*This is a scene from a longer story I’m writing, which I’ve adapted to work as a stand-alone short story. If you have an hour or two to kill, you’ll find the whole thing so far [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054345). But you can just enjoy this post as it is :)*
___
Princess Gabrielle leaned against the oaken chapel door, looked to the courtyard, and exhaled heavily. The stars were already out, and the pleasant cool air was alive with cicada song. There was nobody out. A solitary dog was barking, without much conviction, over at the kennels. Several windows in various buildings were lit, but in general it was difficult to even make out the walls and the turrets against the sky – it was, after all, the night of the new moon, right before Midsummer. To her left, the massive ancient armoury tower was little more than a soaring square shadow.
She hated this fucking castle.
Behem. A million tons of granite rising from a steep wooded hill in the middle of a flat river valley. She’d been stuck here for two months now.
She wondered if any of her friends back at the capital was remembering her, or would spare her a thought tonight, wonder how she’s doing. She’d never know; they would be forbidden from contacting her. She was, after all, sent here for—well, for misbehaving (none of your business, really). Her family thought that an extended stay at Behem would improve her character.
Because surely, in this whole proper and puritanical kingdom, you couldn’t hope to find a more proper and puritanical place than this. This whole castle, its people, its ways, its life, were all reflecting the cantankerous mind of its ruler.
That crotchety hag. Our Lady of Behem.
Gabrielle detached herself from the door and angrily brushed her hair aside. Blond strands fell over her white dress. She was the sole pale spot in this dark courtyard, and it made her feel like the fucking ghost of Midsummer past or something. It wasn’t her idea to dress up in all white, it was the Lady’s orders. Orders! Imposed on Gabrielle, a member of the royal family! Okay, okay, a cadet branch, fairly distant relation to the King. Even so, dictating what to wear is not something you do to your guests. It’s something you do to prisoners!
A firefly floated fluorescent over the grass a little way ahead. Gabrielle took a few aimless steps forward.
She’d tried to get in Our Lady’s good books, she really did. She’d tried to intimidate her with her high birth. She’d tried to reason with her. She’d even tried to be nice. But over time, she came to a realization that it was all futile. Because to the Lady, all the world was a battle between good and evil, values and laxness, morals and unrestraint. She despised misbehaviour, and so too she despised Gabrielle. She cast the princess on the evil side of that conflict in her head; and once you were cast there, it was almost impossible to get re-cast. No matter what the girl did, Our Lady would continue waging her strange war, making her miserable in a million little ways.
Gabrielle was to focus on good, pious studies while here, and was denied companionship or entertainment. Case in point – tonight. The Midsummer Festival. The one night of the year when even this shit country relaxes a little; when everyone from the poorest peasant to the King himself parties out until the sun’s up. Nobody else was at the castle, but for a small handful of guards, monks and servants. Anyone who could went down to the town in the plain, to celebrate, to drink, sing, watch the fireworks; leaving the place so unusually dark and quiet.
The princess was made to stay here and take part in a long-winded ceremony to the gods, which had ended only just now, when the monks got sleepy and decided to go to bed.
She paused, thoughtful. What if Her Ladyship was right? Maybe this isolated, dreadful lifestyle really *was* a good way to improve her character?
She tried to visualise her character, with her mind’s eye. With her mind’s hand she picked up her mind’s stick and poked at it. Her character bristled and snarled. Gabrielle grinned. Nope, that thing was still as shit as ever.
The dog calmed down. The cicadas persisted. Somewhere, someone was drunkenly singing a song.
Gabrielle resolved to make use of everyone’s absence, raid the Great Hall cellar for wine, and get shitfaced by herself on the battlements, watching the fireworks from above. It will be almost like a party. Kicking out with her feet, she started along the path to get on with her quest.
To her left, beyond the armoury tower, the gatehouse was well lit. There she knew the men were sober as swine. There would also be alert guards on the walls of the inner courtyard. Peaceful and sleepy as this province was, one shouldn’t forget – less than a hundred miles away, beyond a ring of border forts, a war was raging. The Kingdom’s armies had, late in spring, set off for Kontaria – that mysterious, wooded land, a land of songs and sagas, of whose inhabitants you could hear so many alarming and titillating tales.
This war did cause a rare interesting thing to happen in Behem, too. The week before, they brought in a prisoner, a captive Kontarian scout, and locked him in the old dungeon beneath the armoury tower. Gabrielle glanced to the dungeon windows, at ground level by the chapel’s garden, but they were invisible in the night. She’d seen the prisoner arrive, bound on horseback. She’d been intrigued by him from the start. He must have been only about her age, not yet twenty. He had those pale blue eyes, watching bewildered from behind messy auburn hair. Not much chance he’d ever see his homeland again, really. Shame.
One day, when Our Lady was away on a ride, Gabrielle – out of sheer boredom and curiosity – managed to coax the dungeon’s guard, a huge and imposing but also gentle and simple-minded man named Dodo, to let her talk with the prisoner. The boy turned out to be a pleasant surprise. Though he tried to act hostile towards her, she took a liking to him – he was a lot more quick-witted than she’d credit a forest dweller with being, there was something endearing to his manner that he couldn’t quite plaster over while trying to act tough, and he was probably the only person in Behem that shared her opinion on the place. Besides, his rather threadbare prison garb had revealed to her quite a bit of his skin, of his slender body that, together with his cute face, and to the dismay of the aristocratic standards board within her head, ushered her thoughts towards some definitely impure territories. Ah, well, it was to be forgiven. He was the only guy her age she’s seen for a long time. Back at the capital, she’d had a lot of male companionship, some very satisfying. She was missing that a lot.
After that visit in the dungeon she’d used some trickery and vague intimidation to have the kitchen and bathhouse servants supply the prisoner with decent food and means to keep himself clean. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would make his stay here at least a little more bearable.
She knew his name, cause he’d told it to her. The boy was called Aerin.
___
Aerin lay awake. There had been some unusual commotion outside throughout the day, upbeat songs and music. Some people had even visited Dodo and for more than an hour they had laughed and talked very loud. Only when the night came did the noises start to die down.
He counted the days he’d been locked up. It was now just before midsummer. He correctly guessed that this was the reason for the festivities. How strange it was, to hear carefree people enjoying themselves while he was here, underground, distressed and alone. How can such different states of mind even exist in the same world, let alone in the same place and time? This overheard cheerfulness made him feel more isolated than the stone walls and iron bars ever could.
He lay down on his straw bedding and idly poked at the mossy mortar between the bricks. The cell was rather large, meant to accommodate maybe ten prisoners, but it was now completely empty – just the bare stone floor, two grated windows high up the wall, and several pairs of black iron manacles hanging from the high ceiling in the middle. It was separated with a vast grille from the corridor which lead to the passageway up to the outside world.
For a thousandth time he considered whether it was possible to prey loose some bar or some stone, whether there was a flaw in the design of this dungeon somewhere. No, idiot, his inner voice replied, you know very well that this dungeon was built by smart people capable of constructing these huge structures, and they were certainly smarter than you who are a useless vain dumbass that’s going to die!
He made effort to shut down that particular train of thought. It’s true, he only got caught because he’d tried to pull off a stupid stunt, to prove his bravery before everyone. He’d tried to do that because—well, none of your business why, really. Point was, it landed him here.
And this place was so strange. His guard, Dodo, had orders never to talk to him. And he was the only person Aerin ever saw.
Well, okay, there was the girl, too. She came down here just once, just for a little while. He could picture her clearly – very pretty, with tied back hair that reached past her shoulders. Still, she had that expression about her like she was constantly judging you to fall short of some measure, that way her front teeth showed in her catty smile, a mocking twinkle in her eyes. Her eyes. What’s that colour, blue but a lot darker than his? Sapphire, or someshit.
She claimed that she was a princess. Gabrielle. A pretty name. Shut up. He tried again to guess what was her deal. He suspected she might have been a part of some good jailer routine. Then again, she didn’t try to drag any important information out of him. Maybe she only came here out of her own curiosity? But then again, maybe this was what they wanted him to believe? He’d spent several days overthinking this at every possible angle.
He had a mental task to occupy himself with at least, and that was to persuade his attraction to that blond menace out of his own mind.
She was a trick. She was not to be believed.
Calm down.
Then there was all this good food and warm bath water that kept coming his way, like to a guest of honour. Was that an element of some elaborate mental torture? Where were they going with *that*?
He certainly had a lot of valuable information, about ways to get around the forest, about the number of warriors, about where the villages where, and where all the valuables and food caches were hidden. But he wouldn’t tell, no matter what they did to him. Kontarians may in the future remember him as an idiot, but not as a traitor. This, turns out, was his battle to fight in this war. Say nothing.
He just wished that someone was here to compose a saga about it. The Saga Of Aerin Who Sucked At Stealth But Was Not In The Least Bit Scared To Be Mashed Into A Pulp, Or To Have His Eyes Gouged Out, And His Elbows Broken.
He snorted in the dark. He had to admit that this sounded like a really shitty saga.
___
Walking on through the courtyard, Gabrielle noticed yet another light – a candle was still burning in Dodo’s guard room in the corner of the armoury tower, and the front door was left ajar. Curious, she swerved over there and peeked inside.
The candle was nearly burned out on the table, tallow trickling from its stone stand onto the wood. Sitting propped against the wall was Dodo, snoring quietly, with an empty bucket by his side. Gabrielle leaned down and examined it; it was stained with dark red residue. She laughed to herself. She’d heard rumours that the guy was capable of drinking a full bucket of wine in one sitting. Turns out they were right! That crazy bastard. The other soldiers must have talked him into doing this. She tapped on his forehead with her knuckles. It didn’t even change the rhythm of his snoring.
She straightened up and looked to the narrow limestone passage in the wall, that lead down to the dungeon. Aerin! A new prospect for the night opened. Maybe she’ll bring some wine down there and get him to talk shit about Behem again. Or the entire Kingdom. Maybe she’ll get him to tell stories about Kontaria, see if all she’d heard is true.
Or maybe, a more practical bit of her brain piped up, if he lets you chain him down safely enough, you two could fuck.
Cicadas sang. Dodo snored.
She leaned on the table and stared hard into the candle’s flame. You did not just think that for serious, she insisted. She could hear her heart bang inside her. Serious. Dead serious. Yes. This is perfect. There’s literally nothing in the way.
No. No no no no no, nope. She rushed outside. This was too risky, if anyone caught her she’d probably end up in a convent for life, it would be just beyond all reason.
The courtyard was still only filled with starshine. A solitary guard was standing on the gatehouse’s flat roof, lit by a torch, quite far off. Come on. There’s nobody around. You’re stuck here, who knows for how long. When will you even have a chance to have sex again?
She walked forward a few steps. No. There’s no way he’ll be up for it!
You can’t know that if you don’t ask.
He’s a foreign barbarian from a forest!
Yeah, a rather good looking and pleasant one.
What if she gets pregnant? How would she explain that to the Lady?
You know where the servants keep silphium tea. That will take care of that.
She stopped. She shifted her weight from heels to toes and back a few times. She opened her eyes wide. Her whole body was jittering a little.
She turned around, found herself in Dodo’s room, closed the front door firmly behind her, grabbed a pair of fetters on a long chain, lit a torch off the candle, and rushed down the stairs.
___
Aerin’s thoughts were wandering off to far-away places, to the forests of Kontaria, his lost family and friends, when the door upstairs suddenly opened.
He sat up.
There were footsteps on the stairs. Torchlight got in from the passageway and within it he saw someone’s shadow, a silhouette on the limestone. Then into the corridor came the girl herself, Princess Gabrielle, short of breath and apparently agitated, a pair of manacles swaying heavily in her hand. She looked around, installed the torch in a grip carved in the wall opposite the cell, and turned to face him.
“You aren’t asleep yet?”
He made a gesture with his hand vaguely indicating his upright position, all while wondering what fresh hell was this.
“Good.” She hurled the manacles up over a horizontal bar of the cell’s grating, so that they hung about a foot above her head. Startled by metal clanging loudly on metal she glanced towards the stairway and stood still for a minute. Eventually, she faced him again.
“Okay,” she paused, and licked her lips. “Take off your clothes and put your hands in the fetters.”
What. “What?”
She was breathing unevenly. She grabbed at the grating and leaned on it. With the torch burning behind her, her hair shone like gold around her head, and her blue eyes seemed almost black, locked on his and in some trancelike state. “Aerin,” she said. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”
Well then.
He got up, a little unsteady. She… was into him? That would actually explain all the weird shit that was happening. But this was a ridiculous thing to consider, wasn’t it? This is a trap of some sorts. He mustn’t walk into it. Hasn’t he learned the lesson not to go for dangerous things?
He stared into her eyes. He took several steps forward. Fucks sake. Is this what a moth feels when it sees candlelight? He was barely breathing. His blood felt hot in his veins. If the girl told him to grab that torch by its flaming head he’d probably do it.
He walked under the manacles. She stepped away from the bars, still watching, tense and attentive. He grabbed at his shirt, turned around with nonsensical bashfulness, and pulled the material over his head. This felt like dismantling defences before an oncoming enemy, yet also like a liberation. There was no going back now. He took off his trousers and kicked them away. He lifted his hands to the fetters. With his entire skin, he only felt cool air.
As he stripped, she bit at her mouth so hard her teeth almost crushed her lips. He went for it. He actually went for it. Holy shit, they were gonna do it. She’s gonna fuck a Kontarian prisoner. Reality fuzzed a little. Her brain split evenly between an unrestrained joy and a profound dread. You’re gonna get caught, you idiot! No matter. No matter. She tapped at her dress and found the key. She approached him cautiously – what if he’s just trying to trap her? Maybe he’ll try to seize the moment, herself, and the cell key? She proceeded with utmost attention, ready to jump back at the slightest twitch of his muscles – but he stood still.
The key was pretty small and she actually found it hard to jam it into the keyhole of the manacles, them overhead and her hands refusing to cease their jittering. She began with his right arm, clasping the iron over his wrist – which was still bruised where he had struggled against the ropes on his way here – she hoped it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable – the lock mechanism resisted the turning key, but eventually something clicked – the fetter was secure – oh fuck, oh fuck – she repeated this with his left – another bruise, another click – and it was all done, all ready. She exhaled and took a step back.
He stood there, with his back to her and to the grating, his hands now made harmless, hanging several inches above his head. Torchlight danced uneven on his back. He looked great from behind, muscles tense across his shoulder blades, others rising in slender columns along the curve of his spine, dimples at the small of his back, a wonderfully slappable ass. What she came here for, though, was on the other side. She strode and unlocked the door and entered the cell.
There it goes, he thought. He was powerless, naked, and his cock was getting hard, a very visible sign of his sincere desire for her. She went in front of him and looked at him, all of him. Yep, this is me. If you’re actually here just to mock me, then I’ve served myself on a silver platter. If there’s a whole bunch of torturers you’re hiding upstairs they can barge right in.
She reached for the straps of her dress and started to untie them.
Oh, okay, he thought, tensing. *Okay.*
He is gorgeous, she thought, fingers fumbling on the straps and breath racing faster still. His light eyes were fixed on her. His body was lean and fit, the muscles of his chest drawn up by his arms bound overhead, his ribs revealed in the half-shadow with each nervous intake of air, his abs in turns flexing and relaxing gently. Between his legs, his beautiful Kontarian cock was rising through the air, heartbeat by heartbeat. She finally defeated all the straps, clasps, belts, and freed herself of her dress. With movements dreamlike and detached yet decisive, she took off her underwear and stood naked before him.
This was, he thought, the most spectacular sight he’d ever seen. The body she exposed before him was splendid; her perky firm breasts in perfect proportion with her slender frame, nipples hard in the cool air; her flat hard stomach, toned from years of horse riding, framed with shadowy pits where its muscles gently receded before her flanks and hips; the girly curves of the hips themselves; the expanse of smooth skin at her thighs; the strip of dark pubic hair; the soft cleft below. He swallowed, and gripped his chains.
She ran her hands across her breasts and abdomen. She didn’t need him to tell her that he liked what he was seeing. His cock was hard, tense in the air, pointing right at her, pulsing and taut under pressure. She smiled and turned a bit, to give him a good look anywhere he wanted. She’d missed this so much, that feeling of a guy’s eyes skimming through her naked skin.
Then she caught eye contact with him, blushed, and looked back down to his body. This surprised her. Why was she delighted with him staring at her naked, but suddenly shy to look him in the eye?
Anyway, enough of this.
She walked over to him. She put her hands on his chest. His skin was burning, and his heart pounded against the inside of her palm. She moved her hands down, taking time to press at his abs with her fingertips, and finally rested them on his hips. So smooth, so firm. It’s like the gods created him specifically to turn her on.
She drew her left forearm around his neck and with her right hand grasped the grille behind him and lifted herself, putting her feet on a horizontal bar several inches off the ground, on either side of his legs. The bar was maybe half an inch thick, round in cross-section, rough and uneven black iron. It dug painfully into her soles as her entire weight rested on it. She threw her right arm around Aerin’s neck too and shifted herself onto him, hugging him very close, their naked bodies suddenly in full contact.
She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on his. He sighed as her breasts pressed soft against his chest, and the tip of his cock was squeezed by her pubic mound. She leaned heavily against him, and her warmth, her weight, her feel were so amazing that he forgot all else in the world. He wanted to take her, to come inside her, so, so bad. Still, he didn’t move. She was waiting for something. Their foreheads were touching, but to both of them the thoughts of the other were a complete mystery.
Her rational brain was making one last appeal not to do this, but it was no use. She felt that his whole body was shaking, shaking with lust for her. She would not deny this to herself, and she would not deny this to him.
She climbed to her toes and reached down and grabbed his cock. She stroked it a couple of times – hard like the iron bar, but hot, pulsing, full of life. She guided to her pussy, and air played on his vocal cords as the tip touched the slippery, delicate flesh. When all was in place, she again held onto his neck with both arms and exhaled with a long, shaky, half-laughing breath. Very, very slowly, savouring every moment, she settled down with her ankles, taking him inside her.
She greeted every bulge, every vein under his velvet-smooth skin as it passed her labia and disappeared in her. Her pussy slickly stretched to make room for him, more and more of him, this feeling of fullness growing, swelling, expanding inside her, the boy’s body now within hers. He pulled hard on his chains and moaned into her neck as he felt swallowed into her, his cock penetrating deep into that divine body, experiencing it totally and without limits. She returned his moan when she reached the end and their pubic hair touched, him filling her whole, almost too much too bear. She held that position awkwardly for a long moment, feeling his heartbeat from within. They can catch us, she thought, I don’t care. So worth it.
Now he moved, shifting his hips forward and arching his body towards her, seeking more contact. She glanced at him and again her eyes darted away from his. She leaned down and kissed his jaw, and then continued down his neck. She tried to ride his cock, but it was barely possible in their position, forcing her to stand on her toes and back down. There was another horizontal bar in the grating at about the height of his hips. She hung from his neck and threw her legs over it, sticking them out of into the corridor, the iron digging painfully into her back thighs. Now he could thrust forward directly into her, and he did just that, forceful, feverish moves that made her sigh with pleasure. She let go of him with one hand and played with her clit, hanging precariously, even the ache in her exerted back muscles feeling fantastic.
He watched her body twist, her ribcage rise and fall, her breasts sway to the rhythm; she threw back her head and her hair flew through the air, and he thrust harder, faster, in ecstasy. If only he could touch her, feel her with his hands. Her fingers were digging hard into his shoulder blade where she was anchored. She jerked her head and now her hair fell in disarray over her face.
“Gabrielle…” he moaned.
“Aerin!” she responded. Their names echoed off the walls. His abs were flexing with his thrusts in the soft shadow. She laid her hand, wet with her juices, on his stomach, feeling him, feeling his body work, driven wild by hers. He was helpless to stop her, his body her playground, completely exposed for her to do what she willed; and he leaned forward, giving himself to her, he wanted nothing more than to be her plaything. She moved her hand to his chest, over his heart, and rubbed his nipple with her little finger, feeling it harden under her touch. She let out another giggling gasp and looked him in the eyes.
They were so blue, even in this fire light. He was leaning down on his chains, as if reaching out to her. Something changed – she didn’t get the urge to look away now; no, the opposite, his eyes drew her in, pinned hers down. She laid her hand on his cheek and traced his eyebrow with her thumb. In response he rubbed his cheek against her hand, like a touch-starved animal, looking at her, awed and pleading. He saw something new in her eyes, sincere and unguarded, pupils growing larger in her irises like some shape rising from the depths to the surface of the sea.
She whispered his name again, then rose up and kissed him. Her lips were soft between his, and he put his whole awareness into feeling that mouth that curved in that mocking smile, exploring her with his tongue, her teeth, her inner lip, the tongue of her own. And for this moment, they were just two happy humans sharing themselves, and all the world around them and all that’s in it was nothing; the stone ceiling above was nothing; Behem nothing; and they themselves were nothing, but for their shared joy.
She broke off the kiss, a thin thread of mixed spit still connecting their lips, and looked again into his eyes, and lost herself. Her legs squeezed him and the bars convulsively, and she called out to him as a huge heavy wave of pleasure rolled over her body, leaving only calm bliss behind. He saw her lose control over her face, over all her muscles. He felt her pussy contract around him, sucking him, petting him, teasing him. He felt his own abdomen light up, ecstasy expanding, muscles shaking, pleasure forcing air out of his lungs. With a long broken moan he came, pumping her full of his seed, feeling her with absolute intensity – and then stood still, breathing hard.
Little by little, moment by moment, the outside world made its unwelcome return. He felt iron on his wrists, and she under her thighs; various muscles complained about the heavy loads they had been forced to carry. She looked at her toes, suspended in mid-air. A survival instinct kicked in. They had been pretty loud, definitely audible from the chapel garden. She listened for a moment, but there were no signs of anyone. She started to disentangle herself from the bars and from Aerin. When her feet touched the ground, his cock slid out of her and slapped wet and heavy against his leg. His cum trickled down her thigh. Her hand was still on his shoulder. They looked at each other. They felt that someone should say something, but it now occurred to them that they had not exchanged a single world throughout the whole thing, besides each calling out the other’s name. The present situation, therefore, was somewhat delicate and awkward.
“Okay,” she said, taking her hands off him. “Hold on a second, I’ll just dress up and unchain you.”
“Okay. I promise I won’t go anywhere.”
She smiled at him, her usual smile, just a slight derisive pull of the corners of her mouth. But it seemed so different now. For the first time, he felt like he was in on her joke.
She looked for a moment for something to wipe herself with, and settled for the hem of her dress for a lack of other options. He watched with regret as she covered her flushed skin with cloth, carelessly, hands trembling. When she was done she walked out of the cell and locked the door, double-checking it.
As she turned up behind him and raised the key up to unlock the fetters, she hesitated. Her caution returned. She unlocked his fetters very carefully, again ready to lunge back at any moment, as if she was taking a leash off a caged tiger. Yet again nothing happened, though; he stood calm until she undid both locks, and when she whisked the chain away and took a quick step back, he just turned around, rubbing his wrists.
She leaned back against the wall, looking at his naked body, and finally sighed with satisfaction.
“Enjoyed yourself, boy?”
He bit his lip, and swept the whole dungeon with his gaze. “Maybe this place isn’t all that bad.”
“Yeah,” she laughed. Her whole body was still tingling with pleasure, her pussy still basking in the fantastic physicality, tangibility of his cock. Let him out, something urged. The way’s free, Dodo’s out drunk, it’s a moonless night, just let him run!
But three thoughts rose up in opposition. Number one, if Aerin escaped tonight, they’d surely kill Dodo for this – anything to save their face and placate Titulus. Dodo might be pretty simple, and considerably less pretty than Aerin, but this was not a life for life that she was willing to just let happen. Number two, Aerin had no chance on foot. As soon as they realize he’s gone, they’ll go for him with the dogs and the horses. He’d need at least a horse of his own to have any chance, and there was no way to get one from the stables and lead it through the gate unnoticed. Number three, there were very few people in the castle now, and almost all of them were gathered in groups. It really wouldn’t be hard to guess that it was her that let him out. And that would be consorting with an enemy at wartime, and that would be treason. The punishment would be severe. So, Gabrielle, he may have a pretty face and he may be a good lay, and you may feel bad for him, but how much would you really be willing to sacrifice for his life?
Her smile slackened and she looked up the stairway. “I have to go,” she said. She took the torch and walked to the passage.
“Hey, wait a moment!”
She stopped on the first step. He ran along her, right to the corner of his cell.
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment before she spoke. Inside of her, though yet unrealised, a resolve had hatched, and plans for a great defiance brooded.
“Aerin, if I see the slightest chance, you will see me, you will feel me, and you will taste me.”
And with that goodbye, she ran up the stairs.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/c38gx2/even_dungeons_can_be_pleasant_in_a_good_company