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chrichri-chan-18-love · 3 years

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Predator’s heir (Yandere Warrior King Katsuki x Hybrid Dragon Reader x Yandere Prince Charming Izuku.)

Being born as a dragon was rare... but being born as a dragon known as “Hypertaton Erpeton”, which literally means the supreme serpant was a good bonus.

Born from the dragon king that controls the night and the dragon guardian of the heavens was indeed rare... and does anyone else know what’s rare? Anything related to dragons. Teeth, scales, eyes, organs...babies.

That last one was what had actually led you to search for a mate... it was about time you had offspring of your own (or so your parents said). You came across many dragons but... they were not exactly pleasant company. They’d either want to fight for fun, others were extreme perverts and some were focused on keeping their gold safe.

You had two older siblings that had found mates and they had told you that it’d be fine and that you didn’t need to rush. That being said both had over nine young to deal with and you had none.

You decided to rest close to a large lake, taking human form to make sure you didn’t attract too much attention.

Haha... oh, you were in for a surprise.

As you took a nap under the shade of a large tree, you hadn’t noticed the curious gaze of a young male human. Green eyes sparkled with excitement as he slowly moved a bit closer... he kept staring at your face, your body and the sky.

He knew what you were, he had seen your kind before... but he had only seen a dragon exactly like you only once, later on discovering how rare someone like you truly was... and now seeing you in human form he knew why.

You were beauty personified.

Silky locks, inviting lips, an alluring figure... and for the brief seconds that he had seen your eyes, he found them majestic. He had fallen in love at first sight... and it was a good thing that you had arrived here too.

As a prince, he had the duty of protecting his people... but he couldn’t live forever, meaning he needed an heir and that meant he had to get married. His advisors brought him thousands of noble girls as potentional brides yet Izuku didn’t like any of them. But now he had found the perfect girl to become his princess and future queen.

The boy wasn’t aware of another male coming closer to him. It took a total of five seconds for the newcomer to scare the living daylights out of Izuku and wake you up.

“HEY DEKU! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

You opened your eyes and turned to look at what was going on.

“Kacchan!”

“Answer my fucking question!”

“I came here to clear my mind. What about you?”

Katsuki growled but his attention shifted as he saw you move. For a brief moment he was left speechless, staring at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open... and then you turned and glared at them both. Your didn’t really plan on staying further but you didn’t want them to figure out what you were and so you just walked away.

Or at least you tried.

Katsuki snapped out of his trance and hurried after you, grabbing your hand and forcing you to turn around and look at him.

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Asks who?”

Katsuki smirked, you were a fiery one... he liked it. And your timing couldn’t have been better. His parents were pressuring him into taking a wife, passing on his genes and all that shit. But he wouldn’t take just any lame slut that came his way, he wanted someone that was strong, proud and had the potential to rule by his side.

And here you were now, he seriously couldn’t have better luck.

“Kacchan... it’s not a good idea to provoke her.”

“Shut up Deku! I will do whatever the hell I want with her!”

At that you decided that being patient and playing nice was a waste of time. You grabbed him with your free hand and threw him away, turning into your dragon form and flying before either of them knew what had just happened.

The two looked at each other before Izuku smiled.

“She’s indeed perfect... and she’ll make a great Queen too.” He said and Katsuki smirked.

So you were a dragon... and judging by your appearance you were definetely one of those legendary dragons that had been seen once or twice. That just made on thing more clear for him now.

“Oh,she’s going to become mine...I am going to make her mine no matter what.”

At those words Izuku turned and glared at Katsuki, he wasn’t going to let anyone take you from him! He found the love of his life and he wouldn’t let her go no matter what. If he had to go to war with Katsuki, then so be it!

“No way Kacchan! I saw her first!”

“You didn’t even talk to her, you damn loser! She doesn’t even know you exist!”

“Same goes for you! You made her angry and she left because of you!”

“Katsuki growled and was about to punch Izuku when suddenly an idea came to his mind.

“Then how about this, the first one to find her, will also be the one to have her. I’m sure your sorry excuse of a kingdom have items that can subdue dragons. So whoever catches her first, has the right to own her.”

Izuku looked at his rival with suspicion, he knew Katsuki wouldn’t play fair... and neither would he. True he had tools that could make a dragon obey a human but... that wasn’t how love worked.

“And if she chooses one of us?”

“Then we’ll fight out like men and whoever wins gets to keep her.”

The two stared at each other before they turned around and left, each preparing their own plan to get you. First they’d track you down and then...then they’d try to charm you, if that didn’t work... well, as they discussed earlier there were many items with which they can subdue a dragon. Some were pleasant... some were less than ideal... and some were donwright cruel.

Hopefully, you wouldn’t make it too difficult.

Then again, it might be fun to see you struggle...honestly it all depends on you.

#yandere #possessive yandere #katsuki bakugou #fantasy au #bnha #izuku midoriya #love at first sight #dragon reader #Female reader #Warrior king Katsuki #Prince charming Izuku #rivalry #mating #marriage

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theblekromantik · 4 years

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somewhere new

Erik Stevens x Black Reader

a/n: hello lovelies, i hope you’re well and i hope that you enjoy this! i’ve been experimenting with writing lately, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated!!!

summary: you and Erik go decide to go grocery shopping, but you switch things up a little

warnings: fluff-ish with some sexual tension and implied smut

word count: 3189

A booming,

“Yo, ma!”

Accompanied by a knock at the door rattles you, causing you to drop your eyelash into the sink. Your good, very expensive eyelash that requires much focus in order to be applied to your upper lash line.

Grunting and twinging your face in disgust of the sight before you, you fish it out of the sink, blowing on it to determine if the glue is still salvageable.

“Come on, E! Five minutes!” You respond with your mouth slightly parted, a strange requirement for impeccable eyelash placement.

“Princess, we gotta hurry up before the store closes,” Erik protests, pulling up his sleeve to check his diamond-encrusted AP watch. It’s almost seven o’clock, and Erik hated shopping minutes before a store closed. It made him feel like he was being rushed to gather his items and head to the register.

You and Erik frequently ran errands together, only this time you were grocery shopping. Staying in was nice and all – really quite enjoyable – but an end had to come to the endless Netflix bingeing and takeout from your favorite spots. You both, mainly Erik, decided that it was time for a nutritious, home-cooked meal, one that wouldn’t lead you down a road of clogged arteries and hypertension. But Erik was a phenomenal chef, so you could hardly complain that your ongoing DoorDash expenditure had been interrupted.

“Damn! One second!” You holler. “One second…there.”

You step back and look into the mirror, admiring yourself. Thirty minutes of hard work and determination had really paid off! You grab your phone from the sink’s surface and proceed to snap some photos of yourself.

SHUTTER! SHUTTER! SHUTTER! SHUTTER!

Beauty must always be captured, no matter what the time restraint.

“Princess! You taking pictures in there?” The dreaded man pounds on the door, harder this time. Banging, nearly shaking the hinges out of the door until you swing it open.

And there you are, dolled up and all, from the 26-inch deep wave hair to the Adidas tracksuit, the top zipped down nearly to the level of exposing the full extent of your breasts. Just the way you liked it.

Erik can hardly contain himself as he looks further down at you, ogling how your recently-manicured toes fit perfectly between each slot of your sandals. Man, he knew you were one for dressing up, but to the grocery store? Maybe he needs to step his game up.

“Well?” You jest. “You were so loud banging on the door, you got nothing to say now?”

Catching his lip underneath his teeth, he smugly looks you over once more, trying to gather words to say, for you’ve left him speechless.

He inches closer to you, “My babygirl likes to talk back, huh?”

“Yup, she do,” Boldness courses through you, nearly shattered as you maintain eye contact with your boyfriend.

His eyes were boulders, but you were just as unyielding. This game the two of you liked to play – this perpetual exchange of power – rarely ever ended with you emerging victorious. And you knew this, but you wanted to have your fun.

Finally, though smirkingly, you divert your gaze to your phone, shuffling through your gallery to decide which photos to keep, which photos to delete, and which photos to post.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Erik chuckles after pressing a kiss onto your lips. “Now let’s go.”

While you knew you had lost the battle in the bathroom, you couldn’t wait to enjoy the war you and Erik would have in the bedroom later.

–

“Shotgun!” Erik shouted as you were fumbling in your purse for your keys, making a sprint for the car through your apartment complex’s parking lot.

The sun was setting beneath the horizon, and it illuminated the sky a burnt orange, a hue that began to embellish the surfaces of each object it touched – buildings, vehicles, windows, trees, the reflective skin of Erik’s custom-designed Air Max 97s as he raced further away from you.

After some time, your nimble fingers reach the item of your search, which results in a chime. You pull the keys out, contemplating whether to unlock the car doors for dreaded man in order to relieve him from the heat of the California sun, or let him suffer. Though it was setting, this sun still could extract a cup of sweat from one’s body. But hey, Erik was grown, he could wait.

You strut up to the car to see your boyfriend leaning on the door, panting, condensation forming on his forehead.

You release a sound of triumph, “I was gonna drive anyway.”

The car unlocks with a chirp, and you open the door and sit down. Dumbfounded, Erik was clutching the hood of the car still, trying to catch his breath.

“You getting in, or…”

He opens the car door and slumps down into the seat.

“You didn’t have to have a nigga looking dumb, baby.”

“I don’t think you need me for that, E.”

Erik snickers, “So it’s like that?”

“Yeah, it’s like that,” you tease, pressing the car to start and reversing out of the lot.

The two of you were buckling in for a long evening, and quite frankly, you couldn’t wait to see how it would progress.

–

As you drive on the road, the city and all its structures – both new and old – vanish behind you as a multitude of cool currents of air whip into the car through the windows, blowing your hair in all sorts of directions.

The vehicle vibrates as you blast a playlist full of new releases through your aux, and Erik grips your thigh as he sings to you, gold canines flashing and all.

You gently place your foot on the break, easing the car to a stop before the upcoming red light.

Erik, nearly louder than the music, starts to grind on the seat à la Magic Mike, and you couldn’t help but to laugh at the dreaded man and his silliness, a behaviour that is a pleasant break from his usual brooding nature.

But your laughter is cut short by a car honking behind you, indicating that the light had just turned green. You roll your eyes, because it had literally just turned green, and you press on the gas, revving your vehicle to the speed limit.

You pass another number of buildings a before making a sharp left turn.

“Shit!” You mumble to yourself.

You had almost missed the turn.

“Babygirl, that wasn’t the turn. Where we going?” Erik questions, for the route you’re taking was not your usual one.

“A little change of plans. I wanted to go somewhere else this time.”

“’Somewhere else’?” Erik probes. “What’s wrong with Ralph’s?!”

Now this took Erik by surprise. He’s genuinely concerned about your decision. To him, Ralph’s is King.

“Nothing, just wanna try something different.”

Your boyfriend clutches his heart, feigning a heart attack. You snort and turn into the parking lot. Both the wind and the car’s engine settle as you drive into a spot and press the vehicle off.

“Trader Joe’s?!” Erik cries. “What they got up in there?”

You exit the car, grabbing your purse from the backseat. “Stop complaining. Let’s go.”

–

If boredom could be personified, it’s spitting image would be Erik, for he rests his forearms on the bar of the shopping cart, eyes drooping as he observes the eccentric packaging of Trader Joe’s products.

Picking up a container of salsa he says, “Why all this shit organic?”

But you just suck your teeth and let him sulk behind the cart, ignoring him and all his grumbling.

“And this,” His gaze sets upon another display, “Who the fuck needs all these types of dried fruit? Probably taste like tumbleweed anyway.”

“Yo, stop moaning and groaning over there,” You shoot back at him, grabbing two packages of dried mangoes and placing them into the cart.

But Erik persists, dragging his feet across the smooth, concrete floor.

Minding the grocery list you and Erik had created earlier on your phone, you head deeper into the produce section, searching for some leafy greens and other ingredients that would contribute toward Erik’s signature salad. He walks off with the cart, gathering some tomatoes and bell peppers before making his way into another section of the store.

You, on the other hand, stand in front of the illuminated display with every type of green you could think of: arugula, kale, spinach, and lettuce, just to name a few. Reaching in, you squish some of the bags in order to determine their freshness. And you grab some kale and return to your shopping partner, who was waiting patiently for you, his previous protesting done with.

Looking down at the list on your phone, there wasn’t that much left for you all to grab, just some seasonings that were essential for the completion of any dish. There’re so many to choose from, and quite frankly, you’d just grab them all if you weren’t on a budget. So, you place a couple in the cart. And when you look up again, there Erik is, a pouty look on his face.

“Birthday cake popcorn?” Erik suggests, holding up the multicoloured item.

“Put it in the cart,” You giggle, maneuvering to a checkout line with the least amount of people.

The line becomes shorter and shorter, with customers paying and leaving with their large brown bags. And before you know it, the cashier shouts, “Next!” and moves to take your cart.

“Find everything okay?” The cashier asks, briefly glancing up at the two of you before moving to scan the items in your cart.

“Yes, thank you,” you respond, blankly staring as more items appeared on the customer screen and the worker transferred your groceries into the bags adjacent to the register.

Erik, standing beside you, wraps his right pinky finger against your left one, linking the two of you before you adjust to hold his entire hand. He grips your waist and pulls you in to kiss your lips and lingers there for a short while, eyes boring into yours while also relishing the traces of your chocolate-flavoured lip gloss that had found its way to onto his tongue.

You’re flustered, of course, but not because he hadn’t kissed you this intensely before, but because you were reminded that you were still at the grocery store, for the cashier cleared their throat awkwardly, repeating the total cost you had missed in your fleeting moment of passion.

Scratching your neck, hoping to relieve the embarrassment that that crept up your spine, you ask, “I’m sorry, how much is it?”

To which the cashier responds, “That’s $43.96.”

“I got it, bae,” Erik interjects, pulling out his wallet and handing a crisp yet folded fifty-dollar bill to the worker.

And while the cashier hands Erik the change, you grab the red cart and head toward the exit but not before thanking them. A few steps behind, Erik acknowledges another cashier – the only Black cashier – with a head nod and a knowing smile, to which the cashier nods, shrugs, and returns the grin: the shared feeling of being the only Black person in the room. The automatic doors open, reintroducing the cool evening air upon your face and hair, and the rubber wheels of the cart greet the smooth pavement.

When you reach the cart return, Erik grabs all of the bags while you fit the cart among the lines of carts already present. The two of you begin to walk to your parked vehicle but instead accidentally stumble upon on one with a similar make and model to your own but was not yours.

“I swore I parked right here,” you huff, standing on the balls of your feet, searching the sea of identical cars in the well-lit parking lot. And the fact that there were so many other last-minute shoppers did not help your plight either.

“Lemme see the keys,” Erik says, intrigue in his voice. “I wanna see something.”

You hand him the keys to the car, and he places them under his chin, pressing the unlock button repeatedly.

“That doesn’t actually work, does it?” You quiz, doubt heavy on your words.

“We have to see.”

Supposedly, this little trick should increase the bandwidth of the key’s signal, using one’s head as a sort of antenna. But after a couple clicks, you hear nothing besides traffic on the neighbouring streets.

Pointless, you think, just wanting to hurry up and head home.

But then, you hear a series of chirps in the distance and Erik yipping about the fact.

“Over there,” Erik says, nodding his head toward the source of the noise.

He picks up the bags, and you both head to the vehicle.

–

Shutting the door to your car, you release a sigh. Finally, the bags are all placed on the floor of your car, and you can finally head home.

With your foot on the break, you reach to push the car to start but then Erik yelps, “Wait! I wanna try those mango joints.”

“Oh, now you wanna try them,” You jest, “Because if I can remember, you were just–”

“–Man,” Erik interrupts, reaching to the backseat and rummaging through the bags. “Found it.”

He surveys the clear package titled “Soft & Juicy Mango” with his eyebrows furrowed and his lips curled, a slight repugnance that he couldn’t even help hide. But ripping the bag open, his expression softens as the aroma fills his nostrils, the sweet, tropical scent soothing him.

You watch, rolling your eyes, as Erik cautiously lowers his fingers into the package. One would think that the former Navy Seal wouldn’t be so dramatic over something like trying a new food, but Erik never ceases to amaze you.

Mango slice in hand, Erik purses his lips as he brings it to his mouth, slowly. Tortuously. And chews, his head cocked to the side.

“Wait,” he says as he swallows the last bit. “These bitches smack!”

You release a sound of disbelief, start the vehicle, and pull into the street, heading home. Of course the mangoes were delicious.

–

The sound of the car door closing can be heard as you and Erik finish grabbing all the groceries and head to the entrance of your apartment building. Your boyfriend opens the door for you, his veiny forearm braced on it and towering above you as you enter.

“Damn, ma! You getting thick!” He hollers as he watches the sway of your hips in your fitted bottoms.

You feel your cheeks warm up as you push some hair behind your air. You had been getting thick.

The lobby as you pass through is empty except for the security guard looking down at a glow coming from their lap and a couple of young people with white wires cascading down from their ears, bopping their heads to music that you can hear but not quite make out specific lyrics.

You and Erik find your way inside the elevator, the flickering fluorescents easing you back home, a stark difference from the glaringly bright ones at Trader Joe’s. Erik presses the round “4”, and the aluminum doors begin to close before you, you staring ahead while Erik sneaks a glance at you, smirking before redirecting his gaze toward the sliding metal.

Watching the line of numbers flash as the lift ascends from the ground floor, you turn to Erik, kissing him softly on the lips, closing your eyes and feeling a tingling sensation coursing into him through you. An electrical current that ceases to meet its end, ravishing you both entirely.

And with a ding, the elevator doors open and there you and Erik are, standing chest to chest in the moment, biting your lips like a couple of anxious teenagers on a first date. You pull away from him, keys in hand, heading for the apartment while Erik watches you.

God, how did he get so lucky? You were a treasure to him, and not only because you were so extraordinary but the little things: how you treated him so tenderly and with love yet wouldn’t hesitate to call him out when he was acting like a fool, and how you were so receptive to him as he was to you. These were all things that he scarcely experienced, if he ever experienced them at all. You helped him learn how to love and to receive love, which is an astonishing feat that many cannot confess that they’ve accomplished for themselves. And as you look back at him and smile while you unlock the door, he feels a bit weak in the knees, your electricity overwhelming him once more. You’ve got him hooked, and he loves it. He’s entirely entranced by you, and he doesn’t mind.

You open the door and are welcomed by your apartment, which is completely shrouded in darkness, save for the streetlights, the headlights of passing cars, and the last sliver of the orange evening sky before it is overcome by those distant stars in the night sky.

“Whew,” you exhale, flipping on the light switch and opening the door wider.

Erik sets the bags down on the countertops and approaches you.

“What are you–” you begin, but Erik is sliding his arms around your midsection and turning you to him. He presses his forehead against yours, twirling the ends of your hair and breathes you in and attaches his lips to yours, gently, truly wanting to savour this moment and you in this moment.

He pulls away, slowly, and confesses for the first time aloud, “I love you,” in a voice no louder than a whisper in a public library, to which you respond, “I love you, too.”

And the two of you remain like this for a few moments, staring into each other’s eyes, not even letting the ever-busy late-night traffic rattle you.

“So,” he starts, “About earlier in the bathroom…”

“Yeah, what about it?” You respond, seduction laced in your words.

“I’m thinking we need to address that.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Yup,” Erik answers, popping the “p”.

“And what about the groceries?”

“They’ll be a’ight.”

“Hm,” You sound, lacing your hand with his and walking the both of you to your shared bedroom.

Erik walks towards you, making you both fall on the bed. And the dreaded man begins pecking at your neck, travelling up to the bone of your jaw and landing once again on your plump lips. He swipes his finger down them, and repeats, “I love you.”

You stand up to close the door, while Erik sits up, waiting on you to return to him. You cradle his head in your hands while you kiss him, deeper, all that former tenderness left at the door. And stripping him of his shirt, his impatient fingers also dance to the zipper of your top, lowering it. He slides the jacket over your shoulders as you kneel on the bed to straddle him. But before you could grind down on his crotch, Erik grips your hips and flips you onto your back, the sudden movement bouncing your body on the bed after it meets the comforter.

“Not so fast, babygirl.”

#erik x reader #erik killmonger #erik stevens #black panther #black panther fandom #black panther fanfiction #black reader #erik x black reader #erik killmonger x black reader #black!reader #kris writes #n'jadaka #erik stevens x reader #fanfiction

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dagitab · 3 years

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no but so many taylor songs can be linked to those photos.........august, champagne problems (your flannel cure), all too well (plaid shirt days), stay beautiful, gorgeous, gold rush, etc......mark is literally a taylor swift song personified

is mark really a person? or is he just a bunch of taylor swift lyrics glued together

#also bc of u I CANT STOP THINKING OF MARK AS JAMES NOW #mark just let me go pls .#sophie #nctpinks

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fightsbck · 5 years

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* ARRIVAL OF A BARATHEON BASTARD VS. A LANNISTER PRINCE.

content: so this. this started out purely as a joke. i just wanted to make a a very quick and witty comparison and it. it turned out into a full-blown thing. in any case, i’ve talked about this briefly before but!! I LOST THE POST, so. here is me winging this meta / discussion again, and hoping that it’ll make sense. again, this is in no way of disrespecting any other character(s); just a full opinion written that you’re free to agree / disagree.

warning: if you haven’t watched ep 1 of season 8? spoilers.

introduction.

so, as i’ve said: this started out purely as me attempting a joke. when i first saw gendry’s appearance in, what i will dub as: The Arrival 2.0, my first immediate thought was: this is a prince. of course, i’m biased. i like this character. so, i’d want him to take a high position that we’ve learnt to idolise. but it’s not that simple. in reality, gendry is written as a lowborn and, if we’re being realistic, princely probably isn’t the right word nor occupation that can agree with him. regardless, that was my fight thought. here is an edited screencap for visual aid:

but then i went away to pull out the first episode of got to get a screencap of joffrey in a similar pose. i was baffled by two things: (1) was the re-discovery that we are all seeing this in both the northerner’s point of view but, most important? from arya’s. i might come back to this point later? but we’ll see. continuing, another shocking factor was (2) joffrey, himself. here is another edited screencap for visual aid:

what had baffled me so much was that, i was wrong. gendry didn’t look at all like a prince when he’s compared to joffrey. joffrey looks like a prince: he has the golden hair, the right horse, the right shirt etc. gendry, in comparison, looks rugged and worn-down. the only thing that’s salvaging him from completely looking like a truly lowborn commoner was that he was relatively clean-looking. otherwise, his usual look are him covered in ashes and soot.

gendry doesn’t look like a prince. but maybe that’s the point.

so, once i’ve established that my joke won’t be funny after all because i was dead off-the-mark with this assumption, i’ve started to sit down and think: you know what. it makes sense. i think gendry is supposed to look the way he does: a common folk, a working man. aka anything but a royal. this is ironic, because i think joffrey, in return, is supposed to look like a royal — though, in reality, he’s no right in claiming the title considering he was a lannister bastard, himself. gendry may be a lowborn, but at the very least, his claim is stronger in regards to blood. traditionally, of course, that won’t fly. but, let’s save that conversation for later.

appearance alone.

comparatively, joffrey looks divine. his hair is yellow and thick, and he’s surrounded by the guards that are dutiful to keep him safe, and his horse is even different-in-colour from the others. there’s a lot of work just in this scene to pop joffrey up as the prince among the rest. we, as the audience, though maybe not immediately drawn, can somewhat subconsciously conclude that hey, this kid must be someone among these marching men of many.

gendry is... not like that at all. yes, again, i repeat, he looks clean. but ... he doesn’t look expensive, you get what i mean? his hair is cut short, suggesting ruggedness. he looks like he’s just been working in the smith and davos was telling him last-minute that they have to go out and go to winterfell. he threw a cloak on his shoulder — which! by the way! looks sagged, while joffrey’s were meant to make him look bold and thick, but the thing is, gendry looks comfortable, which plays a lot in the bastard vs. prince thing because gendry’s whole lifestyle probably pertains more to comfort than to conform himself to any westeros’ fashion standard — and was up on a horse and just, riding to his next destination.

gendry also blends with the crowd, and yet, somehow, he stands out anyway. one could argue that it’s mostly because we see it from arya’s point of view, and she was looking up to the men on horses which was why gendry appeared more grand in our eyes — if compare to joffrey, who, upon first look, we view him with the standard eye-level view: so everything that makes him stand out was literally what he wears and how his guards were stationed around him, but.

let’s dwell further.

colour scheme and foreshadowing.

‘cause it’s honestly my fucking favourite thing, but !! this is more of just me emphasising on the foreshadowing that they’ve done. because it’s. incredible. with that, imma get rid of my edited things and pull out some hues from the original screencap of the show.

first, we’ve got joffrey.

so as i’ve said: joffrey is expensively dressed. he’s got the thick coat just like robert’s, he’s got the gloves, and he’s got the beautiful steed that he mounted. and then there were the colours. joffrey’s whole aesthetics are elegance (black) and violence, anger, danger (red, which, now that we’re reading deeper into it, should come off as a warning, huh?) as well as the touch of yellow / gold to represent the riches.

joffrey is everything a royal lannister is, and the tv-show flaunts it.

in the meantime, here’s gendry:

like i said. he’s all rugged and rough-looking, and even his colours are portraying it. gendry’s general tone have always been with earth signs. he is the green of the tree, the brown of the mud: he is stability and home personified. because yes, he may lack the riches, but gendry has always been someone — in this case, arya, specifically, and then later jon with the whole westeros suicide squad — could depend on.

and the best thing is? he carries the very colours of what the baratheon, i think, should be. stags in the wild: strong and intimidating creatures with its large antlers that could kill (which means they possesses a level of dangerousness that people should be aware of; in this case, gendry with his strength that the show has let us see glimpses of again and again), but they’re peaceful. they’re calamity. they’re reliable.

further scenes. feat. the hound!

it is also interesting to note that, following their first glimpse, both of the characters went on to different side of the spectrums. joffrey (if you count his encounter with sansa next as the second scene, instead of him just Smirking at sansa as the second one) shows arrogance and - him, just basically standing there, in full leisure. he is in no rush. he does not work. he’s nothing to do. joffrey, after all, is the prince.

gendry’s second scene is him reprimanding the people who are handling dragonglass to be careful. to be honest, i do admit, it’s just an establishing shot. (for non-film nor media students, it’s just a quick shot to establish or made known to the audience what we’re watching: in this case, we’re discovering that hey, the dragonglass is a lot, and it’s safely arrived and gendry, obviously, will probably smith a lot) however, it’s a shot of gendry working.

he’s worried about what’s to come, he’s seen death in the face, he knows his duty, knows why he’s brought there, and he’s taking it pretty damn seriously. you can also parallel it with how joffrey’s encounter with arya later when arya had his sword and nymeria attacked him (though it won’t be a strong parallel) but essentially: in the face of danger, joffrey slunk away. gendry got right back up (fitting, really, since he actually literally fell the last time we saw him in s7 in the snow) and started to do something about it.

(it’s also!! cool to think that joffrey’s next scene consists of him taunting the hound. while gendry’s is him aiding the hound with the axe that he asked for. even when the hound mocked him, gendry didn’t rebuke by saying anything mean before arya could interrupt them.)

tl;dr. conclusion.

joffrey is a prince, though it is funny to reflect, later, that he is undeserving of the title for his cruel and cowardly nature. and that, of course, he is illegitimate to the throne by his blood. gendry is an unrecognised bastard. in my interpretation, he doesn’t even go by waters as a last name. and yet, his character is strong and dependable. maybe not princely, no, because gendry is nothing like the diplomat sansa or tyrion is. but, i think, he represents everything a prince should be.

and that’s that.

please don’t reblog.

#anyway this is one of my FAVE discovery of g/endry so!!!!!!!#there you go!!!!#god how sad would it be #if i talk abt ALL OF this like hinting heavily abt #g/endry's potential and like.... he'll be killed off this sunday lmao :^)#d&d u did my boi wrong once pls... pls.. have Mercy #gendry.#gendry; meta.#unformatted #long post for ts

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quakerjoe · 5 years

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50 years ago today, a photograph was taken that would reframe how we humans saw our planet. As I reflect on the year that’s been, I am thinking of all the news reports on the damage being inflicted on our fragile Earth.

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There is an image you’ve probably seen of a bright marble set against complete blackness. The marble sits in a shadow. It is mostly blue and swirling white, with a hint of green and brown. In the foreground of the photograph is a swath of barren gray. This picture is considered one of the most iconic images in human history. It altered our sense of ourselves as a species and the place we call home, because that marble is our planet seen from the vastness of space, and the gray horizon we see in the foreground is the moon. The photograph has a name: Earthrise.

The image was captured by astronaut William Anders of Apollo 8 on the first manned mission to orbit the lunar sphere, and the photograph can be seen as a mirror image for every vision humans had ever experienced up to that point. From before the dawn of history, our ancestors looked up in the night sky and saw a brilliant moon, often in shadow. But in that moment on Apollo 8, three men from our planet looked back and saw all the rest of us on a small disk with oceans, clouds, and continents.

This image, so peaceful and yet so breathtaking, was taken at the end of a turbulent year. It was Christmas Eve 1968, but from up there you would never know that a hot war was raging in Vietnam or that a Cold War was dividing Europe. You wouldn’t know of the assassinations of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. or Bobby Kennedy. From that distance, people are invisible, and so are cities, countries, and national boundaries. All that separates us ethnically, culturally, politically, and spiritually is absent from the image. What we see is one fragile planet making its way across the vastness of space.

There was something about that photograph that struck deep into the souls of many people about our place in the heavens, and a year later it appeared on a postage stamp (six cents at the time) with the caption “In the beginning God . . .” The photograph is also widely credited with galvanizing a movement to protect our planet. Over the course of the 1960s, people increasingly spoke of a Spaceship Earth, a notion eloquently voiced by United States ambassador Adlai Stevenson in a speech he gave to the United Nations in 1965. “We travel together, passengers on a little space ship, dependent on its vulnerable reserves of air and soil; all committed for our safety to its security and peace; preserved from annihilation only by the care, the work, and, I will say, the love we give our fragile craft.” With the Earthrise photograph, suddenly Spaceship Earth was no longer a metaphor. It was there for all of us to see.

The 1960s and 1970s were times of such social upheaval that the environmental movement is often overlooked. But real action was happening. In 1962, Rachel Carson, a trained marine biologist, published one of the most important books in American history, Silent Spring. It focused on the dangers of synthetic pesticides like DDT, showing how these chemicals could insidiously enter an ecosystem and wreak unintended havoc on the health of a wide range of animals, including humans. The book hit like a thunderclap. The reaction from the chemical industry was fierce and unrelenting, but the public uproar was even more substantial.

The moral weight of Carson’s argument changed the equation for how we measured our actions; the health of the earth became part of the discussion. That book contributed to the rising pressure on government officials to act to protect our planet, and in 1970 we saw both the founding of the Environmental Protection Agency (signed into law by President Richard Nixon) and the first Earth Day (organized by Wisconsin’s Democratic senator Gaylord Nelson). The year also saw an important expansion of the Clean Air Act (first passed in 1963). The Clean Water Act would come in 1972. The environment was now an important national priority, and support for it was bipartisan.

For all the talk of Spaceship Earth and Earth Day, however, there was a belief at the time that environmentalism was a series of local battles. When it came to air and water pollution, we worried about the health of the smog over Los Angeles and the chemical runoff into the Hudson River. Over time, we saw environmental threats become more regional, with acid rain and the depletion of the ozone layer. It was hard to imagine, though, that we could harm the planet on a global scale. But all the while, ever since the start of the industrial revolution, an odorless and invisible pollutant was being pumped into our atmosphere with increasing volume — from our tailpipes, smokestacks, and the clear-cutting of forests. We now know that carbon dioxide and the resulting climate change is a threat of a magnitude unlike anything we have ever seen before. Those are the stakes we face today.

In the summer of 2007, I traveled 450 miles north of the Arctic Circle to the Canadian tundra to report on a development that was shocking for any student of history. For centuries, famed explorers had searched for a shipping route from Europe to Asia through the frigid north. It was dubbed the Northwest Passage, and it proved to be a deadly and illusory dream, as many ships and men went in to never return. So when my colleagues and I heard reports that melting sea ice was possibly unlocking the passage, we set about to document the dramatic climate change at the end of the earth. Some of my crew spent days aboard a Canadian Coast Guard research icebreaker, and I met them in the Inuit village of Arctic Bay, population about 700 hardy souls.

What both the scientists and the local inhabitants understood was that a world of ice was undergoing rapid and unpredictable change. I remember taking a walk along a rocky shoreline with an elderly Inuit woman, who pointed at the open water and explained how, even in the summer, it had once been largely ice. She talked of seal pelts that were not as thick because of the warmer water and her worries that her people’s way of life was in danger of being irrevocably lost. Meanwhile, on the research boat, scientists were rushing to understand how this changing climate was affecting marine life and whether they could find clues to the arctic environment of the past by dredging the bottom of the sea.

It is an awesome realization that Earth, which has always seemed boundless, is so susceptible to the negative byproducts of human activity. Perhaps that is what makes it difficult for some to accept climate change. As we walk through nature, it seems so robust and permanent. And for the vast majority of the history of our species, we did not have the power to destroy the planet.

But if you look back to the beginning of the environmental movement, you will see that it sprang from a dawning realization of how damaging humans could be. In the late nineteenth century, the mighty bison of the American West, estimated to once have numbered in the tens of millions, were slaughtered over just a few decades to the brink of extinction. Hunting parties would shoot indiscriminately from train windows as sport, leaving thousands of carcasses to rot in the sun. A seemingly limitless resource suddenly was on the verge of disappearing. By then, a growing spirit of naturalism was capturing the nation’s attention, personified by writers like Henry David Thoreau. And leading citizens in the United States, men with political power like Theodore Roosevelt, decided to act.

They formed conservation clubs that began to have an effect on the federal government. Yellowstone National Park, considered the first national park in the world, was founded in 1872. Yosemite was added in 1890. A movement had been born. But meanwhile, a very different revolution had begun half a world away. The first modern internal combustion engine was built in the 1870s, and in 1886 German engineer Karl Benz patented the first motorcar. Over the ensuing century and decades, as the environmental movement grew in its scope and importance, Earth was getting sicker.

None of this was known when I was growing up. The Texas economy of my youth was literally being fueled by oil, and there seemed to be nothing incompatible with black gold and the health of the wide world outside my door. Some of my earliest memories were of running through the wild meadow that bordered my neighborhood on the outskirts of Houston, looking at bugs, lizards, and, it being Texas, a lot of snakes. There was a creek a little farther out, and when I was young, my mother made it known to me that it was a boundary I dare not cross. Beyond the creek lay deep woods, and as I grew older, I was allowed to wander alone beneath the strong oaks and towering pines, turned loose in nature. In the midst of the woods was the Buffalo Bayou, and I learned how to swim in its languid waters. In truth, the bayou had already been polluted by the oil refineries and chemical plants around Houston. But we boys, frolicking in the water, didn’t know that. We were living out our fantasies of being latter-day Tom Sawyers and Huck Finns.

In that great meadow and the forest beyond, the world seemed exciting and alive. It was teeming with rabbits, squirrels, and the occasional coyote. There were birds in the skies and all those snakes on the ground. Most were harmless, but there were poisonous ones as well — rattlesnakes, water moccasins, coral snakes, and the spreading adder, what we called the “spreadin’ adder.” My mother worried about snakes, but she knew that they were part of the Lone Star way of life. You had to be alert, knowledgeable, careful, and a bit lucky — just like in life.

My father was the kind of hunter who believed that you shouldn’t hunt something you don’t know a lot about, and he instilled in me a deep respect for the natural world. As we walked together on warm summer evenings, his hunting rifle in hand, he would explain the life cycle of rabbits and that the best place to find squirrels was where the “hardwoods met the pine trees,” because squirrels liked the height of the pine trees and the nuts of the hardwoods. Whether this was provable from scientific study, or even whether someone has ever chosen to study such a thing, I do not know. But it was the kind of wisdom that came from a lifetime of observation, and nature tends to make all of us open our eyes and think.

My father also believed that you ate what you killed, and so my mother had a number of recipes that fit both rabbit and squirrel interchangeably. Sometimes we just ate the meat broiled with a side of sliced tomatoes or homemade pickles. Other times it was stewed. More often, it was fried. It might not sound like much, but it was pretty good. My father would also usually get a couple of deer during the hunting season, which was the legal limit. We would eat every bit that was edible, and that could take quite a while. Dad was terrific with a shotgun, so we spent many a time cleaning, then eating, ducks and quail.

In the nature around my house I learned life lessons — an overworked phrase, I grant you, but an apt one. When I was nine years old, my friends and I came across a giant softshell turtle in the Buffalo Bayou. It was the biggest one we had ever seen, and we spent the entire day tracking it. After many foiled attempts, we finally snared it, bound it up, and walked back the mile or so to my parents’ house. We filled a tub with water in the backyard and put it in. We felt like conquering heroes, but that only lasted until my father came home from work. When he saw what we had done, he was furious and explained to me how such behavior could harm a wild animal like this turtle. Even though it was after dark, he insisted that I carry the turtle back to where we’d found it. Now, this wasn’t the equivalent of a valiant effort to save an endangered species, but my father’s instinct was the same: Nature was not there for us to exploit or toy with. It is a lesson I have never forgotten.

Going into the forest with my dad was a backdrop to my young life. It was just what people did. I was expected to be able to identify the species of trees and to know how to avoid getting lost. Nature wasn’t something that you drove to, or planned on seeing, or for which you bought a fancy outdoor wardrobe. I worry that now it is an activity that must compete with soccer practices, homework, piano lessons, and all the other responsibilities that fill up the calendar of a family with children. All those are surely wonderful and rewarding, but so too is just letting your legs wander through the trees and meadows, and having your mind wander as well.

Today most of us encounter few animals and plants in our daily lives, and most of what we do see are either the ones we have domesticated or the vermin and weeds that can thrive in the cracks of modernity. Growing up I was enthralled by the night sky. But now most of us can see only a few faint stars at night, the ones bright enough to make it through the domes of light that enclose our metropolises. For all of human history, the night sky told stories, delineated time, and guided voyagers. Now 30 percent of the people on the planet can’t even see the Milky Way from their homes. And in the United States, 80 percent of us can’t.

We as a nation have done much to exploit the land, despoil it, and pollute it. From wildlife to wildfires, we have been shortsighted in our management. For too long the cost of doing business ignored the cost of that business to the environment. Still, we have been world leaders in conservation, preservation, and environmentalism. And that is what makes this moment in time so baffling and worrisome. Somehow the environment has become yet another point of contention between Democrats and Republicans. It is striking that those who live in urban centers and are more isolated from the natural world tend to vote for Democratic candidates who mostly favor stricter environmental regulations. Meanwhile, those in rural areas tend to vote for Republican candidates who more often advocate for laxer oversight of land, water, and pollution. I am not exactly sure how this came to be. Some of it likely has to do with the coarsening of dialogue between the two major parties on almost every issue, and ultimately the environment gets sorted along those binary lines as well. Research also suggests that those states whose economies are built on oil, gas, coal, and mining tend to be less likely to support environmental regulations, and understandably so. But whatever the cause, it is important to note that these political and social divides over the environment were not always this way.

It was an odd experience watching the heated debate as a cap and trade bill for carbon dioxide emissions and climate change made its way through Congress in 2009. The opposition from Republicans was fierce, with only a handful voting for final passage in the House of Representatives. Dozens of Democrats in conservative districts also voted against the bill. In the end, the legislation barely passed the House and was never even brought up in the Senate. And yet the very idea of cap and trade as a way to deal with environmental problems, where you set limits and allow polluters to trade in credits, had been the brainchild of Republicans. President Ronald Reagan had used cap and trade to phase out lead in gasoline, and President George H. W. Bush had used it to cut the pollutants causing acid rain.

When I sat down recently with George Shultz, who had served as secretary of state under President Reagan, he spoke with pride of the Republican legacy on the environment, stretching back to President Theodore Roosevelt. Secretary Shultz has become a vocal advocate for protecting the planet against climate change, and he reminded me that major environmental progress — from the founding of the EPA to tackling the ozone and acid rain problems, to strengthening clean water and air acts — had happened under Republican administrations.

Questions of the environment boil down to acts of leadership. Most people would say that they want clean air and water. The concerns that you hear about pitting economic growth against environmental protections are legitimate; we need a balanced approach. Our modern lives require that we mine, till, fish, generate electricity, and discard refuse. We will never return to some mythic state of environmental purity. Nor would we want to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be wiser about how we use our limited resources and protect our planet. I believe that if there was leadership on this issue in both political parties, the American people would rally to action.

We humans seem to have a hard time measuring risk. We can see the dangers in the moment, but threats that stretch over the course of generations are hard for us to judge, let alone act to remedy. Climate change is just such a problem. Even though we already see very worrisome fluctuations in Earth’s functions — extreme weather, vanishing sea ice, rising temperatures, and rising oceans — the most dire effects will not strike with full force until well after I am gone. We can hide from the truth for now, but it will not last. In my interview with Secretary Shultz, he described climate change as a clear and present danger even if many of his fellow Republicans do not see it that way. I asked him how he felt about this state of affairs. He said those who deny climate change now will ultimately be “mugged by reality.” Mugged by reality. It is a strong phrase. The danger is that when the climate deniers are finally mugged, it will be, by definition, too late. Already we are seeing the glaciers melt in Greenland and massive ice sheets breaking off Antarctica.

Often I find myself thinking back to my boyhood out in the forests and meadows and how those experiences spurred in me a love of our natural world. One of the joys of my later life has been the summer days I spend in quiet contentment fishing in the upper Beaverkill River in the Catskill mountain range of western New York State. My eyes are mostly focused on the action in the stream, watching the currents and eddies, casting flies, looking for trout willing to bite. But I often glance up to contemplate the flora and fauna of the riverbank — particularly the birch trees that are rooted just on the edge of the water. They favor the embankments in many northern climes, and sometimes, as I take in the scene, an old African American spiritual comes to mind. I begin singing slowly, “Just like a tree planted by the water, I shall not be moved. I shall not be, I shall not be moved. . . .” The hymn may say I shall not be moved, but I often am, in that strange and mystical way engaging in nature often moves us.

There is an elegance to birches, tall and slender, with their distinctive white bark. I’ve always liked them because my long-departed mother loved them so. Born, raised, and buried on the semitropical Texas Gulf Coast, she never saw a live birch, only pictures in a book. Mother’s favorite tree, however, was the native magnolia, which flourishes all along the Texas Gulf Coast and adjacent piney woods. She loved their strength and the fragrance of their large white blossoms. That scent permeating and enveloping in the heavy humidity of Texas nights is among the fondest memories of my childhood. I smell it often, even when a magnolia is nowhere in sight.

I like to sit out there on the river for a long while, and take a deep breath and close my eyes. Nature doesn’t please only our sense of sight. I can hear the soothing sounds of running water and swaying leaves in the background. Nature has the power to inspire one’s mind and move one’s soul like great music or poetry. It can fill you with humility when you encounter the otherworldliness of the Grand Canyon. It can fill you with awe when you tilt your head back and try to tease out the top of a towering redwood. It can spark your imagination as you try to visualize a time when the entire continent was as wild as Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. And it can fill you with sadness when you see how much the glaciers in Glacier National Park are receding. What are we doing? What have we done?

I am an optimist by nature, and I believe we can find a will to save the planet. We have a strong and growing environmental sensibility in this country and around the world — especially among the young. But there are hurdles, not the least of which come from many of our elected officials. We have seen the undue influence of big money from the fossil fuel industry, along with their allies in government, actively undermine climate science. We have seen crises like what has taken place in Flint, Michigan, call into question our national commitment to equal access to clean water and air. To the countless generations yet to be born, what world will we leave for them? We have seen that we can make progress and repair damage to the environment. But now, when it is needed with an urgency we haven’t really seen before, we are blinking. How can we open our eyes once again to the notion of a fragile planet, our only home?

Apollo 8 was on its fourth pass around the moon when the commander, Frank Borman, initiated a scheduled roll of the spacecraft. On the audio recordings, you can hear William Anders, who was the lunar module’s pilot, react to a sight no human had ever seen before: “Oh my God! Look at that picture over there! There’s the earth coming up. Wow, is that pretty.” Anders called out to the third crew member, Jim Lovell, asking if he had color film. There was a scramble inside the spacecraft to get the picture taken before it was too late. They got their shot.

The astronauts were not looking for Earth when they went on their mission. The space historian Andrew Chaikin said Anders told him later, “We were trained to go to the moon. We were focused on the moon, observing the moon, studying the moon, and the earth was not really in our thoughts until it popped up above that horizon.” We need this vision of a unified and cohesive Earth to pop up once again over the horizon of our global complacency. We need to consider, with awe and humility, the future of our fragile home.

- Dan Rather

(Above is the "Environment" essay from my book What Unites Us)

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emeraldxmonarch · 6 years

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Amori Aetherium (pt. 19.1)

(Hey guys! And finally, here is the first part of the dreaded High Lord meeting! I decided to split it into three chapters because there’s going to be a lot going on, and it wouldn’t be fair to just shove it into one rushed chapter. This way, I can hash out different details and plot points for later on. It’ll make more sense as the chapters progress! Hopefully you guys enjoy it, and a huge thank you to the amazingly talented @voice-addicted for all of her wonderful help. Literally I cannot say it enough how much of a blessing this girl is.

Enjoy~!

Tag list (If anyone wants to be tagged, lemme know): @acourtofrosesandbooks

-SxW)

~Previous Chapter~ ~Next Chapter~

Here it was.

The minute she opened her eyes, she could feel the anxiety in her bones.

Today was the day of the meeting.

She slowly sat up and looked out the window, the sun barely beginning to peek over the Sidra.

With a deep breath, she looked around the room before slowly getting up and making her way into the bathroom.

Shedding her clothes, she finally let herself take a good look at the damage across her back, not having the nerve to do so before.

Two long thin scars stretched down her back, the wound having finally recently healed with her getting her strength back. The bruises have long since healed, as well as the smaller cuts that had lingered before.

She was dangerously edging into a mindset that she was purposefully shoving away every second.

With a deep breath, she quickly threw herself into a tub of cold water.

She shivered as she dried herself off, goosebumps raised against her pale skin as she wrapped the towel tightly around herself, her hair tied into a messy bun on top her head. Her mind was fixed on the meeting that was barely even hours away. What would happen if the meeting was about what had happened?

But how would they know?

She frowned softly and sighed.

What would she even do if one of the High Lords said something to her?

She would probably freeze up on the spot.

She hated how easily she still froze up if someone of authority spoke to her...

Side effects of working in Hewn City she guessed...

Her mind ended up wandering to Idelisa again... since she shared the story, she found herself thinking of her friend more and more. Idelisa had obviously come from another court, with her silver hair and green eyes. She was a beauty trapped in a Court of Nightmares. They had become fast friends, even after she learned her true name... They clung to each other and kept each other’s hopes up when it felt like things had become hopeless...

Which is why it stung so badly when she had suddenly disappeared.

There was no note, or forewarning that she was leaving.

Despite her pain, she prayed every day that she had somehow escaped.

Somehow made it out... instead of the horrible alternative.

She shook her head and sighed, unable to really focus on one matter at a time. she was turning into a complete scatterbrain.

A knock on the door made her jolt back into reality.

“One second!” Throwing on her previously worn clothes, she quickly went to answer the door.

Opening it, she saw Feyre standing in the door with a soft grin, holding a gown in her hand.

“So, I got you something for the meeting.”

Amara stared at herself in the mirror, shock lining her features as she took in her dress.

A deep blue gown, the v-neck cut showing off her ample chest, with the sheer sleeves and train of the gown looking as though they were dotted in pieces of stars themselves.

The dress in itself was simple, but the small, silverline details along the bodice and train made it special. Vines of silver had subtly wound around her waist right where the train began and right along where the cut of the dress met her skin.

Feyre had let her hair down, and it curled around her face and chest, melding with the color of the dress almost perfectly as she just look herself in.

There was no way this was her.

There was no way she could look so beautiful.

“Now, one last touch” Feyre had slipped a clip into her hair, right along the side, and it was a small, crystalline rose, that shone with the light.

It immediately reminded her of starlight.

“Feyre I can’t take something like this...”

“Too bad. It fits perfectly. I won’t take no for an answer” Amara pouted at her, feeling guilty because what she wore... what she looked like... she couldn’t even dream of looking this beautiful... she brushed her fingertips over the clip, mesmerized by the smooth yet chilled glass.

“Rhys, before we were together, used to crown me at every single meeting we went to. Every single one. And he still does... This is no crown... but it definitely fits, don’t you think?”

Amara threw her arms around her in a tight hug.

Feyre jumped a bit before smiling and hugging her back, “Well, head on downstairs and wait with the others. Apparently Rhys is still getting my own dress ready,” Amara nods softly, and goes towards the door.

“Feyre?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure whatever dress Rhysand gets ready... You’ll look absolutely beautiful in it..” Before Feyre could respond, she quickly went out the door and headed downstairs.

Even Feyre couldn’t deny the soft blush lining her cheeks.

Amara’s face was burning.

She felt so embarrassed saying that, but couldn’t deny the fact that she wanted to say it.

When she got downstairs, Mor, Cassian and Azriel were already sitting on the couch.

Cassian noticed her first and beckoned her over.

It took most of her self control not to gawk at them.

Mor was sitting in the center, wearing a deep red dress that clung to her figure, and fell into a train behind her. A deep cut along the neck and sides accentuated her curves and the color only further complimented her flaxen skin. Silver bracelets lined both of her wrists and clinked with each movement, her long fingers adorned with silver bands and gemstones.

“Here we thought Amren was the hoarder, not you Mor.” Cassian snorted and laid back.

He and Azriel were both clad in Illyrian leathers. Their towering forms only further emphasized by the tight cloth, each red and blue siphon shone in a low but terrifying light. Their wings were tucked behind them to sit comfortably on the couch but it did nothing to dwarf their sheer size.

They both looked every bit as terrifying as the rumors portrayed, making her heart skip a beat, as unbidded images flashed through her mind faster than she could comprehend.

“Amren IS a hoarder. I simply know how to dress damn well.” She playfully flipped her hair and even Azriel gave a soft chuckle.

“Amara, you look beautiful,” Mor smiled at her kindly as Amara sat down slowly in front of them, her eyes still wide as she took them all in.

And her brilliant response?

“Woah.”

Mor blinked at her and Cassian raised an eyebrow.

“Woah?” He mimicked.

A blush quickly lined her face again as she waved to the three of them, “You all look amazing! ... and terrifying but that’s just me...” She whispered the last part but it seemed like Azriel heard her, and gave a small but slightly smug grin in return.

Mor giggled softly while Cassian smirked, both of them shaking their heads at her.

“Amara?” A more serious tone.

“Yes?”

Cassian looked at her seriously, “Stay close to us. We aren’t saying that anyone is going to outright attack you, but we need to take precautions if something does happen.”

She couldn’t help but blurt it out, “Do you think it will?”

“There’s a chance.” Azriel spoke up this time, not sugarcoating the possibility.

Amara’s head was reeling, the possibility of a fight now looming over her like a dark cloud.

Would they be able to sense the bond? Sense that it hasn’t been officiated yet?

Would they know that she was the girl named after a dark queen that had enslaved them all?

Would they try to harm her, just out of spite for the name that belonged to the hell that reigned over them for almost half a century?

Her thoughts were a whirlwind of storms and thunder and bright flashes of images that only fed her anxiety.

She would gladly let them kill her if it meant keeping those who gave her a home safe.

She would gladly bear the brunt of insanity, bear the brunt of the spell that pushed down the ancient magic of the mating bond so they could live.

She owed each of them her life.

She would do it gladly.

Footsteps broke her out of her torrent stream of thought however, and she was awestruck when she looked up.

Feyre and Rhysand had finally come downstairs, and looked like the Night personified.

Feyre’s dress, Amara swore, was woven from the very Night sky itself. Hints of violet was woven through the nearly pitch black dress. Small jewels decorated the bodice and train that glimmered like the stars in Velaris. No jewelry rested on her breast or wrist, but a crown woven of moonlight rested on her brow. A twist of vines and strands that wove through the center gem of a crystalline stone that seemed to change colors every time the light hit it only accentuated her own role as High Lady of the Night Court.

Rhysand was no less devastating with a tunic that seemed to weave violet and indigo together in a background of black, with silver lining the lapel, buttons and cuffs, matching him with his High Lady.

Together, they emanated everything this Court truly stood for.

And she felt so lucky to be able to see it in person.

“Are we ready?” Rhys nodded to them, as they all stood in front of him, a somber look donning their faces and Cassian turned to Amara.

“Well... let’s not keep them waiting any longer, shall we?”

Without another word, Rhys winnowed them all to the Day Court.

The Day Court still took her breath away.

Rhys had winnowed them directly outside the library where the meeting was supposed to be held.

The interior shone with golds and blues and hints of orange through the walls and curtains.

Amara couldn’t help but just stare up and around her surroundings, trying to take in every detail.

But before she could, Mor gently laid a hand on her shoulder with a smile.

“Shall we head in then?” She nodded, and followed her inside.

And promptly had her breath taken away by the beauty of the library.

Books lined every single inch of the walls, and went higher than her eyes could even see. The gold theme was shared in here as well through the pillars and staircases that led whoever came in up and up and up. The stairs glittered as if they were lined with gold in each step, the floors shining marble.

The area where the meeting was going to be held was at the center of the library, where if you looked up, you would see a spiral of books just rising higher and higher in hues of bright gold and white.

“Wow...”

“I’m glad to see that you like it” A voice sounded off from behind her and made her nearly jump out of her skin.

Quickly turning, she saw the High Lord of Day give her a languid grin, as he nodded to Rhys, who stood close behind her.

She quickly bowed low to Helion, who waved her off, “No need for that. Let’s take a seat. The meeting is about to start”

Helion walked off ahead, his body language seemingly relaxed but the ripple of muscles in his shoulder showed the tension.

Rhys gently put a hand on the small of her back, “Come on, I want us seated when the rest of the High Lords come in.”

Amara followed him to the long table, and went towards the vacant seat between Azriel and Mor. But before she could sit down, Rhys leaned down and softly whispered in her ear,

“You really do look beautiful.”

Amara’s face felt like it was on fire as Rhys smiled at her slyly before taking a seat next to Feyre.

She slowly sat down and took in her surroundings, feeling her heart pound in her chest. Her hands trembled in her lap, as sudden noise made her whip her head towards the door.

They were here.

First Thesan walked in, his sun kissed skin glowing with the touch of dawn at his brow. His tunic was tightly fitted across his broad chest but flowed out near his legs. His hair had a subtle shine, as well as his eyes, both the color of the earth. His entire being had a soft, warm glow that truly accentuating that he was the High Lord of Dawn. Rhys walked up to him and shook his hand, and Thesan gave a respectful nod of his head to the rest of the Inner Circle.

A winged male stood behind him, but his wings... were not like Rhys’ or Cassian’s... they were more akin to angel wings... and Amara couldn’t keep the childish admiration off her face.

The male caught her eye, and after a quick glance, gave her a small but kind smile, making her quickly bow her head to him.

“Welcome, Thesan.” Helion gave him a nod from his seat at the table, before gesturing for him to sit as well.

“Hello to you as well, Helion. It seems as if the one to call the meeting has yet to still arrive” There was slight annoyance in his voice as Helion barked out a laugh.

“Beron was never one to arrive on time.”

Amara watches the exchange, as Mor watches the door almost eagerly so. Rhys and Feyre quietly holding their own conversation in the back.

“Nervous?” A soft voice to her right made her jolt. Azriel watched her with an unreadable expression.

“...Is it that obvious?” Her voice matched his.

“Your arms are trembling” She tensed and lightly gripped them.

“I just...”

“It’ll be alright.” His voice was sure, as he gave her a soft smile, showing a kinder side to her. While it did little to quell her nerves, she appreciated the effort.

“Thank you Azriel...” She gave her own smile back...

And nearly shrieked when Mor squealed and jumped out of her seat.

“Viviane finally! It took you long enough!” Mor launched herself at the female who just walked into the room.

She was a beauty, Amara had to admit.

As tall as Mor, but almost the opposite. Her skin was as pale as snow, and her hair glistened just as brightly. She wore a deep blue dress that hugged her figure, the long sleeves cuffed with fur as well as the train. Gemstones glittered on the body like scattered snowflakes as a fur shawl rested on her delicate shoulders.

Both women clung to each other and spoke too quickly for Amara to even catch. But a man next to her made her stiffen slightly as she realized who they were.

Kallias, the High Lord of Winter stood next to his Lady. His skin looked like smooth frost, as his hair was pushed back from his face. His eyes were a deep, glacier blue, as though they were made from pieces of shattered ice themselves. His outfit stuck out in the otherwise warm court, being a fitted tunic and pants with fur lining the collars and cuffs, the thickness of the material doing little to hide his fit body underneath.

Kallias nodded to High Lords at the table before grinning wryly at his wife, “Can we go take a seat, Viv? Or would you rather keep squealing in the doorway and deafening everyone within a fifty mile radius?”

Vivienne gave him a vulgar gesture that made Amara bite back a giggle.

“How are you, Feyre?” Vivienne smiled as she sat across from the High Lady. Feyre gave her a grin, “I’m fine, Viv. How’s everything with you?”

They launched into a conversation when Vivienne’s eyes fixed on her, “Oh, hello. I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Vivienne.” She smiled kindly as Amara tensed up and bowed her head.

“It’s an honor my Lady...” Vivienne only giggled before shaking her head.

“Please, call me Vivienne. And you are?”

“This is Amara. She’s the newest member of the Inner Court” Mor answered smoothly, and Amara’s heart pounded in anticipation as Vivienne took her in.

“Well, Amara. It’s lovely to meet you” Amara managed to nod softly with a polite smile, murmuring her own agreement as her eyes were drawn to the door once again.

This time, it was the High Lord of Summer who walked in, with a female at his side.

Dark brown skin against white robes that flowed across his body like water. His white hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck as a long necklace rested on his chest, a deep blue stone dangling from the chain. He shook Rhys’ and Feyre’s hand, giving them a small but kind smile as he took his seat, giving a small greeting to the other High Lords.

The female was similar in features to him, with dark sun kissed skin and moonlit hair. Her dress clung to her chest and flowed out at her legs. Despite the simple dress, she wore it with class.

The conversation was all going over Amara’s head, feeling a haze settle over her as she tried to keep calm with the High Lords that began to quickly filter in.

Only two High Lords remained.

The crueler High Lords remained.

And her heart pounded roughly in her chest.

Both Feyre and Rhys could feel her anxiety spiking through the bond and had to push down the urge to try and soothe her nerves.

Right now... more than ever, they had to keep up that facade.

That mask that made her less than what she was.

Even if they had no name for it, no words for it.

Even if they didn’t even know what to call her, other than “Amara”.

It was becoming clearer that she was slowly becoming more dear than just the servant girl they saved.

Even if they didn’t want to admit it to themselves.

Amara’s gaze was fixed to the table, a solid item in the turmoil around her.

Something to steady herself, to help her focus on her breathing as she readied herself for what was coming.

That’s when she felt Mor stiffen next to her.

Her eyes were drawn to the door.

The High Lord of Spring, in all of his glory walked in.

His green tunic stood out against the golden pants, soft gold emblems were blazoned on his cuffs and collar, his flaxen hair loose around his shoulders. His eyes, the color of fresh grass, were somehow even colder than Kallias’s... and it made goosebumps rise across her skin.

The atmosphere became tense, as he strode to the table. Murmurs of greetings floated through the air, with Thesan being the first to greet him.

Tamlin’s eyes met Feyre’s and after a few terse seconds, they both nodded as a greeting, with Rhysand following a heartbeat later.

She bowed her head deeply when she felt his eyes glance over hers, terrified of what he might say.

“So where is the host of this meeting?” Tamlin’s voice was relaxed almost. As he glanced around the room.

Helion looked up from a stack of papers and grinned slyly, “He’s playing your role of fashionably late, Tamlin.”

A sharp glance followed by a dry frown was the only response the Lord of Day got.

“Speak of the devil and he shall arrive...” Kallias murmured as all eyes shifted to the door.

And finally, in walked the High Lord of Autumn, the host of this dreaded meeting.

Beron’s eyes were scrunched in what looked to be anger. Brown haired and narrow faced, he emanated everything awful.

It was no wonder he and Keir got along so well.

Amara could feel Mor grow even tenser next to her, and this time...

She gently took her hand under the table.

She could feel the slight jolt of surprise, before she gently gripped her hand back.

Beron’s cold eyes ran over the room, before walking over to his seat.

“Let’s get this meeting started, shall we?”

And so it began.

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godsandvillainsrpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations, PHEOBE! You have been accepted as CATERINA GIORDANO.

Note from Admin Jade: Caterina is truly chaos personified, and you did such a wonderful job of showing me both who she is, and why she is. You managed to reflect the influence of nearly every member of her family in your application, and I’m telling you, it’s got me feeling pretty shook up. From her loathing of the weak souls who bore her, to the one soft spot that exists for her sister, to the fact that her only semblance of routine is one imposed on her by Stefano, you completely understand the way the girl’s upbringing has shaped her present and future. You showed me just how primal she is, ruled by the powerful emotions she feels far too strongly — with a sprinkle of just how twisted her mind can be when allowed to roam free. I’m admittedly a bit terrified of her, in the absolute best possible way. I’m thrilled to welcome you and Cat to the GAV family!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Phoebe, but do not hesitate to address me as Pheebs.

Age: 18 years (19 in May)

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Timezone: GMT+10 yas she is aussie

Activity Level: I would say I would be able to definitely make it only every second day, if not every day. When I join new rp groups they tend to take up my life and I get way to invested and care about their life more than my own, i thrive for the drama. To give a number, I would say a 6-7 out of 10?

Triggers: REMOVED

Anything Else? Lowkey blessed that you guys took your time getting out the bios and not rushing because i was able to come back from Europe in time for opening lol

IN CHARACTER

Desired Character: I know ya’ll assumed it would be Alessia but SIKE IT’S CATERINA GIORDANO (i fell full in love but who knows you might get multiple apps off me I’m a wild card ya kno)

Describe this character in your own words: As we all know, a person’s backstory is so important to their character and that remains true with Caterina, and to me, I interpret that the most significant part of Caterina’s history is her relationship with her family; specifically her mother. I could write another few paragraphs about the impact her relationships with her siblings shape her but that will come through so much stronger in her character development in the rp as she interacts with her half-brother and sister on the dashboard so right now I want to focus on her mother. As you guys created, she is literally the polar opposite of her mother. Everything that her mother is, Caterina wanted to be reverse of that. When she watched her mother, all Caterina saw was weakness, vulnerability. And being of the Giordano family, knowing all too well of exactly what her aunt and uncle were up to, her mother embarrassed her. How could any self-respecting woman allow herself to be so open to command? How could she even be a mother to Caterina and to Bella if the damn woman couldn’t even leave the house without her father’s approval? Not for Caterina, she would never be like that. And don’t even get me started on her father. To Caterina, who thrives off the game her uncle built, who looks into the eye of destruction and licks her lips, who would literally go to no stop to reign supreme in the name of chaos, her father all but walked away from the opportunity. Her parents are weak. Weak is a word Caterina never wants to be associated with, and the reason of that lives in her DNA. She was raised by weak, and she only came out stronger than both of her parents put together. If anything, the only time Caterina’s eyes brightened up in the conversation with her father was when he spoke of his first wife, Adelia. Caterina felt like she was robbed of the vicious mother that Stefano got to be the spawned from. At least he got to have at least one respectable parent.

There’s a line from Caterina’s biography “she’s the kind that laughs at your pain, and cries at your happiness.” I literally would go ride and die with this. Cat, as stated, is a very primal character. I wouldn’t place Cat as being the type of girl who has no emotions, no. Caterina’s emotions are powerful. They’re passionate, and strong and the size of fucking tsunamis. I view Cat as a very jealous person, when it says cries at your happiness, she is literally the type that when an other succeeds at anything, something that has nothing to do with Cat or her motives, it still drives her insane. Another person’s success is another threat to Caterina and her ambition. When someone else is smiling, she wants to take it away. She’s the destruction, she’s the hurricane. She’s Caterina fucking Giordano and she is what you are afraid of.

I live for the quality in Caterina that drives on impulse. She isn’t like Stefano, who is calculative and thinks his actions through; she is like a lion in the jungle. When she sees her prey she will lunge and rip into its throat before she has time to think anything else about it. Her actions strive purely on instinct, and that’s why she’s so lethal. Granted, you have to be wary of those who plan their attacks, who take time to think it through and know exactly where to bite; which is why her and Stefano make such a powerful team. But who wants to be inside a cage with a loose jaguar and not know at what moment they decide it’s time to kill you?

What are this character’s motives? What drives this character? What are their goals? It’s the fire inside Caterina that creates such a chaotic character and her own ambition that feeds the flame. Her main goal is to lead the empire her family built. She is the only one who could master the game better than the creator himself. Her aggressive emotions and her undeniable love for chaos would lead the Giordano name further into history and not leave any cracks in the mix for anyone to screw up their family again, as her uncle had already allowed. Caterina and Stefano are a team, as fearless and unpredictable as the girl might be, she wouldn’t abandon the power that her and her half-brother created together. Her motives are engraved into their plans, into their success, and as unattainable as she knows herself to be on her own, she knows that with Stefano’s qualities, that could be what leads her to her success on the thrown.

What potential plots do you foresee for this character? Where do you see this character’s story going? What potential storylines would you like to explore, both with the character themselves and as a part of the group as a whole? REMOVED

Would you be open to this character’s death? Though we’d love to keep all characters alive and well in an ideal world, the nature of this group may put some characters’ lives in danger at one point or another. Should your character’s death be necessary for the furthering of the plot, would you be open to the idea of killing them off and working with the admin team to create a new role for you to take on? REMOVED

PARA SAMPLE

“They send me away to find them a fortune..” The words poured out of Caterina’s lips as smoothly as the blood would sweep from a victim’s body. The lullaby she sang electrified her nerves, exciting the blood that flowed through her veins as she thought of those she would visit tonight. Unlike her usual struct that she possessed as she walked through the kingdom that was the Giordano empire, the assertive and self-aware walk that demanded it’s own respect, Cat now would practically dance through her bedroom, her feet light and delicate as she handled her belongings.

Moving through her closet of the extensive range of attire for the multiple occasions that being a Giordano requires of one, Caterina hummed along to the tune of her preparation song, pulling out small, dark, tight pieces of clothing and carrying them out to lay on her bed. “..a chest filled with diamonds and gold,” Caterina wasn’t exactly the most organised dame in Rome; she was more known for her sporadic nature and impulsivity. Although, when it came to this night, to the nights when the darkness wasn’t dark enough and her heartbeat made more noise than the screams of those people who’s voices she stole; tonight she was organised. Stefano taught her this. If things weren’t organised, then everything could go very wrong, very quickly. Caterina of course thought that her brother was over-exaggerating, being a little too serious for her liking. But after awhile, she got used to this routine, and then she started to love it.

It thrilled Cat, seeing it all laid down in front of her. Her own little creation of the chaos that scared most but seduced her own unattainable nature. As she laid down the clothes she was sure would be drenched in blood in a few hours, Caterina’s teeth felt like fangs between her lips. Her eyes moved from the clothes to what sat next to it on her mattress. Her eyes lit up as she sang the lullaby, the weapons her instruments as she bent over to lightly drag her hand over the cool metal. Three machetes laid beside each other, each one bigger than the last as her fingers danced, feeling the curve of the blade. “I’m bigger than my body..” Cat’s hands moved further up the bed, curling around the handle of her G18. The power she felt surge through her body from merely holding such death in her hands brought her more pleasure than most of her lovers. These weapons were where Cat felt normal, comfortable. The only time Caterina Giordano was happy was when she was standing in the middle of complete chaos, and these little things that she held in her hands were Cat’s ticket onto the train to her cyclone. She picked up the handgun, turning around in her chambers to look into the mirror that hung on the wall opposite her bed. “I’m meaner than my demons, I’m bigger than these bones..” Raising her arms, Caterina pointed the gun at the reflection in front of her. She looked at the way her face smiled in response, the way her arms looked as strong as tree trunks with no fear of the death that she held between her palms. Cat welcomed it.

She dropped her arms and placed the gun back onto it’s rightful place on the bed. Running her fingers through her blonde hair, Cat walked over to her dresser. There stood only one picture in her bedroom, it was taken years ago and given to Caterina as a gift. Usually, she would have thrown out such a sappy present but it was the only picture that she considered allowable to keep in her home. Stefano, Caterina and Bella stood side by side, the bright smile on Bella’s face where her lips went practically ear to ear almost blinded Cat whenever she looked at it, or at least that’s what she would tell Bella every time she commented on Cat’s keeping of it. Her own smile in the photograph was gorgeous, yet extremely fake and filled with dark thoughts of how much she wanted to stick that camera up her mother’s ass as she made the three siblings stand together on her father’s birthday. Stefano stood taller than them all, broad and straight with a faint, almost unrecognisable smile, although he still looked handsome with those infamous Giordano traits. Cat looked at the photograph, thinking of Bella and her unchanging innocence, surely one of these days that was going to come and bite her in the ass and Cat would be the one cleaning up the pieces. She turned the photograph down and continued on her routine, picking her lullaby back up into tune and finishing off the ballad.

“And all the kids cried out, ‘Please stop, you’re scaring me’..” The words made Cat’s lips twirl into a evil grin as she sang. Digging down underneath her bed, Cat fetched out one black, large bag and placed all her weapons of choice carefully into it’s body. Turning to look at the time, it wasn’t long before she heard a knock at her bedroom door. Perfectly on time, she could never expect anything less from her half brother. “God damn right you should be scared of me..” Cat purred as she walked to open the door. Unlatching every advanced lock that sat on her main entrance, she pulled the door apart and it revealed none other than Stefano on the other side. His face looked as it always did this time of night on this special day; calm, controlled and ready to fuck this city up alongside his sister. Caterina’s lips smiled softly in greeting at him, leaving the door open as she went to her bed and picked up the bag. “..who is in control?”

“Do you still sing that wretched song?” Her brother asked as he stepped inside, looking around the place. Cat always managed to change something about her home in the time before anyone made a second visit. Whether it was throwing away furniture she had grown sick of or painting all her walls into a deep red, Cat never let anything settle in her life for too long.

“You were the one who said I need to have a routine.” She pointed out, moving toward the door and waiting for her brother to join her. “Are you ready?” She asked impatiently, one hand on the doorknob, her feet barely keeping still as her excitement seeped through her lack of composure. Stefano turned back to look at Caterina, his expression obvious.

In those moments, between Caterina locking her door behind her and Stefano and her walking down the hallway and out into the city of Rome, Caterina could swear she felt the city tremble.

EXTRAS

http://tylerfxckingdurden.tumblr.com/tagged/caterina

#accepted #accepted: caterina

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