#dance central intelligence

[happygirlartworks]

Rasa and remilia

[nando161mando]

Another banger mr. Chen

[zvaigzdelasas]

A North Korean propaganda song extolling Kim Jong Un as “a great leader and a friendly parent” has gone viral on TikTok, with mashups and dances racking up millions of views, leading to South Korea banning the tune due to “psychological warfare.”

Seoul’s media regulator on Monday announced it was blocking access to versions of “Friendly Father,” the cheery propaganda hit that became an unlikely social media sensation.

The song was unveiled in April during a nighttime concert to mark the completion of a housing project in the capital Pyongyang, according to North Korean state-run Korean Central News Agency.

Its lyrics praise Kim [...] as “a great leader and a friendly parent,” and the music video depicts North Koreans enthusiastically belting out the orchestral song proclaiming that Kim “takes care of us with affection.”[...]

The song went viral after content creators around the world used it to make their own edits of the music video adding dances and unserious captions to their own short one-minute clips on the platform, garnering over 2 million views.

“This isn’t Gen Z suddenly declaring allegiance for the regime,” said Alexandra Leonzini, a Cambridge University scholar conducting research on North Korean music.

“They’re laughing at the regime not with the regime.”

Nonetheless, South Korean security officials came down on the parodies. The Korea Communications Standards Commission decided to block 29 videos of the song, following a request from Seoul’s National Intelligence Service. But some versions of the song on YouTube were still accessible to users in South Korea as of Wednesday.[...]

The ban was not a surprise, as the country’s National Security Act blocks access to North Korean government websites and media, restricting exposure to Kim’s autocratic regime and penalizing behaviors promoting its authoritarian and nuclear-armed neighbor.

22 May 24

[luckshmi]

Venus Sign & Your Love Languages

Each Venus sign has a distinct way of loving and being loved, influenced by the intricate dance of the stars. Let's explore the characteristics of Venus in each sign, uncover the specific love languages that resonate with them, and bring it all to life with examples from our favorite Bollywood movies.

Venus in Aries

Characteristics: Venus in Aries brings a bold, enthusiastic, and adventurous approach to love. You’re spontaneous and love the thrill of the chase. Quick to fall in love, you dive headfirst into relationships with fiery passion. Your independent spirit craves excitement and constant stimulation, often preferring partners who are equally adventurous and energetic.

Love Languages:

Acts of Service: Your love is expressed through action. You might surprise your partner with spontaneous adventures, take charge of planning dates, or tackle their to-do list without being asked.

Words of Affirmation: You’re generous with compliments and words of encouragement, loving to boost your partner's confidence and express your admiration vocally.

Movie: Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995)

Character: Raj Malhotra (played by Shah Rukh Khan)

Raj is a quintessential Venus in Aries character—bold, adventurous, and full of enthusiasm. He loves the thrill of the chase and is not afraid to take risks for love. His spontaneous and energetic nature makes him a captivating and dynamic lover.

He expresses his love through grand gestures and bold declarations. He pursues Simran with unwavering determination, willing to challenge societal norms and traditions to be with her. His passionate and fearless approach to love is evident throughout the movie.

His adventurous spirit is showcased when he embarks on a journey across Europe with Simran, creating spontaneous and memorable moments. His boldness shines when he confronts Simran’s strict father, proving his love and commitment through action.

Tujhe Dekha Toh

Venus in Taurus

Characteristics: Venus in Taurus is all about stability, comfort, and sensual pleasures. You seek long-term relationships built on trust and loyalty. You appreciate the finer things in life and enjoy sharing these pleasures with your partner. Your love is steady, patient, and deeply rooted in a desire for security and physical affection.

Love Languages:

Physical Touch: Sensuality is key for you. You thrive on physical closeness, whether it's holding hands, cuddling, or other forms of affectionate touch.

Receiving Gifts: Thoughtful and meaningful gifts are your way of showing love. You appreciate the effort behind a well-chosen present, valuing both the gift and the sentiment.

Movie: Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna (2006)

Character: Maya Talwar (played by Rani Mukerji)

Maya embodies the stability and sensuality of Venus in Taurus. She seeks a deep, lasting connection built on trust and loyalty. Her love is steady, patient, and rooted in a desire for security and comfort.

She expresses her love through acts of care and nurturing. She values physical closeness and is deeply committed to creating a comfortable and loving environment for her partner. Her love is expressed through practical and thoughtful actions rather than grand gestures.

Her journey of seeking emotional fulfillment and stability is central to the movie. Her relationship with Dev (played by Shah Rukh Khan) reflects her need for a secure and comforting connection, even as they navigate the complexities of their emotions.

Tumhi Dekho Naa

Venus in Gemini

Characteristics: With Venus in Gemini, love is an intellectual and playful affair. You’re charming, witty, and always up for a stimulating conversation. Variety and mental stimulation are essential in your relationships. You’re drawn to partners who can engage you with their intelligence and keep things lively and interesting.

Love Languages:

Words of Affirmation: Communication is crucial for you. You express love through engaging conversations, playful banter, and thoughtful compliments.

Quality Time: You value time spent exploring new ideas and activities together, enjoying the mental stimulation and shared experiences.

Movie: Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani (2013)

Character: Kabir “Bunny” Thapar (played by Ranbir Kapoor)

Bunny is a true representation of Venus in Gemini—charming, witty, and intellectually stimulating. He loves engaging in meaningful conversations and is always seeking new experiences and adventures.

He expresses his love through playful banter and engaging conversations. He values intellectual connection and seeks partners who can keep up with his lively and curious nature. His love is vibrant and ever-changing, mirroring his need for variety and mental stimulation.

His adventurous spirit and love for exploration are evident throughout the movie. His relationship with Naina (played by Deepika Padukone) blossoms through shared experiences and deep conversations, highlighting his need for intellectual and emotional engagement.

Badtameez Dil

Venus in Cancer

Characteristics: Venus in Cancer seeks emotional depth and security in love. You’re nurturing, empathetic, and highly intuitive. You crave a partner who can provide a safe and comforting environment. Your relationships are often deeply emotional, and you’re very protective of your loved ones.

Love Languages:

Acts of Service: You show love by taking care of your partner’s needs, whether it's through cooking their favorite meal or offering a listening ear.

Quality Time: You value intimate, cozy moments spent together, cherishing the emotional connection and sense of security they bring.

Movie: Kal Ho Naa Ho (2003)

Character: Naina Catherine Kapur (played by Preity Zinta)

Naina exemplifies the nurturing and empathetic qualities of Venus in Cancer. She seeks emotional depth and security in her relationships, valuing a safe and comforting environment.

She expresses her love through acts of care and emotional support. She is deeply intuitive and protective of her loved ones, always prioritizing their well-being. Her love is tender, nurturing, and deeply emotional.

Her journey of finding love and emotional fulfillment is central to the movie. Her relationship with Aman (played by Shah Rukh Khan) and Rohit (played by Saif Ali Khan) highlights her need for emotional security and deep connections.

Kal Ho Naa Ho

Venus in Leo

Characteristics: Venus in Leo is dramatic, generous, and loves to be the center of attention. You crave admiration and affection and are highly expressive in your romantic gestures. Your love is passionate and full of grandeur, always seeking to make your partner feel special and adored.

Love Languages:

Words of Affirmation: Compliments and verbal expressions of love are essential. You thrive on praise and love to make your partner feel equally admired.

Receiving Gifts: You enjoy giving and receiving extravagant gifts that show thoughtfulness and flair.

Movie: Om Shanti Om (2007)

Character: Om Prakash Makhija (played by Shah Rukh Khan)

Om is the epitome of Venus in Leo—dramatic, generous, and craving admiration. He is highly expressive in his romantic gestures, seeking to make his partner feel special and adored.

He expresses his love through grand, theatrical gestures and passionate declarations. He loves to shower his partner with attention and affection, making them feel like the center of his universe. His love is bold, vibrant, and full of flair.

His passionate pursuit of Shanti (played by Deepika Padukone) and his dramatic gestures to win her love are central to the movie. His larger-than-life approach to love reflects his desire to be admired and adored and to do the same for his partner.

Dhoom Taana

Venus in Virgo

Characteristics: With Venus in Virgo, love is practical, meticulous, and attentive to detail. You show your affection through acts of service and a genuine concern for your partner’s well-being. You value honesty and reliability in relationships, often preferring to demonstrate your love through practical means rather than grand gestures.

Love Languages:

Acts of Service: You express love by taking care of the little things, whether it’s helping with chores or providing practical support.

Quality Time: You cherish simple, meaningful moments spent together, often focusing on the quality of interaction rather than the quantity.

Movie: Hasee Toh Phasee (2014)

Character: Meeta Solanki (played by Parineeti Chopra)

Meeta represents the practical, meticulous, and attentive qualities of Venus in Virgo. She shows her affection through acts of service and genuine concern for her partner’s well-being.

She expresses her love through practical support and thoughtful actions. She is attentive to the details and prioritizes her partner’s needs, often showing her love in subtle but meaningful ways. Her love is grounded, reliable, and deeply caring.

Her thoughtful and caring actions towards Nikhil (played by Sidharth Malhotra) highlight her Venus in Virgo nature. Her practical and reliable approach to love is evident throughout the movie, reflecting her desire to support and care for her partner.

Zehnaseeb

Venus in Libra

Characteristics: Venus in Libra seeks harmony, balance, and beauty in love. You’re charming, diplomatic, and deeply value equality in your relationships. You appreciate aesthetics and strive to create a loving, peaceful environment. Your romantic ideals are high, and you enjoy partnerships that are both fair and mutually enriching.

Love Languages:

Quality Time: Spending time in beautiful, harmonious settings is crucial for you. You enjoy creating and sharing aesthetically pleasing experiences.

Words of Affirmation: Verbal expressions of appreciation and admiration are key. You thrive on giving and receiving compliments that affirm your mutual respect and love.

Movie: Jab We Met (2007)

Character: Aditya Kashyap (played by Shahid Kapoor)

Aditya embodies the charming, diplomatic, and harmonious qualities of Venus in Libra. He values balance and beauty in his relationships, seeking partnerships that are fair and mutually enriching.

He expresses his love through thoughtful gestures and verbal expressions of appreciation. He values harmony and strives to create a loving, peaceful environment for his partner. His love is balanced, elegant, and focused on mutual respect and admiration.

His relationship with Geet (played by Kareena Kapoor) highlights his Venus in Libra nature. His thoughtful and supportive actions towards her reflect his desire for harmony and balance, showcasing his diplomatic and charming approach to love.

Tum Se Hi

Venus in Scorpio

Characteristics: Venus in Scorpio brings an intense, passionate, and transformative approach to love. You crave deep emotional connections and are not afraid to delve into the complexities of your relationships. Loyalty and honesty are paramount, and you seek a partner who can match your emotional depth and intensity.

Love Languages:

Physical Touch: Intimacy and physical closeness are essential. You express love through passionate, meaningful touch.

Quality Time: Deep, meaningful interactions and spending time understanding each other’s innermost thoughts and feelings are vital

Movie: Raees (2017)

Character: Raees Alam (played by Shah Rukh Khan)

Raees Alam embodies the intense, passionate, and magnetic qualities of Venus in Scorpio. He is driven by a deep emotional core and possesses a powerful presence that draws others in. His love is transformative and he seeks profound connections that touch the soul.

He expresses his love through unwavering loyalty and deep emotional commitment. He is protective and fiercely dedicated to his loved ones, willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety and happiness. His love is marked by intense devotion and an all-or-nothing attitude.

His relationship with Aasiya (played by Mahira Khan) highlights his Venus in Scorpio nature. His deep and passionate love for her is evident in his protective and committed actions. The movie portrays his willingness to fight against all odds to keep his loved ones safe, reflecting his intense and unwavering dedication. His love is not just about affection but also about profound emotional bonds and transformative experiences.

Zaalima

Venus in Sagittarius

Characteristics: When Venus is in Sagittarius, love is an adventure filled with optimism and exploration. You’re freedom-loving and enthusiastic, always seeking new experiences with your partner. Honesty and a shared sense of adventure are crucial for your relationships. You’re drawn to partners who are as adventurous and open-minded as you are.

Love Languages:

Quality Time: Exploring new places and experiencing new things together is your ideal way of bonding.

Words of Affirmation: You express love through positive, uplifting communication and love to share your enthusiasm with your partner.

Movie: Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara (2011)

Character: Arjun Saluja (played by Hrithik Roshan)

Arjun represents the adventurous, optimistic, and freedom-loving qualities of Venus in Sagittarius. He seeks new experiences and values honesty and intellectual connection in his relationships.

He expresses his love through adventurous activities and positive, uplifting communication. He values intellectual engagement and is drawn to partners who share his love for exploration and open-mindedness. His love is free-spirited, enthusiastic, and always seeking growth.

His adventurous spirit and evolving relationship with Laila (played by Katrina Kaif) highlight his Venus in Sagittarius nature. Their shared experiences and mutual respect for each other’s independence reflect his desire for an open and intellectually stimulating relationship.

Ik Junoon (Paint It Red)

Venus in Capricorn

Characteristics: Venus in Capricorn values discipline, responsibility, and long-term commitment in love. You’re practical and reliable, often expressing your love through loyalty and practical support. Your approach to relationships is serious and grounded, seeking partners who share your values and work ethic.

Love Languages:

Acts of Service: You show love by being dependable and supportive, always there to help with practical matters.

Receiving Gifts: You appreciate thoughtful, meaningful gifts that reflect your partner’s understanding of your values and tastes.

Movie: Dil Dhadakne Do (2015)

Character: Kabir Mehra (played by Ranveer Singh) Kabir embodies the disciplined, responsible, and long-term-oriented qualities of Venus in Capricorn. He values stability and commitment in his relationships, often expressing his love through loyalty and practical support.

He expresses his love through acts of service and dependable support. He is reliable and values thoughtful, meaningful gestures that reflect his commitment. His love is serious, grounded, and focused on long-term stability.

His relationship with Farah (played by Anushka Sharma) showcases his Venus in Capricorn nature. His dependable and supportive actions reflect his desire for a stable and committed relationship, highlighting his practical and responsible approach to love.

Pehli Baar

Venus in Aquarius

Characteristics: Venus in Aquarius brings an unconventional, intellectual, and progressive approach to love. You value independence and are attracted to partners who share your unique perspective and open-mindedness. Your relationships often defy traditional norms, focusing on intellectual connection and mutual respect for individuality.

Love Languages:

Words of Affirmation: You express love through intellectual conversations and unique expressions of affection.

Quality Time: Engaging in unconventional and exciting activities together is key to your connection.

Movie: Dil Chahta Hai (2001)

Character: Aakash Malhotra (played by Aamir Khan)

Aakash represents the unconventional, intellectual, and progressive qualities of Venus in Aquarius. He values independence and is attracted to partners who share his unique perspective and open-mindedness.

He expresses his love through intellectual conversations and unique expressions of affection. He values freedom and individuality in his relationships, often seeking unconventional and exciting activities to bond with his partner. His love is innovative, free-spirited, and focused on mutual respect for individuality.

His relationship with Shalini (played by Preity Zinta) highlights his Venus in Aquarius nature. Their intellectual connection and shared unconventional experiences reflect his desire for a unique and stimulating relationship, showcasing his progressive and open-minded approach to love.

Jaane Kyun Log

Venus in Pisces

Characteristics: With Venus in Pisces, love is dreamy, compassionate, and deeply emotional. You’re intuitive and romantic, often seeking a spiritual connection with your partner. Your relationships are characterized by empathy, sensitivity, and a desire for a soulful bond that transcends the mundane.

Love Languages:

Quality Time: You value intimate, dreamy moments spent together, often focusing on the emotional and spiritual connection.

Physical Touch: Gentle, affectionate touch is essential for you to feel connected and loved.

Movie: Tamasha (2015)

Character: Ved Vardhan Sahni (played by Ranbir Kapoor)

Ved embodies the dreamy, compassionate, and deeply emotional qualities of Venus in Pisces. He seeks a spiritual and soulful connection in his relationships, often expressing his love through empathy and creativity.

He expresses his love through artistic and emotional gestures. He values deep emotional connections and is drawn to partners who share his sensitivity and compassion. His love is dreamy, romantic, and deeply empathetic.

His relationship with Tara (played by Deepika Padukone) highlights his Venus in Pisces nature. Their soulful and emotional connection, along with Ved’s creative and artistic expressions of love, reflect his desire for a deep and spiritual bond, showcasing his dreamy and compassionate approach to love.

Agar Tum Saath Ho

[marlynnofmany]

Faceoff

Ever get cognitive whiplash going from one group of aliens to another? You’d think I’d be used to the variety since I’ve spent so much time bopping around the galaxy, but some things just catch you by surprise.

It was a simple difference. I’d been talking with my smallest crewmates while we walked into the space station, trying not to loom over anybody or step on a tentacle in close quarters. The hallway between our corner of the docks and the central concourse was a narrow one. Then Coals realized he’d left something on the ship, and Paint volunteered to go back with him to help find it, and Mimi took a side corridor off to the public bathrooms, with a comment about checking how the local mechanics handled sanitization fields.

It’s possible that he even meant that. As long as he didn’t steal any parts for our ship, I was more than happy to let the octopus alien’s bathroom time be his own business.

I was thinking that, still slouching a bit after waving goodbye to Paint, when I turned a corner and was suddenly the smallest person around.

Hulking shapes in scales and space suits filled my vision, clustered near the entrance with no way to see past, much less wriggle by. I hadn’t heard the voices over the chatter of the crowd that had to be out there somewhere, and the ambient music. (Something with drums. Much better than the leg-singing screeches from the last station we visited. At any rate, it was loud.)

I stopped in my tracks and straightened up, glad I hadn’t slammed into the broad back in front of me. The spacesuited individual wasn’t even looking, and neither were the other two next to him. (Her? No idea.) I couldn’t see the faces from where I was standing, just the burly, hunched shoulders, and the short reptilian tail. Smashers, that was the name for these guys. I’d never been on the receiving end of their disapproval, and I wasn’t about to start.

The raised voices got louder. I peeked past a giant elbow to see that some scaly members of this huddle seemed to be facing off with the Smashers.

Uh oh. The scaly guys were Armorlites. While most races that I’d met were likely to take the threat of a good smashing and back away, Armorlites never backed away from anything, even (especially) if it was a good idea. Not that I would speak ill of any intelligent race’s common sense, mind you. It’s just that after a few run-ins with these frat house dinosaurs, I had something of an opinion about their skills in diplomacy.

Picture a T-rex with good arms and bad self-preservation sense, baring his teeth at someone roughly his own height, who’s wearing a space suit and speaking in the deepest of voices that makes the very air vibrate. I’d honestly thought it was part of the music, an instrument I didn’t recognize.

But no. It was threats.

“You think you can just claim a table here without paying your respects?”

The Armorlite in front waggled his claws. “We can claim anything we want. You should be respecting me!”

“You’ve got to earn respect, blunt-fang.”

Those were definitely fighting words, and I was concerned. I hopped in place, trying to peek around the meat slab blockade to see if the station had any kind of security forces nearby. No luck. And with the music thumping away, I couldn’t tell what reactions the people on the other side were having to this confrontation.

Just as I turned to rush back down the corridor, the group broke out into sudden movement, all of them lunging and dodging. I watched over my shoulder for a couple of steps, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Were the Smashers aiming to head-butt the Armorlites with their face shields? Those things weren’t rated for combat. Unless they were. Or —

Unless they were dancing instead.

I stopped dead as the laughter registered in my brain. The two groups were having an honest-to-goodness dance-off next to the food court, and that had been the plan from the start.

“You’ve gotten slow, with footwork like that! I thought this would be a challenge!”

“I’ll show you a challenge! Stand back with your short tail, and let a real expert show you how it’s done!”

“Oh, a real expert? Did you bring one with you?”

The trash talk and deep-voiced chuckles blended with the music while the crowd of giants stomped and jumped and spun. They moved away from the entrance a bit so they’d have room to properly cut a rug, and I caught glimpses of many staring faces at a safe distance. Not a single security officer was among them. Several recording devices were, though.

I edged back in their direction, cautious of flying elbows, and sidled along close to the wall. A cluster of Frillians moved aside to let me escape, busy as they were with filming the dance battle and also laughing about it. They were on the tall side for their own species, but downright spindly compared to the dancers.

Once past, I took a deep breath. I’d reached the food court. Nice to see that it was populated by a range of species, all of whom were going about their day as if this kind of nonsense happened all the time here.

I stood tall and set out to find some human food. There was bound to be someplace that carried Earth cuisine — likely mixed together in bizarre combinations that no Earthling would have done on purpose, but little surprises are a way of life out here.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[hier--soir]

may + june + july reads

the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde by r. l. stevenson [★★★★]

"Though so profound a double-dealer, I was in no sense a hypocrite; both sides of me were in dead earnest; I was no more myself when I laid aside restraint and plunged in shame, than when I laboured, in the eye of day, at the furtherance of knowledge or the relief of sorrow and suffering."

: ̗̀➛ a london lawyer, mr utterson, investigates strange occurrences between his old friend dr henry jekyll, and the evil edward hyde.

: ̗̀➛ a horror classic! coming in at a sweet 96-pages, it was easy to smash out in an evening. and despite the brevity of the text and the fact that it's over a century old, i found it insanely compelling and indeed pretty chilling at multiple points.

: ̗̀➛ there are some ridiculously funny lines in this. i believe he named the evil character hyde just so he could drop this banger: "'If he be Mr. Hyde,' he had thought, 'I shall be Mr. Seek.'"

: ̗̀➛ henry jekyll my sweet summer child, you flew way too close to the sun with this shit.

: ̗̀➛ "You must suffer me to go my own dark way." BARS.

babel: an arcane history by r. f. kuang [★★★★★]

"The poet runs untrammelled across the meadow. The translator dances in shackles."

: ̗̀➛ opening in the year 1828, a young boy from canton is orphaned by cholera and brought to london by a mysterious professor. he is trained in latin, ancient greek, and chinese, in preparation for the day he will attend oxford university's royal institute of translation - babel. the tower is the world's center for translation and silver-working, the magical craft that has so far brought unrivalled power to the british and supports the empire's ongoing colonisation of the world. but what happens when it is discovered that britain is pursuing an unjust war against china, and robin realises that serving babel means betraying his motherland.

: ̗̀➛ this book left me absolutely speechless. upon starting it i was immediately ashamed at how long it had taken me to pick this up considering all the hype. serious thanks to @seventeenpins for recommending this to me recently, you are the best for putting me onto this.

: ̗̀➛ beautifully crafted, incredibly intelligent, great central characters. i don't even know how to put into words what i felt about this one. and as someone who consumes a fair amount of translated literature [see: my love of ancient greek and roman classics] it tickled my interest around the biases and intricacy of translation so perfectly. you need to read it. please.

: ̗̀➛ have to include: "It should have been distressing. In truth, Robin found it was actually quite easy to put up with any degree of social unrest, as long as one got used to looking away."

: ̗̀➛ have to include #2: "So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?"

: ̗̀➛ and absolutely cannot not include this iconic PBS diss: "He greatly enjoyed Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, though he could not say the same of the poems by her less talented husband, whom he found overly dramatic."

paradise rot by jenny hval [★★★★]

"But my dreams are full of apples, and in the dark my body slowly transforms into fruit: tonsils shrinking to seeds and lungs to cores. I dream of white flowers blossoming under my nails, as if under ice. Then my nails break, opening up like clams and in the finger flesh there are little sticky fruit pearls."

: ̗̀➛ jo is in a strange new country for university, living in a house with no walls, a roommate with no boundaries, and a home that seems increasingly more and more alive.

: ̗̀➛ so much piss in this one folks.

: ̗̀➛ jenny hval is a norwegian musician and this was her debut novel, and it was bizarre and haunting and disgusting and made me cringe and feel squeamish at many points, and yet i read it in one fell swoop. it grips you for 120-odd pages and when you're done it feels like you've been spit out disoriented.

mrs s by k. patrick [★★★]

"When she is not around, I invent her. When she is around, I invent her. It is not her fault."

: ̗̀➛ an australian butch lesbian travels to england to work in an elite boarding school, where she meets mrs s, the headmaster's wife. over a hot, restless summer, the two engage in an affair.

: ̗̀➛ i enjoyed this one decently enough. the writing style grew a bit tiresome, and the storyline seemed quite laissez-faire, but overall yes i enjoyed it. what can also grow tiresome for me is the woman-on-woman affair when one of them is married to a man - but maybe i've just read too much queer lit with no foreseeable happy ending lately, idk.

: ̗̀➛ the way the dialogue was structured [or perhaps, unstructured to a painful extent] was not my cup of tea at all.

: ̗̀➛ i was really tickled by her living in an annexe so close to the school nurse, who is very religious. the dynamic gave way to great passages like this: "I imagine her, at night, sending prayers my way, so sweet as to be malicious. In each of our interactions there is always the feeling that I would do better under her God. I don't mind her God, so tangible. The sexy Jesus in her bedroom. His body I too would die to have. Not just the chest but the legs, a footballer's legs, complex with muscle. Even those sad, raised palms. Brazen in their injuries. Such glamour." like hello??? incredible.

grey dog by elliott gish [★★★★]

"You called me a dirty little beast, and I have become as dirty and beastly a woman as there ever was."

"What is that quote from Othello, what Emilia says about men? They are all but stomachs, and we all but food; They eat us hungerly, and when they are full, they belch us."

: ̗̀➛ a 'literary horror novel' set in 1901 about the unmarried and almost 30 'spinster' ada byrd who accepts a teaching post in a small isolated town. she wants to be rid of her past, one 'riddled with grief and shame', but upon witnessing strange and grisly sights, ada begins to believe that something ancient and beastly is behind all the peculiarities in this little town. her confusion deepens, and ada's grip on what is reality, delusion, or traumatic memory, begins to blur and fail.

: ̗̀➛ body horror, gore, the horrors of being a woman, witchy business, descent into madness, women longing for women.

: ̗̀➛ because the entire text is written in first person diary entries, i found that it sometimes failed to establish a creepy atmosphere. although this issue was more prominent for me in the first half, while in the second half the diary entries acted as a great insight as to how unhinged she was becoming. slay.

: ̗̀➛ imo this is simply what happens to a woman when she is raised by a heinous father and ends up an adult surrounded by too many sexy older women!

the sleepwalkers by scarlett thomas [★★★]

"How many eyes can one storm have?"

: ̗̀➛ still reeling from the chaos of their wedding, evelyn and richard arrive on a tiny greek island for their honeymoon. it's the end of the season and a storm is brewing on the horizon. they check into the villa rosa, which has a peculiar owner named isabella, and everyone wants to talk about the famous sleepwalkers, a couple who stayed at the hotel recently and drowned.

: ̗̀➛ saw a tagline that coined this as 'patricia highsmith meets white lotus' and i'd agree. good mystery thriller with some action.

: ̗̀➛ this one was a touch slow at first [it's told in letters, dictated audio recordings, from different perspectives, etc] but ultimately gripped me and i thoroughly enjoyed the drama and mystery. newlyweds that hate each other's guts? yeah, bestie, i need to know why.

: ̗̀➛ i really got into some of the takes showing how evelyn and richard viewed each other. this really stuck with me: "I read infrequently, partly because every book change me, right down the level of my DNA. I didn't want to be changed so often. But you were able to hoover up contemporary culture without so much as a little belch afterwards. You just carried on being you."

: ̗̀➛ also let me fucking tell you, there was a line in this book that made me drop my kindle and GUFFAW in shock. page 88, HELLO. evelyn girl you kill me.

the drift by c. j. tudor [★★★]

"These days death had been laid bare for what it really was. An ending. Often brutal, seldom fair, rarely kind."

: ̗̀➛ a thriller-esque, horror-esque book about a deadly infectious virus, and the attempted survival of three seperate groups trapped in isolated circumstances in the icy wilderness. [this one is so hard to describe sorry]

: ̗̀➛ the book is told through three different pov's. i normally despise this but i actually didn't hate it in this case, although i did have favourites.

: ̗̀➛ boyfriend asked me to read this when he finished it and then watched me from across the room the almost whole time, pretending not to be staring whenever i looked up. and he was right, it was fast-paced, had some good twists and turns, and was enjoyable, albeit very different from what i normally read.

what have i done? an honest memoir about surviving post-natal mental illness by laura dockrill [★★★★]

"Put me out of my misery. I feel like a killer on the loose. I need to turn myself in."

"Or the one of New Mum having champagne and cake with the girls. Another doing 'date night' two weeks before her six-week check, like, 'Yes, we still have sex!' Mum is fitting back into her clothes; Mum is making papier-mâché piggy banks; drinking enough water; shaving her armpits; reading a bedtime story; going to a gig; playing peekaboo. Mum is keeping up with her favourite TV shows; reading the Booker longlist; being a good friend; making a healthy yet tasty cost-effective-probably-vegan meal; recycling; giving baby massage; sterilising. Mum is getting rid of her pregnancy knickers when they are the only knickers she truly likes; doing her taxes; walking the dog; donating to charity; freezing bananas; learning Japanese because why not? ... Oh look! Mum is abseiling down the Shard and still finding the time to express and write a blog about the whole experience."

: ̗̀➛ a memoir about a first-time mum's experience with post-partum psychosis, and her survival.

: ̗̀➛ this book was a heart-ache of a read. honest and raw and devastating and uplifting. often very very funny -- "People told Hugo, 'Don't go down the goal end, mate; it's like watching your favourite pub burn down.' Oh ha. Ha. Ha." -- i couldn't put it down.

: ̗̀➛ the end did start to feel a touch self-helpy which isn't necessarily my bag of tricks when it comes to non-fiction, but those inclusions felt warranted and fair after such an in-depth depiction of everything laura had gone through.

: ̗̀➛ serious mental health trigger warnings for this one. there is plenty of humour, but it gets very dark.

the death of jane lawrence by caitlin starling [★★]

"She dreamed of tearing out a rotted pit inside of him where his martyrdom resided."

: ̗̀➛ in an alternate version of victorian-era britain, jane shoringfield is seeking a marriage of convenience that will allow her to continue working, with all the benefits of being a married woman, and she finds this in dr augustine lawrence. however, he has one condition - she can never visit lindridge hall, his family manor outside of town, where he himself will sleep each and every night. but on their wedding night, an accident strands jane at the door in a rainstorm, and in place of her husband she finds a terrified, paranoid man who cannot tell reality from nightmare. by morning he is himself again, but jane knows something is terribly wrong at lindridge hall.

: ̗̀➛ i picked this up looking for a fun, spooky little read, but am sad to say that i absolutely did not like it. the characters were fickle, the plot twists were unsurprising and revealed poorly, and the storyline was all over the place. sadge!

: ̗̀➛ sold itself as a gothic ghost horror, but didn't live up to that at all [for me!] heavily inspired by crimson peak, and it doesn't care if you know it.

: ̗̀➛ also - when your 'independent strong female' mc marries a guy who lies constantly and makes up bullshit and every time she confronts him he boo-hoos so she forgives him immediately cause he really is a nice man?? womp womp.

: ̗̀➛ also also - way more cocaine in this than i expected.

my book rating system is as follows:

★ = i felt pure contempt the entire time

★★ = yeah it's a book

★★★ = i liked it!

★★★★ = good fucking book, damn

★★★★★ = blew my dick clean off and i'll throw a tantrum if everyone i know doesn't also read it and love it

if you want to share a book you love with me, please do! i am always looking out for new recs.

[1tbls]

some rambling thoughts on shivers (red bolding mine throughout):

so shivers says this to harry after he has a dance-induced seizure in the church, right:

YOU - But who am *I*? Why are you talking to me?

SHIVERS - YOU ARE AN OFFICER OF THE CITIZENS MILITIA. *AGENTES IN REBUS*, WHEN YOU WEAR YOUR COAT, YOU WEAR MY SOUL.

SHIVERS - YOU MOVE THROUGH MY STREETS FREELY IN MOTOR CARRIAGES AND ON FOOT. YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HIDDEN PLACES. YOU ALSO CIRCULATE AMONG THOSE WHO ARE HIDDEN.

here's wikipedia on "agentes in rebus":

"The agentes in rebus were the late Roman imperial and Byzantine courier service and general agents of the central government from the 4th to the 7th centuries."

"Being outside the control of the provincial governors, some agentes ... were appointed as inspectors ... for which they gained a reputation as a secret police force. As their routine assignments brought them into contact with matters of great concern to the court, and as they reported back to the court on everything they saw or heard on their varied missions, the agentes can be seen to have had an intelligence function ... This role, as well as their extraordinary power, made them feared: the 4th-century philosopher Libanius accused them of gross misconduct, terrorizing and extorting the provincials, "sheep-dogs who had joined the wolf pack". Nevertheless, the vast majority operated quite openly, and the claims of the agentes operating as a modern-day secret police are certainly exaggerated."

hey shivers. why are you invoking the RCM as your secret police, via a term not just associated with collection of information, but with corruption and manipulation of power.

and, if you fuck up the dance check and call kim a slur, she says:

"SHIVERS - BY THE WAY, APOLOGIZE TO YOUR PARTNER AT ONCE. UNITY AMONG THE RANKS IS PARAMOUNT."

which sticks out to me, because earlier we have this encyclopedia check with noid:

NOID - "A life is true if it's free from fear and internal division among oneself. And others -- mankind has seeds of greatness in it. A germinal will come, a return to trueness. It will be hard core."

YOU - "How would you go about *returning* to this true life?"

NOID - "Beats and bright lights to shatter falsehoods. Nerve impulses for the collective body. We are very much alike in basic structure. A hard enough beat would awaken everyone to a truer calling -- in unity!"

ENCYCLOPEDIA - Rejection of the right-left axis, emphasis on *unity*, appreciation of some primordial mode of being -- what does that remind you of?

YOU - "Sort of like fascism then?"

now, i don't think either noid or shivers are outright fascist :p but i do think the purpose of this encyclopedia line is to highlight how those criteria are flawed and damaging, how they are red flags, whatever the intention.

some comparisons:

1. return to trueness. le retour. the return of... what? in both cases, truly quite vague except for the idea of some dramatic upheaval of the current order, the idea of "returning" to some idealized past state or event.

2. nerve impulses. shivers. "appeal to nature" type fallacy, appeal to a baser instinct... invocation of physical reactions as metaphor for political reactionism, perhaps?

3. unity. on the surface, shivers telling harry to make things right with kim is touching, certainly. but specifically "unity among the ranks" is an interesting framing 🤨 as though the crucial thing is that their forces are not divided for what's to come, regardless of kim's feelings, regardless of harry's potential racism.

likewise, noid's call for unity addresses... nothing at all. simply that everyone would be awoken from their petty, false divisions into unity. neither this nor his criticisms of left vs. right acknowledge that the division is not equal, that one side in most social power conflicts is invested in stripping the rights of the other... because that is simply not on the radar when the priority is unity above all else. in its way, unity is authoritarian where it does not abide difference or dissent in the interest of the of the stasis/power of the institution.

this is all to say. hey. let's talk about the inherent nationalist nature of la revacholiere, my problematic wife ♥️

[fkapommel]

A Rant about Bridgerton s3 from a person who doesn't care about Bridgerton

I'm just a hater who is an optimist at heart. On Polin, the Mondrich's, Michaela Stirling, and Cressida.

I haven't read the Bridgerton books, and I don't believe there is any validity to a "but this isn't book accurate!" argument because Bridgerton the Show was marketed as a diverse, representational adaptation that liked the bones of Quinn's idea but made something better. And I, a lay person, have never seen as much virtroil and hatred towards the showrunners as I have seen this season using that exact argument that has never been uttered before because, near unanimously, all fans agreed that the showrunners were making a better story that 90s Quinn ever could. So many people, readers and non-readers alike, were disappointed with the handling of this season.

Peneolope and Colin

Polin was ignored during THEIR season for conventionally "pretty" and "thin" romances. There was zero character growth for either Penelope or Colin individually and as a couple in their own season. We are never shown why Colin loves Peneolope or why he has grown to appreciate her Whistledown project beyond dialogue - "I've learned that they are both you" what the hell does that even mean. Most of the season is spent with them physically apart making dumb faces at each other at dances with no cinemagraphric tension being built - few body closeups, boring musical cues, meaningless and repetitive body/facial choreography (I'm looking at you, open-mouthed contoured Colin) - when all this and more were utilized successfully in Anthony and Kate's season. People were thirsty as fuck to watch a white man get fucked by a darker skinned woman (as was i), but not even the showrunners could be assed about the romance between their only plus-sized character and a Bridgerton. We spent more time building up Francesca's relationship with Kilmartin over penting up Peneolope's romance - her feelings of tragedy, hopelessness. Peneolope has always been overlooked and truly believed that was her fate forever - even nearly agreeing to a marriage that would literally leave her ignored for years on end - and that was the central tension of the season. She knows who she is, she knows that she is love-worthy, talented, and intelligent, but will Colin? DOES Colin? Oh, he does, and he randomly decides that mid-way through the season. And then fumbles her so hard to the point of insulting her very character - calling her manipulative and scheming after they slept together - when the true authorship of Whistledown is revealed. There was not enough tension built nor sustained to carry his hatred for his wife during those episodes, and no, a couple shots where he looks at his very hot wife and thinks "damn, she is hot" is enough.

This season we should have seen what his mother told him - that he is incredibly self-sacrificial and puts other people's (his quoted siblings') happiness before him - in action during Pen and his plot to get a suitor. That device could have been both means and method of Colin's realization that Pen was his true match all along by being forced to list her accolades, scrutinize her face and body for physical compliments and inticements in order to hype her up for other suitors and recognizing her intelligence and manner of speak in Whistedown because of their newfound constant proximity instead of having to be told about her authorship and realizing off-screen their similarity (which, I'll mention, has never been demonstrated in all three seasons. As a person who writes very different to how they speak, I understand that there is some grace to be had here, but Penelope's dialogue does not include any Whistledownisms at ALL and there absolutely should be some demonstrable similarities, especially this season.) That's how Colin could have NOTICED her. In all, their romance was extremely fumbled in favor of having "prettier," "skinnker" bodies on screen because the showrunner had no faith in Nicola's verified abilities in being a leading lady in a larger body (which isn't even plus-sized UGH different argument). Pen has been in love with Colin since the Featherington's "moved in next door" - where was any of that? We learn more about Kate Sharma's childhood in her season than we do about Polin's, the season where its plot important. No flashbacks, no reminescing, no reasons given why Pen even liked Colin in the first place (could he have done something for her, perhaps noticing her in some character-important way, and thats why she developed a crush? No. He's simply a cute guy next door.) We don't even reminisce on Colin's recent worldly travels that, at the start of the season, have completely transformed him into a lady's man or taught him how to assume that character-type. We don't see Pen's life without him to contrast with her life with him back, but different. We don't see the strain on Colin trying to hold up this facade of being a confident womanizer, nor do we see any consequence of his womanizing, just distant shots of jealous Pen. Why be different, why be different now, what shaped and taught his transformation? Did he think of Pen when he was gone? All important questions that would've better characterized him.

Colin magically realizes he's been tortured for a few days seeing Pen talk with Debling a few times (who is completely forgotten about in Pt 2 holy shit I totally forgot about him), then is so mean to her realizing she's Whistledown, then magically falls in love with her again, and then oop- there's babies. Which i guess wasn't a surprise, but rubbed me the wrong way as neither of Polin has talked about wanting kids at all. In all other seasons, we see our pair demonstrate their abilities as viscountess or duchess, and we see them discuss the importance of having children plus an understanding of what it's like being parents. We didn't get any of that from Polin and seeing them suddenly thrust into parenthood was a shock to their characterization. They're love story is allowed to be juvenile, girl-/boy-next-door fantasizing, and rushing past Penelope's pregnancy and their transformation into parents was needless, leaving more questions than answers.

Mondriches

Why, the hell, was the Mondrich's selling their bar so goddamn important to this season?? This show is called Bridgerton, about the Bridgertons, but we have sacrificed necessary screen time on Colin Bridgerton's characterization and romance with Pen for filler than ultimately means nothing! He sells the bar anyway! This show was billed on meaningful representation of its diverse cast. You can't just make a nothing burger conflict about if this Black family suddenly thrust into being titled when the husband is weirdly attached to a bar where he serves whisky to his majority white clientelle. A Black family suddenly needing to learn the rules and decorum of the nobility is an interesting storyline in the world of Bridgerton, which characterizes itself has post-racial. Learning all the minute rules of etiquette is crafted to be impossible to an outsider, so how does this family of outsiders learn it? Where is the conflict that their inheritance rests on their child becoming the legal head of the family? There is so much to be explored here. In this concept rests a meaningful and emotionally convincing plot, but all we got was "Dude you need to sell your bar." "But I don't wanna! ............... I sold my bar." If youre going to waste screen time on one of the very few depictions of a plus-size character finding love that doesn't center her weight in its conflict, at least make it not so fucking boring.

Michaela Stirling and Francesca

And finally. Here we get to Michaela Sterling, who, based on the audience reaction, came on screen, showed her whole vag, killed beloved character Michael Sterling with a chainsaw, and hypnotized innocent Francesca Bridgerton in lesbianism. Good God people. Get a grip.

As a person not in the fandom, I have never seen this level of disgust and anguish over an adaptational change than to the introduction of Michaela Stirling. To anyone who hates this change and loves Mr. "Im going to tie you to the bed until you get pregnant": you already have that. No one is taking the books away from you. But a television adaptation of the books is not FOR you, it's for a whole new audience that pays homage to the original readership. If you cannot handle this change, stop watching.

To all of the television viewers who make a monolith of this outcry, accusing all nay-sayers of homophobia: get a grip. It is indeed emotionally difficult to see your beloved books get a poor adaptation or when screen adapters make changes that you see will make the narrative weaker. Literally every fandom that has had an adaptation has acted this way once or twice. And readers make some important concerns for the impending narrative! By introducing Michaela right after an entire season of this slow, easy, quiet romance between Francesca and John, the show has retroactively trashed every time that Fran has assured her family that she is truly in love with her now-husband (a fact that is important when that said husband is to be lost in the coming seasons). Fran and Stirling were demonstrating a real, true love that differed from the steamy, bodice-ripping lust the concept of Bridgerton was founded on. Their love was, may I remind you, incredibly popular to neurodivergent viewers who saw many traits of ND represented in Fran's character and her relationship with John. Her constant conflict with her mother and the queen who doubted that their love was valid because it did not behave in the same sensual way theirs had and then Violet's eventual approval of their relationship is important representation for love not based on lust and sexuality but on shared psychologies and interests. So far in Bridgerton, it has been illustrated that the only correct and long-lasting type of marriage is one based in wanting to fuck the pants off your partner; JoFran complicates this narrative. By then introducing Michaela and having Fran stutter over her words in compliance to Violet's memory of "forgetting the most familiar of words" when meeting her husband completely erases everything JoFran fought for and meant. "Wait, on second though, everything that these two characters stood for was in fact wrong and being so horned up that you forget your name is the only true start to a fulfilling relationship." This alludes to an eventuality that Fran's personality will be altered even more, that more parts of Francesca are indeed wrong and need to be changed for her to live a fulfilling marriage. (Yes, I understand that this has not happened yet, but the complete reversal of her relationship that she championed for an entire season makes one wary that even more is on the horizon). Further, Francesca's narrative is centralized around grief. How can that be actualized in the show if she falls out of love with her husband before her marriage night, when she's already lusting after her cousin by marriage? The Micheala introduction as it is in season 3 completely rewrites Francesca's character in the show and foreboding for an even greater change in seasons to come. There is an in-narrative issue with Michaela that is not reducible to homophobia but a genuine concern for the narrative.

Secondly, I have seen some people state that miffed viewers are upset about Francesca's bisexuality but not Eloise's implied lesbianism because they were comforted by Eloise's adherence to gay stereotypes, such as her "militant" feminism, her "not-like-other-girls" black sheepism, her hatred and disgust of men and the institution of marriage, and her constant, deep, near-homoerotic relationships with women. Francesca, in contrast, is princessly, beautiful in the same manner as Daphne, modest and sexually inhibited, concerned with feminine pursuits including marriage, and has not expressed an interest in women until her introduction to Michaela. To these people I say this: stop giving television showrunners so much grace. Michaela's introduction was meant as a shock to the audience. It was not meant to retroactively construct Francesca as a bisexual, locked in a tower of heterosexuality. It was meant to drum up just as much media buzz as it has. It is a hook for the next season meant to draw in new viewers - a queer audience scrounging for representation in the carpet hairs - and their run-of-the-mill audience member who pointed at their TV, exclaimed WHAT!?, and who is now hooked to discover how this new plotline will play out in the next season. It will keep their audience curious for however many years it takes for B4 to come out. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you were not surprised by Fran's sudden bisexuality. There is a reason that Eloise's stereotypicality is shorthand for gay, and the fact that Benedict and now Fran have been confirmed as bisexual if not homosexual lessens the probability that Eloise's narrative will be queered. Bridgerton creators do not care about true representation, they care about providing for a wide enough audience. That's why we only got canon queer characters (and queer sex) until the end of s3 - when people were already hooked. But they can only include so much before people are turned away. Think to yourself, why has there been no main dark-skinned, or truly plus-sized, or blemished, or disabled, or asexual, or poor, or effiminate man, or butch woman, or trans* love interest? It's because diversity and representation have limits.

Queer people deserve good representation, and we deserve for that representation to be narratively treated well. We do not deserve shock marketing or the ruining of hard built plot and characterization so that creators can win Diversity Bingo. (Likewise, this goes for racial diversity as well).

Forgotten Cressida

And lastly, and most shortly, what the fuck did they do with poor Cressida. I have never been more let down by the show than how they villanized, then sympathized with, and then shipped off Cressida to a doom of her worst nightmares when her storyline could have genuinely be salvaged by inhabiting the Whistledown role - being an outcast, but a respected one that is still flits about society - or by allying herself more with Eloise and leaning on her for support. But no. She is forgotten by society, by her family, and the only person she has ever called a friend, who was in the perfect position to be a queer provider for her. That shit hurted.

[warwickroyals]

Sunderland's Royal Jewel Vault (18/∞) ♛

↬ Countess Wynn's Meander Tiara

The majority of the tiaras in the Sunderlandian collection were inherited through members of King Louis V's family, mainly previous queens Matilda Mary, Anne, and Katherine. This meander tiara however represents the current Wariwcks' French heritage, as it belonged to Queen Irene's mother, Marguerite Wynn. Countess Wynn was born in 1914 as Marguerite Delphine Lucie Chevrier. She was the eldest of four children born to industrialist  Phillipe Édouard Chervrier (1880 - 1950) and his El Salvadoran wife, Consuelo Romana Gomez (1892 - 1979). Margurite's family claims ancestry from both French and Spanish nobility, although the bulk of their impressive fortune was derived from Phillipe's ceramics factory in the south of France. Much of Margurite's early life was disrupted by the First World War, during which the Chevriers settled in Mexico City with Consuelo's sister. Following the war, Marguerite flourished in high Parisian society, becoming well-versed in the arts and fluent in several languages, including English and Spanish. Expected to marry into the French aristocracy, Marguerite made waves by instead marrying John Wynn (1911 - 1973), a career soldier from Sunderland whose great family had fallen on hard times following the deaths of John's three older brothers in the war. When the couple met in 1931, John was on a mindless trek across Europe, in search of a wealthy bride. Despite their differing backgrounds, Marguerite was smitten by John's optimism and good humour. The pair married a year later, with John even converting to Catholicism to appease Marguerite's parents. Their wedding was held at the Chapel of the Palace of Versailles, one of the last grand society affairs of interwar Paris. The tiara, which featured a Greek key design punctuated by a central emerald-cut yellow diamond, was among Marguarite's wedding gifts. The jewel is ambiguous in origin but is agreed to be an early twentieth-century creation, likely from Cartier. It became a useful tool in Margurite's arsenal as she erupted in Sunderland as one of the country's wealthiest society ladies. Pearlie, as she became known, was noted to be arrogant, intelligent, and ravishing. Pearlie is more "royal" than the rest of us combined. She drenches herself in jewels as if she were the ghost of the last Tsarina. — Queen Katherine, 1970

The Countess owned the tiara until 1968, when she gave it to her youngest daughter, Lady Irene, also as a wedding present. Irene's marriage to the future King Louis V was Pearlie's greatest life achievement and she became increasingly boastful. Maman Wynn, as she was called by the press and public, was known to meddle in royal affairs, especially the personal lives of her daughter and son-in-law. By the early 1980s, she was on bad terms with both. Irene was never seen wearing her mother's tiara, but she kept it in her own personal possession for almost thirty years. In 1997, Irene continued the tradition by gifting the tiara to her only daughter, Princess Jacqueline, ahead of her wedding to Lawrence Belmont. The wedding was coincidently the last public appearance of the old Countess Wynn. She died peacefully at Chester Palace the same winter. Since then, Jacqueline has worn the tiara regularly at state functions and in official portraits. It's among the princess's most cherished pieces.

The Countess Wynn wears the tiara in a portrait, circa October 1943, eight years before the birth of her youngest daughter, Queen Irene

HRH Princess Jacqueline wears the tiara while attending a gala dinner & dance in July 2026

[qdbs-writes]

Hi can u please write headcanons for the cullen clan with a witch fem reader likw their reaction to them finding out that u have powers like wanda maximoff from the marvel

Can this be longer then usual please i love ur sm its unbelievable❤❤❤❤

aw thank you nonny, i can't do individual character gifs or else my elderly macbook will combust

Cullens Reacting to Fem!Scarlet-Witch!Reader

Carlisle Cullen

He had his suspicions that you weren't a standard human, but he could never quite put his finger on why he got that vibe from you.

You were admitted to the tiny Forks hospital emergency room after you'd fainted in the street. And for what should've been a very regular medical check, strange things seemed to be happening.

The lights and electronic heart monitor flicked on and off without warning, pens and papers on his desk seemed to move when he turned his back. Waves of red light danced just beyond his sight.

For what his centuries of medical practice told him, you'd be fine, only suffering a slight headache. But the moment you left the room everything appeared to function perfectly again.

Carlisle grew up in a society that endlessly feared the power of witches casting curses and plagues on the people, and he found himself unable to forget what he was taught after he met you.

Carlisle was a man of science, but after living for so long, nothing could explain what had happened with you that day without magic.

Esme Cullen

Esme first meets you at a charity event to raise funds to support overseas humanitarian crises, one of the many charities Esme heads in her free time.

She's busy organising baked goods at a long central table when you walk in, shuffling your feet and glancing around nervously. Seeing your discomfort, Esme goes up to you immediately, asking if you're alright and if she can get you anything.

You insist that you're fine but want to dedicate some time to help support the charity. Esme is delighted to have some more help and asks why this particular charity's cause spoke to you.

You mention that you came from a now collapsed Eastern European state and that you'd come to America to seek safety and justice for everything that happened to you and your people under that corrupt government. That you want to support groups that seek to protect people who are at the mercy of callous and greedy leaders.

Esme is incredibly moved by your story and your values and goes to fetch the paperwork for you to become a volunteer. But then she remembers something that came through the Vampire intelligence network a while ago. The country you came from had been experimenting on its people, giving them abilities that would make them more powerful than vampires.

She stops to consider that maybe you were one of the people they experimented on and that you might have powers that could surpass all vampires. She chases that thought from her mind, for now, reminding herself that she's in no position to be interrogating you if that was the case.

Edward Cullen

At first, Edward was none the wiser of you or your abilities. You were just another girl at Forks High. But slowly, as the days went by, he didn't so much as notice you but instead noticed your influence.

On your first day of school, he stood behind you at the lunch line. The two guys in front of you kept thinking about how excited they were to be getting the last slices of pizza. Suddenly their minds abandon pizza so when they go to order they get the salad option instead.

You drop your hand to your side and get the second-to-last slice, turning to Edward and giving him a knowing wink. Despite the panic gripping his dead heart, Edward shuffles up the counter after you and orders the last pizza slice to keep up appearances.

For the next period, Edward is consumed with thoughts of 'Can she read minds?'. If you could read his mind, you hid it well by ignoring all the panicked thinking he was directing at you. 'Perhaps she's tormenting you on purpose. Can YOU read my mind?', he asks again.

Again you give no indication that you can hear his thoughts. Suddenly, the teacher calls his name, expecting an answer to a question Edward did not hear. Then a soft, ghostly voice reverbs in his head 'The answer is 42'. It was a voice that sounded exactly like you.

Edward awkwardly mutters the answer before the teacher rewards him for being correct. He turns to look at you on the opposite side of the class. So you couldn't read minds then, but could still project your thoughts onto others? Very interesting, very interesting indeed.

Alice Cullen

She recognised you immediately the moment she saw you arrive at Forks High. You had been the one she'd had visions of for months on end.

But you looked different from her visions. Your face was not strained as you contorted a swirling red mist in your hands. Your eyes did not glow red as the tips of your fingers turned black as if dipped in ink.

No instead you seemed almost painfully ordinary as you scrawled long division calculations into your notebook during class.

Alice wondered how to discuss you with her family, from what she saw, you had the power to bend Forks, if not the wider Washington area to your will alone.

Maybe it was best to leave you alone, keep you away from the hidden madness of vampire clans and werewolf treaties. The Volturi would certainly not rest until you were a vampire under their thumb.

Alice decides that if you're as smart as you are powerful, then you'll quickly work everything out for yourself and whether or not you really want to be involved will be up to you.

Emmett Cullen

He genuinely had no idea you existed, you kind of merged into the background with all the other kids at Forks High. That was until the egg incident.

To this day, neither you nor Emmett has spoken about what happened, and he firmly believes that was for the best. But now there is a permanent tension between the two of you, you both know about the other, but you're both unwilling to admit any of it.

It happened on a late October evening, and Emmett was launching eggs into the side of the school building with all his vampiric strength. After all, no one was around to see it, so why would it matter?

Another egg practically evaporated as it hit the brick, splattering into thousands of tiny yoke fragments flying in every direction. It so happened that you had just stepped out of the gymnasium, with egg bits flying toward you at supersonic speeds.

But before the shattered egg could coat your hair, a red barrier of mist emerged from your outstretched hand, deflecting the remnants of egg to land either side of you.

That's when you notice Emmett and Emmett notices you. You both stare at each other, frozen in time. At some point in your impromptu staring contest, you and Emmett silently agree that neither of you would ever talk about what happened and what you were, Emmett certainly wasn't in a position to be throwing eggs in a glass house.

Jasper Hale

When Jasper was mortal, his mother always used to tell him and his sisters scary stories of evil witches who would snatch them in the night if they ever went out wandering.

Jasper never really paid those stories any mind, until he met Maria, and suddenly he began to understand why powerful women should be feared.

You didn't strike him as the 'witchy' kind, no black cats, no large pointy hat, no flying broomsticks, no bubbling cauldron. But just like Maria, you had this aura of some kind, and you certainly weren't no vampire.

He'll admit that he never saw you do anything particularly magical either. But he did notice that people can get scared out of their wits when you're about.

At the same time, there seemed to be this sadness in your eyes, and an exhaustion that didn't truly belong on anybody as young as you.

Jasper goes against all his instincts and begins to investigate you. Over time, he makes you feel more and more relaxed in his presence, maybe you'll let something slip.

Rosalie Hale

Rosalie was used to having people look at her, even in her mortal life, very few could tear their gaze away from her. But today was the day she made eye contact with you as you looked at her.

There was this indescribable energy in your gaze, almost a power. For the first time in her immortal life, Rosalie felt nervous by looking at a human.

As you retreat your eyes and continue onto class, Rosalie realises that she'd stopped pretending to breathe, artificially filling her cold lungs with air once more.

Despite her best interest, Rosalie couldn't get you out of her mind, She found herself following you, watching you in class, seeing where you sat during lunch. And the longer she looked, the more tangible this aura of raw power you had seemed to be.

It was like this shift in the air, the room, the people around you. Apart from this, there was nothing about you that wasn't completely ordinary.

She'll admit you were pretty, not as pretty as her, but then no one really was. For now, she'll keep on watching you, perhaps you'll slip up and reveal what you really are.

[checkoutmybookshelf]

The Immortals Quartet

Time to chat about another of Tamora Pierce's beloved heroines and one of her early quartets. This is also the quartet that--in my entirely subjective experience--catches a lot of guff for its romance subplot. But we'll get to that. These are some of my favorite books of Pierce's, and I'm pretty sure that I read these after the Alanna and Kel books, although they were her second published quartet, coming before Kel. Let's talk The Immortals Quartet.

Veralidaine Sarrasri, unlike Alanna and Kel, is not originally Tortallen. Our girl is Gallan, and when we first meet her in Wild Magic, she is recovering from bandits sacking her village, burning down her house, and killing her family and all their animals. She's also desperate to hide what she thinks is a form of madness from every human she runs across, which gets really complicated when Numair starts teaching her how to harness her wild magic. And for just a hot second, can I say how much I love Numair in this series? He has just as much character as Daine and I am never NOT here for phenonemally powerful mages who are also basically oversized puppies.

Getting to watch Daine develop relationships with Numair, Onua, Alanna and George, the royal family, and the Queen's Riders is such fun, and so well done that when Daine finally feels safe enough to explain why she sometimes seems recalcitrant about her magic lessons it feels immensely earned. These relationships also become immensely foundational to the rest of the series, as does Daine's b-plot but still really compelling arc about hating Stormwings.

The Stormwing arc really finds traction in Wolf Speaker. In my experience, most people say that In the Realms of the Gods is their least favorite Immortals book, but for me, Wolf Speaker takes that prize. Not at all because it's a bad book, but for me it's the most forgettable of the four. Daine and Numair are investigating sus nonsense in Fief Dunlath, and there are blood rain and shape shifting/mind riding shenanagins and Daine begins to have holes poked in her Stormwing prejudice courtesy of Rikash Moonsword. It's a fine book, and the subplots with the wolves and ogres are compelling, but for whatever reason this book does not stick in my head.

The book that does stick in my head and is unequivocally my favorite of this quartet is Emperor Mage. This book follows the Tortallen peace delegation to Carthak, and geopolitical and divine shenanagins ensue. Dain's relationships with Kaddar and Ozorne--and particularly how Numair and Ozorne's history colors both those relationships--are again central to the plot. The Graveyard Hag is also actively throwing broom handles between the spokes of Daine's wheels by giving Daine the power to bring skeletons to a seeming of life.

That gets absolutely amazing because the Graveyard Hag wants Daine to reanimate human skeletons, but Daine makes the PHENOMENAL point that humans forget literal walking nightmares really fast. What humans don't recover fast from is when you literally raze their centers of government to the ground, including food stores, records of all kinds, and the freaking treasury. So instead of making human skeletons dance through the streets, Daine reanimates DINOSAUR SKELETONS and wrecks absolute shop. It's amazing, I wouldn't change a thing.

The other thing I love about this book is Numair yo-yoing between being an experienced intelligence operative and black robe mage and a complete idiot. He is tangled up in plans to free slaves and overthrow Ozorne and yet he still somehow manages to forget all of that and swing at Ozorne when he suggests that Numair is banging Daine. Numair. Honey, sweetie, friend, you cannot be THAT much of an idiot. And the best part is, at least three other characters call him on that idiocy. This book is fantastic.

In the Realms of the Gods is the book that, in my experience, gets the most flak from fans. My experience has been that people object to the student/teacher dynamic between Daine and Numair deveoping into a romance and the significant age gap between the two characters as the romance develops. People also seem to feel that this book is too long and drags in places. I don't tend to find that the book is draggy and long, but that tends to be a very "your mileage may vary" thing for readers.

In terms of the age gap and student teacher dynamics, I want to start off very clear: In real life, student-teacher relationships are never ok, are always predatory, and I do not support. However, to paraphrase Red from OSP, not every book that shows things that aren't unequivocally morally good do not need a "Do Not Try This At Home" sticker on the cover. Books don't have to be morally instructive, they don't have to show the best possible healthy relationships, they just have to be interesting. And honestly? I find Daine and Numair interesting. On top of that, Tamora Pierce is aware enough as an author that Daine and Numair actually do (however briefly) discuss the potential pitfalls of the age gap between them. They don't address the student/teacher thing, but then I wouldn't expect them to because that's not the relationship they have in this book. They are more partners than student/teacher. All this to say, I can understand why people dislike this romance, but I'm not here to throw shade, because honestly I enjoyed it.

I also enjoyed meeting and learning about Daine's parents, exploring the literal Realm of the Gods and all the wibbly wobbly timey wimey chaos shenanagins, and the conclusion of Daine's Stormwing arc. (And how dare Pierce make me cry that hard over Rikash. That was uncalled for.)

Overall, I deeply loved this quartet, and Daine is a welcome change from the very martial Alanna and Kel. She also represents an evolution of the magic systems in Tortall, which was really compelling and refreshing.

[zeciex]

A Vow of Blood - 79

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: “You will be trapped by the obligations of love and duty, unable to escape the web of expectations others have woven around you,“ the witch said….

Chapter 79: Vengeance Hungers

AO3 - Masterlist

The sky was a brooding tapestry of heavy clouds as Aemond descended upon Storm’s End on the massive back of Vhagar. The dragon landed precariously close to the cliff’s edge just as the storm above Shipbreaker Bay began its ominous approach, blotting out the setting sun as it should make its descended below the horizon. The vast courtyard within the walls was too constrained for the dragon, compelling them to choose this exposed perch. 

The evening air was brisk and unforgiving, slicing through Aemond as he dismounted from Vhagar. He peeled off his riding gloves–sturdy black leather that had offered some warmth during their flight from King’s Landing–and tucked them into his belt. Rubbing his hands together for warmth, he moved through the rocky cliffs that loomed ominously beside Storm’s End, their jagged surfaces sharp against the backdrop of the turbulent sea. The incessant roar of waves crashing against the cliffs mingled with the howling wind, a prelude to the impending storm that carried the sharp, salty scent of rain on its breath. 

Aemond made his way towards the gate set within the massive curtain wall, guided by the glow of torches held by guards. Their flickering light served as a beacon for the men assembled to receive him. Together, they ushered him through the shadowed tunnel within the inner wall and into the base of the drum tower, his boots echoing on the ancient stone with each determined step. 

His presence was immediately imposing as he entered the drum tower, flanked by stern-faced guards. They paced through the shadowed corridors, their footsteps echoing until they reached the central chamber. This grand hall, round and stark, was lit by the flickering glow of braziers and torches that threw dancing shadows on the stone walls. 

There, Lord Borros Baratheon awaited, seated upon the austere stone char that served as the throne of House Baratheon. It was unadorned as Daenera had told him–hard, cold, with sharp edges and devoid of any attempt at comfort. Lord Borros himself seemed an extension of the chair, his demeanor as hard and unyielding as the seat he occupied. 

As Aemond approached, Lord Borros Baratheon adjusted his position on the stone chair, a deep scowl furrowing his brow. His greeting was terse, imbued with a subtle undercurrent of impatience. 

“Prince Aemond,” he began, his voice clipped. “I hear condolences are in order…”

Aemond met Lord Borros’s gaze squarely, his expression unmarred by sorrow. Instead, a sharp, unforgiving smirk played at the corners of his mouth. “Thank you, Lord Borros.”

Borros narrowed his eyes, which mirrored the stormy blue of the tumultuous sea churning outside the castle walls. He leaned forwards slightly, cutting into the conversation with a pointed tone. 

“But…” he interjected, his gaze piercing, “Such news is usually not delivered by a prince…” His words hung in the air. “What brings you here, Princeling?” 

“As you’ve been made aware,” Aemond began, clasping his hands behind his back to adopt a posture of formal authority. “My father, the King, has passed, and his firstborn son has ascended to the throne. My brother, Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, has been crowned in the sight of gods and men…”

At this revelation, a ripple of murmurs spread through the gathered nobility flanking Lord Borros, their expressions a blend of surprise and suspicion. His gaze intensified, a spark of keen interest igniting within–more intelligent than any spark with his brother’s eyes, Aemond thought. 

“A King,” Borros mused aloud, the word echoing slightly in the cavernous hall. “Yet there seems to be some confusion within the house of the dragon. I was under the impression our next sovereign would be a Queen.” He leaned forwards slightly, his tone both inquisitive and challenging. “Forgive my bluntness, young prince, but did not your father choose your elder half-sister as his heir? I recall that my father was compelled to swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra…”

“Indeed, oaths were sworn during a time when the realm’s stability hung in the balance,” Aemond replied coolly, his smirk growing more pronounced, a thrill of challenge quickening his pulse. His fingers drummed restlessly behind his back, the only manifestation of turmoil breaking through his composure. “However, the King rectified his earlier decision prior to his demise, decreeing that his firstborn son should inherit the crown.”

Lord Borros made a thoughtful noise and leaned back, his large hand brushing through his thick, black beard contemplatively. “It appears to me that there’s a succession crisis within House Targaryen. On one hand, a King; on the other, a Queen.”

“There is no crisis,” Aemond countered firmly. “Aegon is the King–”

“If there truly were no crisis, you would not find yourself here, young prince,” Lord Borros interrupted sharply, his voice booming slightly in the cavernous hall as his hand trumped against the smooth stone of his chair’s arm. “You arrive as an envoy of your brother, and while I accept your presence here graciously, understand that I am reluctant to entangle myself in the internal strife of House Targaryen. House Baratheon does not break oaths once made.”

“It was your father’s oath, not yours,” Aemond answered. “It was an oath sworn out of necessity, for a King without a son… House Baratheon may understand this decision, and understand that once the King had his son, the succession changed.”

Lord Borros tilted his head slightly, his stormy blue eyes narrowing.

Aemond continued, his voice steady and persuasive. “It was your father’s oath, not yours. An oath made out of necessity, for a King who at the time had no son. Surely House Baratheon can appreciate that once the King sired a son, the line of succession naturally altered.”

Lord Borros furrowed his brow, his deep voice resolute as he countered, “My father swore an oath to the Princess, an oath that I cannot simply cast aside without appropriate compensation.”

Aemond listened, his expression controlled yet his eye betrayed the calculation behind it. Drawing in a measured breath, he felt a surge of satisfaction ripple through him as the Lord of Storm’s End revealed his ambition. “Of course, my lord. The King would not send me here with empty hands.”

Reaching into his coat, Aemond produced a small piece of parchment and handed it to a nearby guard for delivery. Lord Borros snatched the letter briskly, his eyes staring pointedly at the rolled document as though it would read itself aloud to him before shifting his gaze back to Aemond with renewed scrutiny. 

“Which of my daughters will you marry then?” Borros inquired as he waved the letter towards his daughters, who stood in a silent, expectant line to the left of his throne. 

Aemond’s gaze swept over the young women, each poised and dignified, yet he barely allowed his eye to linger, feeling a twist of discomfort at the suggestion. Returning his focus to Borros, he chose his words with care. “As honored as I would be, Lord Borros, I must decline. I am already betrothed.”

In Lord Borros’s stormy blue eyes, a tempest seemed to swirl, his dark eyebrows drawing together into a scowl of deep displeasure. Aemond carried the pointed look with a spine straight as the sword at his hip, refusing to cower beneath the lord's scornful glare. 

“Ah, yes, my brother’s widow…” He began, his voice dripping with a mix of resentment and suspicion. “Tell me, One-eye,”–Aemond’s expression tightened subtly at the nickname, his jaw clenching though he maintained his composure–“how long after my brother’s untimely demise did you decide to claim her for yourself? It has not been more than four months since his passing!” His voice boomed across the hall, each word sharp and heavy with accusation. “She could very well be carrying his child!”

The allegation hung in the air, echoing off the stone walls, challenging Aemond not just politically, but personally, testing his diplomatic acumen under the weight of moral scrutiny. 

Aemond felt a surge of agitation twist in his stomach at the thought of Daenera bearing Boris Baratheon’s child–and he had to anchor himself before responding to the Lord of Storm’s End, the very man he had been sent to broker an alliance with. His hands balled into fists behind his back, and he gritted his teeth, striving to maintain his composure even as anger flared within him. 

“Lord Borros,” Aemond began, his voice steady despite the tempest brewing within him, “I understand your concerns, truly. The decision to honor the betrothal was made with the deepest respect for your brother’s memory and for the delicate position of his widow–”

“Do not attempt to placate me with empty words,” Borros interrupted sharply, his cheeks flushing a vivid red with his rising temper. “I am well aware of the political machinations at play, but that does not mitigate the affront of how hastily this union was formed. My brother has scarcely been laid to rest, and yet you are poised to marry his widow! Would it not be more fitting to choose a bride who is yet untouched? One whose child you could be certain would be yours?”

As Borros Baratheon hurled his veiled insults and threw his daughters at him, Aemond’s thoughts darkened–his disdain for the man Daenera had been forced to marry simmering just beneath the surface. He imagined the man suffering the torments of the seven hells for the wounds he had inflicted on Daenera–scars she still carried. Aemond’s eye flared with suppressed fury, his fingers twitching with the urge to draw his sword and exact retribution upon the man before him–he envisioned himself presenting Borros’s severed head to Daenera as a grim trophy. She would love it, solely because it would cost them Storm’s End. 

Such thoughts were quickly stifled; the necessity of the alliance holding him back. 

And Borros, keenly aware of this leverage, pressed his advantage. 

“I haven’t come to discuss my betrothal to the princess,” Aemond stated firmly, a clear intention to redirect their discourse. “I am here to propose a different betrothal. Prince Daeron Targaryen, my younger brother, is prepared to offer his hand in marriage to one of your daughters.”

“Prince Daeron?” Borros raised an eyebrow, his skepticism thinly veiled. 

“Indeed,” Aemond replied smoothly, his tone infused with a hint of pride. “The Prince is not only a dragonrider but is also currently studying at the Citadel, while being squire for Lord Ormund Hightower. He is growing into a handsome and intelligent young man.”

“How old is he?” Borros inquired, his interest piqued. 

“Five and ten.” 

“And he’s a dragonrider?” The lord pressed, needed to confirm this fact once more.

“He is,” Aemond confirmed, observing with satisfaction as Borros’s interest transformed into a sharp gleam of intrigue and ambition. The prospect of aligning with a dragonrider–and the potential for future dragons being bound to House Baratheon through the union between Prince Daeron and one of his daughters–promised not just an infusion of royal blood but also a formidable increase in House Baratheon’s influence over the throne. Aemond knew these were advantages a prideful man like Borros Baratheon could hardly ignore. 

“Very well,” Lord Borros finally conceded, his gaze drifting towards his daughters. “Which of my daughters will it be?”

Aemond advanced, his hands clasped behind his back, his solitary eye moving methodically to the first daughter in line. Each step resonated in the hushed chamber, his gaze sharp and assessing as it lingered on each young woman. 

“My oldest, Cassandra,” Lord Borros introduced, his voice carrying a note of pride. “She was the first to flower, and is sure to be able to be with child soon after the marriage.”

Cassandra stepped forward gracefully, her curtsy slow and respectful. As she straightened, her eyes, deep and dark as a stormy sea, met Aemond’s. Her features were set in a stern expression, mirroring the unyielding stone of the castle itself. Her build was robust, with broad shoulders and hips, her presence as stern as her demeanor. To Aemond, she seemed too stern, too immovable, a reflection of her father. And she was much older than Daeron. 

His scrutiny shifted to the next daughter as Borros continued, “Maris. The cleverest of my four girls.”

Aemond’s interest was piqued slightly as he turned his attention to Maris, intrigued by the promise of intellect that her father’s words suggested, wondering if her demeanor might offer a more pliable counterpart to her sister’s stoic fortitude. 

Maris, the second daughter, offered Aemond a clever smile as she bowed, much like her sister had done. Her eyes, a deep, murky shade reminiscent of the sky just before a storm, contrasted sharply with her dark, ink-black hair, which was pulled tightly back, accentuating her angular features. Unlike her robust sister, Maris was slimmer, with narrow hips. Her small lips and absence of pronounced cheekbones lent her a somewhat gaunt, melancholic appearance. Yet, there was an unmistakable spark of intelligence as her gaze swept over Aemond, briefly pausing on his scar. A slight curl of her lip betrayed her disgust, and Aemond felt the sting of it. He gritted his teeth, and swallowed his spiteful words. 

Lord Borros then directed attention to another daughter, “My Floris. The most comely of them all.”

His words seemed to wash over his older daughters, who appeared unfazed by the repeated compliment, indicating it was a familiar refrain. 

Floris stepped forward, her bright smile lighting up her features, her eyes reflecting the same stormy hue as her father and eldest sister’s. She executed a flawless curtsy, her presence radiating grace. Her dark hair was styled into an intricate arrangement, and her figure was willowy, dressed in a fine gown adorned with gold threads and small stones that accentuated her chest. To Aemond, she appeared overly delicate, perhaps even frivolous–sweet and appealing, yet lacking the formidable qualities of her siblings. 

Finally, Borros introduced his youngest. “And Ellyn Baratheon, my youngest, quite adept with a bow, though she has yet to flower.”

Ellyn, the youngest of Lord Borros’s daughters, moved forward, mirroring her sisters with a respectful, though clumsy, curtsy. She was already tall, her frame stretched and lanky, hinting at further growth, her hips promising a difficulty in childbirth. Her hair was dark as coal, and her eyes, a deep blue so intense they nearly appeared black, were set a touch too wide on her face. 

As Aemond watched her, a poignant thought struck him: in another life, he might be choosing a bride for himself rather than acting on his brother’s behalf. This realization twisted something deep within him. Each girl, though of good stock, painfully reminded him that they lacked the specific qualities he had found so bewitching in another–the cornflower blue eyes tinged with violet, capable of reflection both the tempest of the seas and the serenity of a clear sky, the slight pout of her lips, both sweet and deceptively alluring. None possessed the gentle yet commanding curves that haunted his memories–the breasts that fit perfectly within the palm of his hand, soft and pliable, the hips that were made to be gripped, the soft curve of her stomach, or the supple flesh of her ass and thighs. They did not have the touch that could mend as much as it could ruin– and for that, he felt an unexpected relief.

 They were not her.

 And he did not want any of them.

Aemond’s fingers absentmindedly played with the golden ring that encircled his finger, the motion hidden behind his back. His thumb grazed the band, latching on the subtle lever hidden within its design. For a fleeting moment, he felt the needle mechanism flick up under his touch, a small but lethal secret embedded in the ornate jewelry. With a subtle movement, he pressed it back down, securing the mechanism closed once more, all the while maintaining an outward composure that belied the calculating thoughts whirling through his mind. 

“You have fine daughters,” he acknowledged respectfully, addressing Lord Borros with practiced diplomacy. “I believe your second youngest, Floris, would be particularly well-suited for my brother. They are of a similar age and her demeanor suggests a kindness that Prince Daeron would find most agreeable.”

“Well chosen,” Borros responded, his features softening as he smiled at Floris. The girl’s cheeks coloured with a deep blush, while a flicker of envy passed briefly over her sisters’ faces.

Lord Borros then leaned forward, eager to move on to the practicalities of the alliance. “Now, shall we discuss the dowry?”

“The hour grows late, my lord,” Lady Elenda interjected softly, her hand resting gently on her husband’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “The prince has had a long day, and I am sure he’s in need of rest. Might we continue this in the morning?”

Aemond would have preferred to conclude the discussions and return to King’s Landing, but he couldn’t deny that the prospect of a meal, a hot bath, and a comfortable bed was appealing. His body ached from the long flight, and he realized he hadn’t eaten much since the morning. Weighing his fatigue against his desire to proceed, he reluctantly agreed–after all, he had to be sharp for the discussion of dowries. 

Clean and well-fed, Aemond found himself in bed, absentmindedly rubbing the persistent ache gnawing at the inside of his skull. As he settled into the unfamiliar yet plush surroundings, he couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same chambers Daenera had occupied during her visit to Storm’s End after her husband’s death. The thought prickled at his fingertips, stirring a familiar longing within him to wrap his arms around her and find solace in her presence–a need that had haunted him ever since that woeful night. He had confessed then, realizing it was neither mere attraction nor simple affection, nor was it lust, but something far more profound and devastating. His father had taken that confession to his grave.   

Despite the comfort of the bed and the quiet of the night, Aemond’s sleep was restless, his mind swirling with memories and unspoken words.

After breaking his fast, Aemond returned to the Round Hall with Floris at his side, who peppered him with questions about Daeron as her sisters looked on, their glares tinged with envy. They had just begun discussing dowries and arrangements when the sudden echo of a guard’s voice broke through the room, abruptly halting the negotiations. “A dragon has just landed in the courtyard…”

Aemond turned sharply towards the guard, his hands clasped behind his back as he moved to the edge of the room. His heart quickened with a blend of curiosity and annoyance at the interruption. It seemed his half-sister had decided to make her own move, dispatching one of her sons in an attempt to sway the Lord of Storm’s End. Aemond mused over the naivety of their belief that Lord Borros would maintain his allegiance to their faction, especially when the alliance that had bound them had been severed by death. He half-expected to see Jace stride through the door, but to his surprise, it was Lucerys who entered, flanked by guards. 

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” declared one of the guards, his voice booming through the grand hall, heralding the boy’s approach. “Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” 

Aemond turned towards Lucerys with a slow, deliberate motion that carried the weight and precision of drawing a sword from its sheath. As his gaze finally settled on the boy, a sharp, malicious smirk twisted Aemond’s lips. Lucerys, in response, seemed to momentarily falter under the intensity of Aemond’s stare. His eyes widened, his complexion paled, and a look of palpable fear etched itself across his boyish features. It was as if Aemond could visibly see the boy’s heart drop to the pit of his stomach–a sight that stirred a dark, twisted sort of satisfaction within him.

That cruel part of Aemond reveled in the dread that unfolded across Lucerys’s face–seemed to hunger for it. It was as though this beast that resided within him was bearing its teeth, craving more, thriving on the fear it elicited. It was something sinister and remorseless that stirred, enjoying the unease he instilled in his young rival. 

Good, Aemond thought, I want him afraid.

As lightning crackled outside, its sound snapped sharply against the walls of the drum tower, its energy seeming etching itself into the very stone. The storm that had been brewing finally unleashed its full fury upon Storm’s End, with the wind howling menacingly around the structure’s round walls.

Underneath Aemond’s relentless, steely gaze, the brown-haired boy shifted uneasily, his movements betraying a nervous attempt to muster his courage. His eyes darted from Aemond to Lord Borros Baratheon, flickering nervously before finally resting on the Lord of Storm’s End seated upon the stony throne. Gathering what composure he could, he managed to put on a brave face, though it appeared rather feeble against the crack of thunder. 

“Lord Borros…” he began, his voice barely rising above a murmur when a sudden clap of thunder interrupted him, thrashing through the room like a whip. Regaining his shaken resolve, he continued, “I have brought you a message from my mother… the Queen.”

The certainty with which he referred to his mother as ‘the Queen’ almost coaxed a chuckle from Aemond. He felt the rumble of amusement within his chest but managed to restrain it, opting instead to observe silently, intrigued. 

“Yet, earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King,” Lord Borros interjected dryly, his tone as unyielding as the stone he sat upon–and cut with a certain edge of mockery. “Which is it to be? King or Queen?”

If Lucerys had been the first to arrive, perhaps he might have stood a better chance. But he hadn’t, and Aemond couldn’t help but relish in this advantage, his smugness evident as he allowed his amusement to play across his features while he fixed his gaze on the boy. His stare was cold and unyielding, aking to the chilling touch of a blade poised menacingly at the throat, intended to unnerve and unsettle. 

“The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it,” Lord Borros jeered at the unfolding drama with a scoff, his laughter echoing through the chamber, devoid of any real humor, as it rolled over the tense atmosphere. “What is your mother’s message?”

Despite the intensity of Aemond’s glare, Lucerys held his ground, seeming to find some courage. With a defiant look still aimed at the Lord of Storm’s End, he extended a rolled piece of parchment towards one of the guards. The guard approached, the sound of his footsteps resonating through the sudden silence, only to be swallowed up by another menacing crack of thunder. He took the message and walked across the room, finally placing it into his lord’s expectant hands. 

Aemond’s focus was unrelenting, almost entirely fixed on Lucerys. Despite the ongoing interactions around them, his eye remained sharply trained on the boy. A newfound streak of resolve seemed to fortify Lucerys’ composure, embolden him to meet Aemond’s piercing stare. The boy’s eyes, defiant and steady, refused to cower under the intense scrutiny, and it only served to deepen Aemond’s desire to see him squirm. 

Lord Borros Baratheon’s patience had seemingly worn thin amidst the charged atmosphere. His voice broke through the tension, rough and tinged with irritation as he grumbled, “Where’s the bloody Maester?”

The silence in the Round Hall stretched taut, its intensity rivaling the sporadic thunderclaps from the storm outside and the wind’s relentless whirring around the sleek stones of the keep. The charged atmosphere inside mirrored the tumultuous weather, fostering a palpable unease that seemed to seep into every corner of the room–if there had been any corners. 

Aemond, ever observant, noted the subtle shift in Lucerys’ stance–a slight unease that betrayed him. This small gesture did not escape Aemond’s notice and only served to deepen his amusement. The thought flickered through his mind–did Lucerys actually believe he could best him?

The echoing footsteps of the approaching maester sliced through the heavy air, his chains jingling softly, announcing his arrival. Aemond kept his gaze fixed on Lucerys, choosing not to turn towards the maester or Lord Borros but remaining acutely aware of every movement. Even without seeing, he could feel the tension in the room rise as the master delivered the message to Borros. 

Finally breaking his steady gaze, Lucerys looked towards Lord Borros, just as the lord spoke out, his voice heavy with indignation, booming through the room. 

“‘Remind’ me of my father’s oath,” Lord Borros repeated the words from the letter, his tone darkening with fury. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact!”

Aemond’s smirk sharpened, his amusement and confidence rising as the tension in the room did the same. 

Lucerys, maintaining his composure, held his head high, seemingly undeterred by the force of Lord Borros’s words. His eyes stayed locked on the lord, defiantly ignoring Aemond as he began to speak. “My mother, the Queen, hopes that our houses’ marriage alliance remains intact. My sister–”

“‘Hope’?! ‘Hope’?!” Lord Borros erupted, cutting the young prince off mid-sentence. His voice boomed through the hall, laden with frustration and disbelief. “The alliance between our houses died along with my brother, and unless your sister is with child, I see no reason that the alliance should continue. I cannot stake the future of my house on mere ‘hope.’”

As Borros’s fury washed over him, Lucerys visibly tensed, his discomfort apparent. Aemond, ever watchful, noted the slight tightening of Lucerys’s grip on his sword hilt, his eyes briefly widening in response. He imagined that this wasn’t the welcome the boy had thought he’d receive. 

“Your sister, commendable as she might have been, pledged to remain a widow to sustain this tedious alliance,” Borros continued, his voice tinged with scorn. “However, I’ve come to understand that she has reneged on her word by accepting a betrothal to Prince Aemond here.”

Aemond felt the piercing gaze of Lord Borros on him, implicating him directly in unraveling the prior commitments between House Baratheon and Rhaenyra. The irony wasn’t lost on Aemond; Lord Borros was closer to the truth than he realized–closer than he would ever know. 

As Lucerys’s gaze shifted to him, Aemond tilted his head slightly, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth–a challenge, daring him to voice his thoughts. He reveled in the clear signs of worry, unease, and fury that danced in the bastard’s eyes–a tumult of emotions that Aemond found almost palpable. Lucerys gnawed slightly at his lip and swallowed thickly, seemingly struggling to maintain his composure before reluctantly pulling his eyes away from Aemond. 

“My sister is held as a hostage in King’s Landing. Any decision to marry would not be her own,” Lucerys countered, his voice carrying a steely determination tinged with an unmistakable quiver of worry. 

“I assure you, Lord Strong,” Aemond interjected smoothly, his voice sharp as a blade, his one eye gleaming with sardonic amusement. The thrill of the exchange quickened his pulse, a flutter of amusement paired with a twist of glee in his stomach. “The decision was entirely voluntary. Perhaps if your mother cedes her ambition for the throne, you’ll be able to attend the wedding and see for yourself how willing your sister truly is.”

Aemond’s words hung in the air, a challenge laden with irony and provocation, skillfully weaving a narrative of consent and volition that masked the complexities and pressure of royal alliances and captivities. 

He held the secret of his marriage to Daenera close to his chest–one that could unravel the tension in the room with a single revelation. He could have disclosed that he and Daenera were already married, could have shown the proof etched into the skin of his palm, and could have taunted Lucerys for his ignorance of his sister’s true feelings. Yet, he refrained. Part of his hesitation might have been pragmatic, aiming not to provoke Lord Borros Baratheon’s anger, especially since he was there to secure an alliance with House Baratheon. But another, more personal part of him wanted to keep this knowledge private, to preserve a last remnant of what they shared, to protect Daenera from the harsh scrutiny such revelation would invite. Why reveal their marriage now, when the realm would witness their union all the same?

Luke’s glare narrowed as he retorted, “Or perhaps, Prince Aemond, you confuse coercion for consent as easily as you confuse treachery for honor. It seems the only way you can secure a bride is by trapping her in circumstances she cannot escape from. My sister would never willingly marry you.”

Aemond gritted his teeth, his tongue pressing against them as venomous words threatened to spill forth. Insult after insult simmered within him, pushing him dangerously close to losing his composure. 

“Be that as it may,” Lord Borros interjected, his tone brimming with impatience, “House Baratheon had honored its commitments to your sister and your house. The alliance now lies buried with my brother. If you seek a new alliance, then tell me, which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Lucerys gathered himself, his posture stiffening as he prepared to respond, his voice firm with a shaken resolve. “My lord, I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed.”

Lord Borros’s reaction was swift and biting, each word infused with a mix of mockery and disdain. He scoffed dismissively, “So you come here with empty hands.” His voice carried a derisive edge as he continued, “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Despite the harsh dismissal, Lucerys maintained his dignity. He squared his shoulders and set his jaw, meeting Lord Borros’s gaze with unyielding eyes. “I shall take your answer to the Queen, my lord.”

Aemond, watching the exchange, felt a surge of exhilaration. His heart thrummed with the thrill of the apparent victory, and as Lucerys turned to leave, a part of him relished the upper hand they had gained. Yet, something within him stirred–a desire to further assert his dominance, to ensure Lucerys did not depart without fully understanding the depths of their enmity. He wanted him to run back home with the tail tucked between his legs. 

Floris gracefully moved from Aemond’s side to join her sisters. Maris welcomed her with a comforting touch, placing a hand on her younger sister’s arm. Her voice, just loud enough for Aemond to overhear, carried a thinly veiled jab. “You should feel fortunate, sweet sister, to wed a prince with all his appendages. Spare a thought for the princess…”

The remark struck Aemond like a barb, twisting in his stomach–an unpleasant reminder of the countless similar insults he had endured since losing his eye. He clenched his teeth, the words resonating in his ears, reverberating within his mind. What had felt like a victory moment’s earlier now soured into something bitter and resentful, coloring his triumph with the dark hues of indignation and anger. 

“Wait,” Aemond called out sharply, his voice cutting through the tension, commanding Lucerys to halt. “My Lord Strong.”

The boy halted, a moment of stillness enveloping him. Then, with measured steps he moved back to the spot he had previously occupied before being dismissed. As he faced Aemond again, the visible signs of his trepidation were unmistakable. His complexion had paled, draining of color, and his lips parted slightly, revealing a flicker of fear. Lucerys seemed to forcibly swallow his apprehension, his jaw clenching tightly. He subtly shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword, his body tensing as if bracing for the confrontation. 

“Did you really think you could just fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?” Aemond challenged, taking a measured step closer to the young prince. His hands remained clasped behind his back, maintaining a casual yet commanding presence. He was undeterred by the prospect of Lucerys drawing his sword, confident that he could take him easily. 

“I will not fight you,” Lucerys declared with resolve, his voice steady and clear–dismissive almost. “I came here as a messenger, not a warrior.”

Aemond’s voice was chillingly calm as he drawled, “A fight would be little challenge.”

He knew that should it come to blows, he would easily overpower the boy. But a fight was not what he sought; Aemond craved a different kind of retribution, something that would settle a deeper score. 

“No,” he continued, his tone darkening with a grim intent, “I want you to put out your eye…”

The demand hung in the air, heavy with the gravity of his desire for vengeance, seeking not just defeat but to debilitate and humiliate–as he had been debilitated and humiliated. It was only fair. 

Aemond felt it then–a sharp, familiar pain jabbing at the hollow where his eye once was. It started as a mere pinprick but soon swelled into a forceful throb that made his teeth feel loose, pulsating in tandem with his heartbeat. The scar burned intensely, the ache splitting his skull, a constant reminder of his loss. This pain was an old companion, lingering just beneath the surface, ever ready to surge forth and engulf him, forcing him to relive the moment of loss again and again and again.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, vividly recalling the initial sting when the injury occurred, a pain that quickly rose into a searing, white-hot agony as though he had been branded. He supposed in a way he had been. His blood had spilled thick and warm, clinging to his skin. He could still feel the horrifying sensation of his eye rupturing, the blade slicing through flesh, tissue, muscle, and bone, as his vision dissolved into a haze of black and red.

The memory of the aftermath was just as vivid–the tearing pain as the maester removed the remnants of his eye from its socket, the burning agony as the wound had been cleansed, the sharp bite of the needle as it stitched the inflamed skin closed. 

What had made the ordeal even more unbearable was the injustice of it all. He had been mained for claiming a dragon that was free to claim, yet he was the one who bore the blame of his injury. The perpetrators went unpunished, no retribution for the wrongs done to him. 

The injury had implanted a deep-seated resentment within Aemond, a smoldering rage that clung to him persistently. Upon his return to King’s landing, the wound had become inflamed, necessitating it to be reopened and cleansed thoroughly. During this procedure, he lost his eyelid, the tissue having turned black.  

After the wound had somewhat healed, Aemond made the decision to have it reopened to embed a sapphire in the socket–an attempt to reclaim some semblance of dignity and to avoid the pitying stares that had become all too common. He had read tales of warriors replacing lost eyes with precious stones, and he sought to emulate them. However, it had brought him little solace, and he had taken to wearing an eyepatch instead.

For years, Aemond had carried the weight of this injustice, living with both the physical pain and the humiliation it brought. Now, he felt the time had come to have the debt settled, to demand what was owed to him–a chance to balance the scales that had been so unfairly tipped against him. 

Aemond lifted his hand deliberately, his fingers grasping the edge of the leather patch that concealed his disfigurement. With a calculated movement, he pulled it away, exposing the harsh reality of his injury and the gleaming sapphire that sat within the hollow of his socket. “As a payment for mine…”

He stood defiantly before the boy who had caused him irreparable harm–the one responsible for his maiming and disfigurement, the one who had escaped punishment. This boy, who seemed to know nothing of fear, pain, or suffering, who displayed no remorse for his actions, who had never felt the biting sting of injustice–a poison that had seeped into his very core. 

Aemond took a dark pleasure in observing the change in Lucerys’s expression–the visible drop of his heart as he confronted the extent of the damage he had caused and the creeping fear that began to shadow his features. Witnessing the realization in Lucerys eyes was not sufficient, he sought more than just a momentary flicker of fear; he demanded a deeper acknowledgement of the pain and consequences his actions had wrought. 

“One will serve,” Aemond stated, his voice slicing through the tension, cold and unforgiving. With a deliberate motion, he flicked his coat aside, his lithe fingers finding the familiar hilt of his dagger. He drew the blade with a steely sing, its sound a clear, ominous echo in the chamber.

“I would not blind you.” His words were laden with a chilling mercy–an eye for an eye, indeed, but he offered leniency where none was owed. It was a debt of blood that had to be settled, a recompense for his own loss, dictated by ancient laws of justice. 

With a flick of his wrist, Aemond tossed the dagger. It spun through the air, landing with a clatter to skitter over the floor and stop at Lucerys’s feet, the sound of steel on cold stone resonating more profoundly than the thunder outside. This gesture, laying the instrument of retribution before Lucerys, was both a challenge and a test, a cruel kindness that spoke of the harsh balance Aemond sought to enforce. 

“Mm,” Aemond hummed, the sound almost a purr. “I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

The utter horror that briefly flickered across Lucerys’s face brought Aemond a grim kind of satisfaction. He felt it uncoil within his chest like a viper poised to strike, the beast within him baring its teeth. He believed it was only fair that the bastard should suffer as he had–Aemond wanted him afraid, wanted him humiliated. Yet instead of the outright fear he sought, a defiant spark–spiteful, even–flared in Lucerys’s eyes. His jaw set firmly, he held his head high, though in Aemond’s eye, he had no grounds for such pride. 

“No,” Lucerys answered firmly, and his response ignited an uncontrollable rage within Aemond. To be denied justice, to be refused retribution a second time–it was more than he could bear. 

 A cold, dreadful sensation crept over Aemond as he stared at Lucerys, feeling the pain in the hollow were his eye once was–a chilling, maddening discomfort that seemed to curl within his eye socket, spreading like ice through his skull and scratching at the edges of his consciousness. The words that escaped him were delivered in a cold, drawling tone, laden with accusation. “Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

Lucerys’s response was defiant; his jaw clenched tightly, his body tensing as he shifted on his feet. “I will not surrender my eye to you. I owe you noth–”

Aemond’s already frayed composure snapped completely at Lucerys’s budding refusal. Rage exploded within him, an inferno as vivid and all-consuming as dragonfire. It obliterated all rational thought, unleashing the beast that lurked within, its fangs bared, thirsting for retribution. 

“Give me your eye, or I will take it, bastard!” Aemond’s voice boomed as he advanced towards the visibly frightened boy. In a swift motion, he scooped up the discarded dagger, its metal scraping loudly against the stone floor, the sound magnified in the tense silence. The blade caught the light from the lightning flashing outside, making it seem as though the storm itself had invaded the Round Hall. Aemond could almost taste the bastard boy’s fear, and it only fueled his desire for retribution–he imagined carving out the boy’s eye, making him endure every excruciating moment just as he had, wanted him to feel the blood as it poured–

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros Baratheon’s commanding voice cut through the tension as he rose from his throne.

Aemond’s fury was momentarily bridled by the authoritative intervention–remembering that he was here out of duty to his family and house, to secure an alliance. He halted his advance, though his gaze remained fiercely locked on Lucerys. The guards quickly stepped between them, forming a protective barrier. Behind them, the boy stood with his sword drawn, the tip of his blade quivering slightly, and Aemond couldn’t help but think him pathetic. 

“The boy came as an envoy,” Lord Borros continued, his tone firm and authoritative, “I’ll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

Aemond, momentarily stalled by the command, stood his ground but slowly rose to his full height. With practiced ease, he spun the dagger within his grip, letting it twirl elegantly before sheathing it at his hip–unbloodied. He thought Lucerys should be grateful for Lord Borros’s intervention; he should consider himself fortunate that Aemond had enough control to hold back. He envisioned Lucerys retreating to his mother, tail tucked between his legs, humiliated and defeated. This image, though not as satisfying as exacting his revenge, managed to soothe the aggressive itch at his fingertips.

As Lucerys sheathed his sword and took a few shaky steps towards the doors, he paused and turned back to face Aemond once more. His expression was unusual, marked by a mix of determination and sympathy–almost pitibal in its sincerity. “I am sorry that it has come to this…” 

The boy’s words carried an unexpected earnestness that only served to set his teeth on edge. The words slithered under Aemond’s skin, twisting into his bones, igniting something dangerous  within him. He fixed his gaze on the bastard, fighting to contain the surge of rage that flared anew in his chest. The pain that normally lurked at the edges of his mind, though palpable, had been somewhat bearable until now. But at Lucerys’s apology, it began to unravel, the icy grip of it clawing into his consciousness with talons that tore through his restraint.

“I am sorry,” Lucerys continued, his tone almost mocking in its sincerity. “I regret that my actions resulted in the loss of your eye but I will not apologize for protecting my brother…”

These words, meant to convey regret, instead felt like a provocation to Aemond, challenging the very control he struggled to maintain. His body tensed, frozen in place yet poised to strike. The words tore through Aemond with blinding ferocity. He was sorry? He was sorry?! The way Lucerys spoke, as if the incident had been a mere mishap, belittled the true extent of Aemond’s suffering. It wasn’t just the loss of an eye–it was the years of excruciating pain that left him writing in bed at times, the endless, agonizing months it took to heal fully. It was the grueling process of relearning basic tasks that once came effortlessly, the way the injury had mutilated and disfigured him, not just physically but in the eyes of those he met. 

Lucerys’s apology failed to capture the humiliation and torment Aemond had endured, how his father would never look at him without seeing the scar first and foremost, how his mother would look at him as though she had failed him, how that scar became the defining feature people noticed. It ignored how deep the scars ran, how the incident twisted him, hardened him into something brutal and cruel–a beast in the form of a  man. 

A fierce, almost primal urge surged through him–he imagined drawing his sword, effortlessly slipping past the guards, plunging the blade into that bastard’s eye, then severing his head to let the sword be anointed in the traitor’s blood. He imagined sending what was left of Lucerys back to his mother in grim retribution.

Yet, as much as he yearned to unleash his fury on Lucerys, a whisper of restraint echoed in the back of his mind, a tenuous thread of self-control keeping him from shattering entirely. The sliver of rationality held him back, a reminder of the consequences that would inevitably follow.

Lucerys continued, his voice steady yet each word, seemingly dismissive and mockingly sympathetic, shredded the last vestiges of restraint Aemond clung to. The small, rational voice in his head was drowned out by the throbbing rage that consumed him. “I hope for your understanding, and perhaps forgiveness one day, but until then, you have my apology for the suffering caused by my hand,”

Aemond’s glare intensified, his eyes burning into Lucerys with such fury that it visibly shook the young bastard. The intensity of Aemond’s rage was enough to send Lucerys quickly turning to exit the hall, eager to escape the palpable hostility. 

As Lucerys left, Aemond felt the rage continue to sear through him, gnawing at his fingertips insistently, engulfing his mind. He turned to Lord Borros, his voice icy, colder than the harshest winters of the North. “I thank you for your hospitality, my lord, and I will have the hand of the King finalize our arrangement, but if you excuse me, I must go.”

His words were formal, yet the undercurrent of his tone conveyed a chilling resolve, as if the coldness of his voice could mask the storm of fury within him. With that, Aemond prepared to leave, his every move reflecting the tumultuous emotions he struggled to contain. 

Aemond didn’t wait for an answer, or perhaps he simply didn’t hear it; he spun on his heel and swiftly exited the Round Hall. The moment he stepped into the corridor, his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. Driven by a storm of rage, he sprinted down the hallways and darted through the tunnel, navigating the winding paths of the curtain wall before bursting into the tempest outside. 

Rain lashed at his face as thunder roared overhead, the elements mirroring his inner turmoil. The rocky terrain threatened to trip him, but his fury propelled him forward unscathed. He reached Vhagar, his hands finding the wet, slick rope that wrapped around the dragon. 

“Hēnkirī kesi urnēptre bona Ilībōños bona ziry zūgagon īlva,” Aemond sneered, his voice cutting through the relentless downpour that threatened to drown out his words. Despite the roar of the rain, Vhagar responded to her rider’s command, a low rumbling emanating from deep within her chest, signaling her readiness. Aemond ascended the ladder with a fervor fueled by his smoldering rage, each step taken with urgent determination as he planned to chase the little bastard through the storm. 

Together we will show that bastard that he should fear us.

By the time he mounted the saddle, he was thoroughly drenched, his hair plastered to his skin, the chill of the rain seeping deep into his bones. Yet, he scarcely noticed the cold; his mind was singularly focused on the objective–to find the boy who had inflicted so much pain upon him and ensure he experienced just a fraction of the fear and helplessness Aemond had endured. 

He wanted Lucerys terrified, utterly humiliated–his rage demanded no less. As he prepared to take flight, every fiber of his being was set on this relentless pursuit, the fury within him as relentless as the storm that raged around him. 

“Ryptēs! Rȳbās!” Aemond commanded, his hands tightening on the leather reins. “Sōvegon!”

Listen. Obey. Fly!

As thunder roared above, Vhagar responded with a low rumble, shaking her massive head as a sign of readiness. She then unfurled her enormous wings, striding towards the cliff’s edge, and with a powerful leap, she allowed herself to drop slightly, the fierce wind quickly catching her wings and lifting them into flight.

Rain lashed at Aemond’s face like a barrage of tiny icicles, each droplet pricking against his skin with icy sharpness, though he barely registered the discomfort, or that the sapphire within his socket were steadily turning to ice as the wind whipped at it. His heart pounded in his ears, nearly drowning out the howling wind and the continuous thunder that cracked through the sky. Lightning streaked across the dense clouds, briefly illuminating the darkened heavens, as they soared into the storm, bound by a mission fueled by vengeance and fury. 

A crude smile stretched across Aemond’s lips, savoring the taste of rain mixed with the wild fury of the storm. They were in close pursuit of the small shadow darting ahead of them, the smaller dragon’s wings flapping frantically against the relentless wind. Aemond cleverly used the cloud cover to cloak their approach, weaving through the dense clouds, allowing them to stealthily stalk their prey from above. 

As they drew into the clouds in front of the smaller dragon, they executed a swift, tight turn before emerging from the thick cloud cover. Aemond and Vhagar burst forth, their sudden presence in front of the smaller dragon meant to be an imposing and terrifying spectacle, amplified by the thick cover of clouds that wrapped around them. Aemond caught a brief glimpse of Lucerys’s red-cheeked, fear-stricken face as they swooped over them, allowing Vhagar to menacingly snap her claws close to them, a clear threat. 

A menacing, maniacal laugh erupted from Aemond’s chest, a sound that bubbled up and spilled from his lips, fueled by the palpable terror emanating from the boy and his dragon. Vhagar joined in with a sound akin to a crackle, a low, reverberating growl that might have been a purr under less ominous circumstances. It was a foreboding sound, promising the unleashing of fiery breath and teeth sharp enough to rend flesh. 

Together, they were the embodiment of true power.

This was a dance of fury and fear, where his shadows cavorted with the gales, their whispers echoing in the thunder, rejoicing in the terror they instilled in the target of his ire. The storm, like a malevolent spectator, seemed to mimic the tempest within Aemond, its rage a mirror to his own, its chaos a reflection of his soul.

As Arrax darted ahead, Vhagar surged forward with a predatory swiftness, her massive maw snapping at the air, her gleaming teeth tearing menacingly close to the smaller dragon. Arrax fluttered about uneasily, trying to evade the larger dragon’s threatening advances. 

Aemond harbored a cold hope that when Lucerys looked back, the sapphire replacing his eye would catch the lightning’s flash, its cruel gleam filling the boy with utter dread. He wanted to haunt Lucerys, to be etched into his mind–it was only fair, as the cruel edge of the blade had been etched into his face. 

Aemond delighted in the chase–delighted in the terror he elicited as they toyed with the smaller dragon. He let Vhagar snap her jaws at the dragon, threatening to tear off its wings or bite into its body. Through the roaring storm, they pursued them relentlessly, refusing to let up. Aemond’s intent was clear: he wanted the boy to experience the same helplessness and humiliation he had endured years ago. 

“I see you! Ilībōños!” Aemond bellowed, his voice clawing its way through the tumult, ensuring it reached Lucerys amidst the chaos of the storm. His shout was a declaration of his presence, a warning that he was unavoidable and ever-present, like the storm itself. 

As Arrax seemed to sense the imminent danger, the small dragon instinctively pulled its wings closer to its body, executing a sharp drive in an attempt to escape. Aemond, relentless, spurred Vhagar to follow. The massive dragon pursued her formidable form cutting swiftly through the air towards the churning sea below. The wind lashed against Aemond’s face with such a ferocity that, had he been wearing his eyepatch, it surely would have been torn off. 

With his voice raw from shouting, Aemond bellowed again. He was uncertain if his words could pierce through the howling wind and the roaring sea as they rapidly descended, but he shouted regardless, his voice echoing with command and threat: “Ozdakōs, mittys!”

Run, fool!

His shout was taut, a challenge thrown into the face of the storm, as much a part of the tempest as the thunder and lightning themselves, all converging to overwhelm the fleeing dragon and its rider. 

Lucerys and his dragon quickly turned and leveled out above the narrow sea, maneuvering sharply to steer towards the cliffs. Aemond and Vhagar were in close pursuit, her immense wings masterfully catching the wind to prevent a perilous descent into the sea. 

Another cruel, discordant crackle escaped Aemond, a sound not entirely human, as if the beast within him had broken through. The rush of their rapid descent invigorated him, his blood singing through his veins with a hot, thrilling pulse. He felt the familiar swoop in his stomach, reminiscent of the exhilaration he felt during his first ascent on Vhagar, when he had claimed the dragon as his own.

As Arrax deftly turned towards the cliffs, Vhagar followed, intent on catching up–a shadow of death closely trailing the boy and his dragon. The smaller dragon managed to slip through the narrow crevice between the cliffs, disappearing like a bug through a crack in the wall. Aemond, reacting swiftly, yanked at the reins, steering Vhagar sharply upwards over the cliffs, temporarily losing sight of their quarry among the rocky outcrops and the relentless downpour. 

Vhagar expressed her frustration with an aggravated roar that mirrored Aemond’s own sneer of irritation. They continued to fly above the cliffs, scouring the landscape below. The sea thrashed violently against the cliffs, its hunger palpable in the storm’s fury. Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest, the pounding rhythm nearly drowning out the storm’s howl, fueling the thrill of the chase that tingled beneath his skin, itching at his fingertips and fluttering in his stomach. He laughed, cruelly so, reveling in the feeling of power. 

“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā!” Aemond called out, his voice a menacing drawl meant to instill fear and provoke a mistake. “Taobus!”

You owe a debt! Boy!

His words cut through the tumult, meant to echo ominously around Lucerys, a constant reminder of who it was that pursued him. Aemond’s command was not just a call–it was a dark promise, woven into the winds of the storm, haunting the fleeing boy with the weight of his impending reckoning. 

Aemond fervently hoped that Lucerys was consumed by fear, that he felt utterly powerless–just as powerless as Aemond had been when the dagger had sliced through flesh and muscle, as hopeless as when he had the remnants of his eye brutally torn from his socket, and as forsaken as he had felt when he had been denied justice, when he had been denied the retribution he deserved. He wished for Lucerys to feel the same crippling fear Aemond had endured when they had turned against him, when they had attacked him for claiming something which was free to claim. 

Most of all, he wanted Lucerys to feel the crippling shame and humiliation he had felt, bearing the scar of injustice. 

The clouds around them were oppressive, heavy and dense, closing in as they navigated the endless gray expanse. Aemond blinked rapidly against the onslaught of rain and wind, and suddenly, a torrent of fire burst from a gray cloud, followed swiftly by a sweeping shadow that darted past them–trailed by a voice whose words were drowned by the wind. The fire curled around Vhagar’s head, hot and searing. Aemond felt the intense heat graze his skin, wrapping them momentarily in a billow of smoke. The heat was fleeting, replaced almost instantly by an icy chill as the warmth dissipated into the stormy air, leaving a lingering cold in its absence. 

Vhagar reared her head in anger, a reaction that Aemond felt deeply within his own chest. The dragon’s fury mingled seamlessly with his own, fueling his emotions as his stomach churned with cold dread. Vhagar plunged through the clouds after Arrax with forceful determination, almost as if personally affronted by the young dragon’s slight. 

A thunderous roar shattered the sky, reverberating so powerfully that Aemond felt it within his chest, louder than the thunder itself as lightning streaked across the heavens. He felt control slipping from his grasp, like wisps of smoke escaping through his fingers. 

“No, no, no, no! No! Serve me, Vhagar!” Aemond commanded desperately, his voice rising over the storm as the dragon thrashed beneath him, snapping its teeth in wild fury. The low rumble of Vhagar’s rage seemed to vibrate through its massive body and into Aemond’s, amplifying his own distress. “Vagus, daor! Dohaerās!”

Vhagar, no! Obey me!

But like any creature pushed to its limits, Vhagar continued her relentless pursuit, utterly indifferent to her rider’s commands–but the will men wield over dragons was finite, and Aemond was rendered a mere spectator as they pierced through the clouds into the brightness of day, leaving behind the swirling tempest below. His heart sank as Vhagar opened her massive jaws, and with a force that seemed to resonate through the very air around them, she snapped them shut around the boy and his dragon. With a single devastating bite, she sheared off Arrax’s head, wing, and tail.  

Lucerys’s shrieks of pain and terror were abruptly silenced as he disappeared into Vhagar’s vast gullet, consumed–a grim meal as Lucerys vanished from the world, swallowed whole by Vhagar.

As Vhagar clamped her jaws around the dragon for a second time, Aemond felt the visceral echo of bones and flesh crunching–a sensation that resonated within his own body so vividly he could almost taste the blood that Vhagar had spilled in pursuit of retribution–vengeance. This second, ferocious bite, severed her prey completely, her head twisting with the violent finality of a hound shaking its catch. Droplets of blood splattered across Aemond’s face, a grim rain marking his countenance despite the clarity of the sky above them.

Vhagar’s victorious roar thundered through the sky, resonating not just externally but deep within the hollow of Aemond’s chest, its echoes reverberating in the chambers of his heart. 

His eye widened as he watched the descent of the mangled remains, following their plummet towards the insatiable sea below. He watched, almost in a trance, as the fragments of what once had been a boy and his dragon disappeared into the cloud-laden abyss, vanishing from sight forever.

In that moment, Aemond’s heart thundered in his chest–a relentless drumbeat that marked the end of the chase, the culmination of his vengeance, and the ominous onset of war. 

Aemond drew his hand down his face, staring at it as smears of blood marked his pale skin, intermingling with the droplets of rain that still clung to him. He released a breath, which morphed into a cold, humorless laugh as his thoughts remained muddled, as wild and tempestuous as the storm still raging below them. 

For years, he had harbored wishes–longings–for retribution, for vengeance. He had fantasized about carving out Lucerys eye as a replacement for his own, desperate to share his own pain and humiliation with the one who forced it upon him–seeking some semblance of the justice that had been denied him. An eye for an eye, blood for blood, a debt that had to be repaid.

It would have been a fair exchange, a way to set the world right–a means to possibly reclaim what he had lost, to somehow piece himself back together and feel whole once more. Aemond mulled over this thought, the notion of justice as an equalizer resonating deeply within him, as if such an act could balance the scales and mend what had been lost. 

Deep within him, there had been a childish flicker of hope that by killing Lucerys might somehow fill the void left by the blade, would somehow miraculously restore his eye–but as he sat upon Vhagar now, he could feel the coldness of the sapphire within his eye socket, and the bitter truth struck him–that the blood he had sought did not, and could not, restore his eye. It did nothing to heal the scar or mend the mangled skin, nor did it address the deeper, more enduring wounds within him.

Deep within him, there had been a childish flicker of hope that killing Lucerys might somehow fill the void left by the blade and would, somehow, miraculously restore his eye. But as he sat atop Vhagar now, soaring above the sea of a storm, feeling the cold touch of the sapphire within his eye socket, a bitter truth settled over him–the blood he had sought did not, and could not, restore his eye. It did nothing to heal the scar or mend the mangled skin, nor did it soothe the deeper, more enduring wounds within him left by the injustice–and far from making him feel whole, the act of vengeance only deepened his sense of incompleteness, leaving him feeling more hollow and wrong than ever before. 

Instead of filling the void within him, it seemed to have expanded, leaving Aemond grappling with the haunting emptiness of a victory that felt ominously akin to defeat. As he sat there, the consequences of his actions set in–this was not merely the ignition of war, but a sacrifice of what he held dear. His honor and reputation were now irreversibly stained–he had made himself a kinslayer, the worst thing a man could be–but what weighed more heavily on his heart was the realization that he had lost the very thing he loved the most; Daenera, the one who had brought warmth into his cold world, the sweet poison whose intoxication he had come to depend upon. 

As he settled back into the saddle, Aemond felt that cherished warmth slipping away, evaporating like mist through his desperate, futile grasp. The loss left a chill in its wake, a cold reminder of what his vengeance had truly cost him. 

And the thought that made his blood turn into ice, was the thought that Daenera would turn away from him–that she would no longer see him.

The beast that resided beside his heart, held at bay by chains of self-control, transformed into something far more vicious and cruel–a monster in its purest form, completely unrestrained. And what else could he become but a monster, if that was all anyone ever saw when looking upon him? 

His heart, if it could still be called that, had turned into something far darker and more malevolent. It became like Valyrian steel–cold, unyielding, and thirsting for blood. It embodied the destructive path of fire, monstrous in its desires, armed with teeth and claws, ready to consume anything in its path.

And this heart.

This twisted, blackened heart, it had become hers–surrendered to the one he feared losing the most. Would she recognize it? Would she recognize him?

Aemond refused to succumb to the pain that threatened to overtake him, the kind that could fill him with fear. Instead, he swallowed his feelings, feeling them fester and burn within the pit of his stomach. He let the monstrous darkness within him take a hold of him, finding it preferable to fear, to regret, to any other feeling. This darkness offered a twisted solace, a shield against vulnerability, ensuring that he felt nothing but a cold, numbing embrace. 

Aemond had always harbored a deep-seated desire for Lucerys��s death–he thirsted for vengeance against the boy who had stolen his eye and sown a seed of darkness in its place. And resonating with his dark wish, Vhagar had executed this desire–sought the revenge he had denied himself. Although Aemond hadn’t set out to kill, it seemed as though the very forces of nature, or perhaps even fate itself, had aligned to bring about this outcome. 

And what can a dragon do but obey its nature?

Vhagar, driven by instinct, acted as dragons wont to do. And Aemond came to understand that he, too, was bought by an inescapable nature, one that was deeply entwined with his desires, his pain, and the justice he had been denied. 

And he found that vengeance truly did hunger–that it was an insatiable force that once awakened, demanded to be satisfied.

[crepesuzette2023]

Paul McCartney, Celia Mortimer, Iris & Vi Caldwell & Mike McCartney: Sketches for a Coming-of-Age Novel.

All quotes from TUNE IN by Mark Lewisohn, except the last one.

[Paul] had two main girlfriends in the last weeks of 1962 and neither knew of the other. One was Celia Mortimer, 17, the strikingly attractive redhead from art school who designed her own clothes and was a big Beatles fan at the Cavern.

'In my first year at art College everyone was wild about trad jazz, but then word came up the hill that ‘things were happening’ at the Cavern; a few of us went down one lunchtime to have a look—and there were the Beatles. […] It was the first time anyone in Britain had the black polo neck, black corduroy, existentialist look. I instantly took their lead and started to make hip black corduroy things to wear.'

‘[…] Paul was attractive, intelligent, arty, all the things that appealed to me, plus he was good to be with: a genuine, gentle person who wanted to please. He was the complete opposite of John, who was snarly and grumpy and incredibly, incisively funny. Paul was the nice one. We started to go out, but things were still quite innocent. Because I lived some way out of Liverpool there weren’t many places we could go, except to sit in his dad’s front room or my friend’s front room, or the cinema—we saw the first James Bond film.’ EXOTIC NIGHTMARES

Paul’s other girlfriend was Iris Caldwell—Rory Storm’s witty, pretty, blonde sister; George’s first love; the 18-year-old daughter of Ma Storm, whose house, Hurricaneville at 54 Broad Green Road, was central to the Beatles’ late-night social scene.

‘He had a beautiful voice and puppy-dog eyes,’ Iris says, ‘and he was much more interested in me than I was in him. I wanted more than a tuppence-ha’penny guitarist of a Liverpool group.’ Iris’s professional dancing career had taken off: she was as busy as Paul, working summer seasons and London shows and touring around the country; they could only see each other when their diaries dovetailed, and just as Paul was with Celia when Iris was out of town, she was secretly going out with Frank Ifield. […]

Iris always knew that a big part of the attraction for anyone going out with her or Rory was the chance of extended time at Hurricaneville, to hang longer around her dad Ernie and especially her mum, Vi. […] ‘Mum never chucked anyone out,’ Iris says. ‘We were all late-night people apart from me dad, who the Beatles called the Crusher because he had exotic nightmares and ate household objects.’ […]

Mary had been gone for six years this October, and Vi Caldwell was one of the women who tried to fill the breach. ‘I was practically a mother to Paul,’ she said without boasting. She made him food and drink, took his stage-soaked shirts and washed and ironed them, and shared easy intimacies. ‘Paul used to like her combing his legs,’ Iris says. ‘He had really hairy legs and he’d come in from the Cavern all tired, roll up his trousers and she used to comb his legs. How ridiculous can you get? But he adored my mum and my mum adored him.’

Vi recalls: ‘Paul was very temperamental. He would come on occasions and would be terrifically friendly and down-to-earth, and on other occasions he would come and be rather aloof and we wondered if we had offended him, as if he was thinking ‘I’m being too friendly so I’ll keep you in your place.’ That was our impression.’

THRILLING IN A DIFFERENT WAY

[Paul] was without the others, but with Celia Mortimer…and a new song. It was Tuesday/Wednesday 23/24 October [1962], the Beatles’ sole two-day break of the year, and Paul decided to leave his car at home and have an adventure: he and Celia hitch-hiked to London to see Ivan Vaughan. Paul loved hitching: he enjoyed chatting to strangers and seeing himself in an observational role, but he’d only done it with George or John, never with a girl. Celia—intelligent, chic, a pretty redhead—made it thrilling in a different way. And it was to see the brilliant Ivy, his Institute mate and John’s boyhood pal. […]

The new song was I Saw Her Standing There, though it had no title as yet. Its melody and structure skidded into Paul’s head late on Monday as he drove back from a Nems Enterprises Showdance in Widness. This was a sophistication of delivery had never experienced, inspiration so excitingly hot that when he got to Hurricaneville he grabbed an acoustic guitar and started working it out. […] It was truly a magical moment for Rory Storm, who’d never seen anyone write a song before. Vi and Iris would always maintain that he asked Paul if he could have it, exclusively, and Paul said yes—but as Rory didn’t have a record contract it’s unclear why he asked and Paul may have said yes only to regain some necessary peace and quiet.

Celia: ‘We had an amazing time, just wandering the streets in the sunshine, looking at London, holding hands and having fun, and Paul had the melody of what became I Saw Her Standing There going round his head all day, humming and singing it and fleshing out the words. […] He said, ‘What rhymes with “We danced through the night?” and I came up with ‘We held each other tight’, which was really quite naff, but he used it.’ BACK TO McCARTNEY-LENNON

However, the song was completed only when he had a front parlour session with John at 20Forthlin Road. They tried out little bits on Jim Macs Nems piano but mostly used guitars, working ‘eyeball to eyeball’ just like when they’d first written together here as schoolboys. Mike took photographs of them sitting by the little tiled fireplace—important historic images, the only such photos ever taken—so here we see these two sharp ambitious tuned-in young man looking down at an old Liverpool Institute exercise book in which Paul has written the words, complete with plenty of crossings-out. John is wearing his black horn-rim glasses and playing his Jumbo Gibson, Paul is playing a cheap Spanish acoustic of unknown history. Another original, a McCartney-Lennon one, is taking shape right here, right now. BIG PLAYER CELIA AND THE OTHER McCARTNEY BOY

Celia Mortimer’s relationship with Paul ended in the last weeks of 1962. ‘As the Beatles spent more time in London, Paul was there and not in Liverpool so much, and our situation just fizzled out. There was no time for it.’ She went on to become a big player on the London fashion scene, with her own label and studio on Great Portland Street, just a long from where she spent a few hours with Paul in 1962. In between times, she went out for a long time with Mike McCartney and was part of the Liverpool poetry scene.

Mike (a Ladies’ hairdresser at the time): MY FIRST LOVE AND BOB 'FOLK RUBBISH' DYLAN (from The Macs, 1981)

One day my first real love, after mum, walked into the salon; she was one of a group of models posing for the Daily Post and Echo. I was brushing up the hair as it cascaded endlessly down on to the floor. I wasn't exactly the brushing up which excited her, it was the way I did it (isn't it always?). The brush was balanced, she later recalled, on the end of my index finger, the furthest point from my body and, with absolute disdain, I followed it across the shop floor.

Not being a Post and Echo model at all, but in truth a hungry student plying her body for money, she returned for the free evening classes where she became my model, and I discovered that her name was Celia. From a model customer she became a model model, and from a model model we became a model couple.

She was the first woman I gave myself to, and she gave herself in return. In her Husky Street flat we got lost in each other's body and mind; we swam together through many Liverpool 8 late nights and often into the morning, when she would get up to cook breakfast and put on records. I would just lie there, male chauv-like. One morning she kept playing a particular album which didn't impress me.

'Who's that Ceel?'

'Someone they keep playing at college . . . Bob Dylan.'

'Never heard of him.'

'Neither had I, but after a while he's quite good.'

"Ceel—my first real love (after Mum)." Photo by Mike McCartney.

[witchthewriter]

@dream-bee-baby.

𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐲! Oh sweet Gendry, loyal and hardworking; you know you just won the game right?!? He WILL protect you in every single way. Adheres to your boundaries and never pushes you to do anything you don't want to do. But I honestly do think you would be such a wholesome couple.

𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔:

I see you perfectly as a member of House Tully. It is quite underrated, but has such an important part in Westeros. I this as your House because to me, you are a lot like Catelyn. Fierce, passionate, intelligent, honorable and dutiful.

House Tully is one of the Great Houses of Westeros. Their lands are the central part of the continent. Their seat is Riverrun, a castle at the confluence of the Red Fork of the Trident with the Tumblestone. They rule over the Riverlands from the castle and the head of the house is the Lord of Riverrun.

𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓/𝑨𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚

There is a lot of magic in Westeros (fck the show for not delving into the actual FANTASY SIDE). But you are connected to many things, without knowing. Dreams, random prophecies - but one of the biggest things is that ravens flock to you. Like the photo above, you can ... talk to them and they know what you say. Over the years you built trust with them, and they may not seem like much of a threat - but hell, they have claws and beaks and will die for you.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

Although Gendry came from humble beginnings, he's a very intelligent man. Yet, when he's around you his brain doesn't seem to work. Words are jumbled and once he actually tripped over and fell flat on his face.

That was the true start of your friendship and then romance. He makes you laugh, makes you blush - no other man has had that kind of influence over you.

Your favourite thing to do together is sit outside, looking at the stars together, you resting on his chest.

With Gendry, you don't have to shoulder responsibility. He never makes you feel burdened by anything either. If you have a problem, he wants to solve it for you.

You probably met when he was running away from Melisandre. Somehow he ended up in the Riverlands, and the Lord of Riverrun took him in (not out of kindness, but wanting his blacksmith skills)

It was stolen glances, not talking at first, but you were so curious about him. News spread quickly in the castle. It wasn't before long that he sat beside you at one of the larger community dinners.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

For The Dancing And The Dreaming by John Powell

I Had To Do That by James Newton Howard

Fairy Dance by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Oblivious (You) x Constantly admiring them (Gendry)

Cries easily (You) x Has cried twice in their life (Him)

 Complete badass (You) x Sweetheart who supports them (Gendry)

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Legacy and Legend

Opposites Do Work

Love Conquers All

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Gendry loves how honest you are about your motives. There is no hidden agenda like other people (i.e. Melisandre, Cersei, Little Finger etc) with whom he's come across. You're trustworthy, as he is too. And because of that, he knows that he won't be led astray. He's safe. You make him feel safe...

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

I think you and Sansa would be great friends. With similar situations as Gendry, Sansa experienced manipulation tenfold. So being around someone who is true to their word and promises, makes Sansa feel like she can truly open up. You would be only one of Sansa's best friends. Probably her only.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

A mix between Brienne, Arya and Margaery. You have a lot of smarts, but will not risk your honor in to get what you want. People would look up to you for answers - for leadership in tough times.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

A highly intelligent raven, who seems to know exactly what you're saying and what you ask of her. She's always near, hoavering above you, sitting on your shoulder etc. He's brilliant at taking messeges, fastest one in the realm. He can find anyone anywhere.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐓𝐘

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤! I think he's such a sweet boy though :') obvious yes he is one of England's greatest soldiers but I don't think he likes that to define him. With you, he's like some sort of prince charming - but the downside is that his work whisks him away.

𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔:

Human Civilian. Knows nothing of the army's secrets or really how Kyle goes about his job.

𝑷𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓/𝑨𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 changed to > 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑴𝒆𝒕

You hadn't known who you were working for exactly. And it hardly mattered anyway, all you did was serve food and beverages to customers. It wasn't until there was a complete shut down, with everyone told to flee, until one of the owners took you as a human shield. Kyle helped you escape but you were hit in the arm. And took it upon himself to see over your recovery.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

First and foremost, you will always be protected - no matter what. Yes ... maybe he has a tracker on your car, and always has 'find my phone' on so that he knows where you are. All these precautions, is because of his line of work. He will neVER let anything come to harm you.

Despite the harshness of this job, Kyle shows understanding and compassion towards you. Giving you so much care and attentativeness.

Loves banter between you two. Early on in the relationship he called you his wife and would introduce you as such to practically everyone.

If ever there was one, Kyle would be a supportive and protective boyfriend. Encouraging you to do that wish you wanted. If you didn't want to do something, he's the first to tell you that it's okay not to do it.

Gives you gifts on random occassion. A bracelet here, then a bouqeut of flowers four days later. When he comes back from work he gives you presents as well i.e., earrings, or tokens of where he's been.

Something that he has and the others do not - is very good communication. Especially when it comes to loved ones. With you, he knows how scary it can get with him away, so he finds ways in wish you never feel alone.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

So This Is Love by the Midnite String Quartet

The Train by James Newton Howard

I'd Rather Go Blind by Etta James

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

"You wear the pants in this relationship" (You) x "oh I wish, I cannot control you at all" (Kyle)

Initially Distant, but Mutual Yearning

Malewife x Girlboss

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Fake Relationship Which Turns Into True Love

Growth through Adversity

Intertwined Destinies

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖

Kyle loves how deeply you feel, but you still put yourself out there. Even though you have anxiety (to which Kyle would fully support you in any way), he cannot deny that he's proud when you're scared but do something anyway.

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅

Soap and Ghost; whether you're in the Task Force or not, these two men see you as apart of the team anyway. You are important to them. Being with Kyle is like having three more body guards.

𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆

I think you're a mix of Farah, Price and Soap. Highly intelligent, (when people say they're the 'mum' of the group, that to me means you are the leader. Even if you don't make the decisions, you are the one that people will look to for guidance.)

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒆𝒕

Your boy is a lil gremlin; once on a date night, sitting by the edge of the road, a scruffy cat walked by and stopped right in front of you. He did not move, just sat there looking at you.

"Bloody weird cat," Kyle whispered.

The gremlin cat gave out a small noise, and it made you laugh. And that's when Kyle knew he had to take him back home with the two of you.

[brooklynislandgirl]

information

basics

full name: Elizabeth Irene Riley {{Birth-Certificate: Elikapeka Ailine Alohaekauneikahanuola'Ilikea'wahine Riley}}

nicknames / aliases: Beth, Apples, Konachino, Jelly Bean {{the nurse shark}}

height: 5 foot even

age: 27-35 {verse dependant}

spoken languages: English, Pidgin, French, Latin, Spanish, Basic/some: Russian, German, Greek, Japanese, Mandarin, Kikongo {Kituba}, Masalit

physical characteristics

hair color: deep chestnut/mahogany brown

eye color: green/honey brown {central heterochromia iridum}

skin tone: sand/olive with warm undertones { "deep autumn"}

body type: delicate/petite {ectomorphic/triangle}

dominant hand: left

posture: straight, graceful, poised

scars: The shark bite scar/muscle atrophy/shortened tendon {right leg}

tattoos: sea turtle with the Hawai'ian island chain on its shell, with a hibiscus {left hip} {eventually the tree of life as above/so below near the bottom of her neck/between her shoulder blades} She has three sub-dermal studs just inside the arch of her hip.

birthmarks: freckles around her chin, across her nose, sharp 'little' teeth

most noticeable features: Wide doe-eyes, 'fangy' smile, nose crinkles when she does so unguarded/genuinely.

childhood

place of birth: Pearl City/Honolulu, O'ahu, Hawai'i. {for Turn: Brooklyn, New York}

siblings: Andrew Riley, Jayden Morgan

parents: The Admiral, Iwalani Kahananui {Riley} Stern

adult life

occupation: ER Nurse/ER Doctor {verse dependant, might be NYPD or SHIELD agent} {for Turn: Wealthy Socialite}

current residence: Verse dependent {for Turn: Philidelphia, Boston, NYC} close friends: this is an entire blog roll roster of my beloved mutuals, so verse dependent? {For Turn: Ben and Samuel Tallmadge, Caleb Brewster, Anna Strong, John Simcoe, Malcolm Baker}

relationship status: Verse dependent. Beth doesn't so much date as she lurks, closely. Waiting for all parties involved to tire out and just move in.

children: Beth is incapable of having children, but loves everyone else's. {Turn: None...yet.}

criminal record: various juvenile charges for destruction of property, vandalism, and the like. All neatly sealed and never to be spoken of again.

vices: entirely too fond of a glass or six of wine in the 'evenings'. workaholic.

sex and romance

sexual orientation: demi-sexual {{I would say she leans towards heterosexual but the body isn't exactly a concern for her, so long as she likes/feels connected to the person}}

turn-ons: Intelligence, kindness, wittiness, passionate, idealism, honesty, empathy, caring for other people, the environment, animals.

turn-offs: Cruelty, abuse {physical/verbal/of power, etc}, lack of respect, refusal to accept boundaries, one night stands

love languages: physical touch, acts of service, quality time

relationship tendencies: Beth tends to be slightly oblivious when it comes to relationships. She is avidly keen in getting to know people, cannot help but to try and nurture them in what seem to be natural ways as much as she's able to. She doesn't experience sexual attraction until well after feeling bonded to someone. This can lead to many mixed signals. When it comes to love/sex/romance, Beth tends to be a little naive and extremely trusting,and that has always broken her heart in the past. Beth doesn't do one night stands, or casual hook-ups, though she doesn't judge others for them. Some people might consider her clingy.

miscellaneous

hobbies to pass time: surfing, dancing, knitting, reading, gardening, card games, chess. {Beth is amusingly aggressive when it comes to competitive games/sports}

mental illnesses: Beth lives with bipolar disorder, shows signs of childhood trauma, and tends toward fear of rejection/abandonment self confidence level: Beth has all the self esteem of a banana slug outside of a medical-treatment setting. ~*~ tagged by: my darling M @honorhearted tagging: Tell me about your muses!

[obriengf]

how about mitch with WEARY 🤍

send me a character and a prompt for a scene blurb ~ (2/10)

WEARY : for one muse to wake up after falling asleep on the other.

You hadn’t been rocked to sleep since you were a child; back when innocence was a given and your life didn’t revolve around righting the wrongs of others for the central intelligence agency. Exhaustion was securing around your body like a weighted blanket, and you were craving the comfortability of your single bedroom apartment. You didn’t want to think about travelling abroad for at least a month after your most recent mission, it’s tediousness still digging its claws in your emotional and physical wellbeing. It was oddly consoling, however, to find yourself in deep slumber on the company’s private jet as your cool down from Spain was lulling you to sleep.

You were so spent that you didn’t realise that you lent into the side of your partner, Mitch too tired himself to push you aside - not that he had the heart to do so, anyway, surprised at himself for allowing a soft spot for you to settle quite wholefully in his chest. From day one, the man was strongly opposed to having a field partner; he was convinced that they would get in his way and disagree on tactics and ideas. Mitch Rapp didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else, just to get in and get the job done. He was a closed off individual who only wanted to keep to himself - but it was all thrown into the wind when Irene Kennedy forced your hand into his, and declared you official consorts. 

Not that he minded too much now after having you get under his skin, worming your way into his life to the point where he just gave in and let you. Mitch would never admit it aloud, but he was glad that he had you by his side. That you were there for him. That he could be there for you, too.

Mitch was never able to sleep on airplanes, but it didn’t stop him from making sure that you did as he pulled your cardigan just that little bit tighter around your frame when the air-con kicked in, or how he would move his arm behind your body that you could be tucked in further to his side and nuzzle your weary head into the worn leather of his bomber jacket. It brought the man a sense of accomplishment when a delicate sigh left your parted lips, so he squeezed you, only slightly; not too much to make a difference in your sleepy status, but enough for you to release that gentle sigh once more.

“You’re digging y’self into a hole, Rapp.” A rough voice drifted his way, a magnetised force for his gaze as it landed on Stan Hurley across the aisle. Your handler was hardly looking back, his nose buried in some true crime novel about missing kids turned murderers - or whatever, you were always too turned off to allow him to get further into the details. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Was all that Mitch could reply with, his hand absentmindedly ceasing its little dance between your waist and hip.

Stan chuckled, only loud enough to keep the conversation between himself and Mitch and he shook his greying head, “The more you care, the less control you have. It’ll eat at you. Make you scared. Make you weak.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, sir.” Mitch tried to keep his voice levelled; he didn’t want his pitch to jump at any accusations, to give himself away. He did care, a hell of a lot, but he knew that he shouldn’t. And that’s what made it forbidden fruit - and boy, was Mitch tempted to try some.

Stan tutted, his tongue clicking against his teeth, lips rolling before they pursed outward. He wanted to reprimand Mitch for becoming involved, and surely if it were you in his place then Stran would be giving the same speech, but he knew the trials you’d both been through. He could see the connection, the natural pull between two lost souls becoming one. Maybe it was Stan Hurley who was the weak one in this scenario.

“You know as well as me what distactions do in the field. As soon as your pea brain wanders away from the target, then mistakes are made. People get hurt. The last thing you want is her getting hurt, ammiright?” Stan spoke almost sympathetically, and Mitch could see the sadness in the older man’s eyes.

Before he could reply, with something surely curt and sarcastic, the jet hit turbulence and the cabin shook. It prompted an overhead announcement about securing seatbelts as other agents and faculty held on out of impulse. It made you jolt awake, your body flying to an upright position, and before you could register where you were, Mitch was already securing your belt over your torso.

“How long was I out?” You asked him, knuckles rubbing at your eyes, and he found it strangely endearing to see you in such a state.

“Two, three hours. We’re still over the ocean.” Mitch gestured out the window that was shielded by a blind, one that he dragged down not too long after you dozed off. He watched as you peered out it, humming in acknowledgement before turning back to him with a lazy smile.

You peered to his jacket, a small dribble shining from the cabin’s lights catching your eye, “Shit, I slept with my mouth open.” You grumbled, pulling the sleeve of your shirt down as you dabbed at the material, before sighing in content when it was all fixed up. “I don’t usually drool in my sleep, sorry Mitch...”

He cleared his throat, his focus breaking from gazing over you with the type of heart eyes that he hadn’t experienced in five years. He shook his head, “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Maybe Stan was right, he was caring for you. A little too much.