#Dragon's *heritage* was 'only a legend'

[mjrtaurus]

Shandian!Dragon, only a child, always being told bedtime stories from his mother about an island that rose into the sky, great serpent gods, a warrior and an admiral who became as brothers, an ancient city in the skull's right eye, and a golden bell that had gone silent for centuries.

Shandian!Dragon, a teenager, being laughed at when he corrected people who called him Birkan or Skypiean because Shandians weren't real and he was expected to feel ashamed for believing something so childish.

Shandian!Dragon, a grown man and a father, hearing that very bell ringing after four hundred years, knowing it was his son who made it possible.

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (10/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: loss of virginity, dubcon, sex content, unprotected sex, oral sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

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"Where are you?" She asked, looking down at the large family tree spread out in front of her face, lying comfortably between his legs, leaning against his hard torso. They were both bare; to her surprise, she quickly got rid of the feeling of embarrassment when he exposed her body.

The evenings in King's Landing were hot, so they were both relieved to be lying in the cool evening breeze on his bed, the back of her head resting against his shoulder. She heard him hum under his breath as he pointed his finger at one of the last lines which, indeed, was signed with his name.

Aemond Targaryen.

"And you are here." He added, moving his finger sideways to another line.

"Unbelievable." She said surprised, feeling for some reason joy and pride that she was included in this great lineage, somehow thinking that since her father had forgotten her, so had everyone else.

"You are a Targaryen. This is your heritage as well." He said lightly, leaning in, his full lips placing a soft, gentle kiss on her bare shoulder.

She swallowed hard, feeling pain at his words.

"My father would disagree with you." She said regretfully, tracing a line with her finger down from herself, to her father, to his father, and then to his grandfather.

She blinked, seeing that almost every one of them had married their sisters.

"Good gods." She muttered, going lower and lower, seeing that the pattern repeated surprisingly often.

She heard him chuckle behind her, his arms embracing her tighter around the waist.

"Brothers love their sisters. It's natural." He murmured, the tip of his long nose sinking into her soft cheek, his free hand slowly rising higher to squeeze her plump bosom.

He loved touching and looking at her breasts – his hands and mouth kept returning to them. He wouldn't let her cover them in his presence – they were clearly the most perfect example of femininity to him.

Their shape, their softness, the way they melted between his fingers in the morning when they slept in each other's embrace and he involuntarily sought them out with his hand made him purr like a cat.

She was also involuntarily learning other things that he clearly enjoyed with each passing day, though he never spoke of it aloud.

When they were outside, he liked her hair to be braided the way Visenya wore it according to legends, when her body was framed by a riding, leather garment, emphasising her girlish curves.

It stimulated his imagination, but also gave him a sense of closeness by the fact that they looked so similar.

As long as they were among other people, she never approached him or spoke to him first – even when she was practicing archery in the same courtyard where he and Criston Cole were sparring, she didn't disturb them.

She knew he didn't wish it – the example of Lady Floris had shown her what happened when someone kept invading his space and forced him into a proximity he wasn't comfortable with.

She felt his gaze on her, saw in his healthy eye that he was thinking only of what he had done to her during the night and what he would do to her in the evening, that he would summon her again, unable to deny himself the warmth of her body in his bed.

The situation changed completely when she crossed the threshold of his chamber and they were left alone behind a closed door.

He liked to sink his hands into her curls, so her hair had to be loose, on her body only her nightgown and a thin robe – he knew that no one but him had ever seen her in such a negligee, slowly slipping off all parts of her attire, leaving her bare and exposed at last.

It wasn't long before he was joining her, though then he was always vigilant and tense – most notably when she pulled off his eye patch. He watched her then with a stony face, as if for some reason he was afraid to see a smirk of mockery or anything else that would be proof that she was deceiving him, she, however, was entranced by the beautiful blue sapphire shining in his eye socket in the candlelight.

She loved untying the black ribbon from his long white hair.

"– you look like a demigod –" She whispered once without thinking as they lay side by side on his bed, looking at each other, panting heavily after their intense closeness.

She saw that he froze, his eye grew large in disbelief, his lips pressed into a thin line in shame.

"– what do you mean? –" He asked, lying on the bedclothes on his stomach as she did, their heads lying so close together that their noses were almost touching.

She lifted her hand and combed gently through strands of his smooth hair.

"– when your beautiful snow-white hair is loose – you look like some kind of heavenly being with your bright eyes – your face and muscular figure remind me of sculptures of ancient warriors carved in marble –" She muttered in shame, wondering what had occurred to her to say such a thing, her fingers ran over his cheekbone, her gaze fixed on his jaw.

She heard him swallow loudly, looking at her in a way she rarely saw, only when he was surprised and completely vulnerable – his pupil was large, his gaze warm, his expression gentle, his full lips parted slightly in disbelief.

She moved closer to him and cuddled her face into his shoulder, feeling like a fool after what she had said, thinking that he must surely have felt embarrassment at her words, that he would never let her stay in his bed again.

He, however, embraced her and snuggled her into his body, stroking her soft dark curls, her back and her buttocks with his broad hands, gently kissing the top of her head again and again.

He answered her nothing, but that night he did not allow her body to move away from his even a little, keeping her locked in his embrace – she smiled involuntarily feeling that each time he awoke he checked that she was covered in fur and brushed her shoulder with his fingertips, returning to sleep.

Although she had to get through the thick, high wall he had created around his heart each evening, their mornings were sweet and tender.

She was always awakened by the touch of his soft, moist lips on her forehead, his thumb stroking her cheek, his warm breath indicating that he had been awake for some time but wasn't going to get up for a while yet, wanting to enjoy her closeness.

"– hāedar –" He murmured at last, running his hand down her bare back, gliding his fingers as if he were treading water with them.

"– no – just a little longer –" She whispered pleadingly, and he merely hummed under his breath and cuddled her tighter into his chest, allowing her to remain in his embrace.

She usually left before the servants brought him his morning meal – she knew that he would probably let her eat with him if she so wished, it even seemed to her that a part of him would enjoy it, however, she did not want to cross the line.

There was more gossip about them than both of them would have liked anyway.

The fact that news was spreading through the Red Keep like the wind she saw in the displeased look Criston Cole turned towards her as she passed him in the corridor.

"Is the Prince hurting you, my Lady? He is frightening and cold in manner, I am afraid to look at him." Said Lysa, weaving her hair into a braid, her riding attire on her body as it was her turn to fly on patrol around King's Landing.

She involuntarily smiled at her words, feeling a pleasant pulsing between her thighs at the memory of what she had done to him the night before.

The sweet, boyish moan he had let out when he had come deep in her mouth.

She was convinced that she would eventually vomit or suffocate, shocked by the sensation and how much pleasure it gave him, his gaze full of disbelief and fulfilment, his tender arms that embraced her, his lips kissing her forehead.

Gōntan nyke ōdrikagon ao, zaldrītsos?

Did I hurt you, little dragon?

Little dragon.

She liked it when he called her that.

Little dragon, little sister, sweet girl.

He did it to reward her, when he wanted to be tender and gentle, when, satisfied and fulfilled, he fell asleep beside her in a warm bed.

"He doesn't hurt me. On the contrary, I enjoy the time spent in his company. Unlike Ser Criston Cole, who, it seems to me, despises me." She said lightly, casting her a meaningful glance in the reflection of the mirror.

Lysa blinked and furrowed her brow.

"Ser Criston should despise himself above all. He and the Queen only pretend to be humble and full of virtue by day, spending all their nights with each other." She said disapprovingly, and she involuntarily burst out laughing.

"How do you know such things?"

Lysa smiled mockingly.

"Servants know everything, my Lady. You at least don't pretend to be someone you're not." She said and paused as the door to her chamber opened suddenly.

Prince Aemond stepped inside with a confident, lazy stride, erect and proud, not even bestowing a single glance on Lysa.

"Leave us." He commanded, towering over her figure seated in a chair.

Lysa bowed to him, pale, and left quickly without a word.

She blinked, looking straight into his face without fear, waiting for him to convey to her what he had come to her with.

"Today I will be patrolling the skies. We have received reports that a dragon has been seen nearby. It will be safer if me and Vhagar check it first." He said calmly, and she nodded, thinking he didn't need to explain himself to her or come in his own person to tell her this.

He could have simply sent his servant to her.

But he decided otherwise, and she didn't mind.

"Very well. So I will stay and repeat what you taught me last night." She said softly, smiling involuntarily when she saw that his pupil had turned dark, his lips parted slightly at the memory of what she had done to him.

He knew she had teased him.

He took a step towards her, and then another, making her have to lift her head higher to look at his face. She swallowed quietly, feeling a pleasant shiver run through her warm cunt as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, looking at her as if he was thinking about something.

"Alone? How will you know you're not making the same mistakes? Who will guide you?" He asked softly, cocking his head to the side, his breath deeper and louder.

She looked down and saw that even though the material of his tunic covered that part of his body, his erection had swollen all over, forming a bulge.

She swallowed hard as she saw his hands slide down to his belt, which he undid with a loud click and then did the same to the buckles of his tunic, causing her to breathe louder and louder, feeling both terror and arousal at the same time.

"– do not fret – easy – I acted a little exaggerated last night – you surprised me –" He gasped, untying his breeches with his long fingers, releasing his hard, swollen manhood.

It seemed absurd to her, but his words soothed her.

For some reason, she knew he regretted letting his emotions take over.

She leaned in, gently grasping the base of his throbbing cock, the skin of it soft and delicate, placing a warm, gentle kiss on the pink head of it.

He sighed, sinking the fingers of his hands into her hair, holding her close to his lower abdomen, rubbing his length against her face – she slid her tongue out, running the tip of it over the skin of his fat erection, and he swallowed loudly, trying not to make any humiliating sound.

She closed her eyes, concentrating on his scent, thinking in the back of her mind that he had taken a bath before he came to her – she felt the pleasant, warm throbbing of her womanhood coming to the satisfying conclusion that he had planned this.

He was unable to last into the evening.

"– mmm – yes – just like that – take your time –" He whispered, as if how gentle, slow and tender her caresses were gave him even more pleasure, the thought that she wasn't doing this out of obligation, that she wasn't disgusted by him or despised him.

No.

Her feelings for him were complicated, but deep.

She opened her eyes as her lips traveled up his erection, squeezing it at the root with lazy, sure strokes from which it hardened like rock – she met his eyes, his gaze hot and misty, his lips parted wide in an exasperated breath.

He wanted it, she could feel it in the soft roll of his hips, begging wordlessly for her to let him inside her.

She closed her eyes and spread her mouth wide, leaning lower – she heard his loud sigh as the tip of his length hit the back of her throat. His fingers clenched tighter in her hair, responding to her movements as she began to suck on his manhood, following his advice breathing loudly through her nose in an attempt to control her gag reflex.

His hips began to force his erection deep between her moist lips with slow, steady thrusts, as if he wanted to savour what he was just looking at, her tongue trailing lazily over the delicate structure of his manhood full of his pulsing veins.

"– yes – oh, gods, hāedar –" He exhaled, tilting his head back, speeding up involuntarily with a loud grunt of delight, his thick cock throbbing all over in her mouth, disappearing between them again and again with loud clicks of her saliva.

She could have hurt him, she could have bitten him, squeezed him harder and caused him pain, humiliated him, destroyed him as a lover and a man.

But she didn't.

She was wet.

Her hand began to stroke the base of his manhood harder when she felt it begin to pulse aggressively deep in her throat, clearly close to fulfillment.

"– fuck – fuck, don't stop, don't stop –" He muttered, panting loudly, chasing his peak, his hips with sharp, fast thrusts slamming between her swollen, wet lips with her moan of exertion.

She felt tears run down her cheeks, one of her hands clenched on his cock and the other on the material of his tunic, thinking that she would endure this, that she would give him what he desired and fulfill his fantasy.

"– y-yes – yes, gods, swallow, swallow, swallow –" He commanded with a loud groan of pleasure, and she felt his seed spill over her tongue – this time she knew what to expect and immediately swallowed his spend, and then again and again, breathing hard through her nose, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

His release was sticky and slightly salty, like nothing she'd ever tasted before.

It tasted like sin.

His hips stilled between her lips, his half-hard manhood throbbing greedily deep in her mouth while they both breathed hard, trying to calm themselves. She heard him swallow hard and then he gently slid his length out of her with a loud smack.

She didn't know why she tightened her hands on his back and hugged herself to his stomach, why she felt warmth when he froze and then embraced her slowly, snuggling her into him, stroking her hair with his fingers.

"– I haven't wasted a drop this time –" She cooed, smiling with amusement and she heard him snort with laughter, surprised apparently by her directness and the fact that his approach didn't scare her at all.

"– indeed – I'm afraid I'm going to make more use of those moist lips – and in return –" He gasped and didn't finish, running his fingertips over her bare neck making her leaking, twitching cunt pulsate around nothing.

"– I'm wet –" She whispered and felt his manhood respond before he could react in any way, throbbing hard, pushing between her breasts.

"– how much? –" He breathed out, clamping his fingers down on her flesh, as if her words meant he couldn't just leave it like that.

"– very much, lēkia – my womanhood is all soaked and pulsing with pain –" She mumbled, snuggling into him tighter, feeling her nipples harden all over at her own words.

In a moment, he lifted her from her seat and pushed her onto the table, forcing her to lie down on it – it wasn't a comfortable position, but she didn't think much of it when she spread her thighs in front of him and let his hands undo the ties of her breeches.

He leaned over her, looking down at her with his lips parted in lust, his gaze dark and filled with something that both terrified and attracted her at the same time – she moaned involuntarily, writhing before him and as he rested one hand against her head and slid the other under the material of her trousers, sinking his fingers into her leaking, swollen cunt.

"– quiet – good gods – so wet just from sucking my cock – you have no fucking shame –" He hissed coldly, and she threw her head back as his fingertips immediately pushed against her quivering slit, invading her insides, hitting her sweet spot again and again with aggressive, sharp thrusts.

"– oh gods, oh gods, ah, lēkia, yes –" She whimpered, clamping her hand on his arm wanting more, more, harder.

"– shut the fuck up –" He growled through clenched teeth, quickening his pace – she saw out of the corner of her eye, looking down, that his manhood was thick and hard again, sticking out from between the fabric of his breeches.

"– lēkia – help me – save me –" She mewled, feeling her hot, fleshy walls begin to tighten around his fingers, his sigh of satisfaction and desire making her feel that she was close, so close.

"– come on – soak my fingers – please your brother –" He breathed out and she came with a loud, girlish cry of delight, feeling tears of relief run down her face as wonderful waves of fulfilment shook her body, a pleasant tingling in her fingertips, her lips, her nipples and her throbbing, greedy cunt.

"– that's it – easy now – easy –" He hummed, just looking at her, holding his two fingers deep inside her, focusing on the way her warm flesh pulsed around them, soaking his whole hand.

She knew he would leave; she knew he had to, and perhaps it wasn't his desire at all but still the way his fingers slid out of her body, his look turned away as he knotted his breeches testifying that he was back in the fortress of his mind made her feel an uncomfortable ache in her heart.

"Come to my chamber tonight, as usual." He said, forcing himself to be indifferent, and left, leaving her lying on the table.

She closed her eyes and exhaled loudly, for some reason feeling tears under her eyelids.

She covered her face with her hand and burst into silent sobs.

Who was she?

His whore?

His lover?

His pet?

His object?

His whim?

She couldn't decide.

Whatever she did she would not be his sister.

Not really.

She swallowed hard and breathed deeply, wiping the warm wetness from her cheeks, trying to calm herself, thinking it didn't matter.

She was what he wanted her to be.

Nothing more.

Just when she was deciding she didn't care, the evening came, and then the night, and with it his hungry mouth sunk into her throbbing cunt, his tongue thrusting again and again deep inside her, building her way to her fulfilment.

His face above hers, his sapphire and eye fixed on her, soft strands of his hair teasing her cheeks before he leaned lower and his lips clung to hers in a sweet, soft, wet kiss.

They lay on their sides facing each other, cuddling their bodies into each other's in a tender, thirsty embrace, their lips finding each other in new, deep, soft caresses almost as if they cared for each other, almost as if they missed each other, almost as if they were happy.

Almost.

His broad hand ran over her hair and face, the tips of his fingers trailing over her cheekbone, jaw and neck, his gaze fixed on her, his lips slightly parted.

"– aōha laesi issi hae zōbrie hae lī hen iā myrdys (your eyes are as dark as those of a doe) – gevie (beautiful) –" He whispered, and she felt a squeeze in her heart and burning tears under her eyelids.

Don't do this to me, she thought.

Don't give me hope.

She snuggled into the hollow of his neck, drawing in the air loudly, not wanting him to see the tears running down her cheeks, and he simply kissed her bare shoulder, enclosing her in his embrace.

"– ȳdra limagon daor, zaldrītsos – aōha lēkia iksis kesīr –" He whispered, but his words only made her whoop with her own tears.

Do not cry, little dragon.

Your brother is here.

Gods, how she wished she could love him.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't offer him her heart because she knew he would crush it the moment he ripped it from her chest.

And then she unintentionally told him his mother's secret and saw his real face for the first time.

His tears, his despair, his figure curled up as if he were a infant in her arms.

She was horrified by how vulnerable he was.

How fragile he was.

She realised that the rider of the greatest dragon in the world was a scared little boy.

Some part of her wanted to protect him.

When the King summoned her to a meeting of the Small Council she wondered what had happened – she guessed it had something to do with Cole's and their army's march on Harrenhal, praying that it would turn out that his brother had told him everything, as she had requested.

As she stepped inside, her one-eyed cousin gave her a quick glance, a serenity in his healthy eye.

They both knew that she would spend this night in his bed too.

"What is this important matter that could not wait any longer?" The Queen Mother asked, and everyone's gaze turned to the King.

Aegon grunted and nodded, spreading himself comfortably in his chair at the head of the table.

"I wish to relieve our subjects who live in hunger. This fucking blockade has gone on for too long and I have decided to take measures to remedy it. Greyjoys are tactically avoiding choosing sides in this conflict, and only their fleet could face the Velaryons. In such situations, things are usually resolved through marriage. Lord Greyjoy has two sons, Toron and Rodrick, who are looking for a suitable candidate to marry. My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements."

She felt her heart stop for a moment as she looked at him dully, not believing that this was really happening.

My mother and I believe that our beautiful cousin and her dragon will meet all of their father's requirements.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

Here was her home.

Here, with him.

Alicent looked at her son, who was as shocked as she was, his eye and mouth wide open in panic.

Help me, she thought in her head, feeling her body begin to tremble.

Protect me.

"You knew it would end like this. Your irresponsible behaviour forced us to take the right steps." Queen Alicent said, and she clenched her hands into fists.

You are fucking your guard.

You're as much a whore as I am.

She swallowed hard and looked at her king-cousin, feeling her eyes glaze over with tears.

"– here is my home, my King – please –"

"It would happen sooner or later. Better sooner, given the rumours that reach our ears about where you've been spending the last nights. My brother did not deny it, conversing with me today, that he is taking advantage of your…kindness. I want to put an end to this sinful practice." He interrupted her and she was already about to answer him, but they were interrupted by another, familiar voice.

"No." Her lēkia said. "She is a Targaryen. 'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand."

She is a Targaryen.

'Tis I, as your younger brother, who, by all rights, have precedence to her hand.

Good gods, he wanted to marry her.

He wanted to marry her to protect her, so that she would not lose her home or him.

I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side.

Aegon only smiled at his words.

"You can bed whomever you want, brother. But it is I, as King and her protector, who will decide who she marries, and sooner Vhagar will fit into the Dragon's Pit than I'll give you her hand." He said, causing heavy tears to run down her cheeks one by one.

Why?

"Why?" Asked her cousin at the same moment in a way that made her feel a squeeze in her heart, his voice breaking as if he was really in pain, his eyebrows arched in despair.

"Good gods. Since when can the Kingdom afford marriages out of the need of the heart? Your subjects are starving. This agreement can make us break the blockade. Are your desires more important than the sake of the Realm?" Aegon sneered, and she burst into a loud sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

They will send her away.

She will lose everything again.

She'll be a nobody again.

She will become another man's toy.

"My decision is final. I will have the crow sent to the Iron Islands with our generous offer later today. That is all."

Her lēkia came to her chamber despite the fact that the evening had not yet dawned and she was always the one to visit him – she threw herself into his arms and cried out loud, overcome by complete hysteria, his hands clamped on her body.

"– no – please, don't let him do it, don't send me away, don't send me away, don't send me away –" She begged him and heard him swallow hard, his lips placing warm, tender kisses on her face.

"– shhh – shhh, sweet girl – I won't –" He assured her.

"– you're lying – you're going to sell me, you're going to abandon me like he did –" She sobbed, choking on her own tears, tightening her fingers on his back.

Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me.

She sighed as he grabbed her by the hair and gently tilted her head back, forcing her to look at him.

"What did I tell you? Back then, when we were lying under the stars. What did I promise in return for you taming a dragon?" He asked quietly, and she swallowed hard, looking at him with big eyes.

"– that my place will always be by your side – that you will protect me – that I will be your little sister –" She mumbled out with difficulty, and he closed her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers, exactly as he had done then.

"– and you are –" He hissed, his fingers clamping in her hair. "– you are fucking mine –"

You are fucking mine.

For the first time, it was he who stayed in her chamber – they just lay together in her bed, taking off all their clothes beforehand and kissed, stroking their naked bodies with their hands.

She fell asleep in his embrace drenched in tears.

She didn't believe him.

She did not believe a word he said.

She knew he was just telling her what she wanted to hear, so that she wouldn't panic and run to her father, changing sides at the last moment.

During the night she dreamt that despite her cries and pleas he had stabbed a dagger into her heart, telling her that after the war was over she had become a threat to him, that she and her dragon were no longer necessary to him.

"Did you really think I would let you live?" he asked, and she awoke with a cry of despair, clutching at her heart, on which she clasped her hands.

"– gods – what is it? – what happened? –" She heard his sleepy muttering beside her, his hand touched her shoulder, and she pulled away from him as if burned, thinking that he really wanted to do this to her.

He really wanted to kill her.

He looked at her with big eyes, the pain of rejection in his gaze, as she pulled away from him despite him extending his hand to her.

"– breath, hāedar – a bad dream? –" He asked and she nodded, whooping, unable to catch her breath.

"– yes –" She mumbled out.

He swallowed hard, making a renewed attempt, this time touching her calf, stroking it reassuringly, and she didn't move away.

It was only a dream.

"– Daemon? –" He asked further, and she shook her head.

"– you –" She mumbled, his eye big in shock. "– you stabbed me in the heart – and asked if I really thought you would let me live –"

She mouthed with difficulty and burst into sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

She heard him freeze in disbelief, breathing loudly, his hand clamped down on her ankle.

"– gods, hāedar – no – no, come here –" He muttered, grabbing her arm, and she shook her head, wanting to pull away from him.

"– please – don't deceive me anymore – we both know that when this is over you will kill me –"

"– no –" He exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers, clasping his fingers in her hair. "– I wanted to do it – then, in the Vale – but I wasn't able to – I won't hurt you – after the war you'll stay by my side – as you are now –" He gasped out, pressing his lips, swollen with emotion to hers in loud, aggressive, desperate kisses.

"– warming your bed while you're married? –" She breathed out into his throat, responding to his caresses, melting with him into one in greedy, passionate dance of their slick tongues, their hands enclosing them in their tight embrace.

"– you are the one I will marry –" He growled, as if her words enraged him, turning her onto her back, his knee forcing her aggressively to spread her thighs apart.

They both sighed and froze when she felt the tip of his swollen cock push against her throbbing slit.

"– A-Aemond –" She mumbled out terrified and aroused, feeling the movement of his hips push his hard erection deeper into her with their loud, surprised moans.

She felt she struggled to catch her breath, stretched to the limit on his throbbing manhood, strangely filled, at his mercy.

Her hands clenched on his naked, muscular arms as he lay on top of her and pressed her to the bed, her plump breasts pressed against his torso, the fat head of his cock deep inside her.

"– I can't take it anymore –" He breathed out, and she whimpered, tilting her head back, feeling him thrust deeper and deeper into her, pushing against something inside her that made her feel discomfort and stinging pain. "– I crave you –"

He said and covered her mouth with his hand when finally with one, violent push he ripped something deep inside her, making her squirm in pain, tears of exertion and horror running down the sides of her face, her whole body quivering.

Gods, he had taken her maidenhood.

If part of her had wanted this for so long, why was she so terrified now?

"– shhh – shhh, little sister, the worst is behind us –" He exhaled tenderly, pulling his hand away from her mouth, allowing her to take a deep breath.

"– I'm scared –" She mumbled in a voice trembling with fear and his eyebrows arched in pain at her words.

He made no movement, looking at her as if worried and concerned, stroking her cheek with his fingers, trying to soothe her, his swollen manhood throbbing hard deep inside her.

"– do you want me to stop? – I will if you want me to – forgive me –" He whispered at last in a voice breaking with shame, as if he was horrified by what he had done and how he had achieved it.

She swallowed quietly and shook her head, thinking that if he did this, something would end between them – he would feel rejected and not want to touch her again, and she needed him, craved him and what he was giving her.

He sighed, pressing his face against hers, kissing her plump, hot cheek with some kind of gratitude, as if he appreciated her effort, understanding that she was doing this for him.

"– don't be afraid, zaldrītsos – we'll do it slowly – I won't hurt you –" He assured her, stroking her head as if she were a small child, his forehead pressed against hers.

She sighed as he gently slid out of her before sinking unhurriedly back deep into her body, making a sound stuck in her throat – this experience, of another body deep inside her, filling her to the brim, was so foreign and strange that she didn't know how she should react or what to feel.

He pulsed aggressively inside her and he was hard – a quiet moan rippled out of her throat each time he opened her wide again and again on the thick part of his cock with quiet clicks of her wetness – she closed her eyes as she felt him begin to hit the sweet spot he always sought with his fingers with each thrust, and the first waves of pleasure flowed along her spine like a tingle.

"– ah –" She mewled, opening her eyes, meeting his heated gaze, their breaths heavy and raptured – she dared to let go of his shoulders and slide her hands down his back, to his buttocks, clamping her fingers on them, emboldening him to move inside her faster.

"– does it hurt? –" He breathed out, thrusting into her a little more confidently, stroking her hot face, wet with tears, with his thumb, kissing the tip of her nose again and again, brushing her puffy lips with his own.

"– n-no – not anymore – but – how should it look? – how have you done it with other women? –" She gasped in a trembling voice, and he stopped moving, looking at her with his mouth wide open.

"– do you want to see for yourself? –" He asked, and she nodded.

"– fuck me –" She whispered.

Fuck me.

She gasped and closed her eyes, throwing her head back when he pounded aggressively into her core with a throaty groan of pleasure, as if he himself was surprised at how pleasurable it was, slamming into her with loud, sticky splats of their bodies against each other.

He moved inside her so fast that she could only spread her thighs wider, crossing them over his sweaty back, their moans pathetic and high-pitched as he hit the same wonderful spot deep inside her tight cunt with each push, himself clearly taking immense satisfaction from this wet, intimate act.

Their hands clenched helplessly on their bodies as their hips began to meet – she felt that what he was doing to her dulled her to pain, instead arousing tension in her loins that grew and grew in her lower abdomen, making her leak all over, soaking his cock with every sharp thrust he made.

"– fucking mine –" He hissed through clenched teeth, locking her moans between his lips, which he pressed against hers in an aggressive kiss – she felt his tongue invade between her teeth, repeating the movements of his hips, forcing itself deep into her throat just as his swollen erection burst between her fleshy, throbbing walls.

She was unable to take a breath between his one thrust and the next, panting hard along with him, her core slick and warm, despite her initial resistance accepting him now with ease.

He pressed his fingers against her bare skin, pounding into her with low grunts of pleasure so fast that he no longer slid out of her, his gaze fixed on their joined bodies.

"– vok syt nyke (perfect for me) – ao se aōha byka orvorta (you and your little cunt) –" He praised her, and she spasmed in euphoria as she felt something approaching – she seemed to howl his name as the aggressive, overpowering pleasure shook her body, loosening her completely, pulling a sigh of relief from her throat, tears of emotion and exertion rolling down her red cheeks.

"– oh gods – oh gods, yes, yes, yes, hāedar –" He gasped out and closed his eye, coming so hard that he cried out along with her, a convulsion shaking his body, and then she felt something warm spill inside her in waves.

His seed.

He came inside her.

Good gods, she thought, lying with closed eyes completely without strength, her hands placed numbly on either side of her head.

She sighed as his body fell against hers, their breaths heavy and hitched, their bodies hot and sweaty, his half-soft manhood still pulsing deep inside her.

It was such an intimate sensation, so strange and sticky – two bodies being one, him, filling her to the brim.

"– I will take you as my wife as soon as I return from the battlefield – I promise –" He breathed out into her ear, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, wondering why he was saying that.

"– your brother will never agree to this –" She whispered, feeling that she was a different person now.

She was no longer a maiden.

She twisted restlessly in her place hearing that his silence answered her, his face nestled against her temple, the tip of his nose sinking into her cheek before he whispered the words into her ear as if he was telling her his secret.

"– leave it to me –"

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Hi! I saw requests are open and I wanted to request this if you don’t mind!

May I request Daemon Targaryen x Male! (or trans male! ) Reader thats pregnant with their first child and how they are with the child? I would like headcanons if that’s possible as well :)

Thank you so much if you get to this!!

Daemon Targaryen x Male Reader that's pregnant with their first child

Daemon is incredibly protective of his husband throughout the pregnancy. He often places his hand on his partner's belly, feeling the baby move, and reassures him with comforting words.

Daemon takes the lead in preparing for their child. He insists on a nursery that reflects  Targaryen lineage, complete with dragon motifs and warm, vibrant colours. 

Daemon begins to read stories to the unborn child. He chooses tales of Targaryen history and legends, believing it's important for their child to understand their heritage even before birth. His husband often finds this endearing, watching Daemon bring the stories to life with dramatic flair.

There are moments when Daemon's stoic exterior cracks. He gets emotional during quiet moments together, holding his husband and marvelling at the life they’re creating. He often expresses concerns about being a good father, revealing a softer side that only his husband gets to see.

While Daemon loves feasting and wine, he puts in extra effort to ensure his husband’s diet is healthy. He insists on meals that are nourishing, often seeking out herbal remedies from the maesters

Despite the seriousness of impending fatherhood, their relationship remains playful. Daemon teases his husband about cravings, often jokingly offering him outrageous foods just to see his reaction. It keeps the atmosphere light and fun.

Daemon surprises his husband with thoughtful gifts for the baby, such as tiny dragon figurines or intricately crafted toys. He loves to watch his husband’s face light up with each gift,

Daemon was excited when They went to pick a dragon egg for their child to place it in their babes cradle 

The couple engages in heartfelt discussions about potential baby names. Daemon holds a fascination for names with Targaryen significance, while his husband favours less Targaryen names.

Daemon often daydreams aloud about their child's future—What they will look like, teaching them to hold a sword and how to speak Valyrian 

Daemon frequently talks to the baby, even before birth, often indulging in a mix of fierce pride and gentle affection.

Daemon, known for his fierce and sometimes reckless nature, surprises everyone with how gentle he is with their new-born. He often finds quiet moments to hold the baby, whispering stories of dragons and their family history, creating a strong bond from the very beginning.

Y/N plays the role of the calm and steady caregiver, tending to the baby’s needs with patience and love. He often crafts beautiful toys by hand, infusing them with love and his own personal touch.

Just like when Daemon was a baby and his mother took him on her dragon to fly for the first time, Daemon does the same with their child.

 Like all parents, they face challenges. Late-night crying fits bring out Daemon’s impatience, but Y/N ’s soothing presence helps keep the peace.

[hisui-dreamer]

honour to us all

Pairing: Silver x gn!reader

Synopsis: in which Silver meets the descendant of his childhood hero

Tags: reader is mulan's descendant, heritage talk, kinda accurate chinese history, fluff, can be platonic or romantic

Word count: 440

Notes: ok so i was stupid and accidentally deleted the original post so here:

from @saneruggiefan

hi!! Hope you’re doing well today

May I request Silver with a mulan descendant reader? Since Silver talked abt how he admires the hero of the east aka mulan in the Halloween event I thought he’d get along well with someone who’s descended from his favorite childhood hero

happy halloween! not really halloween related(?) but it was mentioned in the first halloween event hehe

from your earliest memories, the legends of your ancestor have been a constant presence in your life

you remember the eyes of your grandparents, their eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and reverence, as they recounted the tale of the brave daughter who so cherished her father, an old and weakened man, that she had committed a crime punishable by death, just to take her father's place in the army

and not only the bravery of doing so, but the decision she made to refuse any title and rewards gifted to her after the war, and simply a request of a steed for her to go home

your family has long treasured the legacy of such a figure, who brought immense honor to your name, and her values have been entrenched into your being

which is why it isn't much surprise that you got along quite well with silver, who often showed how much he respected his father, supposedly a fearsome general in Briar Valley

your schoolmates in NRC were often a bunch of rambunctious teenagers, so silver's calmness and respectful attitude was quite a breath of fresh air

though when he started talking about his childhood hero, you found yourself filled with pride that your ancestor's tales could reach even people in Briar Valley

once he learns your heritage, he would definitely deeply respect for you, asking you questions about the legend that has been lost to history

he loves when you show him some artefacts your family has protected for centuries, a sword gifted to her by the emperor, a treasured wooden hair comb with a orchid flower carved onto it, and even statues of a dragon believed to be the guardian spirit of the family

silver's eyes always glow with curiosity when you talk about the hero, and he even seems to be more awake and less likely to doze off

silver has a newfound appreciation and respect for your

Silver's eyes widened with wonder as you unveiled the artifacts from your family's collection. He ran his fingers gently over the comb, feeling its history in his hands.

"Wow," Silver breathes, his voice filled with reverence. "The detail on this comb is exquisite. The flower... you said this was a reference to her name?" At your nod, a soft smile graces his lips. "An orchid flower, a symbol of nobility and grace, just like the hero herself... This is amazing... I wish I could show it to my father..."

"I can't believe I have the honor of meeting a descendant of the legendary hero... It's an absolute privilege to learn more about her from you..." his words trail off as he succumbs to a gentle, peaceful slumber.

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[thegayhimbo]

Stranger Things "Deliver Me From Evil" Review

If you haven't yet, be sure to check out my other Stranger Things Reviews! Like, Reblog, and let me know what your thoughts are, as well as any theories you might have for Season 5!

Stranger Things Reviews/Theories

Stranger Things The First Shadow

Stranger Things Comics/Graphic Novels:

Stranger Things Six

Stranger Things Halloween Special

Stranger Things The Other Side

Stranger Things Zombie Boys

Stranger Things The Bully

Stranger Things Winter Special

Stranger Things Tomb of Ybwen

Stranger Things Into The Fire

Stranger Things Science Camp

Stranger Things “The Game Master” and “Erica’s Quest”

Stranger Things and Dungeons and Dragons

Stranger Things Kamchatka

Stranger Things Erica The Great

Stranger Things “Creature Feature” and “Summer Special”

Stranger Things Tales From Hawkins

Stranger Things x Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Crossover

Stranger Things The Voyage

Stranger Things Tie-In Books:

Stranger Things Suspicious Minds

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 1 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 2 of 3)

Stranger Things Runaway Max (Part 3 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 1 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 2 of 3)

Stranger Things Darkness On The Edge Of Town (Part 3 of 3)

Stranger Things Rebel Robin Book and Podcast (Part 1 of 2)

Stranger Things Rebel Robin Book and Podcast (Part 2 of 2)

Stranger Things Hawkins Horrors Review

Stranger Things Flight Of Icarus

Stranger Things Lucas On The Line

Stranger Things Episode Reviews:

The Vanishing of Will Byers (Part 1 of 2)

The Vanishing of Will Byers (Part 2 of 2)

Synopsis: While delivering pizzas on a dark night in Lenora, California, Argyle and Jonathan exchange creepy stories...........

Observations:

I wasn't aware this comic came out last May. If I had known, I would have reviewed it then before I saw The First Shadow. Ah, well. Better late than never!

For a short released on Free Comic Book Day, this was a nice quick read, and a fun story centered on Jonathan and Argyle. It has a similar premise to Halloween Special and Hawkins Horrors in that it focuses on scary urban legends, but the main differences here are 1.) They're told from Argyle's perspective, 2.) There's a strong comedic tone to these stories as opposed to just playing them for straight horror, and 3.) The stories Argyle tells are tied to his Mexican heritage, and ones he likely grew up listening to from his family.

Take his first tale for example: As an 8 year old boy, he attended his cousin's birthday party, and at one point encountered a monster called a Chupacabra:

In Latin American folklore, the Chupacabra is a creature known for sucking the blood out of animals, and having a reptilian, alien-like form (though some people claim it also has some similarities to a kangaroo). Its name means "goat sucker" in Spanish, and it's often considered to be of the same species as vampires.

Naturally, Argyle freaks out at seeing the creature, and attacks it with a baseball bat (similar to what Steve Harrington did to the Demogorgon in S1)................only for it to be revealed that it was never there to begin with, and that he ended up smashing his cousin's pinata with the bat:

Then we get another story from Argyle about his first crush (Suzie Q) whom he skips class with so they can make out in the janitor's closet........only to conveniently encounter La Llorona:

Just like with the Chupacabra, La Llorona also comes from Latin American folklore, and is a vengeful ghost who drowned her children in a fit of rage after her husband cheated on her, and now haunts watery areas (lakes, rivers, etc), unable to move on to the next life, forever wailing over her dead children. In some versions of the tale, she also goes after those who are unfaithful, still clearly sore over what happened to her.

Funny enough, the first time I ever learned about the legend was from watching the pilot episode of Supernatural:

But just like with Chupacabra, La Llorona was never really there, and instead a teacher named Miss Downers shows up, catching Argyle and Suzie Q ditching class, and punishing Argyle as a result:

The final story occurs around the time Argyle gets hired at Surfer Boy Pizza, where he encounters yet another monster, this time known as the Quetzalcoatl:

Quetzalcoatl (also known as "The Feathered Serpent") is a deity in Aztec culture, whose role varied, from being the God of vegetation and wind, to even being a symbol of death and resurrection, and also contributing to the creation of humanity. Like with most Gods, the mythology surrounding him was constantly evolving, with different stories analyzing his exploits and role in the universe.

It is weird and hilarious that an all-powerful God would randomly show up to scare the daylights out of Argyle after he just finished his job interview.........and you can already put together what actually happened during this scene:

With all 3 of these stories, it's pretty clear the monsters Argyle claims to encounter aren't really there, and are more symbolic of Argyle's feelings in the moment: His disinterest (and possible jealousy) with his cousin's birthday party leads to his "encounter" with the Chubacabra and destroying his cousin's pinata. His romantic interest in Suzie Q and her later "unfaithfulness" after she rats him out to Miss Downers having parallels to La Llorona's legend, and even his new job as a pizza delivery boy reflecting the mythology of Quetzalcoatl who brought maize (corn) to humans. It's ambiguous if Argyle just has an overactive imagination, or if he's tripping balls and hallucinating in these stories, but the main theme seems to be that he's constantly getting into trouble while taking it in stride. It's probably a big factor in why he was so willing to accept Jonathan, Will, and Mike's explanation in S4 about the Upside Down.

Jonathan is with Argyle in his van as he tells these stories, and while he doesn't go into specific details about the horrors he faced in Hawkins, he does allude to them in a somber tone (something Argyle takes note of):

It works as a nice contrast to Argyle's lighthearted tales, and a way of showing that, despite having moved to Lenora, Jonathan is still haunted by the monsters of the Upside Down and the fear that they will return one day (which sadly happens in S4).

It's nice to finally get a comic that focuses on Jonathan and Argyle and the friendship they shared during their time together. Argyle was a standout in both the Lenora storyline (which was one of my least favorite arcs on the show) and S4 as a whole. While he did serve as comic relief, there was a surprising amount of depth and insight to Argyle (such as pinpointing the problems with Jonathan keeping secrets from Nancy, being savvy enough to follow Colonel Sullivan's trail to El, and even providing El with the salt-bath she would use for remote-traveling in order to save Max from Vecna) that made him a lot smarter than he appeared on the surface.

Those moments alone allowed me to appreciate him.........which is why I wasn't happy when Eduardo Franco announced back in January that he hadn't gotten a call from the Duffer Brothers for S5, which likely means his character won't be returning:

I am hoping I'm wrong about this, and that they're deliberately misleading fans about Argyle not coming back to prevent spoilers about the last season. I even speculated on the idea that Eduardo has an NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement), which is why he might be cagey about production details. There's nothing, for instance, to suggest that the Duffer Brothers couldn't have called him several weeks or months after this interview, and he's simply keeping quiet about that for the sake of the show. There's also the possibility of the Duffer Brothers reading the room over fans reacting to Argyle's absence (which was pretty negative) and making the changes necessary to give him an important role in the story.

It's also possible to argue that since Argyle lives in Lenora and S5 will take place exclusively in Hawkins between 1987 and 1988 (a whole year or two after S4), there isn't any logical way to keep Argyle in the show, and I can understand that perspective to some degree. However, it still doesn't change how it comes off as the Duffer Brothers wasting the potential of yet another character (*cough* Kali/Eight from S2 *cough*), and nuking a friendship between Argyle and Jonathan in the process that fans reacted positively towards and wanted to see more of. Argyle was good for Jonathan in that he allowed Jonathan to be more open and relaxed than he ever was in Hawkins (even while introducing Jonathan to Purple Palm Tree Delight to achieve that), and was genuinely supportive of Jonathan through his issues.

Not many friends would be willing to drive halfway across the United States and put themselves in constant danger the way Argyle did. He was a loyal companion, and he absolutely deserves to be part of the Party, and have a role in taking down Vecna and the Mind Flayer.

As for Jonathan.............I've seen a growing chorus of fans who've complained about his character and story being shoved into the background with each passing season, and I have a hard time refuting that claim. Season 1 was where he arguably has the most relevance to the show, from his motivation to find Will when he disappeared, to his growing feelings for Nancy and how that brought him into conflict with Steve. However, ever since Season 2 when he finally got together with Nancy and helped her get Hawkins Lab shut down, it feels like the writers have lost interest in Jonathan, and either reduced him to a side-character in other people's storylines (i.e. Nancy dealing with sexism in the workplace in S3, or Will dealing with his feelings for Mike in S4) or have given him arcs that come off as inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

I make no secret I wasn't a fan of Jonathan's arc in S4. While he did get a few chuckles from me when he was stoned, I wasn't impressed with other aspects, from him ditching Nancy during Spring Break, to keeping her in the dark about not applying for Emerson College (which was the school they were both supposed to attend). I know fans have analyzed Jonathan's behavior to the moon and back, and I get what the Duffer Brothers were trying to go for with Jonathan's indecisiveness and his fear of creating a relationship with Nancy that would echo the horror show that was Lonnie and Joyce's marriage, but it was still frustrating to sit through, and in comparison to many of the other arcs that season (Vecna, Hopper escaping Russia, Dr. Brenner's return, etc), this felt like small potatoes, and a conflict that could be easily resolved if Jonathan sat down with Nancy and talked it over with her.

I am somewhat curious where they're going with this. Since the last season takes place a year or two after the events of S4, it makes me wonder if Jonathan will have already come clean to Nancy about Emerson by the time S5 starts, or if he'll still be keeping that secret from her. I really hope it's the former because I have zero interest in sitting through multiple episodes where Jonathan continues to lie to Nancy until she eventually finds out about it.

Adding on to this, I'm not thrilled that they brought back the Nancy/Jonathan/Steve love triangle in S4, and that the marketing for S5 is focusing exclusively on that:

In a season where we're likely going to see multiple characters die and have a final gruesome battle between Hawkins and the Upside Down, this comes off as superfluous. The "love triangle" should have been over and done with by S2, and I'm not going to be thrilled if Jonathan and Steve's interactions in Season 5 consist of them duking it out over Nancy. All 3 characters deserve better than that. 😒

I want to be clear that I still like Jonathan as a character, and I'm still rooting for Jancy despite everything. All that I want for Jonathan at this point is to have a decent storyline, and be given more focus in the final season. I remember having similar criticisms of Lucas's role in S3 at the time, and expressing how I wanted Lucas to have an arc of his own for Season 4. The Duffer Brothers must've heard that (or at the very least gotten feedback from fans about it) because Lucas got one in S4 that not only was engaging and helped further his character development, but was also one of the highlights of that season.

By the same token, I hope Jonathan gets that treatment, with an arc where he's at the front and center that helps further his character development. One thing that gives me hope that they might do this is a behind-the-scenes Tweet from S5's production, revealing that there will be a flashback episode in "Sorcerer" (Episode 4 of Season 5) focusing on Jonathan when he was 13, as well as Will and Mike when they were 8 years old:

My hope is that the flashback gives more insight into Jonathan's past and mindset. I'm sure there will be a focus on Mike and Will and their relationship, but I would like to see more revealed about Jonathan as well. I hope that he become more open and trusting with people (aside from his immediate family, Argyle, and Nancy) and eventually realizes he doesn't have to worry about turning into Lonnie or continuing to act as a co-parent to Will, and can start living his own life without feeling like he has to limit himself.

On top of that, I also want Jonathan to have some kind of confrontation with Vecna where he dishes out some much-needed payback after the hell Vecna has put Will and his family through.

Overall, this was a delightful short comic that I wish had been longer. It's currently free on Kindle if you wish to check it out! :)

[imthepunchlord]

How each dragon look like?

It'll depend on the user.

Dragon itself is such a broad term, it can be very flexible in what's a dragon. Classic example is the definition of dragon between Western and Eastern dragons.

Media today defines wyverns as dragons.

Monster Hunter also defines the Kirin as a dragon, and the Chimera looking Teostra and Lunastra as dragons.

So this flexibility on what is a dragon will apply to Living Legend, how that dragon will look and what it will be will depend on the user. Same goes for the element they breath (fire, lightning, wind, water, or ice).

Like, Marinette I can say for sure will be a mixture of a Chinese and European dragon given her heritage. And her element would be wind.

Others I'd have to think about. Alya and Adrien maaaaybe chimeras? Or maybe cokatrice for Alya? Only other for sure is that Chloe and Lila I would vote would be hydras to play off their two faced nature. Maybe Zoe too to play off her deceptiveness.

[icespyders]

ooooh i got all mad about veilguard again, time for more word vomit

so the release date trailer tells us more about the plot of the game: in an attempt to avert the destruction of the Veil, rook instead inadvertently freed the Evanuris, the elven gods who once ruled Arlathan and have been imprisoned in the Fade/Beyond since the Dread Wolf tricked them and trapped them when he created the Veil in the first place. in the trailer, solas's dialogue refers to the Evanuris as "corrupted," and the main hook of the game seems to be defeating the elven gods before they destroy the world (idk why they want to destroy the world, i guess they're just super cheesed off about being imprisoned in the Fade for eleventy billion years). it also seems like the return of the Evanuris and/or whatever damage solas managed to inflict on the Veil has made magic go haywire in Thedas (it looks like harding is doing some sort of magic akin to magic we've seen sandal inexplicably do in DAO/DA2, probably linked to the Titans introduced in The Descent, which means it's all linked to lyrium somehow, and that's cool at least), which makes sense, since Arlathan was a society suffused with magic and the lack of magic post-Veil led to their destruction, as far as we've seen so far; them coming back and bringing wild magic with them tracks to me. the fact that we're specifically using the word "corrupted" suggests Blight sickness, which also makes sense, since both elven lore and the tevinter lore features a distant city, where the Evanuris are trapped and where the tevinter magisters trespassed and brought the Blight down on the world; if this is the same city in both traditions, it makes sense for the Evanuris to be Blight-sick, if that indeed is the source of the Blight and the darkspawn etc

my big problem is that: i really really hate the evil Evanuris rewrite, because our only source claiming the Evanuris are evil is solas, the Dread Wolf, a literal trickster god who lies constantly to suit his own ends, both in lore and in practice in DAI. he spends all of inquisition lying directly to everyone around him! even solas stans have to admit that; he's not telling the truth about himself, his goals, and his knowledge of the whole situation with the Breach and corypheus. i simply do not trust anything he says, so i'm really disappointed that, apparently, this whole time i was supposed to fully believe a trickster when he talks nonsense that contradicts previously established lore.

the elves are one of the most oppressed groups of people in the entire series, whether city elves or dalish; imo only the qunari have a rougher time in thedas. merrill, for example, talks all the time about the hole left in her understanding of herself and her heritage because their records are gone, their artifacts are scattered or broken, their society was all but destroyed (Jaws of Hakkon ultimately is all about this, too, ameridan being an elf was deliberately erased from records and i doubt he's the only one). so the elves hang onto their traditions about the Evanuris and Arlathan because it's pretty much all they have left of their culture, and it just really rubs me the wrong way that Veilguard takes the faith culture of this deeply oppressed group of people and twists it into something nefarious. i've played an elf in most of my dragon age runs where that option is available to me, and i've always really enjoyed picking up codexes about the lore and legends. i thought really carefully about picking vallaslin when i played as a lavellan inquisitor in my first time through DAI. i really hope that there's more to the Evanuris in Veilguard than solas's rewrite of the lore, but i have a bad feeling they're just gonna be the bad guys no matter what, and it sucks for me. i went all through Trespasser skeptical of anything and everything solas claims that contradicts previously established lore, but i guess i was the idiot all along!!!! stupid me, refusing to trust a trickster god who played me for a fool for all of inquisition, doing his Dread Wolfy play-both-sides bullshit. i should have realized solas is actually the main character of the entire franchise. fuck this game

[miyakuli]

Dordogne

Dordogne, ma belle Dordogne

Dordogne is a narrative and interactive game in which we travel through the memories of the young Mimi, on vacation in the South of France with her grandmother Nora. It's the first game from French studio Un Je Ne Sais Quoi, and it's already a great success that's sure to appeal to young and old alike, although it lacks a little depth on various levels.

❤ It's a visual slap in the face; the watercolor environments are gorgeous and reminiscent of postcard illustrations, the warm colors are comforting and the animations are charming. It's a real enchantment to explore the surroundings in this almost heavenly setting.

❤ The French dubbing is impeccable. The intonations are always spot on, but what's more, the voices are soft and pleasant to the ear. And since there are tape recordings to listen to from time to time, I found myself settling down and letting myself be lulled by the sound of their voices. ❤ The nostalgic feeling that emanates from the game is strong and touching. Whether it's in the daily summertime activities with grandma, or the fascination of discovery and exploration through Mimi's childlike eyes, or even with the vintage equipment used that will resonate with the oldest among us (team 90's here ;D). ❤ A discreet but relaxing soundtrack, which immerses us in the ambient sounds of the French countryside.

+/- Even if the themes addressed are not new (depression, grief, family conflicts…), they are nonetheless well handled and enough to touch hearts. I do find, however, that certain points are not developed enough and are cut short at the end (the question of the father, for example, or the story surrounding Renaud). +/- Paradoxically given its title, the game doesn't highlight the department's heritage enough for my taste. So, yes, we explore the richness of the area, with its rivers, caves and forests, and we also discover the legend of the Coulobre, the river dragon. But I was also expecting to learn about the history of the place (perhaps passed on by the grandmother), the local gastronomy (with the market), or maybe even local activities…the only thing I learned about the commune of Sarlat is that there's a market and that you can apparently go up in a hot-air balloon (as you can see them in the distance :p). +/- I love having a diary to fill with text, audio, photos and stickers, it's my thing :) The game then encourages you to explore and find all the collectibles you need to fill the pages as you wish. However, I find this option rather limited. In fact, the game is one long directional corridor, and you clearly can't explore the unlocked places on the map as you like, but above all, the areas where you can take sounds and photos are too rare. For a game that celebrates the adventurous spirit of our childhood, this is a real shame. +/- Some might criticize the gameplay for being too simplistic, with only a few puzzles or interactions with objects. Personally, I've found that these simple tasks (cooking, decorating a picnic, repairing a toy, etc.) are in harmony with the idea of recalling the sensations of the character's childhood. On the other hand, the game CONSTANTLY guides us through these actions (even though the keys are always the same), and we can't deactivate this help, so for the more adult audience, this is rather annoying. In my opinion, this takes away from the tactile memory aspect of the game, as we're not given the opportunity to find out for ourselves what gestures to make.

✖ Moving around with the controller can be a little clumsy. ✖ End credits with a single song, and the rest is done in absolute silence, not even little ambient sounds to accompany it all (yes I generally watch the credits in their entirety and I can tell you here that it was very long xD). ✖ A little too short, it would have deserved an extra hour to better conclude the story.

Dordogne offers incredible visual immersion, but arguably relies a little too much on it, being a little shaky in its scenario and gameplay ideas. Nevertheless, it's a pleasant getaway, which might tempt some to pack their suitcases and visit the place themselves. It may not completely satisfy the most avid of explorers, which is why I'd recommend the beautiful Season: A Letter to the Future game, which is in the same spirit of discovery and wandering.

➡ My Steam page

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 7: Daemon

MASTERLIST

Summary: Daemon thinks back on his life and makes an intriguing but infuriating discovery about Naera. Naera dreams of an old encounter in the Shadowlands.

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: nothing, really

Daemon Targaryen had lived a life tainted by death, war and distrust. He had fought for a succession which he had been denied, fought for a bride which he had been denied, and fought a war also, the War of the Stepstones, which he had won, only to relinquish his crown in exchange for his brother’s favour and love. His brother had refused to let him join King’s Landing's court in any proper demeanours, refused to specify his place in the line of succession, refused him his chosen bride and refused him another war when the sailors had gotten their crabs again and returned things to the way they had been.

Tap.

Yet, Daemon had said nothing. He had felt nothing new other than the rage on his brother, on those who manipulated him, on his own weakness which had failed him in those wars, and he knew that he would lose again. He would lose, and lose, but the Gods are just, and they shall grant him solace for his losses. 

In all his life, Daemon had owned only three things he considered precious—his sword of Valyrian Steel, Dark Sister, with which he had slain and injured and watched life pour out of men faster than he had felt wine pour down his mouth, his Crown of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea, won with fire and blood and death and devastation, but it had been his, which he had happily surrendered for his family and his heritage. He prided his heritage, his blood that came from Old Valyria, his fire that had been borne out of dragons, his dragon, Caraxes, the Bloodwyrm, and his family, despite his disapproval of his brother’s weakness in matters of all heirship, diplomacy and action, his older niece’s idiocy in ruining her political position by bearing children which so brazenly lacked Valyrian heritage, and his ingrained hatred for all his brother’s children from his second marriage—the drunkard idiot raper, the miss-eye thieving cunt, the infant whose name resembled his, and the little girl with her bugs and silence. They all meant nothing to him because they weren’t dragons. They were sheep, and dragons should never have mingled with the scum in the first place. The dragons should have flown above the forever, kept to themselves, and never allowed filth into their bloodline. Alas, it had been done, and now the consequences were all that remained to be dealt with.

He could feel a war coming, could feel the calm before the storm that swirled even then. It wouldn’t be soon, not anytime near, but eventually, some little ant will consider himself a King, and all hell would rain down, in fire and blood, and he was not going to let the Greens win.

He would sooner burn them all.

Tip-tip.

He had not known what to make of his brother’s stupidity in forcing another marriage on him after the Bronze Bitch of the Vale—he remembered Viserys’ sentiment when he had stated that Daemon would have everything he had ever wanted—a Valyrian bride, who had been defiled and dirtied by the Dornish and the Dothraki, then wandered off to forbidden lands of shadows and darkness and learning, removed from the line of succession, forgotten by all in Westeros but by a handful of Citadel maesters and cunts who still dared insult her, and then called back, handed to him to salvage and protect, when it was clear from the years of rumours and centuries of legends which she had left behind in her wake, that she was the last person who needed protecting.

It had all been a filthy, patronizing joke to put him in his place and hope for his satisfaction. The stench of the Hightower cunts—of his brother’s beloved, primped and prepared Queen, was all over it. Alicent, he knew, would die by his hand in the war if it ever came, and he also knew that it would. There was a storm already brewing, in every snide comment and disdainful glance at Rhaenyra’s children, at every brandished green or black gown donned by the women for their factions, in every word spoken and every breath taken, the seeds of war had been sown. It was only a matter of time.

Tip-tap.

Perhaps, this is what would set it in place. The death of his bride, his niece, the beloved Silver Knight of the East—no, of the West, where she had grown, but also of the East, where she had been known, and where she still was known. He did not know what had happened, and he would not know ever, perhaps. He did not know why her dragon had fled the pits, why she believed him to have flown to Asshai, why she had torn from his embrace screaming in pain. He did not know anything about her, and Alicent had already mustered that fact for herself. 

She had questioned him for her state, blaming him in all but the direct phrases, but the thin watery veil had ripped away when Viserys had snapped at his Queen, and put her down for her words. For once, his brother had been strong, and Daemon would have smiled had it not been under those circumstances. 

For all Daemon knew, the Greens could have poisoned her before the wedding. They had enough reason for it, with her quickly growing reputation and her academic splendour, and the fact that she had dragged the Dornish to attend the wedding-Qoren Martell himself, which would provide the opportunity for an alliance. She was resourceful, and brilliant, and principally exotic, as Daemon saw her. It could be them, it probably was, but he had no path to prove their involvement, no method to ruin them, not without her mind and her ideas and her relations. He had nothing without her, and yet, he had nothing of her.

Tap, tap, tap, tapping droplets, were all he heard, those which spilt off Naera’s bedside table and hit the floor beneath, from when he had knocked over a pitcher of water. Tap, tapping, tip, tip, splat, and it sounded a little different every time. Daemon sat alone beside her, staring at her closed eyes and slackened shoulders.

He did not move. He only looked.

He had been surprised, annoyed, understanding and a thousand other things by her resistance—she had run, she had refused, and she had escaped him several times already. She had refused gifts, cut down advancements, and avoided him at every turn, except when she hadn’t.

There were times, and those were the very times which gave him hope, the times when she had not refused him, at the very least, not at first. Sure, he could count the encounters on his fingers and still have half his hand left unsatisfied, and sure, she had crawled away to her writings and her musings and absent gazes and glossy eyes, and those dozens of languages she had mastered and her god-awful penmanship, soon enough afterwards, but the path was clearly set—he’d have her, one day, one night, and forever after, and be satisfied.

He had not been satisfied for very long, with both his material desires and his needs for recognition. His favourite brothels had not seen him since that night, that strange night, when he had held her, kissed her, felt her against his skin, if only for a moment. Like a man far stepped into insanity does not know the pleasure of drawing blood until his first murder, Daemon had never really known the luxury and pleasure that came with his niece—he had been enamoured, even if he realised it hours after his wrath at her declaration faded away, even if he had never quite gotten a taste of her to satisfy his hunger, but he knew then, that perhaps, his brother had been right—he would be satisfied by Naera—he would be made happy by Naera.

Though, not then. She would make him happy, and he'd spend his life trying to do the same, only if he could get her to stay. Dragonstone, alone, he would not tolerate. He had never acknowledged the demand again. He would not accept it. He needed her.

Her skin had gained an oily, greasy sheen, perhaps from the sweat, perhaps from the ointments he had seen Maester Mellos spread across her eyes. There is no sign of a wound, they had said, adamant, pulling down her lids to make him see the rosy flesh and whitened surfaces of the eyes. There was no wound, but he had seen her weep crimson.

Where had the blood come from, which they had themselves seen her matted in, which they had seen dry and crust on her cheeks and drip torturously slow down the sides of her neck? If there was no wound, there could have been no blood, and there could have been no pain, but she had screamed aloud for all to hear. He hadn’t been able to help her at all, besides holding her still, before the maesters dragged her away to her chambers and examined her sleeping form for hours.

Incompetent, all of them, Daemon had decided when they only prescribed sedatives and anaesthetics and ointments for the scratches, she had inflicted on herself. He had spoken to his grace, hoping to have his brother send for Eastern healers, for Naera had certainly trusted them more than the Citadel’s finest. Viserys had promised to try, but the way his brother had paled and sweated and stumbled away from her chambers, after nearly everyone had left, told Daemon enough that he wasn’t going to make it to his desk that night.

He needed to send for healers himself, as fast as he could, before hope could be lost—just, that he knew none. He had had no need for such healers, and who was he to ask, besides the doubtful old maester? Not enough, he knew.

Naera’s skin had taken to a sickly pale hue, growing green, then mustard yellow, then back to the face which reminded him of split cream. There's hardly any point in crying over split milk, she had told him once, and the memory made him close his eyes with ire. Why now, why so close to their wedding, so soon after Wisestone’s disappearance?

He recalled the night in vivid detail, the way her eyes had twinkled as she sought out a devious plan to orchestrate their wishes, the way she had written fast—written, on a desk full of correspondence—written. Daemon stood. There, Naera had known the best and mightiest of Essos, and she had written to many. Surely, he could find something in her study?

The door to Naera’s study creaked open slowly, splintering and heaving under the effort. He stepped inside, a candle held in his hand to guide his way through the darkness.

A lone, golden flame sparkled in the study, on her desk, illuminating a sphere around itself. Daemon crept forward, avoiding collisions with chairs and stacks of books, and lit every candle in his path. He lit many—but there were twice as many left, and even though the room glowed yellow and he could see every scrap of parchment, there were more candles to be lit, too many. He ignored the remainder and walked around her desk, passing a faded landscape in progress.

He pulled her chair backwards a foot, flinched at the shrill dragging that sounded, and then sat down on the ebony cushion. Comfortable, was his first thought, and he dragged the chair towards the desk and settled down. There was an assortment of inks laid out before him—black, blue, red, purple and magenta, he had seen, but he noticed rose, and silver, and a forested green also, alongside bundles of feather quills. There were twine-bound papers, yellowed with age and dusk and tainted with spills and burns, arranged in piles, all around the edges of the desk. Her manuscripts laid before him, every single one of them, and he wondered if he’d need to read them all before finding that which he needed. His eyes glazed over the nearest one, and he could recognize words such as mountain pass and leather making, and he swore, silent, to the Old Gods of Valyria, that he'd read them all one day. He'd read every word written by his lady wife, and appreciate them also. 

Daemon began at the first letter on her table. Its seal was broken, covers crumbled, and scanning the contents with haste, he found it to be correspondence with a spice merchant near Pentosh. He referred to the next but discarded it upon noticing a rose emblem at its seal. Tyrell. The next, and the next, and he saw letters by old friends and neighbours in Mereen and Astapor, diplomatic correspondence with Dorne, personal letters to friends and noblemen and women all across Westeros, and political reports from Qarth. He chose not to question the address of that final letter, which called his niece One of the Thirteen of Qarth. It was a tale for another day, and he did not need to pry more than necessary. She’d recite all those tales to him one day, confess every crime and speak of every accomplishment she had endured and committed in her years away. Not today.

The next letter he read was odd. My Love, it addressed, and he stopped in his tracks. He knew that Naera had had lovers in the past, her Dornish prince, her Dothraki relations, rumoured or not, as much as he was irked at their mention, he had never considered her to still hold an affair. It filled him with wrath, almost, burning and irritating, and he brought the letter closer to his eyes, reading the looping, dragging, beautiful penmanship in blood-red ink.

The truth you seek isn’t one I can grant you; Daemon furrowed his eyebrows. A Mystery, a truth sought by his niece, one denied by someone who calls her his Love. You must discover it yourself, for that is the will of the Lord of Light. The will of the Lord of Light? A Priest—a red priest, of all people, then, who his to-be lady wife still loved, but his curiosity rose above his ire at the next statement. I worry that the visions aren’t those granted by the Lord of Light, but I cannot presume. Visions? Naera had never mentioned visions, she had never mentioned any religion of any kind, at all.

Daemon knew that the Red Priests and Priestesses of the Shadowlands, those who preached the faith of R’hllor, watched flames for their visions, and interpreted them for the commands of their God.

You must devote yourself to him, and ask for his blessings of Light, for the night is dark and full of terrors. The night is dark, and full of terrors, and the near hundred candles in her study made sense. The faith of light, from the Shadowlands, where Wisestone had fled. Visions? Her agitation, her headaches, and her behaviours made sense, just another fraction of it.

The letter was unsigned, unmarked, with no emblem on the broken wax seal, just the red ink. Yet, the writing seemed familiar. The looping, rounding, dragging beautiful writing seemed familiar. He leaned back, the parchment still in his hand, and stared at the golden flames around him. He saw nothing in the flames but the flicker of fire, nothing in the light but the surroundings of the study. His eyes narrowed at a portrait, hung across from the desk, of a beautiful face, dressed in red. It was new, he had not seen it on his last visit, but his Naera’s signature by the edge made him curious.

The face was familiar, with its melancholy eyes and copper hair, flaming pupils and downset shoulders. A ruby glimmered at the woman’s throat, shining the same colour as her eyes. She wore red, a red cloak, rosy lips, pale, unblemished skin—ah.

He knew her.

Lady Melisandre, from the journal.

He knew her hand. She had written the letter. She had called his niece Love; she had asked his niece to commit to her faith to solve her visions. What had she hidden from him, from all of them, he did not know.

A clatter, from the bedroom beside him. He shot to his feet, the letter forgotten on Naera’s table, panic rushing up him. No one was set to visit, and the maesters had advised him to leave her alone also. The maids had been forbidden from entrance for the safety, and two members of the Kingsguard had been stationed outside her doors. All incompetent, Daemon knew, and his heart hammered in his chest as he tightened a grasp on his sword and made his way to the bedroom.

Shhh…

Naera’s eyes snapped open. It was dim, but not dark, but too blurry to see anything. Her head dizzied over, hitting something hard as it fell back. The impact sent an ounce of pain through her head, and her vision cleared off.

She stared to her left, and her right, at the ebony frames and iron ornaments she could see and feel, and the ground and seat beneath her moved rhythmically, mimicking steps in sync. She was in a palanquin. All around her, there was red—red curtains, red light,  and oh, red woman. Melisandre sat opposite her, with a pale, slender finger to her lip, whispering words she couldn’t hear, sounds that were heard distantly, as though a wall of water blocked and rippled the voices. 

Shhh…

Naera reached forth, finding her woman’s skin, and held Melisandre close, lost for words. No, she would not let go. My Love, she heard in her mind, look, and when Naera turned her eyes and she followed the priestess’ direction, she peered out of the partition in the red curtains at the world without.

She saw stone, obsidian stone, towering up, up and high, tinged with green, as the sky shadowed black, and she could see no life, no people, no trees, no plants. There was only a river, a river of glowing green that poured by the very feet of the slave men who carried their palanquin, where it bubbled with a darkness she couldn’t bear to stare into. She could smell the acrid stench of the green liquids, could see the thin layers of steaming vapours they sent up with every slow movement.

Naera let her eyes glaze over their path, and looked up, and there was almost a hole in the sky. Between the swirling, contorted, cursed black storm clouds, at the very centre, was a blast of light, pouring straight down to illuminate a city of black stone and towering palaces, where the glowing, frothing, bubbling, burning green river ended, and winged creatures, the shade of coal and ink, flew round the tallest towers and preyed on ill fish and dying wanderers.

Stygai, the Corpse City of the Shadowlands. Melisandre let the curtain fall, and blocked Naera’s sight. She curled a hand around Naera’s cheek, and dragged her face forward, to stare, red eyes to lilac eyes, and to touch, pale skin to sun-bronzed skin, and she smiled, eyes twinkling, hopeful, glad, happy but with a darkness, mysterious, and oh, so very seductive with those flaming red eyes that shone like stars in the darkness, and the large set ruby at her neck that glowed and pulsed with every breath.

Naera swallowed, struggling to breathe as the air felt sudden and hot and humid, gazing at the red woman’s eyes in her sunken, shadowed sockets, at the unblemished skin of her face, at the fire in her eyes, and she leaned forward, and gave her a kiss. My love, she heard again, in her mind, my Knight, and her kiss grew desperate, a battle bound to be lost, my princess, and Naera gasped, moaned, cried in pleasures unfound, as her eyes opened to bright light, to the sunlight that poured around her.

She sat up, head heavy, eyes drooping, and sighed at the hollowness in her heart. A dream. She looked around, searching for water, but the half-empty jar of milk of the poppy by her bed sent panic through her heart. She remembered, the pain, the gold, the sleep—how long had passed? She went through the jars and bottles she assumed Mellos had left by her side, beside the milk of the poppy. Herbal teas, Essence of Nightshade, ointments and other mild poisons to keep her sedated. Useless.

She reached out her hand towards a bottle by the edge of the desk, its label faded away, but there was an ointment within. What had they done to her? Grasping the glass jar of ointment, she yanked her hand towards herself, hitting the vessel that housed the milk of the poppy down to the floor. It collided against the wet floor with a clatter, but Naera did not care.

She opened the ointment jar, ignoring the sounds that came from her study, and sniffed the substance. There was olive oil, a numbing agent by the burn, wheat or starch for the viscosity—harmless, and useless.

Daemon barged into her bed-chamber from her study, panicked, a hand set on his sword. The serenity of the room died away, and fright, movement, and a rush took its place. Naera did not move, still holding the glass jar, raising an eyebrow at her uncle.

“You’re awake…” he spoke, opening and closing his mouth, unsure of words, searching for the right phrase as though he had a hundred to utter. Oh, he had seen something he shouldn’t have, in her study. He should not have ventured there at all, really. It was an invasion of her privacy, but she knew that he would hardly be bothered, as the man who taught the citizens of King’s Landing to fear the gold cloaks that were supposed to serve them.

He saw her eyes set behind him, at the door to the study, and an inkling of guilt washed over him. He swallowed cautiously.

“How long was I asleep?” Naera set down the jar when her uncle relaxed his grip on his sword, manoeuvring her legs down to the floor. She flinched at the wet sensation at her feet, staring down to discern the source of the icky stickiness. Naera stood on dry floor, dragging her feet against the carpets to dry them, and made for the door.

Daemon crossed the room in three strides. He caught Naera by the arms and pulled her into his embrace, sighing at the way the pained panic ebbed out of his body, and he turned his head to whisper a soft "shhh..." in her ear. He took a step forward, and another, and another, and gently pushed her back onto the mattress, still holding her.

“Too long,” he confessed.

MASTERLIST

[kawaiiblue18]

So, random ass Beetlejuice x House of the Dragon crossover au I came up with while spacing out walking between classes

So what if Emily was a dragonless, Targaryen princess who ran off with and married Charles Deetz, a successful farmer. Emily and Lydia, who inherits the classic Targaryen blond hair, die their hair black to conceal their Targaryen heritage (and also cause they love gothic stuff).

Lydia grows up in a small, rural town away from the busyness of the kingdoms. Emily shares with Lydia about their Targaryen heritage (mostly so the young girl understands why they live where they do) and also teaches her High Valerian when Lydia eagerly asks to learn. When Lydia turns 16, Emily tragically dies from illness and this impacts Lydia heavily. Charles finds himself a new wife, Delia, shortly after Emily's death as a distraction from the grief of lossing his previous wife. This action enrages Lydia as it’s like her father is trying to erase Emily’s memory and Lydia’s concerns fall on deaf ears. So Lydia climbs to a high point on a nearby mountain, looking to jump off and join her mother. That is when she's stopped by the weirdest dragon she's ever seen.

Enter Betelguese, a millennia old dragon of unknown origin with bizarre anatomy unique only to him. He wasn’t even classified as a dragon at first until someone recorded him flying and spitting fire. Few have ever seen this wild, otherworldly dragon and even fewer have ever lived to tell to tale. He gets his name from his beetle-like appearance and the star in Orion constellation. Legend has it that the dragon is a demon from hell and/or undead due it seemingly unable to die from old age and from rumors of it surviving fatal injuries.

Lydia has always wanted her own dragon ever since her mother had told her Targaryens can tame a dragon and command it with High Valerian. She, however, never expected it to be this dragon in particular. Lydia, still having a death wish, waits for the dragon to spit fire on her or eat her, but she's surprised to find that Betelguese has instead chosen her as a rider. (Bro pulled a Seasmoke)

With new found confidence and will to live, Lydia believes Betelguese is a gift from Emily. She's determined to use her new dragon to show her father and the world that she is never to be cast aside again.

——

Lydia will eventually make a saddle for herself so she can hang on more securely in the space between the top of Betelguese’s elytra, but in the beginning he lets her hold onto his antennas.

Betelguese prefers forests, grasslands, or other areas where there is high density of vegetation. Despite his size, (he’s about the size of Drogon) he knows his way around trees without bulky wings hindering him so armies trying to hide from dragons using trees won’t work with him. His stripped patterns allow him to camouflage. Betelguese isn’t a picky eater but his preferred food is deer and wild boars. Prior to meeting Lydia, he lived a mostly nomadic lifestyle, going to wherever there was an abundance of prey. This included humans if he couldn’t find anything else.

More on this au later, lmk if y’all are interested in hearing more about it :]

[vampireshaman]

HOTD VERSE: THE DRAGON'S ORACLE

Name: Lady Hae-seol Kim

Titles: Lady of the Misty Isles, The Dragon's Oracle, The Spirit Weaver

Allegiance: Neutral (torn between Team Green and Team Black)

House Sigil: A black dragon intertwined with a crescent moon over misty waves

Dragon: Daeyoung, a silver-scaled dragon with black wings, known for her cold, icy breath and elemental powers. Daeyoung communicates in fragmented sentences.

BACKGROUND: THE ORACLE

Daeyoung’s Backstory:

Lady Hae-seol Kim hails from the Misty Isles, a region renowned not for isolation, but for its unique position in the realm's politics. The Isles are influential, maintaining robust political ties while standing as steadfast allies to House Targaryen. House Kim, one of the few remaining families with a genuine spiritual connection, commands respect for their mystical insights, though their specific practices are not widely known.

Raised under the guidance of her grandmother—a revered oracle who had served the Targaryens during the reigns of Jaehaerys I and Viserys I—Hae-seol was steeped in the traditions of her house. Her grandmother's wisdom established House Kim's crucial role as spiritual advisors, a role Hae-seol inherited.

Unbeknownst to many, Hae-seol is believed to be the reincarnation of the Radiant Moon, a figure of ancient legend said to embody the moon’s power. This reincarnation grants her significant but secretive supernatural abilities, including control over light and lunar magic. Hae-seol keeps these powers hidden, maintaining a facade of normalcy while secretly wielding the power to purify dark forces and use a green-enchanted bow with white lotus arrows.

BACKGROUND: THE MARRIAGE

Hae-seol’s arranged marriage to a powerful but treacherous lord was a strategic move fraught with hidden motives. Her new husband and his family had deceived her, intending to use her as a pawn in their schemes. The Misty Isles’ spiritual heritage, while respected, had not prepared her for the treachery she was about to face.

Finalizing their marriage with a blood pact that made Haeseol of royal blood-- Haeseol's trust and sense of comfort in her husband's arms was taken advantage of as he then threw her into the chasm below, her panicked cry fading into the darkness of the dragon's lair below.

Before her fateful encounter with Hae-seol, Daeyoung was a dragon of profound dignity and strength, living harmoniously with her kin. However, her life took a dark turn when she was captured by humans. Daeyoung was stolen from her family—her siblings and mother—by those who sought to exploit her for their own gain.

The captivity was brutal. Daeyoung endured cruel treatment and horrific experiments, resulting in numerous scars across her once-pristine scales. The humans, driven by greed and fear, inflicted unthinkable suffering upon her. This period of torment bred a deep-seated hatred for humans within Daeyoung. Her scars were not just physical but emotional, marking her soul with a profound disdain for the race that had wronged her so grievously.

The Tragic Misunderstanding:

The final blow to Daeyoung's sanity and sense of justice came when her young were murdered, and she was led to believe that these killings were the work of Hae-seol’s new family. Daeyoung’s grief and anger fueled her vengeance, leading her to believe that the only way to avenge her offspring was to target the sacrificial royal daughters whom she mistakenly thought were connected to her tormentors.

Hae-seol’s arrival in the chasm, where Daeyoung had taken refuge after the betrayal, was marked by a fierce and violent confrontation. Daeyoung’s rage and hatred for humans culminated in a devastating attack against Hae-seol, whom she saw as an agent of the same cruelty that had destroyed her family.

The Turning Point:

As Hae-seol and Daeyoung clashed, the brutality of the dragon’s assault left Daeyoung critically wounded. Despite the pain and anger, a pivotal moment of clarity struck Daeyoung as she lay on the brink of death. The realization dawned that her quest for vengeance had been misguided; she had been manipulated into exacting retribution on the wrong targets.

This moment of enlightenment came too late for many, but it was Hae-seol’s act of unexpected mercy that shifted the course of their intertwined fates. Rather than ending Daeyoung’s life, Hae-seol chose to heal her. This act of compassion bridged the chasm of hatred that had defined their encounter, transforming their relationship from one of animosity to one of mutual understanding and respect.

Dragon and Rider Bond:

The bond between Hae-seol and Daeyoung emerged from the ashes of their violent conflict. Despite Daeyoung’s enduring hatred for humans, Hae-seol’s act of healing and her compassionate nature forged a profound connection between them. Daeyoung’s acceptance of Hae-seol as her rider was not just a recognition of Hae-seol’s power but also a testament to the deep healing that had taken place between them.

Daeyoung, who had once been a symbol of rage and vengeance, became a loyal and powerful ally to Hae-seol. Their bond symbolizes a union of strength and empathy, transcending the hatred that had once defined Daeyoung’s existence. Together, they form a formidable duo, with Daeyoung’s icy breath and elemental prowess complementing Hae-seol’s mystical abilities and wisdom.

THE IRON THRONE: A HOUSE DIVIDED

The Targaryen court’s perception of Hae-seol’s bond with Daeyoung is marked by a complex interplay of fascination, skepticism, and intrigue.

Intrigue:

Hae-seol’s relationship with Daeyoung is a subject of great interest at court. The unique nature of their bond, especially given that Hae-seol is not of Targaryen blood, adds an element of mystery and allure. The court is captivated by the rare and powerful connection between a dragon and a non-Targaryen rider. Hae-seol’s ability to summon Daeyoung using an enchanted whistle, a secretive and mystical artifact she wears around her neck, enhances the enigma surrounding their alliance.

Skepticism:

Despite the fascination, there is an undercurrent of skepticism regarding Hae-seol’s claim to such a powerful dragon. Some members of the court question the authenticity of their bond and whether Hae-seol’s non-Targaryen status affects her connection with Daeyoung. The fact that Daeyoung’s hatred for humans was so deeply rooted in her captivity and subsequent trauma adds a layer of complexity that the court grapples with. The secrecy surrounding Daeyoung’s presence and the nature of their bond only fuel these doubts.

Admiration:

Many in the court admire Hae-seol for her strength, resilience, and the remarkable bond she shares with Daeyoung. Her ability to transform Daeyoung’s rage and suffering into a powerful alliance is seen as a testament to her character and capabilities. Hae-seol’s role as *The Dragon's Oracle* is recognized as a significant asset to House Targaryen, providing both mystical guidance and a formidable dragon companion.

PERCEPTION: BLACK V. GREEN

Hightowers (Team Green):

Hae-seol is more sympathetic toward Queen Regent and now Dowager Queen Alicent. She views the Hightowers with a degree of wariness, but she recognizes the complexity of their situation. The Hightowers, despite their own flaws and ambitions, have been subject to a series of unsettling events that have shaped their current stance. Hae-seol is aware of the political maneuvers and intrigue within the Hightower faction but appreciates their stability and perseverance amidst the chaos.

Targaryens (Team Black):

Hae-seol views Rhaenyra with significant suspicion. Her perceptions are shaped by several troubling events: the convenient death of Laenor, the rapid marriage of Rhaenyra to Daemon shortly after his wife’s death, the maiming of Aemond’s eye, and Rhaenyra’s insistence on "sharply questioning" a young boy over rumors of her bastard sons—who were easily identifiable by their dark hair color. Hae-seol also disapproves of Daemon’s brutal act of beheading Lord Corlys Velaryon for speaking out about these bastards, and the death of Prince Jaehaerys. Although Hae-seol was not present for all these events, her visions provided her with enough insight to recognize the troubling patterns and potential for manipulation within Rhaenyra’s faction. As a result, she maintains a cautious distance from the Targaryens, aware of the instability and strife that may accompany their rule.

CAUGHT IN THE MIDDLE

In the Targaryen court, Hae-seol occupies a unique and influential position. As *The Dragon's Oracle*, she offers valuable spiritual and mystical insights. Her bond with Daeyoung, though not widely known, is a critical aspect of her role. Hae-seol uses her enchanted whistle to summon Daeyoung discreetly, maintaining a level of secrecy about their connection while leveraging Daeyoung’s powers when necessary.

GOALS AND STRUGGLES

Her neutrality in the ongoing civil war is a delicate balancing act. Hae-seol must navigate the treacherous political landscape while preserving her house’s honor and spiritual heritage. Her bond with Daeyoung represents a rare and potent alliance, making her a key figure in the realm’s intricate power dynamics.

Hae-seol faces personal struggles as she reconciles her duties with her personal desires and the weight of her bond with Daeyoung. Her role requires her to balance her house’s spiritual heritage with the demands of the Targaryen court. The healing and redemption of Daeyoung reflect Hae-seol’s own journey of overcoming betrayal and forging a new path.

Her primary goal is to navigate the complex political landscape while upholding her house’s honor and contributing positively to House Targaryen. Hae-seol aims to use her unique position to influence the court and ensure a stable future for her realm, all while managing the delicate balance between secrecy and the profound power she wields.

Lady Hae-seol Kim’s story is one of deep personal transformation and mystical strength. Her bond with Daeyoung, forged from shared suffering and redemption, sets her apart as a unique and influential figure in the Targaryen court. Despite the complexities of their relationship and the challenges they face, Hae-seol’s resilience and wisdom make her a pivotal player in the realm’s intricate politics and mystical heritage.

CONCLUSION

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

What’s your falcon claw lore in Amaranth?

i got this a while ago, sorry its taken so long, decided i'll try and tackle my old asks and all.

This is a long one, especially the section about Ultimas, so... strap in,

TW mentions of like... murder and invasion, and stuff. Nothing graphic, just said that it happens and all

Falconclaw is one of the few villages that have survived from before the Ro'Meave family expansion outside of Gal'Ruk. Multiple regions have Ro'Meaves in their noble bloodlines and all, and Ru'Aun and Gal'Ruk even had them as their kings for hundreds of years. However, not all of Ru'Aun submitted to their rule once they came over.

Falconclaw as well as a few other villages (like Boboros, where Dante is from) managed to retain their heritage and culture despite the invasion, and Falconclaw in particular took on a very defensive and aggressive strategy to do this. They selected their land, built up walls large and strong enough to withstand armies, and if anyone who wasn't their own tried to surpass them, they would be killed and whatever was left of them afterwards would be displayed upon the walls to drive off any wandering adventurer without bad intentions. Good people don't go to gore land, after all, and it was never their intention to hurt good people.

The only real reason this was successful was because the people of Falconclaw had always been very good fighters, as a large percentage of their population had werewolf blood. Their village was the one in which the Ultima curse began, in fact. For hundreds of years, this worked, and they managed to keep their own little populace alive with their own culture and traditions despite their close proximity to O'Khasis, the stronghold for the kings of Ro'Meave name.

It was during the war of the Magi that some major changes happened to their structure, though. Their village was not far from the battlegrounds, and they watched as Wyverns and dragons rained fire from the sky and the ground became corrupt with the potent magicks that was used by those upon it. They watched Irene slay armies on her lonesome, and the Destroyer also. Such an act was clearly admired by a little warrior village, and so the religion of the Three began to thoroughly thrive, not only in Falconclaw, but in some surrounding villages also. Balance, Justice and Death were the main three things they worshipped, and she was their goddess of War. Up until Falconclaw's destruction, she remained as such, though her mythos varied much compared to the legends of the rest of the region, as those who had written about her had been the ones to witness the war first hand.

I mentioned how the Ultima had originated in Falconclaw, but it is not only that, but all of the Ultimas had been their lords. They don't have 'lords' as such, as the title of lord goes null when the title of Ultima meant the same to them, but to the outside world, that was what the ultimas were called. They had the power of a god, and the ability to bestow immeasurable strength and vitality to their own people (lycanthropy). Once a firstborn son came to be, his father would lose the title of Ultima and instead be a former, someone who acted as leader in the Ultima's place until the Ultima was of age (typically this was around 20, but was whenever the former thought it was fitting). When the ultima was given the permission to, he would go through the trial of the soul, a kind of 'good and bad' balancing scale kind of trial, to see if they were both good of heart and yet willing to commit atrocities for the good they intended. This was done through claiming the Moonlight Ward, the largest chunk of Shad's relic that remained after the war (and was discovered by the people of Falconclaw, given to their lord, and voila). Of course, anyone of Shad's blood could claim the moonlight ward, but Shad only has one kid in my rewrite, and, uh, she dies as a child. so he has no descendants. Aaron and Shad are unrelated. However, because of Shad's own nature as a person, before his evil and all, the moonlight ward only goes to those that share his nature. So, being good but being willing to do evil for good reasons.

Ultima's became OP once the trial of the soul came into place, however, this did not imply that the ultima always kept those traits of goodness, or evil, and it did not imply that they all had it to begin with. If an ultima were to fail the test, or refuse the test and the title, they would be killed. It was thought of as a bad omen to keep around an ultima with no purpose, and it would take up space that a younger brother or cousin could fill by taking on the curse themselves. Formers were often left alive, though, as the curse still affected them somewhat, but they weren't considered even the same species as Ultimas anymore. If there were no Ultimas or male heirs, a female heir would act in place, under the title of former despite never having formerly been an ultima, until an ultima could be named.

The mothers, wives, sisters and daughters of Ultimas did have a special place in society, and were not looked down upon as much as one might expect from a male-dominated rulership. They were often advisors, and bodyguards, and were treated just as well as their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers were. Just because they did not carry active traits of ultima blood (or, in the wives case, didn't have ultima blood at all... hopefully) that did not mean they were not worthy of political strength and adoration. It wasn't uncommon for them to be formers position, after the father of the ultima died in battle or of disease when the ultima was still young, and they were often practitioners of magicks. Elder sisters of Ultima brothers were also considered especially important, and would have a lot of religious power amongst other things.

The Ultimas themselves had a lot of religious significance, being the bearers of godly curses, and whilst they mostly did not head their own religion, they were expected to be extremely active in it. Attending services, adorning themselves in the symbol of their chosen god, sticking to their religious rules and showing them off, etc. Generally, they were mostly performative in their religious significance, but there were those that ran their religion and were very active in it.

Since the Ro'Meaves had entered Ru'Aun, Falconclaw and O'Khasis have had serious damage with eachother. A lot of murders of eachothers peoples, causing general beliefs and ideals to spread through eachother's communities (O'Khasis' fear of wolves, Falconclaw's distaste for the colour blue), and a lot of messing with eachother's supplies as well as trade routes. Importantly, they had a lot of religious conflict, especially as Falconclaw held some of the most reliable information on Irene, and relics, and whatnot, despite O'Khasis calling itself the religious centre of Ru'Aun. This came to a peak when Zane took over the church, as he believed they were entitled to the works that Falconclaw had. He tried to ask Aaron to give them up, he tried to threaten him, and he eventually settled on killing the entire village and taking the works for himself rather than admit defeat. So he did as much, being an asshole. The first breach of Falconclaw walls in thousands of years, and it was a child chasing a cat. Of course, Jacob being surprisingly devious worked in Zane's favour, and he gave to Jacob the amulet to bring to his father, and listened with a grin as the village died in screaming agony. Then, he himself skiddadled inside, captured Aaron for experiments, raided the library, and realised his plan was incredibly fucked because... oh, shit, it was all written in Falconclaw's specific dialect of Native Ru'Aun, a language which had long since died out in a general sense and only existed anymore in hyperspecific dialects that applied only to certain villages and no longer could even be called one language anymore with how much it varied since they'd all been self isolated for so long. He had killed everyone who could have translated it for him, aside from one guy, who he had blinded.

And thus, Falconclaw began its important lore with blood, expanded into glory, and died at the hands of a man who was too stupid to think before he acted, and a child who was too sweet for his own good.

Oh, also, theres more. Like about how the village ran, and some important historic events, and the religion and all but I wanted to get the important things out of the way. If you want more details lmk!

[snakeoil2]

Part 1: Conquest

You know, I’m not an old man. Even by dragonborn standards, I’m pretty young. I’m only twenty seven. But I’ve had a pretty eventful life, assassination, murder, and adventuring. I fought the Conqueror, and helped take Pakan.

However, there is something that I’m not too happy to see. When I lived with Kallum’s Clan below Dracor, I bore witness to all manner of stories. Tales of titanic dragons, scouring villages with a breath. Legends of unflappable tyrants, ruling with an iron fist. Whispers of vile mages, breaking the laws of nature.

Now, I see none of that. In this sunlit world, no tyrants, few legendary dragons, and “villains” that proclaim the better good while murdering aimlessly. And hired murderers, oh right, “assassins,” who only kill for a good cause. It’s sickening.

Why, even one of the Sleeping Dragon Crew was like that. She called herself Crybaby. Going on and on about good, and how one could do bad, in the name of good.

I’m writing this book for any aspiring villains of the world. Here’s the first lesson for you lot.

BE EVIL.

Don’t become some greater good. BE A VILLAIN! Revel in the dramatic! Pillage! Plunder! Live!

So many I see just… fail. Fail because they can’t stand what they need to do. They’re crushed by the weight of their desire to do what’s right competing with just how inherently destructive what they’re doing is. 

I met a hobgoblin once. Insisted on calling herself a hero. Unfortunately, she began to fall apart when she reaped the seeds of war. Luckily, I was there!

She forgot to burn a couple towns, she was so distraught.

Ultimately, the most important facet of villainy, the cornerstone of villainy, is the desire to do evil. Doing wrong, ENJOYING doing wrong, is what ultimately allows us our drive. And that drive is what grants us true power.

-Yoku Zuna, Archlord and Titan of Pakan, Professional Villain

Chapter 1: Yoku’s Woes

Ah, Pakan. A land torn apart by a hard fought war against the conqueror. Between the Conqueror, the Giants, and the land itself, most preferred to leave it alone. Even the kingdom of Epanak tries to leave it alone.

All those factors were what led Yoku to try and claim it. A land with little to no governing authority, no laws he had to work around, wasn’t that just perfect?

No. No it wasn’t.

Everything that made it a tempting target, also made it rather difficult to take over.

A pair of ogres were lumbering over. The metal plates armoring their body indicated their station as members of the conqueror’s army. The brutes towered over most men, bearing a cruel axe, and a wicked hammer. 

Yoku sighed.

To most a pair of ogres would be a fearsome opponent. Even if they weren’t terribly powerful, at ten feet tall, they loomed head and shoulders over most humanoids.

Yoku was not most humanoids. 

His horns, tail, and red scales marked him as one of the Dragonborn. His Hacenalian heritage had blessed him with extraordinary size, such that he was eye level with these lesser giants. Yoku was not skinny either, layers of fat and muscle rippled throughout his body.

Yoku’s size meant most recognized his strength, but it was hard to recognize just how strong he was, for more than mere muscles were at work.

Yoku felt the magic pump through his veins as he threw the first punch. It connected with a sickening crunch. The ogre began to stumble backwards, only for Yoku to then grab it, pulling it back for a punch to its stomach.

The other ogre rushed forward while Yoku was occupied. With a guttural bellow, it raised its hammer, and brought it crashing down. Yoku raised his arm to catch the blow, and grumbled at the sting. Luckily, it seemed that this pair had not been outfitted with magic weapons.

The ogre Yoku had grappled attempted its own swing, chopping at Yoku’s arm. Again, Yoku merely grumbled at the sting. His thick scales took the edge off most blows, so he’d probably get out of this with only flesh wounds.

It still hurt though.

Yoku chose to ignore the hammer-wielding ogre, instead focusing on the one in his clutches. He hammered its face with several punches until it melted into a bloody sauce, and its struggles ceased.

The other ogre had not simply paused to let Yoku pummel its partner. It rained down blow after blow upon his back, but Yoku ignored it.

Now that the first ogre was dead, Yoku turned his attention to the second. He seized its raised arm, and twisted it. The ogre first thought he meant to take his hammer, but the increasing pressure alerted it to its mistake.

With sudden desperate howls, it struck Yoku with its free hand, aiming to break his grip. Yoku didn’t stop it, continuing to twist, until, finally, the bone snapped.

The hammer fell from the now useless arm, the ogre staring in shock at its broken limb. By this time, Yoku would normally be gloating, or monologuing, or something, but he didn’t bother wasting words on this stupid creature.

He reached over and snapped its neck.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Yoku had chosen the wastes of Pakan, hoping that they might serve as a decent first conquest, but all he’d found were the remnants of the Conqueror’s army, numerous giants, and no proper towns.

Currently, a hill giant was attempting to kill him. The towering oaf carried a long log which served it as a club. It swung the log, making the most of its reach to prevent Yoku from retaliating.

Yoku opened his mouth, unleashing three streams of fire into its face. The giant staggered, raising a hand to its burnt face. Yoku charged forward, raising his blade, hewing its leg with ease.

There wasn’t even anything fun to fight here, it was all just tedious busy work. Go kill these pathetic ogres, kill this starving hill giant.

Occasionally, he would be told by one of the bosses of the Epanakian forces to handle some special quest, a band of trolls burnt to a crisp, a rising star among the Conqueror’s legions crushed by a boulder, et cetera. It reminded him of old times, but something was missing.

He missed the Sleepy Dragon Crew. At least when he’d been adventuring with them, Yoku wasn’t bored. 

Corvus could be annoying, but her magic was fun, and she enjoyed being with him, more than these soldiers anyhow. It was mostly the bird that bugged Yoku anyhow. Nasty little meal thief. She had been given a place among the nobility.

Navar… Yoku could always trust Navar to be at his side through thick and thin, dire straits, or whatever stupidity he and Corvus would dive into. He’d left the Sleepy Dragon to study storm magic, and Yoku didn’t know where he’d gone.

Dionysis and Fennec were interesting. Yoku wasn’t that close to them, but they were entertaining. Of course, they kept messing up the table, disrupting meal times. The pair had left to establish their own… kingdom? Cult? Yoku wasn’t too sure what they were up to now.

Godren… Yoku always found Godren… freaky? Even ignoring the whole were-croc thing, his obsession with death was worrying. He stuck his hand out to grab a drop of primordial death energy! Granted, this was after Yoku grabbed the whole death sword, but apples and oranges. Godren still ran the Sleepy Dragon.

Crybaby never made a good impression on Yoku. While the others had never been as open about their evil as Yoku, at least they didn’t bother hiding behind good like Crybaby. She was frustrating. Last he’d heard, she still worked with the Sleepy Dragon.

And then there was Sword Lady. She didn’t have any other name. She was Fey Shaped, a mortal who has a certain path that they are meant to follow, but if they stray, they can shatter. Other Fey Shaped view this as most would view death. But the Sleepy Dragon didn’t really know much about Fey Shaped, and took her in. Over time, she began to develop some sort of personality, but she still had difficulty expressing her wants. For whatever reason, liking Sword Lady was just about the only thing both Yoku and Crybaby agreed on. She still worked with the Sleepy Dragon Crew. Yoku hadn’t talked to her in a while.

Yoku hadn’t talked to any of them in a while.

He looked to the band of soldiers with him. None of them spoke casually with him. Why would they? A ten-foot tall hired killer, with a history of incredibly violent feats, and now had been named Archlord of Pakan. 

Sure, there were probably others of a higher rank somewhere in Epanak, but the smart ones avoided getting put in charge of Pakan, and even those that did run Pakan didn’t particularly want to be here.

Yoku was both a terrifying figure, and the highest ranked person here. Sergeant Daniels, an Aasimar who had been given the job of wrangling this wild operation, would discuss missions with him, and while she gave him missions, they often felt like busy work. Dealing with trolls? Yoku’s fire was their most effective weapon against them, sure. But a pair of ogres? 

A dull ache was rising from his back again. The entire camp was beginning to run low on potions. And food. And water. They’d need to turn back. Again.

It didn’t matter how many giants were killed, or how far back they drove the Conqueror’s Legion, both had a hold on the region. Pakan wasn’t a rich landscape, but it had enough to sustain people if you knew what to look for. But the Epanakian forces didn’t have time to forage, they needed to establish a foothold. But they didn’t have time to establish a foothold before the supplies they’d brought ran out, and they needed to retreat.

Yoku was angry.

Angry at these soldiers who surrounded him, angry at the giants and Conquerors who fought him, angry at the tribes which just…

The tribes who just survived.

A thought cut through the haze of building rage, like a piccolo in an orchestra. If those tribes would work with them, that would be a step towards solving the food problem. And if the food shortage was no longer an issue, they’d have time to establish a foothold.

For the first time in a while a grin formed on Yoku’s face. It was a grim expression, proof of satisfaction, more than any true enjoyment, but it was a less morose expression than he’d had in months.

He’d need to talk to Sergeant Daniels.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Master Sergeant Daniels was exhausted. She was the highest ranking officer, and she was stuck. Stuck on some dead end assignment, fighting wave after wave of these Conquerors, hoping to one day breakthrough. With the death of the Conqueror, some of the unity had broken, yet there were still a lot of fanatic bodies to try and push through.

This was the third time she’d been sent here. The previous two efforts had failed for the same reasons this one was: lack of support from the nobility. Those fat cats would sit up high, talking about whatever schemes piqued their interest. And their interests didn’t concern Pakan, or the now dead Conqueror. 

One of her soldiers, wasn’t his name… Evan?, came into the tent. “Sergeant? Uh, Yoku wants to speak with you.”

She lifted a hand to her face. That was a new headache.

Dalkan had appeared before her company, she’d been worried. An ancient assassin walking up to someone is a recipe for disaster. Then he said that he had an archlord he wanted her to take to Pakan. Normally, she’d have refused, no matter which Count it came from. But Dalkan didn’t like nobles, so she was willing to entertain his request.

And then she met the hired killer, self-proclaimed villain, and one of the people who helped kill the Conqueror.

A towering dragonborn, glowering at all around him. Though, that might have just been his face. Yoku was far less threatening than he had first appeared. Despite calling himself a villain, he was strangely amiable. At least, til they hit Pakan.

When they got there, Yoku’s many… quirks reared their heads. His stubbornness, his simplicity, his lack of tact, and especially his strange independent streak. 

Sure, he was shockingly capable of surviving in the wastes of Pakan, and he’d often handle the beasts that their company, only three dozen strong, couldn’t deal with without incurring heavy losses.

BUT WHY DID SHE HAVE TO TALK TO HIM!

Ah well.

“Send him in,” Sergeant Daniels said, resigning herself to this fate.

“Oh he’s-” Evan began, before stumbling away from the door as Yoku poked his head in.

“Hey! Sergeant!” he bellowed.

Daniels didn’t shrink from his volume, but Evan lacked her resolve. Granted, she didn’t have the misfortune of standing next to Yoku’s mouth.

Yoku wriggled through the door, fitting most of himself in the tent. He left his legs and tail in the cold, so as to let the other two have some room to breathe. Evan quickly backed up, giving a wide berth to the dragonborn, as wide as he could anyhow.

“Archlord Yoku, what do you need?” Daniels said as amicably as she could manage. 

“Well, I was thinking,”

A miracle, Daniels thought to herself.

“The problem is that we can’t get set up in Pakan? Well, there are tribes that are already set up! Why don’t we just get them to help us? They know how to survive here!”

Daniels sighed. Sure, that’d be swell… just find the hidden tribes that have been hiding out here, unable to be found by the Conqueror or our armies, and then convince them to help us. Brilliant.

“Of course sir, we’ll take that into consideration.”

“Great! Then we should probably retreat for now, thirty some people might be too many,” Yoku replied.

“Wait, what?”

“Yep, glad that’s sorted. I’ll let the soldiers know.”

Daniels watched Yoku squirm out of the door. She turned to look at Evan.

“Did I just lose control of our company?”

Evan just shrugged.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Yoku went to get the soldiers. They were a bit bewildered as Yoku took charge, but they couldn’t exactly ignore him. He was an Archlord.

The troop moved back to Savarak, the territory under the rule of Count Dalkan Arental. They had been using this land as a staging ground for the forays into Pakan. Thanks to Yoku’s favorable relationship, Dalkan had been providing them with a decent amount of resources to maintain their forces, but not enough to properly replenish them. Dalkan had more important things he needed to spend his gold on, and Yoku had asked to take Pakan.

The mood on this return was different than before. The other times there had been a sense of exhaustion, of failure. A weary band, returning bedraggled and starving to a city. This time, they still had a decent amount of food, and only one or two died from the battles they had fought.

Yoku was at the head happily chattering about ways he believed that they could find the tribes of Pakan. Sergeant Daniels was confused. How did he think he could find tribes that hid from the entire army of the Conqueror, or all of the Epanakian armies?

Eventually, they’d returned to their barracks, and the troops dropped all of their packs. Yoku pulled Daniels aside to tell her what he needed.

“Right, I’ll need you to pick, four or five people who you’d want with you. I’ll be back in a week or two.”

“Sir, what is the plan?” Daniels asked. He was surprisingly evasive about answering that question, probably not even intentionally.

“Oh, I got a kobold back in Keep Rememberance who should be able to find the tribes, we just need to avoid the armies.”

Daniels attempted to say something to this proclamation, but Yoku had already begun walking off. She stared after him, shocked. This could not work. But… what other choices did she have? The other lords of Pakan were doing their damndest to avoid this whole issue, the people who could request backup for the armies fighting for Pakan were either uninterested or actively hampering them.

“Sergeant?” Daniels turned. It was one of her soldiers, one who’d been working with her even before the Conqueror’s death. Corporal Reigen. One of the many tired faces who were dying so often from the weather or armies. 

“Corporal, gather up some of the most experienced soldiers. We’re making a gamble.”

If she played her cards right, who knows how well this could go. Either they die the same death their previous course was aiming for, or they risk everything for a dream they could never hope for.

[foxgirltoebeans]

Been neglecting to upload the rest of my art here so I decided I should just upload a bunch of my Caelyn art at once and turn it into a little history lesson on her design through the years!

Before Caelyn as a character was really solidified as my persona I had a lot of ideas about what she could be. I've been obsessed with the concept of a self insert character even before I started using the internet. If I really wanted to go back to the beginning, I could probably argue that I had one back when I was as young as 4 years old. Starting from my teen years, I bounced around different fandoms with my own self insert ocs, though I mostly kept it to myself.

Shown here is the earliest piece I have where I started to actually keep my persona somewhat consistent: my first fursona. Back then I lurked about the furry fandom but since one of my new friends at the time was a furry I decided to make my own sona. Obviously, it's a fennec fox, but I decided to incorporate some of the markings of turquoise-browed motmot as an homage to my heritage. At this point, I had no name in mind for this character I had created, and only drew it once after the fact.

Shortly after I got into League of Legends, I came up with an idea for an oc for it. She was a Lhotlan Vastaya with the power of Oneiric Reality Manipulation who couldn't control it. This has since been a recurring theme in Caelyn's backstories, inspired by my tendency to get caught up in my own daydreaming and vivid dreams.

Next up is when I finally got back into Dungeons and Dragons. I wanted to ease back into roleplaying with a character most like me so I could focus on learning other mechanics of the system. She was first played in a homebrew setting where she and her party had been sent off to an island to explore uncharted territory. Thinking back on it, I probably could've just went with making her a wild magic sorcerer, but I went with a homebrew class called the Dreamwalker.

After that, I tried to change up the design and her backstory a bit, but then decided it was a bit too much for my liking. I even had plans to stream my art and make her into a v tuber for myself, but it's been put on hold for a bit now.

Finally is her most recent iterations where I've played her in Pathfinder Second Edition. It took a little experimenting, but realized I could make her a psychic with the wellspring mage archetype for that power incontinence flavor without using any homebrew. It was really tough with the tiny amount of spell slots you're given, so I might actually give the dreams mystery oracle a shot from Oracles+ when I play her next. It was also when I "came out" as a furry so I reverted her back into my fursona, lol. I drew her here in her casual comfy clothing she dresses up in when painting, in her adventuring outfit, and her formal outfit (which I dont take design credit for, it's just this coordination).

Anyways, if you've read up to this point, I thank you for taking an interest in my character!

[moongothic]

I want to preface this by saying that this is meant to be kind of a shitpost. I just. The thought passed my mind. I laughed at it. Thought about it again, laughed some more and I just had to get it out of my system. So here we are

So when I read the myth of Toyotama Hime I did start to wonder if it could be used as fuel for the Crocodad Fire, the myth being about Toyotama coming from Ryuugyuu Castle to give birth on land etc. And in One Piece, we do have that very castle on Fishman Island. Which isn't surprising or anything, Oda getting inspo/names from various mythologies is nothing new by a long shot, and it's unlikely you could somehow tie Crocodile to Fishman Island through that myth. Like Toyotama coming "from the ocean" could just be turned into "Crocodile coming from the sea as a pirate", doesn't have to be deeper than that

But then I thought

...Do we actually know Crocodile isn't part-merman

Like. You see--

We know half-merfolk-half-humans do keep their fishtails like full-merfolk (see Charlotte Praline), and we know that while mermaids split their tails after 30, mermen never do. So between that and us having The Most Scandalous Feet Pics of Sir Crocodile (from the jailbreak cover story), well, we know he has basic ass human feet, so we know for certain he can't be half-merman

But also

Chimney is 1/4th mermaid. The only mermaid features she inherited from her grandmother were her hair color and her being a "good swimmer". Chimney is part-mermaid, and she has human feet

Like the only thing that could debunk this idea (based on what we know about Chimney) would be if Crocodile was a shit swimmer, but he's a Devil Fruit user so of course he can't fucking swim. So we have literally nothing to prove or debunk the idea.

So like

You've heard of "Crocodile is Whitebeard's bio-son" You've heard of "Crocodile is the missing Kuja Empress" You've even heard of "Crocodile is Xebec's son".

So how about

"Crocodile is 1/4th merman"

Why the fuck not

But the funny thing is

Not only would it weirdly explain why the fuck our beloved Sand Man Who Can't Fucking Swim is named after an animal known for swimming (like OP has weird fucking names, see; Smoker, Baby 5, Monkey D. Dragon, etc. What bugs me about Crocodile is the slightly contradictatory theming, but if he was named "Crocodile" by his merfolk parents, suddenly, it kind of works)

But also like. We know Crocodile fucking Hates the Government. And to be fair, there's plenty of reasons for anyone to hate the World Government, you don't need a personal grudge to hate them.

But if he had merfolk parents (who might be stuck living on the surface because they wouldn't have been able to get their child to Fishman Island without someone essentially delivering him there, 'cause he wouldn't have been able to just SWIM there), then there's a genuinely possibility said parent(s) could've ended up getting caught and turned into slaves. And boy would that give someone A Personal Fucking Grudge Against The Government

But also, due to the in-universe discrimination against merfolk, if Crocodile was part-merman it could mean he could've been harassed for it since a young age, or worse yet, could've become a target for slavers if anybody found out. And somehow, having to hide that part about his heritage would work really well into his trust issues

Not to mention, after escaping Impel Down, Croc and Jinbei have this brief convo (that turns racist) where Croc expresses his surprise over Jinbei being able to summon fish, having thought only merfolk could do that. Of course, Croc being a seasoned pirate and all you could totally expect him to like know about mermaid legends etc, but him having no knowledge about Fishmen is a bit odd. Especially because we know he's been to the New World, so you'd think he must've gone to Fishman Island at least once before? Although, his former Shichibukai Rights probably would've allowed him to cross over the Red Line through Marijois instead of having to pass through Fishman Island, but regardless, it's odd, is it not? But if Crocodile did have merfolk parents whom he got separated from at a young age?? Maybe he learned a thing or two about that side of his family, but never enough?? And then having to hide that side of his heritage could've left him just estranged????

Also IDK if it's worth anything but in the cover stories, we were introduced to our first mermaid Camie at the tail end of Alabasta, while the Miss Goldenweek coverstory ran during Water 7 where we meet Kokoro and Chimney. IDK it's a funny coincidence

I just

Could you fucking imagine

How fucking insane would that be, if Crocodile was part-merman

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

https://www-bbc-co-uk.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-devon-66981924.amp?amp_gsa=1&amp_js_v=a9&usqp=mq331AQGsAEggAID#amp_tf=From%20%251%24s&aoh=16963221914273&csi=0&referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com

If I saw this on another site I would have thought it was satirical, but I don't think BBC News does Satire!

By: BBC News

Published: Oct 3, 2023

A degree in magic being offered in 2024 will be one of the first in the UK, the University of Exeter has said.

The "innovative" MA in Magic and Occult Science has been created following a "recent surge in interest in magic", the course leader said.

It would offering an opportunity to study the history and impact of witchcraft and magic around the world on society and science, bosses said.

The one-year programme starts in September 2024.

Academics with expertise in history, literature, philosophy, archaeology, sociology, psychology, drama, and religion will show the role of magic on the West and the East.

The university said it was one of the only postgraduate courses of its kind in the UK to combine the study of the history of magic with such a wide range of other subjects.

'Place of magic'

Prof Emily Selove, course leader, said: "A recent surge in interest in magic and the occult inside and outside of academia lies at the heart of the most urgent questions of our society.

"Decolonisation, the exploration of alternative epistemologies, feminism and anti-racism are at the core of this programme."

The course will be offered in the Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies.

Prof Selove said: "This MA will allow people to re-examine the assumption that the West is the place of rationalism and science, while the rest of the world is a place of magic and superstition."

The university said the course could prepare students for careers in teaching, counselling, mentoring, heritage and museum work, work in libraries, tourism, arts organisations or the publishing industry, among other areas of work.

A choice of modules includes dragons in western literature and art, the legend of King Arthur, palaeography, Islamic thought, archaeological theory and practice and the depiction of women in the Middle Ages.

==

I mean, it could have been quite good, the history of magic; the effect on human imagination and storytelling; magic in literature and art; magic as metaphor for what we don't know, a stand-in for science; the evolution of societal perceptions of magic through the growth of the scientific method; the role of magic and revelation in early epistemological (truth claims) processes... this could have been a fascinating course.

Then they had to ruin it by stuffing it full of intersectional Gender Studies horseshit and making it ideologically corrupt and completely academically worthless. Except to piss off daddy, who's paying the bill.

This is the exact kind of luxury course that only bored, privileged, upper-middle class people with no real problems or ambition would take. If you take it, you have nothing better to do, and no ambition to better your future prospects. It's low-effort, academically shallow, fosters undeserved moral elitism, but still takes in tuition fees, so it's unsurprising that it exists.

You'd be getting loan forgiveness for it over my dead body, though.