#only begotten daughter

[whatisonthemoon]

Did Hak Ja Han Have A Marriage Ceremony With Jesus Christ Or Is She His Concubine?

Hak Ja Han claims under oath in her deposition in the court case between The Holy Spirit Association for the Unification of World Christianity and Hyung Jin Moon / Sanctuary Church that she as the Only Begotten Daughter of God and Jesus as the Only Begotten Son of God are the True Parents of humankind. Both Hak Ja Han and Jesus were born without original sin but Sun Myung Moon was born with original sin. Sun Myung Moon as a proxy for Jesus Christ failed in his mission and is completely irrelevant in God’s Providence. It is Hak Ja Han who established Cheon Il Guk, the Kingdom of God on Earth on the Foundation Day February 13th, 2013.

In the light of this official theological declaration of Hak Ja Han there are many questions which she must answer: 1) Did Hak Ja Han have an official marriage ceremony with Jesus Christ and when and where did the ceremony take place? Who were present at the marriage ceremony as witnesses? 2) Jesus was already married to Chung-soon Chang, one of the Six Marys of Sun Myung Moon. They were married by Sun Myung Moon at the beginning of the 1970s. Did Hak Ja Han divorce Chung-soon Chang and Jesus? How did Jesus react to his divorce? 3) The Original Divine Principle from 1952 claims that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene and they probably had children. Did Hak Ja Han divorce Jesus from Mary Magdalene, too? So Jesus already had a wife Mary Magdalene and a second wife or a concubine Chung-soon Chang. What is Hak Ja Han’s position in this marriage triangle?

https://www.tparents.org/Moon-Talks/HyungJinMoon-22/HyungJinMoon-220802.pdf

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Kim Young-Hwi: “Defeat Kim Jin-chun”

This statement was written by Rev. Kim Young-hwi, one of 36 Blessed Couples, on June 25, 2022 (Translated from Japanese). Rev. Kim Young-hwi, an early disciple of True Father and one of the first three couples “restored”, has been openly expressing disagreement with Hak Ja Han and told the Association of Former Pastors in Korea to stop persecuting the Unification Sanctuary. This statement was in response to Kim Jin-chun’s April 19 lecture on “getting rid of Father’s tail.”

▲ The first three couples after they were restored. Left to right: Kim Young-hwi with Chung Dae-hwa, Eu Hyo-won with Sa Gil-ja and Kim Won-pil with Chung Dal-ok. Defeat Kim Jin-chun, who destroys the “True Parents' Ideal” I heard that a man named Kim Jin-chun gave a lecture tour in five major regions from March 21 to April 7, 2022, at the special order of Mother Han. The participants included a pastor and his wife, public officials working for an institution, and former pastor members. The lecture was not open to the general church membership. Fortunately, I was able to catch a glimpse of the lecture that was given at Jeonju Church on March 22nd through a YouTube video. The video was taken down a few days later, but I am sure it is still there somewhere. On April 17, ten days after the lecture tour, about 500 representatives from all over the world and leaders of domestic Korean Church Leaders who participated in the "10th Year of Heaven and Earth Leaders' Meeting," canceled all other scheduled events under Mother's special instructions and went to the "All-Night Seminar" for two days from April 19 to attend Kim Jin-chun's special lecture and receive education. The theme of his education and prayer was "to take away the shameful tail attached to Father and free Father," and "to reveal the truth of Only Begotten Daughter and to explain the phase and value of the Immaculate Conception’s “Only Begotten Daughter.” The content of Kim's lecture, which was closed to the public, was probably based on his lecture given during his tour of the five major regions but was probably more verbose than the original. Fortunately, however, the lecture is available to the public in the form of a 15-minute, firsthand account of what he intended to say in his lecture. What was shocking was that Kim Jin-chun remained consistent throughout his presentation in his efforts to represent and convey Han mother's intentions. There is no reason for me to go so far as to mention all the unprincipled, anti-Providential ramblings that he confessed in his personal confession of faith. When I heard and saw the recording, I could not suppress the harsh voice of True Father crying out inside me, which led me to write this statement. Of course, before I wrote this, I was told that on June 16th , Mission Director Yoon Young-Ho of the World Headquarters and Secretary General Chung Won-Joo of the President's Office invited members of the 36 families to have lunch together, at which time I expressed my opposition in a clear and decisive tone against the anti-providential, anti-principle content of Kim Jin-chun's lectures and made a big deal out of such lectures by the church. I was very concerned about the serious after-effects this would have on the church. In the content of Kim Jin-chun's lecture, none of the references to True Parents are consistent with the principles and teachings revealed by True Father, and the content is a distortion and manipulation of facts and truth. I do not feel it worthwhile to refute all of them, but I will mention only three or four that are the most serious distortions. Please note that the quoted text is from Kim Jin-chun's lecture, and the text in parentheses is my interpretation. Kim Jin-chun: "It is really a pity that the position of the Father, who inherited the mission of the Second Coming Messiah, has to proceed according to the principle when the Mother sees it. 1 Therefore, it is not the position of the Father to decide on the bride at the time of the 1960 Holy Matrimony in such a tail-wagging position." (Kim Young-Hwi: The Father whom Jesus established as His successor, but not the Father whom God indemnified as the Second Coming Messiah, did not go in a way that suited the principle. Such an unprincipled tail-wearing Father was not qualified to choose and decide on the bride at the 1960 Holy Matrimony.) Kim Jin-chun: "Until now we have thought that Father would choose a girl from among fallen women and that the Second Coming Lord would educate the mother and re-create her for seven years. But when you look at what I have just said, you will realize that this is not true." Kim Young-Hwi: (This is an “open mouth” remark, following the reference in the paragraph above. So, although Father was “not qualified” to choose a 17-year-old woman named Han Hak-ja as the bride of the Second Coming Messiah in 1960, the historical fact is that the Holy Wedding Ceremony was held in that way. He also professes that the history of the Providence of Restoration through Indemnity, which proclaimed God’s Day on January 1, 1968, after a seven-year course of consummating Eve, or the Bride, after the Holy Marriage, was completely nonsense and invalid.) How do you take the fact that such a lecture was officially enforced as an education at the World Leaders' Assembly? It is a tragic and disastrous act, as if they were trying to support Mother while denigrating and slandering Father but at same time kicking in an own-goal to ruin Mother's existence. In a word, this must be a satanic act that destroys the ideal of True Parents. At this point, I cannot confirm if this is the will of the Mother as stated by Kim Jin-chun, but since it came from his mouth, he will surely be held accountable for his words. Receiving the will of God who has been proceeding with the creation-fall-restoration providence according to the Principle, True Father, Sun Myung Moon, the Second Coming of Messiah and the Bridegroom, has gone beyond and clarified the cross of indemnity for the salvation of mankind, which is unspeakable and tragic, and has been living in the history of providence! We, the 36 Blessed Families, who have participated in this providence since its pioneering period and are living witnesses who have seen and heard the truth, will never tolerate such actions that seek to annihilate True Parents' Holy Matrimony. I will only mention a few words about such unprincipled anti-providential rebellion, without daring to quote from the Principle, the Word, and the Bible again. Following the fall of Eve, who created a reciprocal relationship to the unprincipled love with Archangel Lucifer, and after the fall of Adam by a temptation of fallen Eve, when human beings were subjected to Satan's unprincipled dominion, God proceeded with a salvation providence, or restoration providence. The restoration providence is a re-creation providence to separate from Satan and bring Satan to his knees. The re-creation is developed as a restoration through paying indemnity conditions based on the order and principles of the Creation. In other words, it is the process of re-creating Adam and Eve, the first ancestors of mankind who had fallen and had original sin, as the original human beings before the Fall. The Bible records that when God created human beings, He first created the male subject, Adam, then established him as the head of all things and gave them a name (Gen. 2:19), and then took a rib from his body and created Eve to be an object to help Adam. 2 Because of the fall of Adam and Eve, who were in such a fundamental relationship of the Principle of Creation, God first developed the process of establishing the perfect man, Adam, without original sin through the bloodline restoration providence that restored (re-created) Adam. Then, after the 4,000-year Providence of restoration, Jesus came as the Messiah. Jesus (Adam) was to restore (re-create) Eve (the Bride - the spouse) and establish the position of True Parents. Eve, the spouse of Jesus, would be qualified as the Bride whom Jesus could choose from among the women of his time, as long as she had absolute faith, absolute love, and absolute obedience to Jesus and could become one with him. This is the qualification and condition for being the Bride of the Messiah! The story of an “only begotten daughter” born without original sin through the providence of the restoration of the lineage, like Jesus, is an unprincipled misconception that is found in neither the Principle of Creation nor the Principle of Restoration. Therefore, there is no mention anywhere in the Bible of the coming of an “only begotten daughter.” Since Eve was corrupted by the unprincipled false love of the archangel, she will be cleansed of her original sin and restored as a bride recreated at the top of the growth stage when she comes into the position to receive the true love of the perfected Adam-Messiah in principle. After the Holy Matrimony, the bride will be united in absolute obedience, absolute love, and absolute faith toward Jesus and will go through the perfection period and eventually regain the position of True Mother. This is the framework of God's history of providence through the Principle of Creation, the Fall, and the Principle of Restoration as revealed by True Father. Kim Jin-chun is destroying this principle. In order to accomplish this, the Second Coming Bridegroom and Lord will choose the bride and re-create her according to the same formula and principles of the providence of restoration as Jesus did, and establish the position of True Parents. Therefore, the Second Coming Lord is in charge of searching for and re-creating the Bride from among the women of His time, and there are no qualifications or conditions for the women in the position of the Bride to do so. For this reason, when True Parents chose the bride at the time of the Holy Marriage, there was a procedure for the candidates to confirm and pledge their absolute faith, absolute love, and absolute obedience to the Second Coming Lord, True Father, to the very end, no matter what difficulties may come their way. There is an abundance of True Father's words on this subject, but I will quote just one. "What kind of Jesus, then, is born this way? God created the heavens and the earth in six days. For five days He created all things, and on the sixth day He created Adam. This Adam-like person is Jesus. Thus, Jesus is the second Adam, or the later Adam. He is the true Adam who has not fallen. Since God created Adam in the beginning and Eve centering on that Adam, He should have established the later Eve centering on this later Adam, but He did not. Who should establish Eve? Adam must establish. When Eve falls, Adam must seek out and establish the Eve he lost because he failed to fulfill his responsibility. The principle of paying indemnity is unforgiving-------------- That is why it was vaguely said, "I am the Bridegroom and you are the Bride.” “God has dressed the whole world as a bride throughout the 4,000 years of history. Therefore, it was Jesus' mission to choose a mother in the history of the universe and welcome her as the Bride, thereby restoring a new family, a new tribe, a new nation, a new country, and a new world centering on this father and mother, and to bring about the Kingdom of Heaven.” The Selected Words of Jesus, Vol. 17, pp. 190-191, "Complete Restoration," December 18, 1966, Former Headquarter Church 3 What is the aforementioned lecture by Kim Jin-chun if not a wicked theory that denies the above quotation from Father's word "Complete Restoration" and tries to destroy the True Parents without any basis or root? Kim Jin-chun: "The most important thing that Jesus was trying to do was to meet with the only begotten daughter, because the most important thing that Jesus could not do was to meet with the only begotten daughter and have the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. but if you look at it from that dimension, the essence of the only begotten daughter, the essential role and ideal of the Mother and its value, I really wish Father had done a little better back then, and I am a little disappointed about that. I wish the father had been a little better at that time." Kim Young-Hwi: (Kim Jin-chun's paragraph is a long-winded way of saying something that doesn't quite fit together. However, if you listen to his entire lecture, you will realize that Father was born with original sin and had to visit Bride Han Hak-ja who came as an only begotten daughter without original sin, to make amends for all his wrongs, and that he was not allowed to marry other women before his holy marriage, but because he neglected to do so, he went up to North Korea and was sentenced to Heungnam Prison as a punishment for his prodigality. He is spouting out a story that makes one choke with astonishment. It is hard to believe that such a distortion of providential facts and truth could be used to educate the leaders of the world, but it is true.) I would like to mention here the fictitious nature of the so-called "only begotten daughter" especially Kim Jin-chun's "Only Begotten Daughter" theory of her first coming without original sin. In the Bible, Jesus is described as the only begotten Son only once in John 3:16. There is no mention of an only-begotten daughter. In the case of Jesus, the only-begotten Son, it means "God's only begotten son, born as Adam, the original sinless creature. The reason there is no mention of an only begotten daughter in the Bible is because there is no (need for) the only begotten daughter, born as Eve without original sin, who is to become a mate, spouse of the only begotten Son, Jesus. However, when the Second Coming of the Lord, the Bridegroom, comes, this person, like Jesus, will become God's only begotten Son who has paid for original sin. Therefore, when He returns and receives Eve as His bride, His chosen Eve will be cleansed of her original sin, and she will be positioned as the bride in the position of only begotten daughter, and she will be positioned as the wife of the Second Coming Lord, and as the True Mother of humankind, she will become a couple with the Second Coming Messiah and become the True Parents of humankind. Therefore, the only begotten daughter who has been cleansed of her original sin by the Second Coming of the Lord can be used as a relative concept of the spouse of the Second Coming of the Lord. Therefore, around the time of True Parents' Holy Matrimony, the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, True Father made several references to the appearance of an only begotten daughter, but he never meant the "begotten daughter who is born without original sin.” Nevertheless, Kim Jin-chun suddenly pulls out the concept of the first-born daughter of the third generation, which has no biblical, providential, or principled basis, and applies it to her, and says such bizarre things as the “Immaculate Conception, and the first coming of the Goddess of Mercy.” What is this if not the detonator to destroy the Principle and blow up True Parents? We cannot just keep looking at such actions, but we must protect the Principle, the Word, and True Parents. 4 Kim Jin-chun: “I heard how it would fit the principle that Father, who is in the position of the Second Coming and who has a tail, would be honored by Mother, who is in the position of the Bride, who has completed her individuality and the First Coming without a tail. In principle, from the heavenly perspective, why should the mother offer such reverence to the Father for about 40- 50 years when the mother was such a bride who had completed her individuality at her first coming, without Satan's conditions? No matter how many times she wanted to talk about it, she could not. This is a very internal story now.” (Kim Young-Hwi: This paragraph by Kim Jin-chun is also appalling. Beyond his outburst about Father, it is an act of blasphemy and insult to Father, and an act that will divide the couple to the extreme. It is a satanic act to divide the two and tear True Parents to pieces. Is this the filial piety to liberate Father? On the one hand, she has been humiliating and downgrading Father by summoning him to the priesthood and putting a dirty coat of paint on his lofty phase and image of a stern saint, while on the other hand, she has been claiming that all the fulfillments of Providence were possible not because of Father with his tail but because Mother completed her personality as a perfect Snow White. He has a long and loud speech on the theory of the Immaculate Conception, which has no root and no basis. How is this possible? If the father is downgraded, will the mother be elevated and perfected at the height of her power? I will not mention this paragraph any further...) Kim Jin-chun: “We have to create one big family of mankind, and we have to quickly sort out the tails of True Parents, the tails that are not good, and the tails that Satan repents for. Especially, we must do it before the completion of Cheon Il Sung Daeon next year. She included such a story in her speech. Because of such a content, the content of the Father's Song Hwa before Foundation Day also has such a deep meaning. Heavenly Parent is the principle, and truly, there should be no conditions accused by Satan in front of Heavenly Parent. We must also understand the Heavenly Parent's standard for this Song Hwa. Such is the content.” Kim Young-Hwi: Furthermore, as shown in the above quotation, Father was wearing a “bad tail” that Satan accuses for this and that mistake, and he was not qualified to celebrate the Foundation Day on earth, so he even told the miserable “lie” that he was sanctified before Foundation Day. Can you imagine that such an evaluation of the Father's life and such a voice of contempt, almost like a curse, could come from among us? This is clearly the whispering of the devil that has entered our midst, and we have no choice but to say that it is a rebellion against God's Kingdom. There are many other things that need to be pointed out and mentioned, but I would like to end this statement here. The person who praises and encourages such falsehoods and distortions as true and uses the name of Mother as a shield for his miscellaneous theories, is the president of the Heavenly Court of the first heavenly nation. How can a person who leads the way in destroying True Parents' ideals by being unprincipled and anti-Providence be the president of the Heavenly Court? Who would allow it? I have heard that there are people around him who are plotting together with him, but I ask them not to leave the path of correct Principle and Providence. What and how is True Father preparing to do as he sees this situation in our church? Remember that there will be a day when the work of Father's Divine Spirit will blow like a typhoon. I ask you again to be mindful of the coming of the era of the Holy Spirit Federation of the world Association led by Father, and I wish you all good health and good fortune.

Kim Young-Hwi   2022.06.25.

___________________________________

Getting Rid of the Tail of Abonim

Kim Jin-chun of the Cheongshim Graduate School of Theology gave a lecture titled “The Essence of the Only Begotten Daughter: Getting Rid of the Tail of Abonim,” on April 19, 2022. In this lecture, Kim emphasizes that the way things have been taught under Sun Myung Moon were wrong.

[ezramire]

t muir says the more souls u have inside you the hotter u are. incredibly suspicious of my friends with “good circulation”. like ok who have you eaten recently ??? sound off if you’re a trustworthy single-souled guy with extremities like ice pops

[tyrograph]

I see all the Good Omens posts anticipating Jesus in s3.

And I guess that's one way "The Second Coming" could go.

But I personally predict that the Second Coming will be a whole new demi-divime baby, and this one is a girl.

[eclipsecrowned]

lucien with that stern face but being a total sweetheart when you get to know him. my hc luala daughter with that soft sweet face who calmly explains exactly how long it takes for a gargoyle to devour a body bones and all (one minute 35 seconds if you don't struggle.)

[darlingofvalyria]

❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing  against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

TAGGED: @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody

[biannual-fixation]

Charming's Not the Word I'd Use

(a new fic for your consideration by yours truly)

Summary:

28 months before Her Divine Highness' debut into society, Gideon Nav escapes the Ninth and subsequently disappears into thin air.

25 months and 21 heavily redacted letters later, Harrowhark Nonagesimus receives an invitation to attend the Emperor's lyctor trials... and also vie for the hand of His only begotten daughter in a competition of courtship.

Harrow really fucking hopes she's wrong about who Prince Kiriona is.

[temperamentalgreen]

Queenly Deo, the sender of splendid gifts 🌾

"To Demeter Eleusinia. O universal mother, Deo famed, august, the source of wealth, and various named: great nurse, all-bounteous, blessed and divine, who joyest in peace; to nourish corn is thine. Goddess of seed, of fruits abundant, fair, harvest and threshing are thy constant care. Lovely delightful queen, by all desired, who dwellest in Eleusis' holy vales retired. Nurse of all mortals, who benignant mind first ploughing oxen to the yoke confined; and gave to men what nature's wants require, with plenteous means of bliss, which all desire. In verdure flourishing, in glory bright, assessor of great Bromios (Dionysus) bearing light: rejoicing in the reapers' sickles, kind, whose nature lucid, earthly, pure, we find. Prolific, venerable, nurse divine, thy daughter loving, holy Kore. A car with Drakones yoked 'tis thine to guide, and, orgies singing, round thy throne to ride. Only-begotten, much-producing queen, all flowers are thine, and fruits of lovely green. Bright Goddess, come, with summer's rich increase swelling and pregnant, leading smiling peace; come with fair concord and imperial health, and join with these a needful store of wealth."

----- Orphic Hymn 40 to Demeter

🌾🌼🌾

(click on image for better quality)

[themodernwitchsguide]

orphic hymns to Prosperine and Pluto

PROSPERINE:

"Daughter of Jove, almighty and divine, come, blessed queen, and to these rites incline:

Only-begotten, Pluto's honored wife, O' venerable Goddess, source of life:

'Tis thine in earth's profundities to dwell, fast by the wide and dismal gates of hell:

Jove's holy offspring, of a beauteous mien, fatal, with lovely locks, infernal queen:

Source of the Furies, whose blest frame proceeds from Jove's ineffable and secret seeds:

Mother of Bacchus, Sonorous, divine, and many-formed, the parent of the vine:

The dancing Hours attend thee, essence bright, all-ruling virgin, bearing heavenly light:

Illustrious, horned, of a bounteous mind, alone desired by those of mortal kind.

O, vernal queen, whom grassy plains delight, sweet to the smell, and pleasing to the sight:

Whose holy form in budding fruits we view, Earth's vigorous offspring of a various hue:

Espoused in Autumn: life and death alone to wretched mortals from thy power is known:

For thine the task according to thy will, life to produce, and all that lives to kill.

Hear, blessed Goddess, send a rich increase of various fruits from earth, with lovely Peace;

Send Health with gentle hand, and crown my life with blest abundance, free from noisy strife;

Last in extreme old age the prey of Death, dismiss we willing to the realms beneath,

To thy fair palace, and the blissful plains where happy spirits dwell, and Pluto reigns."

PLUTO:

"Pluto, magnanimous, whose realms profound are fix'd beneath the firm and solid ground,

In the Tartarian plains remote from fight, and wrapped forever in the depths of night;

Terrestrial Jove, thy sacred ear incline, and, pleased, accept thy mystic's hymn divine.

Earth's keys to thee, illustrious king belong, its secret gates unlocking, deep and strong.

'Tis thine, abundant annual fruits to bear, for needy mortals are thy constant care.

To thee, great king, Avernus is assigned, the seat of Gods, and basis of mankind.

Thy throne is fixed in Hades' dismal plains, distant, unknown to rest, where darkness reigns;

Where, destitute of breath, pale specters dwell, in endless, dire, inexorable hell;

And in dread Acheron, whose depths obscure, earth's stable roots eternally secure.

O' mighty dæmon, whose decision dread, the future fate determines of the dead,

With captive Proserpine, through grassy plains, drawn in a four-yoked car with loosened reins,

Rapt over the deep, impelled by love, you flew 'till Eleusina's city rose to view;

There, in a wondorous cave obscure and deep, the sacred maid secure from search you keep,

The cave of Atthis, whose wide gates display an entrance to the kingdoms void of day.

Of unapparent works, thou art alone the dispensator, visible and known.

O' power all-ruling, holy, honored light, thee sacred poets and their hymns delight:

Propitious to thy mystic's works incline, rejoicing come, for holy rites are thine."

[talonabraxas]

Nuit XVII The Blue Star Talon Abraxas

Nuit is esoterically associated with Sirius or Sothis, her star of manifestation. To be clear, Sirius is here a symbol and analogy for the supreme principle, the ‘unmoved mover’, by which things appear to come into existence by Its presence—and not by any action on the part of the principle, which does not act. Nothing in nature is separate, having its own cause as though self-contained. Our planet system and Zodiac is part of a vastly greater star system. Sopdet, the Egyptian name for Sirius, the ‘sun-behind-the-sun’, is also the name of the goddess that gives birth to the star of Venus. It has the literal meaning, ‘triangle’. During the time of the solar conjunction or occultation of Sirius, the legend of Isis has it that she hides herself in the swamps of the northern Delta (‘triangle’) region to give birth to Horus. Originally, Set (as ‘seven’) was the only begotten son of Nuit. The pairing of Isis with Osiris was a relatively modern version of the legends of Isis that was better suited to the disposition of ancient Greek and Roman men than the original stellar myth—by ‘myth’ we refer to oral tradition, not something imagined.

Sirius forms a group of stars with Betelgeuse (Alpha Orionis) and Procyon, called the ‘winter triangle’. This embraces much of the constellation of Monoceros, ‘Unicorn’. Four other stars, Pollux, Capella, Aldebaron and Rigel (left foot of Orion) form the ‘winter hexagon’. This establishes a geometric relationship between Sirius and Orion, which symbolises the heavenly Sah or Holy Spirit. Thus the Nephilim, sons of the Ancient Ones, are sometimes called the Children of Orion, identifying them with the primordial. The geometry of the triangulation of Sirius with the hexagon, or hexagram by extension, automatically declares the Cube of Space, as can be seen by the diagram above. This configuration involves seven stars in all, thus proportionately mirroring the seven bright stars of Ursa Major, the ‘axle of the universe’, rotating while always pointing to the Pole. That is in fact the esoteric meaning of aleph, which corresponds to the eleventh path and Tarot trump The Seer Aleph is not, as has long been supposed, the ox that ploughs the field but is the ox that turns about the wheel or swastika of the stars. --Aquarius: Egyptian Tarot Nuit XVII

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Getting Rid of the Tail of Abonim

Jinchun Kim of the Cheongshim Graduate School of Theology gave a lecture titled “The Essence of the Only Begotten Daughter: Getting Rid of the Tail of Abonim,” on April 19, 2022. In this lecture, Kim emphasizes that the way things have been taught under Sun Myung Moon were wrong. 

According to Kim, Moon did not have to raise and perfect Hak Ja Han. In fact, Kim says that Moon’s marriages prior to his 1960 ceremony with Han were all mistakes, as well as his participating in “restoration providence,” or the pikareum sex rituals. He calls these embarassing episodes Moon’s “tail,” and also calls it his “tail of heresy.” Kim says Han is actually the one that had to liberate and save Moon. Han says that her 53 years under Moon were extremely difficult, and she had to depend on God. 

▲ Screenshot from the video of the April 19, 2022 lecture by Jinchun Kim

Kim goes on to explain that Moon’s “tails” get a lot of attention from the public, and that this attention could invite problems in the future. Therefore, he says, that within the next year the Church must “get rid of the tail of Abonim [Father]”, before the Cheon Il Holy Palace is completed, and the Heavenly Parent’s Holy Community is consecrated. Kim says that Han is encouraging members to pray sincerely and desperately during this period of “getting rid of the tail.” It is strongly implied that because of Moon’s pikareum rituals, the church has had to deal with “Satan’s accusations” and various problems even in the Moon family. This lines up with recent reports from Japanese members, who are being asked to do spiritual conditions on behalf of Moon in Spirit World.

Han is calling for a “new start,” a time for “True Parents without a tail” and “without shame.” The problems that Moon caused must now be tackled through a perspective of the Principle that centers “the Only Begotten Daughter” narrative. Kim says that it needs to be clear that Moon’s main mission, as the Second Coming, was to meet and marry the Only Begotten Daughter, Hak Ja Han.

The only way for Moon to be liberated from Satan’s accusations and “great difficulties” in the Spirit World is for Han’s conception of her course to be revealed (as the one who would save Moon rather than his narrative of perfecting Han), and for his mistakes to be acknowledged as mistakes. Kim says that information on Moon’s “tails” are widespread and public information, and that the Church is researching this information and holding seminars for the leadership. 

Kim also links Moon’s seonghwa occurring before Foundation Day to his “tails.”

This lecture is reminiscent of Khrushchev's secret speech, which was when Krushchev denounced Stalin’s “crimes” and attempted “de-stalinization” in the USSR and the International Communist Movement in the 50s. Kruschchev’s speech led many Communist Parties to revise their view of Stalin, but also led to the Sino-Soviet split, as China continued to uphold Stalin as well as other parties who looked to China as a revolutionary example. 

Han’s attempt to free the Unification Church of Moon’s legacy is bound to not just fail, but cause further rifts among members. This speech has already led a number of Japanese members to disaffect in recent months.

YouTube video of Kim’s lecture, posted by Sanctuary member Ted Igarashi

Moon’s theology for his pikareum sex rituals with all the 36 wives

Sun Myung Moon – Restoration through Incest

____

Sun Myung Moon restored the first three wives

The first three husbands did not need a three-day ceremony. Young-whi Kim explained in December 2010: “The thirty-three couples who were blessed in 1961 went through a forty-day period of sanctification and the three-day ceremony, but when we were blessed we didn’t have these ceremonies.” ____

Ritual Sex in the Unification Church – Kirsti L. Nevalainen

Sun Myung Moon explains pikareum

Kim Young-Hwi: “Defeat Kim Jin-chun”

[electrificata]

Is there, like, a story behind salt your stink?

In the beginning there was VOID, who had two daughters; one (the smaller) was that of BEING, named ERIS, and one (the larger) was of NON- BEING, named ANERIS. (To this day, the fundamental truth that Aneris is the larger is apparent to all who compare the great number of things that do not exist with the comparatively small number of things that do exist.)

Eris had been born pregnant, and after 55 years (Goddesses have an unusually long gestation period-- longer even than elephants), Her pregnancy bore the fruits of many things. These things were composed of the Five Basic Elements, SWEET, BOOM, PUNGENT, PRICKLE, and ORANGE. Aneris, however, had been created sterile. When she saw Eris enjoying Herself so greatly with all of the existent things She had borne, Aneris became jealous and finally one day she stole some existent things and changed them into non- existent things and claimed them as her own children. This deeply hurt Eris, who felt that Her sister was unjust (being so much larger anyway) to deny Her her small joy. And so She made herself swell again to bear more things. And She swore that no matter how many of her begotten that Aneris would steal, She would beget more. And, in return, Aneris swore that no matter how many existent things Eris brought forth, she would eventually find them and turn them into non-existent things for her own. (And to this day, things appear and disappear in this very manner.)

At first, the things brought forth by Eris were in a state of chaos and went in every which way, but by the by She began playing with them and ordered some of them just to see what would happen. Some pretty things arose from this play and for the next five zillion years She amused Herself by creating order. And so She grouped some things with others and some groups with others, and big groups with little groups, and all combinations until She had many grand schemes which delighted Her.

Engrossed in establishing order, She finally one day noticed disorder (previously not apparent because everything was chaos). There were many ways in which chaos was ordered and many ways in which it was not.

"Hah," She thought, "Here shall be a new game."

And She taught order and disorder to play with each other in contest games, and to take turns amusing each other. She named the side of disorder after Herself, "ERISTIC" because Being is anarchic. And then, in a mood of sympathy for Her lonely sister, She named the other side "ANERISTIC" which flattered Aneris and smoothed the friction a little that was between them.

Now all of this time, Void was somewhat disturbed. He felt unsatisfied for he had created only physical existence and physical non- existence, and had neglected the spiritual. As he contemplated this, a great Quiet was caused and he went into a state of Deep Sleep which lasted for 5 eras. At the end of this ordeal, he begat a brother to Eris and Aneris, that of SPIRITUALITY, who had no name at all.

When the sisters heard this, they both confronted Void and pleaded that he not forget them, his First Born. And so Void decreed thus:

That this brother, having no form, was to reside with Aneris in Non-Being and then to leave her and, so that he might play with order and disorder, reside with Eris in Being. But Eris became filled with sorrow when She heard this and then began to weep.

"Why are you despondent?" demanded Void, "Your new brother will have his share with you." "But Father, Aneris and I have been arguing, and she will take him from me when she discovers him, and cause him to return to Non- Being." "I see,"replied Void, "Then I decree the following:

"When your brother leaves the residence of Being, he shall not reside again in Non-Being, but shall return to Me, Void, from whence he came. You girls may bicker as you wish, but My son is your Brother and We are all of Myself."

And so it is that we, as men, do not exist until we do; and then it is that we play with our world of existent things, and order and disorder them, and so it shall be that non-existence shall take us back from existence and that nameless spirituality shall return to Void, like a tired child home from a very wild circus.

[lesbianhotdish]

For God so loved the world, that he reclaimed his only begotten Daughter, that whosever denies him shall perish, and upon Her blade be forgotten.

Jod 3:16

[atopvisenyashill]

The Magic Users Before Old Valyria, Part One: Magical Nuclear Fallout

i am positive this post has been made before but i'm making it anyway because it's eating away at my brain so let's gooooo.

We are delving into a fever dream that Dany has in AGOT, that will take us to the Pre-Valyrian magical users and their link to Valyria.

so in Dany's fever dream in AGOT, she has a vision of her ancestors:

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade.

They look just like other Valyrians - hair of gold, white, and silver with funky colored eyes.

But note the exact gems mentioned! In TWOIAF, we get a little background on Yi Ti and their belief system. read here:

[In the beginning] a single realm ruled by the God-on-Earth, the only begotten son of the Lion of Night and Maiden-Made-of-Light, who traveled about his domains in a palanquin carved from a single pearl and carried by a hundred queens, his wives. For ten thousand years the Great Empire of the Dawn flourished in peace and plenty under the God-on-Earth, until at last he ascended to the stars to join his forebears.

Dominion over mankind then passed to his eldest son, who was known as the Pearl Emperor and ruled for a thousand years. The Jade Emperor, the Tourmaline Emperor, the Onyx Emperor, the Topaz Emperor, and the Opal Emperor followed in turn, each reigning for centuries…

When the daughter of the Opal Emperor succeeded him as the Amethyst Empress, her envious younger brother cast her down and slew her, proclaiming himself the Bloodstone Emperor and beginning a reign of terror. He practiced dark arts, torture, and necromancy, enslaved his people, took a tiger-woman for his bride, feasted on human flesh, and cast down the true gods to worship a black stone that had fallen from the sky.

Opal, Amethyst, Tourmaline, and Jade Emperors, just like her ancestors. It's not a huge stretch to say that likely, Dany, and therefore Valyrians as a whole (or at the least the Dragon Riders of Valyria) are the remnants of this ancient empire, The Great Empire of the Dawn, the same way that the Ghiscari culture is the remnant of Old Ghis - changed a bit, but with many similarities passed down amongst its people.

But who exactly is this civilization and how did they eventually turn into the Valyrians? Well, let's keep continuing with that passage about the Bloodstone Emperor:

In the annals of the Further East, it was the Blood Betrayal, as his usurpation is named, that ushered in the age of darkness called the Long Night…How long the darkness endured no man can say, but all agree that it was only when a great warrior—known variously as Hyrkoon the Hero, Azor Ahai, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser—arose to give courage to the race of men and lead the virtuous into battle with his blazing sword Lightbringer that the darkness was put to rout, and light and love returned once more to the world.

Basically, the people of Yi Ti believe that the Great Empire of the Dawn stretched far across the globe, and that when the Bloodstone Emperor usurped his niece, The Amethyst Empress, potentially using some weird blood magic, it caused the Long Night and the collapse of the Great Empire of the Dawn.

I think that this blood magic he was messing around with was, to use a metaphor, basically a magic nuclear bomb and I think ground zero for this - and therefore the capital of the Great Empire of the Dawn - is Asshai-by-the-Shadow. It's very notable that Asshai is so old its people don't even know what its origins are:

The ancient port of Asshai stands at the end of a long wedge of land, on the point where the Jade Sea meets the Saffron Straits. Its origins are lost in the mists of time. Even the Asshai’i do not claim to know who built their city; they will say only that a city has stood here since the world began and will stand here until it ends. Few places in the known world are as remote as Asshai, and fewer are as forbidding. Travelers tell us that the city is built entirely of black stone: halls, hovels, temples, palaces, streets, walls, bazaars, all. Some say as well that the stone has a greasy, unpleasant feel to it, that it seems to drink the light, dimming tapers and torches and hearth fires alike.

Note that last part, about the city being built from black stone - Valyria is well known for having Weird, Cool Architecture that involves black stone, fused together by dragon fire. From ADWD prologue:

Across the wide blue expanse of the Rhoyne, he could see the Black Wall that had been raised by the Valyrians when Volantis was no more than an outpost of their empire: a great oval of fused stone two hundred feet high and so thick that six four-horse chariots could race around its top abreast, as they did each year to celebrate the founding of the city.

and again from Tyrion's POV:

The gateway to the Long Bridge was a black stone arch carved with sphinxes, manticores, dragons, and creatures stranger still. Beyond the arch stretched the great span that the Valyrians had built at the height of their glory, its fused stone roadway supported by massive piers. 

And one more time F&B/The Princess and the Queen, when Aegon and Sunfyre on are Dragonstone:

Sunfyre’s scales still shone like beaten gold in the sunlight, but as he sprawled across the fused black Valyrian stone of the yard, it was plain to see that he was a broken thing, he who had been the most magnificent dragon ever to fly the skies of Westeros

rip to the hottest dragon in westeros.

It's very much a Valyrian thing, this fused black stone...yet the entirety of Asshai is built with black stone, even though the city predates Valyria, and the black stone of Asshai is just a little different - a greasy, unpleasant feeling. I think that this greasy feeling comes from the remnants of the magic that caused the Long Night - going back to that idea of a magical nuclear bomb which is poisoning the land the way radiation does. I think this because there are actually several ancient cities of mysterious origin with black stone and a greasy, oily feeling to them, all of which seem to have suffered some sort of magical nuclear fallout the way Asshai has, and they're all not too far from each other either:

The Idol on the Isle of Toads in the Basilisk Isles

Ruins found upon the Isle of Tears, the Isle of Toads, and Ax Island hint at some ancient civilization, but little is now known of these vanished men of the Dawn Age. If any still survived when the first corsairs settled on the islands, they were soon put to the sword, so no trace of them now remains … save perhaps upon the Isle of Toads…

On the Isle of Toads can be found an ancient idol, a greasy black stone crudely carved into the semblance of a gigantic toad of malignant aspect, some forty feet high. The people of this isle are believed by some to be descended from those who carved the Toad Stone, for there is an unpleasant fishlike aspect to their faces, and many have webbed hands and feet. If so, they are the sole surviving remnant of this forgotten race.

The Five Forts

The Five Forts are very old, older than the Golden Empire itself; some claim they were raised by the Pearl Emperor during the morning of the Great Empire to keep the Lion of Night and his demons from the realms of men … and indeed, there is something godlike, or demonic, about the monstrous size of the forts, for each of the five is large enough to house ten thousand men, and their massive walls stand almost a thousand feet high.

Certain scholars from the west have suggested Valyrian involvement in the construction of the Five Forts, for the great walls are single slabs of fused black stone that resemble certain Valyrian citadels in the west … but this seems unlikely, for the Forts predate the Freehold’s rise, and there is no record of any dragonlords ever coming so far east.

The Ancient City of Yeen

Maesters and other scholars alike have puzzled over the greatest of the engimas of Sothoryos, the ancient city of Yeen. A ruin older than time, built of oily black stone, in massive blocks so heavy that it would require a dozen elephants to move them, Yeen has remained a desolation for many thousands of years, yet the jungle that surrounds it on every side has scarce touched it.

And even more suspicious is the fact that Sothoryos, where Yeen is located, is known for its large wyvern population:

Most terrible of all are the wyverns, those tyrants of the southern skies, with their great leathery wings, cruel beaks, and insatiable hunger. Close kin to dragons, wyverns cannot breathe fire, but they exceed their cousins in ferocity and are a match for them in all other respects save size.

Now there's different stories on how dragons came to be, but most interesting to me is what the Asshai'i claim:

The Valyrians themselves claimed that dragons sprang forth as the children of the Fourteen Flames, while in Qarth the tales state that there was once a second moon in the sky. One day this moon was scalded by the sun and cracked like an egg, and a million dragons poured forth. In Asshai, the tales are many and confused, but certain texts—all impossibly ancient—claim that dragons first came from the Shadow, a place where all of our learning fails us. These Asshai’i histories say that a people so ancient they had no name first tamed dragons in the Shadow and brought them to Valyria, teaching the Valyrians their arts before departing from the annals.

Septon Barth later writes that he believes Valyrians used wyverns and blood magic to make dragons:

In Septon Barth’s Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns, he speculated that the bloodmages of Valyria used wyvern stock to create dragons. Though the bloodmages were alleged to have experimented mightily with their unnatural arts, this claim is considered far-fetched by most maesters, among them Maester Vanyon’s Against the Unnatural contains certain proofs of dragons having existed in Westeros even in the earliest of days, before Valyria rose to be a power.

So to sum up basically:

Dany's vision shows us her ancestors, who are almost definitely the rulers of the Great Empire of the Dawn

We know several cities - Asshai, Yeen, the Isle of Toads - that have an architectural resemblance to the fused black stone that the Valyrians used, but their structures predate Valyria.

We know Septon Barth believes dragons were made through blood magic with wyverns as a base stock and that there are a lot of wyverns in one of these ancient places, Sothoryos/Yeen, where the black stone architecture is found.

The people of Yi Ti believe that a magical calamity of some sort caused the Long Night.

THEREFORE: The Great Empire of the Dawn had its capital in Asshai, and used blood magic to start the Long Night (by accident, most likely), which caused a huge magical calamity that affected the entire world, and while their people never recovered from it, they brought their magical knowledge with them to their new home in Valyria, where they made more black fused stone architecture and turned their wyverns into dragons. Meanwhile, the "ground zero" for much of this magical calamity still experiences the magical fallout of this calamity.

OKAY. That's part one because this is getting super long winded. Part Two will be....JUST HOW BIG WAS THE GREAT EMPIRE OF THE DAWN ANYWAY?

[thewordfortheday]

1 John 4:9 In this the love of God was manifested toward us, that God has sent His only begotten Son into the world, that we might live through Him.

Why did God send His Son?

Our Father in heaven didn’t sacrifice His Son so that we might only have access to Heaven through the Cross. But that we would live life to its fullest.

Colossians 1:13 says, For He has rescued us and has drawn us to Himself from the dominion of darkness, and has transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son. We are no longer under the control of the evil one. We belong to God's kingdom. We are well-supplied sons and daughters of God. Our God guards and guides us. We are a new creation. A new life that looks nothing like the old. It's exciting. Jesus wants to give us such a life, and invites you to follow Him How would you respond to His invitation?

[winepresswrath]

so if john is running around the galaxy ripping the fingers from his very hands (sacrificing lyctors to the resurrection beasts) and if that only works because he loves them, really truly loves them, and if he also loves Gideon, tries to do his best by her, show up for her, and if God is looking for something that will satisfying them, and if God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son/prince/daughter how bad is the martyring gonna get.