#a child born from the sun but carried by the moon

[whitlovealways8]

Astro Observations Pt 3

I am not a professional astrologer but I have been studying for some years and have made some accurate world predictions; as well as, predictions for myself and loved ones.

Having 12H synastry with someone is like being tethered no matter the distance or time.

Having South Node synastry with someone represents past life connections. I dislike the term karmic for not all past life connections are bad. My son & I have SN synastry.

My 5h is pisces and my son's rising sign is Pisces. 5h definitely does indicate a placement of the big 3 of your first child.

Jupiter transiting the 5h or 5h profection year can bring about children. Speaking from experience.

9H placements would do well in mentorship or educating professions. Sometimes I think I should refocus my career path.

Uranus transits to your personal planets is a great time to learn astrology.

4h synastry feels like a sense of obligation but not in a way that it feels burdensome. U feel you must have that person's back. Like a mother who loves her child even after disappointment.

Cancer moons are very intuitive. They reject people with nasty auras. This is especially true in the children.

I have seen some post about signs of an absent father and I can confirm three. Myself, sun in the 8h. My son, has Saturn in the 12H and SN in the 9H. The 9h too represents the father. I also read the SN in 9h represents the child carrying on the karma from the father, however, generational karam/trauma breakers are born everyday :)

Moon-Saturn harsh aspects & 8h moon endure so much emotional turmoil. I want to hug them all.

I have observed this in a couple people, but I do believe Virgo moons carry a lot of shame. Especially if they had less than an ideal living circumstances as a child.

Capricorn placements are so independent! I wish they would ease up off the hyperindependence.

Pisces rising people have the most beautiful eyes. My son has bright, doe eyes.

Libra & Taurus placements are effortlessly attractive!

Pluto on an angle, esp 1H gives a lot of major life transformations than the average.

The irony of Scorpio risings with a Leo MC, when scorpio wants to be mysterious and leo energy wants to be seen.

I don't like the gossipy trash talk that follows gemini placements/3housers. Like Penelope Bridgerton said, "Gossip is merely information". I do believe these placements, esp geminis tell truthful information. Though I will not discredit that some gossip on a whole can be false.

Libra is to be all about justice but I often find that libra suns (esp the men) lie sooo much. Idk if its because the sun is in detriment.

Mars transiting the 6h is a great time to develop a exercise routine that will stick. Mars in the 6h however, is also a great time to stay away from knives. I cut my finger in the worst way possible when I had a mars cazimi in my 6h.

Use ur lunar return to track your monthly themes for 3 months and see what observations u get

[quinnred]

Tilshek: God of the Ugly Rage, WindRammer, He-Who-Drums-The-Summit.

Tilshek is the embodiment of warm storms, tantrum, frenzy, spasm, drunken fury, and unjust punishment. He is represented by the Urchin and Cactus in the South and by the Porcupine and Thistle in the North. Berserking warriors may don quills to evoke Tilshek in their rages, while others may wear a flower of a thistle or cactus to evoke his merciful servant, Mahtaa.

Tilshek was born from the abuse of two Feather Gods within the halls of The Sun. He emerged stillborn, fused with the bestial Jak that all Feathers Gods are pregnant with, and was denied feathers by his reckless parents. The babe was tossed from the sky and quickly forgotten upon the land. No god dare claim parentage as even they know shame.

Abandoned and with no guidance, the naked and pained god became a wild storm of knuckle and claw, scarring the land and terrorising all that lived on it. Only one, a young Manava named Mahtaa, would recognize this mindless wreaking as the divine bawl of a newborn god and calm it with soft word and tenderness and succour. The beaked giant would ever seethe, but placation allowed Mahtaa to guide Tilshek to the home of the Shell Gods, The Mesa.

The Shell Gods were impressed with the mad orphan’s strength and the wisdom of his guardian, asking what drove the new god to such a rage. He cawed to them that he was born of poor love and left naked and wronged, wishing that he could return to his home if only to pluck and maul his kin until The Sun hung red. The chief of the Shell Gods, mighty Zridtara, was greatly amused and sympathetic to Tilshek’s rage against their rival pantheon, welcoming him into his Mesa home as an honorary Shell God. Being too rowdy to live within it’s halls, Tilshek was appeased by sitting atop The Mesa, tended to by often smashed Godler servants and the soothing Mahtaa as he stared at the ever enraging Sun.

While the Godlers would serve their master divine boozes and sacrifices (and suffer pummeling due to minor grievances), Mahtaa’s role was to herd the ram skulled god away from fool furies. He became most needed whenever Tilshek was sent on an “errand” by his new kin, a distraction so the Shell and Feather god pantheons could visit and negotiate without conflict. As Tilshek would rampage across the mortal lands, Mahtaa would outwit his master and aim his rages away from innocent mortals, earning him the title “Storm-Guide”.

One day the tantrummer had been told of a piece of the moon that held Jak yolk, as it was the egg that The Mountain and The Sky conceived the Jaks from, and that it may yield him god feather. Mahtaa did not take this seriously, seeing it as yet another teasing of his master, yet Tilshek was ecstatic that his solar massacre dreams may yet be fulfilled. As they travelled Mahtaa would ponder that, if the moon yolk was real, should his idiot charge receive such a boon, even if it was his birthright as Feather God and as a Half-Jak? Surely he would not only kill his sun kin but also be slain himself in such a mad fervour?

And so Mahtaa would deny Tilshek his prize upon it’s discovery, allowing it to be taken and hidden by Godlers of the Feather Gods. In confusion, the normally unhesitating Tilshek paused for once in his life before striking down an offender. In those moments Mahtaa stood strong and loving, even as his god sprouted a pair of arms to strangle him with. But rather than suffocate, his head bloomed into a kind flower, his godhood blossoming into a champion of mercy due to his many good deeds. From then on Tilshek would ever carry the flower faced god as punishment for his betrayal, and in part as a comfort, like a child may clutch their blanket.

This arrangement would only end upon the coming of the Deiomachy, when peace between gods eroded and fate grew hungry for war. Tilshek silently granted his one and only mercy, releasing his beloved and loyal prisoner so as to spare him from the doom-drum of divine combat.

The Mesa would be capped by a false peak as Tilshek flung himself with a rising storm towards his twin-by-fate: Shrileket the Sun-Dropper. Their clash would announce war between the Feather and Shell, booming as only gods could for days until they fell upon each other’s impalements.

[tteokdoroki]

⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡. — KATSUKU BAKUGOU. homemade love.

about. katsuki takes the pain of his middle-born daughter to heart, and does anything he can to fix it.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, characters aged up, bakugou is a girl dad of three, reader is referred to as ‘ma’, their daughter is quirkless like deku lol, he makes her pasta, pro hero!bakugou, fem!reader, … a draft from a long time ago!! enjoy please <3

katsuki who cooks and makes his middle daughter her favourite pasta recipe whenever she’s down.

she comes home from middle school with scraped palms and knees, teary eyed and with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“they don’t like me ‘cause ‘m quirkless.” she says as soon as she’s through the door — the authentic bakugou twang thick in her shaky voice. her face is pressed into your torso when you make eye contact with katsuki, who’s emerged from the kitchen down the hall and to your left.

you see it all flash before his eyes — his childhood, his high school career and the day he died. the way he treated the number one, uncle izuku, for so many years. it’s all reflected in the familiar red of his middle child’s eyes and it kills him.

“c’mere squirt,” katsuki calls to her, drying off his hands with the red riot tea towel slung lazily over his shoulder. he’d been washing dishes before she got home. “we’re makin’ dinner together.”

“but i—“

“i wasn’t askin’, i was tellin’.” the older blonde nudges his head towards the kitchen, reaching a hand out for his daughter which she tenderly takes. when she sniffles, bakugou tucks her into his side as if to protect her from the horrors of the world. you let them go without interrupting, knowing the importance of this moment for the two.

it’s not easy, being a bakugou when you’ve got dynamight’s reputation to live up to. he’s fearsome and fiery, confident and calculated. your husband and the father of your three beautiful daughters is one of the main reasons why japan is safe today. the burden and weight of his reputation that your children carry is unimaginable — only made worse by the fact that your middle is quirkless.

and yet, dynamight’s love for her doesn’t falter. since the moment he first held his baby girl she’s been his entire world, his moon along with his sun and now his stars. he’s adored her before she even became a twinkle in his eye — no amount of power or special ability would change that for him.

she’s katsuki’s girl, not just dynamight’s daughter. he’d tear the world apart to find anyone who ever hurt her.

“hold the knife properly. you cut your finger off ‘n yer ma will have my head.” his gruff voice, holding no malice, makes your sweet girl snort with laughter — a change from her earlier wobbly bottom lip and teary eyes. “we’re tryna mince garlic for the sauce, not yer little hands, squirt.”

she sticks her tongue out at him, bright blonde curls bouncing when she narrowly misses a playful swat from her father. “i’m trying,” your middle child wails with faux upset — her nose scrunches all too similarly to how yours and it sends an arrow of love straight through katsuki’s chest. for a moment, the kitchen falls to silence and the elder of the two turns his attention to the pasta dough in his large floured hands — focusing on shaping them into little bow ties just how his daughter likes, on occasion adding them to a boiling pot of water.

“i’m trying,” she says again, but quieter. “but daddy, everythin’s so hard.”

and like pot simmering away on the stove, her emotions start to boil over — tiny hiccups forming a sad symphony with the sounds of a working kitchen.

bakugou instantly springs into dad mode, dropping everything that he had been doing to take your daughter’s hand in his. despite how messy it may be. “hey now gorgeous, don’t cry…tell me what’s wrong, yeah?”

“i-i don’t want to disappoint you by not havin’ a quirk n not bein’ a hero…” she manages to get out through her blubbering — digging the heal of her palm into wet eyes. “i jus’ wanna make you proud!”

katsuki’s face softens, everything except for love for his daughter melting away. “‘nd i am proud. fiercely fuckin’ so…ah, shit, don’t tell yer ma i cursed, kay?” he stumbles over his words, he’s never been the best at comforting people but when bakugou’s child needs him, he’ll be damned if he leaves her in any pain. “from the moment y’first came into this shitty — i mean — crappy world, i’ve been proud of you. you’ve always pushed yourself beyond anythin’ i could achieve, you’re kind to people when they don’t deserve it, you smile whenever things get tough…”

taking a moment from his passionate rant, katsuki slows his breathing and composed himself — squeezing his little girl close. “yer the best thing that’s ever happened t’me ‘n yer ma. my proudest moment… i love ya so much. you’d never disappoint me.”

“really, daddy?” your baby sniffles, rubbing at her snotty nose.

bakugou nods with a gentle smile, cupping her face between his two floury hands before kissing her forehead z “really.” he affirms. “now get yer choppin’ skills together, this pasta sauce ain’t gonna make itself.”

the two blonde’s return to cooking, a comfortable silence settling in your family kitchen, also full of love. that night, your family of five sit together munching on homemade pasta bow ties in a sauce that your middle daughter had worked so hard to make. she grins brightly between her sisters, staring at her father with her shining red eyes thankfully.

in that moment, she knows that she is loved no matter what the status of her quirk is.

you link your fingers with bakugou’s under the table. “you did good, dad.” you whisper to him, stabbing through your pasta with your fork. “

“so did you, ma.” he whispers back gruffly, thumb running over your wedding band as he eats his pasta too.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

The First House Glow

The first house is the side of us that blooms when we first enter into the world. It is the energy we merged with and bring with us upon meeting new people and enjoying our experiences here. It is the first song we listen to upon birth, and throughout this life time we will listen to its words, time and time again.

Today, I present a short n sweet diary of small interps of each planet in this house. Enjoy <3

Sun in the 1st - A personality that is big and boastful. Light hearted and full of joy. A person you want to get to know and always keep on your side. It is as if they shine a light on your behalf, just so you can see the beauty that is life. Special individuals who's purpose is to show who they are no matter what the world tells them. Have angels by their side guiding them into the sun, as they we're born to be it after all.

Moon in the 1st - Empathetic souls who's desire to bring love into the universe is heard from the stars and is brought back down to them as a gift to us. These individuals carry a heart that heals the world in some way shape or form. Their desire to heal themselves helps others see the internal light that is in us all. They have an ability to see beyond what others wish for them to see, and whatever they show back to you is a blessing in disguise, truly.

Mercury in the 1st - Very patient individuals. Fun, loving, child-like creatures who's playfulness can cause an uproar. They will give you a round of emotions just dealing with them, but its alright. There is always a purpose in it. They enjoy the rollercoaster that life brings. They could be naughty or nice, like a sour patch kid. You never know what's truly up with them. They're tricky beings after all.

Venus in the 1st - A poised, graceful personality. A beautiful delight to the world and everyone knows it. They're chosen to be well-known for their looks, beauty & charm and they use this to their advantage. Delicate creatures who's joy brings people to a full stop. Having to take a picture before they go, just so they can hold onto it forever more. Very brilliant underneath the surface. Stick around longer, don't just keep staring at em!

Mars in the 1st - Wise, strong, gifted creators of their world. They take all of their strength and vigor and find the path worth taking. Their confidence is looked upon as something that most people would never be able to conquer themselves. How do they get up each day without a care in the world? Even when the world is constantly throwing stones, they pick them up and throw them right back. Or, they make a special throne out of them. Glued together with sticks and used as a comfort seat for all the times people tried to hurt them, but they always got back up wiser and stronger every time.

Uranus in the 1st - The Impeccable, brilliant star has to back to earth to show us what they're really made of. The lightening that strikes before the storm. They are comfortable in their universe and as should you. A compass of the future, and a super star that ignites the flame in those who need it for themselves. Energy healers who's code is to open up the minds of a few, to prepare for world domination. Stellar individuals who's experience isn't like anyone elses. Simply came to be a new version of society.

Neptune in the 1st - Angels of the delight. The muse of the heavens. The imagination is their physical experience. Whatever it is they wish to see, it comes true times three. In the mind, soul and body, they become the world that is inside of themselves, and they bring it out for you all to watch. Compassionate hearts that lead them to the true path. That is to connect to the highest waters that reaches to the divine. Only here for a little while, to show the universe what the heart wants.

Jupiter in the 1st - Captivating auras who's presence takes us on a journey with God. Divine experiences can happen at any moment. You call it luck, while they call it a blessing. Only the real will survive with this placement. Their optimism is more of a medicine than something that you just do. They came a long way just to get there, and in no way shape or form will anyone ruin it. Life changing experiences happen only once and a lifetime, and they can tell the difference between that and something that isn't aligned with their true calling.

Pluto in the 1st - Precise thinkers. Level headed warriors. Strong survivors of the life they once lived, and only they know what it is like to live a certain way and come out on top. They do not hold on to lasting behaviors that drain them, they conquer their deepest desires by hunting for the deep, darkest part of themselves and opening a doorway for that new reality to enter. Very special people when you get to know them, they never hide in the dark for long.

Saturn in the 1st - Capable of anything because their hearts beg for it. If they want it they always go for it with a strong mind.No one can stop them from enjoying the fruits of their labor because they sought after it for years on end. Mature individuals that depend on themselves more than anyone, and their beautiful souls go on an every lasting journey to find it. Smooth, charismatic individuals who are looked up to by others. Can be very sweet, when they want to be.

I hope you all enjoyed this one ! Let me know what you think in the comments !

[quitealotofsodapop]

because this ask brought the Jttw Stone Egged Au (+the Post au) to the front of my brain;

I suggest an... interesting encounter the Pilgrims can have on their Journey while in the Country of Jisai. Macaque was in the middle of baby-carrying duty (a task he accepted wholeheartedly) when he encountered a stranger with odd words to say;

Stranger: "Nüwa blesses you." Macaque, surprised: "Oh! Thanks..." Stranger: "Do they have a name yet?" Macaque, focuses on the baby in his arms: "Yeah, we've been considering Xiaotian. Our Little Heaven." Stranger: "Beautiful." Macaque, cheeky smile: "I credit my mate though. I probably would have called them"Macaque's Kid" or something. I'm terrible for names." Stranger, chuckling: "He certainly has far to go to fit his title! It will take him a long time to be recognised with the renown such a name begets." Macaque, amused: "Oh, let me guess, you're some kind of fortune-teller?" Stranger: "In a way. I can sense when certain actions affect the future." Macaque, interested: "Huh. I have a similar ability, though it's not very reliable. I need the wind to pass by my ears and block out everything else to get something tangible." Stranger: "I know. Your title is Six Eared Macaque for a reason." Macaque, suspicious: "So you know who I am..." Stranger: "I do not wish any harm. I only wish to see the little one who's altered so much of the future. Even I was taken aback by what was changed..." Macaque, cautious: "You can look at them. But if he makes a single chirp, you're history." Stranger, carefully peers past the sling: "I understand. He's too precious. Your lives are enriched tenfold by his presence. Which is why I was surprised to see him born so early this time." Macaque: "This time? Do you mean-" Wukong:, some distance away "Moon! Master found a place for us to stay for the night! Time to regroup!" Stranger: "That's my cue to leave. I don't need the sight of the chaos to tell me that Mama isn't keen on well-wishers at the moment. Take care of that child, Liu'er Mihou. And take care of Sun Wukong. They're the only reason you breath at this moment." Macaque: "Wait! What do you mean-!" Stranger: (*transforms into a green bird and flies away*) Wukong, catches up: "Who was that Mihou?" Macaque, holds out baby for Wukong: "I dunno. Some demon with fortune-telling abilities wanting to see the cub. Says he has far to go in the future." Wukong, taking the baby into his arms: "Hopefully not a future as as eventful as our pasts. How's my little apricot doing?" Xiaotian: (*lazily yawns, having slept through the whole encounter. Reaches out chubby little hands to his parent.*) Macaque, smiling fondly: "Nah. Nothing big. Xiaotian is going to have a childhood we never got. A normal one." Wukong, sly smile as he cuddles the baby: "Oh, is it Xiaotian now?" Macaque: (*blushes as he realises*) Wukong: "Did you finally come around to my naming suggestion? Or did the fortune-teller say you would?" Macaque, still sheepish: "Whatever, sunshine."

A certain green bird would appear from time to time after this encounter. Mostly watching from afar to make sure that the little family stayed safe and out of harm's way. Macaque and Wukong were always suspicious of the creature, but it soon left without much explanation.

Xiangliu is happy that Xiaotian managed to find another way to be born before his time. Hopefully he'll have more time to prepare for what is to come...

[yuesya]

‘Kibutsuji Muzan.’

This was the name of the King of Demons, a heinous monster and unrepentant murderer responsible for untold numbers of atrocities through the ages. Both by his own actions, and by proxy through existing as the progenitor of demonkind–

And most shamefully, one who had been born of the Ubuyashiki bloodline.

The birth of a demon brought down a curse upon the bloodline that gave birth to such a monster; all children born of Ubuyashiki blood are cursed to fall ill and die young, and Ubuyashiki Kagaya is no different. His own father had died young as well, and Kagaya had been trained from an early age to succeed his father’s role as the leader of the Demon Slayer Corps. And so his own children followed in his very same footsteps as well. It was cruel to place such burdens on the shoulders of children, but…

There was no other choice.

Thus, Ubuyashiki fastidiously, meticulously carries out his duties and responsibilities as the oyakata-sama.

It was not an easy task that he had inherited from his forebears. The records showed multiple events throughout the Demon Slayer Corps’ history in which the organization itself had been pushed to the brink of total annihilation.

But there is also something to be said for the resilience of humanity, even when faced against the preternatural strength and regeneration of demons that far outstrips anything of human ability. Time and again, the Demon Slayer Corps has held on tooth and nail to overcome adversity and continue moving forward, in hopes of realizing their ultimate goal:

The death of Kibutsuji Muzan, Father of Demons.

Slowly, the pieces were finally falling into place.

Ubuyashiki Kagaya is certain that the current generation of pillars ranks among the highest in terms of their strength in the history of the organization. Then the appearance of young Kamado Tanjiro, and his sister Kamado Nezuko…

And now, the emergence of another new variable.

An unnamed demon slayer. One who had shown herself to be capable of fighting and killing Upper Moon Three.

A girl who had fought and slain Upper Moon Three in the dead of night, without use of a nichirin blade.

It boggled the mind, really –and Ubuyashiki Kagaya dearly hoped to be able to meet the child. To speak with her, and learn of how she had accomplished such a thing, in order that they might be able to use the knowledge against Muzan. To ask the child to lend her strength to the Demon Slayer Corps, for she was most certainly not one of the swordsmen they’d trained.

She did not use any breathing style, Kyojuro had said. Then, what technique had she used, to become capable of fighting on par with a demon?

According to Kyojuro and the young demon slayers who’d been with him that night, the girl had long white hair. As white as the color borne by priestesses of the Himorogi clan, as his dear wife Amane hailed from. But priestesses were not trained to fight, and Amane had confirmed that, of the Himorogi children in this generation, none possessed deep blue eyes.

Who was this child, then? Who was this child who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and slain one of the most powerful demons without even wielding the strength of a sun-blessed blade?

Ubuyashiki Kagaya does not know the answer. But if they can find her again, and enlist her strength, then there is no doubt that they will be one step closer towards ending the horrific terror of Kibutsuji Muzan, once and for all.

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part seven

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

word count: 10.0k

a/n: this chapter got a little longer than intended so grab some popcorn for this one and thank you to everyone who has sent asks / left comments on this work! i am having so much fun writing this and it is lovely that it is being enjoyed.

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Highgarden is recalled as a soft spring day upon Lady Tyrell’s mind. A clear afternoon spent tucked into a shaded passage underneath an archway of flowers, a thick book with aging pages raptly capturing her attention as a lute player’s song drifts over the hedges in melodical swirls. The evening winds upon her and her sister, barefoot and dressed in slips of light silks, running through fields of golden roses that stretch out endlessly until the sun sets into pinks and oranges and yellows against the horizon. Crystalline laughs, blithe and innocent, when she and the other young ladies would convince their parents to allow them to take gracefully carved boats out upon the Mander, weeping willows dipping over the river full of emerald grasses and brilliantly colored flowers that grow beneath the water’s surface. She can picture her mother, under the shade of a large and lacy parasol of pastel fabrics, who would occasionally lift one gloved hand to wave elegantly at her daughters from the banks.

As a child, her mother had been the very pinnacle of desired sophistication and grace. With easy charm and poise, the Lady of Highgarden can command any room simply by entering it. From the moment Lady Tyrell was born, it has been expected of her to carry herself with similar elegance. To shine, to play darling and enchant those she meets, to excel at all typical ladylike pursuits. Unfortunately for her, it had not all come naturally. But what she had not been blessed with upon her birth – an easygoing nature, a soft-spoken tongue, a quiet countenance – she found could be learned.

And as time passed, as she gained the perspective upon her parents that only time could provide, Lady Tyrell came to realize that she is certainly, undoubtedly, her mother’s daughter. What she had perceived as perfection as a child was actually patience. The ability to bide one’s time productively, to study oneself and to learn one’s flaws and weaknesses and those of their allies and enemies. When weaponized, patience and a sharp eye blossom into a spider’s web that ensnares unsuspecting prey lured in by the beauty of a blooming rose. How astutely the lady has watched this dance unfold beneath the glittering stars since her mother rose to power in Highgarden. The enemies of House Tyrell did not survive the succession war, although one could hardly say it solely happened by fate’s generous hands. Tongues that rose up against them soon found themselves choking and spitting over their words, poison sweet and lethal upon them. 

If the Lady Tyrell is considered clever and fierce, these traits passed to her through her mother’s blood. When the hour draws late, the bells chiming and tolling out the highest point of the moon in the sky, she often wonders if she possesses as ruthless a spirit. She does not long for the day when that might be tested. To secure the safety of their family, of her children, Elinor Tyrell has tightened her grip upon her web, drawing in the flies and scorpions and snakes. Yet in her recent years, the Lady of Highgarden has grown more and more ambitious, eyes often cast to the winds of fortune and their ever-changing flow. With two eligible daughters, now would be the ideal time to firmly grasp power through advantageous betrothals. 

Betrothals without consideration for the character of the men in question.

A letter of rolled parchment is gripped tightly within Lady Tyrell’s closed fist, her fingers crumpling the tan paper with a constricting hold. Peaking out from beneath her fingers is a wax seal of a single rose, the color of the darkest blue. As her shoes echo sharply within the decadent halls of the Red Keep, a spiked anxiety jumps rapidly underneath her skin. Her brows are drawn above her eyes, which dart from stone wall to marble pillar as her mind composes and discards a multiplicity of strategies that might convince her mother to abandon her quest for greater power. The more she considers the issue at hand, the more abrupt her steps grow. Once upon a time, when the notion of fairy tales was still harbored with childish hope in the cavity beneath her breastbone, she had spun similar designs for a far more romantic purpose. Childhood love, falsely and treacherously placed as it was, drove her nearly mad. 

As she approaches the Queen’s Chambers, the guards immediately draw back from her path, nodding at her after growing quite accustomed to her presence in Maegor’s Holdfast. There is no need to question her being there after their liege lord has brought her past them on many a night. The early hour of the day does not seem to give them pause, nor does her agitated expression and pace. With the arrival of more nobles to the castle that very afternoon, notable allies of the Northern forces whom had recently finished with the remaining issues in the Riverlands, neither Cregan nor Lady Tyrell could surmise how much time the meetings might take as the upcoming trials were further discussed. Unwilling to allow a day to pass without seeing Jaehaera, she had inquired if Cregan might accompany her for a visit in the earlier hours of the day as opposed to their usual meetings which occurred after supper. The Lord of Winterfell had been swift in his granting of her request. She purposefully declined to dwell on how frequent and genuine his accommodations of her desires have become as of late. 

So distraught by the contents of the letter in her hand, Lady Tyrell cannot even muster a saccharine smile to wax demurely across her face. The skirts of her morning gown swish in an angry rhythm across the cold floor, the noise prominent in the otherwise silent passageway. Once, this section of the castle had brimmed with busy servants and giggling ladies maids, clinging upon each other’s arms as their eyes shone with laughter and mischief. Now, it served only as place for ghosts and fragmented memories to linger in hazy and liminal echoes. 

A frown creases upon her face at the sight of the arched oak door, already partially ajar. A warm ray of golden sunlight has snuck past the marble pillars upon the walkway overlooking the enclosed courtyard below, relaxing languorously before the doorway. Her steps draw to a halt before the wood, her unoccupied hand outstretched to press the pads of her fingertips against the smooth wood, the centers of her brows drawn together as she peers into the room. Before her eyes might inform her of anything, a voice that has grown all too familiar reaches her ears.

“Good, princess. Now attempt it once more.” The Lord of Winterfell’s low timbre, stern still albeit it considerably more gentle in that moment, fills her agitated mind as she pushes the door the remainder of the way open. Inside the extensive chambers of the room stand Cregan and Jaehaera, the latter of whom clutches a small wooden sword in her hands. The girl has an expression of utmost concentration upon her face as she swings the toy weapon through the air in front of her, her wide eyes immediately gazing up to the lord to inquire as to how she had performed. Her hair has been pulled back into a single braid, similar to the style the Lady Tyrell has often woven in the princess’ silvery locks. Cregan parts his lips to speak, the telltale raise of the corners of his lips signaling his approval, when both become alerted to the lady’s presence within the room. Jaehaera lights up immediately, a sweet smile upon her face as she lowers the sword. Cregan, in turn, finds his immediate softening at her arrival rapidly morph into hesitation when he sees the look upon her visage. 

So familiar with her expressions has he become, that as Jaehaera hurries across the room to take Lady Tyrell by the hand and begin to explain what she has been learning, Cregan experiences a slight drop in his stomach at the tightness of her closed fists and the creases at the corners of her mouth. As the princess extends the pretend weapon for the lady to view, he wonders if she is angry with him for providing the young girl with lessons, no matter how rudimentary. Perhaps he has overstepped in his decision, in acting prior to consulting her first. With some effort, the lady gives Jaehaera a smile and nods as the girl continues to speak, but Cregan can surely perceive it to be forced. He shifts his weight to his alternate foot as he finds himself with the rare and uncomfortable feeling of uncertainty. A cool morning breeze blows the sheer curtains into the room further, billowing as if the sails of a boat. 

Jaehaera reaches out a small hand to bequeath the wooden sword to Lady Tyrell as the princess wanders into the next room to retrieve a book in High Valyrian she has been reading, the lady’s eyes following the girl out of the main chamber. Only when Jaehaera has slipped through the connecting door does Cregan speak, his voice lowered to a deep hush so that the girl might not overhear. With a single step towards her, a squaring of his broad shoulders as his stern eyes search her face thoroughly, he attempts to phrase his intention clearly. “If I have overstepped, Lady Tyrell, I do apologize. I had only thought upon your own anxieties and wished to perhaps provide the princess with basic knowledge to defend herself.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes widen as the words fall from his lips, her own parting in soft denial as she realizes how Cregan has interpreted her distressed stance and expression. Her shoulders lift and then sag as a portion of the weight from her turbulent thoughts escapes through a concentrated sigh and she intentionally loosens her hold upon the parchment clutched in her anxious hands. The movement causes light to catch the delicate gold jewelry atop her prominent collarbone, drawing attention when juxtaposed by the depth of the neckline of her gown. She can feel the parchment retaining its crushed shape from the strength with which she had been squeezing it. 

“No,” It comes out as a weary breath, followed by a soft swallow and the brief closing of her eyes as she collects her thoughts that have been scattered about her brain like blushing petals from a spring tree. A hand reaches up to her forehead, lingering tiredly atop her skin as if the motion might vanquish the headache that has formed from her incessant worrying. Should she fret any longer, her skin will surely erupt into reddish hives that bloom across her arms like the remnants of a wayward flame.  It is impossible to not be softened by the gentle look she had glimpsed in Cregan’s eyes as he had instructed the princess, by the way the girl has seemed to grow accustomed to Cregan’s presence slowly. For that brief moment she had witnessed them, uninterrupted by the world, she could tell at once how kind and attentive of a father Cregan must be to his own young son. It had seemed as natural as drawing breath, to spend time instructing and guiding the girl. “No, you are right to teach her. You have my gratitude for it, Lord Stark, please do not mistake me.”

In truth, she might rest easier at night with the knowledge that Jaehaera can at least make a valiant attempt at defending herself if something were to happen. She desperately wishes to keep weapons from the girl’s hand, considering her young age and the violent tragedies that have befallen her family, but there shall be no safety for the princess so long as she remains within the castle. The last of her direct lineage, the sole survivor amongst her immediate family upon that side of the war. Many watch with drool dripping from their fangs, twisting hands reaching out to ensnare the child within their grasp and attach puppet strings to her back. If they cannot control her, it is likely at least one attempt on her life shall be made. At present, she remains safe within her chambers, a constant system of guards posted outside her door. But such measures of security shall not last forever, and Lady Tyrell would much rather give the girl a fighting chance rather than end up like her, unable to truly physically protect herself. “You do me a great favor by instructing her, if you truly do not mind doing so. I do wish for her to have some knowledge, given the precarity of her position.”

As Cregan approaches her, seemingly placated by her gentle correction of his misunderstanding, worry of his own flickers tenderly across his face as he seeks out the cause of her agitation. As his imposing figure shadows her own, strands of reddish hair fall about his face and to the tops of his shoulders when he brings his voice impossibly lower, impossibly deeper. Merely a breath away from him, her chin lifts with gentle hesitation to reveal the depth of her concern to his prodding eyes, the distinct color of storm clouds. “Then what troubles you so, my lady? Allow me to rectify it, if it might be within my power.”

How certain his quiet words are, nearly comforting in their strength and assurance. If only it were so simple, to surrender her worries to the Lord of Winterfell and wait patiently for him to straighten each one out. But far too much rests upon his plate at present, and this matter might be out of even his control. Another soft sigh from her lips and she clasps her hands together, unable to resist the childish habit of pressing her fingers into her palms. Cregan’s eyes flick down at this, finding himself only barely able to resist the urge to draw her smaller hands into his own, the way he had when he had bandaged her wrists within the quiet warmth of her chambers. Instead, he involuntarily tightens his jaw while waiting with the steady patience he has come to extend to her whenever she might need it.

“You need not send Lord Blackwood to treat with Highgarden,” The airy and exasperated quality of her words is far from lost upon Cregan, as her tone adapts the rushed cadence she speaks with when her mind becomes embroiled with worry. The letter in her hands seems to hold a weight akin to a stone pulled from a garden’s soft dirt. “Highgarden shall come to you, my lord. My mother and sister will arrive with a small traveling party within the week. She has long since been underway.”

Cregan’s eyes narrow at this, his gaze continuing to search her face while the implication of the news takes firm root within his mind. With a quiet inhale through his nose, he gives her a slow nod. “I had imagined the upcoming trials might draw in more of the prominent families of the South. I did not know your lady mother would wish to attend.”

“The scales of power are in constant motion at this time, and the turbulence of the war has only increased the amount of  opportunities for those who have long since minded themselves and heeded the Targaryen rule,” Lady Tyrell might do well to mind herself and her own words, tending to her personal interests before she foolhardily presents her honest opinion to another, but finds it difficult to not tell Cregan the entirety of the truth. She need not wonder upon how long it has been since she has had a true confidant in whom she can confess the extent of her thoughts – the lady can count the exact number of days that have passed. Perhaps that is why conversing honestly with the Lord of Winterfell has proven so undeniably tantalizing. His stature and countenance might play a considerable role, but following their first truthful encounter it would seem neither of them is eager to raise the issue of the tension up in conversation. Jaehaera’s quiet voice can be heard briefly from the connecting room, in soft conversation with her Septa. “With two eligible daughters, she ought to be here, where she might confirm what I suspect are her desired matches.”

The lady gives a sharp breath at this, managing only barely to keep the words from dripping with sardonic bitterness and exhausted dread. Her eyes drift to the window, as they so often do when unpleasant emotions coil up in her stomach, and she misses entirely the seriousness with which Cregan Stark is taken aback by her words. His eyes narrow further, his shoulders drawing back so that he might appraise her with tight lips and an even tighter jaw that twitches slightly as he is met with an unexpected brush of an emotion adjacent to irritation twisting within his chest. His gaze moves about her face, before he looks down and makes a stoic attempt to reason with himself over how improper it might be to speak brashly upon the matter. Given her beauty, it will prove exceedingly difficult to find a man who would not fall to his knees for but a taste of her, to claim her as his own. The idea of such an atrocity only serves to bring his hand into a tight fist, knuckles nearly white at the thought. She, who has fought so valiantly with the skills she possesses in the face of brutal masculine strength and wanton violence, should not be subjected to such a fate after surviving the war while living amongst vipers and dragons. 

“Are you not of an age where you might seek out a match yourself, my lady?” The words are offered as a low interjection into the silence that has fallen between them, yet perhaps Cregan is unable to fully banish the sharpness from his tone as he presents his inquiry. She is barely younger than Cregan himself, and having been in such a prolonged betrothal with the late prince Daeron she has avoided the fate of marriage in her teenage years. While she has spoken upon a number of occasions about the upcoming engagement of her sister, she has not mentioned an imminent marriage for herself. One edge of her mouth twists up resentfully at his words and she tilts her chin slowly, eyes still cast away as the curtains sway gently in the breeze seeping in through the open window. 

“Such an age seems like a lovely dream, one I have not the luxury of possessing.” The bitter lamentation disfigures itself into forlorn and disconsolate acceptance. She desires to cease discussion upon the matter, holding no wish to appear as one who complains futilely of their fate. Yet thickly veiled sorrow flickers behind the curtain of indifference she sweeps over her glassy eyes. “It matters little. Of greater importance, you shall not be seeing a host from Oldtown within the coming days nor months. They have agreed to stand down.”

This brings the turbulent discourse within Cregan’s mind to a temporary stillness, the leader within him long since used to prioritizing matters of duty over matters of a more personal consequence. There is a quiet mix of relief and lassitude at the realization that the fighting truly has ended, combined with worry over his people, who will have to march north to return to their struggling families as winter bares its fangs and prepares to descend upon the lands. His eyes drift downwards, her expression growing sterner and then weary as he sighs heavily. “Good then, that the trials shall commence sooner rather than late. Too long has this crisis endured, and now it shall end.”

Her hands remain drawn together atop the light fabrics of her gown, her shoulders lowered and her eyes big as she watches him with a reserved look upon her features. The subtle manner in which she recalls all hints of emotion, as if reigning in every outer expression of her own thoughts upon the matter, does not go undetected by Cregan. So much has she lost in the war and so little she gained, save for a broken heart and a tiredness unbecoming of her age. The concept of such a catastrophe within her life having finality to it must weigh disconcertingly upon her heart. He does not envy her for experiencing it now, as he has experienced it before. “I shall not forget your assistance with the Hightowers, nor with the princess or managing the nobles at court. You have been of great help to me, Lady Tyrell.”

Lady Tyrell’s eyes narrow with ambiguous deflection, her brows raising as she draws her arms across her chest slowly. The concept of being thanked with such solemn genuineness has become foreign to her as of late and sets her lashes aflutter as she searches internally for a way to change the topic of discussion once again. But any thoughts upon the matter – or any thoughts at all, in truth – are vanquished from her mind into wispy clouds of white smoke as Cregan draws impossibly closer to her, broad shoulders leaning forth. Her eyes instantly meet his own, delicate confusion and wariness upon her face even after their growing familiarity. The memory of his hands upon her lower back and the curve of her hip as he taught her to fight burn hot against her skin, and perhaps this is why her eyes traitorously flicker to his lips, parted softly as he considers his next words. 

At the nearly imperceptible drop of her eyes, Cregan too is robbed of words and coherent thought. His face seems to melt with slow wanting, heavy and thick as golden honey. The hesitation within her eyes is not lost upon him, nor the very gradual manner in which he has been seemingly gaining some amount of trust from her. He knows it is not an easy thing for her to give. There is a flutter of breath that catches within her chest, the effect of steeling herself to stand before him rather than draw away at such weighted proximity. Cregan’s brows draw together with an aching softness at the sweetness of her acceptance, of her belief in his character and intention. Never will he allow a hand to harm her again, never does he wish to see fear upon her lovely countenance. Her heart is well-guarded, separated from the everyday happenings of the capital by barbarous briar hedging, but he swears he can catch a glimpse of the pure tenderness through the twisted maze. The Queen’s Chambers have faded to a soft and distant background behind her, she who shines in perfect focus within his gaze. Any wish to verbally affirm the appreciation he has for her has been lost, replaced by a burning yet tempered desire to provide physical proof of it. Words such as decency and propriety dance briefly upon his mind but are hesitantly pushed aside with the slow raise of his arm. Unlike when teaching her the sword, Cregan has no excuse for his closeness nor the want within his eyes. “You said once that I might endeavor to act upon my gratitude, rather than speak of it.”

His large hand casts a warm shadow upon the skin of her cheek, as she parts her lips unconsciously, mirroring Cregan’s own. Her refusal to draw away from him only solidifies the timid trust she has placed in him, and if it were not wholly unbecoming, the Lord of Winterfell might find himself upon his knees to ask her for something he should not. The concept of her marrying a stranger only fuels the fire within his chest, a petulant selfishness whispering in his ears to forbid someone who does not know her from attempting to come near. To whisk her back to Winterfell, with her approval, if only to keep her out of the reach of unworthy hands. But in this moment, his desire is simple. 

“May I, my lady?” A tantalizingly low echo of his previous words, just as reverent yet more needing than when he had last spoken them. At her silent consideration, that hint of a smile she has come to long for finds its way to his lips. “I am not above petitioning at length, should it please you.”

Lady Tyrell cannot claim that she understands exactly what Cregan Stark is seeking permission for. In an even more dire realization, she finds it does not matter to her. Her answer remains the same, so long as it is he who is asking. A soft breath of disbelieving protest at her own foolishness escapes her lips, the near whine sending heat directly between Cregan’s thighs. Ally or not, she might kill him yet. 

“You need not do such a thing.” The phrase does not take as certain of a shape as she might wish, but the lady manages to whisper the words into the small space between them without her voice breaking. Curse her own idiocy, her own desires. It would seem she has not become wise regarding matters of this nature, despite previous lessons hardly and cruelly learned. A long time coming has this intimacy been, from the very moment their eyes locked within the throne room. Before there had been respect and wary alliance, there had been want. 

The pads of his fingers brush against the plush skin of her cheek, the roughness of them a stark contrast to her softness. Cregan inhales quietly at the touch, the callouses of his battle worn hands tender upon her face as he slowly envelopes her cheek within his grasp, cupping it with a gentleness she imagines few would expect from such an intimidating and large leader of men. His towering over her matters little when his caress is so fond, as if she is some sacrosanct being he wonders over the rightness of touching. Her head leans almost instinctively into his palm, her chin raised so that she might look him in the eye. His eyes are low-lidded, his warm breath dancing gently atop her own.

Her given name is breathed into the space between them, reverent and weighty upon his lips as if from sacred scripture. 

No sooner do light footsteps pad through the door of connecting chamber, and Lady Tyrell jolts back from Cregan as if lightning has descended upon her. In her absorption in their intimate moment, she has nearly forgotten they stand in Jaehaera’s chambers, with the intention of spending time with her. The guilt at this lapse of memory has her quickly turning her back to Cregan, forcing an easy smile upon her face as the princess begins to explain the book she has retrieved. The lady’s heartbeat is so rapid, she wonders if Cregan can hear it as he stands behind her.

“Would you read it with me?” Jaehaera inquires softly, unaware of the tension that hangs thickly between the adults in the room. With such precious little time that the lady has to spend with the princess, she can hardly refuse her. She reaches her hand to gently brush a strand of silver hair that has fallen loose from Jaehaera’s braid and gives an earnest nod.

“Of course, darling. Come, let us begin now.”  Lady Tyrell’s voice is soft and full of the tender love she only presents when around the child. As the two of them cross the room to the cabriole leg sofa by the fire, discussing the book in gentle voices, Cregan can hardly find himself displeased. Conversely, a rather clear image has settled into his mind of tender moments interrupted by the soft voices of children, the halls of Winterfell once more filled with laughter and light. How long it has been since he has acknowledged this dream, let alone believed it might yet happen within his lifetime? When the lady pulls Jaehaera into her lap, opening the book with a sweet smile of pure and devotional love upon her face, there is no doubt in Cregan’s mind upon what he feels within his chest. It is love.

To his surprise, the princess then looks across the room at Cregan expectantly. She does not request anything, but she does not need to. Cregan gives a small nod to indicate his understanding, and makes his way to the sofa, sinking down next to Lady Tyrell as the woman’s face conveys how softly impressed she is by his winning the princess over. As Jaehaera begins to read the words of the story aloud, a gallant tale of the adventures of a knight and his squire, a warm peace has filled the room.

For the first time since the Northerners arrived at the Red Keep, new forces are allowed past the castle’s imposing gates and into the expansive front courtyard. Allies of the Lord of Winterfell, those who had fought beside him during the arduous descent from the North to the capital city, that had been straightening out the remnants of those who had supported Aegon II and the Green faction during the war. The open iron-barred gates let in a long line of weary soldiers, shoulders raising as they dismount their armored horses within the walls of the ruling seat of the Seven Kingdoms. Banners decrying the identity of the gathering Houses are taken careful note of by Lady Tyrell, who remains atop a balcony overlooking the bustling activity below. At her side is the Lady Jeyne Arryn, whom had suggested that the lady join her to observe the happenings prior to the meeting that is to be held. Lady Tyrell has developed a true fondness for Lady Arryn, her admiration for the Lady of the Vale having been in great supply since their first meeting. Learning more of her past has only served to increase her desire to learn from the other woman.

Many wagons roll through the gates, carrying what little supplies are still possessed by the troops, their wooden wheels bumping atop the tiny rocks dotting the courtyard’s ground. Loud and deep voices boom out into the air, laughter heard as friends reunite and begin to speak of their great victories during the campaign. Men clap each other upon the back, talk of drinking and whoring within the capital city that night already heard in plethora throughout the busy space. There are sounds of metal clanking together as armor is stripped and swords are sheathed, of neighing of the horses, of interspersed shouting from guards as the gates are manned. It is such a lively scene that the lady is swept into the unwilling remembrance of a bitter nostalgia, her mind recalling days where such vivacity occurred at the gates each time the sun rose. A cool breeze upon her cheek and the smell of seawater drifting in from the Blackwater stirs her from her thoughts, a quiet acceptance upon her countenance. 

“Lord Stark has told me of the resolution of our problem regarding House Hightower,” Lady Arryn muses in an even tone, her eyes as sharp as steel as they scan the incoming men. Yet there is no harshness to her words, simply the direct Northern practicality that Lady Tyrell has come to find unfortunately endearing. “And so this shall be the remaining arrival of troops to your doorstep. I imagine you shall be relieved to see us depart, Lady Tyrell.”

“I cannot lie and pretend I do not wish for the ending of being trapped within these walls, nor the ending of such a tragedy,” Lady Tyrell finds that the resigned smile upon her lips is rather genuine, and she tilts her chin, eyes wandering across the commotion beneath them calmly. The matter is far too complicated for her to voice her true opinions on, should she herself even manage to ever put her thoughts upon the war into words. The strangeness of its ending has not yet settled fully within her chest. “Yet neither can I truthfully say I wish you all to be gone from my sight permanently.”

Cregan Stark’s Northern council is filled with those the lady truly does not mind the company of. Lady Arryn is perhaps her favorite, but the young Tully lords are bold and entertaining, and she still retains the hope of introducing her sister to Lord Blackwood. Even the lords Corbray have grown upon her, despite her initial uncertainty. It speaks to the quality of Cregan’s character, to surround himself and fill the chairs of his table with those who uphold honor and integrity. As she meets the other woman’s eyes, her smile softens. “Perhaps I shall pay a visit to the Vale once matters have settled further. Your bannermen speak often of the beauty of the Eyrie.”

Lady Arryn beholds her with an unreadable expression for a moment before her eyes crease slightly at the corners, a dip of her head indicating her approval. “We would be honored to host you, my lady.”

“And I honored to be received into your halls.” Another gust of wind graces Lady Tyrell’s face, blowing sections of hair behind her in a gentle wave. Remembering the rumors that had stirred in the castle prior to the arrival of the men from the North, she is quite glad to have discovered for herself their true nature. Rather than bloodlust and violent savagery, the Northern nobles carry a stern upholding of duty and a blunt pragmatism that has served the capital well since their rise to power. Not far in the past are days when she could never have imagined herself with allies from the North, and yet here she stands. 

Her attention wanders down to the courtyard as she steps forward with reserved curiosity to gaze upon the lord who has caused her such upheaval since the day he arrived. Cregan Stark appears every inch the fearsome warlord when amongst the other men, and it is clear from the manner in which they acknowledge him that he commands great respect. But when she catches sight of him, her eyes narrow and her expression grows more serious as she watches. 

Before the Lord of Winterfell stands a lady, dressed in attire far more suited to hunting and fighting than a gown might be. Hair as dark as a starless sky, cascading in small curls down to the tops of her hips as the edges catch loose droplets of warm afternoon sun. A quiver of black arrows rests upon her back, and the ease with which she holds a bow within one leather-gloved hand signals to many years spent familiarizing herself with its use. Her height leaves her upon even footing with many of the men within the courtyard, and her wiry frame still reveals the strength of her arms and of her lithe legs. Boots are laced up to her knees, meant for riding far distances. There have been no alterations to emphasize any one quality about her; it would seem she simply adorns herself with what might be beneficial in battle. She might not be considered a great beauty amongst the nigh impossible standards at Court, but that matters little to Lady Tyrell at present. It is the way Cregan looks at her. Dark eyes shimmer as she laughs, hearty and genuine, at words the lord speaks to her with a stoic fondness. There is an effortlessness to the exchange, a familiarity with each other that sends a worrying gnaw into the pit of Lady Tyrell’s stomach. 

This, she finds unacceptable. To be driven to worry over a conversation – it is entirely possible, the Lady Tyrell decides silently, that she has lost her mind altogether. The recollection of the sensation of Cregan’s fingers upon her face flutters delicately atop her skin and disappears at the sight of the corners of the Lord of Winterfell’s lips upturning to indicate true liking for the woman before him. Never has she seen him look at another in such a way. Her mind races to identify the emotion in his reserved eyes, her own darting across his face as her posture draws up tightly, strung and sharp. 

“The lady whom Lord Stark converses with,” She begins, intentionally manipulating her voice to be pleasant and soft to avoid giving any external indication of the nonsensical concern tugging insistently at the strings of her heart. Especially in front of Lady Arryn, who seems to take great pride in being exceptionally practical. “Who might she be?”

Lady Arryn’s eyes scan the courtyard, her head tilting as she searches for the origin of the lady’s line of questioning. When the other woman notices the exchange below, she observes for a brief moment before leaning towards Lady Tyrell, her eyes remaining fixed upon the two within the courtyard. “That would be the Lady Alysanne Blackwood. She lead her men upon the battlefields as they marched south.”

The name sparks a quiet grasping for any information that Lady Tyrell has ever heard regarding the other woman. With some difficulty, she remembers that Lord Benjicot Blackwood has an aunt upon his father’s side, a lady of true Blackwood blood who has been assisting the young lord since the death of the previous Lord of Raventree Hall. It had been a passing fact she had learned and paid little mind to, but as she watches the conversation continue with smiles from both parties, she curses herself for not seeking out more information on Lady Blackwood. Nothing makes her more anxious than to be uninformed or unprepared, and she seems to have become both of those over a rather unexpected matter. It is not unimaginable that Lord Stark has admirers, nor women he is fond of. She cannot say she has not thought upon the matter briefly, but her time at court has left her rather confident in her ability to outmaneuver another to seek out what she wants. She is familiar with the games the other ladies play at court to win the attention of men. Alysanne Blackwood does not seem to be playing a game at all. It is the raw and brash manner in which she carries herself and speaks that stands out to the Lady Tyrell and with another sickening drop of her stomach, she realizes that this is likely what Cregan finds appealing. 

“She fought in the battles herself, then?” It is with practiced expertise that she keeps her voice light and airy, as sweet and nonchalant as if she were asking about the state of the weather. Truthfully, the concept of a woman fighting upon the battlefield is quite fascinating to her. If only the Lady Blackwood had not captured Cregan’s attention so, Lady Tyrell might have found herself eager to converse with the woman herself. 

“Aye. And a rarity it is, even with her talent. I myself cannot claim to have done so.” Lady Arryn’s casual remarks upon the matter do little to soothe the lady’s troubled mind. She wonders briefly if a lady need not have beauty if she is instead utterly fascinating, and then if perhaps the Lord of Winterfell prefers to be fascinated himself. The conversation within the courtyard carries on quite amiably amidst the bustle of the incoming troops.

“A rarity indeed.” It is a saccharine breath of agreement, accompanied by the brief narrowing of her eyes and upturning of her chin. Over the tip of her nose, she watches the easy way that Cregan angles his broad shoulders towards Alysanne Blackwood, nodding his head as he explains some happening that has occurred since their last meeting. As the Lord of Winterfell leans forward to brush off a dry leaf that has fallen upon Alysanne’s hair, the pit in her stomach hollows in cavernously and the Lady Tyrell is left all but reeling once more, her mind scrambling for logic or sense or a reference of information that might prove a useful balm to her tumultuous state of being at the simple touch. All she manages to do is press her lips together tightly, her smile slipping from sweet to sickeningly so. “He appears rather fond of her.”

Lady Arryn’s expression is tinged at the edges with something akin to amusement at this, and the other woman gives the lady a look out of the corner of her eye. Lady Tyrell is far too occupied with staring quite pointedly down at Cregan – the Lady Arryn finds it a wonder that her liege lord does not simply burst into flames from the severity of the gaze. After a moment, she dips her head in acknowledgement. “I believe they enjoyed each other’s company when their armies met.”

A crinkling of the corner of her eyes is the only indication of Lady Tyrell’s agitation. The phrase is quite vague, and while she desires fiercely to delve further into the meaning of it, she restrains herself. The lady is far too ruffled by this, more so than she cares to be, and she need not allow Lady Arryn to perceive any more of that frustration than the other woman already has. Little can be kept from the discerning gaze of the Lady of the Vale, but she shall try nonetheless. 

The nobles gather in the former Small Council chamber soon after the troops have all entered the walls, talking amongst themselves whilst standing around the long rectangular wooden table. It is not as crowded as she might have expected, most of the men eager to engage in more pleasurable pursuits despite the night not yet having fallen, but Lady Tyrell is not as vigilant as she ought to be. The new faces in the room would normally draw her observant gaze, as she might attempt to study their character and decide who might prove useful in the remaining days the Northerners will reside at the Red Keep. She knows well she captures their attention, her effect on men is severely understood by her and she remains the only Southern presence within the room aside from the twin princesses Baela and Rhaena, whom Cregan has invited to the meeting as an offering of peace. But wandering eyes and wistful looks are spared no thought, not when Alysanne Blackwood has seemingly settled comfortably at Cregan’s side, walking next to him as they discuss something in a low tone.

The Lord of Winterfell is met with a pair of icy eyes when he scans the room for the Lady Tyrel’s presence. It gives him pause.

She does not seem interested in elaborating her thoughts upon the matter, busying herself with a soft smile and pleasant conversation with the lord standing next to her who is all too eager to speak to the lady. Soft light streams in through the small circular windowpanes upon the far wall of the room, the rather dull space only slightly more revitalized by the welcoming of more lords and ladies within its stone columns. Lady Tyrell’s hands remain folded atop her gown the color of the clearest sky as she asks politely after the battles seen by the lord at her side – Lord Hugo Vance, who appears to be around her age and is not an abhorrent partner to converse with. On the contrary, she finds his manner of speaking rather interesting, and he seems to be both grounded and reasonable. Not traits in high supply at King’s Landing. Despite the general geniality of the conversation, the matter with Lady Blackwood has another masculine voice echoing in the darker parts of her mind. 

A flash of violet eyes, the curl of a scornful lip, whisperings of her worst traits and shortcomings. How brutally foolish she had been once, manipulated by the sweet fruit of childhood love that had led to a garden of poisoned apples and dying trees. For all her shrewdness, nothing can save her from the way she can twist the cruelest truths to better reflect upon a person she adores until a knife is pressed to her throat and only her own spilled blood can wake her from the dream. As Lord Vance recounts a particular sword fight from the war, Lady Tyrell cannot shake the numbness accompanying her wondering upon whether or not she has been led astray once again. Wrapped in weary cynicism, she cannot help but consider that she has made the same disastrous mistake twice. She will not be made a fool of by a man again.

Nodding sweetly, she gives a smile that does not quite reflect in her dulling eyes. As Cregan calls for the attention of the nobles, never needing to work too hard to command a room, Lady Tyrell does not bother to gaze in his direction. His speech thanking the lords and ladies for all their hard work, for all the sacrifices made to achieve the peace that is only just upon the horizon, is nothing but a faint hum in her mind. With Lady Blackwood at his side, a woman who is more familiar with the world of battle and typically masculine pursuits than Lady Tyrell can ever hope to be, she can see a vision of the true North. A glimpse of something she wants – power and strength, a respect that is given only to those whom men consider strong.Callouses upon hands that come from wielding weapons, from being able to defend oneself in a way that she cannot. To live without such fear, to be seen as someone who might be an equal. There is a lady who can stand by the Lord of Winterfell. 

Exhaustion has seeped far into her bones by the time Cregan finishes speaking, earning a rousing cheer and applause from the other men. Her eyes briefly catch sight of Rhaena and Baela, their faces still rather grim. Lady Arryn is observing with calm seriousness, a matter clearly weighing upon her mind. The few women within the room do not seem nearly as enthused as the lords. Lady Tyrell cannot bring herself to look to Lady Blackwood again, but it would not seem she needs to gaze far. As Lord Vance attempts kindly to rekindle their conversation, she hears her name and title upon Cregan’s lips behind her. She pauses, her figure drawing up tighter, a thin swallow making its way down her drying throat. Wondering briefly upon how rude it might be considered to pretend she simply has not heard, she continues to nod and smile. The warmth of a gentle hand upon her lower back signifies she shall not be escaping so soon. 

Sucking in a soft breath, she turns as the Lord of Winterfell offers a small dip of his head to her and then Lord Vance for interrupting their conversation. At the sight of his liege lord’s hand upon the lady, Lord Vance is quick to nod in understanding and give her a bow before departing to speak with one of the Tully lords. Cregan’s large hand has settled into the small of her back as he guides her closer, the action bringing all of her pessimistic thoughts to an abrupt halt. Never has he touched her so casually, and certainly not in the presence of others. She blinks up at him, soft eyes that only partially reveal her confusion and desire for clarification upon this change. A few of the other lords seem to have taken note of this familiarity, raised eyebrows and meaningful looks exchanged with knowing smiles between the men. Lady Tyrell might have been angry if any other man had reached for her in such a familiar manner, but she allows him this closeness as Lady Blackwood approaches.

“Lady Tyrell, I wish for you to meet Lady Alysanne Blackwood. Our forces fought together on our journey south.” The introduction is simple and straightforward, and Lady Tyrell merely smiles pleasantly as Lady Blackwood gives a firm nod, offering her a neutral look. Lady Tyrell offers a small curtsy in response, her fingers curling into the embroidered fabrics of her skirts tighter than necessary. 

“It is my pleasure, Lady Blackwood. The realm is grateful for your service.” Lady Tyrell’s voice retains a sugary quality, her posture demure and her hands returning to clasping each other delicately in front of her dress. Her lashes flutter slightly as she speaks, her chin tilting down. Lady Blackwood does not seem to harbor any of the pressures expected of a lady during introductions, something the Lady Tyrell finds envious. Instead, the other woman simply presents a look of general affability and regards her thoughtfully.

“It is good to meet you, my lady. Cregan has written of you in his letters, it is excellent to put a face to your name.” Her tone is light yet has a weight to it that wraps around her words and bestows upon them a quality of certainty. Lady Tyrell does her utmost not to let her smile twitch at the casual use of the lord’s given name, nor the revelation that they have been exchanging letters. Her stomach continues to twist itself into a nauseating knot. The information regarding her being mentioned in such letters seems of little consequence compared to the anxiety filling her chest. She scoffs internally at her own thoughts, wishing that this sort of worry would be beneath her. Rather than attempting to formulate a proper answers, she merely widens her smile slightly, her eyes narrowing a moment as she does. Cregan looks down at her, hand still pressed firmly to her back, and tilts his head slightly.

“A dinner shall be held tonight, to welcome those who have just arrived. Shall you join us, my lady?” The Lord of Winterfell extends the invitation with the utmost sincerity and courtesy but Lady Tyrell has worked herself up into such a state, one that will surely worsen if she is forced to endure a whole meal in this situation. 

“I must unfortunately decline, my lord. I am quite weary and shall leave the festivities to all of you.” As she speaks, she gently maneuvers herself out of Cregan’s grasp, sliding her waist out from his warm hand. She does not look up to register the slight frown, nor the drawing of his brows at her obvious desire to escape him. Offering a small smile to Lady Blackwood, she slips out with the rest of the nobles before she can be questioned further. 

Late is the hour when a heavy knock falls upon her chamber door. It rouses her from her aimless staring into the depths of her fireplace, eyes empty as they gaze into the golden flames and crackling logs of thick wood. Her intentions for the remainder of the night had been to soak in a hot bath, allowing time for her nerves to settle and her mind to still. The warm water had only served to send her thoughts into a further spiral, the scents of various florals reminding her poignantly of her own fragility. Adelin had been given the night off, casting a long look at the lady before she had left. Sinking into her plush armchair, barely having the energy to adorn her body with a thin nightgown the color of sea pearls, Lady Tyrell had only wished to sit for a moment. 

One part of her wishes to pretend she has gone to sleep, but she knows the firelight casts a soft glow underneath the crack of the door. And her heart, exhausted as it is, gives a weak flutter at the weight of the knuckles rapping against the wood. Inhaling through her nose, she wraps a sheer robe atop her evening slip and softly makes her way across her chambers. Hands upon the cool metal of the latch, she barely pulls the door open wide enough for her figure to be seen before she pauses, hovering about the edge of the wood. The Lord of Winterfell stands before her, stoic and steady as always, his eyebrows lifting slightly upon seeing her. Within his hands he holds a bowl of soup, steam curling upwards in silvery helices.

The door is left to drift ajar lazily, leaving her fully visible as she stands beneath the door frame. Cregan is given momentary pause at the casualness of her dress, the slip clinging precariously to each soft curve of her body as if fresh powdered snow atop gentle hills. Despite the heat in his lower stomach, he forces his attention upward. Her eyes reflect the slight surprise that bubbles within her chest at the sight of him, hopeful yet hesitant at the unexpected visit. The warm scent of the hearty soup drifts softly to her nose, greeting her with hints of potatoes, tomatoes, onions and carrots. As her gaze devours the bowl with thinly veiled interest, Cregan gives her a softer look.

“I had not known if you had eaten, my lady,” His low tone is a welcome wave that washes over her body with a comforting and slow rhythm. Her gaze stutters slightly at the simplicity of the words, yet the thoughtfulness they imply. From the heat of the soup, which she can feel as she steps closer to Cregan, it would not seem that he has merely grabbed her leftovers either. “I asked the kitchen which soup you might prefer. I hope it is to your liking, if you are still in need of supper.”

As she turns her gaze upward to meet Cregan’s, she can scarcely keep the affection from flickering warmly in her eyes as if candlelight dancing behind stained glass. Lips press together as her brows draw closer, gratitude light upon her tongue.

“I am, it would seem.” She breathes it between them, a feather of a phrase that floats in the silence of the hall. Torchlight burns low across the stone corridor, illuminating Cregan’s commanding figure at the edges. There is that golden glow at the tips of his reddish hair that always calls her attention so captivatingly. Her weariness still aches deep within her tired body, but the small gesture has rekindled the dying embers in her chest. So quick is she to dismiss the possibility of affection and attachment, but she has not done so completely. As he reaches out to hand her the soup, his lips part slowly.

“Careful, it is quite warm.” The Lord of Winterfell cautions softly, ensuring she cups the bowl from the sides before he allows it to pass to her hands. His own calloused fingers brush tenderly against hers as he releases his hold, filling his senses with her smooth skin. Her lashes flutter gently at the innocent touch, a soft swallow upon her throat as she draws the warm soup closer to her chest. After a moment of easy silence, Cregan dips his head low. “I ought not to keep you from your rest, Lady Tyrell.”

As she lingers uncertainly in her doorway, her mind recalls earlier that day when Cregan had spoken her given name as a sacred devotion into the centimeters between their lips. How anxious she has been since then, how fretful over a man who is not her betrothed nor beloved. It is not in her character to be so easily swayed, not after her previous dealings in matters of the heart. And she finds, much to her own concern, that Cregan Stark has unexpectedly become a matter of the heart indeed. Taking a small breath, she resolves not to be so quick to resort to judgement. “I shall not retire until I have finished my soup, my lord. Perhaps you might join me until then?”

The invitation catches Cregan’s attention at once, his eyes widening slightly as his shoulders lower. Given the agitated state she had been existing in for most of the day, he had not believed she would wish to speak with him further. The opportunity for a quiet moment to sit beside her is not one he desires to ignore. “Aye, I would gladly do so.”

Lady Tyrell turns without further comment, not wishing to be caught standing before a man in her nightgown by any who might be passing by at the late hour. As she pads across the floor, her slippers soft upon the rich oak, she returns to her armchair and settles into it with a swish of her sheer robe. Cregan is left to watch for a moment, eyes tracking every move and step as the lady makes herself comfortable in front of the golden fire glowing within the hearth. Despite the stress from the day, she looks comfortable and soft within the firelit room. He then endeavors to join her, sinking into the chair across from hers as she begins to sip the hot soup with a neutral expression of content upon her face. As the liquid brushes her tongue, she winces at the heat and her brows knit together in a small frown. Cregan can do nothing but smile gently at the endearing expression.

“I did warn you it is hot.” Cregan offers quietly, amusement flickering across his face alongside light from the fire. Lady Tyrell lets out a huff in return, frustration upon her visage as she blows harshly overtop of the creamy soup.

“So you did.” It is the closest thing to a growl that he has heard escape her pretty lips. Shaking his head, the rumblings of a low laugh echo into the warm air between them, accompanied by the crackling of logs within the fireplace. Lady Tyrell wholly forgets the soup in her grasp and the stress of the day and every other thought that has ever entered her mind. Her mouth drops open slightly, her eyes wide as saucers as she stares blankly at him. Here sits the Lord of Winterfell, the feared Wolf of the North, laughing so easily within her chambers. The warmth in her chest is hotter than the bowl in her hands. 

“I have missed the soups of the North,” Cregan sighs nearly wistfully as he gazes into the flames. The smell from the earthy potatoes had brought him back to days of wild youth, running breathlessly through fallen snow and underneath ancient pines. The puff of his own breath before him, his fingertips turning red from the biting cold. “Too long has it been since I have tasted home.”

The lady is completely placated by his presence, by the taste of the rich soup within her mouth. She sighs, pleased and warm, curling her legs beneath her in a most unladylike manner. “You have been away for some time. It must be difficult.”

It is a soft murmur, spoken around breaths used to blow gently into her food to spare her tongue the burning sensation each time the creamy liquid sits atop it. Cregan watches with a gentle approval, pleased to see her eating. He had worried over her, when she had declined to join the nobles for dinner and is glad he decided to ensure she had gotten something for supper. “And you, my lady? Do you miss home as well?”

“I do not know, in truth,” Lady Tyrell muses, her shoulders dropping elegantly as she shifts within her seat. Her eyes wander slightly, as if her mind is drifting to a place far from here. After a second with her thoughts, she shakes her head, the edges of her hair glowing in the warm firelight. “I had always known I would leave Highgarden one day. It was only that I believed King’s Landing would be my home, and it is…not. Not any longer.”

A small, weak smile is offered with the explanation. Her attention returns to her soup, the silver spoon held tenderly within her delicate grasp. As she brings it to her lips, she tries not to dwell upon the idea of home too seriously. 

Cregan frowns at this, his brows low as he casts his gaze down to the plush rug that rests upon the wood in front of the hearth. Winterfell has been his home for the entirety of his life, and while he had been forced to fight for that home, it has always been his. His birthright, the lands that have raised him and all of his ancestors before him. How strange it would be, to have such uncertainty surrounding where one belongs. The North is in his blood and in his bones – he would not know his own identity if he were forced away from it permanently. The idea of her not having a place to belong to does not sit right within his chest. “You ought to have a home you can be certain of.”

A light raise of her eyebrows is given at this, while she keeps her eyes upon her soup. Her hands shift the ivory bowl back and forth absentmindedly, yet the seriousness of his voice is not lost on her. Still, there is not much she can do to rectify her own situation. Instead, she merely gives a small dip of her chin. “I would very much like that, my lord.”

“I hope that after the trials conclude, the Realm might have a better chance at peace.” Cregan sighs, a weight to the phrase from all the pressure that he has been carrying since his arrival. Being the Warden of the North has prepared him well for the power he currently holds within the capital, but it does exhaust him so. He cares little for Southern politics and the tumultuous remnants of the succession war. Although he cannot truthfully say he wishes he had never come – not when she sits across from him, gently lit by warm firelight, her visage a heavenly blessing upon his tired eyes.

“You have worked tirelessly for the bettering of the Seven Kingdoms,” The lady acknowledges, her voice quiet as she stirs her soup while keeping her gaze downwards. There is a certain comfort in sitting here with Cregan at the late hour, in simply being around him within the familiarity of her chambers, with no chance of being caught or interrupted. “I had strong doubt at first, but I do now believe you genuinely mean to carry out justice and return to the North.”

Cregan rubs a hand across his face, trailing it up through his hair as his eyes close. There has been far more ruling involved than he had anticipated when he had agreed to fight for Rhaenyra Targaryen. But fate has its own plans for the Lord of Winterfell, and he cannot turn away from a situation that mirrors his past so closely. “The young prince Aegon reminds me much of myself, when I was a lad. Mine own family had a similar issue with succession. My seat was hard won, against kin.”

Lady Tyrell has heard tale of how Cregan had imprisoned his own uncle and cousins after they had attempted to retain power once the lord came of age. Hearing him speak of it now, the way his jaw tenses as he does, she can tell it is something that was quite difficult for him. Her eyes flicker across his face, the way his reddish lashes fall atop the curves of his cheeks. The softness of her voice, barely above a whisper, betrays hints of the true affection she has come to hold in her heart for him. “It is kind of you then, to extend to Aegon the assistance you did not receive as a child.”

His eyes open at this, his chin lowering as he fixes his heavy gaze upon her. The lady holds his stare for a moment, before taking a small sip of her soup once more. “it is in my nature, I suppose. The need to rectify a present situation to ease the pain of a past one, even if it only is for the next generation. And in yours as well, I would say.”

It is an accurate assessment of her character; one she suspects few would know. But there is no hiding the truth from Cregan, who has seen her with Jaehaera every night. While she loves Jaehaera deeply, as she has since the girl was born, her guilt and pain over Helaena does additionally drive her need to ensure that the princess has a brighter future than her mother did. It cannot fix anything, but the thought of creating a peaceful life for Jaehaera does bring the lady some semblance of hope. 

“It is all I can think, somedays. If only to give myself something to do, lest I go mad from my own helplessness.” It is a soft musing, spoken from someone who has sat for many hours within the cold grasp of grief’s unyielding hands. Cregan recognizes it well, as he so often does. It is peculiar to him at times, how he sees himself mirrored in this woman whose upbringing was vastly different than his own. Yet there she is, reflecting pieces of himself he needs to examine more closely, forcing him to think harder about why he is the way he is. 

“We cannot change our past, but we have it in our power to make an attempt towards a better future. It might be in vain. We might never see it, or we might fail before we create it. It is our mortal duty to try nonetheless.” The heaviness in his tone forces her to look up at him, her eyes meeting his as she inhales softly. A better future – might it yet be possible for her, for Jaehaera? As she gazes into Cregan Stark’s eyes, searching for any sign of doubt and finding only stern certainty, it does not seem like a distant dream. 

a/n: slowburn is definitely slow but stay tuned for the next chapter, i imagine it's what a few of you have been waiting for ;)

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

how I percieve Hotchniss:

as requested by @em-prentiss

emily:

tropes: action girl, blue blood, lady in a powersuit, back from the dead, brainy brunette, dark and troubled past, honour before reason, sarcasm personified, reckless and sexy

she/her

libra sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

bisexual 

born 12th october 1970

chaotic neutral

ENFJ personality type

cat person

only child - and very much gives only child energy

red is her favourite colour

body count: "private, thank you very much!"

her favourite movie of all time is 'Carrie' - but she can't resist a good old mystery novel

has some secret skills she doesn't really talk about or use until she needs them; plays the piano, did ballet until she was 15, can horseback ride.

her favourite book of all time is 'Jane Eyre'

dog ears her books to save her pages - either that or uses literally anything as a bookmark. argues that it makes her books look 'loved'

her favourite meal is a good cheeseburger (although she'll tell you its some kind of fancy pasta)

chews her nails when she's stressed

grew up in multiple embassies across the world including: UK, Iraq, Russia, Italy, France, Greece, Spain, and Egypt.

mommy issues galore although she'd never admit it

daddy issues, too, while we're at it.

absentee father who was 'working' all the time - only 'working' meant having affairs and avoiding their home as much as possible

her parents only put on the show of a functional, happy marriage for elizabeth's career, a charade emily was also expected to play a part in. she did so until she went away to college

her dad died when she was 23

nomadic lifestyle all her life due to her mom's job - finds it hard to settle down as a result

has a little box of mementos from each of the places she's lived, trinkets that would be of no value to anyone else but mean a lot to her

has a few small, discreet tattoos

multi-lingual but not a show off about it - sometimes dreams in italian

is also multilingual in sarcasm and often uses it to diffuse tense situations.

had an abortion when she was 15 - doesn't regret it but has always wondered. marks the day each year, even if it's just with a prayer. it's the only time she prays

✨️ religious trauma ✨️ 

rebelled against her mother as a teenager and their relationship has never really recovered

spoilt, privileged lifestyle 

likes her luxuries as a result and doesn't shy away from them 

never had too many close friends growing up - due to the moving around a lot

bit of a wild girl at college, there's not really a sexual position or an illegal substance she hasn't tried at least once (except the ones you inject, she's not insane)

still sneaks the occasional cigarette

cannot abide by any rule she considers arbitrary

loves a good horror movie, the gorier the better but the supernatural ones freak her out

has a secret passion for classical music when she’s stressed - particularly beethoven and bach

emily has a love for fine wine and is something of an amateur connoisseur, able to tell the difference between a good vintage and a cheap bottle. she and rossi bond over this.

her passion for coffee, however, is much more lax and she can drink even the roughest of instant crap. 

can also whip up a mean martini

she’s a cat person but never had a pet growing up due to all the moving around.

emily’s guilty pleasure is reality TV—she finds it oddly comforting and a way to unwind from the seriousness of her day-to-day life.

often doodles when she's on the phone—her notebooks are full of random sketches.

loves an indoor plant but finds it incredibly difficult to keep them alive

fucking loves technology and is slightly addicted to TikTok. has to limit her own screen time.

speaking of TikTok, she's totally on BookTok and loved the ACOTAR series.

loves spicy foods - often challenges herself to try the hottest dish on the menu.

bit of an adrenaline junkie, whether in her home or professional life. overly impulsive sometimes as a result

what she wears:

aaron:

tropes: badass in a nice suit, stoic leader, chronic hero syndrome, highest kill count, death glare, grumpy to her sunshine, deadpan snarker

he/him

scorpio sun, taurus moon, virgo rising

heterosexual

born 2nd november 1965

lawful good

ISTJ personality type

dog person

bodycount: 2

favourite colour is navy blue

eldest son, his brother, sean, is 11 years younger than him

his favourite book is 'one hundred years of solitude'

prioritizes his fitness and likes to take on fitness challenges to keep himself healthy

lonely childhood even though he had a little brother

abusive, drunk for a father

emotionally absent mother who was trying to deal with her own trauma

his mom died when he was 25

his dad is still alive out there somewhere but they're not in contact, and aaron has no intention of being

had to be the strong one for his little brother

comes from a pretty poor background, has built himself up to be and have everything he is and has 

always felt like more of a father than a brother to Sean because of their age gap, and the fact that he practically raised him

loves to go camping and be in the wilderness

a morning person - likes to get up and out of the house as early as possible

a very neat person - you'd be forgiven for thinking he was in the military (he never was) by the way he makes his bed and stacks his clothes

collected coins as a kid, something he never grew out of. has a very well organised collection he values greatly

keeps his books neat and tidy - always uses a bookmark

loves an old western, likes an action movie, horrors make him uncomfy and he's a secret sucker for a rom-com

reluctant green thumb and often ends up taking care of the plants that emily brings home and gives up on or gets distracted from

has a soft spot for old-school jazz and sometimes listens to it when he needs to decompress.

he's a surprisingly good cook, which is a skill he honed while having to take care of his brother, although the recipes were a lot more basic back then

still has his parents wedding rings, a fact about himself that he wrestles with since he doubts they were ever in love

prefers handwritten notes to digital reminders, is a very tactile person. never really fell in love with his phone.

hums softly when he's concentrating, a habit he's more often than not completely unaware of, and emily finds it adorable

keeps a stash of chocolate in his drawer in the office - stocks it with emily's favourites

wears his grandfather's class ring. it's the only family heirloom he has, and sometimes he feels guilty for not giving it to sean

has a collection of old vinyls from the 70s

visits the same diner every saturday for breakfast. after getting together with emily, the visits become less frequent but they still go now and then. aaron says they have the best eggs. emily thinks they're just ok, but she likes to see him happy

aaron isn't a big drinker; he'll have a few beers on a night out, or a whiskey after work occasionally, but he very rarely engages in any binge drinking. emily's only seen him really drunk a handful of times throughout their relationship.

he is, however, partial to the occasional cigar and although emily sneaks her own cigarette now and then, she can't stand the smell of them.

what he wears:

Hotchniss:

the only time hotch is not a morning person is when emily is in his bed, then he never wants to leave the comfort of the covers and the warmth of her body

hotch will watch a horror movie with emily with a straight face, but hate it the whole way through. emily will pretend to be into his action movies, and doesn't let him know she's actually bored out of her mind. their middle ground is a good western or a rom-com.

their first big fight is over a clash between their idea of 'tidy' - emily is laid back, doesn't mind a bit of clutter. aaron is...borderline ocd. they fall out over her having left a towel on the floor...again.

they are very well matched at chess, and often their games can go on for weeks in between cases and life. currently emily is winning by two games.

aaron would rather to repairs around the house himself, where as emily is used to throwing money at a problem and making it go away. they try to compromise but they're away so often for work that more often than not, emily wins because aaron just doesn't have the time, but when he does take on a project he loves the manual labour, and emily loves to sit back and watch x

it was his dream to restore a classical care so emily bought him one for his 50th birthday and its his pride and joy. he painted it red just for her

emily reads before bed and aaron does the crossword, with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and emily thinks it's the cutest thing.

emily's love of spicy foods means that more often than not aaron has to resign himself to buying her two meals when the spiciest dish on the menu is just 'a little too spicy' - he doesn't mind, really

they're both incredibly competitive. emily gets sweary and loud when she's in competition, aaron gets smug and smirky and that drives emily up the wall. their second biggest fight, ever, was over a game of monopoly. it's been banned in their household ever since.

emily takes aaron to a ranch for one of his birthdays - to celebrate his love for an old western, and because she thinks he'll love it! turns out aaron hotchner is terrified of horses. emily spent the first day riding and trying to convince him to do the same, and after that they just enjoyed the views and each other's company, and the horses, but from afar.

emily often teases hotch about his love for organization and can’t resist occasionally hiding a few items just to see his reaction. he pretends to be frustrated but secretly finds her antics adorable.

surprisingly, when they go on vacation, it's emily who wants their days planned down to the moment so that they don't miss anything, and aaron who just - finally- wants to relax and 'go with the flow'. emily finds this version of her husband disconcerting.

emily loves to surprise hotch with impromptu weekend getaways. he pretends to grumble about the lack of planning and the expense of it all but secretly enjoys the surprises and the thought she puts into them.

financially, aaron and emily grew up in two very different places. aaron watched his mother scrimp and save every penny to try and provide for him and sean, when she was lucid. when she wasn't, he had to figure it out himself. he's worked since the age of 14. emily had everything in life given to her on a silver platter and, even now, occasionally spends out of her trust fund. aaron gets frustrated by spending that he sees as frivolous and emily has to remind him that they're well off - she still has her trust fund, even if neither of them were working. it's infrequently a source of contention between them, though.

they dated before emily's 'death', before paris. he visited her in paris, where their flame sparked again but when she came back to the team nothing happened. then beth happened. then emily left again.

they stayed in contact while she was in london and eventually realised they were miserable without each other. emily moves back to the states, returns to the BAU and they get back together.

they marry that same year. it's a really small ceremony, attended only by the team, jack and sean. neither of their surviving parents are invited.

they started a two-person book club where they choose a book to read each month and discuss it over dinner. they always donate one copy - whether to charity or a friend. sometimes both if they agree that the book sucked.

they create the 'hotchner cup' which is a trophy that they play for every family game night. it's an old, tarnished badge of hotch's with 'Hotchner' written across it super-glued to an old ballet trophy of emily's. it's currently in emily's possession...due to the chess situation.

emily's a cat person and hotch loves dogs. as a compromise, they have one of each.

when emily has their kids, they share the position of Unit Chief at the BAU and alternate shifts, so someone's always at home with the kids. it's their one rule; the kids never get left alone.

they have three kids together, ava, livvy and alex. jack is aaron's son from his previous marriage to haley, and emily loves him like her own.

they share a home office and walking into it is hysterical; there are two desks and it's immediately obvious whose is whose because aaron's is meticulously organised and emily's is a mess.

aaron always dreads his weeks 'on' at work, because he knows he's going into his desk being an absolute mess. emily is the same because she says whenever he cleans up, he puts her stuff away and she can't find anything. she prefers her 'organised chaos'.

even though emily is a luxury resort kind of girl, aaron forces the family to take an annual camping trip. every year, emily complains about it; alex and ava follow her suit. jack and livvy love the camping trip like their father. even though emily and the kids complain, they also secretly love it.

they take an annual family photo during every camping trip

every year they all celebrate haley's birthday together with a special meal; homemade lasagne followed by apple pie and ice cream, both favourites of haley.

when it comes to parenting, there's no doubt who's the strict parent. emily definitely takes a more relaxed approach than her husband.

however, when it comes to bullying or the kids being in danger, emily has to be kept in check. more than once she's threatened to pull her badge on a kid - or parent - at school. more than once, she's had to be talked down by her husband, and sometimes the kids.

when aaron eventually retires early, he takes up teaching at the academy. they still have lunch together most days.

after aaron retires, emily takes on the role of unit chief by herself and eventually progresses to section chief, which is more of a bureaucratic role than she ever imagined for herself, but it means she gets home to her family every night.

Hotchniss tropes:

grumpy x sunshine rich girl x poor boy he's her boss mutual pining will they/won't they jealousy trope friends to lovers 'touch her and you die'

Photos Aaron takes of Emily:

Photos Emily takes of Aaron:

Joint camera roll:

How Hotchniss text:

Hotchniss playlist:

[thesensteawitch]

Insights About Your Destiny!💌🍃

Pick A Pile Reading

(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)

Hey, Senstea Souls!🤍

This collective reading is divided into three parts:

-Your destiny when you were born

-How it changed due to your karma

-Where it's leading you now (Paid)

Parts 1 & 2 are available in this blog but to know Part 3 you'll need to pay $10 and get a personalised reading about where your destiny is taking you.

Choose your pile intuitively. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't as it's a general reading.

🌻Booking Form|My Rate Card|Tip My Blog🌻

Pile 1

Your destiny when you were born

Tarot Cards- The Devil, King of Cups, 7 of Swords, The Lovers, The Moon

Okay, my dear pile 1. The first thing that I heard was 'twins'. It's very specific but some of you have twins. I also sense that your mother may have faced difficulty during delivery. Probably a lot of pain. You have been emotional since birth. Cancer, Pisces, and Scorpio are coming up (sun, moon, or rising). I also hear, “When you're young they assume you know nothing.” When you were born your destiny was all about dealing with relationships. You were a child who could easily absorb people's energy. A lot of karma you carried in this lifetime. When you were born some of it started settling in your subconscious. Your destiny was all about choosing because I also sense Gemini energy here which shows confusion and difficulty in finding balance. It was written that you'll find it difficult to say no. I am sorry to say but I also sense that some of you have even dealt with sexual abuse of some kind. That too at a very early age. My heart is with you pile 1. I send you so much healing and love. It was written in your destiny that you will face many betrayals and will see the devil behind sweet faces. But no one would believe you. So you'll keep a lot of truths to yourself. Not to avoid conflict but because you had conflicting thoughts. You questioned yourself when others were the ones to be questioned! Up until now, you may have faced a good number of heartbreaks. All the relationships in your life were/are meant to make you realize your true potential. Because you are so different from the crowd pile 1. You couldn't see that since childhood. You felt like an outcast or maybe unimportant. But that's not true. You were born to be different and realize how unique you are! I also sense that you developed your intelligence. It wasn't like you were born intelligent. Since the day you were born, you are only shedding skin and becoming new now and then. Your destiny was all about finding true connections right through the false and painful ones. Many of you were born to be artists or do something different/out of the league. I also sense that your decisions have always been governed by the trauma you went through and the good thing is that you are aware of it.

How has your destiny changed based on your karma?

Tarot Cards- 7 of Wands, 6 of Swords, The Fool, 4 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles

I am so proud of you pile 1. You worked hard to be who you are today. You've changed so much. You were practically pushed towards your purpose. Your soul couldn't take it anymore is exactly when rage intervened and you found your strength. You always did your best. You changed your destiny. Where it was written that you're continuously going to face relationship trauma you found your way out of those patterns. You made yourself aware. Despite opposing forces and disempowering words, you stood your ground. I must say your initial years of stubbornness made you walk to the other side. Your rage and stubbornness were the beginning. You suddenly became the warrior. You have finally unlocked new chapters and have shifted the vibrational frequency of your destiny. Otherworldly concepts influenced you a lot to change your perspective towards life. You left the fear-based reality far behind. You became a risk taker. You have developed some very special gifts and are holding onto them. You're also hoping to grow yourself further. You have got a lot to learn and you know that. You want to learn more. You are continuing to be on this transforming journey. No matter how painful it is, you're still moving ahead. You have a thirst for truth, hence you have the patience to wait for it. Currently, you are letting go of the control. Slowly but steadily.

To know where your destiny is taking you book a reading with me only at $10.

Pile 2

Your destiny when you were born

Tarot Cards- 10 of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, 5 of Cups, Page of Pentacles, 4 of Cups

Hello, my beautiful pile 2. The first thing I saw was that either you were born into a well-to-do family or a family that was financially facing a tough time. For some of you, I also see a big family. But when you were born something major happened. Someone with whom you were close to when you were born or someone who loved you dearly when you were born is no more. I say this with utmost sincerity and love for you. I sense that your destiny was about dealing with a family where everyone and everything was perfect except you. You were ridiculed a lot for how you looked or your overall personality. I also sense that you were given everything but still, there was something that you were looking for. Your destiny was about coming out of the cocoon of the perfect world and truly experiencing life with its imperfections. I also sense that you have lived among perfectionist people. Deep in your heart and destiny's chart, you were meant to give something to the world. Everyone around you was focused on taking but you wanted to know how you can make others lives better. You were destined to be dependent on yourself and create a life of your own. A life that is not defined by your background. You are someone who was destined to see the darkness behind the gold and glitters. You have been somebody who always questioned the ways of the world. I hear, “You're on your own kid. You always have been. You were destined to bring a powerful change in your family. Any direction you have chosen was only meant to take you to a better place, closer to your purpose. Some of you may even have gone through some health crises as it was written because you function differently compared to other members of your family. You were meant to be the trailblazer.

How has your destiny changed based on your karma?

Tarot Cards- Knight of Wands, King of Pentacles, 3 of Wands, The Emperor, King of Cups

I hear you had to break your own heart to free yourself and move towards your purpose. You weren't understood and that created a deep wound, a longing to move away, especially from your family dynamics. I strongly sense that you lost someone very dear to you. For a very few of you, it might be literal death. Based on your karma you created a certain reality in your mind and it still gives you pain. You're asked to change your thought patterns and question yourself. To want what you want you had to learn what you don't want. And what you don't want is what you got since the beginning. But I see that you've made yourself firm about certain aspects of life. You have your guard up but deep down you are a very emotional and caring human being. You somewhat have your emotions locked up but you do feel them in silence. You are now moving towards making yourself a better human being and growing yourself so that you can genuinely contribute to the world. I also see that some of you have been traveling for quite a while now but still some days you feel restless. You are still being asked to look within and look closer. You're somewhat distracted and still aren't following your purpose. Making money is not the end goal and you know that. Your soul knows that. Always staying on your guard is stressful and you feel that. You're still living in a survival mode. Though you have made slight progress you still need to see the truth. You're missing the details. You're afraid of expressing yourself. I hear your destiny saying, “I just wanna keep calling your name till you come back home.” Now, go deep into the meaning. Don't read it on the surface level. Stop feeding your mind with negative thoughts. Your destiny is still calling you to look in the right direction and release the pain. You deserve love and you'll find love. For some of you, I also sense that love will heal you. Finding someone who loves you dearly will heal you. All you need is love. You're passionate but you stop yourself as you think you need to present yourself in a certain way. You are looking for something and I am telling you all you need is someone who can provide a safe space for what resides deep within your heart.

To know where your destiny is taking you book a reading with me only at $10.

Pile 3

Your destiny when you were born

Tarot Cards- Knight of Cups, Judgement, King of Swords, 3 of Cups, The Devil

Hello, my beautiful pile 3. The first thing that I observed was that your cards were very eager to come out. There was a desire that you couldn't fulfill in your past life and your soul wanted to have that fulfilled in this lifetime. I sense that you have been an active kid in your childhood. Someone who loved making friends. But there was also something saintly about you. You seem to be a bit flirtatious too. I sense that your purpose was to reconnect with your soul tribe. Some of you are walking on the spiritual path. Your purpose was to find romantic connections that could liberate you from your patterns and make you reborn into a different being every time. You were destined to go through all the unwanted situations and meet unwanted people to finally find what you want. You were meant to heal your wounds around friendship and romantic bonds. I also hear your shadow side saying, “You broke me first.” As you may have been aware of this destiny for a very long time so you lived in pain and stayed in this cycle where you kept hating those who broke your heart or who played with your heart. Some of you may even like to dance. Move your body often and release stuck energy. Dancing can have something to do with your purpose too. Your destiny was to go through emotional ups and downs to finally think logically and see the truth of your life. To see why things happened the way they did. You were meant to reflect years after a situation happened. You may have found many answers to your trauma years after it happened. This is for your inner child, “I keep every hour of every day keeping you safe.” You won't be able to escape your destiny. BECAUSE IT IS THE PATH LEADING YOU TO YOUR SPIRITUAL GROWTH. I also hear, “I am just protecting my innocence. I am just protecting my soul.” Protect your inner child. It's a part of the destiny you were born with.

How has your destiny changed based on your karma?

Tarot Cards- 3 of Swords, Ace of Pentacles, 4 of Wands, 8 of Pentacles, Strength

Wow, pile 3. Well done! You're healing your heart chakra. You're appreciating and seeing the lesson in situations you came across. You're no longer blaming people but trying to see the divine reason behind things. You're not stuck on one polarity. You see all the perspectives and can make peace with them. You've gained a lot of strength right through this desire to find the right people that match your mindset. Though you haven't found them yet you soon will. I see some of you are even working so hard to make yourself financially stable. The painful cycle that you have been in for years is now approaching its end because you were willing to learn the lesson. You're so brave, pile 3. You've developed this spark and light around you that others can't help but notice. You've mastered the art of self-transformation pile 3. You didn't let yourself stay stuck in the energy of looking for your worth in the other people. Some of you may still be realizing it and are working on it. You've finally found your balance. You're keeping your calm and continuously learning the lessons. Some of you may have strong Sagittarius placement (it's not necessary). You are no more afraid of the predators that are out there in the wild. You have trust in your intuition. Consider reading pile 1 too if you were drawn to it. I am finding some similarities. You're currently on the verge of balancing your private and personal life.

To know where your destiny is taking you book a reading with me only at $10.

🐦Bookings Are Open!!!!!!🐦

[selineram3421]

🌊The Water-Bending Sun Warrior☀

Zuko X Reader

Part 1

Prologue

The first time you entered the spirit world was when the moon died.

Everything was red for a bit and then you felt a deep ache in your heart before falling into darkness. It was strange at first, being awake but your body asleep. Seeing visions of a giant water-like creature commanding the waves.

Upon awakening, you heard your father speaking to the chief of the tribe.

"Please explain, I don't understand what's going on!", he cried.

"Your child is fine. They will wake soon and come back to the physical realm.", the chief replied.

The next few days were odd, you kept leaving your body, traveling to places you've never seen before. Strange spirits were everywhere and you learned to be extra careful.

You've tried to tell your father about your journeys but he refused to listen or believe it. It confused you how he could trust the word of the chief but not yours.

A few months have passed since then.

Sitting near a small stream of water, you moved your hand back and forth, following the flow. The water following your command.

The first time you made the discovery that you were a water-bender was when you were helping the healers in your village.

You didn't tell anyone but the old man who had helped you out of the spirit world when you fainted on the day of the dead moon.

His home was near the healers as he knew more about chakras and spiritual energies, being able to take care of wounds that would normally take longer to heal due to lingering trauma or evil spirits.

"A water-bender, the same as your mother.", the old man, Xbalanque explained. "You flow with the tide and the moon gives you strength."

"Is that why I lost consciousness that day?", you asked.

"Yes.", he nodded. "You are a little more sensitive to such things since you were born during an eclipse. Thankfully your mother heeded my warning and wore red, so it is not as bad as it could have been."

"Is there any way for me to control it? I feel like this won't be the last time.", you say with some concern.

There is a strong feeling in your gut that this "ability" would not cease.

"Ah, so you've felt it.", Xbalanque chuckles. "Yes, it will continue. And I have just the thing.", he says and stands up.

He walks over towards a shelf and begins to move various things, all trinkets that might be for fun or carry some importance. There were a lot of little things, some hung on the walls and some were bigger and had to be placed on the floor. All of them were colorful.

"Here we are!", the old man says and brings back a box as he walks over to you. "This was something I gave to your father and he gave it to your mother.", he explained and opened the box, taking out a necklace.

The ribbon fabric was like fresh red blood, the stone was obsidian with a carving on the surface that had gold in between to make out the image of a flame with a water drop in the middle.

"I gave him this stone and blessed it with protection.", he said and placed the necklace in your hands. "Your father used it to propose to your mother, as her customs from the North were for the person of interest to be presented with a betrothal necklace."

You stared down at the jewelry in your hand in awe.

There aren't many depictions of your mother, you can't really imagine her with anything at home. This gives you a small glimpse though.

Why is it here? You wondered.

"It was hard on your father when she passed. He gave this back to me with a foul tongue, saying it didn't work.", Xbalanque sighed. "But nothing can stand in the way of fate's plans."

Apá...

"You can keep it. I have no use for it and I feel like your mother would have wanted you to take it.", he says. "Obsidian is used to contact ancestors, so you can always have a guide when you travel."

How convenient.

"Thank you.", you smiled and put the necklace on.

Visits to his house became common for you as you had many questions.

Now, looking at your reflection in the water, you still wore the necklace.

You haven't traveled recently but you have paid more visits to Xbalanque's residence, having more questions about the obsidian stone and its properties. His response was for you to meditate with it.

So that's what your plans were for today.

Maybe things will get more interesting after doing so.

Wow, it's been a long while. I was stuck thinking about what to write for this part. This fic will update slowly.

Read tags for more details.

~Seline, the person.

Next: Part 2

🌊TW-BSW☀️ | Zuko ML

[en-eunhee]

✸ EUNHEE IN DARK MOON

₊ ┈ ❛ WHO IS ASTRAEA (AN INTRO TO EUNHEE'S DARK MOON CHARACTER ) ft . . . sooyoung's character (Seraphina)

Astraea is one of the main female protagonists of Dark Moon: The Blood Altar and is a eleventh grade student of Decelis Academy.

reserved but can be protective of those she cares about.

carries a deep sadness, hinted at by her past, but this makes her resilient and determined to fight for what she believes in.

loyal, she doesn’t give her trust easily but once she does, she’s devoted to her cause and friends.

HISTORY AND PAST

astraea was born into a long line of vampire royalty. she was born with a human and vampire parent. this made her an outcast from both worlds, as vampires saw her human side as a weakness, while humans feared her supernatural abilities.

astraea leaves her isolated home and travels to Decelis Academy. she enters the school under a false identity, trying to keep her powers hidden.

POWERS AND ABILITIES

astraea can harness and control moonlight, allowing her to create beams of intense light or soft, soothing glows.

she has the power to manipulate shadows, bending them to her will. she can use shadows to create illusions and cloak herself in darkness.

the moon acts as a guide for astraea, providing her with visions

THEORIES

astraea was born on a full moon night, an event considered to be of great mystical significance in the world of dark moon.

astarea’s birth during a full moon could be linked to an ancient prophecy foretelling the rise of a moon-child with the power to either save or doom the supernatural world

some say that sooha and astraea is related. they say that sooha and astarea are prophetic twins, born under similar celestial conditions or destined to fulfill a shared prophecy.

seraphina (sooyoung) are polar oppsoites, seraphina related to the sun while astraea related to the moon.

[beesmygod]

great zullie vid about the infamous gender coffin from DS2, which may have been introduced by devs as a way to quickly fix a bug that would cause the player's gender to change from the intended choice at character creation.

a similar quickfix was used for the character of anri, whose gender changes depending on which the player character chooses. rather than have two identical anri models, the reversal ring is equipped to the default female model in order to apply the tiny changes in how the character carries themselves. because anri is hollowed and their armor hides any physical differences, the literal only meaningful change is stance.

still, the ring and its effects were made available to the player in a surprisingly organic, lore friendly (?!) way. the ring is found in the tomb of lord gwyn, the location of the boss fight with dark sun gwyndolin in ds1. gwyndolin is gwyn's last born child, a "son who was raised as a daughter", who presents themselves to the player as the darkmoon goddess.

A divine ring granted to the Darkmoon Gwyndolin in his youth. Causes males to perform female actions, and vice-versa. Gwyndolin was raised like a daughter through the aura of the moon, and was said to behave like a sullen brooding goddess.

this didnt have a point. this is an advertisement for laying in a gender coffin. do that today

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astrology Theories : The Sun & The Moon

Hey! So todays astrology theory post will focus primarily on the moon/sun and the aspects and signs pertaining to it.

Let me start off by saying, people who carry the aspects connecting the sun and moon together, will be easily likeable, as well as someone who can be a team player and be a beacon for people. There is a sense of inspiration that comes out of them because the blending of these two come together and makes for something totally unique for the individual and their experience. There is a special persona that comes out of these characters who hold this placement, and the way they share it is magnificent.

Sun Conjunct The Moon - To be, this gives the energy of someone who is the first born in the family. Could naturally be a caretaker, could become a leader and be in these roles easily because of their inner nature. Could process their emotions differently, and may need small amounts of alone time, depending on the sign they both are in this can show a bit differently. These characters are born under a new moon, so their can be experiences we're they can reimagine and start over their lives for the greater good of themselves and possible the world.

Sun Opposite The Moon - Big personalities. Big possibilities. Bigger lessons. You get the picture. Everything seems more intense because of the power trip the full moon gives the sun, but they both work hand in hand together and make things powerful with their magic. Now I can assure you, they are not to be messed with. Their energy can create waves because they are use to the tides always shifting in different directions. They gotta make it work in order to balance themselves out. This ain't a walk in the park, got it? Inspiration moves right through them as they are processing their own vibration and people will tend to catch this energy and want to know more about them.

Sun Square The Moon - Creatrix. Beautiful liars. Sociopaths. Can be likeable, can be unlikeable. It depends on the upbringing. There is so many different ways to express the complexities of this placement, because they are used to being the black sheep as well as the golden child at the same time. Could very much so like to have it their way, but the world forces them to appease to others.. and vice versa. They have relationship issues do to parental problems where the parents put their needs before the child. They could of had strange upbringings with the family and learned how to occupy their time with developing their personalities their own way and keeping that unique personality to themselves. They could be selfish, they could be sweet. They could be generous, they could be mean. You never know what you're going to get with them, or when those tides can change. Cause it all depends on how their feeling, after all.

Sun Trine The Moon - Attractors. Manifestors. Healers. Creators. The people with this placement seem to have an eye for detail. Could potentially erase years of trauma and guilt from their family tree, and could strive to create better for the future head. Could be very good leaders, and someone who just knows what they want.. and they're not afraid to get it. They have great potential to be somebody in this lifetime, and could use this potential to help others see this light within them as well. They have to choose the right people in their space so that they can bloom more, it just works that way. Truly being who they are, is how they will maintain a lifetime of success. Reaching for the stars is in their nature, because they know that they are one themselves.

Sun Sextile The Moon - Healers. Potential. Channelers. Potion Makers. Could be deemed crazy. The Sextile gives a promise that these individuals can utilize this energy and can create excitement around what it is they desire. This aspect is good creating space and community for people like them. And can be somewhat of a mirror for anybody who needs to channel that energy into something new. Could be very delightful and fun to get alone with it. Could be shy and full of nervousness. Could be someone who gets their needs met by sharing their emotional needs with others. They need a safe space to survive.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Reference: 5 Symbols

for your next poem/story (pt. 1)

AESCLEPIUS WAND

The Wand or Rod of Aesclepius is a symbol of the medical profession.

The symbol belongs to the Greek God of Healing whose name it bears.

Although the origins of many symbols are indeterminate, there is a theory that the Aesclepius Wand came about due to the method of removal of a certain parasite that was drawn gradually from the body by winding it around a stick.

However, the serpent is a powerful symbol of healing, despite its toxic nature.

In general, the symbol of the serpent rising up toward the top of a pole or tree is representative of matter transforming into spirit and of enlightenment.

AKWABA

This is an African fertility symbol belonging to the Ashanti tribe.

The Akwaba is a doll, usually carved of wood, which commands the same attention as a real infant.

It is dressed, washed, and even “fed” until the human child is actually born, an example of sympathetic magic believed to ensure the arrival of the true baby.

AMULET

Although it is worn on the body as a piece of jewelry, the amulet is different from “normal” jewelry in that it holds a magical significance that is peculiar to its owner or wearer.

Generally, the powers of the amulet fall into two specific categories, either to bring luck or to avert evil;

either of these qualities arguably reflect a positive or negative attitude on the part of the owner.

The talisman is effectively the same thing as an amulet although its name derives from an Arabic word meaning “magic picture.”

A charm made specifically and inscribed with the names of the spirits, the Seal of Solomon, and other mystical symbols is more likely to be referred to as a talisman.

Significant symbols for use as amulets include birthstones (or other gems according to their magical powers), astrological signs, specific symbols such as the Hand of Fatima or the cornus, and symbols specific to the religious and spiritual beliefs of the wearer, such as the cross, the star, words, names, and numbers.

Incidentally, both amulets and talismans are referred to as “charms;” the origin of this word has the same root as the Latin word for “song,” indicating the link between a magical sound and a magical intention.

ANKH

Essentially the tau cross surmounted by a loop or circle, the ankh is a prominent feature of Ancient Egyptian reliefs, artworks, and funerary paraphernalia.

Like the tau, the ankh is a letter; specifically, it is a hieroglyph meaning “life.”

The volume of meaning that can be squeezed from such a simple symbol is awe-inspiring.

The ankh represents the male and female genitalia, the Sun coming over the horizon, and the union of Heaven and Earth.

This association with the Sun means that the ankh is traditionally drawn in gold—the color of the Sun—and never in silver, which relates to the Moon.

Putting aside the complexities of these separate elements, though, what does the ankh look like?

Its resemblance to a key gives a clue to another meaning of this magical symbol.

The Egyptians believed that the Afterlife was as meaningful as the present one, and the ankh provided the key to the gates of death and what lay beyond.

Powerful symbols frequently stray across into other cultures despite their origins, and the ankh is no exception.

Because it symbolizes immortality and the Universe, it was initially borrowed by the 4th century Coptic Christians who used it as a symbol to reinforce Christ’s message that there is life after death.

The ankh is used by the Rosicrucians too.

Even though its actual invention is shrouded in thousands of years of mystery, the ankh symbol can be bought in any high street jewelry store anywhere in the world.

ARROW

Symbol of flight, penetration, and direction.

As a weapon, the arrow is a symbol of the power of the person who carries it, along with the bow.

As a sacred symbol, it is the attribute of the Goddess of the Hunt, Artemis/Diana, as well as of Eros, who uses his arrows to pierce the people’s hearts with love.

The arrow also serves as a phallic symbol and an emblem of masculine power.

The symbol of the heart pierced with an arrow, popular on Valentine’s Day cards, is a covert symbol of sexual union.

As a symbol of direction, it works on a physical level and a metaphorical level.

The arrow that shoots high up into the sky is an emblem of the link between Earth and Heaven, a symbol of an idea, or of a message being carried directly to the Gods.

The arrow is used, too, as an analogy for swiftness and sureness, since the arrow travels in the direction in which it is shot.

The astrological sign of Sagittarius, the hybrid creature that is always depicted in the process of shooting an arrow from his bow, has a Latin root, sagitta; this means “arrow” and is derived from a verb, sagire, that means “to perceive keenly or quickly.”

Therefore, the arrow is symbolic of quick-wittedness and intuition.

Arrows were used by the ancient Arabians, Chaldeans, Greeks, and Tibetans in a form of divination called Belomancy:

This was practiced by shooting arrows in the air and reading a meaning from the direction of the arrows or their positions in relation to each other.

For example, crossed or touching arrows meant “no.”

Later, the arrows had words written on them to make any answers even more definitive.

Source ⚜ More: On Symbols ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hi I saw your Astarion x Tav HC recs are open and personally my Tav is a half elf Selûnite cleric.

I just think its a really sweet matchup- a vampire, a creature of the night, and a cleric that always preferred the night to the day. I’m forever mad that we don’t get to tell him that we prefer the moon to the sun when he apologizes for the fact that he’ll never be able to spend time in the sun with Tav.

Just my two cents I needed to share with someone haha

(can't stop thinking about Astarion praying to Selune. I don't think he will become a devoted selunite but he can find some faith within him)

The text of the prayer comes from Selûnite Prayer Book

Astarion x Cleric of Selûne! Tav

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion is beaten and tortured.

His flesh wounds bleed and his bones are broken.

It's a neverneding hell he can't escape, because he is already dead.

Silently, Astarion prays.

His split lips whisper the words of prayer he once heard in a temple.

Dearest Selûne, our fair maiden, weave our hearts with threads of silver, guide us with the light of the moon, and quench us with the purest of tears.

Astarion doesn't have much hope.

Besides Selûne a human goddess, and Elven gods have long abandoned him.

But-

His prayers are heard this time.

A human woman suddenly feels the urge to go outside. There she meets a young elf - and spends a night with him.

She never asks his name and, in the morning, they part ways forever.

But the woman doesn't leave alone.

She carries a half-elf child in her belly.

Probably, the woman never wanted to have a child, maybe she doesn't want to have a mixed baby or she simply can't care about the newborn.

Or maybe she dies at childbirth like many women do.

Anyway, a little half-elf finds their family among the Clerics of Selûne.

You grow up, knowing no other family but your brothers and sisters in Selune.

With a very firm belief, you are born to serve Our Lady of Silver.

Eventually, you are sent to Baldur's Gate - to join the fight against the Shar adepts.

But you never manage to get to the city as the Mindflayers kidnap you.

Astarion lost all his faith years ago and he doesn't remember ever praying to Selûne, though seeing someone so devoted rubs him the wrong way.

Gods never heard him when he was tortured and abused. Why bother?

But you catch his attention. Maybe it's your willpower, your leadership skills. Maybe your looks. You kind nature.

At first, you are scared of Astarion. Selûne condemns the undead and necromancy - vampires are considered the pure evil who desecrate the world.

But-

No one objects that Cazador is a monster. But Astarion?

He is a thinking feeling creature! He didn't choose this "pure shit". What are you supposed to do him?

No. You know the answer, though some of your sisters would consider it heresy.

Astarion has a choice. If he chooses the path of evil, you will be his enemy. You are a Cleric. You know what is right.

But should he choose a good path, you will be on his side.

And you will do anything in your power to help him.

You give Astarion you blood. You give him your body. Your compassion, your kindness.

You mention him in your prayers.

Astarion doesn't say anything to you about your faith but you know he isn't fond of it.

"I prayed to all the gods, including the Moonmaiden. No one saved me."

You made a deal, as people of different religious views do. He respects your faith, you respect his right not to have one.

Post-game you keep being a Cleric planning on rising through the ranks in the church.

You are a half-elf - you inherited ambitions from your human ancestors.

Astarion is still hesitant - he doesn't want you to spend your life in shadows with him.

"Astarion, I am a Cleric of Selûne, not of Latander. I love night more than day and the Moon more than the Sun. I will be fine"

You will forever remember the shock on his face as he realizes Moon shines for the undead, too.

You travel, helping the Selûnites to restore their organization.

One day during your prayer you notice Astarion standing on his knees with his hands in a gesture of adoration repeating the words after you.

Shadows taunt us. Hear our prayer! Shadows stalk us. Hear our prayer! Shadows wound us. Hear our prayer!

He mostly does it because he knows you like it.

You like when he joins you in your rituals and prayers, when he visits temples with you.

It makes you happy seeing him praying and he does it more and more often.

But one day a weird idea comes to his mind.

He prayed to Selûne once. Many years ago. After one especially brutal torture.

What if-

What if she heard him?

What if she sent him his savior? Her servant, her cleric, her devoted Selûnite?

What if is this half-elf he loves so much, whose body he worships, whose blood is so divine - is the answer?

You wake up to him kissing you. His face is red with tears and he mutters the words of gratitude.

From that day, he changes a bit. It's not like he is a man of god - he is still too rebellious to be a part of the church.

But every cleric of Selûne knows that Astarion the Undead is the man any Selûnite can rely on.

There are many rituals he can't partake in but as they say - Moon shines for everyone.

Astarion starts wearing the Selûnite light armour which looks very beautiful on him. Together you go into the most dangerous places - because you have your own undead to save you.

And every time you go to sleep (even if before that you've had the wildest sex possible). You pray while holding each other in your arms.

Selûne, thou with radiam loom, mend our hearts with threads of silver, heal us with drops of morning dew, and sooth our souls with softest starglow.

--

Tag list

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[elminx]

Energy Update: Lunar Eclipse 9/17/24

Note: all dates and times are in EDT

We are fast approaching our lunar eclipse, which will occur at 10:45PM on Tuesday, 9/17, at 25° Pisces. This eclipse is an off-element eclipse, which means that although our lunar nodes are still on the Aries-Libra axis, this eclipse will occur while the Sun is in Virgo and the Moon is in Pisces.

We are nearing the end of this lunar cycle (the nodes switch over to the Pisces-Virgo axis in January), and this eclipse can be viewed as a preview of the next cycle.

Pisces-Virgo (the North Node is always listed first) is a 12-6 cycle, with our North Node focused on Piscean matters and our South Node pointing away from Virgoic matters. Both Pisces and Virgo have a shared interest in serving humanity - Virgo serves humanity in the physical realm, and Pisces serves humanity in the spiritual realm. As the North node turns towards Pisces, we cross the cosmic line between sign number 1 (Aries) backward into sign number 12 (Pisces).

In a way, this first early Pisces lunar eclipse may seem like a de-evolution, but it's an important part of the process. This entire year (and 2025 as well) is one of transition. We are in the in-between, the liminal if you will. Many of us are being forced to walk forward in the unknown, but others are hanging back and clinging to what was.

Astrology is, at its most base form, a study of the cycles of life. We all know that winter follows autumn and eventually leads into spring. Likewise, monumental changes (like a worldwide pandemic) have a ripple effect that slowly morphs the world. There is no going backward. We all need to adapt. This cycle began in January 2020 when most of our planets (except for Neptune and Uranus) all met up in Capricorn simultaneously.

We have gone through the physical side of things (Taurus), and we were forced to face ourselves and what it meant for each of us individually as people (Aries). Now, we all need to deal with the spiritual side of how it impacted us (Pisces).

Pisces can be a really wise sign, but it can also be highly immature. The 12th sign in the zodiac can be seen as an amagym of all the wisdom of the signs that have come before it. Alternatively, it can also be the purest seed of a child yet to be born at dawn in Aries. Expect this lunation to bring up some major birthing pains or death pains, depending on your outlook and stage of life.

Standard eclipse advice applies: Eclipse season carries with it wild card energy but it is often referred to as the hand of fate reaching into our lives. At times, it can seem like anything is possible during and between our eclipse pairs, but a wise astrology student knows what comes and goes during the eclipse is meant to be. Eclipses don't so much erase what has come before; they tend to realign us with where we are supposed to be.

I think this is what people find the most unsettling about eclipses. Our Western culture has a pretty iffy opinion about fate and free choice. I want to be clear here that astrology does not take away your personal choice or control your life; it is merely a guideline that shows - with a high deal of accuracy - how your life will likely play out.

The first place one would look in a natal birth chart to determine this is (you guessed it) the lunar nodes. Each of us was born under particular nodal energy, symbolized by one of the six astrological Sun sign pairs. How much any individual eclipse cycle will affect you will be determined in part by your lunar nodal pairs and how the current eclipse cycle interacts with your natal chart.

Allowing for a 5° orb, we can say that next Tuesday's eclipse will affect the following groups of people in order of significance:

Anyone with a planet at 25° in a mutable sign (Gemini, Virgo, Sagittarius, Pisces) firstly or any sign secondly

Anyone with a personal planet from 20-29° Pisces or Virgo (Conjunction and Opposition)

Anyone with a personal planet from 20-29° Gemini or Sagittarius (square)

Anyone with a personal planet from 20-29° Taurus, Cancer, Scorpio, Capricorn, and Pisces (trine and sextile)

Anyone with the lunar nodes on the Virgo/Pisces axis

Anyone with the Sun or Moon in Virgo or Pisces

Anyone with a personal planet, Jupiter, or Saturn between 20-29° in any sign

I want to reiterate here that eclipses do not have to have negative or harmful effects. Some eclipses visit us as great epiphanies about what we should do with our lives.

Eclipses seem to rock our worlds when we are holding on to something we are not meant to be anymore. Because we are all imperfect, stupid, fragile, egoic humans (affectionate), this happens far more often than we would like to admit.

If it happens to you, it's okay. Surviving these moments is a part of living our stupid human lives. Astrology is a huge cosmic sign in the sky saying: sometimes it isn't you. Sometimes you couldn't have done any better. Sometimes everything sucks, and it's okay to not be okay. Part of being human is getting knocked down, crying over the spilled milk until you can't cry anymore, and then getting the fuck back up again.

Life hasn't been fair to us. Like all of us. Collectively. Every single human that has been living on this planet had a fucking sucky four years.

This is a watery eclipse, and it's going to bring some serious 12th house unconscious shit. That's what a Pisces moon is made to do.

You are probably going to cry over it even if you do it in the shower so that the sound is and nobody hears you. As your friendly neighborhood astrologer, let me tell you: it's okay not to be okay.

Those of you who are afraid of the darkness may have a really hard time. That's okay, too. If that's you, do your best and maybe lie low early next week. Practice your best self-care often and early.

For those of you who live here, have planets in Pisces or the 12th house, or are drawn to working with and in the shadows, if you have the bandwidth, now is the time to pay attention.

This crossover point between Pisces and Aries will be very important next year (much like the cross-over from Capricorn to Aquarius featured heavily in the energy of 2024). In January, the North Node will move from Aries to Pisces. In March, Neptune will move from Pisces to Aries. In October, retrograde Neptune moves from Aries into Pisces.

I've already discussed the starting/stopping/backtracking/starting/stopping pattern we've been in all year.

The easiest way forward is to allow the 12th house of Pisces to show you what you need to see. It's as simple as that. (ironic)

Oh yeah, it's a Pisces full moon, so you should clean your house.

Wash, wash, wash it all away.

Do you like my work? Kofi