze lost in the sea, a place where she used to seek comfort and clarity. Enjoying the breeze on her skin, she felt a presence behind her and knew, without even looking, who was there. Despite everything, she couldn’t resist the urge to see him, to ask the questions that had remained unanswered.

“It is a lovely day” he said, approaching her side. His voice was more deep and mature, but just as sweet as she remembered. 

“Indeed” she replied softly, almost as if Aemond could hear her from a distance.

“It has been a long time” he continued, his words heavy with regret, gazing at her instead of the landscape.

“Yes, it has.”

“Things got out of control.”

She almost laughed at his understatement. “You took my brother’s eye” she exclaimed, her voice laced with indignation.

“And I regret it every day” he confessed, his tone genuinely sorrowful

��Of course you do” she retorted, the sarcasm unmistakable. “It is not easy to forget such a heinous act.”

“I am aware” he said, heavy.

After a few minutes of charged silence, she broke it, her voice reflecting years of resentment and longing. “You ruined everything.”

“I had to act” Lucerys said, defensively.

“Act about what?” She demanded. “Because he claimed a dragon?” She looked at him, incredulous and disturbed. “You brought a dagger to an ambush, you meant to kill him, just because of that?”

“No,” he interrupted quickly, “because he was going to kill Joffrey” he said, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Did he ever tell you that?” he inquired, his voice mingling with frustration and anger. “About how he was about to kill Joffrey, calling him a bastard, when I intervened.” She shook her head, recalling what Aemond had said.

“Do not deceive me” she said, her disbelief evident. “He would never do something like that.”

“I would never have done something so grave without a serious reason” he insisted.

“Speak not ill of him” she warned, her voice rising in a defensive shout. “You were always unkind to him, always.”

“Unkind, yes” he said, his expression torn. “Do you truly consider me a monster?” he asked, his eyes filling with tears.

“I did not until that day” she replied firmly.

Lucerys gazed at her with an intensity that seemed to pierce her very soul. “You knew me better than any other” he whispered, making her tremble. “Do you truly believe I could be capable of that?”

She was left speechless, feeling her carefully constructed world beginning to crumble. She turned away, desiring to process what she had just heard. When she noticed that Lucerys was trying to follow her, she raised a hand in a gesture of plea, asking for space.

Upon reaching her room, she collapsed onto the bed, her legs feeling like water. Her breathing became erratic, and doubts seemed endless, pulling her deeper into a sea of anguish.

Minutes later, Aemond burst in, and upon seeing her in such a state, he approached quickly, his face overflowing with concern.

“What happened?” he asked urgently, searching her gaze. 

“What happened that night?”

He frowned in confusion. “What night?”

“The night you lost your eye” she said, her voice breaking as she sought answers.

“Do you wish me to recount the events of that night?” he inquired. “Besided, I have already told you.”

She gazed at him intently, silently pleading for the truth. Seeing her resolve, he began to recount. “When I entered the castle, after claiming Vhagar, they were waiting for me. The five of them began to attack me without cause, and Lucerys took my dagger and...”

“Lucerys took your dagger?” she interrupted. “I thought he had brought the dagger.”

He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. “I must have made a mistake. It was many years ago” he simply said. Then, his face began to harden, his expression shifting from confusion to irritation. He stood up, visibly agitated. “Have you spoken to him?” he asked, his tone edged with irritation.

“Then answer me” she demanded, her voice steely. “Which version is it?”

He remained silent, his gaze revealing anger and disappointment. Finally, he shook his head with an attitude that seemed more mocking than sincere.

“I am at a loss” she said, her voice quavering with confusion and anguish, her insecurity filling every word as she rose from the bed, pacing nervously around the room. She placed a hand on her abdomen, grasping at the air as if it were slipping through her fingers.

“Do you now side with him?” he asked, low. “With the one who took my eye?”

The pain pierced her. Despite witnessing Aemond’s vulnerability, the doubts she had tried to suppress began to resurface. 

“I have always listened to you alone, I have placed my faith in you,” she said, her voice breaking. “But now…” The version of events he had told her seemed increasingly fragile. 

“I wish to be left alone” she asked, feeling hopeless.

But he, with determined steps, his expression tense and eyes fixed on her, stood in front of her. He took her by the jaw with one hand, forcing her to look at him. His eye, reddened by distress, could no longer conceal what was hidden behind it.

“Please, let go of me” she begged, frightened. She felt that the man before her was no longer the one she knew and trusted.

“No” he said, with a terrifying firmness. “Everything I have done has always been to protect what is mine.” His hands gripped her skin with a force that promised to leave marks. “But if you wish for me to be the villain” he whispered with icy intensity, “perhaps I should be.”

She frowned, struggling beneath his grip, but he held her immovably with an unyielding strength. Every attempt to free herself seemed futile against his determination.

“You have casted me aside, and now you doubt my word?” he asked rhetorically, his voice taut and sharp. “It is time for me to impose order” he said, jaw clenched, taking her by the hair and dragging her towards the bed.

“Let go of me” she pleaded again through tears. Desperation and pain were reflected in every movement as she tried to escape the embrace that was no longer comforting and warm.

He held her, and her scalp ached from his grip. "You have forgotten who you belong to" he told her, his voice threatening and his hot breath against her ear, while with the other hand he lowered his pants and then began to lift her dress.

In the bathtub, the cold water had already chilled her wrinkled skin, and her vacant stare remained fixed on nothingness. With the tea Aemond had sent and half a jug of wine in her system, she tried to numb the pain.

Helaena found her there and, without a word, helped her up, then chose a blue dress for her—one she had embroidered long ago and had never had the chance to wear.

As her sister worked on her hair, her voice cracked with a whisper full of desolation. “Do you ever imagine what it would have been like?” she asked.

Helaena hesitated for a moment before asking, as if she didn’t already know. “What do you mean?”

“How it would all be if mother had married us to them” she replied, her eyes dry, devoid of any remaining tears.

Helaena paused, feeling the weight of the words. “Every day” with a long sigh, she admitted.

“I wish I knew what it would have been like” she murmured. They remained silent for a few minutes, embraced by the pain, until their mother called them to supper

When their king arrived, carried in a chair by guards, it marked the beginning of the other part of the evening. Aemond, sitting beside her, did not utter a word. Her gaze remained fixed on her cup, as if the drink was merely a distraction in an environment that no longer made sense. 

“How good it is to see you all tonight, together” he said, his gaze sweeping over the table with sadness. “This is an occasion for celebration, it seems,” he continued, “my grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.” 

The news broke her heart, and the pain was evident in the exchanged glances between her and Luke. The rest exchanged smiles, but for her, the moment was one of deep mourning. “A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

The glasses were raised in a general toast, and she drank from her glass in one gulp, seeking the comfort she couldn’t find. Then she hurriedly refilled her glass.

“Let us toast as well to Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides” he added, and everyone raised their glasses again. “Hear, hear” they said in unison, while Rhaena congratulated Lucerys with a cheerful whisper. She emptied her glass again, feeling the warm liquid course down her throat.

When he stood up to make a toast, the room fell into anticipation. Every movement he made seemed painful, and this only intensified her sense of sadness. Although her relationship with him had never been particularly close, the proximity of his departure put everything into perspective, and her heart ached at the impending reality.

With a raspy tone reflecting his weariness, the king said “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world, yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” 

He attempted to smile, but his effort only highlighted the frailty the years had left in him. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was, but tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just as a king, but your father, your brother, your husband, and your grandsire,” he continued, “who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts” he pleaded, his voice choked with emotion. “The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly” he begged, his sorrow evident as he sat down and Alicent helped him adjust his mask once more.

Jace suddenly stood up after a few toasts, drawing everyone’s attention. She was absorbed in her thoughts, her eyes fixed on the empty glass, and the abrupt change at the table jolted her. Aegon returned to his seat, casting curious glances at Jace, while Aemond stood up, his presence imposing silence and attention. She huffed in annoyance as she poured more wine.

When Jacacerys raised his glass, his gaze fixed on Aemond, Helaena listened intently. “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond” her nephew said with a smile that seemed more a formality than a genuine celebration. 

“We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles” with a final sip, he ended his toast, and she watched as the tension mounted.

“To you as well” said Aegon, his tone an indifference that did nothing to ease the atmosphere. Helaena fidgeted nervously, a small tremor on her lips, and she refilled her glass, much to Aemond’s displeasure, who was burning her with his gaze and asking her to stop.

With an unexpected impulse, she abruptly stood up, surprising him and immediately catching Lucerys’s concerned glance. Her glass trembled slightly in her hands, and her gaze settled on Rhaena and Baela, who were radiant with a hope she envied deeply. 

“I would like to toast to Rhaena and Baela” she said firmly, raising her glass with a smile that failed to hide the sadness in her eyes. “They will be married soon.”

The young woman's smiles were a glimmer of happiness amidst the gloom that enveloped her. The sight intensified her pain. She felt overwhelmed; the life they will have is a fantasy she had let go, full of promise and hope, and her reality seemed even darker in contrast.

“It is not so bad, mostly he just ignores you” she said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Except sometimes when he is mad” she added, her voice breaking slightly at the end of the sentence, and with one last long sip from her glass and a poor attempt at a smile, she sat back down. Tears pooled in her eyes, heavy and treacherous, but she managed to hold them back, though her heart ached seeing the concern, sadness, and anger on Lucerys’s face.

“Or when he is drunk” Helaena added with an equally harsh truth. Aegon was clearly irritated, and Aemond, beside her, visibly tensed. Otto looked at them, his lips slightly turned down as he sighed.

“Let us have some music” Viserys suggested, as a momentary truce, an invitation to disconnect. When the melodies began to fill the space and more wine flowed freely, the atmosphere gradually relaxed.

She was holding Helaena’s hand when they looked up and saw Jace and Lucerys extending their hands with a silent but clear invitation. Her heart skipped a beat seeing Lucerys, and in her broken gaze, there was a trace of hope.

They accepted the invitation with a trembling smile, avoiding the gaze of the men beside them. Nervous laughter escaped her lips as the four of them moved toward the cleared area. 

Though they were not experts in the art of dancing, the joy of the moment became evident. Their movements were awkward but filled with a fleeting happiness. The contrast between the joy of the dance and the internal sadness was hurtful, yet also sweet, like a taste of what could have been.

As they twirled and changed partners, time seemed to stand still, the melody offering them a respite. Helaena and she found themselves holding hands, and her sister whispered with gentle melancholy: “This is how it would have been.” She smiled. For a brief moment, the pain faded.

Applause and laughter filled the room, and Otto and Alicent watched them with smiles, perhaps pleased to see the two enjoying their brief escape, while Aemond and Aegon’s scorching stares were fixed on their backs.

After a few more minutes of laughter, everyone stood up. Realizing what was happening, they also stopped, catching their breath while watching their father, understanding that this might be the last time. They held each other's hands tightly, and when he disappeared through the door, they decided to continue dancing, honoring his final wish.

When Luke extended his hand again, with a nostalgic smile that reminded her of the one he used to give her as a child, a loud thud resonated from the table, startling them. Turning to face the table, they saw Aemond with his glass raised toward them.

“Final tribute” he said, looking at her. She sensed what was coming as she glanced at her mother, who in turn looked at Aemond with alarm. Suddenly, he shifted his gaze to Luke. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey” he said, the tone subtly changing with the second name. “Each of them handsome, wise…” he paused, a small smile curving his lips, “strong” he concluded.

“Come” he said, raising his glass higher, just like Aegon. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again” Jace challenged, chin lifted.

“Why? It was only a compliment” Aemond said as he approached. “Do you not think yourself strong?” he taunted.

Luke landed a solid blow on Aemond, making his face turn sideways, though not a drop was spilled from his glass. Aegon, in turn, went after Jace.

“Enough” Alicent shouted, standing up from the table.

Aemond looked at Luke with a sneering smile as he pushed him to the ground. Seeing Luke on the floor made him smile even more, and then he turned his gaze to her for a brief moment. Alicent tried to reach Aemond, attempting to grab him, but he brushed her off with indifference.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother” he said, turning back to them. Both Luke and Jace were being held by the guards, struggling to break free. “Though it seems my nephews are not quite as proud of theirs.”

She watched him from a distance, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Daemon's intervention, standing firm and stepping in, made Aemond uninterested in continuing the confrontation. He walked with measured steps toward her, grabbing her by the wrist, and dragged her out of the hall, ignoring her protests. She turned her head one last time to look at Lucerys, a trace of desperation in his eyes as the guards kept him apart.

Nights passed since the coronation of her brother, and the silence of her mother's missives had become a deafening echo, a void. No letters, no attempts at negotiation had received a response.

Just before leaving for Storm's End to seek Lord Baratheon's support and his army, Aemond found her staring out at the sea, the sky darkening into shades of gray and deep blue, with clouds threatening to obscure every star.

“I know I have erred” he confessed, his voice carrying a depth of vulnerability. “I should not have treated you in such a manner. You have been my heart’s desire since our youth, always” he whispered, the weight of his confession reflected in the melancholy of his words. “You stood by me in my darkest hours. When everything seemed to be falling apart around me, you were there. Yet, seeing you turn to him… it tore me apart” his voice cracked, and his words flowed like a torrent of anguish, each syllable imbued with deep sorrow.

“I have never known such pain, such abandonment” he continued, as if the wounded child he once was had returned, now with a heart full of desperation, pleading for forgiveness and filled with remorse. 

She felt a tug in her soul, as if the child who once yearned to soothe his pain was listening. Yet she resisted the urge to look at him; she knew that if she did, she would succumb.

“You are aware of their nature, of what they are capable of. You have witnessed it, even if you allow them to sweeten your ears against the truth” he added, his voice heavy with helplessness. “Perhaps you still hold love for our enemy, a love that clouds your ability to see my perspective.”

“But I can remedy that” he said,  like a solemn oath, pointing to his chest with a painful resolve. “You have always been meant for me, and me alone. No matter what, you said” he declared, with an oppressive anticipation, palpable like the fury of a storm about to break.

She, still agitated, kept her gaze fixed on the sea, where the water continued its chaotic dance.

The rest of the day slipped by in restless thoughts. Although anger consumed her and sadness bound her, there was something unbreakable that kept her alert: Aemond remained her brother, the father of her child, her husband. This complexity kept her on edge, and her concern grew when he did not return at the expected time.

Night fell like a dark cloak, and the thunder of Vhagar’s wings echoed through the sky as the waves crashed against the rocks with a rage that seemed to shake the very earth. The night chill seeped into her bones, and her breath condensed into clouds of vapor that floated in the icy air, a cruel irony compared to the warm calm of previous nights.

The sound of the door opening startled her. She turned slowly, but the darkness made it hard to discern his figure looming in the doorway.

“You are awake” his voice resonated between the stone walls.

“I needed to make sure you were well” she replied, straining to see through the gloom.

“Did you?” he questioned, skeptical.

“Yes” she answered. “Come here” she requested softly. He began to move slowly toward her, the dim light of the moon revealing him bit by bit. He was drenched, the rain had plastered his clothes to his body, and he had his arms crossed over his back, as if trying to hide himself from something other than the cold.

“Shall I prepare you a hot bath?” she offered, noticing his disheveled state. He continued to regard her with an unyielding expression.

“No” he replied firmly, approaching.

As he drew nearer, and she could finally see him clearly, her heart raced even faster. She frowned upon noticing traces of blood on his face and moved closer, her concern taking over. “Aemond, speak to me” she urged, her voice trembling with desperation. “Are you hurt?”

“Are you worried about me?” he asked, with a glimmer of hope.

“Of course I am, Aemond” she said, gently cupping his face in her hands. He allowed her to examine him in silence. “Are you hurt?” she repeated, fear tightening her chest. “Please, tell me, what happened?” she implored, looking at him intently, her heart pounding wildly.

He gave her a faint smile, resting his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, the blood still fresh, staining the steel like a bad omen, while his left remained clenched at his side. Confusion twisted in her gut as she looked at him, desperately searching for visible wounds, but finding only the sinister glint of his blade.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he opened his left hand, and an eye fell from his palm, rolling to the floor with a sickening thud. The reality crashed over her like a cascade of icy water, freezing her in place. She stepped back, retreating slowly, her heart pounding in her chest as he watched her with a predatory intensity. “What have you done?” she asked, horror and accusation in her shaky voice.

“Only what was necessary” he whispered, deceptively soft. “I have always asked for you, only you, all for myself” he said, taking a deliberate step toward her. “I thought I had succeeded” he continued, moving closer, the shadows in the room deepening and twisting around him like hungry serpents. “But then he came back, and I realized… I remained a second.” His voice turned bitter, poison seeping into every word. 

“Always the second. The second son, then the second love, then your second priority” he said, frowning, tilting his head to one side, his gaze burning with resentment that felt like a knife against her sanity.

A twisted smile curled his lips. “Clearly, I am powerless with the child; that opportunity has passed” he remarked, as if savoring his own despair. “But now, now I am your only love” he declared with satisfaction dripping from his words like blood from his hands. She found herself cornered against the cold, the very walls seeming to close in around her, suffocating her with their oppressive weight. “And I shall not rest until I have the crown on my head” he whispered in a low growl, absorbing the dim light and plunging the room into an abyss of dread. Outside, the storm finally raged.

[captainpetebradshaw]

so i watched 2x22 "the wire" for the first time today and it was a near religious experience so you're getting my thoughts on it under the cut

I love how comfortable they've gotten with each other; talking books? disagreeing about books? garak asking if julian can't just use his status as a doctor to get them to skip the line?

"perfect health, huh??" julian is so offended by garak lying to him about his condition lol

"i'm a doctor, not a botanist" is this some kind of star trek tradition?

"why can't he just tell me what's going on?" "it sounds like you're taking this personally" "i suppose I am... It's just that garak and I have been having lunch together once a week for more than a year now" once a week?! for more than a year?!

and then julian angrily stabbing dax's plant in frustration. let it out.

unsure if quark called julian to come get the absolutely hammered garak from his bar because he's the doctor or because julian is literally the only social contact quark could think of for garak???

"i prefer to drink somewhere quiet" "quiet? excellent idea... we'll go to my quarters" "whatever you want. but first i must make a stop at the infirmary" guess garak wasn't drunk enough for that little trick

but he was drunk enough to not notice the bottle hand-off to quark

"make it stop, make it stop..." aww no, poor baby!

julian using his doctor credentials to basically break into garak's. guess they ended up in his quarters after all

"if i was ever tortured, [the implant] was designed to stimulate the pleasure centers of my brain to trigger the production of vast amounts of natural endorphins" i gotta say, that has some freaky fucked up potential for fanfics and i can't wait to see how often it has been appropriated in the last 30 years

"living on this station is torture for me, doctor. the temperature is always too cold. the lights are always too bright. every bajoran on the station looks at me with loathing and contempt" ah yes, the autism experience

"why don't you just shut the damn thing off?" julian, do they teach nothing about addiction in med school?

i had to rewind this scene a couple times because i was chanting "kiss! kiss! kiss!" in my living room and didn't listen to a word they said. the 4:3 aspect ratio is also doing its thing

"has it ever occured to you that i might be getting exactly what i deserve?" "no one deserves this" julian going from all that taunting and appealing to garak's pride to this???? unexpected softness incoming

garak telling this story about how he is responsible for so many people dying and julian just saying right now he's just concerned for his health and won't let him die??? "you need to turn that implant off and whatever withdrawal symptoms or side effects you may experience, i promise i'll help you through them" like this is insane. i assumed people shipped them for a reason (and lower decks made them "canon" for a reason) but i was LIVING watching this.

it also has to be said that andrew robinson is acting the ever living shit out of these scenes - fantastic

even odo can't get past protector mode chief medical officer doctor bashir

staying by his bedside? for hours???

shoulder touch denied!!!

it's wild, garak must be suffering so much in that moment but he's still spinning up some new potential backstory. maybe this time it's not a lie but we just don't know.

"and so they exiled you" "that's right! and left me to live out my days with nothing to look forward to but having lunch with you." "i'm sorry you feel that way. i thought you enjoyed my company." "oh i did! and that's the worst part. i can't belive that i actually enjoyed eating mediocre food and staring into your smug sanctimonious face. i hate this place and i hate you." "ok, garak." addicts do get just absolutely hateful so this sounds pretty spot on to me.

on a side note, i don't think i could have done lunch every week with julian. he is smug and he has a big ego and i relate to the other senior officers who were sometimes a little condescending in their reactions when he was boasting about something or other. but that's ok, i don't have to. garak enjoyed it, it seems.

garak: you still have to learn the truth julian: heart eyes motherfucker

"why are you telling me this, garak?" "so that you can forgive me. why else? i need to know that someone forgives me"

"i forgive you. for whatever it is you did" "thank you, doctor. that's most kind"

so julian goes and finds the guy who's kind of responsible for garak having that implant in the first place. it's also i think the first time julian acknowledges they are friends?

"how sick is garak?" "he's dying" "and you're trying to save him?" "that's right" "strange... i thought you were his friend?" "i suppose i am" "then you should let him die. after all, for garak, a life in exile is no life at all"

"thank you" "don't thank me. i'm not doing garak any favors. he doesn't deserve a quick death. on the contrary. i want him to live a long, miserable life. i want him to grow old on that station surrounded by people who hate him, knowing that he'll never come home again. "what a lovely sentiment" "and it's from the heart, i assure you" <- that made me laugh

we learn garak's first name!

he's well again! back to the regularly scheduled lunch date!

and he's got a new book recommendation for julian, how nice

"what i want to know out of all the stories you told me, which ones were true and which ones weren't" "my dear doctor, they were all true" "even the lies?"

"especially the lies"

smiley boys!

this ended up being more of a collection of my favorite quotes from the episode but that's fine with me. it's my post.

[milfs-milk]

NO MATTER WHAT YOU ARE [18+]

CHAPTER ONE - ADORATION [MINORS DNI]

[PAIRING] Female!Trafalgar Law x Reader [SUMMARY] Turned into a woman only temporarily, Law still needs a proper wardrobe. You take your now girlfriend out on a shopping date, and despite her initial reluctance, you hope to help her enjoy the experience and her new body. [CONTENT + WARNINGS] Female Law, Genderbend, Reader is femme, Established Relationship, Fluff. This chapter isn't NSFW but the next will be, so minors DNI! [WORD COUNT] 5k

“This is ridiculous.” 

Not for the first time, Law hesitates. Your partner, or more accurately, girlfriend for the time being, comes to a halt just before the entrance of the lingerie store. You can see her reconsidering the necessity of buying clothes for this new figure of hers, her sharp jaw tight and full lips slightly pursed—a scowl to most, yet a pout to you. Despite being in an entirely different body, her mannerisms stay familiar. 

The change is temporary. It was neither expected nor asked for, a complete accident that doused her with feminization fruit. The Heart Pirates, responsive as ever, were quick to erupt into a chaotic blend of amusement and fawning, all while their irritated Captain demanded quiet as she rummaged through her medical books in search of a remedy. But the pages offered no immediate cure, only assuring that the effects will last a few weeks before naturally subsiding.

Which is short lived in your opinion, and entirely too long in Law’s.

She doesn’t seem to harbor the same appreciation you do for her new figure, seeing this change as an inconvenience more than anything. So you hoped to make it less so, however you could. In need of a new wardrobe, you tried swapping her now oversized shirts and jeans for some of your own clothing. The two of you didn’t have much luck. She seemed frustrated with it all, annoyed, sitting on the edge of the bed surrounded by all the clothes that might’ve fit. You sat with her.

“We can always go shopping,” you gently suggested, rubbing her back as she gave you a stubborn look of reluctance, but not entirely refusal. “It could be fun. Just think of it as a date, and we’ll get you something comfortable.”

And she agreed, as much as she didn’t want to. 

You couldn’t blame her. Having spent her entire life in the body of a man, the abrupt transformation into something feminine left her with a certain sense of discomfort, and perhaps what could be considered mild embarrassment. There was no reason to feel shame; not in your opinion, at least, but given the circumstances, Law’s hesitance is only natural. 

Still, as the two of you stand in front of the lingerie store, you try to make light of the situation. 

“Cmon, hun. Have some fun with it.” You grab her wrist, encouraging her inside with playfulness to your voice.  “Doesn’t every man wonder what it’s like to have boobs?” 

“I’m not a pervert,” she firmly insists. Even so, she lets you guide her, her long legs begrudgingly following along.

You huff in amusement. Maybe it isn’t entirely apparent on the surface, but if your time with Law has taught you anything, it’s that she tends to feel more than she lets on. Her reserve comes with all emotions, vulnerable or not. Laughter is stifled into subtle smiles, distress leads to emotional withdrawal, care translates into gentle gestures and quiet support. 

The same pattern can be seen with all things intimate. Attraction, affection, arousal… You had to admit, she did a good job suppressing what she could for as long as she could. The sheer lust she felt wasn’t exactly controlled, but rather hidden—until she finally got a taste of you.

Only then did it become apparent. The subtle hints in her behavior that you couldn’t quite place were suddenly given a reason. You found a name for those lingering eyes, that intense gaze, her tense body language—yearning, to the point of perversion. It was a deep desire, depraved from being deprived for so long, devolving into desperation. 

Not a pervert? Debatable. 

“Well…” you say, tone skeptical. She shoots you a look you expected, simultaneously daring you to keep talking and advising you to shut your mouth. You always thought she was fun to tease, and she always thought you were fun to discipline. You pretend to give in, a smile on your face with your hands raised in feigned apology. 

“Alright, alright. Don’t…” You let out a chuckle before you can finish, and then another as you try again. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.” 

“I already told you,” she’s quick to retort, but slows and hesitates to consider her wording. She never liked saying the P word. “I won’t be wearing… those.” 

“I know, hun.” You let her have this one. Despite any teasing, above all, you want her to be comfortable. She knows that. Still, you place a hand on her shoulder and give it a gentle pat in a gesture of support. “We’ll find you the closest thing to boxers we can. Boyshorts are more comfortable, anyway.” 

Technically, they’re still considered panties, but you don’t say that. You had to get her to wear them somehow. 

The two of you stand inside the store, greeted with dim lighting and a pallet of pink and black decor, the air carrying a strong floral scent from the perfume shop next door. You’re already familiar, but Law takes a moment to scan the wide array of options—different colors, certain styles, sections of specific types of lingerie that she probably doesn't know the names of. You can tell what she’s thinking.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” you empathize. “But we’ll be quick, okay?” 

She grunts in affirmation, following where you lead. 

And really, you meant it. Initially, at least. It wasn’t your intention to spend longer than necessary browsing the selection of bras, but the more you thought about it, the more it became necessary. Law already insisted she wanted something simple, but this matter needs careful consideration. There’s push ups to sports bras, full coverage to strings and lace, pretty pinks and bold blues and gentle greens… She’d pull them all off, this much you know, but which would suit her best? 

You glance at her chest, obscured by the oversized shirt she’s wearing. Still, your memory serves you well. You’re able to make a decent guess of her cup size after taking the opportunity to thoroughly examine her figure when she first tried on clothes. You called it studying, she called it ogling, and maybe she was right. In your defense, it was hard to resist. You sat on the bed behind her, a clear view of her front and backside as she stood before a mirror. Occasionally, she’d glance at you through the reflection between slipping on shirts and bras, but you often didn’t meet her eyes.

Your attention was fixated elsewhere, memorizing her new yet temporary features for safekeeping. Her chest wasn’t exactly flat, but wouldn’t be considered big either. She was endowed with slight handfuls that fit her slender figure, complemented with the framing of an inked heart. Long legs led to the gentle curve of her hips and pert swell of her ass, faint dimples resting right above on either side of her lower back, indents that were perfect for thumbs. Her defined back line trailed towards another familiar tattoo, up to sharp shoulder blades and shaggy, short black hair. 

She didn’t stand at her usual 6’3 and a half, but she was still above average height. It was a combination of lankiness and toned athleticism. Muscle definition was apparent in the sculpted contours of her biceps, sinewy strength of her back and tightness of her stomach. Her proportions were long and lean, assets small and perky, movements fluid and poised. She always had an irresistible allure, captivating and mesmerizing, but in the form of something more feminine, you could only define her physicality as pure elegance. 

“You said we’d be quick,” Law mumbles under her breath. You’re only momentarily interrupted from your thoughts of her figure, eyes meeting hers before falling back down.

“I know,” you hum leisurely. This matter can’t be rushed. You look at the two bras in your hands, and up to her chest again. “But I can’t decide if you’d look better in black or red.”

“Does it really matter?” she asks, voice a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She seems to find something entertaining in how much consideration you’re putting into this. 

It takes just another thoughtful second before you come to a decision. “Well, if you insist,” you say, putting them in your hand held shopping basket, “we’ll just have to get both.” 

“I said no lace.” She looks down at the lingerie in mild disapproval. Still, she doesn’t make an effort to stop you. They’re good choices, if you do say so yourself. 

“Yeah, but you’d look really nice in—“

“Are you ladies finding everything okay?” An employee interjects with a friendly smile, all while Law promptly tugs at the brim of her hat, lowering it just enough to shroud her eyes. It’s a habitual gesture you’re familiar with, one she uses to shield herself when she feels too exposed, too vulnerable. You’ve seen it most when she smiles, but right now, it’s driven by embarrassment. She tries to deflect as much attention away from her as possible. You handle it.

“Just fine, thanks,” you respond. “Where are your dressing rooms?” 

The woman guides you both, and Law follows in silence just behind you. The moment the employee is out of hearing range, Law’s quick to mumble a question, looking around to make sure every other person in the store is out of hearing range too. “You’re coming in with me?” 

“Mmhm.” You don’t look up at her, taking a moment to organize the lingerie you’ve decided on. “Gotta make sure they fit, don’t I?”

“I think I’ll be able to tell.” She sees through your excuse, a thin veil poorly masking a desire to see her naked again.

“Well,” you say, not bothering to deny it. “It’s not every day I get to help you pick out lingerie. Better enjoy it while I can, hmm?” 

You give her a cheeky smile, and still, she’s unimpressed. Holding all of her new lingerie, you open the dressing room’s curtain with your free hand and gesture her inside with exaggerated politeness. 

“After you.” 

Law doesn’t like to put on bras correctly. You watched her try to reach back and connect the hooks when the two of you first tried on clothes, but she quickly found another way. She said it was easier, just raising it above her head and slipping it on like a shirt, and didn’t seem to care when you said that’ll stretch it out. She does the same this time, looking unsatisfied with the result. 

“It doesn’t fit.”

“Not when you put it on like that,” you say, looking up from her chest to meet her eyes through the mirror. “Remember what I told you?” 

Law sighs, but listens. She seems to find something embarrassing in cupping her breasts and adjusting them into place, insisting it wasn’t necessary when you first told her it’s the only way to fit into a bra comfortably. Despite her stubbornness, it didn’t take long for her to learn you were right. With a slight forward lean, she scoops her breasts in better accordance with the bra cups, just the way you taught her. 

“There you go.” You smile at the snug fit, giving full coverage and support. Even she seems a bit impressed with the cleavage it creates. “You fill it out nicely.” 

She huffs at the compliment like it didn’t just make her blush, the color of her cheeks a growing tinge of red as she quickly averts her gaze from the mirror. With deft fingers, she starts pulling the bra off. Up and over her head, of course, not bothering with the hooks.

“Are we done here?” Law asks, masking bashfulness with impatience. 

You nod towards the remaining lingerie hanging on the wall. “Try on the rest, hun.”

“Why? They’re all the same size.”

“Yeah, sizing is a scam. Every bra fits differently,” you tell her, taking your seat on a bench in the cramped dressing room. Eyes on her, you lean back. 

“Go ahead.”

And she does. Law looks at the assortment of lingerie, hesitating for a moment before making a skeptical choice. She begins with the less intricate, going from boy shorts and sports bras before gradually making her way to the few matching sets of lace and pushups you convince her to at least try.

You evaluate each one, fully appreciating the array of colors and clothing you've never seen her in before. Each piece brings out something different in her—deep tones of scarlet and midnight blue intensifying the richness of her aura, simple yet bold black aligning with the harder side of her personality, delicate pastels tenderizing her usual toughness as the gentle hues bring out a subtle yet inherent softness. All harmonize with the ink of her tattoos, all compliment her figure, and all, in some sense, are distinctly and uniquely Law. 

It’s hard for you to say no to a lot of them. She makes the decision easier by saying no herself, most options not appealing to her the same way they do to you. Still, she takes some of your input into consideration and entertains a few pieces she doesn’t directly admit she likes. Her choices, coupled with two of your own, sit to the side waiting to be bought. 

“Don’t get used to this,” she makes sure to warn you when she slips on the last bra. “Once I’m back to normal, we’re burning these.” 

“You say that.” Coming to a stand, your arms loosely wrap around her from behind. Wandering fingers draw attention to the set of lingerie she wears, and the two of you watch through the mirror as your nails trace along the lace in a mixture of examination and admiration. “…but they look nice, don’t they?” 

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she almost agrees, the low mumble unenthusiastic like she doesn’t want to admit you’re right.

“…They’re not terrible.”

“Nothing ever is.” Your touch moves downward, fingertips grazing her tight stomach in a way that makes her suppress a shiver. You settle with placing your hands on her hips, your thumbs slowly caressing the silk lining of her panties. “Not on you.” 

“You’re persistent.” The words may be muttered, exasperated, but as she leans back into your touch, you feel the appreciation and affection behind them. You give her a light squeeze before pulling away.

“I’m right,” you correct her. Picking up her clothes, you hand them to her and gather your things to leave. “I’ll show you. We’re not done.” 

More casual clothes are next on the list—shoes and shirts and jeans that Law isn’t too excited to shop for. Not that she was thrilled with the lingerie either, but you like to think she ended up finding some enjoyment, at least as much as she could. A familiar, soft smile became increasingly apparent with each genuine compliment and playful comment you gave. There’s a subtle yet gradual shift, her initial reluctance giving way to something more comfortable.

It’s progress, but more still needs to be made. 

Outside the privacy of the dressing room, Law’s demeanor tightens just as before. She grows quiet, walking alongside you throughout the shopping center with her gaze lingering on the displays of stores you pass by. It’s not the natural, easy silence that sometimes characterizes the space between you two, but rather something more reserved, more restrained. Through polished glass windows, she watches her feminine figure in the reflection. 

Something’s on her mind. Something has been on her mind. You noticed a shift since the transformation, and at first, attributed what seemed to be unease to the adjustment period. While that may play a part, it’s apparent there’s something deeper beneath the surface. And though you like to think you’re attuned with your partner, always recognizing changes in behavior and always familiar with subtle cues, you can’t quite grasp the full extent of Law’s thoughts right now. 

You don’t ask. You look towards her, her mind seemingly stuck somewhere else, and even as impulse urges you to, you don’t reach out to hold her hand. Knowing what does and doesn’t make her comfortable, you move at her pace, allowing room for Law to initiate if she feels to. 

Still, indirectly, you do what you can to guide her back to the present with you. 

Upon your suggestion, you both stop to eat after walking past a shop that’s closest to her favorite food you’re able to find. It’s a small gesture, but still helps—sitting together and sharing a meal, taking a break from the constant movement of shoppers in every direction, tuning out the chatter of voices atop voices… In environments and situations she doesn’t enjoy, Law adapts. She always does. Even so, you offer a moment of stillness. It’s simple enough to ease some tension in her shoulders.

A bit looser, the two of you continue throughout the shopping center. 

“Let’s make this quick,” Law tells you upon entering the next store, keeping her insistence on getting this over with. 

You pause almost immediately. Drawn to a display of mannequins, your eyes trail over their cardigans, down to skirts with matching tights and complimentary boots. Your gaze shifts onto Law, then back, and onto Law again, just to visualize her in the outfit. If she notices, she doesn’t seem to pay it much mind. Or, perhaps, she just doesn’t want to entertain it, walking past and expecting you to follow.

“I’ll try,” you say, and hope not to get too distracted. 

Though just as with the lingerie, you can’t help but muse, spending a bit more time than strictly needed looking at potential options. You have suggestions, but you don’t give them. You already know what she’ll say no to, noticing the way she seems avoidant of the more revealing and feminine options.

Instead, Law focuses on simplicity. The casual clothes are tentative choices, her demeanor even more so when it comes time to try them on. Despite any doubt or hesitation, each piece proves to be flattering. You knew they would. With a body like that, every outfit is practically made for her—a slender waist sculpted to flaunt in form fitting shirts, her defined collarbones and slight cleavage meant for low necklines, her long legs perfect for a good pair of jeans.

You approve, but Law has her own thoughts. 

“They’re too tight,” she grouses, looking in the dressing room’s full body mirror with skinny jeans practically painted onto her thighs.

“They’re supposed to be.” You watch her from behind, and step closer to lift her top just enough to adjust the low waistband. “As long as it’s not tight around the waist, it fits.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.” She shifts, turning slightly to assess the fit. 

“Does it really matter when they look that good?” you ask. Law stays quiet, not seeming to have any complaints about their appearance. You take it as slight satisfaction. Only subtly, you test her. “I can go get you a different size.” 

“It’s fine,” Law tells you, suspiciously quick. When she meets your gaze, giving her a knowing smile that’s well aware of her fondness for the outfit, she defends herself. “I don’t want to wear it,” she clarifies, “but I’m not staying here longer than we have to.”

“Whatever you say, hun,” you tease lightly. Still, her words are half the truth—hours into the shopping trip with just a few more clothes to try on, Law seems eager to leave. There’s no need to draw it out by experimenting with different sizes. You sense her impatience, prompting you to hand her the next set of jeans to continue. 

The checkout process doesn’t take long. As the two of you purchase a week’s worth of clothes, a persistent thought tugs at your mind. Though you know you shouldn’t, and though you know it’s unfair to her, you feel a slight bit of disappointment as the stubborn desire to see her in different styles shifts into longing. 

It’s not that the choices she made were unsatisfying; far from it. Everything looks good on her. That’s exactly why there’s such an allure to more tempting options, skirts and fishnets and crop tops that are certain to enhance her features even more, but are a territory she’s not quite comfortable with. You try not to push it, letting your eyes linger on the earlier display of mannequins before looking away. 

Only when you’re about to leave do you let some selfishness show. 

“Law.”

You call for her attention, her name wrapped up in a wistful breath. You’re sure she’s already able to tell you’re not up to any good. From the corner of your eye, you see her turn towards you, watching with what must be a frown as you look at yet another piece of clothing. She speaks firmly.

“I’m not trying on more—“

She stops mid-sentence when you hold it out for her to see. It’s a dress, certainly nothing you can expect her to wear, but it still catches her attention. While Law may not be big on fashion, she has a sense of style. From the subtle intricacies of her earrings to the bold statements etched onto her skin as tattoos, it’s her way of expression. Even a tailored wardrobe captures her story, each piece a deliberate choice reflecting her crew, her past, and everything she values.

The dress isn’t custom made, no, but it might as well be. Slender, black and sleek, Law’s gaze lingers on the heart-shaped cutout adorning the front. It’s positioned on the center of the chest, aligned almost perfectly with her jolly roger tattooed in the same area. 

There's a pause. The silent question of if she’ll entertain it lingers in the air, and for only a moment, she lets herself consider. As you watch her expectantly, you can see the contemplation in her eyes, a slight flicker of possibility. Her comfort zone has her quick to push it down. Tearing her focus away from the dress, Law forces an answer. 

“No.”

But you know her better than that. That subtle softening in her gaze, you recognize it as openness. The dress may seem too feminine for her usual preference, but there’s something to it that appeals to her, embedded in both personal significance and aesthetic allure. It’s not that she dislikes it. Law’s receptive, but reluctant. All she needs is a bit of encouragement. 

“Hun, this shit is practically made for you.” She already knows it, but you want her to hear it. You want her to see it, too. Lifting the dress just enough to outline her figure, you invite her to visualize it on herself. “It’s your size too. Should be long enough…” 

As Law looks down at herself and the dress, another moment of uncertain consideration passes. Surely, she can see the appeal, but hesitance lingers. “We don’t have to buy it,” you reassure. “Just try it on, see how it looks.” 

She’s wavering. There’s a slight shift in her expression, lines of reluctance turning inward. The furrow of her brows shows a tinge of irritation, but only because she knows she’s caving. When her eyes meet yours again, you give a gentle push that you know will tip the scales. 

“For me?”

Law’s quick to snatch the dress from your hands. In a mixture of both frustration and determination, fueled by the stubborn desire to please you, she struts past and into the direction of the changing area. She doesn’t need to turn to know you’re following. 

“We’re leaving after this,” Law tells you, disappearing into the confines of the fitting room before she can change her mind.

You wait. There’s a rustling of fabric behind the curtain, and the passing minutes make you wonder if you should’ve gone in with her to help zip up the back. She seems to manage, but not without apparent difficulty. Once her complicated movements settle, Law stands quiet for a few moments. You decide to speak up.

“You done in there?”

Another beat of silence passes before she responds. “…Yeah.”

“Come on out, then,” you encourage. 

She’s slow to open the curtain. Law looks off to the side as she reveals herself, exposing curves she still seems to be adjusting to. They’re accentuated, the sleek dress hugging every dip and contour of her body, from slender hips to a pinched waist and up to the soft swell of her chest. You can see the sculpt of her muscles through the thin material, faintly outlining her tight stomach with wrist-long sleeves snug around her lean arms. 

Only subtly, skin shows. There’s a slit opening extending from the bottom of the dress up to her lower right hip. It’s cheeky, alluring, offering a hint of her toned, shapely thighs, all while the heart-shaped cutout on the chest perfectly frames her jolly roger tattoo—just as you expected. 

Law moves in the silence. Her fingers instinctively reach up to fidget with the short strands of her hair, an absentminded motion of subtle nervousness. She's quick to stop once she looks down and realizes what she’s doing, tucking the strands behind her ear in self-composure before lowering her hand. Lost in your own thoughts, you watch her, not noticing how quiet you are until she speaks.

“Well?” she huffs. In a frustrated search of your response, her gaze finally shifts towards you. You make an effort to snap yourself out of your enamored daze. 

“Well,” you repeat. The right words are hard to find, but you suppose Law’s never been one for dramatics. You settle for a simple way to express her indescribable beauty. “You’re stunning.” 

It’s straightforward, blunt, honest. Just the way she likes it. She’s flattered, you can tell, but she shouldn’t just take it from you. Walking towards her, you place your hands on her shoulders and turn her towards a nearby mirror to see for herself.

“What did I tell you?” you hum, a glint of pride in your eyes as Law’s gaze trails up and down her body. “You make everything look good.” 

She knows. She has to—her demeanor may still be a bit tentative, but there’s a growing approval, rooted in satisfaction upon seeing how objectively flattering the dress is. For the first time since the change, she sees herself through your eyes, a vision of beauty and strength staring back at her. You hadn’t expected her to embrace the dress, or to fully grow accustomed to her new figure, and she doesn’t. But she’s beginning to tolerate it. 

That’s good enough for you. 

The moment is somewhat short lived. You’d admire her for hours if you could, but people around you seem to think similarly. Enthralled glances from onlookers become apparent, unwanted attention that Law promptly avoids. She tugs her hat down accordingly and turns away from prying eyes, redirecting her focus to the dressing room. 

“We’re leaving now.” 

That was the deal, after all. You don’t prolong it any more. Law changes back into her regular clothes, and the two of you soon find yourselves walking throughout the shopping center, straight into the direction of the island’s rocky ports. Home isn’t too far, the Polar Tang docked nearby. Despite Law’s eagerness to return, something catches her eye along the way. 

An antique shop lies just ahead. Law’s gaze lingers, surely trying to peek through the glass windows for a glimpse of what the shop could offer. Her collection of commemorative coins is something you’re fond of, something endearing, a hobby she could spend hours rambling about if she let herself. Whenever the topic comes up, you always indulge her, but you feel encouraging her interests isn’t enough. She needs to be spoiled. 

“I’ll buy you something,” you offer, already knowing she’ll want to see if there'd be anything to add to her collection. 

“You’ve bought me everything.” Law glances at the bags of clothes you insisted on holding for her. 

“I’ll buy you more.” Your assurance carries a subtle playfulness as you head towards the entrance, coaxing her to follow with the soft chime of the door’s bell. 

Above all else, you want Law to enjoy herself. It’s only natural as her partner, prioritizing her happiness and comfort like it’s second nature. Still, you know she never wanted to spend her day clothes shopping. You feel as if this could help, inviting her to shop for something she wants to buy rather than has to.

Yet despite your continuous efforts to help her enjoy herself, and to perhaps ease her into the unfamiliarity of her changed body, there’s still an apparent weight lingering on her mind.

Even as Law becomes engrossed in an intricately crafted coin display, her focus soon shifts back to you. You can feel it. Pausing from across the shop, you meet her eyes with a questioning look. She simply blinks, breaking the momentary connection to redirect her attention back to the coins as if nothing is wrong. 

You’d believe it and chalk her silent stare down to her usual introspective awkwardness, if not for the touch of vulnerability in the depth of her eyes. It was like an unsaid question, a stubborn thought part of her wants to voice, but can’t quite find the words to do so.

You hope to give her the opportunity. When the two of you continue back to the submarine, distancing yourselves from the island’s townscape and the eyes of its people, your affection turns more physical. The way your hand lingers on the small of her back offers a subtle sense of security. It expresses openness, reassures support, softly reminding her that you’re here.

She stays quiet throughout the walk, and you don’t mind. She doesn’t need to force it. Aware of how difficult it can be for her to express complicated emotions, you’re patient, staying by her side to listen when she’s ready. It’s unconditional, nonjudgmental, tender and genuine and devoted. All you want is for her to know that. 

Maybe tonight, you can remind her exactly how much you love her.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

␈𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕪 𝕊𝕚𝕘𝕟: 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕄𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟␈

Welcome to 10 Days, 10 Posts from The Cosmic Cauldron! Over the next ten days, I’ll be sharing a blend of astrology and tarot posts, each designed to spark your curiosity and guide your journey. If you find my content interesting, fascinating, or engaging, be sure to click the follow button for more! Ready to dive deeper into your personal journey? Head to my homepage and book a reading — you won’t regret it.

𝗔𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For you, miscommunication often arises because when you speak, you’re not fully processing information beforehand. Instead, you focus on getting your thoughts out as they come, without much prior reflection or memorization. As a result, when you’re speaking, you need others to truly listen and give you space to express yourself.

The issue arises when people interrupt your train of thought. Once interrupted, you may lose your thoughts entirely, which can lead to frustration. You tend to be a dominant speaker, and if others don’t recognize or respect that, they might unintentionally treat the conversation as more collaborative or interruptive, which conflicts with your communication style.

When this happens, it can anger or frustrate you, sometimes even to the point of withdrawing from the conversation entirely. Miscommunication occurs because, as a dominant speaker, you need the “mic” to yourself. Sharing or competing for the spotlight while speaking can be overwhelming and make you reluctant to engage further.

𝗧𝗮𝘂𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

The issue with miscommunication for people with Taurus Mercury is that they often have a very fixed state of mind and are resistant to change. When others approach them in conversation, they are usually focused on sharing their perspective and trying to open the other person’s mind to their way of thinking. However, they don’t have the same openness to hearing and considering someone else’s perspective.

When people engage with someone with Taurus Mercury, they may initially find them intelligent, insightful, and full of interesting ideas and beliefs. This can make them seem appealing to talk to. Taurus Mercury individuals often enjoy sharing their thoughts and beliefs, but they are less inclined to truly listen or be open to other viewpoints.

This stems from their conviction that their beliefs are the truth—they see them as practical, grounded, and effective. They’re not particularly interested in hearing or debating someone else’s perspective. Conversations with a Taurus Mercury are not about mutual understanding or relatability; they are about the Taurus Mercury individual expressing their thoughts.

If you’re seeking relatability or open-minded dialogue, you’re unlikely to find it with someone with this placement. They want to share their beliefs, not necessarily engage in a give-and-take conversation. If you agree with them, the conversation will likely flow easily. However, if you hold a differing perspective, they may shut down, either overtly or subtly. Even if they appear to be listening, they are often not truly internalizing what is being said.

In summary, Taurus Mercury individuals are more interested in sharing their fixed ideas than opening their minds to others. Conversations will feel smoother if you align with their beliefs, but challenging their perspective can lead to resistance and miscommunication.

𝗚𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗶 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

Gemini Mercury individuals do not like to feel boxed in or confined, especially when it comes to their thoughts and mental processes. They are naturally open-minded and enjoy being around different people, engaging in conversation, and socializing. Socializing is integral to who they are—they thrive in dynamic, interactive environments.

However, miscommunication often arises because Gemini Mercury individuals have a free-flowing and theoretical way of thinking. They don’t like to solidify their ideas into concrete beliefs; instead, they enjoy exploring concepts and letting their thoughts evolve. This can lead to frustration when others misinterpret their exploratory thinking as fixed opinions.

For example, if a Gemini Mercury expresses a theory, shares an idea, or explores a specific train of thought, and someone tries to define or box them into that idea, they can become annoyed. To a Gemini Mercury, this feels like an attack on their freedom of expression. They value their ability to think and speak fluidly, and they don’t appreciate being tied to a single perspective or labeled based on one thing they’ve said.

It’s important to understand that when a Gemini Mercury speaks, they are often expressing themselves from multiple perspectives, not necessarily from their own personal stance or a definitive belief. Miscommunication happens when others take what they say as a fixed opinion or part of their identity.

To maintain harmony with a Gemini Mercury, you must allow them the freedom to explore ideas without pinning them down. They are not speaking to define themselves—they are speaking to share thoughts and theories in a fluid and open-ended way.

𝗖𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Cancer Mercury individuals, miscommunication often arises because you unconsciously absorb the emotions of the person you’re speaking with. This emotional absorption can deeply influence the way you communicate, sometimes without you even realizing it. As a result, you may lose your sense of identity in conversations.

For example, if someone approaches you feeling sad, distraught, disappointed, or hurt, you may begin to absorb those emotions, even though they aren’t your own. Once this happens, it becomes difficult for you to stay grounded in your own thoughts and feelings. Cancer Mercury often struggles to maintain a sense of self in conversations because of the constant absorption of others’ emotional states.

When you internalize another person’s emotions, you may start to question your own thoughts and feelings. You can lose touch with your inner voice, as their emotions overpower your own. This leads to speaking from a place that is overly attuned to their emotional state, which can make you empathetic and compassionate but also leave you feeling ungrounded.

Socializing for extended periods can become overwhelming because you’re so deeply entwined with others’ emotional energy. Even if someone feels excited, you might mirror their excitement without truly feeling it yourself. Over time, this makes it challenging to discern your own emotions and establish your identity in communication.

This dynamic creates frequent miscommunication because, in conversations, you’re often responding to the other person’s emotions, thoughts, and energy rather than expressing your own. Instead of offering your authentic perspective, you may unintentionally mirror theirs, giving them a reflection of their own energy rather than a genuine exchange.

After the conversation ends and you’ve stepped away from their energy, you might realize you didn’t say what you truly wanted to. This can leave you feeling frustrated or disconnected from yourself. As a result, many Cancer Mercury individuals find themselves reaching out later—calling or texting the person to express what they truly feel once they’ve reconnected with their own emotions and thoughts.

Understanding this tendency can help you stay more grounded in your own energy during conversations, ensuring your voice is heard while still offering your natural empathy and compassion.

𝗟𝗲𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Leo Mercury individuals, communication often revolves around a desire for importance and validation. Much like Aries Mercury, Leo Mercury likes to “hold the mic” during conversations. They thrive when they feel their words are being valued, and if they don’t sense importance in what they’re saying, they are likely to withdraw from the conversation. This can sometimes make them appear less talkative than they actually are.

To a Leo Mercury, communication is a performance, and every interaction becomes a stage. They want to be heard, focused on, and taken seriously. If the listener is distracted or disinterested, Leo Mercury will likely shut down. Their pride makes it difficult for them to engage when they feel ignored, and not being heard can be genuinely hurtful for them.

Leo Mercury is also highly sensitive in communication because their sense of self-expression is tied to validation and reciprocity. They need to feel that their words are not just acknowledged but respected and appreciated. As dominant speakers, they command attention in a way that is distinct—they need others to focus fully on them and show genuine interest in their thoughts.

Their belief system is another cornerstone of their communication style. Leo Mercury individuals are confident in their ideas and see their beliefs as extensions of their identity. They view their beliefs as truths—practical, real, and essential to their personal success. When someone disagrees with them, they often take it personally, as though their identity is being challenged.

This dynamic can lead to miscommunication, as Leo Mercury individuals are often more interested in asserting their perspective than engaging in mutual dialogue. They can be fixed in their opinions, prioritizing validation over open exchange. While they aren’t necessarily closed-minded, they want their beliefs to be affirmed and their thoughts to be celebrated.

A key misunderstanding about Leo Mercury is that, while they are confident and steadfast in their ideas, they still crave validation and approval. They want others to agree with their beliefs, compliment their thinking, and show enthusiasm for their ideas. To feel fully engaged in a conversation, they need energy, focus, and acknowledgment from their audience. Anything less may leave them feeling unfulfilled or unheard.

𝗩𝗶𝗿𝗴𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Virgo Mercury individuals, miscommunication often stems from their unique way of processing and expressing thoughts. They don’t think like others because their focus is on finding the most efficient and effective way to communicate or solve a problem. They prioritize what they perceive as “perfection” in their communication and thinking.

Virgo Mercury prefers to speak in concrete, factual terms rather than relying on personal opinions. They like to inform others with precise and accurate information, avoiding superficial or speculative conversations. They are unlikely to engage in discussions about topics they don’t fully understand, haven’t researched, or have only heard bits and pieces about. For them, it’s essential to feel confident and correct in what they say.

As a result, conversations that revolve around gossip, overly opinionated statements, or incomplete information can frustrate them. These kinds of discussions often feel impractical and pointless to Virgo Mercury, leading them to stay quiet. This tendency to speak only when they feel it’s truly necessary or meaningful can make them appear shy or withdrawn.

In reality, Virgo Mercury individuals aren’t necessarily reserved—they simply don’t see the value in entertaining conversations that lack depth or purpose. To them, talking without substance or clarity serves no real function, so they prefer to save their words for moments when they can contribute something concrete and worthwhile.

𝗟𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Libra Mercury individuals, miscommunication often arises from their preference for one-on-one conversations. They thrive in intimate settings where they can connect deeply with another person. Group conversations, however, are much more challenging for them. This is because Libra Mercury relies heavily on relatability to engage in meaningful dialogue.

When speaking one-on-one, a Libra Mercury can focus entirely on the other person, finding common ground and building a connection. However, in group settings, this becomes difficult. They struggle to relate to an entire group unless the group is uniform in its beliefs or experiences. For example, if a Libra Mercury is giving a speech to coworkers in a workplace where everyone shares a common role or goal, they can use that shared context to connect with the audience.

This need for relatability makes Libra Mercury less spontaneous in their communication. They often require a clear way to connect with the people they’re speaking to, which can make them socially awkward or at a loss for words when they can’t find that connection. If they’re in a setting where they don’t feel a sense of relatability, they may become shy, quiet, or even socially inept.

In such situations, Libra Mercury individuals might resort to people-pleasing behaviors, attempting to mirror or accommodate the other person in order to bridge the gap. For example, if a Libra Mercury identifies as part of the LGBTQ+ community, they will often gravitate toward others within the community because it offers a natural sense of relatability.

Ultimately, for Libra Mercury, socializing is about finding like-minded individuals and establishing common ground. When they can’t achieve this, miscommunication, discomfort, and silence are likely to follow.

𝗦𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗽𝗶𝗼 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Scorpio Mercury individuals, miscommunication often stems from their deeply internal nature. They are internal thinkers, feelers, and doers, processing much of their experience within themselves. When it comes to relating to others, they are not inclined to openly share their internal world. Unlike Libra Mercury, who seeks direct commonalities to connect with others, Scorpio Mercury takes a different approach.

Scorpio Mercury individuals are highly private and guarded. Instead of revealing their own thoughts and feelings to foster a connection, they focus on understanding the person they are speaking with. They observe, analyze, and intuitively pick up on details about the other person, using this information to decide how to interact. Their goal is to relate to others without exposing their true selves.

Because of this, their interactions can feel superficial at times. They hold back much of their personal thoughts, feelings, and perspectives, choosing instead to shape conversations around the other person’s interests or behaviors. For example, they might discuss religion with someone who is passionate about it, even if they have no personal connection to or interest in the subject. They may even research the topic to engage meaningfully, but they rarely reveal their own beliefs.

This tendency can lead to a sense of mystery or frustration for others. People may feel like they don’t truly know a Scorpio Mercury, as they often avoid disclosing personal information or opinions. They focus on mirroring the other person’s interests and shaping conversations to align with the other person’s preferences.

The only time Scorpio Mercury individuals are likely to share openly is when they deeply trust someone or have observed enough to feel certain that they will not be judged or misunderstood. They may also open up if they feel the other person is in a similar situation or has earned their respect. However, even in these cases, they tend to remain selective about what they reveal, carefully maintaining their privacy.

Ultimately, the miscommunication arises because Scorpio Mercury often communicates from a place of observation and adaptation rather than personal expression. This can leave others feeling disconnected or unsure about where they truly stand with a Scorpio Mercury individual.

𝗦𝗮𝗴𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Sagittarius Mercury, miscommunication often arises because you approach conversations from a place of detachment and curiosity rather than personal investment. You don’t typically take things personally, and as a result, you don’t expect others to either. However, many people do, which can lead to misunderstandings.

When you speak, it’s not from a place of malice, judgment, or criticism. Instead, your communication is rooted in your personal experiences and the opinions shaped by those experiences. Your perspective is deeply influenced by how you’ve grown up, the things you’ve done, and the lessons you’ve learned through exploration. For you, your opinions are not baseless; they are grounded in real-life encounters and reflections.

This can confuse others because they may perceive your straightforwardness as harsh or judgmental. They might feel attacked when, in reality, you’re simply expressing your thoughts based on what you’ve lived through. What many fail to understand is that your opinions are valid and informed by a quest to find meaning and answers through action, not just theoretical research.

Sagittarius Mercury is a theoretical thinker like Gemini, but you prefer to seek answers through direct experiences rather than through abstract study. This makes your opinions feel deeply authentic to you, which is why it’s frustrating when others dismiss or challenge them. You see your opinions as more than casual remarks—they represent hard-earned insights, and having someone constantly question them can feel invalidating.

When you express your thoughts, your intention isn’t to impose your views or judge. Instead, you aim to share your perspective, hoping to inspire others to consider the knowledge and wisdom you’ve gained. However, because many people take your words personally, they may misinterpret your directness as an attack.

Your delivery, as a fire sign, is where the misunderstanding often begins. Unlike Libra, you don’t prioritize diplomacy. Unlike Cancer, you don’t naturally couch your words in empathy. And unlike Virgo, you don’t carefully structure your communication to feel grounded or methodical. You speak with passion, directness, and a sense of urgency. You say what’s on your mind and move on, leaving others to process your words as they will.

While your honesty and authenticity are strengths, they can sometimes come across as blunt or insensitive. This isn’t because you lack care—it’s because you’re speaking from your heart and don’t dwell on how your words might land. For you, it’s about sharing your truth, not sugarcoating it. But understanding that others might interpret your delivery differently can help minimize miscommunication and build stronger connections.

𝗖𝗮𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗼𝗿𝗻 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Capricorn Mercury, the biggest issue with miscommunication is that you don’t like to communicate from an emotional place at all. Because you’re not an emotional thinker or communicator, it can create tension in conversations. Many people socialize based on emotions—they speak to connect, to express themselves, and to feel good. But for you, Capricorn, you’re the no-bullshit talker. You don’t speak just for the sake of speaking. You communicate because you feel that what you’re saying is important, or because you’re in front of someone you deem important, and you need to communicate.

This seriousness can make your conversations feel dry to others because you’re not there to be goofy, giddy, or happy-go-lucky. When you speak, you want your words to carry weight and meaning. For you, respect is everything. When you communicate, you’re essentially looking for respect, and you’ll give that respect in return.

However, when a Capricorn Mercury doesn’t receive the respect they feel they deserve, they might either withdraw completely, ghosting the person and choosing silence, or they may respond with harsh words. The harsh words stem from the belief that if you don’t respect them, they don’t owe you respect either. It’s a matter of reciprocity for you. You don’t play games, and when you speak, you’re serious. There’s no hidden agenda behind your words. If you say no, you mean no. If you say yes, you mean yes.

You don’t like being questioned too much because, for you, questioning signals a lack of respect. You feel that if you respect someone, they should simply take you at your word. Your communication is logical, clear, and concrete, so questioning it feels disrespectful.

Capricorn Mercuries can be hard to connect with because you don’t engage in small talk or gossip. If someone speaks emotionally or in a way that feels inauthentic to you, you’re turned off. You need people to be direct, real, and honest. If they’re being fake or shallow, you won’t want to engage. Your communication style is driven by a need for respect, and if others fail to understand that, they might disrespect you without realizing why you then withdraw or stop talking to them.

𝗔𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗿𝗶𝘂𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Aquarius Mercury, you value freedom and are a free spirit. Much like a Sagittarius speaker, you enjoy speaking openly, but unlike Sagittarius, you speak from your head, not your heart. You are a deep thinker, and when Aquarius speaks, they offer a wealth of ideas they have carefully pondered. This is because Aquarius is ruled by Saturn, meaning their thoughts are often shaped by tradition and built over time through personal experiences. These ideas carry depth, a story, and lessons that come with them.

However, Aquarius is also influenced by Uranus, which gives them a highly cerebral quality. They spend a lot of time in their minds, so when they speak, they share what’s on their mind. Aquarius tends to have interesting thoughts because they think about a wide range of topics, from personal hardships and life lessons—guided by that Saturnian energy—to future visions of how the world can evolve. They constantly ponder things that could make the world a better place, freer, and more aligned with their utopian ideals.

Aquarius is always thinking about what they want the world, people, and society to be like. Sometimes, this results in them speaking in abstract terms, as they’re not necessarily discussing concrete ideas, but rather their vision for the future. Their thoughts center on what could be—how society could change for the better, how people could behave differently, or how freedom could reign. They are, in many ways, the true “hippie” thinkers, dreaming of peace, freedom, and the exploration of new possibilities.

In many ways, Aquarius could be seen as an activist speaker, deeply concerned with change and reform. They speak to inform others about what they believe is necessary to make these shifts happen in real time. Their minds are incredibly interesting, but not everyone can relate. Those who are more tied to the past, traditional thinking, or those who value conformity may find it difficult to understand what Aquarius is proposing. Some people, especially those focused on reality or practical matters, may feel lost or even offended by how far removed Aquarius’s ideas can feel from the present. This difference in perspective can sometimes make others feel attacked, especially when they hold on to current beliefs and ways of living.

In summary, Aquarius Mercury’s way of communicating is driven by their idealistic vision of what the future can hold, and while their ideas can be inspiring, they may be difficult to grasp for those who are more anchored in the present or past.

𝗣𝗶𝘀𝗰𝗲𝘀 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘆

For Pisces Mercury, people often find it hard to understand them. Pisces individuals are very internal, focused on their own world, imagination, and what stimulates them on a deeper level. This essence of Pisces Mercury makes communication difficult because they aren’t focused outwardly on communication. Unlike Gemini or Virgo, who are natural communicators, Pisces is the opposite. While Virgo, ruled by Mercury, excels at communication, Pisces tends to be more shy and reserved. It takes time—sometimes years—for a Pisces Mercury to open up and learn how to express their thoughts and emotions.

As a result, people may be confused or frustrated by a Pisces Mercury because they seem mysterious and withdrawn. They often appear to be lost in their own world, unable to communicate what’s going on inside. This lack of expression can lead to people labeling them in ways that don’t truly capture who they are.

For Pisces Mercury, the most important thing is to have someone who can ground them. They exist within their imagination and are captivated by their internal world. When others focus on work, daily life, or practical matters, Pisces doesn’t always know how to respond. They are more comfortable in their imagination and may feel disconnected from the reality others are dealing with. They’re whimsical people, but this can be misunderstood, especially before they learn to communicate what’s really going on inside.

It takes time for Pisces to express themselves in a clear, concrete way. Pisces prefers to be elusive and avoids rigidity, making it harder for them to speak directly. If they have earth or fire placements, they may find it easier to express themselves, but without these influences, communication can be more challenging for them.

[pomgore]

colored maudra seethi from this set of drawings, did you ever see a gelfling so beautiful you started crying

seethi headcanons under the cut :3

i imagine she inherited the maudra title young following her mother's death (she looks so young compared to the other maudras!) and, being a young gelfling surrounded by matriarchs, maybe struggled to integrate and get along with the other maudras for a while. she understood gelfling law in theory but in practice it doesn't come naturally to her, and the maudras being a sort of old ladies club didn't offer a lot of help at first.

probably she resolved this by withdrawing her personal feelings and emotions from her maudra "persona," she tries to be completely objective, plays by all the rules and waits for others to express their stances on a given matter before offering her own input. the other maudras opinions on this behavior range from annoyed to indulgent, most of them were there while she was struggling and they understand the need to separate their personal lives from the lives they lead as maudras.

gelfling autism

the shape of the dousan headdress is determined by how much hair it needs to hold--seethi has lots and lots and lots of hair, but she almost always wears it tied up or braided back to keep it off her neck in the desert heat.

the loss of her mother, which i imagine was unexpected and came at an already-fraught time in inter-clan relations/shifting skeksis policy/some other drama, had a profound effect on seethi that gelfling close to her recognized--the dousan perspective on death helped her rationalize and accept her mother's death, but she's never quite been able to move on.

the little hair charm at the end of her necklace is a lock of her mother's hair

whether in maudra-mode or not, seethi comes across like she's sort of floating through life, a bit detached from everything but still held down to thra by virtue of existing on it. she becomes more grounded in reality when a present situation or task demands her whole attention

related to above, she realizes she actually quite enjoys fighting during the outset of the garthim war, because unlike maudra work it's fast-paced, physical and decisive, and she doesn't have to worry about doing it "right" so much as just surviving to fight another way.

seethi lost a lot of her friends when she became maudra, unable to maintain relationships as the role demanded more and more of her time. :C

despite the kind of unwieldy shape seethi actually likes to wear the headdress because she thinks her ears are too big. when she wears it she has to trade big ears for a fivehead, but a big forehead is a feature of beauty among dousan (but not among stonewood, thats why they all have bangs)

since dousan aren't a part of the alliance of the crystal, seethi has only met the skeksis incidentally when some event necessitated both she and a skeksis ambassador attend. after maybe the third or fourth time this happens she decides to take a leaf out of maudra argots book and just sends a messenger with a no-show letter.

during aor seethi is the second oldest maudra, a little younger than mera (spriton maudra) and youngest of all being ethri (sifan maudra). mera became maudra not long after seethi, although at an older age, and adjusted pretty well to the position, so she and seethi get along well being closer in age than the other maudras. ethri became maudra under similar circumstances to seethi (sudden loss of a mother) so seethi and mera advise her where they can and do their best to make themselves welcoming presences for her. mera is better at this than seethi lol

related to above, this is why they all kind of cluster and make the same choice to support seladon when fara issues her challenge for the crown.

[jaybug-jabbers]

Gelatopod - Ice/Fairy

(Vanilla-Caramel Flavor is normal, Mint-Choco is shiny)

Artist - I adopted this wonderful fakemon from xeeble! So I decided to make up a full list of game data, moves, lore, etc. for it. Enjoy! :D

Abilities - Sticky Hold/Ice Body/Weak Armor (Hidden)

Pokedex Entries

Scarlet: Gelatopod leaves behind a sticky trail when it moves. A rich, creamy ice cream can be made from the collected slime.

Violet: At night, it uses the spike on its shell to dig into the ground, anchoring itself into place. Then it withdraws into its shell to sleep in safety.

Stats & Moves

BST - 485

HP - 73

Attack - 56

Defense - 100

Special Attack - 90

Special Defense - 126

Speed - 40

Learnset

Lvl 1: Sweet Scent, Sweet Kiss, Aromatherapy, Disarming Voice

Lvl 4: Defense Curl

Lvl 8: Baby Doll Eyes

Lvl 12: Draining Kiss

Lvl 16: Ice Ball

Lvl 21: Covet

Lvl 24: Icy Wind

Lvl 28: Sticky Web

Lvl 32: Dazzling Gleam

Lvl 36: Snowscape

Lvl 40: Ice Beam

Lvl 44: Misty Terrain

Lvl 48: Moonblast

Lvl 52: Shell Smash

Friendship Level Raised to 160: Love Dart (Signature Move)

Egg Moves

Mirror Coat, Acid Armor, Fake Tears, Aurora Veil

Signature Move - Love Dart

Learned when Gelatopod's friendship level reaches 160 and then the player completes a battle with it

Type - Fairy, Physical, Non-Contact

Damage Power - 20 PP - 10 (max 16) Accuracy - 75%

Secondary Effect - Causes Infatuation in both male and female pokemon. Infatuation ends in 1-4 turns.

Flavor Text - The user fires a dart made of hardened slime at the target. Foes of both the opposite and same gender will become infatuated with the user.

TM Moves

Take Down, Protect, Facade, Endure, Sleep Talk, Rest, Substitute, Giga Impact, Hyper Beam, Helping Hand, Icy Wind, Avalanche, Snowscape, Ice Beam, Blizzard, Charm, Dazzling Gleam, Disarming Voice, Draining Kiss, Misty Terrain, Play Rough, Struggle Bug, U-Turn, Mud Shot, Mud-Slap, Dig, Weather Ball, Bullet Seed, Giga Drain, Power Gem, Tera Blast

Other Game Data

Gender Ratio - 50/50

Catch Rate - 75

Egg Groups - Fairy & Amorphous

Hatch Time - 20 Cycles

Height/Weight - 1'0''/1.3 lbs

Base Experience Yield - 170

Leveling Rate - Medium Fast

EV Yield - 2 (Defense & Special Defense)

Body Shape - Serpentine

Pokedex Color - White

Base Friendship - 70

Game Locations - Glaseado Mountain, plus a 3% chance of encountering Gelatopod when the player buys Ice Cream from any of the Ice Cream stands

Notes

I'm not a competitive player, but I did my best to balance this fakemon fairly and not make it too broken. Feel free to give feedback if you have any thoughts!

I have a huge bias for Bug Pokemon since they're my favorite type, and at first I wanted to make it Bug/Ice, since any intervebrate could be tossed into the 'Bug' typing. But ultimately I decided to keep xeeble's original idea of Ice/Fairy. There's precedent of food-themed pokemon being Fairy type, and Ice/Fairy would be very interesting due to its rarity (only Alolan Ninetails has it). Its type weaknesses are also slightly easier to handle than Bug/Ice imo

The signature move is indeed based on real love darts, I could not resist something that fascinating being made into a Pokemon move, even if the real games may possibly shy away from the idea. (Honestly it could be argued "Love Dart" is based on Cupid's arrow so Gamefreak might actually get away with making a move like this though.) Its effectiveness on both males and females is a nod to snails/slugs being biological hermaphrodites. I can see this move also being learned by Gastrodon and Magcargo in Scarlet/Violet

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Don't Stop (Sandman One-Shot)

​GIF: Originally posted by @imironstark

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Smut. You and Morpheus are in the exploratory stages of your relationship. Morpheus asks to worship you, and all is going well. At least, that is, until you start to wake up...

Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut. Porn with plot. Kissing. Oral sex (AFAB receiving). Slight dominant Morpheus.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: So I watched Sweetbitter. With my partner. Maybe not the best idea because suppressing the squeaks of excitement whenever Tom came on screen was tough and not always 100% effective! The hyper fixation is still going strong... Hope you enjoy this one. All my love, Saskia xxx

Sandman Masterlist

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

It is only when the violent spinning not only stops but holds for several minutes after, does Morpheus make steps in allowing his guard to drop.

He straightens elegantly out of his crouching position, withdrawing his hands from the scree smattered earth. He looks to his left, to Lucienne, who is warily regarding the ground and sky, wondering if they might start to rapidly switch places again.

She meets Morpheus' gaze and adjusts her round-framed spectacles with a steady hand.

"I might be speaking too soon, sir, but I truly think it is over now."

Morpheus takes one last steely appraisal of the horizon, almost daring it to misbehave.

He nods once. "I believe you are correct, Lucienne."

"Will you be requiring anything else from me, my lord?"

"Not at present."

"Very well," Lucienne replies with a warm smile. "I will return to the palace now."

She does a little incline of the head in deference and goes to start the winding walk back towards the glowing lights of the Dreaming's seat of power.

Morpheus calls to his friend.

"I thank you for your persistence in supporting me to resolve these issues. I suggest you take some extra hours to rest."

"I suggest you do the same, sir."

Though her reply is innocuous, the knowing gleam in Lucienne's brown eyes hints at an alternative interpretation, one that Morpheus cannot help but notice.

It was becoming generally well known that he was in the early stages of courtship with a dreamer, you, and there was no doubt that Lucienne was aware of how far the relationship with you had recently gone.

He raises an eyebrow in response, earning a grin from Lucienne and then he watches her walk away.

Once alone, Morpheus allows his eyes to flutter closed as he sifts through the myriad of dormant minds and tunes into the space occupied by yours. He takes a reading of your emotions, thankful to find that you are contented and have not been rendered feeling neglected by his absence.

There's a faint undercurrent lingering below the surface level of your emotions that he is also able to lock on to given the familiarity that you share.

Desire.

They are present, filling you with neediness and longing.

A longing to be touched, to be touched by him.

Morpheus is with you in seconds, appearing in the doorway of the room you have chosen to conceal yourself in.

You are curled up in a large armchair by a panoramic window that frames the mountainous vista beyond. The torches that mark equidistant points along the bridge leading to the palace project a soft gleaming warmth over your skin. You are gazing softly at the landscape, the fingertips of one hand combing through your hair, the others trailing up and down your inner thigh.

Such an innocent yet provocative display. It makes Morpheus' voice drop to an even deeper and more sultry register than usual as he calls to you.

You are out of the chair instantly, meeting him at the threshold of the room. Your heart pumps out an allegro drum beat, the sound of the blood rushing in your ears like a waterfall.

You are pulled into a searing kiss, arms encircle your waist to ensure you are flush against his hips and chest. It is a relief that he is holding you in such a way for your knees are threatening to give out within seconds.

The power he has, in his body, his actions, through his words, in a metaphysical sense; you are helpless against them all.

When Morpheus pulls away from the kiss, you follow him on instinct, aching for more. He smiles faintly at your eagerness but maintains the gap in order to explain his length of absence.

"I must apologise, Y/N. The issue was a little more complex than Lucienne and I had anticipated."

He's looking down with a tint of shame in his aquamarine eyes.

You slide your hands up his forearms, gripping tightly and angling your head so you can capture his gaze.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. Your work and the safety of your dreamers take priority."

He simply nods. Your unwavering understanding is always on the side of overwhelming for him.

You register this in his stance.

"You feel a little tense. I can help with that if you want. Like I did last night?"

You move a hand up to stroke the hair on the back of his head. It is a form of touch that never fails to release tension.

Morpheus indulges in your attentions for a bit, leaning into you and sighing deeply, before staring at you directly with sudden seriousness.

"I cannot deny that what you did for me yesterday was beyond exquisite," He leans in to speak by your ear. "But it is my turn to worship you."

"Oh," you swallow down your surprise. "Okay."

Morpheus wastes no time in guiding you back towards the armchair and sits you on the very edge of the seat pad.

He carefully removes his long sweeping coat and then drops to his knees before you.

His rosy lips are parted, eyes dark pools, both standing out against his beautifully pale skin.

"Where can I touch you?" He asks urgently.

"Everywhere," you reply as the flutterings in your stomach warble your voice.

He begins by trailing his hands up your legs. The patterns he draws are intricate and intoxicating.

"May I have the honour of tasting you?"

"Yes," you consent, breathless already.

You remove your trousers and underwear in the same movement and allow Morpheus to adjust your position.

The image of him looking up at you with lust and intent as he parts your legs is immediately imprinted deep within your memories.

He trails innocent kisses up your left calf to your knee. A long-fingered hand is hooked under it and once Morpheus slips your leg over his shoulder, he continues his path along your inner thigh.

Wisps of his midnight hair tickle your skin and make you squirm in the most delicious way. You whimper when you feel his cool breath hit your pulsing core.

Morpheus speaks your name reverently, a taster of what was about to come.

He leans in the last few inches and kisses your vulva. You melt with an ecstasy-filled exhale. His tongue gently licks at your labia, encouraging them to part and expose your clit. He laps at you with precise strokes before sealing his mouth over the nub.

It's like a direct current has been shot into your body; you jolt into him, moaning his name with abandon.

He hums against you, lips curling into a naughty smirk. You are completely at his mercy and he knows it all too well.

He manipulates your clit between his plush lips and the pleasure reaches a higher ground.

"Whatever you do, please don't stop," you beg.

Morpheus obeys, slowly increasing and decreasing the pressure of his suckling until you are almost unable to think clearly anymore.

Then, suddenly, you are distracted by a strange feeling radiating through your body. You recognise it with immediacy. It's like you are being dragged upwards by a marionette string. You are waking up.

You stiffen, falling silent, hoping above all hope that if you stay still, you can stave off the pull back to consciousness.

Morpheus, noticing your change in demeanour, stops his attentions and pulls away.

He speaks your name in a caring tone, "Are you alright?"

You grab the arm rests in a further attempt to keep yourself in the Dreaming. The sensation isn't letting up.

You respond with haste, "I think I'm waking up. I don't think I can stop it."

Waking had been the cause of cutting short your time with Morpheus many times before. It was to be expected; you were a human being with things like sunlight and birdsong and routines to contend with. The worst had been mid-way through a conversation, one that you were able to pick up again the next time you passed the Dreaming threshold.

Right here while Morpheus was working on you so perfectly, however left you with one thought: Why did it have to be now?

Your surroundings flicker and all sound becomes warped. The support of Morpheus' body and the chair vanish.

"I'm sorry." They are the last words you speak before you disappear.

You come to in the semi-darkness of your bedroom. Your chest is heaving and wetness has spilled onto your pyjamas from the dream of Morpheus lavishing your aroused core.

Your phone is blasting out a morning alarm, its shrillness the clear root of you disappearing on him.

It turns out though, initially unknown to you, that Morpheus was having none of this separation business. That is until you notice him sitting between your splayed legs.

"Morpheus?! What are you -"

"You asked me not to stop, my dearest dreamer," he interrupts, pouring every ounce of seductive energy into the words as he can muster.

Morpheus' eyes bore into yours as he climbs up to fully straddle your body. He reaches over you to turn off the alarm with a precise tap on the screen of your phone. He takes a deep breath.

"Much better," he purrs. The pitch of his voice is pleasure enough on its own, even without the fact that his hips are subtly grinding against yours.

"Now, would you like to resume with what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted by that repugnant tone?"

You nod.

"Verbal consent, please."

It's suddenly so hard to speak now he is in your bedroom, your domain. You hope that a clear display will be an acceptable alternative. You reach your hands down to rid yourself of your pyjamas only to have each wrist pinned either side of your head.

You gasp.

"I need to hear you say it out loud, Y/N."

Another wave of hot, stifling arousal is released between your legs. You shiver in reaction to it, to his dominance.

Your mouth is open but no coherent words leave it, just the starts of failed sentences. Morpheus comes to your aid:

"Will you allow me to taste you here, in the waking world, just as I did in my own realm?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Morpheus. Please. Put your mouth on me."

He hums his approval before lowering your shorts and beginning to feast on you once more.

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

Tag List: @herfantasyworldd @shadowqueen1318

[anantaru]

cw. kissing, making out, fluff but mixed with a sprinkle of angst, this is very soft and indulgent, gn! reader

a/n. this was very indulgent and nice to write so i had to share with the village right away :) enjoy

you love to kiss scaramouche, kiss and kiss and kiss him again — numerous times — until you have to withdraw to catch up on some much needed air. but then he‘s airily smirking into your lips with a low chuckle spilling from his tongue, pressing out broken puffs from his chest, and his cheeks— with such a pretty red tint on his pale skin as you watch him crumble into pieces when you cradle his face.

the holding affection of his delicate prints arouse significant comfort and it was enough to relieve yourself from your day to day struggles, forgetting everything around you and twining into him— lips curved into an ardent smile.

scaramouche clears his throat before easing himself back into you with a subtle peck— offering you another kiss, one more— and another one, until you‘re both smiling into each other again. a teem of electro like tingles course into your veins as his hands further web into your tousled garments, his fingers pulling you benevolently into his body— it’s nothing more but an affectionate act to kuni, so he could have your skin lingered on top of his, your silent whines against his lips, so his features would be overcome with need and devotion he never received before.

for all that, it‘s equal to what you do, to lift the heavy burdens off his shoulders effectively, tenderly moulding into his tongue again— each upsetting memory departing from his state of mind, it‘s as if you‘re making direct contact with his soul through your deep rooted kisses, leaving a cavernous fire to burn from inside his chest. whereas scaramouche too, tastes like sweet sweet heaven on your lips, he kisses you like it‘s an addiction, worships your body as if it‘s the finest, most fragile— so compassionate — his fingers, ghosting on your skin, featherlight.

by the same sign, kuni didn‘t resonate with any of those sentiments. he who— prior to being with you, found false solace in the sinking feeling in his belly that had been automatically shielding himself from, yes, love. because kuni wasn‘t fully comforted by suddenly being wanted by someone. he didn’t like it, the sense and how it plagued his heart, the feeling on its own or— that he couldn‘t control it, again, that's what it was.

that there was no way of turning it off. there‘s rage, anger but love? it was more intense, it wasn't allaying to his frozen cold, and a part of him wondered how to turn it off, yet the incapability of treating his new feelings and reactions burned heavier in his boiling anger.

scaramouche, who had done horrible undertakings in his life, no, it was beyond that— he realizes deeply, how dark and twisted the deeds in his past were. what was the conclusion of such awareness? distantly, it cemented a closed off silence in him, again, his mind felt detached and pitch black, reminiscing the days from when he had been discarded.

the man was not worthy of such pure, candid love. yet why, why did you give it to him regardless, accepted him with open arms and a fresh spirit— and it freed him from the bleeding shackles of the promise he signed with himself. the ceaseless shadows of his recollections, evaporating and gone.

a source of light was consuming him whole, demolishing his tragic memories, deeper than before, and a new kiss seared into his skin— but the flames, those warm familiar flames, carved your name into his broken soul.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[corrodedhawkins]

Withdrawal: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Follow up to Prozac

Content warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), language, oral (f!receiving), fingering, crying (non-sexual this time), Eddie being a very supportive but also very horny boyfriend, multiple orgasms and praise.

This fic deals with mental health, mental health medication, withdrawing from medication, the possible side effects of these medications, including sexual dysfunction and the shame that can come with them. Please skip this if any of these things are triggering for you.

Authors note: this is inspired by me finally getting off of my SSRI and being able to feel my clit for the first time in five years. We’re celebrating

After years of being on an SSRI and attending weekly sessions, your therapist thought you had made enough progress to taper you off of your Prozac and onto an NDRI with less side effects. They had warned you the withdrawal process would be difficult, but nothing could have prepared you for what hell the next few weeks would be.

Your emotions were all over the place, and you found yourself screaming one minute then bursting into tears the next. The brain zaps were horrible, jolts of electricity shocking you so suddenly you nearly doubled over every time.

Eddie, bless him, had been a saint through the whole process. He let you scream and cry, and when you were done, he’d scoop you up into his lap and you’d fall asleep against his chest, exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster.

He would stop at the store on the way home to grab your favorite ice cream, candy bar, or anything else he thought could make you smile. You had to admit, it was hard to be upset when Eddie was shoving a bag full of chocolate, bubble bath, candles and a book into your arms as he ushered you into the bathroom.

Three weeks into withdrawal you finally start to feel better, your emotions much more stable with only the occasional brain zap. As supportive as Eddie had been, he missed being intimate with you. The second he was sure you were feeling better, he practically shoved you down onto the mattress. He crawls between your legs, whispering a, “missed you”, to your pussy before diving in.

Your snort of amusement turns into a cry of pleasure as you feel Eddie’s tongue lap at your clit.

“Holy fuck”, you stare down at him, propping yourself up onto your elbows. “Wha-what are you doing?”, you gape.

Eddie lifts his head from between your thighs, blowing a strand of hair out of his face. “Eating your pussy?”, he answers slowly, tone questioning.

“No shit”, you slap at his shoulder weakly. “I mean, what are you doing differently? Feels really good.”

He ducks back down to mouth at your clit, sucking the bud into his mouth as his tongue swirls around it. You feel him smirk against you when your hips jolt, hand flying to bury your fingers into his hair.

“You mean this?”, he asks before diving back in and sucking harshly at your clit. His big hands grab your hips to keep you still, pinning you to the mattress.

“Hah-yes. D-don’t know where you learned that but it’s good.”

As much as he loves seeing you enjoy yourself, his confusions wins out. “Baby”, he murmurs as he kisses your inner thighs, his day-old stubble scraping against the sensitive skin. “M’not doing anything differently. This is what I always do. Want me to keep going?”

“Please”, you breathe.

You feel him nod against you as he peppers kisses from your inner thighs to your slit, tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your hole to your clit.

“Ohmyfuckinggod”, you yelp, throwing your legs over his shoulders for leverage. You buck up as much as you can in his hold, grinding Eddie’s nose into your clit as he laps up the slick dripping from your hole to the sheets below.

“Can I have your fingers? Please?”, you whine pathetically as Eddie reaches up to shove two fingers into your mouth. You immediately suck on them, getting them nice and wet.

With one last swirl of his tongue against you, he pulls his fingers from your mouth and taps them against your hole. “This what you want?”

“Yes”, you cry, a little louder than you meant to.

Eddie chuckles, placing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “S’okay, I got you.”

His fingers inside of you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. They drag against your g-spot, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, your thoughts a mess of “whatthefuckwhatthefuck”.

The usually elusive orgasm builds quickly, one hand tangled in his curls as the other grips the sheets below. “Please don’t stop”, you beg.

“Not stopping”, he promises, thumb reaching up to swirl circles around your clit as he speaks. “I can feel how close you are, sweetheart. You gonna cum for me?”

All you can do is nod frantically, hand tightening against his scalp.

His mouth replaces his thumb on your clit, keeping the hard but steady pace of his fingers curling up against your g-spot.

It only takes seconds before you’re crying out, muscles seizing before you’re shaking apart as you cum against his tongue.

Sagging back against the pillows, you ride out your orgasm until you’re overstimulated, shoving his head away as you catch your breath.

“Good?”, Eddie smirks, biting playfully at your thigh.

You stare at him for a moment before it hits you. “No way, no fucking way.” Your hands come up to cover your face, the realization making your stomach flip.

“What? What is it?”, Eddie’s on you in an instant, pulling your hands away from your face to get a good look at you. “Baby, talk to me.” His eyes flick over your features, desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong.

The tears you’ve been holding back fall as the care in his tone hits you. “That’s what I’ve been missing?”, you practically wail.

Eddie reaches up to wipe the tears from your face, a look of genuine bafflement etching features. “Huh?”

With a huff, you sit up and wipe the remaining tears from your face. “I just came in less than two minutes, Eddie. Two minutes.” Two fingers are thrust against his chest to emphasize your point. “And I felt everything. Nothing felt numb or dull. It’s like my clit just woke up from a thousand year slumber.”

He snorts at that, biting his lip when you shoot him a glare. “Isn’t…isn’t that a good thing?”, he asks timidly.

“Of course it is”, you try to take a deep breath and fail, the tears coming back before you can stop them. “It’s great, but now all I can think about is how I‘be been cheated out of that with you because of my meds”, you sniffle. “I’d been on it so long I didn’t even remember I could feel like that.”

“Baby”, Eddie sighs, his heart breaking for you as he wraps you in his arms, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “M’so sorry you spent so long like that. Please don’t cry.”

“Can’t help it”, you mumble, burying your face back against his shoulder.

His hand rubs over your back soothingly, waiting for you to to settle before he speaks. “Y’know, I think you’re looking at this entirely the wrong way.” Eddie pulls back and tilts your chin up to look at him.

“Hear me out”, he tucks a few strands of hair behind your ear and leans in close. “If the way you were flailing around like you were possessed is any indication, I think it was pretty good for you?”

“You’re exaggerating”, you turn your attention to his hands, fiddling with the ring on his middle finger, twisting it back and forth.

“Mhm no baby, I’m not. I almost called a priest. Got a little worried we needed an exorcism.” He presses a quick kiss to your temple as you giggle, relieved he can make you feel a little better.

“And if it felt that good”, he continues, voice dropping a few octaves. He knows what that tone does to you, the bastard. “And you came that quickly, imagine how good it would feel if I laid you out and took my time with you, pulled out every trick I know. Imagine how many times I could make you cum.”

You can hear the smirk in his tone as his hand snakes down your body, thumb swirling deliciously slowly around your clit.

A shaky breath rushes out of you, the feeling of your clit starting to throb again startling you. If you were lucky, you came once, unable to even think about a second orgasm. Apparently, things had changed.

Eddie nuzzles into your neck, sucking kisses to the exposed skin, his thumb picking up speed. “Think you can go again?”

He chuckles against your skin when you immediately nod. “Are you gonna be a good girl and let me do whatever I want with you?”

You made a mental note to send your therapist a fruit basket as you came for the third time that night.

[writers-potion]

i was wondering if you could give some points and tips on writing about a character who is suffering from DRUG ABUSE

Writing A Drug Addict Character

Know Your Drugs

Was the drug invented? A scene using insulin set in 1820 is problematic since this treatment wasn’t discovered until the 1900s. Fentanyl shouldn’t be used in a 1930s scene since it wasn’t available for use until the 1960s—opium or morphine would be more accurate choices.

Was the method invented? Since insulin must be given as a shot, that scene is even less authentic as the hypodermic needle wasn’t invented until the mid-1800s. Older historical fiction could involve the use of poultices and mustard packs, while skin drug patches (transdermal patches) are only appropriate in more modern scenes.

The most common drugs abused by gangs are: Marijuana, Methamphetamine, Heroin, Cocaine

Or, it can be prescription drugs

Although many medications can be abused, the following three classes are most commonly abused:

Opioids—usually prescribed to treat pain;

Central nervous system (CNS) depressants—used to treat anxiety and sleep disorders; and

Stimulants—most often prescribed to treat attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). (common example? caffeine)

Write In Stages

Stage 1: First Use

Some people use a substance for the first time out of curiosity, while others use substances due to peer pressure. People may also be prescribed medication, such as opioids, by their doctor. Individuals may view their first use as a one-time occurrence, but this opens the door for future use. Some people try a substance one time and never use it again. 

You character will feel:

Angry and/or desperate

Miserable

Lonely

Trying to run away from a certain problem

Persuaded into doing drug

Guilty

Stage 2: Regular Use

If a person uses a substance and enjoys how it makes them feel or believes it will improve their life, they may start to use the substance regularly. They may use drugs or drink alcohol on the weekends while at parties or hanging out with friends. Occasional use may become a regular occurrence. It might become a part of a person’s routine.

Your character:

Will start getting in careless activities while doing drugs

Will probably be violent

Won’t think he has any issue whatsoever and shrug it off

Start associating themselves with harder drug users

Have a false sense of security that they’re able to quit whenever they want.

Stage 3: Risky Use

The next stage after regular use is risky use. A person will continue to use a substance despite the physical, mental, legal or social consequences. Their use likely started as a way to escape or have fun with peers but has now taken priority over other aspects of their life.

Your Character will feel:

uncomfortable around family members/friends who start to notice

Exhibit more reckless behavior

Driving under influence, stealing money to finance substance use, etc.

Underperforming at work or school

Experience tension in personal relationships

Stage 4: Dependence

The next stage is a physical, mental and emotional reliance on the substance. The individual is no longer using the substance for medical or recreational purposes. When a person doesn’t use the substance, their body will exhibit withdrawal symptoms, such as tremors, headaches, nausea, anxiety and muscle cramps.

Your Chracter Will:

Develop a sort of rountine/typical place where they abuse

Believe that the substance is essential for survival

Use substance even when it's unnecessary

Stage 5: Substance Use Disorder

While some people use dependency and substance use disorder interchangeably, they’re very different. Once a person develops a substance use disorder, substance misuse becomes a compulsion rather than a conscious choice. They’ll also experience severe physical and mental side effects, depending on the substance they’re using.

Your Character:

Has noe developed a chronic disease with the risk of relapse

Is now incapable of quitting on their own

Feel like life is impossible to deal with without the substance.

Lose their job, fail out of school, become isolated from friends and family or give up their passions or hobbies.

Research the Trends

Medical knowledge changes over time and with it the drugs prescribed. This then impacts the type of prescription drugs available on the streets.

late 1800s: chloral hydrate used for anxiety and insomnia > bromides > 1920s: barbiturates, barbital > benzodiazepines ("benzos") > early 2000s: opiod drugs > opiod drug bans led to growth of black markets: ilicit fentanyl > and so on...

Different countries/locations will have varying trends of drug abuse (depending on laws, availability, costs, etc.)

Research the Slag

look for "[drug name] trip report" on YouTube, etc. to get first-hand accounts of how drug addicts behave.

The main focus should always be to use the words your characters would use in ways that suit the world you have created.

The slang for certain drugs is a difficult vocabulary to maintain as it is ever-changing and varies based on country, region, town, even by streets. Some writers use what they know or have heard locally, others invent their own.

Resources

FDA (Food and Drug Administration) and DEA online databases and drug resources

Social networking groups focusing on related specialty writing topics, such as trauma or emergency medicine

Newspaper articles and medical journals are great places to find real cases.

The US national poison center 

Helpful Vocab:

Addled - sense of confusion + complete lack of mental awareness

Crazed - emotional anguish experienced by the addict

Desperate

Despondent

Erratic

Fidgety

Hopeless

Impressionable

Struggling