#Joyful Commemoration

[candylandphotos]

Balloons Happy Birthday Party Girl

"Amidst a Sea of Balloons, We Celebrate the Bright and Beautiful Journey of a Remarkable Girl 🎈🎂🥳 #BirthdayBash"

[dc-probate-attorney]

Cherishing a Journey: Celebrating Milestone Anniversaries

In the tapestry of married life, milestone anniversaries stand as remarkable threads, woven with the fibers of love, commitment, and shared experiences. They are not just dates on the calendar; they are poignant reminders of a journey, a testament to enduring love and partnership. Celebrating these milestones goes beyond mere revelry; it’s about honoring the years gone by, acknowledging the…

[cheritzteam]

[MM] You Who Make Me Dream of a Shared Future💙 Announcement for V’s Birthday and Chuseok Commemorative Event in September 2024

Hello, it’s Cheritz​.

Everyone seems to be struggling to return to daily life after a cool and enjoyable summer vacation 😅

This year's summer felt particularly tough, perhaps due to the prolonged humid weather. I'm sure we’re not the only ones who, despite the difficulties of the summer heat, look back on it fondly as time passes 🤭

Around this time, we start to feel the cool breezes in the morning and evening, realizing that summer is ending and fall is approaching.

As always, heralding the start of autumn with the cooler winds, September's protagonist returns 

It’s time for V’s birthday! 

If you're curious about what events are prepared for V's birthday, Please check the details in the announcement below ~ 😉

< ① V’s Birthday Event >

V says his feelings about birthdays are a bit different now compared to when he was younger. He feels like he's really becoming an adult, spending more time thinking about his future. He mostly thinks about the family he dreams of or his ideal life.

No matter what future V imagines, you know that when V dreams of his future , he's always together with you, Coordinator, right? 😆

There’s a repost event on X for  V’s birthday.

Among those who repost through a raffle we will be giving out 50 hourglasses​⌛♥ (15 people)

Also, there's a bonus event to celebrate V's birthday!

Use the hashtag #Happy_Bday_V to congratulate him, and don't miss the chance to win 50 hourglasses⌛♥ through a drawing.

Lastly, there will be a discount event on some V-related goods to celebrate his birthday.

For those who have been hesitating to buy, make sure to grab★ this opportunity!

Cheritz Market Discount Period : September 5th(Thurs) 2pm ~ September 12th(Thurs) 2pm 

< ② In-Game Login Event >

During the event period below, you can check out V’s Birthday Commemorative Title Image by logging into the game! Enjoy the game with the title image and celebrate his birthday. 🥳

(The full version of this illustration and bonus image will be available on the fourth Thursday of this month!)

Also, don't miss out on the Chuseok login rewards! 

Title Image Period : September 4th(Wed) ~ September 17th(Tues)

Chuseok Login Reward : September 15th(Sun) ~ September 18th(Wed)

Did you receive our September event news well?

We'd like to express our gratitude in advance to all managers who will participate in V’s Birthday Event and Chuseok Commemorative Event. 

We hope your upcoming September will be filled with joyful and happy moments, dear Coordinator!

Thank you!

Sincerely, Cheritz

[lullaebies]

Request: Aegon really trying to get along or at least be in good terms with Jaehaera but she's still grieving for Jaehaerys and her mother too much (and the years don't seem to ease the pain) that she can't fully accept him yet

a/n: ok so this ended up a bit longer that i expected! i was trying hard to think how to go about this. hopefully this will read well <3 tomorrow i will continue with the rest of the reqs sent!

He sits quietly by his wife during the feast, their lips both red with the dark of wine.

It is a celebratory night, The Feast of The Father Above demanding grandness, lest the septons decide it a fair night to accuse the Crown of not being pious enough. It mattered little to Aegon, but it mattered to his subjects; meaning he had little ways to object.

The septons say this holy day to commemorate the Father is a day of just rulings, a day of auspicious decisions. Perhaps if he had been more pious he would’ve trusted his judgement auspicious enough to shut their mouth with some coin and tell them to celebrate down their streets instead of his halls, but alas. 

He looks at Jaehaera. As of two days prior, she is six and ten. The spring of youth, if one is to go by how the singers describe maidens of similar ages. Girls that age absorb the sun and hold its beam in their smiles, warming the room around them in cheer and dance. 

You wouldn’t be able to tell so, with his wife. She looks a painted doll, with an even line to her red lips that refuses to bend. Jaehaera doesn’t celebrate her nameday; when it comes, she usually refuses to leave her rooms for days after. Her ladies-in-waiting had once tried to prepare her a surprise, and in return, she had raged.

The court never quite understood her. He still remembers Myrielle Peake weeping at Jaehaera banishing her from her rooms. Her father never quieted about it since, he thinks grumpily. But when he was told of this great injustice the Queen has inflicted on her well-meaning ladies, he had to hold himself from laughing at the complainers in their face.

As if she would like to celebrate the day she remembered her own twin is lost to the afterlife, while she is lost here. 

He dismissed the complaints with some platitudes. He had felt similar enough when his regents assumed him to be ever thankful for them sitting him on the Throne, as if the death of his mother and older brothers hadn’t been the sole reason a crown is on his head. Let us celebrate your coronation and our hard work, your Grace, the dimwits had said. It is a joyful occasion. 

They wouldn’t know how to make him joyful if they tried, and his wife even more so. 

Yet still, there is a pang in him, seeing her so muted. There are rare days, where they align in their routes, and her words are reminiscent of his. Where they walk down the same route silently and it feels more natural than the forced conversations he is met with from anybody else. She always scurries away after, avoids him after, but...

She is his wife, and as much as they were sewn together, they are of similar enough cloth. Smiling like the sun is not something he’d expect of her, but he doesn’t wish she’d never at least feel its rays. 

He may have drank too much today. Her wintry form had been much on his mind. He supposes he finds ways to be melancholic no matter what, but he looks at her and sees himself, from a long while back; from before Viserys came back, before he could hold onto his sisters again to cry.

The dance floor had been filled with duos dancing to string instruments gracefully. It is not something he does often, but had seen her dancing before. As a child, granted, before it all, but she had seemed happy to do so before. And who would ask her to dance again, but her husband?

“Jaehaera,” he mumbles her name before he can regret it. She turns to him, heavy brows lifting in wonder. “Should we dance too?”

It should help, in more ways than one. Seeing them being amiable would calm the many lords here, he thinks. Or spring some hope to their souls, or more importantly, some respect for Jaehaera’s being. Wouldn’t that help, having the world know she is no jilted girl? It would do her good. It would do them good. 

He never wanted a divide between them to haunt them. They have enough things haunting them. Is this a good decision? He knows not, but The Father may as well sanction it auspicious, after all the hard work put into this damn feast.

Jaehaera’s tentative fingers fiddle with her wine cup. She puts it down softly. “If his Grace should like that,” she answers, building her wall from him again as her eyes shy away from direct eye contact. The rings on her fingers drag across the marble table, clinging to the cold of stone as they approach him. 

Aegon notes her offering. He doesn’t quite like that it's simply complacency, but then again, he had been simply complacent when everyone else goaded him to do anything, even if he did find enjoyment in it in the end. And if she doesn’t find enjoyment in it, at least she would have a spring in her step for the singers to sing about, and mayhaps that will soothe her.

He reaches for her offered hand, picking it up gently from the fingers. The table, her rings, they’re cold, but her bony fingers are warm. It is almost surprising, with how distant she seems at the moment. They rise from their chairs to the surprise of the people around their table. Viserys looks at him crookedly, but he pays it no mind - Jaehaera seems to go along with him well.

His thumbs fiddle with her knuckles nervously as he attempts a squeeze of reassurance. He truly doesn’t dance often; Baela sometimes forces him and he looks a fool, Rhaena sometimes does so too and becomes his harsh, smiling critic. He shouldn’t be able to reassure his wife in regards to dancing, he has little talent in his lanky limbs, but he has to try, he thinks.

A spot is cleared for them in the center of the floor. She thanks the lord and ladies who move in a mannerly way while he simply nods. The musicians switch a song, and he vaguely remembers the form for it, reaching for Jaehaera’s waist. After confirming from those nearby he remembered correctly, of course. 

As for Jaehaera, the form they should be in dawns on her quickly, and her fingers curl over the peak of his shoulder easily. She looks at their feet when the song begins. He does too, to see his are well placed. He wants to brighten this night some, but he doesn’t want to look like an oaf doing so.

Despite that, however, he can’t imagine he doesn’t look like one. He is unsurprisingly rusty, and the length of his limbs lend to a taut gait and especially dance. Jaehaera is surprisingly fluid in her movements, on the other hand. He nearly steps on her foot once, but she evades it simply. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

When he hears a soft snort coming for her, he almost thinks it had been for the better.

She is not without faults — she does step on his foot. He huffs at her in some vindication he is not the only one with two left feet. She finally lifts her eyes to him, supposedly to apologize too, but then the dance calls for her twirl. She holds his elevated hand throughout it. He does notice a hint of a crinkle to her eyes, and he even meets it with his own one.

When he stops her, hand finding her waist again to hold her in a secure manner, he thinks he shook off that rustiness. But then Jaehaera’s eyes land on him in a strange gaze, and her limbs suddenly feel tense.

Jaehaera swallows, and looks down again, her grip on his shoulder digging into his bone. “I think…” she stops them from moving. “I feel ill,” she says abruptly. “I think I should retire for this night, Your Grace.”

He blinks at her. He is not convinced; her face only gained some warmth to it as they danced. Still, he draws her away from the dance floor to its side, knowing here too, there is little to object to. She feels all too rigid in his hold, and something had her gaze become cloudy.

Most of the room seemed to cheer at them joining the dance floor, so that couldn’t be it. The taste on his tongue is sour, feeling somewhat jilted himself. Perhaps because he himself hadn’t hated the dance all that much. He offered this for her and still… Fine.

“Then go rest,” he allows, trying to keep the bitterness behind lock and key. She says her farewell to some key courtiers and leaves, quickly disappearing to the dark, gloomy parts of the castle. 

For a while, he returns to his spot at the table. When they strike a conversation, they ask of the Queen; some of them deem her rude for her abrupt departure. He finds their voices offensive, for he would rather like to retire to his apartments himself at the moment.

“‘Tis a holy day, for us all. Ill or not, even a Queen must be respectful—” Lord Peake grumbles by his ear, and he wonders why he hadn’t let him go ages ago.

Irritated, he decides that it wasn’t quite fair for her to leave him this way. Especially with everyone around looking at him like this in pitiful wonder. And with these halfwits, surrounding him around the table and offering their daughters as dance partners instead.

“Pay my respects to The Father and preside over the rest of the feast, Lord Peake,” he says, and comes up again from his place. “I should see how the Queen fares.”

He gets up and walks in long strides out to the dark, gloomy hallways himself.

—

As he approaches Jaehaera’s apartments, he finds himself hesitating to actually come in. 

His wife hasn’t asked for any kindness, even if he had attempted to offer it. He does think the wine had made him rather rash if not overtly sentimental; he wouldn’t have asked her to dance in the first place without it, and he certainly wouldn't have come by her door.

The Father Above might be laughing at him from the dark skies. Auspicious decisions, my arse. 

And he is about to turn on his heel, when he hears a sob from the inside of her room. 

He reaches for the knob of the door and twists it open. 

Jaehaera is by the window, too close to the damn window, the dying light of the fireplace showing bloodshot eyes and tears trailing down her rounded cheeks. She is frantic in her movements until she stops in place when she sees him, holding a quivering lip from saying a thing. 

“Why are you…?” he tries to ask, but some anxiety spikes in him and he can’t find a way to articulate himself. 

“Your Grace, please leave,” she manages out of her system. That lights a visceral feeling of rage within him. 

“You will not order me to leave,” he says plainly. Your Grace, your Grace, she tells him the entire day, but she won’t force that distance upon him when he plainly sees there is something foul at play. “I don’t know what I have done, but I did not mean harm to you and you know this.”

“I know,” she answers, the glisten on her lash line more noticeable. She’s shaking like a leaf; what has rattled her so? “But you more than all know that matters little.”

Fuck. He had been irritated, but now he is properly upset. All had been well, what has he done wrong? 

“If you tell me what it is I can fix it,” he says. It is the wrong choice; she turns to look at him with a sharper gaze, even with her tears. 

“I used to dance to that song with Jaehaerys,” she says, and Aegon already understands he has lost here. Of course, the times he remembered her dance as a child, it had been with her brother. “Mother taught us the steps. It was her favourite. Jaehaerys was determined to learn it well, even though I always had to escape his clumsy steps. He wanted to show mother he listened to her.” 

She wipes her cheeks with her hands, holding herself. 

“We never had the chance to complete the dance without missteps.”

Aegon shuts his eyes. “If I had known I wouldn’t have…” he begins. What is the point in saying what she knows already? “I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

He foolishly assumed he would know any better than anyone else in the Keep how to do so. They are adjacent to one another in pain when the court already assumes it knows everything about them. And he thinks, there had always been some truce between them, in regards to that — perhaps that had all been in his head, too.

That dance felt like a moment of peace to him. He wanted it to be a moment of peace for her, too, for them all. He is so tired of fighting and guarding his own self; he simply wants to relent to the calm that he feels could exist between them.

Jaehaera’s hand reaches for the seven-starred necklace upon her, swallowing. “It had, for a moment,” she sniffles, shame in her voice. “It made me happy. But my brother can’t be, and my mother can’t see it, and I…”

That he does know, the guilt of being alive. The guilt of continuing on despite having the world shattered, despite witnessing so much death. And Viserys returned from the dead, and when he confessed it all, his brother had told him simply one thing.

“You’re not at fault for that.”

And if Jaehaera has resentment on her tongue, any hatred she wants to spit out about those who were at fault — she doesn’t say it. Simply looks at him with guarded eyes, keeping her distance. 

He can’t ask her to close it, just for the sake of his own peace. He wouldn’t ask her to, either. The ghosts that plague her on her namedays, day to day, they are there, he knows what they whisper — plenty had whispered to him day to day.

“You need not to dance, but you need not hide what plagues you, and what would make you at ease,” he says. “Her Grace the Queen has her voice in court, and if she’d like it, the King’s ear.”

Jaehaera looks at the floor, as she does, and let all the tears that had been unshed out. She needn’t close the distance, but she does need to know she can, if she’d like. He lets her sob until she tires herself out, helping her to the bed and tucks her in. 

Even if winter plagues them, forever piercing cold, as long as her skin is warm on this earth, she should have her own dream of spring. 

If one day she should choose it, he’d be willing to help her find it.

[clorvismaximus]

Caring for Your Comedic Companion: A Guide to Proper Clown Care

Creating a Clown-Friendly Environment: The Chuckle Chamber

Clowns thrive in environments that stimulate their comedic instincts. Before adopting your clown, ensure you have a dedicated space in your home for them, commonly referred to as the "Chuckle Chamber." If you cannot afford to buy a new enclosure, an old tent painted with stripes can keep your clown happy for the first few months. Equip it with a variety of colorful props, oversized shoes, and a well-stocked assortment of rubber chickens. Ensure the Chuckle Chamber is spacious enough for your clown to express its natural exuberance.

Nutritional Needs: A Diet of Delightful Delicacies

Maintaining a well-balanced and joy-inducing diet is crucial for your clown's health. Offer a mix of cotton candy, popcorn, and custard pies to meet their nutritional needs. For hydration, a continuous supply of seltzer water is recommended. Regularly check for any allergies or sensitivities your clown may have to certain treats. Surprisingly, peanut allergies are common amongst certain breeds of clown.

Exercise and Enrichment: Laughter Workouts

Clowns are energetic beings that require regular exercise and mental stimulation. Engage your clown in laughter workouts, which can include juggling sessions, pratfall practice, and balloon animal sculpting. Introduce new comedic routines to keep their minds sharp and their spirits high.

Grooming: Maintaining the Mirthful Mane

Clown grooming is not just about appearance; it's an essential aspect of their well-being. Regularly check and clean oversized shoes to prevent slips, trim colorful wigs to maintain their vibrant allure, and ensure that the iconic red nose is kept in pristine condition. A well-groomed clown is a happy and confident one.

Veterinary Care: Honk-Checked Health Checks

Regular visits to a certified clown veterinarian are crucial to monitor your companion's health. These professionals specialize in honk-checked health checks, ensuring that your clown is in peak comedic condition. Vaccinations against gloom and routine screenings for joke deficiencies are standard procedures.

Socialization: Playdates with Fellow Funnymakers

Clowns are social beings that thrive on interaction with their own kind. Arrange playdates with fellow clowns to encourage socialization and the exchange of humorous antics. Attend clown conventions, where your companion can partake in the grandeur of collective laughter and collaborative performances.

Understanding Non-Verbal Communication: Mastering the Art of Clownish Signals

Clowns communicate primarily through non-verbal cues, such as honks, squeaks, and exaggerated gestures. Pay close attention to your clown's signals to gauge their mood and preferences. Understanding the art of clownish communication is key to fostering a strong bond with your comedic companion.

Celebrating Special Occasions: Clown Birthdays and Anniversaries

Marking special occasions in your clown's life adds a touch of festivity to their existence. Celebrate birthdays with a clown-sized cake and a chorus of joyous honks. Recognize adoption anniversaries with a memorable performance or a specially crafted routine to commemorate the time spent together.

Providing proper care to your beloved clowns is not just a responsibility but a joyful journey of shared laughter and merriment. By embracing the unique needs and whimsical nature of your clown companion, you'll cultivate a bond that transcends the ordinary, creating a lifetime of cherished comedic moments.

[todaysjewishholiday]

15 Menachem Av 5784 (18-19 August 2024)

Tu b’Av Sameach! According to the Talmud the fifteenth of Av was the most joyful festival of ancient Israel (they say the only thing that matched it was Yom Kippur, when the entire community’s sins were carried off into the desert by the scapegoat). So what was celebrated on Tu b’Av? Love! Youth! Marriage! Romance!

Like Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot, Tu b’Av did double duty as an agricultural festival (the start of the grape harvest) and a historical commemoration (which we discussed in yesterday’s post). Unlike the others, its purpose was not to focus on the covenant between the Jewish people and HaShem. Instead, it was a day for those who were single to show they were ready to mingle. It was a festival for flirting. It was a day for young people in the community to imagine that they’d find the kind of romance that would fill their lives with joy. You get the picture.

In ancient society courtship was often closely regulated, with marriages arranged by extended families to cement alliances with other families. But Tu b’Av was a day for young women to try to attract a husband of their own choosing. Traditionally, it was a day when young women would go dance in the vineyards in plain white dresses that disguised socioeconomic distinctions, singing traditional songs about what good wives they would make and teasing the community’s young men.

Since most of us don’t live near grape vineyards or practice the same type of limitations on courtship or know a wide range of communal dances any more, the celebration of Tu b’Av has changed considerably. It’s now used as the Jewish holiday for those in a long term romantic relationship to celebrate their partner, like the European Christian celebration of Valentine’s Day. So if you have somebody in your life who you love like that, wish them a joyful Tu b’Av— and then do your best to have one together.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hey lil bro, hope you had a joyful birthday 🎂 and as always, thank you for what you do.

I'm not sure which format would be best, but it's for those M6 who knew MC before. How would they react or behave if MC comes back with cognitive loss compared to how they were before? Like it wouldn't be really noticeable if you hadn't known them before, but it's not insignificant for those who did?

Totally understandable if this isn't something you want to tackle. (This prompt is unfortunately personal for me so pls feel free to seek clarification if you do decide to go with it)

The Arcana HCs: When MC suffers from cognitive loss

~ for headcanon purposes, MC is dealing with short-term cognitive loss post upright ending due to a head injury/new meds/unforeseen but remedial issue. this manifests as poor short term memory, slowed thinking processes, difficulty putting together words, etc ~

Julian

He hates that you just can't seem to catch a break but he's so, so, so very happy that this is a situation that lets him use his strengths for you. Few things make him happier than knowing he's helping

You do quickly realize that much of the reason he's able to cope with your sudden change in functioning is years of "doctor mode"

That said, he'll turn any situation into a bonding moment

Can't remember the word you're looking for? He'll turn into a walking thesaurus and rattle off any and all related vocabulary he can remember (which is quite a bit, with all that reading)

Difficulty processing information? No worries, he can share his own thought process out loud so you have something to follow. You'll get there in your own time

There are moments when he worries that the care he gives you won't be enough to fix it, but he also knows that nothing about your situation changes who you are, or how much he loves you

Overjoyed when he sees you start to recover and makes a point of commemorating every milestone. He knew you could do it!

Asra

It's a mess and they know it's a mess and the main thing they feel is grief that you have to experience loss like this all over again

Being someone who doesn't process grief or sadness easily, he's going to work towards making life beautiful for you again instead. He is nothing if not resilient, adaptable, and hopeful

Even if you stay this way for the rest of your life, they'll still love you unconditionally and savor every day they get to spend with you

And it's that mindset riddled with hope and triggers that puts him on eggshells. He's not pressuring you, he's not afraid of you, but he's terrified of making things worse or making you feel lesser

So very gentle and accommodating about any new needs. You can't piece your sentence together? Take a deep breath, join your hands with theirs, and they'll work it out through your bond

Struggling to remember what you were going to do today? He'll remind you if he knows, and if he doesn't, it'll work itself out

Watching you work your way back to your usual state tells them all over again that holding out hope for your healing is always good

Nadia

Deeply upset about what you're losing and even more angry with herself for why she's bothered about it - your thoughts and words were what drew her in and made her fall for you

But now, both of those things have been compromised, and under the concern that you're missing something core to who you are is the fear that her love won't be strong enough to weather it

And she hates that about herself

Which is why she's not going to burden you with this set of insecurities. Rather, she's determined to see you get better, and she's going to put all her faith in who she knows you to be

In the process she ends up realizing that slower thoughts and cumbered speaking don't change anything about who you are. You're still you, and she loves you unfalteringly

She also gets terrifyingly good at saying what you're thinking before you even realize you're thinking it in conversations

So, so proud of you every step of your recovery. She's still permanently losing her habit of springing trick questions on you

Muriel

Is it still you? Yes. Are you alive? Yes. So what if you need to take extra time to collect your thoughts? His personal record for deciding what to have for dinner spans days

(A/N: this is called procrastination, and going without eating for that long was not good for him and something he needed to stop)

So what if you don't have words for what you're thinking? He doesn't have words either most of the time. It's all good

He's still bothered by it, though, because you're bothered by it. He can tell how frustrated you are with yourself and he hates seeing the way it affects your self-esteem. He'll help however he can

Don't worry about finishing your thought, life in the woods moves at glacial paces. Take as much time as you need to keep going

It's okay if you can't say the words you want to. Gestures work just as well - in fact, it's never too late to learn a little sign

If anything, it's refreshing to see you slow down to his pace

So happy for you as you recover. It makes no difference to his love for you, but you're happier for it and that's what matters

Portia

Oh, she's upset to the point of coming across as angry

Not at you - of course not at you, she knows this is in no way your fault, but between her empathic heart absorbing all of your frustration and grief and her own concern for you, it's ... a lot

The extent to which she's projecting her own feelings of being held back by her situation onto you doesn't help either

Which is why she's not giving up on you. If you reach a point where you'd rather find a way to make life good as is, then she'll make her peace with it. Until then, it's full steam ahead to your recovery

It's still a struggle with her own impatience, though. She finishes half the sentences you start with uncanny accuracy, and then beats herself up for not keeping your space to work through it

She misses being able to toss ideas back and forth and hearing your feedback right away, but she's learning to value it more

Bakes celebratory cakes and sweets every single time you hit a milestone or seem to have clearly improved, and never stops reminding you what a loved and delightful person you are

Lucio

His only personally negative feeling about this is that your communications lag-time gets frustrating when he's got the attention span of a squirrel in autumn. He's trying, okay?

Other than that, you're not that much different to him. You still love him. You're still here, despite the "oopsies". You're still very kissable

What truly bothers him is the dip in your own self-worth. He'd have to be blind to miss the way you deflate or panic a little every time you struggle or fail to do what used to be so easy for you

To him, you're the best. You're his best. That's how you deserve to feel about yourself. And if you aren't, he wants to help you out of it

His encouragement doesn't come from telling you you'll recover or from putting together a meticulous care plan. It comes in the form of jokes and hugs and "don't worry about it, you're still awesome"s

Which, granted, isn't necessarily the best emotional support for when you want to vent or process, but he's not going anywhere

You saved him, so you're stuck with him for life. He's dedicated to you whatever the outcome, and immeasurably proud of you always

[leviathanspain]

when i’m down on my knees, you’re how i pray

aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader

synopsis: you had an unspoken agreement to avoid each other. but you had found it difficult to follow

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

a dinner to commemorate family. it was a laughable occasion, considering your mother and sister were at each others throats all the time, especially after aemond lost his eye. the tensions were high, with every fork scraped against a plate, alicent turned an eye towards rhaenyra.

you put a hand on her sleeve, pursing your lips in reassurance, alicent closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “i have an announcement.” you blushed red suddenly, pulling your hand back, you realized what she was meaning to say.

she stood up, raising a glass, she looked at rhaenyra with smugness, “my daughter y/n has been betrothed to the heir of winterfell.” she said it with an energy that it clearly wasn’t in your best interests. but in the interest of the house. alicent raised her eyebrow with pleasure to see rhaenyras reluctance to raise her glass, daemon waved his up in the air, casting you an unreadable look. this was all clearly a jest to him, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

you looked down at your plate with shame, embarrassment almost that your mother would use you as a pawn against your sister. you had no bad blood with rhaenyra and her family, but there was also no amity. you couldn’t recall the last time you had a conversation, except with your uncle daemon, who always had something to talk to you about.

with your surprise, you saw aemond get up from across the table. he stood up, and raised his goblet. there was something of a sardonic smile on his face, “to my sweet, dear, precious, supple sister. i wish you all the best with the wolves in the north.” as he bore his gaze into you, you felt your heart crack. aemond was clearly everything but joyful. his laying it on thick was just an example of what he felt, he was angry.

alicent had made it clear that you two could marry, being the only pairing that didn’t need to marry for political standings. but now it seemed like she had either lied, or simply saw another way to beat the blacks.

everyone gave a singular clap of applause and continued on with their dinner. but you had excused yourself quickly after, quietly walking away.

the knock on your door was expected. dinner had seemingly commenced just twenty minutes after you had excused yourself, and it wouldn’t be a surprise if aemond had come to seek you out.

you opened the door and saw aemond standing there. his arms were crossed with a sense of hostility, and he let himself in, shoving past you into the room. he peered around the room, finding it to be the same, aemond stared down at you, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“why do you care?” you rolled your eyes, and padded back towards the bed. you threw yourself back into your abundance of pillows and blankets, a sigh escaping you as you looked up at the ceiling.

“don’t act like you don’t care.” he warned, a sharpness to his voice.

you huffed, “really? you think your sweet, dear, precious, supple sister, cares?” you mocked him, your hands turning into fists with frustration, “i hate her. i hate her…” you whispered, and suddenly you teared up, “she promised-“

aemond’s anger subsided and he raised his eyebrow at you, “what did she promise?”

you shook your head, “it is no longer important.” you saw aemond near the edge of the bed, “is the yelling done? or have you come for something else?”

aemond shook his head, “i- no. i will take my leave.” he turned sharply on his heel, your vulnerability was something he wouldn’t take advantage of, not today.

the days seemed to pass with a heaviness. the pressure on your shoulders felt like pounds of bricks, and you were slowly falling apart under it.

you had avoided aemond, and thrown yourself into the politics of getting married. but soon you found yourself at a discontent, and wished for something familiar.

you had snuck out of your quarters and turned down the hall to aemonds. you pushed the door open and a small creak echoed. aemond sat up in his bed, alarm painting his face. his hair was down, his eyepatch was off and he was clearly lacking clothes under the sheets.

aemond looked at you, “sister? what are you doing here?” your face was unreadable, and aemond didn’t say anything as yoh neared the bed, “i don’t want to marry cregan. i know that we have avoided each other but-“ you sat on the bed, “i don’t want that, brother.” you looked at aemond, your eyes lower than usual, there was something of a neediness to you.

“it’s been days and i can’t-“ aemond raised his eyebrow as he listened to you, “i cant do it like you do. please-“ you had a hand on the sheets and aemond smirked slightly, “missing your brothers cock, are we?”

you nodded, “yes. please, let me show you how much i really missed it.”

aemond pulled the sheets back and you were not surprised to see his roaring erection on the base of his belly.

you grabbed it, and moved completely on the bed. your legs over his, you brought his cock to your mouth, your tongue dragging over his tip, aemond shuddered slightly.

the salty taste of his precum was on your lips as you looked at him. his eyes were closed in a sort of anguish, “come on sister, don’t be shy.” he egged you on and so you did, taking him in your mouth completely, you felt him hit the back.

you gagged, pulling back iust as aemond reached up. he grabbed your hair in his hand, and you pushed yourself down after a gasp for air. he helped guide you as you choked on him. he was too busy groaning to even use his strength.

you gripped his legs and aemond came just as a hand had reached down to tug on his balls. his cum spurted all over your face, ribbons into your mouth, he was a groaning mess.

aemond shuddered, letting his hand drop from your hair, his cock was twitching as it fell out of your grasp.

aemond could barely register you starting to straddle him. you grabbed his cock and he hissed, it was still extremely sensitive but you had already been stuffing it into your cunt.

aemond groaned at the pleasure, feeling you around him was something he had been missing. his hands laid at his side, unable to even grip your waist like normal, you were fucking yourself on his cock with urgency.

the bed rocked with your movement, the creaking of the wood was like music to aemonds ears. and as long as he tried to last, the image of your breasts bouncing with the rest of you on his cock had sent him over the edge.

ribbons of cum splattered into your cunt. aemond was twitching slightly under you, struggling to even speak, he held you there, grabbing your waist.

you leaned down and gave him a kiss, “thank you.” as you got up, feeling the hot cum drip down your leg, aemond didn’t move, still reeling from the pleasure.

[cerise-on-top]

helloooo! how do think Kate and Nikolai would like to get married, like type of weddings and how they’d propose. Also I adore your Kate stuff! there isn’t enought for her!

Hello! I'm not sure I'm the right person to ask this since the last wedding I went to was 17, almost 18 years ago! But I tried, even if I don't know at all what a wedding encompasses!

How Laswell and Nikolai Would Like to Get Married

Laswell: She’d try to find a special date to propose, even if she would preferably choose Christmas. However, if you don’t celebrate Christmas, then she’ll find another date, even if it’s “just” your birthday. You deserve all the good in the world and that she makes sure to give you. Your birthday will be an absolute dream, everything will be perfect and you will be cared for. However, Laswell will try to propose to you when the two of you are all alone, so she’ll either send everyone away, or drive you home and then propose to you on your doorstep. Either way, she wants you to be content and happy so that you can be positively joyful as she proposes to you. Your wedding won’t be very big, however, with only the most important people coming. She’s a CIA station chief, she’s highly sought after, so not the entire city needs to know about your arrangements and possibly get you killed during them. No, Laswell plays it safe and thus keeps it small. Although she would like to have a ceremony to commemorate this special day. Laswell isn’t a very religious person, in fact she’s not religious at all, so she doesn’t need a church wedding. If you absolutely insist, however, then she will plan one. However, she’s content with a ceremony and just a civil marriage. If you’re close with a lot of people, then it’s very likely that a lot of people will come from your side. Laswell doesn’t really have many people she’d invite to her wedding. The people she would invite likely don’t have time, so she doesn’t particularly bother. Besides, those two are very dangerous people as well, so it would likely be for the best if she doesn’t. The wedding itself would be a rather standard wedding, though. Like one you’d see on TV, so nothing too fancy. It doesn’t need to be to show how much you love each other.

Nikolai: He’d be very casual about it, waiting for a good moment to ask you for marriage. Don’t get me wrong, he has a pair of rings he’d use for such a thing, but he won’t openly propose with them. During a mellow moment where it’s evident you both love each other so dearly and are stricken with infatuation, that’s when he’ll ask you if you want to marry him. No getting down on one knee, just him lying on your chest, looking up at you and asking you, hearts in his eyes. It would take him a while to ask you for your hand in marriage, a few years, in fact, but he’ll be the one to ask. It won’t be a special date either, just whenever you’re feeling especially lovey dovey with each other. Your wedding won’t be very big either. He’s the leader of Chimera, so he needs to keep a low profile if he doesn’t want to be found out. No big or fancy ceremony, even if he will marry you in a church. Nikolai wants to have a traditional Russian wedding. One, where he pays ransom for you with the most beautiful sapphire necklace he could find. One, where he finds the most stunning crowns in all of Russia, both of which are yours. One, where he takes you through St. Petersburg to show you all the sights there are to see. Granted, he’ll be speedrunning the tour with you since he can’t afford to have the wedding last longer than two days, but he still wants to enjoy all these moments with you. He’ll tell you about all the sights there are in the city and hold your hand as well, taking pictures everywhere. He just wants to remember the sight of you wearing either a suit or a wedding dress forever, and what better way is there than by taking pictures? Although his memory is phenomenal, and he’ll remember those days forever, he still wants a few pictures here and there as a keepsake.

[terrence-silver]

How would Terry react to Beloved getting a tattoo of his initials? (In any/all eras)

---

― Twig would be profoundly happy and is just as likely to get a tattoo of your initials as immediate reciprocation; and in fact, it is very likely you'd get said tattoos together, in tandem, at the same time, at the same place. He'd be all smiles, all giddiness and excitement and he sees it as a fun, bonding activity, but also more than that. These initials on your skin, they're almost like a promise ring in his eyes, something perhaps even more binding than an actual physical piece of jewelry, because you can take off one of those. Lose it. Outgrow it. It can accidentally get damaged. Stolen. Not that he couldn't and wouldn't immediately see to the issue of replacing things without batting an eye but it is the sentiment of the unshakable, tangible permanency of commitment that matters. The forever of it all. Because, the way Twig sees, you don't get matching tattoos with just anyone. Many things can happen to a ring, but someone getting a tattoo? The ink is always going to be there and this is immensely significant for someone who already has one commemorating something extremely important in the form of the Cobra on his ribs. So, for a very young Terry, it almost functions like binding yourself to him and vice versa. An engagement before an actual engagement. A formality before any actual formalities. A way of saying that no matter what happens, how many years pass, the ink will always be there as a reminder and a given word of honor and the whole event itself might just be nonironically one of the purest, most joyful days of his life; one of those landmark, formative moments he would cherish for decades and beyond without a shred of cynicism. If you're getting a tattoo of his initials, he's getting a tattoo of your initials and he would choose the placement for it in an undeniably romantic spot on his body, like right next to his heart, because he's passionate, devoted in his zeal, still brimming with wide-eyed sweetness in this period of his life and it radiates through him and how he shows and expresses his care. He feels this was a marriage of a sort and he'll always feel this was a marriage of sort.

― For Terry Silver in the 80's, the tattoo would entirely be his idea (masked as a cool, new suggestion, to make it seem like it was your idea when it genuinely wasn't --- he's masterminded this whole thing), probably, because his beloved might not get to do much of anything without him knowing and eventually discovering and in equal measure, chances are high he wouldn't want any tattoo artist touching beloved's body or skin, insisting he ink them himself. Yes, he sees it as an act of devotion. An act of submission. In the off chance he doesn't slyly manipulate events to make you believe this was your design, he'll flat out announce he wants you to get a tattoo, but in equal measure, that he wants you to be willing to receive it. That T.S. will be applied to beloved's skin by his hands alone and he'll place them wherever he so chooses, which will almost undeniably be a somewhat private, intimate area of the body. He amuses himself contemplating between beloved's buttocks, the nape of their neck, like they're property or the inside of their thigh so they can't even open their legs without him being there even when he isn't. Whatever he ultimately settles on (and trust and believe it'll be risqué), beloved's getting that tattoo and he'll be the one writing the first two letters of his name on them because beloved belongs to him and he is convinced only he has the right to do, what he effectively sees as, ritualistic branding. Oh, and trust and believe it'll be ritualistic. He produces some sort of antique Korean cartridge needle, lays out an immaculately crip, clean mat, wears a Gi to give off the impression something ceremonial and deeply traditional is going on here (and for all he's concerned, it is), lights candles, sets the mood perfectly and he gets to meticulous work. If it hurts, and it will as much as it is realistic, he will consider the pain your gift to him. A show of your dedication. Your love. That you were willing to go through some ache to get his initials tattooed on you by him, is to him, a proof of something very serious few people can understand the true significance of. That you're his for life.

― Old man Terry could have the most complicated, complex feelings concerning tattoos. The most long lasting, profound baggage surrounding it. And furthermore, the most complicated, complex feelings surrounding someone getting tattoos for him as much as him getting tattoos connect to someone else. As we know, the one tattoo he had, he removed. So, for beloved to either express the desire to ink his initials on themselves or actually going through with it, whether he's involved, not, or if he goes as far as doing it for them himself, well...it evokes...emotions, to say the least. This is the first time in his life that someone is commemorating him with a tattoo, without anything being asked of him in return. It's not a matching tattoo. Not a conjoint venture. He isn't branding himself and putting himself up for it potentially all aging badly once and if he gets betrayed or let down because he's, so far, not getting one. It is just you. Loving on him. It takes time for this to set in. That you love someone you will (possibly) outlive if there's a significant age difference, enough to carry him with you for the rest of your life, and if you're close or the same in age, someone you will take to the grave with you. Reconciling the understated grandeur of this small gesture downright makes him spiral a bit. He might quell it with drink. Might be more contemplative than he usually is. He might need a moment. He might not even show what's going inside of his head until he decides he wants to reciprocate the feat. Ultimately, though, he decides to take control of the narrative and get a tattoo of your initials as well, and not just that, your name, because instead of a pink, scarred maw on his ribs, he gets to reclaim the remnants of all that pain, abandonment and betrayal and replace it with a legacy of renewal, self-forgiveness, second chances and devotion for its own sake, with no strings attached, without anyone owing anyone, wanting to carry you and your name for the rest of his life and to the grave with him.

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 5: The Selfie

42 days until Competition

“That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” 

Elain didn’t bother hiding her laughter which made it slightly difficult to focus on the camel position spin they were working on. For the past five minutes, Azriel had been retrieving every joke from the vault to try and get Elain to crack a grin. He’d succeeded multiple times, but only because the jokes somehow had gotten progressively worse. 

Azriel grimaced. “Yeah…Cassian came up with that one.” 

She shook her head, releasing his ankle as they completed the final rotation of the spin. Things were starting to come together, and their routine was growing more fluid each day. Step sequences were a breeze, spins were blending nicely, and small lifts were a work in progress. Elain was proud of herself. She’d been on the cusp of forfeiting the competition, and ended up blessed with the best skating partner she would probably ever have. 

They exchanged a double high five, Azriel then pulling Elain into his chest for a tight hug. His affection was warm and frequent. If he was not wrapping her in a hug to showcase his pride in her, he was squeezing her shoulders or dusting a kiss over her sweaty hairline. She never recoiled from his touch. Sometimes she found herself seeking it out, not having a clue as to why.

She inhaled a deep breath, wrinkling her nose. “You’re disgustingly sweaty.” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. A beautiful, joyful sound. “This is nothing, Elain. You should see me after playing just fifteen minutes of hockey. And by the way, you’re one to talk,” He swiped a finger across her forehead, the pad of his finger shining with moisture. “You’re sweaty, too. We need showers.” 

Elain didn’t know what came over her, but she winked and said, “Together.” 

Azriel’s arms went slack around her. Was the redness on his cheekbones from practice or mortification? Why were his eyes so wide? Had his chest been rising and falling this quickly when he initially pulled her to his chest?

Elain untangled herself from his arms, suddenly feeling a weight on her chest. She folded her arms, “Oh, so you can make jokes, but I can’t?” 

Azriel quirked a brow. He studied her defensive posture, the slight flush of her cheeks that he liked seeing as often as possible. Snickering, he said,  “Are you flirting with me, Elain Archeron?” 

Elain paused, lips parted as the words caught in her throat. 

Oh, shoot. 

Was she? 

She’d never flirted before. She wasn’t even sure she knew how. No one had taught her these things. Granted there was never a need to know back then. The only relationship she had was with the ice.

No, she couldn’t be flirting. Flirting would imply feelings, and feelings would imply they have some sort of relationship outside of the one they forged professionally. 

“A lighthearted joke,” She confirmed, legs carrying her off the ice toward the bench that held their skate bags. It didn’t sound convincing though, and Azriel’s expression bordered on disappointment. He didn’t let it show for long, schooling his features into a more relaxed guise. 

He followed her off the ice, almost toppling over as she held her pink phone in the air and tumbled into his side. He steadied her with an arm around her waist. “What are you doing?” 

Elain slung her free arm around Azriel’s shoulder–she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach–pulling him close enough so that their bodies were focused in the camera. “Since you instituted the new rule about post practice dance parties, I’ve decided to create my own rule. Every practice will now be commemorated with a picture, too. Smile!” 

She snapped the picture, and their dazzling grins lit up her screen. Elain saved the photo to an album, which she titled E+A. As she worked the buttons on her phone, Azriel examined the picture. Only Elain, if he was being honest. Her double braids were messy and full of loose strands, and he liked the way she didn’t look so…put together. Sweat glistened her face, and if Elain had a hard practice, her features didn't show it. The smile on her face was bold and beautiful, and the excited gleam in her brown eyes did something to his heart.

The speed of his next question was comical. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. Azriel blurted, “What are you doing later?” 

It seemed to have caught Elain off guard, lips pursed as she placed her phone beside them on the bench, tugging off her skates. She wiggled her toes to circulate the blood. “Just…going home. Like I always do.” 

Azriel palmed at the back of his neck. “Did you–uh, maybe want to…do something?” 

Smooth. 

Very smooth. 

There had to be a better, subtle way to say he wanted to spend more time with her. In his humble opinion, they had formed some sort of friendship since their first practice, whether her heart was ready to acknowledge it or not. He sought out her company. 

“We could grab dinner or something,” Azriel clarified as nonchalantly as his voice would allow. ���There’s a restaurant in Dawn that has some of the best Mediterranean food I’ve ever had.”

Elain finished tugging on her fuzzy boots, rolling her ankles once, twice, before answering, “Oh! Um, thank you. But I should probably get going. I have a whole routine that I do after practice.”

Elain saw the way his shoulders fell, if only slightly. She bit her lip. He was trying. To what, exactly, she wasn’t entirely sure. But he wasn’t pushy about it, which she found endearing. So she could compromise and extend an olive branch, because she had to admit to herself that she enjoyed his company, too, and would take it at a pace she was comfortable with. Mama would’ve killed her for this, but she went ahead and did it anyway. 

“However, if you were to perhaps send me a few messages later on though…I wouldn't be opposed to that.” Elain admitted somewhat shyly, fingers fiddling with the strap of her skating bag. 

Azriel slipped on a pair of black slides, zipping his own bag before escorting her out of the rink. With a smile that Elain never wanted to see turn into a frown, he said, “I’d like that.”

Showered and with a full stomach, Elain slid into her bed donning a pair of lilac satin pajamas. Her nearly dry golden waves splayed out over her pillow as she tugged the blanket to her chin. She was ready for sleep to claim her for the next seven hours, but her eyes flew open when her phone dinged. 

Azriel. 

He’d asked her to forward their picture from practice. She did, with a quick press of a few buttons, telling him to ignore just how gross she looked in the photo. His response made her heart race. 

We have very different definitions of gross. I find this picture of you quite beautiful. 

For the first time in her life, Elain Archeron stayed up late to message a boy, and had a lot of fun doing it. 

ARTWORK FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[candylandphotos]

Balloons Happy Birthday Party Girl

"Painting the sky of memories with the vibrant hues of joy and laughter. 🎈🎂🥳 #BirthdayBalloons"

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Talking about my beloved Háma earlier this week got me thinking again about how Beregond is the Háma of Gondor. One of the ways Tolkien showed us how bound together Gondor and Rohan were as countries was by drawing explicit parallels between individual Gondorians and Rohirrim (like Boromir and Théodred), and it happens for everyone's favorite guards, too. They have some differences (I mean, Háma dies 😭), but they’re much more alike than not. 

Most importantly, they’re both soldiers—part of a very hierarchical, duty-bound structure—who nonetheless decide in key moments to disregard orders and follow their own judgment and good sense instead. Háma will let Gandalf violate the ban on weapons in Meduseld and Beregond will leave his post and literally slay anyone facilitating the burning of Faramir because their hearts and minds tell them that sometimes laws must be broken in service of a larger morality. That takes courage, independence of thought, and a strong sense of self. By disobeying, they both knowingly risk punishment—and, indeed, both are punished—but they do it anyway because they know it’s right. And ultimately, both are forgiven and honored because everyone can see they made correct, if unlawful, decisions. (This parallel is also replicated a little further up the respective hierarchies because Éomer and Faramir are also both noted mavericks who choose at pivotal moments to aid members of the Fellowship even though, by law, those outsiders should be arrested or killed. So, again, parallels between pairs of Gondorians and Rohirrim abound!)

I like that Tolkien takes care to show that it’s not just the folks at the very top of communities of Men that can have and display these really admirable and noble traits. It’s important for there to be a Háma and a Beregond so that we know these lands of Men are worth protecting—there is goodness there! And of course it fits very neatly with the “small hands do great deeds” theme of LOTR overall. Háma and Beregond each change the course of history when they trust to their own worth and hold to their own values, no matter the circumstances or consequences.

So that’s the biggest/weightiest parallel for Háma and Beregond, but it’s certainly not the only one. They both work for prestigious military units in the capital city of their countries. They both play formal roles in granting our major characters access to those cities. They’re both firsthand witnesses to the mental manipulation and torment of their leaders (Théoden and Denethor) by an enemy. They both get joyful moments witnessing the healing of a beloved lord. They’re both Gandalf enthusiasts in places where not everyone respects or welcomes Gandalf’s presence. They both demonstrate a willingness to draw swords on anyone they perceive as threatening their lords. They’re both pretty adept at rolling with it when things take a really weird turn (I mean, really, the legendary lost heir of Elendil shows up on Háma’s doorstep claiming to be friends with a mythical elf-sorceress, and he just goes with it. And Beregond has never seen a hobbit before and maybe isn’t even sure they’re real when one is thrust on him, and he immediately makes Pip his buddy!). 

Those are the canon parallels, but I would be remiss if I didn’t finish by specifying that @brigwife and I agree it is rock solid head canon that Háma and Beregond met somehow and became actual long distance best friends. It’s only natural that they’d get along given how much they have in common—just two absolute gems of the race of Men who would totally love and appreciate one another. And I’d like to think that even as Háma’s legacy is commemorated at his resting place in Rohan, there’s also a little memorial for him in Gondor built by Beregond in a beautiful, peaceful part of Ithilien. During Beregond’s lifetime it stands as a tribute to his enduring friendship with Háma, and in later days, when anyone who knew them is gone, it stands instead as a tribute to the enduring friendship of Gondor and Rohan.

[itsfairly]

Beyond Living // Nanami Kento x gn! Latine!reader

word count: 1.5k

cw: gn!reader, latine!reader, angst, established relationship, spoilers, character death, petnames (love), untranslated Spanish (once).

summary: loose continuation of this fic (spoilers, you've been warned). Día de Muertos actually takes place for more than just two days. Ever since knowing how similar it is to Obon, Nanami gladly wanted to learn more about what each day means. Sadly, he doesn't make it to November 2nd.

a/n: im sorry, that's all i can say for myself. this was the original ending to that one fic. You don't need to read it to understand it, but that one has a much happier ending.

Though it is celebrated around November 1st and 2nd, Día de Muertos is actually celebrated for a week. Each day, from October 27th to November 2nd, commemorates different souls coming to roam with the living.

During these days, Nanami has been incredibly immersed in your tradition, explaining that he didn't want you to celebrate what seemed like such a significant event for your culture. Just like Obon, Día de Muertos is meant to take a much more colorful and joyful spin to death by also celebrating the lives of those who are not with us anymore.

October 27 marked the first day on which animals and pets crossed the veil. On that day, you two talked about childhood pets. You talked about that white poodle your family had when you were younger while Nanami shared that if it weren't for how little he spent at home, he would've had a cat of his own. It was also an opportunity for him to look through the pictures of your pets that were on the shrine, some of them being so old that there was little you, petting them and hugging them with a smile on your face. He made sure to remember that toothless smile of yours, it was pretty cute despite your attempts to sway him to focus on your pets.

The 28th is usually reserved for people who passed away in a rather tragic way. That was the day you didn't really share about, considering that your family didn't want your generation of relatives to bear such a burden of memory and wanted you all to focus on the life of the person, not their death. Hearing such a day being reserved for such a category made Nanami remember Haibara. He looked at the picture of his friend, surrounded by marigolds and a plate of rice, and frowned even though he wanted to keep his thoughts to himself. His death was just a reminder of how much sorcerers sacrifice even at death's doorstep, robbed of a peaceful moment and having to be cut short of a beating heart without a moment's notice.

He felt your hand on top of his, flashing him a concerned look with a small smile. You don't have to pretend like it doesn't hurt. You didn't need to say much for him to understand what you were trying to say. As he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest for an embrace, he mentally told himself he would continue with your family's mission to keep you from this burden of commemorating someone on this day of your tradition. If you felt even an ounce of what he did when looking at Haibara's picture, his heart would break in two knowing it was because of him.

Sadly, Nanami doesn't get to experience the remaining days of Día de Muertos. He doesn't even get to see your heart break when he breaks his promise in Shibuya.

Your place was a mess, to say the least. But not as much as you were. When you heard that knock on November 1st, you were ready to show your boyfriend more pictures and stories about your family as well as answer more of his questions, realizing just how similar Obon was to Día de Muertos. You were not ready, not even if you had a ten-year warning in advance, to hear the words...

Nanami Kento died last night.

It puzzled your brain how what seemed like a period of the year that was strengthening your relationship with him by inviting him into your culture was now the time you lost him. And though it took a lot of courage to get out of bed, you knew you had to. You could feel how Nanami would sit on the edge of the bed and gently caress your legs, whispering I'm sorry over and over as if that would bring him back to you.

It didn't. No matter how much you wanted it to work.

When you manage to get out of bed, you head to your altar to light the candles once more. The smell of marigolds filling your apartment seemed to soothe you since it forced you to focus on something outside your mind. But that didn't seem to help you as much when you started to light the candles where Haibara's picture was. You could only stare at that spot. Would it be too soon if you...

Your feet seem to move before you finish your thought, going over to your bedroom and pulling the picture that was on your bed. The one you've been clinging to as tears flowed down your cheeks onto the sheets, desperately choking back sobs in between anguished cries of come back, come back. Please, Kento! The you in the picture was oblivious to the little time you had left with him, kissing his cheek as the photo centered on him who was smiling with his hand holding the camera.

It wasn't the best picture, but you didn't want to waste time or have the energy to go out and print a picture with him alone. It hurt to think that this is what you now had to do every year when October rolled around. To choose a picture of him, frame it, and place it beside others on your altar. It fucking hurt to even think about that you had to pause and breathe.

You eventually returned to the ofrenda, quietly telling Haibara (more like his picture) excuse me as you shifted things a little bit. A few days ago you had left space for Haibara's space on the ofrenda, asking for permission to commemorate him as well. What you didn’t expect was that you would soon place Nanami’s picture right next to it.

After quickly scavenging around your place, looking for things that were his and knew he liked, you managed to set decent offerings. A loaf of bread, a glass of neat whiskey, and a tie you were going to give him. It was hard to place these things and decorate his framed picture with marigolds. It was just another reminder of how much you lost within him. A lover, a friend, a protector, and a safe space. All in him, all in Nanami.

But you know that his impact was much greater than in your life alone. The people he protected, both sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike; the people that looked up to him, and the people that knew him way back. Looking at his picture did nothing but remind you of how heavy your heart felt at the moment. But it was that emptiness that reminded you of how much you loved him and it made you promise to him how you would carry your love for him to the grave.

You sat before your altar, deciding to bow before him and everyone on the ofrenda just like he did during Obon. It wasn't something you did, but something in you told you it was the right thing to do. He had spent so much time immersed in your culture, it was your turn to immerse further into his.

As you straighten up, still kneeling on the floor with your glossy eyes on his picture, you catch a glimpse of Haibara's. Nanami would appreciate it, right? Being reunited with his friend and to be placed beside him like this. You hope so. But seeing those pictures together got you thinking about October 28th and how upset yet vulnerable he seemed after learning whose deaths are commemorated those days.

"I don't hold it against you. Not today or in a million years, Kento." You said in the empty room, hoping your words were caught by him regardless of where he is.

"It hurts but..." You closed your eyes, throwing your head back as you felt the tears come back once again. Still, you wanted him to hear your words. You needed to say them and he probably needed to hear them

"...but I know you did your best to come back. No me molesta conmemorarte el 28 si significa conmemorarte por mas de un dia. Durante Obon, el 28 de octuber, el 2 de Noviembre...no importa." You cried out, feeling your chest tighten up as you let those words out of your heart. "Remembering you is the best I can do to honor and love you, Kento."

As you whisper those final words, you stay in silence. No one was there to reply back to you even if you held onto the sound of his voice repeating in your mind or clutched onto the necklace he gave you on your anniversary. You could only hope that the smell of marigolds and the warmth of the candles could comfort you at the moment.

Maybe another year you will be able to celebrate Nanami Kento’s life. Maybe not next year or the one after that, but eventually hopefully. One thing was certain—you could not do so this year. You could not focus on the joyful aspect of your tradition this year after losing him so quickly and tragically. This year you could only mourn him. For now, you were not only mourning his life but also the one you could’ve had with Nanami Kento, your love.

[sapphia]

OPINION: The national hui at Tūrangawaewae Marae saw 10,000 people united in the face of actions by the coalition government, including its proposed Treaty Principles Bill. John Campbell was there.

History happens on single days.

Yesterday, at Tūrangawaewae, will be one of them.

“Why are you here?”, I asked Tame Iti.

“Vibrations”, he replied.

The rest of us will feel them over the days and months and years ahead.

Initial estimates of how many people would come had begun at 3000. Then 4000 registered, so estimates grew to 5000. Then 7000. By lunchtime, organisers were saying 10,000 had arrived. There wasn't room inside for them all. A large marquee across the road was full, all day. Every seat, everywhere, was taken. There was hardly standing room.

This special place, which has held tangi for royalty, which is where the Tainui treaty settlement was signed, which was visited by Nelson Mandela, and Queen Elizabeth II, and many of our greatest rangatira, has seldom seen so many people.

But no one objected. To standing. To the steaming heat. To the fact that sometimes people were too far away from the speakers, or the screens relaying them, to hear.

New Zealand First’s deputy leader, Shane Jones, told RNZ the hui could turn into a “monumental moan session”.

But it didn’t. Somehow, the word I keep coming back to is joyful.

The National Hui for Unity it was called. And it felt like exactly that.

On the way to Ngāruawāhia early yesterday morning, I pulled into a truck-stop near Bombay, at the southernmost end of the Auckland motorway system, to meet the Ngāpuhi convoy travelling down from the far north.

Some had begun their journey way up, in Kaikohe, at 3am. They spilled out into the half light of an overcast morning and inhaled the beginning of what would be an extraordinary day.

It’s easy for the significance of this delegation to be lost amid all the other arrivals. The people who’d come from even further away. Iwi after iwi. Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Porou, Tainui, Ngāti Kahungunu, Ngāi Tahu, Te Arawa, Ngāti Tūwharetoa, Ngāi Tūhoe, Ngāti Maniapoto – the big ten, all there, in declaratory numbers.

Just a few members of the Ngati Porou contingent who drove over on Friday from Tairāwhiti to attend the hui.

Ngāi Tahu representatives had taken a huge journey by road, then Cook Strait ferry, then road.

A friend’s father flew up from Invercargill.

But the size and standing of Ngāpuhi’s delegation provides some insight into how very significant this hui was.

Ngāpuhi aren’t a Kīngitanga iwi. They don’t see Kīngi Tūheitia as their king. And they contain Waitangi within their broad, northern boundaries – home, of course, to the Waitangi commemorations, our most famous form of national hui.

And yet they came, hundreds of Ngāpuhi. Some wearing korowai made especially for the occasion. Some the direct descendants of Treaty signatories. A waiata, composed for the hui, rehearsed beyond newness into a heartfelt and singular voice.

“Why are you going?” I asked Mane Tahere, the chair of Te Runanga-Ā-Iwi-Ō-Ngāpuhi. “It feels significant that Ngāpuhi are attending in such numbers.”

“Because”, he answered, “the challenges we face do not discriminate amongst iwi. We held three hui to discuss whether we should come, and who would come, and what our message would be. The final hui was only last Saturday. I wouldn’t have put our rūnanga resources into something we didn’t collectively support. This was hapū rangatiratanga. Hapū after hapū spoke and said we should go.”

Why?

“Because the question we have to ask as Māori is how we activate ourselves, re-activate ourselves, for 2024? How do we say to the coalition government, ‘hang on, what do you mean, and what are you doing?’ And the best way to do that is to do it together. Now is the time for Māori unity.”

The National Hui for Unity was only called by Kīngi Tuheitia Pootatau Te Wherowhero VII (Kīngi Tuheitia) at the beginning of December. That so very many people would arrive here, only six weeks later, in the holiday-season slowness of the third week of January, speaks not only to how resoundingly those present reject the coalition government’s Treaty Principles Bill, but also to a strength of unity already existing.

That is to say, a unified rejection of what Kīngitanga Chief of Staff, Archdeacon Ngira Simmonds, described as the “unhelpful and divisive rhetoric” of the election campaign.

“Maaori can lead for all”, said Ngira Simmonds, at the beginning of this month, “and we are prepared to do that.” *

This is part of a growing sense, as Ngāpuhi’s Mane Tahere told me, that “we’ve turned a corner”.

The corner is that u word – unity. The increasingly urgent sense of the need for a collective response to the coalition government.

And, without great external fanfare, these relationships have already been building.

The Kīngitanga movement has begun sending some of its most senior figures north for Waitangi Day commemorations – into the heart of Ngāpuhi country. And again, like Ngāpuhi coming to Ngāruawāhia, this reflects a belief that by Māori for Māori, all Māori, is the strongest possible response to a government they fear is intent on division.

This year, for the first time since 2009, Kīngi Tūheitia himself (who has Ngāpuhi whakapapa on his father’s side) will be attending Waitangi.

Symbolic? Yes.

Significant? Yes.

Unity.

Mana motuhake (self-government).

“Look at all these people,” Tame Iti said to me. “They’re here to listen. To learn. The first layer of mana motuhake is yourself.”

All protest is a form of risk.

Risk that it goes awry – and costs support, rather than galvanises it.

Risk that it arms your most cynical critics with the material for derision or contempt.

Risk that no one notices. Or that the turnout is so small that those who have the luxury of being able to not protest can turn away.

Some politicians may tell you that 10,000 people is not very many. I would say otherwise. In 30 years of covering politics, I have never attended a New Zealand party-political rally that attracted anywhere near that many. Or even half that number.

What happened at Tūrangawaewae yesterday was a triumph for all those involved.

In the striking heart of the mid-afternoon, I passed Tukoroirangi Morgan, the chair of the Waikato-Tainui executive board. We were going in opposite directions over the sunburnt road.

Chair of the Waikato-Tainui executive board Tukoroirangi Morgan.

Chair of the Waikato-Tainui executive board Tukoroirangi Morgan. (Source: 1News)

“How’s it going, Tuku?”, I asked him.

“It’s amazing”, he replied. “All these people.” And then he stopped, looked out over the everyone, everywhere, and repeated himself. “Amazing.”

Tūrangawaewae is located just outside Ngāruawāhia, directly across the Waikato River from the shops in that little township. Somewhere, just to its east, the new Waikato Expressway has stolen many of the estimated 17,000 cars a day that once passed through here. For decades, Ngāruawāhia was a pie and petrol stop on the main road between Hamilton and Auckland.

Not so much, any longer.

The challenge of history is to survive it.

And Kīngitanga itself was a kind of survival strategy.

It wasn’t this simple, of course, but a famous saying of the second Māori King, Tāwhiao, broadly speaks to the hopes of the Kīngitanga movement: “Ki te kotahi te kākaho ka whati ki te kāpuia e kore e whati.” The Māori Dictionary translates it prosaically: “If there is but one reed it will break, but if it is bunched together it will not.”

Yesterday, the reeds felt tight and strong.

“Why are you here?” I asked people, over and over.

The answer was almost always a variation of what Christina Te Namu told me. Christina, too, is Ngāpuhi. “I just wanted to support our people”, she said. “Now is the time for us to stand together as one.”

A group of women from Ngati Porou stopped to say kia ora.

It seems almost inadequate to state it like this, but they were there to be there. They had driven from Tairawhiti because being there mattered. Every person I spoke to had come to be part of this declaration of solidarity.

'An attempt to abolish the Treaty'

On Friday morning, something happened that gave this already significant day a vivid, extra weight.

My 1News colleague, Te Aniwa Hurihanganui, obtained details of the coalition Government’s Treaty Principles Bill. In its initial form it is not so much a re-evaluation of the role of the Treaty as an abandonment of it. Professor Margaret Mutu, speaking on 1News on Friday night, called it “an attempt to abolish the Treaty of Waitangi.”

This has arisen out of National’s coalition agreement with ACT.

I wrote about this at the end of last year, and also in the weeks after the election. I looked at the coalition agreements between National and ACT, and National and New Zealand First. And I noted their pointed focus on Māori. Some of it felt mean. What I called a strange, circling sense of a new colonialism.

I wrote about what I saw as ACT and New Zealand First's experiments with a kind of "resentment populism".

Who are we?, I asked. And where are we heading?

We’re heading to National reaching 41 percent in the first political poll of the year, “a massive jump”, as Thomas Coughlan described it in the NZ Herald, earlier this week. And we’re heading here, to Tūrangawaewae, and to thousands of people who travelled from throughout the country to collectively say, “no”.

In other words, we’re heading towards, or have already arrived in the vicinity of what PBS called the “divide and conquer populist agenda”.

And we’re heading to politics that purport to speak out against division, whilst arguably fomenting it.

In an opinion piece by David Seymour, published in the NZ Herald on Friday, the ACT leader begins with the sentence, “If there’s one undercurrent beneath so much of our politics, it’s division”.

Is David Seymour responding to division, or causing it?

The Treaty, he said, in December, “divides rather than unites people, as most treaties are supposed to do.”

But whose endgame is division? Really?

I've written before about the kind of populist politics that drive people to division, then throw up their hands and yell, “LOOK! DIVISION”, having wished for exactly that.

This, as Australian Academic Carol Johson wrote in The Conversation after the “no” vote in Australia’s Voice referendum, speaks to “a conception of equality controversially based on treating everyone the same, regardless of the different circumstances or particular disadvantages they face.”

That's equality as David Seymour consistently claims to define it.

But do as they say, not as they do. There was a time when ACT received some handy support from National. Remember that famous cup of tea? Surely Seymour's idea of equality would have insisted that Act get trounced than receive a leg-up?

The fascinating thing is that populism is typically structured around “the claim to speak for the underdog and the critique of privileged 'elites' and their disregard for the needs of ’ordinary people’".

But it’s hard for National to occupy that space when the party has historically been supported by the “elite”, and when your leader is a former CEO who owns seven properties, and who received total remuneration of $4.2 million in his last full year at Air New Zealand.

So, you can do two things. You can outsource populism to your coalition partners. (And sit there with a face of injured innocence, like someone insisting it was really the dog who farted.) And you can allow coalition partners to redefine the definition of “elite”.

No-one does this more enthusiastically than Winston Peters.

During the months prior to the election, the New Zealand First leader said “elite” more often than Kylie Minogue has said “lucky”.

“Elite Māori”, “elite power-hungry Māori”, “an elite cabal of social and ideological engineers.”

The idea, as I wrote after the election, is to somehow persuade us that Māori are getting something the rest of us are not. And they are: a seven-years-shorter life expectancy, lower household income, persistent inequities in health, the greatest likelihood of leaving school with low or no qualifications, and an over-representation in the criminal justice system to such a great extent that Māori make up 52 percent of the prison population.

Elite as.

So, had this hui erupted into a kind of rage, would that have been a victory for populism? Would the divisions have become entrenched? Would Māori have been blamed for reacting to provocation, rather than the provocation itself being examined?

None of this is new. Which is why Māori recognise it.

In July 1863, the Crown issued a proclamation demanding: “All persons of the native race living in the Manukau district and the Waikato frontier are hereby required immediately to take the oath of allegiance to Her Majesty the Queen”.

And those who wouldn’t?

“Natives refusing to do so are hereby warned forthwith to leave the district aforesaid, and retire to Waikato beyond Mangatawhiri.”

And anyone “not complying with this Order… will be ejected.”

Vincent O’Malley, in his remarkable book The Great War for New Zealand describes what happened next.

“On the same date some 1500 troops marched from Auckland for Drury.”

The troops didn’t stop. There are few more egregious and cynical predations in our history. South they went. Without just cause or provocation. Into Waikato.

Ngāruawāhia, Vincent O’Malley tells us, was “strategically important during the war because of its location at the confluence of the Waikato and Waipā rivers.”

“By 6 December 1863, Ngāruawāhia (‘the late head quarters of Māori sovereignty’ as one reporter dubbed it) had been deserted.”

At four o’clock that afternoon, a British flag was hoisted there.

And why does this story matter, still? 160 years later.

Because the Crown used the requirement for “allegiance”, the demand that Māori be loyal to it, so disingenuously. The language of colonisation purported to be about governance, about the role and rule of a single law, but it was a violation of law and a betrayal of the principles of government.

By the end of this rule of law, roughly 1.2 million acres of Waikato land had been “confiscated”.

And any opposition to it was defined, in law, as “rebellion”. And rebellion was justification for seizing more land.

This is our history. And part of it happened here, where the 10,000 people met yesterday.

It was so hot by late morning that people were swimming in the Waikato River.

I wandered down from the crowds at the hui to talk to the people swimming. They were mostly young, although not all.

I met a ten year old who told me her parents had brought her so she could “find out where I’m from”.

She was from Waitara, in Taranaki, so this wasn’t a literal homecoming.

I wondered how many people had travelled big distances to have a new or reinvigorated sense of what it means to be Māori.

Heading back inside, I saw Professor Margaret Mutu.

There are few who have more rigorously applied their formidable intellect to making sense of the intersection of Māori and colonisation.

Professor Margaret Motu: "You have two parties to a treaty, and one of them can’t unilaterally redefine it."

She is of Ngāti Kahu, Te Rarawa, Ngāti Whātua and Scottish descent. She is Professor of Māori Studies at the University of Auckland. And, her university profile tells us, she holds a BSc in mathematics, an MPhil in Māori Studies, a PhD in Māori Studies specialising in linguistics and a DipTchg.

There was nowhere quiet for us to sit. But people kindly made space at the back of a kitchen prep area. And I asked her about the significance of the Treaty, for Māori, for the Crown, and for us all.

“Te Tiriti is where you go," she said. “When things look as if they’re not working for you, you have a protection, and that’s where you go. It will always look after you. It will always protect you.”

“And while it seems clear that this government wants to abolish the Treaty," Margaret Mutu continued, “that can never happen. For one thing, you have two parties to a treaty, and one of them can’t unilaterally redefine it. But also, our tūpuna were very, very wise. In the Treaty they invited Pākehā, the British, to come and live with us. But they had to live with us in peace. In peace and friendship. And that’s what the Treaty is. It’s a treaty of peace and friendship. You can’t redefine that. You can’t rewrite that. It was very wise and it was very clear.”

And here’s where Margaret Mutu helped me understand why the mood at Tūrangawaewae was so – and I wish I could find better words – hopeful, positive, constructive.

Manaaki manuhiri: to support and care for your guests.

“We invited Pākehā to live amongst us,”, she said. “And what a lot of our Pākehā friends don’t understand, I think, is that our tikanga requires us to manaaki manuhiri. And that’s about looking after everybody. Everybody. So even when we have hate thrown at us, we have to assert aroha. That’s what manaaki manuhiri requires, even when people are very badly behaved.” Margaret Mutu laughs at this. “So, people have come here today to find that strength. It’s not about fighting people. It’s to find that strength and unity to be able to rise above the hatred. And now we will just get on and do exactly that.”

After lunch, I was invited to meet the King.

I’ve never been inside Tūrongo before, the royal residence. Or Māhinaarangi, which is both a famous meeting house and a unique kind of museum.

It looks out over the marae. And it gently contains, as if nestled in the palm of a large, open hand, photos and remembrances of those who’ve come before. The people who built Kīngitanga. Tāwhiao is there, his photo looking down from the wall. He died 130 years ago. How he would have marvelled, with great pride, at such a gathering, and perhaps, also, despaired at it still being necessary, in 2024.

Ngira Simmonds took me in. And I found myself, shy for once, able to stand and look out, viewing the unfolding of this new history from a place that is so central to the story of the history of us.

Kīngi Tuheitia was beaming.

“I didn’t sleep last night”, he told me. “But I knew this was the time for us to come together. And we have. We have.”

It occurred to me, as I walked back to stand amongst the thousands Kīngi Tuheitia was looking out to, with such delight, that the hui was the actualisation of Tāwhiao’s hope for the unbreakable strength of reeds tied together.

What was was happening felt transformative in the very fact it was happening. The mana motuhake of 10,000 people.

The vibrations.

Will the government feel them?

Will they survive the divisions of populism? Of politics that echo our repeated capacity to claim we are governing to unite people whilst governing against Māori?

Or maybe, this is how it all begins. In an historically large display of unity.

Rātana follows. Then Waitangi.

Yesterday ended with Kiingi Tuheitia speaking.

“The best protest we can do right now is be Maaori. Be who we are, live our values, speak our reo, care for our mokopuna, our awa, our maunga, just be Maaori. Maaori all day, every day. We are here, we are strong.”

The reeds tightening.

*Macrons haven't been used when quoting Tainui, who choose not to use them.

fantastic article on the national hui in response to aotearoa’s assault on indigenous rights. click through for pictures and video.

[meluiloth]

Just saw your post for the greenwood headcannons (lemme first tell ya, I also love them to a fault, such a shame we have almost nothing on them that is cannon), and do you have any thoughts about holidays or parties they might have? We know of the Feast in The Hobbit book where Galion drinks himself unconscious lmao (iconic of him btw), but seeing as they are apparently a very happy population in general, I'd wager they have more than just that one yk

Thanks for the ask!

I think the Silvan Elves are a very celebratory people, and will take any opportunity to partake in feasting, wine, and song. There are banquets and parties often, sometimes for no occasion other than to make merry (as is seen in The Hobbit, where the Elves host parties for many nights in a row!) That being said, I do think there are also holidays of special significance throughout the year and are commemorated differently than the common feast. Birthdays, for example, are a citywide affair, as are marriages and new babies; the Elves are a very family-oriented community, where everyone pretty much knows everyone. Aside from those, I've compiled a small list of holidays the Silvan Elves would celebrate!

Among the most well-known and extravagantly celebrated holidays are the Seasonal Masques, which are festivals that take place at the height of each of the four seasons. The Elves honor the bounty of nature and the beauty of every season to the fullest, and a lot of preparation is put into these four festivals.

First is the Spring Masque, which is focused on the joy of new blossoms and blooming fruit after winter. They dress mostly in white during this festival, so as to devote their full attention to the vibrant colors around them, and all of the food is found fresh in the wild: berries, fruits, and greenery in particular. There is no meat consumed during this festival, to preserve and honor the new life in this season.

A few months later is the Summer Masque, which is held on the longest day and is a celebration of the lushness of the forest; this day is full of dancing and song to display the excitement of the wild. The outfits of this festival are quite extravagant, featuring a lot of animal and flower motifs.

When the days shorten and the forest is completely covered in the colors of fall, the Autumn Masque arrives, bringing with it a bounty of harvest, changing leaves, and preparation for colder months ahead. The colors of this festival are warm and rich, and there is plenty of hot food and aromatic spices in every dish.

Finally comes the Winter Masque, and the end of the cycle of seasons. The Elves gather inside the Elvenking's Halls, where it is warm, making this a quieter and gentler holiday illuminated with candles, starlight, and snow; the forest is sleeping, so the festivities are quieter to avoid disturbing it. Often, there is a hunt, and the costumes are very fur-based to keep warm, and fresh spiced venison and wine is served.

There is also the Feast of Starlight (or Mereth Nuin Giliath in Sindarin) which takes place in the early winter, when the trees are bare and the stars are clearest; this is the feast that is featured in The Hobbit films, and, as its name suggests, it is a commemoration of Arda's dearest creations.

However, not all of the Silvan Elf holidays are joyful. Lû-o-fuin, or Time of Darkness, is a period of mourning for the Mirkwood Elves; it is a week-long fast in honor of all the lives lost during the War of the Last Alliance. Though the rest of Middle-Earth celebrates this time for the fall of Sauron, the Silvan Elves remember it for the grief it caused to their people - they lost King Oropher and an overwhelming number of their army, and this also marks the time in their history when the Necromancer first came to Greenwood and the trees began to wither. To honor this loss, the Elves do not eat or drink for a week, and wear only ash-colored robes. On the last day of mourning, they go to the Forest River, where they make small boats out of leaves and set them floating in the water, to signify the souls of those who died returning to Faerie (Valinor).

Those are some ideas for Mirkwood Elf holidays! I hope you like them (because I spent a lot of time thinking about these and even longer looking for the right images...), and thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to share this!

If you're interested in my imagining of the Silvan Elves in Mirkwood, check out my mirkwood headcanons tag! If there's a headcanon you want me to explore that I haven't already, my ask box is open!