#Head of Imperium

[hjbirthdaywishes]

November 19, 2024

Happy 47 Birthday to Reid Scott.

[neidhart]

he makes me sick

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

"Oh, puppy. If hell is real, it's gonna be pretty crowded down there."

[invinciblerodent]

me studying history (reading everything in World of Thedas about the Tevinter Imperium) the night before the exam (two months before the release of Veilguard)

[toastingpencils37]

Random theory for why in canon (not talking about the VA) Ras voice is different from DR part 1 to later.

In Part 1, while he was still in Imperium, he had to build up a menacing reputation for himself. Thus, the deeper and more growly voice.

But later, in Part 2 and onwards, he doesn't have to do that as much, as he doesn't have as much social power as he did then. And even when he's talking to Jordana, he doesn't have to be as threatening to her, but more generous, as he's offering her a chance to use what she extracted from the source dragon. Plus, that reputation he previously had, is still somewhat there.

[nyaskitten]

SO happy Show Egalt looks more like the set than the set boxart...

[marcusagrippa]

sincerely sorry for the continued imperiumposting but i can't get over this

[neonhellscape]

I'm beating that tech priest with a crowbar again

[gingerbreadmonsters]

wrapped up in clover

or: FOR YOU ARE MINE, AT LAST.

gn!reader, warnings for manipulation, unhealthy romantic relationships and major (canonical) character death, i’m really really sorry. the out-of-nowhere companion to here we are in heaven - look, this is just what happens when you leave me alone with a love song, alright? inspired by ‘at last’ by etta james. takes place pre-cataclysm, with major spoilers for ‘Worth Dying For’. you have been warned! damien throwing stones at glass houses in 1400 words or less.

once again, just to reiterate - warnings for imperium grimdarkness, heavily implied abusive behaviour towards the listener character, major character death, and heavy heavy spoilers for ‘Worth Dying For’. mind the warnings, and you are reminded that you can stop reading at any point if you feel uncomfortable. dead dove: do not eat. reader discretion is advised. minors dni. please consider yourself warned.

We’re happy together.

A crown is not a very easy thing to wear, to be honest.

It’s heavy, and it’s awkward, and it never really sits right on your head. It means that people look at you, and talk about you, and try to use you to get what they want. It means that you have to make speeches on TV, and live in a great big palace, and try not to tear your hair out at the endless stupidity of every godforsaken consul and advisor and High Councillor.

And, worst of all, it means he can’t ever be with you.

People have talked about him since the day he was born. It was to be expected. The only son of Queen-Imperial Sofia, the humanborn woman who rescued the Imperium from the collapse of Emile’s line, who in the most terrifying time of chaos in living memory found clarity. Strength. The foundations of a new age. A heroine of the people, an iron fist in a velvet glove. Turning outwards, ever outwards, from the son she should have loved to the people she claimed to.

What do you do when your mother’s a fairy tale? Pencil drawings can’t kiss you goodnight.

Since before he can even remember, there have been eyes upon him. Upon his face, upon his fate, upon the future of a world that by all known logic should have faltered and died decades ago. The Imperium is his by blood, by right, by determination. If he’s going to be a good king, a great king - and he is, make no mistake - then he might as well give them something to watch.

(That’s you, by the way. They’re watching you. Smile.)

How had you even met? He’s not sure. It’s hazy, the way that memories from when you’re very young tend to be. No matter who you ask, it’s always different - although, to be perfectly honest, it’s not like it actually matters. Semantics. These aren’t the sorts of things they write in history books. You’re here now, aren’t you? Good. Then the matter’s settled.

It is a funny story, though, don’t you think? A little boy with a heart made of sand, dry and coarse and crumbling, falling through his fingers and scraping against his skin. The smell of salt and the rush of the ocean washing over him, soaking through him. Bucket and spade in hand, a sunny afternoon becomes a beautiful palace, covered in shells and pretty stones, and the big round moat is scooped out with two pairs of hands.

How on earth had you managed it? Tumbling into his life, turning his head, teaching him all the things that he’d never thought to learn. One minute you’re his best friend, sitting on a gilded swingset in an ornamental garden. The next, you’re all grown up, framed in the mirrors on the ballroom wall, and he has to fight not to melt his cufflinks at the sight of you dancing with another man.

A sandy, empty soul, covered in grit and salt and seaweed - his palms flare with fire as the breath catches in his chest when you walk by, as the butterflies settle in his stomach when you hold out your hand for him to kiss. Hotter and hotter, until it’s molten glass dripping down his wrists, vitrifying right in front of his eyes. Sparking and glowing with passion, scorching little trails up his sleeves, a hissing chorus of mine mine mine in the furnace of his ribs.

It’s you. It’s always been you. Cool water running through a scalding heart, steam filling his aching lungs until it’s all he knows how to breathe.

Maybe it was all his mistake. It’s possible, you know. Maybe he’d given you too much, too quickly. Maybe he’d overdone it just a bit. Unempowered people can be unstable, unpredictable, reckless - and despite what he’d thought, it turns out you’re no different.

Was it inevitable? Was there anything, was there ever anything he could have done to stop things turning out this way? He isn’t sure. Ever since you two were little, you’ve never been one to keep your mouth shut. The lessons never stuck. Justice is a tricky business, but it helps to have a crown prince on your side - that is, until a coronation changes everything, and you’re both in over your newly-crowned heads.

You’ve always been good at games, no matter the rules. They’ve always said he’s the one with the sharp tongue. Yours, it seems, is made of silver.

Moonlight in your mouth, he’d thought he could save you. The isolations, the therapy, the sessions he wasn’t allowed to know about. You wouldn’t stop talking. The plausible deniability. You wouldn’t stop looking. The gentle hand under your chin gets hotter, harsher, until molten metal spills out over your lips and pours down your throat, coating your teeth and searing the roof of your mouth, but even now you still don’t stop.

It’s unfortunate. What’s the phrase? Morbid curiosity, maybe. You, wanting to see how far you could push before it all came crashing down on your head. Him, wanting to see just how you’d look when, one way or another, you finally broke. Can you really be a martyr if nobody even knows you were alive in the first place?

Stacks of paper crumble into ash, bridges burning in your wake. Justice isn’t blind, and the walls have ears. This isn’t the sort of court you were made for.

There have always been some rather… antiquated Imperial traditions, it’s true. Some are nicer than others, but most have stood the test of time. Old habits, old ways that he’s never really seen the point in arguing with. It would be more trouble than it’s worth, to waste time trying to get rid of them.

One of those traditions is that, depending on the magical race of the Monarch-Imperial, the practices of the Imperial government are changed accordingly. Most of the time it’s little things, like the embossments on the paper or the colour of the accents on the curtains. Insignificant. Inconsequential. What’s that saying again? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Ah, traditions. Watching them light the kindling at your feet, he’s starting to think that maybe he should have fixed this one.

(It could have been worse. Imagine if he’d been a shifter.)

It’s fine. You’re fine. Fire has always been kind to you, hasn’t it? Well. He’s always been kind to you, and as far as anyone here is concerned, that’s the same thing. That’s what this is, then. Kindness. Benevolence, of the sort he thinks you’d be proud of. The suffering of one for the good of many - and you’ve always been the type to take everyone’s burdens on yourself. You must have known. Wasn’t this what you wanted?

You won’t struggle, will you? No? Good. It will all be over soon.

A glass heart, cold and hard and utterly bulletproof. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he really is too possessive. What does it matter now? Allow him this, just once more. Flames bite at the soles of your shoes, but you don’t say anything. You’d better be quick. You don’t have long. Looking at him, you’re looking at him, but not like everyone else does. They look, but you see. The boy he was, the man he’s become. What do you see now?

You’re mine, and I’m yours, and nothing in this world is going to change that.

No more second chances. Ashes to ashes and all that. You have always, always been his. What a shame, that this is how you choose to prove it. The element of his control, and the one thing he could never master. How poetic. Hotter and hotter - through the smoke, silver starts to melt, bubbling over cracked, blistering skin.

In all the shapes and forms that you take in my life.

The ultimate act of surrender. Glass bubbles in your blood - the smell of salt, the sound of the ocean, and a lovely sandcastle covered in shells. In life, you gave yourself to fire. One way or another, you were always destined to burn.

take a trip to the other side of the mirror?

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute

[soup-scope]

imperium!Angel gives girls against god by florence and the machine vibes

specifically these lyrics

When I decided to wage Holy War

It looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor

But, oh God, you're gonna get it

You'll be sorry that you messed with me

And I know I may not look like much

Just another screaming speck of dust

But, oh God, you're gonna get it

You'll be sorry that you messed with us

[ambreignsfan4life]

Best WWE Match of 2023 Part 2 Round 2

[vampire-bite]

:)

[cljordan-imperium]

Heads Up/7 Up

I was tagged a while ago by @late-to-the-fandom

Tagging @shipping-through-eternity @saltysupercomputer @ceph-the-ghost-writer @autumnalwalker

“I’m well aware.  I’ll have Visalus handle Emma.  He is more than capable of distracting her.” Casperius’ eyebrows rose as his eyes rolled.  That was a nice way of putting it.  It was not that he cared, it had only been carnal between them, and at least this would make it easier in the end.  That was one thing down.

THE IMPERIUM CHRONICLES TAG LIST - @ceph-the-ghost-writer @kjscottwrites @writingpotato07 @saltysupercomputer @careful-pyromancer @late-to-the-fandom @autumnalwalker @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @jessica-writes22 @dogmomwrites @mjjune @verba-writing @blind-the-winds @shipping-through-eternity @outpost51 @inkspellangel @blind-the-winds @sunset-a-story @writingmaidenwarrior

[theimperiumchronicles]

HEADS UP 7 UP

I got a tag back by @on-noon

“Tis a pleasure, Your Majesty.” Armaund was a bit flustered that the Prince had beaten him to the bow, but it seemed the prince was a tad nervous, as his husband had indicated over the phone.  As he took Karlen’s hand and shook it heartily, he could tell that the Prince was a tempest of emotions, but hope and excitement were foremost amongst them.  It was clear that there were no nefarious motivations.

I'm tagging @sunset-a-story @saltysupercomputer @frostedlemonwriter

[copiawife]

something about the end of respite on the spitalfields,,,,aheem aheem whimper

[mathlann]

Late Night OC thoughts