#beautiful sin

[lightineventide]

Happy birthday to Magali "Maggy" Luyten! Her work is a big inspiration for me (I know that metal music as a whole is, but I'm not immune to having favourites). Especially since I recently found out about her newest band - The Prize. I couldn't finish the whole of this experimental drawing in time like I had wanted, so I'm putting here the first half, hehe. I hope that I've managed to catch a glimpse of that stage presence which has captivated me for years! (Note: I hold a great appreciation for singers that make me wanna sing along Every Time I hear their voice, so that's why I'm currently fangirling more than usual.) I don't own the rights to the reference photo.

Some recommendatons:

With Ayreon - that's the most popular of her works. In the studio album she's featured on only two songs: Liquid Eternity and Ride The Comet, but I strongly recommend checking out her performance in the Ayreon Universe live album (2017) - of the songs Intergalactic Space Crusaders, Star of Sirrah, Everybody Dies and again, Ride The Comet.

Beautiful Sin - I'm not that much of a fan of their album, but that was Magali's first more popular work, I think, and it's definitely not bad at all. Songs recs: Give Up Once For All and Closer To My Heart.

Nightmare - this French band was founded in the 80s and has had different vocalists. Luyten was on the position in 2016's Dead Sun. I don't know if it's the band's best album, but I definitely love it - a classic heavy metal songwriting style, plus, Maggy's voice really shines here, and the production is nice - worth checking out if you like such stuff, in my opinion. Specific song recs: Ikarus, Red Marble & Gold and Starry Skies Gone Black.

The Prize - again, a very classic hard rock/metal approach, with a touch of modernity. I'd say their album (first and only for now, self titled, from 2022) is a collection of the musicians' influences and loved music, overall a not-too-unique but fun and exciting work. I strongly recommend it to anyone who has that specific nostalgic connection to this type of music (I am a person who was raised on rock and metal and I get very excited by only the sound of electric guitars and drums and rockstar-type vocals, so maybe that's why I like it so much). Song mentions: Cirkus (my favourite), Funhouse Mirror, Garden of Bones and Blood Red Ink.

[sapphic-storm69]

Spiderverse thots

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

Me: What would happen if I slowed *that moment* down...

Me: 👀👀👀 And um...what if I, um, looped it?

🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 I...am having THOTS...and thinking about...SITUATIONS...and I... 😵‍💫

Pedro Pascal as Joel Miller in The Last of Us, HBO (Episode 9)

[hiddenvioletsgrow]

Mary being treated as if she was sinless makes me so so sad. Like talk about erasing the wonder and glory of Jesus’ birth

[femmies]

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Incest, light smut, swearing, cheating

Pairing: Cregan Stark x reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.01

Your eyes glistened with tears as they dribbled down your cheeks. You swallow back the bile rising and rub at your temples with your free hand, bringing yourself back to reality. You could only stare up at the empty sky for so long while imagining what it would be like to be an actual dragon, free to go wherever you want.

“He’s been feeding for some time,” Aemond says softly. “His stomach must be full.”

“I know how to feed my babe. He’ll stop latching on when he’s no longer hungry.”

Aemond, who was still standing on the opposite side of the room, slowly starts to approach you. “I mean know offensive wife, I know you care for him without fault.”

You say nothing.

A few moments pass, and your babe finally lets go of your breast. When you wipe milk from his mouth, he starts to fuss. “There, there,” you coo. “There’s nothing to cry over, my little Prince; time for bed.”

Gently you put Maitland into the cot placed beside your bed; only after you’re sure he’s settled do you finally make eye contact with Aemond. His eye is glossy with tears. “You had your belongings moved from our bedchamber.”

Aemond attempts to touch your shoulder, but you shrug him off.

“Twas only a matter of time, wasn’t it? Before you betrayed me.” Your voice cracks and your stomach churns. “I will not share a bed with a man who puts his precious whore before his family and lies to my face.”

“If Aegon—”

“Do not blame him for letting me know how much of a fool I was. Singing your praises, bearing your child, bragging how I had the perfect husband. I needed you by my side, Aemond, but instead of being there, you were coddled by that old whore.”

His lip twitches, “And what do you purpose we do now? I’m still your husband. We have a child together; you must hold some love for me.”

“When Maitland is older, we will perform our duty again, but until then, nothing. No more dragon riding, no more attending plays together, no walks in the garden. When we walk by each other in the halls, we will say nothing.”

“None of it needs to be this way in truth.”

The raw emotion in his voice is surprising, but you refuse to budge. Give into your emotions. Aemond broke something inside. You whisper, “It’s too late.”

His sight goes to the cot, and you could see the wheels of panic turning.

“You are free to spend as much time with our son as you wish; just try not to disappoint him as you have me.”

Five years later

Breathing in the scent of dragon, you bury your nose deeper into the crook of Aemond’s neck. The smell brings you comfort, a warmth you don’t get from your husband.

Pushed up against the cold wall in your chambers, you wait for Aemond to finish fucking you as if you were a bitch in heat. Aemond was completely nude, while your body was concealed by your green dress. Aemond lets go of your hip and pinches your nipple; he smirks, feeling the way you arch your back.

Your fingers cling to his hair, “fuck, harder.”

Aemond speeds up his thrust, his hips slapping against yours. The maester had worked out the best time during each moon for his seed to take, and it was one of the few times you’d interact. There were times you felt lonely and sought out his comfort, but each time you went to his bedchambers they were empty.

He was with her.

Trying to fall in love with Aemond again was as painful as reopening an old wound.

“Gods,” he grunts, spilling his seed. His lips graze your ear. “It’s been too long since we did this.”

“Yes, well…” You brush by him and begin putting your stockings back on. “We have much to do in the name of our king.”

While redressing, Aemond frowns watching you walk towards the door. “Where are you going? The handmaidens are coming shortly to help you get ready.”

“To see my boy.”

“He’s asleep.”

“I know that, Aemond,” you deadpan. “It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. Once I arrive, I’ll need to bathe before formally meeting with Lord Stark. I don’t imagine northerners will appreciate the strong smell of dragon after a long journey.”

A sound that resembles chuckle leaves his lips.

When your grandsire first proposed sending dragon riders as envoys, you offered to fly the longest journey north. Helaena did not wish to participate; Daeron was in Old Town, and Aegon needed to remain in the keep, leaving only you and Aemond to bicker over what houses you’d visit.

In the privacy of the small council with only Aegon and yourself, your grandsire speaks freely. “Mayhaps it would be better if the princess went to treat with Lord Cregan at Winterfell. He is young but fierce and may be persuaded by the gentle heart of a woman rather than threats.”

It was known Stark didn’t break oaths, but you had an ulterior motive for volunteering.

“I do not need a fancy dress to go dragon riding. I will see my son before going to the dragon pit.” You bite at your nails while contemplating what to say next. “Be safe, brother.”

—

“Princess.”

Disappointment strikes you as soon as you see Ser Criston standing post outside your bedchamber. You start walking down the hallway, knowing the knight would follow close behind. “Where is my sworn shield?”

“I took over his shift.”

Scoffing, you glare at him. “Scared I’ll tell my husband of your dirty little secret?”

“Not at all princess; I know the love you hold for the dowager queen and wouldn’t risk tarnishing her name.”

If the hour wasn’t late and you weren’t near your son's nursery, the knight would have received the sharpness of your tongue. But you had no intention of waking Maitland.

“You’ve become too comfortable around dragons, Ser Criston. If it was one of my brothers who walked in, they would have been burned in flames by now.”

Your demeanor changes when you reach the nursery, “Ser Arryk.”

“Princess,” he opens the door for you. “Lord commander.”

Ameond had personally chosen Ser Arryk to be Maitland's shield, and it was a wise decision. “Ser Arryk, during my absence there's naught to be changed to my son's customs.”

“I won’t let him out of my sight, princess.”

—

When you arrived at Winterfell, you were informed Lord Stark wasn’t in his castle but at Castle Black. After accepting a warm meal and a chance to clean up, you fly on Dragonback to the wall, much to the horror of the men of the night’s watch.

“Most of them thought you were coming to burn us.”

You chuckle, “Fear is common in the presence of a dragon, but I suppose the rangers who scout beyond the walls will have much worse things to fear.”

“They are a sight to behold. My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall; it’s an honor to lay eyes on the same dragons he did. Although I am surprised you are alone, princess.”

“Vermithor and Silverwing are deeply connected and cannot be parted easily.”

When you reach the top of the wall, you take each step with caution; ice and snow weren’t something you were accustomed to walking on. Lord Stark notices and does his best to hide the smile on his face.

“Do they both have riders?”

You smile proudly, “Silverwing is bonded with my son. He is too young and small to mount her yet, but the dragon keepers think he will be ready in a couple of years.”

“Many of the ladies in Winterfell laugh that I won’t allow my son, Rickon, who is seven, to travel to the wall with me.”

You continue making small talk about your children, and you learn Lord Stark’s wife died in childbirth. He stops walking when you reach a spot in the middle of the wall that faces the forest, which is believed to be haunted. The longer you stare at it, the darker it becomes, just like you had foreseen in your head.

“I’ll speak freely with you, princess; Starks do not forget their oaths, and my father swore our house and bent the knee to the king's chosen heir in front of King Viserys and princess Rhaenyra. You must know that regardless of who sits on the throne, my gaze will forever be torn between north and south.”

“Thank you, my lord, for being honest.” Your reaction of understanding instead of anger seems to surprise him. “When winter comes, your strength will be needed here more than in King's landing. Your men are the guardians against the cold and the dark.”

He cocks his head; the look in his eyes is hard to read. “Most people outside our lands think the wall was built to keep out wildings and weather.”

“Death sleeps beneath the ice.”

[marzipanandminutiae]

so I saw someone characterizing the (bullshit, unnecessary, oh my god you didn't even stick to the visual change in the epilogue section) makeover in the movie Enchanted as "Giselle looking like a grown woman instead of a little girl playing dress-up"

and like. I don't know. I'm having Feelings about that

for reference, here's what she spent most of the movie wearing:

and this:

and here's the "made-over" look:

(god it doesn't even FIT THE ACTRESS FLATTERINGLY I hate this look so incredibly much she looks like a grape Flintstones ice cream pop)

now, I see why this commenter said the first looks were childish. one has a long flowy skirt for everyday attire, her hair has flowers and ribbons in it for both, the fabrics are pastel with a floral print- all things that are a far cry from the sleek, muted or neutral vision we have of adulthood nowadays

and I HATE that those things read as "childish" to me. I hate that I can see it. because they didn't always come across that way, and they shouldn't. there's nothing inherently juvenile about decorated, pretty clothing

This is a dress for an adult woman c. 1863

this is a (formal) suit for an adult man c. 1770

This is a fashion plate from 1886

and that's just western fashion from relatively recent history- cultures all over the world have loved decorating clothing, accessories, furniture, and spaces intended for mixed-age or entirely adult use

there's nothing innately childish about bright or pastel colors (or even jewel tones- Adult Clothing seems to comprise nothing but neutrals, these days). or flowers. or ribbons. or just...decorated clothing, at all. why do we see it that way? how much joy are we robbing ourselves of in a quest to be Perfectly Mature by an incredibly exacting standard that didn't even exist for most of human history?

[eefrostpoetry]

i've written to many love letters to you and not enough to myself

[ruinme-please]

Ivy Ivy Ivy...

[bustincyder]

[asmodeauxx]

happy sex update yall

buy me a kofi?

[hhhhleb]

getting to know each other

they got stuck in the Void(?) for an indefinite period of time…without Ink's brush and vials.. they have nothing to do but talk i guess..(more thoughts in tags)

related to this thing with sci and this red ink thing

[diabolicphallus666]

Sin, Lust, Desire

Indulge in SATAN always in every way possible

[starogeorgina]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐧

Warnings: Smut, swearing, mentions of blood, incest

Pairing: Cregan Stark × reader, Aemond Targaryen × reader

1.04

“Many in my line have been dragon riders; very few among us have been dreamers like Aegon the Conqueror.”

The sound of snow being crushed under Lord Stark’s boots is much heavier; he has remained mainly silently as you walked towards the godswoods. Your grandsire had told men from the north they were not ones for long conversation, but then again, Otto Hightower has been wrong about many things.

“He saw them, the threat in the north, in his dream.”

Lord Stark slows his steps, “How do you know this to be true?”

“Aegon's conquest was not an act of pure ambition. The conquerors goal was to unite all the kingdoms so they might survive the long night. How much faith do you have in prophecy’s my lord?”

“Since the days of the First Men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. I know what danger lies beyond the wall.”

The closer Vermithor got to Castle Black, the more could the emptiness, that vast darkness surrounding it. The wind screamed in your ears, telling you to go back, to flee, but you could not retreat. Not when you needed to see the darkness. A cold sweat trickles down your back, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed, you away on your feet.

Lord Stark grabs your arm with his gloved hands to keep you steady. “Princess, are you okay? Should you return indoors?”

“I’m fine, my lord; I’m just—not used to the cold.”

He looks unconvinced, but let’s go of your arm. His first name was lingering on the tip of your tongue, but as there were others around, although at a distance, you thought it best to remain formal.

“They are inhuman, elegant, dangerous, and beautiful. The white shadow’s blood is pale blue; they are tall and gaunt. Their eyes burning like ice. Flesh pale as fresh milk.”

You stand on the edge of the pond across from the Weirwood and feel a coldness creeping on the back of your neck, but it disappears when you feel the warmth of Cregan’s breath. “Is the white shadow what they are known as in the south?”

“No, only myself and my sisters know of the threat.” Both you and Helaena had learnt of the prophecy through visions, and your father had told Rhaenyra. “The threat will go by many names: the others, white walkers, white shadows. Some will even refer to them as the cold gods.”

“You have fire in your words, princess, but a prophecy alone cannot be the only reason you came to Winterfell. And it wasn’t to sway which side the North would fight for.”

“There has never lived a Stark that broke their oath; it would have been foolish of me to even ask,” you smile. “The dragons are the last magic of Old Valyria, and they are scared. I believe the looming war between my family will be the last of them; the magic will die out, and then death from beyond the wall will spread and consume all of Westeros.”

“You believe the Targaryens will fight along with the night's watch when the time comes.”

“There is no doubt the north produces the fiercest fighters, my Lord, but a man cannot kill the dead alone. The white shadow fears what can destroy it.”

He swallows thickly, “fire.”

“My father owned a Valyrian steel blade with the words, ‘My blood come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.’ The dagger now belongs to my brother, but it should have gone to Rhaenyra. The prince that was promised will come from her line.”

You remove your gloves and place your palm firmly against the bark of the Weirwood tree, feeling the cold against your skin. Closing your eyes, you hear Helaena’s voice in the distance, but it’s not you she's speaking directly to.

“There is warmth beneath all that ice.”

“Ah!”

Opening your eyes, you look down and notice blood falling onto the snow; something had sliced through his thick leather gloves and cut his hand. “What happened?” You apply pressure to the cut with your own hand. “Shall I get a maester?”

Before he can answer, the sound of wings flapping alerts you to a dragon flying nearby. Vermithor and Silverwing fly lower than not casting a shadow over where you stand. Cregan takes a step closer to you and tilts his head down; he kisses you tenderly on the lips.

Seconds pass by, and he’s standing in front of you again, the cut on his hand staining the snow below crimson.

Was the kiss real or a figment of your imagination?

“No, maester. It’s only a small cut.”

You had only known the Lord of Winterfell a few days, but seeing the way his face twists in discomfort makes you want to help. You clear your throat, “then let me clean the cut for you.”

—

The room was silent as you dabbed at the raised skin around the cut on Cregan’s palm with lukewarm water. The wound has stopped bleeding, but you wanted to make sure it was clean. What would your grandsire or mother say learning a princess was attending to Lord Stark in such a way? No doubt the dowager queen would pull a face of disgust, and your grandsire Otto would put a political spin on it. Try to paint you as the image of the mother.

“I thought the cut would have been bigger,” you say quietly.

“Aye, it is small but deep.” He holds up the fang that he picked up in front of the Weirwood tree. “The wolf this came from is larger than my son’s but not yet fully grown. Even as a pup, a wolf's fangs can rip the flesh from a man’s throat.”

“The day will come when they say a Stark will ride into battle on the back of a giant direwolf.”

You look up from the bowl with water and into his eyes, “Thank you.”

“You have a much gentler touch than the maester. I assumed most princesses would swoon at the sight of blood.”

“My brothers used to fight when we were younger, and I would tend to their wounds before our mother would see.” You chuckle, “In his youth, my eldest brother would stub his toe, but would have you believe his entire foot was about to fall off.”

“Not long after Rickon learnt to walk, he went through a phase of screaming seven hells whenever he fell or bumped his head against something, but I soon realized he did it because any lady who saw would rush to coddle him as they do their own children.”

Your heart bleeds for Rickon; no young boy or girl should grow up without a caring mother. You had seen firsthand how Aegon and Aemond turned out spoiled and entitled, with your mother's bitterness rooted deep within them, as did you. Until having a child of your own changed you for the better. “I’ve seen Maitland fall and skin his knees while playing in the gardens of our home countless times; mostly he’ll get up without a fuss, but whenever his father is there, he cries and screams. He only stops when Aemond picks him."

The thought saddens you. Aemond would pick your son up and immediately place him in your arms, because to him it was a woman’s job to deal with whatever woes a child may have.

“Growing up, I was taught that a mother's love was the fiercest of all.”

Your heart flutters. You didn’t like the way Cregan was unintentionally making you feel so... safe. You drop the cloth into the water, which is now tinted red, and go stand by the fireplace.

“Is something wrong, princess?”

Pressing a hand on the wall above the fireplace, you stare down at the flames and shake your head. It was wrong; a man you barely knew should not make you feel more at ease than your own husband.

The chair he was sitting in makes a scraping noise as Cregan stands. “Have I offended you, princess?”

“No, forgive me. I’m just—in my own head.” You turn your head to look at him and are surprised to see the look of concern on his face. “As you said before, a prophecy isn’t the only reason I came here. I wanted to know what it was like to be free.”

“Free?”

“My mother told me women cannot rule, only guide the men that do, which led me to believe I was to make a window in the wall of my own prison. I’ve spent my life so far in the service to men, my father, grandsire, husband, and now Aegon.”

“What is it you desire?”

“To take my son and go somewhere where the name Targaryen means nothing, where the people aren’t scared of our dragons.”

The Lord now stands only a foot in front of you, “princess.”

“Hm?”

“Northerns aren’t scared of dragons.”

No more words needed to be said. Cregan takes a step forward and touches your chin with his rough fingers and gently tilts your face upwards so his lips are mere inches from yours.

You opened your mouth to say something, but no noise came out. Cregan presses his lips against yours. It was a gentle kiss.

Resting his forehead against yours, he asks, “Should I stop?”

“No,” you whisper. “Kiss me again.”

He kisses you again, but this time it’s full of urgency. Was it dishonorable? Yes, but the feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing. Addicting. When Cregan’s lips move to the side of your neck, the need to touch more of him becomes too much, and your fingers fumble as you untie the thick fur covering his shoulders and back.

He kissed below your ear, then quietly said, “You are a rare beauty.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch Cregan kneel in front of you. Putting his hands under your skirts, his palms glide up your thighs until they reach the top of your tights, and he pulls them down. You remain frozen in place, feeling his breath warm against your core; his stubble rubs against your skin as he plants gentle kisses above your womb.

“Wha—oh, gods.”

You barely manage to cover your mouth in time to muffle the moan that escapes it as Cregan uses his tongue on you in a way Aemond never has.

“Oh,” you use one hand to keep your skirts up and the other pressed against the wall. If it wasn’t for Cregan’s strong grip on your thighs, you would have lost your balance. “Gods, gods!”

Your eyes roll back, feeling the flat of his tongue against your clit. It doesn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your legs shaking around his head as you scream Cregan’s name. You drop your skirts when he stands again; your eyes linger on his lips, fascinated by the way your arousal is smeared across them.

He’s so close, your breaths mingle in the air. “Princess,” he brushes his nose against yours. “My dragon princess—”

You grab hold of the waistband of his breeches and start pushing him backwards until his legs hit the chair facing the fireplace. Cregan smirks when you pull his breeches down low enough for his cock to spring free, then push him backwards. Lifting your skirts, you straddle his thighs and sink down onto his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You set a slow pace at first, rocking your hips until you get used to the stinging sensation of him stretching you out.

Cregan brings one hand up to cup your breast, “You are so perfect, so beautiful.”

You begin rocking your hips faster the more praise falls from his mouth. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you lean forward and press your lips against his.

You'll pray for forgiveness in the morrow, but for now you wanted nothing more than Cregan.