#faith without borders

[seedofjoseph]

Yeah, the junior deputy should just strut around Holland Valley with a deep v-neck, climb the Whitetail Mountains in booty shorts, and show off their midriff in the Henbane. The Heralds would be too distracred to do anymore damage to the county if they just slutted it up.

Yeah, John is canonically caught ogling their chest, Jacob is an ass-man in my headcanon, but, come ooon, you know it's bordering on actual canon and Faith's priestesses all walk around with low-rise bottoms.

[maximumzombiecreator]

It's often remarked how D&D 5e's play culture has this sort of disinterest bordering on contempt for actually knowing the rules, often even extending to the DM themselves. I've seen a lot of different ideas for why this is, but one reason I rarely see discussed is that actually, a lot of 5e's rules are not meant to be used.

Encumbrance is a great example of this. 5e contains granular weights for all the items that you might have in your inventory, and rules for how much you can carry based on your strength score, and they've set these carry capacities high enough that you should never actually need to think about them. And that's deliberate, the designers have explicitly said that they've set carrying capacity high enough that it shouldn't come up in normal play. So for a starting DM, you see all these weights, you see all the rules for how much people can carry or drag, and you've played Fallout, you know how this works. And then if you try to actually enforce that, you find that it's insanely tedious, and it basically never actually matters, so you drop it.

Foraging is the example of this that bothers me most. There's a whole system for this! A table of foraging DCs, and math for how much food you can find, and how long you can go without food, etc. But the math is set up so that a person with no survival proficiency and a +0 to WIS, in a hostile environment, will still forage enough food to be fine, and the starvation rules are so generous that even a run of bad luck is unlikely to matter. So a DM who actually tries to use these rules will quickly find that they add nothing but bookkeeping. You're rolling a bunch of checks every day of travel for something that is purpose built not to matter. And that's before you add in all the ways to trivialize or circumvent this.

These rules don't exist to be used, that is not their purpose. These rules exist because the designers were scared of the backlash to 4e, and wanted to make sure that the game had all the rules that D&D "should" have. But they didn't actually want these mechanics. They didn't want the bookkeeping, they didn't care about that style of play, but they couldn't just say, "this game isn't about that" for fear of angering traditionalists. And unfortunately the way they handled this was by putting in rules that are bad, that actively fight anyone who wants to use that style of play and act as a trap to people who take the rules in good faith.

And this means that knowing what rules are not supposed to be used is an actual skill 5e DMs develop. Part of being a good 5e DM is being able to tell the real rules that will improve your game from the fake rules that are there to placate angry forum posters. And that's just an awful position to put DMs in (especially new DMs), but it's pretty unsurprising that it creates a certain contempt for knowing the rules as written.

You should have contempt for some of the rules as written. The designers did.

[feluka]

no matter what the results of the negotiations we can all agree that it's over a year too late. how many lived could've been saved had egypt not upholded the blockade? had they let people through without extorting them for every penny they have? if the border opens, how many families will flee it fractured because they lost someone while the border was cruelly shut on them?

@eyadgaza46 is 20. he should've started university. he has developed a respiratory condition. his family contains three young children: nasir, mohammed, and hind. they are in poor condition.

i have no faith in leaving their fates to the whims of a state that has demonstrated nothing but the utmost cowardice and apathy. until they pull their weight and do something i am asking you to keep iyad's family fed and warm in the meanwhile.

please, if you can spare anything, donate here.

vetted here at #24 (gaza-vetters)

[moomuzan]

— 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖚𝖘𝖍

they cheat on you?! dazai , chuuya , akutagawa x gn! reader , angst , requested

@vasarii

He had always been a master of deception, a man who wore his masks so seamlessly that sometimes he forgot which face was his own. Dazai Osamu laughed easily, charmed effortlessly, and lied without hesitation, building a labyrinth of half-truths that no one could ever navigate. Lies had become his armor, shielding him from the weight of existence, from the vast and gaping chasm inside him that he dared not confront. But with you, there had been no lies. At least, not in the beginning.

Unrelenting and uncontainable — You were light, spilling into every dark corner of his being with a softness that felt almost cruel. You loved him with a purity that left him raw, vulnerable in ways he had long forgotten how to endure. He had clung to your warmth, to the way you laughed like the world hadn’t yet broken you, to the way you looked at him as though he were worth saving.

But even the brightest light casts shadows.

The affair wasn’t planned; it wasn’t born of desire or need, but rather of restlessness—a momentary lapse, a fleeting distraction, something so meaningless it should have slipped from his mind as quickly as it came. And yet, its weight lingered. He felt it now, sitting across from you at the breakfast table, your laughter cutting through the morning air as you recounted a story he couldn’t focus on.

“You’re not listening, are you?” you teased, tilting your head with that playful grin that always seemed to unravel him.

Blinking, Dazai startled, before forcing a smile that felt too tight on his face. “Of course I am,” he replied, his voice as smooth and practiced as ever.

But even as you laughed, even as you returned to your story, he could feel the suffocating pull of the truth, the invisible thread of guilt tightening around his throat. You didn’t know. That was the cruelest part. You trusted him with a faith so complete it bordered on recklessness. You believed him to be something he wasn’t—someone steady, someone honest, someone capable of being the man you thought you saw when you looked at him.

And Dazai, selfish as always, had let you.

That evening, he sat on the couch, watching as you danced around the small apartment, your energy so infectious that it almost made him forget the ache in his chest. Almost. You were humming along to a song on the radio, spinning lazily as though the world held no weight, as though love were simple and unbreakable and eternal.

“Dance with me!” you called, reaching for his hands with a smile that could have lit up the darkest of nights.

Letting him pull you to his feet, his hands settled on your waist as you swayed together, your laughter bubbling like a melody only the two of you could hear. For a moment, he let himself forget. He let himself believe that this was enough—that he could hold you, love you, and bury the shadows that threatened to consume him.

But then you leaned closer, your voice soft, your gaze so earnest it was almost unbearable. “I love you,” you said, and there was no hesitation in your words, no fear, no doubt. “I love you so much.”

Dazai’s chest tightened, his breath catching in his throat. He wanted to tell you he loved you too, wanted to pour every fractured piece of himself into those words, but they stuck somewhere deep inside him, tangled in the lies and the guilt and the unbearable weight of what he had done.

Instead, he held you tighter, burying his face in your hair as he tried to keep himself from unraveling completely. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek. “Don’t say that.“

It was the cruelest irony of all—that you loved him for who he was, even though who he was had betrayed you. You saw a version of him that didn’t exist, a man unbroken by the weight of his own darkness, untainted by the cracks that ran so deep he couldn’t see the bottom of them himself.

Later that night, after the world had quieted and you had fallen asleep beside him, Dazai lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The stillness of the room pressed down on him, and his thoughts began to spiral, long and unbroken, like the slow descent of a stone into a bottomless abyss. He thought of you, curled against him, your face soft and peaceful in sleep, your hand resting lightly on his chest as though he were the anchor that kept you steady. And he thought of her—the other person—the fleeting moments, the hollow intimacy, the meaninglessness of it all.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even desire. It was an escape—a desperate attempt to outrun the fear that gripped him whenever he thought of how much you meant to him. You were his light, his tether, his salvation, and it terrified him. Because love was fragile, and Dazai had always been the kind of man who broke the things he held too tightly.

The guilt gnawed at him, relentless and unyielding, an ache that went deeper than anything physical. And yet, he couldn’t tell you. He couldn’t destroy the fragile illusion of happiness you had built around him, couldn’t bear to see your face fall, to see the light in your eyes dim. You deserved the truth, but he was too much of a coward to give it to you.

Instead, he turned to face you, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form. You trusted him. You loved him. And in that moment, he hated himself more than he ever had before. Because no matter how much he longed to keep you safe from the jagged edges of his soul, he knew he had already cut you, even if you didn’t yet feel the sting.

But you stayed.

You stayed, even though he didn’t deserve it. Even though you had no idea what you were staying for.

And as the darkness pressed in around him, Dazai realized that maybe that was the most painful truth of all—not that he had betrayed you, but that he could never love you as selflessly as you loved him. And yet, he would stay, too. He would stay in the warmth of your light, even as it burned away the edges of his soul, because he was too selfish to let you go and too broken to let you see the truth.

So he held you closer, his lips brushing the top of your head in a silent apology you would never hear, and prayed to whatever gods still listened that you would never know the depth of his betrayal. Because even if he couldn’t be the man you deserved, he would try. He would try, for as long as you stayed, even if it killed him.

,

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

Chuuya had built his life on loyalty, on unyielding principles that had always kept him steady. Betrayal was something he despised, something he swore he’d never allow himself to commit. But here he was, a traitor to the one person who had only ever given him love.

And you knew.

When he walked through the door that evening, you greeted him with the same soft smile that always warmed the air between you. “You’re back,” you said, voice so tender it felt like a blade against his chest. You stepped toward him, your arms wrapping around him in that familiar way, and he hated the stiffness in his body, the guilt that coiled tighter every time you touched him.

He knew you could feel it too.

Bitter and sour, it was there in the way your smiles never quite reached your eyes anymore, in the pause that came before you said, “I love you.” You had noticed the perfume that wasn’t yours, the late nights that came with stammered excuses, the way he avoided meeting your gaze.

And yet, somehow, you stayed.

That night, Chuuya sat at the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his thoughts drowning in the silence that settled heavy in the room. Your footsteps were soft as you padded into the bedroom, the faint glow of the kitchen light framing your silhouette.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly, your voice laced with a gentleness he didn’t deserve.

Flinching at the sound, his hands tightened against his knees. “Yeah,” he muttered, but the lie felt hollow even as he spoke it.

Weighing the feelings inside, you crossed the room and knelt in front of him, your hands finding his. “You don’t have to lie to me, Chuuya,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to break him further.

He finally looked at you, the guilt burning behind his eyes. “You knew,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his shame. “You’ve known, haven’t you?”

Your gaze didn’t falter, though your eyes shone with unshed tears. “Yes,” you admitted, barely audible.

Thick with everything unsaid, the air between you was suffocating. He wanted to apologize, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but what could he say? What could he possibly do to fix the damage he’d caused?

But then, you smiled. Soft, sad, and so full of love it made his chest ache. “I don’t care,” you whispered, your fingers brushing lightly against his face. “I don’t care about her. I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“Don’t say that,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “You shouldn’t—”

“I love you, Chuuya,” you interrupted, your voice fierce despite the tears slipping down your cheeks. “I love you more than anything. More than my pride. More than my pain.” You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as they cupped his face. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t care if it’s selfish. I just want you to stay.”

Painfully, he stared at you, his heart twisting. Fuck, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve the way you looked at him, the way you still loved him so wholly, so completely, despite everything.

“Why?” he choked out. “Why are you still here?”

Smiling again, your thumb brushed against his cheek as though trying to wipe away the guilt etched into his skin. “Because I know you love me,” you whispered. “Even if you’re too broken to say it, even if you don’t know how to show it.”

Of course, you were right. He did love you—more than words, more than breath, more than anything he’d ever known. But that love terrified him. It made him weak. Vulnerable. And it was that fear, that unbearable vulnerability, that had driven him into the arms of another.

The mafia executive pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, his body trembling as he finally let himself break. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, the words spilling out like a prayer. “I’m so sorry.”

Your fingers stroked through his hair, your voice soft as you murmured, “I know.”

Later that night, as you slept beside him, your hand resting lightly on his chest, Chuuya lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He thought of her—the other woman—and how empty it all had been. It was never love, never even desire. Just fear. Fear of how much you mattered, of how much you had the power to hurt him.

Yet, the only thing that hurt was knowing how much he had hurt you, and how much you still loved him anyway.

You stayed.

And Chuuya didn’t know if that made him grateful—or if it made him hate himself even more.

,

Akutagawa was not a man of softness. His world had been carved from cruelty, shaped by jagged edges, and governed by a single, unrelenting law: only the strong survive. Love, tenderness, devotion—these were concepts that lived far outside the borders of his reality, things he neither craved nor understood. And yet, you were there, like a persistent shadow in the corner of his existence, refusing to leave despite everything he did to drive you away.

He cheated on you, of course. Repeatedly, with no hesitation and no remorse. It wasn’t about desire or passion, not even about the fleeting thrill of power that came with conquering another. No, for Akutagawa, it was something far more calculated, almost mechanical. He needed to remind himself that he could exist without you, that your love, unconditional and maddening, was nothing but a chain he could snap at any time.

But no matter how many nights he spent in someone else’s bed, he always returned to you. And that irritated him more than anything else.

Because you stayed.

Every time he walked through the door, the scent of smoke and another’s perfume clinging to him like a confession, you were there. You greeted him with a quiet smile, your eyes soft, your voice gentle as though he hadn’t just betrayed you yet again. You didn’t yell. You didn’t demand explanations or apologies. You didn’t even cry.

Instead, you loved him.

It was so silly of you to cook for him, tend to his injuries and press soft kisses to his forehead when he came home battered and bloodied. You whispered words of kindness into the silence, words he didn’t deserve, words that clung to him like a shroud long after you’d fallen asleep beside him.

And it infuriated him. So much.

“What are you smiling for?” he snapped one evening, his voice sharp and cutting. You had been sitting at the small table, waiting for him to come home, and your face had lit up the moment you saw him.

“Because you’re here,” you said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

As Akutagawa’s jaw tightened, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re pathetic,” he spat, the words venomous and deliberate. “You know what I do. You know where I go. And yet, you sit here like some obedient dog, waiting for scraps of affection I’ll never give you.”

Your smile faltered, just for a moment, but it didn’t disappear. “I stay because I love you,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the weight of his words.

Deeply so, he hated that answer. He despised the way it cut through him, sharper than any blade, because it wasn’t laced with bitterness or anger or accusation. It was just the truth, pure and unwavering, and it made him feel more vulnerable than he ever wanted to admit.

Akutagawa turned away from you, his coat swishing behind him as he stalked toward the window, the night air pressing in through the cracks. “Your love is useless,” he muttered, staring out at the city below.

“Maybe,” you said, your tone still calm, still infuriatingly kind. “But it’s yours, whether you want it or not.”

And that was what drove him mad. The way you refused to hate him. The way you stayed, even as he crushed you under the weight of his indifference. The way your love seemed to grow stronger the more he tried to destroy it.

Later that night, as you slept curled beside him, your fingers lightly brushing against his, Akutagawa stared at the ceiling, his mind restless. He thought about the women he had touched, the fleeting moments of distraction that never left a mark. They were nothing, hollow echoes of a need he refused to acknowledge. But you—your presence, your love, your endless devotion—were something else entirely.

Being a mirror, you reflected back the parts of himself he despised most, the parts he tried to bury beneath his anger and his cruelty. And yet, you loved him anyway. You stayed, even as he pushed you to your limits, even as he tore at the edges of your soul with his sharp words and his careless actions.

Turning his head to look at you, his gaze lingered on your sleeping face. You looked peaceful, as though the weight of his sins hadn’t touched you, as though his betrayal hadn’t left scars. But he knew better. He knew you were breaking beneath the surface, even if you refused to show it.

And still, you stayed.

Whit twitching fingers, his hand hovered just above yours, as though he wanted to touch you but couldn’t bring himself to cross that final line. You were his, completely and utterly, and yet he felt more bound by you than he ever had by anyone else.

Because your love wasn’t a chain he could snap.

It was a mirror, and no matter how many times he shattered it, the reflection always returned.

[gd-dollopole]

We have so many things in common, we were actually separated at birth and were supposed to conquer the world with Merthur gay shit. It’s what will actually bring world peace, ✨the mediaeval, British homosexuals✨

Me, the entire day: 😒😐😪🙄

Me, when Merthur: ☺️🥰🫠✨

Also, consider this:

Arthur, the entire day: 😒😐😪🙄

Arthur, whenever he sees Merlin: ☺️🥰🫠✨

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (5)

- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!targ/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Note: For all previous chapters, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. The Faith of the Seven works a little differently here, and they never fully accepted brother-sister marriages. Trust the process.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 8 000+

- Previous part: 4

- Next part: 6

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Red Keep, as Rhaenyra walked the familiar corridors, her steps light and purposeful. The castle was already bustling with the day’s activities, courtiers and servants moving through the halls, each engaged in their own tasks. But despite the steady hum of the Keep, Rhaenyra felt a sense of calm as she made her way toward the Great Hall, her newly appointed protector, Ser Criston Cole, trailing a few steps behind her.

Ser Criston’s presence was still new, but it was a welcome one. There was a quiet confidence about him, a sense of reliability that Rhaenyra appreciated. She had chosen him herself, after all, and she felt a certain pride in that decision. The Kingsguard had always been composed of men of noble birth, but Ser Criston was different—he was a man who had proven himself in battle, a man who understood the realities of war and loyalty.

As they walked, Rhaenyra was lost in thought, her mind occupied with the matters she was expected to attend to that day. But her thoughts were interrupted when she caught sight of a familiar figure coming down the hall toward her, his presence instantly commanding attention. It was you, her brother, and the sight of you brought an immediate smile to her face.

"Brother!" Rhaenyra called out, her voice bright with warmth as she quickened her pace to meet you.

You smiled as you approached, your demeanor relaxed but with that ever-present air of responsibility that seemed to follow you everywhere. You were on your way to the training yard, where your presence was often required, but the sight of your sister brought a welcome distraction.

"Rhaenyra," you greeted her warmly, stopping in your tracks as she came to stand before you. "I see you’re off to attend to courtly matters. Hopefully nothing too tedious?"

Rhaenyra chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I hope not, though you know how these things can be. What about you? Off to the training yard to beat sense into some poor squire?"

"Something like that," you replied with a grin. "But I couldn’t pass by without saying hello."

As you exchanged pleasantries, your gaze shifted to the man standing just behind your sister. Ser Criston Cole stood at attention, his armor polished and gleaming, the white cloak of the Kingsguard draped over his shoulders. Your expression brightened with recognition.

"Ser Criston," you greeted, nodding in acknowledgment. "I see you’ve traded your old armor for the white cloak of the Kingsguard. It suits you."

Ser Criston inclined his head respectfully. "Your Grace," he said, his voice steady. "Thank you. It is an honor to serve."

You nodded, clearly pleased. "You served well under my command, Ser Criston. I haven’t forgotten the skirmish we had on the border near Yronwood. You fought with courage that day, held the line when others might have faltered."

A flicker of surprise crossed Ser Criston’s face, quickly replaced by a look of quiet pride. "Thank you, Your Grace. I’m honored that you remember."

With a final nod, you turned your attention back to your sister, your smile warm and genuine. "Take care, Rhaenyra. I’ll see you at the council later?"

Rhaenyra nodded, her smile lingering. "Of course, Brother. I’ll be there."

With that, you continued down the hall, your guards falling in step behind you. Rhaenyra watched you go, a small smile still playing on her lips. There was something comforting about your presence, a sense of stability that she had always relied on.

As you disappeared around the corner, Ser Criston spoke, his tone thoughtful. "I must admit, Princess, I’m surprised the prince remembered me at all. I was just a foot soldier in that battle, after all."

Rhaenyra turned to face him, her expression soft with understanding. "My brother remembers everyone who served under him, Ser Criston. Whether they’re lords or common soldiers, it doesn’t matter. He values loyalty and bravery above all else."

Ser Criston nodded, though his expression remained contemplative. "It’s just that… it’s one thing to remember the sons of important lords or famous commanders. But for him to recall a mere foot soldier like myself… it means a great deal."

Rhaenyra smiled, her admiration for you evident in her eyes. "That’s who my brother is, Ser Criston. He doesn’t see people as just titles or ranks. To him, every man who fights for his family and his realm is worthy of respect."

Ser Criston’s gaze shifted downward, his thoughts clearly turning inward. He had seen many lords and commanders throughout his years of service, but few had ever treated him with the kind of respect and recognition that you had just shown. It was a humbling experience, and it only solidified his resolve to serve the Targaryen family with all the honor he could muster.

Rhaenyra noticed the introspective look on Ser Criston’s face and decided to lighten the mood. "Come now, Ser Criston," she said, her tone playful. "Let’s not dwell on the past too much. We have matters to attend to, and I’m sure there will be plenty of time for reflection later."

Ser Criston looked up, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Of course, Princess. Lead the way."

The training yard of the Red Keep was alive with the sounds of clashing swords and the grunts of exertion as new recruits tested their mettle against seasoned trainers. You stood at the edge of the yard, your arms crossed over your chest as you observed the proceedings with a critical eye. The morning sun was climbing higher in the sky, but you were focused on the work at hand.

The recruits were a mix of eager young men and more experienced soldiers looking to hone their skills further. As the prince, you had taken it upon yourself to oversee their training whenever you could, ensuring that the men who served your house were of the highest caliber. You had been through enough battles to know that preparation was everything, and you took your responsibility seriously.

You watched as one of the trainers—a burly man with a weathered face and a scar running down his cheek—barked orders at a pair of recruits who were sparring with wooden swords. The younger of the two was struggling to keep up, his movements clumsy and unsure. You frowned slightly, making a mental note to spend some time with him later, to help him refine his technique.

As you continued to observe, your thoughts briefly drifted to the conversation you’d had with Daemon the night before. His words about taking control of your own fate had resonated with you, and though you had pushed them to the back of your mind to focus on the day’s duties, they lingered like a shadow, waiting to be addressed.

Meanwhile, not far from the training yard, Alicent Hightower walked alongside her brother Gwayne, the two of them making their way toward the gates of the Red Keep. Gwayne was set to return to Oldtown, and Alicent had insisted on seeing him off, a quiet farewell before he departed.

As they walked, Alicent’s eyes kept drifting to the side, stealing quick glances at you as you oversaw the training. The distance between you and her was enough that you likely didn’t notice, but Gwayne certainly did. He had always been protective of his sister, and he was keenly aware of the pressure their father placed on her to secure the favor of the Targaryen prince.

Gwayne’s gaze flicked between his sister and you, his expression growing thoughtful. After a moment, he cleared his throat, drawing Alicent’s attention back to him. "Alicent," he began, his tone carefully neutral, "is this something Father wants… or something you want?"

Alicent felt a flush of warmth rise to her cheeks, the question catching her off guard. She had known Gwayne would notice, but she hadn’t expected him to be so direct. She hesitated, searching for the right words, but the truth was more complicated than she wanted to admit.

"It’s… both," she finally admitted, her voice soft. "Father has his plans, and I understand what’s expected of me. But it’s also something I feel I have to do. For our family."

Gwayne sighed, his expression tightening with concern. "Alicent, you know how these things can go. Court life is dangerous, and playing with the affections of a prince—especially one like Y/N—is no small matter. You need to be careful."

Alicent looked down, her hands clasped in front of her as they walked. "I know, Gwayne. But what choice do I have? Father has made it clear what he expects, and if I don’t at least try…"

Gwayne stopped, turning to face her fully. "You’re more than just a pawn in Father’s game, Alicent. Don’t lose sight of that. The prince may be noble, but he’s also burdened by his own duties and expectations. If you get too close… if things don’t go as Father hopes…"

Alicent met her brother’s gaze, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I understand the risks, Gwayne. But I have to do what I can for our family. It’s what’s expected of me."

Gwayne’s expression softened, and he reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder. "Just promise me you’ll be careful, Alicent. Don’t let Father’s ambitions blind you to your own happiness."

Alicent nodded, offering him a small, strained smile. "I promise."

With that, they continued their walk to the gates, Gwayne’s concern lingering in the air between them. Alicent’s thoughts were a jumble of uncertainty and duty as she glanced back toward the training yard one last time before they reached the gates. You were still there, focused on your responsibilities, seemingly unaware of the silent turmoil playing out in the hearts of those around you.

As Gwayne mounted his horse and prepared to depart, he looked down at his sister with a final, reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself, Alicent. I’ll see you soon."

Alicent nodded, watching as he rode away, the weight of his words and the pressure of her father’s expectations heavy on her shoulders.

The air in your chambers was stifling, despite the late afternoon breeze drifting in through the open window. You had been pacing for what felt like hours, your mind restless and unsettled. The allure of flight was strong, and the thought of taking to the skies on Silverwing, leaving behind the heavy stone walls of the Red Keep, was becoming harder to resist. You longed for the freedom that only a dragon’s wings could bring, the vast expanse of the sky where no courtly intrigue or whispered plots could reach you.

As you stood by the window, your gaze drifting out toward the horizon, the quiet knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. A moment later, Ser Harrold’s voice came through the heavy wooden door.

"Your Grace, Lady Alicent Hightower seeks an audience with you."

You turned, surprised by the announcement. Alicent had rarely sought you out on her own, and while you had nothing against her, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that her presence here was likely on her father’s orders rather than of her own accord.

"Let her in," you said, your voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

The door opened, and Alicent entered the room, her steps measured and graceful as always. She was dressed impeccably, as befitted a lady of her station, her hands clasped in front of her as she approached. Her expression was polite, though there was a flicker of something uncertain in her eyes as she met your gaze.

"Your Grace," she greeted you with a slight curtsy. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

You shook your head, though the truth was you had been yearning for solitude. Still, you motioned for her to come further into the room. "No disturbance at all, Lady Alicent," you replied, keeping your tone neutral. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Alicent hesitated for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully. "I’ve come to relay a message on behalf of my father, the Hand of the King." Her voice was steady, though you detected the underlying sense of duty that drove her. "He wished to discuss the upcoming negotiations with the Free Cities and thought it would be prudent if you were present at the council. He believes your insight would be invaluable."

You nodded, unsurprised. Otto Hightower had always been a man of strategy, constantly maneuvering the pieces of the court to his advantage. It made sense that he would want you involved in such discussions, especially with the growing tensions beyond the Narrow Sea. But still, the thought of another meeting in the council chambers filled you with a sense of unease. The court had never felt like your place, not the way it did for your father or for men like Otto.

"I’ll attend," you said simply, your voice betraying little emotion. "Tell your father he needn’t worry."

Alicent inclined her head in acknowledgment, though she lingered for a moment longer, her eyes scanning your face before settling on your expression. You felt her gaze, and after a brief pause, she spoke again, this time more softly.

"You look… tired, Your Grace."

The comment caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. You studied her, trying to gauge her intentions. There was nothing malicious in her words, no hidden barbs. If anything, she seemed genuinely concerned.

You exhaled softly, the weight of the Red Keep’s walls pressing in on you once more. "The Red Keep has that effect on me," you admitted, your voice quieter now. "I’ve never been one for court life. My father thrives in it, but I… I feel trapped here. Agitated. Like I’m not meant for this."

Alicent listened intently, her hands still folded in front of her as she took a step closer. "I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Your Grace," she said gently. "The courtiers speak highly of you. They respect you, and many admire the way you carry yourself."

You smiled faintly, though there was a touch of weariness in the gesture. "Perhaps. But I feel more at ease with a sword in my hand than I ever do in the council chambers. Politics, alliances, all of it—it’s like fighting a battle without ever knowing who the real enemy is."

Alicent seemed to ponder your words for a moment before speaking again, her tone still measured. "That’s exactly why your presence is so important, Your Grace. You bring a sense of stability, a strength that many in the court lack. Your uncle Daemon, as skilled as he is, doesn’t have the same restraint. Your father relies on you more than you may realize."

You considered her words, but even as she spoke, you could feel the gulf between the two of you. Alicent was polite, always diplomatic in her conversations, but there was something distant about it. Her attempts to engage you, to compliment you, felt more like duty than genuine interest, much like this visit itself.

You nodded, acknowledging her point. "I understand the necessity of my role, Lady Alicent. But that doesn’t mean I enjoy it."

The conversation drifted into a more comfortable silence, though Alicent still seemed to linger, her eyes searching your face as if trying to find some way to connect. But despite her efforts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all part of her father’s plan, that she was here not because she wanted to be, but because it was expected of her.

Finally, sensing that her attempts were making little headway, Alicent straightened her posture slightly, preparing to take her leave. "Well, I won’t keep you any longer, Your Grace," she said, her tone still courteous but tinged with a hint of disappointment. "Thank you for your time."

You offered her a polite nod. "Thank you for relaying your father’s message, Lady Alicent. And for your… kind words."

Alicent gave you one last curtsy before turning to leave, her expression unreadable as she made her way toward the door. As she stepped out of the chamber, you found yourself alone once more, the brief interaction already fading from your mind.

For a moment, you stood there, gazing out of the window once again. The Red Keep felt more suffocating than ever, its walls closing in around you. The thought of escaping to the skies on Silverwing grew stronger, the urge to leave the court behind for a time nearly overwhelming.

You sighed, shaking your head slightly. Alicent had been polite, even complimentary, but there was no spark of connection, no real interest that went beyond the surface of courtly duty. She, like so many others, was part of the world that you struggled to navigate—a world where words were often more dangerous than swords, and where alliances were forged not in battle, but in whispered conversations behind closed doors.

As the door closed behind her, you felt a sense of relief but also a lingering sense of frustration. Whatever her intentions had been, the conversation had left you feeling more disconnected than before, a reminder that the court was not a place where you could truly be yourself.

The decision to leave for the Dragonpit was made the moment you closed the door behind Alicent. The walls of the Red Keep felt too close, the weight of your duty pressing down on your shoulders. The pull of Silverwing, the freedom of the skies, was irresistible. You were halfway to the door, ready to escape the stifling atmosphere of your chambers, when the sound of the door opening again stopped you in your tracks.

Rhaenyra entered, her eyes immediately locking onto you. She seemed amused, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she observed your state of readiness to flee.

"Planning a great escape, brother?" she asked, arching an eyebrow as she sauntered into the room and took a seat with casual grace.

You chuckled, leaning back against the edge of the table. "Maybe," you teased. "The Red Keep is starting to feel more like a cage with every passing day. I was just thinking about flying—Silverwing and I, far away from all this."

Rhaenyra smirked. "Always running off to your dragon. What would Father say?"

You shrugged, a grin tugging at your lips. "Father would say what he always does—something about duty, responsibility, and how I should learn to enjoy the trappings of court life."

Rhaenyra laughed softly but then noticed the contemplative look in your eyes. She leaned forward, curious. "What’s really bothering you? It’s not just court."

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to mention it. "Your friend Alicent was here, a few moments ago."

At that, Rhaenyra’s amusement vanished. Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Alicent? What did she want?"

You raised an eyebrow at her sudden change in demeanor. "She came to deliver a message from her father, about a matter in the council. Something to do with the Free Cities."

Rhaenyra’s annoyance deepened, and she crossed her arms, clearly irritated. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Of course she did. She’s always doing her father’s bidding," she muttered, more to herself than to you. She shifted in her seat, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "I’ll need to speak to her about this later."

You sensed that her frustration with Alicent ran deeper than just the message. It was something about the way she had reacted—how quickly her mood had soured at the mention of Alicent’s name. Still, you decided to change the subject.

"Speaking of Father," you began, leaning back slightly, "he’s been pushing me lately. Urging me to find a wife."

Rhaenyra’s expression changed in an instant. Where there had been annoyance moments ago, now there was something much sharper, more intense. Her lips parted slightly, and a flicker of unexpected anger flashed in her violet eyes.

"Father’s pressuring you to marry?" she asked, her voice low, almost as if the idea itself was a threat.

You noticed the shift in her tone, and you sighed inwardly, knowing this conversation was heading into dangerous waters. "Yes, he thinks it’s time I consider it. He’s worried about securing alliances through marriage, the usual concerns of the crown."

Rhaenyra stood up abruptly, her annoyance boiling over into outright protest. "But you can’t marry just anyone!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with something deeper than frustration.

You raised your hands in a placating gesture. "I know, Rhaenyra. But it’s not just me. Father is also feeling the pressure himself to remarry, and…" You paused, watching her closely. "He’s also being pushed to marry you off as well."

Her expression darkened further, and she took a step toward you, her fists clenched at her sides. "I don’t want to marry, Y/N. I have no desire to be some tool in a game of alliances. I belong to myself, not to some lord looking to secure power."

You could see the fire in her eyes, the fierce independence that had always defined her. But you also knew that your father’s worries weren’t so easily dismissed. "Rhaenyra, I understand. Believe me, I do. But Father fears what might happen if we don’t secure ourselves soon. The council’s already pressuring him, and he’s dreading having this conversation with you."

Her eyes flashed with defiance as she stepped closer, her voice rising slightly. "Then I’ll tell him myself. I don’t want to marry anyone, and I refuse to be forced into it."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, knowing this would not be an easy conversation. "Rhaenyra, I’m not calm about this either. But we both have duties—"

"How can you be so calm about it?" she interrupted, her voice sharp as she moved even closer, her face now only inches from yours. "I know you, Y/N. I know this isn’t what you want. But you’re letting them control you, push you toward something neither of us wants."

You hesitated, unsure how to respond, when her eyes locked onto yours, and her expression shifted. There was something there—something intense and unspoken, lingering between you both since that day in front of the Dragonpit. Rhaenyra’s voice lowered, becoming more intimate, more insistent.

"I know you felt something too, that day," she whispered, her breath warm against your skin. "After our flight, when we nearly…"

She trailed off, but the memory was crystal clear in both your minds. The closeness, the shared moment when the lines between you had blurred. Her words sent a jolt of emotion through you, something you had been trying to suppress for days.

"Rhaenyra," you said softly, trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, "it’s complicated."

But she didn’t relent. Her eyes never left yours as she pressed closer, her voice low and determined. "No, it isn’t. You felt it, just like I did."

Before you could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing against yours with a boldness that sent your heart racing. You felt her hesitation, but also the certainty behind her actions. When the kiss deepened, you didn’t pull away. The moment lingered, the connection between you undeniable, until finally, you both pulled back, breathless.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and longing, and she spoke with quiet conviction. "You can tell Father to wed me to you. In the traditions of our house. It’s what we both want, isn’t it?"

You stared at her, torn between what you felt and what you knew was expected of you. "Rhaenyra," you began, your voice heavy with the weight of duty, "it’s not that simple."

She shook her head, determined. "It is simple. King Jaehaerys married his sister Alysanne, didn’t he? It’s in our blood, in our history."

You sighed again, stepping back slightly to clear your head. "Jaehaerys and Alysanne married in secret, and even then, it was a different time. The Faith might approve now, but Father—and the court—they’ll want to use us for alliances to strengthen the crown."

Rhaenyra’s expression hardened, her defiance unbroken. "Then let them think what they will. I don’t care what they want. I care about what we want."

You could feel the pull of her words, the temptation of a future free from the court’s manipulations, but you knew that your path, and hers, was far more complicated than either of you could admit in that moment.

For now, the decision hung in the air between you, unresolved, as the reality of your positions slowly settled back in.

Rhaenyra sat in her brother's chambers long after he had left for his flight on Silverwing. The tension between them still lingered in the air, and her heart raced in her chest as her mind replayed the kiss over and over. It had been so brief, so unexpected, yet it had ignited something deep inside her—a yearning that felt both familiar and foreign. She had always loved her brother, Y/N, admired him, and looked up to him as a strong, dependable force in her life. He had been her protector, her confidant, the one person she could always trust.

But now, something had shifted. The love she felt for him, once innocent and pure, had taken on a new, more dangerous form. She couldn't deny the physical attraction that had bloomed between them, the pull she felt whenever they were close. It scared her, and yet she couldn't resist it. The kiss they had shared wasn't just a fleeting moment of weakness—it had been something inevitable, something that had been building between them for years.

Rhaenyra stood from her seat, pacing the room as her thoughts tumbled over one another. She could still feel the warmth of his lips on hers, the way his breath had mingled with her own. She had always known she was possessive of him, but now, that possessiveness had taken on a sharper edge. The idea of him marrying anyone else filled her with a jealousy so fierce it was almost painful.

And then there was Alicent.

Rhaenyra's jaw tightened as her thoughts shifted to her so-called friend. Alicent had come to her brother’s chambers—of course, under the guise of delivering her father’s message, but Rhaenyra had seen through it immediately. Alicent had been trying to get close to him, no doubt hoping to secure his attention for herself. The thought made Rhaenyra’s blood boil. How dare Alicent, who had always claimed to be her friend, make such a blatant move behind her back? And her brother, so polite, so unaware of what was happening, had entertained her.

Rhaenyra couldn’t sit still any longer. She needed to confront Alicent, to make her understand that whatever she thought she was doing, it had to stop. Without another thought, she swept out of her brother’s chambers and made her way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, her anger simmering just beneath the surface.

As she walked, her thoughts returned to Y/N. She had felt the way his body had tensed when she kissed him, the hesitation in his response, but he hadn’t pulled away. He had kissed her back, and that gave her all the reason to believe that he felt the same—whether or not he was willing to admit it. They were Targaryens, after all. Their blood was different, their traditions different. She had heard the stories of their ancestors—Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the greatest king and queen Westeros had ever known—who had married each other in secret and ruled side by side. Why couldn’t she and her brother do the same?

But the idea of anyone else—anyone else—trying to steal him away from her was unbearable. And she knew that Alicent, for all her demure politeness, was playing her own game. Rhaenyra would not stand by and let it happen.

She found Alicent in the gardens, sitting quietly beneath a tree, her hands folded neatly in her lap. There was a peacefulness to the scene, but Rhaenyra was anything but calm. Her anger boiled over as she strode toward Alicent, her footsteps loud enough to announce her approach.

Alicent looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of her friend, and immediately sensed the storm brewing in Rhaenyra’s eyes.

"Rhaenyra," Alicent greeted cautiously, standing to meet her. "Is everything all right?"

Rhaenyra didn’t bother with pleasantries as she stormed forward, her eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “Don’t act as if you don’t know,” she snapped, her voice low but laced with venom.

Alicent blinked, genuinely taken aback by the sudden hostility. “I… I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, closing the distance between them, her voice dropping to a sharp whisper. “You went to my brother’s chambers.”

Alicent’s face paled slightly, but she tried to hold her ground. “Yes, to deliver my father’s message,” she said, though her tone wavered with uncertainty.

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger flaring. “Your father’s message?” she echoed mockingly. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

Alicent’s hands tightened in front of her, her composure faltering under the weight of Rhaenyra’s accusations. “I… I was only doing what my father asked of me. I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean to what? Go behind my back? Try to gain my brother’s favor?” Rhaenyra’s voice rose as she stepped closer, her emotions swirling in a chaotic mix of betrayal and possessiveness. “I thought you were my friend, Alicent. But friends don’t do what you did.”

Alicent’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, her voice faltering. “I am your friend, Rhaenyra. You know that. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched at her sides as she fought to keep control of the emotions surging within her. The kiss with her brother was still fresh in her mind, but she couldn’t say it, couldn’t let the truth slip out—not yet. “A friend wouldn’t try to worm her way into my brother’s life like this,” Rhaenyra hissed, her anger spilling over. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been doing. The way you look at him. The way you linger when you speak to him.”

Alicent’s expression hardened slightly as she realized where this was coming from. “And what if I do look at him?” she countered, her voice steadying. “He’s a prince, Rhaenyra. You know as well as I do that if he doesn’t choose me, he will choose someone else. He’s the heir to the Iron Throne. It’s his duty to marry, to strengthen his house.”

Rhaenyra felt a flash of unexpected jealousy burn through her chest. She stepped even closer, her voice a dangerous whisper. “I know his duty,” she spat. “I know better than anyone.”

Alicent met her gaze, searching her face for answers, for some understanding of why Rhaenyra was so deeply affected by this. “Then why are you so angry?” Alicent asked, her voice tinged with frustration. “There’s nothing wrong in what I’ve done. Your brother has a responsibility to marry, to secure alliances for the crown. You can’t stop that.”

Rhaenyra’s chest tightened at Alicent’s words, and she nearly let slip the secret she had been holding onto—the kiss, the feelings that had stirred between her and her brother. But she stopped herself just in time, swallowing the confession before it could escape her lips. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Alicent’s brow furrowed in confusion, her tone softening. “Then help me understand, Rhaenyra. Why are you so angry? Is it because of me?”

Rhaenyra’s hands trembled at her sides, her emotions spiraling out of control. She couldn’t explain what she was feeling without revealing too much—without revealing the truth about her and her brother. But the thought of Alicent trying to take him from her, trying to gain his favor, made her sick with jealousy.

“You have no idea,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

Alicent, still perplexed, tried to reach out to her friend. “Rhaenyra, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just doing what’s expected of me, the same as you. Your brother is—”

Rhaenyra cut her off, her voice hard again. “My brother will make his own choices. And I’ll make sure he knows what you’ve been doing.”

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock at the veiled threat, her voice trembling. “I’m not trying to steal him from you, Rhaenyra. I—”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her voice cold and final. “Just stay away from him.”

With that, Rhaenyra turned sharply on her heel and stormed away, her heart racing and her mind spinning with a tangle of emotions she couldn’t quite control. The kiss, her jealousy, her anger at Alicent—it was all too much. But what hurt the most was the uncertainty of it all. Her brother hadn’t rejected her kiss, but he hadn’t embraced it fully either. And the thought of him being forced to marry someone else—whether it be Alicent or another noble lady—made her stomach churn.

As she walked through the gardens, her thoughts returned to the moment in front of the Dragonpit, when she and Y/N had been so close to crossing a line that neither of them could come back from. That kiss had awakened something in her—something she had been trying to ignore for so long. She loved him, she had always loved him, but now it was different. Now it was a love that burned with a dangerous intensity, a love that she wasn’t sure she could keep hidden for much longer.

One thing was certain—she would not let anyone, not even Alicent, come between her and her brother.

The sky stretched endlessly above you as Silverwing’s wings beat in steady rhythm, carrying you high above the Red Keep. The wind rushed past, cool against your skin, and the sound of it drowned out everything—every voice, every demand, every burden you carried. Up here, there was no court, no intrigue, no weight of duty pressing down on your shoulders. It was just you and Silverwing, soaring over the vast expanse of Westeros, far from the tangled mess of emotions and expectations below.

But no matter how far you flew, no matter how high you soared, your thoughts couldn’t escape the turmoil inside you.

Rhaenyra.

Her name alone was enough to stir something deep within you, something you had been trying to suppress ever since the moment you left her chambers. The kiss you had shared had ignited a fire between you, one that you had feared for some time. In that fleeting moment, it was as if all the walls you had built, all the careful distance you had maintained, had come crashing down. You had always loved your sister, always admired her strength and spirit, but over the years, that love had grown into something else, something dangerous.

And now… now you couldn’t deny it any longer.

Your grip tightened on the reins as Silverwing dipped lower, gliding gracefully over the hills that stretched beyond King’s Landing. The dragon’s power beneath you was a comforting presence, but it did little to calm the storm of emotions swirling in your chest. The memory of Rhaenyra’s lips against yours haunted you, the way her body had pressed close, her words a whisper between you: "You can wed me. We are Targaryens."

She had said it so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And perhaps for her, it was. You had grown up hearing the stories of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, the dragon-riding king and queen who had been siblings and lovers, ruling together in harmony. But that had been a different time, and even their union had sparked controversy. The Faith had never fully accepted the Targaryen tradition of sibling marriage, and the realm was no longer the same as it had been under Jaehaerys’s rule.

Could you truly wed Rhaenyra? The thought was daunting, and not just because of the moral or political implications. She was your sister, your blood. Yet, when you looked at her, it wasn’t just as a brother looks at his sister. In those three years you had been gone, she had grown into a woman—beautiful, fierce, and full of life. Her presence had always been a comfort to you, but now, it stirred something far more complicated. Something you feared you couldn’t control.

You exhaled sharply, trying to clear your mind as Silverwing carried you higher, the city of King’s Landing growing smaller beneath you. Your father, Viserys, would never approve. That much was certain. Even if the Faith were to tolerate a union between you and Rhaenyra, the realm would demand alliances. Viserys had always been a king who sought peace, and he would never risk alienating the great houses or the Faith for such a marriage. The political consequences could be dire. The Targaryens were powerful, but they could not afford to make enemies of the Faith, not now.

And then there was the court, always whispering, always plotting. Otto Hightower, your father’s Hand, was no fool. He would see through any plans you and Rhaenyra might try to make. Otto’s mind was sharp, always calculating the next move for House Hightower, and you knew he had ambitions of his own. The idea of him maneuvering behind your back only made your head ache more.

You grimaced, your thoughts turning to the meeting you would have with Otto soon—another matter that weighed heavily on your mind. The council was preparing for trade negotiations with the Free Cities, and Otto had insisted you be part of the discussions. It wasn’t something you particularly relished; your strengths lay on the battlefield, not in politics. But duty was duty, and as the heir to the Iron Throne, you had no choice but to be involved. The coming talks would be critical for the realm’s economy, and your presence was expected, even if the court’s intrigues made your skin crawl.

Still, it was the matter with Rhaenyra that gnawed at you the most. How could you face the council, the court, even your own father, with this secret between you and your sister? The kiss had opened floodgates you feared you couldn’t close again. Rhaenyra had made her feelings clear, but you… you were torn between what you wanted and what your duty demanded of you.

Silverwing let out a low rumble beneath you, sensing your unease. You patted the dragon’s neck absentmindedly, grateful for the connection you shared. Up here, with Silverwing, there were no expectations, no demands. But you couldn’t stay in the sky forever. Eventually, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face the reality waiting for you below.

As you flew further, your thoughts kept returning to Rhaenyra’s suggestion that you wed her. The logic behind it wasn’t without merit. You were both Targaryens, and such marriages had been part of your family’s legacy for generations. Rhaenyra had even pointed out that King Jaehaerys had wed his sister Alysanne, and they had been beloved rulers. But it wasn’t that simple anymore. The court, the Faith, the realm—all of them would expect you to marry for alliances, not love. Certainly not for a bond that many would see as an abomination.

You felt a knot of frustration tightening in your chest. Rhaenyra was right about one thing: you did feel something for her. That kiss had stirred something primal, something you had tried to bury, but it was undeniable now. But no matter how much you desired her, how much you wanted to throw caution to the wind and claim her as yours, the responsibilities that came with your title loomed larger than your desires.

If you were to marry Rhaenyra, the realm would demand answers. Otto Hightower, in particular, would be the first to protest. He had his own designs for Rhaenyra, no doubt aiming to secure her hand for a lord that could strengthen House Hightower’s position. And then there was the matter of the Faith—if you wed your sister, you risked reigniting old tensions with the Faith of the Seven, tensions that could spill into conflict. The crown couldn’t afford another war, especially not one fought over such a personal matter.

The irony of it all stung. For all the power and privilege you held as a prince, you were just as bound by duty and expectation as anyone else. The thought of being used as a political pawn infuriated you, but that was the price of being the heir. Your desires were secondary to the needs of the realm.

And yet… what if you could make it work? What if there was a way to marry Rhaenyra and still keep the peace? The idea seemed impossible, but you couldn’t shake it. You were a Targaryen, after all. The rules had always bent for your family before. Perhaps, if handled delicately enough, you could find a way to navigate the court’s demands and still claim the one person you truly wanted by your side.

But as you flew over the sea, the waves crashing against the cliffs below, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of the decision that loomed before you. The kiss had changed everything, and now you were faced with choices that could shape not just your future, but the future of the realm.

Silverwing let out another low rumble, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your thoughts. For now, you would enjoy the freedom of the skies, the cool wind against your skin. But soon enough, you would have to return to the Red Keep, to face Rhaenyra, your father, and the court that watched your every move.

The small council meeting had drawn to a close, with the lords and advisors filing out of the chamber one by one, their voices still murmuring about the matters of trade, security, and the upcoming negotiations with Essos. You remained seated at the table, your thoughts drifting far from the council’s discussions, far from the politics that had dominated the room. Though you had offered your insight where needed, your mind had frequently wandered—to the skies, to Silverwing, and, most of all, to your sister, Rhaenyra.

As the last of the council members left, Otto Hightower lingered. He rose slowly from his seat, his sharp gaze fixed on you, watching as the room emptied. There was always something calculating about Otto, a keen intelligence behind his measured words, and you could feel his eyes on you even before he spoke.

"Your Grace," Otto began, his voice smooth and polite, "if I might ask for a moment of your time. There are a few matters I wish to discuss privately."

You nodded, already suspecting where this conversation might lead. The chamber doors closed softly, leaving just the two of you, the dim light of the candles casting long shadows on the stone walls. You leaned back in your chair, your fingers drumming lightly on the wooden table, waiting for Otto to make his move.

Otto took his time, folding his hands behind his back as he approached. "I must say," he began carefully, "the court feels more… grounded with your return, Your Grace. The king has been much more content now that his heir is safely home. Your presence has brought a sense of stability to the capital that was sorely missed."

You inclined your head slightly in acknowledgment. "I’m glad to hear it, Lord Hand. It is my duty to be here for the realm and for my father. Though I admit, I sometimes find the weight of court affairs to be a heavy burden."

Otto’s lips curved into a slight, knowing smile. "A burden, yes, but one that you carry with admirable grace. It is no small thing to be the heir to the Iron Throne. Your father, the king, relies on you more than you may realize."

You knew where this was going, the subtle flattery, the careful words meant to soften what was coming next. Otto Hightower never spoke without intention, and you could feel the shift in the conversation as he guided it toward more personal matters.

"I imagine," Otto continued, his tone still polite, "that your time in Dorne was… challenging. A different kind of duty, certainly, but one that suited your skills well. But now, being back at court, you must find it… refreshing to be surrounded by family again."

You nodded, though your mind was already elsewhere. "It is good to be home. My family means a great deal to me."

"Indeed," Otto said, his voice taking on a slightly more casual tone. "And speaking of family… I believe my daughter, Alicent, had the pleasure of delivering a message to you today. I trust she was able to assist you adequately?"

There it was. The real reason for this conversation. You could see the way Otto’s gaze flicked over your face, gauging your reaction, trying to read you. He was probing, testing the waters, to see if his daughter’s attempts to gain your attention had borne any fruit.

You kept your expression carefully neutral, offering a polite but noncommittal smile. "Lady Alicent was very kind. She delivered her father’s message with grace and professionalism. I appreciate her assistance."

Otto’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was a man used to maneuvering through the intricacies of court politics, and he wasn’t easily dissuaded. "I am glad to hear that, Your Grace. Alicent speaks highly of you, as does the rest of the court. It is clear that your presence here brings a sense of calm and strength, particularly to those close to the king."

His words were deliberate, carefully chosen to steer the conversation toward Alicent without being too direct. But you could see through it easily enough. Otto was testing your interest, trying to discern whether you saw his daughter as anything more than a messenger or a polite face in court.

You nodded again, keeping your tone courteous but distant. "Lady Alicent is a fine lady, and I value her friendship with my sister."

Otto tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, but he didn’t press. "Yes, she and Princess Rhaenyra have grown quite close over the years. It is a friendship that has been a great comfort to my daughter, and I believe it has been mutually beneficial for both of them. Strong friendships are important, especially in court, wouldn’t you agree?"

You could feel the shift in Otto’s approach, the way he was trying to guide the conversation toward more personal matters. It was a delicate dance, one you had seen countless times in court. You knew what he wanted—you knew he was hoping to plant the seed of a potential match between you and Alicent. But your thoughts were far from the Hand’s daughter. Every time he mentioned her, your mind drifted back to Rhaenyra. Her kiss, her words, the fire that had sparked between you both.

"I agree," you said after a pause, choosing your words carefully. "Court can be a lonely place without strong bonds."

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone growing just a touch more pointed. "And bonds of marriage, of course, are among the strongest of all. They unite houses, strengthen alliances, and secure the future of the realm."

You nodded, though your thoughts remained distant, swirling around Rhaenyra and the tangled mess of emotions she stirred in you. Otto continued to speak, but his words began to fade into the background as your mind wandered to the possibility that Rhaenyra had raised. Marriage. It wasn’t just a political tool for you anymore—it was something personal, something tied to the fierce and complicated love you felt for your sister.

"Of course," Otto was saying, "there will come a time when certain decisions must be made about the future of the realm���decisions about alliances, about securing the throne through marriage. It is a delicate matter, but one that I trust you will handle with wisdom and care."

You blinked, refocusing on the conversation at hand, though you had heard enough to understand his meaning. "I am aware of the responsibility I bear, Lord Hand," you replied, your tone still courteous but distant. "But some matters require careful thought, not haste."

Otto studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. He could tell that you weren’t fully engaged in the conversation, but he chose not to push further. Instead, he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course, Your Grace. There is always time to consider these matters carefully. But know that you have the support of those who wish to see you succeed—myself included."

You nodded, offering a polite smile. "Thank you, Lord Hightower. I appreciate your counsel."

With that, Otto seemed to understand that there was little more to be gained from this conversation. He bowed his head respectfully. "If there is anything else you require, Your Grace, you know where to find me."

As Otto took his leave, you let out a quiet breath, the tension of the conversation still lingering in the air. You had played your part well, keeping your responses polite but noncommittal, careful not to give Otto any more insight than was necessary. But beneath the surface, your thoughts continued to churn.

It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the importance of what Otto had said—alliances, marriage, duty. These were all things that had been drilled into you since you were a child. But every time you considered the prospect of marriage, it wasn’t Alicent, or any other noble lady, who came to mind.

It was Rhaenyra.

Her kiss still haunted you, the memory of it sharp and electric. You had always admired her, always loved her, but now… now that love had grown into something you weren’t sure you could control. And the thought of her being married off to someone else, of her being taken from you, was enough to make your chest tighten.

You sighed, pushing yourself up from your chair and walking toward the window. The view of King’s Landing stretched out before you, but your gaze drifted to the horizon, where the sea met the sky. Somewhere out there, Silverwing was always waiting, the promise of freedom calling to you. But freedom wasn’t something you could easily claim—not with the weight of the realm on your shoulders.

And not with the tangled mess of emotions that now bound you to your sister.

[bbygirl-aemond]

Emma D'Arcy on Rhaenyra's Fanaticism

Hi all so I've been going on about Rhaenyra's cult leader era for a few days now and wanted to bring in some quotes from two recent interviews that Emma D'Arcy gave about this most recent episode specifically. This is part three of my ramblings- I first talked about Rhaenyra's growing religious fanaticism here, and then expanded on the evidence from the show to support this here.

In the interview with the Wrap, we are told that Rhaenyra’s faith comes from “the ultimate belief that she is supposed to take over her father’s throne.” Over the series, “we see her become more and more wedded and ingratiated into her faith” to the point that “it borders on a kind of religious fanaticism.” She acts with this “slightly frightening…religious fervor, like she has the gods at her back in this decision.” In the interview with GQ, Emma reinforces this: “...something that has been happening for Rhaenyra throughout the series is a growing religious fanaticism.” Over the course of the episodes, “we see her more and more invested in her faith.”

As for why Rhaenyra is turning to religion, Emma outlines a few reasons in the GQ article. First, she is “in search of her right,” seeking to validate her insecurity over her birthright being questioned and usurped. Second, she has chosen her faith as the “anchor” that she is “going to cling to” in the wake of all the loss (Visenya, Lucerys, Rhaenys, Alicent, etc.) that she’s facing. But ultimately, Emma comes back to the idea of “narcissism” as Rhaenyra’s key motivator. “I think her connection with her religion is about wanting to reinforce a divine right.” Rhaenyra wants to believe that she is divinely ordained and special; it’s a very human desire, and so she’s reading into everything that happens around her. “She feels that she is riding on the wings of her faith. But her faith and her belief that she is the ruler that is supposed to sit on that throne are completely enmeshed.”

Emma also confirms in the GQ article that Rhaenyra views Addam claiming Seasmoke as “a gift from the gods” and says that this perceived sign is what emboldens Rhaenyra to both “ride roughshod over Jace’s very legitimate concerns” and is what “allows her to stage a massacre.” In the article from The Wrap, she expands on Rhaenyra dismissing Jace’s concerns: “ultimately, she will choose herself, really, above anyone. And here she chooses herself and her divine right over her son and her son’s legitimacy. I don’t think it’s an easy decision… but in this case, she feels she’s received divine permission.” We know how ride or die Rhaenyra has always been for her children, so this sense of divine permission must be incredibly significant to Rhaenyra in order to supersede her deep seated desire to fight for Jace’s claim.

Finally, Emma confirms in the GQ article that Rhaenyra feels like the dragonseeds’s deaths are “totally” and “without a shadow of a doubt” worth the result of two dragons being claimed. When Rhaenyra is up on that balcony, watching the dragonseeds be burned alive, “she feels like a god” and “feels super proud.”

To Rhaenyra, even the proximity to Vermithor and his dragon fire feels like she is “soaking up the divine.” Rhaenyra is in a state of religious fervor that distances her from the “horrendous” things she is doing in the short term; instead of truly registering how awful the carnage before her is, she is instead “experiencing events within a far bigger timeline” and thinking about how her name will go down in “the history books.” And so Rhaenyra ends episode 7 as “this sort of emboldened fanatic.”

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

ROUND 5 MATCH 6

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Josephine propaganda:

“you get to have a full Disney princess style romance with her, she is the most precious, the most sweet, I love her so much 🥺”

“Josephine's one of the "behind the scenes" companion for the protagonist and she advises them on diplomacy-related matters.

Her personal quest and romance is fairy-tale worthy: she gets threatened with assassination, you help her restore her family's fortune, you get threatened by her best friend to not break her heart, she doesn't dare to hope you mean anything serious when flirting until you spell it out for her, after which Josie agrees to a deeper relationship... And immediately after that she finds out her family has engaged her to a random noble without her knowledge!! You publicly challenge the suitor to a one-on-one duel to win her hand, she finds out and interrupts the duel because she's worried of the Inquisitor throwing literally the entire plot away and risk life in combat for her... To which of course you can confess that they're doing it because they love Josephine, and they get the cutest cutscene with Josie jumping in the Inquisitor's arms and them spinning her around before kissing each other <3 The betrothed steps away because he sees true love between the two. She and the Inquisitor stay together through the end game and after it, gaining a "second home" with her and her family.

She really believes in the Inquisitor's cause and from the very first conversations with her, she asks questions about your background and tries to make you feel welcomed (especially appreciated if the Inquisitor isn't human since people are less trusting of them). She's politically smart but dislikes violence, overall very sweet but still strong... Josie tends to overwork herself (she's a perfectionist) and at first she tries to keep a professional air at all times but if you encourage her, she will rant to you and spill all the tea about nobles lol.”

[justawritterwithideas]

law in pink | s.r

♡ previous part | next part ♡

summary: A case takes them to Massachusetts, where you are reunited with your past and the people who carry it.

warnings: a bit of jealousy on Spencer's part, though overall nothing so far in this part.

this story is spencer reid (season 7) x ssa elle woods!reader

words: 1,185 words.

a/n: after a while, I finally bring you the third part of law in pink, the truth is that I've been wandering a lot about what to write, but I finally found it. I want to point out that this "chapter" will be divided in two or three parts (I'm not sure yet), to reward you for your time. Without anything else to add, thanks for reading.

Working in the FBI field always ended up surprising you.

Not because every day was a new adventure, with new cases that could border on the edge of human sanity, but because it could bring you face to face with people from your past.

A new case had dragged you to Massachusetts, where you saw old faces you recognized on your way to the police station.

The conversation with Emily was what was stealing your attention, and even more so when it was about one of the topics you dealt with the most, besides the criminal code, and that was hair care. You had recommended a new product to the woman and she was talking to you about how good her hair looked, it even looked shinier than usual from both perspectives.

"I know! Plus, it's not tested on animals and their products are 100% natural, it's like a little bit of paradise in your hands." You commented sipping from your coffee, placed your bag to the side as you watched Spencer walk in with a folder in his hands and well focused on it.

It was no secret that after his gift it had caused the two of you to connect a little more than usual, and everyone could tell with the little love language gestures you each had on each side, like how every morning you gave him his coffee the way he liked it because you had memorized them or how he took care to save you a spot next to him on the jet where the sunlight would hit so your skin would get the vitamin D it needed for the day.

You quickly pushed away the chair that was in front of the map the opposite had drawn up and watched him sit down, returning to your conversation with Emily. Spencer thanked you with a silent gesture, causing you to smile as you listened intently to Emily converse about the difference in her hair from week to week.

But, their conversation was interrupted as Derek and J.J were entering the room with a box of donuts.

"The breakfast express had just arrived, ladies... And Spencer." The smell of frying and sugar made you immediately turn to the table to see that they had found just the donuts you had been chatting about a couple of days ago.

"Are those the gluten-free donuts? I haven't seen them in years, they look just as delicious as when I was here." Your voice let out a soft sound of joy, approaching the one glazed with pink and had a flower drawn on top. "These are the best donuts you'll ever taste, and it's also suitable for the gluten intolerant."

The sweet taste of the donut made you stir as you brought a hand to your mouth in surprise, it was as if the past had just slapped you in the face.

You turned in the direction of Spencer, who looked quite immersed in his work.

"Spencie." The man looked up at your call. You brought the doughnut close to his face and smiled, letting the scent of your 'Miss Dior' perfume permeate his nose. "Try it."

"Ah, no thank you. I am at the moment somewhat busy, Y/N..." His hand was trying to push yours away, plus you kept watching him with that look that caused Spencer to give you the whole world. "B-besides! I'm faithful to my chocolate donut with sprinkles-"

"With sprinkles on top... Come on, Spencer, I'm not asking you to eat it all, just taste it."

The tasting-not tasting fight they were carrying on was interrupted when Hotch walked in where his face showed quite a bit of annoyance.

"What's going on, Hotch?"

"The suspect's lawyer is in the interrogation room." Commented Rossi, who simply modulated 'he's a jerk'.

"He's coming to talk to us now." Finished Hotch, who was heading straight for a cup of coffee but didn't quite reach for it when a rather annoying voice interrupted him.

You didn't know if it was your imagination or the memories of that place that made you cough, the smell of expensive cologne and mint made you push the donut away from your hands. You set it down on a napkin, listening as it echoed back to that voice that once spoke honeyed words to you.

"Agents, a pleasure. I'm defense attorney, Warner Huntington III."

Where was the closest place to hide from that character? You thought, but you wouldn't let the man you used to call "teddy bear" get you down at that moment.

" Lawyer Huntington, this is the BAU team. Agent Rossi, Morgan, Jareau, Prentiss, Dr. Reid and Agent Woods."

Your gaze connected with Warner's, who let out a gasp of surprise at the sight of you.

"Y/N... Wow, it's been a while, darli-"

"It's good to see you, Attorney Huntington." You commented as you watched him from your position.

You watched him approach you, plus Spencer's body made it so he couldn't take any more steps than intended, well... Spencer's leg was the one that separated you, as he stretched his legs out, separating you both just enough so that nothing of your bodies would rub together in any way.

A safe distance for both of them, thanks to Spencer.

"You two know each other?" J.J. asked, who watched intrigued.

"We were coupl-"

"We were part of the same Harvard Law generation, actually. We both graduated, but we took different paths." You lied in front of them, and they could read it when Warner's face grimaced.

It was clear that the two of you had a bond that was more than close, but the way you didn't want them to find out was the answer to resolving that which the others had to find out until you decided to talk about it.

"Rather, both of us-"

"Counselor, what exactly is the reason you're here?" asked Spencer, who watched from his position, with that feigned smile you already knew how to distinguish.

"Ah, yes. I was coming to introduce myself as the defense attorney, as well as discuss the legal issues surrounding my client." He turned to look at Hotch, who was drinking from his cup with that face that the situation displeased him. "I'd like to discuss a few things with Agent Woods, since we both graduated from Harvard and have the same degree from-"

"Actually, Agent Prentiss is also a Criminal Justice graduate, you could discuss with her along with Dr. Reid in addition to Agent Woods."

The way Hotch had cut Warner off made you let out a small chuckle, thanking in the direction of the major, who was simply giving you a discreet wink.

"Yeah, right. Three's better than one, you're right." Warner's voice wavered a bit before he opened his mouth again. "Good, then I'll come by later to discuss these details, they're calling me from the firm, excuse me."

Silence immediately settled in the room, but before they could blurt anything out, you immediately turned in everyone's direction and blurted out.

"I have a good explanation for this, I promise."

♡ first part | previous part ♡

If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[itadores]

my type of person.

note: on a tōdō kick rn ... sorry

pairing: tōdō aoi x gn!reader

word count: .9k

tags: gender neutral reader, meet ugly, threats of violence

“What’s your type?”

You blink, dumbfounded by the strange subject of the question. You really didn’t expect for the large and imposing man who suddenly appeared before you only minutes prior to ask that of all things. Perhaps, you should have anticipated it though. You’ve never had the displeasure of meeting Tōdō Aoi in the flesh, but many of your close colleagues have.

“Depending on your answer, I’ll beat you half to death right here. If your answer bores me that means you’re boring, and I hate boring people,” he says through gritted teeth.

He shrugs off his sleek black jacket, allowing it to drop to the floor. Then, he tears his t-shirt into shreds with his bare hands.

What. The. Fuck.

“Huh?!” You put your hands up in surrender, slowly backing away from the man, who (you’re confident) must be out of his mind. “Do you really need to resort to violence? Can’t we just, I don’t know, not fight?” You try and reason with Tōdō, who doesn’t look very receptive to what you’re saying.

“Hurry up and answer the question before I run out of patience,” Tōdō says, stretching his hands that he holds out in front of him. He’s already in a fighting stance, prepared to attack you once he deems your answer unsatisfactory.

Your eye twitches, and you scowl. Fine. If he wants you to answer, then you’ll answer. You take a moment to think about it. You fold your arms over your chest before dignifying Tōdō with a response.

“My type is someone kind.”

He pauses, his hands dropping slightly. For a moment, you think he’s going to be satisfied with your answer and leave you alone. Sadly, it’s too good to be true.

“What kind of answer is that?” He exclaims, clearly unhappy with what he perceives as such a lackluster answer.

“My answer obviously,” you say, giving him a dirty look. Why did you have such bad luck that you had to cross paths with Tōdō Aoi today of all days? All you wanted to do was enjoy your day off, free from missions and free from classes. Instead, it was being interrupted by a massive brute. “I bet your answer isn’t any better,” you retort, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“It’s much better than whatever you just said,” he scoffs, folding his strong arms over his broad chest. Your eyes dart down, following the movement before quickly meeting his gaze once more. At least, he’s nice to look at.

“My type is tall people with big asses,” Tōdō responds, looking especially pleased with himself. His brow twitches with irritation when you start laughing. “Why are you laughing?”

You quickly calm yourself down, regaining your composure, so you can respond without laughing in Tōdō’s face again. “My answer clearly didn’t meet whatever,” you wave your hand around, motioning towards Tōdō’s face, “standards you have in mind, but your answer is just as bad. If anything, it’s worse than mine. At least, I focused on personality. You just focused on someone’s physical appearance.”

Tōdō’s expression grows more and more displeased until he looks like he’s on the precipice of lunging towards you. Uh oh. You take a slow step back, ready to bolt if Tōdō decides to suddenly attack you. You’re really not in the mood to fight on your day off.

Much to your utter surprise, Tōdō begins to cackle. It borders on maniacal as he clutches at his stomach and throws his head back. This may be more unsettling than Tōdō attacking you outright.

“You’re interesting,” he states. A large grin stretches across his cheeks, and his chest still heaves with the exertion of laughter.

“Thanks?” You’re not quite sure if Tōdō means it positively or negatively, so you don’t know if you should take what he said as a compliment or not.

He takes a step forward, and you're tempted to take a step backward, but you decide to take a leap of faith and stay put. You only hope you won't regret your decision. He stands close enough that you can smell the scent of his cologne, a surprisingly pleasant aroma. Not strong and overpowering like cologne often is.

He sticks a hand out.

"Tōdō Aoi. Grade 1 Sorcerer."

You blink, surprised by the sudden introduction. You provide him with your own name and grade, clasping his hand with your own. His hand is massive in comparison to yours, his palm rough with callouses, which is not exactly surprising, but somehow, still relatively soft. You're not quite sure how that can be, but you don't think to verbalize your questions to the man. The sudden change in his personality is strange enough as is.

"Go out with me."

Oh. Things just got much stranger.

"I thought you wanted to beat me up," you sputter, shocked by this turn of events. How does a guy go from threatening to inflict bodily harm onto you to asking you on a date?

"I was only going to beat you up if I found you to be a boring person," Tōdō says as if it's a perfectly normal and logical thing to say. "But you surprised me. You're...interesting, so let's go out."

"You're out of your mind," you bluntly say. Tōdō only grins. You shake your head in response. But maybe, you're out of your mind too.

"Okay. I'll let you take me out." Tōdō's grin widens, but you hold a finger up to tamper his excitement. You don't want him getting ahead of himself now. "But if it's not a good date, I get to beat you up then."

Tōdō's smile threatens to split his face into two.

"Challenge accepted."

[odinsblog]

Dear President Biden,

We come together as artists and advocates, but most importantly as human beings witnessing the devastating loss of lives and unfolding horrors in Israel and Palestine.

We ask that, as President of the United States, you call for an immediate de-escalation and ceasefire in Gaza and Israel before another life is lost. More than 5,000 people have been killed in the last week and a half – a number any person of conscience knows is catastrophic. We believe all life is sacred, no matter faith or ethnicity and we condemn the killing of Palestinian and Israeli civilians.

We urge your administration, and all world leaders, to honor all of the lives in the Holy Land and call for and facilitate a ceasefire without delay – an end to the bombing of Gaza, and the safe release of hostages. Half of Gaza’s two million residents are children, and more than two thirds are refugees and their descendants being forced to flee their homes. Humanitarian aid must be allowed to reach them.

We believe that the United States can play a vital diplomatic role in ending the suffering and we are adding our voices to those from the US Congress, UNICEF, Doctors without Borders, The International Committee of The Red Cross, and so many others. Saving lives is a moral imperative. To echo UNICEF, “Compassion — and international law — must prevail.”

As of this writing more than 6,000 bombs have been dropped on Gaza in the last 12 days — resulting in one child being killed every 15 minutes.

“Children and families in Gaza have practically run out of food, water, electricity, medicine and safe access to hospitals, following days of air strikes and cuts to all supply routes. Gaza’s sole power plant ran out of fuel Wednesday afternoon, shutting down electricity, water and wastewater treatment. Most residents can no longer get drinking water from service providers or household water through pipelines…. The humanitarian situation has reached lethal lows, and yet all reports point to further attacks. Compassion — and international law — must prevail.” – UNICEF spokesperson, James Elder

Beyond our pain and mourning for all of the people there and their loved ones around the world we are motivated by an unbending will to stand for our common humanity. We stand for freedom, justice, dignity and peace for all people – and a deep desire to stop more bloodshed.

We refuse to tell future generations the story of our silence, that we stood by and did nothing. As Emergency Relief Chief Martin Griffiths told UN News, “History is watching.”

Alia Shawkat

Alyssa Milano

Amanda Seales

Amber Tamblyn

America Ferrera

Andrew Garfield

Anoushka Shankar

Aria Mia Loberti

Ayo Edebiri

Bassam Tariq

Bassem Youssef

Cate Blanchett

Channing Tatum

Cherien Dabis

Darius Marder

David Cross

Dominique Fishback

Dominique Thorne

Elvira Lind

Farah Bsaiso

Fatima Farheen Mirza

Hasan Minhaj

Hend Sabry

Ilana Glazer

Indya Moore

James Schamus

Jeremy Strong

Jessica Chastain

Joaquin Phoenix

Jon Stewart

Kristen Stewart

Macklemore

Mahershala Ali

Margaret Cho

Mark Ruffalo

May Calamawy

Michael Malarkey

Michael Stipe

Michelle Wolf

Mo Amer

Oscar Isaac

Quinta Brunson

Ramy Youssef

Riz Ahmed

Rooney Mara

Rosario Dawson

Ryan Coogler

Sandra Oh

Sebastian Silva

Shailene Woodley

Shaka King

Susan Sarandon

Vic Mensa

Wallace Shawn

Wanda Sykes

👉🏿 https://variety.com/2023/biz/news/hollywood-demands-gaza-israel-ceasefire-joaquin-phoenix-cate-blanchett-1235763646/

[anantaru]

THREE SECONDS

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — as your relationship was ready to take the next step, itto wanted you to meet his granny who had raised him for the majority of his life and was beyond thrilled to show you where he grew up in as a child, or especially how cozy his old bedroom seemed to be.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — this fic stems from a little thirst i wrote a while ago and since i adored that idea so so much i just had to make a whole one shot for it, didn’t expect it to get so long though, still, enjoy! <3

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 5.9k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, messy, whiny itto but also rough itto, riding, fingering, he's insatiable, the horny took him hostage, slight size difference (i mean he's huge), semi! public + his granny is next door preparing dinner.

arataki itto, the one, the only— a man, who could never be easily defeated in the eyes upon his very self.

by the same token, he, in no circumstances regarded anything as a real believed problem which he would have to face in his life sooner or later on, to a higher notice, was he someone who'd pick out the clear positive in most heeded aspects and proceed to give his furthermost, unswerving best.

for you, he was everything and anything, all at once. The bordering, ingrained proximity between you both could have been esteemed like a mind altering drug— neither of you was marginally capable to keep a distance between each other, not when your relationship carried on to bring forth the best of your abilities.

arataki itto— the love of your life, your soulmate, a man who, to the actual core, triumphantly won your heart and sung a promise to protect it from danger of any kind.

be that as it may, tonight, your entire relationship had all gotten a different meaning in his life because of an undisclosed exponent, itto came into hazardous contact with his first real enemy in a long time— the name of the weighty villain was well known, ponderously soliloquized upon the brimming nations of teyvat, the revolting mischief;

anxiety.

now, to remain logical and give the full picture— today was the prized day where you were going to lastly make acquaintance with the person who had raised him for the larger number of his being— his granny, who graciously took him in as a little oni and fondly watched after him with peerless faith and love in this world.

and despite that, unbeknownst to itto, you were, without no holds barred, feeling the same level of distress. It wasn't unnatural to sought after such a devoted step in a relationship— on the flip side can it become undoubtedly frightening and alarming, singularly when it was a striking indicator to remark just how dead serious you both conceived your relationship and its fancied continuance.

when the evening befell the nation of inazuma in its brilliant illustrious artistry, you had met up with your timid boyfriend to then, fidgety stride to his grannies small sized house which had been a partially shade far outside of inazuma city.

your zooming thoughts— like cannon balls, were in abysmal need of required relaxation, in reality, you truly had no reason to be this frightened because even though you had never met her prior to this day, you heard nothing but subliming wonderful deeds about the woman in question, her accepting care and understandings, the way she did not see any differences in humans and oni— viewing them as equal.

"hey no sleeping!" itto suddenly barks, "wait wait are you feeling sick? we can turn around and sit for a while." oh, he sounds nervous but you insist you're fine, because truthfully, you had just reached your destination and you won't be defeated by something as insignificant as nervousness— it's alright, yet you wonder if your hands could please stop sweating so much? ignore it ignore it, there's no way back now.

in front of the door made of otogi wood, your boyfriend lessened his handsome face to meet you, holding your pretty eyes with his diamond shaped pupils. You easily allow yourself permission to cross the fleeting words in your thoughts to run over his question, what he had asked was indeed chucklesome, in a way that you weren't for certain if the spelled out sentence was solely pointed towards your person or if he was in reality questioning himself. "yes i'm alright— are you though?"

the jocular idea of turning around did not cross your mind, not when you came this far and speaking forthcomingly, the pronounced concern on itto's scrunched expression was much larger and dignified than your own, yet despite that, said tangible worry wasn't one bathed in hesitancy or doubts, more— in an enthusiastic procedure that you were, at last, meeting such an important person in his life.

"of- of course i am!" he blabbers, "do i not look okay?!" yeah.. he must be thoroughly relaxed, right? that must be the obvious case, though he was actively waving his hand in the air— yet in front of his cheeks, he made sure he's covering himself, so you wouldn't get a singular chance to catch him blush in a full scarlet pitch, "why— why the hell shouldn't i be?"

"you seem nervous." you bluntly stated but teased, firmly deepening the eye contact and archons, how flustered itto could become when you won't tear your enthralling eyes off him, "— or scared." you carry on to unfitly taunt your lover, sneakily drawing down a firm grin but leaving your brows quirked up light heartedly, "whenever you're experiencing one of those two emotions, your voice gets a little higher, you know?"

"wha-" he interjects, "it doesn't!" for a crisp second, itto came to terms with his graspable frame of mind— because why should he hide his agitation from you? and then the straightforward tension that had been viciously eating him up from the inside out ceased to exist, "not true!" now, come now, "not me!" it had blurred itself out when he got ruminated with a sudden contagious laugh from you while caressing his arm to soothe his worries once more.

"yeah, i can see that." these are some mean turn of events to play with your boyfriends sensitive feelings like that, he figured, so he let his strong hands shelter your soft cheeks in a heart beat, "i'm never scared of anything." he's unnerved, back to his confident self.

"never ever ever, in a million ever never years!"

"you're crazy." you laugh and offer him a signature smile, freely blustering out a sheltered breath as you humanely lean into his left palm— itto flashes you his pearly white teeth and his thumb was lightly tapping on your plump bottom lip before placing a sensual kiss on top.

curiously enough, he never missed the chance to do that, to flip his thumb over your lips with a large smile, so he could lead you through what he was originally planning to do— to smooth you.

"lets get moving m'lady." he refrains, behaving a split amount differently, in all respects energized, "we're already in front of the door."

"you know what i meant!" he pipes up in an immediate rebuttal while angrily stomping his feet on the ground, banteringly pinching your hip, "ouch!" you loudly squeak out in surprise but itto was quicker— because he directly then knocked on the wooden door so you couldn't get back at him without letting his granny see it too.

his coruscating eyes, they expectantly bunch up while actively awaiting for his granny to open the large door to his childhood home, the place, were no matter what past memories, whether good or bad, had been crafted.

"dear, is that you itto?" you paid attention to an older ladies puny asserting voice upon a small space between door and frame, revealed was a short and on the face of it, feeble woman, appearing from behind. "granny! oh granny!" itto loudly cheers and muses, "you sure took your time granny!" this was an all in all cherished attribute you treasured about itto's entire personality— while surely, it by no means has been spread amongst the crowds that he was known for his loud and sparkling persona, but observing his innocent delight when encountered with his parental figure, openly fostered a total gladden in you— it's because you love him, just how he was.

in redirected regard of your own self, you didn't dare to move a single inch— as if frozen to the cold ground, though be that as it may, you could proceed with your reasoning and refer to it as the 'not well regarded accessory' to your continuous pestering tenseness that wickedly sauntered through head to toe.

but on a positive note, it was beneficial enough for itto to be this tall and large in comparison to your own frame, meaning you were capable to easily slip behind his back in hiding.

"this is who i've been telling you about." damn it, a genuine smile plucked the outer region of his lips as he largely stepped aside to reveal you like a gift from the heavens, his hands embarrassingly pointing towards you.

before you can say anything at all, itto had gladly taken over the role of the awkward introduction process himself and introduced you to his lovely granny.

again, thanks to the electro archon for your perfect boyfriend.

"it is such a deep pleasure of meeting you, dear." whatever it may be now, the woman conveyed an immediate tranquillizing quell which had brightly subdued your tensed muscles. "the pleasure really is all mine, miss!" extending your hand to her, she slowly lunged forward to shake it as you introduced yourself again.

now, in retrospect, this entire time, you had been tremendously nervous— highly strung, repeatedly shifting in your shuddering stance from left foot to right foot, right foot to left foot, though now, as you walked into her small home— with itto being a gentleman and closing the door shut behind you both, you at present had felt like you were truly welcomed in her abode.

(major mental sticker for the next time: don't let the useless negativity consume your goddamn mind, okay?)

well, back to business.

throughout the time, itto's sizable hand was, no matter what, situated solidly on the region above your behind, lovingly stationed on your lower back while he guided you to the homely warm and restful living room.

when you listlessly skimmed through the many decorations of the place, you discovered a framed picture of itto as a child next to his granny, it wasn't difficult to see their emotions through the stilled memory, both were marvelously happy and utterly fulfilled— grateful, with a squishy onikabuto plushie being sponged and pressed into itto's chest.

how long have you been staring at the frame? you can't recall, but fortunately to you, you got drawn back to the present reality when your boyfriend pinched your arm. His grandma— such a warm hearted lady, had affectionately assembled two beverages meant for you as she further beckoned you two to take a seat on the mellow couch.

"this is quite embarrassing." she weirdly was in a panicked stance about something rather awful, even going as far as to idly enclose her slender arms around herself, shaking, "what is it granny? are you sick?"

itto pucks himself into the seat with concern, yet striving to stand up right again and aid her in whatever was the critical problem at hand, "oh no! dear." she worrisomely shakes her head and her cheeks irradiated a scarlet tint, "but the dinner isn't ready yet!"

"that's all?!" itto exhales enormously from his chest— to a greater extent, one could say he was about to pass out from the thought of having something serious happen without him being in on it. Despite your rocky state of emotions from beforehand, you were now hopeful and viewed this polished opportunity as your sweet time to shine.

"can i be of help?" you bring forth self assured confidence in your tone color, "i might not be as skilled as you but i can try!" sliding the glass back on the coffee table, you were ready to get up and aid in the kitchen— it was not a big deal and you were always happy to help, especially when it was someone who was regarded as the closest family member to your boyfriend.

having said that, the wishing reply you had longed for, wasn't actually what happened, "there's no need dear." she sweetly giggled around her words, being truly flustered to the core by your sweet attempt to help her out, pretty much warming up with you already— you were lovely in her eyes, "and i'm certain itto desperately wants to show you around, isn't that right?"

you, of course, won't argue with that, "so damn right!" itto was full of happiness, and now, he's pushing himself up from his seat, additionally inviting you over to grab onto his hand so he could lead you around everything, "there's much to show after all!" with your hands quietly placed on your thighs, you feel nothing but giddy and take his palm, but rationally, you'd rather spend time with her so you could get to know her better.

that certainly was the best idea, but inside of you, the sultry skittish feeling of watching itto like that— so happy and excited, was priceless in your very eyes, maybe ... you could sneak in a few fleeting kisses before having to come back, hmmm, this does sound quite bewitching now, doesn't it?

on the way out of the living room, you were met once again with objects from his past, all pridefully shown and displayed around the tiny corridor he was leading you in. Next, on the very left, you found yourself in front of a wooden door that wasn't like any other, it was, quite frankly, messed up with what seemed to be symbols clumsily drawn on with a bunch of pencils— very itto typical, you humbly added.

"there we go." he's so excited, happy, euphoric— are there any other ways to possibly describe his emotions right now because in itto's perspective none of them were doing it justice, "the room of a real oni!"

"aww!" you accept the entry and let him close the door, leaving you both sheltered in place. his room was bigger than you had actually expected; a small, cleaned bed lovingly decorated with two larger plushies on top— one specifically caught your eyes, it was the same one that you saw earlier on the picture with his grandma, the onikabuto exemplar, while the other was funnily resembling a ruin guard of some sorts?

without much to say, both were worn off, he must've played with them in his childhood days.

"what do you think?" he quirks a brow, "to be honest, i was a little worried it wouldn't do me justice." you roll your eyes in the back of your head, what a guy.

at the prospect of being quite the stunner at taunting or playing with your boyfriend, you breathe out euphorically before speaking again, "the bed is so tiny, how little you were itto!"

"tiny?! it's not tiny!" he stomps forward, "this isn't tiny! or is it?"

was this the beginning of a heated debate? not really, but maybe a little. to elaborate himself further without requiring words, itto was swift and eager to carelessly wind away the dear plushies to awkwardly drop his wholeness onto the frail bed and archons— let it be known that the old woman outside had trouble hearing because those damned squeaking sounds were violent, dropping off the walls with an intensity you haven't heard before.

was itto about to break the bed? no no, you suppose. hopefully not.

"looky looky." he thoughtlessly leans back into the silken cushions but props himself up with his elbows so his pretty view on you would turn out even prettier, "it's large, just like me." — how can this man be for real sometimes, you wonder, snorting out a silly laugh on how impossibly comical he looked right now, with the majority of his legs hanging out of the bed frame.

"it sure does." you feign your engaging sentencing, silently getting close and walking towards him to sit, somewhere— which, uh, wasn't possible because he took the entire space.

literally, how could he not?

so, instead, you had, emphasizing heavily on the 'had', resulted to therefore straddling his hips with your thighs on each side of him. You're leaning forward and to that— your dress instantly responded with unknowingly pining up and revealing more of your smooth legs. Due to this unseen course of events, itto thumbed down entirely, now laying flat with you mounting on top.

the shallow heave that unbuttons from his throat when you declined your head to sweetly plant a semi innocent kiss on his lips, it was overflowing with tension, beyond wishing, so he leaned in— one kiss, two, one more? perhaps a couple.

in a profound refrain, you found yourself relaxed, making out with itto, still largely gentle and shy— if only he wouldn't have began to skim over your body with his hands, up and down in circles, his palms were seizing the movements of you, heatedly glissading over your exposed skin until looming them further back to greedily grab a fistful of your flesh and knead your ass to drag you close.

on purpose or not? but your cunt was now directly brushing on top of his member.

"mmh." you inaudibly whimper into his mouth as you coincidentally rub down on his groin, "ah— i'm sorry." he speaks and unexpectedly drags your pussy over his hidden cock. "fuck-" normally, you're so so careful— fuck, you wouldn't, right? do it on purpose, never.

amusing, you, as a matter of action, did not miss how tensed up itto was, how overwhelmed with the budding pressure in his pants.

how ... he was in his old bedroom, giving his almost painfully growing erection the thing it desired, from you, his cute darling. His breathing had been erratic while his digits further altered your flesh to keep you stilled but surely pressed right on top of his swelling cock.

rationality, here we go, "w-wwwait." his cheeks had a sudden burn with an equal amount of both a higher consciousness of euphoric bliss and clear embarrassment, itto figures that— archons, he might already be done for, the 'little' problem in his pants, how was he supposed to get rid of it before dinner?

"sorry." you cheekily coo and bit your lip back at him, "but you're comfy." cozily wrapping your arms around his neck, maybe another kiss will do it, so you sloppily go down and pull away with a sharp tug on his lower lip. You smile, although sheepish, "we should get up." and whisper the evident.

but unmistakably, if you would've acted out on what you were manifesting, or that you were more than certain you had wholly slicked up your thin panties by now— sensing them stick on your core, you would've blindingly leaned in to whatever you were attempting to do this second.

"wait." oh? this tone was different and you liked it— remembering the cause of it too. Much deeper was the timbre and not in his usual airless color, because itto was dead serious in his shaking utterance, a single word demonstrated a devilish command, "i'm a little—" you follow his eyes with your own and watch the mess in between your sticked together bodies— your dress had been draped up even more and was now pressed up, resting right above the beginning of your ass while itto's pants were extremely tight.

he embarrassingly looks up at you with hesitancy, "oh you know- i think i need a second." and he forcefully exhales his words from his tight chest, "but you are- fantastic." and prolongs his trembling heave right after, "and warm." while he closes his eyes, only a short amount because he had to catch your hips and stop them when you tried to move.

"what are you?!" he groans so loud, too loud— shameless, as you were quick to shush his noisy tongue with your hand clutched around his needy mouth, "shhh, don't talk." you coo, "don't say anything." and he listens carefully, with wide opened eyes, nervously gulping down the assembled saliva, "let me help you out, okay baby?"

finally, fucking finally, he thought, "c-careful." itto mumbles into your hand as you used your other to clumsily open up his pants— pulling down his, with pre cum drowned, boxers, at last freeing his erect cock that was plopping out of the garments.

it's heavy, shading red and the deep blue'ish broad veins on the underside of his girth left nothing left for imagination— your mouth practically watered at the filthy, sinful sight, but it's so tasteful and you wanted to please him right away, maybe suck him off and let him fuck your face, but now— not now, his grandma was literally in the next room and preparing dinner for you, right, almost forgotten!

lets just get this quickly over with and help your handsome boyfriend with his not so little problem— later on there was still additional time, you can always fuck at home, real messy and loud— leaving yourself to him so he was able to pump his seed into you and let it ooze out again.

"ah- baby." his voice sounded impatient and a bit whiny, "it hurts." he grits his teeth and his cheeks burn up, he lifts his hips and softly grinds into you while keeping you down, his face was incredibly red and even the tip of his ears had now visualized the exact same color. There's no way he didn't spend time to think about it too— about the shared fantasy, about pistoling his cock deep into your spongy cunt, it makes him question himself if he can actually pull it off, in this small room with the bed squeaking at every move.

the delirious flutter was risky, but worth it?

"okay, you know what?" he spills out, chasing more relief, "just the tip." he whines, "only the tip, please!" you curiously readjust yourself to rut your cunt on him— on the brink of turning brainless yourself. "you know we wouldn't stop." but the mental image of his tip splitting you roughly had you close your legs around his body, shoving your pussy on his bare cock again.

"but it hurts-" and you shake your head, just wanting to scream that it hurts you too, "i know baby but we can't."

one hundred percent a bad idea— that's what it was in an outer perspective, but how could you ignore his mushroom tip leaving itself get messed up by your arousal— how now, he nudged himself into the flimsy material of your panties to rub his length within your folds, spreading them apart, loving your wet cunt, "five seconds." you can barely hear him say it, "just five seconds." archons, where were the infamous rational thinking skills when you were in dire need of them?

fuck this, rightfully so, "three." now, you start to bargain for the tasteful prize, "four." and itto was determinedly stammering right back at you while his mouth was still covered by your hand. You both cannot believe each other, truly, how desperately needy you were, at this point barely caring anymore when he slowly bumped his drenched cock into your pussy— your underwear by now fully slipped to the side.

"three seconds!" — "oh man .. fine."

you drop your weight before he could finish his words, catching him so off guard was rare in it's own glorious state and you‘re taking his tip further, making the man underneath you deeply groan into your hand. "shut up itto!" you laugh and embarrassingly snort a little, "i'm sorry!" this whole lively situation had a comical sense to it because when else are you fucking your boyfriend in his old bedroom— in a bed that was way too small for any of you, but maybe that's the fun part of being this close together, fusing your skins as one.

you go silent, overwhelmed and shaking, to counter attack your natural body reactions you forcefully bite down on your bottom lip to withstand the upcoming moans, "fuck, fuck!" for comfort, you lean into him as his tip naturally slips in and out of your warm pussy, in and out, in and out, catching a glimpse of his already hooded eyes. "only the tip." you jokingly repeat, "mhm the tip." he moans back into your hand while you felt him drool on you— because there you were flaunting your tits at him, rigidly pressing them into his chest with your pointy nipples finding friction.

itto shuts his eyes on the sprouting frustration closing around his belly, "mhm, i can't believe this." he almost laughs, as if to ease you both down in his own silly ways, "me neither." he further molds his hands over your hips to hold you in a precise way. Truthfully, your trembling thighs were burning and sore, firmly splattered with arousal and exposed to him.

the position you were currently in wasn't kind to you, if anything it was becoming harder to remain focused so you wouldn't end up suckling in more inches without realizing.

you carefully move away your hand and give him enough space to breathe more sizable and damn— the sight in front of you was a fucking longed one, downright unreal, it wasn't able to be somewhat framed or painted into words.

itto whatsoever, his face had spiraled into complete redness, granted, he was trying his utmost finest to be good and not greedy, though the punishing demonstrated fantasy of bulging his cock into your sensitivity was always there— his shaking hands clearly giving it away.

"ah- this is awesome!" itto clears his throat and needfully runs his knuckles over your skin, reaching your behind— two of his fingers ran down to your folds to spread them and leave him with more room to stay inside, "yeah.. this is better." he heaves and you whine because it really does feel better that way— you've been plenty wet by now and if you weren't this patient, you surely would've fucked him into oblivion by now.

you hide your pleased face in his neck, "i can't believe we're doing this." and admit, arching your back a little (for good measure) before slowing one of your hands over his damp forehead where a couple of his hair strands were sticking onto, due to the excessive amount of sweat, "i think I'm dreaming!" though it's stupefying, itto gladly relishes in the smug satisfaction, claiming you one inch further, a bulged type of sweet and honeyed pride was delivered when he let you do it— slurp up one more inch, ambling his hips differently for a finer angle.

you kiss itto's lips to soothe his gravelly groans, in addition to your own squeaky huffed out cries— he's so big and heavy that when you move just a little, it's as if he's strapping you off every single inch of control in your body, as if he's, on purpose, targeting the plushy splotches in your walls.

you grab onto another inch as he passionately groans into your mouth— more please more, bracing yourself, letting his tongue run free into yours, he continues it, pitching his hips further and spreads his thighs to rub you into him while his eyes flicker with lust and so do yours.

you just cannot think straight anymore, it's not possible nor required, you are so fucking fucked right now, both deliriously good and blazingly bad.

itto thinks it still isn't enough, his big cock was tingling in your walls and it should be criminal on how fucking fine your closed insides were, ravenously bordering on him and gripping him— it doesn't even compare to other instances in his life because you both couldn't keep your hands to yourself and wanted to straight up— lose your minds and bodies.

a hiss spills from his throat and it appears like your legs are about to give up on you— your tits too, bounce in tune to your actions and surge eminent bliss into your veins. You find yourself entranced when he crowds you and your toes curl at another easy shove forward.

the painstakingly grab on your hips was to leave bruises, his knuckles turning white and his dick shimmers with your arousal that you sink down further.

you adjust and squeeze around him, bending over when breaking off the kiss, your wet lips twitching in a shameless grin as itto chuckled right under you. The lower side was rammed with your transparent liquids puffing out your pussy— itto's eyes were blown wide and he makes sure to always remember to stretch your ass while you look so adorable above him, creaming on his cock that was now completely clashed into you.

hold on.

what happened to the three stated seconds? or just the tip?

three or none, oh no— not this, please no, archons above please send us mercy because how much fucking time has passed since you started this succulent and mouthwatering gamble?

"fuck— just like that." itto mouths without a single care behind those eyes, "you're the prettiest baby, you know that?" he lifts himself into you and turns the bed into nothing more than a squeaky noisy problem. It could've turned out real embarrassing if not one of you had turned on your hazy braincells.

"itto wait!" you foolishly whine, "shit, too loud!" he bottoms out and smacks his balls into you, remembering the obscene situation as the bed loudly creaked. "shit, shit shit." your mouth clashes onto his with saliva bubbling out of the outer parts of your lips. Yet you don't stop, instead you grind your pretty cunt on him and smear his filth over your soft walls.

"do you think?" you're concerned for the obvious, stilling yourself, "no no, don't worry baby." itto speaks up, "are you sure? we were very loud right now." he captures your body in between his arms to twitch inside your core, you on the other hnd never adjusted to his large dick— you just couldn't stop pulsing on his length, it's swilled with your liquids. "i got you, i'm sure she didn't hear anything."

while you do want to place your greatest trust into him, you weren't stupid, but amidst the sinfulness of it all, you nod your head at him. "we need to finish this quickly." whispering from above, your warm breath fans over his skin.

itto doesn't answer, there was no need for it, not now at least. He reaches up to lift your chin to lead you towards his lips and you cry into the sloppy kiss while his other hand dampened down on your folds, roughly stimulating you with his knuckles. "i- fuck, i-got-you." he finally says in between groans and urges you to continue, "i'll make you cum on me." his words came out in a stitched together grunt.

his mind— it was gone and clouded and another moan leaves him right after at the galvanizing sight of you. Itto braces himself and leads you to heaven, it's overbearing and frustrating, but the new punctuated jolts were closing down on your sensitive cores, they were tempting and pressing on your beating thuds.

all you could think of was for him to please please go faster, but it wasn't possible, not anymore. okay, well, it was but, you would equally be busted and you were sure the embarrassment of being caught by his fucking grandma during the act alone would give you terrible nightmares for years on end.

his knuckles dig into your shining folds and rub you fiercely while taking you with his cock. By how rough itto was fucking you now you had to close your hand around his mouth again so he could freely grunt and moan— vocalize his pleasure to you so you can latch onto him finer, constrict on his shaft and milk him dry until he's wet of a white ring of arousal, the clear determination to finally cum was genuinely all you both could think of.

you cry yourself into his shoulder when he pulls you to him, fisting his palms into your draped up dress to practically rush you back and forward— using you as a fucktoy to drench his cock in. His hips are stuttering and you knew he was close— because in truth, you were too, the continuous intrusion of his sensual tip on your pleased insides felt so fucking fine you thought you were actually going to tear up from it.

it's when it began to burn as he continuously smacked his hips into you, both tightly squished into each others embrace and melting into your bodies. You were drooling on your entire chin and then it happened, bringing you back to the overstimulation which was twice as powerful, twice as deep— pulling out your climax from your strangled rooted core as you violently clenched on his heavy cock, your orgasm thundering over you.

"too much, too much!" you whisper cry on him and itto plants one of his hands on the back of your head to squish you close as he climaxed too, sealing his lips as you pressed your hand into him. "I'm so close— so close so close." his hips were still going but slower, his calloused palm holding you down, guiding you where he required you to release his seed, paint your walls with silken white and calm your inflamed skin.

"fuck!" he moans and his eyes roll back, "inside— im inside you." itto feels empty but fulfilled, the compressed position was in any other occasion insanely unfitting and uncomfortable, but for you there wasn't a better one. His breathing was hot and the entire room smelled of sex and filth, the spilling ropes of cum were seeping right out of you.

the both of you were utterly panting and damn, itto came a lot, cummed as deep as he could and his grunts were still there— low and under the shadowy rasps, leaving it to you to finish him and he relishes in it, entirely, when being milked by a warm cunt such as yours, a claimed one, by him alone.

it's silent before your thoughts come back swirling, heated but never forgotten, you prop yourself with your arms and smile at him, but then it hit you.

"no no." you panic and your eyes glue down on your not so innocent lower region, "we made a mess." he smirks back at you, all puffed out and blowing. "how do we cover that?!"

you lift your hips and are now presented with the post nut problem, vision still glassed up and shaded by how good you were being fucked just moments ago. "wait let me-" itto helps you lay down while he sits up on the bed, his cock limply coated in arousal, "do you need- uh, wait!"

he swiftly searches around the room and finds a towel, hastily handing it to you, "thanks." you shyly mumble, still sore, "how do i look?" you ask him jokingly while fixing your make-up simultaneously to rubbing off the crumbling perspiration on your body.

"like you just had the best orgasm in the world." he sings, putting up his pants while helping you as much as he could. "you're one to talk." you tease, breathless and still hot, pulling down your dress as itto reaches out his arm to you, aiding you to stand up.

a hand falls heavy on his palm and you curse yourself for not figuring out sooner that you were thoroughly sore and done— swelling and used, especially your muscles were burning, searingly aching, "oh— easy now." itto could do this all day, watch you fix yourself after he fucked your brains out— minus the doing it in his old bedroom. His inflated ego breaks records, "are you okay?" but the concern in his voice was sweet, "y-yes."

"lets eat dinner then!" you almost forgot about that.

he rubs his belly and you nod your head in agreement, spouting out a wheezy laugh while you began to fix his hair, "— and hope your grandma didn't hear a thing." and end his sentencing at last.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[scramblescrew]

I think it’s time for the cult of the lamb stuff too begin (do the first one)

Male Black Cat!Follower Reader Being the “sibling” of the Bishops of The Old Faith

TW: [Unhealthy Relationship, beatings, drugging, forced sibling relationship, gaslighting]

Relationship type: Platonic but unhealthy

Since your birth after the banishment of The One Who Waits, your life had been filled with luxury. Being in the likeness of the bishop of death had its perks. for a few examples; you were widely respected among the old faith, you got special exemptions for certain rituals such as fight pits and Flesh sacrifices, higher positions in the old faith, and at some points, you were even given offerings. But there WERE downsides, the attention you had gotten from the four bishops was a bit unnerving. they seemed crazed since the day they met you! All four bishops treated you like their own blood..? And even though your name was [Y/N], they kept calling you Narinder....you always asked why you were given the nickname you were but Heket or Shamura would always tell you that that there would be a time and place for that. But it wasn’t now….

As you've gotten older, you were given a gold skull necklace, a charm that gave you everlasting life as long as you wore it. but with your age and more knowledge, you had also noticed a pattern of behaviors in the bishops you've now accepted as your "siblings."

Leshy:

- god d*mn. This gremlin

- he uses his domain, Darkwood, to trap you in for extended of time, forcing you to cuddle him and to hear you eventually purr.

- is he delusional? ….kind off

- he knows you aren’t Narinder, but you were the closest thing to him

- and GODS- he was so angry for what his brother did to him

- this boi is fluffy!

- when giving hugs and just hanging out in general, the density and softness of his fur(?) makes the Camilia flower fields his domain is known for feel like brittle hay in comparison!

-he essentially uses you as a tiny feline teddy bear

- speaking of Camilia flowers, since they are used for healing, Leshy might withhold them from you in order for you to depend on him even more.

- leaving you ill and consequently suffering for sometimes days before giving you Camilia flowers and bed rest

- only because his siblings begged him to give you some mercy

“Who’s tough now, huh!? Who’s the one with the power now, Narinder!? ME-“

Heket:

-WOULD SHANK SOMEONE!

- anyways- she IS VERY protective but she has good intentions/reasoning for that

- to her, you are so weak and kind of pathetic but that would be ok to her

- as long as you stay with either her or her siblings

- in case you ever got any ideas of running off in order to escape, she would periodically use the mushrooms around her grounds of Anura to brainwash you into being subdued and making you docile

- despite her crown helping her talk to some extent, Heket still expects you to help her get her point across when she can’t voice them

- she (along with Kallamar) tries to dilude herself with the thought that you are indeed Narinder returned from banishment and trying to repent for his actions, no matter how futile that would be

-but that wasn’t the truth and she knew it. She knew you were an innocent follower that was given a name and title that didn’t belong to you

-she almost pities you

“Just eat…….the mushrooms….Narinder…..you’ll feel…better..soon.”

Kallamar:

-He wholeheartedly believes you’re just Narinder without your crown…therefore…powerless…

- and he absolutely takes advantage of that delusion

- on the beaches bordering anchor deep, he’d be found throwing you around and shrieking about everything “you” did to your “siblings”!

- you took his handsome ears, Heket’s ability to speak-her voice, Leshy’s eyes, SHAMURA’S MIND-

-he’d curse you with everything’s he had, just wanted to hurt you for things that you would never think of doing

- but eventually he’d calm down and see you in a curled up ball on the ground, crying and bleeding in pain, the pain of the attacks and illness taking over you as you writhed

- he’d gasp, rushing to you and picking you up and holding you close

-he’d shake and tear up as he runs to his siblings for Mushrooms, to ease the pain, and Camilia flowers, you heal you

-he’d immediately be scolded and forbid from seeing you period

- this severed communication between you two would lead to him taking it easy, thankfully

- after he was allowed to be around you again, he’d just take you to the docks

-you two would catch fish together and feast on your catches. Talking about Kallamar’s old happy memories with Narinder as if you shared the same happiness and were there

“I’m sorry, brother…you’ve just caused us so much pain…I-…I still love you though

Shamura:

-Two words.

-MANIPULATION and DELUSIONAL

-they were the closest to Narinder back before his banishment, so they would be the one to spend most time with you

- you be using the silk found around to make thread and making clothing for Shamura’s followers when the spider bishop themself would come up behind you, pick you up, and take you back to her temple

-they’d warn and advise you against spending unnecessary time around followers

-They wouldn’t want you to get that much power getting to your head…

-“you wouldnt want to be sent away again, do you?”

-Shamura would also gaslight you into thing that you’re crazy for thinking they were anything but loving to you

“What? We love you!- We’re your siblings, you’re acting like we’re some sort of captors and you’re a prisoner! You were a prisoner when we sent you to the underworld! But you’re back now! Just let us be a family again, damn it!”

-similar with Heket, if you tried to escape Silk Cradle, Shamura would fly into a rage and chase after you, grabbing you, and secure you in a spider silk cocoon that was in a safe area of their temple before calming down

-you could try to struggle and scream but “your eldest sister” would just hug you close and sing to you

“Narinder..Dear brother..please stop fighting. You’ll only hurt yourself more…”

UP NEXT: DEPRESSED READER X ANCIENT COOKIES

[bloodycassian]

Enemy Lines - Reader x Azriel - reader is caught by the Autumn Court and Azriel saves her.

TW - themes of torture/death, gruesome violence, damsel in distress reader, savior Azriel

“I don’t want her going alone.” Azriel’s words were clipped towards his high lord. It seemed that the other part of Rhysand, his brother, would be unavailable for this matter. Azriel wasn’t sure if he blamed him. 

“I understand your bond is new, but this is essential, Azriel.” He said calmly, hardly looking up from the maps atop the table. 

He couldn’t help the way his lips pulled back in disgust. “So send Feyre, then.” He shot back, unable to contain the words. Rhys stilled, then finally, finally looked at Azriel. 

Pity coasted his features, then hardened back into that mask of the high lord. “Feyre does not have the same gifts. It would defeat the purpose-”

“Send me, send anyone else. Rhys this is a death sentence!” 

“Have faith in your mate, Azriel. She is talented, and smarter than you give her credit for.” His dismissal was not angry, nor was it painted with that pitying look he’d shown before. To his credit, he revealed no sign of budging on the matter, even while one of the few that could challenge him and survive raged at him.

Azriel saw the conversation going nowhere, and stormed from the room.

+

The robes were uncomfortable. You sighed and adjusted your position in the saddle again, wishing to the Mother you’d picked a different disguise for this role. The priestess uniform had made you look utterly delectable though, so there was no complaining there. Not as Azriel had whispered filthy things to you while he flew you to the closest stable where he was sure there were no Autumn cout guards or spies lingering. 

You bought the cheapest horse they had, and it’d been a mistake. 

The mare threw her head and nearly reared each time Azriel got within a few yards of her. It made the journey much longer without your mate at your side. You’d planned to at least say goodbye to him before you got to the Autumn border, but with such a fussy mare, it seemed that it wouldn’t happen. 

So as the humidity and heat started to peak, you waved behind you, to the darkening sky where you knew Azriel watched from afar. 

+

You had four days to get as much information as you could on Beron’s plans. He’d recently began acquiring more and more ships along his shoreline, and it’d caused a stir. Skiffs, warships and cargo boats clotted his waterways as you rode up the bridge to the bunker castle, nestled into the leaf littered ground. 

Your pale robes stood out in bright contrast against all the red, orange and brown shades of this place. Guards closed in from the trees once you crossed, meeting you at the outer gates of the castle. Two males stood in front, spears sharp and at the ready. 

“State your business.” One commanded. 

The glamour over your face was essential now, and you made sure it did not slip as you spoke.

“The Mother sends you a Priestess, and you meet her with violence?” You called back.

Your heart quickened as you stepped down from the horse, a vulnerable time of dismount would be the perfect moment to kill. They could take it as a threat, and be justified in their murder.

“I am Vivienne, of the Kallos Sea. I understand your previous priestess has…” You paused for effect, knowing that she was on a very long sailing back to Valhallan. “Abandoned her duties.” 

“How could you-” The leader began, but was interrupted by the enormous stone doors opening. 

“Welcome, priestess.” Eris Vanserra welcomed you, waving you forward.

+

“I understand that the temple in Valhallan has been undergoing restructuring. Much overdo, in my opinion.``You hummed in agreement, made absent comments while you searched the walls and doors for any hint at where Beron’s office may be. Eris made kind smalltalk while he showed you to your room. The male was charming, but revealed nothing about the influx of ships when you hinted towards it.

Remnants of the missing priestess still lay about. The candles, gems and potions lined the shelves on the walls. Personal artifacts had been cleared, and you hoped the female wasn’t fond of the items left behind. Azriel was only able to capture her because her journey to the nearest temple had taken her out of sight of the court’s many guard stations. 

“My lady?” Eris prompted, his forehead pinched. He’d been speaking. You cursed yourself, you feigned sadness, and placed a hand upon your chest. “I apologize my lord, it has been.. Distressing to say the least. With Liasia disappearing it is… unsettling.” You fanned your face, making sure that the false tears showed. 

“You’re safe here.” Eris assured, with a squeeze to your shoulder. His hand left behind a tingling, heated sensation on your skin. A reminder of what he was? What power he possessed? He looked at you, his golden gaze darkening. “Just be sure you have someone with you if you exit the manor.” 

You batted your eyes at him, playing the part of seductive priestess well. “I’d ask for you if I did, prince.” 

That got him to smile. “Please do. I’d be more than happy to show you my court.” 

A new idea sparked in your mind. Perhaps you wouldn’t need to make this a rushed, blind mission. If Eris was as paliape as he seemed to be for you, perhaps he’d give you the information willingly. 

His gaze lingered on you, even as he bid you goodnight.

+

The rotting scent only seemed extreme when your torturers came and went. The fresh air they brought with them a curse more than a relief. All around the Autumn dungeons seemed to reek and ooze with the smell of decay and half eaten things. A bucket of rats in the corner, long dead was swarmed with maggots. The trays of food you’d not eaten had been thrown against the walls, food for more scurrying things to feast upon.

Eris did none of the torturing himself. He did watch though, and questioned while a hooded and masked male did the carving. You had two fingernails left, from what you’d been able to see through your swollen eyes. They’d had some kind of powder, an itching, burning thing that they used when they’d gotten sick of the blood. 

But you hadn’t broken. The glamour was still in place, and you’d die before implicating your court. 

“You smell of snow and wind and rivers. Not of the Ocean, Vivenne.” Eris had whispered, so close you could feel his hot breath on your ear. “There is no reconstruction the Mother’s Temple. The Valhallan sages think it to be distasteful.” He said smugly. 

Though you cursed yourself for falling to such a trap, you worried more for Azriel, who by your estimation would be arriving in less than a day for your rescue.

“Perhaps you don’t know all that you think you do, Prince.” You strained for the words, little more than a whisper.

+

The hours were grinding on Azriel’s nerves. He had gotten the sense that something was wrong days ago, but he refused to act. The bond had remained quiet, diluted almost from the Glamour. He did not enjoy being so blinded from you. Without the mental link, he felt lost, like a ship without course. 

Night fell, and he decided he could no longer wait. He did not warn Rhys or Cassian, because he know - deep in his bones - that something was wrong. Something more than just his mate being late to their meeting point. Something had gone wrong. 

So, with a running start, he flew through the Autumn Court borders and vowed to the Mother he’d find you or die trying. 

+

The pain was less than a pinch, each time they drew your blood. The blades and odd things they used were nothing, compared to the poisoned prods they’d put in your back. Fire rippled through you with every breath, with every heartbeat that dragged the poison through you. 

Your eyes no longer wept from the throbbing, your voice was gone from the screaming. You held on faintly, to the glimmering bond deep inside your mind - your soul. The thick rope that seemed to be vibrating, warm and welcoming to your presence held you together. It was Azriel. It had to be, because if it wasn’t then what was the point of holding on any longer? 

You could feel something like peace embrace you, every time you’d pass out. Darkness greeted you with open arms, enticing you to fall into the shapeless pit. But that cord, that part of you that loved Azriel more than it feared the pain… it was stronger. It helped you stay, to remain in this world for a few more hours. Days? How long had it been since Eris’ guards had ambushed you? 

The question brought forth the violence of consciousness. The males before you came into focus again, and you body tensed. The fire along your back heightened, earning a broken sob from your chest. 

“Tell me where you’re from, who you’re with, and this can be over.” Eris promised, his voice like honey in the darkness. And Mother above it was tempting. So incredibly tempting to allow the words to come out. The answer to what he wanted was only a few syllables. You could feel your hold on the Glamour beginning to shake. 

There was a thudding sound, far above the prison cell. Dirt shifted and rained down from the ceiling above. An earthquake, hopefully - that would rid you of this pain faster than you’d hope. 

Eris flicked a hand, and two of the guards left the room. When the door opened, revealing silvered moonlight from the windows in the hall, it also made that decaying scent swirl and vacate the room for a moment.

And when you’d normally cringe, and attempt to hold your breath, this fresh air was different. It was cold. Downright freezing, in fact. The guards hesitated outside the door, and the screaming began.

+

“Where is she.” Azriel’s voice was not his own. It was a growl, a demand and promise of wrath if the boy did not answer his question. The redhead stammered, and clawed at the shadowsinger’s hands, his eyes wide and horrified at what he saw before him.

He let the boy drop. It’d be more likely a guard would know. Azriel was having a hard time getting to the logic of things though, when he sensed the pain his mate was in. When he knew he’d been right all along, and Rhys should have listened.

The compiled rage leaked from him like a poison. Every guard who got close enough fainted or died on the spot from the intensity of the shadows, the nightmares they saw there. He reigned them in, his surroundings coming into focus. He took a breath, and it was as if his senses were heightened in this state. 

There was a male hiding behind the next corner, beside a barrel of wine and stores of bread. Azriel was there in an instant, his shadows taking him so easily, like liquid from one space to the other. 

“Where is she?” He said the words calmly, but they still came out through his teeth. 

“W-who-”

“The priestess!” Azriel’s blade was at the male’s neck in the next heartbeat. There wouldn’t be survivors here, not tonight. 

“The cells are down the next hall, the door on the left with the lock. The Prince is there as well-” With the teary confession, Azriel threw the male against the wall, flecks of bone chasing his shadows as he winnowed to the end of the hall. 

+

The screams were growing louder, more frantic before ending abruptly. Eris flicked a hand again, and all the devices and pain actively hurting you disappeared. The torturer included. Had he been a figment the entire time? More shouts echoed through the halls. 

A smile curled your lip, stretching the skin to the point of pain. Then, you couldn’t help but laugh. As much as you could anyway, it came out more like bitter coughs. 

Eris was moving then, a swift backhand had you spitting up blood between laughs. He unhooked your legs, then your arms. He held you up by the waist, then decided better and let you fall to the ground. Your body sparked in pain, protesting at every movement. Something cold pressed to your neck, and you closed your eyes, blood tipping back in your throat. 

The cold air flowing into the room stopped all together, and the silvery light of the moon faded. Your heart thundered, every joint in your body throbbing in time with it. Pain sang through you, a symphony of aches and split scabs being torn apart.

The guards at the door shuffled, holding their weapons at the ready, then abruptly fell to their knees. There was no sound, other than the clang of their weapons against the stone. 

Azriel appeared in the doorway like a god, wrathful and wielding his power like a part of himself. Your tears stung your wounds as they fell. You mouthed his name, unable to make the word out around the knot in your throat. 

“Not another step, Shadowsinger.” The knife at your throat pinched, and warmth flowed down your chest. 

Azriel straightened, his jaw flexing. “What about her?” Azriel held up a hand, and a red haired female appeared, a gag in her mouth and tears in her eyes. You recognized her as the Beron’s wife, the Lady of Autumn. Eris’s knife relaxed at your throat, and his other no longer held you in place. Your body sagged, threatening to fall without the support of his other hand at your shoulder. 

“You wouldn’t. She’s done nothing.” Eris spat, and a cruel smile played at Azriel’s lips. Truth teller laid a streak of blood upon the Lady’s high cheekbone, carving down, down, down-

“Enough!” Eris was shaking, you could feel it reverberating through his legs. 

“Let her go.” Azriel’s eyes darted to yours, and he blinked quickly. “Release her Eris, or I’ll be sure she regrets ever birthing you.” 

“I’m certain she already does.” Eris muttered, shame weighing his voice. He nudged you forward, and you nearly fell face first to the floor but Azriel was there - and you were gone. Cool shadows embracing you, circling you like a cat. 

“What did they do- what hurts the most?” Azriel was asking before he’d even stepped from his shadows. You landed together in damp leaves, the moon’s light making you squint. 

His hands shook as they grazed over your tattered clothes. His mind warring with revenge and healing. The glamour on your face was rippling and changing, shifting between the face he loved and the one of a stranger. But your scent. He inhaled deeply, greedily, even though it was tainted with blood and something darker, more sinister beneath the surface. It was still you. Still his mate.

“Missed you.” You breathed, smiling at him through swollen lips. His heart ached, his stomach threatened to spill out right there on the decaying autumn ground. 

He tore off his top layer of leather, covering your shoulders with it. The siphons attached dulled but didn’t darken. He used parts of that glowing power to patch up the larger wounds he could see in the shadowy moonlight. Relief flooded him when that glamour finally shifted, and fell. Your face was a bloodied mess but he kissed you on the forehead anyway, as gentle as he could.

 He felt weak, so very tired and weak after the encounter. Fatigue pulled on him, even as the night air bit at his exposed arms once he took off into the sky. 

[15-lizards]

What are your thoughts on Northern fashion? You mentioned in an early post that it would be different depending on the location, can you elaborate on that? I also feel like the style changed soon after Catelyn married Ned, since she would bring styles from the Riverlands and Winterfell is the King's Landing of the North when it comes to fashion

Let’s goooo 🏃🏻‍♀️

Starting in the Neck, they would definitely be more like the riverlanders in terms of clothing. It’s a fairly similar wet and muggy climate. Everything is mostly made of wool and hemp and linen. Thinner clothes for the muggy summers and warmer, thicker ones for when winter comes. Leather/animal skin shoes to keep the mud off. Also whenever I imagine the Crannogmen I imagine cloaks and hoods to stay dry in the swamps. So lots of those.

To the East and a bit father to the north, that costal area around White Harbor is colder than the Neck. So theres a lot more layers, and clothing it way thicker. Also the Manderlys are dripped tf out they got that White Harbor money. Wyman has fur lined EVERYTHING his damask coats could put Cerseis to shame. Wylla and Wynafred pull up to the Sept with lace and silk and jewels eating all the other bitches up. Also since they follow the Faith and are originally southern, this area probably follows more southern customs (fabrics, headpieces, etc)

And we finally make it to winterfell 🤸🏻‍♀️At this point everyone’s freezing their tits off, so fur lined everything. Indoors, I think they can wear lighter stuff bc of those hot springs. Even in the spring months, you can catch Cat wearing at least one shift, underdress, overdress, AND a jacket bc I feel like she never acclimated to the cold. Lots of leather and wool for everyday wear, but when Ned throws a feast or something they get to wear more fur and velvet (even Jon gets to wear a nice velvet surcoat, as a treat). Since the Starks are bordering on ascetic sometimes, there isn’t a ton of ornamentation, but Sansa likes to wear southern-ish styles as much as she can, so you can frequently find her wearing clothes from white harbor (aka I want to see Sansa in a kokoshnik)

And then even farther north we start to see Bolton and Umber territory. The conditions are even more brutal than at Winterfell and they don’t even have hot springs :/ like Sansa and Arya could probably get away with not having to cover their ears during warmer days, but the girls of last hearth and the dreadfort have no warm days. At this point clothing becomes a bit bulky and harder to move around in. Dresses are lined stiffly and almost drag the floor, and everyone is always bundled up to the neck. However materials and fabrics are cohesive and nice atp.

And by the time we nearly reach the wall, conditions are almost unbearable during the winter. Even during spring, all the villagers in the gift are wearing at least four layers (bc I hate hate hate how the show made the people at and around the wall just chill in a thin jacket when they were near a gargantuan frozen block of ice). Clothing is a lot less structured here, resources are getting sparse so most people stitch together a patchwork of whatever furs they can get their hands on. You will rarely see a person without a big hood or thick gloves on. And even though they aren’t wildlings, you can probably see a lot of animal head hoods, bc these people do NOT waste any part of the animal

[dmed-expedition]

The road has been stretching on ahead of them for some time. Fields burnt and some still smoldering a bit, even hedges and any greenery has been burn. No plant life for what must have been about ten minutes of their walk.

They can make out distant patches of green like islands in a dark ocean. Not many of them, but most often around occasional buildings. Including one that appeared to be a farmstead, although quite a ways off the path. If someone was to stop and squint, they might make out a path leading from the farmstead away from them. Likely towards a town or more populated area.

Then here and there there are isolated fields of crops, and then an apple orchard. Its entirely surrounded by burnt land, but the orchard itself is unharmed. Then more fields, until there are regularly fields of crops and growing plants.

Ahead, a fork in the road. Where the road splits is a wall almost, but its short, maybe closer to a wide pedestal? As they approach it, it is more clearly a stone cairn, with runes carved into the masonry.

From the direction they are coming there is no signs but leaning against the cairn on the sides that would be seen if you were heading up the path to this joining point, are two wooden signs, borders painted in a bright colour to draw attention to them. You cannot see much else without stepping closer and moving around the side of the cairn.

@bathe-in-dragons-light, @professor-azran, @shepherd-to-the-flock, @splintered-faith & @the-moist-samurai