#cannot wait to have a moment like this for ourselves ^^

[fastandcarlos]

Family Affair ~ Max Verstappen

Summary: it’s a family affair at the singapore grand prix as the entire verstappen family come to cheer max on

˚*•̩̩��✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

ynusername just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and 103,382 others

ynusername: I’ll give you three guesses as to where we’re off to 🏎️

tagged: maxverstappen1

28,492 comments

maxverstappen1: well aren’t I just the luckiest dad/husband in the world 🩷

username1: we love when the verstappens all show up

username2: I can’t deal with how cute you all are

charles_leclerc: yesssssss!! leo can’t wait for all the pup cuddles this weekend

ynusername: nvm the kids, all the cuddles will come from me

danielricciardo: it’s been too long, can’t wait for the fam to reunite

maxverstappen1: @/danielricciardo you do know you’re not actually family…don’t you?

danielricciardo: @/maxverstappen1 can you stop ruining my dreams please and thank you

redbullracing: we’re preparing ourselves for all the chaos 🤯

username3: watch max be exhausted before even getting in the car dealing with the kids and y/n

username4: cannot wait for the verstappen spam all weekend 😍

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maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 2,291,202 others

maxverstappen1: project verstappen junior is well underway, checkout y/s/n learning the ropes during practice this morning 🏁

72,291 comments

schecoperez: when I’m next in need of a new engineer I’ll be sure to give y/s/n a call!

ynusername: @/schechoperez he would absolutely love to work for uncle checo ❤️

username4: just when we all thought these kids could not get any cuter, max posts this

username5: it’s the baby uniform for me 😅

oscarpiastri: y/s/n already looks like he does a better job than anyone at mclaren

mclaren: @/oscarpiastri we’ll pretend we didn’t hear that

ynusername: I’m never gonna be able to escape f1 am I??

username6: max must be the proudest parent seeing his son so in love with what he does

pierregasly: little guy is looking good in blue max!!

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redbullracing just posted

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redbullracing: when all the verstappens are wearing blue, it only means one thing 🏆🏁

tagged: maxverstappen1 and ynusername

28,491 comments

maxverstappen1: another big push this weekend team, with my favourite mascots I’m sure p1 has my name all over it

username7: petition for team verstappen to come and cheerlead for me instead

username8: asking for a friend…can your ovaries burst just from a photo?

ynusername: team max! (and @/schechoperez 🎉)

username9: if anyone was wondering where all the good genes went…look no further

username10: pls tell me that is max’s helmet that y/d/n is wearing, it’s drowning her 😭

ynusername: @/username10 don’t worry, it is, she insists on trying it on when max finishes it, the stench is gross

maxverstappen1: @/ynusername excuse me, I always smell a million dollars

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maxverstappen1 just posted

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maxverstappen1: on pole for tomorrow, job done for another day, now to rest up and relax for tomorrow. not sure how possible that will be with the kids, the pink bow was a new low 🥺🩷

68,302 comments

estebanocon: mate the bow should stay…really brings out the colour in your eyes

georgerussell63: sorry max, I’m never going to be able to take you seriously again

ynusername: damn love, y/d/n really has got you wrapped around her little finger 😂

maxverstappen1: @/ynusername what can I say? she really is a daddy’s girl 😊

username11: look at his smile, that’s a true proud dad smile going on there

username12: I swear max you have never looked better 😍

carlossainz55: almost at smooth operator level there max!!

maxverstappen1: @/carlossainz55 from you sir I will take that as a complete

pierregasly: that reminds me, I really must update your photo contact on my phone

fernandoalo_oficial: you lose all street cred the moment you become a dad I’m afraid max

username13: not all the drivers finally taking revenge and getting back at max 😂😂

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ynusername just posted

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 729,492 others

ynusername: the three stages of race week with children. 1) run around with loads of energy. 2) begin to tire but remind yourself how cute your children are when they give you cute notes. 3) completely collapse after the race when you realise your children have tired you out before the lights even went out. sorry bub, but remember we love you dearly 🩷🩷🩷🩷

tagged: maxverstappen1

42,593 comments

maxverstappen1: I’ll be good as new for tomorrow, spending time with you guys will always be my priority. I love you all so much more 🥺❤️

landonorris: I remember the days when max used to write me cute notes like that ����

danielricciardo: @/landonorris and the days when he used to play tag with me around the paddock too

landonorris: @/danielricciardo he’s abandoned us now for the kids…my heart is broken

yukitsunoda0511: that looks like a man trying to get five minutes peace from his kids on the right 😂

maxverstappen1: @/yukitsunoda0511 guilty as charged

username13: just when I think we possibly couldn’t get anymore cute dad max photos for the weekend, we end up getting more

username14: you just know that max absolutely dotes on his two angels

oscarpiastri: petition for the two of you to adopt me, I want to be part of all this fun too 🥺

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maxverstappen1 just posted

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maxverstappen1: singapore p1 🏁🎉 couldn’t have done it without my incredible team cheering me on, having them beside me constantly reminds me of the sacrifices they all make. y/n, y/s/n, y/d/n, you guys are the best. thanks for all the support team, now to soak up all the daddy cuddles before the next one 🔥

tagged: ynusername

194,328 comments

ynusername: words cannot begin to express how proud we are of you!! nights like this simply don’t get better my love 🤩

redbullracing: congratulations on a great week of racing max, enjoy the time with your family now

username15: poor y/d/n looks so exhausted, it must be hard work cheering for daddy

landonorris: are those daddy cuddles just from y/s/n and y/d/n????

maxverstappen1: @/landonorris what exactly are you implying?

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 🫢🫢🫢🫢

charles_leclerc: congrats on a great week max, an honour to share the podium with you again

lance_stroll: lovely to finally meet all the family my man, enjoy the rest and recovery with your little ones

username16: are we all just going to pretend like we don’t know what lando is hinting at back there?

username17: max screams daddy material…literally 😅

georgerussell63: we couldn’t not let you win this one���we just didn’t wanna upset the kids 😂

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ynusername just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, lewishamilton and 629,402 others

ynusername: husband, father, grand prix winner, is there anything that this man can’t do? we are so proud of you max, every time I think you can’t achieve more, you go and prove me wrong. thank you for the best weekend with our little team ❤️🔥

tagged: maxverstappen1

42,402 comments

carlossainz55: he’s yet to beat me at fifa…that’s something he can’t do 😂

logansargeant: I swear you guys are the ultimate goals, if anyone asks, this is how I want my future to look!!

maxverstappen1: thank you for cheering me on, I hope you guys know that I do all of this for you 🥺

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 ofc we do, and once again you’ve reminded our children that hard work really does pay off

danielricciardo: I remember the days when he used to hug me like that 😭

ynusername: @/danielricciardo MOVE ON AND LET IT GO 😂😂😂

username18: he’s lucky to have someone as amazing as you in his corner y/n

username19: pls tell me this is the last post this weekend, my heart can’t take anymore adorableness 💔

landonorris: go team verstappen!! (I’m secretly rooting for you guys!)

redbullracing: remember y/n you’re always welcome in the paddock, we’ve loved having you, y/d/n and our future world champion y/s/n with us this weekend 😊

——

I hope you enjoyed this little smau, any feedback or requests would be gratefully received 🥺🥺🥺

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑����𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[lonniemachin]

Sujood has reached out to me to boost she and Sanaa’s fundraiser. They’re urgently trying to evacuate their family from Gaza and seek asylum in Belgium. Their previous campaign was suspended, so they have started a new GFM and currently have £1,642 out of their £50,000 goal! Please share if you can’t donate!

From their GFM page:

Dear friends,

We are reaching out to you with a heartfelt plea for help. Our names are Sanaa and Sujood, and we find ourselves in an incredibly challenging and dangerous situation.

Unfortunately, our previous attempt to receive donations was unsuccessful due to restrictions on transactions to Gaza. However, the urgency of our circumstances compels us to reach out again, this time with new procedures in place to ensure the secure delivery of your generous contributions. We are launching a new campaign because we cannot afford to wait for a long time for the restrictions on the bank account to be lifted it’s already being two months now. We are unsure if we will be able to access the funds or if they will be returned to the donors. In any case, here in Gaza, we are fighting against time. Every day poses a threat to our safety, and we cannot afford to wait. If, after some time, we are able to retrieve the previous amount, we will use it to rebuild our lives and continue the education of my siblings.

The situation in Gaza has become increasingly unbearable, and we have been left with no choice but to seek assistance from compassionate individuals like you. Your donations can make a significant difference in our lives and help us escape the dire circumstances we currently face.

This is ours story:

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits.

My name is Sanaa Odeh, currently in Gaza, occupied Palestine. I am writing this as a plea for survival, for a future for my family and myself.

Our lives are in immediate danger, with non stop explosions everyday and every night, tanks and guns all around us, and fear as a constant companion. It is a non-stop nightmare, every minute of every day, for 6 months. Everyday is a struggle for survival. Lack of food and clean water creating a crisis of death by starvation and dehydration.

Despite the endless nightmare, we are a resilient and strong family. My beautiful parents gave everything to raise us as successful daughters and we are so proud of what we have achieved.

I work as a graphic designer and my sisters: a nurse/educator, small business owner, a medical student, and a field coordinator. Despite being on the path to rich and promising futures, it can all be taken away in any moment. We have already lost several family members, including my uncles and their entire family. There is little hope that the situation will end soon, all of us waiting for our turn next.

We are looking to seek asylum in Belgium. This campaign will help support us in covering the costs to do so, specifically in covering the evacuation costs per person. Your donation will provide us with the chance to escape the endless horror we’ve been facing for the last 6 months and give us a chance to return to a safe, normal life again, where we can once again contribute positively to society.

I understand that this is a challenging time for everyone right now, but please do not underestimate what even £5 can contribute to especially when it all adds up. It really does make a huge difference. No matter how small the contribution it can still change our entire lives.

Thank you for taking the time to read our story, your support means the world to us. Whether it is simply sharing our campaign or donating, it makes all the difference in the world to us. Your act of kindness can bring light to our darkest days and help us build a better future.

Thank you once again for all your support and kindness

With heartfelt gratitude,

Sanaa and Sujood

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: What You're Walking Away From and What You're Walking Toward

⚸ "Just like moons and like suns, with the certainty of tides, just like hopes springing high, still I’ll rise." —Maya Angelou

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. I wish you love and light through this renewing period. <3

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

♦︎ Pile One ♦︎ (3oP, 2oS rev., the tower, the star)

⚄ The cards are taking a while to come out, I feel like whatever seeds you’re planting, the bulk of the work is being done internally, subconsciously, or in your sleep. ⚄ With the three of pentacles,  you are reevaluating the role your social connections play in your life and how exactly they’ll fit into the puzzle pieces of your future. For most of you, these are friendships. A few of you, romantic relationships. Another subset of you, there is an emphasis on the relationships you've built with the people you share a common goal with. This can be for work, clubs, hobbies, etc. ⚄ You are moving out of 5th house-type friendships (here for a good time, not a long time) and entering 7th and 11th house partnerships. These unions go beyond just having fun. Deep connections are developed so you can have a support team to lean on during the upcoming highs and lows of the 6th, 8th, and 10th house. They hold more significance and the people who reside in this area of your life should be thoroughly vetted. ⚄ Two of swords rev., you are battling with an internal decision regarding the company you keep and struggling to center yourself.  This tower moment is forcing you to vet. To take action. Reflect on whether these people help fulfill your life purpose and achieve your goals or just hinder them. Reassess your relationships according to what you want out of life. ⚄ I was trying to keep this pac short and down to 3 cards. But apparently not?? The star just flipped out, reaffirming that there's a lot of good shit in the works. Stepping away from certain people will align you with the next phase of your life. Bigger and better is coming in. Some of you are settling in relationships in fear of being alone. ⚄ Staying with connections you have outgrown will leave you stagnant. The universe has big plans in store for you, your life is going to take off soon. It will not wait for your friends to hop aboard the ride. You cannot take everyone with you. Your relationships are coming into question because the universe is doing some pruning for you. ⚄ I see people “jumping ship”, maybe you feel the people around you are not there for you during your rough patches? Yeah, connections built on shallow foundations are dissolving.  ⚄ The king of cups popped up out of nowhere. You are falling out of alignment with the people you’re with and leaving them will push you towards kinder souls who are more emotionally nurturing.  ⚄ Mercurial, Uranian, and lil bit of Jupitarian energy. I’m talking directly to you Virgo, Gemini, Aquarius, and Pisces placements. I call you out with love of course. This is my sidereal big 3 after all<3 ⚄ The star is a very hopeful card, filled with excitement and abundance. You are driving on the road to your destiny. There are only a few seats left in the car, choose wisely. ⚄ Advice: Have faith in your intuition and discernment. I say this in every pac lmao. You’re definitely on the right path (you’re leading up to the star), but this transitioning period is going to be uncomfortable because you are leaving connections behind. When we exit our comfort zones and leave people, we tend to gaslight ourselves and downplay the situation or allow fear to derail our judgment. You are too close to your dreams to let old connections hold you back. You have a deep knowing that these connections will not survive the ride to the top, listen to your intuition and let go of what is no longer serving you. Be selfish if need be.

I only bark once.

♦︎ Pile Two ♦︎ (temperance, the magician, the hermit, knight of swords)

⚄ I felt a puff of air in my left eye. The left side of the body is traditionally associated with the intuitive and receptive feminine. You are in a waiting period right now and are receiving intuitive downloads and messages. Your connection to the metaphysical is strengthening. Be inquisitive at this time and assess your life in a higher light, you are being blessed with the ability to see the hidden and the unforeseen.  The synchronicities you are seeing right now are not a coincidence. (Extra confirmation if you’re seeing repetitive 3’s, 5’s, 8’s, triangles, stars, and the infinity symbol)

⚄ Lmfao I was planning on only pulling three cards but the life you’re sowing right now is HUGE. 3 major arcanas back to back and then a court card?? You are being prepped for a whirlwind of adventure. You’re in your own world fucking COOKING.

⚄ The slow period you’re in is forcing you to build a foundation of balance, patience, and introspection. Boring. I know. But it is crucial to your development. I said it best in my last pac so i’ll say it again here, Whatever you build in this lifetime will be built slowly and have a solid foundation because your legacy is meant to withstand the test of time and last long after you leave this Earth. This period you’ve spent waiting is you getting your ducks in a row and sowing your seeds for the next evolution of you.

⚄ Shoutout to my Pisceans and Saturnians. If you have resonated with this so far, definitely go check out pile 4 of my ✩Glow Up✩ pac because there are a lot of gems in there for you.

⚄ You are creating your future reality in this introspective period. I feel for a lot of you, your self-work is centered around deconstructing the old perception of yourself and building your identity up from scratch. You are either beginning, in the heat of, or ending a long period of self-discovery and establishing your self-esteem.

⚄ With the knight of swords at the end of the spread, you are approaching the end of the tunnel with renewed vigor and resolute faith in your capabilities. I’m seeing your life in reference to that religious story, (Lord forgive me, I am telling it wrong and forgot the details 😭) where the man gets locked in a cave and starved, expected to either be dead or too feeble by the time his sentence is over. Instead, he comes out stronger than ever and with twice the unwavering spirit he had before his time in the cave.

⚄ This is what’s happening to you, you are finding inner strength and willpower that is going to propel you forward in your destiny. And you will not fail. It’s not even possible, the resolve you’ve built for yourself will carry you faithfully through all the bullshit life will throw at you.

⚄ Advice: None. You got this in the bag,just remember that you only lose battles when you retreat. The energy you’re cultivating for your near future is the knight of swords, a character who will never retreat. Therefore, you will never truly lose.

"I was born underwater with three dollars and six dimes"

♦︎ Pile Three ♦︎ (9oS, the hanged man, 6oS, 10oW)

⚄ Off the bat, you need to surrender any hangups you have surrounding your future. I picture your mind running 24/7 telling you all the ways you’ll fail as you work tirelessly. Or, you want so desperately to put your plans into action, but a buried subconscious fear prevents you from moving forward, adding more stress on your shoulders. It is weighing heavy on your mental health and causing severe anxiety that is inhibiting you from much-needed rest and healing. This is the season of surrender, it’s okay to let go and let the current wash you away. As soon as you release your fear of making mistakes, you’ll learn the flow of the waves.

⚄ Two of pentacles is at the bottom of the deck, I feel your stress stems from a fear of financial insecurity and the overwhelming pressure of having to plan a sustainable career yourself. A lot of your priorities in life are demanding your attention and it is becoming a heavy burden.

⚄ I am going to be blunt because I care. You gotta stop giving a fuck. Your anxieties are paralyzing you. You need to sip a little metaphorical “fuck it” juice. I am just now getting out of the mental space you’re in. The only thing that helped me step out of my fear-induced paralysis (which lasted a long and dark 6-years), was to reaffirm that no matter what decision I make, I will come out prosperous. In fact, the more you stress about the future and the more control you try to take, the further you push your desires away, which will only fuel your anxiety bugs.

⚄ Have faith that no matter where you land, you have the power to turn any less-than-ideal situation into something bountiful. The bird does not fear the branch breaking because it has faith in its wings. Not making a choice at all is worse than picking the wrong one. You’ll win some, you’ll lose some, all situations bear fruit, just keep putting one foot in front of the other. This too shall pass.

⚄ Advice: I know it is easier said than done, but ground yourself in the present. Release yourself from the worries of the future and the nightmares of the past. Stop stressing about upcoming due dates while you eat and stop reaming yourself for past mistakes while you’re out with friends. Tune yourself into what is happening before your very eyes.  Turn your brain off and mindlessly do something. Anything that brings your attention to the present. Don’t even worry about being productive. Watch tv, color, dance, cook, anything but sitting and stressing. This sounds crazy to say in today’s work culture but trust me, stressing about being productive or pushing yourself to “grind” will be your downfall. Your body needs to regulate. With the six of swords, you have to make the conscious decision to walk away (stop stressing and allow the situation to run its course) from what is mentally plaguing you. These are the seeds you’re sowing, you are on the path of releasing your burdens. I’m proud, we can do this!

"Mom, Meet Mary Jane the Milf!"

(representative of the whole relax message in your pile. i had fun making the board, this is not an endorsement.)

♦︎ Pile Four ♦︎ (6oS, king of pentacles, 7oP, 5op)

⚄ Cards went a lil buckwild here. There are a lot of pentacles in this spread, I feel like you are dissolving a lack mindset. What you desire and your perspective of success is evolving. You are stepping out of a false idea of wealth. You might have had a habit of undermining the talents and resources you have and comparing them to what others have.

⚄ This is my doomscroll pile. My silly little rotters. Looking at people with nice things and thinking why can’t I have that? Looking at attractive people and going I’ll never be as pretty as them, I am cursed with these looks. Looking at people who showcase their talents and saying, oh I could never do that, they’re so much better than me.

⚄ You are realizing just how harmful these thoughts have been to you. You had curated a mindset that would have you look at people and then immediately place yourself as inferior to them in some way. This shapes a reality where you feel constantly inadequate, thus always in need of something. This constant feeling of need prevents you from seeing the resources you already have within and building off of those.

⚄ Congratulations, you are stepping away from that lack energy. You’re beginning to see the value in yourself and redefining what it means to be prosperous. Now it's, Oooo, that girl looks so cool playing the bass, this encourages me, I bet I could learn an instrument too. Instead of, “Oh look, another person doing something with their life while I sit here and rot. What is wrong with me, why can’t I be as cool as them.”

⚄ Do you see how the latter self-talk is just draining the life out of you? It sets you up for failure before you can even try. 

⚄ When I say a false idea of wealth, I mean the superficial things you believed would bring you fulfillment. When you were in that dark space, you looked at pretty girls and believed that if you looked like them or got the attention they got, you would finally be happy. Now, you’re on a journey of discovering things more sincere to your identity to find fulfillment in.

⚄ You are discovering your interests, hobbies, etc. Anything that boosts your self-esteem and gives you a sense of value. You are about to fall in love with yourself and all the endless capability of creation you hold.

⚄ Advice: Comparison is the thief of joy. Unfortunately, with social media, every day is a pissing contest about who can have the most and be the best. I’d bet money that the most attractive, smartest, and most talented person you know is sizing up the person next to them and getting a false sense of satisfaction or self-hate. Don’t fall into that. Break the societal cycle and look inward for satisfaction. Compete with yourself. Be the only person you are trying to impress.

There is beauty in my unraveling

Let me know what piles you pick!

[natailiatulls07]

Haunted house

Oscar Piastri x female!reader

Summary - McLaren are doing a haunted house halloween video and Oscar manages to rope in his girlfriend

Warning - Blood (fake), swearing, chainsaw (fake), clowns, spiders and a mention of the exorcist??

A/n - Another first timer today!! I love Oscar!! 🤍

23 Halloween season

-

When Oscar told me that McLaren were doing a Halloween challenge video for their YouTube channel and had offered Oscar to rope me in, I was excited. Growing up I Ioved Halloween; dressing up, getting free sweets and watching spooky movies, they were just so exciting to me.

Naturally I grew up but yet I still held that love for the holiday. So that’s why I agree and now I’m in the passenger seat of Oscars car on our way to the secret location.

Every so often he was gently rub his thumb across my thigh, we were have a light conversation between ourselves.

Eventually, Oscar pulled in a car park when the McLaren social media team and Lando were stood around just talking and most likely waiting for our arrival. “Ah the couple has arrived!” The Brit was the first to notice us and announce our arrival.

Getting out the car, I was grateful that I decided to wear a large cream wool sweater because the weather felt nippy. “Hey dude!” Oscar and Lando greeted each other with a quick fist bump. It was soon followed by a quick side hug between me and Lando.

-

The McLaren pr manager was quick to fill us in with the details of the video; we all would be going into the haunted house, go through the different sections and then come back out at the end. Simple as that.

At this point though, thats when my nerves kicked in. I started to get anxious but I didn't want to show that emotion, knowing that if I did Oscar would make me not do it.

The team started to film, before Lando and Oscar explaining the video to the viewers. "Hey guys! So today me, Lando and Y/n are going to do this super fun haunted house!" There's sarcasm in his voice when he says 'super fun', which makes both me and Lando laugh together.

Lando manages to compost himself. "There will be multiple different sections to the house, however we don't know what the sections are and what they're like" I look over to the entrance of the house and cringe. "So let's go!"

We all start to walk towards the entrance with the camera man behind us. "Ladies first..." As if insync, Lando and Oscar move to allow me to walk in first which I quickly say thank you to and walk inside despite my nerves.

Once inside, it's pitch black. I can hear distant noises which I cannot describe, foreign noises. A hand goes to grasp mine and I jump at the sudden contact. "It's me, sweetheart" Oscars australian accent comes from behind me in the darkness.

"Oh god...we're two steps in and Oscars already being all lovey dovey" The Brit from what sounds like behind Oscar complains.

"You're such a child!" Oscar moans as to which laugh along with him.

After walking about five steps through the darkness, we come to another door. Making our way through the door, I'm greeted with walls decorated in thousands of tiny orange, blue and green glow in the dark dotes. "Oh this is cute!" I comment but immediately regret my words when a glow in the dark clown starts jumping out on us.

"AH FUCK!" Lando shouts, even though he is the furthest back out of the three of us. The bright clown laughs hideously and starts making his way towards me.

I'm suddenly pull back by my hand, the hand that Oscar has ahold of. Colliding with his chest I feel him quickly moving us past the clown onto the next section.

Just as we made it past the clown, the two of us hear Lando again. "You ain't scary bitch!" There's a pause. "AH Wait fuck, maybe you are!"

Oscar leans his head down, so that his mouth is next to my ear. "Are you okay?" He whispers, and in that moment I feel alone and disconnected from the world with him.

Nodding my head. "Yeah, it was cute and then that fucker came. But yeah I'm okay" I lean up to give him a quick kiss on the lips before looking around at the next section.

There's a bloody operation table, laid on top is a little girl dressed in a long white gown. Her hair long, black and extremely tangled. Around us, looks like an old operating room yet the walls, much like the table, is covered in crimson blood.

You know instantly when Lando has entered because of his uncontrolable reaction. "EW! WTF" I find myself laughing at his childish reaction to the section, Oscar laughs along with me.

Lights start flashing and we all turn to the girl on the table. Noticing how she is now slowly moving up into a sitting up position. "Oh and she lives, just fucking brilliant!" McLarens British driver comments sarcastically.

Once she sits up, her waist turns so she is now facing us. "Help me! Help! He's going to kill me!" Just as she finishes her sentance, we all hear the whirring of a chainsaw behind us as to which we all turn. Coming face to face with a tall and broad man, in his hands there's a chainsaw and much like the rest of the room covered in blood.

He jumps forward, more so my way, causing me to scream out in fright. "I need another body...yours will do" He smiles disturbingly.

“Yeah fuck this, no way are you coming after my girl sir!” This took both me and Lando by surprise as Oscar was never one to react this much openly. He quickly moves us out of the room, Lando still behind us when he says “Yeah that’s right bitch! Back off!” Followed by his high pitch laugh and a high pitch scream, also from Lando.

-

We all collectively make our way through the rest of the haunted house, coming across a spider themed room and a exorcist themed room. As usual, Lando is making little comments and screams the whole way through.

Admittedly on some of the room, either me or Oscar join in Landos terrified comments.

I push through the long bunting across the door way, we come out of the haunted house. A camera team is set up awaiting our post haunted house reactions.

“That was fun!” I comment which earns me a dirty look from Lando, and a laugh from Oscar who has his arms wrapped around my waist.

Both Oscar and Lando are quick to make a outro, wrapping up the video. After talking with the media team and Lando, me and Oscar get back into his car making our way home.

“Thank you for inviting me today baby” I say, looking over at Oscar who is focusing on the road.

“It’s alright, plus I needed someone to put up with Lando so thank you!” Pulling up to a red light, Oscar takes my hand and kisses my knuckles gently.

-

Tag list - @ilovechickenwings @carlossainzwho @ipab @erikasurfer @soph1644

[reborn-readings]

Messages of hope for spring 2025

Tip Jar | Masterlist | Personal Readings

Hello hello! Quite the past month we've had. With everything going on in the world, I thought I'd ask the spirits to relay some specific messages to inspire hope as the cold yields and life starts to return to begin the cycle anew. These messages will be pertinent to the months of March, April, and May of 2025. Pick whichever pile calls out to you!

This is a group reading, so take what resonates and leave the rest. Don't force anything if it does not fit. Remember that the future is not set in stone and that other potential paths exist depending on your movement through the course of time.

Pile 1 (Top Left)

Five of Spring | Ten of Cups | Epona | Break Free 

Maybe in your past you’ve experienced a battleground. Something very serious, somewhere where you couldn’t be yourself and had to live up to an extreme expectation or be punished for it. I see authority as a running theme in your life, too, maybe a string of relationships or jobs in which you felt there were a definite leader or boss and (whether yourself or others) and you were comfortable that way. Spring is bringing a different kind of dynamic to you; a fight where no one gets hurt, a relationship where no one is more responsible than the other, an opportunity to climb up to an ideal that you’ve had your whole life. Watch for the moments when you find people teasing and joking in a way that could seem hurtful from the outside but you know it’s just their humor. When this moment comes, you will know that you’ve broken free of what hurt you in the past. 

Pile 2 (Top Middle)

Six of Spring | Rx Death | Persephone | Friendship 

Celebration. That’s the first word that comes to mind. And if you read it (or said it out loud) and instantly saw a flash of a specific celebration, then the spirits want you to know that that result is almost certain. I get the feeling that you will be publicly recognized and lauded for something that you did not expect, some part of your hidden or shadow self that you hid for fear of shame. It is something that lacks grace. Something like…having spoken up even if your words could have been interpreted wrongly or rudely, but people saw past the words to your idea and they loved it. Even if the idea itself is dark, you have been sharing that, and you will see the results of that soon enough in a glorious event that may welcome unexpected friends. I get the feeling that this will happen earlier for you than the other piles, late February or early March. 

Pile 3 (Top Right)

Strength | Rx The Emperor | Hina | Mother Healing 

Right off the bat, I can tell that this message will be one that is harder to grasp for you, and you may need to look hard and close for it. I see a few specific images that all interplay in your life: you father, your church, your mother. You have a very unique way of approaching gender, something that the mainstream culture around frowns upon. Your femininity and spirituality cross in ways that seem unseemly. Maybe you don’t know how to reconcile the two? This is something that you should be thinking about more. I just got the image of a crown of thorns in my head; know that you are the master of this beast.  I can’t articulate everything that you’re going to come to learn and realize for yourself; I suppose the only message I have for you is to know that you have the inner strength to guide you through this. 

Pile 4 (Bottom Left)

Seven of Summer | Rx King of Cups | Rhiannon | Simplify Your Life 

Winter brings clutter with it. We shut ourselves up in our homes with what we have and wait, letting go of nothing since we know on an instinctual level that we cannot simply go out and replace what we lose. However, this clutter, whether it takes the form of actual, physical clutter, mental baggage, or just too many decisions to make, results in us feeling overwhelmed. Your emotions may feel difficult to track down, but addressing their causes will help. Spring is going to see you cleaning up those aspects of your life. I see the word ‘king’ a lot, so don’t be afraid to lean into your masculine power. The world is beautiful; try to remember to once in a while look beyond the clutter in your path to see what you’re working toward. Once you see your goal, each individual step will feel both simple and momentous! 

Pile 5 (Bottom Middle)

Nine of Summer | Nine of Wands | Demeter | You’re Being Helped 

Go around the back way. That’s the first message that I got. Are you being blocked from your wishes being fulfilled? There’s always another way, you know. Demeter didn’t bow down when Hades took her daughter; she went on strike, withholding her gifts from the world until they addressed her plight. You, too, are going to find an unorthodox method of bypassing what stands in your way. The spirits are not the ones putting up the barrier, they are the ones helping to guide you to your prize. Your Cinderella story is waiting; not just rags to riches, but also finding out that you have a Fairy Godmother on your side who’s willing to bend the rules for you. After all, some rules are unjust and meant to be broken. Don’t go doing anything crazy or rush so much you trip yourself, but keep your eyes open for your opportunity. 

Pile 6 (Bottom Right)

King of Spring | King of Swords | White Shell Woman | Self-Employment 

Where do I begin, Pile 6?! This spring, you are going to see the perfect union between your passion and your mind. You are someone with a lot of gifts to give, and to make sure that you play your role this upcoming spring, the spirits are going to fill your baskets to the point of overflow to show you how generous you can be. Though I can sense that you just want some alone time, and trust me, you’ll get it. You will find that people flock to you, seeing you as a skilled leader and wanting to support what you support. Relish being alive! Look around you at all the things growing! You have so much to look forward to.

If this was helpful to you, please consider donating or expanding on your message in one of my readings! 🩷

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[zombiequeenblog]

The Promise

I wrote some dumb Papa Emeritus IV smut lol

There are no Ghovie spoilers here, I hope you enjoy it! Papa x Sister of Sin

Explicit ~ 5,500 words ~ ao3

Summary: Papa Copia catches you sneaking in way past curfew, and gives you a lecture. You respond cheekily.

It must be well past 2 am, maybe 3, I thought, as I tumbled guiltily back into my room. So late! A giggle, most likely fuelled by a gin and tonic or two I wasn’t used to, escaped me as I shed my coat and fled over to the comfort of my bed, feet aching. Sitting on the edge with a graceless bounce I didn’t intend, I flicked on the little lamp beside me and bent down to work my heels off, head still a bit dizzy. 

“Where have you been?” 

My body went stiff as soon as I heard his voice from over in the corner. My long and tangled hair, still smelling faintly of the perfume I had used to combat the mustiness of the local dive bar, had fallen down in my face, and I stayed hidden behind its safety as I made my reply as light and chipper as I could. “Oh Papa! Hmm, I… ahh, I didn’t see you there…” Obviously.

“Where have you been, Sorella?” I heard the slight tap of his shoe as the sole hit the floor, and a creaking noise like he was leaning forward in my austere little armchair. Sitting over there in the dark, like a cranky old cat. 

“I was just… out, Papa…” I had finally fumbled my heels off, and now I sat up to lean back on my hands, rolling my stiff neck back along my shoulders to shake my hair out. “I had a drink down at the bar, watched a band play. It was fun.”

“It’s past curfew.” He sounded displeased. Well, of course he would be! I knew the rules, but in this juniper-flavoured moment I didn’t much care. I had had fun, and I didn’t regret it. Still though…

“I’m sorry, Papa. I lost track of the time.” I let myself flop back on the bed, tired, and I thought I heard him rise up to his feet in the shadowed corner. 

“You cannot lose track of the time, eh, mia Sorella preziosa? This is dangerous. I cannot lose track of you.” He sounded very displeased, indeed. 

I just scoffed at him. Ever since I had come here, I would say we’d been flirting with one another, but isn’t that just what Papa did? What all the Papas do? Papa Copia was charming, intense, and sweet, and utterly devoted to enjoying the passions of the flesh, as the living embodiment of lust here on earth. He slept with many, and many more wanted to sleep with him. Hell, I wanted to sleep with him; we just hadn’t really come to find ourselves in that situation just yet. We hadn’t even kissed, and I resented him acting like he was some kind of handler of me. 

“I cannot allow you to behave in this way,” he continued with severity, coming closer, “running all around in that town, which you should know is crawling with Christians who don’t give one shit about you on account of that grucifix you have pinned there…” Papa gestured to the little symbol of our dark faith I had dutifully displayed on my shirt collar. “Without a single care for your safety, and sneaking back in here like some kind of little rat!”

I turned my head so I didn’t have to look at him, and I found that the long night of careless freedom had loosened my tongue, apparently terribly. “Well, hell… you’re not my dad!” I muttered up into the ceiling with a glib shrug of annoyance at his scolding. 

A shocked pause within the room, and then his sharp steps were coming right on over to me. “I. Am. Your. Papa,” his voice seethed down, “And I am responsible for you.”

I darted my eyes over to see his handsome face, still painted up, with his odd eyes blazing and his greying hair all mussed over his forehead in the most charming way. Had he really been sitting in here all night, waiting… worrying about me? As if to ruin it on purpose, he straightened up and ran his previously clenching hand back along his hair, smoothing everything down with a tense sigh. I thought he looked stunningly attractive, and it gave me a certain kind of little thrill to continue irritating him.

“What are you gonna do, spank me, Papa?” I threw out, carelessly turning over onto my front to let my body sink down further into the bed.

Another pause, and I felt the mattress shift when he sat down beside me. 

“Do you… Do you want me to spank you?” He sounded serious.

I felt myself blush immediately, grateful that he couldn’t see. “No!” I almost shouted, kicking my leg up a bit.

He didn’t say anything.

“Not… not right now, Papa…” Well, now I had gone and made everything awkward… Satan damn it! “Maybe later,” I added, muffled into the comforter. I wriggled my butt a little in a fiddling attempt to be coy, and I thought perhaps I heard him make the slightest sound of a chuckle. I couldn’t be sure. 

“Is there anything at all I may do for you, mia cara?” 

“You… you could help me out of these clothes, Papa,” I confessed to him, “Please.”

“With pleasure,” he said, his voice astoundingly kind now, and I felt the gentlest touch of his glove on the back of my thigh. He gave me a little squeeze there, and then his fingertips ran up to catch on the hem of my mini skirt. I felt him tug at it a little, and I mumbled something about the zipper. 

“Ahh yes, of course,” he said, and his fingers traveled up to the small of my back, finding the little clasp there to unhook it, and sliding the zipper down with care. I was not unaware of the way he was grazing the full curve of my ass as he did this, unnecessarily. He brought his gloves to either side of my waist and paused for a moment, his firm hands feeling warm on me through the leather, and then he started to roll my skirt down, encouraging me to lift my hips a bit, in a soft tone.

Halfway down my ass I remembered that I was wearing perhaps my skimpiest thong. The cool air of the room hit my skin and I heard Papa hum appreciatively, making me blush anew. As he slid my skirt off completely, all the way down my bare legs like he relished the task, he spoke low. 

“Were you meeting someone special down in town? Bringing some favoured errant soul into the fold?”

“No, Papa,” I answered honestly, “I just wanted to go out and relax in a crowd, you know? Look a bit pretty and get lost in some music…” I tried to turn over subtly but his hand was now firm on my lower back. “Avoiding panty lines, you know?” I explained further, with a soft laugh, turning my head only.

Papa laughed too. “I do not often have to contend with panty lines, my dear Sorella,” he replied, and I remembered his reported distaste for wearing knickers himself. I had been thinking often lately about what he had there in his pants, and I found myself rubbing my thighs together at the warmth forming now in my poor little empty cunt. As if to prove his point, he skimmed a gloved finger along the scant fabric of my thong to make me shiver.

“May I kiss you?” he suddenly said.

“Yes, Papa,” I chirped, but before I could turn around I registered him moving down and I felt his warm lips pressing a firm kiss against the cheek of my ass. 

“A kiss now, a spank later, eh?” he remarked, and I twisted my head to look back and see a black kiss mark left there on my exposed skin. He patted my butt affectionately, then stopped as if he’d forgotten. “Oh! My apologies, Sorella…”

I couldn’t help but grin at his silliness, and he finally let me roll over. 

“Papa…” I groaned, moving to sit up and unbutton my shirt. 

“No, no,” he insisted, taking my hands away, “Lay back, Sorella mia, and let Papa finish, si?”

“Si,” I agreed, laying back like a doll, and watching him get back to work through my torpid eyes. I saw him grin now, sweet and sly. 

My top was obviously next, and I marvelled at the way his gloves seemed to have no trouble with the tiny buttons, working nimbly from my waist right up to my cleavage. I wanted to feel that supple leather on more parts of me, and when he looked down into my face with intention, pausing before he opened up my shirt, I nodded up at him. 

“Sei squisito,” he breathed, slowly revealing more of me to his heavy gaze. 

“What are you saying?” I asked him softly. I had learned much Italian in my time here, but not enough. 

“I am telling you,” he said, looking up at my face now and brushing my hair back with the lightest touch of his glove, his fingertip running down to my chin to tilt me up to him slightly, “that you are exquisite, tesoro mio.” He tilted his own head as he looked down at me, his strange eyes darkening with devotion, and perhaps, also, with need. 

“May I have another kiss?” I asked him.

“On your ass?”

“No, Papa!” I could have hit him, he was so being so facetious. A complete ass, himself.

I endured the roguish twinkle in his eye for a moment, and then I pointed at my mouth. “Here.” I watched his hungry eyes hone in on my softly parted lips, and I knew he wanted me too. “I want you to kiss me here.”

Without another word he brought his mouth right down on mine. His lips, soft but insistent, giving me a taste of his papal paints when our kiss quickly deepened. So focused was I upon those lips, and his tongue, that I almost didn’t notice his gloves holding me up to him, tearing my opened shirt down along my shoulders. 

“More,” he muttered, breaking away only for a moment, “give me more… Sorella…”

Desperately, I shrugged off my top as he helped me, lurching forward to continue kissing him, tasting this irresistible man as if I were parched. Too soon he dragged his lips along my cheek, smearing himself all down my neck to come to my chest where he could use his tongue further, and his teeth, giving me little licks and nips along the top of my breasts as he let loose his hunger. 

By this time I was gripping the lapels of his suit jacket, and my fingers slid inside, trying to find a closer purchase along his shoulders, noticing his skin was dampening with sweat underneath the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Give me more,” I whined, and he obliged eagerly, shedding the shiny irksome thing and coming forward again to push me right down beneath him. His hand came up to knead my breast, pulling my bra down as he kissed my pouty lips again and again, his leathered thumb flicking and circling my nipple. When I couldn’t hold back my gasps of pleasure into his mouth, he abandoned mine, coming down again to taste my breasts each in turn, pulling my sensitive peaks in between his smudged lips, and swirling his wet tongue to drive me mad with desire.

Through my struggle not to lose my head, I had been fumbling about blindly with the buttons of his dress shirt, and I finally got it open enough to slide my hand down along his chest, to feel the glorious swirls of hair there. I ran my fingers along his beautifully greying head too. 

“Papa,” I begged, “I want to see you… please…”

“Can you be a good girl for me?” He was taking off my bra, rather easily.

“Yes.”

“Follow the rules?”

Rolling my eyes in frustration and pleasure both, I grabbed his cravat and pulled him back up to kiss me once more. With him distracted so with my lips, I thought I’d find out if he really was so easy to access inside his pants, and so I ran my hand down his solid body to find his distractingly large bulge straining within its confines. Papa groaned against my cheek as I let out a gasp of anticipation. I couldn’t wait to get his cock out. 

But first, just to tease him, I brought my hand back and around to cup his ass, squeeze him there and pull him against my thrilling cunt before I locked my legs up and around his waist. No panty lines, I thought to myself, and I grinned against his lips for a moment, feeling him rut against me down below.

He was growing impatient too. “I want you, tesoro,” Papa growled, gloved hands groping, fingers dragging down my body, my ass, to hook underneath the scant fabric keeping him from my pussy. His hot mouth came to my ear with a harsh whisper. “I want to fuck you.”

“No,” I said, and he let me go immediately, pushing himself up and off of me and looking straight down into my face, his eyes concerned. He went to speak, breathless and flushed underneath his smudged paint, but I was quicker. 

“Take your shirt off first,” I finished, and he looked so relieved and cross I thought he might bend me over his knee and spank me right there.

“You are a little brat, trottolina…” he threw out at me, sitting up and giving me one flash of the darkest look of desire I thought possible, before furiously undoing his cravat and bending his head to pay careful attention to the buttons of his tailored shirt, opening it up slowly. 

I hummed wickedly, and nodded, though he didn’t see, backing up to recline against the cushions and squeezing my knees together in my excitement. And yet I’m well rewarded, aren’t I? I thought to myself, bringing my fingertip up to rest flippantly between my teeth as I watched my Papa. 

Satan, he was so beautiful. Flustered hair he’d let get longer fell into his lined face, painted so sinister, yet with a learned tenderness about his darkened sockets and the curve of his mouth which he couldn’t quite hide. Every day I could see it; Copia was so full of adoration for his flock, a steady affection he kept quiet underneath a carnality of care. I couldn’t believe how privileged I was, both to be here and to be of any concern to such as him. I wanted him; I revelled in the thought of him wanting me. And I was grateful for our liberated faith, which laid out the way for this. 

His neck and shoulders, so kissable. His chest adorned in fine hair begging to be touched, the textured whisper of a few greys amongst them calling to me. His skin pale, scattered with faint freckles, his stomach soft and comforting and so utterly fallible it belied his exalted status. The trail of hair leading down underneath the waistband of his pants drove me absolutely raving inside with want, and so I asked him for more, bluntly. 

“Your pants too,” I said, finding that my mouth was suddenly dry. Was I nervous? It was just that he was so completely perfect, amplified by the way he lacked any true hubris, and I suddenly felt a little unworthy in my Papa’s presence. What could he possibly see in me, really?

“Of course, Sorella,” he replied measuredly, “Have patience, your Papa has waited for you long enough…” The shirt was quickly shed, and then he rested his gloves upon the fastening of his pants, looking over at me. “Come here and help me, si?”

I crawled to him, but when I got close enough I sat back on my heels to mirror his posture, and I let myself touch his forearms instead, lightly scraping my nails up to hold onto him by his warm shoulders. Copia just watched me, head tilted a bit with a puzzled smile. My fingertips slid over, grazing his clavicle to rest with shyness in the hollow of his throat. “I want you, Papa,” I told him, “I want to be here, with you, forever.”

Arms full of reassurance to match his desire came up and around me, and he held me so very close, his fingers nestling up the back of my head. “I’m not going anywhere, Sorella mia,” he murmured into my hair, “I feared perhaps you wanted to leave this place… leave me…”

I pulled back and silenced his nonsense with a kiss, which he held me in, and I let my hand wander blindly down his body, his soft stomach, following the treasure trail to something harder. I was trying to suavely slip my fingers into his pants, open them up to free his frustrated cock to my attentions.

This proved difficult, even when I brought my other hand down to assist.

“What is wrong with your pants, Papa?” I finally broke away to exclaim. I looked down to observe the securely knotted lacing. “They’re ridiculous!”

Copia laughed. “Well, I wouldn’t want an embarrassing mishap, on account of having nothing on underneath…” 

I laughed with him. “Take them off…” I finally whined.

Papa motioned for me to scooch back on the bed, and expertly began to undo his pants in front of me. The poor man must have felt a great relief at finally freeing his swollen cock, and he did groan a bit, in pleasure, as he took himself in hand for a few lazy strokes. He was big, and I felt insane looking at it. At all of him.

“Fuck me, Papa,” I breathed, laying back.

“No,” he said, and I sat back up in a little shock.

“First,” he said low with a grin, looking pointedly down between my legs, “Take those off. I want to taste you, dolcezza mia.” I wanted to kill him. Copia got up from the bed to peel off his pants completely, and I lay back again, sliding my thong down along my hips and my trembling legs to leave my pussy pleading, as I observed his perfect body and the way he carried himself. “You will not deny me this,” Papa said, coming back on the bed to crawl towards me. I fully agreed. 

But before I could let my knees drop open for him, Papa was doing it, his gloves gripping my thighs and yanking me down a little closer. I could feel his warm breath on my pussy, and I shut my eyes and waited for him to begin.

But nothing happened, and I looked back down at him after a moment. “What are you doing?”

“I’m just looking, dolcezza…” His face was full of a lustful suspense, gazing upon my cunt and practically licking his paint-smeared lips in anticipation, so close. “You are so beautiful, ragazza mia, do you even know that? I cannot believe I get to enjoy someone so perfect.”

I blushed, but I answered him honestly. “I was just thinking the same thing about you, Papa.”

“Well, let’s get started on enjoying each other then, si?”

“Si— oh, Papa!”

He was attacking me with his mouth, surging forward to lick up along my seam and to jut his chin forward, delving his tongue inside. It felt so nice, warm and forceful, and I would have been much too sensitive for it if I wasn’t so wound up already. My hips were bucking up, but he had slid his hands up underneath my ass and around to hold them, to hold me down for his carnal feast. 

Papa may have been enjoying me, but I could not believe how good his mouth felt on my cunt. A warm tingly pleasure was rising, stoked deep inside by his wet tongue exploring my most intimate areas, and when he started to circle and suck my clit in a kind of rhythm the jolts of delight this afforded me made me gasp out. 

“That’s so good! I…” Coherent thought escaped me. “Oh, Papa… fuck…”

Hums of pleasure rumbled into my pussy as Copia revelled in my wetness, the taste of me. After a bit of his perfect pleasuring, cruelly, he told me so. “Bellissima… Sorella,” he broke away to say, face darkened with lust, “Your pretty little pussy, so fucking sweet, Satanas…” He began to tease me with only the tip of his tongue now, as if he fretted about missing any drop of the sweetness he was coaxing out from my slit. Gradually he applied more blessed pleasure, his tongue igniting ecstasies I didn’t even know I had down there. 

His words were thrilling me, but I wanted him to keep going, don’t stop, please don’t stop, keep going Papa that feels so good so good so fucking good I’m so close I’m… My fingertips reaching down to brush against his gorgeous locks, I almost pulled him closer in my desperation, but Copia grinned up at me quickly and went right back to it, seeming pleased at the way he was keeping me tottering there just beyond all sense. He licked and lathed his tongue against me with a lazy indulgence, holding me at a simmering torture until he went back to my clit at just the right pace, as if he had been taking his time, enjoying what he did to me, and learning what I needed best to be thrown right over the edge. 

When I finally felt that racing thrill begin inside, my thighs tightened against his ears, and I almost kicked out, my heels coming to rest upon his bare back as I twitched and convulsed up against his face. My nails were digging into the skin just underneath his gloves, my hands holding on to his wrists for dear life as I bucked up and moaned aloud, and he didn’t stop, continuing to eat me out ravenously as if he could taste my orgasm, and couldn’t get enough. I felt like I could hardly breathe.

“Fuck, Papa,” I cried when I was able, my eyes on the edge of tearing up. 

“Mmmm…” Copia licked up my twitching cunt and gazed down upon me with pride, his paint ruined. “Oh yes, my sweet Sorella, we’ll do that next…”

“Fuck,” was all I could barely repeat, like an idiot, out of breath and wanting him more than ever. I reached down for him. 

Copia’s body surged up and over me, on all fours, but instead of giving me his cock he gave me his fingers, two I was pretty sure. Gloved fingers, smooth and warm, sliding slow and exploratory into my dripping wet cunt. If I had been moaning before, now I made sounds much more urgent, the feeling all alight around my pussy walls still tingling, incredible. 

“Papa!” I cried out, writhing beneath him.

“Papa needs to make sure you’re nice and ready…” Copia huffed out, circling gently, and stroking deep in my pussy, curling his smooth leathered digits up, “Nice and ready for me, eh?”

“Fuck I am ready,” I pleaded with him, “Please please fuck me, Papa… Please I need it…”

He needed it too; I could see his cock hanging flushed and heavy, precum almost dripping from the darkened tip. I was clenching around his fingers, and he groaned. I could make him feel so good, I knew it, he just had to make me take his cock; I wanted him so badly I could scream.

Only when he judged me sufficiently wound up did he position me the way he wanted, supine underneath him with my knees apart, and he brought the head of his cock to my weeping cunt, sliding up and down my seam slowly just to tease. Copia really was a devil; he had a dark mischief inside him he loved to let out to play sometimes. I could see why his lovers went so crazy over him. 

But Papa’s most veritable calling was to love tenderly. “Come here,” he said, softly, reaching up to stroke the sweaty strands of hair out of my face, and keeping his hand there, cradling me nice and firm. His thumb wandered over to my lips and I could smell the leather; I moved and bit the tip a little, heavy-lidded, stifling the gasps I knew were coming as I could feel him begin to finally push inside me below. 

My eyes widened; I was glad he’d taken the time to warm me up because Lucifer in hell, he was large and oh so hard… I felt like I could barely take it.

“Are you okay?” Copia asked me, his brow sweating off the paint he had remaining. I think he was only halfway inside, and my leg twitched against his waist as he pushed in a little deeper, unable to help himself. 

“Yes, Papa!” I told him in a hushed whisper, the stretch of him divine, “Oh, yes… don’t stop… fuck…”

“La mia dolce, cara, Sorella…” he was murmuring, sliding inside my tightness, his face a lined and messy vision of pure delight. I felt that wonderfully conflicting feeling of need and completeness deep inside, and I saw him look down to watch my pussy take all of him in as I hitched my hips up feebly to meet him.

There was nothing in the world quite like this, to have him inside me. “Do you… Do you like my pussy, Papa?” I managed to gasp out.

“Fuck, yes… dolcezza…” Copia choked out, already starting to pull back, “You’re so tight, am I hurting you? Satanas…” He hissed out his pleasure and I saw his eyes roll back a little before he focused down on my face, his odd eyes searching mine in some concern.

Reaching up to smooth his eye paint into the darling crow’s feet he had there, I met his gaze and marvelled. “No, it feels so good, I… I want you to fuck me, don’t stop, Papa… please…”

Papa didn’t stop, sliding his cock back inside me, aided so by my wetness and making me moan out loud at the incredible pressure. I watched him bite his own lip to stifle himself, paying close attention to my body as he held me, stroke by stroke, like I was the most precious thing. When he saw me press my head back on the mattress, becoming delirious with pleasure, he smiled, becoming more relaxed himself, and gave me a thrust to make me grip onto him harder. 

“Yes Papa! That’s so fucking good…”

Copia hooked his hand underneath my knee and opened my thigh up further, thrusting a little deeper into my pussy, and he settled more atop me, kissing and licking all over my décolletage, before bringing his head up to murmur low and sweet into my ear. 

“I like it when you call me that, fuck! Eh, ahh… Papa,” he told me, “I like it when you call me Papa…”

“You are Papa,” I said, and he snorted into my neck mid-thrust.

“You are delightful, Sorella,” he said, “Bellissima… ugh, fuck… I think I am going to be fucking you a lot, eh?” Copia was pumping his cock into me in the best way, warm and hard and steady. “If you’ll have me?” he continued, leaning down to pant against my cheek as he thrust.

“Yes, Papa, please!” Every drive of his cock hit those parts inside me to make me shiver, and the brief absence of him with each pass made me yearn for it again and again and again. “Ugh, I need you, you fuck me so good!”

He really was. Copia knew what he was doing, and he fucked me ecstatically now in a perfect rhythm of lust, his hips snapping against the backs of my thighs to make the bed shake. I took his cock again and again, scratching my nails along his shoulders and letting his tongue into my mouth when he sought my lips to kiss me sloppily. Our bodies were beginning to work up a sweat, joined so carnally in our mutual pleasure, and I couldn’t get enough of him.

“You can fuck me whenever you want,” I purred up to him wickedly, “you’re Papa here… I’m here for your pleasure…”

Copia groaned, approaching the throes of that exact pleasure, but he slowed down, seemingly trying to focus again. “That’s true, isn’t it, Sorella?” I saw his lip curl into a mischievous grin. “What is it that all Papas may say, ah?”

“What?” I whisper-gasped, my eyes shut tight, overwhelmed by his cock, the feel of his gloves on me.

“I, ahh… ahh… I brought you into this institution, yes?” Copia gave me one jolting thrust to make me squeak underneath him and then he was fucking me, so fucking good, but his thrusts were becoming more erratic as he seemed to try and focus on his thoughts for a moment, “and I can take you out, so…” Another sweet thrust… He was speaking to me in a mock tone of gruff authority, and I lost it at his silliness even as I felt our mutual pleasure rising.

I laughed out loud, trapped so underneath him, and he joined me in sweet laughter himself, continuing to fuck me as he hung his head down into my shoulder with a grunt. 

“Shut up, Papa,” I giggled through a moan, “Oh, just shut up… and fuck me…” I ran my fingers up through his hair, getting it more and more disheveled with the sweat beginning to run off the back of his neck, between his shoulder blades, down his spine. He smelled so fucking good on top of me, the weight of him addicting, and I never wanted this to end. “I’ll never come home late again, I promise… If you just keep fucking me…”

But I could sense my poor sweet Papa approaching his end, and I wanted him to feel so fucking good, let everything go and achieve the sweetest release possible. 

“Fuck me, Papa, really fuck me… fill me up…”

Copia held me close, thrusting faster and harder for a minute as he groaned into my flushed skin, and then he reared back, his dark gaze piercing into me with pure desire as he began to fuck me hard, holding me down so I couldn’t writhe away from his thrusts, my body jostling, the heat of his body and his lust palpable in the scant air between us.

I opened my legs further for him, taking his cock to the point of pain so he could get his fill of me. “Good girl,” he huffed under his breath, and I could almost come again just from that.

He’d never looked better than this, I thought in awe, chasing his own pleasure and using my poor pussy to do so. Copia drove his cock into my cunt like he just couldn’t help himself near the end, and then he finally came, choking out a shout before he collapsed on top of me, muttering what I guessed was filthy Italian into my hair.  I could feel his thick cock throbbing deep inside as he ground his hips into me, pulsing out his spend to fill me completely up, and I clenched my thighs and my pussy around him in delight, holding him tightly as he trembled in my arms.

I felt him come down from his high, breathing heavy. “Satanas, Sorella… that was…”

“Good?” I giggled.

“So fucking good, you’re going to kill your poor old Papa…”

I only hummed wickedly, but soon I was making louder noises. Copia had pushed himself up, still deep within my cunt, and he was dragging his gloved hand down my body, getting a few gropes in before settling his fingers on my clit. His cum was already leaking out of me, the slickness only aiding in that ecstatic circling sensation to drive me wild.

“That’s it, my good girl,” I heard him purr, “Come for Papa… si…”

I was so close already from our fucking that it didn’t take long; I came hard again with cries of pleasure as he hissed in triumph, sliding his spent cock out of me in satisfaction.

“I mean it, Papa,” I managed to say after, “I am never coming home late again.”

Copia flopped down beside me and gathered me to him, sighing out in his exhaustion. “My dear Sorella…”

My mussed up head on his shoulder, I nestled in close, breathing in his scent and wrapping my free arm around him. He felt so warm, his heartbeat only beginning to slow, and I watched his gorgeous face rest, his smudged eyes closing in bliss. My body was covered in smears of his paint, especially my lower half, mixing now with cooling sweat and the sticky remnants of him still seeping out. 

After a moment, Copia sought my hand upon him with his gloved one, and brought it up to his lips. “You know, amore,” he murmured between soft kisses to my knuckles, “I cannot stop you from doing as you please… but maybe…” Copia turned over on his side to look down into my face, earnestly, still playing with my hand. “Maybe you’ll allow me to accompany you next time? When you stay out much too late?”

“I’d like that, Papa.” Disentangling from his fingers, I reached up to guide his chin down so he could kiss me on my lips again, and he lingered there for a sweet while, only breaking away to say one thing more.

“And then, I promise, dolcezza… I will spank you.”

[melodiesofmidnight]

One of the most frustrating things about film adaptations of Stephen King's Carrie is the repeated omission of one primary feature of her appearance: her weight. She is not thin; she has bad skin, greasy hair, and frumpy clothing. However, upon the night of her prom, she is able to transform herself into someone considered to be attractive: whilst still being fat.

By continually casting thin, beautiful women in the role of Carrie, the films 1) imply that fat women cannot believably have Cinderella moments without shedding any pounds and 2) remove one of the most crucial aspects of the story: audience introspection.

The films do not force us to recognise and challenge our biases. We do not see ourselves in the bullies, who are humans, for better or worse -- as represented best by Sue Snell and Chris Hargensen. We do not see ourselves as being capable of what these teenagers did to Carrie, because their insults seem comedic and far-fetched to us, parody beyond relatability: Sissy Spacek and Chloe Grace Moretz do not elicit any implicit revulsion in us. They are thin, and beautiful, and the bullies' motivations in harassing them are outlandish and superficial beyond empathy.

However, if Carrie were to be kept fat, the audience would finally be forced to look inward and to recognise the ugliness in themselves that is instilled by societal norms. Instinctually, society rejects fat, unattractive women. Carrie, were she to remain as she was in the book, would elicit the same reaction from general audiences as she does from her classmates at school.

No longer would people be able to distance themselves from their own disdain for women and girls like Carrie by sitting safely behind the absurdity that is an attractive female lead being ridiculed for their appearance. They too would exist as Miss Desjardin did in the novel: sympathetic, pitying, but ultimately put off by Carrie, solely because she does not fit the requirements of modern, aesthetic womanhood.

People would finally be forced to reconcile that with themselves. How much more resonant would Carrie's retribution be if audiences finally felt the full impact of its being directed at themselves just as much as it is directed toward the ill-fated prom attendees? How important of a discussion could it have inspired even back in the 70s?

Even still, Hollywood is too scared to fully sit audiences before a mirror. Even still, we are unable to accept the lessons a novel like Carrie offers without having its protagonist altered nearly beyond recognition. How long will it be before we are able to portray the tragedy of Carrie with all of its nuances intact? How long before we are able to feel the sting of injustice just as sharply when a protagonist is fat as we do when a pretty and thin protagonist is injured?

I'm still waiting for the Carrie modern audiences need to see.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

v. five: lonely in your company

the young silva did not expect this at all. yes, lady whistledown wrote about quite a lengthy chat that the viscountess silva had with a certain son of the renowned pathologist, sir astley cooper, yesterday. but, for the rest of the gentlemen to flock her now? she was aghast.

while we have so far seen how she loves being in the bridgertons' companies and how she openly enjoy the things she finds fun, it is also as open she shows her distaste to the rest of the population—probably better that we haven't seen that part yet.

"i heard you like chocolates, lady silva."

"i believe we share the same interest in mechanical science."

"we have quite the collection of guns ourselves, my lady."

"a convention in astronomy is happening in the near future. if i may be so bold to have your presence when the time comes?"

honestly, she liked the last offer—had the man been fifteen years younger. it would have not mattered to her though, if only it was benedict.

the men continued to force their offers on her face. a man pulls another to the back to have his turn. a man pushed his bouquet forward. a man yelled his offer from the back. a man—

"excuse me, gentlemen. may i have a moment with the lady?"

a woman's voice stood out from the clamor, causing the men to turn and giving a space for her to take a hold of the younger one.

the ladies did not wait for the men's responses as they easily linked arms and walked away. although they could not do anything seeing as causing a scene in the queen's presence is not to everyone's benefit, they did groaned and cursed that a viscountess got away from their grasps.

"i cannot thank you enough for that, lady arnold."

loraine spoke gratefulness, her mood still marred from the encounter.

"you know there is no need for that. you act like we do not know each other." the widowed woman warmly smiled at her as she gave a squeeze on the silva's shoulder.

"i am simply grateful," she insisted, followed by a scoff, "i talk to another man and the rest of them think they could."

lady arnold chuckled at her stubborness, "i see, you still have not stopped using your father to fend off possible suitors?"

"i fend them off with anything i can. a gun, if i must."

the older woman said an immediate shush as if on reflex, something akin to a fear of being heard about using guns on suitors—although she herself would love to do so, "do you carry?"

"oh, no. the regular size is too heavy and bulky to conceal in a dress." raine said with clear annoyance that she could not carry one conveniently, "i am currently working on a smaller one."

do note that she already finished one.

at the mention of her creating a smaller version just simply because she would like to hide one made her look staggered at the young one, "and yet, you refuse to join the discussion inside."

lady silva moaned in displeasure, "i already went in. all he talks about is the principle of circular motion."

while interesting at first read, it gets boring mean you have understood it. the concept itself is significant, no doubt, in explaining various natural as well as mechanical sciences. however, she simply did not feel up to it today.

"that and i hate balloons."

lady arnold laughed at her honesty, bidding farewell to her as she continues to the dome. raine walks by herself, trying to find the bridgertons. while she did have other friends, she was not as keen to spend time with them as she did with the said family.

and so, she strolled until she found something interesting. eloise, cressida, and penelope; all surrounding the poor man.

"what do we have here?" she mouthed to eloise from the side of lord debling and penelope.

as the bridgerton girl shrugged and gestured nothing to her, the rest of the group noticed her arrival.

"ah, lady silva." the man greeted with a hidden familiarity.

"lord debling." raine tightly smiled at him in return.

miss cowper turned to the young girl, "loraine, you are an enjoyer of science just like lord debling, are you not?"

"oh, cressida," she began with a chuckle. she does not mean any offense to her though. while the said woman was indeed quite ill-natured, so was she. therefore, she is not one to judge the other, "you would be surprised by the amount of different sciences there are."

lord debling turned back to the cowper, "we do not share the same interest."

"we despise each other." raine nodded to that reassuringly, causing the man to look at her with seriousness.

"i do not despise you."

"your loss," the young silva shrugged with a hint of jest, "i despise you."

"such a strong word, my lady."

"i am petty like that." she giggled, lightly tapping the arm of the man in a friendly manner as she continued.

"do continue your conversation. i apologise for the intrusion."

raine stepped back with a smile and neared eloise, "where is your brother?"

"i did not see him. i thought he is with you?" she asked back, trying to look around herself too to catch a glimpse of her brother.

good thing she was looking around though because she had enough time to grab the other girl by the hand as the extraordinary balloon started to fly their way.

penelope, however, was stunned on their place. lord debling did not think twice to cover the girl for safety. while they did not agree with the science, she would give him points for that act.

raine turned to the men pulling the balloon, seeing colin upfront. such a personality he is embracing now, she thought. another bridgerton stole her attention though, because just meters away, benedict can be seen rubbing his palms as if in pain from pulling the ties.

she turned to eloise to bid farewell, thinking to go to him. however, as she turned back to where he was, he was now rushing to walk away.

her confusion was interrupted when cressida suddenly yelped in pain. catching on to her hidden agenda, raine rolled her eyes.

"ugh, i really hate balloons."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

after the incident, they all went home, likely to also prepare for the ball this evening. she went with the bridgertons to their home, not wanting to disturb her father for whatever work he's doing again.

the girl grumbled as she laid down on their couch, completely not listening to whatever conversation the family was having. everyone was doing something—gregory and hyacinth eating biscuits and quarreling, francesca playing the piano, colin reading and benedict sketching, and violet and eloise talking.

raine groaned once again before speaking on her own, "my father is so busy. it is almost like he is not here at all."

she continued to stare at the ceiling, only looking at the family after a prolonged silence of whatever they were doing. lady bridgerton was staring at her lovingly as eloise added, "and when he is away, you keep on saying you want him to go home already."

raine feigned ignorance to what she said, acting like she did not say that at all—which she did say, by the way, quite a lot too.

"ben," she called for the man across who seems to be ignoring the entire happenings in the drawing room.

"hmm," he replied with a hum, intent on his sketch.

"will you marry me so that someone will be with me when father leaves again?" she said as she sit up about to go to him.

"no," he replied, looking up from the pad and to her briefly before standing up himself, "i will be painting in my room."

he turned away after bidding farewell to everyone, the sound of his footsteps slowly fading. violet and eloise turned to raine after that, confusion clear on their faces as if asking what happened.

honestly, she is asking the same thing.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

her second ball—to be honest, balls are not as fun as the ton made it out to be. with the exception of what seems to be a men's club inside, there is nothing much in it.

"the surgeon from yesterday said he will be writing you a letter." she turned to see astley cooper, looking more dashing in a ball's fit, and still lacking greetings.

she smiled at what he said, "are they really going to study my suggestion?"

"of course, your points were quite strong. why do you seem to be doubting yourself now?"

she shrugged as she placed her glass down, "i was brazen yesterday. i am not feeling like it now."

letting out a sigh, she lifted her glass again and took quite a sip with a new resolution, "well, they better do because i have already boasted to my father that i made an expert pause and think about my ideas."

he chuckled at her changing moods in just five seconds, "oh, he shall prepare to be more proud then."

"lady silva, may i have this dance?" she turned to her right, only to see the brother of who she's waiting for.

"anthony, i told you. i am not going to dance with you first."

the viscount stood straight again, slowly retracting his hand, "you have not danced yet tonight?"

she let out a small groan at the reminder, "should i have?"

he chuckled, crossing his arms as if in deep thinking before chuckling again, "you are so obsessed with him. it is just a dance. he was already your first ever dance."

raine stopped the glass she was about to drink midway. she narrowed her eyes pointedly to the older man, the latter rolling his eyes, "okay, fine."

"viscountess silva, you are needed." a footman called for the lady, gaining the attention of the pair. his voice carried seriousness, yet that is not enough to reveal what it could be about. they all spoke monotonously during working hours.

she tapped anthony's arm before walking across the room, swiftly dodging the ton.

"lady silva."

a soldier strictly acknowledged the young lady. the man was sweating considerably as he pulled a letter from his pocket. he passed it to the girl in front of him without any word.

as raine took hold of the letter, small red stains are noticeable as well as the lack of seal. she opened to see the contents of it written in a hasty manner. her eyes flew from word to word, line to line. the lack of greetings, the lack of complimentary close.

she was not sure if this was done in jest—she would like it to be. however, upon observing the man in front of her now, his hand is visibly shaking. and so, she shut her eyes closed, crumbling part of the paper on her grip.

"name?"

"morgan," he answered with no mention of his rank. perhaps, this is his way of being sympathetic to the silva in front of him. perhaps, offering himself as a fellow person rather than a soldier would offer comfort.

"tell me where they are, morgan." she stared directly in his eyes, voice now void of the festivities behind her.

"i cannot tell."

"oh, you surely can." her volume starting to increase, sarcasm, anger, fear, and grief mixed.

"my lady, i am under strict command to not tell you their whereabouts." he did not break his eye contact, believing it as a form of respect to the girl.

she stepped forward, grasping her concealed small gun inside her dress out as she start to scream, "tell me or i will—"

"raine," a man grabbed her, pushing the gun down before anyone can wander their eyes on it. he swiftly took and pocketed it on his own. he turned to the young one, putting both palms on her cheek as if to call for her, "raine."

anthony crossed the hall as fast as he could after noticing her crumbling the paper, excusing himself from mr. cooper who conversed with him after she left. he was not the best man when it comes to emotion, but he knows anger like an old friend. and raine? she was rarely angry. she despises everything on a daily basis, but never with rage. and so, he knew something was wrong—very wrong.

he looked at her directly in the eyes, seemingly finding her behind it as he whispered, "there is a lot of people present. the ton is here."

"i do not give a hell about them. where is my father?!" he pushed the viscount away, freeing from his grasp but he reached again instantly, as if knowing how to deal with her already.

"darling, do not yell," he spoke in the same warm voice, "what happened?"

"papa has been shot," her voice broke upon saying it out aloud, just as her tears from her eyes, "in the shoulder and chest!"

raine nearly dropped down, if anthony did not pull her to him in time. although they were outside, the ball is still quite crowded. they could not let this go out. they could not let people see and know of this.

"i—" the viscount could not find the right words to say at the moment, he himself now feeling the panic akin to what he has experienced before.

sergeant morgan informed them of raphael's orders, him being the second-in-command of the currently incapacitated general, "colonel montague has ordered to have you stay in the ball. this is surrounded by our men, and the people responsible are less likely to attack a crowded event."

anthony nodded to acknowledge what the soldier said as raine is starting to lose herself, muttering on her own, "papa was shot."

while the general has certainly been shot before, this is possibly the most fatal. raphael knew that the girl would prefer the exact information, even in grievous situations. she hates when people feel the need to protect her from the truth.

and so, that is what the colonel wrote. he mentioned his state in all its actuality. general has been shot four times, once in the shoulder and thrice on the chest, sternum to left. he is bleeding heavily and is currently unconscious. we will be going on another quarters. i ask you stay at the ball. after, be with major thorpe at all times.

she pushed the viscount once again and turned back to the ball inside, "le—leave me be."

before anthony could take a hold of her, she already has entered inside. forcing to assist the girl would only raise suspicions now. she walked slowly, eyes darting from point to point as if looking for something. good thing it is a ball, and people will brush off her actions as a bit intoxicated—which could not be farther from the truth.

"where's...." she whispered to herself, not knowing that she is saying it out aloud, "where is... benedict?"

raine turned and turned, left and right, but she could not find even his shadow in the dance floor or within the hall. so, she continued to walk aimlessly, only to find who she's looking for at the bottom of the stairs, with a familiar lady conversing with him from a few steps higher. her mind was wandering. she did not understand a thing anymore.

"i need to go," she muttered to no one in particular, turning to a corner where a staircase leading to another wing can be seen.

she gripped the bannister, anthony in tow, seeing his wife in conversation with his mother. he gestured for kate to come to them, offering a smile to not raise worry before disappearing from view.

raine continues to find her way to the balcony, breaths already starting to be more noticeably heavy. fortunately, the place was vacated with no other person in sight. she dragged her feet and found comfort on the corner between the wall and a balustrade, sitting down with her knees on her chest.

"an—anthony," she began after a few gasps of air, the said man leaning closer as he crouched in front of her too.

"papa... papa was shot." the young girl reiterated in disbelief and grief. she left first for the ball as armand told his daughter he had some things to work for a bit with raphael. they were supposed to arrive late in the ball.

they were supposed to arrive on the ball.

he continues to comfort her, saying that her father's going to be well. he is a general, after all. the viscountess bridgerton reaches them with a smile, but it is immediately changed with a confuse and worried one when she sees what's happening.

anthony turned to her in a rushed manner, "kate, get my brother."

she knew better than to ask why. kate has always been a smart woman. she does not know, but she understands. and so, she nodded at him and turned on her heel in a hurry.

"you... will not find him. he—he is..." the girl whimpered. she cannot even see anything, her eyes blurried intensely as she fights to hold on to herself, "with lady..."

anthony caressed her hair before leaning his forehead to hers, speaking with the smallest and most serene voice he could, "shh, it's okay, raine. i am here. you can do—"

there were so many things happening all at once. she could not focus. she could not hold on to this for any longer.

"an..." she began, her words dying in the middle as she gasps and gasps, "tony...? i cannot... i cannot hear."

the fear started to settle in more to her. she cannot even hear her own voice. she hears nothing but the beat of her heart, irregularly fast.

she fumbled, trying to find his hands, and as soon as she did, raine squeezed it tightly.

"tony, i'm..."

she does not even know if she was able to say the following words. she has thought of it before, but more strongly now. she is thinking of it now, and she hopes that the thought counts.

"i need him."

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks

[shinyzango]

So, 2025...

Now that we're officially in 2025, and I finally recovered from the new year allnighter so I can finally reason, let's finally talk about personal objectives for the year.

2025 is going to be... a busy year for me. I got many plans on the line that I am going to hopefully achieve by the end of the year.

First of all, the biggest most important thing is that starting from this year, I'm officially a Freelancer Artist. Yes until now I've kept doing it as a side thing, but seeing how things are going, I'm going to see how it'll work out. While the prospect of fully center my job around art is rather intimidating to me, I really cannot think of any other job I can undertake as a primary income source. I will make this work. In prospect of this, things are most likely to change a bit commissions wise as I will have to adapt elements (such as prices and request form) in order to fit better with this. I apologize if this will make it harder for folks to buy something for me, but it is a necessary change. But on the other side, I do want to push myself out there and start actually leaving a mark. I want to be seen, to join projects and help bringing them to life. It's time I get out of my shell for good.

Another objective for the year, as I mentioned before, is to officially start putting down "The Last Nutcracker". I think I waited long enough and I can't keep hold it back further. When I will start, that I cannot say for certain. But it is going to happen.

Then, I want to stream more. Both Art and Games. I want to hang out and have fun, share my experiences with everyone. I have a long list of games I want to stream as I mentioned before (with even more games than what I did list as I slowly remembered more games I want to play), and I want to get around to play through them. Have a proper stream setup and all.

What else... well, there are smaller personal objectives, such as get the driving license for cars, learn japanese, find a physical activity that I enjoy doing in order to get back in shape, meeting up with my irl friends more often, rent a table at a comic convention at least once...

and definitely more objectives that my brain is most likely forgetting about at the moment.

This is going to be a busy year. But it is going to be THE year. A year of changes. Of improvement. I will make sure of it.

And I wish it will be the same for everyone else. I know we're currently in a period where a lot of shit is happening and everything looks bleak, but it's important to remember that even if the world is shit, we can still work to make our lives that more enjoyable for ourselves. It all starts with us.

We can do it.

Happy New Year, folks. Let's fuckin rock this year.

[14dyh]

#18!! I just wanna make hange jealous/be jealous

Replacement | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Hange seems to love it when you style your hair a certain way. Content Warning: slow-burn - happy beginning, things fall apart, angst, jealousy, lots of mentions of pikuhan (because they were ex lovers on this one), doubts and insecurities, reader is mentioned as kinda feminine Word count: 3.2k A/N: sorry this took so long. it was a bit slow but i hope you'll like it, anon :)

It has been a month of exchanging letters with Hange, and a few minutes of waiting for their arrival in the dock when you spotted their figure on the ship. The bluish sky seemed to brighten as the ship drew closer, your eyes brimming with joy at once when Hange came running to you once the ship landed.

Family, lovers, and friends await, the waiting area almost filled in groups of twos or threes but all seemed to blur out once Hange filled your vision, hands around your waist as they happily twirled you around. You smile into their neck, your fingers finding their way back to the soft brown hair you longed to touch.

Hange nestled their head onto your body, their grip unrelenting as they inhaled the familiar flowery scent from your perfume that always makes them smile.  "I missed you, sweetheart," they smiled against your ear.

As you walked hand in hand towards the awaiting train, you expected the heliotropes they brought out of their coat, the never-ending stories of fascinating things they encountered from their trip, and most of all the photographs and souvenirs they bought for you. But they showed you something that sent your senses frozen in both disbelief and overjoy. They fished out a small velvet box from their pocket, one that reminded you of the curtains and sheets you share at home. Your mind cannot fathom how your early morning on the train could start with a marriage proposal and an engagement ring on your finger but your thoughts failed to speak as you caught Hange by surprise through a tight embrace, whispering a small "yes, I'll marry you" on their coat before soaking it with your tears.

-

"Don't cry anymore, sweetheart," Hange chuckled, kissing the last few tears from your cheeks before the train stopped. "I don't like making my future bride cry, you know that."

A smile etched on your lips as you depart the train. You longed for this usual banter, their laughs, the way their eyes smile whenever they face you. Not long ago, these images plagued your dreams in a rosy film, wishing every waking for your dreams to be true. Maybe have a life where Hange doesn't have to be away from you for so long, a less demanding job perhaps? You wonder if a sudden shift would occur once you're married.

Rows of greenery grew near the embankment, the water rippling gently along the wind as you walked hand in hand. A short walk full of promises, and excited glimpses at what the future could be.

"After our wedding, maybe I'll take a week or month off from work," they would say, hand around yours. "I'll spend time making you happy. In many aspects. Would you like that, dear?"

You knew with half of your heart that they were trying to cheer you up, their fulfilling presence healing the time lost. Hange knew you enjoyed lounging at home, tending on the expanse of your garden. It felt like a perfect view, you and the flowers around you. Simple and tender, reminding Hange to purchase a camera once they returned to Marley to capture such moments.

Later that day Hange received an invitation letter. It was a simple party in the headquarters to welcome them back, along with the new Marleyan visitors.

"It wasn't such a big party, we can style ourselves then." Hange placed the invitation at the bedside table, gaze lingering on yours as you gently comb your hair.

"Say, sweetheart. Remember the way you styled your hair the last time? I think it looks beautiful on you."

Your mind recalled the way you styled your hair to their wishes. Your hands went to part your locks, fingers remembering how that style frames your face and a gentle ponytail hung on your back.

Hange's eyes smiled at you, walking over to place a kiss on your head.

"You're beautiful, Y/N," Hange whispered. Their every adoration sounded like sweet music, serenading your heart. A mellow wind blowing any doubt that would linger in your heart. They're right. You're beautiful in this hairstyle, Hange always shows you with how whenever their slender hands slip under your hair to cup your face in a loving kiss. One that sends you out of oblivion and illuminates everything.

Hange spent the night with their arms wrapped around you, their every kiss and praise sending a jolt through your skin. They would occasionally Twirl your locks around their fingers, eyes in deep rapture just by gazing at you. Their tenderness washed your worries ashore. Perhaps tomorrow you'd tell your mother about your marriage, wishing for a positive response despite knowing that you'll only come to hear a skeptical one. After all, you've only known the Commander for a few months. Tracing back your memory, has it even been eight months? You wondered. But as Hange muttered a final good night against your cheek, you were slowly rocked into slumber, dreaming of all the flowers you could place on your hair for tomorrow's party.

-

There was a single box that Hange refused to sort out or throw away. It wasn't taking up much space but you've always wondered if you could place it elsewhere if they wouldn't sort it out. As you pry the box open for a peek, you half wish this doesn't contain anything poisonous or preserved animals in jars. When the flap opened, you were greeted with a stack of envelopes, papers with their familiar handwriting, and most of all the fragrance of scented papers. You couldn't help but flip through the letters. For sure, they weren't old Survey Corps reports so you decided to look more closely and read.

Words of adoration, of longing, of intense feelings in the neat curls of Hange's handwriting. Your heart would have throbbed in happiness if it weren't for the dedication that wasn't for you.

To my beloved Pieck,

Your eyes read through, traveling around the very few photographs attached to the letters. There was Hange, smiling with a happy glint in their eyes as they held a woman with a familiar face. Of course, you know her, you might not have known her fully but you've seen her face several times. You always remarked them to be soft ones that fit her face perfectly.

It has been more than a year since Pieck and Hange broke up. It was peaceful departing from each other, you never heard a terrible word about her from Hange or their friends. If not, you heard how much Hange loved her.

You felt terrible for the tears welling in your eyes, of the heaviness weighing your heart whenever you looked at Hange's delighted smile frozen in the photograph. You wondered if you've made Hange smile in such a way if their eyes ever sparkled with just the thought of you. Looking at it for longer only creates a crevice within your heart, one that is enough to let doubtful thoughts in. You were about to seal away this box of memories once more when your eyes caught upon something. You briefly gazed at your reflection and back to the photographs Hange and Pieck shared. For a brief moment, you tried to deny it but your eyes couldn't help but gaze at how Pieck's hair frames her face, a ponytail tied low on her back.  Her usual style ever since she met Hange, but the way it mirrors the way your hair currently looked pricked your heart where it doesn't feel right.

The way your hair was tied looked very similar to hers and it almost appeared like you copied her. You loosened a few strands, tucking or siding it differently in an attempt to rid of the image. However, your little fussing stopped abruptly as you heard Hange's footsteps near the room.

"You getting ready for the party, sweetheart?" they asked casually, opening their cabinet to choose from the suits they picked earlier. "D'you think a red tie would look good on me?"

Their lighthearted tone only indicated that they didn't notice you hastily shoving the box back to its original position.  "I think it looks good on you, Hans," you remarked before standing up to smoothen your clothes.

They turned to you with a smile, running a hand through your hair in a way that the strands fell over to their original style despite your attempts to change it. "Get ready now, Y/N. I'll be waiting outside the bedroom."

-

Momentarily, you were snatched away from the terrible thoughts plaguing your mind. Hange's eyes remained on yours, never failing to tell you how beautiful you looked in that party. You stand out in a way, they said. Maybe it was the quaint old-fashioned dress, or the soft flowers adorned in your hair. However, you couldn't help but feel like everyone looked a different shade of elegant, synchronised almost as you called it.

You shared drinks with Hange, found new acquaintances, and were congratulated by Hange's friends for the upcoming marriage. Those were enough distractions to stray your mind away from the hairstyle you kept to please Hange or the way your eyes caught Hange greeting Pieck who arrived at the party. Sure, it was just a friendly greeting, nothing should be sour between them since they parted ways on good terms. But for a brief moment, you remembered the glint in their eye from the photograph kept in their box. Their smiling eye that sparkles.

It didn't help that when you fully turned in Pieck's direction, her hair was styled the same as yours, except for the flowers adorned in your head. You nibbled on your lip as you tried to avert your gaze, focusing on the swirling drink at hand or how cold the room was. Realizing you were in no position to protest or feel bad only weighed the situation. This was her hairstyle first. Hange was hers first.

You set the drink down quite loudly as if the sound would scare your thoughts away. You tried to depart from your seat but decided against it. However, you knew you were bound to converse with people eventually. Otherwise, you wouldn't have found yourself facing Pieck at one point in the evening.

"You look beautiful, Y/N," she praised you. You only gave her a soft smile in return even if your mind protested and desperately wished she hadn't said a thing.

-

The terrible dam you tried your best to keep broke within a nudge, like wounds stitched healed being delicately sliced open once more. You've doubted yourself enough the moment Hange slipped that ring on your finger. It felt like a hasty marriage, an opportunity for things to go awry from one simple mistake. You never thought you deserved to be a part of this marriage but you shoved the many possible hindrances at the back of your head when you happily agreed to it.

And even if you think that you never deserved Hange's love, you vowed to spend more than half of your life trying to deserve it. If that's how it should be, then so be it.

In selfish terms, it had to be you. You had to be the one they chose to keep their heart. Their choice was very evident with the ring on your finger and yet... you couldn't help but trace back to the love they shared with Pieck more than a year ago. Haven't they lasted a few years together before breaking up?

Such love couldn't rot in over a year, such deep roots couldn't be unearthed by a new love shared just because you came.

The box was there for a reason. Hange could never throw out their memories, no. Not entirely.

This is one of the things your mind could understand but your heart wouldn't.

Hange didn't like how silent you were on the ride back home, always looking out the window and never facing them. Your silence and the heaviness within disturbed them, but Hange sensed your fragility in those minutes. That perhaps touching you would shatter you into a million pieces.

You excused yourself to the bathroom as soon as you stepped out of the vehicle, the hair on your face getting disheveled by the second. Your anger within had no place but yourself. You couldn't be angry with Pieck when she's been kind the whole time, and you couldn't find yourself angrily accusing Hange of purposely making you style your hair like their ex-lover would when you were never sure if they did.

Before you knew it, your hands found the scissors lying near the sink. Your hands snipped away the hair framing your face, silent tears pouring out of your eyes as your gaze fell down the uneven clippings and severed petals littered across the sink.

The clippings felt like a sinister offering traded for peace. Maybe cutting it off was the only way to get rid of the image prompting those terrible thoughts. 

She looks perfectly elegant, jeweled simply, and you're a woman with no rank in the military and flowers tucked in her hair. Pathetic.

Your fists clenched the sink once again, struggling to pull yourself from the deep pit being created beneath your feet. Vines seemed to grow below the ground, pulling and ushering you in wicked silence to give in. Give in.

“Y/N.”

You partly registered how the door opened and how Hange’s arm wrapped around you in protection, the phantom vines dying right at their touch. Hange held you as they knew it was the only way to keep you from falling apart. You were a dejected being, a mess of some kind in the mirror. All of a sudden, your hair doesn’t seem to be that soft or your dress to be that pretty. You sobbed on Hange’s chest, burying your face in their coat the way you did yesterday at their proposal.

Hange ran a finger on your hair trimmed haphazardly, brushing away the rest of the flowers strangled by the strands. 

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Their eyes fell on the clippings on the floor, and the abandoned scissors on the sink. “Why did you do this?”

I don’t want to feel like a replacement anymore, you wanted to sob out. I don’t want you to remember her when you look at me. 

“Do you want to marry me to forget her?” The question slipped from your mouth even before you could stop yourself. 

“What…?” Hange muttered, the realization only beginning to sink in when they ran a hand through your hair, provoking a sense of familiarity. Hange understood by now who you meant.

“It’s just that… I’m having my doubts, Hange,” you said slowly, trying not to break into a pitiful voice. “Our marriage, and the box you kept under the bed… I know I sound ridiculous but… I want to hear it from you.”

Your eyes finally dared to meet theirs as you spoke, “Why do you even want to marry me?”

It was Hange’s turn to trace back into a phantom calendar in their head. It has been several months since you went out together and for half of those months, Hange has always intended to give that ring to you. Always in their pocket even a month before they went for the trip, waiting for the right opportunity until it presented itself yesterday. Hange feared your rejection. After all, it has only been months but… Hange have their own reasons.

Hange began to stroke your hair, slipping their fingers now and then to smooth out the tangles as they spoke.

“I thought maybe we still got to spend a few more months, hell, even years to know each other but... Y/N, you know I'm getting older, and time, well... time has been getting rougher. It was never kind to me... to us. I barely see you when work demands it. And I... I didn't even expect you would be happy to marry me.” A soft smile etched their lips at the memory of yesterday that brought relief in their heart.

"Y/N, it would break my heart if you misunderstood my intentions so let me clear it up this time. I'm not marrying you to get over Pieck or to secure a marriage so you won't leave me... It's just... I've never been so sure about anything in my life but this... "

Hange pressed a kiss on your forehead, their own tears teetering at the edge of their eye.

"I don't know what the future holds for me. And part of me doesn't even want to know because it terrifies me sometimes.

"We live in such a dangerous world. From my line of work, it's easy to anger people and have them take me out instead of resorting to peace. You see, Y/N... I just want to make sure... Make sure that I did something from my heart. Something I would never regret. "

A smile lifted in their lips despite their tears, and inner sorrow by the reality you both live in. You wanted to curse yourself for thinking that you both have all the time in the world. It was a wishful dream that only hurt you in the end. Your chest throbbed from the strained sobs erupting within you but Hange managed to calm you little by little by rubbing your back.

"People think that I understand things enough to have everything under control but I'm... I'm also full of uncertainties. I don't even know if half of the decisions I've made in my life were right,” they continued.

Hange circled a thumb over your hand, the other grazing the beading tears in your cheeks.

"So I'm giving myself this chance to act upon one thing I'm certain about." Hange's lips met your forehead once more, the tears from their cheek brushing against yours as they held you tight. "And that decision is marrying you, Y/N..."

You wanted to thank them for many things, for driving away all the worries nestled in your heart, for being someone to cry on, and for all the trust they placed on you the moment they vowed their heart and life to you. 

"I love you, Hange…” 

I’m sorry.

They chuckled, a soft one coming from their chest as they kept holding you. It amused them that a month ago, they would only hear your i love you's in their head as they read them from the letters you exchanged with each other. It always sounded better coming from your mouth.

"I love you too, Y/N,” Hange smiled. “From that day I saw a few daisies tucked in your hair, I knew I'd give you a ring someday..."

"But that's our first date, isn't it?" you asked.

"Oh, I know," they laughed softly. "I remember that day like a photograph."

Often, living in a cruel world seemed like a life carved out of pain and infinite regrets, brought by never-ending doubts born from such a distrustful world. But with Hange’s every touch, and every word laced with love, the dreadful pit making a home through the atrocities within yourself gradually vanished, smothered by the affection Hange gives.

You sat by the garden where the heliotropes Hange knew you loved grew. They carefully trim your uneven hair the way one trims a plant during growing seasons. Your kiss of gratitude brought a smile to their lips as they ran a hand over your hair once more. They think of you whenever blossoming heliotropes face the sun.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N.”

[maryaandmorevna]

A Song of Swan and Dragons V.

Read on ao3

Summary: Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep. No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen. If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

Chapters: 5/? (59, 462k)

Warnings: safe for now, canon-typical sexism, the story will get progressively darker and will include explicit content, canon character death(s), dubcon, noncon, it's war folks

Tagging my dear @lacebvnny, hope you like it! Also, my dear beta @kyonkyon69!!!

I., II., III., IV.

V. Tōma

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.”

—William Shakespeare

(Aemond)

.

Aemond was irked.

He clicked his jaw, following the glaringly pink fabric of Lady Swann's skirts and the crimson end of the girdle trailing along them as she disappeared between the courtiers. Who did the little courtesan think she was?

He cared not for her terrible company!

Aemond was rather attempting to excuse himself as well – his impeccable breeding and station all but forced him to continue conversing with her ladyship – so she did not have to invent an entire little charade to escape him.

There was no doubt in his mind that she understood how the taxation system worked — and that she might have been the only fool to read through Tyland's verbose and entirely tedious treatise.

Why would she waste time on matters of coin? Any Lord worth his salt had a steward to manage accounts and allocate resources. Did she fancy herself a Florence Fossoway?

Aemond scowled.

It was his day that was ruined!

He traced the ornately decorated pommel of his sword. It felt jarringly different than the silken warmth of Arianne Swann's skin.

Targaryen prince groaned and continued on his way. He passed the Grand Hall and went to Holdfast. This was merely a delay. He hated delays.

Of course, he had not meant to seize her wrist, it was —

Simply a momentary lapse of judgment.

His blood was incited from sparring all day.

Well, it was her fault. Infuriating wench, testing his patience and good graces.

He happened upon her as he strode to his chambers for a fresh change of clothes after the morning drills in the training yard.

It had been a fairly lucrative morning, though the squires who served as his opponents could not say the same. Not when he had a point to drive home.

Aemond tried to focus on perfecting his techniques, as Cole advised, but the moment he saw those mongrels of his whore-sister, his muscles ticked. Jace and Luke kept to themselves, testing various swords and chatting with knights who were either unaware or cared not, that they were in fact bastards stealing Aemond's birthright.

Aegon's birthright. The One-eyed prince had to remind himself. But by extension, his as well.

At least the younger Lord Strong, a filthy craven, had not dared to stare at him directly. Mayhaps he remembered, Aemond thought while shoving Cole's squire violently to the ground, that he owed him a debt. 

A debt of blood that should be repaid in kind.

His useless father, The King, had not even deemed it fit to punish Luke for maiming his son.

"I cannot grow him another eye."

"No," Aemond recalled screaming and weeping while the maester cut his stitches.

"But you could have made it fair. An eye for an eye."

They were observing him, and it only fed Aemond's rage like a fattened lamb.

The squire yielded and the crowd gathered around him cheered.

"My Prince, shall we practice your parrying?" Criston Cole helped the man off the ground.

"Against me, for their sake."

Aemond took the offered shield, fixing his stance. He preferred facing Cole above all, as the man kept him on his toes, leaving no time to ruminate on veritable stupidities — like how Lady Swann's waist had fit so perfectly between his hands.

The way a rogue curl escaped her braided chignon, grazing the soft curve of her neck.

"It is merely practice." Criston paused after taking the blow from Aemond's vehement riposte.

"What weighs on your mind?"

He lowered his sword.

Aemond held his answer at bay — his sharp eye flicking toward Lucerys Velaryon, who was fruitlessly attempting to knock a weapon out of his brother's hand.

The older bastard at least knew how to fight properly.

What little challenge would it be to duel the bastard who took his eye! He could settle his grievance with one strike of his blade to the bastard's neck.

Alas, his mother had her own designs that required restraint.

"They will not be here for long."

Aemond stared at Cole, his silvery eyebrow twitching. He loathed not being privy to everything discussed behind the council chamber's double doors.

"Mother decided to welcome Vaemond Velaryon. He will petition for Driftmark's seat. Successfully."

Ser Criston fixed his padded gambeson, unwilling to commit to words.

His subdued reaction only confirmed it to Aemond — the theory that had crawled through his gritted teeth was indeed correct.

Their parrying continued, though the One-eyed Prince's thoughts veered like a warhorse.

What happy occurrence in this blighted world would it be — the bastards being stripped of the things they unlawfully seized as theirs and Rhaenyra shown for what she truly was. An old whore hiding on Dragonstone, where the Realm cannot witness her depravity.

Aegon's birthright would be restored. A bitter reminder flitted through his mind — Aegon would not even care. Just as he did not care when he shamed Helaena with his revels and his whores.

"Her Grace, the Queen will be fair in her judgment. As will your grandsire." Cole concurred.

Certainly, they will. The corner of Aemond's shapely mouth twisted. Depending on the number of Lords they might alienate.

He raised his shield high to defend against the blow. Cole made a quick turn and struck again, from the left — almost forcing him off balance.

The One-eyed prince cursed and repositioned himself.

It would serve that proud wench right if his nephew's true parentage were discussed publicly.

He cleared the sweat from his forehead.

A bastard and whore's granddaughter. What a lovely pair.

Aemond blocked Criston's diagonal strike and huffed.

What did he care about what happened to Saera's granddaughter? Her insult from last night was dealt with — his blood burned while he lectured the custodian to keep better watch over rare tomes — and he resolved not to spare a thought on her anymore.

She was nothing.

A hayseed from the Marches.

Once Criston concluded they were done for today, Aemond's left arm trembled from holding a heavy shield steady under hundreds of blows.

He went to the armory to clean his blade until he could discern his visage in the polished metal.

His fingers hovered over the scar that split his right cheek in two. The deep red gash tugged at his attention, the rough ridge of it an ever-present reminder of that night.

He often envisioned himself doling out justice for his mauling, his fingers bloody from tearing the disgusting bastard's eye out.

Fair.

He could gift it to his mother, a payment for her suffering long overdue.

She had wept over his loss, his disfigurement.

She had raged and raged but to no avail. His eye was gone and no one answered for it.

Alicent Hightower was not of the blood of the dragon and so Aemond could not blame her for failing to realize the sacrifice was worth it.

Vhagar was worth an eye, an arm, a leg — anything to him.

"You are still my handsome boy, Aemond. My loyal child."

She had cradled his face in her warm hands, her thumbs gliding softly over his cheeks.

"You are my son, the king's trueborn son. A scar does not change this." Her touch lingered at his temple, her thumb brushing over his brow in gentle strokes.

Aemond buried his face into his mother's shoulder — careful to avoid pressing against the wound, still oozing through the bandages — and inhaled the myrrh and rose her hair was perfumed with.

How much he adored the comfort of those thick, curling strands.

When he was a babe, he would tug at the ringlets, watching them spring back into place.

"An eye will not change this."

Alicent had promised, fingers pressing into his shoulders, grounding him.

"When the time comes for marriage, you will not lack for prospects. This changes nothing—"  She shook him lightly as if she somehow knew Aegon had taunted him that he was now frightening maidens with his face. Aemond wanted to tell her that he cared not because it meant he frightened their enemies too.

"You will have the loveliest lady at court, if you wish it." The Queen promised.

"They will see me cold in my grave before I let them diminish you."

Aemond pulled away slightly, frowning.

"What does that matter?" he asked quietly.

"I will wed as is my duty. I care not whom."

His chest ached as he witnessed the unadulterated pride brimming in his mother's eyes.

Yet now, years later, he tried to ignore the most rotten of thoughts. It could be this — this defect, this ugliness—that had kept lady Arianne from accepting his invitation.

The eyepatch hugging the contours of his face hid the worst of it.

He scowled at himself.

This was imbecilic.

 After all, he was a man, not some fragile creature to be undone by a mark.

Not to mention, Aemond did notice the occasional lady casting bashful glances his way, batting their eyelashes —  and, if they managed to exchange words, flattering his Valyrian looks and his skill with the sword.

It was the Targaryen Prince himself who ensured their aspirations advanced no further.

He would be damned by the Seven before allowing some vapid, sycophantic harlot to elevate herself at his expense.

It was past midday meal when he departed the training grounds, climbing stone steps and passing several spacious hallways on his way to the Holdfast.

It was rather happenstance that he decided to take a shortcut through one of the inner courtyards.

How could the gods force him to suffer her presence after the humiliation she had caused him?

Arianne Swann stumbled upon his path serendipitously because he was determined to avoid her and waste no thought on her after last night.

She was crying.

Red-faced and trembling, she was rushing along the colonnade, the hem of her pink woolen dress swishing frantically around her ankles.

Aemond found himself leaning against the cool marble pillar, his pale eye taking in the way her luxuriant curls tumbled in disarray, glinting like auburn embers under the shifting light.

The longest strands reached her svelte waist, adorned with a ruby-red silk girdle, the color of flame and fire.

Its sheen was as bold as blood, sashaying down her skirts.

When he saw her trip over her own feet, Aemond could not stop himself. His throat moved before reason could restrain him.

She was amusingly furious. Did she think he would deny it?

He wanted her to know. To understand that no one could slight him and walk away unscathed.

Least of all, a mere woman of no consequence.

She pointed her dainty finger at him, as though she had a right to demand anything of him, her sovereign — and Aemond's blood sang.

It surged through his veins, like molten fire, an intoxicating rush that dried his mouth. His good sense was affected by something primal, something he couldn’t name, coiling deep in his chest like a serpent.

Arianne Swann was a slight, delicate thing, with dark long lashes and a heart-shaped mouth — an infuriatingly insolent mouth.

What admirable mettle, to insult him to his face.

“Malevolent arse!” she hissed, venom dripping from every syllable. He couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was her grandmother's blood that burned so hotly within her. So alike his own.

He resolved to have this matter finished after last night — after making sure she paid for her transgression of refusing his generous offer — and here she was again, forcing the most distasteful thoughts to occupy his mind.

Aemond had more important matters to deal with than this unwelcome fancy. Finding a way to gouge the bastard's eye out without angering his mother, for starters.

He did not need this courtesan diverting his attention from enemies that were now occupying half the Holdfast.

A beguiling little spitfire pretending to be an innocent swan.

He was being sent to hell, in High-Valyrian no less. A tongue that, for him, was as familiar as his own breath.

She had formed the sentence correctly, yet her accent was downright atrocious.

Aemond’s lips curved faintly at the sound despite himself.

He knew he should have chastised her for it, but at that moment, his afflicted reason found her strange pronunciation oddly endearing— unpolished and wild, like a hatchling flailing through its first flight.

Something febrile and voracious twisted in his chest when Arianne, emboldened by her not-so-righteous fury, invaded his space. He could not be the only one afflicted by this unreasonable pull. Why else would she dare tread so close?

One-eyed Prince felt the heat of her proximity, the fierce determination in her eyes, and it ignited something far darker within him.

He wanted to bed her.

Even worse, he desired to listen to her harangue about the Siege of Norvos and discover a new expletive she would bestow him with after, inevitably, he corrected her flawed understanding of archaic High Valyrian.

His hand twitched at his side, every muscle in his body demanding action, and before he could think, his arm shot out to capture hers.

His fingers closed around her delicate wrist, more carefully than he cared to admit.

Arianne Swann was just a woman, and he did not think he could derive pleasure from injuring one of her kind.

He was no Aegon.

The sudden contact was like a shock of cold fire, setting his skin alight.

She prattled about Iron Islands as if she did not understand what he implied less civilized men would take from her.

Was she so sheltered as to not understand that if men like himself did not keep order her life would have been miserable?

Aemond released her, irked that he was spurred into such an undignified reaction.

She ought to be thanking him, a trueborn Targaryen prince, rather than antagonizing him — his family was the protector of the Realm.

Rather than provoking him with that Lyseni-looking silk accentuating her waist.

Aemond examined the offensive fabric, sliding his thumb over its texture.

Blood was everything to Valyrians, and blood was red, ruby-red, and scorching.

Did she know? There should have been copies on Dragonstone, but with her lack of High-Valyrian...

He knew though.

Aemond pored over a multitude of scrolls pertaining to the Freehold. Some were brought by Aenar himself when he came to Dragonstone.

Before the doom, crimson girdles were bestowed by the Archon of Oros, a dragonlord from one of the twoscore ruling families, to his favorite wife — or his most prized concubine.

The girdle was a symbol of devotion, a mark of the highest favor, worn to signify one’s status as the most cherished of all.

It spread to Lys over time.

What business did it have draped around Arianne Swann's waist?

She was a nobody. She could not have known —

His lip curled with distaste, though his pulse quickened.

Did his bastard nephew know this? Was it a token of affection? Pathetic, really —

It was a flash of caustic spite that brought the insult — a Lyseni courtesan — to his throat, shoving it through his vocal cords.

Aemond saw the way her hand tightened, the flush painting her cheeks.

She was rattled, he could tell.

Would her cheeks color further, he wondered — the thought came with an almost shocking intensity — if he were to unwrap that silk from her waist, to feel its smoothness slip through his fingers, to see it fall away from her body, revealing what lay beneath.

No —

The sheer stupidity of lust astounded him.

Yet, as his disciplined reason rejected further musing on claiming Lady Arianne as his mistress, his blood thrummed at the thought.

The image of her, unwrapped, lying bare and pliant, seared through his thoughts with an unsettling fervor.

The One-eyed Prince didn’t want to allow her this leverage. To grant her residence inside his thoughts would be akin to a defeat.

He barely knew her — except that she had fun while playing cyvasse, and that she read Gawen, Gawen for fuck's sake, one of his favorite accounts on the Conqueror's reign, and thought a hundred dragons descending on Quarlon was worth losing sleep over.

He barely knew her and his instincts demanded he shove a dagger through the side of Tyland Lannister's neck.

She feigned ignorance, but he was not so naive as to believe she could pore over a scroll detailing the benefits of seigniorage while failing to understand taxation.

Aemond's jaw clicked.

Did she play the simple, devoted maiden for his nephew too? That would explain why the gossipers simpered how lovely a couple they made.

The One-eyed Prince stomped to the Queen's apartments.

Couldn't she have pretended simple for him too? That way he wouldn't have spared another thought for her. The Court was full of simpletons, some of them women, and he never felt anything but disdain for them.

"Prince Aemond, Your Grace."

The Kingsguard announced him before he entered the Queen's drawing room.

"Aemond." Alicent rose to her feet from where she sat, discussing matters with the Hand. The rich emerald folds of her gown shimmered with gold-threaded embroidery, tracing delicate patterns of fiddlehead ferns spiraling down the long, draping sleeves.

Her hands squeezed at his forearms gently, yet Aemond felt their reassurance nonetheless.

"Mother."

His tone softened.

"Grandsire," Aemond greeted, nodding toward the tall, commanding figure reclining on the chaise.

"Where is your brother?" Otto Hightower inquired, his voice measured but edged with expectation.

Drinking himself half to death, or dirtying the sheets of some whore.

"I reckon you know it better than I do." The Prince declared levelly.

Aegon was predictable if anything.

He would disappear for days at a time, and then re-emerge — filthy, hungover, his coin purse emptied. They should have never made his sweet sister marry the moron.

Alicent shook her head. After a pause, she turned to him once again.

"We will hold the petition over Driftmark's inheritance. One moon from now—"

"I know," Aemond interjected. "You were not going to let this opportunity slip when Vaemond Velaryon himself presented it."

The Queen's face bloomed with quiet worry, subtle yet unmistakable.

"While those people are here, you must look after Aegon. If he were to be discredited in any way —"

"I always do," Aemond replied, his voice even as a wave of bitterness lapped at his innards. He would, of course, ever the wastrel's loyal shadow.

The dutiful soldier.

Protecting his brother was a burden as constant as it was unwelcome. If only they could see that Aegon would never change, that he would have been a much better fit —

"Go on then, grandson." Otto dismissed him. "We have more matters to discuss."

Aemond's nostrils flared.

"What about the Strongs? Their very presence defiles the Keep. Rhaenyra flaunts them openly as if daring us to speak the truth!" He sneered.

"They ought to be thrown into the Blackwater Bay."

Alicent shook her head.

The One-eyed Prince was irked by their restraint. Lucerys Velaryon, the bastard who owed him a debt, was here. When will the debt be paid?

"You will do no such thing." The Hand's tone turned sharp, brooking no argument.

"This is not the time for rashness, boy."

"Aemond understands that." his mother interjected gently — her fingers brushing lightly against her son's upper arm in a fleeting, grounding touch.

"He has never faltered in his duties to the family and the crown."

The praise washed over the One-eyed Prince like a warm bath — stirring some desperate yearning he could never quite silence.

Aemond blinked.

The warmth evaporated when his gaze returned to his grandsire, made cold by the bitter truth. No amount of loyalty or sacrifice would change his place with Aegon.

"Nor will he." Otto set the goblet on the small table.

"Borros Baratheon is yet to have a male heir. Jason Lannister has five unwed daughters. Your hand, boy, might just become a very valuable tool in winning those to our side."

Aemond opened his mouth, but no words came. A tight pull settled beneath his ribs, uncomfortable and unyielding, as though something ancient within him bristled at the thought.

Vhagar was awake.

"Mother. Grandsire."

He inclined his head stiffly, excusing himself from the room.

Servants bowed low as he strode past, their eyes carefully averted. A familiar throbbing in his left temple only infuriated him more.

Marry Borros Baratheon's daughter!? Solely so a son he sires upon her can be named as an heir to Storm's End — not even to carry a Targaryen name. 

His firstborn son, continuing a legacy not his own!

The indignity gnawed at the inside of his skull.

He, a trueborn prince of the valyrian blood, condemned to live as a mere consort, awaiting the day their son would come of age to wield authority?

It punctured a wound in his pride so deep he shook from it.

The pain behind his left eye socket intensified.

Aemond did not even particularly wish to be married — not to some stranger, some lady fearful of his scar or too awed by his prestige. He already despised this unknown woman simply because he would have to bother with her feminine sensibilities.

Besides, who would look after Mother and Helaena if he were to be sent away to play husband to some frigid wench?

Who else would protect them? Aegon?

When he reached his chambers, he yanked off his boots with swift, irritated motions.

The bed dipped beneath his weight as he sank onto it.

For a brief moment, Aemond's sore muscles flooded with a rare, primal contentment.

Vhagar must have been devouring something to her liking — he felt the sharp pull of her voraciousness through their bond.

A living, undulating line beginning somewhere in the pool of his consciousness, puncturing through the back of his skull, and ending beneath the emerald scales.

Vhagar was his, the only creature who had ever truly recognized his worth, his grasping blood. A dragon had chosen him, after years of mockery and humiliation.

And not just any dragon — Visenya’s pride and joy, a beast unlike any other, fiercer and mightier than all her living kin.

He had been prepared to face death that windy night on Driftmark — to face her fire and ruin and be torn asunder by it, when she closed her gargantuan maws and allowed him to climb onto the saddle.

Vhagar claimed him, just as he claimed her.

Another wave of pain blossomed behind his temple, searing and relentless, crawling down his cheekbone like molten iron. His eye socket throbbed, rebelling against the cold touch of the jewel lodged within.

Aemond could practically hear her roaring from a shared ache.

With a weary sigh, he reached up and removed the eyepatch, setting it aside.

What use would siring sons even serve? For them to watch their birthright stolen by a whore of his sister and her bastards.

Aemond's jaw tightened at the thought, bile picking at his insides.

His thoughts flitted to Arianne Swann. To her green eyes and ruby-red silk hugging her svelte waist.

He shook his head sharply, as though the motion could banish the image.

For a while, he thought of nothing, following the pulsating pain in his left temple.

Those first weeks after the injury were nothing short of a nightmare — the gaping hole had to be cleaned constantly, and there was only so much milk of the poppy a boy of ten and two could take.

Three grown men had to hold him down as the Grand Maester scraped and scoured the raw flesh.

Helaena would bring him strawberries and fruit tarts after, and even Aegon could not find anything to laugh about for a few hours.

The first time they tried to fit the gemstone into the healed wound, Aemond shrieked so loudly that his agony echoed all the way down to the black cells beneath the Keep.

Missing straw dummies with a sword and being told it is what it is, boy, you've lost an eye was worse than the pain.

Aemond could not accept that.

A man who rode the largest dragon in the world could not be a weakling.

Day after day, he escaped to the training yard, despite his mother's protests. Even if it meant he now found himself worse than Aegon and his lickspittles — the young squires who fawned over his brother and followed his every word.

He snuck out even after the evening meals to the gardens of the West Wing, face still wrapped to keep his wound safe from the dirt, a cloak over his hair — probably the single useful thing Aegon ever taught him.

There, far from the laughter of the other boys and his mother's worried gaze, he practiced striking the tree bark, undisturbed, as the West Wing was mainly used to host visiting lords who had business with the Crown.

One time some sniveling girl-child almost ruined his little scheme. Her dress was black— some childish frock— and her hair bound in a net. At first, Aemond thought she might be a novice of the Faith.

Annoying as she was, asking him if he was crying — "I am not crying, you stupid toad! Leave me alone!" — she did give him his lucky handkerchief.

It was a rather ridiculous notion, as he did not believe in such things.

Yet, the day after he hit the straw dummy three times in a row, and the Grand Maester finally concluded the cleanings, torments were no longer required.

So he kept the stupid handkerchief, carrying it with him until he became someone who needed not something as fickle as a stroke of luck to beat anyone.

Aemond groaned at the insistent throbbing now circling his entire head.

It flared less these days, his eye socket adjusting to the pressure of a cold, smooth jewel pressed against its flesh at last.

But it was rather stubborn tonight.

Trickling down his cheekbone and denying him rest.

Aemond wasted the night chasing sleep, limbs tangled in sheets.

Thoughts blurred into fragments — he felt the icy sting of air as he soared leagues above the earth, the cold bite of a blade slicing across his cheek, the unyielding weight of a sword in his grip, the fragility of a wrist caught between his fingertips, the heady rush of victory, and the clout of vēzos rhaenisar.

Rest eluded him, slipping further from his grasp with every passing moment.

By the hour of the wolf, his frustration spilled over like a roaring volcano.

He shoved the sheets to the floor and rose from the bed, bare feet striking the cold stone.

He had not touched the milk of the poppy in months, priding himself on withstanding pain without it — but it seemed now he would have to, lest the first light find him tired and haunted.

Only half a cup. No more than once per moon. Never more than half a cup.

Only the weak —

One day, he would collect his debt.

The One-eyed Prince succumbed to rest and woke in time for sword practice. Though without memory of the strange, disjointed poppy-induced dreams.

Lady Arianne crying because her crimson girdle does not fit.

Her belly swollen with a child.

Bastard's bastard.

A malformed little wyvern.

Bastard's bastard's bastard's —

The child has silver hair.

The noose tightens—around Aegon's neck. Around Helaena's neck. Around his mother's neck.

His—

Dark Sister is crimson with his family's blood. He is better, better —

Daemon lies dead with Aemond's sword in his throat.

He is plucking Lucerys Velaryon's eye out. It rests in his palm, slimy and round.

Arianne Swann tells him to go to Seven Hells.

Tells him the child is his.

Tells him he looks handsome with the iron and ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror resting upon his head.

And then, with inexplicable certainty, he is wrapping a silken girdle around her waist, as red as blood coursing relentlessly through their veins.

.

.

.

(Arianne)

.

' Dearest father, I have some news —'

Arianne stared at the parchment for some time before deciding to crumple it and add it to a growing pile of discarded letters.

'My beloved papa, some unsavory development —'

'—Please do consider that I am the one who is informing you.'

" I cannot tell him! Or Mother!" She crowed in frustration. The first light meant she would have to leave her chambers soon.

What awaited her was a daunting list of duties to be performed impeccably.

Arianne could not afford any mistakes after yesterday.

She would prove to Rhaenyra that she was the best possible daughter-in-law she could have asked for. If only keeping away from Jace were that easy.

What was she supposed to tell him? Who was she supposed to attend banquets with? Some other man?

Her father's letter was curt and lacked instructions on how she should proceed regarding possible betrothal. Donnel Swann was clearly occupied with something. Arianne just wished he had told her what it was.

"I swear it is only vile slander." She muttered, dipping her quill into the ink.

"I should write that in the letter."

Miriam clicked her tongue.

She was busy braiding her lady's hair into a simple, long plait.

"You did have the book you were not supposed to have here."

Arianne huffed.

"I did not steal it! That evil...bothersome Aemond lied!" Her voice soared into a grating shriek. Arianne tossed the quill, crafted from a goose feather, and clamped the ink pot shut.

She needed to replace her quill, it was getting rather dull.

She had one made of swan feather but loathed to put it to use, as quills of swan feathers were the best and sought-after by scribes for their durability and fine tips. Stonehelm boasted no less than ten lakes on its lands, making it one of the only areas in the Red Watch — and the entire Stormlands — fit for the large bird on the Coat of Arms of her house.

The Slayne rushed nearby — violent and so very wide — towards the Sea of Dorne.

Arianne would sometimes fall asleep to the clashing sounds of the river's gurgle and the storm-carried waves crashing against the stony shoreline.

She had not realized how much she missed the simplicity of her home.

"I've heard that name a dozen times since yesterday." Miriam interrupted her musings with an exasperated sigh.

"And you will hear it more!" Arianne hissed. "How have I offended the Gods for them to send me that...that Stygai demon to humiliate me! Princess Rhaenyra now holds me to be a corrupting influence upon Jace!"

Aemond.

Gods, what an annoying twat with an annoying name. Self-important, duplicitous slanderer!

"Who is he again to Prince Jacaerys?" Her maid stroked her chin questioningly.

"These Targaryens have strange family trees—"

"An Uncle."

The curt reply caused Miriam's countenance to settle into puzzlement.

"Ought you not be on good terms with him then?"

Arianne glared at her.

She wanted to inform her father of other things, though. Her conversation with Ser Tyland Lannister proved most enlightening. The ideas he peddled in his treatise had merit in her opinion.

Arianne knew Lord Donnel would certainly dismiss her taxation proposals for their vassals — he preferred things to be done as they always had been.

Undeterred, she reopened her ink pot and set to writing her musings.

We could implement a variable tax rate— adjust it depending on the harvest yield — to ease the burden on the smallfolk in lean years and collect surplus revenue in good ones. That surplus, in turn, could be reinvested...in our case constructing irrigation channels to draw water from the Slayne and boost the fertility of our rather poor fields.

Arianne frowned as she considered the idea—it sounded like something a mad maester might propose.

Levies were fixed obligations, the dues a vassal owed his liege in exchange for protection and governance. They were not meant to fluctuate with a vassal's own fortunes.

A droplet of ink fell from the tip of her feather, slowly spreading across parchment like a shadow.

But easing the burden in lean years would be beneficial because...taxing already burdened smallfolk would only strip them of the meager resources they need to secure food and invest in their own productivity. A hungry man only obeys one lord, his stomach. It could incite riots.

She could discuss this with Jace at least, he would not call her mad or deem her presumptuous. And perhaps, comforting as it was, she was not the only one inspired by Tyland's treatise.

One day, when she becomes Queen — If, Arianne, it is very uncertain if — she will fight tirelessly to implement laws and reforms that will benefit the Realm.

"You should eat." Miriam plopped onto her bed, rubbing her eyes.

Arianne folded the parchment, deciding to finish the letter in the evening, and grabbed a few bites of cheese and freshly baked bread.

She spent the morning debating about silk quality with Lady Celtigar. In the end, they came to an accord — Princess Rhaenyra needed both the purple and the blue. Her dresses should be the richest in the realm. A message must be sent.

Arianne had not seen Jace since yesterday. Since her princess told her, her son was fond of her.

It was a problem, apparently.

"She will be my betrothed."

As soon as her heart leaped with girlish hope, the dim, harsh, unforgiving voice of the future queen quashed it down.

"Dragon's blood runs hot — do not encourage him. His heart belongs to the Seven Kingdoms."

Arianne pursed her lips.

The Seven Kingdoms could not love him back as she could.

And her heart was capable of loving both him and the land, she was sure of it.

They had not done anything uncouth, and she firmly believed she was not encouraging him to disregard his duties.

Besides, if their betrothal happened, would it not be preferable that they were fond of each other?

Arianne moved through the hallway quickly, her thoughts consumed with a thousand things at once. Well, she did have to figure out solutions to more than a few problems.

First, her image among the courtiers. Yesterday's lapse could not be allowed to happen again. She will heed Rhaena's advice to the best of her ability. In the future, they will know her for herself, not for things she could neither choose nor have any control over.

There, somewhere, far from the shadow of Saera Targaryen's legacy looming over her, far from the dreadful reality of some unnamed, boring, ugly husband, there existed an idyllic life by Jace's side.

Arianne saw herself, sitting in a dress of rich, dark brocade embroidered with both swans and dragons — surrounded by a coterie of lords and ladies while they discussed matters of governance.

One day, she would fill the Keep with maesters, philosophers, and esteemed septons.

With the Queen's authority, she could invite Selyssa Morrane  — a renowned woman philosopher from Braavos known for her argument that the rigid, singular conception of self is the root of suffering — to enrich the halcyon courtly life Arianne envisioned.

She waited outside the library for the younger princes.

It reminded her of the second problem, the book problem.

It seemed that, for now, her misfortune with The Fires of the Freehold was not a subject of gossip — and for a few who had asked her, she feigned shock and mortification. " 'How could I have ever gotten my hands on a tome of such rarity, my lady Broome? I would not understand anything!' "

Yet it was not what weighed on her mind.

It was the third problem. Rhaenyra's approval.

Was it truly so damning that Jace might feel something for her — a twinkle of something she dared not name, lest she commit a sin of desire.

Yes, a voice as austere as her mother’s whispered in the back of her mind. It would be damning if the Crown Princess intended to wed you to Prince Joffrey once he came of age instead.

The Seven would not look kindly upon a woman who longed for one brother while being bound to another.

The songs never ended well for those caught between kin.

A midday meal had already passed when she made her way to the Royal Sept.

Arianne crossed the yard, gathering her unembellished skirts so as to not dirty the hem.

She opted for a modest attire of dark grey — the same woolen frock she arrived in.

The Sept was a circular structure, situated near the stables, but towering over them.

It was larger than the one in Stonehelm, with high windows and twelve rows of benches for worshippers to pray and contemplate on the Seven's mercy.

She lit a candle at the Mother's altar, praying for her family —  guard them while they journeyed on the Kingsroad, shield them from bandits and other unsavory folk.

Arianne glanced up at the high-vaulted ceiling, wondering if some of the mercy could fall on her before she stood up.

Next to the marble altar of the Mother was the Father's statue. She watched as the flame flickered on a newly lit candle, before lowering herself to her knees.

Arianne prayed he judged her justly, for she was no thief.

She prayed he judged Aemond Targaryen for telling lies. For accusing her of...gallivanting around the Keep. 

He unfairly labeled her a hussy!

Arianne mentioned all the insults he so cruelly spat at her to the Father Above, including mocking her dress, saying it was not decent (it was!), and comparing her to a strawberry tart. How rude!

She blinked several times before glancing up at the tall, marble statue.

Judge us all justly, Father Above, and punish his rotten, hideous heart!

She could still feel the weight of the One-eyed Prince's attention, pressing against her spine like an overly-tight girdle.

What satisfaction had it given him to meddle in her affairs? To make her stand before Rhaenyra like a common thief and bear witness to her princess' disapproval?

Arianne realized she would constantly have to be wary of Rhaenyra’s caution — it tightened like an iron chain about her neck. Would she ever be allowed the honor of Jace escorting her to feasts again?

'I do not wish to marry some other lord. I want to marry Jace.'

Praying to the Crone was a fleeting rite. She merely begged for wisdom, since her usual route to solving problems was barred to her here. Arianne had ever sought solace in the library’s tomes, where the wit of greater minds offered practical solutions to most things.

 She lit another candle and placed it among the melting wax underneath the Maiden's feet.

'It is your day soon, Fair Maiden. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon is dear to my heart. But if that is too presumptuous of me... if he is not to be mine, grant me a husband worthy of reverence....who is not too old, who is diligent in his studies, and sharp of mind. Please, not a simpleton like Bryen Caron.'

Arianne swallowed.

'Please, Fair Maiden. A husband whose loyalty would not falter with shifting winds. Of noble blood and good House. A warrior who faces peril without flinching, for what good is a lord who cannot protect what he loves?'

Her chest rose and fell with a long breath.

Such things mattered to women of the Marches, where steel was as common as a song, and men were measured by their readiness to defend what was theirs.

She bit her lip, hesitant. 'Tall, if it pleases you, Maiden... and not cursed with a face that frightens horses.'

The flicker of a smile tugged at her lips, fleeting as the candlelight.

'Not a boy like Joffrey Velaryon or Eddard Leygood! I do not wish to wait years to be kissed! Oh, Fair Maiden...I would truly need him to command power — if it is not a sin of ambition to seek so — because, well, if he cannot reign in our vassals, they will run as they please and diminish our lands...'

She pouted.

'At least he ought to compel them to heed my counsel and leave governance to me then—  '

"You are new."

The soft breeze of a voice spoke from her left.

Arianne glanced sideways, noticing a young woman kneeling by the statue of the Crone.

"Pardon, my lady." She answered honestly.  "I do not know your name."

The lady offered a small smile. She was clad in a lively green gown bedecked with white embroidery — her hair was a stark contrast, it fell almost to her hips in the darkest shade of brown.

Pearls crowned the top of her head in neat, shimmering rows.

"Elisa Stokeworth."

Arianne returned the smile. A white lamb on a green field, holding a golden goblet. She memorized most of the houses and heraldry when her brother had been required to. House Stokeworth had once boasted a Lord Alyn who served both Aegon the Conqueror and his son Aenys as Hand of the King— though she wasn’t sure how many generations had passed since.

"I'm Arianne Swann."

Elisa's large eyes widened.

"You are far from home!" It seemed she knew her houses as well.

"Are Marches as dangerous as they say? Are you here to marry?"

Arianne blinked several times, surprised by the sudden question.

"I would not say so. Our Keep has really thick walls...and watchtowers. The Dornish had not invaded in years. All our men are trained in arms from boyhood."

She glanced up at the Maiden's serene face.

"I suppose I am here for marriage. Are you?"

Elisa smiled, her pale cheeks creasing with dimples.

"Yes, so, I'm praying for my father."

Her father? To the Crone? Arianne’s brows arched.

"That the Crone grants him wisdom in choosing my husband," Elisa explained with a conspiratorial chuckle.

Arianne stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. How did she not think of that?!

"I ought to pray for that as well."

She nodded with wry amusement.

Elisa rose gracefully, smoothing her gown.

"Well met, Lady Arianne. I hope the Crone and the Maiden grant us both good husbands."

"And to you, Lady Stokeworth," Arianne replied, her smile lingering. However, it was not until she left the Sept that she realized she had forgotten to implore the Maiden for a kind husband.

She paused on the threshold, considering whether to return, but ultimately decided against it.

Her father had once told her that kindness did not serve a man well. Enemies would carve it from his bones and wear it as a triumph.

Arianne concluded she could be kind for them both.

The rest of her day was filled with more duties.

She worked through the large pile of letters for Princess Rhaenyra, sorting them into categories of different importance. She read to Prince Viserys and helped him paint the stables of his Dragonstone miniature.

She did not inquire about Jace's whereabouts, and she recited from The Seven-Pointed Star with Lady Massey.

Not even her Septa — a very old and strict woman named Meria, who had been in Stonehelm for as long as Arianne could remember anything — would find fault in her conduct today.

The Maiden's Day was approaching, which meant every maiden would have to light a candle in the Sept and know the correct prayer. The night before a ball would be held and an honorable man would escort each young unwed woman.

Arianne had been hoping Prince Jacaerys would be her escort, but now it seemed that could not be.

Her excitement about it evaporated.

The Maiden's Ball was also a symbolic gathering before the holy day of the Maiden — a day to be spent in quiet contemplation, praying, performing purification rites, and visiting the Sept.

By the time Arianne stepped out of Rhaenyra's drawing room, the weight of her tasks had left her weary and faint with hunger.

She plopped onto her bed onceshe was in her chambers, holding up the parchments Miriam had left on her vanity during the day. A letter from her aunt Johanna, which she was thrilled to read as it had been weeks since Arianne had written to her, and a note rolled up into a tiny scroll.

She twirled the letter in her hand, admiring the pretty seal her aunt had used.

The Black Swan of Lys.

Two black waxen swans, their elegant necks forming a heart.

Arianne unfurled the note first, wondering who'd —

My lady Arianne, will you meet me in the Godswood before supper? Though you have every reason to be mad at me, I am still hoping you will.

- Jace.

She stood up so quickly that the room spun around her.

Arianne tossed Johanna's letter onto the bed to be read later, and frantically tried to neaten her messy braid. Oh, she despaired at the unremarkable gray frock she was wearing.

She did not think she would even see Jace today!

Now there was no time to change into something nicer and to call for Miriam to help her lace the dress.

Arianne sighed, giving up and settling for tying a slender, silver chain around her waist. The links were delicately wrought and adorned with small moonstones.

It took her some time to find the correct way to Godswood. The Keep was still alive with servants rushing around winding passages carved from the ancient red stone.

Once she reached a corridor's end, a grand arched doorway opened into the Godswood.

Arianne halted, breathing in the fresh air of damp earth and wildflowers.

She descended a dozen stone steps when a deep, thunderous bellow, seemingly echoing from leagues away, startled her.

She lifted her gaze to the bleeding sky— though dusk was more breathtaking from Stonehelm’s towers— and beheld a massive, dark shape gliding over the Keep.

A dragon.

With wings so large they momentarily blotted the firmament.

Arianne's mouth fell open, her skin pricking with goosebumps as she followed its eastward flight. 'Is that...Dreamfyre? No...Vhagar?'

Her heart quickened with both wonder and a rush of disbelief.

Living on Dragonstone had numbed her to the regular presence of dragons, and she recalled once witnessing the Old King’s and the Good Queen’s dragons emerging together from their cavern to hunt. Yet this creature was truly behemothic — a vision that made her blink and recall, with a shiver of awe, the gargantuan skull of Balerion that Jace had shown her.

Arianne sighed, willing her legs to move over the soft moss.

She saw a familiar figure pacing under the Wisteria Arbor, his silhouette caressed by the amber glow of the late afternoon sun. The hanging blossoms swayed gently, lilac and violet trembling with each passing breeze.

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to approach her prince.

Her toes curled inside her shoes.

When she read his message, she had come — rushed, even — before her mind could truly grasp the implications of meeting him here. Alone.

It felt... decidedly clandestine.

The note, the secrecy, the defiance.

Arianne tried to ignore the illicit tremor that nestled in her stomach.

Princess Rhaenyra explicitly told her, no — ordered her, to keep her distance from her son. What was this, if not encouragement?

She ought not! Even if it was Jace.

And yet, the forbidden nature of it sent a thrill through her, licking the nape of her neck, trailing down her spine.

Arianne felt her palms grow clammy as she took a few tentative steps.

He turned at the sound of his name, his brown eyes gleaming, warm as melted amber.

"Arianne," Jace murmured, a smile catching at the corner of his mouth.

"You came."

"Did you think I would not?" She asked, puzzled at the relief in his tone. Arianne took in his black tunic, the hint of Velaryon blue embroidered at the cuffs. Jace was taller than her, his shoulders broad, and he appeared every inch the prince he was, both of fire and sea.

"I rather hoped you would." He admitted, raking a hand through his unruly curls before offering her a smile.

They fell into a short silence filled only by the distant rustle of leaves and the faint birdsong above.

Jace cleared his throat and offered his elbow so that they might walk together.

Princess Rhaenyra's warnings aside, her father would have a fit.

It was one thing to traipse the rocky shores of Dragonstone together, when everyone knew when and where they went, but meeting secretly in the Godswood was another matter altogether.

Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped her fingers around his forearm. His sleeve was soft beneath her touch.

Jace let out a breath, so faint she might have imagined it, then covered her hand lightly with his own.

"I am truly sorry about the book." He spoke somberly once they reached the great Weirwood. Its pale, veined trunk was as wide as both of them standing next to each other.

"Arianne, I swear that I did not think you could be blamed —"

"It is not your fault." She interjected, shaking her head. How could he even think she blamed him? It was his abhorrent uncle who ruined everything!

"And you should not have interfered on my behalf."

"Of course, I should have." Jace countered, voice firm.

"But —"

"Do not think about it." He tapped the back of her hand, his touch featherlight. Arianne met his dark-lashed eyes, a glimmer of warmth touching her cheeks. Just as the words of gratitude formed inside her throat, Jace frowned.

"Wait, What did my mother tell you?"

She gulped.

"Nothing really —"

"Arianne." He pressed gently and turned toward her so that she could not evade his gaze.

Lady Swann inhaled before huffing in defeat.

Somehow it did not seem like she should speak with Jace about this.

For the first time in her life, she lamented wasting time sneaking inside her brother's lessons to listen as her father lectured on the logistics of supply lines and the advantages of high ground. What use was knowing the merits of natural chokepoints and the fortifications of Nightsong and Horn Hill, if she did not know how to navigate her way into a prosperous betrothal?

She ought to have asked for a tutor in the art of conversation, like the one Rhaena had — a polished Pentosi who could make her charming and teach her how to sidestep questions like these without truly answering them.

Would Princess Rhaenyra ever forgive her if she found out?

"That I...ought to...keep a proper distance from you," Arianne muttered at last, glancing at the blood-red foliage above their heads.

Jace stilled, before a veritable laughter — boyish, unguarded, and as pretty as silver bells, erupted from his throat.

Her spine tensed.

She had braced herself for disappointment, perhaps even argument...but not this. Her curly-haired Prince was not angry. If anything, he seemed almost amused.

"So, the same thing she told me." Jace chuckled wryly.

"That we are rather close. "

Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Arianne’s breath caught — just slightly — as a strange, fluttering tension settled between them. Was it the weirwood and those strange gods the northerners revered, or the way his earthly brown irises brimmed with something fervent?

Her fingers tightened where they rested against his arm.

"She told you to keep your distance from yourself?" She tilted her chin, tone deceptively light.

Jace rolled his eyes, an impish grin dancing across his face.

He unfastened his cloak, spreading it between the gnarly roots before lowering himself onto it.

Her prince patted the spot beside him in silent invitation. Arianne sensed her lips forming a smile as she gathered her skirts and sank down next to him, the weight of the cloak cushioning her from the cool dampness of the earth.

It wasn't until their shoulders touched that she realized it might have been inappropriate of her. For all the space the great roots commanded, they sat close. Closer than they ought to.

Closer than her septa decreed was scandalous.

Jace exhaled, tilting his head back slightly, his dark curls brushing against the pale bark of the weirwood.

"I will not, though." He murmured. "Stay away from you."

Arianne's throat locked, her cheeks burning. 

Did she hear him right?

The pulse in her veins rushed — his words touching some tender, fragile place beneath her bones.

She found herself unable to react in any other way than to pretend the mossy ground was of particular interest to her.

"Unless...it is what you want, my lady." She heard him say after some time. Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her skirts.

Jace had left her an escape, a polite way out.

I expect you not to encourage him. The words were sensible. Logical. They were the expectations of the world she had been born into. Marriage was a duty, not an idle dream.

Her teeth sank into the tip of her tongue.

The very thing she was ordered to avoid was the one thing she wanted.

"D-do you?" Jace rasped, voice barely above a whisper when she remained quiet.

Arianne lifted her gaze to him, finding something raw in his expression, something earnest.

"I… No—" she faltered, the word sticking to her vocal cords like a caramelized pear.

"But I would not… wish to disobey my princess."

Jace sighed, dragging a hand over his jaw. He momentarily turned his fervent gaze away, staring into the distance as though weighing his next words.

"My mother rather thinks I'm the disobedient one." He shook his head before turning to her.

"Do you know who tattled?"

Arianne blinked, caught off guard.

"N-no." She lied, though with a good reason. If Jace were to argue with Aemond on her behalf, it would only serve as further proof of her troublesome influence. She had little desire to be caught between the tensions of the Targaryen family. Well, at least until she married. Then she will plot Aemond Targaryen's exile.

A shadow slid down Jace's face, his nostrils flaring.

"When I find out, I will make them rue the day they were born."

His voice was measured, but it carried the weight of an oath.

Arianne swallowed the lump in her throat, felt the strain around it. The sheer sincerity in his tone unsettled her. For a moment, she nearly told him the truth — damn the consequences. She wanted Aemond to pay.

Yet before she could muster a proper reply, Jace suddenly straightened, his lips curving.

 "Wait, I almost forgot." The thrum of his voice turned airy as he reached into the folds of his tunic, retrieving a small, carefully wrapped parcel.

"I have something that will make you feel better. Give me your hand."

"Ah - What?"

Undeterred, he lifted her hand himself, calloused fingers brushing against her palm as he placed the small bundle there. Arianne felt his warm touch linger a moment longer than necessary, but she rationalized it with her own wishful thinking.

She unwrapped the parcel carefully, the scent of lemon and sugar wafting up to meet her.

A lemon cake.

Soft and golden, with perfectly round edges.

"I...Thank you, my Prince." Arianne murmured, overcome with strange timidity at the gesture.

She took a small, delicate bite, savoring the tangy taste of lemon on her tongue. Oh, she itched to devour it, but she was not a mannerless peasant.

Then she took another bite, equally dainty — earning her a chuckle from Jace.

He nudged her playfully, enticing her cheeks to redden.

"Do not hold back, my lady. I know you are fond of them."

Arianne shot him a glare, though the corners of her lips twitched.

"It is called manners." She recited.

With a small shrug, Jace leaned back, crossing his arms loosely. She dared to glance at him ever so often as she enjoyed her cake. How handsome he was! His full lips were slightly parted, and it incited the most reprobate reveries in her mind.

The kind that made her wonder how would his mouth feel upon hers. 

Warm? Finer than Volantene silk? As tender as rain?

The fairytales seem to agree on one thing, though — once a gallant knight kisses his lady love, all her troubles come to an end. They marry and live happily, ever after.

Ridiculous, Arianne scolded herself. Firstly, Jacaerys Velaryon is a prince, not a knight. Besides, the stories never delve into the sheer amount of work needed to smoothly run a large household. The tithes, the grain reserves, the proper positioning of fortifications... Happily ever after is a lot of work, really.

 Jace shifted slightly, moving his leg just enough that it brushed against hers. Her muscles locked at the fleeting contact.

Arianne flushed crimson.

"She will be my betrothed."

A shiver passed down her neck. Ought she ask him about that? What if he hadn't meant it? Hope is a fool's errand, her father often lectured.

Swallowing hard, she tried to regain control, pushing the thought aside.

Instead, she focused on something else, something she felt no shame in discussing with him.

"Oh, I have this idea about taxation..." Arianne broke the silence, her fingers tracing idly the patterns on the cloak she was sitting on.

"Well, Ser Tyland inspired me, but—"

Jace's attention was immediate, his keen eyes not straying from her face while she monologued.

 "I see a few problems there," he replied thoughtfully, tapping his index finger against his lips.

"Though you are right that it might be a better way of collecting taxes, perhaps."

Arianne's eyebrows knitted together.

"Problems?" Her voice faltered, a note of dejection threading through it.

"The great Lords will not take kindly to the Crown now telling them they must accept less than what they are entitled to from their vassals, just because the year was poor," Jace explained.

"But… if you're a King, then they have no choice in the matter," Arianne countered, slightly irked. Some of those lords could scarcely read! They sure enjoyed living peacefully in their lands under the protection of a Crown, while the Marches stood as a defense against Dorne.

Jace shrugged lightly, his rueful smile returning.

"I suppose," he admitted. "Yet I’d prefer to have them cooperate with me, thinking it is their own will."

Arianne’s gaze hardened, and she spoke without hesitation, the words flowing from her with surprising force.

"They have to cooperate with you. Your word is law. The reforms we want—" She halted abruptly, realizing what she was implying.

"I mean... the King should change the realm for the better, regardless of what the lords think."

Jacaerys Velaryon chuckled, his brown eyes glimmering with amusement.

"You— Arianne— are a pretty tyrant, if I may say so." He regarded her with a peculiar expression.

Her heart seized and she was at once disarmed and at a loss for words. Tingling warmth flooded her cheeks, her skin simmering under the weight of his words. Pretty. But...tyrant?

The words seemed to war with each other in her mind.

She couldn’t quite figure out whether she should be flattered or embarrassed.

Her lips parted, but she couldn’t find the right response.

Instead, Arianne settled into an awkward silence, her gaze lowering as she tried to regain her composure.

As if the gods decided to punish her impudence, she thought of Aemond Targaryen.

" If the men who court you listen to such rants, you will remain an unwed maiden until you die."

The weight of those words now hit her like a stone, sinking into her marrow.

Jace, her own Galladon of Morne, as if sensing her discomfort, shifted slightly, his voice softer as he spoke.

"We could work through the details of your tax proposal once this lawless attempt at seizure of Luke's inheritance is dealt with. After we return to Dragonstone," He suggested, hand brushing his dark curls off his forehead.

"My mother might like the idea too—"

As soon as he had finished speaking that sliver of dread, that stone sank even further.

Arianne froze, bile biting at her stomach.

She suddenly realized with unsettling clarity that Jace still believed things would remain the same  — that the easy companionship they had now, with shared ideas and laughter, would continue on their journey back to Dragonstone. That she would return to Dragonstone with him.

Like this.

Unwed.

They would stroll side by side, exchanging words about books and politics, enjoying sunsets, and poring over famous cyvasse matches.

But the truth...life was not a song, nor a fanciful tale. The truth was that she would not return with him. Not as Rhaenyra's lady-in-waiting. She would have to marry before the year was out, Jace or no Jace.

On that, her parents would hear no arguments.

"My father should reach the capital by the moon's end," Arianne said delicately, though the words felt heavy in her mouth.

"S-so, I doubt I would be returning with your mother's household."

Jace stared at her, confusion passing over his features.

He studied her for a long moment, brow furrowing in thought.

"He intends to marry you off."

Arianne nodded slightly, glancing at her feet, an awkward heat suffusing her face.

"I am ten and eight, almost," she said, voice faltering with the truth. "I should have been married two years ago."

'You are the only reason I am not.'

She pored over the shapes the gnarly roots made on their descent into the earth — her bravery vanished into thin air, and Jace fell silent.

'Please, say something. Anything.'

Arianne smoothed her skirts, drying her palms against them.

How utterly unfair that she could topple a kingdom on a cyvasse board, yet the campaign to seize her future seemed ever out of reach. She loathed it. Sometimes, being a woman felt like a deliberate slight from the gods.

Princess Rhaenyra was truly an exception. Heir over her brothers. A Queen to be in her own right, not as consort to a King.

The first time Arianne learned of it, she felt envy coiling around her lungs.

Her father would sooner torch Stonehelm than have her inherit it over her older brother. Even if she read faster, remembered every supply route through the Boneway, and could argue whether the Free Cities thrived better under merchant princes or elected magisters, it meant little.

Robb was a man, and that alone made him worthy. He could swing a sword with ease, while Arianne — if she even managed to lift a longsword — was more likely to trip and spill her own insides before she ever cut down an enemy.

She barely dared to lift her verdant eyes from the ground, but when she finally did, Jace was still watching her, as though piecing together something unsaid.

If she wished to be powerful, it would have to be through a husband.

Even Alysanne needed Jaehaerys.

"Two years ago, we were exchanging letters, do you remember?"

Of course, she did.

They had been sending each other the occasional letter ever since they met years ago. Arianne's visit to Dragonstone back then was brief — and mostly spent imploring Rhaenyra's oldest son to reach her the scrolls from the high shelves of the magnificent library. It was the first time she had seen dragons, and the memories of that day still lingered, vivid and surreal.

She nodded and Jace continued, "You told me your aunt sent you a cyvasse set for your name day."

A small laugh escaped her lips. That felt like another lifetime ago.

"I was devastated." Jace went on, a grimace passing over his visage.

"Because it was my idea too. I've racked my mind over a gift for you. So, I —"

"Sent me a finished copy of Balder's The Edge of the World." Arianne said, tone sprinkled with mirth.

"I have it with me, you know. It is a good read when I want to be afraid."

Jace sighed, his dark lashes fluttering. "Of course you do."

Arianne grinned at him before her expression softened.

It sounded sweet, the image of Jace pacing and musing about a gift for her.

"You mentioned in one of the letters that the island fascinated you." He added, defensively.

"Because they are supposedly cannibals —"

"Supposedly."

"Well, Maester Balder thinks so," Arianne noted. "They invaded the nearby Skane and killed all the men before feasting on their flesh. Some passages are truly nauseating. Skagosi practice the first night and when they lure ships to their shores, the sailors are ripped apart and sacrificed in their savage rites."

"Gods." Jace shook his head with a faint smile.

"This is not what I wanted you to think about."

"I'm...sorry? Jace?"

"Arianne, what I am attempting to...say, is that I've admired you since forever."

A bird chirped nearby.

Her heart jumped to her throat.

A bout of fever crept up her face as Arianne fumbled for something to say.

'Jace. He just...he said... gods, what am I supposed to say?'

Her mind whirled, and for a moment, she wondered if she should simply faint like a proper lady — He can kiss me awake...

Prince Jacaerys shifted, his body angled so that he faced her now.

His eyes were dark like obsidian while he regarded the flushed, creamy skin of her cheeks.

“When we were children,” he continued, his voice soft yet steady, “it was friendship, of course. But that month you were with us on Dragonstone... That was the most fun I had. You were clever— and so curious about everything. I remember you cried when Vermax ate that lamb—"

Arianne squinted, now glaring at him.

"I did not!"

"You did." He declared, lips spreading into a teasing smile.

Her thoughts flashed back to that moment. Luke, Rhaena, and even Jace had all laughed when she suggested a more humane method for delivering the lamb to Vermax as if such a notion were laughable.

Dragonkeepers frowned at her, uninterested in hearing her prattle.

She’d wanted to avoid the bloodshed, the poor thing was screeching, unaware then of how deeply they understood dragons while she knew nothing.

It was when Lady Baela unexpectedly visited her family at Dragonstone that she learned the truth.

Most dragons loved to hunt.

The struggle, the fight, was what fueled their appetites.

Moondancer would not wish to eat a carcass, Baela had explained casually, smoothing down her beautiful silver locks, just as I would not care for spoiled meat. The harder the prey fights back, the sweeter it becomes. It drives them into a frenzy, you see. It makes the kill all the more satisfying.

"You also wanted a girl dragon." Jace declared slyly, shaking her from her thoughts.

His large, warm palm closed over hers.

"One that Vermax would like. So we could see each other even when my mother became Queen."

"Jace!" She yanked her hand from his grasp, mortification rushing through her.

"Do you wish to embarrass me further?"

Her only response was a callow grin.

"I said we could do that if we married."

Arianne’s breath lodged, trapped inside her chest.

She didn’t know what to say. If only she were taught — oh, no, no, because her pulse rushed into her ears, rippling and whooshing against her skull —

Didn’t know how to say anything at all.

Jace exhaled, his grip finding hers once more, firmer this time. His fingers curled around hers as if drawn by some invisible pull that he had resisted long enough and could do so no more.

His thumb brushed against the back of her hand, tracing perfect, insistent circles.

"When you stepped off that ship…" He hesitated, wetting his lips before continuing. "I thought I was dreaming. You were not a child anymore."

She sensed the faintest tremor in his grasp.

"You were beautiful, Arianne."

The words nearly undid her.

Arianne's eyes widened, her vision swam.

Gods.

The heat that flooded her skin felt unbearable, forcing blotches of crimson upon her cheeks and the delicate line of her throat. She wanted to look away, to will herself into composure, but his gaze held her captive — deep, steadfast, poring over her face as if he was commanded to paint her portrait.

Then, perhaps realizing he had been staring too long, Jace abruptly averted his eyes, straightening.

He released her, his hands falling to his sides.

"If you do not share my affections, please speak now, my lady." He declared in grave tones, the apple of his throat bobbing.

"And I shall never mention it again."

Gods.

Arianne found herself teetering on a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath her feet.

She walked barefoot into the sea and was caught in a riptide, as voracious waves dragged her further away from the shore — the land filled with duties, Rhaenyra's orders, and sins of the ancestors — until it vanished into the horizon.

Turbulent and murky, it lured her like a siren because it was what she wanted all along.

The waves could drown her.

The rich, endless depths of his dark eyes could drown her too.

Arianne exhaled, her heart walloping.

"You know a lady should not hear such things without a chaperone present, my Prince?" she said, aiming for levity, though her voice wavered at the edges.

"Arianne."

Her name left his lips like something painful.

She dared not look at him.

Her fingers dug into the silken fabric of her skirts.

She could not look at him.

"I do share them." Arianne susurrated.

"Affections, I m-mean. I admire you —"

Before she could stumble further over the words, Jace reached for her hands, gathering them tenderly between his larger ones.

"Jace —"

He brought them to his lips. Arianne sucked in a quiet breath as the heat of his mouth caressed her hand, slow and deliberate, reverent even.

How soft his lips are. Gods, it feels like a sin.

 Arianne swallowed, wallowing in the heat of them. The warmth seeping into her skin, lingering, lingering — as if her prince meant to burn his devotion into her.

She had never been particularly devout, though she performed her duties to the Seven with care.

But at that moment, in King's Landing — a disastrous, awful place she did not belong in — Arianne could not help but feel that the Maiden herself had heard her prayers and answered them.

[gazetto-chronicle]

2024.08.06 Ruki on IG:

"August. Lately, I feel like I keep encountering passing showers in Tokyo. Were there always this many passing showers? 🌂

Even now, I can hear thunder.

For about the past month or so, there have been days when I wanted to block out music for a while.

But I wanted to feel with my own ears and eyes what makes me happiest.

So, I deliberately went out of my way to go to festivals I had never been to before, and attended live performances of artists I've been listening to since my teenage years.

I finally got the courage to actually go and experience music in person.

Every live performance by the artists was wonderful, and I discovered new music that I came to love.

Thinking that I wouldn't have encountered this music if I hadn't gone, I'm truly glad I made the effort.

The time I spent shutting everything out was necessary for me, but after all, live performances are the place I love the most.

Not only watching the stage but also seeing the faces of people around me enjoying themselves, I realized that live performances, where you can participate freely regardless of age or gender, are truly the best.

Why was I drawn to it? What made my heart dance? I felt with my whole being that this is the kind of irreplaceable time that cannot be substituted by material things as I immersed myself in the sound.

These are the moments that take me away from reality and give me intangible treasures allowing me to get back to my everyday life. They are truly precious times.

Being able to stand on stage as Ruki and deliver music and feelings to everyone as a vocalist is such a blessing.

Those continuous precious moments reminded me of the meaning of standing on stage and deeply inspired my heart to create more of my own music.

Next month, it will be my turn. I plan to use this experience to give my all in the live performance.

I can't wait to see everyone. I'll look at each person's face carefully and sing with all my heart, hoping that my feelings reach you.

It's still going to be hot for a while, but let's take care of ourselves and get through the summer. 🙏

#RukiUpdate"

[flying-fangirls]

Thinking about how so many characters in Malevolent have this overarching goal of reaching their "best self," whatever that means to each of them.

Thinking about how some of them fail to ever reach the self they yearn for. Kayne tears through every universe, sees every possibility and alternative, and he hates every single version of himself that he finds. He kills himself, over and over, desperately trying to erase all the parts of him that aren't good enough. He cuts off each and every piece that he hates until all of "him" is gone, but the hate is still there. So he keeps searching for something that will magically make him the "best" version of Kayne, and he lives every second scared and angry, hating all the broken "Kaynes" that he wants to forget but can't ever get out of his own head.

Yellow catches himself between two opposing ideas of himself, and he equally despises both. He wants to explore humanity, to slowly learn about and grow into love and connection. But Arthur strangles that piece of curiosity and love inside him. Then Larson convinces him that he wants to become the King, to control and hate. But Yellow is scared of that identity, and he's not even sure if that's ever been or ever will be "him." He looks at Yellow and the King— two "better" versions of himself, and he hates them both. So he tries to push them both away in fear and disgust, only to find himself entangled in an ugly mess of too many identities and no identity and confusion and resentment and hate for everything that is "him."

Thinking about how some of them do find their better selves, or at least find the path toward them. Arthur spends years purposely running further and further from himself because he's convinced that if he runs far enough, he'll forget "Arthur" and completely replace him with someone better. But it doesn't work, and he only falls deeper into the parts of himself he hates the most. Until John grabs Arthur's hand and forces him to stand still, to turn back around and look at himself in the mirror and see. See the pieces that aren't beyond repair, that only need someone to care about fixing them instead of letting them rust and dissolve.

John holds the parts of himself that he hates like a weapon at first. They're sharp and they're terrifying and it hurts to hold them, but he's scared and confused and at least they are familiar, however much he hates them. Until Lilly and Arthur and humanity show him something new, something kind and soft. And they keep showing him and eventually John learns to find this love familiar too. And he now he can let go of the hate that drove him away from old versions of himself, and replace it with this love that can draw him toward the new "John." And when John has his biggest moment of self-actualization in the Hag's lair, it's the same time that him and Arthur first share their love for each other directly, unhidden and fully accepted.

Thinking about how Malevolent shows that you cannot hate yourself into healing, or growing, or becoming a better version of yourself. That we need understanding and love not just from others, but from ourselves too. That our best self is sitting somewhere in the future and waiting for us to stop reaching out to them with a fearful sneer, and to start reaching out to them with a trusting smile.

[inspirationalucky]

EPIC: THE VENGEANCE SAGA PROMPTS & STARTERS.

of course, go ahead and change names/pronouns/words/etc as necessary to fit your muse or the situation! please do not add more lines/prompts to this post!

Not Sorry for Loving You

"Someone arrived today."

"They said they're taking you away."

"You're not mine to save"

"Soon, I won't get to see your face."

"You're unlike anyone I have ever known."

"You're all I've ever known."

"If I ambushed you, for that I'll say I was wrong."

"If you hate me, then I am sorry my love's too much for you."

"I'm not sorry for loving you!"

"Let me speak!"

"I spent my whole life here."

"I was cast away when I was young."

"I thought for sure that you were my dream come true."

"I'm angry, and tired, and restless, and sad."

"I'm stuck in the moments I swore that we had!"

"I wish you would chase me or try to embrace me!"

"I love you, but not in the way that you want me to."

"I hate that I fell in love with you!"

"What do I do with this love for you?"

"Why in the world won't you love me too?"

Dangerous

"I had one goal in mind."

"How will I reach my homeland?"

"Hello, old friend!"

"You're being given a final option."

"Consider this your one last chance to make it back home"

"If your plan's so great, then why'd you wait to say it?"

"It's a little bit dangerous, my friend."

"You'll need a mindset change for this."

"You cannot get away with playing safe for this."

"You wanna get home? Put it all on the line."

"Remember every trick in your domain for this."

"You gotta treat it like it is the main event!"

"All right, I'm in. What do I do?"

"Follow the North Star!"

"Fight your way through, do what you must do."

"No matter what, keep moving."

"You won't get another time to try."

"It was meant to stop you by design."

"Open this bag, and you'll never make it home."

"Don't you know that danger is my friend?"

"My whole life I've trained for this."

"I have to get home!"

"I plan to put an end to all of the foolishness."

Charybdis

"I'd like to hurry up and end this."

"So, if you don't have much to say..."

"I'm not dying here!"

"I'm still fighting here!"

"I'm holding on 'till I see this through and I've beaten you."

"I already know your tactics."

"I don't even have to kill you, I just have to avoid you!"

"See, if you don't spit it out soon, all that water will destroy you!"

"I'm holding on 'till you're out of breath."

"There! I see it! The island I've been searching for!"

"My wife and son are past these shores."

"My love, don't be scared."

"I am on my way, I'll be there today!"

Get in the Water

"There you are... coward."

"I've been waiting for this moment... for the perfect time to strike."

"I've got a reputation!"

"I've got a name to uphold!"

"I can't go letting you walk or else the world forgets I'm cold."

"Now, get in the water."

"Don't mistake my threats for bluffs!"

"You have lived more than enough!"

"I'll take your son and gouge his eyes! That is, unless you choose to die."

"Aren't you tired, Poseidon?"

"It's been ten years, how long can this go?"

"We're both hurting from losses."

"Why not leave this here and just go home?"

"Maybe you could learn to forgive!"

Six Hundred Strike

"I don't think you seem to get it. I can't afford to die!"

"I will get back to my son, and I will get back to my wife!"

"You idiot. Can't you see?"

"You sealed your fate just to beat me."

"You released my storm when you opened that bag."

"You blocked your one way home!"

"Now you'll never get back."

"You're going to call off that storm."

"Or what? You can't kill me!"

"How does it feel to be helpless?"

"How does it feel to know pain?"

"I watched my friends die in horror."

"I heard their final moments!"

"Look what you've turned me into!”

“Look what we've become!"

"All of the pain that I've been through… haven't I suffered enough?"

"You didn't stop when I begged you!"

“You told m to close my heart!”

"You said the world was dark!"

"Didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves?"

“Alright! Please…”

"After everything you've done, how will you sleep at night?"

[feargender]

I think this perspective is mainly informed by living for the majority of my life in red states, where the touch of a democratic federal government was rarely ever felt, but here’s a tip:

We all need to stop relying on presidents to save us. I’m not saying don’t vote, I voted! I vote in every election, not just the presidential election. But look at it this way. Migrants were still being detained in border prisons along the Mexico-US border under Biden. Obama saw us through war in the Middle East. The Supreme Court overturned Roe v Wade under Biden. States have continued to restrict eligibility for Medicaid and other welfare programs. Many southern states have become essentially inhospitable to trans life. The wheel of fascism doesn’t stop turning just because someone wearing a blue tie is sitting at a fancy desk. I am not talking about whether or not it will be “worse” or “better”, whether the wheel turns slowly or quickly. I am talking about the fact that the United States government is inherently a destructive and oppressive system, and no one person can change that.

The communities we form to defend ourselves and each other from a fascist state cannot be based off of or beholden to who is in the Oval Office. Go to that pro-Palestine event, volunteer your time with local grassroots organizations that matter to you, show up to that school district meeting where they talk about transgender students. When the cops show up at your house, Kamala won’t help you. The neighbor who comes over in her pajamas and robe to back you up will. When you can’t afford your medications, and you’re ineligible for your state’s Medicaid, there is not a democratic president in that moment who will fix this for you. Maybe it’s on their docket, but for right now, you’re broke and need those meds. You’re better off knowing what phone number you need to call to have a public health worker scrounge up some vouchers and coupons for you.

If the public transportation system in your city sucks, go find out who is in charge of that and bother them about it. If you are worried about over policing in your community, find a local abolition group and see what they want to do about it. If there isn’t one, find another leftist organization and stir up interest. If you’re seeing a lot of homeless people on your way to work, find out what’s wrong with the shelters and if there’s anyone you can support who is trying to fix it.

I feel like a lot of people associate the term “mutual aid” with cashapp links. Or they think that hating the current political system is all you need to be a leftist. If you don’t connect with your community, online or in person, through one form of political action or many, you will never see the revolution you’re waiting for. You’ll never know that change, good or bad, is happening all around you if you only count it when it happens due to a new presidential administration. It’s ok to fret! I’m worried!! I’m worried about the presidency and Congress and the Supreme Court. But realistically, there’s not a ton most individuals can do about that. I cannot make my vote count toward the presidency from within my red state. But I can improve my local community by knowing what the propositions at the bottom of my ballot mean.

[aois-amaterasu-painting]

Ruki (on X):

From January to July, so many things have happened.

Amidst the whirlwind of days, I questioned what is right and what is normal? While swaying between emotions and reason, I was constantly making various choices, and desperately running through each day.

In such times, I was supported solely by everyone's concerned voices and the words "I love you."

Thank you always.

And although it's been a while, I wrote on Instagram. I hope this reaches everyone who loves me. ✉️

It's been about two months since my last post.

Seeing the closet still filled with winter clothes, I realized that this year, for me, there was no spring. Time stopped in winter, and then summer came.

I noticed that I had been putting off such a basic thing as living, and I finally did a long-overdue wardrobe change the other day.

Life is built on daily choices, an accumulation of decisions.

Only you can decide if those choices and your life are right or wrong.

The responsibility for your life is yours and yours alone.

I feel that trying to conform to the standards of "normal" for others will only make you feel more miserable when you are going through a tough time.

It's the same for everything; it's okay not to be "normal" as measured by someone else's standards.

No matter the relationship, I believe it's impossible to fully understand all of someone's inner struggles and pain. Fans' pain and our pain, human wounds vary from person to person.

Therefore, the way and speed at which wounds heal also vary for each person. The way you accept things too. It's okay if it's not the same.

Because the heart is a place that cannot be seen from the outside, others can't understand those wounds, and in fact, even we ourselves cannot measure how deep our wounds are.

Everyone, might be forcing a smile on the outside, and when they come home, no one sees the emptiness they are feeling, and they probably don't want to show it to anyone.

The way I've spent my days, I was told, wasn't very human-like, but I think that's okay.

Now, rather than sadness, I feel loneliness.

Because I am human, I know that I will meet them again someday.

So, thinking that way, I am accepting it now.

Although I feel lonely without Koron and Reita, for now, goodbye. This reminded me of when I wrote the lyrics for QUIET.

And when the day comes that we can meet again, I want to live in a way that I'll be told, "You lived a good life."

In reality, there are four of us now, but not as a mere illusion; another face is vividly present in my mind.

So, the feeling of being five members is not a lie. That will surely be forever.

After thinking about it all, I've come to the conclusion that I need to start living each day in a way that will leave a lot of proof that I lived.

I want to create music and things with more love than ever before.

Although my core approach to making music hasn't changed, what I feel I want to draw and leave behind now has changed significantly.

I want to cherish every moment, even the most ordinary ones, like taking pictures of everyday life, going to different places and feeling the scenery, the smells, all the things that I can only feel at that moment.

And if you're feeling overwhelmed right now, I think it’s okay to put everything on hold and take a break without overthinking it. It’s okay to stop pushing yourself for a while.

If I hadn’t taken a step back, I wouldn't have reached this mindset.

Then, bit by bit, listen to music you love, visit places that bring you joy, and heal your heart.

I'm gradually doing that myself too.

I hope everyone can find their own way of healing.

And if this band, the GazettE, can become something that saves or heals even just one person, I will overcome anything.

To me, everyone who waits for us is my reason for living.

The only place where you can let out everything you can't express in daily life, I believe, is at live concerts.

So, I hope we can share that extraordinary space where we can shout and make noise together as much as possible.

I've said it before, but there will be more opportunities to meet from now on. Or rather, I will make them.

I want to increase the time I can enjoy with everyone who loves me, so please wait for it.

Next is Toyosu PIT announcement, so please check it out.

Thank you for reading such a long post. I'll write again

2024.07.18