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csuitebitches · 2 years ago

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On Being Well Spoken

I recently received a request about posting something regarding being well spoken.

Something you need to realise is that you’re not going to become well-spoken overnight. You need to practice on people. You need to SPEAK.

I used to stutter so badly that I could barely speak a whole sentence.

Flash forward a few years. I pitched my start up in front of a crowd, I joined Model United Nations in high school and college, I’ve been invited to speak on my entrepreneurial experience by some top universities in my country. It’s taken a lot to get here. And I’m still not where I want to be.

1. Apps to track progress and help you get better at public speaking

An app that you can use: “Speeko.”

I used to use this, it is beginner friendly and you can improve your public speaking skills as well.

2. Use topic generators

Go online and look up a topic generator. Generate a random topic, video yourself speaking on that topic. Don’t give yourself time to prepare anything - read the topic and start speaking. Set a time limit - you’ll realise that speaking for even 2 minutes can be quite difficult at times.

Not only does this make you realise that you may have limited language skills, but it will also make you realise exactly where you’re falling behind. Note down things in a journal.

- is grammar the issue?

- Lack of vocabulary?

- Too many filler sounds?

- Knowledge gap?

This is also a great idea if you’re at an intermediate level of learning a language/ polishing a language. Do this everyday and maintain a diary on your improvement.

3. Reading out loud

Select a news article or any article. Read out loud, slowly and steadily. Pronounce every syllable calmly.

A two minute read should take 5 minutes to read out loud. That’s how slow you should go. Not more than 4-5 words per breath.

Your tongue needs to get used to different syllables and sounds. Practice will help.

4. Talk in real life

Talk to anyone and everyone whenever you can.

Ask your barista how their day is going.

Ask your work or university security if they’ve had a good day and if they ate today.

Chat with your taxi driver about their life. I always start with asking them if they are from the city we’re travelling in. Even if you’re from that city, act like a tourist. Where are the best eateries? The conversation eventually goes to personal questions. How many children do they have, and what do they do? What do they like about the city?

You’ll learn the art of small talk only through practice. No book or guide can actually prepare you. You have to practice, practice and practice.

5. Diaphragm breathing

Diaphragm breathing is very important. Look up some YouTube videos for reference. You essentially breathe from your tummy (stomach goes in and out; not chest going up and down). This is a great calming exercise too.

6. Stuttering tongue/ jaw exercise videos

These are great because they really do prep your jaw and tongue well. The videos could include tongue stretches, placing your tongue on your palette correctly, etc. Search on YouTube.

7. Body posture

You really need to work on your posture too. Sit up straight. Back, STRAIGHT. Chin up, shoulders relaxed. Something as simple as posture can change your level of confidence.

8. Pranayama

A yoga exercise for breathing. You can find a guided video on YouTube for sure.

9. Vocabulary

Invest your time in expanding your vocabulary. There’s enough apps and games that can help you with that, if you aren’t fond of reading. A sign of being well spoken is having great vocabulary.

Start by looking up the synonyms of everyday words.

“I’m upset”

- how many different words can you find for upset?

“I had a crazy day today”

- one can easily use “hectic”, “chaotic” “lively” instead

10. Idioms

Idioms, phrases, sayings - look up common idioms in your language of choice. Aim to use at least 3 new idioms on 3 separate occasions in a week while you speak. You need to understand when and where you can use the idioms in your vocabulary.

11. Knowing when to switch

You can’t talk like a 50 year old heiress to a 10 year old child; you need to get down to their level.

If someone is clearly not a native speaker and is struggling to put words together, don’t use difficult words around them.

If you’re meeting with someone high profile, refrain from using slang.

The best speakers know when to switch their level of language.

You can’t use one singular type of speaking with everyone. You need to understand that there is a time and place for everything - and you’ll be able to switch like a pro only when you actually speak and start gaining experience.

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 10 months ago

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AAAA are you planning on continuing the "How They Kiss" series? If so could you please do my sweet baby Hitoshi next? :cccc

Ooooo yessss - I've been wanting to write some Hitoshi fic for a while!! 💜

Shinsou x Reader | Headcannon: How Hitoshi Shinsou Kisses 💋

The first time Hitoshi kisses you – you totally don’t see it coming. It happens in the library on a quiet Sunday afternoon. Hitoshi is sitting in your favorite spot of the city's library – a cozy corner hidden from view behind the oversized art book section. He’s dragged two large beanbag chairs into the tiny space, waiting for you to join him as he studies for an upcoming Pro hero rescue certification exam. He’s flipping through flashcards when you arrive bearing a purple travel mug filled with his favorite caffeinated beverage. You know your friend is a chronic insomniac – with his permanently baggy eyes and constant yawns - so you decided to get him a refillable mug so he can keep his coffee close throughout exam week. You’ve stuck a cute sticker of a black cat with big eyes to the side of the mug, knowing his TikTok algorithm is almost exclusively cat videos.

“’Toshiiiiii!” You warble quietly as you drop your school bag next to your beanbag chair. “I brought you a ‘lil treat for studying so hard!”

Hitoshi looks up in surprise, his forehead still wrinkled in concentration. He puts down his flash cards and when he realizes it’s you standing over him, he smiles easily. Things have always been like this between the two of you – soft and comfortable.

“You brought me something?” He instantly locks on to the steaming mug of coffee, his eyes crinkling into a smile when he sees the cat sticker. “Is that the cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

“Yup!” you hand him the cup as you plop down into your chair and start shuffling through your bag for your notes. “You told me it was your favorite movie as a kid, so I found a little sticker of Gigi on Etsy.”

After a few moments of digging through your bag, you finally find the sheaf of notes you’re looking for and you yank them out – sheets of paper flying all around you. “Whoops!” You hastily gather the papers back into a neat stack.

When you finally look up, you meet Hitoshi’s eyes – he’s giving you an intense, searching look. His eyes are wide, and there’s a soft pink blush across the high points of his cheeks. He absentmindedly smooths a hand through his wild hair, seemingly lost for words.

“What?” You say, a little startled at the sudden tense atmosphere. “Everything okay? Is that not your preferred flavor of coffee?”

“Of course you remembered my favorite flavor.” His voice a quiet rumble and seems to catch in his throat.

You swallow, suddenly feeling hot around the collar as he continues to gaze at you through those bright violet eyes. You can see him biting back his next sentence, seemingly steeling himself to say something.

After a few moments, he takes a steadying breath and his eyes sparkle with a look of resolve. Hitoshi softly places the hot mug of coffee on the ground before leaning towards you. Instantly, he’s a breath away from your face – his delicate features magnified as he tilts his face towards yours.

“You’re just so…” He whispers, moving to brush his thumb against your cheek. Your skin feels like it’s blooming with tiger lilies at the contact. “…sweet.” His tired eyes flutter shut and he leans into you – guiding your lips to his.

The first kiss is feather light – tentative. He wants to make sure you want him back – he needs you to want him with the same deep intensity he’s been feeling in his gut for you for so long. His lips are impossibly soft and taste like a light berry lip balm, and you find the flavor absolutely delicious. When you respond eagerly he smiles into the kiss, blissful. How lucky is he to get to kiss your pretty face?

Hitoshi climbs into the beanbag chair with you deftly, moving his hands to cradle your face. He moves his mouth against yours slowly, purposefully – almost lazily. It’s such a Shinsou way of kissing that it makes you giggle.

“Hey, now.” He breaks the kiss, bringing his forehead to yours as he takes a shaky breath. “Is my kissing that bad?” He’s smiling, but you can tell he’s the tiniest bit nervous for your answer.

You lean in to kiss him again and he pulls back, his lips just out of reach – teasing.

“Your technique can use some refining. But I know someone who can help you practice.” You grin, winding your arms around his neck and pulling him back in for more. He loves that – the banter, the ways you are able to both make him feel comfortable and keep him on his toes. He deepens the kiss, and you know it will be a while before you get back to studying. His flash cards lay abandoned on the floor by your stack of notes.

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

After that, he’s hooked on you. Any trace of nervousness is nonexistent. In just one afternoon, Hitoshi Shinsou has become a lean, mean, make out machine. He absolutely cannot be stopped. He kisses you everywhere he can – in the library, in dark corners of your favorite bar, at the convenience store. He’s constantly trying to sneak away with you so he can crash your lips together in that way that makes his brain feel all blissed out and fuzzy.

I think we’ve all seen just how much determination Hitoshi has – it takes a lot of unwavering dedication to claim a spot in the hero course. He’s just as determined to figure out how you like to be kissed. He pays attention to what makes your pulse race – maybe he kissed your neck a certain way and you moaned? He’s filing that away in his brain so he can do it again and again and again. You don’t like it when he bites your lower lip? He takes note and never does it that way again. He’s committed to figuring out exactly what makes you tick and how he can maximize your pleasure every time. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have the affections of someone like you – someone so sweet and gorgeous and goddamn perfect.

Of course, once he realizes you find him irresistible – he’s smug AF. He becomes such a goddamn tease. You’ll get a rare private moment and move in to kiss him, only for him to dodge your advances until your lips form a disappointed pout. He absolutely revels in how much you want him and loves to build up the tension between the two of you. He’ll kiss you playfully on the cheeks before your disappointed look causes him to concede. “Sorry, Sweetheart.” He says in his low, gravely whisper. “You know I love to tease.” And then he’ll kiss you with as much passion as he can muster, until your legs turn to jello. After all – it’s not in a hero’s nature to do anything half-assed.

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

Thanks so much for reading!!

Interested in some ~smuttier~ Shinsou content!? Check out my story:

Never Too Tired To Love You💜

My Master List! 💜

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pennyblossom-meta · 1 year ago

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A short study on the origins of Gale Dekarios

Going through some game information and Forgotten Realms lore, I found some interesting tidbits about the possible origins of Gale and the Dekarios clan. So, what do we know?

After finding Tara in Act 3, there's a dialogue tree (as of yet still bugged 08/12/2023) where Gale tells us that his surname comes from his mother, Morena Dekarios.

Gale: (...) Courtesy of my mother, the inimitable, dare I say it, sometimes unavoidable, Morena Dekarios.

There isn't much to go on from this. Other than a brief mention that Gale's parents denied him a kitten, we don't know where his father is or what happened to him. Indeed, the surname Dekarios could be inherited from Gale's mother or even his father's side — and for the latter we can assume Morena took on the surname sometime after marrying Gale's father, thus becoming her son's main reference for the rest of the clan upon her husband's absence/death.

That being said, I can't find anything about the Dekarios surname within DnD lore. What we do know, is that Gale's clan is scattered far and wide, perhaps even beyond the Sword Coast.

We also know that Gale is of full human heritage, at least from his closest ancestry.

Now, let's dig in a little deeper.

There are several human ethnicities throughout Faerûn.

As of DnD 3.5, there are seven major ethnic groups widely recognised: the Calishites, Chondathans, Damarans, Iluskans, Mulan, Rashemis, and Tethyrians.

However, as of DnD 5E, the Player's Handbook adds that there are actually nine major ethnic groups in Faerûn, including the Shou from Kara-Tur and the Turami who are native to the southern shore of the Inner Sea. In 3.5E, these groups just receive a brief mention, while in 5E there's more of an attempt on expanding their lore.

Note: If you're interested in knowing more about the different ethnic groups in Faerûn, I would suggest reading the Forgotten Realms: Races of Faerûn (2003), the 3.5 Player's Guide to Faerûn, the 5E Player's Handbook and the Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide.

Here's a useful map of Faerûn from 3.5E.

It's actually the 3.5 Player's Guide to Faerûn and Forgotten Realms: Races of Faerûn that gives us more in depth information about which communities have a major presence in different areas of the Sword Coast.

For example, while Gale and his mother live in Waterdeep, we don't know whether they moved to the city when Gale was a child or, perhaps, his parents always lived there. Perhaps generations of Dekarios lived in Waterdeep — including Gale's aunt Agnes.

Without further information, it's possible that the Dekarios clan even has their ancestral roots beyond the Sword Coast. Who knows?

According to 3.5E, the recommended human subraces in The Sword Coast are the Illuskan and Tethyrian.

In Waterdeep, it's the Chondathan, the Illuskan and Tethyrian.

Given what we know of Gale, lorewise, what would be the most accurate ethnicity for the Dekarios clan? Let's see what the handbooks say about the three major groups in Waterdeep.

The Chondathan

Races of Faerûn (2003): (...) Although Chondathans make skilled mercenaries and cunning rogues, Chondathan culture, has not encouraged study of the Art or great religious fervor. Notable exceptions exist, particularly in the study of the Art among the Netherese influenced Chondathan cultures that lie north and west of the Inner Sea.

(...) Those Chondathans who dwell north and west of the Sea of Fallen Stars (except in Sembia) are more likely to have blue eyes and have fairer complexions and darker hair than those born in the South, evidence of a Netherese heritage. In Chondath itself, particularly in the lands bordering Sespech, a significant Shaaran influx in recent centuries has given many natives of Chondath more of an olive skinned hue.

(...) Chondathan Society (...) As Chondathans place a high value on book learning, many receive some amount of schooling while growing up.

(...) Animals and Pets (...) Chondathans favor small felines as pets and hunting companions (...). Tressyms are highly favored by those who can afford them, as are lynxes.

3.5E: Descended from the natives of the Vilhon Reach, these hardy folk have spread to settle most of the western and central Inner Sea region and much of the Western Heartlands. Chondathans form the primary racial stock of Altumbel, Córmyr, the southern Dalelands, the Dragon Coast, the Great Dale, Hlondeth and both shores of the Vilhon Reach, the Pirate Isles of the Inner Sea, Sembia, and Sespech. They are slender, tawny-skinned folk with brown hair that ranges from almost blond to almost black. Most are tall and have green or brown eyes, but these traits are hardly universal.

The Chondathan domination of central Faerún came about largely by virtue of extensive trade and settlement rather than by force of arms. Many Chondathans are merchants of one sort or another, and they are not afraid to take risks, travel, or settle new lands.

5E: Chondathans are slender, tawny-skinned folk with brown hair that ranges from almost blond to almost black. Most are tall and have green or brown eyes, but these traits are hardly universal. Humans of Chondathan descent dominate the central lands of Faerun. around the Inner Sea.

Chondathan Names: (Male) Darvin, Dorn, Evendur, Gorstag, Grim, Helm, Malark, Morn, Randal, Stedd; (female) Arveene, Esvele, Jhessail, Kerri, Lureene, Miri, Rowan, Shandri, Tessele; (surnames) Amblecrown, Buckman, Dundragon, Evenwood, Greycastle, Tallstag

The Illuskans

Races of Faerûn (2003): (...) Wizards are rare in Illuskan society. They are widely feared and assumed to be in some way affiliated with the Arcane Brotherhood. Of those who do study wizardry, perhaps the most common specialization is the school of Evocation. Sorcerers and bards are more common among Illuskans, as many Illuskans have a trace of draconic ancestry in their heritage.

(...) Illuskans are not inclined to keep animals as pets, companions, or familiars, as relatively few species are native to Ruathym or nearby islands. Goats, sheep, and geese do better in the cold Illuskan lands than do cattle, swine, or chickens.

3.5E: : The seagoing, warlike people of the Sword Coast, North, the Trackless Sea, and the Desarin river valley, Illuskans are tall, fair-skinned folk with blue or steely gray eyes. Among the islands of the Trackless Sea and Icewind Dale, their hair color tends toward blond, red, or light brown. On the mainland south of the Spine of the World, however, raven-black hair is most common. Iluskans are proud, particularly of their ability to survive in the harsh environment of their northern homelands, and they regard most southerners as weak and decadent. Illuskans make their livings as farmers, fishers, miners, sailors, raiders, skalds, and runecasters.

5E: Illuskans are tall, fair-skinned folk with blue or steely gray eyes. Most have raven-black hair, but those who inhabit the extreme northwest have blond, red, or light brown hair.

Illuskan Names: (Male) Ander, Blath, Bran, Frath, Geth, Lander, Luth, Malcer, Stor, Taman, Urth; (female) Amafrey, Betha, Cefrey, Kethra, Mara, Olga, Silifrey, Westra; (surnames) Brightwood, Helder, Hornraven, Lackman, Stormwind, Windrivver

The Tethyrian

Races of Faerûn (2003): (...) In recent centuries, these disparate groups have gradually coalesced into a relatively new ethnic group known as Tethyrians, occupying a vast territory stretching from Calimshan to Silverymoon and from the Sea of Swords to the Sea of Fallen Stars. After centuries of enslavement and oppression by one group or another, Tethyrians are fiercely independent, protective of their freedoms and suspicious of threats posed by powerful kingdoms and empires. Given their disparate ancestry, Tethyrians have never developed a unique language of their own, instead adopting the language of the latest wave of conquerors or refugees. Today most Tethyrians speak Chondathan.

(...) Outside Calimshan, many Tethyrians are craftsmen or caravanners, while others find employment as mercenaries in the employ of other realms. Tethyrians make skilled fighters and rogues, reflecting the struggle to survive successive waves of conquest and generations of warfare. Tethyrian culture has a long tradition of bardcraft, reflecting the absence of a Tethyrian empire at any point ni history and the corresponding reliance on itinerant bards to preserve and spread Tethyrian oral history.

(...) Tethyrians view life as a struggle to be survived through ties to Family, clan, and tribe. To a Tethyrian, freedom is the most precious gift, and the enslavement of another is the greatest sin.

(...) The paths of the loremaster and archmage are both attractive to Tethyrian wizards.

(...) Aside from bards, Tethyrians have not traditionally had access to book learning, although those who do are much esteemed by their peers.

(...) Familial, clan and tribal bonds require that adults look out for one another, so the elderly and those who cannot earn their keep turn to relatives and friends for support.

(...) Tethyrians have strong arcane and divine spellcasting traditions: Bardcraft is revered, and many master bards are of Tethyrian stock. The varied mature of Tethyrian heritage has produced many sorcerers as well. Likewise, the strong influence of Calishite and Netherese cultural traditions has echoes in the large numbers of Tethyrian wizards, although most learn their craft through a traditional master-apprentice relationship, not by attending a formal school.

(...) Animals and Pets (...) Tethyrians are partial to canines, particularly those bred for herding, hunting, or working. Falcons (treat as hawks) and swamp ferrets (treat as weasels) are commonly employed in hunting and often serve as familiars. Ravens are also favored as pets or familiars, particularly in the vicinity of the High Moor.

3.5E: The Tethyrian culture is a melting pot of Calishite, Chondathan, Illuskan, and Low Netherese elements. This unique background makes Tethyrians among the most tolerant, though fiercely independent, ethnic groups in Faerûn. They inhabit a vast territory stretching from Calimshan to Silverymoon, and from the Sea of Swords to the Sea of Fallen Stars. Tethyrians are of medium build and height, with dusky skin that grows fairer the farther north they dwell. Their hair and eye color varies widely, but brown hair and blue eves are the most common. Tethyrians are proud of their diverse heritage and protective of their freedom, so they tend to distrust powerful kingdoms and empires.

5E: Widespread along the entire Sword Coast at the western edge of Faerun, Tethyrians are of medium build and height, with dusky skin that tends to grow fairer the farther north they dwell. Their hair and eye color varies widely, but brown hair and blue eyes are the most common. Tethyrians primarily use Chondathan names.

Verdict

After analysing these descriptions, I would say that it makes sense that Gale Dekarios can be of either a Chondathan or Tethyrian heritage — though I'd venture a guess that there's a fair mix of both.

Given that the Dekarios clan is "scattered far and wide", it could imply that they're of a mercantile affinity (Chondathan) and thus have settled in various cities along the the Sword Coast and beyond for trade purposes. Further migration patterns veering west, towards the Sword Coast, and an affinity for magic that can be related to Netherese ancestry (Chondathan and Tethyrian) are valid backgrounds for what we know of Gale.

Some things to consider:

The Tethyrians have more of a natural arcane leaning than the Chondathans (Gale was casting accidental fireballs at the age of 8, among other funny accidents).

The Tethyrians form strong familial and clan bonds (Gale has strong ties to his mother, is very family oriented).

Gale has more of an olive skinned hue, brown eyes and hair, as the combo is more common with the Chondathans ethnicity in contemporary Faerûn. It speaks of a Mediterranean background, if we were to compare it with Earth.

The Chondathans also have an affinity with felines, while the Tethyrian veer towards employing animals for hunting and favor birds of prey as familiars.

The Chondathans place a high value on book learning.

Both ethnicities have ties to the Netherese, which creates a compelling narrative device — especially after Gale's fallout with Mystra due to the Netherese orb incident. However, opportune irony aside, I think that what we see of Gale points to a mix of both heritages and that they reflect different sides of him that go beyond ethnicity, as they also affect his background from a socio-economical standpoint.

#bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate 3 #tara the tressym #forgotten realms #bg3 meta #morena dekarios #bg3 spoilers #faerun #dungeons and dragons

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fayes-fics · 10 months ago

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When The World Is Free: Chapter 2 - La Valse de Paris

MASTERPOST PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.7k

AuthorsNote: Chapter 2 of new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. This details our reader settling into Paris and the outbreak of war. Benedict turns up next chapter. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

Paris, September 1939

Your first few weeks in Paris are a delightful blur.

Spending late summer exploring the city - with Solène as your occasional guide and Eloise when she is not at work. You soak up every moment, from the windswept magnificence of standing atop the Eiffel Tower, your words being stolen by the wind, to the monastic silence of the Louvre on a quiet Monday morning. And everything in between - from Notre Dame's atmospheric incense-laden gothic darkness to the airy, resplendent glass dome of Galeries Lafayette that glitters like a prismatic jewel even on cloudy days.

But perhaps your favourites are the little slices of city life: sitting watching the world go by at a corner cafe, the crunch and warm, pillowy softness of the first bite of freshly baked baguette as you wander back from the boulangerie, the lingering fragrance of the rose garden at the Château de Bagatelle in Bois de Boulogne... It's all pieces of a puzzle that fill your heart in ways that make your life before now seem drab, almost in black and white, like a photograph.

You have written to Stanley once since you arrived, effusive in your praise, a homily to your new home, however temporary. While proclaiming his happiness for you, his response tempered, a touch dismissive of your wonderment. I can scarcely believe any city could truly live up to the praise you so readily heap upon Paris, my love, he wrote back. That was a week ago, and your urge to reply has been muted.

It's during an idle lunchtime by the Seine, eating a sandwich as you dangle your feet over the river wall, that you genuinely feel a local. An elderly French couple, likely visiting from the provinces, approaches you and asks you for directions to the Musée de l'Homme. Part of you aglow they think you sophisticated enough to look Parisian, and French. And you are able to help them, giving them the information in French, not fluent but sufficient that they are surprised when you confess “je suis américaine”.

In your third week, you secure the art gallery job Eloise had seen posted. An opportunity to meet many new people, primarily British and American, who share your love of art of all persuasions. You spend many a happy hour answering questions and building your knowledge of art, not just in your gallery but across the city. Part of you is wistful to study the subject in even greater depth than the books you borrow in copious quantities from the library where Eloise works.

You grow so close to Eloise so quickly that it’s as if you have known her your whole life. A sense of kinship, a near familial bond. You know, on some instinctive level, she will always be a part of your life somehow. Your evenings are often spent in lounge bars together—venues awash with art deco splendour as you listen to jazz through a cigarette haze and flirt aimlessly with a carousel of handsome men. Life seems so full of potential, a hum in your very being.

“What do you think the purpose of life is, y/n?” Eloise sighs as she flops onto your bed after returning from one such decadent night out.

“Aaaand we are done with the brandy…” you declare, taking the bottle of Martell cognac from her grip and placing it pointedly on the dresser, your high-handed point only mildly undermined by your own unsteady gait.

You collapse down next to her, the intricate ceiling rose around your light fixture swirling slightly before your very eyes.

“Love?” you hazard in answer to her question.

“Boo! Cliché!” she jeers, elbowing you good-naturedly.

“I don’t just mean romantic love,” you protest, “the love of family… friends…”

“Ah, yes, family. Endlessly large family. Don’t suppose you want an extra sibling or two, do you? I could be persuaded to let a couple go,” she squints comically.

“Depends… can I have the artist?” you jest.

“You have to stop staring at that painting; it's getting weird,” she opines with her typical bluntness, “and no, you can’t. You know he’s my favourite,” she pouts.

“I think he’s my favourite too,” you opine over a stifled yawn, any embarrassment about being called out for your unbridled admiration overridden by the sleepy state your comfortable bed lulls you into.

“If you end up being attracted to my brother, I will have to disown you, you know,” she pats your hand drowsily.

“Hmm, good thing he’s so far away…” you trail off with a lazy giggle, eyes drooping heavily.

It’s the last words you exchange before you both fall asleep on your bed.

–

Perhaps, as with all things that are too good, the idyll is temporary. It's the news you wake up to that following morning, September 4th, which throws everything into uncertainty. Solène knocks on your door early with an uncharacteristically sombre expression, wordlessly handing you the morning paper and flicking on the wireless on your mantelpiece, the fine lines on her face deeper etched, furrowed with worry.

‘La Guerre!’ the headline screams from the newspaper. And the voice on the airwaves, your ear more attuned to the language now, details how Britain and France have jointly declared war against Germany for their invasion of Poland a few days prior.

At the sound of the radio, Eloise emerges from your room, blinking and hair asunder, a little delicate from your previous night's revelry. You sip coffee at a loss for what to think or do. It’s an odd cognitive dissonance when life at once seems identical but also changed by an invisible shape - an undercurrent of fear, of the unknown, a punch to the pit of your stomach that you don’t know how to acknowledge - even as you go through the motions of your daily routine and head to work.

By the evening you are more phlegmatic about the situation. Your spirit dampened, yes, but not crushed. You feel an immense sense of privilege that conflict is not yet at your doorstep, but equally knowing being in the capital city of a nation that just declared war against a neighbouring country is not exactly safe.

You and Eloise splash out on dinner at an upscale brassiere that night, one you have both passed and commented you’d love to dine in some time. Both of you seized by the unspoken “what if”, the previous reluctance to treat yourselves entirely absent.

Talk on all the tables around you as you dine - on heavenly butter-soft steak - is about the war. What it could mean for Paris, fear of another major European conflict so soon after the last, the economic concerns - the bite of the early 30s depression just relinquishing its hostile grip on the somewhat bruised denizens.

Afterwards, you wander the cobbled streets back to your apartment, arms looped, bellies full, occasionally staring up at the starry night sky in mostly contemplative, sober silence. It’s a beautiful evening, but something in the warm breeze feels melancholic.

When you open the door to your building, Solène is waiting, rocking on her heels.

“Eloise, a telegram has come for you!” she announces, shoving a piece of paper into her hand. “And a telephone call from England earlier,” she adds, gesturing to the black rotary phone outside her place—the only one in the building.

Eloise gives you a brief glance and then opens the message. You watch her eyes ping across the text before her shoulders slump.

“My mother,” she sighs in explanation, “it appears she is summoning me back home.”

“What?!” the selfish reflex of not wanting to be left alone is the first thing flaring in you.

“It’s not fair!” she whines in a flash of child-like defiance before continuing in a more subdued tone. “She is sending my brother to come get me. She doesn’t specify which, but seeing as Anthony is a Lieutenant General in the Army and has likely been called to Churchill’s side, I'm presuming Benedict,” Eloise surmises.

Your thoughts instantly fly to that painting hanging in your apartment upstairs. A strange flutter under your ribs at the idea you could be about to meet its creator. Quickly followed by a wash of guilt that you could even focus on such a frivolous thing.

“What will I do without you?’’ You fret aloud, grasping her arm tighter.

“There was a call for you too, y/n,” Solène pipes up. “Your father wants you to exchange your return ticket for a sailing home as soon as possible,” she relays.

“But.. I just got here!” your lament as defiant as Eloise’s. A frustrating sense you are losing a fleeting opportunity you already hold so precious - like a new toy being ripped from the meaty fist of a truculent toddler.

“Mes amis, what can I say?” that trademark Gallic shrug seizing Solène’s shoulders. “While Paris is safe for now, we do not know how much longer that will hold true… it is likely best you return home. Perhaps this will be over in weeks, and you can return?”

You know your parents have paid your rent upfront for a whole year, likely similar for Eloise, your landlady not impacted financially by your leaving, merely a wish for you to enjoy your Parisian adventures.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and wander in, both of you sigh; the illumination from the Eiffel Tower that refracts upon your window pane just adds to your melancholia, a sight that before had never failed to warm your heart.

“When will your brother get here?” your inflection dull.

“Tomorrow, most likely. It only takes a couple of hours to cross the Channel, and as you know, the train ride from the coast is just a few more. I expect he’ll be waiting for me right here when I return from work,” her tone is just as flat as yours.

You want to ask if she will pack tonight, but you stop yourself, seeing the flame that usually burns so bright behind her blue eyes dimmed. Wordlessly, you draw closer and pull her into a firm hug.

“I will miss you like a sister,” she whispers into your hair, returning the embrace just as fiercely, “maybe moreso.”

You nod and band your arms tighter briefly before letting go, bone-deep exhaustion overtaking anything else you see in her mirrored stance.

The last thing that captures your eye as Eloise turns to her room is that painting of her childhood home and, strangely, how it feels closer now than ever before.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

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icanseethefuture333 · 11 months ago

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Tis' the season 🍧: How will you spend the holidays + What gift will you receive? 💝

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Jingle Bell Rock by Hall & Oates

Speechless by Don shay

Baby I Miss You by 2NE1

Abundance, Peace, Nine of Swords, Eight of Swords, Eight of Wands, Justice, Three of Cups, & Ten of Cups

I see that for this holiday, you will be be feeling very abundant and peaceful! There is someone who will miss you very much, you could miss them just as much. I believe someone from your past is wishing to come back into your life or reach out to you to talk. This decision on allowing them to come back into your life will be entirely up to you. I am getting that this is a past romantic connection, but it could also be platonic/family member. (clarified by After Last Night by Silk Sonic ft. Thundercat & Bootsy Collins) I see that this person could even show up at your place 👀? They are very determined to express how they feel to you. I believe you will choose to do what's best for yourself. I believe you will focus on spending time with friends and family for the holiday. Appreciating the ones who have shown they truly care for you and moving on from whatever doesn't serve you. "I choose to cherish the people who value me the most" ♡

Gifts: text messages, phone calls, "I'll be home for Christmas", "you are so special to me", letters, blessed friends & family connections, return of someone from the past, an apology, flowers, and cookies

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Last Christmas by Wham!

Chilly by Niki

Drive It Like You Stole It by Sing Street

Loneliness, Courage, The Tower, Two of Swords, Ten of Wands, Seven of Pentacles, The Hierophant, & The Star

I see that you could be going through a difficult time in the beginning of the holidays :(! I'm sorry about that! For some of you, you could be currently in separation from your partner or going through a break up. For others in this pile, you and someone close to you are growing apart. Things could be hectic and feel like things are crumbling down. Not to worry though, pile 2! I see that this tower moment coming for you is just to bring much needed change into your life. You have to find the courage to want to get past this (clarified by How Does It Feel by Summer Walker). You could be wanting to push through the holidays. Instead of thinking "Let's just get over it with", try to be more positive and be determined towards your goals. You must learn how to have faith and believe in little miracles again. If you want change in your life and feel unsatisfied with the current circumstances, you have the power to do anything you wish in life. You just have to be brave and go after what it is you seek. I also see that you will harness your skills and put them to use. You have a lot of potential. Your talents and skills could attract a lot of financial abundance into your life.

Gifts: car, something blue 💙, snowflake, jewelry, a trip to see the ball drop in New York City, visiting a building thats significant to you, religious sanctuary (church, mosque, or temple), and guide books

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Merry Christmas Darling by Christina Perri

Moments In Love by The Art of Noise

Happiness Over Everything (H.O.E) by Jhené Aiko ft. Future & Miguel

Surrender, Purpose, Queen of Wands, Knight of Wands, Four of Wands, Five of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, & Ace of Swords

I feel like this pile has been very naughty this Christmas if you catch my drift... 😳😝. I see you are trying to get "warm and cozy" this holiday with someone you've been seeing for a while. While for others, this could be someone you hook up with. (Channeled song: SHOOT! by Itzy) I see for some of you there is someone you fancy but are afraid of confronting them regarding your feelings or how they feel because you worry there will be some kind of rejection. I'm telling you this is literally a sign for you to shoot your shot (like a free throw! 🏀). There is a lot of options you will have romantically (or even sexually) this Christmas. There also seems to be people who wish fight for you attention. For my singles, you will take a chance towards an opportunity and it will go very well! I see you will also have a lot of good luck regarding your relationships. It is time to take action and communicate your ideas very clearly. Release control this holiday and take a break! Allow yourself to relax and take time to reflect on what fulfills you emotionally as a person. This could also be time for you to think what it is you'd like to do for the new year. Make a vision board or make a list of your goals for the new year. It is also urgent to take care of your health during this season! Some of you could be more prone to sickness and can catch a cold or flu. So sanitize frequently and take your vitamins!

Gifts: Sex, dates, celebrations, parties, weddings, anniversaries, engagement rings, homemade soup, and lottery tickets

Pile 4:

Shufflemancy -

All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

I Got It by Charli XCX ft. Cupcakke, Brooke Candy, & Pabllo Vittar

Diamond by f(x)

Envy, Acceptance, Five of Swords, Three of Pentacles, Ace of Pentacles, Four of Cups, Seven of Wands, & Seven of Swords

This pile is focusing on their bag for the holidays! I see a lot of financial abundance coming your way. There could be a lot of people who are sending you nasty vibes and are jealous, so make sure to pray up and protect your energy 🧿. Some of you should do spellwork or invest in something that has to do with self protection. You have overcome people's sabotage and backstabbing, despite people's vindictive and malicious intentions, you still see the best in people. For some of you, you could have gotten into a argument with someone close to you and want to try to make amends. While for others, you will speak to a higher up at your job about the mistreatment or unfairness you have experienced at work. I feel that you will demand for a raise or promotion otherwise you will quit your job. I actually see things working out for you. I also see this other person who's fucking with you finally backing off and will realize you're not taking their shit anymore. I also see that you will stop holding resentment towards others and will stop trying to force people to change when they don't want to. You will have new ideas and could see things from a different perspective. "I accept what I cannot change and focus on what I can make happen". I also see that you are going to be doing a lot of shopping for the holidays! So budget and manage your finances wisely.

Gifts: Money, shopping sprees, gift cards, electronic banking/wiring, raise, promotion, vacation day/day off from work, holiday cards, postcards, good credit score, and you could mostly focus on giving gifts to others than receiving.

Pile 5:

Shufflemancy -

Love to Keep Me Warm by Laufey ft. Dodie

Just Like Magic by Ariana Grande

From Time by Drake ft. Jhené Aiko

Worry, Growth, Page of Swords, The Lovers, Three of Cups, Page of Wands, Justice, & Six of Swords

There is a lot that has been heavy on your mind and heart, pile 5. I believe some of you are having some sort of existential life crisis or have been wondering where you are going in life. I remember there was this saying that goes: "You don't need to know everything, because if you knew everything, life wouldn't be interesting!". You have to give yourself time to grow and find what place in the world makes you feel whole and safe. If you don't fit in anywhere than you don't need to. Don't try to force a puzzle piece that doesn't fit, instead be patient, and see that your piece could possibly belong to an entirely different puzzle. I hope that makes sense for you. I see that for this holiday you will be taking time to retreat and wish to expand your consciousness. There could be a lot of delays happening in your life or things not going as planned (flights delayed, canceled plans, road blocks, etc). There is a reason for this because you need to focus on self love and learn how to accept love from others. You will come across people who are "angels" in human form. People could be more kind, helpful, and caring towards you than usual, this is a sign from the universe to show you that there is hope. I also see that you will feel more brave regarding a decision in your life that you have been putting off. I am channeling a lot of messages here for this pile. Some of you, you will successfully win a lawsuit or a legal court will allow something you petitioned. A few of you will elope with a romantic partner in a court house. The other group for this pile will be approved for a visa to travel or will get to live overseas. Then for the majority of the people who have chosen this pile will embarking on a expedition or will discover the "journey to the soul". All of these situations will be very uncomfortable for you because it is meant to take you out of your comfort zone. Allow yourself to receive help from others and let your guard down for once.

Gifts: help, moving boxes, meditation, luggage, passports, visa, approved court documents, end of a long legal battle, bon voyage party, financial compensation, and new home

Pile 6:

Shufflemancy -

8 Days of Christmas by Destiny's Child

Peek-A-Boo by Red Velvet

Fell In Love by Brent Faiyaz

Friendship, Success, Two of Cups, Ace of Pentacles, Two of Wands, Strength, The High Priestess, & Nine of Cups

For the holidays, you will be spending time with your closest friends! Perhaps there will be a potluck thrown or everyone will come together to cook dinner. Some of you could even live with your best friend! Or will make plans to live with or live closer to a friend. If you are someone who doesn't have friends, I also see you making friends in the new year! When it comes to your career, a business partnership could be on the table or you will make great connections that will help you level at your job (channeled song: New Phone, Who Dis? (Remix) by Cyanca ft. Durand Bernarr) You could get a new phone number or disconnect from your phone entirely next year. You are very determined to achieve your goals for the new year and have no time for any bad vibes this holiday ✨️. You will be feeling very confident and more empowered this year (period, pile 6!). Your intuition will be more enhanced this time of the year. So if you peep any fuckery going on... it will not go unnoticed. It's giving: "I know my worth and I'm the queen/king of this shit". (Channeled song: Cleo by Shygirl). A wish fulfillment or manifestation of yours will come true this holiday. Your mindset will be very abundant and your self concept will be impeccable during this time.

Gifts: new phone, potluck, friendship bracelet or necklace, money, gift cards, business offer, job offer, pass job interview, approved application, trophy, award, scholarship, and contract offer

Pile 7:

Shufflemancy -

Christmas Without You by Taeyeon

Coming of Age Ceremony by Park Jiyoon

Want Some More by Nicki Minaj

Discipline, Death (2x!), Two of Pentacles, Nine of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, Three of Swords, The Devil (reversed), & The Empress

This pile's energy is so intense 😳! I feel like this pile had a good year then things suddenly have gone downhill for you. For some of you, you could have broke up with someone who was cheating on your or was toxic for your mental health. While for others, you could be ready to cut some people off from your life or have done so already. This person is bitter you have moved on and you are prospering in life. I also see that you will be disciplined during this holiday. You have goals that you are determined to achieve and will not allow any fuckboys (girls or theys lol) get in the way of your success. I see you feeling more fulfilled this holiday and enjoying the luxuries of life. You will be enjoying your freedom from these toxic people from your previous lifestyle. Overall you're riding solo this holiday. Make sure to budget and be careful with your finances! If you exceed your spending limit, it could cause complications in your life.

Gifts: Jewelry, luxury items, food, a enrichment program, visit to a winery (or anything that allows you engage in your senses), restaurants, trip to a spa/salon, pillows, blankets, and candles

Pile 8:

Shufflemancy -

Merry & Happy by Twice

Tell Me by Wonder Girls

2nd Fiddle by Leikeli47

Pride, Love, King of Pentacles, Three of Pentacles, The Star, Four of Pentacles, The Emperor, & Queen of Pentacles

"Pride & prejudice" could be a significant book/movie for you watch this holiday. I feel you and a loved one are at odds right now. (Channeled song: Love Is A Battlefield by Pat Benetar). You & this person love each other dearly but are acting so STUBBORN 😭. I feel that this person will want to make amends with you but you will be feeling petty and give them the cold shoulder/silent treatment because you do not want to put your pride down. Think about if losing this person or not being able to have another moment with them this holiday would be worth it. Don't let your pride sabotage a good thing, pile 8. There will be a conversation that will be healing and needed for you both to grow in your relationship. It is necessary to discuss what would bring stability in your lives. The biggest message for you this holiday is learn how to pick your battles.

Gifts: artwork, stationary supplies, vase, pottery, shoes, hats, sweaters, jackets, veils, head scarves, rosary, cross, religious symbols, earrings, go to see Christmas lights, and visit a manger, a farm, ranch, or barn

Pile 9:

Shufflemancy -

I'll Be Home For Christmas by Kacey Musgraves & Lana Del Rey

Relax Your Mind by Cookiee Kawaii

Got 'Til It's Gone by Janet Jackson

Forgiveness, Gratitude, The Tower, Nine of Swords, The Hanged Man (reversed), Three of Wands, Ace of Cups, & Knight of Cups

This pile could be feeling very nostalgic this holiday. Some of you could be grieving the loss of a loved one. I am so sorry my love :(! While for others, you are grieving your past. There is something about losing time and wishing you could go back to fix things. Pile 9, you have to forgive yourself. The past is the past and you have to learn to find ways to cope and focus on the present. There is a lot of mental stress you are experiencing or you could suffer from past trauma. Whatever the case may be, holding onto the past is not benefiting you. There is a lot of mental anguish you are dealing with and it's time for you to release the emotions you have been feeling or kept inside of you. I see for the holiday you won't be stuck in this chaotic and depressing energy anymore, that things will actually turn around for you, you just have to be willing to have faith and trust in yourself. This is a very significant message, but you guys need to start speaking to the universe, your spirit guides, ancestors, etc. Some sort of spiritual figure who can guide you. If you are not a spiritual person, then please do your research on the higher self. If you are losing faith when it comes to the universe or any other holy figure, trust in your higher self to guide you. Write a letter to your past, present, and future self. Release whatever is not serving you, pay attention to what you are currently feeling, and think of who you want to be in the future. It is not too late. You can achieve anything you set your mind to, pile 9. Once you have done something along those lines, I see that you will start to feel more optimistic and ready to seek this new desire of yours. An adventure is out there waiting for you! There will be a boost in your confidence and you will be more kind regarding your past mistakes. Self love is your main focus for the new year. I also see for this holiday you will cherish the moments you have with your loved ones and talk to them about the bittersweet feelings you have. They will be understanding and attentive to your needs, as you will for them.

Gifts: photo album, family videos, picture frame, plants, cups, flasks, visiting or a memorabilia from your childhood home or hometown, boat ride, holiday suite, cabin, trip to a resort, & visit to a chapel

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot #tarot readings #astrology #astro observations #astrology observations #free tarot reading #free readings #christmas #oracle #oracle cards #tarot cards #tarot reading #new year

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queereads-bracket · 9 days ago

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Queer Adult SFF Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries and submitted endorsements below:

The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson (The Space Between Worlds series)

Multiverse travel is finally possible, but there’s just one catch: No one can visit a world where their counterpart is still alive. Enter Cara, whose parallel selves happen to be exceptionally good at dying—from disease, turf wars, or vendettas they couldn’t outrun. Cara’s life has been cut short on 372 worlds in total.

On this Earth, however, Cara has survived. Identified as an outlier and therefore a perfect candidate for multiverse travel, Cara is plucked from the dirt of the wastelands. Now she has a nice apartment on the lower levels of the wealthy and walled-off Wiley City. She works—and shamelessly flirts—with her enticing yet aloof handler, Dell, as the two women collect off-world data for the Eldridge Institute. She even occasionally leaves the city to visit her family in the wastes, though she struggles to feel at home in either place. So long as she can keep her head down and avoid trouble, Cara is on a sure path to citizenship and security.

But trouble finds Cara when one of her eight remaining doppelgängers dies under mysterious circumstances, plunging her into a new world with an old secret. What she discovers will connect her past and her future in ways she could have never imagined—and reveal her own role in a plot that endangers not just her world, but the entire multiverse.

Science fiction, multiverse, politics, mystery, series, adult

The Adventure Zone Graphic Novels series (Vol 1: Here There Be Gerblins, Vol 2: Murder on the Rockport Limited!, Vol 3: Petals to the Metal, Vol 4: The Crystal Kingdom, Vol 5: The Eleventh Hour, Vol 6: The Suffering Game) by Clint McElroy, Griffin McElroy, Justin McElroy, Travis McElroy (Illustrated by Carey Pietsch)

Endorsement from submitter: "One of main characters is in gay relationship with Death"

Welcome to the Adventure Zone!

SEE! The illustrated exploits of three lovable dummies set loose in a classic fantasy adventure!

READ! Their journey from small-time bodyguards to world-class artifact hunters!

MARVEL! At the sheer metafictional chutzpah of a graphic novel based on a story created in a podcast where three dudes and their dad play a tabletop role playing game in real time!

Join Taako the elf wizard, Merle the dwarf cleric, and Magnus the human warrior for an adventure they are poorly equipped to handle AT BEST, guided ("guided") by their snarky DM, in a graphic novel that, like the smash-hit podcast it's based on, will tickle your funny bone, tug your heartstrings, and probably pants you if you give it half a chance.

With endearingly off-kilter storytelling from master goofballs Clint McElroy and the McElroy brothers, and vivid, adorable art by Carey Pietsch, The Adventure Zone: Here There be Gerblins is the comics equivalent of role-playing in your friend's basement at 2am, eating Cheetos and laughing your ass off as she rolls critical failure after critical failure.

Graphic novel, fantasy, humor, adventure, series, adult

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iwtvfanevents · 9 months ago

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Rewind the Tape —Episode 1

Art of the episode

During our rewatch, we took note of the art shown and mentioned in the pilot, and we wanted to share. Did we miss any? Do you have any thoughts about how these references could be interpreted? How do you think Armand and Louis go about picking the art for their penthouse in Dubai?

The Fall of the Rebel Angels

Peter Bruegel the Elder, 1562

This painting is featured in the Interview with the Vampire book, and it was important enough to be included in the draft pilot script!

Bruegel the Elder was among the most significant Dutch and Flemish Renaissance artists. He was a painter and print-maker, known for his landscapes and peasant scenes.

Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion

Francis Bacon, 1944

Bacon was an Irish figurative painter, known for his raw, unsettling imagery and a number of triptychs and diptychs among his work. At a time when being gay was a criminal offense, Bacon was open about his sexuality, and was cast out by his family at 16 for this reason. He destroyed many of his early works, but about 590 still survive. The Tate, where these paintings are displayed, says this about the work: "Francis Bacon titled this work after the figures often featured in Christian paintings witnessing the death of Jesus. But he said the creatures represented the avenging Furies from Greek mythology. The Furies punish those who go against the natural order. In Aeschylus’s tragedy The Eumenides, for example, they pursue a man who has murdered his mother. Bacon first exhibited this painting in April 1945, towards the end of the Second World War. For some, it reflects the horror of the war and the Holocaust in a world lacking guiding principles."

On the Hunt or Captain Percy Williams On A Favorite Irish Hunter and Calling the Hounds Out of Cover

Samuel Sidney, 1881 [Identified by @vfevermillion.] and Heywood Hardy, 1906 [Identified by @destinationdartboard.]

Sidney was an English writer, and his prints usually accompanied his publications about hunting, agriculture, and about settling Australia during the colonial period. Hardy, also British, was a painter, in particular an animal painter. There's also a taxidermy deer, ram, and piebald deer on the wall.

Iolanta

Pyotr Tchaikovsky, 1892

The opera Louis and Lestat go to was composed by Tchaikovsky, another gay artist. The play tells a story "in which love prevails, light shines for all, lies are no longer necessary and no one must fear punishment," as put by Susanne Stähr for the Berliner Philharmoniker.

Strawberries and Cream

Raphaelle Peale, 1816 [Identified by @diasdelfuego.]

Peale is considered to have been the first professional American painter of still-life.

Outfits inspired by J.C. Leyendecker

Leyendecker was one of the most prominent and commercially successful freelance artists in the U.S. He studied in France, and was a pioneer of the Art Deco illustration. Leyendecker's model, Charles Beach, was also his lover of five decades. You can read costume designer Carol Cutshall's thoughts on these outfits on her Instagram.

The Artist's Sister, Melanie

Egon Schiele, 1908 [Identified by @dwreader.]

Schiele was an Austrian expressionist painter and protege of Gustav Klimt. Many of his portraits (self portraits and of others) were described as grotesque and disturbing.

A Stag at Sharkey's

George Wesley Bellows, 1909 [Identified by @vfevermillion.]

Bellows was an American realist painter, known for his bold depictions of urban life in New York City.

Mildred-O Hat

Robert Henri, undated (likely 1890s) [Identified by @nicodelenfent, here.]

Henri was an American painter who studied in Paris, where he learned from the Impressionists and determined to lead an even more dramatic revolt against American academic art.

Starry night

Edvard Munch, 1893 [Identified by @vfevermillion.]

Munch was a Norwegian painter, one of the best known figures of late 19th-century Symbolism and a great influence in German Expressionism in the early 20th century. His work dealt with psychological themes, and he personally struggled with mental illness.

If you spot or put a name to any other references, let us know if you'd like us to add them with credit to the post!

Starting tonight, we will be rewatching and discussing Episode 2, ...After the Phantoms of Your Former Self. We hope to see you there!

And, if you're just getting caught up, learn all about our group rewatch here ►

#louis de pointe du lac #daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt #vampterview #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #amc iwtv #iwtv amc #IWTVfanevents #rewind the tape #in throes of increasing wonder #analysis and meta #art of the episode

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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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1900s futurism

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

I'm profoundly skeptical of the idea that the future can be predicted, and doubly skeptical that sf writers are any kind of prophet. The former grotesque fatalism (if the future can be predicted, then what we do doesn't matter); the latter is tragicomic hubris.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

That said, few people have been more consistently useful in understanding and anticipating (and yes, building) the future than my friend and colleague Karl Schroeder, whom I've known since I was 16 years old. Karl was the first person I heard say the world "internet." Also: "fractal," "World Wide Web," "ftp," and numerous other touchstones of the future just over the horizon.

Karl is, in fact, a futurist ("foresight consultant") who approaches the work with the same shrewd insight, wild imagination and humility that he brings to his fiction. In a new essay written with both his futurist and sf writer hats on, he nails down the toxic shadow cast by the 20th century sf, or, as he calls it, "The Science Fiction of the 1900s":

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/the-science-fiction-of-the-1900s

Karl starts by describing the odd "double vision" of the future of the 1900s. On the one hand, many of us (myself included) were convinced that nuclear armageddon was inevitable. Unlike the unhinged architects of the nuclear arms-race, realists understood that a nuclear war would effectively end the future. As Einstein put it, "I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones."

But the flipside of that certainty that the future would end with the first nuclear strike was the belief that if we could just somehow walk the tightrope over the chasm of nuclear holocaust, we'd emerge in a future worth looking forward to: "a new era of peace and prosperity for all."

Contrast that with the existential dread of today's polycrisis: environmental collapse and political decay up to and including fascism. These aren't the binary proposition of nuclear annihilation vs Utopia – rather, they're a continuum of worse-and-better outcomes of every description. As Karl writes: "It’s not that simple. Our future now is an exhausting spectrum of scenarios, each with its own promise, and its own problems."

For Karl, we have entered a new epoch, but we've dragged in the long-expired way of imagining (and hence creating and navigating) the future with us. What makes this a new epoch? For Karl, it's the kind of future on our horizon. He cites Charles C Mann’s 1491, a superb history of the Americas before Columbus:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/107178/1491-second-edition-by-charles-c-mann/9781400032051/readers-guide/

1491 radically reframes "the patchwork of propaganda and inference" that makes up the received narrative of the so-called "New World." It describes a land of flourishing cities, art, science and culture "in the Americas while Rome was just getting its act together." Contact with colonizing Europeans was a disaster for First Nations people, who call this period "The Invasion." It was an epochal break.

Futurism is an inextricably historical discipline. The willingness of some settler-colonialists states to consider this epochal break forces us to reframe our literal place in history, the story of the land under our feet. At its best, this futuro-historical work can begin the long work of reconciliation, as with the Canadian government's promise of $23b in reparations for the First Nations people who were kidnapped as children and sent to murderous "residential schools" before, during and after the Sixties Scoop.

The sf of the 1900s is no longer fit for purpose, if it ever was. It's a literature that was steered by open fascists like John W Campbell, who explicitly saw the literature as a means of inculcating a societal narrative of the triumph of white, corporate technocracy over all other forms of government:

https://locusmag.com/2019/11/cory-doctorow-jeannette-ng-was-right-john-w-campbell-was-a-fascist/

Karl isn't the first sf writer to try to overturn this orthodoxy – indeed, it was continuously challenged by radicals within the field, as with the New Wave, personified by the likes of Samuel Delany and Judith Merril (who both mentored and introduced Karl and me):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/08/13/better-to-have-loved/#neofuturians

The cyberpunks took a good hard run at it, too. For plenty of writers (including me), Bruce Sterling and William Gibson's 1981 story "The Gernsback Continuum" was a wake-up call:

http://writing2.richmond.edu/jessid/eng216/gernsback.pdf

Not for nothing, William Gibson has long insisted that his 1984 classic Neuromancer should be read as utopian: after all, it depicts a future in which the inevitable nuclear war only reduces a few cities to radioactive ash, sparing the rest of the planet.

Bruce Sterling once paid me the supreme compliment of describing a 2003 story I wrote about the ways that algorithms will enshittify self-driving cars as "making everybody else in the business look like they live in a dark basement growing on the mulch from old STAR TREK scripts":

https://craphound.com/stories/2005/10/12/human-readable/

Schroeder – along with today's new radical sf writer cohort – wants to fashion a fictional futurism that is fit for this world and its crisis: "in our modern technological society, science fiction tells us what to spend our time and money on." The fact that our mediocre billionaires are mired in the sf of the 1900s means that we're getting some decidedly old-fashioned futures.

For Karl, Musk is a poster-child for this profoundly conservative, backwards-looking vision: "He’s fighting the intellectual battles of the last century, a 1900s hero dropped into the 2000s with an unlimited budget to reshape the future to fit the era he’s from." Musk's obsessions – "Space flight. Settling Mars. Cyberpunk-style brain-computer interfaces. Artificial Intelligence. Self-driving electric cars. Humanoid robots." – are 1900s science fiction.

Ironically, much of this fiction labels itself "hard sf," despite the fact that interstellar travel is utter fantasy – as is mass-scale, near-term interplanetary civilization:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

Karl wants "a future for the 2000s." He points to some efforts to make this happen, like Neal Stephenson's Hieroglyph anthology, edited by Ed Finn and Kathryn Cramer:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/hieroglyph-ed-finnkathryn-cramer

The "Hieroglyph" is Stephenson's shorthand for a recognizable, tangible, meme-able gizmo or other touchstone for a 2000s-era vision of the future – a replacement for jetpacks and flying cars. Karl's story for the anthology, "Degrees of Freedom," focuses on an abstraction (governance: "the single most important thing humanity can focus its creative energies on right now"), and by Karl's own admission, it's not quite the hieroglyph Stephenson was looking for.

But Karl did come up with a hieroglyph in a later work, the "deodands" of 2019's Stealing Worlds – a software agent "that believes it is some natural system, such as a river or forest, and acts in its own self-interest, that being the preservation and thriving of that natural system":

https://memex.craphound.com/2019/06/18/karl-schroeders-stealing-worlds-visionary-science-fiction-of-a-way-through-the-climate-and-inequality-crises/

(My own contribution to Hieroglyph was very gadget heavy – "The Man Who Sold the Moon," about autonomous lunar 3D printers. It won the Sturgeon Award):

https://memex.craphound.com/2015/05/22/the-man-who-sold-the-moon/

I've been impressed with Karl since the day I met him in 1987. There's no one whose thoughts on the future I'm more interested in hearing. I don't think that's a coincidence, either: Karl is an autodidact who was raised by a Mennonite TV repairman – the first TV repair shop in the Canadian prairies. If you want to understand the future, try being raised by someone who takes that kind of deliberate approach to which technology to adopt, and how.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/07/the-gernsback-continuum/#wheres-my-jetpack

#pluralistic #science fiction #futurism #the future #reactionaries #tescreal #retrofuturism #scientifiction #karl schroeder #1491 #genocide

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secret-smut-sideblog · 5 months ago

Text

Tongues and Teeth

Monster x F! Reader (named)

18+ relationships forming, predator/prey, tension, roughness, dirty talk, light choking, restraint, thigh riding, oral (f!), face sitting, masturbation (gn), yearning oh god the yearning

When her monster comes to her again, Merricat learns more about them. And as they are comforted in her, are drawn ever closer...

Prev Chapter, Masterlist

A disgruntled heel closed her door, carrying late night groceries in to the counter. Keys looped onto a hook in her wake. Shoes abandoned at the threshold.

"Okay..." She sighed to herself, feeling small triumph and pride at braving the exhaustion. Shedding her work clothes in layers as she fell into the arms of her home. Swaddling herself in a big t-shirt. Igniting warm lamplight along her trail.

Falling back with a satisfied flop on the couch, a drink cracked open in her fingers.

The hinges of the stairwell door shrieked.

Merricat froze.

The wall at her back paused in silence. Then footsteps took up, ascending to the alcove. Sharp in the echo.

Hooves.

A wide smile split her face. Looping a second drink in the hook of her fingers.

"Huh, no rain tonight?"

Blackwood looked up, tilting their head at her in welcome. A new book she had left on the end table open in their lap.

"Not yet. But it's on its way."

Their voice always elicited shivers down her back, gooseflesh rising on her forearms.

As if agreeing with them, a low peal of thunder rose further in towards the city.

It had been several Fridays since their last encounter, and at each appearance, Blackwood had come to darken her doorway. Taking up her alcove as sanctuary from the storm. Reading in the lamplight. Sometimes she joined them, sometimes not. More than happy to supply them with reading material and even a sliver of something home shaped.

She held the bottle out by the neck in offer. Blackwood took it easily, turning it in their large, taloned hands.

"Though, I'm not sure if it's the rain that summons me back here."

Their halogen eyes found hers, head angled into an appraising tilt. Lifting the bottle under skull to their lips.

"Anymore, at least."

Merricat's fingers tightened just slightly on her elbow.

"Actually, I was thinking..." She picked at the label, feeling their eyes heat on her.

"Do you want to come in? Like, in, in?"

She could see their lips fall open in a soft part as their head lowered back down. A deep breath pulled through.

"I would. Very much."

She smiled, nerves and joy colliding. Turning down the stairs, their body an encompassing shadow at her back following. Heart thrilling in her chest.

"Ah, watch your step." She hummed, the low doorway a natural obstacle. Blackwood having to duck their head down in a curl and turn to the side to fit the width of antlers.

"Here." She hushed, smiling. Looping her fingers around a prong to guide it fully down. The smooth bone cool under her pull.

Only after a moment did she realize the casual intimacy of that. She was always too comfortable with touch, reaching out to pat away dirt or tuck a tag in a shirt.

But before she could feel a prickle of shame, their hand came down to the small of her back. Leading her forward in an equally comfortable guide to make room.

Their wide hand felt lightning along her, warm and tingling. Material and shifting. In both worlds.

"Well, here's my shame." She laughed, moving to the kitchen. "I know, it looks like I gutted an antique store."

Blackwood's eyes followed along the walls, studying the fine art prints and faded photographs. Further drawn in by shelves and ledges lovingly adorned with oddities and trinkets.

"No, it's beautiful." They sighed, moving along the room. Picking up a small bottle sealed with wax, filled with settled sand and seawater. Gently flipping it on its head and back, the grains clouding.

"I'd love a tour, if you don't mind."

"Oh...! Of course!" She chirped, surprised delight raising her up from a lean on the counter.

She led them room to room, pointing out many small fascinations and explaining their origins to the best of her memory.

Glad for the distraction. The heat shared between them in the stairwell weeks ago had burned into her fingers, and she was desperate to regain some platonic footing. Sure the moment had been an overstep, a miscommunication. Though their companionship was... odd, she treasured it dearly already. A girl and a monster. How wonderful.

"Well, that only took half an hour, a new record for me." She laughed, displaying the last cabinet in her bedroom with a flourish. "Sorry, I get carried away."

"No, no..." They ran a taloned finger ever so softly over a glass protected taxidermy. "You've amassed a fascinating collection. Macabre and lovely."

Appraising her again with that small tilt of head. "I think fate couldn't have chosen a better person. Given the form I take now."

She gave a little happy wiggle of shoulders and immediately felt silly about it. Always too girlish in her mannerisms. But Blackwood's eyes only creased up in a hidden smile.

"Your... form." She started, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "How does that feel? For you?"

They settled next to her, folding a long leg onto the bed to face her. Taking a small moment of thoughtful pause.

"Unstable. Like I am between." They raised their hands, holding them in a demonstrating curl. "There's this pull. Like the shift in the air before lightning. Crackling. But it's all over me. Through me."

"In the few moments when I feel material, it settles slightly. Then I feel... tight. Powerful."

They waved their hands in a search for words.

"Coiled?" She offered.

"Yes. Coiled. Poised to strike." They let out a slightly shuddered breath.

"Is it... does it feel frightening?" She turned fully to them. Her hands resting in her lap, fingers unconsciously folding over the ones that had been in their mouth.

"Yes." They breathed. "Terribly."

They slid their hand under hers, curling over her body stained fingers.

"It feels so good." They rumbled, eyes burning. Hackles raising up their back.

Her breath was a fast rabbit caught. Knowing her instinct was right.

Run, girl. Run.

But that was not what her desire spoke.

She rushed them, rising onto knees to push her burning body into their dark. Gasping out breath as her mouth desperately fought to taste theirs.

Blackwood tangled into her, tilting their head back to give her their maw. Her hungry mouth undeterred by the bone of their skull above. Anatomy be damned.

Their hands threaded into her hair, curling around to scratch lines above her ear. Growling and huffing. Biting at her, leaving lips bruised and angry. Two animals rutting in the soft dark.

Their body felt velvet and shock. Electricity pushing into her everywhere they grasped. In the taught of their large muscled body, the silk fur of where their form became beast. Long hair that she wound in her fingers and tugged. All of it wrapped in the deepest black. Crowned in proud branches of bone.

The lust she tried to smother in reason and shame filled her belly, inhibition swept away in the storm. She wanted them. She had always wanted them.

Pulling her top off in a reckless toss, she pressed into them. Grinding into their lap.

Blackwood huffed out breath.

"Wait..."

She paused, worry weaving under the weight of her desire.

"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you, Merricat." Their claws dug into her hips. "I need more than you can take."

"Please, don't stop." She gasped, cupping both sides of their face. "I want you to take. Take me apart. Take all I have to give."

They growled deep in their chest. Their pupils narrowed into pinpoint. Hand coming to snap her wrists behind her back. Head descending to her breast.

"Oh god..." She shuddered, their tongue curling in fast swirls. Sucking the peak in pops of their lips, releasing it to toy with it again. The sensation sent her head back in a pant. Pleasure pooling in her cunt.

They nibbled down on the tip, pulling a whimper from her. Eyes already lost in her sockets, a strike of lust fueled pain tightening as they bit in earnest.

Their hand not holding her writhing wrists came up to slide fingers under her. Her panties separating only adding maddening friction.

"I feel that." They breathed, voice all danger. Nearly accusatory. "You're soaking."

"Yes." She hushed, angling her hips forward. Seeking.

"You know, I could smell you. When you put your fingers inside me." They hissed, fingers tightening into a bruise on her wrists. "Your heat."

Their fingers left her center to curl around her throat. Lifting her high onto her knees. Their head curling down to stare furious desire into her.

"I even tried to rush you. But that only made you want it more, didn't it?"

She nodded, staring wide-eyed. Head nothing but heavy lust.

Their knee slid forward, pushing her up into their thigh.

"Well, you want this so badly?" They chuckled, tilting her head up with the sharp of their thumb. "Then ride."

She needed no further instruction, grinding down into the taut of their thigh. Gasping into her pleasure, already delirious. Their hands still around her throat and wrists a promise of danger.

"That's good." They purred, licking a stripe up the curve of her ear. "Little whore of a beast."

Her cunt clenched hard, a soft whimper leaving her. Already wild with debauched heat. Their thigh wet with her. The smell of her arousal on their fur a primal demand.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" They laughed again, voice so deep it shook the shell of her ear. "Rubbing your scent on me, marking me. Well it works both ways, sow."

Their hand left her wrists to push between them, gathering a pull of her slick onto their long fingers. Spreading it between two fingers with a sharp smile.

"This is mine now."

They arced their hand up their own throat, smearing her into the side of their neck.

Her orgasm crashed into her, buckling her into them. Crying out into jerks of her hips, pleasure unwinding her at her very core.

"Very good." They smiled. "I've shown quite the restraint. You, on the other hand..."

She smiled, body still jolting in aftershock.

"Ah, but restraint is short-lived. And I'm still very hungry." They growled. Sliding down onto their back. Pushing her thighs up to straddle over their face.

"Sit."

She stared down, eyes wide again.

"I said." They yanked down on her thighs. "Sit. Now."

She fell into their mouth, the underside of their skull pushing into her lower belly. Sharp teeth scraped into the soft skin of her thigh on her descent.

Their tongue pushed fully inside her, stretching up and back. Impossibly long. The base grinding into her clit while the tip pulsed into her g-spot.

"Fuck!" She cried out, already tremoring hard. Winding her hands around their antlers as a meager anchor.

Blackwood grunted and huffed at the pull on their antlers. Eyes burning up into her. Suddenly having an upper hand, she smiled. Giving an experimental tug.

They moaned, cupping her ass in both hands. Digging talons into the globes.

Soaked in near unbearable pleasure, she directed their head into a rocking from their antlers. Puppetering her demise.

Their hips bucked up in time to her pulls, tongue fucking with her. Lip curling up into a pleased snarl as she rode their mouth. Tongue unbelievable in its form.

"Oh god, I'm already-" She choked.

They slapped her ass. Demanding. Their other descending behind her to rub into themself. Eyes glazed with lust below her. Tongue working into a frenzy.

She crumpled into herself as her second orgasm hit, sure that she would've collapsed forward if their skull wasn't pushed against her.

They quickly flipped her onto her belly as it struck. Hiking her hips high into the air to grind into her backside.

She pushed back into them, moaning into the mattress. A low chattering huff rose into a bugle at her back as they came. A haunting scream of a call that shook her eardrums.

They fell back into an open slump, head thrown. Panting in hard huffs. Small calls near wails rising from their chest. Diaphragm hitching.

Merricat wrapped around them, turning her face into their chest. Gasping out her own smaller calls.

They buried themself into her, holding around her back with desperate tenderness. Both cradled in the quiet of pleading arms.

"I can't stay." Their deep voice heavy with regret.

"I know." She murmured, feeling their body already starting to slide away. Fingers dipping in shifting dark.

"I'll be back." They promised in a rush, voice husky in its brevity.

"Good. I'll be waiting." She smiled, pulling back. Leaning up on the tips of her knees to quickly kiss them and take a ribbon from her wall. Tying it to a prong.

"Find your way back to me, Blackwood." She whispered as they slid away, black water lost in between her fingers. Leaning forward to brush their lips against hers as they dissipated into the air.

"Hurry back." She hushed into the open night.

Sighing out a laugh as the thunderstorm finally hit her roof.

"I'll pray for rain, okay?"

#hiii sorry this took me so long #monster fucker #monster smut #lyrics from: angel of small death & the codiene scene hozier

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amputeewomen · 10 months ago

Text

Magical amputee

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, where the hum of the city blended with the whispers of the unseen, lived two friends bound by a secret—the existence of magic. Ashley, a spirited urban explorer with an unquenchable thirst for adrenaline, had always been fascinated by the covert world of spells and enchantments her friend Mia, a modern-day mage, navigated with ease.

Mia, with her cool demeanor and an apartment cluttered with arcane books and technological gadgets, had long promised to introduce Ashley to the art of magic, a promise that had been postponed by the chaos of city life. It wasn't until one seemingly ordinary afternoon, in Mia's high-rise sanctuary, that the promise would be demanded in an unexpected way.

Eager to showcase a newly mastered spell, Mia inadvertently altered the course of their lives. With a few whispered incantations and a misplaced flick of her wrist, she cast a transmutation spell that, to their shock, left Ashley with only one leg. The other had vanished, spirited away by forces they could barely comprehend. The sophisticated aluminum forearm crutches that Ashley now had to rely on felt cold and unyielding—a far cry from the freedom she was accustomed to.

Anger bubbled within Ashley, a fiery contrast to the cool, steel touch of her new supports. "Mia," she said, her voice sharp as a blade, "you better make this right. Teach me magic, for real this time. I want to be able to fix this myself."

Mia, her confidence shaken, knew the weight of her responsibility. The spell wouldn't reverse for four weeks, a period that felt like a lifetime to Ashley. Mia agreed, her guilt fueling a newfound determination to fulfill her overdue promise.

And so, amidst the glow of neon lights and the endless thrum of city life, Ashley began her journey into the world of magic. It was no easy task; the arcane books were dense, filled with esoteric knowledge that twisted the tongue and boggled the mind. Mia guided her through ancient spells, teaching her the delicate balance between the mystical and the mundane.

With each passing day, Ashley's frustration turned to fascination. She learned to harness her inner energy, to manipulate the elements, and to understand the language of the universe. The crutches, once a symbol of her limitation, became a part of her learning, as she used them in her magical exercises, balancing and moving with a grace she hadn't known before.

Ashley's anger faded, replaced by a sense of empowerment and an appreciation for Mia's world. The accident had been a catalyst for growth, pushing her into realms she had only dreamed of. By the time the four weeks had passed and her leg returned as if by magic—because, of course, it was—Ashley had transformed. She was no longer just an adrenaline junkie urban explorer; she was a mage in her own right, a master of her own story.

As for Mia, she had learned the gravest lesson of all—the consequences of her actions in the tapestry of fate. But she had also gained a true equal, a partner in magic, and their bond had grown unbreakable.

Together, Ashley and Mia stepped into the future, a future where magic and the metropolitan were intertwined, and their adventures were just beginning.

As the moon crested over the skyline of the city, Ashley and Mia, now comrades in the mystical arts, ventured beyond the concrete jungle to a place where modern GPS maps faltered and the ley lines of the old world held sway. There, cloaked by the lush embrace of the wild, lay the ruins of an ancient magical civilization, whispered about in obscure tomes and hushed tones in the backrooms of esoteric bookshops.

The ruins, remnants of a bygone era where magic flowed as freely as water, were said to contain a pool—a sanctum of pure mana, unspoiled by time. With the night sky as their canopy, the pair navigated the underbrush until the ruins rose before them, bathed in the silver light of the moon. Vines clung to weathered stone, and the air was thick with the power that pulsed through the remnants of archaic spells.

The pool, nestled at the heart of the ruins, glimmered like a jewel in the night. It was said that the waters were infused with the essence of the earth's veins, capable of rejuvenating the magic within any who bathed in its depths.

With a shared glance, Ashley and Mia shed the trappings of the city and entered the waters. The pool embraced Ashley, its magic compensating for her temporary loss, allowing her to swim with a freedom that defied her condition. The water was not just a physical balm but a wellspring of arcane energy that soaked into their very beings, replenishing the mana that flowed through their veins.

As they swam, the boundaries between them, once defined by mentor and pupil, blurred into something more profound. Laughter echoed off the ancient stones, a sound as timeless as the magic that surrounded them. In the water, under the gaze of the constellations that had witnessed millennia pass, they found themselves drawn to each other by a force as natural and powerful as the ley lines beneath their feet.

The water seemed to recognize the burgeoning bond, glowing with a soft luminescence that reflected the light of their souls. And in that moment, Ashley considered the possibility of prolonging her magical ailment. The thought of remaining an amputee, if it meant continuing to explore the depths of this newfound connection with Mia, wasn't as daunting as it once might have been. The transformation had, after all, led her here—to magic, to Mia, to a love she hadn't anticipated.

Their time in the pool was both an eternity and a fleeting instant, a paradox befitting the mystique of the ruins. When they finally emerged, it was with a sense of renewal, both in magic and in heart. The crutches, which lay beside the pool, seemed less like a shackle and more like a bridge—a bridge that had carried Ashley to this point in her journey.

The ruins, once silent and waiting, now played host to the whispers of a new story, one that intertwined Ashley and Mia's destinies. As they left the sanctity of the pool and the embrace of the ancient stones, they carried with them the warmth of shared affection and the quiet promise of tomorrow's magic.

The city awaited their return, a canvas for their adventures, both arcane and intimate. But the ruins and the pool remained, a testament to their journey, ready to welcome them back whenever they sought the tranquility and power found in its waters. The magic of the place had woven itself into their tale, a thread of the old world in the tapestry of the new, binding them together in ways they were only just beginning to understand.

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lunarubra · 17 days ago

Text

Hi :) This is the first chapter of the second part! I’ll be publishing more regularly this time since everything is already written.

Pairing: Cillian x OC (Jiyan)

Summary: In this AU set during the summer of 2010, Cillian has just wrapped up the final Inception premieres. Now, he and Jiyan are traveling through Italy, seeking some peaceful downtime together.

Warning: Fluff and Smut.

Words: 2985

Next | Masterlist

Chapter 1 - Venetiis, mea Venetiis

Waking up beside Jiyan had quickly become one of Cillian's favourite moments in recent months, mainly because it was a rare treat. While he loved sleeping in and savouring the peace of lying in bed, Jiyan’s internal clock seemed to be synced with the sun. She would always wake up without an alarm at what, in his opinion, were ungodly early hours. So when he would wake up, she would already have been awake for a couple of hours, being around the house and or heading out for a morning walk enjoying the fresh early hours.

So a smile naturally spread across his face, when he woke up and felt the comforting warmth of her still nestled against him. He glanced lovingly at the woman still sound asleep in his arms, enjoying the rare chance to share this quiet moment with her.

They were staying at her grandmother’s house in Venice, which felt like a little escape into magic. Her grandmother, almost 80 but still fiercely independent, had gone to visit a friend in the mountains for nearly a month. Jiyan had asked if they could house-sit, and her grandmother had happily agreed. The apartment spanned two floors—a rarity in Venice—and was tucked along one of the smaller canals in the older part of the city. It was the perfect, peaceful way to experience the beauty ofVenice, and Cillian found it all the more enchanting with Jiyan showing him around.

They fell into a gentle rhythm together, taking things slow and easy. In the mornings, Cillian would make coffee, and Jiyan showed him how to use a Moka pot to make it the Italian way, though she still preferred her tea. Wandering through Venice with her, especially steering clear of the busy tourist spots, brought him a deep sense of calm. He loved just walking, hearing nothing but the gentle splash of waves against the canals, breathing in the salty air, and catching bits of the locals’ quiet conversations.

Exploring the city with a local opened up a whole new side of Venice. There were no cars, only boats sliding by in the canals. Whole shops of fruits and vegetables floated along the waterways, and even the mail came by boat. The absence of city noise and smog felt like a relief, making it easy to let go of the usual bustle of city life. He laughed at how easily he got lost without Jiyan to guide him—the narrow streets and winding alleys were beautiful, a maze he’d never figure out alone. Venice was vibrant and peaceful all at once, and it felt like a little world all to themselves.

They had arrived in Venice after the Inception premiere in Paris, choosing to take the train. “How do you expect to drive through canals, Cill?” Jiyan had teased him. Since then, their days had been a blur of relaxation, art exhibitions, and long evening walks. For such a small city, Venice was rich in artistic culture, and they explored live music events and galleries whenever they could.

Their favourite activity was exploring the city’s second-hand markets, where it felt like time had stopped. These markets held books, vinyl records, and treasures from decades—sometimes even centuries—past. Jiyan loved telling him how, for centuries, Venice had been one of the world’s most important trade hubs, and that if something could be found anywhere, a copy was almost certainly in Venice too. Cillian treasured this time with her, where it was just about them, getting lost in the moment—whether they were discussing a novel or debating the significance of a book they’d found.

They also often went to open-air cinemas around the city, a tradition Cillian found as magical as it was unbelievable. In Venice, theatres and cinemas weren’t just on land but also on the water. Open-air theatres would have audiences seated in boats, floating along in small gondolas or flatboats as they watched the performance. The open-air cinema worked the same way. They would take Jiyan’s family boat, pack snacks and drinks, and head to where the movie was projected, watching it from their boat. It felt like a Venetian version of an American drive-in, but far more enchanting, with the shimmering water beneath them and the timeless beauty of Venice all around.

One night, as they settled into the boat, the lanterns strung along the canals cast a soft glow on the water, making everything feel dreamlike. Cillian leaned back, gazing at Jiyan as she carefully poured wine into two glasses, her face illuminated in the soft light.

“What are we watching tonight?” he asked, but in truth, it didn’t matter. He was just as captivated by the moment as he would be by any film.

“A classic,” she said with a smile, handing him a glass. “One of those films that feels like a lullaby. But tonight, it’s more about being here, isn’t it?”

He nodded, taking a sip and feeling the warmth spread through him. “I could sit here and do nothing but look at the lights reflected on the water, and I’d still think it was perfect.” He reached for her hand, feeling the gentle sway of the boat beneath them, their little world floating in the heart of Venice.

As the movie began to flicker on the large screen ahead of them, they settled back, surrounded by other boats and quiet whispers. Occasionally, a ripple would pass through the water as a gondola drifted by, casting gentle waves that rocked their boat. Every so often, he’d glance at her, catching her in deep concentration or with a slight smile playing on her lips, absorbed in the story. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude—for her, for this moment, for the small rituals they’d made their own in this extraordinary city.

Halfway through the film, she leaned over and whispered, “You know, my grandfather used to do this with my grandmother. He’d take her out in this very boat to see these films.”

He felt a rush of tenderness, picturing them here, decades before, floating together under the stars just as he and Jiyan were now. This connection to her family—past and present—felt like an unspoken bond, linking him to their stories, traditions, and memories.

In just a few days, he’d meet Jiyan’s grandmother when she returned from her trip, and soon after, they’d spend their last days in Trieste, at her mother’s home. Her brother, Mikael, and her mother, Solin, had already come by a few times, though their visits were brief. They were eager to catch up with Jiyan after months apart—and, of course, to meet him.

Staying with her family was a mix of beauty, comfort, and a bit of strangeness for him. It was beautiful because he could feel how deeply they loved each other. He saw it in Solin’s proud eyes when she watched her children teasing one another, or when Jiyan spoke passionately about her research at the university. Jiyan and her mother shared an intellectual connection that left him in awe. Most of the time, when she talked to him about her work, he would sit there looking like a baffled fish, fully aware of how important her research was but not quite able to grasp half of it.

It was also comfortable because, even though they were mostly there for Jiyan, they were genuinely curious about him too. They didn’t know him as an actor, which he found refreshing. In fact, he was fairly certain it had been over 20 years since Solin had watched TV or seen a movie. They didn’t care much about his film projects, but they were fascinated by his work in theatre and his travels. Solin, a passionate reader, spent many afternoons with him, sipping tea and discussing their favourite novels, a pastime that led to endless teasing from Jiyan and Mika.

Still, it was a bit strange. He had never felt more out of his depth, more aware of his own ignorance and narrow perspective. It wasn’t just that Jiyan and Solin were both academics who worked at universities; it was the effortless way they—and Mika, too—would slip between multiple languages during conversation. They would start in English to include him, then switch to Italian or Kurdish without even noticing. It was so natural for them, but it made him feel oddly basic, limited to just English and Irish. He almost wanted to call his mum and apologise for all the times she’d tried to teach him French without success.

They weren’t intentionally excluding him, and they always apologise when they realised they’d switched languages, quickly translating whatever had been said. Still, if he were honest, he felt incredibly lucky to experience such a rich blend of languages and cultures firsthand.

His thoughts were interrupted when Jiyan stirred beside him, mumbling something in her sleep. Smiling, he turned slightly and began to leave gentle butterfly kisses along the side of her neck, slowly making his way to that spot that always made her squirm. Her hand moved instinctively toward him, and he couldn’t help but smile at the simple sweetness of the moment.

She still had on his shirt from the previous night, the buttons mismatched. They had returned home late after an exhilarating time at the concert, both drenched in sweat from their dancing and filled with the buzzing energy that only a live music session could provide. It didn't take them long to undress - his clothes falling off and her summer dress being discarded quickly - before he showed her just how deeply he loved her. She had teased him throughout the entire night, her carefree dancing in that dress driving him wild. Later, after they were both exhausted and satisfied, she slipped on his shirt and they cuddled up together, drifting off into sleep almost instantly.

Her skin seemed to tan almost immediately under the radiant Italian sun, while he had to protect himself from turning into a ripe tomato if he didn't want to be burned. She basked in the sunlight, allowing her already olive complexion to deepen and glow. It was as if the summer season itself made her radiate with beauty and intensified any allure she already possessed. He found it nearly impossible to leave her alone or not touching her for even a moment.

As he continued to kiss her neck, Jiyan began to stir more, her eyes fluttering open. She turned to face him, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face. The sunlight streaming through the window highlighted the golden flecks in her eyes, making them shine like amber.

Jiyan stretched languidly, the shirt riding up to reveal a tantalising glimpse of her thigh. He couldn't resist running his hand along the smooth skin, marvelling at how soft it felt beneath his touch.

“S’fuckin’ sexy,” he murmurs, meeting her eyes again. “You in my clothes.” His hands span her waist, thumbs tracing lazy circles against the soft fabric, warming her skin beneath.

She giggled and playfully swatted his hand away. "What time is it?" she asked, propping herself up on one elbow.

“I don’t know, but there is enough time for this,” he said, stealing a kiss, distracting her completely.

The kiss was hard and deep and messy, waking her up and getting rid of the last traces of sleep. And god, he was so good at this. They were so good together. She thought she could probably spend hours just kissing him and be totally content.

Jiyan melted into him, her body instinctively pressing closer to his. The world outside their little bubble ceased to exist as they lost themselves in each other once again. His hand traced the curve of her waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the shirt of his that she was wearing. She shivered at his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.

The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more passionate. Jiyan's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if she couldn't get enough. He revelled in the taste of her, the softness of her lips, the warmth of her body against his. It was intoxicating, addictive.

He broke away from the kiss and hurriedly took off that last layer tha was still covering her, letting out a breath as she layed naked in front of him, nipples high up in the air.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, throat bobbing as he crawled down, bowing his head and kissing the inside of her thigh, licking a tortuously slow line up her centre with the flat of his tongue.

“Fuck, Cill!” Jiyan screeched, her hips involuntarily moved, bringing her pussy further against his hungry mouth.

Cillian sucked her clit into his mouth, humming against her and the vibration sent a jolt of pleasure up her spine. Another groan escaped her lips and her fingers tangled in his hair. Her vision started to blur while he worked her with his tongue, alternately swirling and flicking against her folds and nerves. She watched him beneath lowered lashes, the pupils of his eyes dark and trained on her face; then he smirked against her before going back to work.

He rolled his tongue around Jiyan’s clit, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from her. She was so wet, and he easily slid in one, two fingers inside her tight passage. He added a third, which made her whole body shake with another moan, and he pumped into her, feeling her warm, slippery walls contract around his digits.

He could not wait to feel once again her tightness around his dick, and he had to hold himself back from thrusting in her before she could orgasm. It didn’t take long for her to reach that peak, and she screamed as she convulsed around his fingers, her slick running down slowly into the mattress.

Licking the wetness left off his lips, he crawled up on top of her and rubbed his cock over pussy to gather more before brushing the underside of his dick over her clit as he did, his cock nudging at her slippery entrance.

“I’m going to…” he started, but was cut off by a voice from downstairs that made him freeze instantly, forgetting for a moment that he was about to have sex with his gorgeous girlfriend.

“Jiyan siè tu? Sito casa?” the new voice called from the floor below.

(“Jiyan is it you? Are you home?”)

“Cazzo! Fuck!” Jiyan swore, her face turning pale as she froze, still trying to catch her breath from the orgasm she’d just had.

“What? Who?” he asked frantically, propping himself up on one arm, while Jiyan pushed him aside and tossed him his shirt.

“It’s my grandma,” she whispered urgently.

“What?” he almost shouted. “How? Wasn’t she supposed to be here in three days?”

“Jiyan, benon?” her grandmother called again, footsteps now audible on the stairs.

(“Jiyan, is everything alright?”)

“Si, nonna, venemo sùvito! Cinque minuti!” Jiyan called out, trying to buy them some time.

("Yes, Grandma, we’re coming right away! Five minutes!")

“You have to get dressed,” she whispered, frantically searching the room for clothes. She turned around to see Cillian still completely naked, his shirt draped half over him, barely covering his still half-hard cock.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Cill, come on!”

“Your grandma just interrupted us… mid-sex.”

“Cillian! Focus!” she hissed, trying to suppress her own panic.

“I can’t…” he replied petulantly, glancing down at himself. “What did you say to her?”

“I told her we were coming downstairs in five minutes,” she said, realising he still understood little Italian.

“What? No way. I can’t go down like this,” he said, sitting up and gesturing toward his lap. “Literally.”

“Very funny, Murphy,” she shot back, rolling her eyes. “Best joke ever. I’ll just tell her you’re in the shower.” She still hadn’t found anything to wear, so in desperation, she yanked his shirt back off him, leaving him fully exposed, and pulled on a pair of jogging shorts from the floor.

She paused for a moment, realising just how absurd the whole situation was. A slow smile crept across her face before she suddenly burst into laughter, sitting down on the bed beside him, hiding her face into his neck while Cillian that was also trying to catch his breath. He smiled and hold her closer, holding back a chuckle.

“My grandma interrupted us while we were having sex,” she said, looking back at him and laughing so hard that tears formed in her eyes.

“It’s not funny, Aji,” Cillian said, though a grin tugged at his lips despite himself. “Jesus, I can't believe that just happened.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, gently brushing his hair back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… a bit shell-shocked. Talk about terrible timing.” He took her hand and kissed it lightly. “I’m going to take that shower now—try to distract her,” he added, giving her a quick kiss before standing up and heading toward the ensuite bathroom.

“You know they’re never going to let this go, right? She’s probably already on the phone with half the family. We’ll be teased about this forever,” Jiyan called out as he closed the bathroom door.

“At least I won’t understand the teasing,” he shouted back, laughing as he stepped into the shower.

Jiyan shook her head with a sigh, slipping on her sandals before heading downstairs.

As she entered the kitchen, she found her grandmother sitting at the table, calmly stirring sugar into her coffee, a sly smile on her face like the cat that got the cream.

“Quindi, posso spetarme dei neodin présto, Aji?” her grandmother asked, barely suppressing a grin.

("So, can I expect great-grandchildren soon, Aji?")

Jiyan groaned inwardly. Nope, they definitely weren’t going to let this go anytime soon.

Next | Masterlist

Thank you so much for taking the time to read. Your feedback, in any form, makes me happy. See you at the next one :)

amazing dividers from cafekitsune

#shadows of the sea #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #ari's little corner #cillianmurphy #cillian x reader #cillian fic #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy smut

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kckt88 · 10 months ago

Text

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 3750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

The fog-shrouded streets of Victorian London welcomed Aemond Targaryen as he arrived in the bustling city, a hopeful yet innocent youth with dreams of a brighter future. With the passing of his grandfather, Otto Hightower, Aemond found himself thrust into a world of opulence and intrigue beyond his wildest imagination.

As he stepped out of the carriage onto the cobbled streets, Aemond's eyes widened with wonder at the sights and sounds of the city. Towering buildings loomed overhead, their grand facades casting long shadows upon the bustling thoroughfares below. Pedestrians bustled past, their attire a dizzying array of colours and styles, each one seemingly more extravagant than the last.

Guided by his grandfather's solicitor, Aemond made his way through the labyrinthine streets until they arrived at the opulent townhouse that would now be his home. The imposing structure stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Hightower family, its grandeur unmatched by any other in the neighbourhood.

As he stepped through the ornate doorway, Aemond was greeted by the rich scent of polished wood and fine fabrics. The interior was a marvel of Victorian elegance, with intricately carved furnishings and sumptuous tapestries adorning every surface. It was a world far removed from the humble surroundings of his upbringing, and Aemond could scarcely believe that it was now his to inherit.

But amidst the grandeur, there lingered a sense of melancholy – a reminder of the grandfather he had lost, and the weight of responsibility now thrust upon his young shoulders. Otto Hightower had been a pillar of the community, revered by all who knew him, and Aemond was determined to honour his legacy in any way he could.

With a solemn resolve, Aemond set about making the townhouse his own, determined to carve out a place for himself in this new and unfamiliar world. Little did he know the trials and tribulations that awaited him amidst the gaslit streets of Victorian London, where danger and intrigue lurked around every corner. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his newfound fortune, hopeful for the adventures that lay ahead.

After performing a mesmerizing piano solo in front of the upper classes of Victorian society, Aemond Targaryen found himself amidst a flurry of praise and admiration. As he basked in the warm glow of applause, a figure approached him, his presence commanding attention amidst the throng of well-dressed attendees.

"Bravo, Mr. Targaryen," the man said with a charming smile, his eyes alight with admiration. "Your performance was truly captivating."

Aemond returned the smile, feeling a flush of pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of modesty. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

The man introduced himself as Criston Cole, a renowned painter whose works adorned the walls of the most esteemed galleries in London. He spoke of beauty and art with a passion that ignited a spark of curiosity within Aemond's soul.

"It would be an honour to capture your likeness on canvas, Mr. Targaryen," Criston said, his tone sincere. "Your beauty is a rare gift, one that should be preserved and admired for all to see."

Aemond hesitated, taken aback by the offer. He had always been told of his striking appearance, but to have it immortalized in paint was a prospect he had never considered.

"I... I am flattered, Mr. Cole," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with colour. "But I fear I am not worthy of such an honour."

Criston shook his head, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear boy," he said firmly. "You possess a beauty that transcends mere mortal standards. It would be a crime not to capture it for future generations to behold."

And so, with Criston's persuasive words ringing in his ears, Aemond found himself agreeing to sit for the portrait. Little did he know that this decision would mark the beginning of a journey that would forever change the course of his life, leading him down a path fraught with danger and sin.

In the lavish halls of a grand Victorian mansion, Aemond Targaryen found himself drawn into a conversation with Lord Tyland Lannister, a man whose reputation preceded him as an aristocrat with a hedonistic worldview. Lord Tyland exuded an air of confidence and charm, his every movement a testament to his belief that beauty and sensual fulfilment were the only things worth pursuing in life.

"Aemond Targaryen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lord Tyland greeted with a smooth smile, his gaze appraising as he took in Aemond's striking features.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Lannister," Aemond replied, returning the greeting with a polite nod. Despite his upbringing and the values instilled in him by his grandfather, Aemond couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at the man before him, whose aura of decadence seemed to pull at him like a siren's call.

Lord Tyland's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me, Aemond, do you believe in the pursuit of pleasure above all else? In the beauty of indulgence and the ecstasy of desire?"

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a provocative question. His upbringing had taught him the virtues of duty and honour, but there was something intoxicating about Lord Tyland's words, a tantalizing allure that beckoned him to explore the depths of his own desires.

"I... I suppose I have never given it much thought," Aemond admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there is certainly a certain appeal to the idea of... indulging in life's pleasures."

Lord Tyland's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Ah, a man after my own heart," he exclaimed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy. "Come, let us toast to the pursuit of beauty and pleasure, and may we revel in its delights together."

And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement swirling within him, Aemond found himself drawn into Lord Tyland's world of hedonistic excess, where the boundaries between right and wrong blurred in the intoxicating haze of pleasure and desire. Little did he know the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare him in a web of temptation from which there may be no escape.

Seated in the dimly lit studio of Criston Cole, Aemond Targaryen found himself bathed in a soft, ethereal light as the artist worked diligently at his easel. Lord Tyland Lannister stood nearby, his keen eyes observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"My dear Aemond, you truly are a vision of perfection," Lord Tyland remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. "Your beauty is timeless, a masterpiece in its own right."

Aemond offered a modest smile in response, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched Criston deftly apply paint to canvas, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of youth and beauty was but a fragile illusion, destined to fade with the passage of time.

"Will you not sit for your own portrait, Lord Lannister?" Criston inquired, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Lord Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear Criston, my beauty is but a fleeting thing," he replied with a smirk. "Unlike our dear Aemond here, whose likeness will remain untouched by the ravages of time."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at Lord Tyland's words, a sudden realization dawning upon him. His beauty, though captivating now, was not meant to last. And yet, the thought of growing old and withered filled him with a sense of dread unlike anything he had ever known.

"I... I cannot bear the thought of losing this," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "To watch as my beauty fades, as I wither and decay... it is a fate too cruel to imagine."

Lord Tyland's gaze softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Then do not imagine it, my dear boy," he said gently. "For there are other paths one can take, other bargains one can strike to ensure that such a fate never befalls them."

Aemond's eyes widened with realization as Lord Tyland's words sank in. Could it be possible? Could he truly sell his soul in exchange for eternal youth and beauty, allowing the portrait to age and fade in his stead?

Without a second thought, Aemond made his decision. "I will do it," he declared, his voice firm with resolve. "I will sell my soul to ensure that the picture, rather than I, will age and fade."

And as the words left his lips, a shiver ran down Aemond's spine, for he knew that he had made a bargain from which there could be no turning back. But in that moment, as he watched Criston continue to work on his portrait, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his beauty would endure for all eternity, even as he himself faded into obscurity.

As the days passed and the portrait of Aemond Targaryen neared completion, a subtle unease began to gnaw at his soul. Each time he entered Criston Cole's studio, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the painting, where he couldn't help but notice a subtle change, a shift in the delicate lines and hues that adorned the canvas.

At first, it was nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast in just the right way to give the illusion of movement. But as Aemond studied the portrait more closely, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The features that had once mirrored his own with uncanny accuracy now seemed to possess a life of their own, a vitality that pulsed beneath the surface like a living thing.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" Criston remarked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the studio. "The way a portrait can capture the essence of its subject, preserving it for all eternity."

Aemond forced a smile, though his heart was heavy with doubt. "Indeed," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Though I must confess, I find it... unsettling, to see myself so immortalized."

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "Is there something wrong, my dear boy?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to voice the fears that had been gnawing at his soul. "It's just... the portrait," he began, his voice trailing off. "It seems to have changed since its creation. Almost as though... it's alive."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Fear not, my dear Aemond," he said reassuringly. "It is only natural for a portrait to evolve over time, as the artist imbues it with the essence of its subject. It is a testament to your own vitality, your own spirit, that the painting should reflect such subtle nuances."

But Aemond could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him like a shroud. For in that moment, he realized that the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his soul.

In the glittering world of Victorian London's theatre scene, Aemond Targaryen found himself captivated by the enchanting performance of a stage actress named Alysanne Rivera. Her beauty was radiant, her talent undeniable, and with each graceful movement across the stage, she seemed to cast a spell upon all who beheld her.

After the performance, Aemond found himself lingering near the stage door, unable to tear his eyes away from the ethereal figure that emerged from within. As Alysanne's gaze met his own, a smile played across her lips, and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in response.

"Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasant surprise," Alysanne greeted with a warmth that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Aemond nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with admiration. "It was magnificent, Miss Rivera," he replied earnestly. "You are truly a vision of beauty and grace."

Alysanne's cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she thanked him for his kind words. And as they spoke, Aemond found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of her presence, his fascination growing with each passing moment.

But amidst the newfound connection between Aemond and Alysanne, there lingered a sense of unease – a tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. And as Aemond glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of Criston Cole watching them from across the room, his expression oddly inscrutable.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Cole?" Aemond inquired, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his friend's demeanour than met the eye.

Criston's smile was strained as he approached, though his voice remained composed. "Nothing of consequence, my dear Aemond," he replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone. "I was merely admiring Miss Rivera's performance, much like yourself."

But Aemond could sense that there was more to Criston's reaction than he was letting on. And as he glanced back at Alysanne, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the burgeoning connection between them.

Little did Aemond know, the threads of fate were already weaving a tangled web around him, entangling him in a web of desire and jealousy from which there may be no escape. And as he found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of Alysanne Rivera, he could only wonder what dark secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of their newfound romance.

As the nights in Victorian London grew longer and the shadows deeper, Aemond found himself drawn into a world of forbidden pleasures, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred in the intoxicating haze of opium smoke.

Guided by Criston Cole and Lord Tyland Lannister, Aemond ventured into the dark underbelly of the city, where opium dens beckoned with promises of oblivion and ecstasy. The air was thick with the scent of incense and whispered secrets as they descended into the depths of their own desires.

Within the dimly lit confines of the opium den, Aemond felt a sense of liberation wash over him like a tidal wave, casting aside the constraints of society and duty in favour of the euphoria that pulsed through his veins. With each inhale of the drug, he felt himself drifting further and further from reality, lost in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations.

And as he reclined upon the plush cushions, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the distant murmur of voices, Aemond surrendered himself to the intoxicating embrace of opium, losing himself in a world of pleasure and sensation beyond his wildest dreams.

But amidst the hedonistic revelry, there lingered a sense of emptiness – a gnawing void that could not be filled by the fleeting euphoria of the drug. And as Aemond gazed into the depths of his own reflection, he could not shake the feeling that he was chasing after something that could never truly be attained, a mirage shimmering on the horizon of his own desires.

Yet still, he returned to the opium dens night after night, unable to resist the pull of their siren song. For in the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that he was searching for something more – something that could only be found in the darkest recesses of his own desires. And until he found it, he would continue to chase after the elusive promise of oblivion, heedless of the consequences that awaited him in the shadows.

In the dimly lit corners of Victorian London's seedy underbelly, Aemond couldn’t stop himself from seeking solace in the arms of prostitutes, their whispered promises of pleasure offering a fleeting escape from the turmoil that churned within his soul.

Despite his growing connection with Alysanne, Aemond found himself drawn to the forbidden allure of the brothels, where desire and temptation lurked around every corner. With each encounter, he lost himself in a whirlwind of carnal ecstasy, the weight of his guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of passion.

But even as he revealed in the embrace of the women who offered themselves up to him, Aemond could not shake the nagging sense of remorse that gnawed at his conscience. For with each act of indulgence, he felt himself drifting further and further from the purity of his love for Alysanne, his heart torn between duty and desire.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around him, Aemond knew that he was playing a dangerous game – one that could cost him everything he held dear. Yet still, he could not resist the allure of the brothels, the promise of fleeting pleasure outweighing the consequences that loomed on the horizon.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Aemond wrestled with his demons, his soul torn asunder by the conflicting desires that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos of his own making, he wondered if he would ever find redemption for the sins he had committed, or if he was doomed to drown in the depths of his own depravity.

As Aemond stood before the portrait that Criston Cole had painstakingly crafted, he felt a chill run down his spine. The likeness that once captured his youthful beauty now seemed to twist and contort before his very eyes, mirroring the darkness that lurked within his soul.

Gone were the serene features that had adorned the canvas just days before, replaced by a grotesque visage that seemed to mock him with every brushstroke. The lines etched into his skin were deeper now, resembling the scars of his own sins, while his eyes bore a haunted look that sent shivers down Aemond's spine.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the twisted reflection of his own sins, a sense of horror washing over him like a tidal wave. How had the portrait come to reflect the darkness that lurked within him? And what did it mean for his own soul, tainted as it was by the weight of his guilt?

But amidst the fear and confusion, a voice whispered in the depths of Aemond's mind – a voice that spoke of a bargain struck in desperation, a bargain that had unleashed forces beyond his control. And as he gazed into the eyes of his own likeness, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth that lay before him.

For the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his own soul – a soul that had been tainted by the sins he had committed. And as he watched in horror, the painting seemed to shift and change before his very eyes, its twisted visage a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at his conscience, Aemond carefully wrapped the cursed portrait in a thick cloth, shielding its twisted visage from the prying eyes of the world. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him with the weight of his own sins, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

With trembling hands, Aemond made his way to the attic of his opulent townhouse, the portrait cradled against his chest like a forbidden secret. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of neglect, but it was here, amidst the shadows and cobwebs, that he would hide the painting away from the world.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Aemond set the portrait down gently upon a dusty table, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. With a deep breath, he lifted the cloth, revealing the twisted visage that lay beneath.

Pausing momentarily before he covered the portrait once more, shielding it from the light of day. And as he stepped back into the darkness of the attic, he knew that he had sealed away not only the painting, but the secrets that lay buried within his own soul.

But even as he turned to leave, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind – a voice that spoke of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Criston Cole's voice echoed through the halls of Aemond townhouse, his excitement palpable as he spoke of displaying the portrait to the world. "Aemond, my dear friend," he exclaimed, his words tinged with anticipation, "the time has come to unveil your portrait to the public. The world deserves to see your beauty immortalized in paint."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the thought, his mind racing with panic as he searched for an excuse to delay the inevitable. "I... I'm afraid that won't be possible, Criston," he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "You see, I've put the portrait into storage for safekeeping. I fear that it may not be ready to be displayed just yet."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "But why, my dear friend?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Surely the world is ready to behold your beauty in all its glory. Why hide it away when it deserves to be celebrated?"

Aemond's mind raced as he searched for a plausible explanation, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his own deception. "It's... it's complicated, Criston," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are forces at work that you cannot begin to understand. Trust me when I say that it's for the best."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Very well, my dear friend," he said gently. "If you believe it to be for the best, then I will respect your wishes. But know that your beauty deserves to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond felt a sense of relief wash over him like a tidal wave, though it was tinged with the knowledge that his deception could not last forever. For the portrait that lay hidden away in the darkness of the attic was a reflection not only of his own beauty, but of the darkness that lurked within his soul – a darkness that was consuming him with each day that passed.

TBC

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robins-egg-bindery · 2 years ago

Text

ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him.

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter