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pickingupmymercedes · 2 months

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Under an Ipê tree - Lewis Hamilton

The three times your annual visit to Senna’s tomb brought something different

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Senna! Reader

warnings: mentions of death, mourning, AD 21', Lewis at Ferrari (rubbing salt into every open wound apparently)

wordcount: +1k

a/n: Not gonna lie, started this one with something in mind and it took a life of its own. I know Senna! Reader isn't everyone's cup of tea, so please, proceed with caution, because there is mention to real events and real emotions envolved with mourning. Also, AD 21', I'm sure as hell not over that, so here's another trigger warning.

a/n. 2: Those trees are how pink Ipês look in blossom, I know Brasil is not known for its colder months but those beauties come alive after the few cold weeks.

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Like most traditions it started without any intent on actually becoming a thing. You and Lewis would take a couple hours off on Wednesdays before the Brazilian GP every year, the destination a known one to everyone in the paddock. It was a journey you used to do by yourself until Lewis had been the brave, and first one, to ask you if he could tag along. He’d been to Senna’s tomb before, you knew that much, but the respect and adoration he held for your late father had you deciding he should be good company.

_______________________________________

“I swear I had never seen my mom angrier. Can you imagine her with the speaker at Interlagos shouting to everyone with an ear that I shouldn’t be racing and if anything happened Ayrton was to blame cause I wasn’t even old enough to be there” You told a laughing Lewis while remembering when your father faked an ID so he could sneak you to the track and teach you how to race in your brand new - Mclaren themed – kart. A Christmas gift he went out of his way to get to the famous Brazilian track circuit in time to open day.

��You know, my favorites snippets of his life are the ones you talk about, Sundays at the pool, ice cream dates, kart running without your mom knowing. Whenever someone talks about him it’s always about his wins, his hardships, his cars and battles … it’s almost as if he didn’t exist beyond formula 1, like we froze just a fraction of him and forgot all about the rest.”

You smiled at him, you liked how Lewis never questioned your feelings towards f1’s out of this world idolatry on your father, mainly because at the end of the day, to your 8 year old past self, Ayrton was first and foremost “pai”, the dude that thought you not to be afraid by throwing you into the ocean when no one was looking, the one that cooked instant noodles for dinner in spite of your mom’s pleads, the one that constantly tried to show you that love is a feeling we should act upon in the present and never wait for a so promised tomorrow.

“He would’ve liked you I think… would’ve hated to race you, for sure. But as a person, he would have probably seen you as one of the good ones, pointing out bullshit, fighting fia every chance you get, protecting the guys back at the garage, focusing on racing and not talking, looking out for everyone.” You answered truthly, as he respectfully held his hands behind his back looking at the tomb stone, while you casually sat in the edge of the stone, almost too comfortable around the place from all the visits you’ve done over the years.

“I think you should meet Galisteu someday, she’ll have way more interesting stories about him to tell you than I do.” You absentmindedly noted, remembering all she’s told you about your father, this other side to him you never got the time to see.

“Nah… we’re our truest around kids, his best version was the one you got to see. Now, what was that time he sneaked a stray dog onto your apartment?” he asked while reaching for your shoulder so you both could walk along the path back to the car awaiting to take you both back.

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“I don’t think I really remember the sound of his voice” you sighed looking up at the Ipê tree just beside the tomb. You had shown Lewis a photo of what it looked like once in full blossom before, in the Brazilian winter, and he promised you he would eventually find the time to come see it in its full glory in late June.

The walk in the cemetery, the light hearted banter, him opening his heart on dreams and the future and the confessions you would eventually make to Lewis about Ayrton were part of the annual occurrence you had both unspokenly agreed on, but that one line seemed to have hit him hard enough he just motioned you to go on, no answers or remarks.

“I mean, I know what his voice sounds like because there’s a thousand and one interviews with him, but I don’t think I can truly remember what he sounded like in real life … how he talked to me.” You explained it further, now looking at the Briton.

He engulfed you in a hug, the kind only he knew how, your tears leaving marks on his shoulders. You would rarely cry over anything related to your father, at least not in front of people anyway, but Lewis was… well, Lewis. You and Niki were the one who pushed, like hell, to sign him to Mercedes back in 2014 against everyone’s better judgment, and while you knew he would be every bit the driver and phenomenon he was, neither of you anticipated the friendship that came out of seeing him almost every GP you attended. A relationship that had crept its own way into your hearts, slowly allowing to see each other as something more than just good friends.

“He’s proud of you, wherever he is. I know that much” He whispered, leaving a soft kiss to your temple and bringing you even closer to his body.

_______________________________________

“He would’ve crashed into Verstappen back in 2021, wouldn’t he?” He prompted out of nowhere, gazing seriously at the tomb as you observed him pondering over the possible outcomes of a race that, like a ghost, had been following him nonstop, specially with the São Paulo GP fast approaching and with it his chances of securing his 8th title, two races before the end of the season.

“Start another Senna vs. Prost ?! ” You thought out loud, trying to read into his expressions and mannerisms, a talent of his you weren’t quite as good.

“Maybe I should’ve done it”

“You’re not like that Lew. You’re you and no one, not a single person, wants someone else” Your exasperation clear in your voice, hands reaching for his chin as his eyes locked into yours and he nodded, an unspoken agreement between the two of you, one you had to hammer into his head from time to time, that he may have Ayrton as his idol but he was just as much of an icon to the sport, and to a million of kids out there.

“On Sunday you’re going to reach that top step in your red suit, fulfill Ayrton’s dream and claim a championship for Ferrari. You. Not him, nor anyone else” and come the end of the race, he did just that. Smiling down at the sea of people in a mix of old Mercedes merchs and new Ferrari ones, dedicating his trophy to all the other people who believed in the impossible with him.

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 x reader #ayrton senna #Senna!reader

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cdragons · 4 months

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Warmth & Stories - Aemond Targaryen x Wildling!Reader

Next Part

Summary: Love can bloom in the most unusual ways. The love between a stoic prince from the South and a wildling storyteller will be written in history as one of the strangest but truest of loves.

Author's Notes: To my very lovely and wonderful friend and beta reader Bel, aka @valeskafics, I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and New Year's! This is the first part of this fic gift I wanted to give you, and I promise the next part will have smut! I hope you like this fic and can feel my love and appreciation for you. Bel, you are one of my favorite writers of all time and a huge reason I began posting fanfics and writing in the first place. I am so grateful that you opened a whole new world for me, and I hope this year gives you lots of happiness.

Warning(s): Slight cursing, Reader's parents were killed, Daemon's an ass, Viserys is a negligent father, Westeros is Westeros, dysfunctional family shenanigans

Prince Aemond Targaryen was known to be many things. Proud. Serious. Studious. All things one should be proud of in a young man’s position. Every single one of his teachers and wet nurses sung praises of the young prince since he began to toddle. And although it might seem cruel to admit it, the second prince was the apple of the Queen’s eye and the clear favorite of her four children.

Her sweet Aemond was a mild, studious young boy who practiced his faith in the Seven despite his blood lineage belonging to the Old Gods of Valryia. Besides Aegon, he had always been respectful to his siblings–especially to his elder sister, Helaena. Aemond would often humor his sister’s strange ramblings and gift her with little creatures he found as he wandered the ancient walls of the Red Keep. Helanea, despite all her reclusiveness, only seemed comfortable enough to be touched with her younger brother and often offered comfort whenever he complained about how unfair it was that he still had no dragon. His sister was as fond of her younger brother as he was of her and would usually humor his requests.

Except now.

“Please?” Aemond had been pleading for over an hour, reaching a point where most would pity him.

“No,” replied his sister sternly, “I’ve already told you my answer won’t change.”

“But why?” he pathetically asked as his voice cracked. It was good that Aegon was still in his room, too drunk to start the day. Aemond would never have lived it down without allowing his brother to see him like this. “I won’t ask for anything else from you, I swear it.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“But why?” demanded Aemond. “I would never harm (Y/N). Name one person in the Seven Kingdoms who would treat her better than I?”

Too upset by his sister’s refusal, the prince stormed out of the room in a near-blind rage.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N) was no noblewoman or someone with any particularly wealthy connections or background. You weren’t even someone born within the Walls in the North.

No, you were from a tribe of wildings that hailed outside the Wall and were brought within the borders after your parents were caught stealing. The Starks decided to spare when they realized their daughter was just a tiny child with an incredible talent for storytelling. Within a year, the tales that Y/N wove with her tongue had reached the ears of Aemond’s father, King Viserys of House Targaryen. The King was fascinated by the young girl beyond the Wall, who spun tales of giants and spirits from the Land of Always Winter. He spared no expense in bringing you to King’s Landing.

Aemond could remember the day so clearly, as you arrived very shortly after his bastard nephew took his eye in Driftmark, and his father did nothing but protect his whore of a half-sister. When brought into the keep, you could hardly present yourself to a room full of nobles, let alone the King. You stood before his father and family barefoot and filthy. Your clothes looked closer to rags and torn cloth, and your (h/c) mane was wild with a few braids and feathers. But that hardly mattered. As soon as you opened your mouth, it was as if everyone in the Great Hall had been transported to another world.

The story you told started with a young princess given a toy soldier named the “Nussknacker.” The young princess loved her little toy soldier so much that her sweet Nussknacker came to life one night. He told the princess a prince to a winter wonderland full of fairies, sugar plums, and magic. His home had been overtaken by a maniacal Rattenkönig, and he turned the prince into his current form. The soldier and princess had to face many trials, but they were successful in defeating the evil Rattenkönig and saving the prince’s kingdom. The Nussknacker turned back into the handsome prince he had always been, and he and the princess married to lead his kingdom into prosperity.

By the time you finished telling your story, the Royal court went ablaze with applause. Your pretty words and skillful tongue enraptured every noble. They longed to hear more of your stories and were starved for entertainment. His father was in an especially jolly mood after hearing your tale. He immediately appointed you as the troubadour of the Royal Court held in protection under the Royal Targaryen House. A proclamation that horrified both the king’s Hand and the Queen, to say the least. It was no secret that Aemond’s mother and grandfather did not look favorably on you. More than once, he heard his mother seethe in anger at the attention her husband gave to you as you sat beside him during his father’s pain flares. In her eyes, you were a savage hellion who likely spread her legs up from the Wall in the North to the Great Hall of the Red Keep in the South.

But in Aemond’s eyes, you were an angel. It was not only his father’s pain you soothed with your stories, but also his own. He tried his best to keep his distance from you, but it wasn’t long until you gained his sister’s favor. From then on, whenever he spotted Helaena, you were by her side. The tall and icy walls he tried to maintain around you came crashing down before he knew it. His mother so loved him because he always did as she instructed, including to remain far away from the new child from beyond the North.

But one night, the scar on his eye had been so painful that he gained a fever that lasted for nearly a week. The maesters weren’t sure if he would survive the sickness, as it was a result of his lost eye being inflamed. His mother had resigned herself to crying by his bedside while his sister would sit with him and talk about her day. But one night, when he was delirious with pain, you somehow managed to sneak in from one of the secret tunnels within the keep’s walls. He couldn’t see you, but he recognized your voice. He wanted to scream for you to leave his room, threatening that he would call over the guards standing outside. But then you spoke, and it seemed as if his world of pain had just washed away. You spoke to him about the history of Old Valyria and the beautiful tales of dragons and knights that were lost in time. This continued on every night during his ailment.

“Do you miss your parents?” Aemond asked you one night. But he immediately regretted his question when he saw how your shoulders tensed.

“Sometimes,” you replied after a few moments of silence, “I understand that they are in a better place, wherever they are. But sometimes I wish they were here so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“But you have Helaena to be with you. Even my father adores your company.”

You only scoffed in response.

“Helaena is wonderful,” you bitterly continued, “I am glad to have a friend as sweet and kind as her in this poisonous hellhole you call home. But your father-” you paused a moment to lick your lips to figure out how to phrase your thoughts – “all he sees me as is a toy. A commodity. A funny little object that he bought to entertain him. He never mistreated me but does not respect me as a person, let alone as a subject.”

The tears in your eyes welled to the point where they almost spilled, and you immediately stopped talking to prevent further incriminating yourself.

“You have no idea what it’s like-” you let out a bitter laugh before continuing to cry – “to have your family taken away from you. To watch your parents be executed before your eyes when you were only a small child. And for what? Stealing a loaf of stale bread? What should that matter to the Starks? They have their pretty castle with warm fires and fur blankets. My mother and father worked for everything they had in order to care for me. Now here I am, away from the silver winter I called home and stuck in the shit-odor that covers precious South.”

“However much you hate your family, at least you still have them. I have no one. No one to share my culture and past with, no one to understand your customs and way of life. Call my parents whatever you want. Savages. Thieves. Scum. But they loved me. However little it was, they taught me to be proud of myself. They were my whole life, and now they’re gone.”

You ran out of his chambers and back into the wall. Aemond didn’t see you for several days, even after his fever broke and the maesters told his mother he would live. Two weeks passed, and Aemond felt as if he were going mad. When he finally spotted you in one of the more secluded areas of the library, he grabbed your arm before you could scurry off.

“Tell me,” he told you. “Tell me everything about your parents, your home. Tell me about how the air was clean and clear. Tell me about how everywhere you looked, you saw white snow and clear ice. Tell me how much you loved your family, pets, friends – if you had any. I don’t care what it is. Tell me everything.”

At first, you only stared. He couldn’t tell if you were furious or in shock. But soon, your eyes lit up as if you had been given five hundred gold dragons.

“Where do you want me to start?” you asked him, eyes wide with joy and a heart finally learning to trust.

Lo and behold, he found his heart beginning to feel the same.

“Wherever you want.”

The smile you gave him was worth more than all the money locked within the Royal Treasury.

So many nights since that day, you would sit by his bedside, speaking so prettily that even the most brutal of their acts and customs fascinated Aemond. You would burn the midnight oil, telling him about the adventures and raids of the Free People beyond the Wall. That’s how you referred to yourself as a “free woman.” While you despised the title “savage,” you did not mind being labeled as “wilding.” You claimed that since you were born outside the Wall, the laws of Westeros did not apply to you. You have been seen as wild, but you knew in your heart that you were born free. And what was more impressive to Aemond was how you honestly and sincerely believed that you were born as a free woman.

He saw it in the way you would make little shadow puppets shows to bring a smile from Daeron after it was announced that he would leave for Oldtown.

He heard it in how you got the cooks to spit on your name after stealing bread from kitchens and then giving it to the small folk children living in impoverished areas of Flea Bottom.

He smelt it in how your hair would always smell like the wind in the Godswood to ride his horse when you were supposed to be learning your letters with the Head Septa.

He tasted it when you let him take a sip of that rotten ale you made in secret when you went through one of your horrible bouts of homesickness.

He felt it in how you raced to his chambers to hug him after he woke up from another nightmare of the memory of that night when he lost his right eye.

You were the strangest mystery Aemond had ever and will ever know. No matter how long he spent searching for answers in his favorite corner of the library, Aemond could never understand how someone with a heart as warm as (Y/N) could come from the frozen wasteland she loved to call home.

With a single but powerful stroke of his blade, Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s upper jaw fell as the rest of his body dropped to the floor. Visenya’s Dark Sister had once more bathed in its victim’s blood. Gasps and shrieks filled the Great Hall at the sight of dark blood oozing from his corpse. The members of the Royal members all had varying reactions. From his mother’s side, Helaena immediately covered her eyes and turned away – utterly horrified by the swift mutilation. Aegon grimaced but was otherwise unaffected. Not surprising. He’d seen similar carnage from the illegal fight rings run in Flea Bottom. Aemond took a slight step back in shock as he gaped at the now-deceased lord in mild admiration.

He had no idea tongues were so long.

Prince Daemon Targaryen stood before his ailing brother, tall and proud. There was not a twinge of remorse or regret on his youthful visage as he towered over the spilled blood soaking his boots. Undoubtedly, this man carried the blood and fire of the proud dragons that graced their house.

“He can keep his tongue.”

Brutish as Daemon was known to be, Aemond respected his uncle’s instinct to remove objects that voiced slander against his wife. However much of a whore his half-sister may be, she was still of royal blood and their father’s firstborn.

However, he wasn’t sure how much that last fact mattered, considering how she spread her legs to swill only to produce bastards as her heirs.

His grandfather ordered the Kingsguards to disarm his uncle, but Daemon only scoffed as he wiped the blood off his ancient blade with an old rag. Moments later, Aemond’s decaying father collapsed on the Iron Throne in exhaustion after over-exerting himself. His mother immediately rushed over to aid him when she heard his pained groans.

“Call the Maesters!” she shouted before reaching him. And when his father fell into her arms, that was the first time Aemond saw you throughout this entire proceeding.

You stood close to the walls, remaining present but unseen. It was not until his father called for you by his side that he removed you from your hiding place. You and an apprentice Maester took Viserys to his chambers, leaving behind his wife, children, grandchildren, and every member of the Royal Court. As Aemond watched you carry his hobbling sire to his chambers – likely to recite to him a passage of the History of Old Valyria or one of the many tales surrounding Queen Visenya’s practice of the dark arts – his blood froze as he noticed Daemon’s gaze was focused not on his brother, but on you.

An hour had passed since Lord Vaemond Velaryon’s unfortunate passing, and Aemond was still no closer to finding you. He felt as if he was going mad in desperation. He checked everywhere. The kitchens, catching you sneak bites of freshly baked honey cakes. The stables, to find you feeding the mares and stallions carrots and apples. Your chambers, spying through the keyhole as you sat at your desk writing new stories. He even went so far as to ride to the dragonpit, hoping that you were reading to Vhagar again. He was close to announcing an order to search for you to the closest Kingsguard when he spotted you standing underneath the Heartstree. When another figure approached you, the one-eyed prince was about to call out your name.

Daemon. And judging by the way his violet eyes leered at your womanly form, it was clear to Aemond that this meeting was no coincidence. Aemond stepped out of view and pressed himself close to the garden’s entrance. The silver-tressed prince cursed himself for not publicly claiming you so everyone knew you were his and his alone. Differences in stations mattered little when you grew up so beautifully.

A fact he was sure that did not go unnoticed by his uncle despite meeting you for the first time.

Not for the first time did Aemond find himself cursing the gods for creating perfection in a single woman. Time had been unkind to many but seemed to spare you of any misfortune. While you were far from the polished and perfect image of a proper lady, you slowly but surely assimilated yourself to life in the South of the Wall. You traded your hides and furs for dresses and trousers. Your wild (h/c) mane became untangled by his sister’s ladies-in-waiting frequent brushings. Regular meals and proper care took a starving child with sharp, bony jabs to a woman with soft, feminine curves and beauty rivaling the Maiden herself.

“How have you found your time so far from the wall, little wilding?”

“I spent every waking second soaked and flushed from sweat and heat. To make it worse, I can’t escape the shit and piss that stains and bathes your pretty keep. Tell me, does that answer your question, my prince?”

Daemon barked a short laugh, amused that his brother took in someone so clearly different from the court’s usual vultures.

“When I heard my brother had taken in a little girl from outside the wall as his little entertainer, I was expecting a hobbled cripple caked in dirt with no sign of grooming. But here you stand, appearing more like a proper lady than a savage wildling.”

“You can take the girl from the North, but you can never take the North from the girl.”

No truer words had ever been spoken.

Aemond smiled at your quick wit and tongue. You were still every bit of the girl dragged before his father when he was only ten name-days old, even if you changed a little bit.

You still styled your hair with the little braids commonly worn in the North, but sometimes, he would catch Helaena tucking feathers in your locks.

You still carried your father’s old hunting knife on your person, but you also kept the Valyrian steel dagger Aemond gave you on Yuletide Eve from three years past.

You still made frequent trips to pass the bread to the small folk in Flea Bottom; you always made sure to help lead Aegon back to his bed after he drank himself stupidly.

It was a challenge, but you’ve adapted and made a life here with the Royal Family, whether you liked it or not.

“Do you ever plan on coming out from behind the wall, my prince? Or do you plan on renouncing your title and becoming Master of Whispers on your father’s small council?”

Realizing that his cover has been blown, Aemond brought himself in view to face the wildling girl who had stolen his heart almost eight years ago. He was relieved that his uncle had left the gardens, probably to inseminate his half-sister once more. It was as if she needed more children to convince all of King’s Landing that her claim on his brother’s throne was legitimate and valid. It did not matter that the evidence of her whorish nature was growing before their eyes.

“Careful, my lady,” replied Aemond, “one might think your words as treason towards the prince.”

“Please,” you scoffed, “the only people who continue to insist on taming my tongue are your mother and grandfather. And we both know my opinions of both parties.” Your cheeks began to flush, and your demeanor grew shy as you whispered your following words. “Besides, why would I need to be afraid of anything when I have you?”

Oh, how his cold, bitter heart grew ten times warmer with your sweet words. He removed his black riding gloves, reached for your hands, and was taken aback by how cold your skin felt against his own.

As if afraid of his voice, he cradled your hands softly as if he were the hunter and you were a little snow rabbit on the edge of running away. Your unblinking observation persisted as you silently watched your silver-haired prince raised both of your hands to his pink lips. He took in a deep breath before exhaling out. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent chills down your back. His mouth was opened just enough for you to see his tongue, bringing a deep sense of shame to wash over you as you dreamed of how good it would feel to have his tongue feast on your cunt.

“What possessed you to come outside without a cloak?” The low timbres of his voice broke you from your lust as you just now realized that you brought yourself into his trap. “It is already winter (Y/n). You could grow sick if you are not careful.”

“You forget yourself, Aemond,” you replied, tearing your hands from his grip. You almost wept at how profoundly you felt the loss of his warmth. When did his hands become so rough and big? “I have the true North in my veins. Such meek and pitiful clouds and winds could never get me ill.”

“Why were you outside at all?” Aemond had hoped to find you in one of the rooms with a fire roaring inside. Even if you were not alone, you would have been warm.

“Thinking about home, I suppose. I was tiny, but I would help gather whatever wood was available and put it in a big pile. We would put on our ceremonial furs and robes, along with masks we painted from the skulls of our kills. After that, the adults would drink themselves stupid on ale and heated yak’s milk as they and the children would gather around the wood pile and then burn it. I remember dancing with my parents around the fire as we sang praises for the old gods and yelled out prayers for the sun. A few boys would probably try to sneak some kisses from the girls with mistletoe.”

The silence that followed only added to the tension.

“I think I would have been stolen by now.”

“Stolen?”

“Your Southerners version of ‘marriage,’ I suppose,” you stated as you lightly shrugged, “at my age, if you weren’t stolen, it meant that something was wrong with you. If I remained with my tribe, some man would have stolen me by now and pumped me full of his babies.”

Aemond saw red. He clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles further paled to an almost translucent view of his veins as he imagined some savage, wildling man forcing himself on you. He wanted to ride Vhaghar beyond the North, if only reaching beyond the Wall and burning it all to the ground. No man other than him was allowed to touch you. He had only touched your hand and already decided that the rest of you belonged to him and him alone.

Taking a few steps closer to you, he removed his leather patch and lifted your chin between his fingers to force your focus on him. His ears caught a slight intake of breath when you saw his sapphire eye as he was so close that he could practically feel your heart racing in anticipation. He preened in satisfaction when he caught your perfect (e/c) irises dart down to his lips before resting his face again. Aemond didn’t need to look down to know that you were clenching your thighs in an attempt to stop your arousal from leaking.

His sister’s approval be damned.

If your traditions dictated that you must be ‘stolen’ to be a wife, then he would be the one to steal you.

“Sweet (Y/n), you’ve grown so cold.”

Do you wish to go back?

His face was so close to yours that you could feel breaths mix with your own. You could smell the fine leather of his tunic, and the fragrance of spices from his silvery locks wrapped you in a blanket of comfort. His violet eye’s gaze showed a vulnerability lost since that night in Driftmark. The night when he gained a dragon at the cost of becoming a cripple. If Aemond was to risk everything he’s worked for, he had to know.

Would you, a Free Woman, let yourself be called as his?

“No, my Aemond” - you took his hands in yours to tenderly kiss his knuckles- “not anymore.”

I am right where I belong.

And he believed you.

Tagging: @valeskafics, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @arcielee, @asa-do-your-thing, @lady-ashfade , @faesspace, @its-actually-minicika, @aphroditesmoon, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @leavemeoutofitlay

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #got x reader #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fluff #hotd fanfic #hotd fandom

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anomalyhqs · 4 months

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DEAR STUDENTS,

‘tis the season indeed, because on top of the usual holiday cheer, today marks exactly one month of anomalyhqs! woohoo! to celebrate, the admin team is releasing a christmas themed ask meme! please REBLOG THIS POST if you’d like to participate, and remember to send a prompt to everyone who’s reblogged this too! as per our rules, ask memes also count towards activity, so we hope this lessens the burden for those of you who are busy celebrating! the admin team would also like to take this time to thank every single one of you for your continued — and may we say, growing! — interest in anomalyhqs, and for making all of this possible! as we have said previously, you are truly the framework of this roleplay, and we couldn’t have done any of this without all of you! thank you for sharing your lovely muses with us, and we hope to see more of it for months and more months to come! but enough yapping — onto the good fun! merry christmas and happy hanukkah to all who celebrate, and as always, stay super! ♡

* 🎁 — CHRISTMAS GIFTS !

aw shucks, you didn’t have to ! it’s a gift to give, and boy does the sender have a present for you! write a short drabble about the gift you’ve gotten the sender ( either the receiver making / shopping for it, thinking of what to get them, or handing it to them! ), or come up with a small playlist or moodboard that best describes the receiver’s relationship with the sender! and before you ask: yes, you can give coal if you really want to!

* 🌿 — UNDER THE MISTLETOE !

ugh, that darn weed ! you’re caught shoulder to shoulder in the doorway with the sender, and the only way to avoid the bad luck is to share your super secret text messages! along with the mistletoe emoji, send 🍒 for the last text the receiver sent to the sender, 🥀 for a 3am drunk text the receiver sent to the sender, and 🎀 for a gossip, true or false, that the receiver almost let slip to a curious current member about the sender!

* ✉️ — LETTERS TO SANTA !

hey santa, what about a gazillion dollars ? sure thing, kid! we’ll hand it to you only if you draft up a totally honest, no nonsense letter to the sender about the receiver’s truest, deepest feelings about them — y’know, the things they’d never be caught dead saying! ever held your tongue? now’s the time to let it loose!

* 🥚 — SPIKED EGGNOG !

oh wow, that’s strong ! the eggnog’s been spiked, but you’ve taken too big a gulp to back out now! senders, along with the egg emoji, send the receiver any question you’re dying to know — we all know that alcohol is the greatest truth serum, and the receiver’s drank too much of it to lie!

* ☃️ — SNOWBALL FIGHT !

hey, who threw that ?! the new season’s coming up, so you know what that means — the new rally’s soon! senders, send in your house loyalty along with the snowman emoji! receivers, if yours is the same, it means the sender’s tagged you into their fight with a bunch of heckling fans from opposing teams! if yours is different — hell, maybe the sender’s the heckling fan after all! write a drabble or highlight reel of how you think the fight will go! sic ‘em!

#nm:meme #happy one month! ♡

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 1 year

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(Honmei)

“Hello, Rook. Remember the last time I sent you chocolates? I probably should have specified what intent—… no, I was too embarrassed,” she sighed, looking at the ground. “Before I regret it, here.” She haphazardly shoved a sleek white box with a tricoloured ribbon of blue, yellow, and red in front of Rook. Inside, were snowflake shaped dark chocolate covered wafers with a white chocolate drizzle.

“Happy Valentines. I like— *ahem* love you. I don’t know if Valentines Day in Twisted Wonderland is the same as Earth, but I included my confession this time to be safe.”

There were two Valentine interactions for Rook back in 2021; one was romantic and the other was platonic. I’m not sure if you’re referring to the second one? Or was it an interaction I didn’t respond to...? ... Maybe you’re just setting up the scene and I’m overthinking what you mean by “the last time I sent you chocolates” 🤡 ndvdjwbsk Regardless, I had to improvise a bit since I wasn’t sure about that part of the prompt!

In the west, Valentine's Day is mainly marketed as a time for romance on both ends, but this blog event is based on the Japanese interpretation of the holiday; in Japan, men receive gifts indicating various feelings, not always romantic, on Feb 14th, and can return the favor to women on March 14th/White Day. Actually, Christmas is considered the more romantic (and most!) holiday in Japan!

Sweet on You.

"How could I ever forget? There is never a moment when you are far from my mind.”

He threw his head back and laughed. It was like music to your ears, and as resonant as a gale cutting through a spring meadow.

“I believe you had sent a parcel of assorted truffles last Valentine’s—by carrier dove, so as to catch me on an excursion! Dark, milk, white, and even the elusive pink blush of ruby chocolate... I was grateful to receive such a kind token of your companionship.”

As usual, Rook smiled as he spoke, happily reminiscing. Each detail of the memory was laid out like a gemstone in a well-maintained collection. He was careful to not overstep, to assume and blurt out the intent behind the gift.

After all, he wanted you to come to him of your own accord.

Haloed by hair that shone like threads of spun gold, he may have been considered angelic if not for the shadow that the wide brim of his hat casted upon him. Honied words fell so naturally from his lips—you often had to remind yourself that these were the traps he laid to trip you up. And in the end, you had been ensnared in a net of his love, fallen prey to his wiles.

You could deny it no longer.

Steeling your courage, you shoved a beribboned box at him.

"Wafer cookies in a snowflake shape?" Rook raised his brows. "Fufu, you know my interests well. Such intricate, delicate morsels! They're too beautiful to eat--but I must, lest they crumble and decay with the passage of time. Another year, and you continue to spoil me with these chocolatey shows of affection."

You cleared your throat and clarified. Your insides rattled once you had ushered the truth out into the world, your limbs like jelly.

"Joyeuse Saint Valentin to you as well." Rook's smile widened, now so broad that his cheeks threatened to tear. "To confess one's truest feelings is an act of great strength and courage. Once it has been uttered, it cannot be taken back. For that, I commend your earnest! Does it not feel liberating to expel the butterflies that had been collecting in your stomach?"

Taking one of your hands in his, your fingers linked together, skin set on fire.

"Allow me to reciprocate those feelings: Je t'aime. Whether in Twisted Wonderland or in a world beyond, you will always be the one that holds my heart."

Rook's tender lips graced the back of your hand with a kiss. It was as soft as freshly fallen snow, but passionate like a long-burning flame--and as true as the blue that painted the sky overhead.

#Rook Hunt #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Rook Hunt x Reader #twisted wonderland interactions #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #Reader #self insert #sweet on you #disney twisted wonderland

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senatushq · 4 months

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"Twas a few nights before Christmas and all the house, not a hoof was a stomping, not even a mouse.

...What? C'mon Laer, tell the real story." - Aurora

There’s no big plot twist, no scandalous murder, and nothing dramatic. Just a wedding, a birthday, a memorial rave, and some festive cheer.

Enjoy the event, enjoy your holidays, and enjoy the gifts that the admins have prepared for each of you. Nine new aspects and one new archfiend have dropped, each carefully gift wrapped for a member of the group. These characters do not count towards your overall character count and you are under no obligation to bring them in if you choose not to. They will still be considered ‘in play,’ but they’ll be held for you in the event that you ever change your mind. There are no time constraints to when you need to get your application in (if at all), so don’t stress about needing to rush through other ideas you might already have percolating.

Thank you to all of you for putting up with the madness that has been this last year, welcome back to returning faces, and happy holidays to everyone. We hope that you’ve had as much fun playing this silly little game as we’ve had working on it (maybe more, actually). This is a labour of love so getting to share this world with all of you, watching your reactions, reading your interactions, and giggling over your discourse really makes it all worthwhile.

Once again, thank you for a wonderful year.

ooc info:

There is one rule: no trading. Your gift is yours and can’t be bartered, changed, swapped, or exchanged. Do not ask.

Some etiquette: if you aren’t happy with what you’ve been given, then we’re very sorry and encourage you to look at the characters that are open and available to you. Please avoid comments that might make other people feel guilty that they have something you want.

Limit: It's now 19, don't kill each other.

Congratulations to Aegnor on winning the Saturnalia Gladiator Event!

In front of the entire city, your muse was presented with a flower of pharmakis, the flower grown from the blood of a God. In secret, however, this flower was replaced by one grown from the blood of Nyarlathotep. Under Oztalun's direction the prize was swapped out by his High Priestesses Lilith and Pythia. Should your muse choose to undergo the transformation, they will not turn into their 'truest self' but will instead turn into an archfiend similar to that of an original vampire.

#senatus.krampus #senatus.saturchella #senatus.viii #senatus.theend

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blissfulalchemist · 1 year

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OCs As Experiences

Tagged by @shellibisshe and @statichvm to take this uquiz for some kids and boy oh boy did it read the ff kids too well. I’m terribly late and so just sending a few tags out to: @belorage @florbelles @unholymilf @adelaidedrubman @confidentandgood @strafethesesinners @jackiesarch @shallow-gravy @themarcspector and anyone else that wants to that hasn’t done it!

Siberite Akagane you leave people feeling nostalgic.

drug store valentine's cards. a favorite childhood song crackled through the radio; secret folded notes to find later. a soft yellow. christmas lights. knowing all the movie scenes that make your best friend laugh. birthday candles. a favorite hot chocolate mug. arcade carpets. lazy sunny saturday mornings. young, but not naive. you give people the sense of being held. falling asleep in the car and being carried safely inside. an acknowledgment that no matter how we age, there’s still something small and reaching within us that never goes away completely. (and that it’s not a bad thing.) there’s something sweet about you that feels hard to come by nowadays. a “they don’t make them like you anymore.” maybe it’s a chance to dip a toe back into childhood or a less pressured place—into imagination again, if even for a short while. a chance your presence gives in allowing people to enjoy it all more fully this time around.

Demos Reyes you leave people feeling inspired.

a moment of stolen breath. aquarium peace, walking through an art museum alone; a mesmerizing chorus of crowds singing along at the concert. turquoise blue. a sunshower. stained glass. paint stains on jeans. finishing a good book. pressed flowers. glasses of wine on your best friend’s balcony, the sun flirting from the horizon. spending time with you is nourishing in a way that feeds growth. it is the creative way you view the world, the way you move through life (whether expressed through dance, writing, music, visual art, cooking, or otherwise) that sparks the imagination of those around you. they watch you translate your experience in the truest form you know how, and they feel inspired to do the same. you seek to find universal understanding through these mediums, and the ones you hold close admire that hunger; maybe also happy to join in and get dirt under their nails, digging to the heart of things.

Anthea you leave people feeling refreshed.

a full exhale. first day of spring, a step into a hot bath; fruit eaten in the sunned grass. a full glass of water. birdsong. a cat napping by the window. the smell of a meadow after rain. deep green. laying with your head in a friend’s lap. coming back home after a long trip. freshly laundered sheets. a rallying force and refuge. both steadying and renewing. feeling your shoulders totally relax. when people are close to you, there’s a sense they can take their shoes off in the safety of your presence. to be unguarded and at ease. feeling safe enough to close their eyes; to rest in the peace and the comfort you offer, though you might not even be aware of it. you might ask people how they’re doing, but what they know you mean is, “where can I help? what do you need?” when the world can be such a tumultuous place, it is no small gift to have support like yours.

Azem you leave people feeling alive.

if I were to emphasize what being an experience is with any personality, it's you. you are a good cackle. a thunderstorm. late-night skinny dip. 85 mph, but getting away with 90. the smell of humid summer nights. sharp silver. a meteor shower. letting go of the handlebars for just a moment. the pop of a champagne bottle. swimming in the rain. another street of city lights to explore. there is a deep hum of possibility, and you want to fly within the jetstreams of it. without testing the boundaries of how far someone will go, you do invite a sense of excitement; never playing into the rush, but delighting in the fact that you don’t have to go far to find it. this life is meant to be lived, and you will do it well.

#siberite akagane oc #demos reyes oc #anthea oc #tag games #this was fun and truly red them to filth and honestly im fine with it!

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minaharkers · 1 year

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— ocs as experiences

tagged by @corvosattano and @shellibisshe to take this uquiz!! so let's do the mojave's disaster family <3

tagging: @chuckhansen @queennymeria @denerims @heroofpenamstan @indorilnerevarine @risingsh0t @florbelles @jendoe @jennystahl @addisonshepherd + anyone else who would like to!!

you leave people feeling inspired.

you leave people feeling refreshed.

you leave people feeling nostalgic.

#ocs #tag games #oc: lukas #oc: julia #oc: ethan #also if you wanna be tagged in stuff like this send me an ask or dm and i will keep u in the list <3

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alexandrahoney · 4 months

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I gifted myself a couple of Maya Kern skirts for Christmas this year, including the gorgeous red Poppies one designed by @sergle .

It is probably the most beautiful piece of clothing I own, and I am so over the moon for how colorful and vibrant it is. It makes me excited to go out until the world and be my best, truest self.

I cannot recommend these skirts enough. ❤️

#sergle #clothes #maya kern

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emmalovesfitzloved · 4 months

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feeling super babygirl rn

felt super brave today and emailed my favourite author of all time on her public work email if there is ever an option to email out my hardbacks to sign. her signed store has since shut down so i don't want to be spoiled cuz i already have 1 novel signed by her but can you imagine if i had the hardbacks i had since i was a teen signed by the truest and greatest female romance author of all time?

i'll keep you guys posted if this ever happens :') or if by chance she does reply. what an amazing christmas gift to myself it would be :')

#the bronze horseman #paullina simons #pretty please God

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tarnishedhalo · 1 year

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Advent Calendar: Day 9 @multi-mused

Riley steals a kiss at the crack of dawn from Seren, an angel in the flesh for pushing two thermoses into his hand, one life-giving coffee and the other equally full of cocoa. Noah, ten years old and somewhat enthusiastic, is already sitting in the truck while it idles in the driveway. Likely wrapped in thermals, heavy jeans, boots, and flannels just like Riley. There’s a heavy sleeping bag in the cab of the truck, snacks before they hit town proper, and eye toward breakfast and buying extra for lunch. The axe and hatchet are sharp, the tarps and ropes ready for Noah and him to bring their chosen tree home. He’s happy to know the day is going to be quiet and warm for Seren and Dalisay. Bread and cookies being baked, surreptitiously wrapping Noah’s gifts while he’s out of the house with no chance of getting busted… It’s less about the whole Santa situation ~his sister’s over thirty and still implicitly believes in Ol’ Saint Nick~ but wanting to maintain the mystery and wonder and seeing his truest surprise. He’ll do the opposite for Dal when Sere takes her out shopping for last minute little things, and he’ll be the one wrapping her gifts, too. Certain paper for Santa, certain paper from Mom and Dad and Big Brother. Christmas is what Riley considers to be their anniversary. At least of their first date, which had been the three of them at the zoo, taking in the light displays. Only a few days after literally running into Sere at the store. Best mishap of his life, really. Their family had grown, as had their love for each other, and not a day goes by he doesn’t understand he’s a lucky man. And one that really needs to knock this year out of the park, because she deserves better than to feel like it’s all and only about the kids. “Mmm,” he breathes as he breaks the kiss and pulls back. “Boy’s gonna freeze to death in the truck if you keep spoiling’ me. But while we’re out tree-hunting, I want you to think of how you wanna be spoiled. And I don’t mean the whole ‘whatever happens, I don’t mind.’ thing you do because you don’t want to make waves and because you’re sweet.” She does that so often, putting herself last even when he asks her point blank, and this time he isn’t about to let her. Worst case, he can call up his sister and see what her advice is but things between them haven’t been that great and he’d rather not look like an idiot. “So just…think about it and let me know. If you have a great idea, text me. I do mean anything. Say you wanna go to Tahiti tomorrow, done. If you want me to go and get a new house? Done. Literally what ever you want.” Riley winks and smiles. “Because I love you.”

#multi-mused #S'iorghra|Seren and Riley #ODB|Verse #Copperhead Road|Tennessee #Merry Christmas 2022

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adrianodiprato · 1 year

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+ “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” 1 Peter 5:5

My 2022 Christmas Message: Humility

At his General Audience, on the birth of Jesus, on December 21, 2021 Pope Francis stated:

“Humility alone opens us up to the experience of truth, of authentic joy, of knowing what matters.”

Humility is so important in our world today. A world often fixated on and afflicted by binary thinking. A world that is quick to cancel you if you don’t fit a prevailing narrative of the righteous and those filled with much self-importance.

Do not imagine that if you meet a really humble man he will be what most people call ‘humble’ nowadays: he will not be a sort of greasy, smarmy person, who is always telling you that, of course, he is nobody. Probably all you will think about him is that he seemed a cheerful, intelligent chap who took a real interest in what you said to him. If you do dislike him it will be because you feel a little envious of anyone who seems to enjoy life so easily. He will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.

If anyone would like to acquire humility, I can, I think, tell him the first step. The first step is to realise that one is proud. And a biggish step, too. At least, nothing whatever can be done before it. If you think you are not conceited, it means you are very conceited indeed. C.S.Lewis | Mere Christianity

Humility is not always acknowledged as a relevant trait to possess. We far too often view humility as a weakness. It is in fact a remarkable character strength. Pride goes before destruction (Proverbs 16:18) while humility goes to the one who overcomes the destruction and the destroyer (John 1:5). Humility makes room for the gift of grace and our inherent worth through acknowledging the possibility of the other.

Humility helps one extend more compassion and empathy to others. Those who practice humility are more likely to consider others’ beliefs and opinions. This is most likely because humility offers the opportunity to become less self-involved and more attuned with the feelings and humanity of the other. Humility allows us to be open to self, place and a deep consciousness of the value of the other.

Pride is the appreciation of yourself and your beliefs, it is having confidence and assurance that you are an important and making a relevant contribution to this world. These are valued character attributes.

However, if pride becomes extreme, with extremeness revealing itself when humility is absent, a person may start exhibiting selfish, self-righteous or dare I say it, narcissistic behaviors. That behaviour can manifest hate and colour one’s ability to maintain perspective and the principles of nature justice.

“When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom.” Proverbs 11:2

As illustrated by C.S. Lewis, the truly humble person “will not be thinking about humility: he will not be thinking about himself at all.” And the only way to begin to grasp this is by admitting first that you think of yourself more highly than you ought, a kind of self-righteous pride for “if you think you are not conceited, you are very conceited indeed.”

Humility is a grace that attracts more grace. Pride closes the door to spiritual growth, but humility opens the door of your life to more of God's grace. This gift of grace we receive through the simplicity and humanity of the Christmas story.

“The message of the Gospels is clear: the birth of Jesus is a universal event that concerns all of humanity,” the Holy Father said at his general audience in 2021.

“At the same time, specifically because it leads us to Him, humility leads us also to the essentials of life, to its truest meaning, to the most trustworthy reason for why life is truly worth living.”

Then Pope Francis went on to explain the role of humility, recalling the many signs of humility leading to the birth of Christ. An angel announced the birth to lowly shepherds. Mary and Joseph could find no comfortable place to stay (Luke 2:1-7).

These types of signs of humility are examples of ways that it humbles us, reminding us all of our smallness while celebrating the hope, our hope and the hope of the other, born from the promise that is the birth of Christ.

“The reason is that the person who is not humble has no horizon in front of him or her. They only have a mirror in which to look at themselves. Let us ask the Lord to break this mirror so we can look beyond, to the horizon, where He is. But He needs to do this: grant us the grace and the joy of humility to take this path.” Pope Francis

This Christmas may the birth of Christ inspire this dream in each one of us. One of an enduring optimism for a universal and fraternal love, compassion, and humility of self, with place, through the beautiful possibility of looking beyond, to the horizon of hope, born from the gift of the other.

Thank you for sharing the gift of your humility with the world in 2022. Buon Natale. Frohe Weihnachten. Feliz Navidad. Joyeux noël. Shèngdàn jié kuàilè. Merry Christmas.

Original photo: Walking the Stations of Cross via the Via Dolorosa, Jerusalem on Good Friday | 2013

Reference

Kellenberger, J. (2010). “Humility”, American Philosophical Quarterly. Vol 47, (4): 321-336.

#permissionistriumph #courageovercomfort #merry christmas

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