#noble journey conquest

[pinkyberet]

Overgrown

🌲🌳🌴🌱🌿☘️🍃🍀🎍🪴💐🌷🌹🥀🪻🪷🌺🌸🌼

[blakeswritingimagines]

Waiting (Kinktober)

Word Count: 2.8k

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

In the vast and ancient lands of Westeros. Aegon the Conqueror, a man of great power and ambition, had been waging war and conquering kingdoms. As he traveled through his realm, he came across a young healer known for exceptional skills and a compassionate heart. You had earned a reputation for helping the sick and injured with your innate ability to heal. The renowned healer, was in the midst of tending to a patient one day when word reached you that the fearsome Aegon Targaryen, the self-proclaimed King of the Seven Kingdoms, was asking about you. A mixture of curiosity and trepidation washed over you. Rumors of his fearsome battle prowess and ruthless demeanor were renowned throughout the realm, making it hard to imagine why such a powerful king would take an interest in you. Upon hearing news of your existence, Aegon felt a spark of intrigue. It wasn't often that someone captured his attention, especially given his focus on matters of state and military conquest. Still, something about this healer intrigued him. He dispatched messengers to invite you to court, where he hoped to learn more about you and perhaps discover if there was a deeper reason he could use you.

As the messenger arrived at your modest abode, you were initially taken aback by the summons. You had spent your days quietly tending to the sick and injured in a small village, and the prospect of being called before the King himself was daunting. However, your curiosity and the desire to understand why the king would seek you out prevailed, and you accepted the invitation. The journey to King's Landing was long and treacherous, but you eventually arrived at the grand city and its imposing Red Keep. As you approached the castle, you could see the imposing structure rising high above the city, a symbol of Aegon's power and dominion. Nervously, you presented yourself before the King's advisors, requesting an audience with Aegon. They led you to the throne room, where you were greeted by the sight of the formidable conqueror seated atop his mighty throne. Despite his intimidating presence, there was something about his piercing gaze that made you feel like prey. "Ah, so you're the famous healer." You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage as you stood before Aegon. His gaze was intense, and it was difficult not to shrink under the weight of his authority. Still, you managed to nod, your voice steady as you replied. "Yes, Your Grace. I am a healer renowned for my skills in treating the ill and injured."

Aegon studied you closely, taking note of your calm demeanor and your apparent sincerity. "I've heard much about your talents," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "It seems you possess a gift that many lack—the ability to mend bodies and souls alike." He paused, leaning back slightly on his throne. "Tell me, what inspires you to tend to the afflicted? What drives you to help others?" You took a moment to consider his question, your eyes meeting his gaze without flinching. "I…I believe that it is our duty as healers to alleviate suffering and bring comfort," you said, choosing your words carefully. "When I see someone in pain or in need, I cannot turn away. It is as if a force within me compels me to act, to use my skills to bring hope and healing to others." The king nodded slowly, a rare sign of contemplation crossing his face. "That is a noble cause," he acknowledged, his tone carrying both respect and a hint of admiration. "And it seems you have found your purpose, just as I have found mine through conquest and rule." He leaned forward again, his eyes locking onto yours once more. "But tell me, do you ever tire of the burden you carry?" You furrowed your brow, taken slightly aback by the unexpected nature of his question. Rarely, if ever, had someone asked you about the emotional toll of your profession. "Yes…" you admitted after a moment of hesitation. "There are days when the weight of it all feels overwhelming. When I see suffering that I cannot alleviate, or when the healing process is slow, it wears on me. But the gratitude in their eyes, the relief on their faces when they feel better — it is a reminder that what we do is crucially important. It gives me strength to carry on."

A flicker of understanding passed through Aegon's eyes as he listened to your response. "Strength," he mused aloud, "is a commodity that can come from many sources. In combat, it comes from physical might and strategic cunning. For you, it appears to stem from compassion and dedication." He paused, then added, "Perhaps you can help with a personal matter then." Your curiosity piqued, you regarded the king with a mixture of caution and interest. "Of course, Your Grace," you replied, your voice steady. "If there is something I can do, I will gladly offer my assistance." You said with a soft nod. "Everyone else may leave," Aegon commanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the throne room. His guards and advisors exchanged glances, some looking uncertain, but they obeyed without question, leaving the two of you alone in the vast chamber. As the room emptied, leaving you alone with Aegon, a mixture of unease and anticipation settled upon you. The king's commanding presence filled the space, and you couldn't help but wonder what he wanted to discuss in private. "There is a personal matter I wish to discuss with you," Aegon said, his voice low and serious. "A condition that plagues me, one that few know about." He hesitated for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. "I require your discretion. Will you hear me out and keep what I say in confidence?" You regarded Aegon with an even gaze, the weight of his words sinking in. Taking a deep breath, you replied with a firm nod. "Of course, Your Grace. I understand the importance of discretion, especially with matters of personal health. You have my word—whatever you tell me will remain confidential."

Satisfied with your promise, Aegon leaned back in his throne once more, his gaze distant as he began to speak. "As you know, I am no stranger to conflict," he started, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. "Yet there is a wound that does not heal, a pain that persists despite my best efforts at recovery." Your interest was thoroughly piqued now. A wound that would not heal, a pain persisting despite the king's best efforts—it was an intriguing mystery. You leaned forward subtly, listening intently as Aegon continued. "The pain manifests itself in my joints, particularly in my shoulders and hips," Aegon explained, rubbing at the affected areas unconsciously. "It comes and goes, sometimes worse than others, but it has plagued me for years now." He looked up at you, his expression grave. "I fear it may worsen over time, impacting my ability to lead effectively." The gravity of his predicament struck you, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. The idea that the mighty Aegon himself was plagued by a mysterious illness was surprising, to say the least. You ran through various possible conditions in your mind, trying to piece together what could be causing such pervasive joint pain. "Have you sought the aid of healers before?" you asked, your voice soft and compassionate. Aegon let out a dry chuckle, though there was little humor in it. "Healers have attended to me," he confirmed. "They have prescribed remedies, applied poultices, even performed blood magic rituals. Yet nothing seems to provide lasting relief." He sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging slightly under the weight of his words. "I seek new perspectives and fresh ideas. That is why I brought you here—to consult with you, a healer of renown."

The weight of his words sank upon you, and your mind went into overdrive as you began considering possible diagnoses. Joint pain, persistent despite many treatments—it was a challenging puzzle to solve. After a moment, you spoke, your voice steady and thoughtful. "If traditional methods have proven ineffective, we may need to explore alternative explanations. Tell me, has there been a particular incident or event that preceded the onset of your symptoms?" Aegon's gaze drifted off again, lost in thought as he recalled past events. "There was a battle… near Storm's End," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was thrown from my horse and landed badly. Perhaps that was the catalyst." He shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself for not being able to pinpoint the exact cause. Your mind latched onto his words, and you nodded slowly. "I see…an injury during a battle could certainly be a potential cause for your current symptoms. It's possible that you may have sustained some form of internal or joint damage during the fall." You paused for a moment, your thoughts racing. "Would you mind if I examine you? It may help me get a better understanding of your condition." Aegon considered your request, his face a mask of uncertainty. Exposing his body to someone, even for medical purposes, was not something he was accustomed to. But the need for answers seemed to outweigh his reservations. "Very well," he agreed, standing up from his throne. "Let us proceed." You nodded gratefully, appreciating his trust in you. "Thank you, Your Grace. If you would, please remove your tunic so I can examine your shoulders and hips more closely."

With a heavy sigh, Aegon removed his ornate tunic, revealing the muscular torso beneath. Despite his age, he still carried the strength of a man who had spent much of his life in combat. You noted the way his muscles tensed slightly as he revealed himself to you, a sign of both discomfort and reluctant submission to your examination. Observing Aegon's exposed skin, you gently palpated his shoulders and hips, feeling for any signs of tenderness or deformity. Your touch was light yet firm, and you paid close attention to each area where he reported pain. "Your muscles seem strong enough," you observed. "But there might be underlying issues within your joints themselves. We'll need further testing to confirm this." As you finished your examination, your fingers lingering perhaps a bit longer than strictly necessary on certain sensitive areas, Aegon's breathing grew heavier. There was a glimmer of heat in his violet eyes as they met yours. "Is there anything else you require, my lady?" he asked, his voice low and suggestive. Your touch lingered just a tad longer than necessary, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. Pulling away reluctantly, you stood up straight and turned to face him. "For now, Your Grace," you murmured, your own breath quickening at the proximity between you. "However, I believe we should consider a more thorough evaluation to fully understand the extent of your condition."

Aegon's gaze held yours, his purple eyes dark with a simmering desire. "And how would you suggest we conduct such an evaluation?" he asked, his voice thick with suppressed longing. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until you could almost taste the air around him. The king's closeness sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. "Perhaps…a massage," you suggested your voice barely above a whisper. "To relax your muscles and assess the depth of the issue." Your hands instinctively moved to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. Aegon's response was immediate, a deep groan escaping his lips as your hands pressed against him. "A most… unconventional approach," he breathed out, his own hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you ever so slightly towards him. "Yet one that holds promise." The sensation of his hands on your body ignited a fire within you, and you leaned into his touch, your breasts pressing against his bare chest. "Unconventional, indeed," you replied, your voice husky with arousal. "But sometimes, the unorthodox path leads to unexpected discoveries." With a growl, Aegon pulled you flush against him, his hard length pressing against your stomach. "Then let us embark on this uncharted journey together," he murmured into your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. "Who knows what secrets our bodies may reveal?"

The heat radiating off Aegon was intoxicating, and you found yourself lost in the intensity of his gaze. "As you wish, Your Grace," you whispered back, your hands sliding down his sides to grip his buttocks firmly. You pushed your pelvis against him, grinding lightly against his throbbing member through the fabric of your clothes before slowly kissing down his body until you were on your knees before him. Aegon's breath hitched at the sensation of your lips trailing over his skin. "By the Seven," he muttered, his fingers tangling in your hair as you descended. The sight of you on your knees before him, looking up with those sultry eyes, was enough to make his knees weak. "Be gentle," he commanded, though his tone belied the fact that he craved nothing more than your rough ministrations. Your tongue darted out to lick across the head of his manhood, tasting the salty essence of his arousal. Moaning softly, you wrapped your lips around him and began to suckle, taking him deeper into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. One hand reached up to fondle his balls while the other stroked his shaft, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer squeezes. The pleasure surged through Aegon's body like wildfire, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward to meet your movements. "Gods…" he moaned, his grip on your hair tightening. Every flick of your tongue, every pull of your lips sent jolts of pure bliss coursing through him. "More," he gasped, his command punctuated by a sharp intake of breath.

Encouraged by his reaction, you increased the pace, sucking harder and bobbing your head faster along his length. Your free hand roamed over his thighs, kneading the muscle as you worked diligently to bring him to the edge. You felt a strange satisfaction in knowing that you, a common healer, could elicit such reactions from someone as powerful and revered as Aegon. The sensations were overwhelming, and Aegon could no longer hold back. With a roar that echoed throughout the room, he came undone, his seed spilling into your welcoming mouth. His entire body shook with the force of his release, and he swore under his breath, a string of oaths that would have made a sailor blush. After swallowing every last drop, you released him from your mouth and gazed up at him with a satisfied smirk. "Quite the potent draught you possess, Your Grace," you teased, licking your lips clean of any remaining traces of his essence. Licking his length clean before taking him into your mouth once more. Aegon's legs trembled, and he had to brace himself against the wall behind him to stay upright. "By the old gods and the new," he panted, "you're quite skilled with your mouth." His hands guided you, urging you to continue although he knew he shouldn't allow himself to succumb so easily. Your eagerness to please him was evident in the way you eagerly took him back into your mouth, sucking and licking with renewed vigor. The sound of your wet noises filled the room, and you reveled in the knowledge that you were responsible for the ragged sounds coming from the mighty King.

Aegon's control snapped completely, and he let out a string of curses as he reached his second climax, pumping his seed down your throat once again. This time, however, he didn't hold back, letting go with a primal intensity that left him panting and shaking. When it was finally over, he slumped against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion. "That was…unexpected," he admitted, his voice hoarse from shouting. Rising gracefully to your feet, you pressed yourself against Aegon's still trembling form, your curves molding perfectly against his hard planes. "Unexpected but pleasurable, I hope," you purred, nipping playfully at his jawline. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles as if committing them to memory. "Did it help you feel better, your grace?" Aegon nodded slowly, still trying to catch his breath. "It did indeed," he confessed, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something about the way you looked at him, so confident and full of desire, that stirred a hunger within him. He reached up, cupping your face gently in his large hand. "And now it is my turn to repay the favor," he said, his voice low and intense.

[pradnyesh1008]

Embark on a journey to the heart of Veridonia, an empire shrouded in tradition and mystique. The Golden Throne stands as the symbol of power, yet beneath its gilded exterior lies a realm of political intricacies and hidden secrets, waiting to be unveiled. In a world where politics, intrigue, and war are the norm, you must navigate your way through the complex web of alliances and enemies that surround you. This game is for those who love adventure, drama, and intrigue. It is a game where every decision matters and every outcome are different. It is a game where you can shape the fate of an empire and make history.

“Dive into the epic world of ‘The Golden Throne’ with its first book, ‘Crown of Conquest’. A journey you won’t forget!”

In the vast continent of Veridonia, a great empire stands on the brink of uncertainty. Emperor Varian III, the revered ruler who has led his empire with wisdom and strength for decades, finds himself facing a devastating reality.

As his health deteriorates, the absence of a suitable heir threatens to plunge the entire continent into chaos and ignite a destructive war between the kingdoms. Now, facing his own mortality, the emperor grapples with the realization that his thriving nation could crumble without a clear successor.

News of the Emperor’s failing health spreads like wildfire, reigniting ancient rivalries. The various kingdoms, each vying for power and control, sense an opportunity to assert their authority. Fear murmurs within the hearts of the people, and trepidation blankets the land.

Whispers of an impending civil war pervade the corridors of power, and tension begins to mount as rival factions strategize and secretly forge alliances in anticipation of the emperor’s demise. Drawing upon an elite advisory council, composed of trusted ministers, scholars, and military strategists, the emperor endeavours to explore all possible avenues to secure a peaceful transition of power.

Noble houses assert their claims to the throne, while whispers of treachery and deceit echo through the corridors of the imperial palace. A sense of urgency fills the air, as the emperor’s condition deteriorates, and time becomes the most precious commodity.

As the final days of the asserting claims and authority draw near, a solution begins to emerge from the chaos. King Aric, the king in the north, your/MC’s father, emerged victorious, chosen as the heir to the Golden Throne. In this epic tale of power, loyalty, and betrayal, will you succeed in helping your father preserving the legacy of his predecessor, or will Veridonia descend into a dark age of war and destruction? Are you ready to claim your destiny? Will you follow your father’s footsteps and become a worthy successor to the throne? Or will you carve your own path and challenge the established order? The fate of a continent hangs in the balance, and only time will tell. This is the thrilling saga of “Crown of Conquest”.

 A rich and immersive setting inspired by real medieval history, culture, and geography.

 A branching storyline with multiple endings and consequences based on your choices and actions.

 A customizable character with four different personality options and various traits that define your skills and abilities.

 A dynamic stat system that reflects your character’s growth and development throughout the game.

 A diverse cast of characters with their own backgrounds, motivations, and agendas.

 You can befriend, romance, or antagonize them depending on your choices.

 Violence and Gore: The game frequently depicts gory, brutal battles and graphic acts of violence.

 Frightening/Intense Scenes: There are many intense scenes that can be frightening for some readers.

 Graphic Deaths: Characters often meet violent, graphic ends.

 Torture Scenes: There are scenes depicting torture.

 Sexual Content: There will be many scenes with sexual acts.

 Dark Humor: The game contains dark humor, which may be unsettling or offensive to some viewers.

 Sadistic Behavior: Some characters exhibit sadistic behavior which can be disturbing.

 Substance Abuse: Characters are shown consuming alcohol excessively.

Demo:

Forum:

https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-the-golden-throne-60k-words/142838/59

RO's

Male RO's

Female RO's

[yns-world]

House of The Dragon Reacting to You Being Courted and Wedded to Someone Else

part ii of The Heir series

part i

a/n: fem reader, race not specified, size not specified

Y/H/A = Your House Animal

Y/H/C = Your House Color

In this imagine, your jealous lovers are: Rhaenyra and Daemon

Context: After inheriting the crown, your first duty was to find a King's consort. As part of your heirship, King Viserys forbade any Targaryen to ever meddle with your reign, wanting your dynasty to be as true to you as possible. 

Rhaenyra: As your Hand, she knew very well that it was your civic duty to wed and produce heirs, no matter how painful it was for her to watch. During your courtship, she created a 3-month tour to visit every kingdom on the map to find the most suitable match, because Rhaenyra knew that you weren’t just marrying the person; you were creating an alliance with the whole House. This required a careful evaluation of a lord’s status, wealth, and history. When she came back from her journey, she presented you with three candidates--

“Ser Tyland Lannister from House Lannister of Casterly Rock; Ser Laenor Velaryon from House Velaryon of Driftmark; and Ser Harwin Strong from House Strong of Harrenhal.” Rhaenyra presented the three men and they all bowed before the throne. 

“And what do they offer the crown?” Queen Y/N inquired, clearly unimpressed by the selection. 

“House Lannister has enough gold to fund the crown. House Velaryon has thousands of fleets that are pledged to fight for any and all of your greatest conquests. And finally, House Strong is a noble house that produced the greatest warriors ever known.” Rhaenyra answered, looking up at the queen with an arched brow, waiting for a snarky comment that never came. 

Queen Y/N pondered on the options for a moment, flicking her eyes from Rhaenyra and to the three men standing before her. 

“Congratulations Ser Tyland Lannister, you have the honor of being named the King’s Consort.” There was a layer of disdain in her voice, a layer that Rhaenyra picked up on. 

In honor of the two Houses uniting, a brand new banner was designed-- Y/H/A and the Lannister Lion were sharing arms, while Y/H/A wore a crown and the Lannister Lion held a sword in its other paw. Your house colors switched places, with Lannister Red coloring behind Y/H/A and Y/H/C being behind the Lion. 

From the beginning, the process of your marriage was a difficult pill for Rhaenyra to swallow, but all the pain and suffering was worth it when you named your first daughter and heir apparent after her-- Princess Rhaenyra L/N, second of her name, heir to the Iron Throne. 

Daemon: Daemon was appointed Lord Commander of the Queensguard and a “friend of the crown”, so to speak. When it came to your marriage, you believed that Daemon would be unaffected by the political arrangement. To your astonishment, it was quite the opposite. 

Just a few hours after the first candidate showing, Daemon decapitated the suitor that you had your eyes on-- some prick from House Lannister. 

In the beginning of the killings, nobody knew who this culprit was. But you knew, you knew all along, you just wouldn’t be dettered so easily. 

The next morning after the first death, Daemon sulked into the throne room and dropped to his knees in front of you. He latched onto your legs and started sobbing into your silk gown.

“All my life I was the second choice-- the second son, the second heir-- I don’t want to be your second lover. I want to be the only one. You are the Queen of the Realm, I am nothing but your servant.” After catching his breath, Daemon slowly raised his desperate eyes to your face. With a finality in his voice, he spoke. “Nobody is worthy of the Queen of the Realm.”

This killing pattern would continue with every single candidate that came close to becoming your consort. It got to the point where fathers of prominent Houses were terrified of sending their sons to ask for your hand in marriage. Eventually your council knew they couldn’t get you to wed for as long as Daemon stayed at your post, so they let you become a king-less queen. 

The unfortunate victims of Daemon’s rage were labeled as the Queen’s Ghosts-- the 32 men who were brutally murdered in Queen Y/N’s name. These victims came from all of the major families and then some-- House Lannister of Casterly Rock, House Stark of Winterfell, House Baratheon of Storm’s End, the list goes on. 

Daemon’s brutalities were quickly associated with you, earning you the title “The Queen of Death.” You didn’t mind the title, it only fueled fear in the hearts of the people that didn’t already bow to you. 

Of course, there was the question of your next heir. Since you weren’t wed, how could you possibly have any children? 

Fortunantely for you, the agreement between your House and House Targaryen forbade you from any legal contraction, but that didn’t stop Daemon from siring four of your children out of wedlock-- one boy and three girls. Your first son and heir was named Sol, after the sun. Unlike you, Prince Sol would grow into a king who would fit his inherited title of “The Ruler of Death.”

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging since it helps my account! :)

DON'T BE A GHOST READER!!!! i would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, and comments are what keep writers going <3

i'm open to HoTD requests so just read my pinned post for request rules <3

if you have any ideas for other scenarios for this series or just any ideas in general, please don't hesitate to hmu!!! i want to hear what everyone has to say :)

[lemonhemlock]

"Rhaenyra didn't have a choice; she was married to a homosexual man and they had to produce heirs somehow!"

Let's see what Rhaenyra could have done differently to secure her claim, ranging from the most ridiculous to the most advantageous.

Rhaenyra / Aegon

Otto puts this proposal forward to Viserys in order to combine the two rival claims.

I don't blame Viserys for refusing; the age difference is too big and I doubt 17(?)-year-old Rhaenyra would appreciate being betrothed to a toddler. It would also place her towards the twilight of her reproductive years by the time Aegon could be reasonably expected to consummate the marriage.

It's a good idea on paper, but just too damn weird, I'll grant you.

Rhaenyra / Jason Lannister

Rhaenyra acts so offended that Jason Lannister has the audacity to propose to her, but why wouldn't he?

He is conceited and aloof, but he's the lord of a very powerful, very rich house that has been sidelined by the Targaryens ever since the Conquest. They're just itching to receive some attention. He has the means to build her a Dragonpit at Casterly Rock if she so wishes, he has the resources to back up her claim financially and militarily and he would definitely press for her to become Queen.

Marrying Jason would also rob the Hightowers of a powerful ally and leave them more isolated.

Betrothal tour

If it's marrying for love Rhaenyra wanted, she had a reasonable chance for that, too!

There's no reason she couldn't have married Harwin, if she wanted. They were both at court at the time. She could have easily made a list of eligible young men starting with the Red Keep and the Crownlands and assessed each possibility. It's not terribly romantic, but imagine having this level of freedom.

Viserys was super permissive with her and told her to pick whomever she wanted (I presume he'd have to be of noble birth, at least).

He even organizes a royal progress for her with this very purpose in mind. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity that no other woman or man in Westeros has ever had. To journey through Westeros, be feted by the lords, go to feasts and balls organized in your name... ! No wonder Alicent considers Rhaenyra ungrateful.

All she does is huff and complain and insult her suitors. She is seen exasperating Boremund Baratheon with her antics.

Viserys only forces her to marry Laenor Velaryon after the brothel debacle with Daemon. It's suggested that he doesn't believe her to be a maid any longer by the fact that he sends her moon tea. In his mind, he has to marry her as soon as possible to prevent her from making any more rash decisions.

The match is not a bad one, politically-speaking. The Velaryons are a another rich, powerful house that could provide Rhaenyra with a fleet, money and even dragons to secure her claim.

Rhaenyra & Laenor

Jace and Aemond are about the same age. Realistically speaking, how hard did Rhaenyra and Laenor actually try to conceive?

I realise that they both suffer from the trappings of patriarchy here, but they seemed to get along fine and could have had a reasonable partnership. With the risk of sounding crass, Margaery proved more inventive than them.

In any case, Rhaenyra and Laenor didn't need to have children. Viserys already provided enough heirs. Rhaenyra could have just named Aegon as her heir and be done with it, instead of creating a future succession crisis by having bastard children.

Corlys wouldn't have been pleased by this and could have threatened not to support her, since he seems really pressed to become grandfather to a king, but by compromising on Green heirs to succeed her, the question of a succession war becomes less likely. And what's Corlys going to do, not support his son, the royal consort?

Laenor doesn't need heirs either. Laena exists and has her own children. They can get Driftmark after him. If Corlys is really hung up on male primogeniture, he can take it up with his wife, daughter and son-in-law.

Absolutely do not marry Daemon and make people think you killed your husband.

Of course, it would also help tremendously if Rhaenyra didn't alienate the green faction by completely ignoring her siblings and acting hostile towards them whenever the occasion permitted. If she maintains a good relationship with Alicent, she is less likely to collaborate with Otto.

Of course, Viserys messed up his own succession when he took a second wife from a prominent family and fathered younger sons that could challenge his eldest daughter's claim. But there are also actions that Rhaenyra could have taken on her own to secure her own position and even prevent future wars. She wasn't a powerless, hapless victim in all of this.

[primamchorus]

FFXV: Reimagined :: Table of Contents

"To crown the King of Light is the calling of the Crystal. Only the True King anointed by the Crystal can purge our star from its scourge."

-Young Lunafreya to Noctis

The star teeters on the brink of being under the iron grasp of the Niflheim Empire's conquest. Since the rise of the Niflheim forces, so too has the rise of the daemon threat when night falls grown. Such a prophecy is known and held close to those who wish to see it fulfilled, and to that end, the prophecy must come to fruition lest Eos succumbs to a night everlasting.

Sleepless Nobility :: Introduction to the Nobles

In Good Hands || Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Eye of the Beholder || Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Ever Beating Heart || Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arms Interlocked || Primam & Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tempering the Shield || Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

A Word in the Ear || The Vox Siblings || tumblr // Ao3

Burning Valor || Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Prologue :: Tales of Loss

When the Rain Falls || tumblr // Ao3

Sendoff || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva || tumblr // Ao3

"You Can Call Me Luna" || tumblr // Ao3

Sylleblossom || tumblr // Ao3

Garden of Fire || tumblr // Ao3

Enemies at the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

The Bonds of Brotherhood :: The Start of a Journey

Good Morning || tumblr // Ao3

Broken Glaives || tumblr // Ao3

Cleaning Party || tumblr // Ao3

Departure || tumblr // Ao3

The Pauper Prince || tumblr // Ao3

Teach Them Boys a Lesson || tumblr // Ao3

Lock and Quay || tumblr // Ao3

A Sky of Ruin Foretold :: The Fall of Insomnia

For Hearth and Home || tumblr // Ao3

Noblesse Oblige || tumblr // Ao3

Bird and Blossom || tumblr // Ao3

Pleasantries || tumblr // Ao3

The Peace Treaty || tumblr // Ao3

Like a Phoenix || tumblr // Ao3

Traitorous || tumblr // Ao3

Succession in Blood || tumblr // Ao3

Night has Come || tumblr // Ao3

The Might of Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Hero || tumblr // Ao3

Light at Dawn || tumblr // Ao3

Power of Kings :: The Road to Becoming the True King

Morning After || tumblr // Ao3

The Weight of Duty || tumblr // Ao3

Declaration of War || tumblr // Ao3

Weary Arms || tumblr // Ao3

Burden of Expectation || tumblr // Ao3

Waking the Landforger || tumblr // Ao3

Sword in the Waterfall || tumblr // Ao3

Tumble and Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Way of Gods and Kings || tumblr // Ao3

Road to the Fulgarian || tumblr // Ao3

Bend the Knee || tumblr // Ao3

Blessing of the Hexatheon || tumblr // Ao3

The Sky That We Look Upon || tumblr // Ao3

Imperial Infiltration || tumblr // Ao3

Red Like Roses || tumblr // Ao3

The Shield of the King || tumblr // Ao3

A Precious Source of Power || tumblr // Ao3

Preparations || tumblr // Ao3

Brave New World || tumblr // Ao3

Into the Fray || tumblr // Ao3

Crumble Into the Sea || tumblr // Ao3

The Hand of the King || tumblr // Ao3

Fading Lights :: The Trail Into Gralea

Laughable Reunion || tumblr // Ao3

Off the Rails || tumblr // Ao3

Express Train for Trouble || tumblr // Ao3

Forever Fall || tumblr // Ao3

The Arm of the King || tumblr // Ao3

[TBP / WIP]

World Without a King :: The World of Ruin

[TBP / WIP]

Ten Years of Darkness :: Fate of the Star

[TBP / WIP]

Stories from Eos :: Mini Stories

First Day of School || tumblr // Ao3

Rubies and Embers || tumblr // Ao3

A Journey in Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Empty Seat || tumblr // Ao3

Shadows on the Wall || tumblr // Ao3

Rose Garden || tumblr // Ao3

Aero-dynamic || tumblr // Ao3

Moogle Magic || tumblr // Ao3

Slingshot || tumblr // Ao3

Baked Goods || tumblr // Ao3

Dogged Runner || tumblr // Ao3

Cold Snap || tumblr // Ao3

Out of Earshot || tumblr // Ao3

Spoiled Brat || tumblr // Ao3

Lands of Ice || tumblr // Ao3

By Another Name || tumblr // Ao3

Sing Me a Song || tumblr // Ao3

A New Direction || tumblr // Ao3

Welcome to Your Life || tumblr // Ao3

Flower Arrangement || tumblr // Ao3

Dark Chocolate || tumblr // Ao3

Ascension || tumblr // Ao3

"I Want to be Friends!" || tumblr // Ao3

The Blacksmith's Song || tumblr // Ao3

Charms || tumblr // Ao3

Nothing is Secret || tumblr // Ao3

Princely Conduct || tumblr // Ao3

Rooftop || tumblr // Ao3

Dossiers :: Information Closely Kept

The Royal Lucian Family || tumblr // Ao3

House Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

House Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

House Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

House Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

House Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

House Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

House Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Regis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Aulea Viridis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Noctis Lucis Caelum || tumblr // Ao3

Clarus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Florere Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gladiolus Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Iris Amicitia || tumblr // Ao3

Gratia Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Atticus Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Primam Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Tandem Chorus || tumblr // Ao3

Cor Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Cera Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Aura Leonis || tumblr // Ao3

Silex Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ignis Scientia || tumblr // Ao3

Ater Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Rosea Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Mollis Somnium || tumblr // Ao3

Aurae Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Arbor Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Ros Viridis || tumblr // Ao3

Pax Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nympha Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Aestus Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Cordia Luti Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Vera Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Lyra Vox || tumblr // Ao3

Nebula Vox || tumblr // Ao3

The Royal Tenebraen Family || tumblr // Ao3

Sylva Via Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Ravus Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Stella Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret || tumblr // Ao3

Ardyn Izunia || tumblr // Ao3

Ideolas Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Solara Aldercapt || tumblr // Ao3

Verstael Besithia || tumblr // Ao3

Aranea Highwind || tumblr // Ao3

Biggs Callux || tumblr // Ao3

Wedge Kincaid || tumblr // Ao3

Titus Drautos || tumblr // Ao3

Nyx Ulric || tumblr // Ao3

Libertus Ostium || tumblr // Ao3

Crowe Altius || tumblr // Ao3

Luche Lazarus || tumblr // Ao3

Tredd Furia || tumblr // Ao3

Pelna Khara || tumblr // Ao3

Axis Arra || tumblr // Ao3

Quicksilver Dancers :: Prompto x Primam Drabbles

What I Want? || tumblr // Ao3

Smitten || tumblr // Ao3

The Choice is Yours || tumblr // Ao3 [Preliminary writing]

Cordial Triangle || tumblr // Ao3

Shackle Wrought in Ink || tumblr // Ao3

Lucky Shot || tumblr // Ao3 [Alternate Timeline]

Meal Etiquette || tumblr // Ao3

Concerns || tumblr

[denimbex1986]

'Doctor Who executive producer Russell T. Davies warned everyone that the 60th anniversary special episodes were going to introduce some interesting new twists to the mythology of the series meant to set the stage for actor Ncuti Gatwa’s debut as the Time Lord. Some of those changes — especially those specific to the Doctor’s companions and nemeses — have been easy to understand as Davies updating Doctor Who lore to better reflect modern sensibilities. But when it came to the arrival of the newest Doctor — the first leading incarnation of the character to be played by a Black, queer man — Doctor Who’s 60th anniversary special absolutely fumbled the ball by forcing Gatwa to exist in another actor’s shadow.

Regeneration, the transformative process in which Time Lords like the Doctor become new, drastically different versions of themselves, has always been a fascinating part of Doctor Who’s mythology and the BBC’s convenient way of passing the mantle on from one actor to another. Though the Doctor usually recalls the events of their past lives, they’ve always been their own distinct people who go on to have adventures with new companions. The regular casting changes all around are how the series has been able to run for 60 years.

In the post-2005 Doctor Who revival under showrunners Davies, Steven Moffat, and Chris Chibnall, regenerations have been momentous events that gave viewers a taste of what’s to come while saying goodbye to the Doctor’s previous face. But ever since the Thirteenth Doctor (Jodie Whittaker) regenerated into a new form resembling the Tenth Doctor (David Tennant), it’s been clear that something unusual has been going on inside of the Doctor — something “The Giggle,” the third and final of the 60th anniversary episodes, explores in detail.

After finally setting things right with Donna Noble (Catherine Tate) in “The Star Beast” and then spinning off with her on a nightmarish journey to the edge of the universe in “Wild Blue Yonder,” the Fourteenth Doctor (Tennant) returns to Earth in “The Giggle” to do battle with an updated version of classic Doctor Who villain The Toymaker (Neil Patrick Harris). In his original form (portrayed by Batman alum Michael Gough), The Toymaker was introduced as a game-obsessed being from unknown origins whose knack for defying the laws of physics and inventing deadly “toys” made him a unique threat to the universe. In “The Giggle,” the character returns to the small screen for the first time since his initial appearance with a maniacal plan to destroy the world by hiding a secret rage-inducing signal that’s coded into every screen on the planet.

Ahead of “The Giggle” airing, Davies spoke candidly about wanting to use Harris’ turn as The Toymaker to address the context the character was originally introduced in and Doctor Who’s history of depicting him as a distinctly Asian-coded white man. Here, The Toymaker is presented as an off-putting German man who can’t quite keep a grip on his multiple affected accent. And “The Giggle” spotlights The Toymaker’s protean nature as a clever way of emphasizing just how disturbed the Fourteenth Doctor has been by his inability to fully understand what’s been going on with his own regeneration process.

With “The Giggle” being a special episode in which the stakes have to be high, The Toymaker’s plan for world conquest seems poised to work as he prepares to kill Fourteen by shooting him in front of Donna and fellow companion Mel Bush (Bonnie Langford). But rather than dying from being zapped through the chest with a massive laser, the Fourteenth Doctor is left relatively unharmed save for an odd feeling within himself, and when Fourteen asks Donna and Mel to pull both of his arms, his body begins to split in two.

According to the new Fifteenth Doctor (Ncuti Gatwa), bi-generation — a Time Lord simultaneously regenerating into two separate selves — was supposed to have been a Gallifreyan myth. But as Fourteen and Fifteen team up to defeat The Toymaker, “The Giggle” makes obvious that this era of multiple contemporaneous Doctors is here to stay, and while that’s sure to delight the legions of Doctor Who fans who’ve come to see Tennant as the quintessential Doctor, it’s impossible not to read the episode as having stolen a lot of Gatwa’s thunder.

When Gatwa was first announced as the actor who would be taking over the Doctor role following Whittaker’s three-series-long run, it felt like the BBC finally had the common sense to lean more into Doctor Who’s core ideas about imagination, exploration, and discovery across time and space. No matter how vehemently Doctor Who fans might want to deny it, the fact that the Doctor — a shapeshifting alien from a planet full of brilliant time travelers — was almost exclusively portrayed by white men until 2017 was small-minded, racist, and sexist in equal measure.

Despite their being late to the party, Whittaker’s Thirteen and Jo Martin’s Fugitive Doctor both demonstrated how Doctor Who could stay true to its narrative essence while also allowing the Doctor themselves to better reflect the real-world diversity of the fandom that loves the character. Gatwa’s run has seemed poised to do the same. But everything about the way “The Giggle” brings Fifteen into the picture — from the way he’s left standing in his underwear while Fourteen remains mostly clothed to the implication that the two Doctors will seemingly coexist — makes it seem as if Davies is trying to placate the contingent of fans who don’t want to accept a queer, Black actor playing the Doctor role by keeping Tennant in the mix.

Those fans vocalized their displeasure at the idea of a Black Doctor in the same way that people griped about the idea of a Black Spider-Man, a Black Captain America, or a Black James Bond. They’re the same people who’ve lost their minds at the sight of Black April O’Neil and can’t wrap their minds around the concept of Castlevania: Nocturne’s Black vampires. They’re also the people that love Mace Windu but hated it when Finn picked up a lightsaber and then promptly disappeared for much of the recent Star Wars movies. Point is: these fans are an unfortunate fixture in many genre fandoms, and while some aspects of “The Giggle” actually comment on how dangerous their specific brand of rage can be, the whole situation with “bi-generation” plays like Doctor Who catering to the fandom’s less-enlightened desires.

You can tell that Davies means for it to be poignant and touching in moments when Fifteen confronts Fourteen about his need to deal with his emotional baggage or when the companions express their excitement at meeting a new Doctor. But all of that goodwill is immediately squandered when you have characters (who know better from firsthand experience) asking whether the Doctor comes in a variety of colors.

The trappings and optics of “The Giggle” also add an unfortunate kind of magical negro quality to Fifteen’s heart-to-heart talks with Fourteen, which is a concept that seems like it might be lost on Doctor Who’s writers room. The two Doctors defeat The Toymaker together, but the episode’s real emotional climax comes as Fifteen explains himself as the product of emotional healing that Fourteen hasn’t yet done. The concept of a time traveler “doing rehab out of order” certainly sounds cool on the page. But within the episode itself, it frames Fifteen less as his own person living for himself and more as a source of emotional support for Fourteen, who ends up being inspired by Fifteen’s sage wisdom.

What’s most concerning, though, is the way “The Giggle” implies that the Doctors will now coexist, seemingly as Fourteen joins a bunch of the older companions like Donna, Mel, and Kate Lethbridge-Stewart (Jemma Redgrave) as part of a new spinoff project revolving around UNIT, Doctor Who’s answer to Marvel’s SHIELD / SWORD / SABER.

As distinct as each of the 60th anniversary special episodes have been, they each did a fantastic job of digging into the reality of how, after decades of journeying with their ordinary human allies, the Doctor has left more than a few of them behind and feels a profound kind of regret about it. More new stories centering Fourteen and the classic companions could create a way for Davies to dig deeper into that aspect of the Doctor’s psychology, and with Tennant’s tenure as Ten / Fourteen being so beloved by Doctor Who fans, it’s not hard to understand why the BBC might want to keep him around indefinitely.

But part of what made it possible for Tennant’s initial run as the Doctor to become a monster success was the time and space he was given to fully own and make the character his own, independent of his immediate predecessor. “The Giggle” doesn’t wholly preclude Gatwa’s ability to do the same, but simply by making this era one he might have to share with Tennant, Doctor Who has already put him at something of a disadvantage.

Of course, we won’t know until the upcoming Christmas special starts to air exactly how Doctor Who will address bi-generation’s larger ramifications and what sort of figure Fifteen will be on the show. But with the Fourteen still running around, and maybe getting ready to pull everyone’s focus back over to what’s going on in his new life on Earth, it feels like the Fifteenth Doctor might end up having to share his spotlight in a way that the character hasn’t been forced to previously. Let’s hope that doesn’t end up being the case...'

[simon-says-nothing]

Wyllstravaganza Day One: Perception

reflection (available on ao3 here)

rating: T

pairing: wyll/astarion

warnings: daddy issues, brief flashback, anxiety

preview:

“Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words.

Wyll should be used to it by now. He has faced the fires of Avernus, taken on an entire camp of goblins, and, possibly worst of all, Duke Ulder Ravengard’s disappointment. The word standards shouldn’t affect him.

And yet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When he was young, he loved parties. There was something about the glamor of it, the sparkling wine and glimmering gold walls. There was something about knowing he was accepted there, that they wanted him around. That Wyll Ravengard, armed with his untailored clothes and the hard stare of his father, belonged. That he had a place among the greats. 

When he was young, he would sneak glasses of wine until he was sick. 

When he was young, he threw up into Dillard Portyr’s bushes, and laughed.

When he was young, he was never anything more than Wyll Ravengard, and that, in and of itself, was enough.

Now, he stares at the dusty mirror in front of him, and knows he’ll never belong anywhere again. 

The horns ache. His skin itches from being stretched into fake smiles for too long. The ridges along his cheeks make him look every bit the devil his father thinks he is.

How many days ago was it that he was instructing the children on how to hold a blade? One, two? 

He hopes they’ll forgive his absence. He hopes they’ll remember what he taught them. 

He hopes—

“Brooding all by yourself, handsome?” 

Wyll jumps halfway out of his skin, only to see Astarion standing behind him with a lazy smirk.

There is something simultaneously comforting and frightening about Astarion. He speaks with the same upper class lilt of his childhood, armed with a million passive aggressive words to refute any direct conversation. Wyll knows the language well.

Astarion, however, manages to use it in a way that is infinitely more irritating than any noble. 

“Greetings, Astarion. I hope the party is treating you well?” His father taught him well. He will be damned if he is anything but polite. Even to a vampire that seems to believe no one else has noticed his proclivity towards biting enemies. 

“Oh, if by well, you mean dreadfully boring, exceptionally tame, and overall a waste of time, then, yes.” He drawls, studying his nails.

Wyll grits his teeth. He won’t sink to Astarion’s level. He won’t.

“These people have suffered enough, Astarion. Why not grant them a few hours of respite? Gods knows their journey is far from over.” 

“Don’t you ever tire of the hero facade? I haven’t seen any damsels in distress recently, so your rousing little speech falls on deaf ears.” He’s egging him on, Wyll knows he is.

“No? What about the damsel in front of me?” He smiles, the image of a perfect gentleman. 

“I hope you’re not talking about me, darling.”

Wyll can’t help it. He was taught charm by the best, and mindless flirting is a language both of them seem to speak. If the nobility of Baldur’s Gate have taught him anything, it’s how to flirt. That, and seamlessly destroy your perception of yourself with a few well-placed words. 

“You were carved in the same marble as the statues of damsels that stand in the Gate. Impossibly cold, impossibly beautiful, and yet, made of stone.” Wyll says it out of habit. It’s instinct. 

He remembers days locked in his father’s library, pouring over old romantic poetry when he was supposed to be studying the history of the Flaming Fist. He remembers memorizing the way they spoke, the softness in it, the way it warmed his entire soul to read it. 

Astarion has clearly memorized how to seduce. Wyll has only ever memorized the art of being a romantic. 

“Oh, am I supposed to swoon here? Faint into your strangely muscular arms? Marvel at your blade?” The vampire punctuates his words by pressing his hand to his forehead, and Wyll has to physically resist rolling his eyes. “Unfortunately, darling, I’m not one of your heroic little conquests. I have standards.” Astarion has always been sharp with his words. 

Wyll should be used to it by now. He has faced the fires of Avernus, taken on an entire camp of goblins, and, possibly worst of all, Duke Ulder Ravengard’s disappointment. The word standards shouldn’t affect him. 

And yet. 

His father’s face flashes in front of him, covered in the ash left by Tiamat. 

“You are a Ravengard. Our family is held to a certain standard, now. What will they think of us now? What have you done?” It plays in his mind over, and over, and over.

What have you done? 

What have you done? 

What have you--

A pale hand waves in front of his face. 

“Honestly, it wasn’t that harsh, I’d think a man who has quite literally faced devils would have thicker skin--” 

When he blinks back into reality, he sees Astarion gesturing wildly. If he was in a better mood, it would’ve been entertaining to see him a bit panicked. 

But tonight? With only the reminder of his own reflection, and a thousand memories whirling in his mind? 

Wyll can only feel tired. 

“I don’t need to meet your standards, Astarion. I’d say I always appreciate your input, but that would be dishonest. And heroes never tell a lie.” He can’t help the exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think it might be time for me to go to sleep.” 

Astarion stops moving, opening and closing his mouth as he tries to find what he wants to say. It only lasts for a moment before his strange persona kicks back in, but Wyll notices. 

He’d been trained to notice any cracks in an enemy’s armor. 

“Wait.” Astarion recovers quickly, his voice only a touch colder than normal. “You stole my mirror. Hardly the most heroic thing to do, but even the Blade must have weaknesses.” His words are still a bit infuriating, but it’s the most direct Wyll has seen him. 

A small step is still a step, and Wyll has always been an optimist. 

“I apologize, Astarion. I’ll admit, I was going to ask you, but I didn’t want to pry. I’m sure mirrors can be a bit of a touchy subject.” 

Wyll hears what he said after he says it, and winces. He’s entirely well-meaning, and, as stated above, he is polite. 

But now he knows what it is to be disappointed in your own reflection. 

The elf’s well-crafted facade cracks again. 

Wyll sucks in a breath, and waits. 

“Yes, mirrors can be difficult when you’re as beautiful as I am. Painful, really, to remember all the poor souls who have to look at themselves every day, and wonder what it might be like to be so blessed.” Astarion sighs dramatically, and Wyll breathes out.

A step back, maybe, but Wyll should have expected this. Astarion has more guards up than Counselor Florrick on a particularly stressful day. 

He should just be glad Astarion doesn’t push the issue. He’s dealt with a vampire spawn provoked. He knows what he needs to do, if anything should come to violence. 

But Wyll finds that he doesn’t want to kill Astarion. Despite the voice of his father in his head screaming otherwise. Despite the training carved into the very marrow of his bones urging him to grab the nearest stake. 

It’s the first time denying the will of his father doesn’t feel painful.

Maybe that’s why he says, 

“I already called you beautiful once tonight, Astarion. Don’t push it.” 

Maybe it’s a rebellion. 

It certainly feels like one when Astarion smirks, and it doesn’t feel sharp.

“I wouldn’t dare.” Astarion murmurs, and Wyll waits for the next pointed remark about his blade. But it never comes. 

They stand in a sort of awkward silence, both having run out of their individual scripts. 

For once, Wyll doesn’t mind having nothing polite to say. 

For once, he doesn’t miss Baldur’s Gate so much it hurts. 

For once, he can’t feel the weight of his father’s stare in the back of his mind.

Astarion extends a hand towards him, entirely too cheeky for his own right. 

“Well darling? There’s a party just waiting for their favorite blade to show up and steal their mirrors.” 

Perhaps it was too soon to expect Astarion to feel comfortable in the silence. But who is he to judge someone for their persona? 

Both of them have survived by creating an image for themselves, perfectly crafted, never to break. Astarion’s is just a bit stronger than his, it seems. 

But here, with the sound of his friends laughing, the light of the moon, and a few hefty swigs of terrible wine? 

He finds he doesn’t mind Astarion’s company. 

Wyll takes Astarion’s hand, and for the first time since these horns grew on his head, he doesn’t feel utterly alone. 

Maybe this is what the poetry in his father’s study was written for. The feeling of being with someone who makes you feel just a little less lonely. 

It’s enough to write novels for. 

For now, a simple dance will have to do.  

[heinrix]

uhh so i’ve seen a couple other people do this and i rlly wanted to lay out oz’s lore/backstory in a post so that it’s clearer lol, especially considering i allude to it in my fics a lot

general info:

Ozadius Devries (He/They), 27 years old. Levistus Tiefling, formerly Dispater Tiefling. Gay boything, he’s trans but likes to be funky with his gender sometimes Class: Oath of Conquest Paladin lvl. 12, Champion to the Lord of the Hells Stats: STR 20. DEX 8. CON 16. INT 14. WIS 10. CHA 18 Alignment & Background: Neutral good with neutral evil tendencies. Charlatan Proficiencies: Athletics (+9), Insight (+4), Deception (+8), Intimidation (+8), Persuasion (+8) Notable Features: Legacy of The Ash King (Resistance to both fire and cold damage), Boon of The Abyss (In place of radiant damage, your Divine Smites now do force damage) Weapons used: • Act One - Maul of Brutal Justice (Invoke Duel. Whispering a target’s name into the mace, if the target comes within 30 feet of you, you and the target are stuck within 30 feet of each other. You may not stray 30 feet from one another until one of you is dead. You gain advantage on attack rolls.) • Act Two - Halberd of Vigilance (Sentinel Weapon. Gain a +1 bonus to initiative rolls and Advantage on Perception Ability Checks. Adroit Reflexes. When you make an Attack Roll as a reaction, you make it with Advantage.) • Act Three - Obsidian Sword (Devour Soul. Whenever you use it to reduce a creature to 0 hit points, the sword slays the creature and devours its soul, sending it directly to the Lord of the Hells, unless it is a construct or an undead. A creature whose soul has been devoured by the Obsidian Sword can be restored to life only by a Wish spell.)

Background

Ozadius Devries grew up on the Amber Peninsula of the Exhalian Empire in a large port city, Vetalonia. He was born to a pair of tieflings, Lev (his mother) and Carrion (his father) Devries, however his parents were not eager to abandon their lives as pirates and gave Oz away to the first couple that wanted him at the ripe age of 5. Luckily for Oz, his adoptive parents, a firbolg by the name of Beric (father) and a seldarine drow, Triss (mother) truly wanted him as their son and cherished and loved him.

Growing up as a tiefling in a densely human populated city was difficult for him as the children around him would tease and bully him for his appearance.

Needless to say, Oz did not have many friends when he was a child, except for one other boy, a half-orc the same age as Oz named Astolfo. Whenever Oz was in trouble Astolfo seemed to always be there, defending Oz and beating up the older kids who picked on him until their late teens. Oz had feelings for Astolfo but never had the courage to vocalize them, though the two boys had kissed they never mentioned it as anything other than fun. But when they turned 18, Astolfo had told Oz he was leaving Vetalonia to study the arcane, chasing after this one specific warlock pact Oz knew he had been obsessed with for the past year; Oz took this as abandonment and a personal slight.

For the next four years, Oz worked at the local brothel, honing his abilities in understanding people and their wants and needs; this led to Oz becoming quite adept in manipulating people and robbing rich nobles blind with little effort. In those years of Oz trying to forget Astolfo, trying to move on, he simply couldn’t and dropped everything in his life to go find his best friend; this took Oz on an arduous journey, retracing Astolfo’s footsteps into finding access to the patron he became a part of. Through a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, Oz found out that Astolfo had died but not truly, he was in some sort of timeless pocket dimension where the warlock “patron” existed but it was not a singular patron but thousands of minds of previous warlocks who had usurped the original patrons power and now shares it with those who desire to dole out the will of the warlocks within the pocket dimension.

Oz joined this pact of innumerable minds in order to speak with Astolfo and convince him that resurrection and living a normal life with Oz was worth more than his obsession with this convoluted warlock patron.

In his travels, Oz came across a group of adventurer’s: Penny, a monster hunter in debt to local lords, Zuul, a goliath barbarian dedicated to the god of war, Akla, an orc barbarian whose sole purpose for adventuring was to gather items for a girl she had a crush on, and Sippa, a kobold tinkerer who wanted nothing but to explore the surface for the first time in his life. Oz threw his lot in with this band, seeing as his chances of survival with a group were higher than on his own. He grew, over a few weeks, to appreciate all of the weirdos that surrounded him but one thing led to another and several bad decisions were made that led to the entire group becoming wanted by the Exhalian Empire for treason; Akla had gotten physical with guards that were trying to arrest them for suspicions that they had stolen military property (to which they had), a domino effect occurred, Oz nearly died if it were not for the demon contract scroll he had swiped off of Penny the night before and so Ozadius Devries, warlock to The Legion was now oathbound to a sloth demon vying for the Throne of the Hells. A misfortunate side effect of Oz’s newfound allegiance was that Astolfo was now alive, entirely against his will, and Oz wanted nothing more than to right his wrong, to make up for what he had done to Astolfo.

After several weeks, nearly a month, of travel the group had not realized they were being followed by a vengeful group of guards from the previous city, hellbent on killing the treasonous adventurers. In the dead of night, while both Oz and Sippa were on watch, a volley of gunfire sprang upon them from the treeline, waking the rest of the camp with a start. A paladin, in his holy wroth, went after Penny, to which Oz tried his best to protect her but as a paladin himself he knew the strength of which his and this other man’s swings of the sword held. She was struck down in front of him, mercury armor of little use to her as radiant energy slashed right through it and he turned to Oz next. He fought, bloody and trading equal blows but with the help of the paladin’s friends, their whole camp was slain on that moonlit night in the wilderness. Monacco was the only reason Oz survived as he was bleeding out in the dirt, the demon stitched his wounds together, alongside the help of Sippa who had hid within the brush the entire fight. Both the tiefling and the terrified kobold ran, leaving behind their friends mangled corpses.

A day or two after their escape, Zuul was resurrected by his god and Akla was resurrected by the Fey heart she had been carrying. Penny was less fortunate but they did gain a new companion, one they had known since meeting Penny, her sentient mercury armor had consumed her corpse and grown to be able to shift into a human visage with most if not all of Penny’s memories; they called themselves Merc. Oz and Merc would go on to become quite good friends, while the rest of the group still treated Merc as if they were a tool to be used rather than someone sentient and living.

The general attitude of the group toward Merc culminated one day as they visited Sippa’s home city in hopes of resurrecting Penny via the manmade god that Sippa’s home worshiped. Once there, things went downhill, fast as Merc had run off into the city while the rest of the group went to visit the tower containing the god, Deus. Upon talking to Deus, it offered Oz the chance to ask it a question alongside the resurrection of their friend and he had been wondering something for some time at that point. “Am I Oz?” So much had changed about him: his appearance, his attitude, his morality, his goals. Was he who he had always been or was that Oz truly dead and gone. Deus answered him honestly, telling him that it is natural for people to have changed through traumatic experiences. However, Oz did not contain a soul but rather it was in the hells and he was merely puppetting his own body. This was, obviously, incredibly disconcerting to Oz and he sort of shut down, thinking of himself as a puppet all this time and that he was just the embodiment of his contract with Monacco; he didn’t possess his body, it wasn’t his nor had it been since he took that icy hand in the darkness.

In the time that Oz was having an existential crisis, Penny was resurrected and Merc had broken into the tower and attempted to consume Deus, having grown larger than the companions had ever seen them; they had been wandering all over the city eating every magic item they could find. All of the companions except for Oz began attacking Merc and Oz touched Merc - the only way to communicate with them now - and begged Merc to not consume Deus but Merc just asked Oz “why?” he had been selfish in the past many times, why couldn’t Merc, who had done so much to help the group, be selfish this one time. Oz was dumbfounded and abstained in the fight, simply holding his hand onto his friend's mercury ooze body. But hearing his friends cries of help as Merc fought back, acid and bile from their own body burning and singing his companions as they continued to consume a god, Oz stood, ripping his hand away from Merc and bringing up his maul and whispering to the magic within the weapon, “I’m sorry, Merc.” Swinging down with his hellish-backed fury, he fought a monster he called friend.

They were losing, as Merc had grown stronger and was draining Deus of its magical divinity; Oz saw this and prodded at Monacco within his mind, begging to teleport just him and Merc to the nearest portal to the hells that had been popping up since a war was waging between the surrounding empires. His patron granted this wish and soon it was just Oz and Merc, surrounded by the heat of Avernus as Oz, running low on energy continued to pummel the ooze as Merc began to consume the nearest magical artifact, Oz. He felt mercury begin to enter every orifice of his face, sliding down his throat as he gripped onto his maul, hoping against hope that each blow would be the last. The heat and brimstone stink of Avernus overwhelmed Oz as the ooze began to sink into the corners of his eyes, into his ears, and up his nose; he began to cry, welling tears pushing past wet metal as he thought of all his wrongs, all the people he had hurt. Perhaps this was deserved, this death on the edge of the material plane and the hells, alone, with only a friend to guide him back to his soul.

But the aching jaws of death had never been for Oz as he was yanked away from Merc’s grasp and shunted somewhere, somewhere foreign and sticky and smelling of thick iron.

[salty-accords]

Let’s Talk About… Fallout! Early History

With the brand-new Fallout television series freshly released, a lot of people have been discussing and diving into the world of the Fallout franchise, particularly the elusive timeline. When is all this happening? Where did our world converge from theirs? What’s with Vault-Tec, the War, and the aliens? Well, today we’ll be diving into a few of these issues.

Welcome to this week’s installment of Let’s Talk About, the internet series where I yap about my hyperfixations for an hour and you all hopefully learn something (even if it’s just for fun)! This time around, we’re starting a journey into the realm of post-apocalypse—before the apocalypse, and before the wars. Welcome to Fallout’s Early History!

Deviations from the real world’s timeline as we know it will be noted minimally. I’m a gamer and a creative, not a historian. All events are mentioned or referenced in-game or during the Fallout series.

(Below the cut to be courteous to y'all's dashboards. Thank you to the Fallout Fandom Wiki editors and fandom researchers for making this post possible! You're all real ones and I'm super excited to be breaking into "the scene" with y'all.)

Our first notch of exploration is sometime prior to 11,000 B.C.E.; we’ll return to this point later in our Fallout episodes, but just remember that it’s important. An alleged extraterrestrial precursor to humanity exists somewhere below the ground.

We begin with two real-world events:

1066 C.E.

March 14th: The Battle of Hastings

The Battle of Hastings was the beginning of the Norman Conquest of England, led by William the Conqueror, or William the Duke of Normandy. The battle was fought slightly northwest of Hastings between the Normen-French army and an English army under the Anglo-Saxon King Harold Godwinson. The Normans won this one, and the proceeding conquest resulted in the royal line as we now know it.

1215 C.E.

The Magna Carta

By 1215, the throne of England had passed hands several times. There had been numerous royal rivalries, rebellions, at least one civil war, and who knows what else—historians know, but I’m not them. At this point, King John of England is on the throne—he’s a direct descendant of that William the Conqueror guy but a lot less cool. After two decades of trying and failing to win one over on France, a bunch of John’s barons had enough of his shit and got together to rebel against him. They were unhappy with the fiscal policies he’d developed to sustain his unsuccessful imperial efforts, and for the way he treated a lot of the nobles. The Magna Carta was drafted as a peace treaty between the King and his barons, severely limiting his power as king.

In Fallout 3, you can find and collect a copy of the Magna Carta from the National Archives through the quest Stealing Independence.

C. 1603

Toshiro Kago’s Abduction,

Sometime during the Tokugawa shogunate, or the Edo shogunate, Mothership Zeta abducted Toshiro Kago.

If you do not want spoilers to Fallout 3 gameplay, please skip to the next section. [Timestamp: ]

Toshiro Kago is a samurai character from the Fallout 3 DLC Mothership Zeta. He’s one of four people the Lone Wanderer thaws out on Zeta and a temporary companion during the This Galaxy Ain’t Big Enough… quest battle. The quest Among the Stars sees the Wanderer return his missing sword to him. He never leaves Zeta but cannot be interacted with after the final battle. He doesn’t speak English and the player character doesn’t speak 16th century Japanese, so conversations with him are stilted, but you get the gist of each other through tone, gestures, and observations.

1605 C.E.

November 4th-5th: Guy Fawkes et al Arrested

The Gunpowder Plot was a failed assassination attempt on England’s King James I and the Parliament. It was organized by Robert Catesby as an effort to end government persecution of Roman Catholics; the hope was to replace the Protestant government with Catholic leadership, however, around midnight on Nov. 4th, Guy Fawkes, one of the conspirators, was discovered in the cellar of the Parliament building with barrels of gunpowder—the plan had been to blow the whole place, king included. Fawkes and others were arrested, tried, and executed for treason by the 5th. Now, every November 5th, England sees Guy Fawkes Day, where effigies of Fawkes are burnt.

1612 C.E.

Point Lookout Deviation

In reality, Captain John Smith landed ashore at Point Lookout in 1608, just a year after establishing the Jamestown colony in Virginia. However, in Fallout, Smith doesn’t come ashore there until 1612—it seems that this deviation kicked off further deviations, such as the Ark and Dove Deviation.

As a location, Point Lookout is only available in the Fallout 3 DLC of the same name. The Lone Wanderer can spend an awful lot of time here.

1634 C.E.

Boston Common Established

The Boston Common is considered the oldest public park in the U.S.; it’s played an important role in the history of landscape architecture, the military, politics, conservation, and recreation in Massachusetts. In 1634, the people of Boston (MA Bay Colony) voted to tax each house six shillings to purchase William Blackstone’s farm as a community common—thus the Common was born! It’s still an important cultural piece of land—so much so that it’s a main location in Fallout 4.

In the Fallout universe, Boston Common is home to the Swan, Tour bots, and Vault 114. All Boston locations, to my knowledge, are only available in Fallout 4.

March 25th: Arc and Dove Deviation

In reality, when Lord Baltimore dispatched the colonists aboard the Ark and Dove ships, they landed at Saint Clement’s Island, Maryland; in Fallout, they landed ashore Point Lookout. There, they constructed the Ark & Dove Cathedral. The Ark & Dove resting grounds are another location influenced by this event,  It can be assumed that the Point Lookout Deviation led to this major difference.

The Cathedral and the resting grounds are a part of the Point Lookout DLC in Fallout 3, and  are home to smugglers, swampfolk, feral ghouls, and three quests: Hearing Voices, Walking with Spirits, and Tailing the Tomboy.

1660 C.E.

Old Granary Burying Ground

The burial ground was established on Tremont Street within the Boston Commons. Its current name is from the adjacent granary that was built in the 1730s. That establishment was torn down and replaced by the Park Street Church in 1809—the name for the burying grounds persisted, of course. In Fallout, it is Boston’s oldest surviving burial ground. There are a variety of references to other historical moments within and around the burying ground. It’s now inhabited by feral ghouls.

1680 C.E.

The Paul Revere House Built

While unmarked in-game, the Paul Revere House is the oldest standing building in Boston, even post-bombings. Outside the building, there’s now a Freedom Trail marker, a pre-War plague about Revere, and the plague reads: “Built in 1680, this wooden building is the oldest structure in all of Boston. In 1770 this home was bought by famed patriot Paul Revere. … Revere dwelled here with his family (including his 16 children) until 1800. Paul Revere was living here when he made his famous midnight ride to Lexington and Concord to warn Samuel Adams and John Hancock that Redcoats were en route to arrest them and seize the militia weaponry.” It’s generally considered a myth that Revere made that journey.

1690 C.E.

Publick Occurrences Published

Publick Occurrences Both Forreign and Domestick was the first multi-page newspaper published in British colonial America. Its first issue carried an account that “offended” the colonial governor, and the paper was promptly closed by colonial authorities days later. No other paper was published in the colonies for over a decade.

1692 C.E.

The Salem Witch Trials Begin

The trials of Salem, MA, are pretty infamous. During the trials, numerous Salem Village residents accused others (mostly Protestants, the impoverished, slaves, and disliked folk) of “witchcraft.” However, there is no evidence that those accused practiced or recognized any form of witchcraft. The accused were arrested, tried, and often hanged. These events made the larger neighboring establishment, Salem Town, a tourist location for the ages—Salem Town was the more affluent of them.

After the Great War, the town’s residents worked to make it a secure settlement, with much success until an onslaught of Mirelurks sometime before the Sole Survivor arrives in Fallout 4. It’s home to two quests: The Devil’s Due and Gun Run. In the Mothership Zeta add-on for Fallout 3, Fallout Shelter and Fallout 76, the location is also mentioned.

1697 C.E.

May 17th: Andrew Endicott Abducted

Another victim of the Zeta in the Fallout 3 add-on, Endicott was abducted from his Salem Village home on May 17th. A recorded log enlightens the Lone Survivor to some of his story, which the aliens asked him to record. He is fearful of aliens, and rightly so.

1711 C.E.

The Great Fire in Boston

Note: “The Great Fire” is a term that has since been applied to the fire conflagration of 1760, which compared to the 1711 fire was much more devastating. However, in 1711, the conflagration destroyed the establishment’s first townhouse.

The Cabot House Built

Beacon Hill becomes the home of the Cabot House and its owning family. The Cabots are an affluent family who were well-known and connected in pre-War high society. Post-War, they’ve maintained their wealth and a network of hired help, overseen by their family “servant” Edward Deegan. The most prominent member of the Cabot family was Lorenzo Cabot, an archaeologist ridiculed for his theories of an extraterrestrial precursor civilization on Earth.

1713 C.E.

The Old State House Built

Eventually becoming the oldest public-access building in Boston, the Old State House was where “the child independence was born.” (John Adams) Miraculously, it survived the Great War in its entirety and has since become the headquarters of the Neighborhood Watch and John Hancock.

1714 C.E.

The Soil Stradivarius Manufactured

One of the most prized instruments ever made by Italian craftsmen Antonio Stradivari, the two-century-old Soil (pronounced “swal”) was owned pre-War by Hilda Egglebrecht. It can be found in Fallout 3’s Vault 92, in the case and as part of Agatha’s quest Agatha’s Song.

1723 C.E.

Old North Church Built

Eventually gaining the title of “oldest church in the city,” Boston’s Old North Church was built in 1723. It is still the tallest standing church, with its steeple reaching nearly 200 feet. It is now home to the Railroad and connected to their HQ. There are catacombs from the Revolutionary War underneath it. It’s only found in Fallout 4.

1733 C.E.

Trinity Church is a parish of the Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts, and the original site (on Summer Street) was burned down in the Great Fire of Boston of 1872. The current church was erected under Rector Philips Brooks in the 1870s. The Sole Survivor can explore it, so long as they are ready to confront several mutants. It’s a location in several quests, including, Cleansing the Commonwealth, Diamond City’s Most Wanted, Leading by Example, and Randolph Safehouse.

1742 C.E.

Faneuil Hall Completed, Donated

Nicknamed “the Cradle of Liberty,” Faneuil Hall was donated to the city of Boston in 1742 by Peter Faneuil and it later served as a commercial hub in colonial Massachusetts. Shem Drowne’s gilded grasshopper, constructed that year, sits at the top. The Sole Survivor can explore it in Fallout 4.

May 25th: Gilded Grasshopper Created

In Fallout 4, the Grasshopper is a unique junk item and part of the quest The Gilded Grasshopper, after which, it has no other uses. It was created in 1742 by Shem Drowne and placed atop Faneuil Hall. In Fallout 4, it is found as a windvane on the roof of the building, and a replica can be found in Fallout 76, in Appalachian Antiques. It cannot be picked up.

1755 C.E.

The Cape Ann Earthquake

The Cape Ann quake damaged much of Massachusetts, including the colony of Boston. It remains the largest earthquake in the history of Massachusetts. No one was killed, but the east coast saw a load of physical damages, including Boston and its Faneuil Hall. The Gilded Grasshopper was damaged.

1768 C.E.

June 28th: Gilded Grasshopper Restored

Shem Drowne’s son Thomas restores and returns the Gilded Grasshopper to the top of Faneuil Hall in Boston, Massachusetts. He placed a note inside the Grasshopper, which according to Marty Bullfinch leads to Shem’s treasure. The note is a minorly altered version of a real letter placed inside the hopper in Boston. The only difference between them is the line about Drowne’s treasure. In Fallout 4, the note leads to Shem’s burial and a variety of items buried with him.

We’re now on the brink of the Revolutionary War, which we’ll pick back up at in our next episode of Fallout discussion. For now, I hope you’ve enjoyed, I hope your urge to explore the worlds of Fallout has been tickled, and I hope you’ll like, comment, and subscribe/follow me here and on my socials. I hope you have a wonderful time. Bye-bye!

[pinkyberet]

Shisuka (2024 Redesign)

(~￣³￣)~💚🐉

[wyvernwriterarchive]

Major Characters in my W.I.Ps as Tarot Cards P2!!

Tathylia Chronicles

Formula

Character:Tarot

Explanation of their arc and why I picked the card. May include mine or spoilers.

Chris: Justice

When faced with a world filled with xenophobia, classism, and racism, Chris openly fights against it or, in other ways, hates it. He grows more willing to do it as his journey goes on, and he gets stronger, becoming a common hero of justice.

April:Strength

After learning and losing so much, April almost fell deep into despair. But she realized that she must stand strong in order to reclaim and reshape her country.

Rowan:The Sun

Despite the dangers ge faces as a dyreblod in a world that is often cruel to them, he wants to heal old wounds and bridge the gap between the races, and he truly believes he can do it with his positive attitude and smile.

Zachery:The Star

Zachery is in a very powerful, divine position that he believes he isn't worthy of being in. After learning about his countries crimes, he is even more unsure. But he is hopeful that he can use his position to bring an age of peace and wisdom to his homeland.

May: The Moon

May is motivated by fear above all else, and desperately wants to return to her normal, peaceful life...or so she thinks. To find out what she really needs, she must face her fears and fight to survive.

Azul:The Heirophant

Azul is Chris' father and cares for his mercenary company like their family. He often teaches Chris about the past war and helps him grow more confident in his abilities as a leader.

Angrboda:Death

Unable to let go or forgive humans for the crimes of their past, she is scornful of them whenever possible, often being met with the same treatment. But she does seem to be getting close to letting go of the trauma thanks to her son.

Aurelia:The Chariot

Her country is at war. Her soldiers are scared, her father won't do anything, and the nobles are trying to take power wherever they can. In this harsh time, Aurelia inspires many to move forward even in the face of uncertainty and danger, and is convinced to fight for a brighter, more just future for Vanar's citizens or Vanarian nobility.

Juvensly:The Devil

Motivated by a desire for power for his father, Emperor Cadmus,he constantly leads his soldiers to fight and die in a war that doesn't need to happen. He is ruled both by his wicked desire for conquest and his dream of being loved by his father.

[ariel-seagull-wings]

THE MAGICIAN OF VENICE

@themousefromfantasyland @princesssarisa @tamisdava2 @grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales @softlytowardthesun @the-gentile-folklorist @the-blue-fairie @professorlehnsherr-almashy

(Spanish Folktale)

There lived in the city of Córdoba, Spain, a young aristocrat. Of an aristocrat, in fact, he was only in name, since his family had lost all their money. His palace, magnificent in the past, had also fallen into disrepair.

He walked, desolate, through the streets of the city, insensible to the charm of the courtyards where the fountains sang and exhaled an intoxicating scent of orange blossoms. The young man could start working, earning a living, but just thinking about the word work made him want to yawn. He only dreamed of glory and power.

One day, the young man heard about a great magician capable of fulfilling all wishes. He lived in Venice, in faraway Italy. So he decided to leave, crossing the Pyrenees, bordering the Mediterranean Sea and crossing the Alps. After a good few weeks he arrived in Venice. He walked through the city of a hundred bridges, dozens of canals and narrow streets. Thanks to his noble name, he was invited to visit the most sumptuous palaces in the city. He dined with men covered in gold and women in velvet and satin.

He witnessed secret conversations in which coups, poisonings and betrayals were plotted. He courted princesses with delicate faces and dry hearts. Basking in this life of luxuries and pleasures, his desire for power only increased.

However, it was in a stinking alley, next to a dirty water channel, that he found the magician's miserable house. The young man opened the door, entered and found a dark and cold room.

There, a frail old man was reading by candlelight an ancient book of magic with yellowed pages.

“What are you looking for that is so important that took you on such a long journey?”

“I seek glory and power.”

Answered the young man, sure.

“I'm ready to pay whatever it takes to find them."

The magician asked the visitor to sit down, opened a bottle of wine and, while he drank, watched him in silence.

“I can give you what you want.”

Finally said the magician.

“But in three years' time, as soon as your wishes are fulfilled, I ask you to bring me a beautiful roast goose yourself, on a silver platter. That will be my only payment.”

The young man, happy to obtain the realization of his dreams at such a low price, accepted immediately. The magician then blew out the candle. The room was plunged into complete darkness and he simply whispered:

“Very well, off you go!”

The young man felt transported by air. In the blink of an eye, he was home again, in his city in Spain, thousands of kilometers from Venice.

His life changed immediately. He, who had never learned to read and write, received an invitation to be the bishop of the region. Shortly thereafter, thanks to the influence of important people with whom he befriended, he became a cardinal. No one had ever seen such a rapid rise in the Church hierarchy. He went on to have devoted employees and command dozens of people. Courtiers crowded into his halls, all wanting the honor of being his friend.

Lo and behold, the pope of Rome died and he was appointed to replace him! He began to reign over the entire Christian world and also over kings of countless countries who, at that time, were subject to the pope's authority. He was at the height of his glory and his power!

But one night, retracing his successor journey in thought, the young aristocrat remembered that the following day would be three years since his meeting with the magician. He remembered the promise and with a slightly mocking smile he said to himself:

“Certainly this man did not foresee how far my conquest would go. I owe him the bird I promised.”

He, however, had much more important things to do than go to Venice to deliver it! Unavoidable meetings awaited him and he thought it unworthy to go out and get lost in the magician's stinking street. If anyone recognized him, it would be the end of his reputation!

The aristocrat then called an employee and asked him to bring the most beautiful roast goose he could find to the magician, on a magnificent silver platter. And he completed:

“And don't worry about the costs. I want the best and most beautiful!”

But, as soon as he gave that order, he felt a great chill. His eyes closed for a moment and when he opened them he saw the magician bending over him.

“You've only slept an hour, young man. The wine you drank had properties that made you dream of the destiny you aspired to. And then I could see that you weren't worthy of glory and power, you wouldn't know how to make good use of them. You sent the bird that called us through the servants. How can you ignore that no silver platter is worth more than a friendship? How vile you are, without soul and heart! Vile you will remain, in the oblivion of the world. As for me, what a pity, it will not be this time that I will be able to taste the taste of a roasted goose! I can just offer you my dinner, this dish of lentils..."

Without a word, the traveler got to his feet. Without a word, he returned to his home, brooding over his fate, or perhaps just himself.

[fic-pickyourpoison]

Hey, question? If you know any Fae lore, like Unseelie and the Seelie courts, which one do you consider the Donquxote brothers belonging to and why? (Because Doflomingo's color scheme makes him seem Seelie and Rocinante to the Unseelie, but they act completely opposite and I find this very ironic.) If you don't you can just ignore this post. Also if you have time could you draw the Brothers as Fae, please? Stay safe Author!

You know, I've been saving this ask for about a year—knowing that one day I would get onto the fae book boat... and here we are! Given how diverse fae lore can be, especially in YA fiction, I've taken some liberties.

Doflamingo and Corazon are DEFINITELY unseelie.

Anyone who looks at the handsome, colorful features of Doflamingo and assumes that he is a fae of one of the summer courts or the seelie realm has already fallen into his trap. Doflamingo is not one to be confined by the concepts of the courts and follows only his own passions and desires. He finds great pleasure in misleading those who might assume him to be a benevolent/malevolent figure and is incredibly skilled with deceit, even when incapable of lying. Those who have had the misfortune of knowing this man know how easily he makes deals; sweet words of promise that veil the insatiable conquest that spurs his every action.

Corazon was born of the Unseelie, however at a young age he was taken to the human realm to escape catastrophe by his brother's hand. It was the first and final kind act of his parents. He is, in fact, a changling who has taken the place of a kind old man's son. Upon reaching adulthood, Corazon is forced to leave the comfort of home to discover the truth of himself as well as his family before it can hurt those he cares about most. It is a difficult journey—for his brother, now a disgraced noble aiming for the Unseelie throne, has many many plans... and his younger brother getting involved is certainly not what he is anticipating.

Sengoku has known that his son is dead for many years. Even still, he has grown fond of the boy he now calls 'son'. It is with fear that he watches Rosi depart for the fae realm—and it is this fear that pushes him to follow. Sengoku has lost one son already. He has no intentions on losing another.

Or.... you know, something like that.

[northernglorie]

House Bolton: History & Current Culture

House: Bolton

Hold: The Dreadfort

Sworn to: House Stark of Winterfell

Houses sworn: Oak and Scots

Ruling Noble: Lady Glorie Stark (nee Bolton)

Original Name: The Camintierra, or Camin (kah-MEEN-tee-AIR-uh, or kah-MEEN)

Societal Structure: Tribe, formal House

Religion: Old Gods of the Forest; Tierra Madre, the belief that departed ancestors make up the world around them and act as servants of Mother Earth's will. Heavy themes of reincarnation are present and honored.

*ooc note: longer details can be found under the cut ♡

Brief History

Long before the creation of House Bolton and their stronghold, even before the invasion of the first men, stood a proud tribe of people who lived harmoniously with the Children of the Forest. The Camintierra, or Camin, believe their origins to lie under the earth and tales passed down by generations of their ancestors emerging from their cavernous tunnels after volcanic devastation are an integral part of their culture. So much so that said caverns are considered sacred ground, and offerings are left by members of the tribe in exchange for guidance, wisdom, and blessings.They are located on either side of the location now known as the Dreadfort, one facing northwest in the heart of the Lonely Hills, and the other sits southeast about a mile walk after crossing Weeping Waters. Extent of the land they settled stretched from the current Sheepshead Hills, Last River and down to White Knife.

For thousands of years, the tribe endured invasion, war and constant assimilation and a detailed timeline can be found within scrolls tucked away in the dungeons of the Dreadfort. Transition from tribe to House Bolton gave way to the rise of a great chief, who was the driving force behind the formation of the Red Kings. Conquest was ultimately unsuccessful, seeing the loss of not only they’re lives, but those of their supporters in Wolf’s Den. They were forced to bend the knee twice and abandon their occupations outside of the Lonely Hills and surrounding, having only the center of their ancestral lands to keep for their own. They were also made to abandon some cultural practices, such as the flaying of their enemies, though it was said to have been practiced once in public by Belthasar Bolton and then in secret within the confines of their hold.

Some traditions have been kept and modernized, including the speaking of their native tongue alongside the common, Oracion de la Noche, and their wedding ceremonies. Lords hold unofficial titles of Chiefs in the community and have varied participation in kept traditions.

Customs

Birth: The coming of life into the tribe is considered the most sacred of events. When expectant mothers began to show, they were carried by the men in her family to the Chief, who blessed the growing stomach with oil anointed by the shamans and then carried back to rest for the duration of her pregnancy. She was doted on by female members of her family and was not expected to contribute to Oracion offerings or wedding precession journeys by foot. When time for the birth came, her mother or closest maternal figure is the one to deliver and the men of both families wait outside of their home with gifts until the first cry is heard. Father is then ushered in to bond with wife and babe and are allowed a week to spend without obligation for contribution. Close families will hunt and provide for them. Once the bonding time has expired, the communities come the heart of town for a naming celebration, where the child is anointed outside of the womb, given a name and officially welcomed to the tribe.

House Bolton keeps few of these traditions alive today. The mother is no longer carried to the Chief, but visited in home by Ruling Lord or Lady for anointing of the womb. She’s also exempt from contribution, but allowed to attend ceremonies if accompanied. Births are overseen by shamans, but can still be performed by a maternal figure. Parents and child are allotted the same week of bonding time, though its usually much shorter and the child is still anointed by a shaman when named. The initial celebration is limited to the ruling family, and townsfolk still hold small feasts of their own in honor of the new addition when they receive word.

Marriages: In the days of the old land, power was not measured by title. It was proven by physical strength and wedding customs highlighted this way of life. Father of the bride-to-be would chop a large tree down to the stump and cut a section off in preparation. The entire community would then begin the journey to the wooded area now known as Karhold. Once they reached a marked off point, the groom-to-be would attempt to carry this log the rest of the way in a show of strength. If he succeeded, he was fit to be her husband. The bride also had to participate by simply lifting the log from the ground when their destination was reached. If she did, then she was meant to be his wife. If either failed, the community had to offer their own single children until a match was made so that the ceremony would not end in vain. This wasn’t the conclusion to the precessions. Bride and groom were left in the woods for a singular journey home, as opposed to joining the rest of the community as they traveled home. This was meant to show their willingness to provide for each other in the riskiest of situations, and when they arrived together they were meant with a home built by their families and a feast in their honor. Marriages were initiated at the age of 14, usually by a partner close in age.

Wedding ceremonies are the most evolved tradition of them all, with the ruling family hardly having any participation in that of lowborn townsfolk. Couple is still expected to have a precession, but it’s limited to their inner circle of family and friends. The location has changed to the ancestors' cavern within the Lonely Hills with the shrinking of their borders, a much shorter journey which is allowed to be made by horse or foot. Tradition of lifting the log is simplified to simple, handmade totems which are carried along the journey and presented to bride and groom upon arrival to the sacred cavern. Once favor is shown, they’re blessed by an accompanying shaman and given the choice to leave with the precession or participate in the journey of survival that their ancestors did. Families can either build the home prior to their marriage, since there’s less chance of a failed ceremony or house the newlywed couple is until their own home can be built. A celebration is thrown by the grooms family and all are welcomed to give well wishes.

Death is a solemn time for most, but the Camin saw it as the beginning of a new life. Heavy believers in reincarnation, the body of the deceased was anointed by a shaman before the adorning began. Those closest to them would gather all things of importance, along with effigies of what they wished to come back as in the next life and place them on a pyre. Once completed, the pyre was carried to the cavern located by the Weeping Waters by mourners, who sang songs to gods begging for their loved ones' wish to be granted. If the pyre burned a deep red, the gods have heard their plea. If it burned bright blue, the deceased has wrongdoings left that never saw justice and they were.reincarnated into a tool of learning associated with whatever indiscretion they left unchecked. The mourning family was then guided back home, with the Chief and his family behind them in support and exempt from contribution for a week of mourning.

Death is still held in this regard today. The ritual is carried out, with the exception of the ruling lord or ladies presence and the same signifiers are used to know where the deceased spirits lie with the gods. They are also exempt from contribution or tax at this time.

Traditional Festivals & Practices

Oracion de la Noche- The Night Prayer, when translated to the common tongue. During the Long Night the Chief would collect offerings from the members whether it be food, drink, totem, or warm clothing in the center of their main settlement. After all has been collected, it’s walked by the entire tribe to the outskirts of their lands for non-members in goodwill. Acts of service are smiled upon by their gods, according to retellings, and they often end their journey back with a community meal and song. All Oracion offerings act as either a ticket to the tribe or to keep the impending threat of the Others at bay. Should a Child or man show up with a familiar offering in hand, they’re taken in by the family who contributed it.

Current observations limit the journey they take and the offerings they give. Offerings after their Rebellion were taken to the caverns instead and twice a year, during both Summer and Winter Solstice they carry their gifts of personal, hand-carved totems to a place of the shamans choosing. Ruling Lord or Lady leads the people in favor of a Chief and participates in the community gathering afterwards.

Camintierra Games- In an effort to preserve what little culture they were allowed after the Rebellion of the Red Knights, son of former lord Inacio Bolton put into place a tournament to bring morale back to a beatdown people. Men would gather into teams of varying sizes and train for a week leading up the the tourney. Categories of hunting and fighting amongst others were the most highly regarded and when time came, the men would travel to the Lonely Hills to compete with each other while women stayed behind to pass their knowledge of cooking and preparation of cachaca (a drink made from potatoes and fruits similar to vodka). When the men arrived, the Chief would bless the winners' families with gifts and join everyone in a celebratory feast.

The games are still a highlight of the holds summer. It’s one of the few traditions the ruling family has heavy participation in, but the games have been moved to surround the Dreadfort in light of the realms ongoing struggles. They are also opened to non-natives and people of different cultures are encouraged to join if they so happen to visit in the duration of the games.

Despellado- Flaying, when translated to common tongue. It was believed that skinning enemies at the heart of the settlement and making the journey to sacrifice it to the ancestors' caverns would bring luck in war to the tribe. The practice continued long after their assimilation to the First Men and gave birth to the later legends of Boltons flaying their enemies. The last known flaying to occur publicly was by Belthasar Bolton. Soon after they were unsuccessful in yet another rebellion and bent the knee to the Starks, abandoning the practice as a condition of their fealty. It’s whispered that flaying is done in secret to this day, but has not been confirmed.

[fairlyabookie]

Admiration

Author's note: Day 5 of my February prompts! Enjoy!

[Reader] sat upon a grand throne, listening to their underlings bicker about a topic they couldn’t bother butting in. They were rightfully bored out of their mind, strategies for a new conquest, initiatives for new architectural projects, and proposals to consider completely flying over their head. Useless strategies dismissed and go, all of them futile in the face of war and expansion of the kingdom. Aren’t these the best of our kingdom? [Reader] didn’t dare answer that question, a headache blooming between their temples from the incessant chatter. Yet, their subordinates knew what was [Reader] waiting for, attempting to subdue their impatience by talking with their superior. The attempts unfruitful as [Reader] kept their gaze locked on the double doors to the Throne Room. Just as anticipated, the double doors burst open, revealing a haggard figure drenched in remnants of bloodlust. 

“Commander Howl is here!” 

Anxious voices clamor to frantic ones, as nobles and dignitaries scramble to bow before the incoming guest. Only then did [Reader] finally budged from their stupor, watching the commander come closer and closer into the throne room. The commander, paying no heed to the cowering interlopers, makes his way before his ruler, assuming the respectful stance in greeting.

Golden-brown eyes, alight with murderous intent, levels with [Reader]’s gaze, intense and spellbinding. The sovereign couldn’t simply ignore the shivering sensation permeating their senses upon Jack’s gaze. They sit back down on their seat, their days of waiting finally coming to this moment.

“I have come to report about the mission, my liege.” 

“Speak, Commander Howl.” 

“We have secured lands bordering the East. Starting tomorrow, we will make the journey South to conquer those lands you’ve requested us to do so.” 

“Have you come across the native peoples during your journey?” 

Jack answers the question without hesitation. 

“Yes, and we have negotiated with them per your request.” 

“Excellent, I trust that there was no bloodshed during this time.” 

A statement rather than a question, the nobles trembling in the corner, all felt a chill permeating the room. Just a glimpse over to [Reader] and they knew better not to provoke their sovereign further. Jack looks up, his lips curled for yet another answer. [Reader] arches an eyebrow, the nobles and politicians wallowing in anxiety. 

“Well?” 

They inquire icily. Jack knew not to lie in front of his sovereign, the words forming at the tip of his tongue as he answered gently. 

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

A noble flinches from his place, a hissing heard from an intake of breath. As unpredictable as the wind, they all feared the worst; the audacity of the commander to lie disregarding the consequences, or the fact [Reader] almost looked like they were about to commit mass murder from his statement. To their surprise, their expression diminishes to a face of neutrality. 

“Inevitable.” 

They give a scribe a side-eye to keep onto record. 

“Thank you for the report, Commander. My father thanks you for your service to our kingdom.” 

The commander salutes to their sovereign, departing the throne room in grace. His stoic features leave no trace of fear, only a steady demeanor befitting for fields of battle. Watching the double doors close behind him, [Reader] struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Your Grace?” 

Shit, they’re still here. 

“Have you fools lost your heads?! Rethink your proposals and we shall reconvene by the next moon. If you haven’t thought of something else, consider your proposal useless! Dismissed!” 

[Reader] roars, their voice booming across the threshold. 

“Yes, Your Grace!” 

Hurriedly, the nobles and advisors clear out the room, their scrambling figures making an image of headless chickens. Servants who remain in the throne room clean up the flurry of papers left behind by the nobles. 

“Your tea, Your Grace.” 

A servant bestows a warm cup of tea to their superior, who accepts it coolly. 

“Thank you, Peony.” 

[Reader] didn’t want to admit fatigue just yet; the tea doing little to energize them. They sigh, taking in the quiet of the Throne Room. 

“You’ve been harsh on the Commander and the nobles, [Reader].” 

A stern voice enters the fray. 

“Oh, I didn’t notice that, Sir Leona.” 

[Reader] mumbles darkly, their knuckles turning white around the tea cup. 

“Stress? Perhaps rescinding the throne to me would be the best option if you’re so overwhelmed by everything.” 

“Leona, you’d do well not to provoke me about that subject.” 

A smirk tugs at the corner of Leona’s lips. 

“Just teasing you.” 

The urge to berate the elder quickly replaced the fury from his cruel words. [Reader] kept themselves in check, partaking another sip of tea. 

“Is that all? I am a very busy person.” 

“Oh, I just wanted to point that out. Typically, you’d be merciless towards everyone, including Commander Howl. What is this? Feeling affectionate towards him today?” 

“Kindly do shut up, Sir Kingscholar. I will not be ridiculed in court today.” 

Leona stifles a snicker, noting the sovereign’s deadpan expression. It wasn’t his business to pry, but he felt something was off with [Reader]’s demeanor in court. 

“Well, is something the matter? I know you have something in your mind with that scowl of yours.” 

By this, [Reader] did scowl. 

“Stop reading my mind, Leona.” 

The tea was bitter and cold, the taste foul when they saw the commander enter the grounds with news from the battlefield. It was one thing to see him safe and sound, but another when they saw disappointment in his eyes. Leona feigns indifference, open to whatever [Reader] wanted to say. 

[Reader] would’ve preferred speaking their own thoughts on certain matters behind closed doors; only in court would they voice the wishes of their deceased family, assuming a harsh demeanor befitting of their father’s rule. Yet, Leona, the family’s most trusted advisor, knew that the ruler was not their father nor their mother, two totally different people that were not [Reader]. Leona saw to their growth and succession as a ruler after their abrupt deaths, an unfortunate transition of power when they were about to enter the prime of their youth. In his eyes, they were still young, perhaps clinging onto sentiments of their youth or having desires to do what they wished. He noted the way their features brighten. 

“Commander Howl looked so cool! I could’ve sworn my heart was bursting out of my rib cage! I couldn’t keep my composure. Leona, did you see him? He was so dreamy with his uniform-” 

Leona knew this was coming, the gushing about Commander Howl whenever he stepped in the room. He had no idea where did the sovereign grew an affection for him, but it was nothing short from a puppy love. Perhaps admiration for the commander’s multitude of battlefield experience, perhaps the oozing charisma he had when he would say little to no words, or perhaps it was a blend of both, a deadly mixture that made [Reader] fall for him. This conjecture was the one Leona wanted to figure out the most and found hilarious - only the mention and presence of the Commander would reduce his ruler’s demeanor to a blubbering mess.