#inner crone

[lochness-tess]

I changed my Instagram to private because I don’t want to be perceived.

[echeveriia]

my life trajectory: weird little girl -> weird adult woman -> weird old crone

[azsazz]

Hide From Me

ACOTAR Omegaverse Week Day 3: Azriel x Reader [All Tied Up]

Summary: Prompt from @acotar-omegaverse-week: Oh, you’re tied up so you don’t do anything you’ll regret during your heat? Would be a shame if someone… came along and messed up that plan for you :)

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, bondage

Word Count: 2692

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Nobody can hear your whimpers from all the way up here.

You’re starting to regret asking Amren to tie you to the posts of your bed when you felt the comings of your heat this time around. The telltale signs you normally dreaded: the itch to your skin every time you stepped foot outside of your home—gathering food and drink that you’d keep close, but would inevitably not eat should no one help you do so. You oftentimes fell into your baser needs whilst in the throes of your heat, chasing the feeling of a knot growing full inside of you, too far into your omegaspace to remember to eat. This time around, with no one to see you through your heat, you were just going to have to keep your head on and your wits about you.

Shouldn’t be too hard, without a knot to sate you.

The prickling sensations of sharper eyes watching you wasn’t the only sign that you were near heat. Your sense of smell heightened, your pheromones fell off of you in plumes, and if not for the alphas licking their maws at you with each step you took, the tingles between your thighs and up your spine need not hit you in the face. You’d never willingly like it when a male did that, so the thrum of your heart and the urge for their tongues to dip between your thighs made it clear that you needed to head home, and fast.

Your nesting has been another sign that you’re used to by now. It’s not much, but it’s yours, curated to perfection of both blankets and trinkets and scents, anything that you had gained enough courage to ask for and all that you could slip into the pockets of your dress, surrounding you like the perfect pool of alpha protection.

If only you had one. 

Amren had agreed all too easily, and that should have been your first warning sign. But it was one you didn’t catch in time, much too anxious about being an unmated female in a court where just about anything admission could be carried in the darkness of shadow.

The old crone had wrinkled her nose when she arrived with rope in hand and you’d merely bared your teeth and growled, offended at her response to the delicious scents of alpha mingling throughout your home. You were feeling protective, bristling in the doorway as you contemplated letting the beta inside.

Either way, whatever you chose didn’t seem to bother her, for she simply said, “Or would you rather run the streets down, whimpering and panting for a knot like a pup in their first heat.” 

The words had stung enough for you to step back, allowing her inside. Amren made quick work of the ropes as she deftly tied them around your ankles and wrists, then to the posts of your headboard which were tested and strong enough to hold you even at your worst.

If she caught the scent of a certain alpha’s aroma, she did not say. 

In a week she would come back for you, maybe once in between, to see how you were faring. 

It’s embarrassing, as the only omega in the Inner Circle, the things you had to go through: giving into…this nearly four times a year. It shouldn’t have been, because after your arrival to the Night Court you had been given nothing but riches in the forms of friends, your apartment in one of the small buildings that was dedicated to the miniscule number of omegas on the continent, and your choice of alpha when your heats came. Rhysand never expected you to see any male or female through their ruts, a gift from the Gods to you, but something so simple to offer for him.

You’d refused to use that part of your arrangement after the first time you used it.

From years ago when Azriel had seen you through what you thought was your worst heat yet. First time away from your pack before, unmated and unbonded once again in your life. With no alpha around, it had hurt you more than helped you. You’d even begun longing for the life you escaped, even though it was far from what you desired.

Instincts are a bitch. 

You hadn’t been anything more with Azriel. You know the stoic alpha had gone out of his way to help you through your heat. There were no feelings involved, as they usually weren’t for the spymaster of the Night Court. He had been stoic and thorough in his work, seeing you through the mess of a heat and making sure you drank and fed, making sure that you drank your herbal tea, needing to be absolutely sure that there was no chance of your womb growing his seed.

It had felt clinical—transactional—and left you feeling more hollow than sated.

You never came calling after that, his opposition on the matter more than clear. 

So now you lie in the middle of your bed, sleep gown drenched through with a day full of sweating, a wetness slick between your thighs, and you can’t even reach your hand down to attempt to relieve yourself from the heat that is wracking your body.

You’re a shivering mess, clutching your thighs together for any sort of reprieve that you pray to the Mother will fix. You know that she is not here this time, and like so many times before that, an abandoned daughter you are.

Nothing.

Not even your neighbors can hear your pleas for help. Each unit within the building is charmed, specifically to keep the omegas inside safe. You have to give it to Rhysand, you haven’t had an ounce of trouble in the years you’ve lived here since removing yourself from his home, the proximity to the one your heart yearns for much too close.

No scent leaks through the walls or the window panes or the threshold of doors. No sounds can be heard inside, as not to disturb your neighbors. Every alpha allowed in the building is on a list, background checked. There is security on hand 24/7, a group of beta’s, hand-picked by the High Lord himself. 

Not even they can help you. 

Your body eventually exhausts itself, when the sun is cresting low over the mountaintops, night chasing its heels. There is a lamp in the corner of your room, because when Amren asked, you told her to light it, for you did not want to be in the dark alone, even if seeing yourself a mess in its soft glow is shameful.

You wake with a start, your heart pounding in your chest. Your hair is plastered to your scalp. Your body is vibrating with need, your cunt clenching around nothing, the throb in your clit so deep that you feel it in the marrow of your bones.

The room around you is still, the loud silence only filled with that of your labored breathing, the drum of your heart as it beats a tuneless pattern, waiting in anticipation for something to soothe it. 

Or someone.

A pressure builds behind your eyes so frantically, your sinuses seizing as tears you’re unable to tamper down build. You shouldn’t have agreed to your head’s decision, should have used your toys to relieve yourself, to try and drive some of the pain that’s lancing through your body and down your core away. You should have allowed Rhysand to choose a male to spend your heat with, for anything is better than this.

“Please,” you whisper into the shadows of the room, seeking out the tendrils of night that used to curl up into your sides like mewling kittens when you lived at the High Lord’s quarters. Your voice is weak, broken, as you beg. “Please.”

Your pleas turn into sobs, the air in your room shifting. Your pulse skyrockets in hope, but when no one appears, you begin thrashing, the ropes tied tight around your wrists cutting into your skin as you pull, damp with sweat.

You’re all too consumed by the rivers of fire in your veins to notice. To notice the shadowsinger of the Night Court manifesting in the corner of your room, because the laws of charms and trickery do not disturb him. He is an entity of many worlds, of many magics, of many curses.

“You thought you could hide from me, sweetheart?” His voice is as cool as darkness, surrounding you from all directions. It startles you from your crying, from your tantrum. It’s loud in your sensitive ears, makes the already pooling mess between your legs gush when you keen, spine arching in response to it.

You don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed. The molten feeling of mortification you’re all to familiar with is smothered by the lava that courses through your body at the sight of his hazel eyes, the whites of his knuckles, the flaring of his nostrils and the heaving of his chest as he’s hit like a blunt sword to the skull with your scent.

How long have you been here, a writhing and crying mess? It must have been long enough, because you’re not calling out for the one that tied you here, nor the High Lord, nor the Mother any longer. You’re not even crying out for him any longer, and it makes the razor-sharp teeth Azriel is trying with all of his might to keep from shifting, throb like no other.

His responding scent hangs heavy in the air: night-chilled mist and cedar, so thick and cloying and so utterly Azriel that it has your pupils widening with pleasure. You want it to be yours—your nose buried in his scent glands, the taste of the salt of his skin on your tongue. You want the throbbing teeth in your mouth buried deeply into the smooth tan skin between his jaw and shoulder, bare of any marks, waiting for you to claim. 

But most of all, you want his knot. You want him embedded so far into your cunt that there is no chance—on the potion or not—that his seed won’t take. You want to carry his litter, and the one after that and the one after that. You want his cum in rivulets inside of you, in rivers around you. You want his mark, his claim, in any manner he should wish. That’s how far deep you are in your heat. 

“Not hiding,” you pant, pulling harder against your restraints. He hasn’t moved an inch from where he appeared, like this isn’t affecting him in the slightest, not like you. Somewhere deep inside of your mind there’s a fleeting thought that it isn’t affecting him because he doesn’t feel for you the same you feel for him. Perhaps he’d been sent again, perhaps—

Azriel’s eyes blaze from the lie on your tongue. He strides closer, and if hiding the truth will have him moving towards you, you’ll do just about anything.

His voice is a low rumble that strikes directly at your core. “You lie.” You’re rubbing your thighs together like a harlot, nightgown drenched with the slick that’s been steadily dripping from you since your heat started. 

It does nothing to help stave off the feelings consuming you alive.

Your whimper, loud and long and forlorn. You can hardly lift your head from your pillows, completely missing the way his cock has engorged in his leathers. How he has to forcibly keep himself from pouncing on you like the prey that you are, ready for him to devour.

“Please,” you mewl. It’s the only word you seem to know right now. You’re twisting and turning and your skin is rubbed raw from where the ties bite into your skin, Azriel notices as he admires the knots.

All too slowly, he removes his clothes. With each layer that is peeled from his skin, the ache becomes more and more until you’re not sure that you can handle it anymore, like your body might just give out from exhaustion right here, right now. Maybe his shadows will consume you then.

He kneels naked before you, his body long and hard lines of perfectly honed muscle. His cock hangs from his body, heavy and swollen, and the bead of precum gathering at the tip is not a drop you want wasted. “Azriel, please!”

His name on your lips is his undoing. The last of his restraint snaps along with the base of your headboard as he rips the rope up and away with one powerful thrust. His wings splay wide behind his back, an avenging angel come to claim what’s his.

Your nightgown is torn from throat to hem, Azriel shoving the flimsy material away so that he can see your bare body, pliant and needy. Your cunt glistens, swollen and weeping for him, awaiting only what his touch can give you.

You need not wait a second more.

He could spend hours exploring your body, the way he dreamed of doing the first and only time you asked him to see you through your heat. But he wants you to remember it, just as he does now, so he hooks his hands beneath the crooks of your knees, pressing them to your chest at the same time he notches his cock at your entrance, and thrusts in.

The relief is nearly immediate, like all you needed was the slightest touch from Azriel and you’d be cumming around his cock like the heat-drunk omega you are. 

His name tastes good on your lips, even if you haven’t stopped screaming it when he dips his tongue against yours in a long sweep. You’re much too focused on the feeling of his cock hitting you so deeply, so perfectly, that after an entire day with zero touch, you’re about to cum again.

“You’re shaking, sweetheart,” his voice is a whisper on your skin as he mouths over the column of your throat, pistoning harder into you when you turn your head away, baring your skin for him to claim. He clamps his jaw shut, burying his nose there instead, hating how the both of you choke back cries at the move. It’s all he wants to do, make you his, but he doesn’t want it to happen in the midst of your heat, he needs you to be level-headed, clear-minded when he does this to you. 

He wants the choice to be yours and not the beast inside of you.

“Please!” Your cries are becoming more frustrated. Even if you have cum twice, that’s not what you need. You need his knot, the assurance that his cum is pooling warm inside of you, housed deeply in your womb with no way to escape. 

You’d latch your legs around his waist if Azriel wasn’t pinning them to the bed. Tears stream down your face with the pain and Azriel is there, lapping them away with the flat of his tongue, shushing you like a crying babe. 

“It hurts,” you whine, once again trying to twist your way out of your restraints. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he grunts, pulling back from you to readjust, to get more leverage so that he can help you through this, hopefully calm you down enough so that you’re no longer a danger to yourself, so that you might eat and drink before you need his knot again. “Almost there.” 

You can feel the slow building of his knot forming, and the bigger it gets, the more your pleas or pain become screams of encouragement, eyes plastered shut with the feeling.

It’s your final plea that is his undoing. “Alpha!” 

Azriel’s knot locks and you screech. His arms tremble with the effort to keep from crushing you as he spills inside, his body shuddering with delight as your cunt holds him tightly. Fuck, it feels too good, you feel too good, this—

“Kiss me, Az,” you keen, and when he’s able to pry his eyes open, he notes how yours seem clearer, the needy sheen to your eyes gone for now.

And kiss you he does.

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@bloodycassian @littlest-w01f @12358

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Two: The Gods' Light

IAemond Targaryen x Strong! Readerl

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Writing a child's inner dialogue was interesting. Besides being very plain and blunt, I didn't know how to write it. Writing for a child will be challenging, but I'm more than up for it. Enjoy reading! :)

Chapter Warnings: Aegon is psychotic, animal cruelty, just sibling things, Alicent being dululu.

As you hurried through the echoing halls of the Red Keep, your swift strides outpacing those of your brothers, you clutched a dragon egg close to your chest. You could feel its smooth, warm surface drumming with growing life beneath your fingers, determined not to let it slip from your grasp. The moment’s thrill spurred you on as you raced through the ancient corridors.

Moments ago, as you sat with Jace and Luke, enjoying a midday meal of goat cheese and dried meats, Ser Harwin suddenly appeared in the garden, out of breath from his hurried journey from Maegor’s Holdfast. He excitedly conveyed the news that your mother had just given birth. The announcement filled you with anticipation, eager to visit the Dragonpit and choose an egg from Syrax’s clutch for the new arrival.

You were restricted from visiting your dragon whenever you desired, making each visit to the Pit a momentous occasion. Gaelithox, your loyal mount, was only accessible during carefully organized training sessions under the vigilant supervision of the Keepers and your trusted protector. While you had made remarkable progress with your affectionate dragon, the Keepers could not trust you with it alone. 

Jace was still grappling with getting Vermax to heed simple commands. The memory of the Keepers urging your younger brother to stand firm and not yield to fear remained vivid. However, when the volatile olive-scaled juvenile lunged forward, Jace faltered and tumbled onto his back, leaving a lasting impression as Aegon and Aemond teased him for days. Unlike Aegon, whose voice echoed like a cackling witch from the tales your maids told before bed, you stifled laughter. Later that evening, your mother reprimanded you when Jace told the incident during supper, silently mouthing the words ‘tattletale’ to your slightly younger brother.

But none of that mattered now. Mother had a babe, and you desperately wished for a sister. It wasn’t that you disliked your brothers; it was just lonely. Jace and Luke shared their Septon with Aegon and Aemond, and you had Septa Marlow, your mother’s former teacher. It was so incredibly boring to sit there in silence with the old crone droning on and on about the duty of a high-born lady, different types of needlework, dances, manners, other Houses, and the importance of virtue, a word you had yet to understand the meaning of.

You asked your mother on more than one occasion to allow you to learn with Helaena, but she said no, saying something about how she was an odd girl with a fascination for unusual things. You didn’t understand why that was a bad trait. You liked how Helaena played with bugs, recalling the many times you counted the legs of crickets you found underneath rocks in the gardens for her. 

When the flowers of King’s Landing had blossomed in the spring, you pleaded with your mother to allow you to spend a day with Helaena in the Godswood. Spring brought out all the little creatures, and your Aunt was always chatty during this time. You fondly remember spending hours capturing beetles, crickets, dragonflies, grasshoppers, and numerous moths and butterflies. You ended up with so many of them that you barely had enough jars to take to your Aunt’s room.

The atmosphere was filled with joy until Aegon arrived. His usual confident stride was noticeably absent, and it was clear that he was not in good spirits. This was unusual, as Aegon was typically the epitome of happiness, and his distress weighed heavily on you. Acting on impulse, you beckoned him over. As he stood before you and his sister, his hands tucked in his pockets, you tried to cheer him up by sharing the day’s events with a hopeful smile. When you suggested showing him a butterfly, he nodded in agreement. You retrieved one carefully, handing it as gently as Helaena had taught you, being mindful not to harm its delicate wings.

You opened your palms slowly to show him. It was bright yellow with black markings, fluttering softly in your grasp. You told him to be careful as you tenderly placed it in Aegon’s hands and told him about the multiflora rose bush you found it from. Turning your head to show him where it was, Aegon crushed the butterfly in his fist, smashing the thinly winged insect as the off-white guts splattered across his palms. You couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing to something you and Helaena took great pride in, never mind that the creature was innocent of whatever hateful reasoning he had behind this. 

You recalled how Aegon wiped the remnants of the butterfly across your shocked face in finality and smiled the smile you hoped for, showing the crumpled, wiry black legs and torn shreds of paper-thin wings on his palm.

Helaena screamed. You can still remember the sound of it, piercing your ears and making them feel as if they bled. Aegon rubbed the tiny leftover specs of the carcass onto her head to get her to quiet, bellowing the same cackle he always did. After that, you couldn’t recall much, only a sudden anger you had never felt before, blurry vision, and being pulled off Aegon’s whimpering form. You were still unsure about how you found yourself pummeling your uncle’s face in the same way he did the bug. 

The Queen, accompanied by Ser Criston, discovered you trying to embrace Helaena. However, the young girl shied away, retreating into a crouched position, her knees to her chest and her face buried between them. Overwhelmed with emotion, you sought solace in Queen Alicent’s arms, burying your head in her skirts. As she inquired about the events, she tenderly ran her jeweled hands over your messy hair while you struggled to say your feelings, too choked up to speak coherently. She lifted you into her arms in a comforting gesture, providing security and reassurance.

You remembered how her scent lingered in the air—frankincense mixed with something more worldly, a delicate aroma that clung to her soft skin and auburn hair. With a determined expression, she assured you that Aegon would be punished for his actions, a look of resolve you had never seen on her before. She then gently carried you over to her eldest son, who was still visibly upset, wiping at his eyes and tending to his busted lip.

Alicent ordered him to apologize, you still in her arms, your face hidden within her neck as your crying turned to sniffles. Aegon did it begrudgingly, and you could tell he did not mean it, but it was enough to appease the Queen as she carried you to her chambers, commanding a maid to bring a fresh bowl of warm water and lemon tarts, though you much-preferred orange, with some floral smelling tea. 

With the tenderness reminiscent of your mother, she gently wiped away the tears and butterfly guts from your face, reassuring you that you were a radiant embodiment of the Seven’s divine light, as lovely as the Maiden herself, and expressed her pride in having someone with a sense of justice akin to the Father’s at her side.

You never understood why your mother didn’t want you to be around the Queen. She was lovely and kind and always had the tastiest snacks at her disposal. You remembered wishing one night after she had yelled at you for running away from your Septa that Queen Alicent was your mother. She would never hurt your feelings as your birth mother had. 

“I want to show Mother the egg!” Luke whined at you as you reached her bed chamber doors. 

“No, I’m going to,” you tell Luke, keeping the egg closer. 

“But why?” he asked, sounding on the verge of tears, petulantly stomping his tiny foot. 

“Because I’m the eldest,” you quipped as you kept the egg out of his grasp.

“Luke was the one who chose it! You just picked it up,” Jace countered, sounding way too smart for his good. 

You started to voice your objections once more, but just then, Ser Harwin turned the corner and caught up with the group of you. Anticipating that Luke would inform Harwin about your refusal to give him the egg, you let out an exaggerated groan, rolled your eyes, and reluctantly handed it to your younger brother.

“Little Princes and Princess, you know better than to run away from me. I should tell your mother about this.” For a moment, you were worried that Ser Harwin might be serious, but then you saw his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

“We won’t do it again, Ser Harwin,” Jace answered. You knew he was lying; your mother’s sworn protector seemed to think that, too. 

“We will be calm when we enter, yes?” Ser Harwin commanded rather than asked. 

You all nod, not saying a peep as he opens the door to your Mother’s chambers, though the sound of three pairs of little feet running across the stone floor defeats Harwin Strong’s fleeting hope. 

“Look what we brought, mother!” Jacaerys exclaimed, showing her the near-black-scaled egg in his grasp. “We chose the egg for the babe!” 

The Princess sat in a cushioned chair, her arms cradling a small bundle wrapped in intricately sewn brown and gold fabric. From within the bundle, tiny grunts were heard, adding to the air of anticipation and curiosity in the room.

“That looks like the perfect one,” she kindly replied, grunting as she shifted in her seat.

Your mother smiled at the three of you, leaning forward in her cushioned armchair to show her newest addition to her pride and joy. Pulling the fabric that obscured your sibling’s face away, you stared, a coo of awe filling the air as your brothers placed the dragon egg into the warming pot. He didn’t look much of anything right now, save for the same brown eyes the three of you shared. Your brother’s skin flushed peachy as he opened his toothless mouth to yawn. 

“I let Luke choose,” you added, tugging the fabric as you poked his plump cheek. It was soft and warm under your finger, smoother than anything you had ever felt.

Your mother placed a hand on the crown of your brown hair, a stark contrast to the white of hers and your father’s as she caressed the silky strands. “Thank you, my darling. That was very kind.”

“It is not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, Princess,” Ser Harwin spoke, a pride you didn’t have to look to see heard within his voice. “I thought it best to escort the lads and lady.”

“Laenor and I thank you, Commander,” she nodded gratefully, the tips of her teeth showing between her pink lips. 

The adults continued to converse, but you and your siblings were too concerned with the new addition to pay any attention. Jace and Luke soon found their way to your side, Ser Harwin standing behind your mother with a gentle smile as they peered into the fabric. 

“Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Luke questioned, his dark brows drawn together in confusion. Your mother chuckled and glanced at her sworn protector above as you answered.

“He was born a few hours ago, Luke. Of course he doesn’t have teeth,” you jeered, staring incredulously at him. 

“Now, be nice, dear heart,” Rhaenyra scolded. “He has never seen a babe before. You asked the same questions when he was born.”

You scowled with sealed lips, returning your vision to the bundle in her arms. He was cute, but when your mother told you his name and that you were waiting for your father to come, you sighed, plopping onto a plush settee. 

“Joffrey?” Jace asked, ignoring a begging Luke pleading to hold his brother. 

“Joffrey,” she answered gracefully. “A name your father and I chose together like all of you.” She stroked the lanugo hair on your brother’s head, bringing her lips to his crown.

You stared at your mother with scrunched brows, confused about why they picked such a non-Targaryen and Velaryon name. She indeed named her children in Laenor’s absence, but you knew she did not name you. 

“Queen Alicent named me mother. Not you. She said you weren’t expecting a girl, so you had her decide.” Rhaenyra’s violet eyes flicked to you, a look you could only understand as restrained annoyance on her chiseled face. You did not mean to upset her, your head lowering in embarrassment. You were only telling the truth. 

“And what an honor it is to be named by the Queen Consort,” she expressed, a slight smile on her rosy lips. Her strained voice betrayed any tenderness she attempted to show, furthering your shame in displeasing her for only saying what you believed was fact. 

The embarrassment did not last long. Your father barreled through the door with the sound of boisterous laughter. You shot out of your seat, your brothers hollering in greeting as your father swooped you into his strong arms without warning. You squealed. You kicked your feet with joy as Laenor Velaryon held you within his warm embrace, a smile gracing his features as he swung your wiggling form back and forth. 

Rhaenyra smiled gracefully, still holding your younger brother in her tired arms. She observed the three of you clinging to your father as his companion stood a respectable distance away. Her heart felt complete at the sight, and her exhausted gaze traveled to Ser Harwin, a soft grin squinting her eyes. 

“Father, what stories of your travels do you have?” Jace asked, eager, a grin pulling his cherubic cheeks as you flung over Laenor’s shoulder with a giggle.

You waved to Ser Qarl, his chiseled face offering a teasing look as you giggled. Luke’s mop of brown curls barely reached your father’s waist as he hugged him, peering up. His dark eyes were wide with excitement as you waited for the exciting tales he would undoubtedly have for you three. 

Before your father could answer, your mother spoke, her maternal presence reasoning like a cloud covering the scorching sun, her voice firm but gentle. She commanded you to leave with the squire and your father. Each of you attempted to argue with her, groaning that you hadn’t seen him for a moon and wanted to hear what he had to say. 

“Mother, it’s been forever since we last saw Father!” Jace complained, his tone so whiney and spoiled that it had Ser Harwin chuckling.

“You will give me no lip, you three,” she commanded sternly, her face glistening with sweat. “You shall hear all your father has to say and more once you finish your lessons in the Pit.” 

Rhaenyra nodded to her husband as she placed your new brother into Ser Harwin’s arms, observing for a long moment as her lithe fingers stroked the silky skin of the babe’s temple. With a grunt, Laenor placed you back onto the ground, bestowing each of you a kiss on your dark crowns before the squire and Laenor led the trio of you out. 

The air was always thick within the Dragonpit, blankets of smoke from torches and incense permeating the cavernous expanse of the halls as it struggled to cover the scent of dragon. When you entered, it nearly choked your lungs, constantly rubbing at your watery eyes as the Dragonkeepers brought forth your little dragon from the deep with rattling chains.

Your uncles, Aemond and Aegon, stood beside you and your brothers in green garments. The younger’s freckled face was sullen as he watched your juvenile dragon flap its viridian wings, kicking its chained legs impatiently. Aegon appeared bored, sputtering his lips and rolling his violet eyes with annoyance. 

You ignored the eldest prince, giggling at your mount’s antics, and took a step forward, reaching an unguarded palm out before a Keeper abruptly smacked it away. Gaelithox released a loud hiss at the Elder’s action, strings of saliva splattering on the stone floor as his blood-red eyes bulged out of their sockets, jerking his chains. Scowling, you crossed your arms, waiting for their instructions as you quelled the ire that began to rise at their scolding.

Aegon released a chuckle from behind, swaying on his feet as you turned, fixing him and Aemond, who mirrored his expressions with a fiery glare. You had always felt that your uncles disliked you, and even though they were of a similar age, you did not feel comfortable in their company, a constant bubbly sensation that felt like a beast was attempting to claw out of your stomach whenever Aegon or Aemond was near. Yet a part of you still craved their attention, their acceptance, feeling that if you did whatever one of them wanted, finally, they would like you. 

It never worked, at least not truly. 

Eventually, you found that if you could not receive the validation from both, one would do. 

When Aemond and Aegon followed you to the gardens one summer afternoon, both intent on harping about your “insulting appearance to the eyes,” you snapped. It was the first time you heard the word bastard hurled towards you. You were five years of age and had yet to understand.

Your mother always told you to treat your uncles kindly even when they did not do the same. The goodness in you did not want to hurt them, whether it be physically or their feelings, but with no brothers to defend you and no guards around to escort you away, you were left with no choice after Aemond yanked a piece of your dark hair so hard it came out of your scalp. 

“I am more of a Targaryen than you, Aemond! I have a dragon!” 

You turned to Aegon next, ready to scream that even though he was born a male, your mother remained the Iron Throne’s heir, but the words stayed inside you. The king’s eldest son stopped you with a boisterous laugh, placing a gangly arm on your shoulder as he praised you for your immature insults. 

Something shifted in the dynamic between the five of you that day. No longer were you and your brothers the dirt underneath your uncle’s shoes. Now, the four of you were comrades. The relationship was still tense, but you had found the secret to redirecting your torment. 

“Princess,” the Dragonkeeper translated the other, “you have excelled in your bonding with Gaelithox, but he is still young and unpredictable.” You looked into the man’s eyes, anxious to hear what the next task for you to master would be. 

Yes, Gaeli was still a juvenile, not yet grown into his leafy-colored body, the red scales lining his sides and wings placed with a lighter yellow-green, but he was bound to you. That was the most crucial part. There could be no command of an animal if it did not trust you and you, them. It took everything within not to roll your eyes. 

“Ivestragī zirȳla jikagon,” (Let him go) the Elder Keeper nodded, having the others release the chains of your dragon. 

Gaeli stalked forward, his clawed legs slapping on the stone floor as he hissed, his arrowhead swaying and observing the people before him. You could hear the panicked whispers of the men, demanding you tell your dragon to stop as he continued his swift march forward. You understood that his intent was the Elder who chastised you and had half a mind to allow Gaeli to scare him, his crimson orbs set on the man who did not falter.

Jace grabbed the hem of your matching navy skirt in anxiety and attempted to pull you back, fearing what the dragon might do, but you held steadfast, a self-assured smirk gracing your features. 

“Kelīs!” (Halt) you commanded confidently with your chest, beaming once your dragon ceased its pursuit with the tilt of its triangle-shaped head. 

Aegon appeared bored with the ordeal, exaggerating a yawn as he flipped his frizzy blonde hair from his face. You could not ignore the pang of hurt at his disinterest, seeking more validation and praise from him that you would not get unless at someone’s expense. Aemond had hidden his face from your view behind his older brother, his sun-spotted cheeks dusted pink as you peered around to make eye contact, only for him to sneer and turn away. 

Twat.

“Pay close attention, Uncle Aemond. Mayhaps one day you will be in this position, but I do believe it won’t be for a very long, long time,” you snickered, the sensation of less than leaving as you noticed Aegon’s smirk. Facing the Keeper and his translator, you could never remember the name of once more, you spoke. “When will I be able to fly Gaeli? I am able to control him well enough.”

The older man grimaced, wiping the sweat across his ebony brow as he gave an unconvincing expression. “Gaelithox is not yet riding age, and there is still much for you to learn, your highness, before you are ready to make such feats,” the translator expressed.

A pout formed on your plush lips, looking to Gaeli and back to the half a dozen Keepers and Wards. It was as if your dragon could sense your annoyance, releasing a deep hiss within the back of his throat and unhinging his jaw as he lunged at the Elder, swiftly jerked by the chains at his ankles. You could not hide your amusement at the adolescent and earned a scolding in High Valyrian that you could not comprehend nor care about.

“Gaelithox kostagon botta aōha botagon. Pōnta issi vēdros. Istia gūrēñagon naejot control zirȳ gō kostā kipagon.” (Gaelithox can sense your emotions. They are volatile, but you must learn to control them before you can ride.)

A grin spread across your plump cheeks, a mischievous thought coming to mind as you turned to look at Aegon, who was still quite bored. The hurt did not lessen, and quickly, you glanced at the Keepers out of the corner of your eye as you took a few paces back, ensuring your brothers were behind you as you inhaled and spoke the few words you knew of High Valyrian off your pink tongue.

“Sōvēs!” (fly) 

Gaelithox didn’t hesitate for a moment. With a mighty leap, he soared into the air, his shimmering emerald wings creating a whirlwind of dirt and debris that engulfed the Keepers. His joyful songs filled the air as he gracefully flew above you, the chains on his legs and torso barely out of the reach of the Dragonwards. You watched in wonder as your dragonling glided effortlessly across the ceiling of the Pit, moving above each of you with the grace and agility of a bird. The men in their gray and crimson garb scattered around the cave’s entrance like ants whose hill had been disturbed, desperately trying to seize Gaeli’s chains.

As you turned to look behind, you bloomed, a smile so bright on your countenance that you felt it would burn all who witnessed it. Jace and Luke stared at you proudly, the youngest trying to run to you but was held back by a Kingsguard. Luke still had much to learn with Arrax. For one, your little brother was deathly afraid of him despite his denial, an emotion the dragon could sense during the training sessions. 

A surge of relief washed over you as you looked at Aegon, whose laughter filled the air in response to your impish choices. He warmly placed his pale, sinewy hand on your shoulder in approval while his younger brother Aemond remained concealed behind him. Despite the Dragonkeepers’ urgent calls for Gaelithox to land, you couldn’t help but savor the feeling of self-satisfaction that his gesture brought.

“Ao dovodedha riña! Aōha giēñilaros hen bisa ozletti kessa sagon se morghon hen sȳz vali! Aōha muña kessa rȳbagon hen bisa,” (You ignorant girl! Your misuse of this bond will be the death of good men! Your mother will hear of this) the Elder shouted, grabbing your shoulders as if his ire could force sense into you.

Once you decided that you had tortured the handlers enough, you told Gaeli to land, which he did so with low, begrudging noises, the vibration of his weight rattling your bones. The rest of the training session went uneventful as you commanded your mount to stay, lay down, and heel, the usual tricks that you and Gaeli had long grown bored of after the first successful attempts. 

When your dragon was tired, nipping at the Keepers who tried to redirect him back to the task, they called an end, bringing forth a white and brown goat as a reward for Gaeli’s patience, a bell jingling around its neck. His scaly, clawed feet tapped against the floor with an excited rhythm, evoking the image of a pup eagerly anticipating its meal. He suddenly lunged towards it but halted abruptly in response to your brief noise.

“Lykirī. Where are your manners, Gaeli?” (Be calm), you teased, earning a quick reprimand from the Head Dragonkeeper for your childishness.

“You must treat these beasts with caution and respect, Princess, lest you get burned. They are wild, barely tamed creatures. They allow you this bond,” the translator conveyed, his accent thick and worry etched in his tone.

You groaned, interrupted by an impatient screech from your dragon as a line of drool dropped from in between his finger-length fangs. After a quick apology, you allowed Gaelithox to feast, commanding with a decisive “dracarys.” The red eyes of your dragon shone like rubies in his orange flames. His obsidian pupils slit as he burned the goat to a charred crisp, tearing at its flesh into chunks. 

After begrudging praise from the Keepers as they led Gaeli back into his nest, it was now Jace’s turn to repeat the same routine, although much less eventful. He was anxious to train Vermax, barely containing his excitement as his dragon whistled. His mount approached him with purpose, olive and scarlet toned body thumping with each step as the younger Keeper translated the Elder’s words. 

“Call Vermax to heel Prince Jacaerys.”

Jace looked to the dark-skinned man who scolded you for your arrogance earlier, scars across his skin and listened. 

“Dohaerās.” (Serve) And Vermax obeyed, stopping a few paces before your barely younger brother, horned head tilting in interest. 

The Elder looked down at your brother, a proud smile on his bearded mouth, and nodded in approval. You should have felt the same that Jace was advancing in his sessions and closely catching up to you, but all you felt was the burning sensation of envy in your stomach, which you buried with an encouraging expression to your brother. You did not understand why you felt such a thing as he was urged back to his dragon, who had taken notice of a snow-white sheep belting in the distance. 

He was your brother, your twin, as close to the same as one could be. It would be best if you were ecstatic that Jace was blossoming into a fine dragon knight. Still, you did not, and guilt and jealousy overwhelmed you as he waited for the instructions, an overeager Vermax ready to devour the unaware sheep.

Just as quickly as the feeling came, it went as you watched how Vermax disobeyed Jace’s commands to halt his pursuit of the animal. The only thing holding the young dragon back was the Warders’ staff. 

“You must hold mastery over your dragon, my young prince,” the translator spoke, “as Prince Aegon has with Sunfyre.” High Valyrian rolled off the Elder’s tongue with deep rumbles as he talked to an embarrassed Jace. “Once they are fully bound to you, they will refuse to take instruction from any other, much like your older sister.”

Vermax released an ear-piercing screech of frustration as his yellow eyes bore into the roped sheep, belting in primal terror as it attempted to escape a fate over which it had no control. Jace nodded to the older man, shame replaced with excitement coursing through his veins as he hopped from foot to foot. 

“Can I say it?” he asked anxiously, brown eyes wide with a youthful glow that reflected your own with your dragonling. The Elder nodded in affirmation as Jace glanced back to you and where you stood in front of Aegon, the man swiftly pushing your brother forward in admonishment for his brief action of immature reassurance.

Your brother turned with a broad smile you feared would split his face in two as you heard the shuffle of shoes behind you. Aemond found himself peering over your shorter form as he studied the dragon, slinking closer and closer to its prey, screeches of a predator ready to pounce echoing off the caverns. You looked at your younger uncle with confusion. Your eyebrows scrunched together as he paid you no mind. Unsure of why you did so, you took a step to the side, allowing him more room to observe as your brother shouted gleefully. 

“Dracarys, Vermax!” 

Perhaps a subconscious part of you felt bad for your dragonless uncle, hoping to give him at least a taste of what power one felt when in command of a beast such as this. Besides, it was the right thing to do. You knew he would not notice such kindness from you and did not expect anything in return, nor did you want it, as Vermax’s orange flames charred the flesh of the snow-white sheep. 

You approached Jace once the lesson ended, giving him an encouraging hug from behind. You knew this was a remarkable feat for him. Jace and you were the same, a sentiment shared by both and your family on countless occasions. Spending every waking moment with someone, sharing the same bed, meals, toys, and friends, it was no surprise that you confided in one another and shared affections that traditional siblings did not have. You tended to mother your brother, a flaw that your natural mother had scolded you on, but that did not stop you as you kissed Jace on his warm, smooth cheek, whispering what he could do better with his dragon the next time. 

You only wanted the best for your brother, and you desperately wanted to share your triumphs with the person you spent all your days with, even if it was selfish. 

Chattering behind you caught your attention, seeing Aegon approach his younger brother as he flippantly stroked a piece of unruly frizz from his face. 

“Aemond, we have a surprise for you,” he confided, placing an encouraging hand at his brother’s mid-back. 

The youngest prince of King Viserys looked skeptically at his kin, gaze downcast. “What is it?” he asked warily, shoulders hunched. Luke gave a cheeky grin and kicked the dirt with his toes. 

“Something very special,” your brother answered as you watched him scamper off into the darkness of the Pit. 

You and Jace gazed at your uncles, confused, a twinge of hurt poking at your chest at having been left out of the “surprise” as you grabbed his hand for support. Subconsciously, you rubbed your thumb over his knuckles, feeling uneasy in your heart as Jace looked eagerly to where his brother went.

“You’re the only one of us without a dragon,” Aegon began, escorting Aemond to his intended destination, waiting for his response. 

“Indeed,” the young prince answered curtly. Aemond still lowered his head, silver hair tied back as he followed his older sibling blindly.

You could tell Aegon was holding a barely restrained smile, gesturing with his pale hands and continuing. “And we felt badly about it, so we found one for you.” 

You cocked your head as you followed at a distance. A part of you was anxious to see what Aegon planned, knowing from his history in the back of your mind that it would not be as kind as he was making it out to be. Nonetheless, you intently listened as Aemond protested with suspicion. 

“A dragon? How?” 

Your uncle smirked, stopping just before the ramp of the Dragonpit sloped down to where the Keepers held the animals. You heard the squeals of a creature you could not recognize due to the echoes bouncing off the stone walls. It sent an ominous, almost eerie feeling through your bones.

“The Gods provide,” Aegon answered alisively. 

Moments later, your younger brother led a plump, pink pig with wooden wings strapped to its hairy pot belly up to the four of you. 

“Behold! The Pink Dread,” Luke and Aegon announced simultaneously, cheering as if this was the most fantastic find in the history of Westeros. 

“Be sure to mount her carefully. The first flight is always rough.” 

This was hideous. This was horrendous. This was a terrible, awful, no-good deed that would surely wind up with all of you receiving a reprimand from your parents. But why... why was it so funny? 

You released a noise akin to a gag, a failed attempt to stifle a laugh as your brothers and elder uncle snorted in unison. Unable to control your giggles, you covered your mouth, releasing Jace’s hand as you ran over to Aemond, nudging his side. 

“Don’t be so rude, Uncle! She is a very fine creature, worthy of having such a noble rider,” you teased, but he gave no reaction, only staring at the winged pig with a sullen, dejected expression on his freckled countenance. 

It only made you feel slightly wrong… slightly. 

When Aegon decided the fun had outstayed its welcome, he walked away, laughter fading as the three of you followed his coattails like ducklings to their mother out of the Dragonpit, leaving a dejected Aemond to stare at his new gift.

You spared a glance back to your uncle as the yellow sun peeked into the expanse of the Pit. Guilt crawled up your back like dark clouds before a storm, hesitating your exit as he became aware of your gaze. Aemond still stood where the four of you left him, radiating an aura of hurt, apathy, and anger. Flames lit your cheeks in shame as you stepped back towards your younger uncle, only to be swiftly stopped by the other, Aegon’s larger hand placing itself on your crown as he forced you to follow his march out of the Dragonpit.

There was no reason for this guilt. Aemond would undoubtedly hurt you or your feelings regardless of the jokes your siblings and Aegon played on him. It was only a matter of time until the word bastard spewed from his chapped lips.

The sun felt warm on your skin as you were helped into the carriage, awaiting the return of the five of you home, though you missed one. Judging by the bright orb's position, it would soon be time for your daily lessons with Septa Marlow. The woman was so old that she often fell asleep during your embroidery lessons, an easy chance for you to escape the crone’s torture that she called learning. 

The ride to the Red Keep was quick, and the amount of time it took your Septa to fall asleep was even faster, much to your delight. You found yourself wandering the halls, staring at the paintings depicting great battles with dragons and portraits of your ancestors, unsure what would peak your fancy and seeking anything to entertain you. Your brothers were in their lessons that were undoubtedly more enticing than yours, and your father would most likely be with your mother, seeing as there was a new addition to the family. 

“What are you doing wandering about the halls, Princess?” the velvet voice of Queen Alicent rang out. 

Finally, your musings were answered. 

You demurely smiled at the Queen, giving her a short curtsy in your Velaryon blue gown, tiny silver seahorses embroidered into the bodice. “Septa Marlow fell asleep again, and she looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake her,” you answered with a childish coyness that never failed to endear Alicent. You were her shining light, after all. 

The Queen chuckled, a noise you heard few and far between as she offered you a delicate palm, accepting it without hesitation. Your mother never approved of you spending time unchaperoned with her for reasons you could never comprehend. She was family, your grandmother, to be precise, and she was the one who gave you a name. It should be more than natural to accompany her on outings and luncheons.

“You should not be alone, Princess. ’Tis unsafe for a girl of your age to be unaccompanied in the Keep. I am going to Helaena’s room to pay her a visit. Come,” Alicent stated without so much as a sliver of space for protests. 

“Why is it unsafe, your majesty?” you questioned with a raised brow, curious who or what would try to hurt you. “It’s my home and I’m a princess. No one would try to hurt me.” 

The Queen stopped her movements, glancing down at your much shorter form as a sigh escaped her mouth. “You are still a child, my light, and many people would love to snatch it away and keep it for themselves. Those even close to you could wish you harm.” 

Your head whipped up towards Alicent faster than humanly possible, a horrified look on your visage. People close to you? What could she mean? Could it be your maids? The servants who changed your sheets, washed your clothes, or made your food? Could your mother wish to hurt you? Your brother? Your hair prickled at the thought, causing your skin to itch and become uncomfortable. You could not say anything in response.

You followed the Queen to your Aunt’s quarters without strife, a sinking feeling in your gut as her ringed hand enveloped yours in a blanket of maternal security. Alicent would never hurt you… would she? 

The same scent of frankincense wafted into your nose as the Queen led you. It sent pleasant shivers down your spine, making you forget the discontent as you passed lords and ladies of the court, a warm sense of joy tickling your stomach. You looked at Queen Alicent, the natural light filtering through the windows, to see specks of dust dancing in the air behind her auburn hair. 

Admiration washed over you as you studied her, a crown of weaved golden threads resting atop her curled updo. She wore earrings of silver metal intricately smelted together, an emerald gem placed in the center with droplets of pearl glinting in the sun. Her gown was green, a usual statement color of her House, and she had a modest cloak covering her shoulders and cut sleeves. She was so beautiful, more beautiful than anyone you had ever seen besides your mother, and it filled you with a sense of deep admiration that nearly overwhelmed you. 

Cackles echoed in the distance of the red rock walls of the Keep, a group of ladies adorned in extravagant garbs striding in the opposite direction of the pair of you. Their piercing laughter abruptly ended as they spotted you hand in hand with the Queen, appearing as if they saw a ghost. They stood there, still, unmoving, their eyes following you, despite the impropriety of gawking at the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms and a daughter of the heir, whispering words of gossip. 

Your adoration of Alicent was forgotten about as a sinking feeling of inadequacy hollowed your chest, somehow knowing they were speaking of you. The Queen felt hesitation in your steps as you passed by the women, uncertainty causing you to squeeze her golden-ringed fingers tighter. 

“Pay no mind to them, my light,” Alicent encouraged, rubbing a comforting thumb over your knuckles as you did with Jace. You tried to listen to her words and disregard the judgmental stares of the ladies, but you could not and heard one whispering. 

“Seven! She looks more like the Queen than her mother!”

The laughter soon carried on as a lump formed in your throat. Your arms felt prickly again, as if the hair got stuck between the threads of your clothes, pulling and tugging uncomfortably as you attempted to scratch the sensation. Queen Alicent glanced down at the sudden clawing at your limbs. Her plush lips pouted in a curious expression, recognition flashing in her amber eyes as she smoothed the stray hairs of your braid, kissing the top of your head in comfort.

Soon, you entered Helaena’s chambers, her Septa dressed in humble charcoal gray clothing, sitting next to your Aunt as she hunched over an ancient tome. The modestly dressed woman stood and bowed at the arrival of the Queen, exiting without words as you sat on a Myrish rug. A glass case filled with different types of insects rested on the delicate fabric, taking note of a giant dead obsidian scorpion in it. You could not hide the shudder the creature brought as your Aunt found her place next to you, bringing out another small casing. 

“What is in that one, Helaena?” you asked, peering curiously over her shoulder. She recoiled at your sudden presence, slightly shifting away from you as a pang of hurt hit your core at the action. She disregarded your question and focused on her hidden creature, but you paid no attention to it, happy to be by her side. 

Alicent sat on the opposite side of her daughter, crossing one leg and bending the other to get into a comfortable position. Though the rug was lavish, it did not provide much cushioning for larger bodies. As your Aunt opened the wooden box, a creature you had never seen crawled along the side, with what seemed to be a thousand tiny legs hidden underneath a shiny black body. You tried to hide your shock as Helaena picked it up, allowing it to crawl along her pale, dainty fingers. Another shudder of disgust came over you as you watched the bug’s legs move too quickly to be something of this world, nausea bubbling in your stomach. 

“This one has sixty rings. Two pairs of legs on each. That’s two-hundred and forty,” Helaena stated, her violet gaze trained on the creature. She seemed as if in another world as she spoke, talking to those around her but not registering your presence. 

You intently observed as she allowed the bug to crawl up her satin dress sleeve before placing it back into her palm to study it more. You never understood Helaena’s fascination with the things, but you didn’t deter her from it, even when she brought out creatures such as this. It was never something you were interested in yourself, as you would much prefer to spend time plucking flowers like other girls your age. However, you respected them nonetheless. 

“Yes, it is,” the Queen agreed, her facial expressions showing exasperation despite her encouraging words. You moved closer to Helaena with a morbid fascination to see the thing, though you still felt repulsed. 

Your Aunt was silent for a beat, entranced with the new addition to her collection, seeming as if she forgot your and Alicent’s existence. Her voice was the only thing that indicated recognition. “Would you like to hold it?” she asked airily. 

Unsure if she was speaking to you, you did not respond. Only when Helaena turned her pale face to you did you respond with a swift shake of your head. Your Aunt took no offense to the refusal, continuing to examine it. “It has eyes, though I did not believe it can see.”

Alicent released a noiseless sigh. She seemed tired of her child’s interests since they were not ordinary, making you feel bad for Helaena. Though people believed she did not perceive the world for what it was, she wasn’t blind. Your Aunt felt and understood emotions like the rest of you, but she did not act like everyone else. It did not mean she was not human. 

“And why is that so, do you think?” the Queen asked, her velvet voice bland with feigned interest.

“It is beyond our understanding,” Helaena plainly answered, allowing the quiet to resonate as your eyes flicked between them.

“I suppose you’re right,” Alicent replied, placing what was intended to be a comforting hand onto Helaena’s elbow. Your Aunt flinched, trying to free herself from her mother’s touch but knowing she could not force a guardian to listen to their child. “Some things are just beyond our understanding,” she finished, begrudgingly letting go. 

You observed the exchange with critical eyes. Your brow scrunched in the offense for Helaena and confusion. The Queen knew her daughter did not like touch unless she was the one to initiate it, but she still insisted on invading her space with the ignorant hope that Helaena would one day accept her affections. You supposed that was why the Queen liked spending time with you, as you were a more typical child, embracing any affection.

Suddenly, the door to Helaena’s chambers opened with a clanking of metal and squeal of hinges as a Kingsguard gripping harshly onto Aemond’s arm entered. The three of you turned to face the noise, confusion mixed with surprise matching each of your faces.

“Your grace,” the Kingsguard announced as Aemond struggled in his grasp. Questions etched your brows as she stood and went to her son. You understood he had done something wrong by the shame covering his face like the ash dusting it.

“Aemond!” she exclaimed. “What have you done?” She took her son by his shoulders, palpating his soot-covered visage to ensure there were no wounds. 

“He did it again,” Helaena answered for the guard as you glanced at her for an explanation. 

Aemond being covered in ash and escorted by a guard seemed a common occurrence for the three of them, and it needed no explanation. Aemond smelled of smoke and incense, a scent you recognized from that of the Dragonpit. Had he still been in there this whole time? 

“After how many times you’ve been warned? Must I have you confined to your chambers?” Alicent interrogated, exasperation evident in her tone. She stared at him with words ready to scold before her son interrupted with a protest.

“They made me do it!” 

They? Was he referring to you, Aegon, and your brothers? You didn’t coerce Aemond into the depths of the Dragonpit, where he likely encountered a dragon that wasn’t his own. How could he hold you responsible for his own choices?

“As if you needed encouragement! Your obsession with those beasts goes beyond understanding,” she admonished with a shake of her head. 

Aemond’s eyes widened with tears as he tried to comprehend his mother’s lack of understanding. He felt a profound sense of hopelessness and powerlessness in the situation, believing that he had no alternative but to respond in the manner he did, his blonde hair in disarray. It was evident that you hadn’t realized the extent of the pain you caused him. What you perceived as a simple jest had deeply wounded him.

“They gave me a pig!” He shrieked, tears finally falling from his violet eyes as you looked anywhere but at the mother and son before you. “They gave me a pig,” he admitted softer this time, sniffling with chagrin.

Guilt overcame you at the hurt your uncle displayed, emotions gathering in your throat as your digits went under your sleeves, tugging at the hair that had been bothering you all day. You didn’t realize the joke had wounded Aemond as profoundly as it had, shame rising and covering your heart. 

“They said they had a dragon for me,” your uncle confessed, gaze downcast as Helaena began to lose interest in the conversation before her. 

“The last ring has no legs at all,” she said as if you should also share her nonchalant sentiment and fall into her world. You ignored her; all your attention focused on the impending storm unleashed upon you once Aemond told Alicent what the four of you did. 

“But it was a pig,” your uncle declared, a scornful gaze directed at you as Alicent turned to face your shrunken form. 

“Is this true?” she interrogated, ire directed at you instead of her son as you hesitated. “Is it true?” 

The Queen had never crossed with you before, and it caused an unwelcome sensation in your stomach. “I didn’t know they were going to do it!” you exclaimed, shame heating your cheeks. “I wouldn’t have let them if I knew!”

“Liar! You laughed!” Aemond protested, hurt evident in his voice as he pointed an accusing digit. “You and Aegon love to torment me!” 

“Only because you do it first! You call me a bastard and pull my hair! I’m not a bastard!” you argued, tears wetting your cheeks at the intensity of your sudden anger. 

The Queen’s disappointment abruptly left at your words, swiftly turning to Aemond as her face blanched. “Aemond, she is your kin. You mustn’t call her such things,” she implored, eyes wide with a meaning behind them you couldn’t place. 

“But mother, you–” 

“No, Aemond,” she interrupted urgently, stopping your uncle from saying something that would cause another uproar from you and find its way to Rhaenyra. “You must apologize. Both of you. You are family and need to be kind to one another even when they have upset you.” Alicent turned and extended a palm out, encouraging you to make the first step of amends for your participation in the cruel joke you played on Aemond.

You knew he would not accept your apology, though it was sincere. There was no intended malice with your laughter toward Aemond in the Pit. It was what was expected of you to do. You would have become his brother’s next victim if you hadn’t gone along with Aegon when Luke brought out the pig. 

“I’m sorry, Aemond. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you confessed, plucking at the hairs on your forearms to ease the discontent in your heart. He refused to reply with an apology of his own, glaring down at you with such a fierceness you feared that you would wilt. “You will have a dragon one day, uncle. There are many still unclaimed at Dragonstone, and wild ones too! Perhaps you could come with us when we visit in the summer?”

“You laughed,” Aemond glowered, voice cracking. The pain he disguised as anger slipped through his scornful mask, causing your mouth to be thick. 

You could tell he wanted to hit you as he usually would in these situations; his hands balled into fists at his sides, but suddenly, they became limp, and a wave of affection and comfort for your uncle pulled you towards him. You wrapped your arms around Aemond, hugging him so tightly you were unsure if he could breathe, burying your face in his neck. After a long day outside, he smelled of sweat and dragon smoke, a hint of expensive amber-scented soap on his skin. Aemond did not return the action, but you sensed he no longer wanted to hurt you as much.

“I love you, uncle, and I know we’ll fly together on dragonback someday,” you encouraged, holding him impossibly tighter. Partly to distract yourself from your guilt and partly because you knew that despite his cold, sullen demeanor, he too enjoyed the rare warmth of embrace even though it was by the one he despised. 

Human touch was still touch.

Alicent smiled, a joy welling inside her chest that she had not felt in decades. This was the start of something new, a seed planted in the first rays of spring with the hopes of a bountiful harvest in autumn, but Aemond refused to give it thought, focused only on the ridicule you, Aegon, and your brothers caused him.

You were not like Rhaenyra in more ways than the Queen initially thought. You were Alicent’s child, not in this life, but another where she was not a queen and was not a game piece her father moved about how he pleased. She could bring a proposal to match the one she rejected from Princess Rhaenyra with one of her sons. At least in that way, she could ensure your bright mind would not become tainted by Rhaenyra’s blackened rot. 

The Queen gently stroked your and Aemond’s hair, a tender smile on her plump lips, and pressed a kiss atop both your crowns—so different yet so intertwined in ways children could not comprehend. 

Alicent’s shining light, her dream. A dream that never was indeed hers.

“He will have to close an eye.”

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The reader’s dragon is based on a snake that caught my eye while watching a Nat Geo documentary. It’s called Pope’s Green Pit Viper and is native to Southeast Asia. I initially didn’t think it was a real snake because it looked so cool! They are also the only snakes to give birth to live young, like mammals, and have heat vision.

Also, for those who don't know, Gaelithox is part of the Fourteen Flames, the Gods of Old Valyria. He's the god of fire, stars, moon, sun, and dawn, the rival of Meraxes. Pretty on the nose there, huh?

Thank you so much for reading! I’m so excited to have y’all see what I’ve been cooking up, and I look forward to hearing y’all’s thoughts!

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager

[greenwitchcrafts]

October 2023 witch guide

Full moon: October 28th

New moon: October 14th

Sabbats: Samhain

October Hunter's Moon

Known as: Blood moon, drying rice moon, falling leaf moon, freezing moon, migrating moon, moon of the changing seasons, shedding moon, ten colds moon, winterfelleth & windermanoth

Element: Air

Zodiac: Libra & Scorpio

Nature spirits: Frost faeries & Plant faeries

Deities: Apollo, Astarte, Belili, Cernunnos, Demeter, Hathor, Herne, Horned God, Ishtar, Kore, Lakshmi & Mercury

Animals: Elephant, jackal, ram, scorpion & stag

Birds: Crow, heron & robin

Trees: Acacia, apple, cypress & yew

Herbs/Plants: Angelica, apple blossom, burdock, catnip, pennyroyal, sweet Annie, thyme & Uva ursi

Flowers: Calendula, cosmos & marigold

Scents: Apple blossom, cherry & strawberry

Stones: Amethyst, beryl, obsidian, opal, tourmaline & turquoise

Colors: Black, dark blue, Dark greens & purples

Energy: Artistic works, balance, creativity, harmony, inner cleansing, justice, karma, legal matters, mental stimulation, partnerships, reincarnation & uncovering mysteries or secrets

It is believed that this name originates from the fact that it was a signal for hunters to prepare for the upcoming cold winter by going hunting. This is because animals were beginning to fatten up in preparation for the winter season. Moreover, since fields had recently been cleared out under the Harvest Moon, hunters could easily spot deer and other animals that had come out to search for remaining scraps. Additionally, foxes and wolves would also come out to prey on these animals.

The earliest use of the term “Hunter’s Moon,” cited in the Oxford English Dictionary, is from 1710. Some sources suggest that other names for the Hunter’s Moon are the Sanguine or Blood Moon, either associated with the blood from hunting or the color of the changing autumn leaves. 

Samhain

Also known as: All Hallow's Eve,  Ancestor Night, Feast of Apples, Feast of Sam-fuim, Feast of Souls, Feast of the Dead, Geimhreadh, Hallowmass, Martinmass, Old Hallowmas, Pagan New Year, Samana, Samhuinn, Samonios, Shadowfest & Third Harvest

Season: Fall

Symbols: Apples, bats, besom(brooms), black cats, cauldrons, ghosts, gourds, jack-o-lanterns, pumpkins, scarecrows & witches

Colors: Black, gold, orange, silver & white

Oils/incense: Basil, cloves, copal, frankincense, gum mastic, heather, heliotrope, mint, myrrh & nutmeg

Animals: Bat, boar, cat cattle & dogs

Stones: Amber, anatase, black calcite, black obsidian, black tourmaline, brass, carnelian, clear quartz diamond, garnet, gold, granite, hematite, iron, jet, marble, pearl, pyrite, ruby, sandstone, sardonyx, smokey quartz, steel & tektite

Foods: Apples, ale, beef, cider, corm, fruits, garlic, gourds, grains, hazelnuts, herbal teas, mushroom, nettle, nuts, pears, pomegranates, pork, poultry, pumpkin pie, sunflower seeds, thistle, turnips & wine (mulled)

Herbs/plants: Acorn, Allspice, catnip, corn, dittany of Crete, hazel, mandrake, mugwort, mullien, oak leaves, pine, rosemary, sage, straw, tarragon, thistle, wormwood & yellow cedar

Flowers: Calendula, chrysanthemum, deadly nightshade, rue & fumitory

Goddesses: Al-lat, Baba Yaga, Badb, Banba, Bast, Bebhionn, Bronach, Brunhilde, Cailleach, Carlin, Cassandra, Cerridwen, Copper Woman, Crobh Dearg, Devanyani, Dolya, Edda, Elli, Eris, Erishkigal, Fortuna, Frau Holde, Hecate, Hel, Ishtar, Kali, Macha Mania, Morrigan, Nemesis, Nephthys, Nicneven & Rhiannon

Gods: Arawan, Baron Samede, Belenus, Coyote, Cronus, Dagda, Dis, Hades, Loki, Nefertum, Odin, Osiris, Pluto, Woden & Xocatl

Issues Intentions & Powers: Crossroads, darkness, death, divination, honoring ancestors, introspection, the otherworld/underworld, release, visions & wisdom (of the crone)

Spellwork: Divination, fire magick, night magick, shape-shifting, spirit calling & water magick

Related festivals:

• Day of the Dead- (Spanish: Día de Muertos or Día de los Muertos) is a holiday traditionally celebrated on November 1st and 2nd, though other days, such as October 31 or November 6, may be included depending on the locality. It is widely observed in Mexico, where it largely developed & is also observed in other places, especially by people of Mexican heritage. Although related to the simultaneous Christian remembrances for Hallowtide, it has a much less solemn tone and is portrayed as a holiday of joyful celebration rather than mourning. The multi-day holiday involves family and friends gathering to pay respects and to remember friends and family members who have died. These celebrations can take a humorous tone, as celebrants remember funny events and anecdotes about the departed.

• All Saints Day- is a Christian solemnity celebrated in honor of all the saints & martyrs of the Church, whether they are known or unknown

Activities:

• Dedicate an altar to loved ones who have passed

• Boil a simmer pot to cleanse your space

• Have a silent dinner

• Light a candle for your loved ones & yourself

• Decorate your house and/or altar

• Release negative energy & cleanse your with a ritual bath

• Pull tarot cards to see what may be in store for you ahead

• Cleanse, clean & de-clutter your space

• Leave offerings to the Fae

• Journal & reflect on your accomplishments, challenges & everything you did this year

•Go on a nature walk

• Learn a new form of divination

• Have a bonfire with your friends and/or family

• Carve pumpkins

• Express yourself creatively through art, music, ect

• Visit a cemetery & help clean off areas that need it or to visit a family member/ ancestor & leave an offering

• Hold a seance

• Bake spooky treats & bread as offerings

• Refresh your protection magicks, sigils & rituals

Samhain is a Gaelic festival on 1 November marking the end of the harvest season and beginning of winter or "darker half" of the year. Celebrations begin on the evening of 31 October, since the Celtic day began and ended at sunset.

This fire festival is celebrated on October 31st & is considered the Pagan New Year. It is the first Sabbat on the Wheel of the Year, a cross-quarter festival & the third (final) harvest festival of the mundane year. This is the time when the veil between the worlds of the living & those who have passed is the thinnest, which allows greater communication between the two

Some believe this is the time of the Goddess's mourning of the death of the God until his rebirth at Yule. The Goddess's sadness can be seen in the shortening, darkening days & the arrival of cold weather

Sources:

Farmersalmanac .com

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

[daportalpractitioner]

the triple goddess in astrology

the triple goddess is represented by 3 archetypes in 1 to describe the multi-layered experience of the divine feminine. they are the maiden, the mother, and the crone.

the maiden: venus

the maiden is the archetype of the young woman who is grounded in her identity, her sexuality, her gifts, her desires, and her standards. she's confident in herself and what she wants, allowing her to cultivate meaningful connections that elevate her on this soul journey. she recognizes that this is her world and you are just living in it. the sign of your venus tells you how you are meant to embody this maiden innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a virgo venus is meant to embody her maiden energy through being of service to herself and others with integrity. this means that she doesn't let people take advantage of her and she doesn't do shit for people with manipulative intentions. she only allows what serves her highest good into her life, from what she eats to the environments that she takes space in, because when she focuses and allows only what serves her, she is also of service to The Most High.

the mother: moon

the mother is the archetype of the woman who gives birth to her creations + nurtures them so that they can grow to sustain life on their own. this is deeper than just having kids —this applies to all creations which once started off as a desire. she is an effective nurturer because she recognizes the importance of taking care of herself first. she uses her heart space to heal her wounds through compassion + forgiveness and in turn cultivates a loving community through the love that she fosters. her first home is herself and her life is a desired reflection of everything she already holds within her. the sign of your moon tells you how you are meant to embody your inner mother innerG.

☾⋆｡ for example, a capricorn moon is meant to embody their mother innerG by reconciling the energy connected to family trauma (especially their parental relationships) and not letting their childhood traumas + resentment bleed into the way that they care for themselves and others. she doesn't add unnecessary pressure to herself and shows grace to self + others. she leads by not being too hard on herself and those that look up to her and depend on her. she trusts herself to lean into her femininity + allows others to support her instead of always being the one that others are always relying on.

the crone: saturn

the crone archetype is the wise, older woman who is a pillar in the community, being able to provide support and insight for others due to the hardships + lessons that she experienced. people look up to her as an authority figure because she has the wisdom to guide others in the right direction. she isn't distracted by what's going on in the world + uses her time wisely because she's aware that she won't be here forever. she doesn't entertain bullshit and while others may call her mean, she stands firm on her boundaries. this is that grandmotherly innerG that is very supportive + protective of our highest good by holding us accountable. the sign of your saturn is meant to show you how to embody your inner crone.

☾⋆｡ for example, a cancer saturn is meant to embody their crone by holding herself emotionally accountable to cultivate healthy connections with others. she is aware of the "generational curses" that she has karmically acquired though the bloodline and doesn't play the blame game, recognizing that it is her duty to break those curses so that those same karmic patterns aren't played out in her connections and the family that she has/will create for herself one day. she is aware of the complexity of humans + their emotions and is able to teach + heal others through her own experiences with family + other loved ones that are or were once near and dear to the heart.

[merymoonbeam]

Just look at the same highlighted parts...greens especially.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.” Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.” A bramble of words. Her voice strained to a whisper. “He did. He saw me. He will not now.”

Look really.

The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.” “How.” The word was barely more than a barked command. I braced myself to warn Nesta to be polite, but Madja said to my sister, as if she were a small child, “The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

It really tells a story.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

It does.

It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed. He asked Elain, “There is another queen?”

As if it is making us...

But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in. “The sixth queen is alive?” Azriel asked, calm and steady, the voice of the High Lord’s spymaster, who had broken enemies and charmed allies. Elain cocked her head, as if listening to some inner voice. “Yes.” Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

SEE

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

And that's it, your Honor

[corruptedcaps]

Inner Demons

Special thanks to @lsat (discord: thedivergence, Twitter: LSAT1886) for providing the idea and the images used here.

In the quiet corridors of Saint Agnes Convent, Mother Superior Mary Catherine moved with grace, her silver hair framing a face etched with kindness and wisdom. Her gentle presence enveloped the nuns in a soothing aura of compassion. With each step, the creaking floorboards bore witness to decades of devotion.

Mother Mary Catherine's care extended beyond the spiritual realm; she knew the name and story of every sister under her watch. Her wrinkled hands crafted remedies for ailments, and her warm smile healed wounded spirits. In the convent's courtyard, where roses bloomed in vibrant hues, she often gathered the sisters for moments of shared laughter and reflection.

The tranquility of Saint Agnes Convent was soon interrupted when a bus rolled into the quiet convent, carrying a group of new sisters. Mother Mary Catherine stood at the gates ready to meet her new flock but in particular was interested to meet one new member in particular.

Kat stepped off the bus and immediately lit up a cigarette. Her purple hair and leather jacket standing out amongst the crowd of pious women ready to start their new life devoted to god. By comparison Kat looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but then again the judge had given her the choice between the convent or jail and she had picked the habit over the prison jumpsuit but she was immediately starting to regret her choice.

Mother Superior locked her eyes on the young delinquent and walked over to her with an open mind and an open heart. Kat had just taken a long drag of her cigarette when she turned and accidentally blew the exhaled smoke in the Mother Superior’s face. Rather than apologize she instead laughed.

“Grey smoke, I guess that means there’s a new pope… or does that mean there’s isn’t? Whatever, which way to my room?” Kat said with a smirk. Mother superior stood in frozen shock at the young woman’s blatant disrespect. So much so that Kat eventually rolled her eyes and walked away to find her room.

As the days unfolded at Saint Agnes Convent, Kat's rebellious spirit began to infect her fellow newcomers. The once-pious group found themselves drawn to her edgy charm and the allure of more free wheeling spirit that seemed to exude from her. Within a week Kay had a small but growing group of followers who seemed to be less interested in their religious duties by the second.

The Mother Superior tried her best to bite her tongue and put their changing attitudes down to nervousness. She had hoped it would all settle itself soon enough but this hopeful thought was shattered as Mother Mary Catherine stumbled upon a scene that tested the limits of her patience.

In the dim moonlight, she discovered Kat and a group of sisters stumbling back into the sacred grounds, laughter echoing in the hallowed corridors. The scent of alcohol lingered, staining the air with a discordant note of rebellion.

Mother Mary Catherine's eyes widened in disbelief as she witnessed the blatant disregard for the convent's sanctity.

“Ladies! This is simply unacceptable! This is no way future servants of god to be acting!” She said letting her anger rise for the first time in a decade.

“Oh shut up you old crone! The only person I serve is myself.” Kat giggled drunkenly, with her cohort joining in with the laughter as they stumbled off to their rooms.

Tears welled in Mother Mary Catherine's eyes as she struggled to comprehend the unraveling of the sacred haven she had devoted her life to. In the face of this final straw, she grappled with the challenge of restoring order to a sisterhood now teetering on the edge of chaos.

Determined to salvage the sanctity of her order and the souls of all the girls infected by Kat, Mother Mary Catherine knew she had to do something extreme.

With unwavering conviction, Mother Mary Catherine headed to the library and entered a room she alone had the key too. It was a room she had swore to never set in foot to but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Scanning the arcane tomes in the private room, she finally found the book she was looking for. Pulling it off the shelf she had a moment of pause as she read its cover. It’s Latin roughly translating to ‘Witches Handbook’. All the books in here were vile and evil tomes that the church had collected over the centuries.

Flipping the pages she found what she was looking for. Demonic exorcism. She knew that Kat had a poison in her that needed to be removed and while it wasn’t demonic in nature, she was sure this spell would work to exorcise Kat’s ‘inner’ demons.

As if to solidify her resolve, Mother Mary Catherine suddenly heard the cackling laughter of Kat coming from her bed chambers. It was almost taunting the Mother Superior whose gentle features grimaced at the sound and ended her conflicted mind.

After an hour of waiting for the cruel laughter to die down, Mother Mary Catherine made her way across the solemn hush of the convent to Kat’s room. Creeping in she was relieved to find that Kat was passed out.

The Mother Superior commenced the unorthodox exorcism over Kat’s unconscious form, her words resonating with an ancient power. As she uttered the sacred verses, a tangible shift occurred—the air thickened with an eerie energy, and a vibrant purple cloud materialized, swirling around Kat’s inebriated body.

Mother Mary Catherine's eyes widened in astonishment as the ethereal mist, laden with the essence of Kat's rebellious spirit, rose from her mouth. The bed chambers seemed to pulse with an otherworldly force. Yet, to her shock, the amorphous cloud didn't dissipate into the air; instead, it surged toward Mother Mary Catherine, quick as a gust of wind.

Before she could react, the purple mist enveloped her, winding its way into her mouth. A moment of eerie silence settled over the room, broken only by the distant echoes of the town. Mother Mary Catherine stood, breathless, her eyes reflecting a mix of surprise and uncertainty. Before she could wonder what had happened Kat began to stir so she made her way quickly out.

By the time the Mother Superior had made it back to her bed, she was exhausted. She barely made it to her mattress before collapsing into a deep sleep. In the stillness of the night, Mother Mary Catherine drifted into an unsettling dream. The sacred confines of the convent transformed into a surreal landscape, where she encountered a distorted version of herself. In the dream, she stood tall, her demeanor starkly different—purple hair cascading down her shoulders, clad in tight leather that whispered of unstoppable power.

The dream cast her as a strict disciplinarian, a figure she scarcely recognized. Her eyes, usually wellsprings of compassion, held an unyielding authority that seemed to clash with the gentle guidance she had embodied for decades. As the dream unfolded, she found herself enforcing rules with an iron fist, a stark departure from the nurturing spirit that had defined her tenure as Mother Superior.

Most startling however was how she punished those who stepped out of line. She would pull off their habits and flog them for the whole convent to see. She would clamp their nipples, bind their limbs, and hit them with a leather whip. However the victim would seem to enjoy it, pleading with the Mother Superior to punish them further.

Before she could continue though, the Mother Superior found herself waking to the sounds of the convent’s cock, welcoming everyone to a new day. She jolted awake to find her undergarments soaked. Embarrassed she quickly undressed and got into a fresh outfit and took a moment to compose herself in the mirror.

She scarcely used the mirror and so didn’t notice that a lot of her wrinkles had seemed to have faded. Her silver hair was darker now, her liver spots had faded and her lips plump and full. She hadn’t even noticed that she had unconsciously picked out one of her older habits, one that teased cleavage.

However Mary Catherine took little notice of the change, save for an absentminded thought of how good she looked. That thought was quickly dispelled as she left her room and spotted Kat across the courtyard. Memories of last night flooded back into Mary Catherine’s mind of the exorcism and the wicked dream she had after. She was so preoccupied with it that she didn’t watch where she was going and bumped into one of the sisters, Sister Helen.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sister Mary Catherine, I didn’t see you there.” The sister said apologetically.

“You fool! Watch where you are going! And call me by my title!” Mary Catherine said, snapping at the girl uncharacteristically.

“I-I’m very sorry Sis- I mean Mother Superior. It won’t happen again.” Sister Helen said almost trembling and Mary Catherine could feel her panties begin to get wet at the sight.

“See that it doesn’t.” She said peering down at the girl with an intense stare. The nun quickly averted her gaze and left. Mary Catherine meanwhile felt a smirk cross her lips. She had never demanded such respect before, it felt intoxicating. She felt like she could boss anyone around, as was her right, and she knew who to start with.

Strolling over to Kat surrounded by her makeshift gang, Mary Catherine took the cigarette from the leather clad brat and stamped it on the ground.

“What the hell!” Kat cried.

“You and your little cohort here are going to scrub every floor of this place starting right now, understand?” Mary Catherine said looming over the pack, the majority of which fled. Kat and a few others remained, unwavering in their defiance and yet Mary Catherine could see something in Kat’s eyes, a crack in her armor.

“As if. Come on girls.” Kat said standing up and walking away obstinately with her friends in tow. Mary Catherine was angered but knew that something had happened last night, that Kat had lost some of her power. She also knew that she absorbed that power and so it as clear what she had to do next.

This time Mary Catherine did not creep into Kat’s room, but strolled in confidently. She was certain Kat would be passed out like last night because she had seen the young hellion sneak into the chapel and take the communion wine. Mary Catherine could have stopped her but knew letting Kat take it would only be to her advantage.

Standing over Kat, the Mother superior did not hesitate as she had done before and in fact positioned herself closer to the sleeping brat to absorb her essence quicker. Speaking the words aloud, Mary Catherine opened her mouth wide after her final word and tasted the sweet purple wisps as they slid down her throat.

Where the previous changes happened over night, new changes happened instantaneously to Mary Catherine’s body, spurred on by her own want. The last of her wrinkles disappeared as her skin grew soft and taut. Her hair lost all of its grey returning to her natural black but with stops of purple too and her breasts were now close to spilling out of her habit.

Her mind meanwhile never felt better, never felt more free. Kat’s rebellious and selfish mind was overriding most of the remaining kind thoughts that the Mother Superior had left.

Licking her lips she looked down at Kat with increasing disdain. She also revelled in seeing Kat’s younger good looks fade as her own appearance started to improve. Strolling over to the mirror Mary Catherine smirked at her new appearance but also at the feeling of strength she now felt coursing through her body.

“Mmmm yessss Kat’s strong resolve is much more suited in my body. It’s clear now that I was too weak before, too much of a pushover. With Kat’s attitude flowing through me I’ll finally have the respect I deserve.” Mary Catherine mused to herself in the mirror.

But something was seeming off about her whole look. Her old habit mixed with her now more youthful body made her appearance somewhat comical. She needed something more fitting her body. That’s when she spotted Kat’s ajar suitcase.

Opening it up hungrily, Mary Catherine was delighted to see such wickedly tight outfits inside. She ran her fingers over their shiny surface, imagining her new younger body slipping inside. Underneath the clothes were an assortment of sex toys and aids, including a leather whip.

The word whip repeated in her mind and made her remember her salacious dream from the previous night. Her pussy started to get wet at the thought of it. Her eyes wandered over to Kat’s sleeping body and she couldn’t help imagining the bitch strung up with a ball gag in her mouth. The Mother Superior had to drag herself out of the room for fear she might make her dream a reality, but she felt compelled to take the bag. That’s when she ran into Sister Helen again.

“I am SO SO sorry Mother Superior, I know you said before, oh my Sister, you look so young and beaut-” the nervous nun said with a mixture of fear and curiosity in her eyes but Mary Catherine cut her off.

“You insubordinate little maggot.” Mary Catherine said with venom in her words as a voice in her head urged her to punish sister Helen.

“You will be punished for this heinous infraction.” Mary Catherine said looming down on the young nun.

“Y-yes of course, I’ll clean whatever you want, I’ll say a thousand rosaries. I’ll do anything.” Helen said pleading. Mary Catherine stayed silent however, choosing to simply smile unnervingly at Helen and beckon the young nun to follow her.

Helen walked timidly into the Mother Superior’s bed chambers after Mary Catherine who had disappeared into her connected bathroom. Helen stood nervously, not wanting to touch anything for fear she would do something to anger the Mother Superior. However her nervousness only skyrocketed as Mary Catherine walked out of the bathroom in a most unexpected outfit.

Gone was her habit, replaced with tight black latex that showed off her impressive curves. What was most shocking was the item in the Mother Superior’s hand. While having zero experience with such things, Helen was sure that Mary Catherine was holding some sort of sex toy in her hand. It was a large almost wand like item that seemed to glow purple and hand a long length of leather attached. Helen shuddered to think what she had in mind for it.

“Undress. Now.” Mary Catherine said sternly.

“Mother Superior, I don’t think this is-” Helen began before Mary Catherine snapped back.

“That’s right you don’t think. You don’t think where you are going and you don’t pay attention to those that are more important around you. But that changes tonight. Now strip!” Mary Catherine said with malice. Helen obliged by slowly undressing.

Within a few minutes Helen was standing naked in front of the Mother Superior who eyed the girl up and down. Swinging her sex you she approached the nun until their faces were mere inches apart. Helen didn’t know until it was too late, but Mary Catherine did this to distract the young nun from the sudden insertion of the sex you into her pussy.

Helen gasped as the cold phallic object pushed deep into her vagina until with a pop her lips closed tightly around it. Helen couldn’t help but shivering in pleasure. She had never allowed even herself to delve so deep but the sex you felt as comfortable as a glove.

“Come here my pet.” Mary Catherine said as she walked a few feet away. Helen however stood still, still rather shocked by what was happening. Rolling her eyes the Mother Superior tugged on the leather lead and Helen was compelled forward. Each step hitting a different erogenous zone.

“Now my pet, I have enchanted this wonderful little device to slowly instill you with subservience to me the longer you wear it. I found it in this deliciously dark book of spells. I’m starting to think witches may have had the right idea. I’m telling you all this because you will, by now, be unable to fight the growing loyalty you feel towards me, isn’t that right?” Mary Catherine said with an evil smile.

Helen looked at the Mother Superior, her face conflicted. Inside her mind, a war was raging, one that the moral and just part of her was losing. She smiled at Mary Catherine and said, “Of course Mother Superior, I will do anything you ask.”

“Excellent, now get on all fours like the dog that you are, you are going to lick my new boots clean with that wretched tongue of yours.” Mary Catherine said looking at her new leashed companion with equal parts disgust and excitement.

The next day the convent was a buzz with word that the Mother Superior had gotten some sort of makeover. Gone were her sensible habits and elderly charm replaced with outfits that showed off her new youthful voluptuous figure paired with a distinctively cold demeanour.

Over the next week she seemed to pull up nuns for the smallest of infractions and banish them to her quarters where she would enter soon after. The nuns would then emerge changed, more docile, more loyal to the new Mother Superior. Weirder still was that the Mother Superior herself seemed different too. She would exit her room looking younger, hotter, and more confident.

Some of the nuns she reprimanded had become her enforcers, reporting infractions directly back to Mary Catherine. Enforcers like Sister Helen even started to dress and act like the Mother superior, copying her purple hair, wearing tight latex outfits. The convent was looking less like a place of worship for god each day and more like a cult of worship to one woman, Mary Catherine.

But despite her growing authority over the convent, Mary Catherine still felt a tug at her conscience, a little voice that nagged at her telling her what she was doing was wrong. She had only wanted to stop the spread of Kat’s influence over the other sisters and instead she had taken that influence and weaponized it for herself.

And yet she couldn’t deny the results. The sisters had never been in such revelry towards her. It was an intoxicating feeling having so many of them literally kiss her feet and praise the actions that she committed. Even when they were deplorable acts against themselves, they begged her for more. No Mary Catherine needed a change but not to her new outlook.

Walking confidently over to Kat’s bed chambers, the Mother Superior was done with hiding in the shadows and instead kicked the door down with her six inch heels waking Kat inside.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” Said an incredulous Kat but the Mother Superior just simply snapped her fingers and a swarm of her loyal supporters rushed in and held Kat down.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side since you arrived you little bitch, but if it were not for you then I wouldn’t have realized what power I was lacking. And now it’s time I take the last of that power from you.” Mary Catherine said with a disturbing smile as she produced her magical sex toy that she had used to build her growing army. Only this time there was a matching glowing plug on the other end as well.

Stilling up to Kat, she shoved one in into the rebel’s pussy and watched with joy as Kat’s eyes rolled back into her head. She had made the magic much more potent this time after all. Taking the other end she then delighted in slipping it into her own wet pussy. With a pop it found purchase nearly inside her and she grinned in satisfaction.

Happy that they were ready, Mary Catherine began chanting the Latin words she had memorized. As she did, the plugs deep inside her and Kat began to glow. Their two bodies became bright purple sources of light. So bright that the other nuns had to shield their eyes.

“Yessss! Yessss! Give me everything! Make me everything she was! Erase the last drop of good in me!” Mary Catherine yelled as the light filled the room.

Then just as quickly as the light had appeared, it disappeared with a whoosh. The nuns in the room all blinked and rubbed their eyes, trying to refocus their vision. Once they had they found only one figure remained where once there had been two.

Mary Catherine stood transformed before them. Everything about her was more emphasized than before. Her hair more purple, her tits bigger, her nails sharper, her face colder, and her power inarguabe. “Mother Superior are you ok? Are you hurt?” Helen asked concerned. Mary Catherine responded by grabbing Helen by her neck and lifting her effortlessly off of the ground.

“Never better. From this day forth you shall refer to me no longer as Mother Superior Mary Catherine, but instead as Goddess Katherine. Understood?” The new goddess commanded and the rest of the sisters all nodded and bowed in respect. Katherine looked at Helen and for a moment contemplated snapping her neck. The thought brought a wetness to her pussy that delighted her but she knew she would need Helen, at least for now and so let her down.

“Thank you Goddess for the pain, I do not deserve your touch.” Helen said sycophantically kneeling before her mistress. Katherine didn’t even pay her much attention and instead walked out of the room into the cool moonlight of the courtyard. She licked her lips as she looked at all the doors belonging to the nuns she had yet to ‘bless’.

“Come along sisters, we have much work to do.” She said with a wicked smile as she strode to the closest door, ready to convert another sister to her flock.

THE END

[weirdlookindog]

"A girl's piercing scream drew Byron Kent to that inner room where the blind old man, the giant idiot and the cursing crone sat in ghoulish glee - as the rats fed!"

Amos Sewell (1901-1983) - Illustration from William B. Rainey's 'When the Rats Fed'

(Dime Mystery - April, 1934)

[astranautic]

Hello! Here is Leander’s belt

His belt buckle is the Triple Moon/Triple Goddess Symbol! Here’s the significance of that:

“The waxing moon stands for the Maiden and symbolizes purity, youth, new life, beginnings, rejuvenation, excitement, enchantment, and expansion. The full moon represents the Mother and represents fulfillment, fertility, ripeness, potency, compassion, giving, caring, nurturing, protection and power. The waxing moon represents the Crone and stands for repose, maturity, wisdom, experience, knowledge, understanding, completion, death and rebirth. In its entirety, the symbol is believed to signify the eternal cycle of birth, life, and rebirth.”

“Also called the Triple Goddess symbol, the Triple Moon icon is commonly seen on the crowns or headpieces worn by the High Priestesses.”

Source

Ok, so some connections to the High Priestess. The Triple Moon/Goddess symbol is a feminine symbol traditionally, and Leander is a whole man, but idk, that’s could be neither here nor there.

Here are some keywords I found relating to The High Priestess tarot card nonetheless:

Upright: unconscious, intuition, mystery, spirituality, higher power, inner voice

Reversed: repressed intuition, hidden motives, superficiality, confusion, cognitive dissonance

Source

Those things might be interesting and relevant, or they may not be. But as many people have pointed out already, he is depicted with an Ouroboros in his sticker!

“The ouroboros symbolizes rebirth, immortality, eternity, protection, self-reliance, unity, and nature’s cycles.”

Source

So there are similarities between the Triple Moon symbol and the Ouroboros! I’ll leave it to you all to draw conclusions from this. I just thought it was interesting!

EDIT: oh? What are those flowers around him?? White lilies, you say?

I wonder what they could mean…

“Popular at both weddings and funerals, white lilies are believed to represent rebirth and purity.”

“Lilies are believed to symbolise femininity and fertility.”

Source

Oops! All.. rebirth symbolism? And, weirdly, lots of symbolism tied to femininity and the divine feminine.

[talonabraxas]

Hekate )O( Talon Abraxas

Hekate (Hecate) as Archetype: Symbolism of the Goddess of Witchcraft and Intuition.

An archetype is a timeless and universal symbol (pattern or motif) that resonates with the human psyche, repeatedly appearing in the narratives of mythology, folklore, fairy tales, religion, art, and beyond.

According to Jungian theory, these archetypes emerge from the collective unconscious, weaving together the threads of our individual experiences and the shared tapestry of human history. Through their potent symbolism and enduring presence, archetypes serve as a bridge between our inner world and the larger forces that shape our collective consciousness.

Through a therapeutic lens, archetypal patterns offer a profound opportunity for self-discovery, understanding different parts of us, and a richer appreciation of our shared human experience.

Beyond Maiden-Mother-Crone: Hekate (Hecate), the Triple Goddess

Hekate's multifaceted nature transcends the familiar Maiden-Mother-Crone trinity, for her power is vast enough to encompass the three realms of the heavens, the earth, and the underworld. As a triple goddess, she is depicted with three heads and six arms, embodying the very essence of divine power. The numbers three, six, and nine hold significant meaning within the pantheon of Hekate, underscoring her enigmatic and complex nature.

Hekate's (Hecate's) Keys and Torches: From the Crossroads to the Underworld

Hekate's dominion over the spirit world is evident in the keys and torches she carries, symbols of her power to bind or free souls and guide them through the darkness. The keys unlock the gates to the underworld while the torches illuminate the path ahead.

A well-known tale recounts how Hekate used her torch to lead Demeter through the netherworld in search of her beloved daughter Persephone, who had been snatched away by Hades. In this way, Hekate served as a mediator between the living and the dead, navigating the boundary between life and death.

Hekate's dominion over the three realms of heaven, earth, and the underworld extends beyond physical boundaries, as she is also associated with mystical borders, portals, doors, and gates.

Among these, the crossroads held a special place in the hearts of the ancients, for it was there that Hekate reigned supreme as the goddess of the crossroads where the paths of one's life fork and a person must decide which path to follow. For the ancients, the crossroads were a place of great mystery and magic, where the veil between the living and the dead was at its thinnest and Hekate held the keys to the underworld.

[vertigoblockbuster]

ज्येष्ठा

Jyestha: Victory, jealousy

Jyestha is Nakshatra Eighteen

Nakshatras are sometimes called lunar mansions - one full cycle of the moon equates to it's passage through all twenty-seven nakshatras, or all of it's twenty-seven 'homes' or 'mansions.' In this way, the moon is of utmost prominence in Vedic astrology - a key difference from astrology in the West, where the placement of the Sun is generally revered as being most important.

Jyestha means "eldest one" in Sanskrit. It also can mean "first one," "right one," "most victorious." If we think of the twenty-seven nakshatras as being twenty-seven sisters, Jyestha would be the oldest - despite this not being the final nakshatra in the Vedic zodiac. Although Jyestha is the oldest, wisest, and presumably the best by her name, it is the nakshatra Rohini who is the favorite dwelling place (mansion) of the moon.

A dark side of Jyestha nakshatra is it's tendency towards jealousy. Rohini, while not the wisest or 'best' of the nakshatras, is favored above all the others by the moon - this kind of thing greatly agitates Jyestha. There is a deep pride at this point in the zodiac. While they often come by their pride honestly by way of perseverance and victory through personal hardship, there is a danger of feeling entitled to special treatment. If A Jyestha person is (in their mind) robbed of the attention or respect they deserve, these are people that can be viscerally covetous. Of course, the inverse may be true as well - Jyestha people are commonly on the receiving end of jealousy coming at them from other people.

In the neo-pagan feminine triad of maiden, mother, and crone (represented by the waxing, full, and waning moon phases), Jyestha is the crone (Rohini, sitting opposite to Jyestha on the zodaic wheel, is the maiden). She is a wise and weathered old woman with a wealth of knowledge and sage advice. She has accumulated her life's lessons and now seeks to pass them down to her younger sisters. She expects her advice to be heeded, her presence respected. And rightfully so - she possesses priceless lived experience.

It's easy to love an old woman who doesn't give a fuck. She knows that she knows better than you... why would she care about your opinion? There is a deep inner knowing that radiates from Jyestha people, and they are made all the more attractive by their confidence in their beliefs, values, morals, etc.. They carry an air of victory, even in moments of defeat. They know that for every moment of despair there is a moment of bliss, for every defeat a victory. Defeat to Jyestha people simply implies that victory is ensured in the future.

Jyestha is Located at 16°40' to 30°00' Scorpio

In the astrology community (or at least the pop-astrology community) Scorpio is one of the most widely misunderstood and stigmatized signs. Traditionally Scorpio has been associated with the planet Pluto while modern astrologers have come to associate it this sign with Mars. The constellation ruling Scorpio is Scorpius, with the bright red star anteres at it's heart. It's symbolized by.. a scorpion.

If you run in astrological circles you've probably been hearing a lot about Pluto in recent months. That's because it recently entered Aquarius after being in Capricorn since 2008. Pluto is going to retrograde back into Capricorn one more time in 2024 before it slides into Aquarius for the long haul, from November of this year until 2043. When it changes sign its kind of a big deal.

It takes Pluto about 250 years to orbit the sun and complete it's journey through the zodiac. For this reason its considered to be an outer or generational planet because the sign that Pluto is in stays the same for a long time. A cohort of people born in the same time period will have an outer planet in the same sign. Most millennials will have Pluto in Scorpio, and most of Gen Z will have Pluto in Sagittarius.

Pluto moves slow and his effects are profound. Pluto is Hades, god of the underworld. From this linkage it's easy to understand Pluto's connection to death, rebirth, riches and wealth (thinking about mining as literally going underground to find precious metals). As the underworld planet, Pluto rules over things that effect us that we can't see - material buried in the subconscious. Potent Pluto transits unearth patterns in our life that we didn't know we had - or were in denial about. Pluto is tricky because when it's truly operating you aren't aware of it. It is a planet that brings us face to face with our own psyches.

It should be noted that Jyestha's association with Scorpio depends on the astrologer you ask. Sidereal versus Tropical calculations will tell you different things... you might be a Scorpio ascendant using sidereal calculations and a Sagittarius ascendant using tropical calculations. The reason sidereal astrological calculations give different placement results from tropical ones is because the sidereal system takes into account the 'wobble' of the earth's rotating axis. More about that here: https://www.whitelotusoflight.com/blog/sidereal-vs-tropical-zodiac-and-why-it-matters

Jyestha Falls at a Gandanta Point - Places of Transformation in the Zodiac

Vedic astrology notes three places in the zodiac where (potentially volatile) changes take place in an individual. These places are called gandanta points and can be found where the water signs meet the fire signs - on the Pisces-Aries cusp (Revati/Ashwini), the Cancer-Leo cusp (Ashlesha/Magha), and the Scorpio-Sagittarius cusp (Jyestha/Mula).

"Gand" means knot and "Anta" means end. Gandanta points are where karmic knots are tied and untied, depending on previous lives and where someone is in terms of soul evolution. Only you can untie knots that you have tied. This is why for people with prominent natal placements in gandanta nakshatras (look at the sun, moon, and ascendant signs in particular) are faced with difficulty in their lives. They are here to unlearn and relearn new and different ways of being to ultimately merge with universal consciousness. This comes through exposure to (sometimes painful) life lessons. If you pay attention, different iterations of the same lesson come to you over and over until you have mastered how to handle it. This is the cyclical nature of karma. We are constantly creating and releasing karma, this is the reality of living in a physical world of cause-and-effect. Until you are different (untying the knot/breaking the karmic cycle), you will get the same.

A lot of fear-mongering is out there about gandanta points. It's human nature to be afraid of what we don't understand, and a lot of the time we don't understand why we suffer difficulty and pain. I think that these gandanta points are master courses in surrender. The way you thought things were, the way you thought they should be, no longer works. It doesn't matter how tightly we cling to how things were, these gandanta points pry from our hands what we thought was true to reveal Truth. Reality, whether we like it or not, makes itself known. To progress past who we have been, we have to let go of who we were and fully surrender - thus untying the karmic knot so we can tie a new one.

Indra: King of the Gods

We can derive a lot about the unique characters of the 27 nakshatras through investigating their ruling deities and Jyestha is no exception. Jyestha's deity Indra is one of the most important gods in the Vedic pantheon. He is god of the skies, controlling rain, thunder, and storms (often depicted artistically as wielding a lightning bolt or vajra). His connection with storms associates him as a warrior god and he was often invoked before battles. He is king of the devas, king of the gods.

Indra's most famous moment of victory is his battle with the demonic serpent Vritra. Vritra stole all the water on earth, bringing drought upon all it's inhabitants. To prepare for his fight against Vritra, Indra consumed copious amounts of the ritual drink Soma to provide him with supernatural strength and energy. Using his Vajra (a kind of weaponized version of a lightning bolt) Indra vanquished Vritra by removing his head.

At the time of Indra's battle with Vritra it was Varuna who ruled the gods. Upon his return from battle Indra saw his opportunity to usurp Varuna. The way he did this was by whispering in the gods' ears, planting seeds of doubt regarding Varuna's ability to lead. "If Varuna is such a good leader... why was it me who killed Vritra?" This is very Jyestha behavior - these people are indirect, intelligent, and calculating. They constantly look to work situations in their favor. They don't lie, exactly. They also aren't inclined to tell the truth, especially if doing so is not advantageous to their own goals.

Indra, while one of the most powerful and important Vedic deities, is known for possessing human qualities and flaws. He drinks soma heavily, revealing his susceptibility to drunkenness and addiction. He is prideful and selfish, taking a position of power by means of manipulation and deception. He has obvious human vices and traits.

In many of Indra's blunders in Vedic mythology, his pride is often the cause of his downfall. This is perhaps the most important lesson we learn from Jyestha nakshatra - the greatest protection against rivals (and those with Jyestha prominent in their chars are almost guaranteed to face rivals in their lifetime - this is the cost of reaching for victory) is humility. The greatest leaders and victors are those no one can possibly spin negative stories about because of their unwavering goodness. Jyestha people have to learn to be humble (at least outwardly) no matter how victorious they become in their lives. To not do this is to ensure inevitable defeat. Perhaps by the same means through which they claimed their own victories.

A Song with Definite Jyestha Vibes: Getaway Car by Taylor Swift (Jyestha Sun)

I'm in a getaway car I left you in a motel bar Put the money in a bag and I stole the keys That was the last time you ever saw me

--------------------------

Check out Vic Dicara's YouTube channel for more information about Vedic astrology.

[bbygirl-aemond]

bella i need the faith of the seven parallels with the targaryen parental figures IMMEDIATELY

…I admittedly put way too much thought into this, but I will seriously never tire of the religions themes/parallels in Stormbreak. Plus, there's about to be a ton of religious stuff happening in upcoming chapters, so it's just on my mind. So here are all seven of the parental figures of Team Black & Green, as members of the Seven!

The Father- Aemond Targaryen.

The Father Above is known for being stern, but not unnecessarily so. He has a strong sense of justice, and considers it part of his duty to enact said judgment. At the same time, he's a protector, particularly of children. Aemond is similarly very reserved and righteous, but is deeply protective of children in every possible way (physically, but also mentally and emotionally).

The Mother- Rhaenyra Targaryen.

The Mother Above is known for being very loving and merciful. She's strongly associated with families and motherhood. Rhaenyra is a kind parent who can sometimes coddle and shelter her children. She's probably the best example of a Targaryen parent who loves her children unconditionally. Despite initially being wary of motherhood, she genuinely comes to love the act of building her own family, her own little clan.

The Warrior- Daemon Targaryen.

The Warrior is a study of opposites. On the one hand, he is associated with the most violent aspects of humanity, such as bloodshed and battle. But on the other, he is also one of the most compassionate faces of the Seven. He is the one who brings peace to the souls of those slain in battle, and who comforts the grieving loved ones left behind. This suits Daemon so incredibly well; he encompasses both of these extremes perfectly. It's also very clear that he identifies himself as a protector of his family, in part specifically because of his battle prowess.

The Smith- Alicent Hightower.

The Smith is, at his core, the mender of broken things. His entire purpose is to fix, to repair, to heal. Because of this, he is associated with incredible inner strength and selflessness. Alicent spends her entire life desperately trying to solve the problems of everyone around her. She is a natural caretaker and feels personally responsible when members of her family are unhappy.

The Maid- Criston Cole.

The Maid is associated most strongly with innocence and virginity. She embodies the value of chastity, and is also connected to children and marriage. Criston is a very religious and conservative man who views everything through this lens of righteousness and purity. His downward spiral after he sleeps with Rhaenyra and his devotion to Alicent are both directly related to the violation or fulfillment of this value. He also falls very naturally into a nurturing and guiding role for Alicent's children.

The Crone- Helaena Targaryen.

The Crone is associated with unparalleled wisdom. She is the one who knows the path ahead, and guides those around her along that path. There is an element of mystery to her; the idea of forbidden or secret knowledge. Helaena, as a very powerful dragon dreamer, has access to information about the path ahead in a way that no other Targaryen does. And we see her use this knowledge to influence the directions of those around her, always trying to nudge them towards the right path.

The Stranger- Aegon Targaryen.

The Stranger is part of the Seven, but is simultaneously completely unique. Unlike the others, they have no gender, nor do they have a face. They are the outlier, and this makes them the patron saint of outcasts. They do not decide where the souls of the dead go, but they lead them to their final resting place. Aegon feels isolated from his family, as if he is the lone black sheep within the herd. He distances himself from the other members of his family, and from his Targaryen heritage. He wants to support his loved ones, but thinks it is no one's place to decide or influence another's path.

Hope this fulfilled your brainrot the way it did mine!

[themattress]

Sailor Moon: Dream - Original vs. Toei Adaptation

- The Dead Moon Circus arriving on Earth during a solar eclipse is retained.

- The captive Helios astral-projecting to Chibiusa as Pegasus is retained.

- Queen Nehelenia attacking Elysian and plunging it into darkness is retained.

- Queen Nehelenia existing beyond a mirror into the dreamscape and constantly speaking to her living splintered reflection Zirconia who actively runs the Dead Moon Circus is retained.

- PallaPalla swapping Usagi and Chibiusa's ages is adapted in Episode 158.

- The Amazon Trio's psychological traps for the Inner Senshi, primarily the Hall of Mirrors that was used on Rei, is adapted in episode 163 as Zirconia's trap for them during the climax.

- Mamoru falling ill bafflingly doesn't happen until the climax in the anime, with his talk with Helios now being in a dream that transpires in episode 165, the penultimate episode. Between this and the Golden Crystal not being in Mamoru's soul, Mamoru got screwed!

- Queen Nehelenia plunging Tokyo into darkness and nightmares is retained.

- Zirconia lethally turning on the Amazoness Quartet when they fail her is retained.

- Queen Nehelenia's defeat exposing her true form as an ugly old crone is retained.

BONUS:

Some things that neglected to be adapted in SuperS ended up being adapted in the opening Nehelenia arc of Sailor Stars instead even though it made precious little sense to do so.

- The Outer Senshi's return, including Hotaru's rapid age-up, is included here.

- Sailor Saturn and Sailor Chibi Moon fighting side by side is included here.

- The Sailor Senshi being trapped in illusionary nightmares is included here.

- Queen Nehelenia coveting Mamoru/Endymion is included here, although the motivations differ: in the manga it was because of his connection to the Golden Crystal and its power that she wanted to rule Earth with, while in the anime it's to spite Usagi whom she rabidly hates.

- Most ridiculously of all, every Sailor Senshi and Mamoru joining their powers together is changed from a way to teleport into Elysian to...kill Nehelenia and teleport her soul into a dream where she's a child again and can finally make friends? 'Cause that's what she really wanted the whole time? Yeah, this story arc sucks and it never should have happened.

[satanandsoul]

🟡 Affirmations that will transform your life 🟡

<<Pile 1>>

Your tarot cards describing your situation: Crone of Swords (King of Swords in traditional Rider Waite tarot deck), 8 of Pentacles

You are being the worst critic of your work or your study. You never feel good enough at it and possibly have imposter syndrome.

Your affirmation card: No Judgement "I release myself from any and all judgements. I find my inner critic, call it into my office, and tell it to take a vacation. As it leaves the room, I let out a sign and begin to enjoy the joy of simply being. Who hired that guy anyway?"

<<Pile 2>>

Your tarot cards describing your situation: The Emperor, Knight of Wands

I can see you being harassed by a bully. You are going to stand in your own power and tell him or her to fuck off.

Your affirmation card: Courage "No one is fearless. No one. But even though I'm not fearless, I am courageous. When fear shows up, I don't run away from it. I use my courage to conquer it. My courage allows me to walk right up to that fear and kick it in the nuts - then quickly hide behind someone bigger until it goes away."

<<Pile 3>>

Your tarot cards describing your situation: The Hierophant, 9 of Swords

It seems that you are having issues with an authority figure or an institution. It is making you to lose sleep or have bad headache.

Your affirmation card: Awesomeness "I am capital-A Awesome. And I refuse to pay attention to anything that makes me feel otherwise. Instead, I congratulate myself for every victory/accomplishment/teeny-tiny step in the right direction. Because even the smallest positive action (ahem, like reading an affirmation!?) is evidence that I care about keepin' my sweet creative juju juiced up. And isn't that just the awesomest?"

[wildlyglittering]

Silver In Her Eyes - Part 4

Happy Saturday!

Silver In Her Eyes part 4 is up on Ao3 here and also below the cut!

Please show it some love ❤❤❤

Lucien appeared well.

His long, russet hair flowed to his waist and he smiled more, laughed more. Rhys had interrupted raucous noise when he entered the drawing room, Lucien and his new friends throwing grapes into each other���s mouths.

Rhys' visit was unexpected but also apparently unwelcome. Jurian and Vassa excused themselves to the garden while Lucien stood and watched them leave. When he turned to face his guest his eyes, both the good and the golden, pierced straight through as though he could see Rhys’ very soul.

Rhys turned his agitation into resentment.

Resentment that Lucien was well while Amren made herself ill, resentment that Lucien greeted him as cooly as Varian now did. Resentment that Lucien found delight in the world when Feyre bloomed and grew like a rose before the sharp snap of winter claimed her.

There was the looming issue of allies. Varian’s growing coolness might influence Tarquin and Kallias was fretting like some old crone. Rumours persisted that Keir was whispering promises in Tamlin’s ear and Eris seemed extremely displeased at the lack of negotiated terms between himself and Night.

Even Helion had spoken to Rhys. About how worried he was over Rhys, how Rhys wasn't himself. Rhys had gritted his teeth. Now Helion thought him weak and it just wouldn’t do.

Rhys knew if he secured Lucien, Helion would remain an ally and Lucien could be used to convince Eris to drop his request regarding Nesta and potentially get Tamlin to choose Night. The trick was to secure Lucien in the right way.

Rhys joined Lucien by the window as Jurian and Vassa now lounged on the grass continuing their game. Vassa laughed when one grape missed and hit her in the eye.

“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” Rhys asked. “How...puerile.”

Lucien scoffed as he moved away to lean against a bookcase. “We were having fun. It’s what friends do with each other. You’d know if you had any left.”

Rhys snarled, more beast than High Lord. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I have friends.”

The golden eye whirred as an eyebrow raised. Lucien crossed his arms over his chest and looked away. Detached, disinterested, bored.

“If you think you’re intimidating, you’re not.” Lucien looked back to Rhys. “You forget I lived with Tamlin for centuries and stood in front of Amarantha myself.” He gestured to the very gold eye Rhys was glaring into. “For my troubles.”

Rhys took a breath. This was not securing Lucien the right way. Rhys wouldn't benefit in losing his temper and giving Lucien a reason to slam the door in his face – not until Rhys had dangled his carrot.

“Apologies. I am... tense. Keir is making a power grab. He seems to think now is his chance to strike. He’s wrong of course but he has some invested parties and I’m now forced to try and find the same.”

“I’ve heard.” Lucien paused, his face falling into a frown. “What I don’t understand is why now? When Feyre is having your son, doesn’t that weaken his position?”

Rhys closed his eyes. He’d been able to contain the truth to the Inner Circle and Madja. Keir was an unfortunate slip up, one that wouldn’t be repeated once Azriel found the fae who shared that piece of information.

“Who knows what Keir is thinking,” Rhys said, opening his eyes, “but you can probably guess why I’m here.”

“Influence Tamlin? Beron?”

“No, not him.”

Lucien tilted his head and Rhys decided honesty would be the approach.

“Eris has promised to ally to me in exchange for certain conditions. One of those is that he marries an Archeron. For his sins, he’s chosen Nesta.”

A wry smile emerged on Lucien’s face.

“I have to dissuade Eris. Cassian and Nesta are together. I’m hoping you can appeal to Eris’ better nature as his brother, his love for you means you’d have his ear. I’d so hate for mates to be torn apart. Wouldn’t you?”

Half honesty then. Lucien didn’t need to know about the blades Nesta Made.

Lucien exhaled, facing towards the window, his pulse thundering in his neck before he relaxed as though something swept in and whisked his upset away.

“Ah yes,” he said, “the glory of Eris’ brotherly love. If Nesta hasn’t chosen him in return, why not tell him no? She doesn’t seem the type to be shy on how she feels.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes. No. This reluctance of Lucien to be involved wouldn’t do.

Rhys conjured images, of Eris turning his head from the eldest Archeron to the one that tended the thorns. He constructed an image of Elain amongst her roses, being swept up by Eris and dragged to the Forest House where she walked the hallways, wailing like she did now.

Rhys fluttered them across to Lucien’s mind like butterflies where they should have landed so delicately that Lucien wouldn’t have realised they were not his own fears.

Instead, they caught on a torrent in the outer reaches of Lucien’s mind and tore into pieces, their fragile wings shredded and gone. Rhys kept his face neutral as his heart raced. Power had built within Lucien, the natural resistance of a High Lord against a High Lord but without trying, without even knowing.

The second approach then. Rhys’ back up plan. He snapped his fingers behind his back, a cry of surprise echoed out from the garden beyond.

“Elain’s here,” Rhys said, inspecting his fingernails. “I’ve winnowed her into the grounds. Take a look.”

Lucien’s face snapped to Rhys’ but he lifted himself from where he leant against the bookcase to move nearer to the window, Rhys joining him.

Elain now stood in the garden, glancing about her at the trees in confusion as a shocked Vassa and Jurian went to greet her. Rhys had promised her a visit to the Mortal Lands, a great garden for her to view and she seemed eager to accept the invitation.

Her fingers curled into the pale pink fabric of her dress, colour blooming to her cheeks which Rhys had yet to see in Night.

Lucien drank her in like he’d been deprived of water for years.

“It is a tragedy, isn’t it? When mates are torn apart,” Rhys said by Lucien’s shoulder. Some small guilt spun down Rhys’ web, knowing he dangled a mate in front of a male when Rhys himself was on the precipice of losing his own.

But it wasn’t the same. Elain and Lucien were nothing in comparison to he and Feyre.

“She looks well enough,” Lucien said, “but she’s sad, lonely. All the pieces of her life are falling away.”

“Night is good for her,” Rhys said, noting how Lucien placed a hand against the pane of the glass. “I think it would do her good to remain. I don’t know how she would fare though if she lost Nesta to Autumn. Another piece taken away I suppose.”

She’d fare fine, Rhys thought. Considering as the sisters could scarcely exist in the same space.

Lucien blinked, his palm dropping from the window and he turned to face Rhys, their bodies too close for his comfort. That damned golden eye whirred again.

“Rhysand, you speak of Eris wanting to marry Nesta to ally with you, of your concern over Cassian and their bond, of Elain’s wellbeing. Surely you can tell Eris no and be done with it. Or perhaps ask Nesta what she wants. That isn’t what you think of those under your protection is it? That they are merely pieces of furniture in your Court without will of their own.”

Rhys’ teeth pressed together. An impulse to dash out that damned eye rose within him, an impulse he quashed. Instead, he turned towards the window where Vassa was now offering Elain grapes but Elain was ignoring her, instead staring through the window back at Rhys, her brown eyes watchful.

“Of course not,” Rhys said, and with a click of his fingers, Elain was gone.

***

Rhys had been fouler than usual.

Where others saw confidence, Nesta saw arrogance. Where they saw charm, she saw manipulation. She never had love in her heart for him and though she tried to find a slither of affection for Feyre’s sake and Cassian’s, Nesta felt that she had always been looking at a different person.

She knew he’d travelled to the Mortal Lands to visit Lucien and had taken Elain with him. She’d not learnt that from Elain but from Feyre, the only sister still willing to speak with her. A simple note landing on her desk; Feyre was busy planning the nursery, the baby was kicking and keeping her awake, Elain had gone to the Mortal Lands.

Nesta guessed that Rhys’ interaction with Lucien had been far from pleasant based on the way Rhys stormed into the House of Wind.

She hid her smile behind her hand, a smile which didn’t linger long as Rhys checked over the blades she forged, chastising her for producing less.

“Three,” he said, a dark mist swirling around his feet. “Last week, the number was five.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “I’m tired,” she told him. “These three are what you get.”

He’d slammed the door on his way out while Nesta rolled her eyes at his retreating back.

It was no lie. She was exhausted. The time it took for her to forge a single blade had increased. Her back hurt and her head throbbed, her fingers slipped when she held the tools and she’d almost dropped a dagger on her foot.

The clash of hammer on metal was still a song but now each blade joined a screaming chorus in the room and Nesta couldn’t recall when there had last been silence.

She loved the blades but she knew, as she had always known, these were not ordinary. That she had poured a part of herself into their being.

The pile was growing but it wasn’t enough and deciding that Rhys would never be happy if she produced two or twenty, Nesta left the House, the hood of her cape pulled over her face and she stepped out into the fresh Velaris air.

Her desperate, clandestine walk along the cobbled fae-lit streets was not to meet a lover but the two friends she had made on her own. The café was small and squashed between two shabby buildings that would be overlooked by any of the Inner Circle if they tried to find her.

Hours were spent tucked in an alcove, the three of them; Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, so close Nesta had to push down the pang of sadness at remembering when she, Feyre and Elain had to share the same bed.

This time there was nothing but joy. They consumed cups of hot tea and thick slabs of cake with chocolate so rich Nesta smelt it as it left the kitchen. All she wanted was this. A home, friends, someone who loved her.

Nesta returned to the House drunk on excitement. When she approached the first steps, she considered turning and fleeing into the darkness of the wilderness. Yes, the House gave her everything she required but a gilded cage was still a cage.

That excitement soon died when she reached the top. At first Nesta thought exhaustion had overtaken the adrenaline but she realised what she was hearing – or rather what she wasn’t.

Silence.

The blades that spent their time calling to her no longer did. Her stomach squirmed as she ran, her heart racing.

The door to the blacksmith was open, the blades gone. Only Rhys stood in the darkness, the moonlight highlighting his form.

“Did I give you permission to leave?”

“Am I a prisoner?”

He ignored her. “I thought you were tired, Nesta. Isn’t that why only three blades were made this week?”

Her laugh was brittle. “Have you not heard of rest? I asked if I was a prisoner but let me re-phrase; I am not a prisoner. Nor am I your slave. It seems the fae struggle to let old habits die out.”

The growl was low and strong that Nesta first thought it was thunder. But Rhys’ eyes were now blacker rather than violet, the mists swimming about his fingers.

Ice grew within her, her bones hardening, her blood freezing. Nesta’s teeth chattered together as her skin turned grey. He’d freeze her from inside out and then she’d shatter into pieces on the ground.

“You are worthless,” he said. “Letting your baby sister risk her life to keep you fed and clothed, allowing her to come close to starvation. Even the first blow against Hybern wasn’t yours. You benefit from the success of others while doing nothing of note. Your family doesn’t want to see you and Cassian is with you because he has to be. You are no one’s choice, Nesta, no one’s. I am gracious enough to give you a gift to make you more than useless and this is how you repay me.”

The heat she’d felt before burned in her, the flames licking the inside of her skin. A voice spoke into her ear. Do not let him see. Stay as you are, as hard as it may be.

Nesta shivered and she pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth lest her teeth bite through it.

“You leave this House without permission again and I won’t be so forgiving. Agree to it. Agree.”

Nesta’s words were forced. “Agree.”

He moved away, dropping his power as he did, walking past her without a backward glance as Nesta sagged on the floor like a puppet whose master had cut the strings.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. The effort of pushing down whatever rose within her had exhausted her and the fire which burned inside her had turned any tears to steam.

Nesta made it to her room. She was alone in the House again, no Cassian, no Azriel. She knew she wasn’t the only one who had demands held against them but unlike the others, she wasn’t acting through love.

Her arms and legs were heavy as she crawled into bed, barely removing her cape, not even removing her dress. An ache started in her chest and she pushed her hand against it. This wasn’t an ache for Cassian, it was for something else.

“Where are you?” she said aloud. She could never reach Ataraxia although she knew where the sword was housed. She thought of Betrayer who had been mounted in the blacksmiths, of the other swords surrounding it.

Nothing. But she was starting too large - she was weak and unpractised so why did she think calling to a broad sword would gain an answer.

Nesta thought of the small, unassuming dagger which had been sheathed in the corner, its snake like handle twisting into an open jaw, sharp fangs protruding. That had been a blade which called to her with clarity, an image of Nesta slicing through Rhys’ cheek to draw first blood.

Viper. She spoke its name. This time not aloud but inside her mind, imagining the colours of the metal, the shimmer of subtle green along the metal, the sting of its point.

Nesta envisioned pulling; her teeth grinding, sweat dripping down her neck and back. A reverse birthing. No expulsion of life but a calling of it back. She dug her heels into her bed and pressed down, grabbed at the sheets with her fists tearing into the cloth.

Then the pull snapped and her eyes opened. There it was, lying on her stomach, blade pointing towards her heart, as though an invisible midwife had lain it upon her.

Nesta sobbed, even if she couldn’t form tears, sitting up and grasping Viper in her hands. Somehow it was warm and cold to the touch, shivering with anticipation, overjoyed to be back with Nesta.

Rhys had the blades hidden someplace Nesta couldn't reach but for now she had this one, her one. Viper.

It whispered to her, soft and slow, a much-wanted breeze on a too hot day. Mother.

***

“I will not forge.”

Cassian’s presence at the House was a rarity these days and she was loathe to spend their time together in any state of argument. After their fight regarding children, they hadn’t spoken before he’d once again left for Illyria.

Now he was home and while their old argument was cast aside, they were on the precipice of a new one. But this was one she meant.

Cassian had paused by the bed redressing, shirt half on, expanses of tattooed skin still on display while Nesta stood in front of the fireplace. The flames flickered across the wood but she’d been long adept at making them soundless. All that existed was the heat.

She refused to continue forging, not until she learnt what the blades could do or who they were for - or who they would be used against. She also didn’t want Rhys to lay claim to any more, not like he’d done with her first three and the rest he’d stolen since.

Cassian’s shirt rustled as he continued dressing, movement finally returned to his body but she noted his fingers were stiff, fumbling as he worked the buttons.

“Have you said this to Rhys?”

“Not yet.”

Cassian stared at her and Nesta braced herself for the onslaught of his irritation, the protestations of how could Nesta do this to Rhys, his most beloved High Lord and friend.

Instead, he walked to her, placing large, warm hands on her shoulders as his eyes searched her face. A war waged within him; guilt, shame, worry. No, not worry, something stronger and with a more potent flavour – fear.

“Don’t tell him,” Cassian said, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“Why? I’m not afraid of him.” Furious yes, but not fearful.

“Because he’ll say no to you. He might not say no to me.”

Nesta clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. “Do you hear yourself? I don’t care if he says no. He doesn’t get to make that choice. I want to stop, so I am stopping.”

Heat flooded her hands, fuelled by the pit of rage stoking in her belly, and rushed up her arms and over her chest. For a moment Nesta felt like her face was on fire, that her eyes were burning.

Cassian reared back, dropping his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his palms singed.

“Nesta-” he begun

“I don’t know what that was,” she said, stepping backwards herself, groping at the wall behind her. “I don’t-”

“Tell no one,” Cassian said, the smoke already dissipating from his hands as he held them up, imploring her. “And don’t speak to Rhys.”

“Fine,” she said, pressing a shaking finger against her newly pounding temple. "Speak to him yourself if you think that will sweeten the blow but I will not sit in that room for him anymore.”

Cassian’s chest rose and fell, his eyes wide, his hand now rubbing his brow. A stab of sadness hit Nesta’s chest and she felt his confusion, his torn allegiance.

Part of him remained a little boy, a child forced to be a soldier rather than play at one. He wanted comfort, a mother to hold him, a mate to love him. Cassian had stood for centuries; fighting and commanding, garnering respect and loyalty, dragging numbers of creatures into a prison and here he was, subservient and scared.

The ice-cold shimmer of his fear was not directed at her but towards the male he called brother.

She walked towards him, pulling his hand from his face, before tilting his face down so she could press a kiss, sweet and chaste, upon his cheek.

Even as she did, Cassian leaning towards her, his chin on the crown of her head, pulling her tighter into his embrace she knew part of him was too far away.