#this is me manifesting through my delusions

[furubaycrossing]

i have a confession to make:

i am absolutely delusional

[ginasdiary]

you will get everything you want at the right time 💌 ~ just a little reminder

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

such kind of lyrics always make me think of young carlo 😭😭 (this song is so fun but its on ru)

[kalki-tarot]

PAC - WHY SHOULD YOU FOCUS ON YOURSELF INSTEAD OF YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE RIGHT NOW ?

Just meditate and ask your guides/higher power to provide you insight.

Allow me to tap into your energy. 🧿

My readings are always honest and I don't sugarcoat things, pls read at your own risk. And try to have an open mind. 🙏🧿💕

Pile 1

Cards - 7 of wands, 6 of pentacles, 8 of wands

Are you in a hurry to meet them? Your future spouse? You are rushing things and trying to get ahead of your circumstances or the present reality. You know what pile 1? You still have a lot of parts unhealed of your soul. And this is not allowing you to fly freely as you should. You may feel like your fears are greater than you, but trust me they are not. You have all the power over your fears!

In the hurry of meeting them, you are forgetting your own self. You need to love yourself first before loving someone else. You should give yourself more time to think and process things. You should try to ground yourself in the present. Try to do root chakra and sacral chakra healing. Your fears have created some energy blocks which aren't helping you at all.

Don't worry, your desire of wanting to meet the one for you is being addressed by the universe. You will get what you want. But you need to heal yourself first. Clear your karma and self doubts.

Pile 2

Cards - 10 of pentacles, 7 of cups, 4 of pentacles

Pile 2 my loves, are going through a spiritual transformation or awakening right now. You can't miss any steps in the journey right? Please focus on healing yourself more.

Okay, so I can see that you are trying to manifest love and abundance in your life or you are just dreaming and visualizing about it. Let me tell you this one thing, that it definitely is working in your favour but you also need to break the walls of protection that surround you. You are scared to go outside and meet new people. Dear, please understand that you need to get out of your dreams and delusions and actually step out of your comfort zone to meet your future spouse.

Your future spouse on the other hand are too trying to heal their inner child wounds. They are saying that you need to get stable in life. You lack grounded energy and are underconfident about a lot of things. Please try to let go of any insecurities that surround you. Because they are hampering your growth, pile 2.

Pile 3

Cards : Temperance, 7 of wands, 5 of cups

Do you have this tendency to get depressed whenever you don't get any messages from the pick a card readings of? Don't be dependent for love on anyone, not even your future spouse. Love them, but stay away from unhealthy attachments. The reason of their no communication is because they are busy. They are working hard in their career right now. And you too should now focus on your career and goals.

Everything is well when taken in moderation. Balance love and career both logically and like a healthy human being please. You also have this tendency to run away from problems or sadness and indulge yourself in overworking don't do that.

Some of you could be in same sex relationships and you are thinking that things won't work out. Well, things would work out if you make them work out. Try to take bold decisions and stand for that decision.

Don't look back at the past, this is the final step to meet your fs. Just keep going.

Pile 4

Cards : Strength, 9 of cups, 4 of swords

You lack compassion for your own self. You are someone who gives everything to others but feels bad for giving it to yourself. You may connect well with plants and animals or just nature in general. Try to work on your self worth and don't critisize yourself too much.

You have many things to deal with right now. You have many parts unhealed. Try to relax and rejuvenate more physically as well as mentally and spiritually. It'll be good for your overall well being. Try to play with pets or just stroll in nature for sometime to refresh your mind.

You feel like there's so much competition somehow (?) And try to give yourself small rewards for accomplishing tasks. Try to celebrate your small successes please. You need to celebrate yourself more in order to attract the right partner for yourself.

You need to be in the energy of self love and good self worth to attract good partners who emit the same frequency. Do you understand? Lots of love to you.

[randomdragonfires]

Moon Song | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.

WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!

WORD COUNT | 6.6k

A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)

RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.

A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…

The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.

Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.

Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.

“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.

She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!

He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.

He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it. 

As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them. 

I need you to believe me.

In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.

He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen. 

His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks. 

He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him. 

Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?

Why?

His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.

"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise. 

The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.

What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.

How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?

THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.

In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.

This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.

Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.

This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.

“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying. 

Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.

In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.

During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.

In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.

Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.

As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.

As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.

"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.

Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud. 

"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library. 

Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?

And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.

The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.

His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.

ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.

But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.

Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.

He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.

How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...

But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?

He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.

Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.

The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.

The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.

Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.

Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.

He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.

Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?

The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.

As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.

She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.

Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.

A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye. 

Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.

He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.

THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.

“Wife.”

As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.

Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.

Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?

As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well. 

She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness. 

She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back. 

“Are you… well?”

The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.

“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”

Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow?  I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?

He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”

“It was an accident.”

He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.

“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband

“You don’t believe me.”

“You killed him!”

She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?

Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces. 

Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.

“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”

He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage. 

“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”

It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.

As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.

In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them. 

And then Luke surfaces, yet again.

He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days. 

Not Luke’s. His.

“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”

“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.

The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.

“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.

He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.

“Mine.”

She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.

She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else. 

Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.  

The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.

Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions. 

Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.

He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?

His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.

He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.

As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.

As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.

She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way -  where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.

Cursed bastard.

Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.

In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.

This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.

And then, her breathing ceases.

The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.

She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.

With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.

As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.

Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side. 

Aemond is free.

NO TAG LIST. Please follow @randomdragonfics and turn on post notifications for all my fic updates!

MASTERLIST

[icyg4l]

PAC: What Upgrades are Coming Into Your Life?

Hello beautiful people, so sorry for the delay on readings. I've been really distracted lol. But tonight marked the end of the $5 4/20 weekend sale. I am grateful for those who have purchased a reading. Now, if you would like to purchase a reading, please read my guidelines and let me know! (They will be regularly priced until another sale comes along). Now, this weekend’s PAC will be all about the upgrades that are coming in your life! Whether that’s in your career, home, family, finances, love, etc. We’ll find together! So without further ado, please pick your Megan baby. 🤭

Top Left-to-Bottom Right (1-4):

PIle One, I feel like things have been getting hectic in your life. I think that this is a group of people who can get easily distracted by the small things. A lot of you are going through a breakup/separation from someone that betrayed you or love bombed you. I can feel my throat tightening as I’m typing this. I’m sorry, Pile One but this is a blessing in disguise. I think that this will be a death/rebirth period for you. I am seeing snippets of the Hiss video, specifically when Megan is dressed in all silver. I think you will come out stronger than ever. When I say stronger, I mean you will be less tolerant with other people’s bullshit and having better boundaries. I feel like someone tried to dominate you and as a result, it ruined your self-esteem. I see you taking some time to yourself and realizing who the fuck you are. You need to know that things will get better. Anything that happens over the course of the next seven days is meant to happen, Pile One. 

Cards Used: The Empress (RX), Prince of Cups, 7 of Swords, Strength, The Hermit, 3 of Swords (RX), The Magician, Temperance (RX), The Lovers (RX). 

extras: “bovine”. playing the dozens. hbcu bound. 1H lilith. a full shopping cart. laughter.

Pile Two: If you suffer from insomnia, you will absolutely start to get better sleep. Pile Two, you’re such a smart worker. I know you don’t like to work hard, and you will be getting a reward for that. I see a promotion coming your way. If you have a boss that has an explosive temper, I see that this will happen within the next three weeks. Your life also seems chaotic like Pile Two. You also seem like the obsessive type. I feel like this is a pile full of nightowls as well. Part of your upgrade process will mean embracing your shadow side. I think that you have some trouble with other women (if you’re a woman), or having trouble embracing your soft side. It is okay to be vulnerable. I also see if you’re on the search for a new car, then a woman will co-sign a loan for you. It seems like you will be changing from the inside out. The longer it takes for you to address the issues that you have going on internally, the longer the results will come. I am seeing that when you finally decide to open up and be vulnerable, the physical changes will manifest. For example, if you want longer hair, your hair will grow two inches. If you want to change your life, change your mind Pile Two. And I’d recommend you look up the term ‘limerence’. Start making changes to become more grounded and less clouded by delusions, fantasies and looping thoughts about stuff that does not exist in your reality. It’s time to let them go, Pile Two.

Cards Used: 4 of Cups, Queen of Cups, The Chariot, Ace of Discs, 3 of Discs, The Devil, King of Cups (RX), The Tower, 9 of Swords

extras: listening to nightcore. “egoic”. meat market. fresh beat band. beauty shop (2005). picker-upper.

Pile Three: Your hard work is finally going to pay off. You’ve been obsessing over your work and dedicating so much of your time to it. It is finally going to receive some recognition because you decided to not give up on your dreams. As a result, I see that your dream lifestyle will be well-funded. If you’re an artist or a clothing designer, this will especially resonate with you. The amount of time that you spent on your passion will be appreciated by many eyes, Pile Three. If you’ve been having a hard time accepting someone for who they are, or if you have been struggling with your emotions in general, I see that you will get a handle on it. And also, if you’re looking for a vendor, you will find one! You are being called to continue to focus on your craft. I am channeling this interview of GloRilla where she says that she abstained from relations with men, partying and alcohol for sixty days before she blew up. Then FNF was released, and that marked the start of her mainstream journey. So, keep going baby!!

Cards Used: Wheel of Fortune, Strength (RX), 5 of Cups, Queen of Cups, 7 of Cups, Princess of Discs, The Devil, 3 of Discs, Temperance, The Star

extras: christina aguilera. spiders. a series of unfortunate events. award shows.

Pile Four: The only way that you can learn from your mistakes is if you actually implement the lesson into your life, Pile Four. I can tell that you’re stubborn. Once you really understand that nothing can change if YOU don’t move things around, you will know how powerful you are. Some of you may have a really thick (and attractive) accent. I think that you can use this to your advantage to make things shake for you. Pile Four, do you really know yourself? Like outside of the things that you do and have, who are you? It is time for you to do some soul searching, my love. It feels like I am talking to a shell of you. I think that the upgrades that are coming in will involve other people. You will find someone who helps you embrace your rawest, natural self. I also think that you will be interested in fitness and will find a workout partner. Investing in yourself physically will impact you emotionally. You do not need to go back to your old self because they’re gone. Take pride in this new you. I feel that your spirituality will strengthen as well. Your boundaries will grow stronger, and as this happens, you will lose more friends unfortunately. But I don’t think you’ll be affected by it. Overall, I feel like this pile will gain a lot of clarity and mental strength to start breaking generational curses and shedding old skin. You got this, Pile Four!

Cards Used: 8 of Cups, The Star, Death, 9 of Swords, 7 of Wands, The Fool, Temperance, Page of Wands, The Lovers

extras: “you smell good.” “be you.” jump by tyla. maison margiela. kick-ass. wwe.

[ryin-silverfish]

Me, staring at the "Nezha is eternally 12/Nezha is often depicted as a kid so he's just a kid and nothing else" crowd: man, have you heard of Child Manjushri a.k.a. Wenshu Tongzi

(This is totally not an excuse for me to find cool statue pictures and talk iconography)

So, here is Bodhisattva Manjushri in his standard "graceful aristocratic prince" form, riding his azure lion. The statue in the picture doesn't have it, but oftentimes, he'll also be holding a flaming sword that symbolizes wisdom's ability to cut through ignorance and delusions.

This is "Holy Old Monk Manjushri", a variant that I came across a few times while temple-touring, but couldn't find many good online pictures of. It seemed like a thing that was popular around Mt. Wutai, based on the "Buddha-palita met Old Man Manjushri" tale. Sometimes his BFF Samantabhadra is depicted as an old man too, for matching purposes.

And this is Child Manjushri, with his five hair buns, often worshipped in an esoteric context. On Mt. Wutai, there are five major temples atop five peaks, each worshipping a different form of Manjushri, and the "middle peak" temple has a Child Manjushri in their main hall. Like, it's far from the most common variant, but neither is it this super obscure form that no longer enjoys active worship.

Lastly, just for fun: this is Yamantaka, a guardian deity/Wisdom King, who, in Tibetan Buddhism, is believed to be Manjushri's wrathful form.

If you wouldn't call Manjushri "the eternal child Bodhisattva" just because he has a child form, why would you say Nezha is an eternal child when he, too, has both child and adult forms?

Even though Nezha's child form is vastly more popular and well-known than Child Manjushri, I think my point still stands: A deity is capable of having multiple manifestations, of varying ages and appearances, each fulfilling a particular function and niche——none of which is the "One True Form TM", just different clothes they wear based on occasions and audiences.

To stretch the analogy a little, Manjushri's child form is the formal dress he puts on before attending a religious event, while Nezha's child form is the lotus T-shirt he wears a lot while appearing on TV, to the point it becomes his most iconic attire.

This doesn't mean he only has a single shirt, for goodness sake, and using his child form as evidence for the "eternal child" claim is like saying Nezha's only allowed to wear that one shirt and nothing else.

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Masturfesting w/ Mikey

♡ NSFW, fem reader, masturbation + manifesting, delusion, established friendship, panty stealing, perv!Mikey, college au ♡

note: my beautiful moot @i-literally-cant-with-this gave me this little idea 🩷 I started at 2am and finished around 3, its 6:30 right now so yeah lol I need some rest

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You and Mikey had always been close growing up, and that didn't change one bit when you two got to college. Of course he was still out partying and fighting with his friends, those things, along with your presence, were the only things he kept consistent. But a lot of things changed, he started becoming more aware of himself, of his feelings towards you, and of his place in your life. He knew he wanted a relationship with you, but wasn't sure how to approach you. So he did what he thought was best and started doing some research.

He discovered a lot of romance coaches, wikiHow articles and unhelpful stuff like that, but then he struck what he thought was a gold mine. He discovered the spiritual side of love, specifically types of love potions and spells. He was never one to believe in magic but it couldn't hurt to try. The one that caught his eye? Masturfesting. It was so disgustingly delusional, it just had to work. And so, he started a routine. Everytime he was hard, he'd go on your social media pages, scroll through, and find a picture he could get off to. He'd start off slow, savoring the moment and imagining your pretty hands wrapped around his dick. He'd finish pretty quickly, staining his phone and the picture of you on the screen with gooey strings of cum.

This became a daily occurrence for him, but as of late he felt like it wasn't working. He needed to go further, to do something more…risky. So he walked to your dorm after class, under the false pretenses of having a study session. You two were in your room laying on a pile of pillows on the floor, flipping through textbooks, when suddenly you had to use the bathroom. You left the room, giving Mikey the chance to take his masturfesting to the next level. He rooted around in your dirty laundry, stealing a pair of your panties and pocketing them for himself. You came out of the bathroom and were none the wiser.

After the study session was over he went back to his dorm, rushing to the bathroom to make use of your panties. The soft material felt like heaven wrapped around him, and he couldn't help but imagine thrusting into your pretty pussy instead of his hand. The way they felt, the way they looked, the way they smelled, everything turned him on and made him even more determined to have you for himself. He fully believed that his disgusting actions would result in you unknowingly falling head over heels for him, and maybe it would…or maybe he's just delusional as all hell. Either way he's not gonna stop, not anytime soon, not until he's sure you'll want him as much as he wants you.

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies

[rewritingcanon]

nextgen characters and their type of “delulu”:

rose: she believes she deserves everything in life, and naturally she’ll get everything she wants bc shes awesome. like if something doesn’t go her way it’s literally never her fault. she’ll blame it on the most randomest things before she ever thinks to accept responsibility. it’s not her fault dark reunion is out to get her.

james: he’s not delulu he’s just actually delusional. about literally everything. not in the funny haha way. it’s causing him so much strife, somebody please ground this poor man.

albus: i’m sorry but he does have main character syndrome despite going on and onnn about how he doesn’t want attention and he doesn’t want people looking at him. he absolutely does want it he just doesn’t want people thinking about him as only a side character to his dad’s plot. he’s differenttttt guyssssss he’s so much more interestingggg 🙄

scorpius: king of delulu. like every type of delulu. have you ever seen any interaction with him and rose (“she told me to go eat rocks she wants me soooo bad 🤭”). do you remember the nicknames he gave himself. do you remember how his go-to plan was screeching at a newborn infant when he and al got stuck in time. and then he just carries on with his life like that all ain’t nothing. this is all such unreal levels of delusion it’s almost inspiring.

delphi: also unreal levels of delusion but it’s not inspiring it’s just concerning. i think the entire plot of hpcc would go under this.

teddy: so delulu it’s sort of sweet. and it’s for sure completely in the way young teenage girls use ‘delulu’ when talking about their crushes like he will get excited if his crush sends him one 1️⃣ look. he’s convincing himself that the celebrity they thirst over sort of looks like him kinda 🤔. he’s doing the name compatibility and zodiac compatibility and mbti compatibility tests online. he’s getting a palm reading done to see if they end up together. he’s writing “me and x are getting married” 300 times in his diary as a manifestation.

victoire: i feel like delulu is a scale in the shape of a horseshoe, stay with me yall. like on one side you have very delusional and that’s like scorpius level of goofiness. and that’s like comfortable delusion, in the clouds sort of delusion. and then on the other side, you’re so hyperaware of everything happening in life and all of your flaws and problems that i wouldn’t even call it grounded, at this point you’ve sunk through the ground and you’re just dangling there. to the point where this is also being delusional but you think you’re too aware to be it, and on that side you have james. and the people who are the least delusional are in the middle of the horseshoe and walk along the balance. and that’s victoire except she’s holding on for dear life to not get knocked either way. smiling through the pain though.

lorcan: lorcan will say the most mortifying thing imaginable or act super embarrassingly against his will to someone and as a coping mechanism he will actively convince himself that what he did wasnt that bad or he will comfort himself by thinking of scenarios where he did something different, so vividly to the point where he almost believes it.

lily: she’ll see a professional stunt artist or a oil painter with years of experience or a seasoned dragon trick rider and she won’t ever be impressed because she genuinely believes she could do all of that. “my toxic trait is that i think i can” ahhh.

lysander: if you look at him without an overly friendly expression on your face he’s going to believe you’re an opp.

hugo: he thinks he’s a good dancer bless his heart

roxanne: she genuinely thinks she’s a suave jock but she keeps tripping on air

dominique: when caught out in a lie during an argument, she immediately switched to “believe what you want to believe” and exits. she’ll still believe she was right too. #womeninmaledominatedfields

[kit-williams]

I think Leman, Horus, Lorgar and Emps would be terrifying yanderes.

They all are terrifying Yanderes and like the others I'll point out why!

Yandere Leman! He's cunning! He plays the roll of the idiot brutish barbarian king who rather you all think he is something that he isn't. So either he can start the relationship off between him and his darling with deception just playing the fool while he is pulling strings in the background (I mean he's also a strong psyker in his own right as well). He's probably also less squimish in using force with his darling. He snarl and snap his jaws at her to get her to obey... to herd her where he wants her to go. I also see him being very reward based... he's going to train his darling on how to behave.

Yandere Horus! Oh he's the ultimate honeytrap! He'll lure you in with sweet charming words and his charisma... the darling might not notice anything is wrong as he bottles up his obsessive nature... he stores it all inside how paranoid he feels when other men look at you with lustful jealous gazes... how easily he could butcher an entire room of mortals for you! And once he starts falling to Chaos... he starts to say the silent part out loud.

Yandere Lorgar! @moodymisty has literally the best Lorgar piece and I can't see this man just not absolutely worshiping his darling. Loving every crevice of her and part of her just was basically made for him to love. Oh this man will croon and go on about how you two are clearly soulmates and it's meant to be... even if he's telling you this while tears are running down your face after he's taken you after slaughtering your family. You just were trying to broker peace but you aren't in charge of anything... the imperium's mercy can extend to your planet through you and Lorgar's favor through you as well. He'll happily kiss those tears away!

You know something like that for Lorgar.

Yandere Emperor! I have said my piece several times on why this man terrifies me. He is the ultimate yandere. You either change for him or he will change you. You might not even realize what is happening because of just his psychic might just changing the way you think and act perhaps becoming something completely unrecognizable to who you were? But as with how I've been writing the 40k yandere's we're saying they're in love with who their darling is already. Few delusions of how you'll act because they're all super smart and probably have been stalking you so they already know how you'll be. For the emps... he just has to look at you... tug a thread of you floating around in the inmaterium to know everything about you and I'm certain if a man like him finds someone that he likes he follows the thread.

He literally could be living a double life all the while being a warlord... his darling completely unaware that the poet (or really anything) she is seeing is in fact just some psychic manifestation of him or something (shit also apply this to 40k emps with the star children or his souls/other obscure lore) but just the fact he can be whatever he wants... he's the perfect bait to lure his darling in. He's someone who knows how to play a role to get what he wants and perhaps that role lasts until he ensnares them or until they die... its up to him how long he wants to pay a game.

I have a lot of thoughts about the emps...

Weirdos who like to hear my thoughts: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon & @sculptorofcrimson because I said yandere emps

[karadottir111]

there’s no such thing as delusion. there’s only reality. if it helps you to think you’re being “delusional” to get where you’re going do it. i know for myself last summer was when i started to lock in and really start to manifest. it took discipline and emotional regulation helps you a lot. don’t put any limits on yourself you don’t have to do this or that or this or that to manifest. self concept is good because when you get your manifestion you won’t spiral. but that’s not the point of this post. the point is there’s no such thing as delusion and in my experience it can help you to start thinking “delusional” i don’t like to call it that but if that helps you guys do it. in my experience when i started thinking that way constantly that was when stuff locked into place for me and eventually i realized it wasn’t being delusional and that there’s no such thing as delusion. one of my favorite quotes to keep in mind is “it’s only delusional until it’s done”

you got this guys even if you think you don’t even if you doubt you still got this. and if you are one of those people with doubts i get you guys i was where you are. but you have to be stronger than the doubts. strong enough to push through the doubts. you got this. we all got this no matter what because if you have it internally, reality has no choice but to conform.

switch your thoughts to what you want and its done the moment you switch those thoughts. don’t let the old story win. you got this guys. i believe in you

don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do. remember you are the god of your own reality.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

the antichrist's wellness influencer era

HELLO, SINNERS, welcome to my youtube channel, I'm Adam, the Antichrist, Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this World, father of lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness.

Today I want to talk to you about the law of attraction, a trend that's been circulating in the self-improvement community recently. And hey, I'm all about the law of attracting! TODAY WE'RE MANIFESTING OUR BEST, MOST SINFUL LIVES.

Now I know some of you are skeptical. Manifestation? What kind of nonsense is that, it's not for us Satanical sinners! Well, I'm here to tell you that is ABSOLUTELY IS. NOT JUST MANIFESTATION, BUT ITS SINFUL BROTHER, DELUSIONS.

LET ME SHARE A REAL LIFE STORY.

I HAVE USED MANIFESTATION MYSELF. IN FACT, I USED IT AT THE EARLY AGE OF ELEVEN. I USED IT TO REVERSE THE APOCALYPSE! Not only that, I delusioned my way out of my bloodline of darkness, made myself related to my adoptive family, created duck aliens, possessed my friends and defied heaven and hell!

SO YOU SEE, YOUR DELUSIONS CAN NOT ONLY MANIFEST YOUR FUTURE, BUT ALSO REWRITE YOUR PAST. BE DELULU. IT WORKS.

Of course, I then reclaimed my Antichrist identity for this Youtube channel, because my good friend Pepper said I needed to stick it to the patriarchy and shake the status quo of the current self-improvement clime. She then said this is not what she meant by that, but HEY! THE LESSON IS, DON'T FOLLOW THE PACK, CARVE YOUR OWN PATH, EVEN IF IT'S A STUPIDER ONE!

MY GOOD FRIEND CROWLEY ALSO MANIFESTED HIS WAY THROUGH THE DREAD SIGIL ODEGRA, DRIVING HIS CAR INTO FLAMES AND EMERGING THE OTHER SIDE.

ALL BECAUSE HE WAS ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY DELULU!

I TURNED THE HELLHOUND INTO MY LIL DOG NAMED DOG, AGAIN THROUGH SHEER DELULU!

THAT'S ALL FOR TODAY, SINNERS. I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND THE POWER OF DELULU.

AS USUAL, MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR DAILY MINIMUM OF THREE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS. I'M GOING WITH SLOTH, GLUTTONY AND PRIDE! COMMENT BELOW WHAT SINS YOU'RE INDULGING IN TODAY, TRADITIONAL SEVEN OR OTHERWISE.

SIGNING OFF WITH MY SIGIL, THIS WAS THE ANTICHRIST. MAY SATAN GUIDE YOU DOWN THE ROAD TO HELL.

[viasdreams]

via how many nct members do u think are actually fruity and how many do you think just act gay bc its one of the things straight guys think is funny for some reason (mostly asking bc i need to know which one u think yuta & jaemin are)

ok so my PR answer is that i don't like to speculate on real people's sexualities. i don't know these people and it's a little weird of me to sort them into boxes based on my own stereotypes.

i definitely don't think they're "acting gay" because they think it's funny. the kpop industry is built on the public's perception of an idol and the belief that fans can potentially date an idol. that manifests in idols not dating but to "show" what they would be like as a partner, they tend to be very affectionate with their members. of course a lot of their closeness is also genuine, when you go through idol life with people, they're most likely going to form a strong bond.

we are also looking at their relationships with a western (im assuming) perspective of sexuality when the culture there is different. so what we see as very gay, might just be normal friend things there.

with all of this being said, i do have my opinions on the sincerity of their idol personas (it kind of comes with consuming this much content of people)

short answer is:

in my delusions, they're all bisexual !!! and then chenle is straight

[eatmangoesnekkid]

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE AND NATURAL BEAUTY: A Channeling for the Open-Minded Human Soul When I was younger, I remember people would say to me things like "you ain't upset or pissed that such and such did that?" It didn't matter if it was a family member, friend, or lover, I naturally held unconditional love, not always judging things as "bad" or "wrong," needing people to be different, nor needing to prove I was "right" about a thing (or feel bad when I was wrong). That emotional intelligence doesn't mean that I didn't get upset, because hell yeah I did and do. But the great lesson I am realizing is that I didn't (and still don't) hold grudges or tension around most people. It is very easy for me to feel love for someone. To fall in love. I didn't realize that I had accessed aspects of my divine energy, my heart, the real feminine, therefore I didn't need anything more than what the person was capable of giving nor did I hold onto all the stories. I do have grown-woman-boundaries and my boundaries do not permit me to stay in relationships or connections that aren't mutually nourishing, but it does mean I tend to hold unconditional love *in my body* for the person, and not anger, rage, hate, disappointment, and the like. And it's that same unconditional love I hold for myself, the same unconditional love in which I touch my skin and body with. What I'm realizing through my study of quantum physics is that our self-image is the gatekeeper to our subconscious. Every thought, feeling, and belief, including ancestral, is stored as an energetic imprint that influences the quality of our health, the quality of our mobility, especially as we age, how we touch ourselves, what we see when we look in the mirror, and the quality of our light, natural beauty and worthiness, which are less about aesthetics and more about our energy field. If we look at "hate" for example, hating another is really self-hatred. Because if there is no unprocessed internal hate in the body, there can be no manifestation of hate in one's experiences, you see. So when people hate another, they really hate themselves and another person simply showed up in their experience for them to hate as part of their manifestation. It is a divinely perfect world, even in all the chaos, evil, and delusion. And while hate, pain, and suffering are heartbreaking to witness on a human level, most of it is ancestrally-linked and socially taught. They are karmic cycles carried over from other lifetimes, living in the root chakras of human bodies and informing our habits like how we care for our bodies, how we make love, how we raise our children, and what cycles continue to repeat from there. So the moral of the story: be kind, be loving, but don't take no shit. And let go of all the stories, all the history and past ruminations. And when you are ready or have capacity, fall in love with everything. Or most things. Those who desire to live beyond the trappings of the ego will be willing to let go of ugly habits and become more devoted to the heart which means they naturally begin to live a life of more beauty overtime. -India Ame'ye, Author

Part 2 -Solution and next-step direction:

Submerging your body into an ice bath or cold shower is a type of somatic shadow work that helps to release the trapped, pent up ancestral rage and anger out of your tissues–creating less inflammation, a higher level of thinking and perceiving, better mobility, and a more open heart. Ask me how I know?! –India Ame'ye, Author

[nalyra-dreaming]

Holy shit?!

src

“Louis is still fighting to get to something, to unlock the memories that have curiously evaded him. "The pursuit of memory and truth is the driving force this season. It motivates Louis to get to where we're going to get to by the end of it," said Zaman. "Season 1 proved that his memory's completely shot in lots of ways, but who, or what, did that — that's the question I think we're going to have to answer."…

“It all begins with Louis, a textbook unreliable narrator, though Jones and Anderson both bristle a bit at the term. "One self delusion knits itself to the rest of your life," Jones said. He argued that Louis' memory might be "80-90 percent" correct, though it only takes one mistaken detail to muddle a timeline and cancel someone out entirely. "To unwind that, you call into question all this stuff. It doesn't mean that all this stuff isn't right. It's just this thing has altered it a little bit."

…

To Anderson, Louis' unreliability matters less than the vivid reality of his feelings. "It's not necessarily that Louis is a quote-unquote unreliable narrator," he said. "He is, because what he's saying is completely subjective. But I think it has just as much to do with how something felt, the feeling of a person or the feeling of an experience, than it is him actively trying to deceive anybody." That comes out most strongly in Dubai, particularly in the second season. "He's really, genuinely trying to find the closest thing to an objective recalling of events that he possibly can."…

“I like writing for Sam Reid, and I think in terms of how this thing is structured and what's going on in this headspace, it wasn't a big leap to go, 'Oh, he's haunting. He's inside Louis,'" Jones said. When we see Lestat at the beginning of the season, he manifests as what Anderson and Reid referred to as "dream Lestat" — not quite himself, not quite a ghost, not quite a memory, but some blend of all three, filtered through Louis' guilt and grief.

…

"Who is Louis remembering, and how is Louis remembering [Lestat] is always on my mind," said Reid when we first spoke at the Television Critics Association winter press tour in February. "I'm always thinking about it, and I'm always talking about it, much to the chagrin of pretty much everyone." (From across the table we were crowded around, Anderson heckled, "I can vouch for that.") Later, when we met one on one over Zoom, Reid elaborated, "Louis is speaking to himself, so he speaks like Louis. But he's also speaking to Lestat, and he's choosing to speak to Lestat when he's speaking to himself." The first time we see Lestat in Season 2, he materializes before Louis as a gory vision during a moment of mental deterioration, vengeful and overbearingly loving all at once. What was already a blurry line between the ex-lovers has now become indistinguishable.“…

“With dream Lestat assuming a number of dispositions, all dictated by Louis' headspace, separating dream Lestat from the real Lestat was crucial to Reid. "It's clear that Louis is putting the words into his mouth," Reid said. "Who's the guy that he's forced to see looking back at him, saying the words that he thinks he should be saying?" The presence of dream Lestat means that the state of the real Lestat is unclear when the season opens, but becoming this slightly unreal version of his character built on the groundwork Reid had already been laying. Going back to the first season, he often rejected Anderson's impulse to play their scenes together as if they were true. "I know this is not how this happened," he said of Louis' version of events, "which allowed me to kind of lean into the more sow's ear version of Lestat in specific moments, because I knew that we might be revisiting them."…

“For Claudia, Lestat's influence will always linger. "That's his daughter," Hayles said simply. "He doesn't need to be a ghost. He's in her." Louis and Claudia know each other inside and out, and Louis' love for Claudia is all-encompassing, but she sees the writing on the wall the moment he meets Armand: What happened with Lestat will happen again as Louis chooses another man over her.“

(much more behind the link!!)

UPDATE: link to the author’s tweet, Allison Picurro

[theinfinitedivides]

it's telling how some people who were in denial that assad's snub/exclusion from marketing had anything to do with racism and Islamophobia (throwing all kinds of insults for months that we're being delusional, that w'ere doomposting) are also lamenting how the awards nominations are now "pitting jacob and sam against each other". their outrage feels performative as hell, when they act more concerned with "homophobic amc" splitting up their imaginary rpf ship rather than understanding that racism is the reason a white man was propped up at the expense of the main POC who had the most screentime this season. i'm actually annoyed that fans were even trying to write rpf fix it fic of jacob comforting poor sam at the awards ceremony??? (is That what they focused on from this controversy?), it's so obvious they treat this jacob like an accessory to his white coworker.

they don't get to pretend that amc wasn't being racist and islamophobic when they threw assad under the bus.... only to evoke jacob's name when they're mad that he should have been nominated alongside sam, as if this season wasn't carried by jacob, delainey and assad. there's no excuse for why sam is repeatedly promoted over one or two of them, or all three of them. i'm sick and tired of not only amc but also all these fandom hypocrites.

anon came in my inbox so hot i had to check to see where the fire was before i burned myself, goddamn. had to let this one sit and cook. let it marinate. let it fucking soak up all that juicy shit and then serve and eat bc truly what else is there to say? what else can i say about this that hasn't already been said in better ways with more evidence. what the fuck. i will never forget accidently ending up on that side of the fandom where they're convinced that 1. JA is not straight (ok. fair. their prerogative. i have my list of celebrities who are assigned bi until further notice. i function with the baseline that people in general are assigned bi until further notice i just don't put that on the internet all the time) and 2. he married his wife as a beard and he and Sam are dating BTS—look, i have no problem with RPF. live and let live peace and love on planet earth etc etc i am an RPF warrior but that right there? that's some scary scary shit. 'if Sam wins at the awards Jacob is going to be there and they're going to hold hands on the red carpet and—' stop. the levels of presumption and delusion and tokenism can only go so far, you do not see me saying Eric and Jo Anne are going to pull up to their next event together with Assad hanging off their arm as their third and believing it with my whole chest. that's for the great fic writers of Zamasian to solve not me to invent wholecloth as fact

heading back to the point from that quick detour (aka understanding that racism is the reason a white man was propped up at the expense of the main POC who had the most screentime this season, as you said)—honestly we need to send the Jassad-Delainey crew some fucking ice packs bc i know. i know their backs hurt from carrying s2. i know they still do. i'm talking spa treatments getaways salary raises whatever they need bc they are continuously overlooked by the people and outlets propping up the white man who was barely here and they're still giving 1000%. in fact you want to talk about white men that should have been propped up on the side in terms of screentime let's talk Ben Daniels. hit after hit after hit as scum of the earth Santiago (and he put the Iago in his name. he was on his Othello shit) and no submissions. none. now granted i know he's been going through a period of grief after the loss of his partner + he was technically a guest star so maybe he asked not to be submitted. maybe they decided not to regardless. my point is you had Santiago giving more depth and dialogue and just *motions* everything than Dreamstat hanging around to be Louis' glorified inner critic and manifestation of his intrusive thoughts. the writing was on the wall from the minute we saw how they were treating Assad this time around the awards we were the canary in the coalmine telling you that Jacob and Delainey could be next bc of pisspoor promotion and what did we get? accusations of anti-Blackness and taking away appreciation for their success so no. you don't get to use them to hide behind your bitchass behavior Jacob especially. you're the same type of people who pulled up like some freaks and said that Armand should get back with his maker or get assaulted in s3 just to spite the fans blowing the whistle do not let his initials even touch the inside of your mouth

and the Islamophobia........................ hoo boy. Assad has been unapologetically open about his upbringing and religious background for years. he's said that he talked with Rolin about his thought process and approach to this multi-faceted role he knows what he brings to the table in this starvation economy and we thank him for it. AMC isn't thanking him for it when they choose to use his scenes as social media promo without acknowledging it in the FYC rounds and the fandom certainly isn't thanking him every time some shit comes up and people turn a blind eye. hey. newsflash. you want to not be a racist dick you have to not be a racist dick to anybody. you can't handpick a few of our Black siblings and be like see i'm not racist and then turn around and act like our South Asian siblings are talking out of their ass when they bring up the kind of stereotypical rhetoric that has been used in this fandom to talk about Armand. i ain't even telling y'all to like Armand i'm telling y'all to stop reverting to the vilest shit possible to say since you don't, just like some of you Lestat fans will take every opportunity to make Louis look like the aggressor and abuser in that relationship. fuck that

see now. i said what else is there to say but anon you got me fired up you see how long this is. awa. anyway i'm a strong believer in if you put that kind of energy out it is going to come back. by hook or by crook by God or the universe or your own motherfucking actions Crapaud going to come and pull up in your driveway and smoke your pipe. choke you choking there on the fumes. who doesn't hear will feel rope long but you hanging eventually wi