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oneoftheprettynerds · 4 years ago

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Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present.

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal.

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies.

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be.

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers.

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed.

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain.

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered.

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests. You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?”

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you.

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self.

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee.

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now.

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless.

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine.

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more.

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement. He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare.

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you.

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh.

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies.

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss.

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”

#dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #darkmcufestiveficswap #darkmcuficswap #marvel imagine #dark mcu #darkmculibrary #dark!steve rogers x reader #chris evans #steve rogers #royal au #halloween au #masquerade ball #darkmcufestiveswap #ray writes

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iamthekaijuking · 3 years ago

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A flying Wyvern cladogram made under the assumption that flying Wyverns are scansoriopterygids or a sister group. Which means that they only have three true fingers, and the rest are jointed appendages derived from a styliform or styliforms that I will call “pseudophalanges”.

It seems like there’s huge gaps in relation between existing species, so a lot of “closely related” genre are still quite distantly related.

Wyvern rex is the base of the tree and is canonically the common ancestor of all living flying wyverns (or at least shared a common ancestor). It’s a quadruped and already quite different from its scansoriopterygid relatives. It’s stance might have originally been used for a better method of tree climbing in its ancestors; switching from wing assisted incline running to grabbing the tree with the hands and pulling themselves up. The hand structure is quite different from most maniraptorians as a result (although I did consider making a cladogram based on how the true fingers are arranged in different species). The pseudophalanx of Wyvern Rex still greatly resembles a styliform and hasn’t quite become jointed yet. The descendants of Wyvern Rex then took to the ground and became bigger.

Tigrex is a natural progression of this trend. Being more or less unchanged.

The god wyverns Akantor and Ukanlos are basically this trend taken to an extreme. Their styliform is now a vestigial spike and they’re too big for gliding.

The cave wyverns gigginox and khezu are perhaps the most derived flying wyverns due to being adapted to spending most of their time in caves, and their weird life cycle. The ancestor of living cave wyverns had uncalcified neck and tail vertebrae, somewhat uncalcified and rather loosely structured skulls, two pseudophalanges, and a cloaca situated on the end of the tail like a soft shell turtle to be used as a suction cup. Baleful gigginox also suggests it used electricity. Gigginox is the most basal existing cave Wyvern due to its quadrupedal stance, but even it is quite derived. It’s skull is even less solid than khezu and it overall might not have a very calcified body.

Khezu I have made more derived. It evolved into a biped independently of most flying wyverns (although it still moves on all fours quite often) and digit three has fused with pseudophalanx one. Khezu also has little false toes on its ankles that I’ve chocked up to being fleshy spurs evolved to increase the sticky surface area of the foot.

Some people classify the cave wyverns as amphibians, which I think is valid.

Nargacuga is a rather simple wyvern. A quadruped with two pseudophalanges that have been adapted into blade like structures. Nargacuga actually doesn’t use them in combat and prey capture often. This, coupled with the fact that it’s a forest ambush predator, makes me think that they were evolved to instead cut through the underbrush. Nargacuga also has a beak, which is a sign of the increasing trend of evolving rostrums in flying wyverns. I think Nargacuga could also work as a distant relative of the ancestral cave wyvern.

The “massive shell wyverns”, legiana, raths, bazel, seregios, and astalos all have a common ancestor in my tree.

The “massive shell wyverns” are the basarios/gravios and the blos wyverns. They have wing structures not unlike their distant Yi qi relatives, with a massive third finger supporting the wing along with styliforms. They also have two pseudophalanges, although recently some basarios have been discovered with a third pseudophalanx.

Legiana is a very unique flying Wyvern. As it has ditched the hard carapace of most flying wyverns and taken the evolution of pseudophalanges to the extreme. Only digit one remains and the wing is supported by four pseudophalanges.

The raths, rathalos and rathian are the most well known flying wyverns which have enjoyed a lot of success and diversity rather recently. Possibly after the end of the ice age that UHC suggests. Their wings are vaguely structured like that of birds, with digits two and three having fused together as the main support of the wing. They also have three pseudophalanges. Osteoderms on the front of their second digit gives the impression of more fingers.

Bazelgeuse I’ve put as a basal member of the family that includes seregios and astalos, but it could also work as its own thing. The wing is supported by digits two and three fused together like the raths, or maybe just digit two, and digit three has been lost. All pseudophalanges have been lost as well in the favor of numerous stiff rods.

Astalos and seregios are the two existing members of a sort of weird group of omnipedal flying wyverns with jointed cranial structures and forked tail structures. Astalos has a wing arrangement similar to the massive shell wyverns, but seregios seems to have ditched this to use all three true fingers as hooks for climbing, and the wing is supported by four pseudophalanges much like legiana.

Barioth is a bit tricky for me as it’s a quadruped with only a single massive stiff pseudophalanx. It could be the sole surviving member of a ghost lineage of Tigrex relatives or a *very distant relative* of nargacuga that lost a pseudophalanx. I also just don’t like the idea it being a sister genre to nargacuga like Capcom suggests because they really aren’t very similar outside of being vaguely cat like.

Then there’s paolumu. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I’m going to be a bit crazy here and vouch for it to actually be a Wyvern and thus a dinosaur. It doesn’t have a lot of the unique features bats possess. Heterodont dentition isn’t unknown in dinosaurs (in fact, even tyrannosaurus was showing that it was evolving heterodonty). Paolumu’s air sack could also be derived from the air sack system saurischian dinosaurs posses.

EDIT

I have made a refined version with frontier flying wyverns you can see here.

#sketches #monster hunter #sketch #speculative biology #speculative evolution #flying wyverns #flying wyvern #monsterhunter #phylogeny #taxonomy #cladogram #cladograms

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lunares-cor-a · 3 years ago

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Hello and welcome !

This is an independent roleplaying blog for my interpretation of Aether , the male player character of MiHoYo’s Genshin Impact . I’m Ritsu, 28 years old, Australian ( GMT +11 ) and I use either She/Her or They/Them pronouns.

You can find my rules in this post for ease of access for everyone ! Along with some quick info to know about my Aether in particular.

01. Mutuals only. 18+ ✧

I will not roleplay with any who are not under this umbrella. This term means we must be following each other.

Due to the fact I myself am over 25, for my own comfort I will not roleplay with anyone under the age of 18 years old.

02. Subject Focus ✧

My main focus has always been on romance, slice of life, fluff and smut threads. That will not change here. These are my strengths and I tend to enjoy them most of all. I’m willing to go into other subject matter - just come talk to me about the idea you have.

03. Angst Limitations ✧

Due to personal reasons, I will only ever touch on angst threads / content in general with people I feel I can trust immensely. Please don’t push for it.

04. Multiship & verse ✧

Every ship is in its own separate verse, so please, don’t come and try to start something as if there’s any form of infidelity occurring. I can assure you, there is not. On this topic, I will not ever partake in polyship content or anything involving more than one romantic or sexual partner at one time.

I also do have a number of verses that will become available over time. Please feel free to ask about them!

05. Mental Health ✧

I never make any secret of my struggles with this, and I cannot stress enough that I need you to be understanding with it as well. I am formally diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, General Anxiety Disorder, Social Anxiety Disorder and Depression. I am also looking into testing for being on the Autism Spectrum. I want people to be fully aware of these things so that it helps explain some of my behaviour at times.

06. Tagging ✧

I do not do personalised trigger tags as it is too hard to keep up with. If you need a certain topic tagged, please tell me however and I will put a simple one nice and easy for any who need it.

On my end, please tag the following: Blood , Gore , Abuse , Spiders

Quick About

Aether is a God from another world that was separated from his sister upon their initial attempt to leave Teyvat some hundreds of years ago, which was when he was sealed within a meteorite and slept for around 500 years . Aether himself, despite youthful looks, is actually close to 3000 years old .

He stands at 5 feet tall with long blond hair that reaches down past his waist, usually tied back in a long braid, and honey gold eyes with a fair complexion. Prior to his loss of powers he also had a pair of white and gold wings that gave him the ability to fly, however as his true powers are currently sealed he has lost the ability to call upon them.

Aether is a very friendly, sociable person that most can find it in themselves to trust rather easily. He enjoys his work for the Adventurer’s Guild, for the most part, and while has always loved travelling ... His ultimate dream is to find somewhere he can call home once more after having to flee his original home world. He struggles to be selfish, to ask others for help, and perhaps wears his heart on his sleeve more often than he should.

He identifies as male , and considers himself bisexual , with a slight preference for men .

#⋞ australian ramblings ⊳ ritsu speaks ⋟

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ageofevermore · 4 years ago

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Lost You For Nothing

⊹ Summery: and maybe we were never meant to love beneath any set of stars

⊹ Words: 1.2k

⊹ this contains season 7 spoilers, as well as mentions of previous character deaths.

⊹ just doing my part in ignoring and not acknowledging the ending jroth gave bellamy, and instead writing my own.

⊹ tagging some t100 mutuals bc we deserved somebody fighting for bellamy @r0s3mm @stilinskiswritings @mischiefandi

She had loved him since the first time their eyes locked across the Sky Box. He was a guard, and unsurprisingly enough she was a prisoner. Her crime was involuntary, yet she wasn’t lucky enough to be the chosen twin. She figured it was due to her health conditions; a working class family barely had enough to support a healthy child, let alone one whose lungs were weak and susceptible to detrimental illness. She never cared much about her biological connections though, finding a family in her rotating guards and doctors.

When she and ninety nine other prisoners were sent to the ground and the only person she knew was her former guard, her allegiance to Abigail Griffin’s daughter was severed. She had promised to protect the princess, but she could do that better from afar. For her entire life she had only known change, people were in and out so constantly she wondered if it had to do with her quirks of independence. Growing up in isolation stunted personal development, though she had clearly found enough of herself to turn people away.

When she had finally let Bellamy in closer, she was handed a stick of meat and a wink. She had toted around a bulky silver bracelet until spitefully tearing it from her person in the face of Clarke, weakly shoving Wells aside when he lunged at her emotionally. She wasn’t unaffected by the throw away life she lived, but she couldn’t bring herself to care so deeply like Wells. She was born a default, just another statistic from the moment she opened her eyes. Sacrificial responsibilities were forced upon her from the minute she was given up.

She had found her brother a week later after Octavia had aggravatedly yelled for Murphy throughout the camp and had gotten a response from both throw away teens. The softer of the two had frowned at the sight of another answering to her name before her heart stilled and she looked between her rival and her friend.

When Mount Weather had attacked she had fought beside the former guard with glassy eyes and a conflicted approach, she found herself strung up by the ankles and drained of everything her body had to offer. She was manipulated and humiliated, treated as though she was beneath standard human respects. It was Bellamy who found her next to nude, pale and a pile of bones, fingertips tickling the concrete.

John had broken her to pieces when he left with Jaha. She had watched everyone she loved fall apart, and even worse watched Clarke lose somebody she loved. When the sky had fallen for the second time and Bellamy had ejected himself from the atmosphere, he had given her no choice but to be by his side. Her brother had found infinite love within a grounder's eyes, while she was spiraling deeper and deeper into love with Bellamy.

When they found another planet capable of sustaining human life forms, she had mourned the loss of not only a hundred years, but the death and love of two close friends. She had taken Jordan under her wing without prompt, simultaneously looking out for Madi. She had never seen herself as being maternal, but she had seen too many hearts turn cold without guidance; Finn, Charlotte, fucking Pike. She had higher hopes and expectations for generations to come.

When John almost died and Abby actually did, that’s when Brinley understood that there was no possibility of saving humanity. They couldn’t even save themselves. Life beyond the ark had led to mass destruction by a failure to be taught compassion and understanding, rather rank and diversity. What she hadn’t been prepared for, was having no chance to say goodbye to the man she never got to kiss;

“What the hell do you mean, Clarke?” Brinley snapped, stepping towards the blonde with a fire in her eyes. Octavia had her arms draped around the offender's neck, Echo close to joining the embrace with a peaceful understanding in her irises.

“Brinley--” Murphy watched his sister inch dangerously close to the blonde drenched in blood. The blood of everyone in Mount Weather, the blood of Maya and Gina, Charlotte and Wells, Lexa. Clarke was covered in the blood of everyone she tried to help, and now Bellamy was upon the endless list.

“No. Clarke, what the hell do you mean? What the hell do you mean? He, what did you do? Clarke, what the hell did you do? What the hell did you do?” She fell to her knees, sinking into the gentle softness of rediscovered nature. Bellamy should have been beside her, reveling in what Earth had begun in their absence. “What did you do? Say it! Say what you did Clarke, say it!”

“I killed him.” The blonde’s voice trembled as she pulled away from Echo and watched the younger brunette wither on the forest floor, stained with tears and a lifetime of loss.

Her mind wandered to Bellamy’s reaction tactics, and the way she knew he would have rushed to her side and pressed her forehead into his neck until her heart calmed down. He would have blocked out the noise and grounded her in an intimate moment of kindness and acceptance. Bellamy would have forgiven Clarke, but Brinley never could.

“Where’s the book?” Brinley snapped, somehow finding her bearing enough to support herself on two feet, rather than all fours. Her knees were damp with dirt, and her palms were scratched up, but as she wiped the tears from her cheeks and paths of blood and brown stained her, she couldn’t care less. “Where’s the book, Clarke!”

“Sanctum.”

Brinley’s eyes pinched tightly as another aching sobs slipped through the confines of her chest. “Was Lincoln not enough for you?” She cried, eyes hard and teary as she advanced towards the warrior. “Was Lincoln and Finn and Lexa not enough for you? Are you so desperate to dismantle any ounce of love you come across? Should John be worried? Are you gonna kill Emori next? Huh, Clarke?” Brinely grabs at the gun in Clarke’s hands, sobbing when the cold metal freezes her burning touch, though recklessly she aims it at her brother's girlfriend.

“Brinley, calm down.” Octavia warned warily, eyes on the black gun that was shakily pointed towards a distressed Emori. The girls had become like sisters, though siblingship clearly meant nothing to the last living Blake.

Brinely shrieked animalistically, eyes wild with a fire. “Calm down? She killed your brother, Octavia! She killed your brother! He’s dead. Bellamy’s dead. Kane and Abby and Aurora and Bellamy. They’re all dead. You don’t have anybody left!”

“He was dead a long time ago.” Echo tried to interject, watching over the teetering Murphy who couldn’t seem to process the information she was being fed.

“He was dead when he joined Pike, and when he lost Gina, and months before that when he hung John! When he got Lincoln killed he was just about as good as dead as he was on Bardo and you still tried to fucking save him! You justify when people are worth saving, Clarke. You think you’re god, Clarke. You’re not! You kill people. You killed him! You killed him long before we even stepped foot on Sanctum. You killed us all.”

#bellamy blake #bellamy blake x oc #clarke griffin #octavia blake #echo kom azgeda #echo kom spacekru #wanheda #blodreina #lincoln kom trikru #linctavia #jasper jordan #monty green #the 100 #the 100 fanfic #john murphy #murphy x emori #emori the 100 #emori #madi griffin

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mathiaskillmaster · 5 years ago

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Rebirth of the Dragon (After GOT / Daenerys Targaryen) Part 6

Westeros, Winterfell Although summer had fallen, temperatures in the independent kingdom of north had remained rather low, although the snow had disappeared to give way to the green heaths and coniferous forests rocked by the wind. In Winterfell, capital of the northern kingdom, life had resumed and gradually recovered from the terrible battle that had taken place against the Night King and his army of the dead, now a threat from the past. In the courtyard of the castle, servants and other occupants were engaged in their daily tasks, while patrol guards proceeded to their usual rounds. Standing in front of the big fireplace in her personal office, the young queen in the north, Sansa Stark, dressed in her big black dress and her warmly fur-covered shoulders, was pacing, circling, her hands behind her back, and seemed to be waiting, looking moribund. On her desk, among the many documents, was a letter whose seal, that of the hand of the king, had been broken. Sansa had read the letter sent recently by Tyrion Lannister, and what she had read there had more than disconcerted her. Daenerys Targaryen is .... alive? Just thinking about it made her shudder again. Just the idea that she can return to Winterfell on the back of her dragon to seek revenge. Despite having archers, Sansa did not know if all of Winterfell's garrison, no matter how large, would be sufficient in the face of the devastating anger of an adult dragon who had proven himself capable of destroying an entire fleet of war ships and ravaged half of King's Landing. Sansa did not know what her brother Bran was going to do about it, but knowing that her kingdom no longer depended on the king's orders, she decided to do something for her. She would not take the risk of seeing Winterfell and the north be burned to the ground if she could stop it before it happen. Returning to her desk, Sansa took her pen, dipped it in ink and began writing a missive. She had heard from her sister Arya about the existence of this sect of dreadful assassins at Braavos. ********* Essos, approaching Asshai The end of the journey was approaching for the ironborn ship which had been flying on the sea for almost a month now from Volantis. Already, the first signs of Asshai's approach were noticeable. The waters, usually of a natural blue, had gradually faded to become dark, gray and opaque. Glancing over the rail, Yara shivered. She, who had participated in many expeditions at sea, showed for the first time a little doubtful. Sometimes she could see weird fishes, phosphorescent, appearing and disappearing like ghosts under the surface. She dared not imagine what kinds of creatures could haunt these waters. A thicker mist had risen, snaking over the surface of the water like snakes of smoke. In order to avoid any risk, Yara had reduced the wing, the ship now slipping more slowly in these sinister waters of the end of the world. On the deck, the ironborn sailors had lost their proud and harsh airs, and could not prevent the doubt from expressing themselves on their faces, although the unsullied and the soldiers of the Fiery hand remain strangely calm despite the macabre atmosphere. Among the most superstitious sailors, some came to dread that the ship would reach the end of the world and fall into the great void. Others were convinced that these black, silent waters would eventually lead them into the other world. An ironborn, scared to death, swore on his head that he had heard a disembodied woman's voice whispering his name from the depths of the mist, and even felt an icy breath on his neck. The poor fellow, yet a strong fellow, was found hidden in the bottom of the hold, curled up and shaking like a scared little girl. Daenerys had been forced to stay in her cabin for a good part of the day. For several days now, she had felt more and more tired, despite the nights of rest she was able to take, and also felt, more and more regularly, some sharp pains in her stomach. She could hardly eat, but had to force herself anyway not to lose her strength. Navigating in these haunted waters did not help her much, she too, sometimes having the impression of hearing whispers calling her and hearing something like nails scratching behind the window of her cabin, whose window was now completely fogged. Two nights before, Daenerys had woken up in the middle of the night, screaming in terror so loudly that she had woken up the entire crew, and had been found by Yara and Grey Worm, trembling, tears in her eyes and sweat in her bed. Daenerys had explained to them that she had been awakened by a strange noise in her cabin, and as she opened her eyes, she had seen Jon Snow, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her with a furious gaze. He had jumped on her, taking a dagger at his belt, blocking her on the bed by grabbing her to the throat and trying to stab her in the stomach, vociferating with a degenerate voice. _ "You should be dead! DEAD, YOU HEAR ME?!" _ "NOOOO JON, STOP! LEAVE ME!!" His voice was his own, but monstrous, and blood began to flow from his eyes, as Dany described, still in shock. She had screamed, struggled with all her strength, but after opening her eyes, Jon had disappeared without leaving any traces. Kinvara explained to Daenerys that the waters surrounding Asshai were filled with the most ancient and obscure magic, and that these forces haunting it take pleasure in tormenting sailors and adventurers daring to venture there, guessing and giving life to their the deepest fear into more than realistic illusions. As a result, Daenerys slept only during the day, and at night remained awake and in the company of a soldier from the Fiery Hand appointed by the priestess to watch over her. Although they are not talkative, she felt reassured to not be alone in her cabin. Face digged by fatigue, Daenerys was lying in bed in her white silk night dress. Kinvara was with her, the priestess sitting beside her on the bed, and examining her to make sure everything was all right. For Kinvara, there was no sign of illness or poisoning of any kind by food or water. Kinvara thought for a moment, turning her attention to Daenerys' aching belly. And if .... a hypothesis crossed her mind and she wanted to check. Delicately placing the palm of her hand on Daenerys's belly, Kinvara seemed to be examining more. Daenerys watched her, quite concerned. After long minutes, Kinvara changed her attitude, her shining irises showing a truth that had just appeared to her, and which seemed to satisfy her. _"Lady Kinvara, what's going on?" Daenerys asked her emphatically. _ "Daenerys stomrborn ...... you are pregnant." the priestess of R'hllor then revealed to her in all honesty. This news fell on the young woman like a flash, making her heart leap in her chest. _ "What ... how .... you .... are you sure and certain?" Daenerys really insisted on this, looking at her belly in turn and feeling it delicately. The priestess was formal and nodded. The young Targaryen was pregnant. Daenerys was more than confused. _ "But ... it's impossible ..." she said with conviction "... I could no longer have children, at least not be able to give birth, because of this witch ..... "and suddenly she froze, remembering to have shared her bed with a particular man, the one who before her, was brought back from the dead by the magic of R'hllor: Jon Snow, the man who had killed her. "... Jon ..." she sighed painfully, a tear pouring down one of her cheeks. "... But .... he killed me .... how can I still be pregnant?" The young fallen queen could not understand anything, but Kinvara made it her duty to explain her, taking her hands in hers. _ "This is the great power that our master has ..." explains the priestess "... his purifying fire not only brought you back, Daenerys stormborn, but also saved the life of this young soul who grows up inside your belly, for such is his will. Rejoice, your grace, that the Lord of light has given you such a miracle. A child born from the union of ice and fire." Ice and fire ..... Did she mention Jon and Daenerys through this symbolic definition? Was it true? After all, Jon had been brought back by the red god too. Jon, through this resurrection, had he been granted by the god the power to free Daenerys from her curse by unite to her? But in that case, why did Jon killed her? Was it also the plan of the red god? Once again, everything was very confusing. She wanted to rejoice, of course, she who for years had thought herself condemned to remain last and see her dynasty disappear with her. But on the other hand, the idea of carrying this child, Jon's, plunged her into a terrible melancholy, and made her relive for a few moments that awful illusion of Jon leaning over her and trying to kill her. How could she look this child in the eyes without thinking of Jon and what he had done to her? No, she dismissed this idea from her mind. It was out of the question for her to judge her future child for the crime committed by his father towards her. She would no longer act like that, she had sworn. ******** Elsewhere on the ship, Shen-zoan had isolated himself in the small corner of the hold that had chosen him to settle during the journey. Although he was offered a more comfortable place to sleep, a simple hanging hammock suited him perfectly. As he had said, after sleeping at the bottom of a well and in a wet cave in the middle of winter, this hammock was for him like the room of a palace. The Yi Ti traveler did not sleep, however. Sitting on the floor of the ship, he was leaning over a wooden box that served as a temporary table, on which he had placed a large sheet of parchment and lit with only a single candle placed beside him. Yara, after reassuring her sailors, had come down to the hold to check that everything was going well and made her way to Shen. Looking over his shoulder without saying a word, she could see the strange letters he had been writing in black ink for a while, like symbols she had never seen before. Shen looked over his shoulder and smiled at him. _"What is it?" she asked, rather intrigued. _ "Oh, that .... it's a poem from my country, in my native language .... I like to write .... it helps me to never forget where I come from." was his answer, shrouded in a touch of nostalgia in his voice. Yara sat next to him, reading the symbols one by one even though she did not understand any of them. The fine line of the pen and the perfectly asymmetrical forms of the letters were almost like art. How was he managed to write with this precision despite the slight pitching of the ship? Shen did not stop surprising. Just yesterday, during the meal, Yara and the others could see him eating with small wooden sticks, which caused the hilarity of some sailors a little morons. Despite such mockery, however, Shen remained very calm, not offended, and simply continued his meal. Daenerys did not really appreciated the mockery about the newcomer and asked Yara to seriously reprimand the men, which she did. In this new free world that would become Essos by her will, Daenerys would also advocate freedom and tolerance of cultures. As he continued to write with that delicacy and astounding precision, Yara stared at Shen's fighting stick for a moment. _ "Your way of fighting ..... how do you do it? Who taught you?" she asked. She then perceived, in Shen's expression, that she had touched a new chord of his past, but yet made him smile. Placing his pen, he decided to tell Yara some of his past. _"All my knowledge, I owe it to my master, Dzian-owan. When he was a child, Master Dzian was puny, shy, constantly persecuted by other children. He was the son of a former soldier, a very hard man, who kept on telling him that the weak had no place in this world. But Dzian refused to brandish a weapon, the idea was repugnant to him, so he decided to create his own way of fighting. At the age of 15, following the death of his father and now alone, Dzian exiled himself to the lands of the north, beyond the plains of Jogos Nhai, where he lived as an hermit. During all these years, Master Dzian developed his new art of combat, the art of fighting without giving death, spending days and nights, training in all weathers. In the wind, the rain, the snow of winter and the overwhelming heat of summer...He added to his art of combat the meditation, and he managed to do so, after spending ten days and ten nights meditating under an old willow, to the perfect union of the mastery of his art, unifying combat and concentration in one and same body, one and same soul. Then one day, while he was looking for wild grasses, he found me in a wicker basket on the edge of a river. I was still a baby, abandoned by my parents and delivered to the wilderness. Having pity, he gathered me and raised me as his own son. When I was old enough to understand, he taught me his art, imposing on me the same conditions, the same trials and the same suffering that he himself had to endure in order to form himself to face this world. He always told me: The characteristic of the warrior is humility. He must think as much about others as about himself. There are strong and weak people in this world, Shen, and it is the duty of the weakest to become stronger, to prove to them this: if you can, they can too. I swore to my master to perpetrate his art wherever I go, and to become an example to the poor. Shortly after, my venerable master died without suffering, in his sleep, carried away by his old age. After having buried him with dignity at the foot of the ancient willow, where he had spent most of his life, I began my journey around the world ..... " Yara had remained silent, having listened to everything in this story. She noticed Shen's wet eye as he recounted, reliving through his words what were the best memories of his life. Abandoned from birth, raised by a stranger who trained him to become a good person. Yara was rather touched by this story and patted the man's shoulder. _"Your master seemed to be a very good man, Shen-zoan, and a great warrior too. I would have love to know him." Yara said frankly. _ "He would appreciate you, I think." Shen replied, "he has always admired women with a strong character, just like you." Yara felt rather flattered by the compliment and both together shared a small laugh. However, Yara's face darkened, looking pensive, and Shen noticed it. _ "Something is disturbing you." _ "It's about Queen Daenerys ..." Yara said without keeping a secret for her new friend "... according to Lady Kinvara, she would be pregnant." _"Well, I do not see how that would be bad news." Shen answered without really knowing why she was showing that worried look. _ "I know ..." she said "... that's not the problem. I'm just worried about her and the baby. When those who killed her will learn that she's alive, I don't think that the life of a mere baby to be born will stop them in their attempt to eliminate her again.They will not take the risk of seeing her return to Westeros with her dragon and a new army to get revenge." Shen-zoan fully understood what Yara meant and reassured her by patting her on the back of her hand. _"We will do what it takes to protect her, because that is the oath we have spoken." _ "PORT OF ASSHAI RIGHT BEFORE!!" suddenly shouted the voice of a ironborn sailor from the deck of the ship. Alerted, Yara, followed by Shen, went back up. Daenerys, also warned by voice, came out of her cabin with Lady Kinvara, covering her shoulders with a purple silk shawl. Grey Worm has advanced to the bow to see the facts. In the misty sky, Drogon's roaring figure appeared, sliding between the clouds like a giant ghost. In front of the ship reducing her sail a little more, the opaque mists of a dark gray dissipated more and more, revealing to the eyes of all in the permanent twilight of these accursed waters and in the light of the full moon, the forms recognizable of fuzzy towers and other strange buildings, all built of black stone. Daenerys swallowed, but remained upright, her head high, while in front of her, came from the fog the legendary and mysterious city from the deep of the world, Asshai, emerging little by little from the mist like the monster coming from a horror tale. Faced with this vision seeming straight out of a nightmare, the sailors remained speechless, eyes round, and some even began to pray the drowned god to protect them. _ "Welcome to Asshai, Daenerys stormborn." proclaimed Lady Kinvara to the young dragon queen. Finally. She was there, supported by her allies and her son, ready to face the new trials of the red god.

#daenerys targaryen #queen daenerys #daenerys deserved better #kinvara #yara greyjoy #grey worm #A Song of Ice and Fire #game of thrones #resurrection #rhllor #asshai #drogon

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cloudycrystalkpop · 6 years ago

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Starfall

pairing characters: Zitao + the coven of VIXX

summary: clan of delphi au | Tao finds himself in the midst of the mysterious coven of vixx

warnings: a touch of hoodoo

words: 1.6k

The small bells over the door chimed in greeting as he stepped into the apothecary. The tall man behind the desk glanced up. His pointed features and scowling eyes gave Tao a feeling he wasn’t very welcome.

“Excuse me,” he stepped up to the counter, offering the man a smile. “I was told there was a fortune teller here.”

The man didn’t speak for a moment, not bothering to look up at Tao until he had finished crushing the leaves in his hands.

“He’s busy at the moment.” The scowling man’s voice was much higher in pitch then Tao had expected.

“Ah, that’s alright, i don’t mind waiting.” Tao turned at sat himself in a chair in the corner of the room.

Looking around, he observed the atmosphere of the place. The walls were a deep navy blue, with accents of a metallic gold in the trim. The ceiling sparkled like a dancing night sky. Behind the deck were many walls lined with shelves, each home to a different plant. Midnight flowers and dark ferns hidden from the bright golden light of the window.

Tao’s eyes fell to the hallway as he heard footsteps.

“Taekwoon~ have you seen that little rabbit i found earlier? Oh god if Hyuk finds that thing there is no telling what he might-“ the man stopped his sentence as he entered the front room, spotting Tao instantly. “oh hello! I didn’t see you there.” The man’s voice was higher in pitch and he spoke with a friendly smile.

The scowling witch, Taekwoon, passed a glance at the new man, nodding to Tao and where he sat in the corner. The new man seemed to understand.

“you are here for a fortune telling?” The brighter man turned to Tao as he stood.

“yes, if you please.” Tao nodded politely. The man blinked at him, studying him closely, before a small grin traced his lips and be breathed the faintest chuckle.

“alright, he’s back in the garden. If you would please follow me.” He held back the many strings of beads that acted as a door. Tao stepped through and found himself entering the world M had called home for so long.

The two tall men watched this stranger from the shadows. His heels clicked and the fur he wore ruffled in the slight wind. This stranger certainly looked expensive. His hair was perfect, not a strand out of place, and his eyes nicely rimmed in black to match his perfect nails.

“that hast to be him.” The younger spoke.

“what are you thinking Hyuk?” The elder asked. Hyuk grinned a devilish smile.

“if he really wants to be Mori’s mentor, let’s see if he can handle a little spook shall we?” Hyuk’s eyes sparkled at the idea of mischief.

Tao followed the man out and into the garden. The area was bright, countless plants grew there, all thriving and full of life. The flowers seemed to stretch just a bit more as the man before him walked passed. He didn’t have to be an Oracle to tell, this man had fae blood.

“Hakyeon, there is a man here to see you.” He called out into the darker part of the garden. A moment later, the Seer amerged.

“thank you Jaehwan.” He nodded to the fae as he turned to leave, offering Tao another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“come along Zitao, have a seat.” Tao shouldn’t have been surprised at hearing his full name, but it still caught him off guard. He followed the mans instructions and sat at the small table.

The table was a dark black marble, with glowing golden specks in the perfect formations for constellations.

Hakyeon sat across from him, resting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his folded hands.

“she’s still running i imagine.” The elder spoke calmly. Tao swallowed. He wasn’t really intimidated by other seers anymore. But this man before him, the whole vibe of this place was just so... different.

“i, need some help.” He hated those words. So many years he’d spent independent, and one child has brought him to a loss.

Hakyeon smiled at his words.

“it isn’t everyday i find a Delphi at my doorstep asking for advice on mentorship.” The elder man chuckled.

“she found you, found your coven, she chose you and trusts you.” Tao squared his shoulders, gathering his confidence. “i need to earn the same trust, but she won’t let me.”

“indeed, Mori trusts myself and my coven mates greatly.” Hakyeon nodded, closing his eyes. “but you are mistaken if you believe i was her favorite.”

Tao paused.

“Mori needs someone, to be her friend. She needs someone like her. If it had been only me she felt close with, she would have moved on a long time ago.” Hakyeon smiled as he watched the younger man before him put all this together.

“she is... rather fond of that alchemist.” Tao mumbled quietly. He quickly raised his head to look the other man in the eyes “you know what that boy is, right?”

“i know he doesn’t fully know himself.” Hakyeon laid back in his chair. “they are still children, still learning and discovering who they are.”

Tao took another breath. While he knew all of these things, he didn’t seem to be remembering them while actually trying to convince her.

“you shouldn’t take her rejection so harshly. How many times have you actually spoken to her?” Hakyeon raised his brows at the man before him.

Tao fell silent at this question. The sound of laughter came from outside the hedge. Hakyeon breathed a sigh as Tao jumped.

“you’re too much of a coward to even try and talk to her!” the cause of the snickers poked his head around the hedge.

“Hyuk, i thought you were chasing that little white rabbit?” Hakyeon scolded the youngest for his eavesdropping.

“Jaehwan screamed at me, so i let him go.” The man shrugged. “i guess i’ll start walking through the woods again, i really do need a pelt.”

Tao scanned the young man before him. Youngest of the coven, darker in arua then the members he’s already met. He had a smile behind his eyes that sung of trouble. The dirt and blood under his nails combined with the stitching on his jacket, sung quiet hymns of a hoodoo witch doctor.

A woven bracelet he wore reminded him greatly of another he had seen. An anklet worn by Mori with the same colors and patterns, the only slight variation was the beetle charm on his as opposed to the key on hers. It had been quite a while since Tao had seen beetles in magic.

This man’s craft was sand and desert based, while Mori’s was from the deep marsh.

Tao was distracted from his thoughts by a fluttering feeling on his cheek. he brushed away the moth, causing it to float down to the table. the three men watched at the moth slowly died, it’s wings falling off and turning to ash.

“how... odd.” Tao swallowed hard, staring at the insect. he felt his heart pound in his ears, that moth should’ve been fine, nothing happened to it. was it because it touched him? was it happening again?

another snicker came from the younger man.

“now Hyuk, was that really necessary?” the scolding voice of Hakyeon pulled Tao back to the present. Hyuk reached down, placing his hand over the pile of ash. a shiver ran down Tao’s spine as the air around the witch became heavy. when he lifted his hand, the small moth was resurrected, fluttering back into the air.

“come on now, it’s just a bit of harmless fun.” Hyuk chimed. Tao looked up at the young man, watching him closely. suddenly Mori’s friendship with this man added another layer of depth. the mischief in his eyes ran all too familiar to Tao.

“resurrection is quite a specialized gift.” Tao spoke, leaning back in his chair. “you may want to be careful, there is always the possibility, of mistakes being made.”

Hyuk’s sparkling eyes narrowed at the oricle.

Tao stood from his seat, offering Hakyeon a polite smile. “thank you for the reading sir. i have much to think about.” Hakyeon watched him closely, nodding at his words. “now gentlemen, i will be on my way.”

“Hyuk, how about you show our guest out, hm?” Hakyeon nodded to the younger man. Tao clenched his teeth, as the witch began leading him back through the guardan.

Hyuk didn’t say a word as he lead Tao to the gate, but just before the oricle could step through, he grabbed his fur coat, yanking him back for a moment.

“excuse me! this is very expensive-” Tao was cut off by the dark tone in the hoodoo witch’s voice.

“no matter what you and your cult believe about covens, Morganna is our little sister. we are her home and family. and if i find you have done something to harm her, something to disrespect her, i promise you, you and your cult of oracles will have nightmares of the horrors we have in store for you. in this life and the rest to come.” he stared the man down, his eyes bubbling with warning.

Tao was silent, simply watching the man.

“you have my word, she will never be held against her will.” Tao’s voice was steady as he shoved the other witch off him. Hyuk snarled, but backed away.

Tao watched at the witch doctor wandered back into the shadows, disappearing back to the coven ground. there was a lingering feeling of weight on his chest. he had a sinking feeling, a part of him knew, that moth was more than just a test. it was a warning.

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whatwewrotepodcast · 6 years ago

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Character Profile - Ithuriel

Basic Statistics 

Name: Ithuriel Age: 6 months or eternity, depends how you look at it Nationality: Currently American, formally Divine Socioeconomic Level as a child: N/A Socioeconomic Level as an adult: Low Hometown: Heaven Current Residence: Brooklyn, New York Occupation: Enforcer for Raif Income: N/A Talents/Skills: Proficient with a range of hand guns, good aim, also competent in hand-to-hand fighting, and the use of a spear in both ranged and hand-to-hand combat. Salary: N/A Birth order: 3rd of 7 Siblings (describe relationship): Technically the other 6 Arc Angels are his brothers and sisters. Previously a good relationship with most of them, though he was closest to Gabriel, Amitiel and Raphael, however his relationship with Gabriel suffered after his fall. Spouse (describe relationship): N/A Children (describe relationship): N/A Grandparents (describe relationship): N/A Grandchildren (describe relationship): N/A Significant Others (describe relationship): N/A at commencement of TSC Relationship skills: Ithuriel’s relationship skills are not the best. He has a tendency to be prickly and overreactive, and often blows things out of proportion. He can be shy and reserved and hard to get to know. He makes up for these deficits by being a genuinely kind, warm person who never intends to hurt anyone, and generally feels guilty when his actions adversely affect those he cares about.

More beneath the cut

Physical Characteristics:  Height: 6’2” Weight: 110kg Race: Caucasian Eye Colour: Golden Hair Colour: Dirty/Dark blonde Glasses or contact lenses? No Skin colour: Fair, but with a bit of a golden hint, tans easily Shape of Face: Sharp, strong jawline, high cheekbones, long, straight nose. Overall impression of hard, clean lines, very little softness. Distinguishing features: Two large, nasty scars down his back, from shoulders to hips. A pair of stylised Angel wings tattooed on the inside of his left wrist and a tattoo of an ornate spearhead on the inside of his right forearm. How does he/she dress? Jeans, usually fairly loose cut, blue. Black or grey long-sleeved shirts or t-shirts. Black trench coat, military style boots, a scarf if it’s cold. Always muted tones though, never wears colour, always black/white/grey. Mannerisms: Often runs his fingers through his hair when he’s troubled. Pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s thinking hard or when things are driving him to frustration. Habits: (smoking, drinking etc.) Has a fondness for chocolate, but nothing that really counts as a habit per se. Health: About as good as can be. More than human. Doesn’t suffer from most human illnesses or diseases, has improved healing from injury and is able to survive with less food, water and rest than the average human. Hobbies: Currently doesn’t really have hobbies, though he does like to people watch. Favourite Sayings: N/A Speech patterns: Tends towards overly formal language, doesn’t use a lot of contractions, does have a New York accent but it’s towards the more upper class end of the scale, and sometimes veers into a very generic, hard to locate sort of American accent. Disabilities: N/A Style (Elegant, shabby etc.): Professionally broody chic. Tends towards the shabby side though. Greatest flaw: His short temper. He had a propensity to explode over minor issues, has a very short fuse, and often says things in fits of anger that he later regrets. Best quality: A genuine kindness and love for humanity. Intellectual/Mental/Personality Attributes and Attitudes  Educational Background: None Intelligence Level: Technically very high – he’s an Angel and so has divine intelligence, but his lack of experience in the world means most of the time that intelligence is of very little use to him as it hasn’t got anything to back it up. Any Mental Illnesses? Technically no, though it could be argued he has a bit of PTSD about his Fall. Learning Experiences: Everything is a learning experience for Ith. He’s been living on earth for just over 6 months and so everything, from learning how to safely cross the road to making toast are learning experiences of him. Character's short-term goals in life: Work off his debt to Raif and be able to live his life free of debt and restrictions. Character's long-term goals in life: Get back to Heaven. How does Character see himself/herself? Ithuriel has a pretty complicated relationship with himself. On the one hand, he’s quite proud. He was an arc, and as such had quite a high opinion of himself. He was very powerful, there were few who could tell him what to do or how to do it. He was convinced of his own righteousness. However, since his Fall, his sense of worth took a bit of a hit. He still sees himself as ‘better’ than most humans, more moral, more ethical, but he also fell, and that took some of the wind out of his sails. He is now conflicted about who he is and what his existence means, and where he stands in the world. How does Character believe he/she is perceived by others? Ithuriel doesn’t think much of how other people see him, especially at the start of the story. He doesn’t think much about other people’s internal worlds. However, as he develops, he does start to worry that people think of him as a bit stuffy, a bit uncool, and a bit overly righteous. How self-confident is the character? Initially very, but he lost a lot of faith in himself and his ability to make the right decisions when he Fell. Does the character seem ruled by emotion or logic or some combination thereof? Definitely ruled by emotion – probably one of his greatest flaws is letting his feelings get in the way of making the sensible, logical decision. What would most embarrass this character? Any reference towards sexuality or sexual activity, especially towards the start of the story. Emotional Characteristics Introvert or Extrovert? Introvert How does the character deal with anger? Very, very badly. Mostly by letting it explode all over the place. He has a short fuse. With sadness? He lets himself feel it, but only within himself. He doesn’t tend towards being demonstrative about his emotions. With conflict? Again, not well. He tends to shout first and think later. With change? He’s gone through a lot of changes recently and considering the magnitude of them, he coped remarkably well. That said, he did struggle a lot with readjusting to his new role in life. With loss? By suppressing it until it bursts out of him in explosions of jealousy towards those who have that which he has lost. What does the character want out of life? At the moment, he’s just trying to do with best with what he has. What would the character like to change in his/her life? He would go back to Heaven and get his wings back. What motivates this character? Partially the desire to get back to Heaven, though he rarely admits it to himself. Mostly a deeply in-ground sense of what is right and what is wrong and the desire to correct the wrongs and do the right thing. What frightens this character? The idea of dying alone, in a strange world, and going to Hell. The thought of becoming corrupted and evil and losing the parts of him he sees as ‘good’. What makes this character happy? Simple things such as chocolate, watching people who are happy, the feeling that he has made the right decisions, Merry. Is the character judgmental of others? Oh boy yes. Incredibly judgemental, though often he feels a bit bad about his original impressions once he gets to know people. Is the character generous or stingy? Generous. Is the character generally polite or rude? He likes to think he’s polite, but often he can be a bit rude, in part because he doesn’t understand social cues very well and in part because he’s just a bit brusque and too self important to worry about the ‘niceties’. Spiritual Characteristics Does the character believe in God? God literally created him and he knows Him personally, so yah he does. What are the character's spiritual beliefs? He doesn’t have beliefs, he has knowledge. Is religion or spirituality a part of this character's life? Not really, because Ith doesn’t need to ‘believe’ in things. He knows and understands the truth of the world and the Heavens so it’s not a spiritual experience for him, it’s just his reality. If so, what role does it play? N/A How the Character is Involved in the Story  Character's role in the novel (main character? hero? heroine? Romantic interest? etc.): Hero/Romantic interest Scene where character first appears:

Ithuriel shifted his weight, pins and needles tingling down his legs. He sighed, a brief allowance of impatience.  He was crouching uncomfortably on the edge of a low building, his gaze fixed on the dark street below. It was nearing dawn and the streets were empty with the early morning hush. A biting breeze was whistling around the edges of the stout brick buildings, its prying fingers reaching under coats, lifting hats, and chilling blood. He turned the collar of his heavy trench coat up against the cold, but didn’t dare shift his position. In the quiet, even the slightest of sounds would carry. He’d been hunched on the exposed rooftop for hours now, and he was damned if he was going to risk startling his quarry for the sake of a moment’s release.  

Relationships with other characters: 1. Merry -- (Describe relationship with this character and changes to relationship over the course of the novel).

Ithuriel initially sees Merry as a bit of a helpless human in need of rescuing, though it doesn’t take long before he begins to see her as more of an important tool to use against Moloch. He’s bemused by her and the often flippant attitude she takes towards life. She’s the first human he’s had prolonged contact with and she forces him to re-evaluate the way in which he perceives humans and accept them as individuals rather than one sort of mass that he can judge all together. As they get to know each other better, Ithuriel starts to respect Merry’s independent nature and her bravery in the face of a world that’s much bigger than anything she ever knew before. This respect soon turns to friendship before developing into something deeper.

2. Belial: -- (Describe relationship with this character and changes to relationship over the course of the novel).

Ithuriel’s relationship with Belial is initially antagonistic. Ithuriel fears becoming what he sees in Belial and as a result tries to push Belial to be better to assuage his own fears of losing himself without hope of return. It quickly becomes important to Ithuriel that Belial choose the right side though this is primarily a reflection of his insecurities. Belial becomes a proxy through which he tries to convince himself that he can still be saved. Over time, this attitude shifts towards a genuine desire to see Belial save himself, and an appreciation for who Belial is as a person. How character is different at the end of the novel from when the novel began: 

Ithuriel’s arc is one of coming to accept his new existence and appreciate the grey areas that make life so interesting. He begins to see the value in people and the ways in which they can be good and worthwhile without having to adhere to a strict sense of morality. By the end, he has come to realise that humanity is worth saving because of the intrinsic value of life, and all the beauty and wonder that humanity has created.

#character profile #ithuriel #revelation #character #writing #am writing #writers of tumblr #writer #writeblr #angel #fallen angel #character sheet #wip #novel #YA #new adult #young adult #contemporary fantasy

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latristereina · 7 years ago

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Louise of Savoy was an exemplary guardian of Francis’s interests, assessing every situation for its possible impact on his future. From his birth, her greatest preoccupation was whether Anne of Brittany would have a son who would displace Francis as heir to the throne. With each of Anne’s pregnancies, Louise privately rejoiced at the birth of a daughter or the death of a son. In 1512, she recorded in her Journal, “Anne at Blois...had a son, but he could not retard theexaltation of my Caesar; he was stillborn.” This journal, probably written about 1522, was essentially a catalog of the significant events of Louise’s life, most of them revolving around Francis. Unlike a mistress or a wife who conformed to her royal consort’s context, Louise, as Francis’s mother, shaped a future king and set the stage for his reign.

When Francis became king, he turned to Louise for advice and assistance and relied on her to govern in his stead during his absences, certain that his own interests would be cultivated assiduously. Contemporary chroniclers acknowledged Louise’s fundamental influence over the young king, and artists portrayed her solicitous care for the kingdom and her son. Louise’s biographer, Paule Henry-Bordeaux, insists that she merited the title of “king” and recognition as one of the greatest “men of state” France has ever known. Louise’s preeminence in Francis’s court and, indeed, in the history of France was not foretold by her early circumstances.

She was born in 1476 into a noble family, closely related to the royal family but relatively impoverished. Her father was Philip of Bresse, the younger son of the house of Savoy. (His sister was Charlotte of Savoy, Louis XI’s much-despised wife). Her mother was Marguerite of Bourbon, the sister of the duke of Bourbon Jean II and of Pierre of Beaujeu, who married Anne, Charles VIII’s sister. Louise was sent to be reared under the tutelage of her aunt, Anne of Beaujeu. The most prominent member of that court circle of young women was Margaret of Austria, who was then Charles VIII’s intended bride. The early relationship between Margaret and Louise would prove fateful later in negotiating peace between Louise’s son, Francis I, and Margaret’s nephew, Charles V.

When Louise was only two years old, Louis XI selected Charles d’Angoulême as her spouse, not to promote her well-being but rather to prevent Charles from making a more advantageous marriage to Marie, heiress to the duchy of Burgundy, binding him instead to the politically insignificant and territorially impoverished Louise. As with his own daughter’s marriage to Louis of Orléans, Louis XI deliberately arranged this marriage to the disadvantage of his potential rival—a practice in keeping with his reputation as a malevolent meddler, nicknamed the “Spider King.” After Louis XI died, Anne of Beaujeu, ruling in her brother’s stead, insisted that Charles d’Angoulême, despite his objections, marry Louise partly to punish him for fighting in the “crazy war” on Brittany’s side. Thus at the age of eleven, Louise married a man seventeen years older than she and into a household she shared with her husband’s long-standing mistress, Jeanne de Polignac, and their offspring. Jeanne took Louise under her wing in this unconventional domestic ménage at the chateau of Cognac, where both women raised their children together. Although somewhat unconventional and impoverished, the household was also cultured. Charles was interested in music, painting, and his library. He inherited an extensive manuscript collection from his father and added appreciably to it. He retained Robinet Tesard, the most important sixteenth-century manuscript illuminator, and the two Saint-Gelais brothers; Jean later attained great renown as Louis XII’s historian, and Octavien as a translator of ancient texts. The Angoulême household thus was in the forefront of the French Renaissance in its appreciation of the ancients.

Louise took advantage of its cultural riches and shared these interests; one of her devices would be “Libris et Liberis” (for my books and for my children). Louise’s first child, her daughter Marguerite, was born in 1492. For Louise, as for other women of her station, her success as a wife required that she produce sons. To that end, she made a pilgrimage to consult with the holy man Francis de Paule, whose intercession was widely believed to ensure the birth of a son. He promised not only that Louise would have a son but also that he would be king. Louise’s much-longed-for son, Francis, was named for him. She expressed her joy when “Francis, by the grace of God, King of France, my pacific Caesar, took his first sight of the light of day at Cognac, about ten hours after midday 1494, the 12th day of September.”

After the death of dauphin Charles-Orland (Charles VIII’s and Anne of Brittany’s son), Louise urged her husband to go to court to advance the family’s interests, as they were now closer to the throne. When Charles became ill en route, she rushed to his side and nursed him for more than a month. “No one could have done more...and as his illness became more extreme, she had to be persuaded to leave the room, so that she would not die, as she already appeared more dead than alive,” reported a contemporary. Louise commented with characteristic succinctness, “The first day of the year 1496, I lost my husband.” Charles’s will expressed confidence in his nineteen-year-old widow. He designated her as guardian of his children and manager of his estates, but left her with only two thousand écus after his debts were paid. The young widow relied on Jean de Saint-Gelais to advise her. Louis of Orléans tried to nullify Charles’s will, challenging Louise’s rights on the grounds that the customary age for such control was twenty-five and she was only nineteen. Charles VIII settled the issue by granting Louise custody of her children but Louis of Orléans control of their business affairs. If, however, Louise remarried, she would lose her guardianship—a stipulation that might well explain her resistance to subsequent marriage proposals.

When Louis of Orléans became Louis XII, Louise went to court to reclaim some family lands now attached to the crown. Attaching lands to the crown through marriage was an important way the kingdom of France had gradually increased its territory. Royal relatives were granted land in appanage to give them a territorial base and income; such bequests would revert to the crown in the absence of a male heir. Thus Louise’s suit was highly unorthodox and ultimately unsuccessful. Louis further ordered the family to move to the royal chateau of Amboise and placed it under the control of Gié, an act Louise deeply resented. That enmity led Louise to make common cause later with Anne of Brittany in the court proceedings against Gié.

When Louis came to power, Louise was no doubt greatly encouraged about Francis’s prospects. After all, Louis was married to Jeanne, by whom he had had no children and in whom he had little interest. Louise might well have begun to believe that Francis de Paule’s prophecy would soon be fulfilled. If Louis had no heir, Francis would be the next king. But Francis’s prospects were quickly jeopardized by Louis’s annulment and subsequent marriage to Anne of Brittany. The royal court, a model of decorum under Anne of Brittany, was rather horrified by Louise’s entourage of her husband’s former mistress, illegitimate children, and Saint-Gelais. He was considered to be such an adept advisor that, on Gié’s advice, Louis XII detached him from Louise, so that Angoulême family interests could not be pursued independently of those of the crown. The king’s appointment of Gié as Francis’s governor allowed him to interfere further in Louise’s affairs, beginning with the banishment of Saint-Gelais. Nonetheless, Louise continued to supervise Francis’s education conscientiously. She instilled in him an appreciation for chivalric practices and humanist texts, and he owed his facility in Italian and Spanish to her. Knowledgeable and appreciative of the arts, Louise was likely responsible for cultivating her son’s early interest in them. Early exposure to these texts, languages, and arts formed the young man who would, of all European monarchs, most assiduously foster Renaissance culture. The renowned humanist Castiglione later praised the exemplary quality of Francis’s education: “I was told that he greatly loved and esteemed learning and respected all men of letters.” But Francis was not proficient in Latin—the sine qua non of humanist accomplishment. Thus the humanist Guillaume Budé reported to Erasmus, “This prince is not lettered (which I fear is too often the case with our kings), but he is endowed with natural eloquence; he has intelligence, tact, suppleness, and an easy and agreeable manner.” Despite Francis’s reputation as an exemplarily educated Renaissance king, his sister profited more from their excellent education and became the scholar of the family.

Louise watched with trepidation Anne’s many pregnancies and with hope each of the king’s increasingly serious bouts of ill heath. Every setback for the royal family also brought Louise’s matrimonial status to the fore, as Francis’s future kingship seemed more likely. Several crowned heads of Europe requested Louise’s hand in marriage, due to her son’s expected ascent to the throne. She rejected both Ferdinand of Aragon and Henry VII, deferring her opportunities for an advantageous marriage to protect her son’s interests.

Louise wielded the greatest authority over Francis until he made his first public appearance as Louis’s heir in 1504 and moved beyond her direct tutelage. After the Assembly of Notables (1506) pleaded with Louis for a “French” marriage between his daughter Claude and Francis, the king formally recognized Francis as his heir and requested that he join his court. Louise commented, “My son went away from Amboise to be a courtier and left me all alone.”

With every passing year, Louise’s expectations that Francis would become king increased. When Francis toured the kingdom in 1510 as the heir apparent, he was received with great enthusiasm. After the birth of yet another stillborn son to Anne in 1512, Francis was called popularly “Monsieur le Dauphin.” He attended council meetings and was elevated to captain of a hundred lances. He acquitted himself well in his first military ventures, which may well have whetted his appetite for war. He belonged to the highest hereditary nobility, whose chief function was fighting. As descendents of the cadet branch of the house of Orléans, the Angoulême had grounds to intervene in Italy; Francis too could claim Milan through his great-grandmother Valentina Visconti. Like recent royal predecessors, Francis would spend much time and revenue pursuing the dream of control over Italy. Until her death, Louise would be the strongest advocate and most tireless negotiator for peace.

Francis became not only Louis’s presumed heir but also his son-in-law. Louise and Anne, despite their mutual antipathy (Anne was all too aware that Louise rejoiced in the deaths of her male children), were united in opposing this marriage. Both hoped for other more-advantageous marriages for their children. When Louis was ill in 1505, he appointed both Anne and Louise as Claude’s guardians. Before her death, Anne confided Claude’s guardianship to Louise. A responsibility, Louise insisted, she carried out “honorably and amiably,” although her claim that “everyone knows it; truth recognizes it; experience proves it; moreover common report proclaims it” might seem to protest too much.

When Francis married Claude on May 18, 1514, the court was still in mourning for her mother. Nonetheless, the country rejoiced in its young, engaging presumptive heir. Francis immediately benefited from Claude’s wealth; courtiers,who expected to profit from the association, flocked to him; and in June he requested the right to administer Brittany from his new bride. But Francis’s fortunes were again cast into doubt by Louis’s sudden marriage to the sixteenyear-old beauty Mary, the sister of Henry VIII of England. As Louise recorded, “King Louis XII, very old and debilitated, left Paris to go to his young wife. . . .October was the amorous wedding . . . they were married at 10 o’clock in the morning and went to bed together in the evening.” Written seven years after Francis became king, this entry seems tinged with bitter recognition that Louise’s hopes for Francis might come to naught.

Louise was a more astute and effective protector of Francis’s interests than he. According to Brantôme, Francis was not much interested in his young bride but intrigued by the new queen, even though such interest directly threatened his own prospects. When the courtier Jean de Grignols could not discourage Francis’s pursuit of Mary, he informed Louise, who warned Francis that the birth of a male child to Mary would be his undoing. Another serious threat was Mary’s ongoing interest in the duke of Suffolk. If Mary had borne a son, whether by Francis or the duke of Suffolk, Francis’s claim to the throne would have been nullified. So those protecting Francis’s interests kept the queen under constant surveillance until this threat to his future ended with Louis’s death on January 1, 1515. Louise rejoiced in the realization of her hopes at long last: “My son was anointed and consecrated in the church of Reims. For this I hold myself grateful to the Divine Mercy, by which I am amply repaid for all the adversities and inconveniences, which came to me in my early years.” Louise had attained her greatest ambition; Francis was finally king of France, his interests preserved in no small measure because of her astute attention to them.

When Francis became king, Louise was thirty-eight years old. Antonio de Beatis, the secretary to the cardinal of Aragon, described her then as “an unusually tall woman, still finely complexioned, very rubicund and lively, and seems to me to be about forty years old but more than good, one could say, for another ten.” Contemporaries recognized both Louise’s ability and her influence on Francis. As Beatis noted,“She always accompanies her son and queen and plays the governess without restraint.” The duke of Suffolk warned Henry VIII: “Sir, it is she who runes [sic ], all, and so may she well, for I never saw a woman like to her for wit, honor, and dignity. She has a great stroke in all matters with the king, her son.” The Venetian ambassador Zaccaria Contarini’s account of Francis’s schedule highlighted Louise’s centrality in this new reign (and it is also revealing about how Francis spent his time): “He rises at eleven o’clock, hears Mass, dines, spends two or three hours with his mother, then goes whoring or hunting.”

“Queens and Mistresses of Renaissance France”, Kathleen Wellman

#perioddramaedit #carlos rey emperador #historyedit #louise of savoy #i am suspicious about the alleged offer from fernando to marry her #the author did not cite source whatsoever

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anoutlandishfanfic · 7 years ago

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Part Nine: Getting to Know You

The end of the last installment left us in Claire and Jamie’s wedding chamber, so to speak... they’re still there. It’s a long night, ye ken? I’ve stuck this part beneath the cut not because its necessarily NSFW, but because a. its long, and b. it brings up some sensitive topics in Jamie and Claire’s past (independently, not as a couple) and their future together.

Big hugs to @diversemediums and @the-fear-you-wont-fall for all you do.

You can find previous chapters here or over at AO3.

June 16th, 2016; Mrs Baird’s Bed and Breakfast, Inverness, Scotland.

Coitus.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ.

I turned my head on the pillow and found Jamie openly grinning at me. I smiled back, although mine was a bit sheepish, “I take it I didn’t muck it up entirely, then?”

His arms were around me in an instant, his gaze softening as he brought his face close to mine. He gently kissed the very tip of my nose before nuzzling my neck, his words tangling in my hair.

“Say that again,” I insisted of his Gaelic murmurings.

His breath tickled my skin as he repeated himself, then translated, “I love you, my brown haired lass.”

“A bit more eloquent than ‘oh God, Claire,” I teased and he laughed, the vibrations of his delight clearing away the final vestiges of my self doubt.

“Oh, aye, but both were from my heart.”

I moved my hand to his chest, pressing my palm against his sternum, splaying my fingers wide as I felt his steady pulse.

“You are blood of my blood,” Jamie echoed the vow we’d taken mere hours before, “the very life tha’ pulses through my veins.”

…

We sat in bed, hours later, slowly becoming more acquainted with each other... by touch, by sight, and by the baring of our souls.

Jamie’s fingers peeked in and out of my curls, standing them on end and sending floating strays across my face. I tucked them behind my ears as I squirmed with delight at his tickling sensation at the nape of my neck. A flicker of something akin to confusion passed over his face before he promptly untucked the curls, tracing their swirls against my skin as he insisted in a gentle tone, “I like the locks about your face, mo nighean donn.”

“Oh?”

I tried to tramp down the feeling of panic as it reared its ugly head, the heavy strands of hair on my cheeks pulling me into the shadows of the past.

“Aye,” he studied me carefully, his nose only a few inches from mine, “but you dinna?”

I shook my head and quickly brushed the curls away.

Jamie’s eyes grew moist as he carefully tucked every strand back behind my ears, his voice barely audible, a whispered hush from his heart. “I dinna ken who hurt you, mo chridhe… and I canna promise that I will never do so, for I ken I’ll make mistakes… but I give you my word, I will never force myself upon you... nor will I ever raise a hand to you in anger.”

The statement, his assurance that he’d honor my body with his, was so Jamie. He’d have been right at home with the dashing knights of old, with their similar codes of chivalry and ready stance to defend those who were unjustly in harm's way.

“I know,” I murmured.

He nodded as he pulled me onto his lap. I melted into him, my head nestled safely under his chin as his arms gently slid around me. I felt as if I’d been scooped out of a tumultuous sea and deposited unceremoniously onto the deck of a ship. I’d been rescued, I could breathe again, but I still found myself shivering in a vulnerable heap, tangled in the debris of my struggle.

Jamie pulled the blanket up from beside him, enveloping us in a cocoon of safety and warmth.

“Tell me about your family,” he murmured.

I took a shaky breath and responded, “I haven’t any.”

His arms tightened about my waist when I didn’t elaborate, comfortable in the lengthening silence. His embrace filled me with the courage to speak, to tell him what I’d told no one, to let him into the closed off parts of my life that I refused to dwell on.

“There was an accident,” I began, my chin trembling with the effort it took to speak of the crash that had claimed the lives of both of my parents, as well as my uncle. “I was the only one to survive… I spent two months in the ICU at the Royal Hospital before they transferred me to L’Hopital. I’d fractured my pelvis and major internal injuries, so it was another six months before I moved into the L’Orphelinat wing.”

Jamie’s fingers followed the fading scars on my right hip, the jagged lines left behind from the multiple surgeries needed to rebuild the joint. They slid along my skin, leaving gooseflesh in their wake, as he found more. The thin, white curve that was tucked just below my sixth rib, the permanently discolored splotch to the left of my navel… and finally the long, winding path that traveled the length of my left thigh.

“I was a ward of the state… medicine and hospitals and clinics were all I knew, the only stability I had. Most of the other children had families and were there for rehabilitation before going home. A few were like me, without any other place to go… we grew up in the sterile halls and unoccupied exam rooms… playing at the procedures and protocols going on around us.”

I felt Jamie quiver, a deep, visceral reaction as he pressed his palm against the mark. “How old were you?”

How do you measure a childhood snatched away? A maturity and wisdom far beyond my years earned at the expense of my naïvete?

“I was five,” I whispered.

“I didna ken,” his voice cracked with emotion, “I thought you only worked at L’Hopital des Anges… maybe trained there, with you being so close to the sisters.”

“No, I trained at the army headquarters in Edinburgh.”

His brows rose in surprise, “You were a’ Craigiehall? When?”

I shifted, welcoming the topic deviation as I tucked the edge of the blanket more securely under Jamie’s leg, blocking a draft.

“August — no, September of 2009 to July of 2010.”

Surprise registered on his face as a lopsided grin emerged.

“What is it?” I asked with a smile.

“I was there too, tha’ spring.”

I stared at him, open mouthed, “You were?”

“Oh, aye, I deployed from there to Camp Bastion the first week of June.”

“How long were you stationed there?”

Could we have really been in the same place at the same time — twice — and not met each other?

“I wasna at the base itself verra long,” his gaze became unfocused, remembering the details of how and when, “a few months a’ first, then out and back again. They medevaced me to Gütersloh in December.”

I nodded, envisioning the scars on his back. It was the sort of injury that might’ve warranted a transfer back home, but a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach told me there was another, hidden wound that had earned him the fastest ride out of Helmand Province.

“You were a nurse there.” His words were not a question but a statement, an unmistakable measure of pride in his voice.

“For four years.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t wish to speak of my time in Afghanistan. It was in the past, a door closed. I grappled for a new topic, hoping he’d go back to the subject of Edinburgh or even my childhood, I added hastily, “I didn’t work at L’Hopital until after I got back.”

“Did you work with any of the American doctors?”

“A few.” I sighed at his dogged pursuance. My encounters with any of the foreign medical staff had been limited, and rather unmemorable at best.

Jamie, taking no notice of my reticence, continued, “A Sergeant Grey took the time to keep track of me, medically, after I left Bastion. We’ve stayed in contact ever since.”

“That was kind of him.”

The sentiment was genuine, but my heart wasn’t in it. I felt myself begin to shut down, to rebuild the wall around the area of my soul that had been wounded at Camp Bastion, a barricade that I’d worked so hard to demolish. Jamie fell quiet and I didn’t make a move to break the silence. I didn’t know how to tell him of the horrors I had seen, of the ones inflicted upon me against my will.

“The one who hurt you… he was at Bastion?”

I found him gazing down at me, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yes.”

He studied me closely as he contemplated his next words; his lips parted in heartbreak, only to be pressed together again in thinly veiled fury.

“You are not alone, mo nighean donn,” his eyes were soft and sure, his voice steady. “There’s the two of us now.”

Jamie tipped his head forward, his nose gently nudging mine in that same, reassuring way I did with the children. He kissed the very tip of my nose, then my brow, before pressing his forehead against mine. I slid my eyes shut as my heartbeat slowed and settled back into a stable rhythm.

“Do you know of a Captain Jack Randall?” I murmured.

He tensed and pulled his face away. I opened my eyes again to find he’d gone completely pale.

“Aye,” he answered slowly. “I do.”

I looked away, unsure of what I should say, now that I’d begun, as Jamie’s hands fell to my waist. They trembled slightly, his fingers suddenly cold against my bare skin.

“Claire, look at me,” the breath left his lungs in a sickening wheeze. “Mo chridhe, please.”

I couldn’t.

Paralyzed, I heard the whispered rasp of the nurse’s voice again as she told me the evidence she’d collected would be of no use, that Randall had friends in the lab who would ensure it would be inadmissible in court, that she knew of at least two other victims he’d attacked, leaving one critically injured. I felt the cold exam table beneath me, instead of the warm embrace of my husband. I saw Randall’s smirk as he left the trial, his protector and commanding officer preceding him out the door, walking free and clear of my accusations.

Jamie’s palm cupped my cheek as the tears began to flow. They weren’t of shame, but of futility. I’d fought to have my case reopened, finding more of Randall’s victims in order to secure a conviction, but, one by one, the women — and men — had vanished. They were silenced or had their orders changed by Randall’s commanding officer, Sandringham.

“If he did to you… what he did… to me,” Jamie spoke with enormous effort, the words all but choking him, “then our souls… they bear the same mark, Claire.”

A convulsive shiver ran down my spine as a great, choking sob escaped my lips. Jamie pulled me against his chest and I wrapped my arms about his neck, trying not to strangle him as this new understanding began to grow. Our scars were different, and, yet, they were the same, both having been inflicted by the sadistic wrath of Jonathan Wolverton Randall. We held each other close, our tears mingling as we tried to digest this new reality, as we were somehow able to allow this to bring us closer together, instead of tearing us apart.

….

I popped a grape in my mouth and chewed slowly, thoroughly enjoying the view as I watched Jamie from across the room.

He was on full display, bent over his suitcase as he rummaged around for something. His head turned and he caught sight of me over his shoulder. A playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips, his eyes twinkling in the low light of the room. He went back to his search and there was a part of me that sincerely hoped it would take some time for him to find whatever it was he was looking for.

God, he was beautiful.

“Hungry, mo nighean donn?”

Jamie didn’t look at me again, but I could see his smile begin spread across his face, nonetheless.

I imitated his burr, drawing out the word, “Ravenous.”

He laughed as he straightened and reached his hands high over his head, his muscles rippling as he stretched. With the object concealed in his left hand, Jamie sauntered over to the sofa and crawled onto it beside me. The cushions shifted and I slid into him, gladly, his arm slipping behind me.

I tried to peek at what he was holding, but he caught me, moving it out of my line of sight as he took another grape from the platter and offered it to me. Leaning forward, I took it in my teeth and caught a glimpse of a small, blue velvet box poking out from behind him.

Jamie feigned affront as he tried not to show his obvious enjoyment of my curiosity, “You’re as bad as the children!”

“Oh, I’m much worse,” I laughed, juice dribbling out of my mouth before I could stem it. “They tried to hide my birthday present in a biscuit tin on the top shelf of the pantry so I wouldn’t find it, except I love the biscuits that come in that tin and knew they’re never put up there… Jenny caught me trying to sneak a peek.”

He howled with delight over the mental image of Jenny, trickster and head of all mischief made in the Fraser household, finding me, a fully grown adult, trying to see my gift before it was time.

I grinned cheekily at this and lifted my hand to wipe away the sticky liquid from my chin, it’s tickling sensation beginning to distract me from my husband and his hidden surprise.

Jamie leaned in suddenly, his lips lowering deftly to nab the drip and catching me completely off guard. His mouth began to roam as he nibbled at the line of my jaw and all conscious thought left me as his lips drifted to my neck, then along the ridge of my collarbone.

“Your skin tastes so sweet,” he murmured intently, one finger tracing the blue veins in the hollow at the base of my neck, following it across my shoulder and down my arm. “Tis almost translucent…”

He lifted my wrist to his lips, kissing the soft skin protecting the web of veins and arteries that lay just below. His thumb began to rub smooth circles on the back of my hand, making me dizzier with each loop. Jamie’s gaze found mine and he smiled as I brought my head close. My lips hovered above his, intoxicated with the closeness of him and rendered immobile by his amorous expression. The smell of him, the warm musk that drew me nearer as I slowly inhaled, sent a shivering thrill down my spine.

“Ready for your gift?”

The heady fog surrounding my neural processors left me thinking that this, in and of itself, was gift enough… if he’d just stay put and let me kiss him.

Jamie’s tongue flicked out and deftly ran along the edge of my lower lip. I crawled into his lap as he tried to bring his head away from mine, his hands reaching behind him. I pulled at his arms, insistent, as I grumbled, “Forget the gift and kiss me, you bloody Scot.”

He laughed outright and did as told, his strong hands caressing my hips as I lost myself in his kiss. My soul entwined more completely with his with every moment, every second that we held each other close. I didn’t even notice the hard, rectangular box biting into my ribs until Jamie extracted it from between us.

“Oh,” I sighed, leaning my head against his shoulder as I reverently fingered the rich velvet of the lid. “That gift.”

“Aye, that one,” he grinned and placed it in my hand.

I looked from him to the box and back again, unsure of what to say. He’d already given me a wedding present, his mother’s pearls, but the box clearly held something of great value, boasting a jewelers emblem on the side that I recognized as one of Edinburgh’s finest.

“Jamie… I don’t have—“

He placed a finger on my lips, stemming my words with his own. “You are my gift. I want nothing more than to have you by my side for the rest of my days.”

Lifting the lid, he took out the contents and offered it to me on his palm. It was a beautiful heart shaped locket, hung on a simple gold chain. The pendant was engraved with swirling, Scottish thistles and each bloom was set with a gemstone. I felt my soul smile as I realized there were nine of them: an opal for me, an emerald for him, and each of the children had their own, smaller birthstone as well. With a deft flick, Jamie opened it to reveal the Fraser family crest on one side and their motto on the other.

Je suis prest.

I looked up at him and found fathomless, blue depths of unending adoration radiating from his very core.

“I am ready,” I translated in a hush.

I closed the locket again and reverently traced the engraving with my finger, stumbling upon three thistles without stones. My heart sank as I realized we’d never discussed the possibility of our having children together… or, rather, the impossibility.

“Just what exactly are you ready for?” I asked as my throat began to constrict, a tight band of apprehension squeezed the breath from my lungs.

Jamie lifted his hands to my face, his face melting into an expression of pure contentment, “I’m ready to wake up beside you every morning, to kiss you goodnight and hold you in my arms until dawn. I’m ready to live out my days with you and our children at my side, mo chridhe.”

Our children.

I couldn’t breathe as I pushed away from Jamie, sliding off his lap into a crumpled heap on the floor. He followed me down and gathered me into his arms again without a sound, cradling me against his chest.

“I can’t,” was all I could say as I shook my head in defeat, the tears pouring down my cheeks.

My cycles had evened out as I exited my teens, settling into a regular rhythm that lulled me into thinking that the medical team at L’Hopital were wrong… that the injury to my pelvis in my youth wouldn’t affect my ability to conceive as an adult. I’d sought out a gynecologist when I was in Glasgow last year for a conference, wanting the anonymity of a different city for my second opinion, but she echoed the same words that haunted my every dream of the future.

“I didna marry you for the bairns you might bear me…” Jamie crooned, “nor did I marry you so that my children would have a mother again… I married you for you, Claire.”

He gently kissed my neck, his nose nuzzling the tender skin just behind my ear.

“I married you for tha’ look you get when Marsali’s said something the way she does and you canna laugh… for ‘twould only encourage her,” he pulled me closer against his chest, setting me more comfortably on his lap. “I married you for that wee furrow you get ‘tween your brows when you have something on your mind… and the way you bite your lip when you want me to kiss you, but the bairns are near and you feel unsure.”

My face flamed at the reality of my being so transparent, the corners of my lips tugging upwards, “I do not!”

“Aye, you do,” he grinned. “Your face is an open book.”

I took the tissue that magically appeared in Jamie’s hand and wiped my nose unceremoniously.

“What I meant, my own, is that they are our children now… as much yours as they are mine,” he explained. “You’ve been a mother to them… more of a mother than I’ve been a father... since the very day you walked into our lives.”

His fingers gently wiped away my tears, kissing my cheeks.

“You are what I want, mo nighean donn… I’ve children enough, but only one Claire.”

#outlander #outlander fanfic #sound of music au #part nine #getting to know you #rape #ptsd #tw: rape mention #rape mention

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cishetuppermiddleclasswasp · 7 years ago

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World Building June #9: Religion & Cosmology

Welp, this is a bigg’un, which is why it’s under a cut! :D (written in collaboration w/ @aitu)

Church of the Hanged

The original major faith in Ortstreit believed that their royal line was descended directly from gods and were, thus, gods themselves. At a certain point, the people forgot their heavenly gods and began to believe that their kings and princes were the only gods worth worshipping. When the army of the Church of the One killed the last King and his son, this was taken as proof to many that they were never gods at all, and maybe the new religion was worth looking into.

The Church of the One, also known as the Church of the Hanged, is founded on one very simple tenant: there is only one god, known as the One, and anyone who claims otherwise are either deluded or lying. Each year, a hundred or so children and young adults come to the independent Holy City at the center of the four states to offer their lives to the Church. There, they might be trained to be priests, sent martyriums to become monks, taught to be scribes, or else enlisted into the Order of the Noose, a holy order of knights and soldiers dedicated to the defense of the Faith and all of Ortstreit. Before the great War of the Faiths ended, the Order of the Noose (whose members are often known as Hangmen while civilians are known as Ropers) had a lot more to do. Nowadays, they are most often sent to the uncertain borders between Yachssid/Altamesa and the Elven Empire to fight off the encroaching elvish threat. They are heavily monitored by local forces because, while the elves are obviously the biggest threat to the various nations on the continent, the War of the Faiths is only barely outside living memory.

There is a little controversy that springs up sometimes; while it is very common for people to beseech their patron martyrs for help in earthly matters, it sometimes comes a little too close to prayer for the comfort of most priests. The martyrs are meant to be intercessors, not gods in their own rights.

Blood Cult

In the northerly snow-covered badlands of Yachssid grows day by day a religion dedicated to their god of blood, Hemos. While they are not of any mind to dismiss other gods outright like the Church of the Hanged does, they do very much believe that Hemos is the one most worth worshiping. They see him as the god of blood, obviously, but attendant to that are other titles: the god of life (including birth and, ahem, menstruation), the god of love, the god of passion, the god of joy, the god of war, god of anything that can even be remotely connected to the very concept of “blood”. Consequently, the members of the Cult of Blood are more well-rounded and well-adjusted than one might think when the phrase “Cult of Blood” is uttered. The priests of their faith are the best medical professionals one can find, especially concerning bloodborne illnesses or problems involving the heart or circulatory systems. The holy texts of the Cult of Blood, the Sancto Sanguinis, is not available to outsiders, and even within the faith priests are the only ones to handle the sacred pages. As such, some skeptics have posited that the texts are in actuality advanced medical tomes, explaining the priests’ high level of medical expertise, though the priests themselves maintain that it is naught but the holy powers of Hemos flowing through their lowly earthly flesh.

Priests of the Cult of Blood are readily identifiable. Each one wears russet-colored plate armor under a surcoat of white with a crimson border around a red teardrop shape. The armor is often covered with large spikes, as deterrence. When asked why a priest would need to be armored, the response is something to the effect of, “to let none of our most holy bodily fluids escape from our imperfect, penetrable skin.”

As a religion centered around blood, they have very strong opinions regarding anything involving blood or bloodshed. Death by exsanguination is the worst way to die, in their view, as those who die of blood loss are cut off from Hemos’ holy fluids; thus, it is often used as a punishment for only the most dire of crimes. And while there has never been a verifiable report of a vampire, the superstitious belief in them is widespread throughout Yacchsid due to Blood Cult priests raising hell over the very concept, seeing evil bloodsuckers around every corner. Though on that note, deaths due to disease carried by parasites such as mosquitos, leeches, or ticks are often much lower in areas with high Blood Cult membership, as vampires aren’t the only bloodsuckers the priests despise.

Death Dyad:

In years gone by, there were probably many, many gods ruling over the Côte d’Rois. However, over time, all were forgotten but two: Lord Warren and Lady Mortimer, the mated god and goddess of death. While they remain primarily death gods, they have each absorbed some aspects of the wider forgotten pantheon as a matter of course. Lord Warren is a bipedal boar-man, like a minotaur in body makeup but with a human torso and arms. His body is battle-scarred and muscular, with one eye clouded over from an old injury. Lady Mortimer is a tall skeletal woman with the head of a vulture. She once had two wings and two arms, but her lover, Warren, tore off one of her wings and arms in a fight; in the same fight, she clawed his eye out. While her body is without flesh, there is some meat within her rib cage, everything else being bare bone. These two gods are paired in that each of them reigns over an afterlife dedicated to a different kind of death. Lord Warren is King of Violent Death. The people of the Côte d’Rois believe that, if one is murdered, a victim of manslaughter, or killed in battle, that person will go to Warren’s afterlife where they are free to fight without consequence or to feast without guilt, warm in eternal sunshine. Lady Mortimer, for her part, is Queen of Nonviolent Death. If a person dies of illness, of old age, in an accident, in childbirth, etc., then they go to Mortimer’s afterlife, where they are given eternal rest and relaxation in cool, comforting darkness.

Though recorded accounts are few and unverifiable, there is a belief among the faithful of the Côte d’Rois that if one dies before their time with an act or work of great import left undone or unfinished, that the god and goddess of death may see fit to grant the deceased a second, temporary lease on life as an undead revenant; this is called “The Last Dance”, because once the revenant has fulfilled their purpose for their undeath, they’ll return to death. Now, this gift is believed only to be granted in extraordinarily special circumstances, and Warren and Mortimer are said to require an agreement between them both that the cause is indeed noble enough to have earned it. While the gods were once deeply in love, it is theorized that the loss of their other godly compatriots, caused by a mortal loss of faith, pulled them apart. Now it is difficult for them to come to a decision together. This means that one ‘trial’ for a soul’s return to earth could, potentially, last years, decades, or, if one legend is to be believed, even centuries. Revenants are, as such, usually depicted as well-dressed skeletons or half-rotted horrors.

Orc Goddess Triad:

The basic tenants of the Threefold Temple are that the earth, sea, and sky are each controlled by and manifested by an orcish goddess with four arms. The earth goddess is eternally pregnant, warm, and maternal; her animal aspects are the cow and the bear. The sea goddess is raucous, playful, and unpredictable; her animal aspects are the dolphin and the shark. The sky goddess is the oldest and wisest of her sisters, but can be stormy and cruel at times; her animal aspects are the dove and the eagle. The Threefold Temple is named thus because each temple is led by three priests, each dedicated to a different goddess. These priests (or priestesses--the triad can come in any combination of genders) are bound together for life as siblings, and romantic/sexual relationships between members of the same triad is strictly forbidden. That being said, if a sea priest from Village A wants to marry a land priestess from Village B, that isn’t a problem. It’s only within an individual triad that these things are problematic. The priests’ main purpose is to intercede between their congregation and the goddesses; they pray to the sky for rain when it is dry; they pray to the earth for a good harvest; they pray to the sea for safe passage across her body.

There is a faction group of the Threefold Temple known as the Elementarians, who abhor the personification of the land, sea, and sky. They believe the faith should go back down to its base elements; rather than worshipping a goddess who CONTROLS the sea, they choose to worship the sea ITSELF, and so on. They are iconoclastic by nature and generally seen as poor sports and wet blankets. While virtue names such as Grace, Chastity, or Service are common enough to most Aetherrackian communities, Elementarian influence can be felt in the more… “unique” names, which often incorporate whole phrases. “Fear-The-Sky’s-Holy-Wrath Smith” is more likely to be from an Elementarian family, than “Charity Jones.”

As previously mentioned, the Threefold Temple (and the Elementarians, as a result) believes in reincarnation. The mainline Temple believes that the cycle of reincarnation can stop if one lives extremely morally; if one does enough good, their chosen patron goddess will select them after death to live forevermore in their respective resplendent queendom. The Elementarians, on the other hand, see an end to the cycle of reincarnation...through sin. If one is immoral, or sinful enough, they shall be plucked from the cycle of reincarnation by the land, sea, or sky and punished accordingly. The sea will make them into a grain of sand at the bottom of the deepest oceanic trench, the pressure of the ocean pressing down upon them. The sky will turn them the sinner into a single droplet of rain, trapped in the water cycle to be endlessly dropped, drunk, pissed out, and evaporated again. The earth will make the sinner into a rock to be trod upon forever. The Elementarians are a rather dour, judgemental folk as a result of this outlook.

Dwarves/Dark Elves

The dwarves say they have a thousand gods. This is inaccurate. They have a god for every kind of rock or mineral, spanning from precious diamond and gold to humble talc and flint. What these gods actually DO is anyone’s guess. Dwarves are a self-sufficient folk. They probably just like being able to say they have a thousand gods.

Elves:

The Elves of Enduria have a somewhat foggy sense of faith. If you asked an elf on the street what elves worship, they might answer, “Elves,” and you still wouldn't know where they stand, exactly. That is because some elves, usually rural or older, practice ancestor worship. This was once the status quo. If your crops wouldn’t sprout or your wife wasn’t becoming pregnant, you would you would pray to those who came before you for guidance, peace of mind, and luck, because they had gone through it all before and had usually survived just fine. Usually you would pray to your grandmother or grandfather, or else to a famous relative in your line. However, more ‘modern’ or city-dwelling don’t see the point in worshipping those who have died because, supposedly, there’s no good reason for elves to die at all. Instead, these elves worship elvishness itself--they see their very being as the utmost of grace, beauty, wisdom, longevity.

Altamesan pantheon that we haven’t covered

Boy. Those Altamesans. They got gods. They’re pretty mysterious, though. So mysterious even we the writers don’t know who/what they are.

General nature worship (fauns and satyrs + nymphs)

#worldbuilding june #world building june #the parkererin dnd project #dungeons & dragons

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concerthopperblog · 4 years ago

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15 Standout Americana and Roots Music Release of 2020 So Far

It's tradition to start every mid-year favorite albums column with some variant on “it's hard to believe half a year has gone by.” But anyone who has lived through 2020 knows it is only hard because it's hard to believe only half a year has gone by. With no live music and barely any social interaction, it feels like 2020 has been about 3 years long. Fortunately, the lack of live music has not deterred the Americana and roots communities from releasing some stellar albums. While these 15 represent my favorites, though not “best” as many other publications insist, because being one person with only two ears, I can't possibly have heard every release, even just in the Americana world. So if your favorite roots release isn't here, there's a good chance I haven't heard it or it might not have grabbed me as much as some others, and trust me, even with 15 I had to cut some stellar releases from American Aquarium, Jim Lauderdale, and John Moreland, and disqualified releases from Corb Lund, and Sugarcane Jane that may make my year-end list simply because they came out so late in June as to not give them a fair shake. So here it is, one humble journalist's favorite roots music albums (including, for the first time, live albums) of 2020 so far. Feel free to let me know yours in the comments. Where we've reviewed the album, I've linked it in the title. Otherwise, I've added a Youtube link to a favorite song.

15. Nate Lee- Wings of a JetlinerBecky Buller Band mandolinist and IBMA Award winner Nate Lee decided to take a break from his main gig to record and release a solo album, though you'd be forgiven for not noticing since almost all of his bandmates make an appearance. The biggest difference is the solo album gives Lee license to experiment with Western swing, jazz, and even a bluegrassed up cover of The Offspring's punk rock anthem “All Along.” The result is a playful but no less masterfully performed album from a criminally under-known mandolin prodigy.

14. Marcus King Band- El DoradoYet another Nashville discovery from The Black Keys' Dan Auerbach's Easy Eye Sound. Marcus King has been performing his rock guitar gymnastics in and around Nashville for years, but El Dorado is the true coming out party. With Auerbach's '70s aesthetic to back him up, King delivers a deliciously retro letter of love to the soul-tinged Southern guitar rock of Muscle Shoals. King's bluesy guitar work and leathery voice make you wonder if he's going to spontaneously sprout a giant beard and become the 4th member of ZZ Top.

13. Antsy McClain- 15 Songs from IsolationAnyone familiar with the work of Antsy McClain will not be surprised that he's one of the first to come out of the COVID lockdowns with a studio album of originals, many themed around the isolation of the time. Always a fast writer and a DIY artist used to producing his own content from his home studio, McClain delivers an album full of wit and philosophy about the good, the bad, and the boredom of being stuck at home with your family for months on end.

12. Teddy Thompson- Heartbreaker PleaseThe son of British folk gods Richard and Linda Thompson, you might think that Teddy's music would be steeped in the tradition of Fairport Convention or even Lonnie Donegan. Instead, Heartbreaker Please pays homage to early rock and roll, rockabilly, and doo wop. The set of songs about breakups, self-doubt, and a world that has moved on without him are some of Thompson's strongest lyrics yet, and an album worth multiple listens.

11. Della Mae- Headlight Della Mae, despite numerous lineup changes, has been one of the more consistently good acts in roots music, and one that was not afraid to get political long before Donald Trump sparked the strongest protest music movement since the '60s. On Headlight, the band keeps to the style that brought them to success. The title track is a defiant battle cry against a society that “slut-shames” victims of sexual abuse. The gospel-tinged “Change” strikes a more positive tone, reminding that a change from the oppression and hate is coming if the young of America will it. It also features The McCrary Sisters, who alone are worth the price of admission.

10. Secret Emchy Society- The ChaserSome people hear about the “Queer Country” movement and think all of the songs are either going to all be about gay romances or political statements. But that's not the case. Instead, Queer Country is simply a reminder that you can be out and included in country music, despite what the ultra-conservative country establishment wants. One of the best examples is Secret Emchy Society's The Chaser. It's as hard living, hard drinking, and hard fighting as any outlaw country album, it just happens to be made by an out artist. Put album highlight “Whiskey Fightin' Terri” on any country dive bar jukebox rotation and it would be celebrated without anyone knowing any different. Which is the point. Who you love doesn't make your art, and The Chaser is pure art for anyone who loves rowdy classic country drawl.

9. Margo Price- Perfectly Imperfect at the RymanI usually limit my list of favorites to studio albums, but the release of Margo Price's Perfectly Imperfect, culled from her three-night Ryman residency in 2018, is something that has been a bit of a “holy grail” for fans that it had to be included. In addition to live renditions of her outstanding album cuts, the set also captures the guest appearances during the shows, including the person who “discovered” Price and gave her a label debut on Third Man, Jack White, a friend from their days of toiling in relative obscurity, Sturgill Simpson, and the absolute queen of Americana, Emmylou Harris.

8. X- AlphabetlandThis is the point where someone says “Wait! X is a punk band!” Yes. Yes they are. But even in the '70s they had a fairly pronounced rockabilly backbone and, since founding members John Doe and Exene Cervenka have both gone almost purely Americana in their solo work, the influences on their new album Alphabetland is even more pronounced, with the group losing none of their snarling punk fury, but introducing more Carl Perkins-style guitar licks in the background. The saying “there are no old punk rockers” have never seen X. They're as good, if not better, than they ever were.

7. Whitney Rose- We Still Go to RodeosWe Still Go to Rodeos is Whitney Rose's declaration of independence. Free from labels, fully solo writing, and co-producing for the first time, the Canadian-born Austin transplant retains the core of her “Lesley Gore meets Bobbie Gentry” sound while experimenting with wailing guitar rock on some tracks. Here, Rose truly finds her voice, penning slice of life vignettes about scorned lovers, judgmental small towns, and the joys of simple pleasures, it's her most mature offering yet, and one that should be on any Americana lover's shelf.

6. Sawyer Fredericks- Flowers For YouIt's hard to think of anyone with several hundred thousand Facebook followers as “criminally underrated”, but Sawyer Fredericks gained his fame when he won The Voice in 2016 and, while he has retained a loyal following, likely confused a lot of people when he walked away from the folk-pop label world to follow his heart into what he likes to call “free range folk.” On Flowers for You, Fredericks takes the next step in his evolution with an album that, for the first time, doesn't feel like a Sawyer Fredericks solo album with a band of hired hands, but a fully realized band album recorded with his touring group. Everyone gets their time to shine but at the core is Fredericks' gravelly wail, which he uses perfectly for his soulful and often mournful folk, but also puts to good use here with some rockers. He even gets a bit political with the album's best track, “Call It Good”, which fires a howitzer level of venom at the corporate structure that throws perfectly good food away rather than donate it or discount it while so many people live with almost nothing.

5. Jake Blount- Spider TalesWhile, since it's at #5, there were albums I liked better, if I were to list the most important albums of 2020, Spider Tales would be #1. As an openly gay black man who loves roots music, Blount has three strikes against him in the mainstream and, from the songs on Spider Tales, named for an African trickster god whose tales often championed the powerless over the powerful, he could not care less. Mining musical archives both for old songs in the black string band tradition (further cementing that the banjo IS an African instrument appropriated by white people), but also songs made famous by white musicians who learned them from black artists. Jake Blount has emerged as his generation's most important musical historian, following in the footsteps of Dom Flemons and Rhiannon Giddens in making history fun to listen to.

4. Jill Andrews- ThirtiesWhile Jill Andrews may just be ending her thirties, she's been a veteran musician for over 20 years, founding the outstanding The Everybodyfields while still a teenager. With Thirties, Andrews releases a loose concept album, looking at various reality checks experienced on her trip through adulthood, a time when, as a kid, she assumed “people at this age had it together.” Instead, you get songs from starting over after a broken marriage to the realize that the march of time is taking your children and turning them into little adults before your eyes. Jill Andrews' angelic voice alone would have earned it a spot on this list, but the songs that resonate with this person well into his own trip through the forties, speak to me in a way few others this year have. Whatever her age, Jill Andrews continues to be as much a treasure as she ever was when she was a teenager.

3. Tami Neilson- Chickaboom!For the first four and a half months of 2020, Chickaboom was my runaway #1 album. It took releases from two of Americana's most consistent megastars to knock it down to 3. But that makes it no less great. The Canada-raised New Zealander has a firmer grasp on the very American rockabilly genre than almost anyone in roots music today. The absolute power of Neilson's voice on Chickaboom doesn't so much fill a room as slam into it with the force of a concussion grenade. The album's themes run from a relationship blow-off to musings from a mother who seems to have to do all the work at home to putting commercial country on blast for refusing to play women. Saying Tami Neilson is something special doesn't really do her justice by half. Tami Neilson is something otherworldly. She may not be the rockabilly hero an inappropriately appreciative populace deserves, but she's the rockabilly hero we have gotten, and for that every roots music fan should be thankful.

2. Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit- Reunions/Reunions Live at Brooklyn Bowl NashvilleI'm kind of cheating by putting two albums here but since this is my list I can do that kind of thing. Besides, the two albums are really all of the same songs. Reunions is Jason Isbell doing what Jason Isbell does best, putting words to universal feelings and emotions that are difficult to explain. He also continues his sketches of fictional characters that, in 3.5 minutes, are more fully realized than many movie or television stars. From a man struggling with sobriety even after years of it to a killer who relates his turbulent life to the river that flows through his hometown to the strident call to social action that delivers the album's best line, “If your words add up to nothing then you're making a choice to sing a cover when we need a battle cry.” For those looking for a more stripped-down version of the songs, the recording of Isbell's album release show at an empty Brooklyn Bowl Nashville, featuring only him on acoustic guitar and wife and 400 Unit bandmate Amanda Shires on fiddle, is a delight, and wisely includes all of the flubs and missteps present in the live performance, including Isbell messing up a transition and asking Shires to go back and pick up the solo so he can try again.

1. Sarah Jarosz- World on the GroundThis is the first time since Southeastern that Isbell hasn't been my #1 album. That could change by year's end as this was really more of a 1/1a thing, but for now the always sublime Sarah Jarosz takes the top spot with her most mature album yet, World on the Ground. It's sometimes hard to remember that Jarosz, over a decade into her career, is only 29. With every album she grows. Here, she sings less personal songs and more character portraits and, aided by the masterful production of John Leventhal, delivers an album that is addictively listenable.

#best of 2020 #sarah jarosz #jason isbell #Sawyer Fredericks #nate lee #Secret Emchy Society #Tami Neilson #album review #music #review #Concert Hopper #Album Review #Concerthopper #classic country #Americana Music

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