#the manager of the royal beth

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

a little manager plush for my dear friend @thedeafprophet !!!

still need to do some cleanup here and there, but i'm too excited to not post this!!

base pattern is from cholyKnight's etsy!

[j-a-m-e-s-s-i-l-v-e-r]

dear Fallen London fandom.

1. please, please stop erasing a canonically Chinese character by saying that the King with a Hundred Hearts is 100% Enkidu

2. for y'all who complain that May doesn't look middle eastern enough in Mask of the Rose cuz something something NO BEARD and BRIGHT EYES and SMOOTH HAIR and that he simply must be Black cuz in fact you don't care where Mesopotamia or any other foreign land is...... behold:

indigenous Assyrians whose hair is even straighter than his indigenous Chaldeans, no mandatory beards Kourosh Sadeghi - Iran Farhad Mosaffa - Iran Alexander Uloom - Iraq Omar Borkan Al Gala - Iraq Madiha Knyvany - Syria Enas Taleb - Iraq and some Insta dude

and anyway how dare his authors decide how to design their own character? unthinkable! /s

[thedeafprophet]

There's an aspect to Jamie's feelings about The Manager that like.

The fact that he would never return their feelings is part of what makes Jamie interested in him to begin. Like there's a safety in knowing that it could only ever be one sided.

[thegreatyin]

honestly the scoundrel probably protects their own dreams with a vengeance because if anyone ever tried the same tactic on them (gossip rags dedicated specifically to revealing their subconscious dreams) they'd be done for

[esteemed-excellency]

I have to share my old headcanon about the Manager too, now that @that-giorgione posted his cryptid design. I always interpreted this card as a person wearing a big tricorn hat with a cape and a bauta mask

The hat gives him a distinct 18th century look so when the game mentioned the red and gold colour scheme and the brass buttons this is what I had in mind:

[bizarrebazaar13]

being the manager must be fucking insane

be the ruler of Uruk

fall in love with a man made of clay

make a bargain with space bats to save his life and also doom your entire city. but. priorities.

space bats carve out your lover’s heart and replace it with a diamond. he turns into an island where everything is alive and screaming.

he also gains the power to dream other clay men into existence which is pretty cool. but doesn’t make up for the fact that this whole situation is painful and fucked up.

also your uncle is a weird little guy who makes a cider that grants immortality

you might be immortal too? unclear whether this is from the cider or not.

you are attracted to people’s dreams and can follow them literally anywhere in the neath. people think you have an abnormal amount fingers. these two things are related.

your lover sends you passive-aggressive presents for the next one thousand plus years like “you motherfucker. look what you could have had if you didn’t fuck this up so bad. fuck you.”

the space bats come up with a card game called the marvellous where you can win your heart’s desire! obviously you’re in. despite the fact that you have a side gig actively working to destroy the space bats.

all the clay men your lover creates have his face which leads to at least one unfortunately mistaken identity

the way you talk about your lover sounds like you two are dating married and bitterly divorced all at the same time

you build a hotel where you collect people whose dreams drive them insane. fun!

your heart’s desire is to become a living city like your lover. you haven’t won the marvellous yet and at some point your lover makes you promise to stop trying.

some rando shows up in London one day like “hey you know what. let’s play that card game.” you do not hesitate to send them off to ask your lover to release you from that promise.

apparently someone took his heart (a diamond) right out of his chest and now some urchin kids have it. if he gets it back, you can play cards.

he gets it back! let the gambling commence. also you own the mind of one of the guys in the card game. don’t think too hard about that.

[an-impossible-theorem]

please no, not the bloody wallpaper flashbacks

[grimm-the-tiger]

Be gay, do financial crimes you have to pay back with the nightmares of your indentured servants.

[retroactivebakeries]

[zeebreezin]

My favorite detail about that last piece is that you can see the actual colours of Shaw’s outfit underneath some of the lighting layersss

[anomalouscorvid]

...well now i know i forgot to turn a specific setting off

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

May's Strip Game Part Nine: the Finale!

[It is too much to bear.]

Coerced into turning.

Behind you is... a second Manager? He winks at you. Something is off about him. His coat, which this one is wearing, is fastened the wrong direction. Shouldn’t his cane be in his other hand?

When he steps down the aisle, his cane makes the correct, expected sound. It is perfectly in time with what you are seeing. His pace is leisurely slow as he walks. Your pulse does not slow to meet it. 

As the Manager approaches the Merry Gentleman, you watch the carpet buckle and fray behind him. The Gentleman smirks at his counterpart. The Manager does not frown. As they get closer towards each other, your head begins to swim. Your mind rebels at the sight of them. Despite proximity, you cannot comprehend the details. There is a feeling, as though you have stood up too quickly, as though you’ve had a nasty startle, as though the world is spinning without you. You are granted permission to look away. You focus instead on the mirrors. In them, the Merry Gentleman begins to look like the reflection, and the Manager the one casting it.

You begin to hear them speak.

“I must pay off the bills. I cannot keep the Court and the Kings away forever.”

“We cannot lose ourself to apathy. Certainly there’s better ways to solve this mess than with such aggressive tactics.”

“I don’t see the issue, frankly.” This one’s tone is chipper. “They’ll all be dead soon enough, washed away by-”

“They are alive right now. If we want for any long plan, there must be people left to survive.”

You are caught in the middle of something larger. There is a story here you are not privy to. You doubt there are many who are privy to it anymore.

“The years will pass in an instant.”

“For us.” This one cries as he speaks. “We will not keep people here, beholden to their nightmares. We have the rare benefit of insight.”

There is a long pause, then a sigh. “Fine, I concede to that. Though we cannot help everyone.” This one cries as well. “We cannot weep for every heart that passes through here.”

“I will concede there.”

“Then we have a mess of my own making to clean.”

“At least it will pay well.”

This one chuckles, though there is bitterness to it.

You watch the reflections grow larger, and larger, and then the mirror duplicate, triplicate, multiply over and over and ripple, like a wave that threatens to pull you under and drown you in its current. Then they shatter, all at once. When you open your eyes again, there are no glass shards. As if the mirrors shattered inwards, and not outwards.

Before you stands a single man. The Merry Manager, reaching a six fingered hand towards you. “I believe you’ll need time to recover after tonight. I’ll escort you to your suite.”

Can you trust him? He is the one who put you into your worst nightmare. You find yourself with tears streaking your cheeks. Tears which are his doing. You have seen two sides of him. One who causes horrors with little care, for he is lost in the big picture, for reasons you are too small, and far too young to know. Yet, there is the one who wept that he needed to go to such means, to justify the ends. The one who wished for this to be a safe haven, to take care of people. Now, here those two are, united, and focused on you. Can you trust him?

{<<<Part One} {<Part 8} {Epilogue>}

You have completed this story! You have gained 1x Memory of Discordance. Look for an epilogue soon!

[aimzicr]

Everyone loves going to the Royal Beth.

Fruits of the Zee update: nightmares are at a dangerous level but I continue to walk into the zee.

At this rate, Leece is going to sail back to London, set one foot on the dock, and then start screaming.

[thedeafprophet]

@neathyingenue well The Manager probably has experience dealing with his own hair 😌, so it probably started from that XD

Stealing nightmares from properly groomed heada! This is a place of *refuge* after all, one must provide the needed care products :-)

[popcornkwantum]

(A bit late because I forgot, BUT)

DnDads Live show AMSTERDAM *.✧

All favorite parts and quotes of the chaos that happened in Amsterdam. This one is going to be long yall

Darryl's Amsterdam dad fact: he has been to Amsterdam before, but was so afraid of the red light district that he avoided ALL red lights (including those of traffic lights. So he ended up never leaving his hotel room)

At the same venue one day after the live show, there was a smut book convention lol, so Henry's Amsterdam dad fact was that he and Mercedes would go visit that

Ron's Amsterdam dad fact: he's banned from photographer's dark rooms, because he thought it was the red light district

We got the SMASH DADDIES oneshot

And Anthony's first note in the envelope was: "some sort of justification for a battle royale"

We got: all dads, all teens, THE MOTHMANS from Sons & sonsability and the PCs from the mountain of dadness. They all played 4 characters

It was so chaotic

Freddie went back and forth between Glenn and Taylor to compliment himself

AND AND Sons & sonsability co-DM Amanda Schuckman was also in the audience?? So she just joined on stage for the whole show!!

AND HERMIE WAS ALSO IN IT

The first time Anthony talked in the Hermie voice, one person very very loudly booed and Anthony went like "one guy booed and I agree"

"Martf [?? I don't know who that is?] I love your really long penis" ~ Ron

And then he got strangled with his own penis by Glenn

Elizabeth Mothman (beth): "I'm going to kill the hand." Anthony: "how are you going to do that?" Elizabeth Mothman: "I'm going to roll." Anthony: "... not what I meant."

HENRY (from S1) TELLING NORMAL THAT HE THINKS THAT HIS DAD IS GOING TO BE SO SO PROUD OF HIM :')

The group literally broke the game by killing the boss with 2x nat 20s on intimidation in a row

And then we got a DUNGEON (like Anthony wanted). A red light district dungeon where they had to find a magical bike helmet

(There was also a sheep minotaur but that wasn't used (I still really want to draw it tho))

And Paeden was there.

Darryl: "Paeden? I don't think you're allowed to be here." Paeden: "this is where I become a man."

"Roll a dexterity saving throw as a bike is going to run you over" ~ Anthony

Henry is convinced that he's in Berlin and can take his clothes off in the middle of street (??) And someone in the audience really loudly cheered

"She's far worse than a vampire, or a werewolf. She's a 40 year old woman."

HERMIE AGAIN. He was in almost every red light district dungeon room (it was less weird than it sounds now)

The dads basically had to make Anthony/Hermie feel physical or emotional pain (in the pain pain pain room) and feel love (in the love&embrace room)

"I'm not here to open my mind. I'm here to open my mouth: ~ Ron to Henry who was trying to convince the other dads to eat a plantburger at McDonalds

Henry trying to make Anthony fall in love with him: "Do you have a secret hunch on how you're going to die?" Anthony: "Yes. On stage. In Amsterdam."

THEY ALL SUNG THE GASTON SONG AS KARAOKE TOGETHER (we gave our inspiration to get them to do that."

Anthony took off his shirt during the song.

NORMAL ASKED OUT HERMIE

Darryl the wingman: "you should go on a date because you never know how long you will be alive." 💀

Hermie ACCEPTED

Freddie had a whole speech about whatever he was talking about, made a whole buildup to get everyone to pull out their phones and scan the QR-code

It was a webshop to buy a bicycle helmet

They really managed to shit as much as possible on the fact that Dutch people almost never wear a bicycle helmet lol

All people who had bought one at the end got free stuff from Anthony and Freddie tho!! Since this was the last show of the tour

It was REALLY GREAT!! Absolutely feel free to add things to this list! I made a lot of notes but absolutely didn't catch everything :D

[nessataleweaver]

FIC: By right of blood (Game of Thrones)

RATING: PG

FANDOM/PAIRING: Game of Thrones; Jon/Sansa (implied)

SUMMARY:  Robb Stark’s return to Winterfell has been a long time coming.  But to his dismay, his homecoming is not the welcome he expects.

NOTE: show!verse, but the Red Wedding went slightly differently. It also diverts Sansa’s canon storyline at the same point it’s still currently stuck at in the books, with her in the Vale posing as Alayne Stone. I actually expanded this from a WIP I never got around to finishing back in 2020, so the jonsa is only implied here; let me assure you it’s quite real though.

PROMPT: for jonsa-halloween for their 2024 event, using the October 29th prompt  ‘Came back wrong!’ In this story, that can be taken several ways...

This story can also be read on AO3

Robb Stark, King in the North, couldn’t hold back a sigh as the imposing view of Winterfell broke over the horizon.

He’d been away too long.

“Is that Winterfell?” Talisa asked quietly, from her seat in the carriage that rolled beside Robb’s horse.

“Yes,” Robb nodded happily.  “I have to warn you, I don’t know what shape it’ll be in.  I haven’t been back since before the Ironborn attacked.  Roose Bolton recommended his bastard as castellan, but given that we now know he was behind what happened at Uncle Edmure’s wedding...”

Robb bit his lip to hold back un-Kingly tears.  The only reason Robb, Talisa, and the child that swelled her belly like a full moon were alive was because of his mother’s suspicions - and her sacrifice.  Along with many of Robb’s bannermen, she’d died during what was already being called ‘the Red Wedding’.  Robb had managed to bring home most of the bannermen’s bodies, but he’d left his mother’s remains in a burning boat in the Trident, like her Tully ancestors before her.  Robb and Talisa had already agreed that their first daughter would be named in tribute.

Robb’s first hint that perhaps he wasn’t as well-informed on the state of affairs as he should have been came when he saw Winterfell up close. 

It was... perfect.  There was no sign that the seat of the Starks had ever been attacked, except for a few fading scorch marks here and there on the walls.  It was better than perfect – the Broken Tower had even been repaired.

The second hint was when Beth Cassel came to meet him, wearing a Yi Ti-styled tabard bearing the Stark crest. She swept a graceful, exquisitely correct curtsey.

“As the steward of Winterfell, I greet you, King in the North.” With a respectful nod to Talisa, she added, “and his Queen Consort.”

His third hint came when she offered them bread and salt.

* - * - * - *

Robb was furious, and only barely hiding it.  This was only tempered by an ever-increasing sadness, accompanied by an also-ever-increasing feeling of trepidation.

Talisa had been ensconced in a set of beautifully furnished rooms that Beth had told them had been designated for them whenever they cared to visit, and would be called the Royal Suite in their honour.

It was in the guest quarters.  Not the family wing. Alongside those offered to the few bannermen who’d accompanied him to Winterfell, the rest who’d survived the war peeling off from his entourage to return to their own homes, eager to put matters into place for the approaching of winter.

Robb didn’t recognise a single person in the halls besides Beth.  Every enquiry he made about a member of staff he remembered from before he left received one of two responses:

“He/she died fighting the Iron-Born.”

Or the even more popular “He/she was killed by the Bolton bastard.”

The only exception was Mikken; when Robb had glimpsed a tall, strong youth who oddly reminded him of Robert Baratheon in the smithy, Beth had remarked to Robb’s joy that Gendry had made his way to Winterfell on Arya’s recommendation.

“We don’t know where she is currently, but we’re sure she’s alive.”

This had been followed by a dismal variation on a depressingly familiar refrain.

“Mikken was crippled by the Bolton bastard, so he’s instructing Gendry further while he supervises the smithy, now that the rebuilding is done.  We still have a lot of preparation to do for winter, including expanding the glass houses both here and at Weeping Water castle.”

“Wait - Weeping Water Castle?” Robb knew the Weeping Water river, of course, but wasn’t that right next to-

“The former Dreadfort, your grace.  With Roose dead at your hand for his betrayal, and his Frey wife and last remaining legitimate child slaughtered by his bastard, everyone thought that it was only fitting that the bastard’s wife be awarded the Bolton holdings as recompense for her suffering, and to keep anyone who might have supported the Bolton’s out of the seat.  Even Lady Dustin agreed.” 

“But who is she?”

“The former Jeyne Poole.  The Bolton bastard married her, claiming she was Lady Arya, in order to strengthen his claim on Winterfell.  We’ll need you to confirm her in the position before you leave, as well as confirm that she can hold it under her maiden name.  Given that she’s highly likely to die childless, Lady Jeyne will probably ask you to designate one of your children as the heir.”

With that surprising comment, Beth opened the side door to the Great Hall.  “Please excuse me not announcing you with due heraldry, your grace, but Lady Sansa is in the middle of the Day of Judgment and Appeals.  We prefer not to interrupt the hearings.  I’ll announce you as soon as the current hearing is done.”

Robb stood and watched as Sansa, in an elaborately carved rosewood chair placed on the bare dais where the family tables sat during feasts, presided over the people of Winterfell as if she were a queen. A very good one.  Beth had cleverly avoided answering any questions about what Sansa was doing in Winterfell instead of King’s Landing, and Robb found his curiosity burning almost as hotly as his anger.

Less than ten minutes later, Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell and King in the North found himself standing before his younger sister feeling like a supplicant, trying not to puke at the detailed list of what Roose Bolton’s bastard had done to his people.  Trying to digest the news that his silly little sister, who spoke of nothing but songs, sewing, and suitors, had stolen his rightful place from under him while he’d been avenging their father’s murder.

"I am Lord of Winterfell, and King in the North!" Robb thundered, his voice echoing off the stone walls of their ancestors.

"Yes, you are King in the North, by right of acclamation," Sansa agreed.  "You were chosen as such by your bannermen." Then her expression turned to mirror-blank ice, and her voice became harsh as the depths of winter.  "But you are no longer Lord of Winterfell.  You lost Winterfell to the Ironborn.  You lost it because you trusted Theon, and he betrayed us all. He murdered our brothers, leaving me as the rightful heir.  Then you gave permission for the Boltons to take it.  You approved of that monster coming to Winterfell. You allowed that monster to torture and slaughter it's people.

"So I did what you were too busy elsewhere to do.  I took back our home.  I made an alliance with our cousin Robin Arryn; I brought warriors from the Vale and I freed the people here from death and terror.  Winterfell is mine, by right of conquest.  It's people support my right of blood.  I am the Stark in Winterfell now, and so I shall remain.  After all, I'm the only other candidate. And I have the support of our only remaining family."

Robb looked at her incredulously.  "Wait - Jon?  You went to the Night's Watch?"

A shadow moved from behind Sansa's chair, and Robb nearly jumped out of his skin.  It took several heartbeats for him to recognise the black curls and pallid face.

"Jon? What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the Wall?"

Jon reached for the neck of his black leather jerkin, and slowly unfastened it.  He wore no shirt underneath, and Robb stared in utter shock - not at his scandalously bare chest, but the several livid, still blood-red scars.

How could any man have taken a blade to the heart and live?

"My Watch has ended," Jon told him solemnly, as he re-fastened his clothing.  "I serve the Lady of Winterfell, now."

He laid his hand on Sansa’s shoulder... and something dark in the back of Robb’s mind recognised it as a touch of possession rather than simple support. The Sansa that Robb knew would have shrugged off any physical contact from Jon with a scandalised look.  This Sansa leaned into it.  Jon had always been pale, but now the skin of his hand looked downright ghostly in contrast to the deep blue of Sansa’s gown, the sparkling wolf emblazoned across her chest seemed to dance as she reached up to place her hand on top of his.

"Unfortunately, Winterfell is still being repaired from being sacked twice in as many years, so the King in the North will have to make his royal seat elsewhere, I'm afraid.  Might I suggest Moat Cailin?  It's location is highly strategic, and it's one of the few holdfasts where you won't have to rob a noble family of their home in order to take it for yourself.”

Robb looked around the assorted people in the Great Hall, and realised that he was surrounded not simply by Winterfell’s people, but Sansa’s congregation.  Judging by some of the glares, if he raised a single word of objection or insult to Sansa, he might not make it back to the Royal suite alive.

He would be able to do nothing to regain Winterfell until he left it.

Sansa continued, her voice cool and soft as snow, “I negotiated with the Iron Bank for the funds to rebuild and make the needed improvements, but if you wish to do the same, you’ll have to send your own representative.  I’m happy to provide a letter of introduction to ease their way.  I’m sure you can ask our Tully relatives to help, or leverage your wife’s dowry as security.  After all, you had all the same teachings about marrying to the benefit of House Stark that I did; I’m sure you knew better than to spend one of your most important political assets on a bride who could bring nothing of benefit to our House.”

“And what of your own husband?” Robb snarled.  “I hardly think the sons and daughters of the North will enjoy being ruled by the Lannister Dwarf.”

Sansa’s eyes glittered like icicles.  “You refer to the marriage made under the Seven in a Sept, not by a weirwood by blessing of the Old Gods?  A marriage I was forced into by threat of a sword through the back, before my courses were regular enough for me to be deemed fertile?  That marriage was without my permission, or the permission of my parents or guardian, and unconsummated.  I have already applied for it to be set aside by the Church of the Seven.  Given that my husband is currently under sentence of death for kin-slaying and regicide, I don't think there will be much objection, even if I do not become a virgin widow by the time my application is judged.  Though since half the northern nobility have died in a war you lost by not keeping your breeches fastened, the available candidates for my husband are limited.”

Sansa gave a long look at Jon, standing devotedly by her side.  “Who knows?  The Lady of House Mormont states all her daughters were fathered by a bear, and they are acknowledged by all as her heirs.  Perhaps mine will be fathered by a wolf?

“I suggest you act quickly, my King.  Winter is coming... and very soon.”

AFTERWORD: Robb quickly realised that most of his own support literally died off in the War of the Five Kings.  He never got around to doing anything about Moat Cailin; Robb lost heart after Talisa died in the aftermath of childbirth, followed very swiftly by needing to present a united front for Daenerys Targaryen, deciding that the War for Dawn was more important. He did at least manage joyful reunions with Arya, Bran and Rickon. While Jon got to kill the Night King (otherwise what was that stupid prophecy even for?) Robb still managed to die as a legendary hero, becoming the only Stark to die by dragonfire after shoving a sword through Daenerys to save Jon from kin-slaying. There was just enough left to bury in the crypts at Winterfell, complete with crown. 

Sansa was formally crowned as his successor, the first Queen in the North, with the support of all her siblings. She orchestrated a new golden age for the Kingdom of the North, becoming known as ‘Sansa the Glorious’. Jon finally gained the Stark name as her Prince Consort, choosing to forego the title ‘King’ so no one would get any ideas about Sansa not being the one in charge.

Robb’s daughter Catelyn grew up in Winterfell surrounded by loving family, including lots of cousins always ready to fight anyone who insulted her foreign heritage. As a young teen, Catelyn volunteered to give up any right to the throne in what she saw as atonement for Robb’s mistakes that gave the Boltons the opportunity to cause so much harm. Jeyne Poole instantly demanded to adopt Catelyn as her heiress.  Catelyn became so highly regarded in the North that she ended up holding a tournament to decide her husband out of a dozen worthy suitors from the North, the Vale, the Riverlands and even one of the Tarly’s, becoming ruling matriarch of the Starks of Weeping Water. She later started what was to become the first school in the North devoted solely to the healing arts, open to anyone regardless of birth or gender.  Now called The Talisa Stark School of Medicine, it still operates today.