#king of the sheep festival

[vinyls-and-valentines]

I am a very serious storyteller. I definitely did not call one of the largest and oldest cities in my story setting "tall sheep hill". My brain definitely doesn't go "hehe...tall sheep :]" every time I have to figure out something relating to it

[eretzyisrael]

HOW DO WE CELEBRATE ROSH HASHANAH?

Rosh Hashanah, the birthday of the universe, is a two-day holiday that is both festive and solemn. We joyously proclaim our allegiance to the King of the Universe, while humbly beseeching our Creator to grant us another year of life, a year of peace, prosperity, and goodness. 

Rosh Hashanah is known as the Day of Judgment because on on this day “all inhabitants of the world pass before God like a flock of sheep” and the Heavenly Court decrees “who shall live and who shall die… who shall be impoverished and who shall be enriched; who shall fall and who shall rise.” (Rosh Hashanah liturgy). We examine our deeds since last year’s holiday, make an honest accounting of our sins and misbehaviors, and pray earnestly for the strength and wisdom to do better in the new year. It is the beginning of the Ten Days of Repentance, also known as the Days of Awe, which culminate in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. 

SHINE A LIGHT  Every major Jewish holiday starts with lighting candles. Jewish women and girls (or men living alone) light candles on each evening of Rosh Hashanah with the appropriate blessings. 

HEAR THE HORN On Rosh Hashanah it is a commandment for Jews to hear the sound of the shofar (Num. 29:1). The shofar is an instrument made from the horn of a ram or other kosher animal. Its loud resonant sound pierces the depths of our soul and inspires us to return to God. The shofar is a wake-up call to repentance. It evokes the shofar blasts that were heard when God descended on Mount Sinai and gave us the Torah. It also recalls the binding of Isaac, who was saved when God showed Abraham a ram to bring as an offering instead of his beloved son. 

SHOW ME THE HONEY Before each of the four festive Rosh Hashanah meals (two on each day), we make kiddush over wine or grape juice. We eat round challah, often with raisins, and dip it into honey rather than salt to express our wish for a sweet year. There are a variety of symbolic foods "simanim" that are eaten, including a fish head so that “we might be a head and not a tail” and pomegranate so that “our merits be many like the seeds of a pomegranate.” 

DAY TO PRAY Much of the day is spent in synagogue praying with the community. The Machzor (holiday prayerbook) contains all of the Rosh Hashanah prayers and Torah readings. The shofar is sounded 100 times during the Rosh Hashanah service (except on Shabbat.)

TAKE ME TO THE RIVER On the afternoon of Rosh Hashanah, it is customary to go to a body of water and perform the Tashlich ceremony, in which we ceremonially cast our sins into the water, evoking the verse “And You shall cast their sins into the depth of the sea.” (Micah 7:19). If you’re not able to do it on Rosh Hashanah, Tashlich can be performed until Hoshana Rabba (7th day of Sukkot.)

[taomubiji]

25 Facts About Xie Yuchen

1. Xie Yuchen was born on October 3, 1978.

2. Xie Yuchen's stage name, Jie Yuhua, comes from the poem 《蝶恋花（用宜笑之语作）》 by Zhao Shixia.

3. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie were playmates when Xie Yuchen was five or six years old.

4. Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie are distant cousins.

5. As a child, Xie Yuchen would play Hua Dan and Qingyi (types of female roles) in Chinese opera. As a result, many people, including Wu Xie, thought he was a girl.

6. After Xie Yuchen's uncle, Xie Lianhuan, died, his father died soon after, and then several more of his uncles died.

7. Xie Yuchen had to take over the family business at 8 years old.

8. Xie Yuchen described the experiences he had growing up as "very, very uncomfortable."

9. He lived in a military compound.

10. When a friend of his caused trouble, he bought more than a hundred sheep to make up for it.

11. The first time Xie Yuchen appears he is described by Wu Xie as being dressed in a black suit with a pink shirt underneath and no tie.

12. He originally wore the color pink to offset his murderous aura.

13. When Xie Yuchen and Wu Xie met again as adults, they both smiled "pervertedly" at each other.

14. Xie Yuchen became a guarantor for Wu Xie's debt after Wu Xie's now-legendary disastrous biddings at the Xin Yue Restaurant.

15. In the online version of Sand Sea 2, Xie Yuchen throws Su Wan, Yang Hao, Li Cu, and Liang Wan out the window of a moving train.

16. In The Lost Tombs and Ultimate Note, Xie Yuchen is included much more than in the novels the shows adapted. However, in Reunion and Tomb of the Sea, his role is significantly reduced.

17. He sings every year during the Qingming Festival for Er Yuehong.

18. Wu Xie thinks he is "an extremely difficult person to get along with."

19. Xie Yuchen likes salty foods.

20. He was the biggest contributor in preventing Chinese national treasures from being exported.

21. Xie Yuchen smokes cigarettes but isn't addicted.

22. He has a habit of collecting old buildings.

23. In his free time, he practices Chinese opera, paints, and arranges flowers.

24. Xie Yuchen has used a butterfly knife and an antique dagger as weapons.

25. A the age of seventeen, he had already been surrounded by death and had even heard the words "it’s going to rain blood tonight" by his own mother.

References

English novel references refer to Merebear's translation, Chinese novel references refer to the original Chinese version.

Photo: From NP Entertainment's Merch Weibo

Author Celebrated His Birthday on October 3; Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章 (XYC says that he's 26yo, V7 takes place in 2004).

The Mystic Nine Memories Extra; 九门回忆 (Note: it should be Jie Yuhua not Xie Yuhua in merebear's translation)

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7，第二十六章

The Mystic Nine (4) Xie-Wu Matchmaking Extra; 吴邪私家笔记，第三卷，九五做媒; 老九门短篇集 肆——九五做媒

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 56; 盗墓笔记7， 第五十一章

Sand Sea, Chapter 112; 沙海3， 第一章

Volume 7, Chapter 35; 盗墓笔记7， 第三十章

Volume 7, Chapter 5; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影， 第五章

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

Volume 7, Chapter 6; 盗墓笔记6：邛笼石影，第六章

Some of Wu Xie's Thoughts Extra; 吴邪的小心情

Sand Sea, Chapter 73; 沙海2， 第三十四章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

Watch the shows; read the books

Xiao Hua’s Annual Party Extra; 小花的年会

Seven Fingers Extra, Chapter 13; 七指，第十三章

Fishing King Extra, Chapter 7; 钓王， 第七章

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 89; 沙海2 (Online)，第五十章 (Note: this part was removed in the print version)

A Day in the Life of Xie Yuchen Extra; 解语花的一天

A Thousand Faces, Chapters 1, 17; 千面，第一，十七章 (Note: I don't have the published version)

Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 88; 沙海2 (Online)，第四十九章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十一章

Volume 7, Chapter 31; 盗墓笔记7 第二十五章; Sand Sea (Online), Chapter 75; 沙海2 (Online), 第三十六章; 沙海2 (Print), 第五十章

Volume 8, Chapter 10; 盗墓笔记8 第十章

[writers-potion]

hey, you have helped me s much with my book. so in my book currently the mc is a new empress and she attends this ball where royals and the elite meet to celebrate the coming of spring but there will be like friendly trails (competition) kingdoms would have to go through to win to build allyship. the thing is i have no idea what trails do you have like examples?

Story Ideas for Friendly Royal Competitions

Hey, thanks for liking my blog!

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

I've branched out into a few different themes (depends on which one you want to emphasize) for this Spring Networking Ball, so feel free to choose one & come back to me with further questions if you want me as a sounding board for your ideas.

+ I'm going to assume that magic exists, or at least is believed in. I've tried to make the ideas as friendly/fun as possible.

Competition for the "New" Empress

This is where the fact that your MC is a newbie ruler plays a factor in what games is played.

A Chance To Play a New Game. Once two kings/lords decide they'd hold hands, it is customary for the trade deal/military deal/general allyship to last for life. Now that the new empress is here, other rulers are hoping to win the favor of the MC.

-Each royal/elite will bring their national/family animal to be sacrificed in the holy fire which changes color when a sacrifice is burned. The empress just picks her favorite color.

-The new empress will bring along three Holy Children who'll make a gift of flower garlands to three lords. They would get a chance to sit at the empress's table first. How do you win over three innocent children?

-A masked ball where the new empress picks her first ally without knowing the true identity of the other. The new empress must be wise...but it turns out she picked her worst enemy after all.

A Husband For the New Queen. It is the universally accepted truth that a new empress must be in search of a husband. All eyes on the empress, who will win her heart (and her empire's favor)?

-A poetry competition (kinda like a medieval rap battle?) to please the new empress

-The empress will provide a keyword like "kindness" or "chivalry", and each lord will prepare an elevator pitch about their heroics to be shared at the table during the feast. Subtle stares and (un)friendly kicks below the banquet table.

Competition for "Allyship"

This is where the focus of the competition is the distribution of military and natural resources.

Annual Betting Table. Each king/lord must bet a particular amount of their resources (like 3000 kilos of sheep wool, etc.) to be traded off. A game is played, and the winner takes more.

-Can be a card game, like poker.

-The "gaming chips" are represented by flowers (e.g. one blue rose = 100 sheep, 1 red rose = 3 golds), and the lords and ladies exchange flowers throughout the festival. Lovesick lords giving their father's wealth away to their lovers; ladies trying to flatter and steal roses.

-If a lord/lady wants to win something over, they have to make a payment by dancing with the person who has it. How long will our empress last in her twelve-inch heels? What if she simply hates the lord who has what she wants?

Allyship Turnover. The Spring Ball is an annual event where all sorts of contracts (trade deals, borrowing of ports, arranged marriages) must be renewed; each year a new contract is formed.

-The spring festival basically becomes speed dating. The orchestra will play, and the lords move one seat to the right at every interim. You can drop out of a round by drinking a cup of strong mulberry ale. Drunk ladies ripping flowers out of each others hair?

-A game of human chess where each person plays the role of a chess piece.

Competition for the "Spring" Festival

This is where the theme of spring is emphasized.

The Spring Goddess Decides.

-The goddess of spring will express her divine wish by giving each person a tatto on their left forearm. They must find someone with a matching tattoo, or intentionally hide theirs and lie.

-The goddess will "bless" her favored lords and ladies for the year by crowning their head with flowers/turning their dress (like Cinderella). Everyone will try to form allies with these handful of Chosen Ones and spend the year preparing to win the goddess's favor.

A friendly 1-1 duel between lords (they either choose their opponent beforehand or the eldest gets to choose first or something) on a holy patch of ground. If a drop of sweat/blood falls on the ground, a flower will bloom. The one to make a flower bloom first loses.

Hope this helps

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

💎For early access to my content and priority questions,  become a Writing Wizard 

[porphyriosao3]

Day 3 - Durin's Day

Bilbo held his arms out so that the two attendants (whose names he could barely remember) could drape yet another garment over him. He should be excited, he knew; his wedding day should always be a time of joy. He found himself instead awash in melancholy. There was the expected part, of course - he had no parents to celebrate this moment with. One of the many regrets he had as he interred them was that they would never see him marry, never meet his husband (if husband there was to be... or wife, who knew?), never meet the people and family who would one day be so close to him. Not, he remonstrated with himself, that he had ever expected to marry, but even so. Even so.

No, this melancholy was only partly that. Much of it was also that this day would be so different than anything he had imagined. All hobbits of a certain social class looked forward to their wedding with a strong set of expectations; Bilbo (for all he had prided himself for years as a free thinker) was discovering day by day just how much he himself had shared these same expectations. Needless to say, almost none of them were being met. There were no flowers here; no bouquets had been prepared, no wreaths and bunting hung, no grandstand built beneath the giant tree that saw the festivals of the whole Westfarthing beneath it's heavy boughs. Here there was only lamp-lit stone, drafty hallways, bright metal, shining jewels, and cloth. Acres and acres and acres of bloody cloth... most of it apparently intended to be worn on his person. Bilbo tried to maintain a stoic face, but sourly reflected that when the two were done dressing him that he would be no more than a traveling hillock of fabric, gems, and precious metals, with only eyes, ears, and feet to show the hobbit hidden within!

Strangest of all was the date. Bilbo was keen to marry Thorin, and had been for months; that was never the problem. The issue was that the date was not only entirely unhobbitish, but also an unpleasant reminder that he wasn't simply marrying Thorin the astonishingly attractive and (mostly) charming dwarf, he was marrying Thorin II Oakenshield, unquestioned King Under the Mountain, Lord of the Longbeard, Broadbeam, and Firebeard clans of the dwarves. Marrying a king came with tradition, and if the dwarves had nothing else, my goodness did they have tradition. Every garment he was being practically entombed in had a meaning, explained to him at great length; every piece of jewelry - and here they came with what looked like half the treasury, sweet Lady of Leaves preserve us - was meant to symbolize something or other. Most traditional of all, however, was the date. All royal marriages had been, were, and would forevermore be (must be!) on Durin's Day, the final moon of Autumn. It was the only possible day for a King to marry.

No hobbit would ever marry at such a time.

Marriages were done in the Shire from the vernal equinox to the summer solstice for young couples, though in the past few hundred years marriages from the summer solstice until the weeks before the fall equinox - 'harvest marriages' as they were known - were considered acceptable for 'mature' or second marriages, and Bilbo was undoubtedly in the first category, though not the latter. A harvest wedding would have been fine. Just before winter, though? When nothing grew? When the harvest had been fully gathered in and the earth was cold and unfruitful? The worst possible omen for a marriage, really. Tongues would be wagging all over the Shire. That same Shire which Bilbo had to remind himself was half a world away, which would likely never hear of his marriage nor care if they did, and which was full of people who undoubtedly thought him mad as a sheep with five legs already. Despite all this - and he acknowledged all of it - some things took a great deal of looking past.

Still... still. Thoughts of Thorin made him smile in spite of himself, provoking a hum of satisfaction from the attendants who clearly suspected where his thoughts had wandered. He had explained his concerns months ago, in the height of summer, and Thorin had understood. Seemed to do so, anyway. Of course he was helpless to change it, the dwarf had explained, and Bilbo had believed him. He'd seen for himself what happened when tradition was even bent, let alone broken, and a dwarven meltdown wasn't pretty. He knew it wasn't as though Bilbo and his culture were being dismissed exactly, no matter how much his petty side would like to claim such; it was just very, very difficult to argue with ten thousand years of custom. And heavy, Bilbo snorted as he shifted from foot to foot to try and balance the massive gold chain being draped over one shoulder with the unfamiliar weight of the consort's tiara around his brow. Afterwards in that discussion, though, when Thorin had wrapped him in his arms and whispered "what can be done to avert such an ill omen?", well, that was a quite pleasant memory, and work had already begun on the garden he had been promised in turn.

Best of all, at the end of it, he would be married to Thorin. When Thorin had initially proposed from a bed Bilbo had feared he might never arise from, Bilbo's response was 'I would marry you in a pig wallow and live among the briars if it could be with you'. He had meant it. He still did. And there would be feasting, at least, and revelry. Sighing again, he took a tentative step forward, balancing the enormous load as best he could. Manageable, he supposed. Alright, Bilbo, he thought, eyeing Dori and Balin in their fancy armor, come to collect him. Let's go get married.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Story and photographs by Ronan O’Connell

September 26, 2023

In the middle of a field in a lesser known part of Ireland is a large mound where sheep wander and graze freely.

Had they been in that same location centuries ago, these animals might have been stiff with terror, held aloft by chanting, costumed celebrants while being sacrificed to demonic spirits that were said to inhabit nearby Oweynagat cave.

This monumental mound lay at the heart of Rathcroghan, the hub of the ancient Irish kingdom of Connaught.

The former Iron Age center is now largely buried beneath the farmland of County Roscommon.

In 2021, Ireland applied for UNESCO World Heritage status for Rathcroghan (Rath-craw-hin). It remains on the organization's tentative list.

Rooted in lore

Spread across more than two square miles of rich agricultural land, Rathcroghan encompasses 240 archaeological sites, dating back 5,500 years.

They include burial mounds, ring forts (settlement sites), standing stones, linear earthworks, an Iron Age ritual sanctuary — and Oweynagat, the so-called gate to hell.

More than 2,000 years ago, when Ireland’s communities seem to have worshipped nature and the land itself, it was here at Rathcroghan that the Irish New Year festival of Samhain (SOW-in) was born, says archaeologist and Rathcroghan expert Daniel Curley.

In the 1800s, the Samhain tradition was brought by Irish immigrants to the United States, where it morphed into the sugar overload that is American Halloween.

Dorothy Ann Bray, a retired associate professor at McGill University and an expert in Irish folklore, explains that pre-Christian Irish divided each year into summer and winter.

Within that framework were four festivities.

Imbolc, on February 1, was a festival that coincided with lambing season.

Bealtaine, on May 1, marked the end of winter and involved customs like washing one’s face in dew, plucking the first blooming flowers, and dancing around a decorated tree.

August 1 heralded Lughnasadh, a harvest festival dedicated to the god Lugh and presided over by Irish kings.

Then on October 31 came Samhain, when one pastoral year ended and another began.

Rathcroghan was not a town, as Connaught had no proper urban centers and consisted of scattered rural properties.

Instead, it was a royal settlement and a key venue for these festivals.

During Samhain, in particular, Rathcroghan was a hive of activity focused on its elevated temple, which was surrounded by burial grounds for the Connachta elite.

Those same privileged people may have lived at Rathcroghan. The remaining lower-class Connachta communities resided in dispersed farms and descended on the site only for festivals.

At those lively events they traded, feasted, exchanged gifts, played games, arranged marriages, and announced declarations of war or peace.

Festivalgoers also may have made ritual offerings, possibly directed to the spirits of Ireland’s otherworld.

That murky, subterranean dimension, also known as Tír na nÓg (Teer-na-nohg), was inhabited by Ireland’s immortals, as well as a myriad of beasts, demons, and monsters.

During Samhain, some of these creatures escaped via Oweynagat cave (pronounced “Oen-na-gat” and meaning “cave of the cats”).

“Samhain was when the invisible wall between the living world and the otherworld disappeared,” says Mike McCarthy, a Rathcroghan tour guide and researcher who has co-authored several publications on the site.

“A whole host of fearsome otherworldly beasts emerged to ravage the surrounding landscape and make it ready for winter.”

Thankful for the agricultural efforts of these spirits but wary of falling victim to their fury, the people protected themselves from physical harm by lighting ritual fires on hilltops and in fields.

They disguised themselves as fellow ghouls, McCarthy says, so as not to be dragged into the otherworld via the cave.

Despite these engaging legends — and the extensive archaeological site in which they dwell — one easily could drive past Rathcroghan and spot nothing but paddocks.

Inhabited for more than 10,000 years, Ireland is so dense with historical remains that many are either largely or entirely unnoticed.

Some are hidden beneath the ground, having been abandoned centuries ago and then slowly consumed by nature.

That includes Rathcroghan, which some experts say may be Europe’s largest unexcavated royal complex.

Not only has it never been dug up, but it also predates Ireland’s written history.

That means scientists must piece together its tale using non-invasive technology and artifacts found in its vicinity.

While Irish people for centuries knew this site was home to Rathcroghan, it wasn’t until the 1990s that a team of Irish researchers used remote sensing technology to reveal its archaeological secrets beneath the ground.

“The beauty of the approach to date at Rathcroghan is that so much has been uncovered without the destruction that comes with excavating upstanding earthwork monuments,” Curley says.

“[Now] targeted excavation can be engaged with, which will answer our research questions while limiting the damage inherent with excavation.”

Becoming a UNESCO site

This policy of preserving Rathcroghan’s integrity and authenticity extends to tourism.

Despite its significance, Rathcroghan is one of Ireland’s less frequented attractions, drawing some 22,000 visitors a year compared with more than a million at the Cliffs of Moher.

That may not be the case had it long ago been heavily marketed as the “Birthplace of Halloween,” Curley says.

But there is no Halloween signage at Rathcroghan or in Tulsk, the nearest town.

Rathcroghan’s renown should soar, however, if Ireland is successful in its push to make it a UNESCO World Heritage site.

The Irish Government has included Rathcroghan as part of the “Royal Sites of Ireland,” which is on its newest list of locations to be considered for prized World Heritage status.

The global exposure potentially offered by UNESCO branding would likely attract many more visitors to Rathcroghan.

But it seems unlikely this historic jewel will be re-packaged as a kitschy Halloween tourist attraction.

“If Rathcroghan got a UNESCO listing and that attracted more attention here that would be great, because it might result in more funding to look after the site,” Curley says.

“But we want sustainable tourism, not a rush of gimmicky Halloween tourism.”

Those travelers who do seek out Rathcroghan might have trouble finding Oweynagat cave.

Oweynagat is elusive — despite being the birthplace of Medb, perhaps the most famous queen in Irish history, 2,000 years ago.

Barely signposted, it’s hidden beneath trees in a paddock at the end of a one-way, dead-end farm track, about a thousand yards south of the much more accessible temple mound.

Visitors are free to hop a fence, walk through a field, and peer into the narrow passage of Oweynagat.

In Ireland’s Iron Age, such behavior would have been enormously risky during Samhain, when even wearing a ghastly disguise might not have spared the wrath of a malevolent creature.

Two millennia later, most costumed trick-or-treaters on Halloween won’t realize they’re mimicking a prehistoric tradition — one with much higher stakes than the pursuit of candy.

[esoteric-chaos]

Beltane Masterpost - Spoonie Witch Friendly

Beltane, also called Bealtaine or May Day is celebrated on May 1st in the Northern Hemisphere (November 1st in the Southern Hemisphere). However, some people choose to celebrate the exact halfway point between the Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice.

Beltane is a Gaelic May Day festival. It is traditionally celebrated once the sun sets on April 30th in the Northern Hemisphere (October 31st in the Southern Hemisphere) and continues on until sunset on May 1st.

With Beltane we celebrate fire, fertility and the return of life after its long slumber. Beltane is associated with creativity, prosperity, hope, fertility, and sexuality.

Beltane Correspondences

Colours

Green

Light Blue

Yellow

Purple

Pink

White

Brown

Herbal

Mint

Lemon Balm

Willow

Birch

Snapdragons

Roses

Lilacs

Violets

Daffodils

Daisies

Ivy

Lily of the Valley

Foxglove

Mugwort

and many more

Edibles

Honey

Wine

Lemonade

Strawberries

Spring Greens

Cherries

Dairy Products

Animals

Rabbits

Cows

Sheep

Bees

Robins

Hawks

Frogs

Doves

Crystals, Metals and Minerals

Rose Quartz

Jade

Aventurine

Garnet

Emerald

Tourmaline

Gold

Copper

Symbols

Flowers

Maypole

Fire

Handfasting

Sex

Floral crowns

Seeds

Fae

Wreaths

Ribbons

Spiritual Meanings

Prosperity

Fertility

Self-improvement

Marriage

Cleansing

Love

Lust

Sexuality

Manifestation

Strength

Protection

Scents

Mint

Lemon

Vanilla

Jasmine

Rose

Lilac

Floral

Gods / Goddesses / Spirits

May Queen – (Celtic)

Artemis – (Greek)

Flora - (Roman)

Hera - (Greek)

Persephone - (Greek) UPG

Aphrodite – (Greek)

Diana - (Roman)

Venus (Roman)

Freya - (Norse)

Bast - (Egyptian)

Asmodeus - (Demon) UPG

Herne/ Horned god

Faunus/ Pan – (Greek)

Priapus – (Greek)

Apollon - (Greek)

Apollo - (Roman)

Cernunnos – (Celtic)

Odin – (Norse)

The Green Man

Bacchus - (Greek)

Bes (Egyptian)

Bel – (Celtic)

Oak King - (Pagan)

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I've got you covered.

High-energy celebrations and ritual

Handfasting ceremony (pagan marriage ritual)

Protection ritual

Reworking wards

Sex magic

Bondfire

Divination

Fae offerings

Garden

Low energy celebrations

Growth tarot spread

Creation of flower crowns or garlands

Lighting candles or a fireplace

Microwave mug recipes

No energy celebrations

Rest

Using a sun lamp to bask in

Practicing self-love

Drink flora tea with honey

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you're enough no matter what.

Also, please note some stuff is UPG. A great book is Year of the Witch by Temperance Alden, which honours the celebrations and if you want to work more seasonally. It's not Wiccan-based and has plenty of resources for every witch.

Feel free to post how you celebrate in the comments or reblogs!

Want to see more of my posts? Check out my Wheel of the Year Masterpost or my Main Masterpost.

Sources:

[mystery-of-arkham-asylum]

A list of books I have read this year. Will reblog everytime I update as I read more. Doing this a a bit of fun and to hopefully motive myself to read a bit more like I used to.

(I would like to state that I do not share/approve of the views or opinions of a certain author on this list. I just enjoy the books and won't let some poor excuse of a human being ruin them for me.)

First time reading | Reread

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone - J.K.Rowling

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets- J.K.Rowling

The Sheep-Pig - Dick King-Smith

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban - J.K.Rowling

Cirque Du Freak - Darren Shan

The Vampire's Assistant - Darren Shan

Tunnels of Blood - Darren Shan

The Tale of Peter Rabbit - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin - Beatrix Potter

The Tailor of Gloucester - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Benjamin Bunny - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Two Bad Mice - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of The Pie and The Patty-Pan - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher - Beatrix Potter

The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit - Beatrix Potter

The Story of Miss Moppet - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Tom Kitten - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Jemima Puddle Duck - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Samuel Whiskers or the Roly-Poly Pudding - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of The Flopsy Bunnies - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Ginger and Pickles - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Timmy Tiptoes - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Mr. Tod - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Pigling Bland - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Johnny Town-Mouse - Beatrix Potter

The Tale of Little Pig Robinson - Beatrix Potter

Appley Dapply's Nursery Rhymes - Beatrix Potter

Celily Parsley's Nursery Rhymes - Beatrix Potter

Winnie-the-Pooh and some Bees - A.A.Milne

Pooh Goes Visiting & Pooh and Piglet nearly catch a Woozle - A.A.Milne

Owl becomes and author - A.A.Milne

Eeyore has a birthday - A.A.Milne

Kanga and Baby Roo Come to the Forest - A.A.Milne

An Expotition to the North Pole - A.A.Milne

Piglet is entirely surrounded by water - A.A.Milne

Christopher Robin gives a Party - A.A.Milne

Eeyore loses a tail - A.A.Milne

A House is Built at Pooh Corner - A.A.Milne

Tigger comes to the Forest - A.A.Milne

A Search is organdized - A.A.Milne

Tiggers don't climb trees - A.A.Milne

Rabbit has a busy day - A.A.Milne

Pooh invents a new game - A.A.Milne

Tigger is unbounced - A.A.Milne

Piglet does a very grand thing - A.A.Milne

Eeyore finds the Wolery - A.A.Milne

Christopher Robin and Pooh come to an enchanted place - A.A.Milne

Pooh's Poems - A.A.Milne

Christopher Robin returns to the Forest - David Benedictus

The Spelling Bee - David Benedictus

Rabbit organises almost everything - David Benedictus

It Stops raining for ever - David Benedictus

Pooh goes in search of honey - David Benedictus

Owl becomes an author - David Benedictusk

Everybody learns something - David Benedictus

The Game of Cricket - David Benedictus

Tigger Dreams of Africa - David Benedictus

The Harvest Festival - David Benedictus

Yellow Submarine - The Beatles

The Answer - Rebecca Sugar

Guide to the Crystal Gems - Rebecca Sugar

Keep Beach City Weird - Matt Burnett and Ben Levin

Young Zaphod Plays It Safe - Douglas Adams

Vampire Mountain - Darren Shan

Trials of Death - Darren Shan

The Vampire Prince - Darren Shan

Coraline - Neil Gaiman

Cycle of the Werewolf - Stephen King

The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman

Troll Bridge - Terry Pratchett

Turntables of the Night- Terry Pratchett

The Sea and Little Fishes- Terry Pratchet

Hunters of the Dark - Darren Shan

Escape from Bloodcastle - Jenny Tyler

Curse of the Lost Idol - Gaby Waters

The Incredible Dinosaur Experdition - Karen Dolby

Time Train to Ancient Rome - Gaby Waters

Agent Arthur's Jungle Journey - Martin Oliver

Agent Arthur on the Stormy Seas - Martin Oliver

The Ghost in the Mirror - Karen Dolby

Agent Arthur's Artic Adventure - Martin Oliver

Journey to the Lost Temple - Susannah Leigh

The Pyramid Plot - Justin Somper

The Emerald Conspiracy - Mark Fowler

Mutiny at Crossbones Bay - Mark Burgess

Jonathan Livingston Seagull - Richard Bach

A Day with Wibur Robinson - William Joyce

Allies of the Night - Darren Shan

Killers of the Dawn - Darren Shan

Animal Farm - George Orwell

The Phantom Tollbooth - Norton Juster

The Necrophiliac - Gabrielle Wittkop

Never Say Boo to a Ghost - John Foster and Korky Paul

Red Dwarf Log No. 1996 - Paul Alexander

Wacky Wednesday - Dr. Seuss

The Wild Robot - Peter Brown

I Wish I had Duck Feet - Dr. Seuss

Ten Apples up on Top - Dr. Seuss

Scrambled Eggs Super! - Dr. Seuss

One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish - Dr. Seuss

The Sneetches and Other Stories - Dr. Seuss

Hop on Pop - Dr. Seuss

The Larax - Dr. Seuss

I Can Read with My Eyes Shut! - Dr. Seuss

The Tales of Beedle the Bard - J.K.Rowling

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them - J.K.Rowling

Quidditch Through the Ages - J.K.Rowling

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon (When Dragons Fall) [Jace Velaryon x Reader]

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: nothing explicit, just lots of character deaths, as in F&B canon

Word Count: 10k+

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

A huge, huge, HUGE thank you to @asa-do-your-thing for the lovely artwork provided in this fic! I love both the collages you created for the teaser and the actual fic itself, and bless you for putting up with me and my slow responses 💕 this fic is dedicated to the both of us, and I hope you will enjoy it even though I was a complete hot mess struggling with writer's block when I came up with it haha. Special thanks also goes out to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for putting together this Big Bang! I'm honoured to have been a part of it.

A/N: This is the first part of my new fic, Skori Zaldrizes Ropagon, submitted for @hotd-bigbang! The rest of the parts will be released sometime soon, as I was only able to write the first part of my fic in time for the deadline haha. It's my first time writing a Jace x Reader fic, and it is rather lacking in romance, most unfortunately. Still, I hope you enjoy the fic. Thank you for supporting my mess of a writing!

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon was aged only ten and two when he heard the prophecy for the first time. 

Ever since his mother had decided to relocate their family to the ancestral seat of the Targaryens, Jace had spent much of his days with nothing but the same foreboding walls he was slowly growing tired of. He swore he knew every single crook and cranny in Dragonstone by now, having spent much of his youth traipsing through the home of his forebears, poking and exploring every inch of it. 

Dragonstone was a sleepy island, which did little to quell the young Jace’s thirst for adventure and exploration. But once every six moon turns, the inhabitants of the village located on the rocky shores of Dragonstone would come together for a festival of foods and goods. It was initially a small affair, but upon Princess Rhaenyra’s moving of her household to Dragonstone, many merchants and revellers from all parts of the Realm had flocked to the island like sheep, hoping to curry the favour of the numerous Targaryen royals currently residing at the island, or various nobles who visited the island to pay homage to their queen to be with their goods. 

And the festival was exactly where Jace found himself on the cusp of his thirteenth nameday. Sick of the constant gloomy atmosphere of the castle, he had snuck out after bribing one of the stablehands, disguising himself in the simple raiments of a peasant, along with a satchel of various coins concealed in his cloak. He had thought of bringing his dagger for protection, but he winced as he recalled the incident on Driftmark, and decided to leave it in his chambers. He wasn’t expecting any trouble tonight, anyway. All he wanted was a bit of harmless fun, and freedom, under the cloak of anonymity. Just for one night. 

The festival painted an animated and cheerful scene, so refreshing in contrast to the rather dismal air in the fortress. For a moment, Jace thought he had been transported back to the streets of King’s Landing, where the nightlife atmosphere was second to no other place in the realm. Fascination lit up his brown eyes as he bought samples of snacks from the street food vendors. Many of them were varieties of whatever fishes that could be caught in Blackwater Bay, but due to the expensive nature of imported spices from Essos, the food was seasoned rather simply. Jace enjoyed it however, the whole experience felt liberating. Here, he could just be among the commoners, someone unnoticed. 

Even though their relocation to Dragonstone after the Driftmark incident had brought some reprieve, deep down, Jace still felt tormented by the rumours of his parentage. Harwin Strong was long dead now, and so was his father, Laenor Velaryon, yet Jace still felt affected by their passings, though his mother oddly didn’t. One was his…his sire, the other the father Jace had been brought up to believe as his for his whole life, and though both men had not been present for nearly half of Jace’s life now, Jace still missed them. He remembered Laenor’s smile, his guffawing laugh, his warm touch whenever he herded them back from the Dragonpit and back to the Red keep. And he remembered Harwin’s presence - detached, as a respectful nobleman would keep in deference to a royal, but also warm and more constant than Laenor. Daemon was oft far too occupied with his mother to pay attention to him, Lucerys, and Joffrey, though he seemed polite enough to Jace. 

But what Jace craved deep down was for the presence of a fatherly figure: strong, brave, caring. And ever since his mother and Daemon have had little Aegon, Jace oft found that those fantasies of his were becoming more and more impossible to come true. Especially now, when he was coming of age soon, and was expected to bear the brunt of his duties as future Prince of Dragonstone, and heir to the Iron Throne. Little sentiment can be found in his world. 

Jace sighed, milling around and mingling with the smallfolk, trying to purge those thoughts from his head. And that was when he caught sight of it.

A caravan sat in a corner of the street, its dark red and blue exterior a stark contrast against the earthy cobblestones of its surroundings. The caravan was beautiful, even in its age, and Jace let his eyes trace over the woodwork and craftsmanship of the carvings of various celestial bodies and strange creatures on the caravan. A simple wooden sign hung outside the bright blue painted door, ‘Come have your fortune divined on this joyous day. Should you choose not to, you might not live to see the next day.’. 

Jace chuckled at the words, feeling some derision upon knowing what craft the inhabitants of the caravan possessed. He was not a faithful man, by any means. He worshipped the Seven, like any future crown prince of Westeros ought to, yet he felt no connection to those gods. His mother held a reverence for the gods of Old Valyria, and Jace had inherited that, but fortune telling? It all seemed a bit absurd to him. No one can see the future after all, He began to turn his back on the caravan. 

However, Jace was seized with a sudden urge to go inside the caravan. It felt like an invisible force was pulling him towards it, despite his disdain for such practices. What is wrong with me? I am a Targaryen prince for god’s sake- But it was like he was under a spell, as his legs moved on their own accord, much to his dismay. 

‘You know what, I came here for a night of relaxation after all. This might prove more entertaining than I expect it to be.’ 

With that thought, Jace found himself knocking tentatively on the door of the caravan, as the door swung open to reveal the dim interior of the caravan. He found it strange that there was no one behind the door, but shrugged it off, taking in the plush furnishings. Gas lamps and candles lit the small space up, giving the interior an inviting glow. Colourful tapestries depicting the sea were hung on the walls, and thick soft carpets covered the floors - such that Jace felt bad for wearing his dirtied boots into the caravan. But all those thoughts of guilt vanished from his mind as he laid his eyes on what was possibly the most beautiful woman in his life. 

She didn’t even look old enough to be considered a woman, no, this was a girl so beautiful, he thought that maybe he was looking at the form of the Maiden himself, descended upon this land to grace him with his loveliness. 

“Welcome, my prince.” Her voice was soft, nearly encasing him deeper into the spell that was her, until he realised how she had addressed him. Shock surged through his veins, along with a faint uneasiness. “You know who I am?” The fortune teller tilted her head, lowering the hood of her dark red cloak. The colour of spilled blood. “Of course. My god knows the true faces of all people who enter this caravan. And their fates as well.” She motioned for him to sit in front of her, and Jace obliged, sinking down on the cushion, unable to take his eyes off her. It felt like all coherent thoughts had left him. The fortune teller studied him back, her eyes glowing with the knowledge of endless possibilities. 

“My god senses some doubt in you of my abilities, my prince.” Jace was startled by her words, but he quickly recovered, a sheepish smile on his face. “I must confess I don’t quite believe in these things.” 

“And yet here you are.” “And yet here I am,” Jace echoed back. The fortune teller slid a cup of tea to him, and he wondered how he didn’t see her preparing it. He eyed the steaming tea, debating on whether he should drink it. 

“Relax, my prince, I have no reason to poison you, if that’s what you fear.” Jace was growing more unsettled, it seemed like the fortune teller was reading his mind. Was his thoughts really that obvious? He caved nonetheless, lifting the cup to his lips. Its taste soothed his nerves, and he felt some of his former rationality returning. “If I may ask, who is the god you owe your powers to?” 

The fortune teller shook her head with a smile, tapping the crystal ball between them lightly. “Does it matter, my prince?” “Well, it does, if you want me to have some faith in your readings.” The fortune teller looked amused. “You will believe what you want to believe, my prince. And my god prefers to withhold his true name from non-believers.”

Jace wanted to roll his eyes a little at that. It was clear this girl was a con-artist, but suddenly, her eyes grew sharp as her crystal ball filled with dark smoke. Jace drew back instinctively, nearly spilling the cup of tea. “W-what’s happening?” 

“My god is revealing your future,” the lightness in her voice was gone, replaced by a sort of seriousness. As sceptical as Jace was, his eyes were fixed on the swirling dark smoke. He was entranced by it when he suddenly felt a warm grip on his wrist. His eyes widened when the fortune teller tugged his hands towards the crystal ball, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Put your hand on the crystal,” her voice was filled with urgency. “There is something you must see.” 

Gripped by curiosity, Jace did as she said, placing his palms against the cool surface of the crystal. The curiosity vanished in an instant, replaced by a morbid horror as the scenes were seared in his mind. 

The sickening smell of blood. Fire everywhere, the distant roars of a dragon roaring and the screams of soldiers on the battlefield. Two opposing armies, one bearing a quartered banner with the Targaryen, Velaryon, and Arryn sigils, the other bearing a golden three-headed dragon on a black field, clashed with each other. Corpses littering the shores of a river. Three dragons lashing at each other in the sky, as one fell to the Earth with an agonised screech. And now Jace was in the sea, watching as ships were set aflame and a dragon that looked like Vermax falling from the skies. The sky was glowing with the colour of freshly spilled blood, smoke filling the air. Jace felt like he was on fire, as the soft, solemn words of the fortune teller reverberated throughout the horrific scene of bloodshed before him. “As dragons battle with each other, and fall from the skies, kin shall betray kin, kin shall murder kin, and Westeros shall burn alongside House Targaryen’s power.” 

Then, fire engulfed Jace as he jolted away in shock. The sound of a teacup clattering on the ground pulled Jace from the nightmare, and he was back in the caravan: far away from the smoke, the screams and the flames. He was still shaking as he recalled the searing sensation of fire on his skin, scorching his bones. The dark tendrils of smoke had seeped out of the crystal ball and were creeping up Jace’s fingers, and he hurriedly pulled away and shook his hands until the smoke had dissipated, feeling sick. “What in the Seven Hells was that?” His voice was tremulous with fear. 

The girl’s eyes were grim as she fixed her gaze on him. “The future of your family, and House Targaryen.” Now Jace was shaking with something much more than fear: anger. “You must be mistaken,” his words were not as steady as he had willed it to be, and he tried to correct the quiver in his voice. “Your god is a sham. All that was just illusions of the mind. You’re lying.” She must be.  

Now it was the girl’s turn to look incensed, and it was like the fury of a thousand sea storms crackled behind her eyes. “Do not dismiss the abilities of my god because of your fear, Prince Jacaerys. You know that war is inevitable between your mother and your uncle, and you would choose to play ignorant?” Her words struck him as he winced while recalling the scenes he had seen. Despite the cool night air flowing into the caravan through its small windows, Jace couldn’t shake off the dreadful feeling of being on fire. 

“...it just can’t be possible,” Jace murmured to himself, running his hands through his hair in distress. The scenes plagued his mind like a disease, and the smell of burning flesh was still ever present, making him nauseous. He reached out and gripped the hand of the girl desperately, “You said that there would be a war. My mother wins, right? She’s the rightful heir after all.” The girl looked troubled, “I cannot divulge more than what my god has allowed you to see.” 

“Not even if I paid you a golden dragon?” Jace pressed. The girl’s nostrils flared with indignation. “The visions granted to us by my god is something none of your paltry money can buy, my prince.” 

Jace was gripped with despair, as he tightened his grip on the girl’s hand, pleading, “Fine, forget about money. Just please, tell me if my family survives. I need to know, please.” Jace could see the girl’s eyes softening, and he tried to implore her even further. “Please, miss. I just need to know that. Your god has already been so merciful to show me so much, surely one more tiny bit of knowledge will not hurt?” 

The girl bit her lip, and looked downwards, as if contemplating. It was true that the prince’s future was bleak, and she knew of his eventual ending, but she must not go against her god’s limitations. And yet, she felt compelled to tell him the truth, to tell him of the bleak fate that awaited him. So she prayed to her god for leniency as she locked eyes with Jace again. Her voice was quiet as her reply echoed through Jace’s mind: which would prove to soon be his source of torment that plagued him for his next years. 

“No.” 

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For years, after being told the prophecy, Jace felt like he was no longer in control of himself. His sleep and dreams no longer belonged to him. Instead, they fell victim to the visions and the prophecy that had plagued every one of his senses since that night. His attempts at seeking Maester Gerardys out discreetly for doses of Essence of Nightshade had only succeeded in eliciting the alarm of his mother and brothers, so he had stopped taking them. He found no reprieve in the dreadful tea anyway. 

Instead, Jace tried to find solace in other mediums. The library at Dragonstone had essentially turned into his bedroom now, along with the yard where he and Lucerys trained at arms. He toiled through the histories of wars and conflicts, pushing himself until blotches of crimson began to dot the ancient tomes. 

He trained at arms diligently, in an almost ruthless, cutthroat manner. Lucerys had since long given up on duelling him in arms, and the knights that had trained the both of them since they were old enough to pick up a sword had pleaded with Jace on numerous occasions to exercise more leniency on his younger brother. Jace’s only response to that was, “Will leniency be afforded to you on the battlefield, Luke?” 

To Rhaenyra, Lucerys and the rest of Jace’s family who cared deeply about him, it was admirable that Jace was pushing himself so hard. He clearly wanted to prove himself worthy of the title as future heir to the throne. But Rhaenyra could see far deeper than that. She recognised a reflection of her youth in her eldest son: the constant, debilitating need to prove himself. However, Rhaenyra did not know to whom he was trying to prove to. She had told him countless times of how proud she was of him and his prowess, but it was never enough. 

Rhaenyra had not seen a genuine, happy smile grace her son’s face since his thirteenth nameday. 

Jace could see his mother’s concern, could feel the worry of his brothers, the anxiety of Baela and Rhaena. He knew his refusal to open up had caused a slow, but increasingly noticeable rift between their relations, but how could he allow his family to witness his demons? To see the darkness that had been eating away at him like a parasite since he stepped foot into that godsforsaken fortune telling caravan? 

He couldn’t. 

He wouldn’t let the darkness taint his family’s joy, no matter what. This was a burden he must endure alone. 

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The day of Vaemond Velaryon’s petition brought out Jace’s paranoia which had been slowly building up over the years, like an ugly mountain of coal, to the forefront. 

But as it always was, fate rendered Jace’s promise useless when they received word that the Greens had repudiated the succession and crowned Aegon as King of the Seven Kingdoms in sight of the smallfolk. 

Jace nearly tore himself apart in rage, agony, and horror, at both himself and at the usurpers. How could this have happened? Jace’s mind was numb as he listened to the pained screams of his mother echo through the halls of Drgaonstone. How could he have failed so utterly in his promise to defend his family? 

He felt like beating himself up even more when he failed to get Daemon to at least accompany his mother during her labours. It seemed like such a triviality to be angry at, given their circumstances, but watching his mother’s vacant-eyed stare at the corpse of his dead sister just made him want to bash his head with a rock. He felt like a complete failure: he had failed to control his temper around his uncles and to behave in the calibre which the future heir to the Iron Throne should have acted as, he had failed to foresee and prevent the Greens from usurping his mother, and he couldn’t even effectively convince his stepfather to be there for his mother. 

And his snowballing of failures had led to the continuous, ominous echoing of the prophecy in his head. The constant feeling of being burnt alive. 

But then, the Seven, or whatever capricious deity that held the strings to his miserable life, shone a beacon of light into his life again. When his mother gave him and Luke the task of going as envoys and renewing the allegiances of various lords and ladies in the Realm, Jace was determined to use this mission to make amends. He would not fail his mother no matter what, he told himself as he swooped through the clouds, Vermax rumbling under him, as though sensing his rider’s fierce determination. 

He had landed first in the Eyrie, where he had initially received a frosty reception from the Lady Jeyne. With skillful persuasion and a reminder of the lady’s own familial ties to his mother through his grandmother, and the promise to send dragonriders to the Vale, Prince Jacaerys had just successfully completed his first envoy. 

He didn’t stay for long however, flying off the next day upon a restless sleep in the Eyrie’s chambers. Time was not on his side when it came to the prophecy, and Jace dreaded to think that every single second he took to idle or dawdle would cost his family their lives. He didn’t want to see the vacant-eyed stare his mother had at his sister’s funeral mirrored in her death. 

He then flew to Sisterton, then to White Harbour, and each time, he spoke with the lords firmly, yet charmingly, persuading them to his mother’s cause with promises and betrothals and reminders of their oaths. Jace found that he might yet be a fluent speaker in the language of diplomacy. 

However, now, despite his continuous successes, Jace never felt more nervous as he and Vermax soared above the snowy expanse of the North. Enervated grunts sounded from Vermax, and Jace felt sympathetic to his dragon. He clearly does not take well to the cold. But they couldn’t stop now, not when Jace was so close to completing his mission to his mother. He couldn’t disappoint her now. 

Cregan Stark was a man with a reputation, and not necessarily a helpful one to Jace. he was known to be stern, formidable, but the Northmen were known to be men of their word, and to have never broken an oath. But the Northern lords always had little interest in Southron politics, and Jace feared that the Wolf of Winterfell might take a stance of neutrality in the conflict instead. 

However, he couldn’t turn back now, and it wasn’t like he would do it if given the choice. The prophecy lingered over his head like a dreary cloud as of late, and Jace’s nightmares had intensified in its vivid horror. Vermax let out a shuddering grunt, as if in sync to his rider’s perturb. 

I can’t fail. I won’t fail. Jace thought to himself firmly, as Vermax’s leathery wingbeats began to slow as the structure of Winterfell loomed in the distance. ‘There has to be a way to stop the prophecy’s events from coming true somehow. There must.’ 

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Jace’s initial reception at Winterfell was as chilly as the climate in the North, even with the heat from the sauna emanating from the walls. Cregan Stark had lived up to everything Jace had been fearing, a stern, formidable man of few words, and seemingly disinterested in the brewing conflict. “The North has no place in Southron politics, my Prince,” Cregan had told Jace. Jace had a feeling he was trying to convey a sort of sympathy in his words, but the man’s face was unyielding as he spoke. 

A sentiment that Cregan had expressed had given Jace a small sliver of hope, “However,” the imposing man said, clinking down his cutlery. “Tis’ true that my late father swore an oath of obeisance to your mother. And House Stark, and the North, will honour that oath no matter what.” 

Jace had attempted to seize on that to leverage Lord Cregan’s support, but the man seemed adamant not to interfere. Jace spent the next moments picking listlessly at his meal, trying to decide the next best course of action. The Northern lord seemed as unyielding as stone, much to his growing frustrations. 

“If I may say something personal, my Prince,” Cregan’s low, thoughtful voice broke the silence. Jace’s heart leaped at the voice, coming to life with the hope for negotiations again. “Please, speak freely, my Lord.” “You remind me of my late younger brother, my Prince.” Jace tried to shove down his spike of disappointment, instead feigning politeness as he asked, “I am flattered. Do you hold fond memories of him?” Cregan nodded slowly, his eyes studying Jace’s every move like a hawk. “Many of them, in fact.” “May I ask in what way do I remind your Lordship of your late brother?” Jace inquired, out of courtesy more out of genuine curiosity. 

Cregan fixed his flinty gaze on Jace, the corners crinkling a little in memory. “The burden. The feeling of all the weight of the world on your shoulders.” 

Jace didn’t quite know what to answer to that, shrinking uncomfortably into his seat as Lord Stark’s gaze penetrated through him. He suddenly felt more aware of his age than ever. 

No other words were exchanged throughout the rest of their dinner. 

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Cregan had seen men driven by many things before: greed, anger, power, but he had never met someone quite like Jace Velaryon. A strange sense of urgency enveloped his every move, like he was racing against an invisible foe better known as time. Every one of his muscles always seemed taut in tension, his eyes broody, his mind clouded with a thousand storms of struggles. 

Perhaps it was this sense of oddity that drew him to become more sympathetic to the young prince’s cause. He had noticed that the young prince had grown more dishevelled ever since their dinner in the hall where Cregan had refused to lead troops in Queen Rhaenyra’s name. He looked like a petrified animal, leg stuck in a trap. 

Over time, Cregan began to warm up to the young Prince, taking his meals with him as Jace covertly tried to persuade Cregan into contributing his troops to his cause. Cregan was amused, but remained otherwise unswayed. 

And then, the raven from Dragonstone arrived. 

Cregan didn’t see Jace for a few days after that. The guards he had assigned to the young Prince had reported him looking nigh delirious, refusing to take more than a few bites of his meals, his eyes sunken in, and the occasional sounds of weeping coming from his chambers. 

It seemed the young Prince had been truly broken. And who wouldn’t be, with the death of their younger sibling? Innocent blood spilled at war, Cregan shook his head as he reread the letter from the maester of Dragonstone. Kinslaying was a taboo among Westeros, and rightfully so. Even Cregan had been hesitant when dealing with his power-hungry uncle a few years ago, choosing to imprison him instead of carrying out the sentence meant for treason: execution. 

When a week had nearly come and gone and Cregan had not caught sight of the Prince, he began to grow worried. The letter Cregan had received had requested for the immediate return of Jacaerys to Dragonstone, but the prince seemed to have no signs of moving in his mourning. 

Cregan was startled to see the young Prince appear while he was breaking fast in his solar on the morrow. While he had sent the young Prince an invitation, as courtesy bode, the sudden appearance of Jace had him unnerved. Jace appeared detached, polite, every inch the prim and proper Prince he was. But what sent a chill through even the hardened Northman’s heart was the look in Jace’s eyes. 

They looked steely determined, yet devoid of life, like he was a soulless shell of the person he was. The Prince before him was no man, but a wraith, worn thin by his inner turmoil.  

As Cregan offered his condolences, Jace had only smiled faintly, thanking Lord Cregan emotionlessly. “I can only hope that the usurpers will be punished by the Gods for my brother’s death,” Jace’s eyes glowed with an unearthly sort of fury, Cregan noted with concern. “My brother committed no act worthy of such a gruesome death. And for the act of kinslaying, my uncle must pay with blood.” 

“Justice will prevail, my prince,” Cregan reassured Jace, his black eyes filled with certainty. But what took Cregan aback was the hard look in Jace’s dark brown eyes: it was like wildfire, blazing and ready to consume everything in its path. And what unnerved the young Lord of Winterfell even more were the next words out of the Prince’s mouth: ‘What I desire is no longer just justice, but vengeance. I will rain fire and blood upon those usurpers who have harmed my kin, mark my words.” 

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Ever since receiving the missive informing Jace of Luke’s murder over Shipbreaker’s Bay, Jace felt like all time had ceased to exist. When once he fought to race against the clock to prevent the prophecy from coming true, now it seemed like nothing mattered anymore. 

Somehow, he managed to secure an alliance with Lord Cregan, having moved the man enough for him to pledge himself wholeheartedly to his mother’s cause. Jace should have felt relieved: that the task he had set out to do was accomplished, but now, he felt naught but a gaping hole where his heart had been. 

Luke had always been his baby brother. Joffrey was his youngest brother, but he was filled with an impish sort of charm and self-assuredness. Luke had been none of those. He was always the more serious, more sensitive of the three brothers. Jace had watched his mother place his dragon egg in his cradle. The first baby Jace had ever held in his arms was Luke. His precious, lovable, younger brother. 

And now he was gone, his remains lost forever to the sea. Along with poor Arrax, and the remnants of House Baratheon’s allegiance. With Luke’s death, it was like Jace’s heart had hardened into cold, unyielding stone once more, like it did when he had feared for Luke’s disinheritance and potential punishment during Vaemond Velaryon’s punishment. 

Dragonstone was an even drearier place now. The lingering feeling of despair that had been left in the aftermath of his mother’s stillbirth seemed to have increased tenfold, seeping into the walls and hovering above everyone in the fortress like a cloud of anguish. 

Rhaenyra had swept Jace into her arms when he had returned. Too tired to even receive her son at the doors, both mother and son held each other and cried in Rhaenyra’s chambers as they mourned Luke, their sweet boy. 

But after that, there was no time for tears. At least not anymore for Jace. Though he was still prone to walking into his younger brother’s room every morning to wake Luke up for their daily sparring sessions, he always halted in his path when he remembered. Luke was dead, and there was no coming back for him now. 

Perhaps it was this constant feeling of gloom that began to drive Jace back into his old patterns of neglecting sleep. With Daemon gone, and his mother barely a fraction of what she used to be, Jace had to take charge as the future heir to the throne. He initially felt miserable, finding it useless to fight with one part of his heart having been stolen away and smashed to pieces. 

Yet the echoing of the prophecy never ceased, and neither did the ticking of time. No, now was not the time for grief. There was still someone left to pay the price for Luke’s death, and Jace vowed that he would kill Aemond One-Eye with his bare hands, along with the rest of his traitorous kin. 

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The Hall of the Painted Table was in tumult, voices shouting over one another, loudest and most outraged among them was the voice of Lord Corlys, Jace’s grandsire. 

It had been hours after the Battle of Rook’s Rest, and the Black council was in chaos, as Lord Corlys raged and screamed at Rhaenyra, who looked passive and sickly despite being seated at the head of the table. 

“It should have been you,” Lord Corlys had screamed, his face a tangled mess of pure unadulterated rage and grief. Even Jace himself could not find the courage to stop his grandsire’s tirade, having experienced the death of Luke not too long ago. But an uncomfortable tingling plagued him as he watched his grandsire hurl curses at his already frail mother. He wasn’t sure whose side to take in this argument, so he kept silent, despite his reluctance. 

The Battle at Rook’s Rest had not been the only blow they’ve suffered. Earlier, Ser Erryk had been slain, by the hands of none other than his turncloak brother, Ser Arryk. The bloody discovery had sent jolts of alarm through Jace, as he soon came to fear for the safety of his younger siblings, who were vulnerable should Dragonstone be infiltrated by any more knights such as Ser Arryk. 

The seeds Jace had scattered on his laborious trip as an envoy had begun to bear fruit, and not a moment too soon. Quickly, Jace made arrangements for Luke’s betrothed, Rhaena, to make way to the Vale. going with her would be Joffrey, along with his mount Tyraxes. Too small to ride, yet Jace found a greater purpose in sending him as part of his promise to Lady Jeyne. The Vale was the most secure place in the realm, Jace had reassured his petulant brother, who did not wish to be apart from his family. When that did not work, Jace had instead convinced Joffrey that he was being sent to the Vale so that he may defend it against any of the usurper’s dragons, to which Joffrey eventually reluctantly acquiesced, though with a pout. 

Barely had Joffrey and Rhaena been sent away then did Jace start making preparations to send both Aegon and Viserys away as well. Both of them were even younger than Joffrey, and should be kept the in the safest and furthest place possible, lest the usurper tried to use them as hostages. This time, Jace enlisted the help of Lord Corlys, mending the broken bonds between them by naming his grandsire Hand of the Queen, a position Jace knew he had long coveted. With his grandsire’s help, they had made arrangements to send Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. It was more secure than anywhere else in Westeros, his grandfather had reassured him as they sent them both off. 

All this had been accomplished within the matter of a few days, yet Jace still felt restless. An unpleasant knot had formed in his stomach at Joffrey and Rhaena’s send off, and it only multiplied in its discomfort as Aegon and Viserys set sail. But I’ve done it , Jace thought, trying to console himself. That fortune teller can’t get all of my family now. I made sure that they were sent to the safest places in the whole of Westeros and Essos. I’m safe. We are all safe. 

Convinced, Jace had settled into bed that night, shutting his eyes with a grim sort of victory pumping through his veins. See how your god is a falsehood, he wanted to taunt the fortune teller, triumphant in his victories. 

He didn’t feel so victorious, however, when he fell into a deep slumber, and came face to face with the fortune teller’s face. This time his dream was tranquil, with no signs of fire anywhere. Jace had nearly hollered in sheer, utter relief, thinking he was free from the nightmarish landscape of that night’s visions at last. 

A slender hand reached out to Jace, and Jace levelled a baleful glare at the fortune teller, who only serenely shrugged and continued holding out her hand. “It is rude to refuse a lady’s hand, my Prince.” That voice that had once enticed him, that had been the source of his dread for the past few years. 

He couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle the woman or kiss her. 

She had looked much unchanged since their encounter in the caravan, Jace thought as he took her hand, slightly relishing in the warmth of it. That certainly didn’t feel like a dream. He looked around, registering nothing but rolling grass fields of an unnatural blue-green hue and trees with leaves of the same colour. Frosty pink roses dotted the landscape ever so often, and their sickly sweet nectar wafted through the air. 

“Is this real?” The woman tilted her head, and Jace’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the movement of her neck. Damn, he cursed himself internally. He needed to get a hold of himself. Keep himself focused on whether this was reality. 

“It’s as real as my god deems it to be, Prince Jacaerys,” she informed him, and a harsh laugh rolled off Jace’s tongue. “Your god, is nothing but a falsehood, my lady,” Jace informed her, his voice dripping with venom at the thought of what he had lost. Luke. His mother’s joy and happiness. His mother’s and his rightful birthright. Though Jace knew it was the greed of the Greens that drove them to such straits, Jace couldn’t help but feel resentful to this unknown, eldritch god who had driven his paranoia for the past few years. 

The woman’s face did not show any visible indicators of outrage, but a thunderous flicker in her stormy eyes made Jace feel a little cowed. He did not believe in the god that this woman did, yes, but he knows that there is something unearthly about the woman before him. Her eyes already narrated such an expressive story, Jace wondered about what would happen if all the power swirling in her was put on display in its full fury. 

“I’m sure you thought you’ve evaded sailing into the eye of the storm,” the woman began to walk. Jace stared after her, perplexed, but began to walk with her nonetheless. The sweet smell in the air began to dissipate, and Jace felt a wave of nausea in his abdomen as he began to smell burning flesh again. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by the more calming scent of something like honeysuckle. 

“A man seized by fear may do something moronic in the spur of the moment.. A man who allows fear to take control of him is as good as dead.” Anger bubbled in Jace, though he tried to tamp it down, worried that if he broke the serenity of their talk, the nightmarish scenes of fire consuming everything in its path and the dead faces of his family would return. Not that. Anything but that.  

“Had your god not shown me those visions, do you think I would have become a man ruled by fear?” Jace retorted in a calm voice, as they strode into a meadow, dotted with red roses. Jace was desperate to keep this conversation going, to know if he had been successful in tricking the heavens. He knew this woman held the answers to his success in the palm of her hand. He just wished he could stop his eyes from wandering and admiring her visage instead of the scenery. 

“Every man is ruled by fear, my Prince,” the woman’s voice was amused. “And are you telling me you regret seeing those visions? Would you rather have remained blissfully ignorant?” 

“Maybe,” Jace reached out to pluck a blood red rose, admiring its crisp petals. “Perhaps if I did, then I wouldn’t have to watch the ones I love die in my dreams, slaughtered by our enemies. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to watch my worst nightmares come to reality, to see Lucerys die and be helpless to stop it.” 

“But it’s over now,” Jace and the fortune teller turned to face each other. Her impassive look unnerved Jace slightly, but still, against his better judgement and by some raw, magnetic pull of the universe, he tucked the rose he had plucked free of thorns in the woman’s hair. 

“Joffrey and Rhaena are in the Vale, the safest place there can be in the realm. And Aegon and Viserys are in Pentos. Or soon to be.” He tilted his head upwards cockily. “I have beaten your god. And he would never be able to get the rest of my family. Not now, not ever, and if he wants to, he’ll have to spit on my dead, cold corpse.” 

Jace had intended to provoke the woman, to goad her into admitting that he had played his cards right and well, but her next words caught him off-guard. 

“And what of King’s Landing? The Greens and their dragons?” She reminded him. “The murderer of your brother and unborn sister still remain at large, and the usurpers will live to breathe another day, the same as the rest of your family. Tell me, is your happiness truly just relegated to the safety of your family?” 

“You know you desire more, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

The meadow filled with an eerie silence. The fortune teller’s eyes pierced through Jace’s, as if extracting all his deepest secrets with just a single, searing glance. 

“...you’re right,” Jace gritted his teeth. “It’s not enough. And I will raze the usurpers to the ground, every single last one of them, for conspiring against my mother. For murdering my brother.” 

“But if it’s a choice between vengeance and the safety of your family?” The woman’s voice was playful, a stark contrast to the subject matter they were discussing. “Is that your god’s way of telling me that I am doomed to follow one path or the other?” Jace asked sarcastically. He noticed that when he got more worked up, the familiar smell of burning flesh became stronger, before being quickly suppressed by a sickly sweet scent. 

“Mortals cannot have it all, Jacaerys Velaryon. We must make compromises.” Jace thought of Luke, poor, sweet Luke, losing his life at the hands of their uncle, thinking of his mother and the pain she had suffered through his miscarriage, hot white anger blinding him. But he also thought of Joffrey, Baela, little Aegon and Viserys, his mother, his grandsire, and Daemon. For all the wrongs the Green had wreaked upon them, if Jace ever came to the position where he had to choose between taking off Aemond’s head with his sword and protecting Joffrey, say, would he hesitate? What would he choose? 

“Not any more,” Jace forced out. “I will be controlled no longer by your god’s visions. By the fear he had instilled in me.” 

“My family has the power. We have the dragons and strength in numbers,” Jace’s voice rose in conviction. “The rest of my family are safely stowed away. What’s to stop us from raining blood and fire upon the usurpers?” The overwhelming smell of burning flesh was overtaking his senses again, and not even the sickly sweet scent of the meadow could hide it anymore. “I will prove your god wrong, my lady,” he informed her, a crude sort of determination in his voice. “The Targaryens are closer to gods than to men, after all.” 

The roaring in his ears grew louder and louder, and suddenly Jace was back in the battlefield of bodies again, the sky filled with shrieks as dragons plummeted to the ground. It was as if the fortune teller’s god was striking him down for his challenge to it. The hellscape blistered with smoke and fire, but Jace was insistent, continuing to yell. “You’ll see! You’ll all see.” 

Jace fought back the urge to flinch as he felt the burning sensation of fire engulfing him, forcing his screams of pain down his throat. That nightmare again. So he hadn’t escaped after all. His breathing grew heavier, as the flames grew greater in intensity and temperature. He could barely see anything now, and it felt worse than all the previous nightmares he had had. Was he wrong to have challenged the fortune teller’s god so boldly? To want to turn the tides of fate? 

“I will prove you and your god wrong!” Jace shouted, thrashing and trying to wrangle himself free from the prison of flames. “You will not touch my family no matter what! No more of them! I swear this on all my ancestors of Old Valyria, that you will have my family’s lives only if you spit and step on my dead body! Just try it!” 

A fiery burst of flame blinded his eyes, and Jace let out an agonised scream as he felt himself being burnt alive.

And then he was falling into an empty pit, his limbs outstretched and his heart seized by terror. 

A figure bolted upright from the lavish four-poster bed in one of the more secluded rooms in Dragonstone, gulping in the fresh air greedily. His sheets were stained with sweat as Jace wearily wiped a hand down his face, dismayed but not surprised to see a patch of scarlet stain his palm as a steady trickle of blood dripped from his nose. 

His heart thudding, Jace tried to recollect himself as his heart thudded in his chest. Yet again, the fortune teller’s calm, flowing voice filled his head as he recalled the last words he heard while he was hurtling through the empty vortex. 

“Dragonseeds.” 

A warning, Jace started, or another prophecy. But what does it mean? 

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Jace couldn’t quite find the steely strength that used to take hold of him every morning as he walked down to the Hall of the Painted Table. His vivid dream and talk with the fortune teller the night before had not yielded his intended result, to say the least. 

His grandsire was holding court as usual, and they immediately settled on their newest problem now that the younger children were away and out of the castle: the problem of their dragons. While the Blacks did have strength in numbers, having Syrax, Caraxes, Vermax, and even Baela’s Moondancer, as she insisted, against Aemond One-Eye’s Vhagar, the battle to retake King’s Landing or to withstand an assault by Vhagar would be a risky one. The loss of Meleys had been a devastating blow for the Black council’s earlier plans to take back King’s Landing as soon as possible, for it remained a key symbol of legitimacy that supported Aegon the Usurper’s rule. 

Jace sat stoically in his chair as Baela and his grandsire fielded suggestions and assessments on the risk factor of taking King’s Landing with their current dragons, lost in thought. His mind was focused on the dream he had last night, of death and battle and destruction that somehow felt more real and close to any dreams he had in the previous years, but also because of that fortune teller. 

That darn woman. With her mysterious words, her expressive eyes, her solemn wisdom falling from her very kissable lips- 

“Jace.” Jace wanted to kick himself for even thinking about such thoughts, when his betrothed was right next to him. Baela arched an eyebrow, clearly noticing how distracted he was. “My apologies, did you address me?” Jace murmured lowly to her, averting his grandsire’s disapproving gaze. 

“I asked what you thought about attacking King’s Landing with our current forces,” Corlys’ lips were pressed in a thin line, looking slightly displeased that his grandson had been caught lacking in his duties. Jace was about to repeat just about what everyone in the room had voiced out, when the fortune teller’s words from last night rang through his mind. 

Dragonseeds. Wild, untamed dragons on the island. 

Seven fucking Hells. 

“I would like to make a proposal.” 

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Lord Corlys had been dubious but intrigued about the plan of the Sowing of the Dragonseeds, but the Black council, including Baela, had seemed receptive to the idea. Particularly the Council. Jace wondered if he had made the right call when he saw the shifty looks on the various councillors’ faces, clearly hoping to claim a dragon of their own. After all, the Targaryens boasted their dragons as their might, should they be lucky enough to get the chance to bond with one…

The gold and knighthood Jace had planned to offer along for anyone successful enough to tame the dragons would pale terribly in comparison to a dragon. 

Jace was alone on the balcony with a view of the eastern slopes of the Dragonmont, musing, when he suddenly heard the doors slide open. His eyebrows shot to his hairline and his heart pounded with delight when Rhaenyra Targaryen emerged on the balcony, garbed in black. She had only been wearing black ever since Luke’s funeral, or the makeshift one they were forced to arrange without his remains. 

“Mother,” Jace greeted, moving to bow, but Rhaenyra halted his movements, moving to take his hands. “Oh my son,” she murmured softly, stroking Jace’s hair like she used to do when he was younger. “My strength and my consolation.” 

Jace felt a fluttery feeling in his heart, but also a deep pit of longing and sadness in his stomach. This was the mother he had missed sorely, not the one tucked away behind the vacant-eyed stare, face subdued during council meetings and always looking preoccupied with her own thoughts. 

“Mother. Have you heard of my plan about the Dragonseeds?” Jace asked softly, a warmth spreading across his cheeks as his mother gently stroked his hand with her thumb. His mother smiled, “I have. I think it is a sensible plan. More dragons on our side is never a bad thing.” Her eyes glittered with pride as she reached out and cupped Jace’s face in her hands gently. 

Taken aback but not at all averse to the gesture, Jace let himself be soothed, letting all the nightmares, that nonsense about the prophecy be evaporated into thin air. All he needed was his mother’s comfort. 

“Oh, my sweet boy, how I have let you down,” Rhaenyra spoke tenderly, sorrow in her voice. Jace felt something in the spell break, Rhaenyra was speaking to Luke. Not to Jace. A bit of Jace’s happiness gave way to sadness. 

“You haven’t let me down, Mother,” Jace tried to reassure her, but his voice came out a little croaky. “I should be fighting for you. It is my duty as your son and heir to the throne.” 

A little of the vacantness slid back into Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes. “I’m glad you know that, Jace,” she said quietly, but it broke Jace’s heart to see how far away she was. How her heart never fully repaired after Luke. 

But for now, Jace was content in acting as a placeholder for Luke, if it meant that his mother would return to him bit by bit. How long it took did not matter, he just wanted his family to be able to heal, to survive. He would shoulder a thousand burdens if it meant he would see them all safe and sound. 

The prophecy rumbled through his head again, but he tamped it down, not wanting it to poison his moment with his mother. 

“You’ve grown skinnier, Jace,” the pads of Rhaenyra’s fingers gently traced under Jace’s undereyes, where his eyebags were more prominent than ever. “Are you well? You need not feel too troubled, you know. We will win the war, because I am the rightful heir to the throne. The rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” His mother’s voice was so full of conviction, so much like the mother he had known, that Jace didn’t have the heart to tell her that conviction did not win wars. 

Whomever favoured fate did. 

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The Dragonseeds plot had worked its magic, and soon enough, four of the six wild dragons had been tamed. While Jace had not come to trust them just yet, he felt a little abashed. Was he just treating them with mistrust just because they were of bastard birth? He knew he had no prerogative to think in that shameful manner, after all, wasn’t that being a little bit of a hypocrite himself? 

There was no time to dwell on guilt however. With the sowing of the Dragonseeds, Jace, Rhaenyra and Corlys had been advancing the plan for the taking of King’s Landing at breakneck pace. Jace felt a warm relief spread through him as he began to see his mother participate more actively in council meetings, and he could see how much it invigorated the council too. The former self-assured, rosy glow his mother had would never quite be the same, but Jace was content to settle for this for now. 

Alas, all good things did not last. 

They had underestimated the strength of the Greens’ alliance with the Triarchy, as demonstrated when his younger brother, Aegon, returned on a faltering Stormcloud, in terror after having been attacked by Triarchy warships in the Gullet, and losing his younger brother, Viserys in the ensuing melee. 

Rhaenyra turned pale as soon as she heard the news of Viserys’ disappearance, collapsing into her chair and no longer speaking another word. Still, she listened and watched as Jace and Corlys began discussing plans to counter the threat of the Triarchy, knowing that if House Velaryon’s hold on the Gullet broke, it would be a resounding strategic win and gain in resources for the Greens. 

Thus on the fifth day of the new year of 130 AC, a flurry of dragons and ships departed from Dragonstone, all headed for the Triarchy. Jace commanded Vermax, along with the other Dragonseeds, his lips pressed in a thin line and eyes haggard with lack of sleep. His nose had been bleeding oft as of late, even now, as they drew closer to the Gullet, but Jace only wiped it away with a fierce look on his face. 

It was his first battle as the heir to the Iron Throne, and he was going to show those Triarchy bastards they had chosen the wrong side to back. 

Swooping down on a line of Lysene warships, Jace narrowed his eyes as he heard the alarmed calls of “dragon!” among the crew. Good. 

“Dracarys!” Hungry dancing flames licked the wooden remains of the Lysene warships, as chaos broke out throughout the fleet of Triarchy warships. “Hold your formations!” Jace could hear the soldiers scrambling, but more frenzied shouts began filling the air, as the shapes of Vermithor, Sheepstealer, Silverwing and Seasmoke appeared in the skies. 

“Fire!” Jace barely had time to react before a Myrish crossbolt had nearly struck Vermax’s underbelly. His dragon let out an enraged shriek as it swooped for the offending vessel, burning it to ashes. Jace gritted his teeth, they had clearly learnt this tactic from their time in dealing with Daemon in the Stepstones. 

Egging Vermax on with a roar, he bade Vermax to destroy as many vessels loaded with crossbolts as possible. Already, some ships were beginning to turn, a good sign for them. Jace was confident that the battle would end in a resounding victory for them. 

Just then, he flew past Seasmoke, whose rider, Addam Velaryon, looked ashen. Jace’s gaze shot to where he was staring at, where the ships were headed straight for Driftmark and Dragonstone. Fuck. 

“Stay here!” He yelled a command to Addam, already directing Vermax to head back to defend Dragonstone and Driftmark. “I’ll handle this. Burn every ship that has one of those fucking crossbolts, and don’t fly too close to the water.” 

With that, Vermax’s leathery wingbeats headed for Dragonstone once more. Please, Jace begged, hoping to make it in time. No more of my family. Not my mother, or little Aegon. Please no. 

Perhaps if Jace was more careful, more alert, he would’ve noticed the squadron of ships, veiled by the smoke of the fires Jace had set earlier. Perhaps if he hadn’t chosen to fly so close to the edge of the water, hoping to conceal Vermax’s presence and sneak an attack from behind instead of from above, he would’ve noticed the crossbolt aimed at Vermax’s eye. 

A loud roar filled the air, one which could be heard all the way across from Dragonstone. Vermax shrieked and flailed, as both squadrons of ships attacked at the same time, loosing crossbolts at him. Jace panicked, trying to redirect him to fly up, to escape, to flee, but a horrific screech erupted from Vermax as a crossbolt pierced his eye. Jace was gripped with fear as he began to unbuckle his saddle as Vermax careened for the waters. 

In his frenzied fury of pain, Vermax loosed several fireballs, which hit the ships in front of him, destroying the back of some of the squadron headed for Dragonstone. The ships splintered into pieces as they exploded, and the remaining ships shouted orders to row away from the firing range of the dragon. 

As Vermax hit the waters with a loud crash, Jace finally got loose of his saddle. Spotting an adrift, large shipwreck near him, he leaped free…

And landed on the shipwreck, barely clinging on in the freezing waters. He struggled to keep afloat as Vermax continued thrashing about in the waves, and his heart ached as he watched his beloved dragon suffer. 

Then, a sharp, excruciating pain filled his left chest, and Jace looked away from Vermax to see an arrow lodged in his chest, piercing his dragonriding leathers. 

Fuck. 

Jace tried to make himself look smaller, anything to seem less conspicuous, but a volley of arrows were shot in his direction. Most of them missed in the dark, but the pain was blinding to the point where Jace’s feeble grip on the wood slowly loosened, and he thrashed about wildly in the cold sea waters, gasping for breath. The weight of his dragonriding leathers and scarce amount of armour did not work well in his favour however, and the treacherous waves soon dragged him down, into the deep dark depths of the ocean. 

I cannot die now, Jace thought, sputtering for air desperately. My family, my mother needs me. She cannot lose another son- 

The currents were getting harsher and harsher, as Jace bled out helplessly on the water. Armour, he needed to dislodge his armour- he frantically attempted to remove it, but as he lost more and more blood, his limbs grew number and number, and soon, he could barely retain consciousness. 

‘I’ve failed. I’ve failed them all.’ was Jacaerys Velaryon’s last thought as he was pulled beneath the currents by invisible tendrils of water, into the murky depths below. 

‘I’m sorry I failed to protect everyone.’ 

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In his dreams, Jace was at the meadow again. The woman was nowhere to be seen, but he could feel her presence all around him. A light, serene sort of happiness filled him, and he felt the phantom feeling of warm arms wrapped around him from behind. 

It was something he hadn’t felt in years. An eerily calm sense of bliss. But Jace didn’t care, he was too busy relishing in the moment where his mind was free of his demons. Free from worrying about his family’s survival, about the prophecy, and about the war. 

In his blurred senses, he could see someone smiling at him, a tender, playful one. A warm breath grazed his ear and the voice from his sweetest dreams and most horrid nightmares spoke in that calm, flowing manner of hers. 

“The living are not quite done with you yet, Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

And that was the last thing he heard before darkness consumed him once more. At least this time there was no pain. 

The first thing Jacaerys registered when he woke up was the faint scent of snapdragons. He groaned as he awakened, feeling an agonising pain in his shoulder as he tried moving. 

Aren’t I supposed to be dead? Jace remembered the events of the battle of The Gullet, where he had watched Vermax flail about in the sea, screeching as he fought not to drown in the cold depths of the ocean. His heart ached at the loss. Another one of my family gone, in the blink of an eye. And in the sea too. He wondered how the battle ended, did they win? 

But that soon became a minor concern as he began pondering…where exactly was he? He looked around, trying to sit up, but the pain in his shoulder forced him to fall back onto his pillow with a groan. So he was still alive then. Sudden panic gripped him. Had he been taken hostage by the Green forces? But if he had, then he would be in a far worse state than he was now. 

He glanced around the small space, noting that he was in a cottage of sorts. The smell of salt was heavy in the air, and the sky outside was grey and gloomy. Had some fisherman rescued him when he washed upon the shore? And if so, where in the Seven Hells was he now? The Crownlands? He definitely didn’t wash ashore on Dragonstone, or he would have been handed over to his mother. His heart ached as he wondered how his mother must have reacted to the news of his death. Once he ascertained his whereabouts and who had saved him, he would fly home for Dragonstone immediately….Jace sighed when he remembered that Vermax was dead now. He would send a raven or any messenger bird he could find then. 

The sound of the front door to the cottage opening caught Jace’s attention and he tried bolting upright, but yelped when his shoulder pain acted up again. He waited with bated breath as the door to his room opened, and revealed his saviour and possible enemy. However, the sight before him left him thunderstruck.

In that instant, Jace’s heart felt like it had stopped and then had been jolted forcefully back to life again by a tight grip. 

No. No, no, no, it was impossible. He had died, had felt the arrows pierce through his chest near his heart, before he fell prey to the treacherous waves of the Gullet, drowning in his failure. This has to be some false afterlife, set up to torment me. 

And yet, the pain in his lungs was overbearing, and definitely real, as he sat on the bed like he had been bolted to it, tightly clutching the coarse bedsheets in his fists. 

The whole world seemed to stand still as his eyes took in the familiar figure, holding a basket of herbs in her arms. Garbed in simple peasant clothing, yet that did not diminish her otherworldly beauty. 

“ You. ” 

“Me.” An insouciant, wry grin graced her lips, and it was like Jace’s most horrible nightmares and his dreams were blossoming before his very eyes. 

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Prince Jacaerys.”

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published as part of the HOTD Big Bang 2023

Part 2 will be published soon! If you made it this far, thank you for reading! 💗

[minecraftbookshelf]

MOS.

Would you like to tell us about regional holidays and festives? Whale migration festival? End of Harvest Season? First day of Spring? Do Empires share a big common holiday, maybe like Christmas?

Absolutely

So we have three categories here; canon holidays, holidays I already had in mind, and holidays i figured out while thinking about this ask. We'll go in that order.

There aren’t exactly any universal holidays, but there are some that are fairly widespread.

Canonically we have two holidays, Winterfest and Halloween.

Winterfest is from Rivendell and is their winter solstice celebration. It's primarily centered around communal celebration and gift-giving. There is also a strong religious aspect to it, though that has been a bit more subdued of late given the somewhat awkward situation with the whole "the king is the champion of Exor" thing. (Scott usually presides over the Winterfest ceremonies.) This was also Scott’s favorite holiday growing up. Traditionally the people stay up all night (children usually have varied success with this) and there are bonfires and food. Gifts are usually left to be found, rather than given directly.

Hallowe'en is a mortal celebration, primarily in Mythland. Lately Katherine has taken an interest in it as well and often travels to Mythland to celebrate it. It is also celebrated in Helianthia, the Grimlands, the Crystal Cliffs, Mangrovia, and the Swamp, to varying extents. It is celebrated on the Autumn equinox and involves costumes and pranks and gifts, usually of the edible variety.

-

Some holidays that I already had percolating are…

Solstices and Equinoxes tend to be fairly universally celebrated to different degrees in different places.

The Helianthian harvest festival, which takes place in the fall, usually either shortly before or after Hallowe’en and is their largest holiday. It is primarily celebrated via food and community, with lots of music, dance, and story-teling. People weave crowns and jewelry from wheat and grass and wear them. No other accessories are worn during the celebrations. 

The Church of the Blood Sheep has several smaller observances throughout the year, especially on the solstices.

Pixandrian new year is a major event, when they celebrate the death of the old year and the arrival of the new. This is another “stay up all night” event. The oasis is lit up so bright it can be seen for miles across the desert during this time. Feasts are held and the old year is honored at the vigil. And then they dance and dance and dance until dawn. Pixandria uses a lunar calendar and their new year is the new moon that marks the transition from winter into spring.

The spring equinox is the biggest seasonal celebration in the Overgrown, though the autumn equinox and both solstices are also huge. But they are the Spring Court so obviously, that equinox is their biggest. This is not a safe celebration for mortals. It’s wild even by fae standard, with music, alcohol, and hunting. Mortals straying too close tend to end up hunted. The Helianthian border villages will celebrate this equinox during the day, but they lock their doors tight that night.

There is a late summer observance in the Swamp centered around the slime harvest.

Rivendell has a sheep-shearing festival in the late spring.

-

Some that I thought of because of this ask…

The Ocean Empire is primarily in warm waters so they don’t actually see whales most of the year but I really do like the idea of the towers being in sight of a whale migration highway and that being one of their major seasonal observances. It would also be a hunting event, though they probably would only hunt one or two. A single whale goes a long way towards sustaining a community. When they first were establishing themselves at their current location it was probably only one whale but they have enough people now they might go for two or three. They wouldn’t need more than that most likely because they have trade-routes and established infrastructure for food.

Mezaleans celebrate the spring equinox around the mother tree. This is when the annual coming-of-age ceremony is held there. People travel into the capitol from all over the mesa for it.

-

There are more of course, smaller region observances especially. But this is a good collection I think! Thank you for the ask!

[multi-lefaiye]

tell me obscure eden facts gogogo (🫂🫂🫂)

(🫂🫂🫂)

oooohhhg fuck okay idk if these are obscure per se, but random eden facts let's go!! most of which i probably haven't talked about publicly.

he's such a slut for tea, especially green tea. and he prefers his tea with a little cream but a lot of sugar.

he has a sweet tooth! but he moreso likes sweet fruit rather than candy or desert. his favorite fruit is raspberry.

eden doesn't have a deadname; he kept the name eden after realizing he was trans and transitioning, and he's not interested in changing it. he's eden, and that's that.

his favorite animals are sheep, especially lambs.

when he was little, eden's family frequently went to an autumn harvest festival in a nearby town. it was something he looked forward to every year, and it's where he met his childhood bestie, kader. mainly, though, he was very excited to see sheep.

eden is the exact opposite of the autism stereotype that all autistic people struggle making eye contact. he makes so much eye contact. the most, even, better than anyone. (he's the king of Unnerving Stares.)

i originally imagined eden to be 5'0", then i got self conscious and bumped him up to 5'8", then decided i still want him Short and took him back down to 5'3".

he was born in the summertime! not sure exactly when, though.

aaaand that's all i got for now. i had more but i'm a bit scattered

[moonmaiden1996]

AemondxreaderxOsferth

The mark of the seven glared down at you as the festivities unraveled around you. No expense had been spared in celebrating the betrothal between you and the princes. Despite the uproar, the Faith of the Seven had tirelessly promoted the unusual engagement you found yourself in, sending riders to every house in Westeros to come to see the Mothers blessing. However, it didn’t seem to stop the whispers not matter how blessed by the gods you were.

Pressing the cup to your mouth, you swallowed the sour wine as you watched another gaggle of Ladies eye you with red cheeks and judging stares as you sat the top table left with no place to hide.

Since the announcement you had waited to wake from this dream, to find yourself back in your chamber in your families keep. No matter how much your pinched yourself you did not wake up. Here you sat, a little sheep surrounded by dragons. Osferth and Aemond had been lost to the crowd for some time. Aemond to smooth over the troubles with the Baratheon: Osferth pressganged by the Septon to dazzle some northern believers in the Old Gods, leaving you seated by yourself once again.

Despite residing in the keep for nearly a moon, you had not been able to have more than fleeting conversations or moments alone with either prince. Walks had been commandeered, dinners usurped, even your betrothal breakfasts had been derailed by the Queen and the small council. So while you never seem to be wanting for your betrothals company you had yet to have a proper conversation with them,  and with your approaching marriage it appeared you would be marrying strangers. The two boys you spied playing dragon rider in the garden were gone, replaced by two strapping men, chiselled by the gods themselves. Who were to be yours. Only yours you hoped. And you had no idea what to do about it.

A sudden heat raised through your body, making your skin prickle and tingle against the stifling mesh of the corset the queen and her attendant squeezed you into.

"Are you okay my child?" The king spoke, pulling you from your thoughts.

"I am a little hot, my king. If you will excuse me I require some fresh air.” You rose carefully curtsying before scurrying towards the doors.

Your feet only met the middle step of the platform before you were held fast by the stiff grip of the king. Once the steely grip of the warrior weakened by time and disease, yet strong enough to keep you in place.

"My king?"

"Are you well my child? Happy?" his tone soft, fatherly almost.

It was a strange question, no one had asked her if she was happy before the announcement, your own sweet father didn’t even ask you. Marriage was expected, a duty, and marriage to a prince an honour. Your honour being twice so with two princes and blessed by visions from the Mother. But we're you happy? Osferth’s was, by all account, pleasant and gentle, he smiled and spoke softly to you when he pulled chairs out for you or passed you plates of food. Aemond was more problematic, stoic, broody, he seemed to hover constantly, and though he was far less approachable then his brother, he was sweet, informing the kitchen of your preferences, distracting the queen when she overwhelmed you. You were lucky to have a match with men like them, rather them than a man like Aegon.

"Yes my king, I am... very happy to become a member of your household." You frowned as the kings eyes scanned your face.

Slowly, his feeble grip relented and allowed you to escape the stifling heat and burning eyes of the court, but more importantly those lavender eyes of the Princes.

Xxxxxxx

The icy air felt good on your skin, soothing the fire within you your chest heaving from your heavy pants. Closing your eyes you lent against the cold stone, enjoying the brief respite from the chaos of the feast.

"A Lady should never wander too far from the feast... especially one thrown in her honour. One might think your trying to escape... " A deep voiced purred. Opening your eyes you meet the violet eye of Aemond Targaryen.

"Prince Aemond I... I am so happy to see you." you sighed.

"Your rapid departure would appear otherwise...some would think you were not happy about our betrothal.’’

"I am happy..." you stuttered.

"I heard...very convincing." Aemond luscious mouth stretched out in a grim line.

"... Aemond...I am simply a little overwhelm. It all too much..."

“To much... your are to be princess. A Targaryen. A blessing from the Mother herself...many women would do unspeakable things to be standing beside two dragons.” His voice was harsh, as he growled at you.

“I didn't ask for this... I”

"Did you not...? So it was not you that went confessing to the septa asking them to absolve you of that little sin that that made  your little bud of yours glisten and gush... for me and Osferth" A tight smile graced his features as he descended upon you.

"My darling little brother came scurrying to me.” he purred. "A flustered stuttering mess. Should have seen how much cold water it took to soften his cock. Us dragon have fire in our veins and the mere thought of you makes us burn even brighter. I always thought you were too berthed over my brother taking his vows to even think of the one eyed cripple just like the rest of the court....” he advance slowly, pushing you back against the wall. "But on hearing how you wished us to devour you... Was to good to pass...” his voice was low now, hot like molten lava against your skin "having to come up with this little farce to get you my pretty girl, but your worth it. Even having to listen to those pious old cunt and being paraded around like a doll, worth it to soon be finally between your softness, having you to touch and hold every night. To be ours.” Aemond growled curling his hand around your throat, forcing you to look at him.

Never before had you seen the composed features of the dragon be so contorted with emotion. Another gasp gave him a opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Clumsy and awkward but still enough to take your breath away.

"Aemond." A scolding tone pulled your apart.

Osferth. His short golden hair, like a halo around him, he always seemed so otherworldly, they both did, but Osferth was so pure it hurt to even look at him. Even now you could not bare to look at him.

“I really thought you were beyond such base instincts dear brother.” Osferth preened as he walked closer, making you painfully aware you were still pinned to the wall by a firm, hard body.

“Do not pretend to be above them, dear brother. I was simply showing our future bride the intensity of our affection.” Aemond rumbled pulling you closer, his hand ghosting over your neck, making you whimper.

Īlon agree daor naejot sȳngagon zirȳla. (We agree not to scare her.)

Eza issare qrīdrughagon hen īlva tolī bōsa, kesan daor emagon zirȳla stolen qrīdrughagon dombo, qogralbar se rest hen zirȳ. (She has been kept away from us too long, I will not have her stolen away anymore, fuck the rest of them.)

 Aderī lēkia, aderī (Soon brother, soon)

“Aderi.’’ Aemond nodded, tightening his hold on you.

You stood frozen as you stared wide eyed at the princes as they glared at each other, only snapped from their silent communication as the words tumbled from you lips. "You lied... you were to become a Septon... How could you?..."

"Hush... I would not have joined, those men care less about the faith then anyone. They know nothing of goodness, or purity or love. My dreams and my thoughts are only of you. The Mother has shown me that the only true power she can give us is love. The love we have for you, and with that, we can better the world."

"But..."

"Hush, dear heart..." Osferth cooed, pressing you against him, wedging you fast between their bodies.

"Let me and Osferth look after you..." Aemond whispered lowly in your ear as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. For the rest of the night, you were trapped between the dragon princes, never leaving your side.

Couldn't wait to post this while I edited my Claiming his Queen chapter. Please let me know what you think and if you want to see anything. This will properly be a series of one shot.

@multitargaryen

[kaerontes]

chuuya discovers fireworks for the first time, but only years later he learns to appreciate them

Nothing in the world made Chuuya happier than all the times he could be useful to the Sheep, every moment he made their enemies run away cause he's just way too powerful for outside people not to feel intimidated—and then all the kids would run up to him all screams and smiles decorating their faces, ready to celebrate yet another victory and another peaceful day he guaranteed them

At first it made him feel a bit awkward, not knowing how to react or how they expected him to act when all mouths named him their king; but then he learned to appreciate it, and soon he started noticing the way he was infected by their happiness. He would caught himself smiling back when they screamed in joy, and accept their hugs and sometimes even help with all the preparations for the moment they would gather and make a little party later that night

But then there was a day Chuuya had just scared another threat when he suddenly saw something in the sky — so focused on protecting the Sheep, his never-ending duty, he never before had enough free time to go to festivals, and his eyes shone as the first firework flew to the sky, the bright comet-like light exploding in more colors than he could name them, and suddenly making the dark night sky glow

Suddenly all the screams and applaused were nothing but a distant memory, his mind focusing only on the beauty that was all the colors and shapes

After a few minutes later someone finally noticed his mind was far away, to the way he was just standing there, speechless, while many talked to him. It was easy to guess what he had on his mind

"He never saw it before, right?", whispers started to be heard

"We could go to a festival one day, all of us", a small hope

But louder voices claimed that was too dangerous, "who'd protect us if our king left?!", it was just one comment — one Chuuya could've discussed about later and make his way to the pretty lights... yet, for some reason, he felt bad

So he smiled, turned his back to the fireworks and giggles, "don't worry, I was just surprised by that, no need to go towards the danger, even worse bring y'all with me"

So, after that day, he didn't pay much attention to fireworks, not when he had more important stuff to look after

A few years later, he was all alone sitting on a bench, the only lonely soul at a park while the moon was out, the only light that shone that night

And he was surprised when a sudden single firework flew to the sky, suddenly bursting and painting the sky a beautiful golden, like the brighest sun

No longer with the heavy duty on his back and the constant lookout for danger, he let himself admire it; his eyes completely fascinated by the rising and falling of the fast sparkles, letting himself enjoy that little moment since he was all by himself and no one could expect anything from him at that time

But then he suddenly heard a voice, a very familiar voice

"Wanna come to the festival? It's nearby"

Chuuya looked surprised by the sudden apparition, and even more to the casual invite

"The mission, though?"

"Oh right, the mission—us mafioso can't have any fun, right? Yet, I heard our target is hiding amongst the visitors, wanna go check there? Just to be sure?"

It was a lie, Chuuya knew it was a lie

But he nodded, "Yeah, sure, just for the mission"

[it could be the flags, it could be dazai (maybe even adam if you change the dialogue a bit), but they'd made sure chuuya enjoyed that night, no worries and no fears, just himself, the fireworks and the ghosts of satisfied smiles looking at his cute admiration towards the lights]

I wrote this based on a prompt I saw on tiktok that went "secondary character discovers fireworks for the first time while the rest of the team casually celebrate victory", sadly I forgot their @ but if I find it again I'll add here!

[schweizercomics]

As of this week, I'm back from the Welsh mountains of Snowdonia, where my family and I went three weeks ago for a harp festival in which my daughter was participating. We spent most of our time in the castle city of Caernarfon, where the festival took place, and stayed across the street from a really big, really lovely old church at the base of Twthill, “Wales’s smallest mountain,” site of a Yorkist victory during the War of the Roses.

One of the days that we were there, I took a bus to nearby Bedgellert, ostensibly named for a noble but unjustly murdered 13th century dog, and set out to reach the top of Dinas Emrys, which lay outside the town and near a defunct Victorian copper mine (which I also crawled around in).

(outside the mines, before I started walking)

I wandered through a lot of countryside, woods, and sheep farms. The standard Welsh joke is "Don't like the weather? Wait five minutes," and that was the case - ten minutes heavy wind and rain, ten minutes sunshine, off and on for about four hours.

In the next pic, you can see the hillock of Dinas Emrys from before it crests upwards...

...and here it is from the top. The tree sits just outside the tower ruins (the pit to its immediate left).

I've never had such a beautiful walk to such a satisfying end. Not only was the peak gorgeous, but it also had the bonus of being a historical/mythical destination right up my alley.

The top of Dinas Emrys is where the oldest English/British histories (the 9th century Historia Brittonum and Geoffrey of Monmouth's famous History of British Kings* place the tower of Vortigern (and subsequently Ambrosius, in many versions the older brother and predecessor of Uther Pendragon), which in the legends had to be rebuilt numerous times because of the red and white Dragons that fought at the pool below it and which were taken by a (then young) Merlin as an omen for Welsh/Briton victory over eastern invaders.

*My pal Benito Cereno is currently translating Geoffrey's book from Latin, with some commentary, on his Patreon, and you can read his translation of the story here.

The sun was finally (consistently) shining by the time I got to the top, so I took off my shoes and socks to dry them, lit my pipe, set up my easel, and did some sketches of both the tower ruins and, once I climbed down to it, the hidden pool below.

I was quite happy with the travel easel I'd built and carried for the last eight or nine miles, until the heavy wind took it off the side of the mountain and broke it. It's fixable, but not without tools that I didn't have in the mountains, so that was that.

I haven't finished most of the Dinas Emrys sketches - like a lot of my travel stuff, I pencil (and sometimes ink), throw a couple of spots of color, and take photos to use as reference, so that I can do more pieces on a limited traveling schedule. But I'm looking forward to finishing the drawings of the pool especially - it felt like I was in a fairy tale down there, and I hope I can convey it (although the leafless, windswept [I think] hawthorn trees, reaching toward the pool like hands, aren't like any trees I've ever tried to draw before this trip, and trying to get them right is part of the reason I ain't yet done).

The trip back down was less idyllic, partially because going down over wet rocks is, while less strenuous than going up, more demanding of care and attention, so I had to watch my feet more than the surroundings, especially having taken a fall up by the ruins. But I'd count the trek as one of the genuine high points of my life. I was elated and in awe for hours at a stretch, and absolutely overcome with the beauty of it. And, while the rain might've been unpleasant and chilly at times, it meant that the sun fought through water and clouds to create the most incredible vistas, and the rain meant that the colors of the mosses and grasses were at their most vivid.

I'll have castle drawings down the line, too, and some others from around the harbor town, and I can't stress how much we enjoyed our time in Wales.

I did take a few days to go up to Leeds, do a signing at Traveling Man, and visit the  Royal Armouries a few times to do drawings. One of the folks who came to the signing, Dr. Tzouriadis, is a currator at the armouries and was kind enough to give me a tour on my last day in Leeds, including getting to see the research library, which I now know to make an appointment for visiting the next time I'm there (I likewise learned about the British Library reading rooms and research collection, and got a card for it for the next time I'm in London).

Dr. Tzouriadis was incredibly generous with his expertise, and I learned or clarified a lot of really neat things that'll influence how I draw swords and armor in the future. And I've had some practice this trip thanks to the incredible collections with which I had a chance to spend some time.

Each day over the month of May, I'll be posting one drawing of a sword (or other edged weapon) from either the Royal Armouries, the Tower armory, or the British Museum. It's jumping the gun a bit, but here's a sneak preview of the first one:

They're toned with a single color (indigo) so that I can collect them into a book in black and white and make both its manufacture and selling cost a bit less than I could were I to do color - it also cuts down on the time spent making them. I'll likely put them up for sale each day as I post them, likely for the same price (50 plus shipping?), as a means by which to recoup some of the (substantial) cost of the trip.

While in Leeds I also got to meet cartoonist James Lawrence, have dinner with cartoonist John Allison, and briefly stop by OK COMICS in the arcade, which was an incredible store with an amazing selection of books.

After Wales we went to London (Penny's first time), and Penny was unfortunately ill for a couple of days, so I spent time at the museum doing sketches, and visiting the library treasures gallery. We saw a couple of musicals that Penny was keen on seeing, went to Charles Dickens's house, visited the Tower, ate some cheap meat pie with jellied eels in Greenwich, toured Westminster and St Pauls (I went to a Eucharist service at the latter, as well as one in Wales in a lovely little church built into the castle wall more than seven hundred years ago), and a handful of other things, including seeing the Tempest at the Globe Theater - my first time seeing a play at the Globe, and my first time seeing the Tempest performed.

I also got to visit a whole store devoted to Tove Jansson's MOOMIN, where I got a mug and a biography of Jansson, and it was next door to the Benjamin Pollock's Paper Theater shop. I went to London disappointed that the Pollock paper theater museum had closed only months before after decades of operation, and didn't know that there was an (unaffiliated since the 80s) shop, so stumbling upon it was a real treat (stumbling is how I like to do cities - I walked crisscrossed the town between the Euston and the river and found some great shops, including a lot of bookstores).

Now that I'm home, I'm very keen to get back to work. I'll be doing Patreon commissions, coloring a book for my friend and frequent collaborator Kyle Starks, and just settling back into being able to work, which I missed an awful lot despite the wonderful trip.

[black-arcana]

BUTCHER BABIES Announce September/October 2024 U.S. Tour

BUTCHER BABIES will embark on a U.S. headlining tour in September. Support on the "Good Lord! The Butcher's Ded!" trek will come from DED, DROPOUT KINGS and FOX LAKE.

Tickets go on sale this Friday, August 9.

Tour dates:

Sep. 18 - Palmdale, CA - Transplants Brewing Company Sep. 19 - Los Angeles, CA - 1720 Sep. 20 - Bakersfield, CA - Temblor Brewing Company Sep. 21 - Reno, NV - Cypress Reno Sep. 23 - Seattle, WA - El Corazon Sep. 24 - Portland, OR - Bossanova Ballroom Sep. 26 - Salt Lake City, UT - Metro Music Hall Sep. 27 - Colorado Springs, CO - Black Sheep Sep. 29 - Denver, CO - HQ Oct. 01 - Tulsa, OK - The Shrine Oct. 02 - Oklahoma City, OK - 89th St Oct. 04 - Austin, TX - Come And Take It Live Oct. 05 - Dallas, TX - RBC Oct. 06 - San Antonio, TX - The Rock Box Oct. 07 - El Paso, TX - RockHouse Bar & Grill Oct. 08 - Roswell, NM - The Liberty Oct. 10 - Tucson, AZ - The Rock Oct. 11 - Phoenix, AZ - Pub Rock

BUTCHER BABIES played their first concert since the official departure of co-founding co-vocalist Carla Harvey on July 27 at the Stonehenge festival in Steenwijk, The Netherlands.

The band announced Harvey's exit in a social media post on July 20. BUTCHER BABIES wrote: "As you may have already guessed, it is confirmed that Carla Harvey and BUTCHER BABIES have officially parted ways.

"Carla has been an integral part of our journey, bringing her unique talent, passion, and energy to the band. We are grateful for the incredible memories we've made together and the impact she has had on our music and our fans. We will miss her greatly and we wish her all the best in her future endeavors.

"We deeply appreciate your support over the past 15 years," BUTCHER BABIES added. "We feel incredibly fortunate to keep making and playing music as our career, and we are excited for this new era of BUTCHER BABIES!

"See you on the road."

Carla added in a separate post: "Over the last 6 months You may have noticed my absence from BUTCHER BABIES posts. After 15 years of dedication, I wanted to let you know that I will not be rejoining the band for any future endeavors.

"I am super proud of my work with BUTCHER BABIES…2 EPS, 5 Full lengths albums and countless tours with our metal heroes! To all of our incredible BUTCHER BABIES friends and fans…you have provided me with some of the greatest experiences of my life! I have loved every second of writing and performing all over the world for you! I have loved meeting you. WOW. I still can't believe this kid from Detroit got so lucky.

"I am not done making music and performing. I WILL see you soon".

Last fall, BUTCHER BABIES completed a European tour without Carla, who sat out the trek in order to undergo emergency surgery on her left eye.

Harvey shared the news of her absence from the tour on October 26, 2023 in a social media post. The 47-year-old singer, who co-founded BUTCHER BABIES in 2010 with fellow vocalist Heidi Shepherd, posted a photo of her performing with her bandmates, and she included the following message: "Here's a picture of a girl in her happy place; unfortunately i won't be in that happy place on the upcoming @butcherbabies Euro run. Love you all but i have to sit this one out!

"I have a history of problematic vision and I had to have a major surgery about 10 years ago in my right eye for a retinal detachment. On our summer tour the telltale symptoms repeated themselves in my left eye. I've been hoping to avoid major surgery but it is clear that it must be done. My emergency surgery will include a healing process of laying face down for a number of days with a gas bubble in my eye."

Carla added: "This is the first time in fifteen years i won't be able to join my friends on stage but right now my health and sight take precedence for me. While I am gutted that I cannot make the tour the risk of me waiting till after a tour to do such a surgery is too great and includes permanent vision loss. The beauty of having two vocalists is that Heidi can cover for me until i'm better!

"Hoping to make it out for part of this euro run...go to the shows, have a blast and support my bandmates for me! I'll see you soon!"

In the comments section, Shepherd voiced her support for her then-bandmate, writing: "Sending all the love and healing. We'll hold down the fort while you heal. We need those beautiful eyes to work!!! Love you!"

BUTCHER BABIES' three-week European tour is scheduled to conclude on August 17 at the Czech Republic's Rock Of Sadská festival.

This past January, Harvey and ANTHRAX and PANTERA drummer Charlie Benante announced that they were officially engaged.

BUTCHER BABIES released a double album "Eye For An Eye..." and "…'Til The World's Blind", in July 2023. The double album celebrates the tenth anniversary of BUTCHER BABIES' critically acclaimed debut, "Goliath", released on July 9, 2013 via Century Media Records.

BUTCHER BABIES' previous album, 2017's "Lilith" was produced by Steve Evetts (THE DILLINGER ESCAPE PLAN, SEPULTURA, SUICIDE SILENCE) and marked the band's recording debut with drummer Chase Brickenden, who replaced Chris Warner in 2016.

In July 2019, longtime BUTCHER BABIES bassist Jason Klein announced his departure from the band. He has since been replaced by Ricky Bonazza.

[midnight--capricorn]

I started worldbuilding for my hypothetical FE ROMHack and now it's everyone's problem

(It's not actually a problem I swear)

This world has no name. The kingdoms (as of now, there are just four) have no names currently. For now, I'll refer to them as their colours: Blue, Purple, Green and Grey. (yes, they're colour-coded, any character from one of these areas has the colour somewhere on them, no matter how big or small, so for example, our first duo, Wiljem and Valentin, are from blue; and our red and green cavs Hartwin and Dragomir, as well as the myrmidon Cydon are from the grey kingdom.)

For this, we're focusing on the Blue kingdom because that's the part I developed a little more than the others.

All info under the cut

CLIMATE- How is it and how are the people there adapted to it?

[Blue] is a very cold place, to the point it can and will snow on most days, and people stay inside at night if they can. However, it also has an extremely clear view of the stars and possibly even some galaxies if one does decide to brave the freezing temperatures and overwhelming darkness.

If wool isn't a farming thing for this kingdom, it is a highly valuable import to make clothes of and line them with. Fur is also a highly valuable material for lining an outfit, though due to hunting laws fur is only really on the clothing with those of a higher status- or a thief who would rob those rich people blind (Valentin).

The cold makes people highly resilient, and if they aren't and don't have shelter, they will most likely die.

TRADE AND ECONOMY- What sort of jobs are there? What goods do they import/export?

As noted, wool is a highly valuable material for this kingdom due to its requirement in making good-quality warm clothing. (I am going to have to research if sheep can survive in cold climates, my guess is possibly but also I don't know if they can survive what is essentially a tundra. They can survive Scotland, is that close enough?)

Lakes and the ocean tend to not actually be that frozen year-round, so fishing is a huge industry in [Blue]. However, due to the coldness of those lakes and the sea, any accidents can quickly turn fatal. There are laws in place to prevent overfishing and causing the extinction of the fish in this sea, especially since it's not just their meat that's sold- it's also the highly iridescent scales. To rich people, of course.

As far as this goes this is still very underdevloped and I will have to continue on this further.

CULTURE- Festivals, Religion, etc.

Ok so this part is VERY underdeveloped, only thing I really have here is the religion part

So there's these two dragons- neither are good nor evil they're neutral forces- the Aurora (ice) dragon and the Nova (fire) dragon. I haven't gotten much besides that ngl.

They disappeared off into the stars and it is believed that every person's soul joins them in the stars once they pass on (which does reflect some cultural beliefs of real life iirc I will have to study those too)

[Blue]'s royal family and church leaders don't tend to intersect, until Wiljem came along. Normally the first-born son, so Wiljem in this case, would be the ruler. However Wiljem has more affinity for being a priest, so while rule was supposed to go to him it'll go to his older sister when the king dies (and he's a fire emblem parent you know what will happen)

There is a specific mountain in [Blue] where the stars are clearest on very specific nights of the year, and every member of the clergy is supposed to make a pilgrimage to it at least once on one of those few nights. Even members of the church of the other kingdoms may join these pilgrimages to get a taste of the practices of [Blue]'s church.

Ok that's kind of all I've got for worldbuilding so now I'm going to list the current amount of characters we have for this kingdom:

WILJEM- The Lord of this hypothetical ROMHack (and plot in general)- a prince who in later life is meant to join the church. Uses staves and light magic.

VALENTIN- A thief who broke into the castle for his big heist at the worst possible time, but it led to him technically saving Wiljem's life so they've put that aside. Dresses like nobility despite not being so for... some reason (you won't get that reason though). Please, for the love of the Aurora and Nova dragons, don't bench him. He can be benched but he's important. (he also has a paired ending with Wiljem)

Wiljem's sister (currently unnamed)- Crown princess of the land. Kind, but rather stubborn and pushy. a Pegasus Knight.

Wiljem's father- King of [Blue]. In typical fire emblem parent fashion, he dies. Honestly I haven't gotten much besides that.

An unnamed Cleric who was going on a pilgrimage before the invasion and murder of the King- Held hostage by Leena, a mage knight of [Purple] and Aelius, a wyvern rider of [Purple].

yeah that's all I got for now cya