#Rift of North

[orangecatty-shiningnikki]

【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】 Pavilion

【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】 Pavilion

The creatures resting in the forest transform into phantom butterflies, guided by thoughts, and meet briefly with lost travelers.

Lightning and Psylocke will guide lost travelers.

Suit Display ::

Original :: Winter Shimmer (暮冬烁灵)

Recolor :: Dancing in the Cold Night (寒夜翩跹)

Collection :: Rift of North

Designer :: Norwin (诺特)

Rarity :: SSR

Attribute :: Sexy

Date :: 18—27/01/2024

Type :: Pavilion

🦋🦋Design Concept 🦋🦋

It is said that in the Northland, there is a magical forest that only appears on lightning nights.

After the free creatures leave, they will turn into butterflies and rest here.

Tonight, will anyone go to that forest as the legend says?

The white mist rising from the dead trees, the lost children, the memories hidden deep in the heart...

When the memories reunited, Norwin suddenly remembered the name he had never forgotten.

The psionic butterfly fluttered over and gently touched his lips, as if telling of endless longing.

After tonight, the wind stopped and the snow stopped, the morning sun rose outside the window, and the Northland ushered in a long-lost sunny day.

The dusty door slowly opened, and the ancient prophecy appeared again on the inconspicuous dead wood staff,

"Get rid of the child of destiny and end the fateful struggle."

🦋🦋Design Hilight 🦋🦋

The flickering phantom butterflies fly through the white mist, dancing between dreams and memories.

The black dead trees stand in the night, and the lanterns hanging high emit a quiet cold light.

The mist after nightfall is the will of the forest, guiding the creatures to peace and rest.

.

[thena0315]

Waiting for the next ATLA Trilogy Comic

[dreamchasernina]

do you lile the comics or do you think the characters or are they OOC

Aang in the promise reminded me of zuko in season 1.

Hotheaded, even kinda nationalistic with no social awareness. How comes he completely forgets katara

Oooh I love that question.

First of all, starting with the Promise. Yeah, they are mostly out of character in that comic. Aang agreeing to kill Zuko after we spent the whole finale establishing he refuses to kill? Like, that’s baffling. Plus, Zuko acting like a child, going to his father for advice and marching his army to Yu Dao, instead of sitting down with Aang and talking it out? We spent 3 seasons watching Zuko grow into a mature young man and he just goes back to his old ways in the first comic? That wasn’t great. Although I did like the overall conflict of the series, the characters were not done right.

But, I wouldn’t call Aang a nationalist. You have to remember, Aang lost his entire culture and he’s the only one who’s left to preserve it and to pass it on. Seeing people blatantly disrespecting his culture and using it as a costume made him see things differently. He was just afraid that his way of life would be lost if he let the nations clash. Yes, his way of thinking was wrong but it was also justified in the context of the comic. Of course he came to a realization that he cannot gatekeep his culture and people from different nations should be able to live together. I think it was a good character growth for him. Which is a lot more than I can say for Zuko, at least.

Now, I’m not sure I understand what you mean by saying he forgot Katara? Are you referring to the first comic? Cause they were together the whole time and I feel like her opinion and counsel were what mattered the most to him. In terms of Kataang, I think they were written really well in the comics. They have cute little romantic moments and also moments where they realize they’re pretty much the ones responsible for the fate of the world and really sit down and think things through and reach a decision together. I love that.

I could say Aang kinda forgot about Katara in the Rift for a while there, but it’s kinda minor. Other than that, in every other comic, they’re always together and written well so I like Kataang in the comics a lot.

Overall, the comics are not for everyone but I do enjoy them, I think they’re cute additions for the universe if you don’t think too hard about them. They’re pretty entertaining, for the most part.

My favorite one is definitely Imbalance, it just balances the characters perfectly, everyone gets a moment to shine and the main conflict is actually really ineteresting and sets up the main conflict in Korra really well.

My ranking of the comics if you’re interested

1. Imbalance - like I said the main conflict is awesome and the characters feel like themselves, Toph is a freaking badass in this one.

2. The Rift - I love Toph in this, she really gets to shine and again, Aang’s inner conflict is what makes this comic for me. The way he wants to preserve his people’s memory and culture in middle of all the inevitable progress.

3. The Search - it’s cute. Just the Gaang on an adventure, that’s always fun.

4. The Promise - it has its problems but I like the conflict after the war, I think it’s very nuanced and interesting.

5. Smoke and Shadow - Kinda boring

6. North and south - it was a bit repetitive and the main conflict seemed a little bit silly in my opinion. Katara is also a little out of character.

[crownrots]

last night episode really got me thinking about elsa and rhaenys’ relationship, both when rhaela was alive and after she passed and rhaenys and corlys took her in (bc why wouldn’t they �� … uncle daddy and auntie step mom). It’s such a tumultuous ride tho … rhaenys initially harboring ill will towards her because she’s technically corlys’ first born to being incredibly instrumental in raising her bc she KNEW her sister’s time with her was going to be short.

i ran out of tags to tag spoilers so: h*td spoilers dawgs for last nights hour of torture.

rhaenys, even if she didn’t show it as much, thought of Elsa as her own and Elsa, despite not showing it, always looked to her for the mother she was robbed of far too soon. The two argued like a parent and child might, the flew their dragons together, laughed and drank and mourned with one another.

But there was always a little sting, a little bit of resentment especially after Laena and Laenor passed, because while her only two children perished… Corlys’ child still lived and thrived and she always had to remind herself that Elsa wasn’t privy to her lineage. Only thought Corlys’ treated her as a daughter because that was expected of him as her aunt’s husband.

It’s not until everything is really laid out in the open that she’s able to let go of that little chip on her shoulder, to let it fall away so she can fully remember and realize the promise she had made to her sister on her death bed all those years ago; she has done far more for elsa than even SHE realized.

and then THIS happens … and the fact that they don’t even get to say goodbye. the fact that the last time they saw each other rhaenys was only catching a glimpse of her hauling ass north because something had gone amiss once jace departed from there. she never got to tell her just how much she loved her and loved raising her. that any anger or resentment or callousness she showed her at ANY point of her life had been ill placed and accidental. she never got to REALLY tell her how proud of her she was. how much of a privilege it had been to raise her up into the woman and mother she had become. she definitely does not see her late sister when she looks at her, but rather sees herself.

and when elsa returns, and in her grief goes to the alter by the tide pools that she’s visited far too often in her lifetime she absolutely loses it. while normally she’d have whittled a piece of wood to look like who she had lost, she stands there and just looks at the line of pieces that are already there; her mother, her grandmother, aemma, laena, laenor, viserys, luke, and her own son, rickon…she can’t put rhaneys there, she just can’t.

and in her grief and rage she destroys it, destroys the one place of peace she’s had all those years. destroys her once place of reflection and one place she could grieve uninterrupted. she rips the alter of driftwood and stone apart with her bare hands, knuckles bleeding.

it’s not a place of remembrance or reflection. it’s a glaring reminder of everything and everyone she’s lost. the empty spaces, a place holder for who might have an effigy placed there next; her husband, her daughters, her only remaining son, her nieces, her nephews, her queen and cousin, her father … the list goes on.

and all the while her dragon watches, feeling every ounce of her grief tenfold, and it’s unlike the kind she’s shared with her before. but when it’s all said am done, just like when elsa was fourteen and had lost her mother, frosteye lifts one opal wing, battle scars from them turning the tide in north still healing, and invites her under. and elsa accepts just as she did before, crawling beneath the wing, sand singing her split knuckles, drawing herself into a fetal position and weeping like a babe.

but she knows rhaenys isn’t coming to check on her like before. she knows frosteye won’t chortle and shift at the high valaryian spoken so softly and clearly to calm her upon approach.

she’s surrounded by so many, needed by so many. but she’s never felt so alone in rhaenys’ absence.

[disappointed-time-traveller]

Please reblog for sample size I’m really curious

[haveyouseenthishorrormovie]

SUMMARY: Siren II, a submarine under the command of Capt. Phillips, ventures into the deep on a mission to recover the missing Siren I. Their quest is hindered when the submarine becomes entangled in a patch of toxic seaweed.

[loregoddess]

kill them with kindness? wrong *summons a lynel*

[atla-polls]

Poll Request: Question = Did the comics improve or ruin the story told in the series.

This is about : the promise, the search, the rift, smoke and shadow, north and south. Also includes the toph metalbending academy & suki alone.

NOT korra comics. NOT team avatar tales / lost adventures, which are mostly set during the main story. NOT the novels. NOT the azula comic because it is not out yet.

[solacebean]

More CAU sketches

[orangecatty-shiningnikki]

【 Shining Nikki CN+TW 】 Welfare

【 Shining Nikki CN+TW 】 Welfare

The whiteness born on the ice sheet, the courage born in the cold winter.

Suit Display :: Ice Field Snow (冰原雪线)

Collection :: Rift of North

Designer :: —

Rarity :: SR

Attribute :: ​Cool

Date :: 09—22/11/2023

Type :: Welfare

.

[thena0315]

Avatar: The Last Airbender comics

Graphic Novel Trilogies

Standalone Novels

[jobskenyaplace]

REGISTRATION OF SUPPLIERS FOR SUPPLY OF GOODS, PROVISION OF SERVICES AND WORKS FOR FY 2024/2025 - NRV

NORTH RIFT VALLEY WATER WORKS DEVELOPMENT AGENCY TENDER FEBRUARY 2024  INVITATION FOR FRAMEWORK AGREEMENTS AND SUPPLIER PREQUALIFICATION/REGISTRATION North Rift Valley Water Works Development Agency, a state corporation under the Ministry of Water, Sanitation & Irrigation, is extending an invitation for applications for Framework Agreements spanning a period of Three (3) years, as well as…

[malicemizer]

I just bought 3 more of the ATLA graphic novel omnibuses LETS GO

[songofwizardry]

more for your consideration:

the phrase "The Great Lakes" now refers to the African great lakes in the East African Rift Valley (which include Lake Victoria, Lake Tanganyika, Lake Malawi, Lake Albert, Lake Turkana...)

the "Plegde of Allegiance" now refers to the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag of the Philippines

the "dollar" with no additional clarification refers to the currency of Brunei

We've had enough of the English-speaking internet defaulting to USAmerican terms that we are all forced to learn against our will. Here are the new default settings:

"Southern" no longer means Texas. It now refers to the Philippine island of Mindanao.

"The Midwest" is now Harare, Zimbabwe.

The default legal system is now that of the devolved administration of Scotland.

"College" is an educational institution for 13 to 18 year olds, as in some parts of New Zealand.

The "president" is that of Guyana, currently Irfaan Ali.

If you use these terms to refer to something in the USA then you have to specify or else we won't know what you're talking about and you'll sound like an idiot. Thanks!

[hexhomos]

where do u think jayce immigrated from? i saw somewhere saying shurima with probably mixed ixtali parents. ixtal bc it was once a part of the shurima empire. north african, west asian, latino king… especially wild rift survivor jayce has that look to me.

Remembered this ask just now so stealing tidbits from my fic;

I think Jayce is the son of an Ixtali mother & a Piltovan father. He has this line in s1 stating 'My father put hammers in the hands of the people, and they built this magnificent city. Imagine the wonders they could create if we put magic in their hands.' - to me this shows a historical link between the Talis-dad side & being in service of Piltover, Jayce has shaped himself around this idealistic goal all his life and its really not what he imagined it would be.

now Ixtal is the Leagueoflegends-verse region based on Aztec/Mayan aesthetics and general southamerican flair. They survived multiple apocalyptic threats by weaving a jungle around themselves and cutting their people off from the rest of runeterra. Canonically, this region has been the target of colonization efforts by both Noxus and Piltover, though neither have found much success. The jungle has a way of disappearing people. Even More Ironically, Ixtal is one of the regions where magic is harnessed and allowed to go free; in their own words, they are THE oldest bastion of ancient knowledge, masters of the elements. In my view, this makes it so Jayce is both metaphorically and literally reaching for an inheritance that has been denied to him.

Everyone mentions the mountains when talking about immigration but there are mountains outside of Piltover! They're not in Freljord! i know this because i asked Amanda myself. It's likely Ximena & Jayce were up in the mountain for work reasons like mining.

Also, the mountain stuff gives him even more ties to Mexican heritage:

[arcielee]

Ābrazȳrys

Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead. Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint. Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆 Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.

An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended. 

Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face. 

You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.

The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.

You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown. 

This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body. 

There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath. 

Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead. 

The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms. 

“He is even smaller in death.” 

You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.

It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”

“I am not.” 

It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.” 

His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions. 

You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”

This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond. 

You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king. 

And it felt so wrong.

His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.” 

And yet–

“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own. 

The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings. 

You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core. 

“Aemond, we should leave…” 

His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed. 

You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more. 

You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–” 

His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.” 

Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you. 

He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins. 

Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.

His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core. 

You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.

You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.

It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet. 

You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared. 

Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips. 

“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.” 

And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes

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