#rock and blues muse

[terranceloves-u]

[thelonelyqueenofthenight]

There aren’t enough words in any language to explain, describe, define— the power, the majesty, the magnificence of this man.

Happy birthday to you, Prince!

[sunburnacoustic]

Matt on writing Aftermath, getting producer Mutt Lang involved in the creative direction of the song.

He talks about how the world of ballads were new to Matt and Muse's sound, and interestingly, how he'd usually never let a producer suggest changes to his songwriting: "This was the first song where I ever let someone say something to me like, "try playing this note, or trying playing that note," and I'll go like, "yeah, all right", you know? Where normally I'll say, "sorry, that's not what you do, I do that."

That's interesting to me, because it has me thinking about how while Muse are a musical sponge and sort of absorb everything that comes their way, they've always been quite adamant and protective of their own creative process and integrity, and ensuring that it is nothing but the creative output of the three members in the band: they wouldn't let reviewers nor producers influence their sound, not Maverick pushing them in a particular direction, and hopefully not fans either. They wouldn't be pressured into making something that isn't true to them or isn't what they want to make (which ironically brings us to the themes of Pressure, but that's a discussion for a different post).

The song started out as a more "pub rock"-sounding song, according to Matt, and Mutt helped shape it into a ballad.

If I remember right, the music video came out after the album's release, by a good few months even, so they don't talk about it here obviously, but I almost wish they did because this is such a good interview, they're comfortable and chatty, and John Kennedy's such a good interviewer. The music video for Aftermath almost made me cry every time I watched it; this song is so different to the rest of Muse's back catalogue but I love it so much.

[melodic-mayh3m]

((Mweheheh now that she's on the blog I can finally post the Roll doodles i've done. Feat. her Rock n @magnetiix's Orion))

[galaxofmuses]

Here comes the blue boys! Good boys! I give you both a treat.

"Sonic being a good boy is debatable!"

"Pssh! Man whatevs! I'm curious about the treats tho!"

[muu-kun]

Muu finds the hardest aspect of being a person basically is that of trying to essentially convince others of the necessity of healing. That he is having to explain to a wall that has never needed to prove themselves to people before that he MUST do it, or else he will never amount to what is supposedly required of him to earn common niceties.

[speeding-engines]

Tag Dump

🌺Please don't interact with this post

[jujutsusimp]

More than a weapon

🌸Gojo notices some change in his body due to his domesticated life with you and you love it.

Truly this is just a some self indulging fluff and cheesy romance but I needed it.

Content: Gojo x fem!reader, fluff, Gojo being insecure

“I really let myself go huh?”

You peek your head out of the book you are reading on the bed, watching Satoru look himself in the bedroom mirror, pinching a tiny bit of belly fat on his lower abdomen. This man is still carved like a Greek god, but finally, he has something more than muscles and skin.

“I will need to work on that,"  he muses absentmindedly, which makes you frown and answer instinctively: “Don’t you fucking dare.”

He raises an amused eyebrow at your intense declaration, looking at you with a teasing smile. “You like this, Babe?”, he demands with a chuckle while you let go of your book, getting up to embrace him. He doesn’t resist when you wrap your arms around him, burying your head in his chest.

"Yes, I do”, you state firmly with a pout, tightening your grip almost protectively.

“Yeah?”, he insists with a smile in his voice while he gently pets your hair.

“Yes…”, you assert, inhaling his scent, his odor is still discernible despite the flowery perfume of your soap. He always washes with your soap, and you love that. “I am working very hard for this, you know...”

He laughs, and you feel his chest vibrating against your face. “Are you trying to fatten me, my love?”, he says with a teasing voice.

“Not particularly”, you answer softly, feeling some kind of happy melancholia, “but this little belly, it’s proof of all the time you stayed hugging me on the bed instead of exercising...”, you start, peppering his rock hard abs with kisses. “… of all the time you stayed watching a movie with me instead of babysitting the whole sorcery world…” In your eyes, his body being slightly more relaxed is proof of your years of domesticated life together, and you cherish it.

You breathe deeply, digging a bit more your fingers in his back, noticing his hands had stopped petting you. In fact, he is really quiet, which is abnormal for him, and you raise your head to look at him. He appears so vulnerable right now that you feel your heart drop.

“I am allowed?”, his voice is barely a whisper, carrying so much emotions. So much fragility. You wished you had the strength to hug him harder. You wish you weren’t so small and you could shield him in your arms like he does with you. “Yes, yes you are, my love, of course you are. You are allowed to live for yourself… to let yourself go”, you affirm, echoing his first words.

“There are a lot of people counting on me, you know…”

You pout at his protestation, finally letting go of his torso to grab his cheeks. “I know, I am not telling you to stop saving the world, just that your whole life doesn’t have to revolve around your work.”

He seems deep in thought, hesitant, and you cut all further protestation by getting on your toes to plant a kiss on his face, until he is the one lifting you so he can kiss you back, loosing himself on your lips with a tranquil passion. There is no hurry in this kiss, just prolonged contact and devoted tenderness until he withdraws his head to contemplate you, his hands still grabbing you by the waist and upper thighs. There is so much love in those blue eyes, but also some doubts lingering.

“What are you worrying about, love?”, you ask softly, knowing he is still tormented. He looks confused, mumbling a bit as he thinks about it seriously for a moment. You don’t press him, caressing his hair gently in a soothing motion. Only an indecent amount of patience and love can make a man like him voice his insecurities.

“Useless… I don’t want to become useless.”, he finally admits lifting you a bit higher so he can bury his face on your chest and hide how troubled he looks right now.

He didn’t say powerless, or weak. He said “useless”. You contemplate his words for a second before kissing the top of his head affectionately. You still have a lot of work to do.

“You are not a weapon Satoru Gojo, you are a person, my lover, an incredible teacher, and a funny and passionate man. You don’t have to be useful, you have so much more to bring to the world than muscles and powers.”

You feel his grip tightening a bit on your body, almost painfully, but you don’t mind, closing your eyes while you dig your fingers into his hair.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe me yet, I will just repeat it until you know you are enough, you are wanted, you are loved strongest or not.” You hammered with an unwavering voice, holding all your stubborness for things that truly matter.

“Alright, alright”, he finally relents, his emotions vibrating in his voice but coated with sweetness. You look down at him, watching him lift his eyes out of your chest. “I believe you”

You smile proudly, borrowing his signature cocky smirk, which makes him smile fondly in return. Still holding you with one hand, he removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you with love. “I guess as long as I am strong enough to do that, it’s okay.”

You lift an eyebrow at his mischievous grin forming behind the tenderness. “Do what?”

Before you finish your sentence, he is making you twirl in the air into his arms, and you gasp, clinging at his hair to not fall with a delighted chuckle he soon echoes.

Yes, it was more than enough.

[pr1ncessjo]

Jo. You asked I deliver 🤍🤍🤍

What about first kiss with wade that turns into first EVERYTHING. basically everything sexual lmaooooo. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

MDNI 18+ content ; shy/innocent fem!reader, corruption kink, fingering, lots of pet names, i'm ovulating can you tell?

tysm for the request angel !!! this is part one bc i got kinda stuck lol :P part two soon <333

losing your innocence to wade pt. 1

as much as wade teases and makes lewd jokes, he practiced an astonishing amount of patience when it came to your lack of sexual experience. he respected your boundaries (to some extent). of course, there was the occasional peek at your ass or 'accidental' boner while you cuddled on the couch. he couldn't help it. you were the most enticing thing to him and it drove him fucking mad. he was so used to immediate sex after (or during) the first date, but you really have thrown him for a loop. just as he's about to get close to you, you stop him.

"not yet..." you'll whisper with a little sheepish giggle. if it was any other girl, this would piss him the fuck off. the blue balls alone had him fighting internal demons. but that's the thing. you weren't just 'some girl'. there was something about this whole dynamic that kept wade insatiably hooked. he got to look at everything he couldn't touch and for some fucked up reason he was obsessed with how painful it was.

lucky for him, tonight he gets to look and touch.

you and him were currently snuggled up on the couch watching a random movie neither of you were really into. he had just got back from a mission, suit a little tattered and adrenaline through the roof.

"um, wade?" you ask shakily, pausing the movie and sitting up to face him.

he mirrors your posture so that you know you have his full attention. "somethin' wrong, sweets?" a gloved hand goes to your thigh, soothingly rubbing the skin your sleep shorts didn't cover.

you were trying to find the right words, opening your mouth to speak and closing it several times before huffing, clearly frustrated with yourself. little did he know, you were just has horny has he constantly was. you were simply better at hiding it. but not tonight. you physically couldn't wait any longer. albeit dramatic, you throw yourself at wade, straddling his lap and kissing him above the mask.

he doesn't deny you, but he's definitely shocked. "woah, woah, hey..." his hands find the sides of your face, leaning back as he catches his breath.

for a moment, you take his surprised state personally, feeling stupid and embarrassed. "sorry, that was stupid. i-" stumbling, you start to get off of him, but he firmly plants your hips back down on top of him.

"ah, ah, ah," he tuts, "where d'you think you're going, baby?" he peals his mask up just above the tip of his nose so you can see his mouth. "just thought your first kiss should be with an actual mouth."

you giggle, getting comfortable on his lap again. "oh yeah, right."

"alright, baby, take two. lights...camera..." he whispers, cupping your face and pulling you into a heated kiss, not caring to finish his sentence.

you're not sure what takes over, but your hips start to rock against him. the rough material of his suit against your skin feels so good. judging by the erection you start to feel beneath you, he's feeling good too.

"ohhhh, i see," wade muses, noticing how you desperately chase the friction between you two, "you wanna try me on for size, pumpkin?" he asks, but it's clearly rhetorical because he doesn't wait for a response, gripping your hips and rocking you back and forth against his bulge.

"shit, wade..." you mumble, as the bunched up fabric of his suit hits your clit just right. the sensation was new, but you were hooked, wanting-craving more.

"just wait, baby. haven't even gotten to the main course." he teases, pealing his mask back down before picking you up and walking to your bedroom. his brash action elicits a squeal from you as he quickly kicks the door open and places you gently on the bed. this is new for him, the whole 'slow and gentle thing', but there is something so undeniably hot about how you watch his every move wide-eyed and innocent. he can see your chest rise and fall as he crawls on the bed, resting on his knees between your legs. "mind if i pop the hood, see what i'm workin' with, doll-face?"

eagerly, you nod, chewing your lip with anticipation. with your approval, he doesn't waste a goddamn second, tugging down your shorts to reveal a lacy pair of black panties. if that wasn't enough to get him going, the burgundy little bow in the center definitely is.

"black and red...like your suit." you whisper out shyly, praying he doesn't think it's too much.

"jesus h. christ, baby, i'm hard as a fuckin' rock." he says bluntly, toying with the fabric, "look at you-fuck, look at you...." he starts to thumb your clit over the fabric, your arousal dampening the area more and more by the second. "ah, dry cleaning bill is gonna be a nightmare, but fuck it." he says, more to himself than you, as his pulls your panties down and circles your weeping entrance with his gloved finger.

"oh-" your hips jerk at the new feeling, back lifting off the bed as his digit sinks inside you.

"so tight, sweet thing." he clicks his tongue, trying to stretch you out with another finger, "can't believe i'm the lucky bastard that gets to do this to you for the first time..." wade shakes his head to himself with a chuckle, curling two fingers inside of you.

his skillful prodding has you soaked, biting your lip as you gazed at him flushed. you needed more and quickly.

wade notes your impatience, pulling his fingers out and examining how your arousal dripped down his glove onto the sheets, "huh, well would'ya look at that, pumpkin....someone's excited."

taglist 𓉸ྀི @maneskinwh0re (lmk if you'd like to be added !!)

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: GOJO

A/N: Satoru is neither patient nor kind. Pity the poor soul that crosses him. So, don’t cross him 🤭 (ok ok I swear the Yuuta one is up next, Satoru was just being demanding, per usual).

C/W: This man is his own content warning LOL. Mature, 18+

“So. Damn. Pretty”

Satoru snaps a photo of you bent over, contemplating the pastries. Another one to add to the infinite album of his only muse.

You’re wearing his favorite pair of yoga pants. And his eyes ride your curves without any brakes in sight.

The pants are suctioned to your rounded hips from your hot Pilates class. Your precious little cunt is so puffy from all the heat and sweat, well outlined like a perfectly packaged gourmet dessert.

You never wear underwear with them. And always try to skirt by him when you come home after your workout. Self conscious about how he always tosses you on the kitchen counter and laps you up until you’re screaming his name like a prayer. Eventually squirting all over the Italian marble.

Satoruuu. You couldn’t have waited until after I showered?

You always blush and whine and avoid his gaze. Hands squeezing down on your thighs, trying to hide how they tremble for him.

His adorable, sweet girl.

He leans back against the window of the coffee shop. What’s a couple more minutes of eye-fucking?

Satoru places his rounded black glasses in his back pocket and pops a dark chocolate Hershey kiss in his mouth. What he really wants is your pussy melting on his tongue but chocolate will do for now.

“He’s so hot.” The shrill, irritating, buzz from the airheads next to him shear through his daydream about you.

“Hey, Blue eyes!”

“Sorry sweetheart. I’m spoken for.”

Satoru flashes one of his empty, razor sharp grins. Which means it’s the end of the conversation for him, but the start of a lifelong infatuation for the other party.

Eyes back on you.

He pierces through you. 3 of the 7 cardinal sins wage war against each other within him.

The barista is looking at you how he looks at you and well…

That simply won’t do.

He approaches you like a lion stalking its prey. Satoru towers over you in less than a second. And you don’t notice.

He finds it so troublesome.

You are oblivious and tiny and smiley and vulnerable and so damn trusting. If the Heavens spoke they’d sing your praises. His beautiful, sacred girl.

Men are vile.

With horrible, depraved, nefarious intentions. They see a girl like you and want to violate. And take. And ruin. And push you to your knees. Pin your head against a wall. Shove his cock through the back of your throat until you’re choking and gurgling his name. Pathetic, pretty pleas for mercy. Hot salty crystalline showers raining from your baby doll eyes — it always makes him rock hard. The way you cry when you’re overstimulated.

Fuck.

Wait. What was he thinking about again?

Right. Protecting you. From scumbags like this fucking barista who won’t stop undressing you with his beady eyes.

He can make those eyes go away. Real quick.

You’re up next to order. Satoru snakes his hand around the back of your neck. You startle back into him, just like a wild doe.

“Sato—“

He kisses the rest of his name off your lips. Tonguing every corner of your sweet mouth. Sucking on your warm muscle. He smirks against your feeble attempts to pull away. Gorgeous face flushed cotton candy pink. So shy. So embarrassed. He can feel himself stiffen in his pants.

“S—sat…”

“I’ve missed you, princess.” He pulls away and you’re gasping for air. Sexy little pants. He could fuck you in the middle of the shop right now.

And he will.

“Hi Satoru,” you purr his name and his dick twitches, “you’re being dramatic. It was one night.”

You toss a glance at the barista apologetically. And Satoru decides he definitely has to end him.

“Can I have a small vanilla latte please?”

God. Your voice alone grabs him by the fucking balls.

You longingly look back at the pastries, and furrow your brows. As if your figure isn’t goddamn perfect. You don’t need those silly pilates classes. Satoru could work you out on his cock every day. Would be more than sufficient enough.

“She’ll also take the biggest slice of berry cake you have.” He follows, shamelessly gripping your ass in his large palm.

You muffle a falsetto whine. But Satoru knows that sound. You act so sheepish and innocent. But there’s a pool of lust between your legs right now and he can’t wait another fucking second to sink into it.

“Good choice.” The idiot smiles and Satoru could rip his trachea out then and there.

“And I’ll have an Americano. 2 extra shots of espresso.” He barks his order before kissing you on the forehead.

“Baby, go get us that back booth in the corner. Yeah?”

You give him a tiny smile that dismantles him. So he grips the back of your head for another bruising kiss before sending you off. He lingers on you walking away from the counter. Brazenly taking another photo of you. Completely ignoring the growing line of patrons behind him.

Satoru turns back to the barista, and he watches the blood drain from his face.

His favorite.

A hunter and the hunted.

“Pretty, right?” Satoru muses casually, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

“Uh, y-yeah man. S-she..”

“Probably want to fuck her, don’t you?”

Satoru flashes a toothy grin, pulling out a couple hundred dollar bills. He doesn’t carry anything smaller than that.

“W-what? No. No man. I was just. I was being polite.”

Satoru motions for the barista to lean in to hear his next words. He has no choice but to oblige.

“Well, I am going to fuck her. Senseless. In that back booth over there. And if you so much as look in our direction. Or look at her ever again, I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to stray dogs.”

Satoru palms Barista’s cheek two times before stuffing the hundreds into his shirt pocket.

“Keep the change.” Another grin as bright as the sun before sauntering over to the booth with your treats.

“Mmmm, gimme gimme.” You paw at the caffeine and cake, less guilty that you didn’t order the sweet treat for yourself.

He purposefully places them out of your reach.

“Hey! Why—“ Satoru’s large hand encases your neck and pushes your head against the plush booth.

The way you gaze up at him. Wide-eyed. A pretty little deer in his headlights. Oh he loves that about you. How he can read your book front to back with his eyes closed.

His cock can’t stop beating. Against his zipper. Against his thigh. It needs the nourishment between your legs.

Satoru wires his tongue back in your mouth. He bites down on your perfect lips, knowing it’ll get red and flushed and swollen. Just how he likes it when you’re sucking the cum out of him. He can’t feed you his cock here, not yet. But you can sit on it.

You struggle to keep up with his pace. Little moans, little gasps, little “ohs”.

He reluctantly pulls away. Still close enough to your face that the tip of his nose grazes yours. Satoru stares at you. Unblinking. With a quiet smile on his face. He knows what his intensity does to you and he can’t get enough of it.

You squirm. Eyelashes fluttering. Looking in every which direction except into his eyes.

“Look at me baby.” He strums your chin.

“Y-yes daddy.” You whine. So obedient. So pliant.

He much prefers you like this. Not like last night. Out with your friends. Without him. Not letting him pick you up or bring you home. He fucking hates that.

But this. This is perfect.

Satoru stands to his full height. He shrugs out of his black leather jacket before sitting in the booth next to you. Not once breaking his gaze.

You need to be disciplined.

And there’s nothing Satoru loves more than to discipline you with his dick.

“On my lap, little one.”

You eagerly nod and nestle into his legs. His length digging into your clothed flower. He can already feel the heat emanating from your petals.

He drapes his jacket over your lap. Concealing how your bodies are about to mesh.

“I’m going to fuck you, right here, baby.”

“S-satoru, h-here?” He loves when you sound so desperate and nervous. Satoru answers your question with a nip and lick on your earlobe.

“Pull them down.” He husks in your ear.

But Satoru is an impatient man. Your tiny hands take a millesecond too long so he drags your pants to your thighs himself. At the same time unzipping his pants just enough to pull his blushing, leaking lead pipe length.

He’s too big for you. For your petite, doll-like frame. And whenever he rocks you down to his base there’s a Satoru-shaped bludge at the center of your feminine torso.

It makes him want to lock you in his room, forever.

“Oh, oh my god.”

You try to pant quietly when Satoru slides all 10 of his thick, almost inhuman inches into you. And your warm, drenched walls clamp down around him. Like it’s the first time he’s invaded you.

He groans into your shoulder blades. Tilting and rocking you in long, languid movements. Purposeful. He wants you needy. Subservient. Under his spell.

“I missed you last night, baby.” Satoru starts his mind fucking.

“M-missed you…”

“I can’t protect you when you’re not by my side, sweet girl.” He suspends his hips and starts small, saccharine bounces. Making your head bobble like it’s connected to your body by a string.

“Men want to hurt you baby. Take advantage of you.” He continues his rhythm.

You grip the sides of the table. Your cunt creaming all over his length. Clipped, falsetto gasps and whines tumbling from your open mouth.

Satoru’s lips graze the shell of your ear and you evanesce into him.

“You need me. Don’t you pretty? To keep you safe.” His lips trail down your jaw. Nibbling little marks. His territory.

“Y-yes, daddy. I need you.”

Satisfied, Satoru lowers himself back down on the booth. Still violating your womanhood with his length.

So fucking pretty. You struggling to catch your breath and squirming all over his cock. Staining his pants with your arousal.

Satoru pets your head. That’s better. All better.

Just like how he likes you.

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part one

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you claim Balerion and emissaries are sent.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist: The Black Dread > > > next part, part two: read here

word count: 4.9k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: hair color specified reader but it's paramount to the story. Dance of the Dragons AU, Balerion lives AU - kinda heavy introduction. political manipulation, i guess no Baela, Rhaena or Alys romantic interests, ALL characters are aged 18 or older, Muses aren't in this part much, stolen Olenna Tyrell quote(s), Dylan Thomas quote.

though Balerion is not shown in the shows [HOTD or GOT], these are some of author's personal favorite fan art pieces: this this one, but maybe this color

Considering the climate, environment, elements, and location of each region with no true diverse distinction or transition between seasons, summers varied in each corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Notably, the mainland experienced vastly different summers in comparison to the constantly humid Westerosi islands.

This was expected.

Where the weather endured in King’s Landing is dry and stale - lacking cloud coverage, baking all forms of life under the unforgiving sun - Dorne was ideal: temperate, tropical, the temperature usually consistently comfortable.

Northwest of the continent, off the Westerlands coast in water of Ironman's Bay so dark, secrets remain hidden, summers on the ratified Iron Islands were cold due to the winds blowing from the North. The rocky region wet and slippery from rain; never humid, usually biting.

The Reach boasted pleasant summers; lush and green with fully bloomed gardens, perfectly balmy. The Stormlands lived up to its name and was plagued with frequent storms. These were usually warm rains - opposite the Iron Islands. The Crownland's annually hosted hordes of tourists at their ever popular summer attraction: temperate beaches. And why wouldn't they? The Crownlands's usually kept moderate temperatures and plenty of vast coastline to offer reprieve in the surf.

However, the only exception to sweltering, stereotypical climate that ransacks the Realm is the North - an expansive outlier. You see, in the North, summers are cold but winters are REALLY cold. From Bear Island to White Harbor, the dreary, overcast summer sky reflects on year-round, bright, pristine summer snow, making it glitter and blindingly glow. This results in the curation of a blue-grey filter naturally exclusive in the North.

However, tonight - You weren't ankle-deep in North summer snows. You weren't wheezing in King's Landing. You weren't vacationing in Dorne. You weren't sloshing through the Stormlands.

Tonight, you weren't on the mainland.

Tonight, you were on Dragonstone - ancestral home of your distant, estranged family.

Bullfrogs belted their croaky song, loud and incessant; as if trying to individually greet each twinkling star in the inky sky - the ever faithful audience; intrigued by this reckless and dangerous suicidal showdown you embarked on. Crickets chirped in a soprano choir; dotting around the maze of tide pools - cratered by the same porous, jagged, volcanic rock that defines the unpredictable, natural coastline. Frothing alto waves of dark navy, violent, salty sea brutally crashed against rock - the booming baseline of the frog's and cricket's private duet sang in perfect harmony.

All that was missing was a little red crab with a Jamaican accent encouraging you "kiss the girl".

Night had fallen. The winds were cold as a storm rumbled overhead. Rain fell sideways. Lightning streaked the skies.

You navigated through the dark - a slippery, dangerous feat.

Few windows of the castle gave a subtle, dim light; indicating the residents were more than likely turned in for the night. Still, despite the lack of patrolling guards and other witnesses, you remained in stealth mode. Only fools allowed themselves to feel cocky when their guards go down. When someone allowed their defenses to go down, mistakes are made, capture is imminent, the mission is a failure, and surrender to the enemy's mercy is forced.

Your presence on Dragonstone wasn't for romance - no girls (or boys) for you to kiss. This wasn't a social visit to recreationally mingle with the Velaryon Prince or Targaryen Princess Twins. You're not conducting research curriculum - no time to study flora, fauna, volcanic activity.

To the winged terrors, Dragonstone Island is a recognizable safe haven that promotes healing - the one place these miraculous beasts could relax, ease their defenses; be vulnerable with lowered guards. This sense of safety gives freedom away from the confines of Dragon Riders - simply allowed to be true, authentic, and animalistic.

Currently, a couple dragons sought refuge on the island, nesting, minding their own business; others sought rest, retirement, peaceful isolation. Several took advantage of the heat and loitered around the volcano, the Dragonmont.

They weren't just any dragons, some were rogue, wild; some released after captivity; all unclaimed, riderless. This tempted several persons to rely on arrogant luck and try their hand at harnessing the terrible beasties - but they never returned.

Summer days stretched long, giving limited time to move under the cover of darkness, and the nights progressively shortened each day leading up to the solstice. Your journey was miraculous, having never navigated open water before yet somehow arriving at Dragonstone after setting sail from King's Landing by yourself. Perhaps you had a hidden talent, a subconscious sailor mentality; maybe you were just lucky, or maybe your boiling emotions made you defiantly determined - running on pure spite to stay alive, unharmed, and without capsizing in an effort to complete your mission.

Most of the time, you relied more on logic than emotion, something that helped keep you balanced, grateful, rational. Leading with logic arguably "made" someone intelligent; solution oriented, stubborn, hardheaded, unwilling to compromise (a common foundation when leading with emotion).

Yet logic made you very black and white - no grey area. Logic is cut and dry. Logic is sometimes sophisticated. Logic is also stubborn. Logic abandoned empathy. Logic could be explained. Logic identified applicable reasonings and explanations. Logic is hard to argue against. Logic sustained battles of wit. Logic is sometimes discriminatory. Logic always tells the truth. Logic has limited loopholes.

Logic is fact driven, and when paired with your own rooted moral and religious beliefs, made you subconsciously judgmental.

There's a well-known proverb, quote, "it's not the destination, but the journey." Yet some philosophers think the destination is mundane, anticlimactic, boring, sometimes disappointing and unfulfilling while the journey is much more fulfilling. The journey is what's worth; an adventure, where development inflates, where a story worth telling lies.

Logic is the destination. Leading with emotion is the journey.

Leading with emotion develops thoughtful decisions. Emotions sharpen empathetic abilities. Emotions sometimes changes perspectives, broadens horizons. Emotions allow for differences in opinions. Emotions curates safety. Emotions heightens generosity. Emotions expands willingness to help. Emotions softens situations with compassion. Emotions often strides towards peace. Emotions structures harmony. Emotions accepts all. Emotions could be overwhelming. Emotions don't always have one, single, clear victor.

Leading with emotion makes you easily reactive, being why you made a conscious effort to engage logic; keeping yourself in check.

You often never lost your cool; always having a handle on things, but sometimes, it was a challenge. Emotions demand to be felt, and no matter how hard you train yourself and practice relying on logic, you were still human.

Both leading with logic and emotion made you passionate, sometimes synonymous with stubborn. Either way, you ended up here - on Dragonstone - slinking around in the dead of night as if a criminal on the run, trying to avoid the Rogue Prince's nefarious, outlandishly violent City Watch.

You were dedicated to the truth, hence your willingness to embark on this suicide mission. You know it's out there, becoming desperate to find it; never settling, fed the fuck up of mindless gossip the court whispered and hissed about. Enduring years of scrutiny and unfiltered rudeness made you confident, wanting, and energized to justify your claims, prove self-worth, assign relief, terminate turmoil, tension, and assumption.

Yeah, yeah, yeah - but what truth are you dedicated to? Your family's lineage and heritage, your birthrights, your position in society. Your contributing livelihood. They only thought you a young lady boasting the Tyrell surname - a broodmare to sell off. After Queen Rhaenyra proclaimed herself, you became incessant to prove you were so much more than a pretty fragile rose to be set in a vase.

Truth became your Eighth God; being a dedicated, loyal, trusting, worshipping follower. And the truth was, you're a Targaryen as much as a Tyrell, and by all means, had as much of a right to claim a dragon as any of the rest of them.

You refuse to take detours, cut corners, violate, or cheat to obtain your goal(s); arriving at your desired end result with integrity, completing your mission by barreling through obstacles with laser focus - like a predator stalking prey.

Boots slapped and clicked on wet rock, splashing in puddles, splattering mud up your legs to soak into your breeches. Heavy humidity - thick and muggy air - coated lungs and stuck in nostrils, being suffocatingly stuffy; breathing becoming difficult. You could physically feel the condensation in the air - hair adopting a mind of its own; beaded, clammy skin becoming uncomfortably sticky, palms slick with sweat. You missed the dry heat of the capital.

Dark hood of your cloak hid your vibrant hair; the material swishing, swirling airy fog low to the ground around your creeping form, creating an ominous energy. You half expected a ghost to appear at your flank.

The clanking of the night patrol's armor was heard first, alerting you to a diminishing window; sliding into the mouth of one of the dragon caves in time for the White Cloaks to stalk around the castle's perimeter walkway.

Even with thick rock cocooning your form, the rumbling of the nested dragon's slumber was heard; loose pebbles, dust and other debris showered from the cave ceiling. Despite the heat of the Dragonmont, you heard the slow echo of dripping water.

Your choice to come to Dragonstone, was it a logical decision? Or driven by emotions - fed up with the rumors, sneers, disrespect, critical judgement from everyone in King's Landing? ...yes.

Navigating a dragon lair was dangerous, but navigating a dragon lair with ZERO experience was an anticipated disaster. Surely, you must've lost your mind because no mentally stable person would dare step foot in this cave - let alone scale the depths in search of an ancient beast that could (and possibly wound) treat your charred body as a BBQ appetizer. With a gasp, you slipped on the rocks, hissing when the heels of your palms took the brunt end of impact and slit open; tiny pebbles sticking to your open flesh. You whimpered gently, jagged rocks digging into your knees as you cleared your hands and slowly found your feet.

Even with knowledge of your heritage, you hadn't grown around the scaly Targaryen counterparts like any and every other legitimate offspring. You were long divided from that side of your family, missing out on fascinating Valyrian traditional customs. It made you a slightly bitter.

No dragon egg in your crib. No hours-long practice in the Dragon Pit. No reptilian anatomy studies. No personalized leather saddle embellished with a three-headed dragon. No claim to ancestral privilege or birthright. No unique morality, nor holier than thou complex. No generational beast to inherit.

Skin free from the lingering, invasive, embedded stench of dragon hide.

You used to think learning Ancient Valyrian was a redundant waste of time, education, and resources. You were raised in the ancestral keep in the Reach's capital, Highgarden, under your father, Lord Tyrell, and his beloved wife - the Vanished Princess - which made this secret sleuthing harder to rationalize or explain, given no Targaryen ever lived in Highgarden. Never before were dragons hosted in The Reach, and therefor, a Dragon Pit was never erected.

So, you know how when you're a kid and see something at the store that you really want but your parent says no because you already have too much shit? They might've made their point by saying something, like, "Where do you think you're gonna put all that?"

Well, Highgarden is the toy box and you intend on bringing home one of those enormous stuffed animals won at a carnival / festival.

If anyone knew of this plan, they might've sent you to the medical institute the Citadel in Oldtown operates; involuntarily commit you to the structured research program that studies different mental and physical medical phenomenons.

Truth was, this wasn't even your idea. Your grandmother, who definitely either spent time in one of the Citadel's cells or should, encouraged you. Perhaps that should've been a red flag, but it was too late now, her words echoing in your mind ―

Be a dragon.

The gardens you walked through were in fragrant, full bloom; providing a sweet air to combat the foul words you admitted with your arm looped in your grandmother's. You paced evenly through the overgrown foliage, the bees buzzing to drown your words.

"Perhaps, something is wrong with me," you sulked, "because surely, it cannot be this difficult to find a match. It seems I need to lower my standards, I could not attract a decent man if I were covered in honey and he were a fly."

"Perhaps try covering yourself in shit, then," she advised with a knowing smirk.

"Grandmother."

"Well, it's curious, isn't it?" Celia asked.

"What is?"

"All your life, you've always been more Targaryen than Tyrell; fierce, loyal, impulsive, strong, enduring. Yet now, you return nothing more than a rose wilted from King's Landing's stench, moping about failed relations. Have you ever considered that simple men are incapable of supporting the love and marriage of a dragon?"

"Half blooded does not make me a dragon."

"No, but the spirit, wit, intelligence, spunk, ferocity, cunningness, and determination you display proves it." She paused your stroll, secluded canopy shroud by foliage to provide a moment of privacy.

"Not all would think so," you let your eyes roll.

"Who do you speak of?"

"Those who think I am lying about my own Targaryen parentage, citing the color of my hair as evidence. You would think I'm one of the Queen's sons, the way they whisper."

"Do not listen to busy mouths, sweet child, hair cannot be a sole indication of parentage. I know it's easy to cite, but not all descendants of Valyria have silver locks, and should anyone have anything to say, know they are merely bitter and jealous for your hair is the perfect blend of Tyrell auburn and Targaryen silver. A color that is hard to ignore."

"Yet it's not enough to prove myself to them, Grandmother."

Now Celia sounded determined but angry, "You are every bit Tyrell as you are Targaryen. While you might not appear to their biased eye, there's never been denial that you are made in your mother's fire. Pure blooded or not, you're a dragon, my sweet petal."

"So?"

"Oh, for the love of the Gods - so, be a dragon! Dragons do not fret because men don't blink twice at them, they eat those men! Don't beg for approval; maintain your dignity, instill a new opinion, demand respect! Prove your strength, skill, and capabilities - everything the courts would deliberately overlook. Prove everyone wrong, offer contribution to this war, become a valuable asset who would be foolish to send away. Establish your seat at the table and never let anyone talk down on you again," your grandmother snarled with passion. "There's more than one way to prove you have the blood of the dragon."

"Such as? What would you have me do?"

"I hear rumor there remains a host of unclaimed dragons on Dragonstone. The Queen's son and heir, Prince Jacaerys, has called for dragonseeds to try their hand - they need more dragonriders for their war. Claiming your birthright might be the fastest, easiest way to earn the Realm's approval; doubling as undisputed evidence of who you are."

"What a terrifying thought."

"But what a statement it would make," Celia's lips pulled in a smirk, wrinkles deeper, more prominent on sun-soaked, wrinkled skin. "Tyrells might be flowery, we might sigil a rose - but we are resilient and refuse to wilt; even in the heat of dragon fire. The Realm thinks Tyrells are only pretty faces; pretty flowers meant to be seen and never heard, whose sole purpose is to be left on display. Preconceived as uselessly inexperienced during wartimes; criminally green, pure, innocent - judgement that makes them shockingly unprepared for how deep our thorns prick." Both of Celia's hands grabbed yours, squeezing, advising, "Do not go quietly, my petal, make those who doubted you be haunted by their foolish choice to challenge the wrong woman. Let them seep in humiliation and regret their judgement. Allow your successful conquest to be the biggest 'fuck you' to prejudice, the final nail in any coffin of doubt. Toss your wilted rose of fear aside, petal, embrace the fire that burns in your veins; you are Lady Y/N Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of The Forgotten Princess, and you will not go gentle into that good night. You will be a dragon."

You were ensuring passage by morning light, intent to deliver yourself to Dragonstone.

Parts of the cave glittered with unharvested gems; a lost collection of rarities nobody dared pursue out of fear of the ancient, terrible Valyrian beasties that dwell in those caves. The walls sweat from combined dragon and volcanic heat, tunnels jagged and uneven; zero holes, cracks, or slits the sun could leak through (if it were up); everything terribly dark. At least there was a scattered pile of preprepared torches to light the way. A permanent odor of limestone and fractioned corpses assaulted your sinuses, dried puddles of blood seeped into rock, the scurrying critters who used dragons as hosts echoed with a twinkling charm - the least menacing reminder that you were not alone.

Claimed dragon chambers varied in size; pitstops along the winding pathways that ended at the largest chamber - a dead end. While other chambers were large enough for sometimes several dragons, this final stop could only be described as a jarring, stomach churning, hauntingly pitched ebony abyss of incalculable depth that played tricks on the mind. An abyss. It was like you were staring Death in the face and anxiety was dredged forth from white hot fear.

With a flickering torch alight in a trembling hand, you slowly stalked down the chiseled causeway that ended several lengths into the expansive, bleak nothingness. Pitch black shadows danced; the air felt electric, seemingly vibrating - alive and judgmental.

The glaring cavern besmirched your family name, hauntingly reminding that your disinheritance resulted in your late dragon bloom. The ebony airy sea identifies and heightens fearful insecurity about your estranged family's rejection, their lack of interest and care for your side of the family stinging; their rejection of familial relationships. The darkness predicted your failure, inability, and humiliation.

The cavern challenged your confidence and determination, your staked ownership and proclaimed lineage; labeling your bravery, beliefs and ambition as arrogant. It sneered about your stupidity, weakness, fear, and anxiety; belittled applied effort and desired goals; questioned your true desires and needs; tested your loyalty.

The cavern rejects any and all attempts before you could even try; unraveling your logic, shunning your emotions; proclaims reactive decisions as immature and lacking control, crowning you as dangerously naïve.

The cavern mocked your desperately pathetic need for station and acceptance; revoking and nullifying public (and private) ladyship, dubbing you unladylike - which, in itself, was insulting to your womanhood. Why do men get all the exciting adventure, but when a woman tries, she's crucified for being irresponsible? Smooth ebony waves reflected your maddening, constant effort and want for acknowledged contributions.

To the naked eye, the cavern appeared uninhabited, assuming the habitat was abandoned. The silence was eery; air buzzing with alarm, deceiving humans that attempted to see through the waves of darkness.

To a "true" Targaryen, this was just a sheet of camouflage the fire breathers wield for their privacy.

No wonder the Red Sowing was so... Bloody and devastating.

A growl was heard, something gravely and deep, intimidating and impressive. You frozen, eyes wide as if it would give you night vision, torch flickering, hands starting to shake. Then you saw prominent movement, lungs stalling and heart hammering. Slowly, a large, scaly, stained snout emerged at a sail's pace.

The more the beast stepped into your sight, your mind could only scream one thing - was coming face to face with a dragon logical or emotional? Because whether logical or emotional, this was a dumb fucking idea there was no turning back from.

So, you steeled yourself in position, dewy sweat lining your forehead to soak your hairline.

112 years After Conquest, dragons flew to war at the behest of the Targaryen family over Rhaenyra and her half-brother's claim to Aegon the Conqueror's Iron Throne. Sister-wife, Queen Visenya, rode Vhagar - said to have been the smallest dragon with bronze hide, yet, as rumor had it, still large enough that a horse could ride down her gullet. Sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys, rode Meraxes - who was larger; big enough to swallow horses whole with silver scales and golden eyes.

Then, The Conqueror, King Aegon Targaryen I, rode Balerion - the fiercest and largest, who’s wingspan could shadow entire towns, swords-long teeth assisting his ability to swallow mammoths whole, and who’s scales, wings, and fire were pitch black. Balerion was called the Black Dread and was so powerful, he could melt steel, stone, and fuse sand into glass. He never lost a battle - against human or dragon.

Balerion was also the dragon responsible for the Burning of Harrenhal, largest castle in Westeros.

In the year 2 BC, Aegon began his Conquest and engaged King Harren Hoare the Black in his keep, Harrenhal, who refused the Conqueror and was met with Balerion’s flames. In fire so hot, it melts stone like candles, the entire House Hoare was extinguished when Harren and his sons perished in the largest tower - later named Kingspyre Tower - though it’s said they haunt the Wailing Tower.

Since then, of Aegon's Three Dragons, only Meraxes boasted a single rider, but to be fair, in 10 AC, during the First Dornish War, allegedly, both Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes met their demise. Vhagar knew Prince Baelon Targaryen, Lady Laena Velaryon, and Prince Aemond as riders. Balerion knew Maegor the Cruel, Princess Aerea, and King Viserys, who, in the year 94, retired The Black Dread - thinking the beast was nearing his end. The dragon outlived every single rider.

In the year 129, Viserys died and The Black Dread stared you in the eye; curating a vibrating rumble deep within his chest that made the darkness dance. It'd been decades since anyone dared face this terrible beastie, thinking he wasn't long for this world; the pair of you curious about the other, no moves made yet.

There was no backing down, there was no turning away. This is what you wanted, for Aegon the Conqueror's mount to see you as you are - worthy of your of blood. You refused to be told you did not deserve your lineage, the Targaryen name, you would not endure disrespect any longer! You would earn your place in this Godsforsaken family, earn station in this Godsforsaken world, or die trying...

That night, Balerion took to the skies again, doing several laps in the air, soaring over King's Landing to let the residents of the Realm know - he flew again.

Your father's family hailed from The Reach, specifically Highgarden; colorful, temperate, lush, bountiful, and abundant. Your family oversaw 75% of the country's sole wheat, barley, grain, and corn production, even germinating the country's most grand gardens - which decorated a rather generous estate.

Despite the vast, open lands, there had never been need for a dragonpit before, so, when you landed your mount, he was left exposed on the outskirts of the Keep. Considering he was the largest thing, you know, ever, Balerion seemed content out there - so, you didn't worry.

It was strange, however, to see anyone without white hair on dragonback. Even stranger to the Realm to learn of your accomplishment; adding fuel to several fires.

The Green King Aegon asked lazily, a hand waving in the air, "Who?"

His mother, Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower, reminded, "She is of Targaryen seed on her mother's side, but was raised under the Tyrells. She sits to inherit all of The Reach, she will be Lady of Highgarden - "

"Until," Grand Maester Orwyle interjected softly, "her young brother, the Young Lord Tyrell, comes of age."

Aegon waved their words off, complaining, "Yes, yes, but why do we caaaaare about some red headed bitch?"

See, where the Targaryens had trademark white locks, the Lannisters had golden strands. The Starks had deep umber brunette color hair, and while both the Tully's and Tyrell's erred more on the reddish side, the Tully's had darker overtones, like an auburn, and the Tyrell's had lighter, coppery-amber waves. North of the Wall, they say "kissed by fire".

"Because Lady Tyrell has laid successful claim to The Black Dread! To Balerion!" Alicent snapped, quickly adding the snarky punctuation, "Your Grace."

"Well, we have Vhagar - "

"With respect, Your Grace, Balerion could give a singular chomp to any living dragon as Vhagar did Arrax and it would prove fatal," Otto Hightower, the King's grandfather and Hand, quickly stepped in to save his daughter from losing her temper.

"Well, she doesn't even speak High Valyrian," Aegon scoffed, rolling his eyes; lip curled, slouched in his chair.

"Neither do you," Aemond quipped in his Father's Tongue.

Otto continued loudly to prevent Aegon's response, "With The Black Dread now officially out of retirement and in play, the only choice we have is risk facing him in open battle, or..." His eyes shifted to Alicent, pausing, sighing and revealing, "Send an emissary to negotiate terms of an alliance."

"Meaning...?" Aegon drawled.

"Meaning a marriage pact, Your Grace," Otto supplied sternly.

"With respect?" Larys Strong spoke up, "But the Crown is lacking in their eligible bachelors for such terms."

"Or perhaps, what of someone outside the family? Marry two strong allies of the Crowns? Alliances henceforth might not have to include Targaryen marriages," Jason Lannister threw in quickly, but every Small Council member denied him just as swift.

It was reminded, "There's Prince Daeron."

"Lady Tyrell is actually the same age as Prince Aemond, I do not think she is looking for a husband so many years younger than her."

"Didn't Prince Aemond already secure the Baratheons through a marriage alliance?"

"Technically," Otto agreed slowly, "but given the circumstances and turning of tides, Lord Borros can be treated with in other ways should we need to offer Aemond for Lady Tyrell's willing support."

"Rhaenyra will send terms, as well," Alicent reminded. "Lady Tyrell is Prince Jacaerys' age, she might consider breaking his engagement, too."

The Small Council continued their plotting. Prince Aemond remained silent. Nobody so much as threw him a glance.

When the Black Queen Rhaenyra was informed of your heroics and your identity was questioned, her uncle-husband, Daemon, informed, "Daughter of the Forgotten Princess."

And Rhaenys affirmed, "My sister's daughter... Do not mistake her lineage for guaranteed alliance; her mother and I are long estranged, she's lived in The Reach her whole life - she does not know us. Nor owes us any loyalty."

"Perhaps she could be persuaded," Corlys wondered. "The Lady Tyrell is unwed, is she not?"

"As far as accounts go, yes," his wife reported.

"Perhaps a marriage alliance?" Corlys glanced around the table.

"To whom would you propose?" Queen Rhaenyra asked, all sat around the Painted Table.

"If I may be so bold...?"

"Please."

"Given your marriage to Daemon and his daughter's are shared with our own daughter, Laena... Is there truly need for a marriage pact between the children?"

Rhaenyra cocked her head, "You mean to... Disengage my son from his intended, and engage him again...? Like a pawn in chess? My son, Heir to the Iron Throne, married to Lady Tyrell?"

"Why do you sound displeased by the prospect, Your Grace?" Corlys wondered. "I hear the Lady Tyrell is most beautiful, and we need the Tyrell's wealth like we need their dragon, Balerion. If used properly, he can melt castles alone, Your Grace; burn towns, extinguish entire bloodlines, torch this country, melt the bloody Wall. No living dragon rivals him in size, in ferocity, in age nor experience. He's been at rest for decades now... Something tells me there's a reason he's come out of his nest."

"An omen," Rhaenyra agreed, straightening her spine.

"Precisely - the portents are cast, Your Grace."

"Lord Corlys makes a point," Daemon chimed in, "if by marriage, we secure The Reach and take back the Iron Throne with little to no carnage. Should the Greens fight, not even Vhagar could stand against Balerion."

"Prince Jacaerys is a handsome match to offer," another lord agreed, "which should help sway Lady Tyrell to our side."

"Which also frees both Lady Baela and Rhaena for other pacts - if need be."

"But if we have had this thought, I promise so has Alicent," Rhaenyra stood from the table, staring at the triangle of King's Landing, Dragonstone, and Highgarden. "Who would they offer? Who do they have, unwed, unpromised?"

"Well," Rhaenys stood to meet her Queen, "if we had the thought of a marriage alliance, and the thought to break off one engagement in favor of another, who is to say the Greens would not consider the same?"

It was quiet, a shiver shooting down the Queen's spine. "Vhagar and Balerion are familiar with one another," she grit her teeth, "and Aemond is the False King's brother. He's an attractive match, too."

"I think it's worth making the Tyrell's an offer," Corlys sat back in his seat. "They will receive us both and decide their allegiance - just as the Baratheons did, just as the rest of the Realm has or must do as well."

"Let it be done - if Prince Jacaerys agrees," Rhaenyra nodded, looking to her son - wanting his consent and participation in his own fate. Jace proudly lifted his chin and puffed his chest, nodding while nobody noted the looks of near relief on Lady Baela and Rhaena's faces. In a moment, they had been engaged to Jace and Luke without their thought, input, nor consent. In another moment, they were single young women with the tantalizing prospect to marry outside the family.

"I consider Her Grace's offer an honor."

> > > next part, part two: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread masterlist

i'm already writing it, but, poll for the end ―

[satellite-evans]

Pebbles of love

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict and his fiancée spend a romantic day at the beach, finding pebbles that match each other's eye colors <3

Word count: 1k

Warnings: pure fluff

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Benedict Bridgerton had always been a lover of art and beauty, and nothing in the world was more beautiful to him than his fiancée, Y/N. Today, they had planned a rare escape from the hustle and bustle of London society—a trip to the serene coastline, where they could revel in each other’s company without the watchful eyes of the ton.

The journey to the beach had been filled with lively conversation and shared laughter, their carriage rocking gently along the country roads. Benedict stole glances at Y/N as she looked out the window, the sunlight casting a warm glow on her features. Her hair, a cascade of silk, shimmered in the light, and her eyes sparkled with excitement and anticipation.

As they arrived at the beach, the salty sea breeze greeted them, tousling their hair and filling their lungs with the invigorating scent of the ocean. They discarded their shoes and socks, delighting in the sensation of the cool, damp sand beneath their feet. The beach stretched out before them, a pristine canvas of soft, golden sand and scattered pebbles, with the gentle waves lapping at the shore.

Benedict looked at Y/N, her face illuminated by the sunlight, her eyes reflecting the endless blue of the sky above. He marveled at how lucky he was to have found her. She was his muse, his inspiration, the very essence of beauty and grace. Each moment spent with her was a treasure he held close to his heart.

“This place is perfect,” Y/N said, her voice filled with awe. “I’ve always loved the sea.”

Benedict smiled, his heart swelling with love. “I thought you might,” he said. “I wanted to share something special with you, away from everything else.”

Y/N reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “You always know exactly what I need.”

They walked along the shoreline, the rhythmic sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop to their conversation. They spoke of their dreams, their future together, and the adventures they hoped to share. Benedict felt a sense of peace, a certainty that with Y/N by his side, he could face anything.

“Benedict, look at this one!” Y/N exclaimed, holding up a small, smooth pebble that glistened under the sunlight. It was a pale blue, almost the exact shade of Benedict’s eyes. She smiled, her heart swelling with the simple joy of the moment.

Benedict took the pebble from her hand, inspecting it. “It’s beautiful,” he said, his voice warm and soft. “Almost as beautiful as you.”

Y/N blushed, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink that Benedict found utterly enchanting. “Well, aren't you a charmer,” she said, though her smile betrayed her pleasure at his compliment.

“I try my best,” Benedict replied, slipping the pebble into his pocket. He felt a warmth in his chest, a sense of completeness he had never known before her. “But now I must find one that matches your eyes.”

They continued their leisurely stroll, eyes scanning the ground for the perfect stone. Benedict was determined, his artist’s eye sharp as he examined each pebble they passed. The task was more than just a game; it was a way to connect, to see each other in the world around them.

As they walked, Benedict found himself lost in thought. He remembered their first meeting at one of the many Bridgerton balls, where she had captivated him with her wit and charm. He had been smitten from the moment she smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Their courtship had been a whirlwind of stolen glances, secret rendezvous, and whispered confessions of love. Every step of the journey had brought them closer, solidifying the bond they now shared.

Finally, he spotted one—a deep, rich brown, with flecks of gold that caught the light in a way that reminded him of Y/N’s eyes. It was perfect, just like her.

“Here,” he said, presenting his find to her with a flourish. “This one.”

Y/N took the pebble, holding it up to her eyes to compare. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice soft with emotion. She looked up at Benedict, her heart full. “You really think my eyes look this beautiful?”

Benedict smiled, drawing her close. “No, I don't,” he said. “I think your eyes are far more beautiful, my love."

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach, collecting pebbles and shells, laughing and talking, sharing dreams and memories. Every moment felt like a brushstroke on the canvas of their love story, vibrant and full of life. Benedict felt a profound sense of happiness as they played like children, unburdened by societal expectations.

As the sun began to set, they sat together on a large rock, watching the waves. Benedict couldn’t help but reflect on how much his life had changed since meeting Y/N. She had brought color to his world, a sense of purpose and joy he had never thought possible.

“Do you know,” Benedict said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I think this is my favorite place in the world now.”

Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder. “Because of the beach?”

Benedict shook his head, kissing the top of hers. “Because of you,” he said simply. “Wherever you are, that is my favorite place.”

Y/N smiled, closing her eyes and savoring the moment. “And you are mine, Benedict Bridgerton.”

They continued to sit in silence, the sound of the waves mingling with the rhythm of their breaths. Benedict held her a little tighter, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his side. It was in these quiet moments that he felt the depth of his love for her, a love that was as constant and enduring as the ocean before them.

As the last light of the day faded into twilight, they stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the pebbles they had collected lying beside them.

Benedict looked down at Y/N, her face serene in the fading light, and whispered, “You are my greatest masterpiece.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of happiness. “And you, Benedict, are my heart’s truest desire.”

With that, they sealed their love with a kiss, as timeless and beautiful as the sea before them.

[wistfulpoltergeist]

Municipal Muses Museum invites you to the Art of Dreaming! Dive yourself into the mystic and sensual universe of Aidan Rossetti's paintings!

Today the debut of a young artist Aidan Rossetti started. Nine oil paintings in classic style and vivid refreshing palette will take us on the stormy sea of Tartosa and the peaceful Summer spot of Windenburg.

Aidan Rossetti born on Tartosa. He believes he got his talent from two moms - his artistic biological mother and the mother nature herself.

Portraits of Rossetti's partner and muse Arwin De Winter is 1/3 of the works presented in Municipal Muses Museum.

Among others was presented the mysterious picture of ancient warrior watching the raising sun. The model for this picture was Rossetti's brother Roland Blackmore.

Don't hesitate to visit Municipal Muses Museum today to embrace inspiration and fresh experience!

"The Art of Dreaming" is open from 9 Am to 9 Pm on Sunday, Saturday and Wednesday. Entrance tickets 25§

DOWNLOAD PAINTINGS (Patreon / Free)

More about the paintings under the cut↴

The huntsman's resting

Classic pre-raphaelite portrait of a young man resting on the rock. Rossetti called him a huntsman, but we don't see any weapons around which makes us wonder what is he hunting?

Cold Summer Sun

Rossetti described this portrait as a "Cold Summer Sun". A young man is posing at the beach, the wind is touching his hair and the deep blue sea with the snowy mountains lies behind his back. The sun is glistening on the water, but the atmosphere of colours is cold and gives you a chill.

The Portrait of Arwin De Winter (Dark Version)

This is the copy of the portrait of Rossetti's partner Arwin De Winter. As Rosetti refused to sell any original painting of his beloved we can only enjoy a small version of this beautiful art.

The Portrait of Arwin De Winter (Bright Vrsion)

A bright version of the Portrait of Arwin De Winter. How many of these portraits were made you might wonder? According to Rossetti, he pictures his beloved whenever he is in a special mood. As you might guess, quite often, and every time this mood is different.

The Sun Has Risen

On this mysterious picture Rossetti shows us a man standing in the shadows, but a vivid ray of sunlight already pouring on his chest. He's looking far ahead in anticipation, ready to action. Whatever he was waiting for is already here.

Silent Resort

"Silent Resort" is one of the earliest Rossetti's paintings. It's soft palette raises feelings of peace with bitter anticipation of loneliness.

Among the trees

"Among the Trees" pictures the vivid summer landscape of Windenburg. Rossetti's warm green colours under the eternally blue skies bring comfort and rest to eyes and soul.

Before the Storm

Rossetti's "Before the Storm" pictures the diversity and richness of Tartosa's tranquil colors. Bright waters seem calm, but there's something disturbing in the skies.

Soldier Island

Following some whim, Aidan Rossetti called this work "Soldier Island". Due to its solitude, hard and sharp ground that gives shelter and protection to lush greenery, or a line of alert-looking trees, standing at attention like a warrior battalion. Life is a battle, Rossetti likes to repeat, but only within it you find the fertile lands and tranquility of mind.

[meownotgood]

don't go, not yet. / gale dekarios x gn!reader, fluff, light angst, hurt / comfort, you bring gale back to life with the scroll of true resurrection, and gale gets a glimpse of your true feelings for him. word count: 3.8k

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T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale. 

The letter held between your thumb and forefinger burns with sudden light, growing hot underneath your fingertips. Fire sears a scrawl of new script onto the parchment's surface. In a puff of ash and molten rock, wings closed around itself, the magma mephit disappears. Its wake scorches the grass, stray dustings constricting your throat. You wave a palm in front of your face, forcing yourself to hold in your coughs, your throat constricted and eyes threatening to water. 

Newly formed, the Scroll of True Resurrection curls in your palm. It gives off a faint, promising glow. A gleam that almost seems to exude its own sense of vibrant heat. Your jaw clenches, your hands shake. Your fingers press into the wrinkled parchment, and your heartbeat struggles to keep steady. The thick, mushroom-laden air of the Underdark has never felt more stifling. 

You take a slow breath — although it does little to calm you, in the grand scheme of things — before you quietly utter the necessary incantation. Instantly, the scroll blazes brightly, then crumbles into stardust. In its place, your palms radiate with the same sort of incandescent power. Beams of pure energy drift skyward, strands of blue encircling you. Magic flows through your veins; it fills your lungs with a soft, familiar scent, a lingering reverie brushing over your arms, like the crisp air of a rustling breeze. 

Shudders traverse over your body. You're hardly comforted, but the forming of the spell between your palms, pressed together and then guided up, does finally provide you with the smallest amount of relief. 

Your entire system buzzes as you feel the spell's power. Your head grows heavy, magic swiftly leaving your body to flow through another — and over the ringing in your ears, you still manage to hear the moment Gale takes an initial, irrevocable breath. 

With a huff, he begins to rise to unsteady feet. Lingering, floaty spell threads seem to make every movement easier. When they dissipate, leaving him to support his own full weight, he wobbles for a moment, a palm pressed to his chest. At last, you let go of the breath you were holding. 

Gale blinks, vision returning from darkness, then blurriness. Vitality crashes through him, blissfully effortless; a waterfall of stamina he'd since taken for granted. He stares down at his feet first, at the flattened grass around where he once collapsed, and he tries to keep from growing dizzy. He looks at his hands. The front, then the back. Dirt and blood are caked into his skin — his blood, clearly. Dried, dark red traces cling to the crevices in his palms, they smudge over the ends of his knuckles. Such a grim implication, he muses. 

Still catching his breath, those thoughts are forced to the back of his mind. Instead, he's letting a smile break over his features. As if the very action is remarkable, he closes and opens his hands again, he watches the way they move with amazement. He's alive. Gods, he's actually alive. The precautions he put in place worked. He won't condemn himself, or reduce the lonely depths of the Underdark to smithereens; nor will his demise wind up hurting his unlikely band of companions. And you, you're just fine. He kept you safe, he truly did. You brought him back, he'll see you again — 

With a spark in his gaze you find almost gleeful, almost adoring, Gale finally looks towards you. 

"My word, you did it!" He's gasping, laughing slightly, disbelief reflected on his face as well as in his voice. He briefly wobbles, further getting used to his weight on his heels. Without looking away from you, he absently continues to flex his fingers, feeling the blood rushing back to them, and he forces himself to take a much slower exhale. "Oh, it's good to be alive!" 

You're glancing him up and down once, twice, with an expression on your face he can't make sense of — and he doesn't yet try. If you're angry with him, he's sure he deserves it. All he knows is he's glad to see you. Unbelievably glad. 

His chest heaves. Breathing feels startingly simple, especially when the last thing he remembers is how viciously he struggled for breath. The sudden thrum of the orb comes back to greet him, constricting him as it always does, whispering a bitter promise into his ears that it is still here. He could've lost you. It's a realization that pains him far worse than the returning demand to devour within him. As warmth returns to his numb limbs, and as he's silently cursing himself for ever being so foolish, he realizes he almost did. He almost let himself disappear. 

"My hands are still cold so that handshake will have to wait," Gale swallows, brushing his palms onto his pants to hopefully be rid of the dirt. His tone remains upbeat. For a moment though, his smile seems to waver, in a way only you could manage to pick up. Only you, given how terribly close you and him have quickly become. You're more important to him than you might realize. 

"But in the meantime," He murmurs, standing up straight. "Tha-" 

Words left unfinished, Gale is interrupted when you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight, fierce hug. 

You bury your face in his chest, barely noticing the blood smeared onto your cheek from his filthy clothes. You squeeze him tightly. Your hands grab fistfuls of the back of his robe, nails practically digging into him. Your body presses so close to his, it's as though you were both meant to encompass the same shape. 

Gale exhales, deeply, steadily, and he relaxes into your touch. Your arms around him feel right. His heart thumps, skipping to a slightly eager, very real rhythm. Silently, you focus on the soothing sound while it echoes through you. It is calming, grounding. His heartbeat becomes a comfort you wish to memorize. 

At first, Gale hesitates, melting into your touch and glancing down at you, his hands hovering in the air awkwardly, mere inches away. In the end, slowly but surely, he returns your embrace. 

He hugs you with careful arms, and you slump, shoulders untensing. You breathe a sigh, pressing further into him, attempting to hide a muffled sniffle. His clothes linger with the sharp scent of blood, and the heavy undertone of ruin. When his palm settles onto the back of your head — so delicate, like you could be made of porcelain — you swear you can feel him shake. He grips just barely, keeping you close to him. Guilt roots into his chest and his heart as a gnawing ache. Tired eyes fluttering shut, weak arms embracing you with a tenderness more intense than you've ever known, he holds you close enough to interweave you. 

Your heart pounds along to the same eager rhythm as his. Gods, there's too many things you need to say to him; but your lips tremble, and you aren't sure where to start. You want to curse at him, vent your frustrations through the anger and sorrow you've since bottled up. You want to cry, but at the same time, you want to scold him for leaving you scared. For standing in front to take one too many blows meant for you. 

You need to tell him what you just can't put into words — Hopelessness, you felt utterly hopeless when you first watched Gale crumple and collapse. Your breath grew caught in your lungs. Swirling emotions you've never felt before clawed at your chest, resounding louder the longer you fixated on him: motionless, his blood pooling onto the cold ground. Try as you might, your mind was so muddled, you could barely make sense of anything in your view. 

Back then, with messily-cast spells and clumsy swings of your weapon, you finished the fight mostly unscathed. You scrambled over to him, your boots stained from the blood-soaked grass. As Gale's projection appeared in front of you, framed with a shimmering aura of purple light, you tried not to stiffen at the sound of his voice. You focused on his instructions as best you could, despite the tremble in your hands as you searched for the pouch he kept on him, or the clumsiness to your fingers as you pressed them to the holes in the flute. 

Some part of you wonders if there was an aspect of humanity to his projection. If it wasn't just a lifeless messenger, but rather, an extension of himself. 

Because you swear, when it — when he — spoke to you, his tone was filled with a familiar softness. The same softness Gale would embody when he asked you, Are you alright? after a fearsome confrontation. A confrontation you both got out of, unlike this one. You felt the same fondness radiating from him as the kind he'd have for you in life, when you talked over a nighttime campfire, his eyes seeming to linger on you for much longer than they needed to. 

Gale's shimmering projection gave you an earnest smile, and spoke a little softer, a little more careful. Practice will surely make perfect, He hummed, his warm voice reverberating through your head and your eardrums. Do not fret. It is my utmost belief that you will most undoubtedly emerge successful. I will see you once more soon. 

Or maybe, you'd already grown to miss his gentle smile, his tender words. You didn't want to imagine a world where you had truly, irreversibly lost him. Perhaps the familiar softness you thought you felt, his projection's lingering humanity — Ultimately, it was merely your imagination. 

You've grown to care for him more than you should. You have known this, regardless of your attempts to deny it. Either of you could die at any time, yet becoming close was effortless, almost as if it was meant to happen. Dire circumstances or not, you were meant to collide; it was only a matter of time. 

In the midst of turmoil and shadows of death, Gale has been your soft place to land. You aren't sure what to do with everything you feel. You don't know what you'd do if you lost him. 

As Gale lets go of a held breath, his arms pulling you in, your mind becomes calm like still water, yet your heart continues to race. This time, his voice is as warm as the sun; unmistakably devoted. He is your sun, an imprint of warmth in a sea of moonlit darkness. 

"Ha, I wasn't- uhm," He starts, stammering, speaking in a quiet tone. You lean further into his shoulder, and Gale rubs the back of your head, brushing his palm up and down with slow, barely-there movements. "I wasn't expecting… such a warm welcome, but Gods, is it good to see you. Even better than good, in fact. For a brief moment, I thought-" 

Trailing off with a slow, steady exhale, he doesn't allow those words to come into fruition. Instead, he pulls you a little bit closer, and hugs you a little bit tighter. 

"Well, I won't dwell on the outcomes yet to befall us. My mistakes have been righted. By someone very important to me, in fact. No sense in letting such regrets continue to drag us down. We have a rather important mission yet to be accomplished." He hums, his voice returning to its usual air of optimism. "Besides, I believe I still have you to thank for doing the honors to drag me back, isn't that right?" 

When you pull away, he's smiling, the glow of the nearby Sussur Tree illuminating his face in hues of soft blue. His hair is a mess, stray strands tickling his forehead. Bruises cling to his skin, still slightly pale, and dark circles are set underneath his tired eyes. But he's here. Finally, your head tipped in his direction to glance at him, Gale gets to have a good look at you. 

Your shoulders are tense, shuddery. He feels the subtle shake of your body in his arms. Your face is a blessing to see once more, but your cheeks are tear-stained, your brows are furrowed with some mix of frustration and dejection. And as he moves an instinctual hand to cup your face in his palm, you not-so subtly lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter closed, leaving the faintest sorrowful droplet to fall from your lashes. 

Oh. Gale's heart pangs in his chest, heavy and forceful. The unforgiving Underdark might have already gone and punished him for his oversights, but clearly, he misstepped far more than he might've imagined. 

"Oh, oh no- I didn't-" Gale nervously brushes the tears from your eyes with his thumb, his entire world instantly sent off-kilter. His words ache when they leave his throat, his vision threatens to grow misty. "Don't cry. I've got you, it's alright- I promise you, everything is and will be alright. I'm here. But I… must have brought you an awful heap of worry. If I had paid more attention, if I hadn't squandered so many chances to attain the upper hand-" 

As your eyes finally meet his own again, they enthrall him, capturing all of his attention. He half-expects you to crumble. And he would let you, he would keep you in his arms for as long as you'd allow him, holding you tight, with all the conviction of someone who would do anything to keep from vanishing. Nonetheless, you don't. Not any more than you already have. 

You push him away and stand up straight, although there's little force behind the press and shove of your palm to his chest. Glancing down, your weary gaze is now kept on your shoes. You count the specks of blood dotting each boot. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, and Gale flinches, your warmth leaving him once you've separated. 

"It's fine." You shake your head, and you swallow, willing your dry throat and tired voice to function. "I'm glad to see you're well. We can head back to camp whenever you're ready." 

Gale frowns. "No, it is not- and you, you are most definitely not fine. Come here." 

When his hand grips your wrist firmly to stop you from walking away, when his arms wrap around you once more, and you're confidently pulled into another embrace, you don't protest. You allow him to hold you, until your arms are weakly returning the hug. Until every blooming skip of your heart battles the fading ache of worry. Until Gale is exhaling, his breath warm on the shell of your ear, the feeling of his arms around you more than comforting. One arm is kept around your waist, while his other palm presses flat to your back. He holds you with an intensity you doubt you'll be able to forget. 

Damn him. You'll be craving this. Craving to feel his touch just one more time. 

"I'm sorry. I am so very sorry," Gale murmurs; stupid wizard, with his stupidly soft touch and his terribly soft words. His voice has shivers tracing up your spine, your every nerve glowing from the inside out. Of course you shouldn't be this attached to him. If only he didn't make it so damn easy. "You are important to me. Much more than you may know. I assure you, I will do all I can to make things right." 

Your eyes close, your shoulders slump, and you let yourself melt against him. The heavy scent of ash lingering on his clothes envelops you each time you breathe in deeply. There's no need to admit how you feel. Somehow, you sense he just knows, because the pure tenderness found in his every touch screams: You'll never have to let me go. 

Time becomes a slow, gradual thing. You aren't quite sure how many minutes have passed since he first held you, until Gale speaks, finally bringing you back to the present once more. 

"I'm sure you have questions." His voice is quiet, smooth, and effortlessly calming. He brushes his palm over your back, reassuring you. "I know I would, if I ever found myself in your position. After what you've done for me, I suppose it's only fair that I answer anything and everything I am capable of. No more secrets. You, out of everyone, deserve to know."  

"Later," You grumble, pressing closer. He breathes a faint laugh, then a slight sigh, and listens intently to your muffled words. "Tell me what you need to later. Or keep it to yourself, if you must. I wasn't worried about whether or not you'd give me answers, Gale. Just about you." 

"Were you concerned I wouldn't return?" 

"I…" You can't help but hesitate. "I don't know." 

At last, you pull away from him, just enough to meet his eyes. His hands grasp your forearms to keep you close. The way he looks at you is gentle enough to nearly pull all of the air from your lungs. 

"I wasn't sure, with your condition and all," You're explaining, looking away. He doesn't fail to notice the flash of fear in your eyes. He's never seen you so shaken. "I know you haven't told me much, but I really didn't know what would happen to you. My mind went to the worst possible outcome, and… It was frightening, for a moment. I didn't want to lose you." 

Gale takes a slow breath, gripping your arms tightly, until you're finally led to look at him again. "Sweetheart," He coos; the term of endearment tumbles from his lips before he can stop it, tender on his tongue, even more pleasant in your ears. "I do not wish to lose you either." 

You pause, your eyes wide, your breath quick. You almost speak again — perhaps about to accidentally admit more than you should, your heart busy strumming the notes of his name — but before you can, Gale is continuing first. 

"I won't leave you." He moves a hand to hold your cheek, subtly tilting you towards him. "I'll fight alongside you for as long as I remain standing. We won't perish, nor let ourselves become mindflayers. We will see this journey through- and, we will do so together, no matter what perils come after us. There's no need to worry about me. I do not plan on letting you down." 

"Gale-" You breathe in sharply, then slowly. You're offering him a genuine smile, one that makes a feeling he can't pinpoint flutter over him — something holy, surely. You were sculpted for worship. "Thank you." 

"You're the one I should be thanking, if we're being honest." His voice becomes a bit softer, as he murmurs, "And I do thank you. If we had the time, I'd thank you a thousand times over. It is good to be back. Truly. Perhaps I haven't shown the extent of my gratitude enough. You were there for me, in a way few ever have. I won't forget that." 

He begins to ramble, seeming lost in thought for only a second before he speaks once more: "The Fugue Plane is… depressing, to put it bluntly. It is a stretch of endless gray darkness as far as the eye can see, every shadow drawing in to swallow you whole. There is no warmth, no light. Compared to that fate, finally seeing your face again after you helped my eyes to reopen-" He breathes a quiet, tender-sounding chuckle. "What a beautiful sight indeed." 

You're silent, before the extent of his words finally dawns on you, leaving you to stare at him with a grin and an eyebrow raised. "Beautiful?" 

Gale holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "There's that smile. Beautiful is hardly grand enough a word, but yes. I want to see no shortage of smiles from here on out, understand? As many as such an adventure allows us, in any case." Briefly, he trails off, hesitating temporarily, his expression growing in resolve. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. I'll be better. Do better. I couldn't forgive myself if- if somehow-" 

This time, you're the one interrupting him. "Gale?" 

"Yes?" 

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you." 

It's strange. Right now, your futures are hardly assured. He can promise not to leave you with his entire chest, he can fight to live even as he's slowly dying, and it wouldn't matter, if the universe willed your efforts to save yourselves for naught. Yet, when you speak, when you're the one looking into his eyes, no matter how outlandish it might seem, no matter what is left of the fading hope he's been clinging to — In the end, he can't help but believe you. 

Your gaze is brimming with such conviction. He's doomed. He's so, terribly ruined, and it isn't because of the threat of the tadpole, or because of whatever pain is brought on by the rot inside of him. Gale is completely done in, because when he looks at you, he feels longing settle in his chest, a present devotion that overshadows every prayer he's ever called upon, and he knows the only thing he has to fear is eventually falling in love with you. 

If loving you is to be his fate, he thinks even in death, he might finally feel alive. 

He swallows thickly, his gaze never leaving yours once you've finally pulled apart. He watches you stand up straight and clear your throat, although your expression still softens with a telltale hint of nervousness. You're precious. 

"Stay behind me next time," You scold, "There's no way I'm going through those stupidly elaborate instructions again." 

"Oh, come on," Gale huffs. He's composed, but his face is flushed. He can feel the warmth pooling in his cheeks and the ends of his ears. The blood is just rushing back to his head, that's all. "You performed them excellently! I'd say you're already a natural at problem-solving and flute-playing. But I promise, next time, I won't fall so easily. You have no reason to fret. There will be no elaborate instructions, no flutes, and no more magma mephits in your future." 

"You better not," You're laughing, and his grin only grows wider when you push at his shoulder playfully. "Die on me again, and I might have to bring you back just to kill you myself." 

"Ha. I better not draw your ire, then." 

Gale watches you turn on your heels, while he's still awkwardly stuck in place like some invisible, adoring force is holding him there. His palm presses to his chest; bizarrely, the orb is silent, but his heart is pounding way too fast. You're turning back before you've gotten far, glancing at him to make sure he's following. 

"You coming? Everyone's waiting for us back at camp." 

Gale nods. He exhales slowly to clear his head, he catches up with you, and he ushers you forwards with an arm around your lower back. "Of course. Let us continue on. Lead the way." 

[pinkslipxox]

Baby Girl

Summary: You find Billie cradling your baby in her arms 🙈🥹

Warnings: fluff 🥰

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Silence.

That is the first thing you notice when you wake up. What also comes to your attention is that the usually occupied space besides you is empty. A gasp escapes your lips when you glance at the clock. It’s 8 a.m.— you should have been awake by now, tending to your daughter. How is it that you did not hear her cries?

Guilt and worry start to build up inside you as you kick off the covers and hurry to the nursery. You stop at the doorway, your heart fluttering at the sight before you. Perched on the rocking chair is Billie and your tiny daughter in her arms. Billie hums a soft tune to the baby girl cradled in her arms, her brilliant blue eyes glowing with pure love and adoration as she plants a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Billie greets you, her voice soft and warm, smiling ear to ear. She holds your hand out to you, and you make you way over to your wife and daughter. You clasp your hand with Billie’s and she brings it to her lips, kissing it. She then pats her lap, silently telling you to sit, and you do.

“Good morning, my loves,” you hum blissfully as you kiss your wife’s forehead and then your daughter’s. “Was she fussy?”

“Just a little bit. But she’s calmed down now,” Billie replies with a giggle.

“I thought it was my turn to take care of her this morning?” you muse, admiring how adorable your wife and daughter look together. Your daughter looks so much like Billie, it even shocks you sometimes. You are sure that when she grows up, she’ll look like Billie’s twin.

“I wanted you to sleep in, my love. You deserve it. Besides, Emma and I agreed to it beforehand,” Billie teases and you raise your eyebrow playfully.

“Oh, did you?” you can’t help but giggle. “How considerate you two are.”

Then, as if to respond, baby Emma coos. Your attention instantly draws to her, as well as Billie’s. Carefully, you take Emma into your arms and give her a snuggle, inhaling her newborn baby scent and caressing her soft skin. You can hardly believe that you and Billie are mothers now. Emma has the both of you wrapped around her tiny finger, and neither of you would have it any other way.

“I love you both so much,” Billie murmurs softly, her hands resting protectively on your hips as she marvels the two of you with unshed tears in her eyes.

“We love you, too, Billie,” you smile, your heart swelling with pride and happiness for the little family that you and Billie have created.

[azure-cherie]

PAC : Who of the nine Greek muses do you embody ? A message from the muse

➪Pile : 1-2-3 ☟︎︎︎ 4-5-6 ☟︎︎︎ 7-8-9

Hii loves how have you been , I'm back again with a reading, I hope you enjoy this please choose with your intuition and take what resonates , Reblogs, comments feedbacks everything is highly appreciated ❤️

If you liked this and would like to book or would want a bigger reading on the same topic :

Masterlist , paid readings , paid readings 2

Pile 1 :

Muse of music and lyric poetry

Channelled messages: " let go of societal restraints " , " paint the canvas of your life , write a poem about a wall " , " often see yourself as an ancient women of honour " , " feed the doves "

She comes forth to tell you about your potential how you're a very meditative being , you are so good at chanelling and you should do it more often , ask her to be your guide and write down all that comes through to you flow in your thinking and the ideas that come forth

Lean more into the devotional aspect of your life , see everything with the vibration of love. The trees the humans the animals , devote more into self love and worship the gods you already do .

Learn the right way to connect to the moon , you're in your journey and this is one of the crucial times , you're almost at the end of a karmic cycle stay stiff and strong

Don't get into arguments , if you do have mishaps with someone , lean into releasing the anger through creating music or producing tunes .

Take practical approaches to life , if someone says no to you do the thing on your own , your guides are always taking care of you .

Pile 2 :

Muse of dance and choral poetry .

Channelled messages : " learn about the folk music and dances where you stay " , " when in the blues play the beats " , " give more to the society in forms of art " , " start the YouTube channel"

Your devotion towards your deity or your guides is really admirable and that is something that's one of your best qualities people online or in person admire your liking towards a deity you inspire them .

The calmness of mind that can be attained through yoga is something she wants you to do , imagine a blue beam of light when you meditate , she tells you to connect to your primordial life form your soul .

Know about the necessary sacrifices one has to do in their life , your sacrifices now will bring you rewards later , don't fall for instant gratification

Abundance is soon to come in your life but work on cultivating a sense of detachment towards money , obsession ruins everything.

There might me a rock bottom moment in your life soon , she asks you to remain in your path as a human and as a soul take the lessons and move on soon you will alchemize your pain into passion and glory . You transform everything you're a becon of light .

Pile 3 :

Muse of hymns and sacred poetry

Channelled messages : " Levitate " , " dream big " , " nice downtown tshirt " , " the life that one has is a sum and minus of that they do "

If you're interested in writing do it , there might be an opportunity approaching you soon in this sector , though there's a warning about a setback if you don't take the opportunity at the right time don't worry you'll do great believe in the power of wishes.

You might rekindle a childhood bond on the basis of liking of movies or songs .

Business sector might have new opportunities your fortune is about to change you're gonna have the power to do what you want in your life because you're the creator of it , your destiny is now on hold make the best use of free will.

Connect more to the oceans and moon , fireflies etc , be in nature more and stay grounded .

Honour your soul by serving the temple you're in your own body , take care of your body give it ample rest and food .

Pile 4 :

Muse of tragedy

Channelled messages : " Dwelling on past has no rewards " , " crazy is as good as the sane" , " time flowes and glows and you grow "

Don't choose a hard life away from your desires because you're scared of disappointing people your path is enlightened more as you connect more to yourself .

Give into dark feminine energy and live in your truth , if you remain often confused or scared work on your root chakra .

Connect more to your guides through paintings and leave offerings of metal , feathers , corn etc

It's time to finally shine you're going from the hermit to an influencer you're gonna be famous it might start small but it will build up .

Keep away from external influences that stop your growth drop bad friends and family .

Pile 5 :

Muse of love poetry

Channelled messages: eat healthy and enriching foods , read about the love you already behold , the depths of see are beautiful and so is your heart of depth.

Abundance in the sector of love is coming soon you're gonna make the haters jealous , might even win a pagent or competition.

You might have felt Beauty is your curse but life's gonna show you how it's not you're gonna be so hight so uplifted I see you shining like a star

One has to prepare for glory start by saying affirmations and working on your third eye and root chakra .

Read more about lovers from mythology like Persephone Hades , Aphrodite ares , Radha Krishna etc

The boons served by the goddess are yours to keep and no one can question that , you're being divinely blessed and you'll be happy and dancing soon .

Pile 6 :

Muse of comedy and Idyllic poetry

Chanelled messages: Search for the small joys, poppies , these boots are meant for walking , spring equinox fairy

There's a confirmation in case you wanna go for the acting sector , this sector will require a lot of hardwork .

There's also a warning regarding someone in your job your boss or your guru they might take credit for some assignment you did beware and if possible say no because that thing might get your superior a promotion

You are to search bliss in satisfaction about what you already have the moon is to be admired by you the power to be soked it , are you ready for the full moon .

You're intelligent and people really admire you for that , gemini energy.

Move in your life in your true path of light don't be afraid or dim your light , your aura might have hints of white colour .

Pile 7:

Muse of epic poetry

Chanelled messages: Blow the bubbles up , get into kitchen witchery, Artemis , cry me a river

Don't give people the benefit of the doubt if you don't like someone let them go .

Fame is eminent in your energy, life coaches might help you , your aunt is giving you good guidence follow her .

Do your school projects and specially eat tangerine and other fruits that make you feel happy

Serve the world and create peace each small step is a long one in the collective , small things create big impact do your part and be sure of the effects .

Moon water energy and full moon is great for you to invite luxuries in your life , ground your root chakra and connect to your third eye your ancestors will be sending you messages.

Pile 8 :

Muse of astronomy

Chanelled messages: Fly me to the moon , peals and sandbox , honesty is the best policy , go go cheerleader

The first message for you is to balance all your chakras it's crazy my oracle deck pulled all chakra cards omg I feel like there soon will be a kundalini awakening for you

You're almost in your last stage of awakening get into the cosmic dance of life your life is about to change , abundance is coming

Hard message to get through but someone in your relationship might be cheating or there might be someone who has an eye on your partner and might try to frame them . Only for some people

Listen to your higher self write a letter to them

Your path from now on is of the hermit it might be lonely but it's worth it discoveries are on your way in fields of history, psychology, quantum mechanics etc.

Pile 9 :

Muse of history

Chanelled messages: 13 missed calls , glow up is loading , search in the Egyptian archives , glow and peach coloured cheeks

The number six is significant, also specifically for someone there's this person who is delaying your glow up by doing some nasty as spell , might be a close friend

You are ignoring some signs from the universe , they're coming again and again and you're ignoring it look into it closely , you're elevating in your consciousness.

Your energy levels are high and you're matching ahead in your journey setbacks are never the end the sheer power of desire iss enough to keep going .

You're slowly climbing the stairs of life to become confident and assertive you might even call upon a partner soon who is very sure about themselves.

You should plant more trees and learn about them about their origination etc , i specifically get about Tulsi and the lore behind it . Some others would be eucalyptus, basil and marigold.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this

Have a great day/ night ♥️🌹