#i only recognised dome

[pharawee]

Born To Be Y was announced some time ago, then underwent a partial recasting and now resurfaced with a teaser.

Only, what do they even mean by "semi-reality series"? I really hope this series is still entirely fictional because I don't think I can cope with the idea that someone looked at that one episode of War of Y and thought "yeah, let's turn this into a real thing". Semi-real thing. Whatever that means.

I recognise Dome Woranart (Beam from 2Moons2), and apparently Dollar Patchara (Red Peafowl) and Folk Touch (Love Puzzle) are going to be in it too. It's going to premiere on 6 March 2024.

[princessbrunette]

puppy!reader trying to break up with rafe or just distancing herself because she overheard someone saying they couldn’t understand how rafe could be with a pogue and it hurts her feelings and has her overthinking :( (obviously rafe later on gets her to tell him who said that and he deals with it)

꒰ ౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ ᡣ𐭩

he was used to you being all over him. if you weren’t constantly yapping in his ear, you were using him like a climbing frame, subtly rubbing your needy cunt on his leg or trying to stick a body part of his in your mouth. so, the difference in your behaviour all of a sudden was palpable.

you’d been at the country club. not particularly because you liked it there, you knew despite recently joining the kook life people still saw you as less than — but you had to say, the icecream they served was top notch, and you wouldn’t keep yourself away despite being told off plenty of times by rafe for overdoing it on the sugar and then getting hyperactive.

you step away from the counter with your cone, smiling to yourself at the small victory when your ears picks up on a conversation round the corner. you stop in your tracks, realising it’s about you.

“i mean she’s definitely hot, i’ll give him that. in like, a weird way. she’s got the whole ‘fuck me daddy’ thing going on, you know. she’s helpless. rafes gotta be fuckin’ her.” a kook you didn’t even recognise comments, sipping at his beer.

“dont be weird, bro.” another turns his nose up.

“its true! i dont care man, i know rafe — he fuckin’ hates pogues, he wouldn’t be caught dead with one, ‘specially not one as obvious as her. the girls a mess, and mommy and daddy suddenly coming into money ain’t gonna change that about her.”

your heart sinks as you continue to listen to the berating. in the north carolina heat, icecream didn’t stay structurally sound for long — and you’re only dragged out of your eavesdropping session when the dome of strawberry icecream slides straight off its podium, splatting on the floor besides your sandals, leaving you with just the cone in your hand. you stare down at it, barely registering the loss.

you’d overthought it— something rather uncommon of you. when a few hours had passed, and rafe hadn’t had you hurtling through his front door with a ladybug on your finger or something of the sorts, he actually wondered where you might be— so he showed up at your door.

you wasn’t expecting him. he never chased you, always letting you come to him first — but something felt off, and his curiosity got the better of him.

“w—what is this, you not comin’ over to bother me today?” he shakes his head and your brows crease, staring at the eldest cameron in your doorway.

“no…” you reply quietly, even going the extra length to avoid his eyes. you weren’t trying to be obvious about it, but you couldn’t help that you were upset. he stares at you for a moment, unnerved by your unusual mood.

“…well can i come in or what?”

you allow him, purely because despite your mood you didn’t like to be impolite.

“whats up with you? i already told you to stop watchin’ those animal planet documentaries, kid. they upset you, alright i—”

“i wasn’t.” you snap, and he looks over — your tone grabbing his attention from wandering around your living room, seeing you standing in the corner clutching yourself like you didn’t know what to do. you were so used to being all over him that standing by yourself felt odd.

he scratches his cheek awkwardly, eyes flickering over you. “shit, you mad at me or somethin’?”

slowly, you sit down on the couch, tucking your feet beneath you.

“i’m just trying to give you space.”

he huffs a laugh out from his chest, thinking you’re joking — but his smile fades a little when he sees that you’re not. “yeah? you were all over me yesterday, now what — you shy?”

“i’m a pogue.” you raise your voice over his just a tad, bringing your knees to your chest. the statement catches him off guard, and he sways awkwardly on the spot, watching you.

“yeah no shit. so what.” he drawls, and his agreement stings.

“you hate pogues. so… you hate me.” you draw the conclusion and he fights an eyeroll, walking over to where you’re sat briskly.

“listen if i hated you you’d fuckin’ know about it, alright? i don’t hate you. you’re a pain in my ass, but… but nah.” he shakes his head, settling down on the seat next to you and pushing his hair back, not enjoying the idea of being vulnerable. it made him a little uncomfortable. “where… where is this coming from anyways? since when did you give a shit ‘bout all that?”

“since the people at the club were saying stuff.” you mutter, and now he’s really invested. his head snaps towards you, arm freezing in the air from pushing his hair out of his face. he could tolerate the weird moods, but he wouldn’t tolerate people disrespecting you or him.

“huh?”

your lip starts to tremble at the memory, voice growing higher as you speak. “there was a group of boys, and they were saying i was a mess and that im nothing and that you had to be fucking me because that’s the only thing i could offer you and i dropped my icecream and—”

“what?” he turns his whole body towards you as you let out a quiet sob, wide eyes darting between your wet one.

“i dropped my icecream!”

“no— kid, who was saying this shit?” his outrage is somewhat comforting and you sniffle, wiping your snotty nose on the back of your hand.

“i don’t know his name. he had a green shirt on.”

he leans back in his seat for a moment, wiping hands down his face — a little frustrated with your inability to identify the culprits. he pushes his palms into his eyes for a moment, realising it’s not your fault — and you were already upset. sighing out his nose, he looks at you once more, shuffling as close to you as he can.

“quit listenin’ to nobodies at the club, a’ight? you… you think people don’t say shit about me? running their mouth about my private business? they — they do, alright— but what i don’t do is cry about it n’let them think they won. i handle that shit, like i’m gonna handle this.”

you blink at him, hanging onto his every word. you really were adorable, and as much as he’ll never admit it, his heart softens at how sweet you were by nature. you didn’t deserve to be picked on by people that weren’t him.

“how do you know who they are?” you tilt your head, really emulating a puppy and he presses his lips together, shrugging a shoulder and shaking his head.

“uh, you’re gonna point ‘em out next time we go to the club. i’ll… i’ll handle it from there.”

you nod, hating that you’ve caused any kind of conflict at all, eyes drifting towards as you burrow yourself into thoughts of guilt. before you can think too much, rafe grips your jaw — meaning well, but still carrying that boyish roughness. “hey. you’re my girl, alright? i don’t let shit slide.”

he’d never called you his girl before, so instantly — you’re all sniffly smiles, launching at him to clamber onto his lap once more.

꒰ ౨ৎ .ᐟ .ᐣ ᡣ𐭩

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[missmarveledsblog]

Not just a flower child huh? Part one ( logan howlett x reader)

Summary : the xmen are sent to rescue mutants in a lab , only find an unconscious young woman and couple of kids , when they bring her back to the mansion she is recognised by one of the residents . She awakes and finds out she and kids been saved wondering if it was all too good to be true ?

Warning: angsts , mentions of mutant children being abused , it's alot but there some fluff in there too , she has multiple "gifts " due to the lab . Google translated Russian so I apologise in advance if anyone has corrections feel free to leave them , grammatical errors too

It was in shambles , the outside looked desolate, void of any life and yet they knew it wasn't. The professor was never wrong with these Things . But looking at the place it looked abandoned ready to crumble To the ground into a pile of rubble and dust. Jean crouched with the rest of them she was seeking out the mutants that were held in the broken walls of the place . Shit it even had logan feeling certain Way when Charles called them to break Down the Mission . Four possibly five Kids held in a cage used like lab rats to try make their mutation Into so serum. It was always kids , parent sending them off into the world Because They were different or it scared them he never cared for the excuses , there was never an excuse to abandon or sell off your child because of something they were born with . It never sat right with him and it never would.

“ ten of the guards are heading down the basement fully loaded , we need to get in there now “ Jean Stood concerned Eyes watching every direction of the house til the sound hit , a hail of gun fire sounded off and yet not one bullet coming Near them only signal The true intent. “ we need to go she can't hold them off much longer” Jean called Running towards the house as the other followed

Logan had the door pulled out it was stronger than it appeared, and if it wasn't a race against time, they would be impressed at the faux exterior of the place . Inside was like high-end laboratory. It was also full of guards coming towards them Jean grey could easily hold them as storm Send them to the floor in a spasm before they went unconscious as logan and Scott were able to knock and sent them down to the ground with hard thud. The alarm rang out as they were Running down the hall and down the stairs into the basement , Scott was able to break the door easily with his beam sending a smirk at logan . The basement fit the exterior it was dingey and dirty , smell of mould and damp . It was not a place even a rat would stay in too Long . Right in the center was a large Cage thick metal Bars that connect From the floor to the ceiling that was not the part that surprised them . It was the thick almost tree Like vine Wall that was in the cage.

The guard turned only for Jean to raise their Own gun in the air and pull them down hitting them on head Sending them to the ground.

Scott stood forward hand at his visor ready to shoot when the redhead Stopped him , stood in front of him

“ there's kids in there, you could hurt Them “ she waved. Only as the others began To try think Of a way logan claws began cutting through the vines making Them weak enough to pull them away To see the kids all standing protectively in front Of another … Was it a woman .

“ we're here to help , we're going to take you somewhere safe” storm smiled softly holding her hand out letting the sparks flicker to show They were one of them.

“ помоги нашей сестре ( help our sister)” one finally Spoke moving So they could see the woman laid out of the ground they couldn't tell if she was breathing or not Til logan lifted Her up . She was almost lifeless But their Was a faint flicker of a pulse , a small thump of a heartbeat.

“ we need to go , get chrome Dome Ready to translate I don't think they can speak English” logan gruffed as the kids hesitantly Followed still Unsure who these strangers where but they had their sister and they had kind smiles.

The jet ride back they were able to get colossus To translate And explain to the kids they were safe but in the whole thing they didn't care all they cared for was Their sister if she would be ok , she kept them safe made sure no harm came from them.

“ she Said she made sure the bad men never got their chance To hurt them so they tried to get rid of them” even the big strong man that colossus was , they could hear that slight waver in his voice .

“Do we know who these kids are?” ororo Asked.

“ professor is working On it , he'll know more once they are here , how is the woman” .

“ barely hanging On , she dehydrated. Malnourished God only know how long she's been there ” logan said seeing how bad of shape She was in. He seen shit like this before captives During war times and shit she made them look healthy.

“ it gonna be hard to get them to Leave her” they watched as kids stood at her side once again in a protective stance.

They were right moment they got back to the mansion The kids didn't want to leave Her side as colossus came and explained It wasn't a prison they could visit her once she was checked over , once they were check Over. That still didn't work til they were brought With her. And one even went to attack when they saw Jean had a needle . It took hours for them to leave just to get cleaned up and check over .

“ their underweight but not by much ask them did they eat much” ororo asked.

“сестра следила за тем, чтобы у нас была еда и вода, и даже давала свои, если мы были голодны. ( sister Made sure we got food and water , even gave hers when we were Hungry)” one spoke up .

“ you can understand English ? Can you speak it” she asked looking at the girl who must of been no more than ten years old .

“ a little sister Teach me, so we can ask for help” she nodded .

“ do you know your names we can try find out about you guys” ororo Looked at them .

“ I'm Ana, this is lia , Henry and luka , sister is Y/N , safe here?” Ana asked softly.

“Y/n?” colossus asked looking like he'd seen a ghost before rushing out the room.

“ very safe no one will hurt you here” ororo crouch down only for Ana To flinch away.

“ we are lucky , the others were not , that made sister sad”.

“ what others ? Ana honey what others?” .

“ our other siblings they did Not make it, they took them when we sleep , sister Made them pay” Ana sniffled as ororo held Her hand.

He ran down the hall , his heart beating fast as it felt like it echoed through the walls. He nearly ran into multiple people on his way a quick sorry til he got to the medwing opening the door.

“ hey kids ok” logan asked only for piotr to ignore the man completely his eyes only looking at the bed seeing her , she was a lot different but time would do that in still in away she Looked like the same little girl he remembered .

“ hey you ok, you know her don't you ?” Logan stood coming to his side.

“ she is my little sister” he said holding her hand in his it almost looked tiny . Then again she was always tiny , she was reason his mutation happened he was saving her when a tractor almost hit her. He joined x men in hopes of settling in america bring her there then his parent told him she was in boarding school then it was she was missing then it was she was dead . He regretted that his whole life not taking her with him at first .now here she was going Through hell and back and she was alive.

It was weeks the kids became Comfortable Turned out their parent sold them to the lab they were kept in. Took hank a long time to secure them visa but he got them even for y/n who lay unconscious still. She was a mystery , they knew who she was , her age , height but as far as powers and everything else well the lab didn't go into detail on her or they couldn't . From the kids recollection she was defiant , never bending to their will they all wondered how she lasted so long or why they kept her so long . Piotr or Peter he let some call him , she was nine years old when his parent sent her away or sold her away it was too hard to even think of it , to think he left her to face all of this . Jean told him she was like him the way she put those kids before herself , how she almost killed herself to save them . A soft nod he headed off to check on the kids who knew little English and meant more to his sister than life itself he could at least make sure they were taken care of and not alone.

Bright was first thing that came to mind , it was bright before her eyes even open and when they did it stung and took a little longer to adjust . It was bright but it was clean , she wasn't tied down so it wasn't the lab … the lab … the kids . She stood uneasy at first maybe she was out longer than she thought. Looking around the room for some indication to where the hell she was , where were the kids closing her eyes and searching them in her mind she could let sigh in relief they were here . She walked to the door ready to break it down only for it to open itself her head tilting in confusing she grabbed the long doctors coat giving she had tank top and underwear on . She could sense someone approaching , the smell of whiskey and cigar filled her nose as she hid at the corner. The footstep coming to her as she lifted her palm slammed the man to the wall vines holding him in place.

“ woah at least buy me dinner first bub” he chuckled .

“ where are the kids” she glared .

“ the kids are safe , let logan go he won't hurt you , follow my voice” it called in her head making her turn and let the man drop to the ground .

“ kids safe?” she asked through her mind the walk breaking into a run. She didn't care that it was potentially a trap if it meant a sliver of hope those kids where safe. She felt the hardwood under her feet , the lab coat bellowing behind her not noticing the eyes that followed Her or the other kids around. She stood Outside a big oak door slowly opening It waiting for a trap.

“SISTER" Ana and the other ran knocking her to the ground Not that she cared . She kissed each of their heads looking at the faces that looked alot Better Before She passed out.

“ may I have a word with your sister , you can have the rest of day off to Reconnect and we can continue our lessons Tomorrow” that same voice she heard in her head now out loud and in the form of a bald man in a wheelchair. She looked to see the words on the board English Lessons , the books on the shelf and the kids outside Playing around.

“ иди я буду только на минутку ( go i'll only be a moment)” she nodded softly as the reluctantly left.

“ my Name is Charles xavier , it is good to see you up and well Y/N .

“ would Say the same but I've no Clue who you are Charles , where am I?” she walked around keeping her distance button the lab coat giving her lack of clothes .

“ my school For gift youngsters a safe Haven for people like us mutants , it's not the lab the only tests we do here are academical” he chuckled. “ my team found you and the children brought you to safety here , the kids Are very protective of you almost attack the team to keep you safe , you done Well to Take care of them” he said a sympathetic look in his eyes she could only nod at .

“ there is someone here who is eager to meet you we can talk More when You are ready truly we are only here To help” he smiled just as a Knock on the door made Her jump. ‘“ oh my dear you need not worry of money but maybe if you want you could help out with the greenhouse again if you want” Charles spoke up as she hesitantly walked to the door opening it .

Her eyes widened , her heart fell into her stomach as she looked into a face she never thought she would see again . He stood like a giant over her and yet he looked like a nervous little boy . Her hand shook as it came tracing the features of his face , he was a man now but then again she wasn't the little girl she once was either . A whurlwind of emotion that rumbled inside her she took her hand back only to close it and connect it to his face sending him down to the ground as the place went silent. She looked up to see that man again the smug one she tied up.

“ not the reunion you were expecting huh?’’ he helped him up .

“ no I was expecting this” piotr groaned rubbing his jaw.

“ ты придурок, ты бросил меня ( you're an idiot , you left me)” she yelled.

“ мне сказали, что ты в безопасности в школе(they told me your were safe at a school)” he reasoned.

“ они продали меня (they sold me)” she growled.

“ они сказали, что ты убежал и умер, я думал, ты умер, прости меня, пожалуйста ( they said you ran and you died , I thought you were dead forgive me please)” she hated how his voice broke and truly it wasn't his fault , he was young himself so she nodded and pulled him into a hug holding Him Tightly.

“ I think they made up” logan chuckled ruffling Henry's Hair .

“ sister they feed us here everyday few times its nice food ” Ana Spoke up only for her to turn see the kids looking Up .

“ cookie too” Henry beamed

“ your English is a lot better” she smiled .

“ Mr professor teach us everyday” Luka said Excitedly.

" just picking up where you left off is all " xavier bowed his head

“ hey look at you, nice to see your awake , would you come with me for a second ” a red head woman called making her head tilt stand back .

“ its ok y/n this is jean grey she is one of the teachers and one of people that rescued You” piotr whispered .

“ your the voice that day” y/n clapped Her hands looking at the woman .

“ I Can show you to your room and get you some Clothes “ jean smiled Only for y/n to be aware of how she was dress or therefore Lack of clothes with a blush to her cheeks she nodded following after the woman . “ so your like me ?” Jean asked.

“ sort of I mean I was pumped full Of stuff I don't know what else I can do” she winced.

“ well we can help with that here , when your ready” .

“ this place doesn't Feel real” she laughed looking around .

“ well It home for along as you want it to be , your not a prisoner anymore” Jean Stopped holding her hand in hers . Y/n turned her face only to see that man watching her intently before looking away .

" isn't she an interesting one " logan muttered, watching her heading up the stairs.

part two

[slowd1ving]

Hello can u write a Dokja x Medusa!male!reader please

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR GORGON ゜゜・KIM DOKJA

'You listening, Dokja? Maybe if you followed the guides for dealing with intelligent species like this one, you wouldn't be in such a stupid mess.' yall think aegis can be used as a different sort of barrier?!?! sorry anon this is less mythology centric than i planned icl art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! pairing: kim dokja + male reader warnings: canon typical danger, mentions of self-sacrifice wc: 2.9k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

There exist several unspoken rules when interacting with the particularly volatile species integrated onto Planetary System 8612. Most ‘monsters’ are unable to effectively communicate with the main intelligent species in the domes, thus are doomed for imminent slaughter. However, exceptions like the catalyst behind these reports must be treated with particular regard. 

Guidelines will serve you well in the coming days, reader. If you’ve accessed these reports, it probably means the days are bleak and you’ve encountered one of these species. One thing is for certain; if you are reading this, you will survive your encounter with a gorgon. 

< Observation log, section 1 > (Relative Earth time 21/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number one: if possible, do not engage with a gorgon. Though, considering your perusal of these records, it seems this was not successful on your end. Better luck next time!’

‘Sooyoung-ah, don’t be ru—’

Avoidance was always a good policy when it came to the apocalypse. It saved time, toil, and lives—much like a vaccine helped one bypass a virus. But one couldn’t rely on it entirely; neither vaccine nor evasion was infallible after all. 

‘If they were, these records would not need to exist.’

And for humans, their biggest hamartia was their ignorance. Nerve cells could only do so much to detect dangerous stimuli and trigger a reflex for flight. If the hazard was less obvious, much more innocuous, then the poor human would only be wading into quicksand if they weren’t smart enough. Right before getting devoured. 

‘Of course that squid was the blind one who got us into this mess.’

Just like these unspoken rules, it was de facto that Kim Dokja was unlucky. Unfortunate. Ill-destined. However you chose to put it, the man was born under a cursed star, which meant that the stranger sitting across from him in the park was naturally part of his jinx as well. 

“What are you staring at?” Unlike the squid wearing his stupidly pristine coat, the man sitting on the bench facing him appeared to be a student: civilian wear and a lanyard still around your neck, like you’d frozen in time these past few months. Glasses rested on your nose, which you pushed up each time they slipped—even if they moved only minutely. 

Perhaps you were nervous, but the caustic indifference in your tone suggested it was an unlikely possibility. 

“Ah, sorry. I have a habit of looking at interesting people,” he laughed your question off, but the lack of information on you, coupled with the fact he didn’t recognise who you were, gave him the answer he needed. You weren’t a part of the original novel. “Uh, it’s a nice park, isn’t it? Lovely statues.”

You glanced at the reader, unimpressed. Just like that handsome bastard, there was that same impassive scowl plastered on your face. But as soon as he’d mentioned the sculptures scattered around this surprisingly lush pocket of Seoul, your face had softened somewhat. 

“Art major?” he probed, for there was something about your gaze that drew words from his mouth. Or perhaps it was just how surreal this scene was: someone enjoying the park like anyone before the paid service began, just some guy taking a breather from classes with a thick, bound book beside him. 

A ballpoint pen, rather than a sword or any other weapon. Blue ink, instead of bloody atrament. 

You were a part of this world, yet detached from it all. 

“No, chemistry,” you said. Deadpan, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m specialising in geochemistry. Rocks, soil, minerals. Humans do so underappreciate what goes on beneath their feet.”

Specialising. Present tense. Not specialised. 

Humans: like you were utterly detached from anyone and everyone. 

His breath caught in his throat.

The urging of constellations reminded him of just the situation he was in—about to run out of time in this sub-scenario, where hordes of monsters would soon swarm. Right in this very park. 

“Listen, you’ll need to get out of here soon—there’s going to be swarms of insect-like creatures here in, uh, five minutes give or take. You’ll be in danger if you can’t fight,” he swallowed. A look of disdain flickered in your eyes, and his head throbbed with how much your expressions resembled that sunfish bastard’s. You’re the idiot, your brows indicated, while the set of your mouth held only one question: who said I couldn’t fight? In the same strand of thinking, the sudden curdle of your shoulders—hunched, guarded—seemed to gesture and who are you to tell me that?

‘If only you knew back then.’

In short, you could fight. You could fight, and you were absolutely terrifying to watch. 

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the statues seemed to continue in susurration with you as the air warped in on itself. Dokja was thrown back by the shockwave as the space rippled—all in time for the main guests of the sub-scenario to arrive. 

Insect mutations. 

They crashed right into the distortions. A barrier. You’d set up an impenetrable defence in less time it took for him to draw breath, only for him to keel over behind you instead. Wow. Okay. He could still work with that. 

“What are you—”

“Silence.” It would’ve stung less if you just told him to shut up instead, but from the very get-go you were never particularly nice. Kind? Somewhat, in the sense you’d viewed him as some useless, bumbling fool that would be better off behind the translucent shield you’d conjured. But nice? No, from the very beginning, you were never nice. 

‘Deserved.’

That was fine. Bearable. Still in the realms of believability. 

For Kim Dokja, the shock came after watching your hand raise to your face to slip your glasses off. From the back, he could no longer see the stern expression you no doubt wore. But he wasn’t focused on your face, but rather the warmth of the day instantly seeping from the molecules. 

Time itself froze, and the insects did too. 

No one breathed, and not a singular sound rang out—save something hissing. A tire, perhaps, but nobody was fool enough to simply drive cars during the apocalypse. 

Then came the stirring of your clothes. It was a breeze only you felt, rippling and undulating until your hair moved too. Except it wasn’t the wind that hissed, nor was it the wind that wafted the coils. No, they twisted into thicker, scaly locks—snake-like, except these were snakes suddenly attached to your head. It was no longer a simile, nor was it a metaphor. 

You had fucking snakes in your hair. 

His breathing was shallow; in the sudden frigid climate, those puffs crystallised and condensed in small white clouds. 

And what of those insects?

His eyes flicked back to the ground shakily, to where the arthropods lay crumbling. Statues, like the ones he’d complimented brief minutes ago. Pearlescent marble—no, stone. Your glasses were still grasped tight in your hand, and he knew if you turned to meet his wide-eyed stare he’d be next. But, alas—

“Who… are you?” 

‘And this is how Kim Dokja put his foot in his mouth and demonstrated his exceptionally poor luck.’

< Observation log, section 2 > (Relative Earth time 24/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPT OF RECORDING

‘Rule number two: do not stare into the eyes of a gorgon. Don’t even look, except for when there are protective measures in place. Case one: a blindfold. Case two: glasses, which he literally wears every minute of the day save for when he’s sleeping. Dokja, do not sneak up on the man when he’s sleeping.’

‘Dokja, you suck.’

It wasn’t often you let down your guard, with writhing, clawing humans nonetheless. Pointing fingers to find the monsters under their beds and threatening their cities—when in fact it was their bellicose faults that doomed them. A self-made end, a fitting conclusion for the snake that bites its own tail. If you had ever been human once, these people shared more blood with the beasts than they thought. 

Point was: you didn’t particularly care for those who appeared to be like you. Bodies, soft and squishy from a life coddled in cities; smiles duplicitous and more monstrous than any snarl; and their thoughts, often more heinous than any demon. And despite their sins, they’d meander in life wrapped in the bliss of self-ignorance. Dead in their varying morals like shrouds of far-too different cloths. 

In this, no human was the same. This was the philosophy that alienated yourself from your sisters. 

This was also the philosophy that landed you in a warm, damp place—completely dark with something poking at your cheeks. Correction—even through the thin membrane and slightly thicker skin that covered your eyes, there appeared to be a dim redness seeping into the edges of blackness. It seemed your blood vessels were alit by some foolish beastling. Almost like the golden chariot was prancing afore your eyes, except only Aeos of the Dawn was trotting along your lash line with a proud toss of his shrunken head. 

Your fingers twitched inside your sleeping bag, but you forced a deep breath in before you could hear any hissing. 

Actually, you knew exactly who was prodding at your cheek with a frigid index finger; the faint brush of his scent gave him away almost instantaneously. 

“Kim Dokja. Are you an idiot?” you ground out, eyes still tightly shut to avoid turning this fool to stone. “I’ve already agreed to travelling with your circus, so I’d prefer you refrain from getting petrified.”

“You really do sound like him when you’re irritated,” he let out with a suppressed snort. 

“Aegis,” you whispered, and the impertinent hand ceased its movements. 

The barrier was not, in fact, activated. 

“Gave me a bit of a fright there,” he swallowed. “I just wanted to say, it’s fine if you open your eyes.”

“No,” you deadpanned. Though you couldn’t see the expression, you could feel your facial muscles twitch into an impassive wall. “Don’t involve me with your stupid plans to kill yourself off.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he corrected himself. Were all humans like this when you lived as one? “It just won’t work on me. Me alone, which is why I locked the door so no one could come in.”

“Why?” He was a fool like the rest of them—risking peril for a glimpse of cursed eyes. Like all of man, his hubris rested heavy on his shoulders. 

“I just want to see your smug face without any glasses.”

“You’re looking at it presently,” you argued. Though your ire was evident with your furrowed brows, he didn’t relent. Where was that puny man who’d trembled behind you at the sight of insects? More importantly, how had he changed so quickly?

“With your eyes open,” he clarified. He was more insane than anyone you’d ever met. 

“Does it really make a difference?” you stalled. “How can you be sure you won’t suffer the effects as every other human and beast does?”

“You care about me that much?” 

It was a quiet question. A tentative venture into teasing, yet strangely vulnerable. 

“You worried?” he echoed. It was a weak aegis of his own, already prepared to accept your scoff and firm no. 

“Fool.” Both the skin eyelids and the thin membrane unsheathed haunting irises. You already knew what you’d see in them—a milky sort of quality to their natural colouring, even without the extra membrane. Slit pupils dilated minutely at the sight of him, and his breath caught in his throat as you gazed upwards, unblinking. 

Fool. The word echoed in his mind, an answer to his question but not at the same time. 

I’m not worried. 

Peering, your claws gently grazed his face: almost a kiss, if a kiss left a slight sting behind.

“I’m always worried about you, Kim Dokja,” you murmured, and it was perhaps then that his heartbeat grew erratic. Staring into those pretty eyes of yours with your thumb tenderly swiping across his flushed cheekbones, it was no wonder he could taste his very pulse. “Remember our first meeting?”

“How could I forget?”

A back facing his hunched form, more dependable than the shield spreading and curling beneath your mighty palms. Snakes coiling down your back, but there was nothing scary about how they swayed like ribbons in the sunset. And finally those eyes, directly protecting him from the swarms of insects. 

No, perhaps it was then when the thrum of the organ grew somewhat more rapid. 

‘Glad you realised.’

< Observation log, section 3 > (Relative Earth time 03/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number three: do not feed the snakes. Do not feed the snakes, Dokja. DO NOT FEED THE GODDAMN SNAKES.’

“Is Kim Dokja a masochist?”

The question, like most questions, came out of the blue. Such an innocuous, casual tone veiled your usual clipped syllables that Han Sooyoung found herself seriously internalising your words, before—

“What— koff— huh?” she spluttered against the sudden taste of her lemon candy, expression turning troubled, then incredulous. 

“Does he take pleasure in torturing himself?” you clarified, as though it were a matter of comprehension rather than tact. 

‘I knew what a masochist was! Why would he ask that?’

“If it’s Dokja, probably,” she coughed finally. Honestly, she’d pondered this very question herself—staring deadpan at the numerous deaths he’d experienced by his own plans. “Uh, just so we’re clear, why do you ask?”

“Is it normal to try to feed my snakes?” Definitely not.

“That… idiot did what?” she stared at the resident gorgon with quite the perplexed expression, but soon regained her composure. “No, not particularly. Are they… venomous?”

“Yes. Very much so. Please tell him to quit.”

Yet, despite all the half-hearted chidings of you and Sooyoung alike, your little snakes were beginning to grow fat and affectionate towards the man. You could feel something fundamental begin to shift, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling. 

< Observation log, section 4 > (Relative Earth time 14/◼◼/20◼◼)TRANSCRIPTION OF RECORDING

‘Rule number four: gorgon venom should not be ingested. If you are Kim Dokja, this applies perhaps most poignantly to you. You may be immune to its effects for whatever reason, but the venom is a nightmare to get out of clothing. Thanks.’

“An experiment?” 

Kim Dokja’s face didn’t change from his usual, vaguely blurred visage; but it wasn’t like snakes had particularly good eyesight regardless. “Yes. Would you be up for it?”

You’d agreed on a whim. Why the experiment was to take place in a closed room, you didn’t particularly know. Maybe humans encountering an apocalypse had special customs to adhere to. “I am familiar with experimental protocol in laboratories and practicals.”

“Would you like to help me upgrade my poison-immunity skill?”

You’d initially refused outright—struck dumb at how recklessly he treated his life. Every time you thought he was a fool, he proved himself even more foolish—a crazed endeavour if you ever saw it. 

Gorgon poison. Released in more diluted doses from the snakes on you, concentrated particularly in the bone-white fangs in your mouth. Like a vampire, Yoo Sangah had excitedly noted: much too excitedly for your liking. 

Bite me, he asked you. 

A pale wrist was held out cautiously in front of him. The air was no longer mere air, but an ancient altar dedicated to this sacrifice. Thus, you were the priest for this rite once more, but this time the ram carried the bronze knife itself. 

He’s an idiot, you seethed, yet you were too. 

For you suggested a less painful way of transferring venom, but he agreed. For you gently clasped his chin with razor sharp talons skimming the dermis of his throat, but he melted pliantly in your hands. For you leaned in with softened eyes, but his own simply fluttered shut in anticipation. 

You surged, pressing him against the cold cement of the wall. Air was robbed from his lungs as he gasped, but rather than pulling back his warm, human hands merely wrapped around your nape to meld your body against his. 

Why did his hands shake so? Was this not just an experimental procedure dedicated to strengthening a human? 

Despite your analytical mind, your eyes closed too—both membrane and skin—and you savoured the lingering taste of the meaty dinner he’d eaten, and the underlying flavour of him. Hot blood pumped beneath his fragile oral mucosa; your greedy, long tongue prodded his own to find just where his pulse thrummed the strongest. 

Ah, fuck, he thought dumbly; sloppily making out with you in a forgotten room was not how he’d envisioned this night, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Even as he winced with sharp pain when your fangs cut his lips, he couldn’t pull back—objective achieved but long forgotten. Those pesky, wandering hands of his clung onto your body when his head canted: deepening the kiss rather than wrapping up his poison exposure. 

Iron tainted his mouth. Dripping past the seams of desperate lips was the crimson mixture of blood and venom, dripping onto his sweater and corroding the very threads—yet Kim Dokja both did not notice and did not particularly care. 

But all good things came to an end. The two of you were met with an extremely exasperated Han Sooyoung at the door as she gave you a look, one that implied I expected better from you. For Dokja, the reserved expression was I expected this, to be honest. 

‘PDA is not appreciated during the apocalypse. Take that shit elsewhere.’

‘Thus, these reports can be summarily concluded in two points of advice: 

1. Unless you are Kim Dokja, do not attempt any of these activities with a gorgon. 

2. Simply don’t do what Kim Dokja does.’

[varpusvaras]

They are both breathing hard when they finally get back to the Senate.

Fox leads her through a smaller door, one that Leia, even with all her time spent in the Senate Dome has never even seen before, and pushes her into an elevator that currently has only three maintenance droids in it. They all beep at them, but quiet down when Fox shushes them. He takes the coat from Leia, while Leia starts to comb her hair open. They need to work fast, so Leia unceremoniously puts a part of her hair in her mouth, while she starts braiding another part of it.

Fox watches for a moment, before he reaches for her head.

"Same part from this side too?" He asks. Leia raises her brows at him through their reflections on the elevator's shining wall, but nods. Fox pulls his gloves off, and takes a part of her hair into his fingers, and starts to braid with surprising speed and skill, managing to match the tightness of the braid to hers closely enough when in the moving elevator. He holds the braid in place until Leia gets to tie it up, and pulls both the braids behind her head as she starts to braid the last braid on the front.

"You seem to know what you're doing", she comments, as her mouth is now free from hair.

"I braid Thorn's hair a lot", Fox answers. "And I've seen this same hairdo on your mother. The last one goes through the middle, right?"

Leia swallows, but gathers herself quickly.

"Yes", she answers, and throws the last braid over her head as well. He pulls it through and tightens it up. He's much gentler than Leia's or Mama's ladies-in-waiting, who would pull the braid so tight that Leia could feel the pull in her teeth. "Mother used to wear this when she was younger."

It was one of the braids that were easy to do, even for someone who wasn't too experienced in tying up the Royal ladie's hair, so it was many times chosen when there was, for some reason, not too much time for doing the hair to any of the more complicated upstyles. Mother had liked it when Leia had been small, especially on the days she had had more time to spend time with just Leia and father. Leia had learned to do it pretty young as well, so she could match up with mother on their days out.

Something turns and tightens inside her chest for the thought that Fox had spent enough time just looking at her mother, and paying attention to every little detail, that he knows how to do the braid without instructions. It's bittersweet, because it also makes her feel warm amidst all the turmoil. He has paid enough attention to her mother to know how to braid hair.

Fox backs away a bit, and hums.

"Looks neat enough", he says, and starts to pull his gloves back on. "Deep breaths. We're there in just a moment."

Leia has just enough time to touch her hair and turn around, when the elevator stops and beeps, and the doors open. Fox holds the coat for one of the droids.

"Put this into trash", he tells it. The droid beeps, opens its compartment and stuffs the coat in, and then wheels out after the two other droids. Fox steps out first and glances around, and then waves for Leia to follow.

"I'm going to take the maintenance door, and go up to the next floor", he tells her as they walk down the corridor. "Go straight from here, and take the elevator on the right side of the hall. I'll be there."

Leia nods. She brushes her fingers against his, and he curls his fingers around them briefly before they part ways.

Leia holds her head high and walks without looking around, to the end of the corridor and through the next door, and she crosses the hall on the other side without anyone stopping to even look at her. She steps into the elevator, and puts herself into the corner in the back, behind a few other Senators and aides. She recognises a couple of them. It's strange, every time, to see people she has known all her life, but who now have no idea who she is.

The doors start to beep, but before they can close, Padmé Amidala steps in, and behind her is Anakin Skywalker.

Leia's heart slams to a stop, before she can control herself.

Deep breaths, Fox had just said to her. Deep breaths.

She breathes, and stares at the spot on the wall, trying to keep any unsavory thoughts out of her head. She had done it before, while being in the same room with him, while he was watching her cry in pain he was inflicting upon her.

He is just standing there now, not looking at her. She is safe. She is safe.

The elevator starts to move. Leia breathes in, and thinks about anything else than her birth parents standing right there in front of her.

[cressidagrey]

I breathe flames each time I talk - Chapter 6

Summary:

The story of how Oriana Fireborn Belmont finally meets her mate's family.

Also the story of how Rhysand, The High Lord of the Night Court, finally recognises that by the cauldron, there is no fury like a female scorned.

Azriel would just like everybody to get along.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

It’s the High Lord. 

Azriel felt the wards shudder and then snap closed, his mouth ceasing to make sounds in the middle of his conversation with Cassian. 

“Oh no,” he breathed when he felt the ice-cold fury pour over their mating bond.

That was all he needed before he forced himself to get out of bed and snap at the shadows that tried to hold him down. For once they listened to him, probably because they knew that he was too fucking furious to be held down. 

“You are supposed to stay in bed!” Cassian protested. Azriel ignored that as he hobbled to the door. 

“My mate is going head to head with the fucking High Lord of the Night Court, I am not staying in the fucking bed!” He snapped. There was to hope that they wouldn’t outright kill each other but somehow he didn’t think that Oriana, in all her righteous fury, would be in a very forgiving mood. 

Cassian finally acquiesced, fitting himself under a shoulder and dragging him outside onto the porch where Nesta stood, staring at the spectacle before them. 

Rhys was trussed up like a turkey, suspended midair, merrily swinging in the wind, wings unable to move much in the golden bubble Oriana had him in. 

And Oriana…Oriana stood in front of him, hands on her hips and glaring at Rhys. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Rhysand! I told you to stay away,” Cassian snapped. “How? Is that your magic?” He asked Oriana, who just shrugged.

“It’s an enchantment. I reworked my warding net. That you broke,” she answered, her voice even. 

“When the fuck did you even do this?” Azriel demanded. 

“Last night when you were sleeping, Sweetling. I was bored,” Oriana answered. “And you are supposed to be in bed. I got this well in hand.” Of course. Sometimes she slid out of the bed in the middle of the night because she had an idea for something and needed to write it down before she could forget it. These days she kept a notebookonn on her bedside table, though the sound of a pen scratching over parchment had oftentimes woken him up, only to reach out and pull her against his chest. “It’s like a mouse trap. Just for High Lords. Who stick their nose into things that are absolutely none of their business,” she said brightly. 

Oh for cauldron’s sake. 

“I realise that I may have misstepped,” Rhys dared to say, still dangling head down in the air.

Oriana’s head snapped towards him. Azriel held back a grimace while Nesta started to outright grin. 

“ Misstepped ?” Oriana repeated voice light. The magical bindings jerked Rhys up. “Is that what we call that now?” 

In his defence, Rhys didn’t even tried to get out of it of his magical prison. He probably realised that trying anyway wouldn’t be a good idea. Who knew what else Oriana had worked into her enchantment when she had been working in it?

“I am surprised you haven’t set me on fire yet,” Rhys said drily. “Like last time.” Last time?”

“Oh, all in good time,” Oriana said brightly. “I enjoy your fear too much to cut this short.” 

Azriel probably… definitely shouldn’t find this attractive. But he did.

He really, really did. It was the pure magical power that poured from her, the intelligence that it must have taken to make a ward like that, her mind at work, protecting herself, protecting him. 

“There won’t be a repeat of last time, if you worry about that…” last time? What did she mean by last time? 

And then his attention was pulled towards Feyre twholanded a few feet before the golden dome that surrounded the Lakehouse and jogged the rest of the way, until she came to a stop in front of the ward.

“If you wouldn’t maim him for life, you would do me a favour!” Feyre called out. 

Oriana inclined her head. “High Lady.” There actually was respect in her voice that hadn’t been there before for Rhys. 

“Oh, just Feyre is fine!” Feyre assured her. “It’s so nice to meet you!”

“Oriana. But I think you already know that,” Oriana said. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

“She’s very pretty. I can see why you wanted to marry her sister,” Feyre told Rhys drily. Cassian next to him choked on nothing.

“You wanted to marry her sister ?” Cassian asked, sounding incredulously. “What exactly did you do to his favourite jacket, Oriana?” he asked her, a grin stretching over his features. 

“I put it on fire,” Oriana answered easily. “And then I started with the rest of him. He had it coming though. He tried to flirt with Enya and when she turned him down, he tried it with me, but I was already engaged.”

Oh. Well. 

“You were engaged?” Cassian asked, surprised. 

Oriana shrugged. “Yes. I got engaged to get Enya out of marrying and being miserable for the rest of her life, an  then this one shows up and wants a bride. Which would already be bad enough but to decide that if one wouldn’t suffice, the next was an option? Yeah, I made my displeasure known. My sister is much happier in the infirmary than she ever would be as anybody’s wife,” she ranted. A fireball appeared with a dainty little flick of her wrist, flying across their yard near the bubble that still held Rhys. He was eyeing it with no small amount of trepidation. 

Azriel had no clue what to think about all of this. 

“Don’t worry, your jacket is safe from my wrath,” Oriana quipped. 

“Could you maybe not kill him?  I kinda want my son to know his father,” Feyre asked with a grimace 

“Thanks, Feyre darling,” Rhys said drily. She just shrugged 

“Sorry, you had this coming, Rhys,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. 

“Don’t worry, he won’t die,” Oriana promised. “I have only killed one person in my life and that wasn’t even on purpose.”

“Who did she kill?” Cassian asked him in a hiss. 

“Her husband,” Azriel said with a shrug. At Cassian’s stare, he added,  “He had it coming. It was self-defense.” 

Quite frankly, Wynstan had it coming. It could have been much worse. Oriana’s magic had onlyburneds him to death. For what he had done to her and taken from her, that kind of death could probably still be considered to be merciful as far as Azriel was concerned. 

“You can walk through the ward. It’s intent-basedd,” Oriana told Feyre at that moment. Feyre watched it carefully for a moment but then stepped through the ward that did nothing but glow brighter in response for a moment. 

“So what exactly was Rhysands intent if he triggered it?” Cassian asked the question that Azriel was also having.  

“No small amount of self-loathing, I imagine,” Oriana said drily just as Feyre reached them, pulling Azriel into a hug. 

“You look better than I thought you would,” she told him, a smile on her face. “She won’t burn him, will she?” she muttered under her breath and Azriel just shrugged. His guess was as good as any. 

“ We are going to talk about consequences,” Oriana said at that moment, flicking her wrist a second time, another fireball joining the first, hovering in the air. A third time. It spoke of so much control over her magic that Azriel was slightly awed. “And about what exactly constitutes appropriate behaviour towards my mate.“

The last thing he had expected was the words that left  Rhys’ mouth next: “I am sorry.“

Azriel’s eyes widened. This wasn’t…This was the last thing he had expected. Especially because Rhys sounded like he really was sorry. 

“I wasn’t aware that you even knew that word existed. For what are you sorry?“ Oriana prodded sharply, arms still crossed, clearly not willing to let a single thing go. 

Azriel couldn’t remember ever having anybody in his life who came down this harshly on anybody who did anything to disrespect thim. Even Rhys and Cassian thought that he could deal with it himself. Oriana…Oriana was seemingly glowing with righteous fury, thinly concealed magic sparking at his fingertips. 

“I was…out of line,” Rhys struggled to bring out the words. 

“Were you?” she questioned lightly. Her tone of voice was in a very sharp contrast to seemingly everything else she was doing. From Rhys dangling in the middle of their garden to the fireballs that surrounded him glowingly. 

“I was,” Rhys agreed. “I thought that…I tried to do what was best for the Night Court,” Rhys said quietly.  

“Correction. You tried to do what you thought was best for the Night Court,” Oriana cut him off. “Without even talking to anybody else or asking for advice.  But then you aren’particularlyar smart, so maybe I shouldn’t have expected any differently.”

Ouch. 

“Excuse me,“ Rhys complained, but she ignored that. Nesta bit back a laugh, while Feyre watched that whole thing with ill-concealed fascination. Cassian had crossed his arms, while Azriel himself was leaning harshly against the porch railing, as he watched his mate rail against Rhys. 

Oriana wasn’t even close to done, was she? 

He could feel it pour all over their bond, her fury, her anger, burning brightly as she concentrated it on who she clearly felt deserved all of it. 

Azriel wondered how she had put all the pieces together, but then maybe he shouldn’t. She knew him better than anybody else. And she was smarter than anybody he knew. She had probably overheard his conversation with Cassian and that had felt in all the blanks that she had been missing. 

“You know, I kept a list,” Oriana said suddenly. “A list of political decisions you made that I thought were unwise. But quite frankly, it didn’t really matter to me. If Velaris turned out to be unsustainable, I was just going to go back into the mountain,“ she told him. “But some decisions you made were about Azriel. And these…they pertain to me. They matter to me.”

“If I didn’t do what I did you would have probably never even met him,” Rhys pointed out, his voice hoarsely. The fireballs burned brighter in response, flames appearing at Oriana’s fingertips as she uncrossed her arms and held her hands to her side, clearly used to not burn the clothing she was wearing.  

“Is that supposed to make me be on your side?” she hissed.  “You think that makes it any better?  I love Azriel! I would rather not have him feel any pain at all than even spend a moment in my presence!” He flinched at her words because he had very different thoughts about that. He would rather walk through fire and burn alive than be even a moment without Oriana. 

“When I met him, he was a fucking shell of a being! He expected me to turn him away at every corner, to tell him to leave me alone! You hurt him. So much so that for close to two years, he lived in a house without any furniture! Where he slept on the floor. And I quote *I grew up in a cell, at least this has windows!* ” He couldn’t help but flinch at her words. 

“Oh Az…” Cassian whispered and he held tighter to the railing. Oriana wasn’t finished though. 

“You hurt him! With your words, and with your actions! I could argue against why you did what you did. I could pull apart your reasoning like plucking feathers from a chicken! But that doesn’t matter because you actually believed that you did the right thing!” 

It was so quiet after her outburst, that the only thing that could be heard was Oriana’s harsh breathing. 

“I…I just wanted to protect him,” Rhys finally whispered, his eyes closed, anguish clear on his face. 

“Who, Lucien?” Oriana snapped. 

“Azriel,” Rhys disagreed. “My brother.” His eyes opened and violet eyes searched out Azriel’s even over the distance between them. 

“I am sorry,” Rhyapologiseded. “I am so sorry.  I thought that it was infatuation. I didn’t think that you really loved her. I…I wanted to protect you. I know how strong the mating bond can be. I know that. And I…I thought that the chances that she was going to choose him were slim. Not because of you. But because of that bond. I wanted to protect you and I wanted to protect this Court. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

The words stood between them, quiet but heartfelt. 

And maybe if Rhys had actually told him that…if he actually told him that he was worried about him that he loved him but that Elain was mated and that even when she made any appearance that she wasn’t interested in Lucien, that could change when she actually settled into being a High Fae and didn’t just grief after the humanity that she had lost…

He could have understood that. He could have been reasoned with that. 

“Why didn’t you tell him that?” Oriana questioned quietly. “You could have just told him that.”

“I could have. But I didn’t. And that wasn’t even the worst thing I said,” Rhys admitted. “I said something even worse than that. I said to go to the pleasure hall if he wanted sex.”

Azriel flinched at the words that had haunted him. 

Reasonably he could understand how Rhys must have meant it. But they felt like something truly different to him, meant something very different to him. 

“I am sorry for that,” Rhys said quietly. “I…thought that you didn’t love her. But it wasn’t on me to make that determination. And I shouldn’t have ever even thought about telling you that.” He swallowed. “I am sorry, Azriel. You are my brother. And I am so sorry for how treated yoItt’s will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

He knew that Rhys meant every word and he was really not looking forward to hashing this out for much longer. 

“You’re gonna let him down?” he asked Oriana, who turned towards him. He pushed forgiveness at contentedness and he saw the moment she softened. 

“Do you want me to?” she asked and he just nodded. She turned to Rhys. 

“Have you learned your lesson?” She asked him pointedly.

“Don’t cross you,” he answered. Fire burst out of her hands at that. 

“Wrong answer,” she hissed at him. 

“Don’t stick my nose into things that are none of my business?” he tried again. 

“Closer.” 

“Don’t treat my brother like that again.” 

“You ever even think about doing anything like that to Azriel again, this is going to look like children’s play. Do you understand?” She asked, every word burning with intensity. Rhys swallowed. Azriel watched with some amusement that he actually was scared if the look in violet eyes was anything to go by. 

“Crystal.”

“Good.”

“We should keep her. The psychological warfare would be unparalleled,” Cassian whispered to him. Azriel just snorted. 

It took nothing more than another flick of her wrist, and the fireballs rushed into the ward, the golden bubble that kept Rhys let him go and he unceremoniously plummeted to the ground until his wings could wildly flap and save him from landing face first into the mud. 

He finally let go of the porch railing, managing to hobble down the two steps down onto the wide expanse of grass. Rhys crossed the distance to him and yanked him into a tight hug. 

Something inside him eased at that, as his hands fisted into his brother’s jacket, his face pressing against his shoulder. 

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Never.”

“You are two idiots, but I love you,” Cassian said drily, suddenly next to him and Azriel snorted as Cassian pounced on both of them in a hug. “Are you finally gonna come to family dinners again now?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

They were his brothers. 

Even when she had never seen all three together before that moment, she could easily see that. 

She pushed any remaining anger she felt away because quite frankly, her own anger didn’t really matter. Azriel was the one who had deserved an apology. Azriel was the one who needed to hear that from his brother.

She crossed the yard and, back to the porch, finding Nesta and Feyre both watching the three of them just like she had done. 

“I think you could have at least put him on fire a little bit ,” Nesta told her drily and Oriana snorted in amusement, while Feyre rolled her eyes. 

“Ah, you know…there is always a next time,” Oriana said, shaking her hands, sending the last few sparks of fire flying into the evening air.

“Are you finally gonna come to family dinners again now?” she heard Cassian ask and watched him as half-carried, half-dragged Azriel up the steps to the house. 

“I will,” he agreed. 

“And you are going to share some of your toys?” Cassian prodded. 

“He will,” Oriana agreed for him. “I’ll even make you your own when that is possible.”

“You know what, I like her,” Cassian said with a grin as he poured Azriel into the old rocking chair they kept on the porch.

“You can’t really say any differently, because you are still waiting for Azriel to rip out your throat,” she shot back. 

“Shh, don’t remind him,” Cassian shushed her wide-eye, making her snort. Azriel wasn't going to rip out his throat. They both knew. Give him a few bruises...once he felt better though, definitely. 

“You were supposed to stay in bed, Sweetling,” she told Azriel drily as she took in the way his skin was ashen, sweat beading at his hairline. This really wasn't good for him. 

“How about I sit right here, does that count?” he offered and she snorted. It was probably the best she could hope for. 

"You do that, and you take your pain position without argument," she told him pointedly. He just inclined his head. 

“You know Mor is going to be so sad that she didn’t see it,” Cassian commented at that moment to Rhys, who just glowered at him in response. “Or Amren.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll show them the whole thing,” Feyre said with a shrug, looking at her fingernails.

“Feyre Darling,” Rhys sighed.

“Nah, I agree, show them, Feyre,” Cassian said with a grin. “It’s not every day that you get to see Rhys dangling head down and apologising. So about family dinners…” he started once again.

“Well, we are already all here. If you want to get Amren and…Mor?  You could,” she suggested, looking at Azriel who looked anxious but hopeful. Hopeful that she was going to meet his family, and that she would get along with them. “Though you’ll all be subjected to my cooking.”

“The meatballs were definitely smelling mostly edible,”  Nesta said with a grin and she shrugged. 

“Just for that you can help me make bread,” she suggested, Nesta laughed but inclined her head. 

“I’ll go fetch them,” Feyre suggested brightly “Do you have an anti-winnowing ward on here?” she asked, but Oriana shook her head, opening it up with a turn of her bracelet. 

“Not anymore,” she said easily as she walked in. “One of you, get Azriel inside and put him somewhere to sit down!” she called over her shoulder. “And whoever else can help prepare a rabbit to roast, can help me in the kitchen!” 

Cassian ended up being the one following along in the kitchen, while Rhys got Azriel to sit at the dining table, fussing over him much to Azriel’s and her own chagrin.

“Did I break the winnowing ward?” Cassian asked her, sounding apologetic.

“No, she just lifted it,” Azriel answered. “I could feel that,” he told her drily and she shrugged. 

“I tied it to a bracelet,” she explained. “Makes it easier to change.”

“You can do that?” Rhysand asked and she just raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I can do nearly anything I put my mind to,” she told him pointedly. He inclined his head at that, and she pulled out the rabbit from the stasis cabinet she put it on, as Azriel had hunted it a week or so ago. 

Nesta and Rhys ended up helping with the bread, while Cassian cleaned and spitted the rabbit that ended up in the oven. 

Even Azriel got in on it, cleaning the potatoes she gave him, though she used an enchanted knife to peel them…making it much quicker than it would be to do it by hand. 

Feyre came back, a winged boy on her hip, Amren in two and a beautiful blonde female with her that Oriana had seen before. 

“Amren,” Oriana said with a smile, greeting one of her grandmother’s oldest friends. 

“Oriana,” Amren responded, inclining her head. “And our very own Shadowsinger. Your grandmother did mention that you always made the most interesting choices.” Oriana couldn’t help but laugh. 

“What can I say, normal is boring,” Oriana responded, much to the amusement of Nesta who snorted. 

“It’s so nice to meet you properly. I am Mor,” the blonde female burst out with, pulling her into a hug. “So, out of pure interest, what did Azriel do when he saw what you bought on you?” she teased her but Oriana just laughed. 

“He hasn’t yet,” she answered. “I am keeping it for a special occasion.” It made Mor grin and wink at her. Azriel watched the exchange with wide eyes. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about, sweetling,” she teased him and he just rolled his eyes at her. 

“And whose that?” Oriana asked turning to the little boy still in his mother’s arms that looked at her with bright blue eyes, the ball she had made him clutched in his hands. 

“That’s Nyx,” Feyre said with a grin. “Can you say hello to Oriana, Nyxie?” 

He gave her a toothy grin and then held out his arms for her, demandingly. 

“I think you got competition, Az,” Cassian muttered, making Azriel roll his eyes once again. Oriana just shook her head but offered her hands to the little boy who happily wrapped his fingers around hers. 

He looked like a perfect mix between his parents, with black, fluttering tiny wings that were absolutely adorable. 

She couldn’t help but wish that this was something that Azriel and she could have one day, that it was an option they had. They didn’t. But maybe that was okay. As long as she had AZriel, she was going to be happy. 

Anything else…that would just be the icing on an already perfect cake. 

“So who wants something to eat?” she asked brightly. 

[messydiabolical]

I've been going though all my old documents of drell worldbuilding and such, so expect various snippets and rambles over the next few days! Kolyat Krios' early memories of his first home.

He was barely out of toddlerhood, and it was before his eidetic memory had fully taken hold. The memories he could recall from this time were hazy, there but hard to grasp. A lot like how the humans and turians seemed to describe their own memorisations.

He could see their first home in fragments. He knew it was small, cluttered, ramshackle. It was also very loving. An odd word to describe a building perhaps, but loving is how he remembered it.

 Mother bathing with me in the tiny shower, cursing when the hot water suddenly went out, then laughing it off. ‘Well that’s one way to really wake up and start a day!’ she waggles her eyebrows theatrically as she tickles my cold body through a towel, making me giggle, forgetting the chill. Her subvocal song trills in joy and I try to copy it, stuttered bursts of happiness in a staccato beat to her soothing tones.

 The neighbourhood was noisy, full of life and interesting, questionable smells.

Children were always outside, playing in the streets. Groups of teens and adults would also gather and mill about, though in retrospect, probably not for such innocent pursuits.

In the apartment upstairs someone was learning to play what sounded like an entire orchestras worth of instruments, taking a jack of all trades, master of none approach to the enterprise. They were very fond of practising late at night, the ceiling thudding with the beats.

A neighbour below them would watch Kolyat in the days while mother and father both worked. She was very old, saggy scales and eyes clouded over like the stormy clouds out beyond the dome walls. He adored her. She’d cook delicious soups that he’d gum and gnash at with his sprouting fangs, getting more all over his face and clothes than actually in his mouth. She’d just laugh in delight, rub his face with a cloth while he blew soupy raspberries in protest. She also loved to read storybooks, putting on funny voices for all the characters. Sometimes Kolyat would sleep over, and she’d make him a blanket fort on the sofa. Kolyat loved her very much.

‘Please Orla, I must insist you take some credits for your time.’ Mother shifts me on her hip. Her frillrings sparkle in the sputtering, broken hall light. I reach out with a pudgy little hand to play with them.

‘Now now dear, how many times must I insist. you keep those credits for him’. A wrinkly, gentle hand reaches over, stopping me before I grab too harshly on my silver hooped quarry.

Mother and father worked a lot. Mother seemed to like her work, exhausted as it left her. The same could not be said for father.

Father would come home from work dirty, dejected. Mother would rub his shoulders, kiss his cheek and put me on his lap, and he would melt a little. Kisses on my brow and a whispered promise. ‘I’ll make things better, do better for us’. Holds me a little tighter.

Kolyat can’t recall the exact words exchanged, but he remembers the night his parents fought, the first time he heard anything but loving devotion between them. The apartment only had one bedroom, so he usually slept in a crib he was vastly outgrowing, squeezed in next to his parents' bed. They had waited until he was asleep before bitter whispering began, then moved to the living room when it was clear things were escalating. It didn’t do much good; Kolyat had already woken up and the apartment had thin walls. It was a long night.

The next morning Thane was gone and Irikah, usually so positive, so determined, seemed to have lost a little spark about her. Usually when she made breakfast she would play music on her omnitool, singing off key and dancing as she moved.

That morning was too quiet, mothers movements too stiff and precise.

It was a Kalsef, a drell weekend day. Kolyat had begun to recognise patterns in time, knew that this was the day daddy always took him to the temple after breakfast while mummy got some me time.

‘Where daddy?’ the little drell asked, confused by the change in routine.

“He’s-” She pauses, looks side to side, runs her hand across her brow. She looks back up, leans across the table, strokes my cheek.

“He’s away on business Kolyat”.

Away on business. That was the first time he heard it. It would not be the last.

Three, perhaps four full Kalsefs passed, and father finally came home. He was dressed in sleek, fancy clothes, nothing like the overalls he’d worn for work before. He was smiling wide, rushed to Kolyat and swung him up in the air. Kissed mother and told them both he’d missed them so. Mother was all smiles too, but something was different. Something felt off to Kolyat. Like they were too eager, too desperate to seem normal, natural, which only served to make it feel unnatural.

A few days later they were packing up their meagre belongings. Emptying the apartment. A lot of it they didn’t bother with, too broken, not worth keeping. Father assured them they could get better things at ‘the new place’.

They travelled then, taking a skycar and then a shuttle, higher in the sky than kolyat had ever been. He clung fiercely to Thane when they looked out the windows, the vast oceans so far below, the islands and domes little specks on the surface.

“Fear not my son, we are quite safe. We’re going somewhere wonderful, you’ll see”.

Their second home was a lofty apartment at the very top reaches of the dome of Da’quin city.

The view out of the floor to ceiling windows made Kolyat feel sick. He had his own bedroom now, and he’d pile up toys against the glass planes, building a barrier between him and that fathomless fall. His new big bed accommodated his rapidly lengehtening limbs, but it felt so many miles away from mother and fathers bed. You couldn't hear the neighbours from the apartment. Never seemed to meet them at all; they could have been completely alone up there for all he knew. There were certainly no Orla’s in this building. He never saw her again. His second home was lonely.

[good-old-gossip]

Israeli Terrorist STORMS the HOLY SITE in Jerusalem

Israel's national security minister, Itamar Ben Gvir, stormed the Al-Aqsa Mosque complex in occupied East Jerusalem on the day a number of European countries recognised a Palestinian state, amid the ongoing war on Gaza. Images showed Itamar Ben Gvir entering the Islamic religious site flanked by heavily armed Israeli forces. In a video taken from the courtyards of the mosque, the far-right minister said the Jerusalem site "belongs only to the state of Israel".

His visit came as Spain, Ireland and Norway announced their recognition of the state of Palestine, which in turn prompted Israel to recall its ambassadors. Palestinians have long sought East Jerusalem, where Al-Aqsa is located, as the capital of any future state.

"I made it clear: the countries that recognised a Palestinian state this morning want to give a reward to the kidnappers of the female soldiers and their many supporters in Gaza," Ben Gvir said in the video published on X, formerly known as Twitter.

"We will not allow any surrender that would even include a declaration of a Palestinian state." Al-Aqsa Mosque, which spans 14 hectares and includes the Dome of the Rock and the silver-domed al-Qibli Mosque, is an Islamic site where unsolicited visits, prayers and rituals by non-Muslims are forbidden, according to decades-long international agreements.

The hill on which the mosque sits is known to Jews as the Temple Mount and is believed to be the site where two ancient Jewish temples once stood. In the last two decades, there has been an increase in the number of Israeli ultranationalists visiting and praying in Al-Aqsa under police protection without permission from Palestinians. Daniel Seidemann, founder of the NGO Terrestrial Jerusalem, said Ben Gvir's move on Wednesday was "significant and potentially incendiary".

"Israel/Palestine is a fire raging out of control and the Netanyahu regime is dousing the flames with kerosene," he wrote on X. "This couldn't happen without Netanyahu's consent." It was the first time Ben Gvir, who regularly storms Al-Aqsa, entered the site since 7 October.

[topaztimes]

Both of you wanted this so I made it a post lmao @etherealspacejelly @the-rat-1

ERM! I call this the Very Brief Guide To Human Faces (From A Furry Perspective)

Let's start with this guy.

This buddy is the absolute basics of the human face -- I guarantee that if you focused your camera on a version of it you drew, it'll recognise a face, because that's all a human is: neck, nose, under-lip, under-brows (which is also why I make the under-brow coloured darker in my style lol. Cheeky example below)

Anyways! Exaggerating and expanding outwards from these shadows are really important if you're trying to go for realism. But let's keep going with regular anatomy for now lol -- just, if you're stuck, make sure that those shapes are obvious. If they aren't, maybe that's the issue!

(That's what buddy looks like filled in. His brows are raised a bit lmao)

Mads Mikkelsen jumpscare:

(I chose him because his skull is SO OBVIOUS) Now, this is THE cheat code of all time: in the VAST majority of mammals, the inner corners of the eyes are exactly the same width as the widest part of the nose/nostrils. In humans, since we have bones in the front of our jaws, we have another sneaky thing with this same proportion: the CHIN. Wowie!

See? These two buddies have a very obvious line. It's amazing

More things that line up are: Top of ear: top of eye socket, bottom of ear: middle of upper lip Bottom of nose: top of earlobe (where the hole begins) Corner of the jaw: dip of the chin Aaaaand there's definitely more that I can't think of off the top of my head. Oh well

Here's a small turnaround of the head for you... which leads us onto the cranium (REMEMBER that the head isn't a perfect box! It's more like a trapezium prism; that's how you can see the tips of someone's opposite ear when they're facing 3/4 away from you)

THE CRANIUM!!!

This is what a white person's head would typically look like from the side -- they tend to have more flat craniums. I like to exaggerate the shape of the overhang because it makes me happy

Another thing to do with side profiles: the default human has the JAW and the FOREHEAD PARALLEL to each other. It's an epic cheat, because if you know the rough angle of the jaw, you know the angle of the forehead. It's saved me far too many times

This is closer to my own head shape, although it's still very exaggerated lol. In short: anything that isn't the xenomorph's level of head-dome is likely the shape of a real human. Everything can be customised; everything's connected

Last bit: customising the face. You know the default -- how do you change it while still looking realistic?

Remember the line I was talking about? Contains the nose, doesn't include the eyes? You change THAT. You make the nose wider than the corners of the eyes for a big nose, and you make it smaller for a little nose. That's how your brain can tell that someone's had plastic surgery lol (people often get nosejobs without also getting their chin shape changed. There's a lot of variation in eyes, so you don't often notice those if only 1/3 doesn't align)

Same thing with the forehead and jaw being parallel. You want a square jaw? Make the jaw more of a right angle while making the forehead rounder. That's how you build juxtaposition to draw attention to the 'striking' feature.

OKAY omg that was a lot but I hope it helped lmfaooo -- I also have a mini guide for the general body so let me know if you want that too

[markjelol1112]

Valentines day marriage

A Winter x Karina ( winrina ) special 18+

Karina and Winter have being engaged for 1 year and there marriage is not far from it Mark asked Killian to come with him to his girlfriend her final karate world championship but Killian told him that he has other plans because Winter invited him to her house she wants ask Killian something but she is scared if Karina find it out

Winter why you ask me to come over we broke up long time ago." Killian said

Killian I wanna do it again and I wanted with you." Winter said

Okay then I do this condom around my d*** and we can start with this last time." Killian said again

At the seoul dome in South Korea Mark Daniël Thomas Ningning Giselle and Karina where watching jasmine her finals of the world championship karate and she is 1 point of being world champion of Belgium

You got this baby I trust in you." Mark said again

But Karina feels her worried about that Winter didn't come with her for this

Back at the house Killian put the condom around his d*** and wanna do it safely but Winter refuse that he use that condom so she pull it of his d***

Uhm why you doing this." Killian said again

And Winter whispered something in his ear that will in his head for a long time

Make me pregnant." Winter whispered In Killian his ear

But Killian don't wanna have trouble with Winter her parents he told them to use condoms and Mark told him that to to use condoms but he did it anyways he put his d*** in Winter and she started to moaning

Oh yeah fuck me Killian do it do it." Winter said while moaning

Back at the world championship karate in South Korea jasmine has crowned herself as the new world champion karate and Mark I happier that he hold his tears for the trophy ceremony

In 3rd place Germany." The announcer said

In 2nd place the Netherlands." The announcer said again

And your now world champion make some noise for jasmine from Belgium." The announcer said again

And Mark was super happy that he wanna celebrate it as jasmine hold the world championship karate golden trophy in the air Mark started to cry

As the anthem of Belgium started to play Mark Daniël and Thomas where singing because that's their home country their place they grown up

At the moment when Killian and Winter having s*x he c***** in Winter her stomach

Winter moaning a little bit when it was done then Killian received a text message from Mark to come to the cafe to celebrate jasmine her world champion karate trophy she earned

Winter whatever you do don't tell anyone about this okay." Killian said again

Okay I hope I'm pregnant then I will let you know." Winter said again

And Killian covered his face only his eyes where seen when he walked out the house Ningning saw him running

Who was that Ningning." Karina said again

I don't know but I could only see his eyes and that's recognised me of someone but who." Ningning said again

As Killian came to the cafe Mark saw that Killian has done something terrible

Killian what's wrong." Mark said again

Nothing Mark." Killian said again

Then Mark received a message from Ningning that Winter is not okay

But they must wait if something has happened with Winter

When Mark Daniël Thomas Killian and Jasmine are back home Killian felted guilty of something he did without using condoms as protection to don't make Winter pregnant but Killian still hear the words from Winter make me pregnant is what Winter whispered in his ears

The end p1

[lunarmoonanons]

The Dragon Pit

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕   YN and Daemon take a trip to the dragon pit. Even though YN is meant to be a caged dragon. 

🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕  

Masterlist

Alysanne had walked around the Red Keep, she grew ever more worried as her pace quickened. She could not find her dear daughter YN anywhere. Her 7 year old girl had been growing well and lively under the protection of the court. She was deemed the realm’s joy and her happy nature made her a place in many people’s hearts. But Alysanne could not find it in her to share her youngest. Whenever she was away from YN, her heart hurt and her hands shook. She had thought YN had outgrown her wanderlust but it seemed she was wrong. 

Soon, Alyssanne was starting to breathe quick breaths as she scoured the keep. But there was no sign of YN. She looked in Gael’s room, but the sweet girl only shrugged. She looked around the gardens, in the passageways, even the kitchens but the little princess was nowhere. Her worry led her to her husband who looked alarmed at the sight of his frazzled wife. 

“Alysanne? What is it?” Jaehaerys asked, rising from his throne. 

“YN is missing. I’ve searched every feasible area and cannot find her.” Alysanne breathed, trying to hold her composure in front of the other people in the room. But her worries only made Jaehaerys start to worry as well. 

“Have you sent guards to look for her?”

“I have. They haven’t seen her in the castle.” That made Jaehaerys worry even more, Usually his wife would worry when YN wasn’t near but when the guards themselves haven’t seen her that was cause to worry. 

He turned to his kingsguard immediately. “Find my daughter. Search the whole city if you have to. Bring my daughter back.”

With a bow the guards turned and began to send out more men to search for the princess. Jaehaerys turned back to his wife and took her hand in his. Reassuring that YN would be found soon, his thoughts were interrupted when something crossed his mind. With a kiss to Alysanne’s forehead he left to look at the training yard. Where lo and behold Daemon was not present. 

~~~~

YN didn’t usually disobey her mother and sneak out, but Daemon had promised her a special treat. He had snuck her out of her rooms early in the morning and led her through the streets of Kingslanding. His grip on her hand never loosened as the two snuck around the city. 

“Are we almost there?” YN asked, looking around the strange buildings and people who didn’t recognise her due to the cap on her head. 

“Almost. I promise. You’ll like this place.” Daemon promised and smiled at her. He enjoyed sparing and practicing Valyrian, but he loved spending time with YN. 

YN smiled back and continued to gawk around at the city. She had never been allowed to leave the castle, at least at Dragonstone she would travel but here her parents kept her stuck in the Red Keep. She didn’t pay attention to the path that they took, but she was enamored with the people on the way. Occasionally she would try to pull her hand away in an attempt to go and play with the children that they passed, but Daemon would only grab tighter and pull her along. 

Soon he brought her to his favorite place to sneak out to. The Dragon pit. They took the long way over so as to throw the guards off their trail. He wanted to show YN the pride of their house that slept in the caves and tunnels beneath the pit. 

“You’ll like this place YN. I come here all the time. I think you should see the dragons that make our house so strong.” Daemon said grinning at the girl who scrunched her face in confusion. 

“I don’t know… I’m not really allowed to be around the dragons, or near the dragon pit… Mommy and Daddy might get really mad.” YN muttered and looked back to the red castle that towered over their city. 

“It’ll be fine. You won’t get in trouble.” Daemon pulled and led her inside. 

The two small children snuck around the large structure. YN marveled at the large building’s dome and smiled at the pretty walls. This place was new and very exciting for her. Daemon was happy that she seemed to like it, and pulled her along to find a dragon. He usually did this on his own, but this was something that the two of them could share. Daemon led her down to one of the pathways that led to the dragons curled in their caves. Once he heard loud heavy breathing, he smiled and held YN closer. They came across Dreamfyre, curled up and sleeping peacefully. YN scooched closer to Daemon as he stepped forward with his hand raised. 

“We should go. I don’t want to wake her.” YN whispered and tried to pull him back, but Daemon shook his head slightly and stepped closer to the dragon. “Please Daemon. I’m scared. I think we should go back.”

“Just be calm she won’t hurt you.” Daemon tried to explain, but his attention was brought to YN when he felt her shaking. “YN…”

“I want to go back..” YN whispered, tears pricking at her lids. 

“Okay.” Daemon sighed and spirited her away quickly. 

They barely made it back out of the pit when they were swarmed by goldcloaks who were looking for them. Daemon’s face scrunched in anger at the ruined fun that came with them being here. One large goldcloak stepped forward and picked YN up, telling her that her father was looking for her. 

“We have to bring them both back, don’t drop her.” Their leader commanded and placed his hand on Daemon’s shoulder. 

Once they were back in the throne room, Daemon was under the angry gaze of the king who was furious at what the two were up to, but not at YN. Never at his precious princess. Daemon showed no fear and stared at the king right back into his old face. His father Baelon stood behind him, equally mad he “endangered” YN.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?” Jaehaerys asked. 

“We wanted to play. I thought she’d enjoy seeing the pit.”

“So you brought my daughter to a dangerous area, knowing how fragile she is. You steal her away from her home and disobey my orders.” Jaehaerys glared down at the boy. 

“I know of no orders, your majesty.” Daemon sassed. 

Jaehaerys let out at angry breath then stood from his seat, he turned to his son who straightened under his gaze. “Your child is banned from being around your sister. She is too precious to be left in his hands.” 

“What?!” Daemon shouted, but shut his mouth at the sharp glare from the king. 

“For how long father?” Baelon asked, resting a hand on Daemon’s shoulder. 

“Until I believe he is no longer a threat to my daughter.” Jaehaerys then raised his hand to dismiss them. 

Daemon shook his father’s hand off and stormed back to his room. It wasn’t fair. None of it. YN was a Targaryen, she had a right to be around dragons. The old king was just too obsessed with his daughter and never wanted her to be a true Targaryen. Daemon was furious with the king and vowed he’d prove himself to YN and would have her hand one day. One day the king would be dead, and no one would stop him.

@missglaskin​ @the-phantom-of-arda​

@phantoms-main-blog

I know I’m supposed to tag one of the phantoms. So I’ll tag both.

[anelegaicmind]

سالم عليكم

I watched as much as I could of the video you had recommended. I have to say, it is, thus far, very well made. Quite detailed. Rich with history. I do however, want to start somewhere simpler, for now... I'm deeply interested in the emotional connection you experience in Islam because of Sufism. Can we start there? Is there something you can share with us that describes how one is able to transcend and immerse into a deep and soulful experience with his or her creator?

I hope I've made sense? If so, thank you & jazak Allah (in advance). If not, I will re-phrase my question and resend it. ☺️

Walaykum Salaam,

The journey of a sufi is one that is both personal and life-long. While I do post a lot of content that is based on sufism I would say that my position is of one who has purchased the ticket to board a ship but has yet to embark. I will do my best to answer you but I am in no way a teacher. In regards to your question, it is the fundamental desire of the sufi to achieve what you describe as 'transcend and immerse into a deep and soulful experience with his or her creator'. Poetry, art, music, dance and chanting worship (dhikr) has all formed part of the sufi tradition as they are perfect vessels to capture and express human emotion. To start with I would recommend exploring these as they will give you a window into the emotional state of the sufi who made it. I would recommend poetry from Rumi, The Conference of the Birds by Attar and music by the Al-Firdous Ensemble. The intention with any of these is to not consume the media as is typical in modern society but to sit and meditate on the individual words of a poem or the chords of a piece of music and explore inside you how they speak to your emotional state. Here is a poem by Ibn Arabi you may find useful:

I marveled at an Ocean without shore, and at a Shore that did not have an ocean; And at a Morning Light without darkness, and at a Night that was without daybreak; And then a Sphere with no locality known to either fool or learned scholar; And at an azure Dome raised over the earth, circulating ’round its center – Compulsion; And at a rich Earth without o’er-arching vault and no specific location, the Secret concealed…

It is an exploration of the infinite state of Allah and our singular position within His infinite. It is quick to become overwhelmed by the incomprehensibility of it but it is precisely this that becomes what the sufi calls 'the loss of the self'.

In my own experience I have found that reaching out into nature helps me to bridge the gap between myself and Allah, the bridge being an emotional connection. I often sit and listen to the birds, watch their flight, the movement of the wind through the trees, the ever-changing colours of the sky, the life that grows from the ground, and the rain that nourishes it. I think upon the signs that Allah states in his glorious qur'an and I recognise that not only is Allah,

nearer to him than even his jugular vein. (50:16) 

But that he is closer to the entire of creation than creation is to itself. As creation is entirely dependent upon the existence and love of Allah but he is entirely independent of our existence and love of him. And when all of these are meditated upon together how can I not utter the words subhanallah (glory to Allah), alhamdulillah (praise be to allah) and allah hu akbar (allah is the greatest)?

This then forms the basis of dhikr which is a common practice throughout the entirety of Islam yet now your heart has been opened towards the reality of Allah swt. You recite his dhikr not because you are told of the reward in heaven but because it is impossible to utter anything else as a result of your realisation.

Eventually your realisation becomes your reality and this is the final destination of the sufi.

It is important to note that sufism is traditionally a communal act of worship and not one of individualism. It is important to seek out other sufis as the journey of every sufi is long and arduous. There will be many questions and oftentimes few answers. Fortunately, sufism has expanded to every corner that there are muslims and sufi sheikhs are very open, loving and tolerant people.

Here are some resources that you might find useful: https://www.institute.global/insights/geopolitics-and-security/what-sufism https://www.rumi.org.uk/poetry/ https://ibnarabisociety.org/poetry-poems/

I hope this answer is helpful to you and if anything is unclear feel free to reach out. And of course, anything I've said that is correct is from the mercy of Allah and anything that I've said is incorrect is from my own shortcomings.

[familyparadox]

Irving Braxiatel saviour and destroyer of Gallifrey

Irving Braxiatel saved at least one Gallifrey from the War in Heaven and in so doing doomed it to the Last Great Time War. Specifically the Gallifrey Brax. This can also be seen with Bernice Summerfield the only person to have a linear relationship with the War in Heaven and with some very very crude and nasty beating the Last Great Time War (but like said getting it into that shape is hard).

But before we start let’s get a few things right. The Adventures With Charley and C’rizz happen during the interference gap whilst Fitz and Compassion sleep and The Brax on Legion is the same as the one in the Gallifrey audios and has met Bernice Summerfield only once before hand at the start of Dragons Wrath ( the Dellah/Collection era Brax enters latter in the book) this Brax did not serve in the War in Heaven or at any rate is yet to.

This Gallifrey era Brax falls into the Axis and arrives not in another universe but in the Post War Universe Brax misses out on the War in Heaven completely and heads to Gallifrey only to find it is gone and world in a different place but with recognisable geography and cities does, this world which is similar to Gallifrey is Legion right down to the Domed City and unexplored Dark/southern side.

The Eighth Doctor and Mother Francesca are both of having their own Post War adventures.

At the end of The Legion era Brax (now with out Pandora, as Pandora is now involving her self in the War in Heaven which has already happened in the Benny audios and Dellah Book the reason this is possible is because the axis plays silly buggers with us all) heads back to before the War to find his Gallifrey and Romana (now in her third incarnation) and rescues her from the dying TARDIS after Omega escaped.

Now I believe that on Every Gallifrey Omega’s escape and ambiguous defeat heralds the War. This can be seen in both Intervention Earth and the Infinity Doctors. Two stories which have many,many parallels.

Now Brax having been sent back to Romana using the Epoch technology tells Romana about the War in Heaven (something he finds out about from the Collection Era Brax who we know he is in contact with thanks to some Legion era books), the destruction of Gallifrey the failure of the Maximediras plan and the Loss of the Collection. Romana hearing this sends Brax even further back in time to the events of Intervention Earth. Meanwhile Romana begins preparing for the war just in case Brax fails in going back in time to avert the war. This leads to the Doctor Destroying Gallifrey to avert the War in the Ancestor Cell this stops the war but Gallifrey has not yet been restored to heaven. Meanwhile in the Past Brax goes through Enemy Lines and stops the war in heaven from claiming Romana’s Gallifrey and creates a Gallifrey which exists after the Post War (this is a different Post Post War Gallifrey to the one in Cwej (well they are also the same but my opinions of the Cwej Homeworld and the Time War Homeworld are very very complicated and involve at least five different post war universe each to multiple powers and lots of Nine gallifrey’s and bottle universe leaking all over the place and it need a different post) this is why 8 forgets Fitz and Compasion and never mentions Charley and C’rizz until his regeneration (He kind of remembers Charley and C’rizz and that bad things happened to them as the Zagreus incident is vitally important to the Lead up to the Last Great Time War (and the War in Heaven). The restoration does not however mean that the Daleks did not use Gallifrey’s abscess to gain power. Whilst for non time active powers it seems nothing has changed for time active powers it would seem that gallifrey vanished from all time and then suddenly came back in to the gap it filled. The Daleks still gain power, the People still seal themselves away. The Warpsmiths and other temporal Powers are just to polite to mention it (not to mention many of them have also been restored at the same point) it could explain why several Warpsmiths suddenly want to users the Time Lords. I belive the restoration also change the past as well. I believe that most of Big Finishes Seventh Doctor audios (not all) are Post War this explains how a Post War in Heaven Benny can meet a seventh Doctor with whom Ace left to join the CIA (directly contradicting what happened to ace whilst she travled with Benny) and how she can be present for the Seventh Doctor’s last day when she was not originally present but Cwej was. Last Day and Lungbarrow contradict each other the first two New adventures of Bernice Summerfield contradict the VNA’s as well in a way that can not be blamed on Dellah/Collection era Brax and must be blamed on Legion era Brax and the War in Heaven. This “Blip”, as it were, is the reason that from the Time Lords perspective Faction Paradox vanished just before the Last Great Time War. They as Paradox’s where, to some degree atemporal and thus when they where destroyed in the War in Heaven they could not return to a post war gallifrey as they where gone wiped out by Lolita and other powers. I am sure Fransesca is still out there and Sibling Different and Same both slipped back in. I think that this Paradox saved Gallifrey but not for long as nature abhors a vacuum and so the Last Great Time War slipped in to place the Daleks had gained more power and the Time Lords where no longer prepping for a war they once more believed would never come.

This of course is only one Gallifrey the rest who knows.

[imagine-darksiders]

Small snippet of the beginning of that Bowser & Reader fic I'm working on because I crave validation and can't wait to get this whole thing out to you guys <3

[Y/n meets Bowser Junior after startling him so badly, he fell off a bench]

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant, his eyes bulging out whilst you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone under your shoes.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath. Then, once satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile.

“There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

All of a sudden, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose as he jumps back to put another inch or two of space between you, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Evidently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he twists his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a fleeting once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that pointing is rude.

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you add, “And, you are...?”

Puffing out his chest, he plants one hand firmly on his hip and jams the opposite thumb against his chest, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

[tmnt-reticent]

Okay yall asked for the spoiler-y Season 5 Ret Leo ramble you’re getting the spoiler-y Season 5 Ret Leo ramble

Please remember that this was a ramble to a friend who already knows a lot of Ret lore and may not make as much sense out of context WHAKXHWKHDKDH (I had to replace some of the ‘him’s with the characters names and stuff cause it didn’t make any sense without already knowing what the ramble was about sobbing)

SO

Basically they’re surrounded by the rest of the Hamato clan, who’ve been anxiously waiting to see what the fallen prodigy has been working on for so long, to see Yoshi finally fulfill the promise he’s been keeping from them for well over a decade now

They knew Yoshi had taken on a strange new form, despite his continued attempts to hide it, but they weren’t expecting a mutant turtle to walk up to the alter. They doubted that such a strange creature could even be considered a Hamato, even if Yoshi’s claims that he was one were to be true. A monster like that couldn’t be one of them. Yet, they didn’t really have any other options, so they stood back and watched, whispering as Yoshi took the ceremonial blade and held it to the turtle’s neck.

However, Leo was having second thoughts, his brothers yells as he left with Splinter seeping into his mind, not allowing him to live his last moments in peace. But, he’d spent his entire life leading up to this! He couldn’t just back out now, what was the point in that? He would’ve wasted everyone’s time, and The Shredder could be released any day now. He couldn’t deny them of this. He was meant to save them! He had to save them. Yet, as the cold metal met his neck, he couldn’t do it. As soon as his father rose it again to swing, Leo pushed him away and tried to escape. Yet, as the rat chased after him, blade still in hand, the Hamato clan simply watched. Stared as they watched Yoshi fail yet again. Whispered as they watched his downfall repeat itself. The man who once fled from his own ceremony now chasing after one who tried to repeat his mistake. How could he fail twice? Waste more of their precious, fleeting time on this monstrosity?

Leo, knowing he can’t outrun his sensei for long, uses some of the last remaining dregs of his energy to put up a dome around Splinter, encasing him. As Leo falls to the ground, the Hamato clan just continue to stare and whisper, whisper and stare, for what feels like hours. A strained yell and a clatter followed by a thud sound behind him, yet he can’t muster the energy to look up. It’s only when screams sound around him and footsteps flee the premises that he finally looks behind him, a metal-clad beast standing over the corpse of his former sensei, staring down at the boy that would’ve brought him back if he had not been such a coward. Leo wouldn’t have saved everyone. He would’ve brought them to their demise.

He knows he should run, escape before the monster realises that it can smash through his barrier, or before it falls due to his own inability to keep it up, yet he simply stares back, held prisoner by his own fear.

Voices he recognises sound out from behind him, begging him to do… something, anything. They drag him away as Leo continues to hold eye contact with the beast before him, until it gets too far away for him to do so any longer. But he still knows when it breaks through. The pang in his heart tells him it’s escaped. Yet, there’s nothing he can do. He’s no saviour. He’s no hero. He’s just a misled puppet serving a group of *cowards* who were too idiotic to realise they were bringing about the end of the world. How could he be so *stupid*? And how could he let the man who raised him suffer in his place? If it had been Leo… he would never have had to know that what he was doing would bring about ruin. And maybe his father would have been able to escape. Figure out a solution. Save everyone. But no. Leo had to be selfish. He couldn’t help anyone. Not like this. Not anymore. He never could.

He was just being childish this entire time, enjoying the delusions they fed him, letting himself believe that he could actually be useful for once. But there was a reason he was never his father’s first choice. That he was never anyone’s first choice. Why he was just a back-up, a replacement in his eyes. He was only good for blindly following other people, ignoring any signs that what they might be doing was wrong. He was no leader. He could never take Raph’s role. He could never replace him. He’d always just be Leo. The overlooked try-hard who so desperately wanted to be special that it ruined him from the inside out. And now he’d be ruined forever.