A post from Dani Howe, who recently left smosh after working in the marketing team

"From Pet to Threat" - This just happened to me AGAIN and after 10+ years in this biz, I’m sick of having to get over it in silence for fear of being blacklisted, or labeled as “difficult to work with” because I chose to be open about my working experience. I won’t go into details, as this isn’t meant to be that kind of post, but I want to share this research because the “Pet to Threat" phenomena keeps happening to me and so many of my peers, particularly over the last few years here in LA. It’s truly an abusive cycle that repeats for far too many people in the workplace, but especially and aggressively for Black women in the entertainment/media industry. So many of us work extremely hard from a place of love, peace and genuine passion for our crafts. We choose to put our prowess out there, hoping that it’ll be reciprocated with that same authenticity by our leadership/mentors/peers, only to be undermined and vehemently devalued in favor of this insistence for power and control at every turn. I’ll never understand the need to prioritize pettiness & ego over doing the right thing for another team member or putting the best, most collaborative work out there for your company. What’s the point of hiring an expert or someone with big potential, just to diminish them? I'm tired of entering spaces I was promised were full of golden potential and stability, only to have to abruptly leave that space a short while later, lest endure unsafe + toxic working dynamics if I choose to brave it. The feelings of shame, guilt and confusion that come after are all too familiar, and yet they never get any easier to deal with. Constantly being in an anxious place of trying to figure out what went wrong and changing my approach, while the world you left couldn’t even be bothered to think twice about you, feels like a losing game. Why even play anymore? I'm only left jobless with no prospects, broke, and burdened with heavy feelings of sadness that I feel really dumb for having. Because it’s just a job, right? And the house always wins.

Some of you might question why even share all of this. Well, I fully believe transparency is one of the best ways to educate and inspire those around you. By sharing this article and a bit about my experience, I hope others feel encouraged to choose themselves and stop letting lazy business practices suppress their potential. I have no idea what’s next for me - this post has probably tanked any chance of me continuing a career in entertainment marketing. But what I do know is that I’m not accepting being overlooked anymore. Not having my true potential nurtured or recognized because the mentors I believed in would rather act out of insecurity than help me thrive is total BS. I deserve better than that, and so do you. I hope today is the day you know your worth."

Im interested in who are they going to blame now. It was once Defy - but now that it's in the hands of the original creators and owners - the same mistakes seem to be popping up. Hmmm

Also if fans start villanizing her the way they did with Boze and Saige - 👊👊👊 i will find you and i will punch u in the fucking face

!!

tune into today’s episode of meet my ocs! here’s ten (ish) facts about isaac, everyone's favorite time traveler!

his full name is isaac andrew rafferty, he's currently 379 years old, and he's a scorpio. he's also a bisexual disaster, uses he/they pronouns (i think)

he's half-elven warlock, pact of the blade, great old one patron (if we're being technical) with a lovely cork accent

he's not quite immortal but his weird powers and his curse seem to have afforded him some strange measure of pseudo-immortality and if it gives him more time in this world, he's really not going to complain

in a past life (or just one absurdly long one), he used to be the cabin boy on a sailing vessel with his older brother (read: pirate ship). other occupations over the years have included: barkeep, mapmaker, fence, a sell-sword, an honest-to-yeehawness cowboy, a glorified mailman (herald), and a part time carpenter. current occupation? temporal assassin for a syndicate, though he's very tight-lipped about it.

he's got a small family — blood relatives are his mother, paloma, and his older brother, ash. but he'll tell anyone that thea is family. and annia too, though he's less vocal about that.

his dating life is...complicated but!!! he's madly in love with the aformentioned (and absolutely wonderful) thea seabright, AND they eloped by the sea and exchanged little tokens of love a few centuries back. he regularly brings her trinkets he finds (seaglass, smooth rocks, bits of pottery, even bits of gold here and there! anything he can stash in his pockets til he sees her next). though his curse keeps him from seeing thea as often as he'd like, he'll always find his way back to her, fight it back to her if he has to. he loves her and always will. little more difficult to pindown but he and annia have...something or could have had something...at some point...idk he's as confused as you are. immortals, amirite?

his sleep schedule is royally fuckt. you've never met a more tired man. but when he can grab some sleep? it's naps here and there, for whatever time he can afford, always in the strangest places. he has a habit of falling asleep clutching a compass tightly in his good hand

isaac love love loves film photos and hand-written letters. his handwriting is atrocious but he's been known to write very heartfelt and romantic letters (he'll deny this to most who ask). similarly, every letter he's ever gotten from thea he keeps bound in a leather journal in the breast pocket of his coat. he's never misplaced a single one, not even the time he was in the path of an errant fireball. dumbass immediately put the flames out and made sure the journals were safe. whenever he is, wherever he is, he makes a point to check the little safehouses and safeboxes they have around the world, both to pick up things from thea and to leave her notes and little presents. two crows in love.

sand. so much sand. his hair, his eyes, his clothing? sand-coloured and also often he's shedding sand. it's part of the weird magic he possesses or maybe it's part of the curse, we're not sure. but he's a very nondescript and colourless individual. almost completely unassuming, unless you have a reason to be looking for him

he's fairly skilled with herbs (centuries of knowing two very capable women have helped him immensely) and any time he runs into annia, he tries to convince her to make some poultices and things of the like for him, to help ease the aches of his joints. turns out, even near-immortal half-elves ain't immune to osteoarthritis! impacting mainly his hands/wrists (with the right being worse) and also his left knee, which caused him to limp slightly when he walks. he wears wraps or braces, depending on how he's doing.

okay wait one more! he's most often found appearing in the most liminal sorts of spaces. train platforms, gas stations at night, empty laundromats first thing in the morning, etc. and when he appears/disappears, there are always more grains of sand left in his wake. what an eerie bitch we love him

thea belongs to @tazunari and annia to @shutokushintaro (thank u for the ask i love the chance to ramble about my ocs)

do yo u have any noir genre ocs i feel like you would . anywho if this does NOT apply to the ask game surprise me. jimmy ocs

Oh my god do I ever. I’ll give u Johnny AND Harriet cus I’m thinking abt them :3

Johnny firsg. My little guy. He’s the older brother of my main femme fatale

-Discuss an important part of their identity/ what makes them themself.

He is violent like a furious rodent. He will punch walls. He will crash a car out of spite. He will beat you up (BUT NEVER A WOMAN. HE RESPECTS WOMEN) this is because he has severe daddy issues and doesn’t know to interact with men without violence </3 he’s a little hooligan but he’s very bad at it. If he was in a real noir film he would not be the main gangster, he would be the main gangsters shitty goon.

-Tell you a colour that compliments them.

Magenta

-Show you an image that suits them (for example: a picture of them you like or an image that matches their vibe).

-Give you a random fact about something they've done or a part of their backstory.

When he was a kid he would break into museums with his friend to look at the art in the dark :-) (and take the money from the cash register in the gift store but that can’t be helped)

-Link you a song that reminds me of them.

-Explain how they were created/what inspired them to be made.

I wanted to give Constance a brother who had his own special mental issues and he ended up being ALMOST as important to him. And also the idiot gangster type character in noirs is fun to make

-Free space/feel free to add more!

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” he said, not even turning around. “And I gotta make sure I have a weapon covered in your finger prints for the next time I kill somebody.”

next Harriet. She is johnnys awesome femme fatale girlfriend who killed someone people and also him.

-Discuss an important part of their identity/ what makes them themself.

Mainly she wants money. She is willing to do anything for money!!! This is, believe it or not, unfilling and she does want a relationship but refuses to be normal about it (Stabs Johnny once) she is tired of men being awful to her and her life mission to be awful right back. Out of my femme fatales she is the cruelest <3 lying is her passion

-Tell you a colour that compliments them.

Amber

-Show you an image that suits them (for example: a picture of them you like or an image that matches their vibe).

-Give you a random fact about something they've done or a part of their backstory.

She likes to go in johnnys apartment and steal his money out of various hiding places and then leave. He doesn’t mind. They met because they worked at the same office and he caught her breaking into the safe. Love at first sight.

-Link you a song that reminds me of them.

-Explain how they were created/what inspired them to be made.

I had a femme fatale that could be considered “justified” in her horrid actions so I wanted a girl where it was a lot harder to say that she wasn’t just an awful bitch

-Free space/feel free to add more!

I, however, did not, so I did spin around and see the little light that made it through the curtained window reflecting off the gun in Harriet’s hand. As my eyes adjusted to the lack of light I could see she was wearing the same mink coat she was wearing earlier and a long silk dress. Her hair was done up like she was going to a party instead of pointing a gun at her boyfriend. I guess she made herself up especially for this occasion. The things girls bother with.

Physical Poster Examples

I recently paid a visit to Massey University. I noticed they have many many poster boards and posters around their campus. I don’t know if I just haven’t been in the right places on AUT City Campus, but I’ve hardly seen many posters here at all. I really liked some of the designs that Massey had up so I wanted to use them as examples for my 502 poster research. Apologies for the low quality :)

These are all mainly targeted towards students, who are mostly from Gen Z. This means they are already perfect examples of posters that are trying to reach the same target audience as myself. Below is a simple but captivating poster about smoking. They have a very simple and clean design that leaves no distraction and gets the point straight across. The tone seems serious and trying to be smart in a way. I really like the font choice because it reminds me of ashes or the end of a cigarette. The little cigarette icon at the bottom is also very cute and it even looks like they are chatting and having a conversation.

I saw these posters up all around as well. This is a great example of creating awareness. By simple encouraging students to wear black on Thursdays, a lot of people can easily be involved and encourage conversation around the topic. The design is also very simple and purely typography focused. The colours are commonly used to represent New Zealand because of the All Blacks and things like that who just use black and white. The hope is to reduce the amount of rape and violence in the world as you can see on the bottom right.

(Below) A Snow club poster I saw around the campus a few times as well. It has a very cheerful vibe and makes very cute poster to look at. I do think it feels a little bit too busy, but for the outcomes they hope to get, it works fine and will attract students to look at it. The colours and icons match the overall theme pretty well and create an idea of a fun adventure, which I would assume is the what the club wanted. I haven’t seen any club posters like these around our campus and honestly, if I wanted to join a club I wouldn't’ really know where to look. It would be great if AUT had a poster board for the clubs available like Massey does.

(Below) This one I found very cute and very important. At first glance it looks like some kind of strawberry farm or company inviting you to go pick strawberries or buy some, but actually this is about periods. They had these in the female bathrooms as well. Massey offers free period products for students who need them and all they have to do is go ask at the front desk. They even have a code word in case the person feels uncomfortable asking “Tickets to Strawberry Season”. This poster creates a very happy and encouraging tone. It also doesn’t shame the fact that women get periods. I’d feel very comfortable and appreciative that they even thought of something like this for the students. The design itself is easy to understand if you read it, but doesn’t give away the fact that we are actually talking about periods. This doesn’t create any shame when reading or looking at it.

You, Me and Harry make three. Part One.

Summary: Joey, Izzy and Harry are in a poly relationship. They're head over heels for one another and they can't seem to keep their hands off each another, even when they really need to.

Harry is the Harry Styles, the man who is known for being so open and lovable. He's nervous to let the world see his girls, what would his fans think If he was dating two girls at the same time? And they all shared the one bed and home? He doesn't want to know, he wants them all to himself.

This small story follows the three and their rendezvous together behind the scenes.

Masterlist.

Warnings: Switch!Harry, Mommy kink, slight Daddy kink, FxFxM threesome, fingering, oral sex f+m receiving, Male + Female penetrative sex, Female + Female sex, spanking, choking, hair pulling, sneaking around (?) masturbation and mentions of it, degradation kink, praise kink, dirty talking, anal play, biting, polyamorous relationship.

Warnings apply to both first and second part!

Word count: 3.6k words.

A/N: There will be a part two, keep your eyes out for it. I also envision the women with Blonde and Brown hair, but you can apply any hair colour you want to this scenario, I just wanted to give a description to people who find it hard to imagine people :)

—

Adrenaline.

It's rushing through Harry's veins as he finishes his last concert of his first ever world tour. His body covered in sweat from singing Kiwi and total of three times and his suit jacket is for a fact dripping from all the dancing he did, his body isn't exhausted, no, it's hyped up and he could go out and perform again if he could.

It's a bittersweet moment ending the tour he thinks, on one hand he has more time to himself, more time for friends and family but on the other hand he doesn't get to do what he loves every night for at least another year, which is perform for thousands of people.

The crew is cheering and slapping him on the back as he walks off, the band following him as they all congratulate one another on completing the whole tour. There's tears, tight hugs and even a champagne bottle popped by Mitch, for someone who seems emotionless he was the most emotional one amongst them all. He basically cried into his champagne flute.

Harry pulls himself away from the crew celebration after an hour or two, his phone buzzing in his back pocket non stop as he tried to converse and have a fair well party with his whole crew — he knew exactly who was texting him, and they won't be happy he isn't responding like he usually does.

His phone is filled with messages, some from Joey and some from Izzy and a few more in the group chat they all have together. Harry is scrolling through them all as he sits in the back of the car on the way to their hotel room. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees two photos — one of Izzy wearing a bright pink lingerie set, her dark hair all around her while Joey wears a dark cobalt blue set, her platinum blonde hair vibrant against the lace.

Izzy is laying down as Joey looks at the camera between her legs, the picture being from Izzy's perspective while the second photo is similar, but this time Izzy's panties are off and Joey's head is nuzzled into her pussy.

If anyone knew what Harry Styles was hiding behind the scenes they would be shocked, he's hiding two beautiful women who are in plain sight for all his fans to see, the pair helping out the crew and makeup department on tours while only the three of them know what they do behind closed doors. It's somewhat thrilling to have this secret, it's spurs them on more and even makes them act out and fuck one another in public places, such as Harry's dressing room or even his tour bus when all the rest of the band is asleep — they all seem to get off on their little dirty secret.

Harry never wanted to hide his girls, he feels guilty for doing so. But to protect them and himself from the hate and backlash they would get for this, he settled on keeping them himself only. Sure, there's times where they'd want to go to a restaurant, hold hands all together and feed one another dessert like couple do, but they have to settle on a professional looking dinner, each spread around the table with a large gap between them all as they try and keep their hands away from one another, cameras flashing outside and update accounts flashing the images labelling Harry to be at a business dinner.

It does take a toll on them, some nights they all cry together and hold one another when one of them has to leave and see family, they all aren't ready to tell their families so when one leaves it's like something is ripped from them, it's like they're missing a piece of themselves. Harry is the one who's away a lot, giving the media to calm down on the speculations that Harry is dating one of them — it's mainly always Joey because she's blonde and seen as "Harry's type" because of that, both of his girls are his type.

They take small vacations together, the three of them locked away in a villa in Italy or even in Spain, their own private space to lounge by the pool together or even show affection to one another more openly around the foreign country — but then cameras show up snd Harry is immediately hurrying the girls inside as he pays off the paparazzi to not leak the photos.

It's tiring, they're all exhausted from hiding, but it's what they have to do.

Harry chuckles darkly as he looks at the photos, his hand sliding down to palm himself through his suit pants as he types out a message with one hand, a lazy smile on his face as the driver doesn't suspect a thing.

Harry: told you both to wait, you know what happens when you disobey me, my girls.

It's not long after he sent the message that he's parked outside the hotel, the driver opening his door as a security guard walks out and helps Harry into the hotel under all the preying eyes of fans and paparazzis who seem to love blinding him every second with their flashes and asking him ridiculous personal questions that you wouldn't even ask someone who is on trial.

His security guard walks him as far as the elevator, Harry saying he can do the rest by himself — but in reality he didn't want anyone but him to hear the sweet little moans that are probably coming from his suite right now.

"Couldn't even wait two hours for Daddy, huh?" He says deeply walking into the room, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as the two girls both look at him on the bed, Izzy nearly passing out from pleasure as Joey smiles evilly from where she's sat between Izzy's legs.

Izzy makes grabby hands at Harry which he immediately melts at the sight, she's the more submissive one in the relationship, leaving Harry and Joey to be the more dominant ones, and when Harry is submissive it's usually Joey fucking Izzy before him as he watches.

"Feeling good pup?" He asks Izzy brushing a strand of her hair from her face, her eyes glazed over and mouth slight parted as Joey teases her, sucking and nipping at her clit as Harry rests beside them both.

"Yes Daddy" Izzy says softly, licking the thumb that Harry brushes over her bottom lip, he slowly pushes it into her mouth as she takes it in with a small whine and suckling noises are heard from her pretty mouth.

"That's a good girl. You enjoying yourself down there?" He asks Joey more sternly, she loves when he's stern with her, while Izzy loves it when he dotes on her.

"Mmh yeah, such a pretty tasting pussy" she teases him, keeping her eyes on his as she licks a big stripe up Izzy's centre, Harry's cock twitching in his pants at the sight as Izzy keeps sucking on his thumb.

"Hope you've had your fun puppies, because you both know how Daddy hates it when you disobey him" he says with a small laugh, the two girls looking at him as he removes himself from the bed, standing tall as he strips down to his boxers.

"C'mere my girls, wanna feel both of you suck my cock" he says palming himself as he watches Izzy cum on Joey's tongue before they both jump off the bed and into their knees.

"I'm only obeying because tonight is your night, prepare for you to lose all control tomorrow, Daddy" Joey says, Harry already knowing she means what she says as he smiles at her.

"I'll look forward to it Jo, darling" is all he says as he runs both of his hands through each of their hairs, one hand on Joey's head with her hair wrapped around his arm, as the other has Izzy's hair wrapped around it, guiding them both to his clothed cock.

"Take me out, go on, know you both missed Daddy's cock" he moans out when they both palm him through his underwear, their hands immediately pulling down his boxers as he kicks them off, standing tall as both girls look up at him innocently through their eyelashes.

They both flatten their tongues and run them up either side of his cock, Harry immediately tightening his grip on their hairs and throwing is head back a little as he grunts under his breathe at the feeling. They both suck the head of his cock, their tongues in each other's mouths a little as they dance along the slit collecting his pre cum as he nearly buckles under the feeling and view he has of his girls.

"That's it, suck Daddy's cock" he breaths out through moans, his eyes fighting to stay open so he can watch every move his girls make.

The room is filled with heavy grunts and moans, small whines and sucking sounds from them all, Harry throwing his head back as he curses loudly into the air, Joey and Izzy working on his cock fast and messily just how he likes it. He's nearly scent into a frenzy when Izzy focus's on his head and pumps the rest in her hand while Joey sucks his balls into her mouth, dribbling and moaning around them which vibrates through Harry's body sending shivers all over and erupting goosebumps on his skin.

"Need to fuck you both now, onto the bed" he says sternly, taking their heads away as they both whine and try to get back onto him. Gentle slaps to their cheeks cause both girls to scurry over onto the bed, kneeling down and watching as Harry rests onto the bed, back against the head board as he begins to stroke himself.

"Izzy, do you wanna ride Daddy first? Yeah?" He asks and he chuckles lighty when Izzy nods in excitement, crawling onto his lap as he welcomes her into his embrace.

"Joey, sit on my face, gonna eat that pretty cunt of yours while I fuck our darling little Izzy" Joey smiles darkly at this, both of them looking at Izzy who's smiling cheekily against Harry's chest, her petite frame lost in his broad one.

Harry lays completely on his back, Joey coming to sit down on his face, as Izzy teases herself with the head of his cock. Joey faces Izzy, their mouths immediately catching in a sloppy kiss as Harry helps Izzy slide himself into her. She doesn't move, she grinds down a little as Joey's tongue explores her mouth, her tattoo hand holding the petite girls face as Harry holds onto Joey's plush thighs, his face nearly being smothered but he loves it — he wants to be smothered by her thighs always.

"Look at you Izzy baby, taking me all, such a good girl for me" Harry says lowly, looking at Izzy from between Joey's legs as Izzy begins to move, Harry immediately grabbing Joey's thighs and sitting her flush onto his face, his nose resting on her tightest hole as his tongue flicks and sucks at her pussy.

"Ride Daddy's cock Iz, fuck yourself until you cum like a good girl" Joey whispers to Izzy, her hand holding the girl by the jaw as she speaks to her, their lips inches apart as Izzy falls apart on Harry, the feeling sending her into oblivion as she bounces harder and faster, erupting guttural moans from Harry.

"Is he making you feel good Jo?" Izzy asks, her voice a slight tremble as she moans loudly watching as Joey grinds herself down onto Harry's tongue with force.

"Yeah, but you're making him feel so much better baby, hear him? Hear him moan into my pussy because of the work you're doing?" Joey asks as Izzy smiles lazily at her, her words making her go faster and faster on Harry's cock which ends in him meeting her bounces with thrusts of his own.

"That's it, fuck her Daddy, fuck her so good" Joey moans out loudly, grabbing Izzy before she crashes down onto Harry, holding the girl in her arms as Harry fucks up into her with all his strength.

"Fuck, yes right there Daddy" Joey moans out, Harry fucking his tongue into her while he fucks Izzy hard, the two girls holding onto one another as Harry pleases them both.

It's not long before they both cum with screams of his name and a mixture of Daddy between them all, Joey being the loudest as Izzy is barely able to speak or keep her eyes open over how fucked she is.

"Feeling okay puppy?" Harry asks when Izzy is laid out on his chest, his cock slipped out of her as she comes down from her high, Joey beside him as they both cradle Izzy and help her calm down.

"M'okay, just tired Daddy" she slurs out, the two helping her lay down onto the bed, Joey laying beside her as Harry positions himself on top of a smiling Joey.

Izzy turns her head to watch the two, Harry immediately bending down to kiss her softly as Joey kisses Harry's jawline and runs her hands over his bare chest lightly, her fingers playing with his dangling necklaces as her legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind him.

"My two pretty girls, all fucked out" Harry whispers as Joey pushes her hips up to him, signalling she's ready as he pecks Izzy's face before pulling away and focusing back down on Joey.

"Eager little thing aren't you? Such a slut for Daddy" he says to her, their lips inches apart as Izzy gasps at his language, Joey smirking and enjoying every last word that drips from his mouth towards her.

"You're also a slut for me Daddy, don't lie" she fires back, Harry shaking his head as he lines himself up with her pussy.

"Right now, you're my little slut, take it all for me, yeah?" He says kissing her chest as he pushes himself in, her moans immediately filling the room as Izzy runs her fingers over the lace bralette on Joey's skin, her head right next hers as they both look up at Harry.

"Come on Daddy, fuck me like a whore" Joey whines out as Harry begins to pound into her harshly, his balls hitting her ass as she sets a fast pace that has Joey's eyes rolling into the back of her head.

"You're going to hard Daddy, gonna hurt Jo" Izzy says nearly crying, Harry immediately bringing a hand to her face and cradling it as the other cradles the back of Joey's pulling her hair lightly.

"She likes it hard baby, she likes Daddy to wreck her pussy and call her his little slut" he says softly and calmly to Izzy who pouts before pecking his lips.

"Harder Daddy, please" Joey moans out, Harry immediately thrusting faster and faster as he holds both of his girls in his arms, Joey's legs wrapped around him as Izzy pecks his bicep every now and then with small giggles.

"Yeah? Want it harder, does my little slut want it harder? Does she want me to fucking wreck her and make her unable to walk for days?" He asks sinisterly as Joey babbles and moans under him, her words slurred and her eyes leaking tears at the intense pleasure she's feeling.

"Wreck my pussy Daddy, fucking ruin me, yes!" She screams out when Harry hits her spot over and over again, Izzy's small fingers now rubbing circles over her clit as the two of them coax her towards an orgasm, which hits her hard and fast.

"C'mere, wanna kiss you both before I cum" he moans out, his hips slowly down as his two girls push their heads together so Harry can bend down and take both of their mouths at the same time, their tongues everywhere as they all moan and grab onto one another.

"Come on Daddy, cum for us" they both moan out, looking up as Harry kneels on the bed over the two of them, their hands on their boobs pushing them up as he strokes himself fast, his eyes rolling back and his body covered in sweat.

"Gonna look so pretty painted in my cum, my two pretty babies all fucked out beneath me" he moans out, their tongues out flat as he finally cums, spirts and ropes of his cum coat their chests and some splashes up onto their tongues as they swallow it greedily, their fingers rubbing through his cum painting them more as Harry watches in awe, completely spent.

"I love you both, so much" he says smiling at them, their faces glowing and their own smiles on their faces as they look at him like he's the best thing in their worlds — which he is.

"We love you too H, right Iz?" Joey asks Izzy who's trying to fight off sleep, her small nod and smile is enough for Harry as he coos over how cute she looks, her cheeks blushing at his complements as Joey kisses her face all over making her giggle out, Harry kissing Joey's as they all attack one another with kisses gently with laughs in between.

"Think it's time for a bath, huh?" Joey laughs out as Harry agrees, Izzy laughing also as they both lay next to one another covered in Harry's release.

"Don't move, I'll be back" Harry says, the pair of girls whistling and cheering him on as he runs to the bathroom butt ass naked, his laugh loud as he wets two wash cloths with warm water.

"Are you two ever gonna not laugh at my ass?" He asks kneeling over them again, one hand clutching a cloth and washing Izzy while the other washes Joey and gets rid of his cum from their skin.

"It's funny! It's so soft and squishy looking when it jiggles!" Izzy laughs out, Joey beside her nearly snorting as she laughs along, Harry laughing and shaking his head as he throws the cloths into a laundry bin.

"You have a cute butt Mr Styles" Joey says kissing his nose as he flops his body down onto them, one of their legs resting on his waist as he rests his head between their breasts, both of their fingers running through his hair.

"We can't stay like this" Joey is the first to speak up in a few minutes, sleep nearly taking over them all before she realises they need to clean up and get ready for bed — Izzy needs to do her skincare routine while Harry needs to drink his nightly cup of tea.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Come on, bath time" Harry groans, grabbing his boxers and sliding them back on to avoid anymore comments on his bare ass, the two girls avoid eye contact with him as they bite back their laughs looking at one another.

"I can hear you both laughing!"

"We aren't laughing!"

"Yes you are!"

"Nope!"

The three of them have been dating for almost a year now, everyday bringing something new but their love for one another grows by the second. Harry cherishes small moments with them, heck, he cherishes all moments with them. When they step outside together Harry addresses them as part of his crew to not raise any suspicion. But all he wants to do is scream at the top of his lungs that these two beautiful women are his girlfriends.

Just as Harry is filling the bath, adding Izzy's favourite bath bomb and setting out Joey's favourite body wash for her, a shout and a hard knocking is heard from behind the front door to the suite, causing the two girls laughs and conversation to stop.

They look at him as he holds up a finger to his lips, shushing them both as they nod watching as he heads for the door. He opens it slowly, only revealing his head. Jeff stands outside, his hand running through his hair as he jumps when Harry opens the door.

"There's fans outside, they won't leave until you come out. Please just walk out and show your face or something" Jeff says nearly passing out with anxiety, his hands shaking from how nervous he was being bombarded with the fans who are lined up outside the hotel at nearly midnight.

"Okay, I'll be down in a few" Harry sighs, knowing guilt will eat him alive if he doesn't see his fans, but he'll also feel guilty letting the girls bathe alone and be without him for awhile again.

"We heard, go down to them. We'll have a bath and you" Joey says walking over to Harry, Izzy beside her as they hold hands, Izzy shorter than the two as she looks at them softly. "Can bring us all up some wine when you're coming back up, sound good?" Joey finishes as Harry smiles looking at them both.

"Yes Ma'am's"

A New Addition To His Collection - Chapter One

Relationships: Loki x Sigyn, Loki x Reader, Platonic!Sigyn x Platonic!Reader, Loki x Lorelei

Warnings: 18+, smut (I’ll try the best I can), historical inaccuracy, misogyny and belief of 18th century, mention of death and sex, arranged marriage, abusive relationship and father, mistreatment, humiliation, Loki being kind of an A-Hole for a good part of the story /!\ Not proof read and non-english speaker writter /!\

Summary: To have a father ambassador had been the best thing to ever happen to you. You always were lucky, whether it was for such things as the family you were born in or for more common thing like games, you had never lost a game in your life. But you knew your luck would run out one day, eventually, so you enjoyed it while it last. Luck was what brought you at the royal court and it was luck again that made you meet its most important figure. However you had serious doubt on the strength of your luck against the traps and deceptions of the court.

Author’s Note: None

You were so sick of travelling. A week or two was fine, but an entire month was enough! Especially in a carriage, not matter how comfortable it is. Yet you didn’t complain one bit to your parents, not a lot of people could travel like you do. You were lucky to be born within one of the wealthiest and most noble houses of Midgard, not everyone had your luck and you saw it from the palace of Valaskjalf to the one of Gardariki. Poverty was not a concept you were familiar with, maybe one day you will maybe you won’t but your mother had always told you to give just as much as you received so, whenever you had the chance, you went to orphanage or shelters to give them food, clothes and better living conditions.

 Leaving the golden palace of Asgard to roam the countryside was a nice change of view, although the Asgardian court was friendly, very casual and joyful, it was too artificial with its golden walls and geometrical gardens. You had no idea what the palace of Gardariki was like but your father had told you the palace was on top of a hill, surrounded by trees, very beautiful during winter.

 You head was resting on your mother’s shoulder when she woke you up. You felt sore after staying on the carriage for so long. You had arrived at Gardariki, the palace was visible from afar. Your father was right, it was breathtaking. All those trees made the castle as if it was growing from the earth just like the trees surrounding it. You had never saw something like it, not even on Jotunheim – though you had stayed a few days there, too dangerous for your father’s liking. The carriage entered within the walls of the castle main courtyard. You saw people outside looking at the carriage, surely the word must have spread that King Loki ambassador was coming back to court after years away. This had never been in your father’s plan; it was your mother that insisted on having you back home and your father had posed the condition of you going to court with him. Of course, it didn’t please your mother and she invited herself because seeing you once in a while had been too hard for her, there was no way she was letting you out of her sight once again!

 “Your Grace, my ladies. I’m Skurge, the king sent me to welcome you at the palace,” the man bowed in front of your family. “If you will.”

 “Actually,” said your mother. “My daughter and I have a very important meeting. Surely you must know about it.”

 “Yes, Your Grace. Lady Leah will escort you there.”

 The lady in question was a young girl, about twelve years-old with raven hair, light blue eyes and a snow-white skin. She looked like those paintings representing old Greek gods. Your father left with Skurge while Lady Leah asked you to follow her. Your mother had been very secretive to who was this person you absolutely had to meet. You feared it might be a suitor. Since you came back, she had this crazy idea to marry you. She thought your travels with your father would find you a man of high birth to marry and was more than disappointed when she learnt you had left each court, you’d be in without at least one proposal. Truth was, there had been many of those, you were the one to refuse them. You were not ready; you wanted to enjoy life and would only marry if the man would let you have your freedom. Contrary to what your mother thought, you had not in plan to end up an old maid, you wanted a family but not now.

 Lady Leah escorted you to the fourth floor of the palace. Before pushing the white and gold double door she warned you not to say a word before you are been addressed to. The room you first entered was astonishing, the furniture, the walls, the decorations were all made of gold features and delicate paintings. You could see the greatest moment of Midgard history on the ceiling or its reflection on the marble floor. You had never seen such luxury in one place. Not even the castle you had lived in was as beautiful.

 You walked in a much bigger room. In the centre of the room was a blond woman surrounded by two others, about your mother’s age, were discussing. Leah coughed to get the woman attention. As soon as she saw your mother a smile lighted her face. You realized you were in front of the queen. You kneeled in front of her.

 “Y/M/N! I’m so happy to see you,” the queen hugged your mother. She was nothing like you would expect a queen to be. “Is that your daughter? Oh, please stand up.”

 “Yes, Sigyn. This is Y/N, my only child and greatest pride and joy. Sweetheart, this is Queen Sigyn, her mother and I were really good friend. My condolences for her death.”

 You saw sadness crossed her eyes then vanished as soon as it came. The queen offered you a seat with her lady-in-waiting. You were surprised the older women were her lady-in-waiting and so was Leah, yours were of your age – and on their way to the palace.

 “Tell me, Y/N, your mother had told in a letter that you had travelled a lot, have you served as lady-in-waiting for another queen?” you shook your head. You had only enjoyed the life at court. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do fantastically with me.”

 “I’m sorry?” your mother proceeded to tell you she had managed to find you a place at court as the queen’s lady-in-waiting. “I have never done that before but I assure Your Majesty, I will do my best.”

 The queen cupped your hands in hers, she gave you a warm smile. She believed in your words and told you to be by her side tomorrow at 7 a.m. for her awakening. You were excited. You very first day at court and you were already meeting the queen. A beautiful woman with a kind heart you could tell. Yet the more she looked at you the more worried she become. You had no experience, it was a fact she knew but you had lady-in-waiting of your own, you knew exactly what they had to do for you and it was a great opportunity you had no intention of screwing up.

 An hour later your mother and yourself found your way to your quarter. A spacious place that consisted of two bedrooms, a dining room, a living room, chambers for the servants and a boudoir hidden behind your bedroom – you were sure another one existed behind your parent’s bedroom. Except for your bedroom and boudoir that were blue and gold, the rest of the rooms were green, the king’s favourite colour.

 Until your ladies arrived the queens had gifted you her very own ladies to prepare you for the day. Although you tried not to listen to their conversation you couldn’t unhear what you caught. Mainly the women spoke about how unhappy the queen was, it seemed to be a recurring theme of conversation as you heard it again the corridors leading to the queen’s apartments. The queen was already dressed when you arrive. Panic started to run through your vein, you had checked the hour twice before going and she shouldn’t have been up already. The queen reassured you right away. She had been up for an hour already and couldn’t stay in bed.

 “Should I come sooner Your Majesty?” you asked her, worried that it would happen again and after some times she would grow tired of you being late.

 “Oh no, my dear. Don’t worry. You see,” she lowered her voice and nearly whispered in your ears. “Sometimes I like being alone. Enjoying the quietness of my apartments without all the fuss of court. Walking from room to room in my nightgown. Truth is Y/N, I don’t have many acquaintances at court.”

 You were touched by the queen’s statement. She felt comfortable enough already to tell something so personal. After everything you had heard coming here, you could understand why the queen liked being left alone time to time. Her whole life since her marriage had been nothing but showing herself, faking smiles, pretending enjoying parties and producing an heir to the crown. From what you had heard she was unable to do all those things and no one had the sympathy to try to understand her pain. She was literally locking herself in her apartments waiting for sweet death to take her. And you barely knew the woman! If you were able to understand all those things surely people who knew her longer must have seen it.

 “Well,” you broke the silence. “I’m sure we will become very good friends.”

 There it was: her smile. Genuine and hopeful. Similar to yours but with a dash of desperation. Her grip on your arm became stronger, as if you were an illusion, she was desperately trying to make real. You put your hand and hers and patted gently. I’m here now, you tried to tell her. Being her lady-in-waiting was a chance for you but for the queen it was an opportunity at happiness. You just had no idea how much she needed you. Finally someone close to her age, someone to talk to, to share secrets and fears. Someone, she hoped, wouldn’t judge her.

 “I’d like to have a walk in the garden. Join me.”

 “I thought there was no garden here.”

 “Oh, there’s one. Not far from here, in the forest. There’s also a labyrinth and a cave that goes under the castle with an underground river we can sail on. But don’t worry the path to go there is secured by guards. Oh I can’t wait to show you everything the castle has to offer.”

 “And I can’t wait to see them.”

 You were like two little and impatient girls. You hadn’t even warned your parents you would go with the queen in the garden and the queen warned no one. Her lady-in-waiting didn’t even saw the two of you escaping the apartments. For Sigyn it was the most fun she had since she had been made queen. Your youth made her wanted to do thing the others ladies wouldn’t even consider. Not even Leah, who was young, but too young.

 Surprisingly you managed to get out of the castle without no one stopping you. The guards did bow at the queen presence but none said a thing. They must have assumed the queen was on a daily walk. The garden was worth all the walk. Wild and tamed at the same times. The trees offered a natural roof to the flowers beneath and although there was a well-maintained paved path it seemed like nothing was really taken care off. Sigyn showed you the entrance of the labyrinth. She had never tried to enter it and blamed her poor orientation skills and her fear of being stuck in the labyrinth. There was a labyrinth in the garden of the Asgardian palace but the bushes were – at their highest – right at your waist line, you had always been able to see where you were going. This was not the case here. The grassy walls were taller than your father – a man known to be tall – and even if there were decorated with flowers the walls were frightening you.

 The queen and you sat on the bench, enjoying the sound of nature and the view the garden offered you. You spoke a little to know each other best. The queen confessed to you she hadn’t spoke that much to someone since her last favourite. She spoke highly of the unknown woman until she mentioned some kind of betrayal she had done to the queen. The woman had been her closest friend, her confident but she had betrayed the queen like no other woman before. The tale was so heart-breaking that neither of you heard the hurried footsteps coming your way.

 “Sigyn!” thundered a displeased voice. The Queen turned her head to the man whom the voice belonged to and she wasn’t very pleased either. “May I know what you’re doing here? I thought I’d been clear when I told you I want to know where you are at any given time!”

 The queen was blocking your view of the man. Because you thought it was safer to take the blame you stood up in order to explain the situation. You saw your father first, which confused you because you never imagined your father chastising the queen, plus the voice wasn’t his. Then you saw the man beside him. A tall man, with long raven hair, mesmerizing green eyes matching his black and green outfit. That was the moment you realised you were in front of the king. You quickly kneeled, bowing your head and praying to any gods willing to hear to have his mercy. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! you thought. It was one thing to confront your father, it was another to confront the king.

 “Who’s that?” you hear him say. Your father promptly answered his question. You couldn’t see the king’s face but you were sure it didn’t change much. “So, you’re my wife new lady-in-waiting. I guess I can excuse your ignorance.”

 With his fingers he made you rose your head enough to face him. You felt like a prey under the gaze of a predator. He offered you a hand to help you get on your feet. You shot a quick look at both your father and the queen. Your heart stopped the race it was in the very second the queen smiled at you; you weren’t out of the woods yet but you had done nothing wrong that could anger the king even more.

  “You see Lady Y/N, my wife has the tendency to wander in the castle and to never be where I need her to be. As your lady-in-waiting you have to tell me where she is. I don’t want my queen to get attack, or worst. Do you understand?” The king didn’t let go of your hand and you were too scared to ask for its release, so you nodded. It was perfectly unfair to the queen but you had no choice. “It’s not against you Sigyn, you know that.”

 He hadn’t break eye contact with you but he had let go of your hand. The queen promptly took your arm and pushed you behind her, assuring the king she understood his motivations.

 “His Majesty can rest assure; I am more than grateful for his concerned about my safety. To avoid any misunderstanding I will, for now on, go on walks with Lady Y/N. I will leave you a note on my desk to inform you of where I intend to go.”

 “It’s all I ask for,” the king approached the queen to kiss her forehead. Your parents do that a lot and every times you could feel their love expressed through this simple gesture. But there was no love here. “Lady Y/N, I hope you will stay by my wife’s side for a long time. You managed to do in a day what no one had done in years.”

 “I will stay with her as long as I can Your Majesty.”

 Your father encouraged you to smile to the king but you couldn’t bring yourself to that. You were uncomfortable with his persistent look on you and by the way the queen was now behaving you had no problem imagining what it meant. Then the king and his flock of ministers left the garden. Unknowingly to both you and the queen, Loki gave you a last look, a grin on his face.

 He liked what you father had told him, he liked what he saw and he was sure he would like you. Rare was the new blood at his court. You were young, fresh and unmarried, exactly what he was craving for. You wouldn’t be the first – or the last – of his wife companions to fall into his arms. But something told him you put a good fight before letting yourself go in his sheets. The excitement of a new conquest made his blood boiled a little more than it already was. The view you had gave him was a gift itself. He had to bless the man – or woman – that had gifted the dresses with such cleavage and made the corset pushed the breasts upward.

 His wife had taken older women has companions to avoid any temptation for him but he was already tempted by you. And by the way his wife had been protective of you so quickly he knew she was fully aware of that and wouldn’t give up that easily this time. She had lost all the battles against him, yet you were a friend she intended to keep. Loki was right, in a day you had made her feel better than she had ever been since the treason of her last lady-in-waiting. She could trust you not to fall for his lies and fake promises. Sigyn would do anything to keep you away from her husband and she intended to do so the very the next. She had been taught how to be the most desirable for the king, she would teach you the exact opposite. She wouldn’t let you be new addition to his collection of women.

 “Y/N?” she finally said. “Do you pray often?”

 “As much as I can Your Majesty,” you weren’t a fanatic but you feared God’s judgment and avoid any sins. Your education wasn’t only about good manners and expansion of the mind, it was also religious. “Why do you ask?”

 “You can call me Sigyn when it’s only the two of us you know,” she took a minute to think and turned to you. “For nothing, just out of curiosity.”

 Because none of her companions had been very religious before. It was nasty of her to do that but if keeping you meant manipulating your faith, it was a risk she was willing to take. For your sake.

Taglist:

@learisa​

I said I was gonna do this like a month ago and I’m late as usual lolol Anyways, have Fiona~

BASICS

Name: Fiona Fraser

Nicknames: TBD

Name Meaning: Anglicization of the Gaelic word meaning white or fair.

Gender: Cis Female

Pronouns: She/her

Age: 15

Birthday: August 20, 1875 (? Year depending on when the game is set)

Zodiac: Leo

Blood Status: Half-blood

Ethnicity/Nationality: Brazilian-Scottish

Sexuality: TBD

Appearance

Body:

Height: 158cm / 5′2

Build: Lean with light muscles

Eyes: Dark brown

Hair: Dark brown, slightly curly. Long and usually held back in a messy braid.

Skin: Light brown with freckles

Misc: Several small and mostly unnoticeable scars across her hands and ankles from dealing with animals

Material Items:

Clothing: Generally wears clothing meant for sports or plain trousers. Uncaring of most conventions for women’s clothing, considers them more guidelines than rules. Really only wears them because she’ll get in trouble with the school or because her sister wants her to.

Accessories: Not fond of wearing anything that could be easily yanked off of her body.

In their school bag: Wand, journal, animal treats, encyclopedia of common Scottish plants, another journal, textbooks, medical book, some rocks that she thinks are cool, at least have a dozen quills (she loses them frequently)

Reference:

Face Claim: TBD

Voice Claim: TBD

Personality

Traits:

+  friendly, observant, quick learner, athletic, extroverted, courteous

+/— independent, curious, quirky, blunt, impulsive, idealistic

— selfish, withdrawn, thoughtless, unreliable, flighty, forgetful

Description:

Fiona has always wanted to do things her way, and clashed with her grandfather because of this. Loves to go off on her own.

Loves learning. Mainly of the natural world, but she loves any fun trivia. Not great at learning in the usual classroom setting however.

She may not be the best at making friends, but she definitely puts her all into being cheerful and courteous.

Other:

Likes: Animals, nature, exploring, puzzles and logic, cool rocks or leaves or bugs

Dislikes: Being told what to do, sitting still, being inside, not receiving an explanation for why she can or can’t do something

MBTI: ENTP

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Hogwarts

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

OWL Classes:

Astronomy: 4/10 (A)

Charms: 7/10 (E)

DADA: 5/10 (A)

Flying: 5/10 (A)

Herbology: 8/10 (O)

History of Magic: 2/10 (P)

Potions: 6/10 (P)

Transfiguration: 6/10 (E)

OWL Electives:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Divination: 2/10 (P)

NEWT Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures: 10/10 (O)

Charms: 8/10 (E)

Herbology: 9/10 (O)

Extracurriculars:

Clubs: TBD

Quidditch: Doesn’t play Quidditch, but thinks it looks fun

Prefect or Head Boy/Girl: TBD

Best Classes:

Care of Magical Creatures Fiona has always had a fascination for the natural world and a gift in dealing with it, so it’s no surprise she immediately takes to the class.

Herbology See above. She also would frequently help her sister with gardening.

Worst Classes:

History of Magic Anything with book learning is hard for her.

Astronomy See above. She thinks it’s much more interesting than History of Magic though and at least tries to do well.

Divination She thought it would be fun but turned out to be about as poor of a Seer as possible.

Favorite Professors:

TBD

Least Favorite Professors:

TBD

Magic

1st Wand: Chestnut, Phoenix feather, 11 ½ in, springy

This is a most curious, multi-faceted wood, which varies greatly in its character depending on the wand core, and takes a great deal of colour from the personality that possesses it. The wand of chestnut is attracted to witches and wizards who are skilled tamers of magical beasts, those who possess great gifts in Herbology, and those who are natural fliers. However, when paired with dragon heartstring, it may find its best match among those who are overfond of luxury and material things, and less scrupulous than they should be about how they are obtained. Conversely, three successive heads of the Wizengamot have possessed chestnut and unicorn wands, for this combination shows a predilection for those concerned with all manner of justice.

Special Abilities: Able to see Ancient Magic

Boggart

Form: Herself, stuck to the floor and unable to move (representing being stuck in one place and unable to explore)

Riddikulus: Her plain gown turns into something ridiculous and she unsticks a foot only to fall on her butt

Amortentia

What they smell: TBD

What they smell like to others: Citrus, petrichor, lavender

Patronus

Form: Leopard

Memory: The first time she successfully healed a wounded animal and released it into the wild.

What they see in the Mirror of Erised: Her with her mother, father, and sister travelling the world

FAMILY

Sister: Fenella Fraser

Her identical twin sister. The two are very different, but very close due to the fact that they only had each other growing up. Fiona is very protective of her sister, but is also interested in seeing how things will go now that they don’t live in the same room anymore.

Grandfather: Alasdair Fraser

Fenella and Fiona were raised by their grandfather on a rural and isolated farm in Scotland since they were a baby. He was very strict and very paranoid and refused to let the girls go to Hogwarts, homeschooling them with help from Isla, who their grandfather barely tolerated. He died suddenly from illness when they were 15.

Father:  Thiago Gonçalves

A Brazilian Muggle-born who was fond of travelling and adventure. Went to Castelobruxo and was an eager student. Currently missing.

Mother: Catrìona Fraser

A Scottish pureblood raised by her strict father. Never went to Hogwarts and homeschooled by him. Left his house the second she was old enough and ran off to find an adventure. Currently missing.

Guardian: Isla MacLean

A pureblood witch who lives nearby to the Fraser farm and one of the few aware of its location. Alasdair would (begrudgingly) invite her over every two weeks or so to help teach Fenella and Fiona as Isla worked as a tutor to younger wizarding children at the nearby town. Not knowing anyone else, when their grandfather died, the two girls went to her to help deal with his death and what comes after. She has reluctantly become their caretaker/guardian for when they aren’t at Hogwarts.

Pets:

Angel An angry old tomcat that they used as a rat catcher on their farm.

Has always been fond of taking care of wounded animals, or any that live on her grandfather’s farm and considered all of them her pets too.

FRIENDS

Best Friends:

Fenella Fraser Her sister, see above.

Good Friends:

TBD

Friends:

TBD

It’s Complicated:

TBD

Love Interests:

TBD

Dormmates:

TBD

Doesn’t Interact:

TBD

Enemies:

TBD

Story

Childhood:

Homeschooled by her strict grandfather and a neighbour before his death. After that, they went to live with the neighbour for several months and she became Fenella and Fiona’s caretaker and guardian before shuffling them off to Hogwarts.

Fiona was always in trouble with her grandfather. She didn’t like being told no without a reason why and frequently broke his rules to go off exploring on her own. She still loved him and was sad when he died, but was excited to be able to properly learn things at a school.

Hogwarts:

Was also quite shocked to be separated from her sister when they were Sorted into different Houses. She took it much better than Fenella however and quickly tried to make friends in Ravenclaw. Turned out to be not great at school, but always had fun with the Ravenclaw door’s riddles.

Adulthood:

TBD

Miscellaneous

Has ADHD but it’s undiagnosed because 1800s

Decent at art, at least when it comes to drawing animals or plants.

Has her own family curse related to Ancient Magic that I will probably expand more on when the games comes out lol

Scions of Syralth Masterpost Part 1

Scions of Syralth and the companion books to it focus on the brothers Arthur and Allistor as they try to stop their great-uncle from destroying the world in a grief-driven madness. Along the way, they meet several allies and close friends and discover that they’re the, well, the scions of Syralth, a legendary wizard and warrior, who’s sequestered himself deep in the mountains. Arthur goes on a perilous journey to meet him and begin his magical training, while Allistor commits himself to the Resistance, to fight the Empire which is steadily expanding over their home continent. Together with their friends and allies, they uncover the secrets of their home, dismantle the Empire  The books focus mainly on them of found family, hope in darkness, and revolution. As it stands, the only one I’m ready to show people is Scions of Syralth itself, which has a beta reader server on discord, which you can join by following this link: https://discord.gg/2846GWhG7E ! I’d love to hear your thoughts on it! 

The Books In Chronological Order (So Far): Dancing with Dragons: This is the prequel to the prequel, and it’s this enemy to friends to realizing we’re soulmates romp through the jungle while also making fun of the white saviour trope. Jal goes there to save the elves of the Wekuku jungle from a dark elven lord and his crystal associate, and instead ends up getting his ass beat by one of the dark elves forced soldiers, Pheo. Pheo’s orders are to bring Jal to the Dark Elf lord or his sister will be killed, but something about the surprisingly incompetent and goofy Jal makes him reconsider. Grigori the Guardian and The Treaty of Twelve: This fun little two-parter is the actual prequel to Scions of Syralth, focusing first on Grigori and his fight to save a dragon’s egg from a vengeful fire demon and a mysterious man made from crystal. It then shifts gears and focusing on Arthur and Allistor’s father, Ivar, as he tries to rescue Arthur and Allistor from the same man made from crystal. Allistor proves himself to be far more capable than anyone imagined and shatters the man, setting the pieces in place for Scions of Syralth. Scions of Syralth: This one has a BETA SERVER and is the only one with an official blurb: 

The Barlosian Empire is torn apart by war and revolution, a war that comes harshly into Arthur and Allistor’s lives one summer night. Separated by the machinations of Hjatle, the High Wizard, the two brothers are pushed into two very different worlds. Allistor joins the People’s Rebellion, taking him deep into the heart of the mountains as he fights the Imperial army. There he rises through the ranks, becoming an accomplished warrior. Arthur, however, must flee to the south, meeting two new allies entirely by accident. The trio is guided out of danger by a former dark elf, who leads them to a safe haven; The Tower. While there, Arthur struggles to control his magical powers, learning of the prophecy he and his brother must face to prevent the reemergence of ancient and powerful mage made of crystal. Hail to The Queen: This is the direct sequel to Scions of Syralth. The gang is beat to shit, and it’s time to rethink their strategy. This partially rewritten mess has a spy lesbian romance, some cool prosthetics and an angry vampire dragon.  This book brings about the end of the Barlosian Empire and sends Arthur into a dark spiral once he discovers what true power is. The crystal mage is backed into a corner and is forced to move his plans into their final phase, leaving the continent of Ebouline forever.  The Many Lands and Peoples of the World of Unitien: This is my worldbuilding magnum opus, with almost 70 000 words of pure, unhinged worldbuilding. It’s my reference guide to all of the people, places and things because honestly, my brain isn’t big enough for all my outlandish thoughts and I had to get them on paper somewhere. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS (MAINS)

Protagonists: 

Arthur Draga: Is the younger son of Ivar Bjarnson and Aoife Draga, and is the original protagonist of Scions of Syralth. He’s a kind-hearted young man, about  20 years old, raised deep in the Marish. Before his life went to shit, he wanted to go to the capital of the Marish, Epidamnos, to become an illuminator and a monk, and as such, he always carries a sketchbook with him. Colour Scheme: Sunflower Yellow, Moss Green, Snow White

Allistor Bjarnson: Is the older brother of Arthur, and fun fact, was originally the antagonist. He’s 25 years old, and before his life went to shit, he was the chief of their village, it was passed down from his father, who died about 9 years prior to the story. He’s stubborn and literally my only straight man, so uh, you’d better better he drinks his respect women juice. He’s been raising Arthur on his own, despite some attempts to have his little brother taken from him to be raised by a proper adult.  Colour Scheme: Scarlet, Forest Green, Leather Brown

‘Alexis’ Zhihao Bai Whitelocke: Is the best friend of Arthur and is a brilliant engineer and inventor. She’s the 21 year old daughter of Bitanese merchant tycoon Bai Lee-Jein and Marish Heiress Marigold Whitelocke and grew up in her mother’s family home, in the woods between Camelios and the Silver Valley. She’s creative, stubborn and strategic.  Colour Scheme: Steel Grey, Sky Blue, Thundering Purple

Antonio ‘Toni’ Thiago Barlios: Is the slow-burn romantic interest of Arthur, the  dreaming and disgraced youngest prince of the Empire. He’s 21 years old, and unlike his siblings, was raised by his grandmother, giving him an idealized idea of the world and a firm sense of right and wrong. He’s sensitive and kind of a dumbass, but his heart is in the right place.  Colour Scheme: Coffee Brown, Sea-Glass Green, Royal Gold

Nolio: Is a former dark elf trying to figure out his life beyond his incredibly fucked up relationship with the queen of the dark elves and has attached himself to these kids as a way to redeem himself. He’s tired, but he looks for the hope in every situation. Colour Scheme: Slate Gray, Marble White, Opal 

Darjeeling Braga: Is the loud-mouthed, enthusiastic, half-elf best friend of Allistor after he joins the Resistance. He’s incredibly graceful and smart, but is also a complete and utter goofball a good deal of the time. He’s the adopted son of the leader of the Resistance, so don’t mistake his cheer for weakness.  Colour Scheme: Royal Purple, Black Tea Red, Starlight Silver.

I’ll keep going in part 2! 

Taglist: @synwrites @abalonetea @woodhouse-jay @expositionpreposition @ink-whiskey-seats @diseonfire @woodlights​ @pinespittinink​

Seven Devils

Warnings: Fire, Alter sex, Priests gone wild, gore, stabbing 

AO3  <<<Previous

Day 6

You had been in the room when Sister Ruth had to give Claire’s family the news. Her mother’s scream of anguish briefly broke you out of your daze, the pain in her voice made you start crying again. You felt responsible somehow. You still couldn’t understand what tempted your friend to the fruit. You would be leaving on Monday, along with your friend’s corpse. Finally rid of this horrible place, but you could never forget it now, no matter how much you tried. You had tired yourself out from all the crying, choosing to take a nap and hoping that your sleep would be dreamless.

////

You hoped for too much. You woke from another nightmare; this one was the most troubling one you had. Maybe finally talking to someone about it would help. This led you to look for Sister Ruth, hoping she would be willing to lend an ear. You found her with the Mother Superior, who refused to leave the room when you asked to talk to Ruth in private. “You are my responsibility also, anything that can be shared with Sister Ruth must also be shared with me,” she said. You had never felt more violent in your life, but decided to hold it in. Sister Ruth gently took your hand, “Please Y/N, what is it I can help you with? Is there anything you’d like to share?” she asked kindly.

You swallowed before answering. “I’ve been having strange dreams, and they’re troubling me. I’m scared Sister,” you managed to whimper out. The mother superior rolled her eyes. Old Hag.

Sister Ruth brought your attention back to herself, “it’s okay, you can continue.” “I keep on dreaming about the convent being on fire. It is as if the structure was purposely built to be unstable and crumble in on all of us. I can smell the flesh burning. None of us get out of it alive. I feel like somethings going to happen during the feast day tomorrow and I think we all need to get out of here,” you explained. Sister Ruth didn’t say a word, just giving you a blank stare. The Mother superior on the other hand, began to laugh as you ended your story. “Child do not come here with dreams of false prophecies and mock our patron Saint. Clearly the stories you are hearing are giving you the wrong sort of divine inspiration.” You wanted to reply, to tell her she was wrong and that she would regret ignoring you, but Sister Ruth spoke before you could. “Y/N, you’ve been through a lot this week. I know it must be difficult to lose a friend so unexpectedly too. I think your brain is trying to cope with this all by spinning dreams with threads of stories you’ve heard during the week.” You looked at her with more tears in your eyes. You didn’t expect this from her at least. No one believed you and now you would be called crazy by everyone. You didn’t want to die by fire. You, nor your classmates deserved it. You had to warn them yourself. Without a word you ran out of the room, looking for your other friends and trying to find a way out.

////

You burst through the dorm room; all eyes were on you. “Guys I’m not trying to scare you, but we all have to leave right now. There’s going to be a fire here tomorrow and the Sisters are just going to let us all burn!” you shouted, hoping that they would listen and believe you. “What the fuck are you on about,” one of the girls spoke up, “I actually think you’ve gone insane.” “NO no no no I promise I’m telling the truth, I had, I had a dream and were all going to be burned to death and then the priest is going to take over the world” you explained. “What priest? Is this a joke?” “The priest Michael. The one that tried to get me last time!” You weren’t listening to what you were saying. You couldn’t see the crazed look in your eyes, you were heaving from running here, the way you were just so dishevelled. Before you could speak again, some of the staff came through behind you, wrapping their arms around you and dragging you out of the room. You kicked, screamed and even bit but they did not let you go. Eventually you reached a room far from the dorms and were unceremoniously thrown in. The door being locked just as you tried to get up. “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET NOT LISTENING! LET ME OUT!” You continued to hit and kick the door, hoping that they would show some mercy. You realised your efforts were fruitless when your knuckles had almost been pulverised from hitting the heavy wooden door.

You decided to look around the room, reluctantly accepting the fact you wouldn’t be let out anytime soon. It seemed so familiar, you knew you had been here before. There wasn’t much in here, just a bed and a dusty set of drawers that hadn’t been opened in centuries. There didn’t even seem to be any electricity running to this room. You found some old candles and set them aside, preparing them for when you would need them. You wondered why there was only one set of belongings. The room was clearly big enough for two. Your eyes drifted to the drawers again. If they didn’t want you prying, they shouldn’t have put you in here.

The drawers were caked in dust, you cringed as you hand touched it. It took you a few pulls to get the drawer open, it had gone stiff from the years of neglect. You were pleasantly surprised to find something in there. A rosary made of precious gems. A decaying bible. Some other old books. And something wrapped tightly in some cloth. The rosary was heavy, and you could tell it was barely used. A strand of hair seemed to be caught on it, just like yours, same colour, same texture. The bible was almost illegible, the ink had smeared and bled. Some of it was singed away. The only section that you could make out was revelations. Only the worlds of destruction and death had survived the years it seemed. The other books were interesting. They had not decayed in the same way the bible had. The parchment was old, and it was all handwritten, but it had stood the test of time. It all seemed to be text on herbal medicine, smiling a little at the notes your mother had written you. The final item was the one that stood out to you the most. Mainly because you had no idea what it was. The item was heavy, the fabric seemed to be some sort of leather. You slowly unwrapped it, letting the fabric fall away from the item. It was an ornate dagger. Beautifully carved out of material you couldn’t quite put you finger on, but you knew whatever it was, it was precious and expensive. The blade was sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone you were sure of it. You decided to spend the night figuring out these books. You had nothing else to do anyway.

////

Sister Y/N had spent days going though her books. Her conclusion? Drastic times call for drastic measures. For some reason, regularly attending prayer and meals helped ease her mind temporarily. It also kept Langdon off her trail. He was busy with one of his ‘personally’ led study classes, the ones she was still barred from. For her this was the perfect time to speak to the Mother Superior. Floor plans in hand, she marched down to her office. //// She sat in silence for a while, waiting for her to finish her tobacco, she didn’t like to be disturbed in that time. She made the gesture for Y/N to speak. “Mother, you may think that I have gone insane, but I’ve been having strange dreams and I feel compelled to tell you and warn you.” She raised her brow, sitting up straight, “Continue.” “I’m sure one of the sisters must have informed you of the dreams that I had about the new structure of the convent, I’ve spent hours meticulously drawing up the plans revealed to me,” she began, pushing the said plans towards her mentor. Mother superior picked them up and began inspecting the details. Sister Y/N began to speak again, “For a long time, I did not know why an entirely new convent was shown to me. Most of our buildings are sound and functional….  But I have had another dream recently.” “And what did that dream tell you Y/N?” “A terrible fire will sweep the convent. It will destroy everything and everyone. I fear the dream may come true,” she explained. Mother Superior seemed to be lost in thought, mulling over the information. “Was there a date? And indication of when?” “The feast of our lady’s ascension.” The woman looked well and truly worried now, an expression that seemed so alien on this relaxed woman. The feast was two days away. Y/Ns voice began to crack, “I came to you to beg you to do something and to hand you these plans… I fear that I will not leave the inferno alive.” Mother superior finally spoke, “I believe you were given these visions for a reason child. God would not just choose anyone, out of this entire convent I would believe you the most.” Despite the differences the women had over the years, Mother Superior was the closest thing Y/N had to mother. If Y/N could save one person in here, it would be her. “That man must not get wind of this, understand? The men in the church seem to be praying for our downfall. Letting him know would foil any plans to get the sisters out, understood?” Mother superior asked. Y/n nodded, choosing her words carefully to not expose her other plan, “I think I could distract him on the evening you all need to leave. God has already decided I will not leave here alive so I will make sure you all get out safe.” Mother Superior did not question it, nodding in response. Both women stood to go to the door, a sombre blanket enveloping the room. The women hesitated a little, before hugging each other tightly. Y/N trying to remember the smell of the tobacco and roses. Both knew that this would be the last time they would see each other, the last time they could embrace one another. Tears stained both of their uniforms, but still not a word was said. A verbal admission of the finality of their meeting would break the women. They eventually broke away from the hug, Mother superior giving Y/Ns cheek one final kiss before letting her out. They both wished they had embraced for just a while longer.

////

The night had come where everything would be set into motion. The first of the sisters began to shuffle out of the convent, but sister Y/N was heading in the opposite direction. She made her way to the small chapel in her night gown, she shivered at the unusually cold summer air. She took something of her mother’s for luck, she was going to need it. She drifted down the increasingly empty hallways like a ghost. Silent but a vision nonetheless, hair and night gown blowing in the breeze. //// She said a final prayer as she opened the door. The incense was strong, and the candles were burning. All preparation for the morning mass that was meant to take place in a few hours. Father Langdon stood at the alter in all his glory. The candlelight gave him a halo-like glow. A light in the darkness. Sister Y/N slowly walked towards him, he watched with curious eyes, truly not expecting this tonight. Y/N looked into his eyes, before kneeling before him. She looked at him like he was her only god. The crazed devotion he longed to see. She reached forward and took his hand, kissing his palm and then his ring, the way one would for a king, holding his hand against her forehead before letting go. He just smiled at her, not saying a word, waiting to see what she would do next. She leaned forward and kissed his shoes, a reminder of the night she washed his feet. Michael groaned at the thought of it. He wished he had made her stay that night, that he had made her kiss his feet, that he had made her watch him stroke himself at the sight of her. Michael liked to play the long game and was willing to wait for her to come to him. Now he could reap his rewards. “Have you come to seek salvation?” he taunted. She only nodded, not finding the words she needed. His ringed fingers stroked her cheeks, wondering what to do with her next. “Do you have a God?” She shook her head ‘no’. He slapped her in response, the sound echoing off the stone. He lightly stroked her tender cheek again, repeating the question, “Do you have a God?” She looked up at him with her teary eyes, nodding ‘yes’ this time, “You. You are my God.” Father Langdon smiled at her answer, it was just the one he was looking for. His thumb moved towards her lips, feeling the softness before forcing entry into her mouth. His unoccupied hand drifted toward his trousers, palming himself before beginning to undo the garment. “Well then, you must learn how to worship your new God then. You don’t want to disappoint me now do you?” She sook her head.

Michael stroked himself in front of her. Y/N trembled at the sinful sight. Michael tapped the tip on her lips, “go on then, show me your devotion.” Y/N hesitated before opening her mouth. She slowly licked him, from the base to the tip. His groan seemed to shake the room, the candles getting just a little bit brighter. She took him into her mouth, going slowly and trying not to choke. The pace was far too slow for Michael, he took a hold of her hair and took over, setting a faster pace, not caring about the choking. The wet sound and the spit spurred him on even further. Y/N eyes were watering her throat already beginning to ache from the assault. She felt him twitch, but he pulled out with a ‘pop’. “Keep your tongue out,” he said between pumps. With one final stroke, he spilled all over her face, relishing in the sight of her covered in his seed. His fingers made a symbol on her forehead, much like one would on Ash Wednesday, but she couldn’t figure out what it was, lost in the daze of what had just happened.

He pulled her up by her shoulders, walking towards the alter, “Come, let me show you the true light,” he whispered. He pushed away the crucifix and the chalice, both cracking upon impact with the stone floor. He sat tall and proud on the alter, Y/N standing in front of him. He undid the front of her dress, holding her wrists in one hand to prevent her from covering herself up. Her nipples pebbled from the exposure to the cold air. Michael hummed in satisfaction. How he had longed to see her bare in front of him. His free hand groped and grabbed all around, not being gentle in the slightest. He was not a gentle man, and he would not be a kind God. His fingers reached between her thighs, she whimpered at the unfamiliar contact. She had only felt her own hands before. Michael grinned at the wetness. “Hmm? Well, would you look at that. A witch parading as a woman of god dripping for me,” he taunted. She tried to look away in embarrassment, but his gaze was far too powerful. She gasped as his fingers finally entered her, far bigger than her own. He stroked himself back up as he continued to thrust inside her. She began to twitch around him, just as her toes began to curl, he pulled out. “Not yet, come here.” He pulled her onto his lap, licking the fingers that were wet with her slick. He gripped Sister Y/Ns hips tightly, slowly impaling her onto his cock. Letting her feel all of him. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she got used to the unfamiliar stretch. Michael had waited too long to be inside her, burying his face in her bosom, drinking in her scent.  “Go on then, show me your devotion, worship me.”

Y/N hesitated a little, and Michael’s patience was wearing thin. He thrust up into her to encourage her to ride him. She took the hint and picked up the pace. Closing her eyes to chase her own pleasure. The room echoed with the sound of skin on skin. Sister Y/N had never been so intimate with anyone before, the connection felt almost holy. She wondered if the incense in the room was clouding her head or if the devil had cast a spell on her. She opened her eyes and looked into his, the room around them seemed to be set ablaze. The candle flames reaching a height she never thought possible. She felt his hand around her neck, squeezing slightly, bringing her pleasure to new heights. He was close, he wouldn’t be able to hold it in. His breathing became laboured, sweat dripping down his forehead. He threw his head back in pleasure, eyes closed and giving in. This is what Sister Y/N had been waiting for. She held her hand out and a blade sprang into her hand. The ornate dagger was heavy. She didn’t hesitate, slicing the man’s throat before he could cum. He let out a gargled gasp, but she paid no mind as she chased her own high, covered in his warm blood that was spraying from the wound. This was the closest she would be to God and she knew it. She removed herself from his corpse, trying not to dwell too much on what she had done. She put her night gown back on and made her way back to the limp corpse on the alter. She took the knife again, bringing it to his chest. It sliced though fabric and flash so easily, making her job so much simpler. When the incision was big enough, she reached into the cavity and pulled out his heart. She heard the cracking of beams and finally realised where she was. The building was burning and about to cave around her. She ran to the door, not looking back as the body behind her was crushed by the burning ceiling. //// She had run to the courtyard; the adrenaline was beginning to wear away now. She was in so much pain from the burns she had from the inferno. She had to push through the weakness, just for a little longer. She had buried her mother’s box underneath the apple tree. She knew no one but her would be able to open it. Letting the heart burn allowed the possibility of reincarnation and rebirth. Keeping it sealed prevented him from ever taking a physical form again. Forced into an eternal limbo. She gently placed the heart into the box. Her fingers were charred and painful. She made sure the box was sealed shut for one final time, muttering a prayer for forgiveness if the God above was still listening. She placed the box back into the hole, quickly burying it and hoping that no one would ever find it. She leaned back against the tree, looking up to the smoke-filled sky. She was not given the privilege of seeing the stars she loved so much. She could feel the heart beating behind her, trying to make its way out of its new prison. The pain had gotten worse now and the fatigue was catching up to her. She closed her eyes for the last time, accepting her fate finally. She no longer needed to run.

Neither God nor the Devil seemed to be done with her yet, hungry crows had begun to eat away at her flesh, going for her eyes first. Some of the sisters returned in the morning, only to find their friends charred corpse beneath the apple tree, where strange blossoms had begun to bloom.

Next>>>

His Little Secret

Gyro Zeppeli x male reader

Requested by: anonymous

“I saw that you want to write for Gyro, so Gyro Zeppeli x Male Jockey Reader. Racing together with him and Johnny and the group gets hit by a nasty rain storm. They are forced to hunker down together and wait for the storm to pass. While their belongings are drying, the topic of wanting a warm bed and female company (or not in the reader’s case) comes up, and the reader effectively comes out (the angst and fluff possibilities tho). Thank you for all the wonderful writing!”

Warning: No spoilers, little bit of angst, fluff

Please enjoy.

Everyone knew that the Steel Ball Run Race was going to be unpredictable, as it was the first of its kind. People from all over the world had come together to participate in this race. The one main thing that was the most unpredictable was the weather.

The Heaven’s had opened up, pouring heavy rain down upon the country, beating down on the contestants mercilessly; coal grey clouds painted the sky as far as the eye could see, showing no signs of it ending anytime tonight. Icy winds washed through the lands, battering at the trees and landscape, leaving nothing untouched as it screamed in its anger. 

To ensure the race’s reputation, they had told every single contestant to take shelter until the storm had passed. The trio of males searched for a decent, possible dry place for protection against the storm for them and their horses. It had taken a bit of time but they had been able to find a cave large enough for all of them, including their horses. There was no way the horses would survive outside by themselves with no protection. 

The three of them were soaked by the rain but once they settle into the cave, [Name] wasted no time in getting a fire started. There were enough things for them to burn and a lighter to start it. The second the fire was ignited and the horses were tended to, Gyro kneeled in front of it, shaking lightly from the coldness of the rain. 

“Bloody soaked clothes.” He muttered, setting his hat aside and began to remove his soaked coat and shirt. [Name] glanced up and blinked, [Eye colour] eyes scanning Gyro’s exposed chest and felt a tinge of warmth rub against his cheeks. He shook his head, turning his attention back to drying out his own coat and shirt, swapping them for a spare jumper he had in his backpack. Johnny laid beside the fire, sorting himself out. 

It took a few minutes for the three of them to get settled down, their sleeping bags laid out but offered little comfort against the solid stone ground beneath them. [Name] fidgeted a little, trying to get somewhat comfortable. 

“God damn this storm.” Gyro cursed out loud, also fidgeting in his sleeping bag in an attempt to get comfortable. “What I wouldn’t give for a nice comfy bed right now.” Both [Name] and Johnny did have to agree with Gyro on that. A soft bed sounded far more nicer than the solid ground. 

“Yeah, and someplace more nicer and warmer for our horses.” [Name] added, standing up and approaching his horse and giving him a pet on the neck, ensuring he was warm enough. 

“And maybe a woman. Some company for a night.” The Italian added on. [Name] stopped for a moment at that then continued to pet his horse, listening to the conversation still. Johnny was the one to speak up this time. 

“I agree with you on that one. It’s been ages since I had sex with a woman. Mainly due to this.” He tapped his useless legs, a shrug of his shoulders with it, “But it’s alright. Most of the time.” 

[Name] sighed softly, the conversation about women had little interest to him. Not that he disrespected women, it was nothing like that, it was just a fact of he didn’t find them sexually attractive. [Name] knew he preferred the company of men ever since he was young, barely into his teenage years. Something about men caught his attention more than women did. Of course, he never told anyone. He told his father once, well, kinda. [Name] asked his father what did it mean if he liked men more than women and his father gave him a rather colourful talk about it. 

One that made [Name] refuse to tell anyone else about his true feelings of men. 

“What about you, [Name]?” Gyro’s voice snapped the [Hair colour] male from his thoughts. “You an ass or tits kind of guy?” [Name] thought for a moment. When it came to his own preferences of the body, he did like both. His [Eye colour] eyes stole a sneaky peek over Gyro’s well-toned chest, unable to help himself. 

“I’m...a bit of both. Actually.” He wasn’t lying. They accepted his answer without question. 

“Fair point.” Johnny commented, “When was the last time you had it? What was the woman like?” Now, that was where the problem was. [Name] had never slept with a woman. Sure, he has tried to but it just felt wrong for him to and, yes, he has spent time with men and found him enjoying it.

But...Gyro and Johnny were his friends. They have both said so, but that was because they did not know about [Name]’s little secret. Would Gyro still accept him? The idea that Gyro would not like [Name] because of this made a cold dread twist in his gut. He would be a fool if he tried to convince himself that he did not find Gyro attractive, or enjoyable to be around. 

“[Name]? You alright there? You kinda zoned out for a moment.” Gyro pointed out and [Name] blinked, pulling himself back together and coughed a little. 

“I...um...” His words failed him. Of all times, it was now they failed him. Wonderful. Come on, like a plaster, rip it off and get it over with. Taking a breath, [Name] closed his eyes and forced the words out.  “IhaveneverhadsexwithawomanbecauseIdon’tfindthemsexuallyattractiveanIlikemen.” The words came out too quickly for either of them to actually understand. 

Gyro spoke. “Eh? You want to repeat that but a little slower?” [Name] sighed and tried again but slower. 

“I prefer the company of men rather than women.” There. It was out in the open and [Name] has never felt as vulnerable as he did at this present moment. There was a small silence among them before Gyro spoke. 

“So...you’re gay?” He asked, making sure he was understanding this properly. [Name] nodded, still not looking at them. A playful smirk lifted Gyro’s lips before he stood up and approached [Name]. “Good. Because that will make this less awkward.” 

Before [Name] could question Gyro, the Italian grabbed his shoulders and pressed his lips against [Name]’s. [Eye colour] orbs snapped open from surprise at this, taking a moment to process this before leaning back in. Gyro pulled away after a good moment, smirking at him. 

“Better than I thought.” he said, letting go of [Name] and taking a step back, letting the man breathe again. [Name] blinked then looked at Gyro, surprise aced shock in his eyes. 

“What was...? I thought you liked women.” Gyro chuckled at that, flashing him a smile.

“I do, but I also like men. Plus, you’re cute for a guy.” That one sentence was all it took for [Name]’s cheeks to ignite with redness. His entire body heating up from that. Gyro smiled at this as he plopped back down onto his sleeping bag, regretting that as he remembered how hard the ground was. “Damnit, bloody rough ground.” 

[Name] looked back at Gyro, still processing what had just happened. Gyro...didn’t mind that [Name] was gay. Nor did Johnny by the looks of it.And Gyro thinks he is cute. 

Perhaps this storm was good for one thing after all?

The kiss didn’t leave [Name]’s mind throughout the rest of the night. He wanted to tell Gyro what he truly felt but he did not really want Johnny to overhear it. So, he waited until Johnny fell asleep before going over to Gyro and gently shaking his shoulder.

“Gyro. Wake up.” [Name]’s voice was barely above a whisper but it seemed to be enough to wake the Italian. He stirred a little then looked up at [Name], a little confused. 

“[Name]? What is it?” He asked, sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from his stunning emerald eyes. [Name] knew it was late and possibly very stupid of him to do this but he needed to tell him. 

“Gyro Zeppeli, I like you more than friendship. I really like you. Please don’t hate me for this.” The emotions tangled inside of him and this feeling of needing to apologise was mixed in. Even though it was not his fault he had developed feelings for Gyro. 

“[Name], why would I hate you if you love me?” That question left him baffled. “I said you were cute and I meant it. I didn’t say anything earlier ‘cause I didn’t know which way you swung.” It was true. Gyro did like [Name], he always did but he didn’t want to assume that [Name] felt the same. He looked at him and smiled. 

“You want to try a kiss again? Now that Johnny’s asleep?” At that, [Name] smiled and nodded, unable to hide his joy at this. Gyro smiled and leaned closer, their lips connecting but much softer and sweeter than before. His hand coming to gently hold [Name]’s face as his own hands moved and rested on Gyro’s waist, neither breaking the kiss.

It was far more wonderful than either of them were truly expecting. Soft and sweet as the touches were. No hidden motives behind the kiss, just expressing how their hearts truly felt for one another. A warmth flowed through the pair of them, the fire had long since died out, as Gyro pulled [Name] closer yet allowed him room to pull away if he wanted to.

When they did pull away, a smile lifted both their lips. This storm was far more enjoyable than they believed. 

♦▼ for clarence and ☼☯ for anthony woodville!

Asked via the Headcanon Meme: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/634584063141920769/headcanon-meme. Thank you darling! X (at least I sprinkled a bit of history in all this).

George Duke of Clarence

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

- One Hobby/Quirk headcanon -

According to household accounts and information about his education, George knew how to play the harp and the lute. I headcanon him as continuing with those hobbies well into his adulthood. I don’t know if it’s maybe the fact that George had far less presence in the battlefield than his brothers - only Barnet and Tewksbury he actually fought in and his troops are never on the main battle charts which indicates they were not the most important, he was given the largest retinue to lead to France but as we know, there was rather more talking than bloodshed there ahasjd. Or if it’s maybe the fact that his actions and phrases denote an unusually emotional man... but I always saw him as rather sensitive and that also reflecting in his hobbies. I also headcanon him as being rather particular with his clothing (exposed to great finery since the age of 12), and so relished spending hours badgering his tailor over the smallest details regarding colours, designs, patterns etc. At some points even Isabel gets a headache ahashj.

He also had great taste for elaborate architecture (historically, there were many designs he had in mind and renovations for Tutbury and Warwick castle, to make them less fortressy and more palatial but died before they could be completed), so I think that links. As for the harp and lute, I headcanon him as having great proefficiency in them but not interested in showing that off and so just playing when in his own homes and heard by very few people there. Not because he was modest or something (quite the contrary) but because he did not like to do anything competitively because he did not like being seen as bested by others, or worse being seen to fail because well.. pride and self-importance. He never participated in jousting for example, because he knew he could not handle the shame if he were beaten by the likes of Richard Woodville or Anthony or the score of prominent jousters. Also as a typical aristocrat, he never saw the point of having to ‘prove’ his gifts, nor work at them enough to be truly talented.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I’ve had this discussion at some point with a mutual about when George left Ireland, I think the conclusion was that he may have very well stayed there quite a bit, at least maybe until Richard III was born in Fotheringhay in 1452, or even later (for his own protection or as an enduring symbol of his father’s importance there and piece between Earls Ormond and Desmond, as his baptism was all about uniting those two godfathers). I have to look deeper into this but the truth is next to nothing is known of George’s life pre-1460.

I see his sister Margaret being with him until 1452 or so (I think Ashdowne-Hill put the possibility that Margaret accompanied their mother to Ireland), and treating him as her baby as four + year olds have been known to do, creating the link. But while she returned to England (most likely), he would stay there for a one more year or so, with the occasional visits from the godfathers for goodwill. And goodness, both James Butler 5th earl Ormond & Wiltshire and Thomas FitzGerald 7th Earl Desmond had something of a similar spirit to their godson: always up for a gallantry whether that be rebellion (a contemporary saying something similar regarding gallantry about pre-1469 George - I think it was Crowland), reputed handsomeness (with some vanity):

“Gregory records, at the First Battle of St Albans in 1455, Wiltshire "fought mainly with the heels, for he was frightened of losing his beauty" ahahaha idk why gives me some Clarence vibes

or personalities that attracted support, eager patrons. With the facts of an absent real father this headcanon, just sort of clicks whether it has any bearing in reality (yet I recall an Irish castle where he spent his early years in being mentioned, but forgot the name). I also headcanon him as having spent a part of his infant years with James FitzGerald around, though, he may have been a couple years older (birthdate not given). As they were god brothers and both from Yorkist families, of course this is the same James that gets executed under Edward’s name in 1467 (godfather Ormond gets executed after the battle of Towton). In addition to him, many other companions that were relatives and nephews of his godfathers I suppose would have been selected as the 5/6 year olds’ companions. I headcanon George as charming them all, leading to him being remembered fondly by the Irish because though records of his going there in his adult life contradict each other, he seemed to have left an impression somehow. Of course, all this attention and preening has contributed to his deluded self-image as a very very important man. I also headcanon him as picking up quite a bit of the native tongue, but like most young children, what is quickly learned is quickly forgotten.

Anthony Earl Rivers

☼ - appearance headcanon

When it comes to my story, I’m tempted to make him the ‘golden-haired’ knight that he tends to get depicted in fiction because thematically it drives home the whole George/Anthony foil thing we spoke about and intend to hint at.

But for me, this will always be my mental image of Anthony. With a very kind yet clever looking face, like in here. I also always headcanoned him as heavily resembling his sister, perhaps, because of their strong sibling bond (this depiction capture that too with the heart-shaped face, small thin nose, round eyes and cheekbones (come to think of it also the mouth) .

Like in his contemporary depiction [Him presenting the Dictes and Saying of the Philosophers] I see him as having a warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but with a twinge of auburn (whereas Elizabeth Woodville is more full on red-gold). Because of his keeping with a hair-shirt underneath, I tend to see him as rather thin and tall (nearer to Edward and Margaret’s height than Richard or George’s).

࿊ - likes/dislikes headcanon

- Likes - (aside from what we know: philosophy, poetry, literature, religion, tournaments)

As a result of: That bit in one of his works where he (with great wit and subtlety) calls Plato out for his misogyny, him being a reader of Christine de Pizan (the only man at that time who I can recall), his strong relationship with his mother, sister and friendship with Margaret of Burgundy... I’ve headcanoned him as having a deeper appreciation and ‘like’ (more like respect) for womenhood than most of the others. And with an interest in the discourse that must have been going on post-De Pizan and Joan of Arc.

I also have this weird headcanon of him getting an insane fascination with Wales, the people, the Celtic remnants in its folklore - that is, once he establishes there with his nephew. And tried to absorb as much of it as possible. Particularly because he strikes me as one who though a great appreciator of beauty, is more attached to the natural, less ornate rather than the florid and goldeness of the london courts. As he was a well-traveled man this isn’t so far-fetched I suppose. I also headcanon him as a massive fan of Arthuriana (he did after all have all the features of chivalry) and would see himself as a Merlin to Prince Edward’s Arthur.

- Dislikes - (aside from war apparently)

I always saw him as taking a profound dislike to Edward’s debauchery later in his reign, especially, when it pertained infidelity to his sister. As somewhat of a stoic (not to say emotionless or robotic), he obviously did not say anything about it, but the disillusionment welled up in him, and he would find any excuse to not have to deal with it. By the time it came to leave for his guardianship, he was grateful for not having to see it. Of course, there remains mutual respect between him and Edward, during his pilgrimage I headcanon him as praying for Edward’s soul and for him to be guided back.

I always headcanoned him as never quite clicking with his wife. For some unknown reason e.g. perhaps she was a bit ignorant, dull or cold? We know very little about that marriage and it was quite brief nonetheless. There were no children and we never hear of them ever being in the same place, or references to mourning etc. Of course, since marriage is a sacrament and a way to connect with god, he feels a bit regretful about it, only in later life to realise, that some men are like Gawain, better suited to bachelorhood. But while respectful of women, few attain to his marianistic expectations (partly stemming from the image his sister projects). Overall, a dislike for this sort of inner-conflict.

7 Days and No Social Media

Yeah that’s right, I challenged myself to go 7 days without looking at Facebook and Instagram. I allowed Tumblr and Pinterest because they weren’t exactly like the layout of a conventional social media (i.e., not a lot of emphasis on likes and comments). This challenge spanned from 28th March to the 3rd of April.

[I didn’t count as messenger and Discord as social media apps because they’re mainly used for messaging people.]

A lil’ bit of context: The reason I decided to go for a week without social media was over a dinner table discussion with my cousin and her partner, which my family and I hadn’t seen for pretty much a year. We were on the topic of social media and the Netflix documentary ‘The Social Dilemma’. She and her partner after watching it decided to go without Facebook and Instagram for a week to see how they went. A year later they haven’t checked their socials and they feel fine without it. Hence, I decided to give it a go, and see how I would fair out.

Day 1 : Right, so I experienced some withdrawal symptoms. I really wanted to log onto my socials to see what was happening. So, badly. I tried distracting myself with things like reading books and watching a lot of Netflix. In fact, I watched an interesting movie called ‘I am not an easy man’.

I Am Not an Easy Man - Wikipedia

It’s a French film and in short, it’s sort of about what the world would be like if the gender roles were switched, with women being dominant and men being, well, the not so dominant. It has men deal with sexist people and essentially is displaying the struggles of being a man in a woman’s world. Kind of reflecting the world we’re in now but reversed. Might do a post on this later, but I highly recommend watching this!

Day 2 : Had a bit of a slip today. I was doing some celebrity stalking and accidentally opened up my Instagram and saw that I had 3 messages to read. Felt really tempted to see who they were from but decided to do it once I finished the challenge. I recently started doing this 30-day workout challenge from Rachel Gulotta. Her workout vids are quite aesthetic and boy, do you sweat from them. You can easily sign up for the daily workout vids on her website at: About 4 — Rachel Gulotta Fitness

Day 3 : In the evening I felt quite tense and really wanted to check what was happening online. It was also due to my emails getting a lot of notifications about what’s been happening on Instagram and Facebook. That definitely didn’t help, but I wasn’t so easily trapped to check my socials every time I logged onto my laptop.

Day 4 : Ah, the last day of March. Went to the shops for the majority of the day so that sort of stopped me from going online and being tempted. I found that in the last couple of days I had been checking my emails excessively, since I didn’t know what else to do.

For dinner I (attempted) to make omurice for my family. Needed a bit more seasoning, but other than that, quite good.

Day 5 : My friend came over in the evening for a movie night. I told her about my 7- day social media challenge, while she talked about uni life. We watched the movie ‘Promising Young Woman’, and well, it definitely was what I thought it would be. I quite liked it.

Promising Young Woman (2020) - IMDb

The colours used for the film were mesmerising, and Carey Mulligan’s acting was simply amazing as always. Again, might do a fuller review on this movie later. (Also really recommend this one too)

Day 6 : Nothing too great happened today. I watched this film called ‘Daisies’ as part of my film society club from uni, and it was a weird, but kind of cool experience? I particularly liked the costumes and the colours of the film, but as a whole I loved the movie. It definitely stood out from a lot of conventional movies now days. [Just realised I watch a couple of movies during this week].

J. HOBERMAN ON VERA CHYTILOVÁ’S SEDMIKRÁSKY (DAISIES) - Artforum International

Day 7 : Today I went for a day trip to Daylesford, a town just outside of Melbourne. It was the Easter break and there were a lot of tourists coming in to see the place. I took a couple of photos there and was thinking about how much I wanted to post them on my Tumblr blog later. Anyway, here are some photos for your enjoyment.

Top Left- Pastry King Bakery

Top Right- The Brick Lane (A vintage, 50s styled store)

Bottom Left- View of 'The Convent'

Bottom Right- The Convent entry

Came back home and took a rest. In not so relevant news, I finished season 1 of ‘You’ (yes, I know I’m late-ish to the show). And damn, all of the characters in the show I think were well written, and the storyline was addictive.

What have I learnt – I’m was surprised that I struggled not looking at Facebook and Instagram for just a week. I usually don’t look at Instagram in particular because I have a strong dislike towards it. I keep it to stay in contact with friends and it sometimes annoys me that this is the only way to keep in contact with people now. In the end, I think it’s hard to be completely AWOL when it comes to social media. It just so happens that I’m leaving in the century where this is the most common form of communication. For example, I need Facebook to connect with uni’s clubs so I can know what’s happening. I think what I’ll do for myself is to try and give myself limits of when I want to check social media and give myself a reason for why I want to do so.

Also these were the notifications from FB and Instagram. Kind of shows that you can't really live without social media forever (in my opinion):

Chapter 7. Neighbours & Mills Associates, my GWTW fanfiction

To read all the chapters of my GWTW fanfiction The Boutique Robillard, check my blog  https://alarecherchedutempsperdu.over-blog.com/tag/the%20robillard%20boutique/

****

Chronology : 1865 : Duncan returns to Paris, creates La Mode Duncan - 1873, December, divorce - 1874, January, Rhett visits Paris - 1875, january : Duncan returns to Charleston ; he buys Magnolias' Mansion ; Duncan "builds" the Vayton & Harvey Mills factory - 1875, February 5th : Rhett meets Duncan at Magnolias' Mansion - 1876, February : Grand Father Robillard died, Scarlett inherits, discovers La Mode Duncan' shop in Savanah - 1876, May : Scarlett opens her fashion shop in Atlanta - 1876, May : Charleston's event for Duncan.

Here is a long chapter. First, Duncan must buy his spinning factory for the textiles he is going to use. On the second part of this chapter comes the tough part : THE meeting Rhett x Duncan. Not really tough because our - their - dear Scarlett is not between yet...

********

Charleston, 1875, January

The management of his family legacy eventually secure, the young couturier could now set up the American branch of "La Mode Duncan". No time was to be wasted, for the task was going to be tough.

First and foremost, a telegram had to be sent to Lille, France. "Blanche - stop - Need you - stop - Emigrate to America - stop - Take your children with you - stop – I send certificate of employment - stop - Letter follows - stop. » Blanche would be surprised by this terse text, but she would soon understand the situation by reading his letter to her. He explained what he wanted from her, and enclosed certificates guaranteeing her a job and a place to live when she arrived in Charleston. Duncan had no doubt that the loyal Blanche would immediately leave her family, her former life, to take her chances and emigrate to North America at the request of the owner of "La Mode Duncan" France. He would arranged the immigration formalities for her so that she would not have to worry about them and booked a place on the ship in the port of Le Havre. He didn't forget to send another telegram to his partner Roger Dax so that he could give one of his best workers a subsequent bonus. If all went well, Blanche Augustine Bonsart would be there in time for the creation of the new "La Mode Duncan" workshop in Charleston. ***

 In the meantime, it took all his energy to select a textile factory capable of producing his own fabrics. There was no question of importing yards of fabric from France because he wanted to take advantage of the craze for local products, which was strong in the 1870s. Duncan had seen this when he visited the gigantic H. B. Claftin and C° shop in New York, which specialised in American-made textiles*. His first dilemma was to locate his spinning mill. The majority of them were located in the Northern states. The small factories in the South processed only a negligible amount of bales while, paradoxically, the South was the Master of cotton production. In keeping with his values, he wanted to set up in one of the former Confederate states. He was pleased to find that several mills had been established in South Carolina along the rivers, because of the abundant forests providing cheap resin to power the steam-powered machines. In early January he chose the best woolen mills owned by Jerry Harvey, and offered him a partnership. "Vayton & Son Ltd would buy 60% of the shares to take over management control. The textile entrepreneur thus ensured that he had full control over production methods, because the real problem facing Duncan was the quality of the final product. "Mr Harvey, we have to face an unpleasant reality. As you know, the textiles that come out of our Southern mills are 'low grade'. You produce mainly canvas, which is bought mostly by poor blacks, and cretonnes, such as shirting and drills, which are sold in the West*, but « La Mode Duncan » targets a wealthy clientele. It therefore had to use only the best-quality fabrics, comparable to those woven in France, in Roubaix, Mulhouse or Lyon. » "I am aware of that, Sir. Vayton & Harvey Woolen Mill Ltd will, no doubt, be able to rise to the challenge with the investment you are making available." "It's true, Mr. Harvey, the project is ambitious but necessary to master the quality at all stages. Our objective is, in the short or medium term, to dominate the high quality textile market, at least for South Carolina, Georgia and Louisiana. The sales potential is promising as it meets the aspirations of the upper class ladies and the nouveau riche. My tailor shop will of course be the first customer for "high-end" fabrics. We'll build a loyal following of Southern tailors and dressmakers who are frustrated that they can't buy better textiles locally. » Jerry Harvey adds: "I understand that you want our factory to be like the most modern textile mills in the North, managing all stages of production from the intake of cellulose bales, through spinning, weaving, dyeing and printing, to the transformation of the finished product." The owner of the French spinning mill Vayton & Dax said: "Yes, we must be inspired by the modernity of the North for the automation of tasks allowing a better output, use machines for certain stages such as the handling of the cellulose bags by winch and not by hand, etc..  The labour we save will be wisely transferred to other stages of production, such as dyeing and printing. » Jerry Harvey was impressed by his technical knowledge of the American market, despite the fact that he had just spent ten years in France. "What is your idea of influencing these steps? » The strength of the North American spinning mills is their modernity, speed of manufacture and large quantity produced. It is also their weakness. Compare, for example, the number of looms managed by each worker: here in the North, a single weaver is in charge of five machines, with the added requirement of speed. In France, as in my spinning mill in Roubaix, the worker is only in charge of two looms at a time*. You can understand that, in these conditions, even fabrics of common quality have many manufacturing defects. This is why Vayton & Harvey Woolen Mills Ltd will reduce the number of looms run by one worker to two." "That's an excellent suggestion. It will be expensive, of course, but it will pay off in the end," reassured Jerry Harvey. "Dyeing is my concern because I would like to use indigo. I know that its use is becoming scarce, but let's rely on the authenticity of local products. In the same spirit, we need to hire skilled chemists to ensure the consistency of the colours of the print. » "In conclusion, in order to get closer to French quality, we will have to increase the number of staff and systematically check for defects at every stage. » Duncan was satisfied that he had reached the end of his argument. "Yes, Mr Harvey, you and I are about to embark on a great adventure. This week I will contact an architect to modernise the warehouses. My contacts in the North have sent me the manufacturer's catalogue so that I can order the new looms and the more efficient printing machines. I am determined that production can start within three months. » Enthusiastically, Jerry Harvey proposed to his new partner: "I will submit to you within the week a projection of the number of employees to be hired, for each stage of transformation, by position. We can keep the American quota of two-thirds women in the spinning mill for jobs that don't require the use of too much force,* because they too need to work to overcome the economic depression. We will need more women spoolers, carders, and defect workers. »

Jerry Harvey's head was spinning. He felt an immense relief: the family spinning mill created by his father was saved! What's more, its fame would soon spread throughout the Deep South! For Duncan, all that remained was to set up his high fashion studio "La Mode Duncan" in Charleston. The hardest part was yet to come! *****

Charleston, 1875, Wednesday 5 February, at the Butler's "Rhett! I would really like you to come with us in the late afternoon with our new neighbours. The reception is not formal. It's just a « vin d’honneur » to celebrate the Vaytons' move to Magnolias' Mansion. » Rhett looked at Eleonor Butler with an amused expression: "Mother, your son is 48 years old. I think you can do without my presence to go and have tea with your friends. » "It's in your best interest. Three years ago, when you came back from Atlanta, didn't you tell me that you wanted to regain your place among our good Charleston society? I admit that you have made great efforts with your charity work. But what better support could you gain than from Charleston's oldest and most respected family? Especially since this friendship could also benefit your business, as the heir to Vayton Ltd is one of the richest men in the United States of America! » Faced with this avalanche of arguments, Rhett had only one solution: to accept the invitation to the Vaytons. *****

Charleston, 1875, Wednesday 5 February, at the Vayton home Melina had learned her lesson well by leaving the "hospitality" door to the porch open to let the Butler neighbours know that they were eagerly awaited. Barnabee, the butler, opened the inner door to the piazza. Mrs. Vayton came to greet them warmly and directed them on their right to the drawing room. Eleonor Butler and her daughter had had many opportunities to be received by the previous owners, the Hopkins. Nevertheless, they were amazed by the new interior design. Mrs. Vayton introduced her daughter to the Butlers. Rhett paid his respects to Cathleen and Melina with an elegant hand kiss. They were charmed. The lady of the house apologised to her guests: "My son is in his office. He had to write an urgent letter to France. He will join us in a few minutes. » The four women settled into comfortable chairs and happily began to exchange stories about the Battery. Rhett took the opportunity to cast his art-loving eye over the impressively large reception room. Everything was a harmony of forms, styles and materials. The room occupied the entire width of the façade. The light, that radiated from the five front windows and the two French windows overlooking the piazza, accentuated the grandiose aspect of this room reserved for prestigious guests and receptions among friends. The aesthete appreciated the conscious choice to contrast the curves of the architecture with the straight lines of the furniture. The sinuosity of the wall of the three bowed-windows stretched like a serpentine on either side of the other two windows. These curved lines echoed the moulded stucco frieze around the ceiling and the arch over the door. What an aesthetic success! The osmosis between the curves, the glitter of light, the walls partially painted in pale yellow, while the ceiling, the base and the windows were of a brilliant white, instilled an atmosphere of tranquillity. The softness of the whole was accentuated by the pale yellow lustrous silk of the upholstered seats. The contrast with the rigorous Empire style of the French furnishings Duncan bought in New York was all the more striking. Straight, clean lines, sharp-edged ornaments. The same antagonism of colours struck the visitor, between the mahogany and gold bronzes of the furniture as if lifted by the blond oak floor. Rhett was fascinated. Of course, he knew the French style that Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte had initiated: originally furniture dedicated the military men, a martial style, straight seats that allowed soldiers, such as General Bonaparte, to keep their swords in a seated position without embarrassment. A spartan and severe spirit that was called the Directoire style**. When Napoleon was crowned Emperor, with the pomp of the Court, the furniture became a pretext to testify to the power and wealth of the Empire. The flamed mahogany veneer was decorated with luxurious ornaments in gilded bronze, like the magnificent sphinxes enthroned under the armrests of the armchairs in the Vayton salon or the caryatids placed on either side of the overmantel. This large pier-mirror topped a black marble fireplace in the American Federal style that the first owner of the house had installed. Meanwhile, Barnabee had made his entrance. Three large silver trays generously garnished with fine food had been placed on the round side tables protected by beautiful embroidered tablecloths. The cook, Netty, had taken particular care in preparing the small canapés and other croustades. This was the very first invitation from the Vayton family. Even though it was not a dinner party, it was important to honour the closest neighbours of the Magnolias' Mansion. Barnabee was now dexterously serving refreshments. Rhett politely accepted a canapé with scallop terrine, and then resumed his admiring inspection of the place, while the four women were absorbed in discovering common interests. While admiring the finesse of the "Return from Egypt" sculptures,** Rhett the businessman recalled a conversation he had had with some English entrepreneurs in London. An idea came to him. It seemed obvious. At last he would find the excitement of embarking on a great adventure... The elegance and luxury of the place definitely appealed to him. Suddenly a regret assailed Rhett: "If only I had helped Scarlett refine her tastes, instead of leaving her without advice and mocking her disastrous decorative choices, I'm sure she would have loved the abundance of golden bronzes and the warmth of mahogany." The Old Guard would have been jealous of his wife, that's for sure, because of the display of so much luxury. But at least they would not have reproached her for a lapse in taste. "How I regret, Scarlett..." Rhett shook his head to get rid of the flush of weakness that once again overtook him. "Damn it! Why can't I put her out of my mind? Even a year after our divorce - no! It's been fifteen months since our divorce, sixteen months since we saw each other, Scarlett - and you still torment me! Will there be no end to this? » The entrance of the master of the house interrupted his depressing thoughts and he stood up to greet the young man who was holding out his hand. After Cathleen introduced their neighbours to Duncan Vayton, he sat down opposite the Butlers' eldest son. In a fraction of a second, the two gentlemen looked at each other. Rhett thought to himself that the young Vayton exuded sympathy with his frank smile and keen eye. "His good looks must please the ladies! Old Ashley would be jealous of his blonde hair. "He chuckled under his breath, still eager to belittle Scarlett's former blond knight, now quite grey. Duncan, for his part, was impressed by Mr Butler's bearing. The man wore his age elegantly, and his impeccable dress showed an undeniable accuracy of taste. Both men identified the other as belonging to the caste of well-born and refined gentlemen. "May I offer you a glass? In your honour, I have selected an excellent Cote Chateau Lafite Rothschild, from the 1870 vintage. This bottle is part of the reserve that I brought back from France when I returned here in January. I am sure you are a great connoisseur yourself, and I will be happy, another day, to show you around my wine cellar. » Then addressing the ladies present: "Ladies, would you like to try this excellent wine? The four women gently refused. They did not want to disturb the cordial understanding that seemed to have developed between the two men. "Cathleen, ever since we arrived, I have been admiring these lovely tablecloths on the pedestal tables. The fabric is of such beautiful quality and the embroidery designs are exquisitely difficult! » Duncan's mother smiled broadly, "Dear Friend, I am proud to say that they are made in the French mill owned by my son. "Then, turning to the young man, she said, "Duncan, could you ask your partner to send Mrs. Butler several sets of tea towels to complement the large embroidered doilies?» Mrs. Butler politely declined at first, but was delighted with the gift to come. Rhett thought that the man in front of him was definitely resourceful. "Duncan - I think we can call each other by our first names. What do you think? "The other nodded. "I'd love to, Rhett! » He continued: "I am in awe of your Empire period furniture. At West Point, when we were taught the military strategy of the French Emperor, we sometimes made a foray into the study of Napoleon Bonaparte-influenced lifestyles and decorating style." Duncan was amazed at the similarities between them. "It was my love for this great character that made me decide to decorate Magnolias' Mansion with an Empire feel, particularly influenced by the battles fought by General Bonaparte in the Egyptian Campaign**. Young Vayton added: "And I too began to admire Napoleon at West Point! What a happy coincidence, Rhett! We have the same artistic tastes, we're avid oenophiles and we've had similar training. I think we'll get along just fine! "Duncan gave Rhett his friendliest smile.

He continued: "Which regiment did you lead during the war? Perhaps we have crossed paths? » Rhett suddenly found himself on a ridge. To admit that he had only joined the Confederacy at the end when the South was about to lose - that famous night when he had abandoned Scarlett on the road to Rough and Ready? It might not look good for this new 'white knight in shining armour'. But he didn't care.  Goodness gracious! The great Rhett Butler was proud of his past, and he would impress the impetuous young man! "I was a blockade breaker. One of the best, I must humbly confess! "he assured them in a drawl so charming that the four women stopped their casual conversation to listen to his story. "I was in command of one of the largest steam-powered sidewheelers, the SS Lynx. It had a steel hull and  was 220 feet long***. But I changed a year later to a smaller, more malleable and much faster steamer, capable of dodging the Federal Navy. I was probably one of the first to be awarded the "letter of marque" signed by President Jefferson Davis, which attested to my service to the Confederacy. "Rhett gave his mother a mischievous smile. "A paper that would not have protected me from hanging if I had been captured by Federal forces. » Mrs Butler shuddered in retrospect. "Her dear daredevil of a son! » "The Yankee naval army had set up the "Anaconda Plan", a blockade belt encircling the Confederate states. The front line looked like a snake, running from Maryland up the Missouri River.*** And it was indeed an anaconda that strangled the Confederate states by preventing them from obtaining arms, getting supplies from Northern factories, receiving cargo from British ships, and being able to export their cotton production. »     Rhett the seducer was now mostly talking to Melina for the sake of impressing her. "What were you carrying? "asked the young Vayton, amazed to have an adventurous hero as a neighbour. "Mostly weapons for our Confederate Army, gunpowder, bullets for rifles, and mail too: in our own way, we were in the front line of the fighting! » "We would have to sail along the coast at night, using indians tricks to get into the harbour and fool the Union ships! "Rhett's eyes glistened at the excitement and fear that gripped the entire crew as they approached the danger. Cathleen Vayton also found herself transported by the exploits of the former blockade breaker: "How many times have you managed to get through the lines? » "Thirty-three times! My first arrival in Nassau was on 5 December 1861. We were loading cargoes from England, filled with guns, lead, meat, saltpetre, shoes, blankets, coffee, and also the more luxurious items of clothing and sewing, necessary for your daily life, dear ladies! » "The transfer points, between the ships coming from England and us taking over the cargo, were from Nassau. Then we sailed to the ports of Wilmington, Charleston and Savannah. On the return trip to Nassau, the planters would entrust us with their cotton production, which would then make the crossing in English freighters. »

"The hull of my little steamer was painted grey to make it as inconspicuous as possible offshore. Duncan, did you know that when we were approaching the coast we used to feed the boiler with anthracite coal instead of coal so that the smoke would be white and dissolve on the horizon? I have even used cotton soaked in turpentine to raise the heat and substantially increase the speed. Rhett's eye twitched as he thought of these anecdotes. "We had to use indians tricks, I tell you! » Duncan looked at his quiet neighbour in a new light. "I met some brave men, who were not afraid of anything. You've probably heard of the famous Josiah Gorgas, who also graduated from West Point. He was my friend. » Duncan admired Rhett Butler's valour. "It is true! The Cause has paid tribute to those brave blockade-breakers who braved machine-gun fire and the beaching of their ships to relieve us of Yankee asphyxiation. However, it is regrettable that some took advantage of this to enrich themselves by not giving priority to supplying our troops. I remember a certain Butler - one of your namesakes,  Rhett - with whom I was in business to repatriate a shipment of military jackets and trousers made at my expense in my French factory. His transport prices were prohibitive. I had tried to make him understand by special mail that these uniforms would be used to protect our soldiers from the rigours of the rain and the cold, but nothing was could change his mind! He shamelessly told me that I had to accept his price because the cargo space available on his ship was very coveted. » Duncan gave a disillusioned pout at the memory. Rhett got up from his seat. He looked straight at the former Lieutenant-Colonel: "It was me, Captain Rhett Butler! »     Startled eyes stared at him. "You? You’re disappointing me, Mr Butler. I thought we shared the same values. After this revelation, I'm not so sure..." Rhett was not disconcerted by this sudden reversal of cordial understanding. "Times were tough. One third of the available space on our ships was legally reserved for the transport of cotton, so that the economy would not collapse*** - which it did. I had to feed my crew and make a profit from these expeditions where our lives were threatened at every moment. I do not regret my choices. I take responsibility for them. » Chin up, his imposing stature extended, Rhett stared defiantly at Duncan. The former benefactor of the Cause just didn't know how to respond. The ladies present became aware of the sudden change in atmosphere. The tension between the two men had become tangible. To distract and inject some levity, Melina brought up her favourite subject: "This place is a real paradise, but for our dear Mum's joy to be complete, we need something more. » Cathleen wondered, "What are you thinking, girl? » "To children's laughter, of course! "The young Vayton was pleased with her effect. "Isn't it your dream to see your grandchildren running around the paths of our beautiful garden?" "Children's laughter..." Rhett felt a twinge of sadness. "No, he mustn't imagine his beloved Bonnie sharing the games of other children here. Or else he wouldn't be able to keep a straight face until the end of this reception. Mrs Vayton exchanged a knowing smile with Mrs Butler. "I hope this dream will soon become a reality thanks to our children! "Then her gaze fell on Duncan. He was still confused by his neighbour's revelation. "Why are you looking at me, Mother? I'm leaving it to Melina to ensure the Vayton descendants. When will you take a husband, my dear sister?" Melina blushed: "When I find my Prince Charming. "Then she jumped in: "You're the oldest. It's up to you to get married first. Are you ready to introduce us to the woman of your dreams? » Duncan was taken aback by his sister's questioning. "The woman of my dreams? A concept that never crossed my mind, I confess. "He chuckled. "In fact, I doubt very much if she exists! "In any case," he added, giving his sister a sly smile, "you'd be the first to know if I ever came across her. Let me tell you, I'm not about to introduce you to her! » Melina insisted, cuddling. "Make an effort, Big Brother. How will you recognize her? » He remained silent for a few moments, in deep introspection. Surprised by his own train of thought, he finally said in a hesitant voice:     "If she existed, I think I would know it immediately. Within the first few minutes. She would have a fiery temperament, a panther ready to purr or claw, soft skin..." Duncan paused abruptly, embarrassed by his indecent confidence, an admission of weakness made all the more awkward by the fact that it had been dropped in the presence of a man as impavid as Rhett Butler. Rhett, who had approached the piazza, froze. A succession of images assailed him: a library, a green muslin, a pearly shoulder, a broken vase, two emeralds, sparkles of anger... He closed his eyes to chase away the hallucinations that haunted him every night. In rage, he shoved his fists into his pockets. Melina looked at her brother in amazement: "Oh, you the hardened bachelor, are you in fact a passionate man ? You didn't accustom me and Mum to such lyricism!" She burst out laughing. The young man did not know what to say. For the first time, without his noticing it, he had put words to a fantasy that had never been consciously thought of before. "Don't get too excited, dear sister. In any case, this woman does not exist. » Melina then turned to the eldest son of the Butler family. "What about you, Rhett? Would you describe the woman of your dreams to me? Who knows, maybe your sister and I could find her among our friends .... What do you think Rosemary?" Her laughing eyes met the embarrassed faces of both the Butler women and her mother. "Melina, this is unseemly of you. "Cathleen sternly rebuked her, outraged that Rhett Butler's chaotic marital situation could be so cavalierly invoked. Then she turned to Rhett: "Mr Butler, I apologise for my daughter's indiscretion. Melina is as giddy as a child. In her defence, I must say she is an incorrigible romantic. » Her daughter then realised her blunder. She was clearly missing a piece of information that those present had. Eleonor Butler was silent, fearing a sarcastic reaction from her son. Duncan had lost interest in the subject and was enjoying his glass of wine. The heated argument of a few minutes ago was still bothering him. So he told himself he didn't give a damn about Rhett Butler's "dream woman. With that drawl he liked to use before he was about to make a hurtful remark, Rhett replied to Cathleen: "I see no offence in your dear daughter's innocent question. » Then, with a smirk that looked more like a sneer, he amused himself by staring at the young woman who was now blushing with confusion. "The dream woman? You should know, Miss Melina, that sometimes we have to take control of our dreams, to give up those that are futile. "Then his gaze drowned in the direction of the porch. His intonation froze the other four guests. The awkwardness that had crept in over the last quarter of an hour became overwhelming. It was time to end the tension. "Cathleen, I'm sure you're exhausted from moving in. It is now time for us to take our leave and for you to rest. The warm welcome you have given us in your beautiful mansion is very special to me. We shall both see you next week. Good evening to you, my dear Eleonor, your lovely daughter and the talented Duncan! » That evening, two neighbours who could have been friends were not sad to part... ****

Endnotes to Chapter 7 *My sources of information on the cotton economy and textile mills in the USA in 1870 are based on Louis Reybaud's thesis published in 1870, "L'Industrie et les Ouvriers du Coton aux États-Unis depuis la guerre de secession", Revue des Deux Mondes, 2nd period, volume 90, 1870. **Directoire, 1795-1799: government that succeeded the period of the French Revolution. The Directoire style of furniture extends to 1803. - Egyptian Campaign: battles led by General Bonaparte from 1798 to 1801 - "Return from Egypt": term characterising the style of ornamentation - Empire, 1804-1815: General Bonaparte was crowned Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. - Empire style furniture, from 1803 to 1821. ***Blockade Breakers during the American Civil War: source Wikipedia. Disclaimers : I do not own the story and characters of Gone with the Wind which belong to Margaret Mitchell. The “world” of Duncan Vayton and Blanche Bonsart are my creation.

A drop into silence - Part 3

I decided not to leave this without a little hope for you all. I go a little into the science at the end, I hope I have kept it at the right level. I did have some fun researching stem cells.   Part 1 and Part 2. Enjoy

************

The next few days were spent lying in a hospital bed, a smile plastered on his face, keeping up appearances for his little brothers. He laughed at Gordon’s jokes, smiled as Alan relayed his latest adventure on Cavern Quest and tried to reflect the air of positivity that the doctors seemed to have. His fingers stayed pink and healthy, his wounds were healing nicely, and his bones had been repositioned correctly first time. He was considered lucky. Yet deep down, beneath it all, Scott felt despair. The support of his family kept him there, kept him present and he would have drowned without them. But part of him wanted to drown. With every passing day the neurologist looked less satisfied with his progress. A week after the rescue and he was discharged with physiotherapy booked for when the cast they sent him home in was removed. The joy on everyone’s face kept him going. They were like a storm, spinning around him with such force it carried him along. Yet that night, after he’d thrown his nightshirt across the room in frustration, he let the façade fall. Scott lay on bed shirtless, placed his head on his pillow and stared at the ceiling. Only then could he let the thoughts surface. The tears silently fell, dampening his pillow. When the sound of someone entering his room came, he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t pull on the façade he’d discarded. He was thankful when it was Virgil who pulled a chair up to his bed.

“I can’t feel anything, Virgil.”

The soft brown eyes met his, a sadness in them that showed the truth.

“The doctors say the feeling could still come back; your nerves just need time to heal.”

“Screw the doctors!” Scott growled, anger filling him as tears continued to fall. “What do you believe, Virgil? You’ve seen the scans; you know the medical facts. I know you’ve spoken with Grandma, gotten her opinion. Do you think I’ll regain enough feeling, enough movement?”

Scott watched as Virgil broke eye contact. His brother was bent over in the chair, and guilt spread through him. He should take it out on Virgil. It wasn’t his fault. The tear that Virgil shed made Scott want to reach out. He did reach out, except he didn’t. His left arm didn’t move, didn’t follow the command Scott gave it. Instead, Virgil met his eyes and held his gaze. Those hazel eyes were strong and held, ready to speak the truth.

“I believe you’ll regain some feeling, just not enough for you to use the arm. You would only be allowed to fly a specially adapted plane and your days as an International Rescue operative are over. Brains is already planning on a way to allow you to fly Thunderbird One but…”

“I won’t be able to do rescues. I’ll be a liability.”

Scott’s heart broke and he knew Virgil’s was shattering beside him. International Rescue would never be the same. It would go on, because it had to, but without him at the helm of Thunderbird One, it wouldn’t feel right.

“I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott pushed himself up awkwardly, still not used to the dead weight of his arm and twisted so he sat facing Virgil. His gaze fell on his fingers, again he tried to wiggle them, every thought projecting down the arm. Nothing. Virgil picked up the hand and shifted so it lay on his knee. Silently, he started massaging the muscles and flexing the fingers. These were some of Scott’s assigned exercises, all of which were easier done by someone else. Virgil went through every finger, bending it and flexing it, being careful of the cast that stopped at his knuckles. The tender care of his brother’s touch was lost to Scott. Closing his eyes, his body felt still. None of the movement could be felt. He had felt the tug when Virgil had pulled his arm, up in his shoulder, above where the main nerve had been severed.

“Grandma is reaching out to all her friends, asking if there is any research that has evaded her that might help.”

Scott fought the sob. Of course, she wouldn’t give up. She was a Tracy too, stubborn as they come. It brought a smile to his face, despite the tear that escaped. He felt his hand being placed on his leg and returned his gaze to Virgil. The artist’s hands fell on his bare shoulders, an act that gave Scott the strength he currently lacked.

“We’ll get through this.”

Scott gave Virgil a resigned nodded. He still struggled to believe it could get better. Virgil got up, leaving Scott’s shoulders to feel cold, only to return with the nightshirt he’d discarded.

“How about we get this on?”

*****

Scott stood in front of the mirror in just his suit trousers. The skin on his left arm clearly displayed the scars, a fresh pink colour, that reminded him that even though he looked okay, he wasn’t complete. It’d been almost three months and there was no change in the arm. It just hung there, limp. The rest of Scott’s body was still toned due his continued use the island gym. Even though he couldn’t be a member of International Rescue, the need to maintain his fitness remained. Yet as Scott stared at his redundant arm, he could see the signs of wastage. The bicep had less definition and his forearm was looking slimmer. Signing, he turned and slipped the shirt from its hanger. He’d gotten the technique now, on how to slip his dead arm into the sleeve, though he knew it would create creases in the crisp ironed material. Pulling it up at the shoulder, he pulled it round and slipped his right arm in. Again, his fingers had mastered the one handed fasten, and soon the shirt was done up. The suit jacket followed in the same manner. Sitting he pulled on his socks and shoes. He had yet to buy any new dress shoes, not wanting another reminder of what he couldn’t do. Slipping on the shoes, laces left untied, he grabbed his tie and room key. Outside Grandma was waiting. She’d flown him over and insisted on staying to help him. He regretted that he needed help, but the tie slipped from his hand and was thrown over his head. Scott smiled at his Grandmother as she tightened the knot round his neck before bending down and tying his shoes tightly. These shoes hadn’t let him down yet, but his secretary was aware of his difficulties and she was good at discreetly helping him.

“All ready. Go get them, Scott.”

Scott couldn’t help the small chuckle at his Grandma’s enthusiasm. He’d taken to doing more Tracy Industries work, so he didn’t just spend his time watching, worrying, and envying his brothers when they were out on rescues. They were all being careful, his arm a subtle reminder of why they must be cautious. Yet at the same time, when in the heat of the moment, they could forget it and they had started to push themselves again. They had just returned from a rescue before he had left last night, so goodness knows what could happen to them while he was away.

“Thanks Grandma. Are you sure you’ll be okay by yourself in New York?”

“Oh, don’t go worrying about me. I’ve plenty to keep me occupied. Anyway, we need to get you to your meeting, can’t be late now.”

“I’m the CEO, they can’t start without me!”

Grandma looped her arm in his good one and started guiding him towards the exit. She was one of the strongest women he knew and as he peered down at the top of her head, he absorbed some of that strength. It was his family that got him out of bed each morning, his family that got him through the pain that rose when he found himself staring up at Thunderbird One, or when he went to the supply cupboard and saw his spare uniform. His family kept this grounded pilot going.

*****

The previous day had been tough, and all Scott had wanted was to be flown home so he could sleep in his own bed. However, Grandma had insisted that they stay another night and spend the day in New York. One gaze into his Grandmother’s hopeful blue eyes, her hands clasped together, and he relented. Maybe he needed some time away from the island.

“So, where are you planning to take me today?”

Scott smiled down at the older woman, who had her arm in his and was pulling him towards the exit. There was an energy in her that reminded him of Alan.

“Actually, I was hoping you’d agree to meet a friend of a friend I met yesterday. She’s currently doing some research you might be interested in.”

Scott’s heart stuttered in his chest. He knew what she was referring to and he tried to stay calm. There had been so many false leads, so much promising research that was still in the earliest of stages. They had even investigated bionics, though Scott wasn’t too keen as some of the early work was less than successful in the long run. He also had Brains working on an exosuit-like device that would be able to move his arm for him, but the prototypes were still bulky and hard to control. If Grandma thought it was worth his time then he would go, he just wouldn’t get his hopes up. The car out front took them to a skyscraper, and they were met in the lobby by a smartly dressed woman who embraced Grandma.

“It’s good to see you again Sally, and you must be Mr Scott Tracy. My name is Charlene Russell, I’m a neuroscientist and it’s my research that might be of interest to you.”

Scott shook her outstretched hand, noting the glance to his useless one. They were then led up to an office where they were subjected to a presentation. Scott didn’t miss the eagerness radiating from his Grandma.

“…so, as you can see, the rats regained full use of their legs after the treatment. When it comes to the same in humans, we have been given permission to start some trials in extremely specific patients, mainly in smaller less complex neurological deficiencies. We harvest the stem cells from the bone marrow, as well as the testis in men. Unlike earlier therapies we plan to harvest multipotent stem cells, so they still obtain the ability to become most cell lines. We have managed to find a combination of signalling proteins, hormones, and growth factors, which push human stem cells to become neuroectodermal cells, which is the first stage in the development of the nervous system in a foetus. We also have the right combination to produce neural stem cells. Our treatment involves injecting these cells into the area around the damaged nerves to allow the cells to trigger repair and in some cases, even bridge the broken strands allowing signals to pass along the nerves. It can take a few treatments to get the best results, but in our trials so far, patients have regained more function than expected from normal treatment alone.”

Scott sat straight, trying to take in all the science that was being thrown at him. The take home message seemed that they could repair damaged nerves in some patients. But would it work for him? He dared not hope for full movement but even some. If he could just feed himself and tie his shoes. To not have to rely on someone else for the simplest of things. It would ease the worry he saw in Virgil’s eyes.

“Do you think it could help me?”

“Well, Sally kindly shared with me your medical scans, and considering the nerve damage is limited to a few small areas, with the main break being at the top of your arm, this type of therapy has the potential to help. This therapy is very individualistic, and outcomes can vary, but if we could get even a few stem cells to bridge the gap at the top of your arm then that could restore some function, even if it’s just sensations of touch or pain.”

Even the feeling of touch would be an improvement. Currently he often bruised or cut the skin on his left arm because he couldn’t feel it. He had once left a trail of blood through the house when he’d cut his finger on something and hadn’t noticed.

“You said only a few selected cases could undergo the treatment, would I fall into this category?”

“Currently you don’t, however we have just been granted permission to try the therapy on a person with a similar injury in their leg. I believe we could apply to allow you on a trial as we could use your data in conjunction with theirs to assess the therapies potential in humans. We would have to apply straight away as the sooner after injury the treatment is preformed the better the success and you are already close to three months post injury.”

“Do you think we could get permission?”

“Yes. I believe the fact that you are Scott Tracy will help with your case too.”

“Then let’s do it. I have nothing to lose.”

Charlene smiled at him and Scott couldn’t help but mirror it.

“I’ll go fetch all the appropriate paperwork. I’ve had one of the medical teams on standby ready to do the required examinations and tests on your arm. These will have to be repeated at a late date for confirmation. Also, if you consent, they are also able to do the tissue harvest to start the process of extracting and culturing your multipotent stem cells. This would mean we could move quickly into starting treatment once permission is obtained.”

“So, I’m going to have a bone marrow harvest and you said something about testis in men, what does that involve?”

Charlene looked a little sheepish.

“Yes, the doctors will take a small slither of testicular tissue. They have assured me that it won’t affect your ability to have children and involves making a small incision with minimal scaring. The doctors will explain all the risks later, though from what I’ve heard most men don’t complain, especially if the bone marrow harvest is done first or at the same time.”

Scott swallowed, but nodded. There were always risks with new procedures, but this might be his best shot. There was a chance, a glimmer of hope if bureaucracy didn’t get in his way. Then he was Scott Tracy, CEO of Tracy industries and still considered Commander of International Rescue to most of the world. When had a bit of paperwork ever stopped him from getting what he wanted?

Love your blog💕 what would you say to the ppl who think GRRM didn’t write Fire and Blood as a precaution/warning about the Targaryens? IMHO it’s pretty blatant that he’s anti-Targ restoration but I see Targ fans saying the contrary and using quotes he’s said about relating to Dany in the aspects of not having a home, etc. Plus the fact that he’s made a whole book about them and they’re having their own prequel show (😩🙄).

Hi! Thanks Anon :D

About Targaryen restoration, I always wondered WHY and HOW so many people in the fandom firmly believe that ASOIAF is mainly about House Targaryen and its restoration. And because of that belief I had to read words like these: “The notion that Daenerys Targaryen and her House are not the collective heroes of this saga is ignorant to the point of idiocy.” Or I had to watch and listen to certain very popular spoiler youtuber saying that “if GOT doesn’t end in Targaryen restoration, the story has no sense”.  This person even claimed several times in his videos that GRRM himself has affirmed that ASOIAF is in fact about House Targaryen and its restoration. And I always was like: HOW? WHERE?

Apparently GRRM once said that ASOIAF was about “the return to glory of a great family”, so people immediately thought that that great family was House Targaryen…     

I don’t have the original source for that, but if GRRM has specifically said that ASOIAF is about “the return to glory of a great family”, that family is no other than HOUSE STARK; because even if he doesn’t use the exact same words, GRRM has actually said several times over the years that THE STARKS are the heart/center/main characters/heroes of the story. And this affirmation has been supported by Bryan Cogman and even D&D in several interviews/events. 

About GRRM relating to Dany and House Targaryen, let’s read those quotes:  

From an early age George was aware of a lost fortune on his mother’s side of the family, the Brady family, who once owned a successful construction business, a dock and a grand house, all lost in the Great Depression of 1929. “I had a walk past that house every day on my way from the projects on 1st Street to 5th Street, and it’s like, well, that used to be our dock, that used to be our house. Now we don’t have a house, we don’t have a yard, but I had always had the sense of, yeah I’m poor, but I come from royalty, or I come from greatness that somehow was destroyed by the depression, by corrupt politicians, by things like that. So maybe that gives me a little of the emotional temperament to understand somebody like Daenerys Targaryen.

Sources: [x] [x] [x]

More recently, while promoting Fire & Blood Vol. I, he repeated this part of his personal story with these words:

“From my mother’s stories, I always had this kind of sense that I was like disinherited royalty. Here was this dock that my great-grandfather built, it wasn’t ours anymore. Here was this house that my mother had been born in, we didn’t own this house anymore. We didn’t own any house, we had an apartment. So it was like, ugh, I came from greatness, like Dany! And (talking with a voice and tone similar to one of Dany’s outburst and banging the table) ‘I will take back what is mine with Fire and Blood!’ HAHAHAHAHA. So I think on some level, that must’ve gotten to me.”

—In conversation: George R. R. Martin with John Hodgman

But when he wasn’t promoting Fire & Blood Vol. I, this is what he said:

The house where my mother had grown up … the house her father Thomas had built (…) the Brady house. But of course it wasn’t. Someone else lived there now, someone we did not know.

I walked past that house twice a day, five days a week, for nine years. And every time I stepped outside my front door, I saw the dock across the street. The dock was surrounded by a chain link fence, but sometimes my friends and I would climb it. From the dock it was easier to reach the oily rocks along the shore when the tide was out. There was a watchman on the dock, though, and if he saw us he’d come out of his shed and shout at us. “Get out of here, you kids,” he’d yell. “You got no business here.” Yes, I do, part of me always wanted to shout back, you’re the one who’s got no business, my great-grandfather BUILT this dock. I was a shy kid, though, so I never said a word.

Sources: [x] [x]

And then I would walk to school; we lived in First Street, my school was on Fifth Street, I would walk to school and I would pass the house that the Bradys had owned. I would pass it twice a day going and coming from school. This big house my mother had been born in and her family had grown up in, but had lost. And other people lived in what had been our house. And I think it always gave me this, this sense of a lost golden age of, you know, now we were poor and we lived in the projects and we lived in an apartment. We didn’t even have a car, but God we were… once we were royalty! It gave me a certain attraction to those kinds of stories of I don’t know, fallen civilizations and lost empires and all of that.

Source: [x]

As you can see, GRRM took inspiration from that part of his personal story and applied it to Dany and House Targaryen. Thanks to that part of his personal story, GRRM can understand Dany to a certain extend (So maybe that gives me a little of the emotional temperament to understand somebody like Daenerys Targaryen); but he is not Dany, he hasn’t dedicate his entire life to re-take his family lost properties with fire and blood. 

And at this point I think is relevant to state that a house is not a home.  

Now, about Fire & Blood Vol. I. After finished reading it I said this:

*GRRM WROTE AN ANTI TARG BOOK*

As if the ASOIAF Books weren’t enough, GRRM gave us Fire and Blood.

He warned us all. He always did. It’s a good day to remember it.

GRRM said it himself: 

Esquire: How will Fire & Blood deepen our understanding of Daenerys and her dragons?

GRRM: This is a book that Daenerys might actually benefit from reading, but she has no access to Archermaester Gyldayn’s crumbling manuscripts. So she’s operating on her own there. Maybe if she understood a few things more about dragons and her own history in Essos, things would have gone a little differently.

—Esquire - 2018

Even though he was promoting Fire & Blood Vol. I, and his interviewers were very enthusiastic about dragons, he wasn’t sharing their enthusiasm: 

GRRM: “People read fantasy to see the colours again,” he says. “We live our lives and I think there’s something in us that yearns for something more, more intense experiences. There are men and women out there who live their lives seeking those intense experiences, who go to the bottom of the sea and climb the highest mountains or get shot into space. Only a few people are privileged to live those experiences but I think all of us want to, somewhere in our heart of hearts we don’t want to live the lives of quiet desperation Thoreau spoke about, and fantasy allows us to do those things. Fantasy takes us to amazing places and shows us wonders, and that fulfils a need in the human heart.”

THEM: And the dragons?

GRRM: “Oh sure, dragons are cool too,” he chuckles. “But maybe not on our doorstep”

—The Guardian - 2018

I mean, he is proud to be named after Saint George The Dragon Slayer: 

John Hodgman: That’s how I can’t sue you, If you steal from history and add a dragon. I can’t sue you.

GRRM: I’m working off my own, you know, karma here, because I’m George, and what’s he known for? He killed the dragon, you know, come on. Come on, I was almost abolished at one point when the Catholic Church was reviewing all the saints, I was terrified that George would be abolished, because they abolish a lot of fiction, I said George is only known for killing a dragon, how can they keep him in, but they did so, that was, that was good.

John Hodgman: I’m glad you stayed anointed.

GRRM: That’s right.

—In conversation: George R. R. Martin with John Hodgman

Here a graphic representation:

And about the Targaryen having their own books (Fire & Blood Vol. I and II) and their own prequel show based on Fire & Blood, let me tell you a couple of things:

Last month GRRM attended an event in London #GRRMLive organized by Harper Voyager UK, and Adam Whitehead, a friend of GRRM, was present in the event and reported this:

Confirmation that Fire & Blood was written by accident: originally it was sidebar material for World of Ice & Fire that got out of control. He wrote hundreds of thousands of words in a few weeks and scared his publishers and had to stop so Elio & Linda could compress it down.

And the first prequel show actually ordered by HBO, that is already in post-production, is not about Targaryens and it has no dragons:

What’s it about? Taking place thousands of years before the events of Game of Thrones, the series chronicles the world’s descent from the golden Age of Heroes into its darkest hour. From the horrifying secrets of Westeros’s history to the true origin of the White Walkers, the mysteries of the East to the Starks of legend, only one thing is for sure: It’s not the story we think we know. [x]

Also, after the news of the “Targaryen prequel”, GRRM himself said this: I do want to point out that “moving closer to a pilot order” is NOT the same thing as “getting a pilot order.” 

So that’s it Anon. GRRM is writing a series of SEVEN BOOKS and THE STARKS are the heart/center/main characters/heroes of the story. Meanwhile Fire and Blood was apparently an accident made of sidebar material…

And to finish this answer, I will leave you with one of my fave GRRM quotes:

Source [x]