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poisonlove · 4 months

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The Princess and the Huntress | Jenna Ortega

y/n, a 19-year-old impoverished hunter, works alongside her father for the royal court, delivering game supplies to the king's kitchen. One day, while carrying out their routine duties at the royal court, y/n witnesses someone she shouldn't have – Jenna, a princess from the Ortega dynasty. Due to her captivating beauty, the king and queen wish to shield her from prying eyes, as she is destined to marry the duke of the neighboring realm to end the ongoing war and ensure lasting peace.

Disclaimer: Story set in the 1600s.

I close one eye to aim carefully, pointing the bow towards a rabbit timidly passing through those parts of the woods. A thin ray of sunlight filters through the branches, illuminating its thick gray fur. I breathe deeply, seeking the necessary concentration, feeling the warmth of the bow's wood in my hands.

The arrow is released, cutting through the silent air as it follows its trajectory towards the rabbit. A moment of anxiety dissolves into my smile when I see that I've hit it dead-on. The small animal lowers itself, and the forest seems to whisper my success.

An instant of gratification unfolds in my heart, a connection with nature and the mastery of hunting that has set my spirit free. I am Y/N, the huntress, and the forest is my kingdom.

I approach the rabbit slowly, smiling contentedly as I take it by the ears and carefully remove the arrow from its small body. The soft fur slides between my fingers, while the forest around seems to celebrate my fortunate hunt.

My gaze meets that of my father, who had approached silently. His proud smile reveals the joy of seeing his daughter demonstrate skill in hunting.

"Well done, Y/N," my father says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You have incredible precision. The royal court will be grateful for this."

"I hope so, father," I reply humbly as we continue to prepare the prey. "This rabbit will be an excellent addition to the king's dinner."

Together, we look at the result of my hunt, a moment of connection between us and our mission at court. The forest guarding our secret and our skill.

"Y/N," my father says, handing me the rabbit to take it to the castle, "I'll head home and prepare our dinner. In the meantime, deliver the game to the royal court and make sure to ask for at least three gold coins as compensation. Our skill deserves proper recognition."

"I will, father," I respond with gratitude, accepting the load. "Thank you for teaching me the art of hunting and diplomacy."

My father smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's not just hunting you need to learn, Y/N. In the royal court, social skills are equally crucial. Go, and always remember who you are."

With a nod of agreement, I walk away, carrying not only the weight of the rabbit and the game but also my father's legacy. The forest has bestowed its blessing upon us, and now our task is to deliver the fruits of the hunt to the royal court.

I approached the majestic castle door. Turning to one of the guards, I asked if they knew where the game supplier was. "Have you happened to see William?" I inquired with a slight hint of curiosity.

The guard vaguely pointed down the hallway, but before providing a more precise answer, I followed my instincts and ventured into the heart of the castle. Walking through the silent corridors, tension grew in my chest.

While searching for William, I was drawn to a partially open door. Curious, I peered inside, and the scene that unfolded left me speechless: a girl seated by the window, immersed in reading a book. It was Jenna, the princess I had heard about but doubted her existence. However, I wasn't captivated by the legend of the king's daughter trapped in a golden prison but by the beauty she exuded.

Jenna was a vision of grace by the window, dark hair cascading softly over her shoulders. The room's soft light gently caressed her skin, highlighting her sparkling eyes, deep as wells of secrets. She wore a dress in delicate tones, snug to her form yet exuding an air of regal elegance.

The book in her hands seemed to be just an accessory for her, a portal to unknown worlds unfolding in the pages under the princess's attentive gaze. Slightly parted lips reflected an air of tranquility, as if she herself were a character stepping out of one of the stories she loved to read.

I accidentally kicked the door, catching her attention.

Our gazes locked, and a moment of intense connection unfolded between us. "Who are you?" Jenna asked, lifting her gaze from the book, while I, distracted,

"I'm Y/N, the huntress," I replied with a nervous smile.

Jenna raised an eyebrow slightly, a peculiar, dancing smile on her lips. "And what brings a huntress to my room?" she asked curiously, the book now closed in her hands.

I looked around, noting the richness of the furnishings, but my answer was genuine. "I was looking for William, the game supplier. I stumbled upon this room by chance."

Jenna chuckled slightly, the sound like a delicate melody in the air. "William isn't here, but I'm curious to know what would prompt a huntress to enter without knocking."

My gaze wandered, and I noticed the canopy bed in the center of the room, a masterpiece of dark wood and fine fabric. "It's a splendid room," I commented inadvertently, admiring the opulence of the place.

Jenna smiled, perhaps noticing my awe. "Thank you... it's a regular room," the brunette shrugged, and I looked at her with a smile on my lips. "Well... I wish mine were like this," I muttered, and Jenna smiled knowingly.

I noticed the book in Jenna's hands and, intrigued, asked, "What book is that?"

The princess lifted the volume with a mysterious smile. "It's 'The Prince' by Niccolò Machiavelli," she said, indicating the worn cover.

"Machiavelli," I repeated the name even though I wasn't quite sure who he was.

Jenna smiled and said, "Do you know Machiavelli?"

"Of course!" I responded with a smile, although I was actually lying.

"Oh, I'm surprised!" Jenna exclaimed amused. "What do you think of his work?"

Trying to maintain my charade, I replied with a thoughtful expression, "He's a profound author, undoubtedly with much wisdom to share."

Jenna laughed slightly, and the sound filled the room. "Interesting choice of words. Not many share this opinion on Machiavelli."

"It seems you're trying to hide something, Y/N. Do you really know who Machiavelli is?" I blush weakly, confessing my weakness. "Actually, no. I can't read." Jenna's smile widened, but there was no judgment in her eyes. "You don't need to hide anything here. Not everyone is a reader." Jenna smiled gently.

Noticing my embarrassment, Jenna asked kindly, "Do you want to learn to read, Y/N?"

I nodded timidly, feeling the warmth of the blush still on my cheeks. "Yes, I would like to."

The princess smiled warmly and pointed to a spot next to her. "Come here. We'll start with something simple."

I approached the window and sat next to Jenna, feeling nervous about her proximity. The room's soft light created an intimate atmosphere as I tried to focus on what Jenna was about to teach me.

The princess took a book, choosing one with clear and large letters. "First, the letters. This is A, this is B..."

While Jenna patiently taught the basics of reading, I tried to pay attention, aware of the accelerated beating of my heart. It was a moment where the desire to learn to read intertwined with the emotion of being close to Jenna, creating a precious and vulnerable moment between us.

William's voice in the distance made me abruptly stand, feeling that it was time to interrupt our impromptu lesson. Jenna looked up with confusion as I smiled with embarrassment.

"I have to go... the task," I said with a hint of embarrassment in my voice.

Jenna genuinely smiled, understanding the situation. "Another time, then. Thank you for your company, Y/N."

I stood up with a smile and a nod of farewell. "Thank you, princess. It will be a pleasure to continue this lesson."

In a sudden impulse, as I was about to leave the room, I approached and planted a quick kiss on Jenna's cheek. The surprise on her face was evident, a moment that made my heart race even faster.

"It was a pleasure, Jenna," I said with a shy smile.

I headed towards the door, feeling my heart still slightly accelerated from being close to Jenna. As I walked away, I reflected on how that day had brought unexpected changes to my life as a huntress.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega #Princess #1600s #royalty

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reveluving · 1 year

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Can you do one where Batmom loves doing ballet? Maybe with her in the ballroom dancing, and the kids come in. Cassandra immediately goes to join her and the boys want to try so batmom and cass try to teach them? And then at the end Bruce sneaks in and watches then fondly?

P.S. I love your work :)

a/n: to whomever sent this request last year (+ a couple of others), I am so sorry for only doing this now lol BUT! y'all know I love a fluffy batfam moment! 💗💗💗 changed it up a bit and also, thank you so much!!

warnings: fluffy fluff! (ballerina!cass !!!)

check out my batmom m.list !

Cass is an expert of many things, but your absolute favourite has to be her love for ballet!

It was no surprise how much she's incorporated her ballet knowledge into her fighting style—not to the point where anyone could see the similarities between Cass and Orphan, but just enough to give her certain advantages that the rest didn't have.

The first time Cass gave you the invitation to her recital was when she stopped by the café as usual one fine afternoon.

You had expected a form for a trip that needed your permission but no, it was so. much. better.

Not only was Cass' name handwritten in gold ink, but she was going solo for that matter?

You immediately tackled her into the biggest, most bone-crushing hug you could muster. Nothing Cass couldn't handle, though, in fact, she reciprocated your own happiness, grinning and giggling as you wouldn't stop gushing about how proud you were and how you needed to call Bruce, even if it was still office hours.

And you did just that!

Bruce thankfully didn't have any pressing matter when you rang him up, picking up the phone in one hand and idly checking some reports with the other. He stopped caring for the papers in hand though, not when he could hear how excited you sounded.

"We're invited to Cass' first recital next month!" You squealed, the soft of giggles of your not-so-little girl didn't go amiss on the line, "You have to clear your schedule."

Bruce grinned, both at the news and your sudden seriousness. You didn't have to tell him and you knew it, for he immediately wrote the date on a piece of paper to be passed to his assistant later on.

Cass also took the opportunity to share the news with the rest of the family, with all of their congrats and compliments ranging from Alfred and Damian's detailed praises for her appreciation in such fine art, to Dick's chaotic but meaningful cheers in all caps lock, with a side of triple fire emojis.

All in all, it was almost overwhelming for her—no matter how subtle Bruce tried to be in moving the old, almost depressing paintings out of the manor's ballroom after learning about her hobby, or how you'd bring over a single chair in the middle of the room to watch her new move without hesitation, or how Alfred made sure the manor's ballroom was always squeaky clean for her own use, she would be in awe of how fate brought her here.

A place where she not only fought for the safety of others, but also a place where she could finally make a name for herself the way she wanted.

Despite your protests, Cass helped you around the café that day, too happy to just sit down when she could channel that energy by lending a hand. You were thankful for the extra pair of hands though, for you wanted nothing more than to celebrate with her at home.

It was only fitting to bring her to the ballroom, the person praising her now was Alfred, who had came in with tea to pair with the extra cookies you brought from the café.

There was really no other way to channel your own joy other than to dance with her—from pirouettes to a grand jeté together. You learned from the best after all, how could you ever say no when she once shyly offered to teach you how to properly plie once upon a time?

With the classical music paired with Alfred's claps and the three of you laughing, it wouldn't take long for the rest of your family, besides Bruce, to investigate as soon as they're home. Some readily came with gifts, others were ready to properly congratulate Cass as texting did little to no justice. But seeing how much fun you were having, they believe it was best to at least wait till the music ended.

But ever the perceptive child, Cass was quick to notice the newcomers and immediately waved at them. They all huddled around her, with Cass growing flustered by the sheer attention she was getting in one day. She did somewhat expect a positive reaction, but not to this extend, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

You and Alfred watched the sight fondly, your smiles growing bigger when one of them had asked her to teach them a thing or two. And just like chain reaction, almost everyone was trying it out. It was hilarious, to say the least, seeing them, ranging from tall, buff, serious and just almost out of place, glancing at one another as they sought the girl's approval for their plie.

"I wasn't aware of a party." You sucked in a breath, the unexpected arrival of your husband taking you by surprise, let alone when his arms wove around your waist and then kissed you on the crown of your head. You leaned into him, caressing the back of his hand before letting his intertwine his fingers with yours.

"It's only fair," You sighed, not wanting to tear your eyes away from the tooth-rotting moment before you. You felt Bruce's chest vibrate on occasion, no doubt amused to see some making it a competition to see who was best, "Our girl deserves it."

Our girl.

As if on command, Bruce's hand lightly brushed over your tummy. You didn't stop him, only to gasp when he proceeded to tickle you and shared a laugh. You threw your head to the side, giving him the opportunity to nuzzle into your neck and be in your own world just as your children was.

To say Cass was in heaven was an understatement, and though her life started rough, she had always thanked the universe for shining her to the path that actually mattered to her most.

With the people she was meant to be with.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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thefangirltreehouse · 1 year

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sebastian sallow | general thoughts / headcanons with gryffindor!mc

this is just overall thoughts on the sebastian arc and his general characterisation (yes, i am continuing to update this on my second playthrough)

spoilers below

the amount of times i’ve caught sebastian looking at mc through the start of my now second play-through is hilariously adorable, like don’t get me wrong the herbology one is absolutely the best, but i noticed that throughout charms sebastian is just staring at mc (like he’s straight up starts ignoring ominis speaking to him when they walk in the room) also the slight glances in defence against the dark arts before the duel is so cute.

he does it again whilst sirona and rookwood are arguing, like he just turns to them and similes

you can’t convince me otherwise that mc didn’t grab at least his arm to pull him away from ranrok, like it genuinely looks like that and if you squint hard enough it looks like he does the same thing when heading into the three broomsticks

listen i’m specifically playing as fem! & gryffindor! and the missions with ominis feel so reminiscent of the golden trio (i’m calling it now, they’re the electrum trio - a metal mixed with gold and sliver) especially the crucio side-mission

saw someone in a comment sum their dynamic up perfectly from my perspective

“i used to have beef with ominis before this (crucio) quest happened and now it’s me, a gryffindor dragging two slytherins by their shirt collars”

slight tangent but ominis is so sweet if you start as a slytherin! i saw my friend start his game and meet him in the common room and i was like “i’m sorry, is this the same tory bastard that yelled at me for nicking his pal?”

if anything sebastian comes off worse in that section.

almost every streamer i’ve came across assumes he’s flirting, like this was absolutely intentional

when either of the boys, particularly sebastian is speaking to imelda and the conversation of mc comes up she absolutely refers to mc as “that gryffindor of yours”

i mean, it’s the age old rivalry that just gives everything that extra oomph! despite the fact nobody seems to be questioning that a gryffindor has closely befriended not one, but two slytherins because that certainly isn't suspicious (i'm surprised one of the gryffindors didn't bring it up - particularly leander)

speaking of leander, why are the more prominent gryffindors (and ravenclaws) so antagonistic or hellbent on getting us in trouble?

sebastian’s jealously towards both his friends is dripping in the crucio quest like, in the line below i know he means because mc and ominis have special abilities but...

"between the two of you, i'm starting to feel left out"

the constant proud "that's my girl" look on his face

"never know who's watching - although that hasn't stopped us before." "strictly speaking, it has. we were caught."

also at the start of the library mission, anyone notice the way he's casually waiting on mc against the banister smiling up at her? or whilst he's waiting on her and ominis to figure out the location of the scriptorium? like, this boy knows he's the shit.

listen, there are certain things that sebastian said and did during his storyline that even at that age, i would’ve noped out of but i went in with a “yes, corrupt the little goody-two-shoes gryffindor madly infatuated with you” attitude and honestly it was so much fun. cause objectively yeah, sebastian should be expelled at the very least but my mc was not gonna let them do that (they're very much giving jd and veronica)

that said, mc isn't about to let him walk all over her, she's a gryffindor for a reason, she's just had some misguided judgement

don’t love how there isn’t much of a reaction from either boy after crucio is cast on mc, especially from sebastian (again, massive red flag) but also, think the devs missed the mark on that one like sebastian is still mc’s friend, yeah he really wants to see anne healed but a little sympathy shown would’ve been nice and a proper acknowledgement of what'd he'd done.

even if sebastian shrugged it off quickly he should've helped them walk or at least offered a hand to stand up

i love the wee house jibes, i wish we got more of them!

"you're not a bad chap, for a slytherin" "you gryffindors don't have a monopoly on bravery y'know"

an awful lot of english folk in the scottish highlands

sebastian and poppy are talking whilst leaving a class and my brain was like “omg her bf + gf are talking!”

i want triwizard and yule so badly!

the red and the green / gold and silver looks, look so good!

mc makes a comment about how amazed sebastian will be when she tells him that she took down the ashwinders by herself

"it'd be wise to keep an eye on you"

_____

general headcanons (oc-ish)

he'd absolutely mutter continuous little digs and comments throughout their classes simply to get under her skin and make her smile whilst she's trying to listen to their professors (he used to do this to ominis but he's able to ignore sebastian now after years of the torment)

whilst having dinner in the great hall they won't be sitting together but they'll lightly tap or nudge one another on the back if they're passing behind each-other's designated tables

sebastian refers to the fat lady painting as the "golden gate keeper of mediocrity" after walking mc back to gryffindor tower, which earns him a mildly deserved elbow jab

he gives mc piggy-backs during their trips to hogsmead and the quidditch pitch

whilst she's walking to and from classes with cressida or natsai, sebastian is regularly seen inserting himself between them, putting an arm over mc and / or pinching her away over to ominis and nerida

"who would've thought, all it took was a snake to tame the lion" cressida noted to a disinterested leander, peering over at the scarlet robes peaking beneath the sea of green

mc likes to softly poke at his blushing cheeks, joking that if sebastian "gets any redder, he won't be allowed back into slytherin" or that "he might have to come back to gryffindor with her"

mc has on occasion accidently fallen asleep, resting her head on his shoulder during history of magic

most of the gryffindors (nellie, leander and garreth in particular) will tease sebastian as he waits for her outside the common room, claiming "she was ours first" and attempt to distract her for as long as possible beyond the painting just to 'knock 'im down a few pegs'

they're well aware she's highly capable of holding her own, but not only is he a slytherin, he's also sebastian sallow so they're protective

he much prefers bumping into natty, who'll make a light "lost puppy" joke, share laugh and proceed to actually go get mc or he would actively seek out lucan because he knows the kid sucks-up to him but eventually the older gryffindors caught-on and would bribe lucan with chocolate frogs to stop him in his tracks

mc enjoys exposing sebastian to muggle trinkets and snacks, she grew up in a travelling circus with her parents, a ringmaster and fortune teller who never attended hogwarts in their youth (i'm gonna do a separate oc bio)

the trio all share a love of pumpkin pasties and lavender tea so whoever has a free period (or when sebastian has detention) will pop down to the kitchen to collect some

forehead kisses, hugs and interlocked arms whilst exploring the castle are everything to these two (their subtle little height difference is adorable, especially when you remember fem!mc is wearing wee wedged shoes at the start of the game)

highwing isn't his biggest fan (prefers ominis) and mc relishes in that

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #harry potter #my gif looks like ass #i forgot how to make them look good and im not used to getting clips from my ps5 #i'm gonna make a gif set with my second playthrough cause i missed screen recording a lot of their best scenes first time around

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rowanthestrange · 3 months

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The Master And Margarita Jacket

(Matthew Sweet’s Doctor Who version…but with a frisson of Bulgakov’s)

It’s done! With every bit of unphotographical glittery metallic paint that I can’t capture on camera even if my iphone skills weren’t rubbish.

@spoonietimelordy, @rearranging-deck-chairs, @bearinabandana and everyone else who Did The Reading of that one ‘I Am The Master’ novel but I’ve forgotten to tag because i’m so sleep deprived i can’t think any more but hopefully other people will, assemble!

Detailed closeups and explanations (with some spoilers) below:

Starting front top right side (face on). -Margarita herself, biting a mushroom. A more Cockatoo beak than Macaw, with red face instead of white, to make what exactly she is more mysterious. -The Master Who logo here is just gold, any shading didn’t look right when it was so thin.

Front top right pocket. Purple, of course.

-Next section down are these three. The ‘Never Stop Growing’ patch is my second favourite patch of the bunch. So many Master Themes, and plot relevant. -Then the little ‘Best Buds’ with the heart in the middle. I was inordinately proud of that idea. (Buds, budding, bigenerated vibe). -And then ‘Obscene Lotus’. That’s mentioned early in the book, and while it’s just described as a big purplish lotus, there’s so much sexual charging in that scene that, well, you gotta.

Me, reusing the ‘budding’ pun in a different capacity? It’s more likely than you think.

-The cover of the Penguin Clothbound Classic version of the original The Master And Margarita, that took multiple days to complete and so much agony. -The patch is a blank one that I bought, then painted the design to look like one of those stamps people sometimes put in books. Painted the border the same colour, then tea-stained it to look like old paper. Certainly in real life the colour comes out nicely. I couldn’t find his autograph (and sadly there’s an unrelated artist with the same name lol) but he got his doctorate in Wilkie Collins so I just looked up examples of that guy’s writing and tried to give it a bit of that vibe. Hopefully it’s the thought that counts. But hey, if anyone ever meets him and gets me a signature sample I can just redo it.

General mushroom patch - I like the fire kind of vibe and the looming.

To the other side!

So. You’re asking what’s with the daisy theme. Fair. So Margarita is also another name for a daisy in some languages. I choose to lean into that because it’s also the widely known symbol of Three - with that scene where he talks to Jo and recounts how a hermit living on a mountain helped dispel his depression by getting him to focus on the beauty of the flower (“and it was the most daisiest daisy”). Given that Three is essentially a character in the book, this felt like the vibe we’re going for. It’s perennial. It also is a healer of bruises and wounds, how can that not be relevant meta wise too to the Master’s new companion, hm? And okay yes, Mikhail does say he’s not a botanist, but if you can think of another way to get that message across other than botanical illustration page…

I like the patch because lightbulb, idea, full of mushrooms etc.

-‘I Am The Master’ being the name of the book the story is contained in, plus Fun With Identity. -Next the one bit of Real Art that I attempted to copy in glittery acrylics - Magritte’s ‘The Treachery Of Images’ or more commonly known ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. The story not only of the Master’s experiences recently, but the story’s themes of hallucinations and deceptions; as well as being the symbol of Russian!Brigadier. -This patch is great isn’t it? A play on the Master’s apparent alcoholism or Russian blending in as you prefer, and of course, The Lighthouse of Martin!Doctor fame.

-Mikhail’s guitar for playing Brown Sugar and other ominous inference songs. -The formula triangle of Love, Food, and Music (I couldn’t think of a self-evident way to show his approach to food - Russian dumplings are, well, not exactly distinct). On its side so the glittery pink triangle points in a certain direction because he’s escaped places and I can do ominous inferences too Sweet. -Maybe controversial? There is a failed love story component in here though, that I just couldn’t leave unmarked. The Doctor, K’vo, and Jo all have their parts to play in that.

Now for the arms:

Here’s the right-side looking-on arm. -I repainted this mushroom patch to be the orange and green of K’vo’s. -You’ve already seen the long image of it above, so here’s just a snippet closeup of the motif that goes along both arms. Daisies linked in a chain with the words ‘daisiest daisy’ (if you wonder why everything’s outlined by the way, a) i like the style, and b) it makes glitter infinitely more legible and clearer to see if there’s a dark matt border around it breaking it up, especially with something as variable coloured as denim). There’s the sunflower in the middle because Margarita loves her sunflower seeds.

This is the other arm. Margarita holding a margarita in a margarita. What’s more to add? I used my shittest white (mixed with my fabric medium as everything else has been at every step) rather than @yesokayiknow’s excellent suggestion of Liquitex, which has saved me everywhere else, including those light patches. But here shitty kids basics acrylic is translucent enough to do some excellent work pretending to be glass and ice. The parrot patch has been altered to make the beak entirely black and her face red instead of macaw white, to keep her species ambiguous as literary theme demands.

To the back!

This Master Who logo is bigger, so it has the Master’s purple highlights like bruising.

Here is a small UNIT patch I modified to be a Russian one, globe focused on their continent (roughly). Sweet just translated the word ‘unit’ for Russian!Brigadier’s group, and the text is the re-cyrilliced version of that.

Skipping to the bottom…

Here referencing O’s collection of Doctor Information, Sweet adding to that with having distinct scrapbooks. ‘Manuscripts Don’t Burn’ is a line from Bulgakov’s The Master And Margarita (spoken by Satan in fact, mhmm) and became something of a rallying cry for oppressed Russian artists. I have ‘Author Unknown’ for the obvious meta with his and the Doctor’s memories, and likewise, the fact that flames are clearly present and burning lets the viewer come to whatever conclusion they like. #133 was chosen for the simple fact that in my copy of Bulgakov’s novel, and the one depicted on the front of the jacket, it is page 133 which starts the chapter The Hero Enters, where we meet The Master who has renounced all other names (who is very much, as Interference notes, the Doctor). They are glitter paint titles done on Hemline repair patches, black, brown, white, and navy blue. I know anything too painty on that area of the back will risk a lot of wear, and these are easily replaced when necessary (if still hours of lettering).

To the left most side…

This was the most expensive patch I bought, £12. But worth it. The mushroom stalk is silk.

Here I depicted in silhouette the scene of the Master climbing up to the Doctor on the giant mushroom. I chose silhouette so as not to draw the eye too much. I also added some 2ply black-black glitter cotton as part of his climbing equipment, attached on by some silver stitches for the…things I can’t remember the name of. It gives it a bit more 3D effect, but also keeps the thread close enough it shouldn’t pull on anything.

And at its base we have a reference to Mikhail’s chosen middle name. I chose to believe it’s relevant, Sweet’s too deep into this for it not to be. This is a cover I edited to highlight the namesake who actually travelled Russia and collected the tales of this book, and indeed, it does include the story of Koschei The Deathless. I edited the robe to be red instead of its original yellow, and added the quintessential Time Lord collar. But I think it’s perfectly passable. This is iron on transfer paper (dark) onto a very light grey polycotton to turn it into a patch. It…*cough* hasn’t had its edges finished or strictly been attached yet, but that’s a bit of handwork I can do as and when.

So finally back up to the middle

I’ve expanded out @spoonlesss-artbook fantastic angel-winged Margarita’s Master art. The Redbubble bag was only that big as it was (hemmed with bostik fabric glue like a true pro and attached as a panel) so it cut off a little, and it didn’t go the whole way anyway, so now we get some endings of the feathers, some all the way up to the arm of the jacket. I tried to blend it into the fire, one creature of both. And trying to get a multidimensional feel, boundary breaking. And again, very glittery irl so plays very well with the fire theme. It was fun when it came to colour-matching particularly the blue wing at the top, because the glitter gives it a bit of a sheen. I blunted it with a few careful washes of black so it still sparkles but is the right colour in most angles.

The Redbubble edit cuts @spoonietimelordy’s signature, so I copied it from the original and moved it over to the left side in some sparkly silver. Also internet doxxing my real life self on the bottom of the back as my own signature.

Doesn’t look like the sort of thing that would take weeks when you see it all together, but I’m really happy with it. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s shown their brilliant art to me and shared posts about painting all these years, cus it allowed me to absorb stuff and let me come out of the gate swinging! It feels thoroughly addictive. Even if I only know ‘use tiny brush’ for almost everything and glitter metallic is great for hiding sins. (And a ‘Ha!’ in the face of my mother keeping me away from it my whole life because of mess - I never got even a single speck on any clothes that wasn’t this jacket. I could’ve been doing this for years rather than just picking up a brush at the age of thirty-damn-one. But at least I’ve got it now).

And thanks to Matthew Sweet for feeding the worms in my brain too.

#the master and margarita #i am the master #matthew sweet #doctor who #dw fanart #the master #dhawan!master #jacket painting #mine #:)#(and you never ask a gentleman how much his patches cost)

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lilibethwrites · 8 months

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Bloody thou art; bloody will be thy end

Aemond Targaryen x OFC

Warnings: Angst, heavy violence, eventual smut, Targcest. This will be a very dark fic with potentially multiple disturbing or triggering elements. Each chapter will have warnings accordingly.

Summary: Rhaenyra’s firstborn daughter, Aelenore Velaryon is as vicious as she is ambitious. Growing up knowing she is a bastard and bitterly rejected by Prince Daemon, when she finds herself beginning to lose the favour of her family and infatuated with Aemond, an opportunity to earn more than any woman can have in the Seven Kingdoms presents itself. With a man as broken and wronged as herself, they burn everything around them to feel the warmth denied to them, even if their own flesh may catch on fire. Ambition and greed beget violence, and the blood of the dragon spills like wine.

Word count: 6k

Also on AO3

And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.

(Richard III, I.i.37–40)

It was a humid, scorching summer’s eve. The flowers of the royal garden had all turned shades of burned pigments heated over a candle for too long. Grasshoppers lay heavy where they had ceased flapping their wings. The nightingales that lent their name to the hour were quiet. It was only Princess Rhaenyra’s wails and groans peppered with curses and insults that echoed off the polished walls of the Red Keep. The heir to the throne, the beloved daughter of King Viserys has been in labour for so long that the younger Maesters made to stand back and observe behind the ranks of seniors and midwives began to whisper the long winter would come before the babe ever did.

Some wondered where Ser Laenor was, others remarked that it was the Breakbones pacing the hall beyond the door, and that it was rather odd that the Commander of the City Watch took such interest in the first labour of the princess.

But the babe came, persistent as she was in remaining in the womb as if she possessed prescience enough to know the realm she was brought into would have no joy to offer.

With the blood still on her, Rhaenyra cradled the babe to her bare chest, weeping and thanking the gods of old. Even a slight rub of her hand over the babe’s head was enough to furrow brows and a new wave of mumbling to rise as if dust after her dragon’s landing. Dark hair; unmistakably, uncharacteristically dark, like the night she was delivered. Dark hair, unlike the kind on the head of the second son Queen Alicent had recently delivered in a chamber nearby.

Ser Laenor was the first to see the babe, though she was cleaned and swaddled in an ornately embroidered blanket that could tear down and rebuild the entire Flea Bottom with how many yards of soft velvet and spools of gold threads it took to weave, then.

Then joined them Harwin Strong, and only then the babe was lifted from Rhaenyra’s arms, and given a name.

“Aelenore,” Rhaenyra said proudly, still keen on the name she had come across in a tome on Old Valyria while the babe was no bigger than a fig in her belly.

“Aelenore,” Ser Harwin Strong raised the babe to his chest and whispered in her ear as Ser Laenor looked on with a proud, warm smile.

By late morrow, King Viserys was cradling his first grandchild, a babe he hadn’t once found unlikely to be the fruit of the marriage he had imposed upon two young people with the blood of Valyria in their veins.

King Viserys blessed the babe’s name, with the swaddle in his arms and pride in his eyes.

“Princess Aelenore Velaryon,” he declared, “may her life be long and prosperous.”

He commended his daughter and her husband, Ser Laenor Velaryon. Yet, Queen Alicent did not share the spirit of festivities. Having given birth to her third babe recently, another boy with the proud colours of Old Valyria, her brows creased when she beheld the babe in her husband’s arms.

Neither Aegon nor Aemond, the heirs Viserys so desperately desired that he would butcher his lover, were welcomed into the world as fervently as her husband’s first grandchild was by him.

The King was still in his prime, then, and he could pace the chamber with the babe in his arms until he grew restless, then, he would tour the shorter halls, stop by alcoves with stones warmed by the broiling sun. He accepted praises and well wishes from his court, with Rhaenyra still reclined on a chaise and Queen Alicent left alone with her.

“Congratulations,” she begrudgingly said at last.

The room was cold with resentment, and the bodies that filled it were all stiff like corpses washed ashore.

“My congratulations, as well,” Rhaenyra repaid the kindness, or the visage of it, just before Aelenore was returned.

“Rather short and without a fuss, mine own labour was,” the Queen spoke without patience at her stepdaughter’s nonchalant disregard of the rules of nature herself. Bastards were cursed, this, everyone knew. Bad omens; treacherous, sly, with deformed souls and frightening capacity for evil.

“And a rather unmistakable likeness to his sire, Aemond bears… Though, ‘tis only the first of yours,” she spoke disdainfully, then. The gentle tone with which she spoke couldn’t veil the anger stirring within her.

“I shall pray that the Gods will give you a babe that resembles… either of you next time.” Her smile was bitter, her eyes hostile.

Yet, the Gods didn’t. Next came a brother for Aelenore, with the same dark hair that tended to curl into ringlets. Aelenore gave up her toys, save for a wooden replica of her quickly growing dragon, to instead spend her waking hours near her brother. Not long after came Lucerys. Aelenore was grown enough then to participate in at least the first hour of the labour with her hand on her mother’s swollen belly. After that, she was hastily escorted out to wait along with the rest of the court. Such sights were not for a girl who would labour in a birthing bed of her own eventually.

Rhaenyra was not allowed to ever forget it, that her firstborn child was no true Targaryen, and none other that came after was any different. As if she knew from when she was a babe the meaning behind hushed whispers hidden with jewelled fingers and curious looks with thinly veiled disdain, Aelenore grew into a difficult character, unfriendly to all save her siblings.

It was King Viserys’s suggestion that the girl might enjoy playtime with a boy senior to her only by a year, and a quiet girl that never cried unless pinched or spooked. It was one of the rare times Viserys remembered at all that he had other children beyond his beloved Rhaenyra. So, Aelenore was brought with her basket of carved and painted toys to the chamber where Aegon, Helaena and Aemond were tended to. She sulked the entire time, ignoring her much-loved toys to attempt to rip the carpet out with her fingernails whenever she wasn’t attempting to decapitate her uncles with her eyes. She resented them, she suffered terribly from green-eyed jealousy that she spent all the hours thinking of all the ways she could upset the boys. She wondered if their hair would stain if she boiled flowers torn from the gardens, and dropped the concoction over their heads. She wondered if she could sneak a pair of scissors the next time royal seamstresses came to measure her for a new dress. She could chop a braid right off, or cut through the tomes the boy closer to her in age seemed to be mesmerised with. But, she never had another hour with them after the first few disastrous ones, and so her plans never came to fruition.

Aelenore surprised not a soul when she grew into a brooding young princess; quiet yet unsettling with eyes severe and pale as the smoke dancing over the sea. She was old enough to understand what it meant that her eyes were grey as a rainy morrow, and her hair dark as earth after the heavy clouds passed. She was swiftly assigned a Maester to be tutored in the proud history of her blood. She found it a rather cheap charade, and her lips were often twisted into an irreverent, lopsided smirk as the Maester harped on.

“I know what I am,” she once told her mother over tea. “I do not wish to entertain trivial lies anymore.”

But Rhaenyra was patient with her, and each time Aelenore brought the subject up, she took her hand and asked her if a child without the blood of Valyria could ever ride a dragon. To that, Aelenore shook her head. The more she was posed with the impossibility of her inferior nature by virtue of the beautiful wyrm resting in the Pit, the more her self-disdain turned to vanity.

The court was reminded of the unruly princess in her youth when her daughter insisted that she would only ever wear her riding habits. Even to breakfasts and lessons, she would don coats and trousers with gloves always neatly tucked around a belt or hanging from a pocket, and always complete with a jewelled pin of dragons.

She was a curious young woman, raining questions down upon anyone nearby about Valyria and dragons. When she wasn’t interrogating the Maesters of the Red Keep or unsettling the courtiers with her unwavering gaze set upon anyone she suspected to have whispered about her, or eating, reading and writing near her beloved dragon, she fast became a second mother to Lucerys, demanding that she learned all she could about tending to a babe. To anyone except Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor and Ser Harwin, it was so unlike that a child as cold as her eyes would ever possess the capacity for affection. Even then, they watched her with well-concealed fright when she looked over the bassinet for the first few times. Lucerys must have immediately taken a liking to his sister as well; where Rhaenyra, Leanor Velaryon and Harwin Strong all failed to lull him to sleep, Aelenore managed to soothe the fussy babe into slumber with ease that surprised even the most weathered of wetnurses.

She was proud when Lucerys’s egg hatched, swelling her chest and proclaiming that it was her choice, that egg. Luke, Jace, and Nole, as she was so adoringly and adorably called by Luke from the moment he could speak, the three siblings became inseparable... and perhaps, rather insufferable to some. They loved mischief. From tying buckets of cold water over doors to soak Maesters at early morning lectures, spilling ink on the newly-washed garbs of Septas and Septons when they delivered the daily service of the Seven, taking their dragons out of the Pit to stomp around and frightening the poor smallfolk nearby, they have become a trio of terror. Aelenore was the mastermind, the one that came up with jokes and pranks bordered on cruelty while Lucerys and Jacaerys gladly played her henchmen. Aemond had his fair share when he found his neatly written summary of a manuscript on Valyrian traditions torn to pieces on his assigned desk and the siblings missing from the lecture altogether, or when his book was drenched in ink so badly he couldn’t read a word anymore while Aelenore and Jacaerys were markedly keeping their hands gloved and under a table or behind their backs the whole day.

“I wish they would go away,” Aemond once complained to his mother. He needn’t name them.

“I know,” was all the woman could offer, and a sweet kiss to the growing boy’s temple. She was helpless in the matter; Viserys loved Rhaenyra and his grandchildren more than he ever did Alicent or the babes she produced.

Aelenore still dreamed of staining and chopping silver hairs and upsetting her uncles, though less often with her mind always on her beloved pale and crimson, slender Naerax. On the opposite end of the wing, curled up on his bed, however, Aemond began to dream of upsetting his niece, as well. He couldn’t bring himself to be anywhere as cruel and calloused as she was, and whenever his fists were squeezed into balls and he attempted to strike back with a sharp word, Aelenore happened to rub her thumb over the silver three-headed dragon pinned to her collar, and the boy stepped back.

“He’s not a real Targaryen,” she began to say to her peers, pompously and with a grotesquely mature lilt to her tone. “I am. Hair makes a man not Targaryen, but the dragon that resides within the Pit.”

On the morrow when she greeted Aemond with a smile, he thought perhaps Aelenore could yet be a friend to him despite all the mockery and cruelty. She even abandoned her usual seat between her brute of brothers and instead sat next to Aemond. He suspected she needed his neatly drawn table of irregular verbs in High Valyrian for the lesson on the afternoon, but instead, she leaned over and promised him “a grand surprise” after lunch. She claimed it was an offer of friendship, to start anew.

“What is it?” He asked, cautious still but naively excited deep down.

“Would hardly be a surprise if I said, no?”

Just a few hours after, the blush was wiped from his cheeks. His face was dirt and tear-stained; he was in Alicent’s arms, bemoaning that the grand surprise was a pig with haphazardly attached wings and his own brother in on the terrible spectacle, laughing along with the rest of them.

When Helaena’s sight came true, Aemond didn’t only find trading an eye for a dragon—the biggest and the mightiest of the realm, that was— fair. He found it a payment, a rather steep but justified cost for his prayers that Rhaenyra and her children be removed. They were. As Aemond mounted Vhagar and followed the ship that carried his family back to King’s Landing, Rhaenyra and her kin made for Dragonstone.

He found the Red Keep opened up to him with the chambers of his tormentors vacant and halls safe to roam as he pleased. The library was all his, the tutoring chamber was freed of pranks and loud chatter when it should have always been a quiet, contemplative haven of studies. He came and went as he pleased without ever having to look over his shoulder. He had Ser Criston all to himself, as well, since Aegon delved too deep into his cups to participate in sword practice.

Years passed easier for Aemond, and faster, too. A punctual man down to the mere second, he awoke, followed his schedule and slumbered expeditiously, never a minute off. He was Alicent’s honour and pride, as well as her one true friend. Days never started or ended without a visit from her beloved son, even if all they did was sit in silence by the fireplace and sip tea or wine.

It was one such day, though Aemond would look back on it later and recognise the omens that had eluded him. He was up much earlier than he should’ve been. The hour was so early that the sky was still dark. He turned to the window, and then, frustratedly, gave his back to it. He pulled the covers over his naked shoulder, then, pushed them down to his waist. He hugged a pillow to his chest, then, pushed it away, too. Nothing helped, and he knew he would go through his day exhausted, with merely a few hours of sleep.

So, he bathed longer, dressed slower, and visited Queen Alicent before breakfast. She gave him a smile that would’ve seemed like all the other smiles to any other eyes. Aemond, however, saw distress from the way his mother’s lips pursed.

He wasn’t one for empty niceties or belabouring, so his hands shifted from Alicent’s elbows to her wrists, to the raw and picked cuticles.

“Tell me, mother.”

Alicent shook her head at first, and stared out of the stained-glass windows. She knew she would be delaying the inevitable, her discomfort hardly ever eluded Aemond. She knew he would abandon his entire day’s plans to sit here with her, caring and stubborn, until she told him.

“We shall have visitors soon,” she spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes shifting to the missive left on the table where Criston had delivered it.

The downturn of Alicent’s mouth was nearly enough, though Aemond still cocked his head in a quiet question. Who?

Alicent scoffed, looking down at her son’s pale, graceful hands.

“Princess Rhaenyra and her children. Prince Daemon along with them, of course.”

If Aemond had had !breakfast, it would have heaved in his stomach.

“Why?” He nearly lamented after a moment’s silence.

“Why?!” Aelenore echoed petulantly across the sea, on Dragonstone. “Why must we go? Can you not go alone?!”

Aelenore was happy on Dragonstone. The entire land from the shores to the peaks of volcanoes was her oyster. She woke up as she pleased, strolled and flew to her heart’s desire. No one was there to accuse her own acting untoward when she unlaced her boots, uncuffed her sleeves and chased Luke across the sandy beach and the waves carried their joyous screams while their dragons flew overhead.

King’s Landing was stifling. The Red Keep’s stones did make a prison and the stained windows a cage. Aelenore almost forgot she didn’t look the part of Princess Rhaenyra’s daughter on Dragonstone. Unless Prince Daemon’s cold gaze lingered, she hardly thought of how would it be to have silver hair and violet eyes, and if they would indeed escalate one above men all by themselves. She would be abandoning her home for a sea of pale hairs and hostile eyes.

“Because,” Rhaenyra sighed over the cup she nursed as men paced around the room hurriedly. “Your grandsire’s health is in fast decline.”

“That cannot be all. We are not Maesters. What good are we to his decay?”

“But we are bringing Maesters of our own… I do not quite like you when you are so… without compassion.”

So, Prince Daemon spoke, and her mother listened, then? The conviction wasn’t Rhaenyra’s, Aelenore knew. She remained quiet yet didn’t make a move to leave the hall.

“The matter of your brother’s inheritance must be resolved,” Rhaenyra spoke again after a surrendering sigh. She only understood how difficult she had once been when her own stubbornness stared back at her.

“I will not let them rob Luke of what is rightfully his. We cannot permit it.”

Aelenore nodded to it. That, she would help her maids pack up for. That she would tolerate King’s Landing for.

“Thieves,” Aelenore spat. “They shall steal all their covetous eyes may fall upon.”

Rhaenyra shifted in her seat. She thought that Aelenore sounded too much like Daemon at times. Perhaps that was why the two were like wildfire and a burning candle.

For the following days, Aemond felt the transitory nature of all things deeply within him. Sometimes, when the halls were empty, he ran his fingers over the stone walls. Even to them he felt as though he was giving his farewell. For an hour or a moon, he would be robbed of the freedom he perhaps came to take for granted. They would be anywhere at any time; she, the head of the poisonous serpent, would be, and the rest would follow slithering.

On the morrow the entire King’s Landing crowded the crooked streets to catch a glimpse of the horde of dragons, Aemond watched the sky with disdain, with his arms folded behind him and the skin of this thumb picked so tragically alike his mother’s. The cavalry was led by Caraxes and Syrax, the unmistakable red and yellow that flew side by side. Behind them were three others, one in the front and two in the back, like an arrowhead loosened to pierce Aemond’s serenity. His eye was glued to the last two, looping around each other. The pale one with crimson wings and waxen belly that resembled Aemond curdled milk dipped and rose while the smaller, pearlescent-and-yellow one tried to sink his teeth into the elongated neck of the other.

Aemond looked to the side. Helaena didn’t seem to bother that they were so brazenly being marched upon, Aegon was hungover from a long night’s tryst to care; it was only his mother and Ser Criston among the Kingsguard that seemed tense. He would not have don a thing beyond an undershirt for a company as undeserving had it not been for Queen Alicent visiting his chambers, begging so selflessly for him to behave, for her if for nobody else.

When the heavy gates were pulled open and the vapid bunch marched on, it was only Alicent and Rhaenyra that shared a smile in courtesy. Prince Daemon’s chin was high, his nose was scrunched up as if the mere sight of the Keep nauseated him. Behind him, Jacaerys was nudging his sister and his younger brother to cease the gossip. Aemond’s eye fell and remained on the girl, taller and more mature, though only in appearance, since he last saw her. Her hair was down, though the damage to the curls showed it wasn’t always so freely flowing.

While Helaena simply embraced a new friend she barely remembered and Aegon was delighted that a pert arse under heavy skirts, pronounced waist squeezed by corsets and exposed flesh were now present to ogle, Aemond simply scoffed.

When it came to acknowledge her at all, Aemond nodded sharply. His greeting was as cold as the pale icicles that stared at him. Unsettling, he thought, her irises almost bled into the whites of her eyes. She simply nodded, as one would dismissively to a servant. Aemond’s arms were still folded behind him. He made no move to touch her; not to take her hand and press a kiss, not to offer a half-hearted hug. Aelenore didn’t seem willing to offer an olive branch either, with her gloved fingers tightly intertwined in front of her with an arrogant smirk plastered on her face.

Oh, how Aemond desired violence.

“What a warm welcome, this is,” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for Aemond to hear and Lucerys to snicker.

Behind them, servants began to drag heavy packs to the Keep. Aemond hoped it was simply out of vanity that they each brought more changes of clothes than necessary. While their chambers were prepared, Rhaenyra insisted on a visit to the King. There, it was only willing ignorance that barely maintained Rhaenyra’s illusion of her daughter. The young princess barely approached the bed and pointedly kept a handkerchief to her nose. The King’s beloved first grandchild looked down upon him with disgust, sneering at the rotting body and the dying face as his hand was left untouched by her.

“Sweet girl…” Viserys strained to no avail.

“Grandsire,” Aelenore muttered coldly after Jacaerys nudged her once again. “Lovely to see you.”

Aelenore rolled her eyes after that, looking around the room and wondering what was for supper while his mother silently wept at the corner of her father’s bed.

If the exchange in the King’s chambers was cold, the supper was the never-melting ice of the North. Where Alicent was covered to her neck, Rhaenyra and her daughter wore dresses that left their shoulders bare, and as if that was not enough, the young princess’ sleeves were split from the highest seam to the cuffs, exposing the entirety of her arms each time she so much as breathed. Aemond shook his head again and again, stabbing the pie in his plate, his eye burning into the shameless woman sitting at his side. Aelenore barely wore headdresses, and barely pinned her hair all the way up. Queen Alicent shared her son’s mind, she was one busted seam away from a harlot of the Street of Silk.

Aelenore was all wrong, Aemond thought. Untoward, improper, exposed like a desperate wench of a cheap pillow house. She laughed loudly, she moved in a manner that was ill-fitting to a princess. Aemond looked to his side again, and his brother was already charmed. Aemond hummed. Of course he would be.

“Say, when has she… blossomed and—and, sprouted such teats, hm?” Aegon slurred behind his cup to Aemond.

“I would rather not think about her… flesh,” Aemond lowered his voice along with his head, “if it’s all the same to you, brother. You’d do well to remember your wife, as well.”

The banter was cut short by Rhaenyra’s dry cough. Onto the matters at hand. She shared a look with Daemon, and he nodded in support.

“For our Maesters to study and prepare cures of their own, we must needs give them sufficient time. A moon’s time,” Rhaenyra spoke.

“During that time, my children must not fall behind in their studies. Yet, to allow Maester Gerardys to work uninterrupted, the princess and the princes must share the library yet again.”

Aemond’s head shot up along with Aelenore’s. They wouldn’t look at each other, but they shared the same sentiment. No. Absolutely not.

“Oh? So, the princess will not trust our Maesters with the care of the King, but she will entrust her children to their lectures?” Alicent was bitter in response, her brows were knitted above the practised, tight smile of courtesy.

“I trust my children to know the truth from a lie.”

Come morrow, it was very little consolation to Aemond that Rhaenyra’s bastards might be feeling as discomfited about their forced reunion as he was. He paced his room and fiddled with the neat stacks of tomes and the line of inkwells. He was always early, three days early than a minute late, he often defended his being too early that the Maester soon began to feel guilty for his being on time and not as early as his pupil was. But that morning, he wouldn’t be.

“No,” Aemond murmured to himself. That might show a sense of eagerness, and present the three-headed serpent with an opportunity to bother him. Yet, how late he had thought he was, he wasn’t as late as his tutoring partners. It was only Maester when Aemond took his seat, and it remained so for one full turn of the hourglass before the door swung open.

Aelenore was the first to enter, snickering with a tome under her arm and in yet another dress that bared more than concealed for Aemond’s taste.

“Oh?” she stopped in her tracks as though she expected the chamber to be empty, and looked back at her brothers, who were just as vain and proud of the interruption.

Aemond squeezed his fist under the table, dug his nails into his palm and with a clenched jaw, stared ahead and away from the girl that stood between him and the Maester.

“I see you start terribly earlier than Maester Gerardys does on Dragonstone. My brothers and I are rather fond of late eves, might it be that—”

Unapologetic. Proud. Without shame or decorum, Aemond thought to himself, the true mark of a bastard. Rotten to the core, a scourge. The Gods are truly testing us this time.

“And I am fond of order and duty. We shall be at odds, it seems,” he spoke up with vitriol the likes he hadn’t allowed to bubble up to the surface in so long.

Aelenore turned to him with a raised brow and a bemused smirk. At least her words were not lies, her eyes were swollen from slumber with a faint touch of darkness around them, only exacerbated by how pale her irises were.

“So it seems, Prince Aemond.”

She took her seat right next to Aemond, then, with her brothers by her side. The entire session was marred by their obnoxious giggling and the passing of notes. Aemond wondered why they would even bother to show up, though he reminded himself to be easy on them. It wasn’t their blood nor their history that was taught. Very little must have concerned them beyond a mere mention of a Valyrian lord and his harem that made the boys snicker.

As soon as the morning’s tutoring was concluded, Aemond departed without so much as a nod to the Maester and with his belongings so uncharacteristically collected in haste. Large steps carried him to the comfort of the secluded corner of the Keep’s larger library, to the dim spot that became a second bedchamber to him. He went to scribbling angrily. He was distracted, his cursive was sloppy, his words out of order, his thoughts mismanaged. The treatise was all wrong, he knew, yet the more he crumpled up parchments and started anew, the worse it got.

He heard the clicking of heels on the stone floor, then. Curious, he thought, as Queen Alicent knew not to disturb Aemond unless an urgency demanded it. Yet, the heels that dragged without hurry didn’t denote any such urgency. For once, Aemond hoped to be wrong in his conjecture as he looked up from his work.

There she was, the bane of his peace, the curse of all the malicious spirits of Valyrian mythos. She had a thin stack of parchment in her hands, strolling as if she were in the gardens between aisles of tall bookshelves. Aemond watched her with the suspended fury of a dragon prepared to strike out of the dark. She stopped soon after, reached up for a book and only raised dust. She stepped back, looked around once again, and pulled a few heavier tomes without discrimination only to toss them to the floor and step on them. Aemond had half a mind to jump from his seat and strangle the girl. A barbarian would be more reverent than she was, he thought. Gods, the state of Dragonstone must make even an untaught common man weep. A wicked den of sin where the heraldry of the Seven must be mocked in orgies and the written word was torn from bindings to wipe the aftermath off.

“You again,” Aelenore’s contemptuous acknowledgement pulled Aemond out of his thoughts. “I was hoping to be alone.”

“You would be, if you remained in your chamber and spared us the displeasure of your company.”

How dare she? This very spot has been always his from the moment the pain in his eye subsided. Would she be so misled of the mind to think she could usurp his home?

Aelenore seemed unbothered by his retort. In fact, it was Aemond who was the more perplexed one. He expected all sorts of disgrace from her, yet such blatant disrespect from a prince would—should have sent any woman with a modicum of virtue fleeing from his presence in shame. He assumed even Aegon’s whores must be more dignified than Princess Eleanore. Some princess she made.

“Do you not have more… princely pastimes?” She retorted.

“Are scholarly endeavours not princely enough for you?”

“No. Scholarly work is a consolatory waste of time for those who are not befitting to don a sword or fly a dragon.”

Aelenore turned her back to Aemond without waiting for his response and tossed the book to a table nearby. She was used to having the final say so long as the addressee wasn’t Prince Daemon.

“Both I can do,” Aemond rose from his seat and followed her, aggravated and ready to prove his words should she question his proficiency with either.

“Hm. No doubt,” she snorted with her head buried in the old tome.

“Who are you to subject me to lowly mockery?!” Aemond thought to demand with his hands wrapped around her neck. It was slender enough that even a single hand would do, and her body was easy enough to fling out of the window. But instead, his hand moved to his eyepatch. A reminder, a reassurance, a prayer: It passed, this will, too. It passed, she will pass, too. Only a matter of time. All passes, the good and the bad.

“But how well is the question, is it not, Prince Aemond?” She spoke up again. It seemed it wasn’t only Aemond who wasn’t willing to conclude this exchange.

“You do have certain… odds against you, do you not?” She pulled back from the book with a menacing look and an ugly smirk that Aemond wanted nothing more than to cut from her face with a letter opener.

“You did start flying later than all of us, and the sword? With your… unfortunate circumstance… well.” Her cold gaze shifted so pointedly from his face to the sword leaning against his desk, then, back to him.

“If you wish to challenge me to a flight or a duel, say it so plainly, Princess,” he spat the title as if it were a curse.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Though I am surprised you wouldthink to take for an opponent a woman rather than your own sex.”

The Stranger’s mistress. A vermin. A freak of nature. Something to be eradicated, stomped out before it sprouts her branches further.

“Apologies. I mistook your brothers for proper princes, but they are not the kind to be your champions, are they?” The fire within him was stoked with each moment he spent standing near her. He knew it to be a mistake, a man in command of his emotions wouldn’t have entertained a bastard who clearly wished to drag him down to the depths of hell she swam in. Yet, Aemond remained as if stuck to the mast of a ship drifting towards tall rocks.

“They would much rather hide behind skirts than face me.”

“They would not face you, that much is true, though for entirely different reasons.” She didn’t give Aemond the chance to give in to his impulses entirely. In a matter that seemed radically different from the frivolous villain she has been so far, Aelenore discarded her quill and reasoned. Though she spoke too slowly for it not to be insulting at least in the slightest.

“Because I am no more pleased than you are that I am here and neither are my brothers. Yet, no blood shall be drawn as I would like to fancy us all, yes, even you, Aemond, above simple brutes or mindless animals. No iron shall be drawn, no duels shall be had. I assure you I count the days until I am gone more eagerly than you.”

Aemond remained quiet with his lips pursed and his eye slowly dragging across her face. Maybe she could be reasoned with, after all. But he reminded himself that a bastard’s oath was bound with a withering twig; an easy tug and it was undone.

Both Aelenore and Aemond stayed in their heads for a moment, staring at each other but entirely unseeing. Aemond thought of all the ways Aelenore had wronged him. He remembered how she had run to Jace and Luke, how she had kneeled by them, holding washcloths to their noses and lips while his eye was sewn shut by a needle about the size used to weave thick blankets. He remembered how she had encouraged the boys to speak up, how she was the one to give voice to them.

“Aemond” she had called him with disdain, “slandered the princes.” Princes. Bastards. Treacherous liars.

“He called my brothers bastards, mother,” she had spoken with false solemnity, her pale, lifeless eyes dragging from Rhaenyra to Viserys so deviously.

On the morrow, they had all laughed. They had broken fast, they had jested and chatted while Aemond’s life changed forever. That was her, that has always been her. An uncaring, dangerous creature in love with misery and misfortune so long as none befell her.

He realized she was indeed at his mercy then and there. He could claim an eye for his, perhaps do not stop there and cut an ear, too, for interest. Perhaps even half of her ugly, upturned nose that perpetually disdained everything it saw. Consequences be damned, he thought, yet his shoulders fell and he blinked out of trance all the same. He felt the familiar throbbing in the back of his head slowly creeping to surround the precious stone lodged in his eye.

“I do not want you here, in the library,” Aemond spoke sharply. He was threatening enough that Aelenore was no longer too eager to tease him. “Find yourself elsewhere to spread your rot.”

It was his turn to speak the final word, and Aemond spun on his heels to abandon his study and Aelenore both. For once, he would break his schedule to demand Ser Criston’s time without a prior appointment, and he would do unto a sturdy shield and a worthier opponent perhaps half of what he so passionately desired to do to the girl invading his sanctuary.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen angst

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letmetellyouaboutmyfeels · 5 months

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Tumblr Fandom: A Year in Review 2023

Tagged by @mistmarauder and I'm pretty sure I'm contractually obligated to do as she says so...

Top Five Blorbos: Eddie Diaz, Evan "Buck" Buckley, Patrick Jane, Edgin Darvis, Xenk Yendar

Top Five Fandoms: 9-1-1, Fast & Furious, Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves, The Mentalist, The Witcher

Top Five OTPs: Buddie, Xedgin, whatever the hell Dom/Brian is called (there is so little fanfic for them I am weeping), Jisbon, House/Shenanigans uh I mean House/Wilson/Cuddy

Shoutout to Some New Friends: @princessfbi and @tulipfromtheinternet have been very kind to me, leaving treats out on their porches for me to sniff. I even let them pet me after a few months of slowly earning my trust!

Shoutout to Some Old Friends: @mistmarauder and @catdadeddie are two friends I grew closer with this year, and have done a lot to restore my trust in people. They've put up with an unfair amount of prickliness and distrust on my part with grace and love. @evcndiaz has also put up with me dropping into her inbox with fun (horrifying) facts about human anatomy, which earns her a gold medal. And of course @givemeunicorns @devilsbrokerank @captainofthefallen and @extasiswings continue to be my rocks and remind me that there are good people in this world, and that some of those good people might actually love me.

Favorite Creation You Posted This Year: Genuinely I feel like with my Halloween fics I have done the best work in my fanfiction career. I'm shocked at how proud I am of the fanfics I put out this year, including my Wednesday fic and my Xedgin fics. It's impossible for me to choose a favorite.

Favorite Creation Posted by Someone Else This Year: @kittykatthetacodemon had me reading fic for fandoms and ships I'm not even in or shipping? she's just that fucking good? holy shit go watch Mag7 and then read her fics just. just do it.

People Who Brightened Your Year: @lisbonsteresa always and forever brightens my days, and it was a delight this year to be in the same fandom again as she got me hooked on The Mentalist, @mistmarauder always makes me laugh even (especially) when she's roasting me, and @extasiswings helped me get away from the real world a couple times when I needed it.

Anyone Else You'd Like to Mention: I'm so grateful to all of my readers, always. Your enthusiasm and comments are what keep me going. Thank you thank you thank you.

Five of Your Favorite Authors This Year: I'll be honest I have barely read any fanfic this year since I simply haven't had time but a quick shout out again to @kittykatthetacodemon because Mist forced me to read her fanfics at gunpoint and I've never been so happy to be at gunpoint after reading them. I've reread her Hobbs & Shaw fics literally a dozen times, she nails the hysterical over-the-top banter from the F&F films and it has me giggling every time.

Oh and @henswilsons. Forever and always making me laugh with your delightful fics. Never stop, dear.

Five of Your Favorite Artists/Gifmakers/Podficcers/Etc. This Year: @captain-hen so many times I see a gifset that makes me insane and it's by you, you menace. @like-the-rest-of-la lovely art from a lovely person. @bucksketch you make art that has me screeching and twirling my hair and kicking my feet. @mistmarauder your podfics, babe, you know how much I adore them. Um I'm terrible at remembering urls (I'm even worse with names). Uh. Um. Uhhhh. Uhhhhhhh... *we're all still waiting days later*

Three Things You're Looking Forward to in 2024: 9-1-1 SEASON SEVEN BABEEEEEEY

#tagging thing #about mads

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burningvelvet · 3 months

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on percy shelley & human connection & coping through art

to set the mood of this post i must say i'm writing it really quickly on my phone over a bowl of pasta with bread & broccoli & some orange flavored sparkling water & im still dressed in my outdoor wintery clothes (all black, knee boots, wool, silver chains & rings, although i mostly prefer gold jewelry).

so anyway today i've been kind of sad over ppl not replying to my texts & my usual reaction is to say "ok, guess i'll kms, wah wah, cry cry" but this sort of passively cynical joking schtick has gotten old & i would rather occupy myself some other way instead of moping about failed connections or the difficulty of initiating contact with anyone or the struggles of modern socialization as a whole.

instead, i will read the works of percy shelley tonight, and think about how he struggled with all of this over 200 yrs ago. of how hard he struggled to make leigh hunt and lord byron collaborate with him on their journal the liberal, and how he struggled all his life to build a positive community even in spite of years of bullying, ostracization, and family strife - he often felt like giving up, and like human connection was impossible, but he never gave in to apathy and instead he continuously curated his ideal life by seeking out other like-minded people, even when he occasionally embarrassed himself in public or when others were decidely averse to him or lukewarm in their reception. john keats didn't entirely take to him when they met and some of keats' friends straight-up disliked percy for being weird, but percy (though scarcely knowing him) loved keats as a brother-poet nonetheless, was generous to him, wrote one of his masterpieces in his favor, and died with a copy of his poems in his pocket.

percy always reached out to others and was a loyal friend even when others disrespected him or ignored him or just simply didnt love him as much as he did them. his letters to lord byron show how reverent he was to his friend, and how his affection was never returned in quite the same gusto, but, while still trying to keep his self-respect, percy quelled his frustrations and continued his correspondence with byron regardless. percy acted as the mediator between byron and claire even when his stress was so high it weighed heavily on his health. he actively tried to choose to be positive even when the people around him were negative or miserable. like most writers back then, he sent his writing to his idols, and sought mentorship from people he admired, like william godwin and leigh hunt, and he continued to respect them even when they took advantage of him financially (moreso in godwin's case).

anyway what i mean to say is that whenever im feeling lonely or rejected or alienated or socially stupid or am just second-guessing my role in society or whatever whatever whatever, i cling to creativity/art/literature/etc. even harder than i regularly do, because thats what it exists for.

i knew a therapist (not one i saw as a patient, but someone i knew through mutual interests in media/the arts) who said that a certain musical performance we both loved probably saved way more lives than any single therapist ever has. - the performance in question was david bowie's tokyo 1990 live recording of rock n roll suicide, an anti-suicide song (its available on youtube, go watch it lol, he performs it with so much conviction).

any way even though at the end of his life shelley sometimes felt like he was failing to achieve his dream of building a utopian art commune - he actually did succeed in introducing several people to each other in ways that changed peoples lives. his friends jane williams and thomas jefferson hogg got married only through his mutual friendship. whole literary societies have been started in his honor - to this day there are conferences & whatnot that meet annually - his life & writing continues to inspire people and bring them comfort - & he would be extremely proud of that - any artist would. the main goal of any famous dead writer is basically to become the imaginary friend of their future readers & he accomplished that - even though all the time he was wracked with doubt/depression/suicidality/illness/chronic pain, etc. - as a political/philosophical radical, he realized that having hope is one of the most influential & radical things one can do - & i'm glad that, even though this is a person who died over 200 yrs ago, there is at least one person who really resonates with me - even though we're from different centuries, different continents, different sexes, etc. - it's helpful to have positive influences to look up to, especially when they've also struggled in similar ways as you. and although shelley was pretty privileged (rich englishman) he really did struggle a lot mentally & physically - his life was a chaotic mess - and he wasn't perfect at all - but i think he's still inspirational for my previously mentioned reasons - his ceaseless hope. the last poem he was working on was titled the triumph of life, even though he wrote it during a deep depression. the last poem he published in his lifetime was hellas, which he hoped would raise money for the cause of greek war of independence. from the poem:

"Life may change, but it may fly not;

Hope may vanish, but can die not;

Truth be veiled, but still it burneth;

Love repulsed, — but it returneth!"

#percy bysshe shelley #percy shelley #me #?#ramblings #my writing #art #literature #socializing #thoughts #hopepunk #that was shelley #tw suicide mention #opinions #essays #poetry #social anxiety

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phoen1xr0se · 3 months

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Getting to know you

I was tagged by @santacoppelia, @celestialcrowley, @scottishmushroom and @notagoodlad (see, I get around to these things eventually...)

1. were you named after anyone? My mum told me I was named after a girl she had a 'fascination' with at school. Take from that what you will...

2. when was the last time you cried? Yesterday. It's hard to accept that sometimes the things you love, really don't love you and are not good for you.

3. do you have kids? Yes, I'm a single parent to a 10 year old enby kiddo who makes me so proud with their bravery and kindness every day, and a 5 year old little boy who is like sunshine on a cloudy day - they both make the world a much better place.

4. what sports do you play/have you played? I actively and passionately avoid sports of all kinds, and am not sorry about it. I do go wild swimming in the ocean, but not sure if that counts as its mostly me floating on my back and looking up at the sky going "wow the world is pretty."

5. do you use sarcasm? A little, and only with good friends or family.

6. what's the first thing you notice about people? Whether they are open, friendly, good vibes. Can usually tell fairly quickly whether I will get on with them or not.

7. what's your eye color? Hazel - can look gold or green or honey brown depending on the light.

8. scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings. I've been living a scary movie for most of my life, so I always try to find the happy where I can!

9. any talents? Writing? Maybe? I can sing a little, draw a little. My best friend says my main talent is giving the best hugs in the world.

10. where were you born? London, England.

11. what are your hobbies? Writing, wild swimming, countryside walks, star gazing, reading, cooking, spending time with friends and family, making memories with my kiddos.

12. do you have any pets? A failed foster pup called Rosie, who is a tiny fluffy black bundle of enthusiasm and cuddles; and a rescue cat called Tibby who loves you on her own terms. They cuddle. It's cute.

13. how tall are you? I'm 5'3" - a shortie!

14. favorite subject in school? Art. Closely followed by English Lit.

15. dream job? I'm currently a primary school teacher (shock! horror!), but I'd love to make writing and being an author my full-time job. If the NWN application goes well, this could become a reality - but even if it doesn't, I'm not going to stop writing and trying to make my dreams happen. Having cancer taught me that there's never a good time or perfect time, you're never too young or too old for the things you want - just grab life, and shake all the magic out.

No pressure tags - @sad-chaos-goblin, @daisygrayce, @ineffableigh, @celticseawych, @ashke-e, @apanda543, @lineffability, @on-our-own-side, @jac-is-procrastinating-again, @willgrahamscock

#phoenixrose #ao3 author #good omens #shitposting

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the-haunted-prince-au · 4 months

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Just to see how much my art had improved I redrew the chapter 1 image and WOW

You only notice you improve when you look back on your older art huh?

Some rambles about the various differences/improvements under the cut

Noticable difference #1: the mirror is round now cuz I'm 90% sure that old fancy Victorian esc vanity mirrors aren't square and that the square ones are more modern

Noticable difference #2: EVEN MORE UNHINGED THAN BEFORE- I feel like the old one didn't justify how unhinged Snatcher is as a character especially since he has a more expressive face now so I made the eyes twitchier and made that grin as WIDE as possible (specifically using the Disassembly Drones From Murder Drones as a reference point on how far it should go across the face) that plus adding what I refer to as stress lines near his left eye and mouth really sell the manic glee on his face

Noticable difference 3#: when you point a flashlight at a cat its pupils change color why am bringing this up? because I made his pupils reflect a lighter gold instead of the typical normal black once again to sell the unhinged vibes (and also because let's face it the cryptid creature tendencies never go away including weird physical traits that scare the shit out of Vannesa)

Noticable difference #4: the background felt too plain so I just added some little doodles that hint to Snatcher as well as drew a purple crown as opposed to a gold one to hammer in that this isn't the prince that everyone knows and loves (it's an emo pool noodle-)

Fun fact the scribbled out background is literally just a decently cropped image of outside of Snatchers tree

This took exactly 9 layers and I'm really proud of it

But due to the amount of layers i will share some cursed imagery

Yeah

On a better note here's the shading layers to help explain/give more detail on my shading process

I had a lot of fun with this and it really goes to show how much improvement can come out of just a few months!

@return-of-the-queen-au

#the haunted prince au #a hat in time #ahit snatcher #ahit #ahit the prince #ahit au #ahit prince #once again im really proud of how this turned out

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typingwithmyhandstied · 6 days

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all of the asks. (ask game)

(you don’t actually have to i partially just thought it would be funny to say this i can pick specific ones if you want but also please do if you want to)

This is hilarious. I will do all of them because why not.

favorite chore: organizing things mostly but sometimes even that sucks, sweeping, or not really a chore--- peeling potatoes

least favorite chore: cleaning anything that's sticky/slimy/etc

aquarium, planetarium, museum, or zoo: it really depends on the kind. The aquarium in my town has a really big otter enclosure, so I love that. I really really like planetariums and museums but don't go enough.

favorite kind of museum: The ones that are pretty much people's houses turned into museums especially big old fancy houses with old artifacts. I do love a good art museum of course too.

cooking or baking (and your favorite thing to cook or bake): baking and apple crisp. It has peeling, cutting, etc.

favorite thing in your room: My bookshelf or all of the quotes stuck up on my wall.

favorite class you’ve ever taken: I haven't gotten much variety yet. I really like choir, Spanish, and English though.

what kinds of clothes do you typically wear?: tshirts, jeans, overalls, sweaters, really anything but if you see it it makes sense.

favorite way to be creative (can be anything: playlists, outfits, drawing, writing, decorating cookies, anything.): WRITING but I actually kind of have done a lot. I paint some. I make cool outfits. I actually painted a bunch of jean jackets last summer while listening to the FLF audiobook. I might do that again.

are you superstitious?: Yes and no. I am in the ways that I think are funny like sayings and jokes and having a "lucky necklace." I used to be more so.

favorite article of clothing you own: It's either this gray sweater I found thrifting, my Evermore sweatshirt, or my best jean jacket.

favorite way to carry things (pockets, purse, backpack, etc): I apologize in advance for the rant this will cause. I want to say pockets, but I can not because WOMEN'S PANTS POCKETS FIT NOTHING. I also have to carry an Epipen which can't even fit in men's pants pockets so a purse. I like satchel like purses that can fit a book.

what things do you usually have on you when you leave the house?: As stated before my Epipen, my phone which has my wallet stuff in it, a purse, a book, headphones, chapstick, some cash, etc.

favorite errand: grocery shopping or essential other things

dream job: a librarian who writes books in her spare time (with a dog and a cat <3)

favorite thing get when going out to eat: a burger or spaghetti usually

when did you lose your first tooth?: first tooth lost was pulled by the dentist, and I didn't know what was going on. It was HORRIBLE. I have gotten many pulled actually. First "naturally" lost was because my friend's friend hit my chin with her knee while we lifted her in the air at recess. I lost it in Spanish class a few days later.

any childhood memory you want to share:

do you like camping?: Yes, but mostly because I was taken a lot as a kid.

have you ever gone to summer camp and did you enjoy it?: I went to girl scout summer camp but family camp, so my mom was there. It was fine.

favorite place to write things: At a table anywhere without too much distractions

lucky number(s): 4, 7, 13, 14, 16

favorite place you’ve traveled to: Canada probably or just somewhere camping

place you want to travel to: Broadway or London or the Netherlands (to meet an old online friend)

favorite snack: gold fish

favorite smell: lemon verbena

something you’re proud of: all the progress I have made

do you have any pets?: I had a bunny as a little girl. I loved her. I had a dog, but she died two months (ish) ago. I miss her.

do you want any pets that you don’t have?: I want to have a dog again someday. I also will probably have a cat someday. (If I could get an orange cat, I would name it Kell.)

favorite place to go in your neighborhood: THE LIBRARY DUH

#this was so fun #i love talking about myself a little too much #thank you for the ask <3

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sfwregressionfanfictions · 2 years

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Long Distance: Dean Winchester x Reader

WC: 1468

Summery: An online dating app leads to a long-distance relationship.

Part 1. Part 2

Warning: None, not proofread!

Honestly, it was a stupid idea. What hunter does online dating? What hunter goes on an app designed to help caregivers and age regressors meet? He must be the dumbest hunter to exist.

However, here he was setting up a profile. Username: Impala79. Likes: Pie, Cars, and Mythology. The questions continued on, luckily all were easy. The website didn’t require a profile picture, even showing distaste for the idea, as to “allow you to meet someone without the constraints of social beauty standards”.

When the profile was done being set up, he was allowed to swipe through content. The app expanded past being a matching app, it had a marketplace designed for age regression, some general group chats, some blogs, and one-on-one chats. Dean clicked onto a few blogs and liked a couple, before clicking onto a small blog that was just a bunch of drawings. After looking through the blog, he realized it was an age regressors coloring book for when they were big and little. There were many little coloring books, where the colours went through the lines, and big space portraits drawn of actors and mythical beasts, where everything was perfect.

Dean couldn’t help but follow and like, it was so cute to see how proud the little one was of all of their art. Halfway through his scrolling through the blog, Sam came slamming into his room with a case. A simple salt and burn, a quick in and out less than an hour away.

With everyone packed, they rushed to the ghost haunting. Dean was completely unaware of the new message on his account, or the nervous fidgeting of the sender at the fact he hadn’t replied in the first few hours. Sam watched as Dean complained about wanting to go home the second they arrived at the house being haunted by an angry old lady. However, the whining did not last long as the case was solved with ease, and they left before sunset.

Dean was freshly showered and laying in his bed, opening his laptop to scroll through his newly found profile some more. Shock washed over him as he saw two notifications, both from the art blog’s owner, (Your Username). They followed him and sent a message.

(Y/U): Hiya! Thank you so much for the follow and likes! I see you like pies and mythology, SO COOL! I love mythology, but I always want to learn more! :))

Dean: Hey Sweetheart, all your drawings are so pretty. Like seeing how you draw banshees, looks like you saw one in real life lol. Maybe one day I could get a drawing from you?

The message was sent, however, now it was late. They most likely would be asleep if they were a good little (girl/boy/one). So Dean closed the laptop again, nervous to see the response in the morning. Intrusive thoughts crept in ‘what if he crossed a line’ or ‘what if they don’t reply’. Dean decided to roll over and shove his face into the pillow, and pretended to disappear.

The alarm clock blares, it was 10:30 am. When did Dean set this alarm? Why would he set this alarm? Realization crept in, Sam must have set it when Dean was busy showering the day prior. Dean got up slowly, moaning and groaning due to his sleepy state. Wrapping himself in a robe, and trudged towards the kitchen, a scowl etched on his face.

“Good to see you up before noon!” Sam said, sitting at the kitchen table with his computer looking for cases.

“Only cause of you, Jerk!” Dean grunted, flinging open the fridge doors in hopes of finding something delicious. All he found was what he considered to be ‘rabbit food’, luckily for him, there was a fresh pot of coffee right next to the fridge, which he quickly spotted. He poured himself a cup and sat down in front of Sam. Silently sipping his coffee glaring at the computer sam was using.

Once the cup of coffee was gone and the liquid gold was circulating in Dean’s veins, his eyes shot wide open. He realized the age regressor he messaged with last night, most likely replied and was waiting for his reply. With no hesitation, Dean stood up, through his mug in the sink, and ran full force out of the kitchen towards his room. Nothing was going to get in the way of his responding to the tiny artist that messaged him the day before. His computer was flung open and the profile was opened. One notification.

(Y/U): Good morning!!! Sorry, I fell asleep really early last night… Thank you so much! I work really hard on my art, I usually use old mythology books to draw them! I would love to draw for you one day! Anyways what are you up to today? :))

Dean: Hey, no worries. Glad you got some needed sleep. I’m not planning much, might go to a local diner or drive a little unless I get called into work. What about you?

The message was barely sent before it was marked as read and a bubble with three dots popped up. Soon their message popped up.

(Y/U): I did all my work already, so now I get to watch tv and relax. I might ummm you know, then color and watch my little pony or something like that…

Dean: a little shy about your regression?

(Y/U): Yeah… It’s different posting about it than talking about it one-on-one with someone. Ya know?

Dean: We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But you should know I would love to get to know little you along with big you…

(Y/U): Really?

Dean: Really.

After that, the two continued talking for hours over the next few days. The pair had grown comfortable to the point where they could share just about anything. However, hunting was kept secret. Soon with their close bond, they were messaging for a month.

Dean: Hey little one, do you have a PO box? I have something I really wanna send to you

(Y/U): No PO box, but here is my address (address)

Dean: Baby, don’t go sending your address to everyone okay?

(Y/O): Okay, only sending it to you!

Dean: Good, you are such a smart little one, aren’t you?

(Y/O): mhmm, are you good to call tonight?

Dean: I am unless I get called into work.

(Y/O): okay…

The two went about their days until the clock hit 8 pm. Dean's phone began ringing.

“Hello, this is Dean speaking,” Dean grumbled, not wanting to be called into a case. However, his demeanor suddenly shifted as a light giggle-filled his ears.

“Your voice is deeper than I expected…” The voice was small and shaky. (Y/N) was obviously very nervous about being on call with him for the first time.

“You sound just as sweet as I expected,” Dean chuckled, and the other end giggled again. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

“It was good but long… I wanna be little but I should finish up this spreadsheet, then I’ll have all of tomorrow off…” They sighed, struggling to stay big with all the work left to do. “Sorry, how-”

“How much do you have left to do?” Dean asked as he lay back on his bed.

“I think 15 minutes more, it's just hard cause I’m feeling so out of it…” They mumbled.

“Sweetheart, you work really hard for those 15 minutes,” Dean paused for a minute, “and, then, you can be as little as you need, until 9:30.”

“Okay, you’ll stay on the phone with me while I work, right?” The whisper was almost desperate.

“Yes, sugar.”

This simple sentence sent (Y/N) into 15 minutes of hard work. Although, those 15 minutes were filled with mumbled complaints. The completed spreadsheet was marked with an excited squeal.

“I DID IT!” (Y/N) yelled all too loud.

“Indoor voice, little one.”

“Okay… sowwy,” Being tired, slowly slipping into a younger head space caused them to be much more sensitive. (Y/N) was well aware they weren’t in trouble, however, they couldn't help but get teary-eyed.

“Baby, you aren’t in trouble. Just don’t want you to upset your neighbors, or get a sore throat,” Dean gently said to her, “Now you only have an hour and 15 minutes to play before you need to go to sleep so why don’t you put on some of your cartoons and play with your toys?”

“Okie, can you read me a bed time story after?” They felt truly cared for and looked after, like Dean was really their daddy. For now, he was just a friend and babysitter, but (Y/N) decided to let themself imagine for tonight.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x little!reader #age regression fic #little!reader #agere little #age regression #little space #littleone #sfw age regression #x little! reader #supernatural agere #agere #safe agere #sfw agere #sfw little post #sfw little community #sfw little blog

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the-chronicle-of-holy-days · 22 days

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Day 17

Liber LXV Liber Cordis Cincti Serpente

Ah! my Lord Adonai, that dalliest with the Magister in the Treasure-House of Pearls, let me listen to the echo of your kisses.

Is not the starry heaven shaken as a leaf at the tremulous rapture of your love? Am not I the flying spark of light whirled away by the great wind of your perfection?

Yea, cried the Holy One, and from Thy spark will I the Lord kindle a great light; I will burn through the great city in the old and desolate land; I will cleanse it from its great impurity.

And thou, O prophet, shalt see these things, and thou shalt heed them not.

Now is the Pillar established in the Void; now is Asi fulfilled of Asar; now is Hoor let down into the Animal Soul of Things like a fiery star that falleth upon the darkness of the earth.

Through the midnight thou art dropt, O my child, my conqueror, my sword-girt captain, O Hoor! and they shall find thee as a black gnarl'd glittering stone, and they shall worship thee.

My prophet shall prophesy concerning thee; around thee the maidens shall dance, and bright babes be born unto them. Thou shalt inspire the proud ones with infinite pride, and the humble ones with an ecstasy of abasement; all this shall transcend the Known and the Unknown with somewhat that hath no name. For it is as the abyss of the Arcanum that is opened in the secret Place of Silence.

Thou hast come hither, O my prophet, through grave paths. Thou hast eaten of the dung of the Abominable Ones; thou hast prostrated thyself before the Goat and the Crocodile; the evil men have made thee a plaything; thou hast wandered as a painted harlot, ravishing with sweet scent and Chinese colouring, in the streets; thou hast darkened thine eyepits with Kohl; thou hast tinted thy lips with vermilion; thou hast plastered thy cheeks with ivory enamels. Thou hast played the wanton in every gate and by-way of the great city. The men of the city have lusted after thee to abuse thee and to beat thee. They have mouthed the golden spangles of fine dust wherewith thou didst bedeck thine hair; they have scourged the painted flesh of thee with their whips; thou hast suffered unspeakable things.

But I have burnt within thee as a pure flame without oil. In the midnight I was brighter than the moon; in the daytime I exceeded utterly the sun; in the byways of thy being I inflamed, and dispelled the illusion.

Therefore thou art wholly pure before Me; therefore thou art My virgin unto eternity.

Therefore I love thee with surpassing love; therefore they that despise thee shall adore thee.

Thou shalt be lovely and pitiful toward them; thou shalt heal them of the unutterable evil.

They shall change in their destruction, even as two dark stars that crash together in the abyss, and blaze up in an infinite burning.

All this while did Adonai pierce my being with his sword that hath four blades; the blade of the thunderbolt, the blade of the Pylon, the blade of the serpent, the blade of the Phallus.

Also he taught me the holy unutterable word Ararita, so that I melted the sixfold gold into a single invisible point, whereof naught may be spoken.

For the Magistry of this Opus is a secret magistry; and the sign of the master thereof is a certain ring of lapis-lazuli with the name of my master, who am I, and the Eye in the Midst thereof.

Also He spake and said: This is a secret sign, and thou shalt not disclose it unto the profane, nor unto the neophyte, nor unto the zelator, nor unto the practicus, nor unto the philosophus, nor unto the lesser adept, nor unto the greater adept.

But unto the exempt adept thou shalt disclose thyself if thou have need of him for the lesser operations of thine art.

Accept the worship of the foolish people, whom thou hatest. The Fire is not defiled by the altars of the Ghebers, nor is the Moon contaminated by the incense of them that adore the Queen of Night.

Thou shalt dwell among the people as a precious diamond among cloudy diamonds, and crystals, and pieces of glass. Only the eye of the just merchant shall behold thee, and plunging in his hand shall single thee out and glorify thee before men.

But thou shalt heed none of this. Thou shalt be ever the heart, and I the serpent will coil close about thee. My coil shall never relax throughout the æons. Neither change nor sorrow nor unsubstantiality shall have thee; for thou art passed beyond all these.

Even as the diamond shall glow red for the rose, and green for the rose-leaf; so shalt thou abide apart from the Impressions.

I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou art beyond the stabilities of Being and of Consciousness and of Bliss; for I am thou, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

Also thou shalt discourse of these things unto the man that writeth them, and he shall partake of them as a sacrament; for I who am thou am he, and the Pillar is ’stablished in the void.

From the Crown to the Abyss, so goeth it single and erect. Also the limitless sphere shall glow with the brilliance thereof.

Thou shalt rejoice in the pools of adorable water; thou shalt bedeck thy damsels with pearls of fecundity; thou shalt light flame like licking tongues of liquor of the Gods between the pools.

Also thou shalt convert the all-sweeping air into the winds of pale water, thou shalt transmute the earth into a blue abyss of wine.

Ruddy are the gleams of ruby and gold that sparkle therein; one drop shall intoxicate the Lord of the Gods my servant.

Also Adonai spake unto V.V.V.V.V. saying: O my little one, my tender one, my little amorous one, my gazelle, my beautiful, my boy, let us fill up the pillar of the Infinite with an infinite kiss!

So that the stable was shaken and the unstable became still.

They that beheld it cried with a formidable affright: The end of things is come upon us.

And it was even so.

Also I was in the spirit vision and beheld a parricidal pomp of atheists, coupled by two and by two in the supernal ecstasy of the stars. They did laugh and rejoice exceedingly, being clad in purple robes and drunken with purple wine, and their whole soul was one purple flower-flame of holiness.

They beheld not God; they beheld not the Image of God; therefore were they arisen to the Palace of the Splendour Ineffable. A sharp sword smote out before them, and the worm Hope writhed in its death-agony under their feet.

Even as their rapture shore asunder the visible Hope, so also the Fear Invisible fled away and was no more.

O ye that are beyond Aormuzdi and Ahrimanes! blessèd are ye unto the ages.

They shaped Doubt as a sickle, and reaped the flowers of Faith for their garlands.

They shaped Ecstasy as a spear, and pierced the ancient dragon that sat upon the stagnant water.

Then the fresh springs were unloosed, that the folk athirst might be at ease.

And again I was caught up into the presence of my Lord Adonai, and the knowledge and Conversation of the Holy One, the Angel that Guardeth me.

O Holy Exalted One, O Self beyond self. O Self-Luminous Image of the Unimaginable Naught, O my darling, my beautiful, come Thou forth and follow me.

Adonai, divine Adonai, let Adonai initiate refulgent dalliance! Thus I concealed the name of Her name that inspireth my rapture, the scent of whose body bewildereth the soul, the light of whose soul abaseth this body unto the beasts.

I have sucked out the blood with my lips; I have drained Her beauty of its sustenance; I have abased Her before me, I have mastered Her, I have possessed Her, and Her life is within me. In Her blood I inscribe the secret riddles of the Sphinx of the Gods, that none shall understand,—save only the pure and voluptuous, obscene, the androgyne and the gynander that have passed beyond the bars of the prison that the old Slime of Khem set up in the Gates of Amennti.

O my adorable, my delicious one, all night will I pour out the libation on Thine altars; all night will I burn the sacrifice of blood; all night will I swing the thurible of my delight before Thee, and the fervour of the orisons shall intoxicate Thy nostrils.

O Thou who camest from the land of the Elephant, girt about with the tiger’s pell, and garlanded with the lotus of the spirit, do Thou inebriate my life with Thy madness, that She leap at my passing.

Bid Thy maidens who follow Thee bestrew us a bed of flowers immortal, that we may take our pleasure thereupon. Bid Thy satyrs heap thorns among the flowers, that we may take our pain thereupon. Let the pleasure and pain be mingled in one supreme offering unto the Lord Adonai!

Also I heard the voice of Adonai the Lord the desirable one concerning that which is beyond.

Let not the dwellers in Thebai and the temples thereof prate ever of the Pillars of Hercules and the Ocean of the West. Is not the Nile a beautiful water?

Let not the priest of Isis uncover the nakedness of Nuit, for every step is a death and a birth. The priest of Isis lifted the veil of Isis, and was slain by the kisses of her mouth. Then was he the priest of Nuit, and drank of the milk of the stars.

Let not the failure and the pain turn aside the worshippers. The foundations of the pyramid were hewn in the living rock ere sunset; did the king weep at dawn that the crown of the pyramid was yet unquarried in the distant land?

There was also an humming-bird that spake unto the horned cerastes, and prayed him for poison. And the great snake of Khem the Holy One, the royal Uræus serpent, answered him and said:

I sailed over the sky of Nu in the car called Millions-of-Years, and I saw not any creature upon Seb that was equal to me. The venom of my fang is the inheritance of my father, and of my father's father; and how shall I give it unto thee? Live thou and thy children as I and my fathers have lived, even unto an hundred millions of generations, and it may be that the mercy of the Mighty Ones may bestow upon thy children a drop of the poison of eld.

Then the humming-bird was afflicted in his spirit, and he flew unto the flowers, and it was as if naught had been spoken between them. Yet in a little while a serpent struck him that he died.

But an Ibis that meditated upon the bank of Nile the beautiful god listened and heard. And he laid aside his Ibis ways, and became as a serpent, saying Peradventure in an hundred millions of millions of generations of my children, they shall attain to a drop of the poison of the fang of the Exalted One.

And behold! ere the moon waxed thrice he became an Uræus serpent, and the poison of the fang was established in him and his seed even for ever and for ever.

O thou Serpent Apep, my Lord Adonai, it is a speck of minutest time, this travelling through eternity, and in Thy sight the landmarks are of fair white marble untouched by the tool of the graver. Therefore Thou art mine, even now and for ever and for everlasting. Amen.

Moreover, I heard the voice of Adonai: Seal up the book of the Heart and the Serpent; in the number five and sixty seal thou the holy book.

As fine gold that is beaten into a diadem for the fair queen of Pharaoh, as great stones that are cemented together into the Pyramid of the ceremony of the Death of Asar, so do thou bind together the words and the deeds, so that in all is one Thought of Me thy delight Adonai.

And I answered and said: It is done even according unto Thy word. And it was done. And they that read the book and debated thereon passed into the desolate land of Barren Words. And they that sealed up the book into their blood were the chosen of Adonai, and the Thought of Adonai was a Word and a Deed; and they abode in the Land that the far-off travellers call Naught.

O land beyond honey and spice and all perfection! I will dwell therein with my Lord for ever.

And the Lord Adonai delighteth in me, and I bear the Cup of His gladness unto the weary ones of the old grey land.

They that drink thereof are smitten of disease; the abomination hath hold upon them, and their torment is like the thick black smoke of the evil abode.

But the chosen ones drank thereof, and became even as my Lord, my beautiful, my desirable one. There is no wine like unto this wine.

They are gathered together into a glowing heart, as Ra that gathereth his clouds about Him at eventide into a molten sea of Joy; and the snake that is the crown of Ra bindeth them about with the golden girdle of the death-kisses.

So also is the end of the book, and the Lord Adonai is about it on all sides like a Thunderbolt, and a Pylon, and a Snake, and a Phallus, and in the midst thereof he is like the Woman that jetteth out the milk of the stars from her paps; yea, the milk of the stars from her paps

Source: https://www.deviantart.com/the-stein/art/Persona-Tarot-Card-HD-The-Hierophant-289971469

Yeah, he’s not my favorite as it shows. But the “pillow talk” chapter is such a ✨mood✨

#thelema #thelemic holy season #argentum astrum #holy days #silver star #tarot #the hierophant

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