#volcano rock city

[astrolionking]

Tiny, a child: POPPY NO!

The literal fucking adults: POPPY YES!!!!!

I love these morons

[2blueberrylover2]

BroZone's Back, Alright! - Ch 12

It's finally done! I'm sorry it took so long y'all but I finally have Chapter 12 done and up!

Sorbet belongs to @gummygoatgalaxy

[artemistorm]

Would /you/ ever?

/maybe/

[pastelhuntresswzrd]

Rocks are so cool, js.

[aurockzombiepoppy]

[umbralstars]

I think one of my favorite things about FF7 is how genuinely alien Gaia is. I think people gloss over how different this world is compared to ours and I don't just mean magic. Gaia doesn't have plate tectonics, or if it does it doesn't work the same as our world. The Lifestream isn't just a metaphysical space, it's a physical ocean under the crust of the Planet that acts of in a similar fashion to the mantle of Earth. The Lifestream can flow to the surface and tear apart the land or piece it back together in whatever way it sees fit. It can sink or create entire landmasses at random.

It can flow in ways to create a lush paradise or concentrate so heavily in areas they become borderline toxic. The Nibel Mountains (while I know part of their problem is there's been a reactor there for 40+ years; do remember Nibel is facing the same problem of ecological collapse the Midgar Wastes are, so that's why it looks Like That. Nibel is just lucky it had one little town instead of a giant city) are essentially Gaia's version of active volcanoes, just without the heat of magma and lava. The Lifestream is also so close that those mountains were intimately tied with the cycle of life and death in Nibel probably for generations. Rhadore, similarly, was a volcanic archipelago, and her people knew that well. Shinra? They refused to listen as they always do.

The Lifestream itself is also one of the most animist concepts I've ever seen in fiction. It is All Life. Everything upon Gaia is intimately woven into the fabric of the Lifestream; plants, animals, rocks, rivers, oceans, Everything. It contains all memories that have ever existed and will ever exist upon Gaia. The Lifestream is the movement of the waves, the rushing course of rivers, the memories of materia, the slopes of the mountains, the rustling of plants and leaves, it is the souls of all things, it is mortal and gods alike.

The world we see in FF7 proper is a fantasy world that is slowly being consumed by capitalism and a cyberpunk hellscpe (those are often the same things). It is a fantasy world that has forgotten what it once was, what it still is. It is about a people who have been utterly disconnected from the very river of life that created and sustains them.

And I just think that's neat.

[thatbennybee]

ChordStriker!Floyd ft. CS!Creek

Floyd is hanging out in Volcano Rock City keeping a lower profile... But after hearing the name of a troll he used to know from a sulky Creek pining after the Queen, he's sticking around a little longer to help him move on and perhaps learn more about that troll with a familiar name.

Creek is kind of pathetic in this au ngl.. I don't plan to kill him off, so I plan to bully him instead 🔥 Isn't he kinda pretty tho?? 💖💖

I had so much fun with making creek look cool, too bad he's lame as hell!! He's a psychedelic rock troll and he can actually float on his own!! He can't really read minds or fortunes like his Nan, Wind Blitz (Wind Breeze) or his sister, Cybil, but he can SORTA see the future with slightly better than usual intuition!! That counts, right?? 💔

[vestaignis]

Полёт на воздушном шаре в Каппадокии.

Каппадокия — это небольшой регион в центре Турции, между вулканом Хасандаг, вершиной Аладаглар на юге, горой Эрджияс и городом Кайсери. Раньше здесь были подземные города монахов, а сейчас сюда приезжают ради полетов на воздушных шарах. Тысячи туристов со всего мира сле��аются именно сюда. Сказочный ландшафт Каппадокии, созданные самой природой скалы вулканической породы причудливых форм и всевозможных размеров, невероятные каньоны и прекрасные долины создадут у любого посетителя ощущение будто вы на другой планете.

В Каппадокии почти каждое утро 150 разноцветных шаров поднимаются в воздух и летают над долиной в течение часа. Полёты воздушных шаров осуществляются рано утром, пока не начались термики (вертикальные потоки воздуха).Это невероятно красиво! Во время полета открывается вид на всю долину. Пилот поднимает шар на высоту до километра и рассказывает о ландшафте долины, ее истории, о своей профессии.

Hot Air Balloon Ride in Cappadocia.

Cappadocia is a small region in the center of Turkey, between the volcano Hasandag, the peak of Aladaglar in the south, Mount Erciyes and the city of Kayseri. Previously, there were underground cities of monks, and now people come here for hot air balloon rides. Thousands of tourists from all over the world flock here. The fabulous landscape of Cappadocia, volcanic rocks of bizarre shapes and sizes created by nature itself, incredible canyons and beautiful valleys will make any visitor feel like they are on another planet.

In Cappadocia, almost every morning, 150 multi-colored balloons rise into the air and fly over the valley for an hour. Hot air balloon flights take place early in the morning, before the thermals (vertical air currents) begin. It is incredibly beautiful! During the flight, a view of the entire valley opens up. The pilot raises the balloon to a height of up to a kilometer and talks about the landscape of the valley, its history, and his profession.

Источник:/experience.tripster.ru/experience/Cappadocia/21097-na-vozdushnom-share/, /cappadociavisit.com/cappadoacia-baloon-foto/vozdushniy-flot-cappadoci/,/poymayotpusk.com/турция/каппадокия/полёт-на-воздушном-шаре-в-каппадокии/, /journal.tinkoff.ru/99-luftballons/, @divo_planeta.

[hey-hey-j]

so anyway I realize I haven't talked a lot about Barb in this AU

- I mentioned before that Barb offers to help Hickory look for Floyd as a genuine attempt to make amends after the whole "Rockapocalypse" thing but I can't imagine there isn't still some lingering tension to the whole dynamic. I mean, she did essentially hold Hickory's entire musical genre/culture hostage under threat of destruction but at least she's trying to make it up to him? Hey, she's royalty, she has resources, can't hurt to give her a second chance, right?

- Dickory isn't as on board with the plan

- I've been doing a lot of playing around with the AU timeline as I go and currently I'm toying with the idea of having Poppy and Barb (and eventually BroZone) come into the search a bit later on. Maybe Hickory spends months searching for Floyd with only Dickory's help before finally bringing in Barb and Poppy as a "last resort" sort of deal. Maybe they pick up Barb first after a stop in Volcano Rock City before heading to Pop Village to recruit Poppy? IDK mostly I'm doing this because I figured it doesn't make a lot of sense for Poppy and Barb to just up and leave their queenly responsibilities for months on end.

(★ my Kofi)

[inferno-0]

Choleric

────────────────────────────

Just the attitude of the Titans to your temperament.

Let me remind you: Choleric is active, impatient and hot-tempered extroverts.

────────────────────────────

Godzilla

* Being a serious and calm creature, Kaiju is not used to your persona. He was amazed at your courage in front of him.

* He liked your extroversion to some extent. Unlike him as a loner, you literally communicated with every creature in your path. But the best quality he has revealed is to be a Leader.

You literally managed to chase away the skullsaurs that interfered with him, of course, it was not without escape, but still.

A Brave Man.

* Wanted to chase you away, but you were too persistent.

*You are now his Watchdog.

* To be Choleric is to be aggressive to some degree. To be honest, it sometimes amuses him. If you were a Titan, you'd definitely start fighting him to the end. But I like to watch how some little guy tries to move the tip of his tail and shouts something very bad at him.

* Thankful for keeping the raging gulls away from his dorsal plates while he swims. Will wait for the moment when you banish the Monarch from his eyes.

Mothra/Mosura

* She likes your activity and perseverance. You're eager to learn anything and everything that Mothra is amused about. But your short temper . . .

* It's not that Mothra is annoyed, she's worried about you. After all, the argument gets out of control at some point.

Your impatience may be misplaced somewhere, and the Titan tries to calm you down so that there are no unnecessary problems.

* Your irritability frightens her.

Even though it's several thousand times bigger than you.

* Sometimes he presses you to his fur, hoping that you will calm down and stop driving anger to the whole world.

* Tries not to glow too much at the sight of you. Since there was a moment where you accidentally ordered her to turn off her flashlight out of annoyance, to which Mothra choked.

I think she'll give you a lecture.

* She also appreciates your leadership skills.

Rodan

* Someone, help him.

* I have never met such a person as you in my life. No, of course he is. Partially. But this Titan is compared to you, forgive me, Bug. Your audacity amused him. Until you started throwing rocks at his beak and eyes, to which the Titan was ready to go back to the volcano and anywhere else from you.

* His ego has been suppressed since that time. You're not afraid of him.

And now he thinks: Are you stupid or are you really driven by something?

* He was surprised when he found out that you wanted to be friends with him. Okay, instilling fear throughout the city wasn't good, he needed communication. Of course, your character is not great, but at some moments he is ready to laugh at you heartily. Especially when you are the one who gets into trouble.

* And now let's forget about aggression, let's remember about Leadership qualities:

"Wake Up, Silly Bird"

"Thank you so much for this morning, kind little creature," ─ grunts Rodan as he emerges from his warm nest.

* No, he sometimes likes your mindset to boss others around. Although, he has frequent flashbacks about it.

King Ghidorah

* Very brave. Very brave.

* Three heads could have hit you to certain death right away, but something caught on them. Your aggression was wonderful, of course it's a pity to hear it from a person.

* Throwing sticks and anything else you can get your hands on when he literally saved your life for five minutes.

Only these five minutes still last for some reason.

* Okay, it them off, but it's still funny. A brave little king. Ghidorah kept you as a pet, but only because you weren't a coward.

* Ichi is proud of your anger at other creatures. He likes the way you command them.

Ni has the same relationship to you as Ichi, but is only watching for fun.

San is a little disturbed by your behavior, believing you to resemble his brother Ichi.

*Sometimes they deliberately bring you into conflict (mostly Ni) to laugh at your face.

Although, in the absence of an instinct for self-preservation, you give them a savory response, to which the Titan begins to retreat.

* Humans and other Kaiju find both of you insufferable. Godzilla is even willing to ask people to take you away from there, as Ghidorah's yells from another argument can be heard even in his nest.

King kong

* You didn't look like Jia. Jia is calm and understanding, and you are like a tomboy, irritated about everything. He still thinks about how his little human friend made friends with you.

* Jia introduced you as a good person, but with a strong character that you just have to accept. Kong had expected anything but this. Although he appreciated the ability to command others. You'd be good at managing your own tribe, if you had one. But given the Skullsaurs that are on the run all over the island from you, humans would have joined them themselves. Your aggression was out of bounds.

* Kong sometimes worries about your recklessness. You're not someone who sits still like Jia. You're always going somewhere. And he doesn't understand what you need. And Jia, who is used to all this, just says to calm down.

* Kong has never been in conflict with you. He tries to stay on the edge of patience.

The truth is trying..

He likes that enthusiasm, but please stop. Otherwise, he'll put you in this flying object that people use.

────────────────────────────

[bluezebrafly]

For the fic "I'm Gonna Make this Place your Home" by @rocksibblingsau

I'm making scrapbook pages based on big moments in the fic. I've got a list written, but suggests would help

Pages 1-2

This would be after Branch discovers what video games actually are, and how much Barb enjoys them, so he makes the moment Barb trollnapped him into an achievement.

The second page is meeting Debbie on the Angler bus as well as tossing the guitar into the barrel fire and getting positive feedback instead of his expected negative reaction.

Pages 3-4

Branch's first impression of Volcano Rock City, with the large visage of the first rock troll King etched into the mountain with lava flows.

Barb stealing the boots off another troll when Branch burns his feet stepping off the angler bus the first time.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

thoughts on fanfiction, perfectionism, and being enough

I'm pretty sure I'm ill and half-asleep and the Good Omens fandom has destroyed my last tenuous grasp on reality, but I am making a post anyway not knowing what I'm going to say. Because that's what this site is for, is it not?

*holds out hand* *waits for you to take it* Hey, you know, you're never going to be done. You're never going to look at something you made and think it's perfect. It's never going to be enough. It's okay to stop and it let it be imperfect. The earth didn't just birth life into just the right conditions, it made creatures which evolved and went extinct, ice ages which ended, volcanos that destroyed life and volcanos that preserved cities for millennia. It made jagged rocks that would be smoothened by rivers and stomachs that would hunger, rivers that would flood and rivers that would run dry.

Create imperfect things and give them to the world. Let the world create from it in turn in an endless cycle. Like Milton on the Bible, like BBC with Sherlock Holmes, like anyone writing fanfiction of their favourite show... Let your creation be imperfect, so you can see all the million ways in which people try to perfect it. All the million ways in which perfection can exist. That's the beauty of fandoms and fanworks. It keeps the creation evolving, keeps it breathing and alive. It becomes the work of a million people, and carries their stories with it in a little back pocket.

And maybe we were made to be imperfect too. Our hair tangles just to be brushed, our arm itches just to be scratches, our hand clenches just to be held and unclenched. There are odd shapes that make us up but they fit in with everyone else's, in handshakes, in bridal carries, in a parent lifting a child, a rescue worker lifting a victim, a girl kissing her wife, a child hugging his toy, a person holding their hands in prayer or in pain.

I'm trying to remind myself of that, because it's so easy to keep wanting more, to believe that there will be a point at which I will be satisfied with what I have done. Even in this fandom, I look at my ridiculous summaries I accidentally wound up making, and look at someone's beautiful meta blog and I feel like shrinking a little bit. But in real life, I'm a designer and an artist, a reader and poet and songwriter, and someone who has been a writer the past eight years, if not all my life. Have I done enough to qualify for any of these roles? Who knows? It shouldn't matter to me, and it shouldn't matter to you, whatever you love doing or are doing.

It will never be enough, you will never be enough for yourself. Can we try to make peace with that little gap in ourselves that acts like a vacuum to keep sucking in more and more effort and things? It'll never be filled. That's okay.

*squeezes your hand before letting go* Isn't it amazing how imperfect and fucked up we all are? Isn't it beautiful that we don't have to sit and stare at statues we cannot touch, but we get stone that we can keep carving all we like? That creation starts with imperfection? I don't know if I'm making sense anymore, the medications are kicking in and my eyes are closing. But I love all of you, everyone who is a maggot and everyone reading this post, too.

Take this *holds out a seashell* it's pretty and it's broken and the animal that made it his home changed it, the sea changed it, and I hope you change it, too. That's all.

[kona-tsuuu]

BUSH!! ⚡

After rewatching the 3 films for the tenth time, I wanted to do an oc too! Meet Bush! He is one (and only) Pop Rock Troll! He is one of the bounty hunters hired by Barb to hunt Poppy.

He sings Michael Jackson (his hc VA), QUEEN, Prince, Elvis Presley, etc.

He is a friendly and charismatic troll who loves to sing with other trolls regardless of their musical style, born in the pop village and raised in the volcano rock city, he was not very accepted there.

Despite having the goal of capturing Poppy, he is kind and helped Poppy and Branch escape from other hunters.

In the end, he returns to live in the pop village with the other trolls where he feels much more comfortable.

The ask box is always open for him!

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 13.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

wordcount: 4.3k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, graphic depictions of violence, death

story playlist

The tailwind brought them over the bay and the Gullet with ease, the gargantuan body of Vhagar looming over Driftmark as they passed over the island. 

Aemond looked at the churning seas below them, the mood of the tides changing like a coin flip. A few Velaryon ships were going to port in Dragonstone as they approached the ancient isle, no doubt rife with supplies and workers of importance to the pretender’s cause. 

“Dracarys, Vhagar,” he hummed low, his form prone to the saddle as his dragon unleashed molten fire from her maw, bathing the Velaryon ships in her cleansing flame. 

Sunfyre trilled from the clouds above, settling upon the craggy cliffs of the mainland that overlooked Dragonstone. Vhagar, once dispatching the remainder of the ships, followed. The older dragon settled in the soft grasses, smoke trailing from her nostrils. 

Aemond descended from his perch on her back, looking to his brother, who was staring over the water to the island. 

“Your predictions of the weather patterns were right,” Aegon said, gesturing to the unobstructed view of Dragonstone from their vantage point. There wasn’t a low hanging cloud, nor fog. The hulking bulwark of a keep was as visible to the two brothers as they were to it— moreso, visible to the denizens inside. “They should be able to see us loud and clear, I’d wager. I suppose all of your effort in being the scholarly worm paid off.” 

“They’ll have to look from two sides, however,” Aemond responded as he watched over the skyline as a fleet of ships came into view. “The signal of smoke from the Velaryon fleet burning is as good of an indication as any.” 

The ships flew the flag of the Triarchy, three sigils to represent the Three Daughters— the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. They crossed the narrow sea with a vengeance, wishing to give the Sea Snake a message in salt, sea, and blood. 

The alliance between the infamous Triarchy and the King didn’t come without a price— the Stepstones would be awarded to them after the war was finished, as well as a sizable amount of coin. 

The Stepstones were an easy give, as the blasted shore of rocks and stone were nothing more than a watery graveyard, fought over for too long. Its debated governance, or lack thereof, had haunted the council room before Aegon was even born. It seemed an easy enough decision to give the islands to someone who actually had the means and knowhow to manage it— in Aegon’s mind, at least. Aemond knew it would be an issue to deal with in the future.

The two brothers watched as the foreign fleet encircled the passage of water between Dragonstone and Driftmark, skirmishing close with some of the smaller Velaryon vessels. The proximity of the two opposing forces would make it difficult for any of Rhaenyra’s dragonriders to dispatch the Triarchy— not without severe losses to the supply and size of the Sea Snake’s brigade. 

It was a delicate balance now, the Triarchy cutting off supplies and passage to Dragonstone, while keeping Driftmark at heel. The former was effectively sealed off, dragon flight being the only way off of the island. 

This is where Aemond’s careful planning of the weather and their positioning across the cliffs came into play— it was a clear message, a threat. The giant mossy colored dragon, coupled with the distinctive golden dragon, were a side unmissed on the crags. 

The missive was unmistakable in its intention; ‘We are watching.’

“Although,” Aegon looked to the ancient stronghold, built upon a volcano that housed and borne fire-bellied beasts. “It would be easier if we just…” he slammed his hand into his other fist, making a crude explosion sound.

“You’re the one who stopped me from going down that route,” Aemond’s tone was flat, unamused by his brother’s antics. “We made our choice— we play the long game now.”

“Suddenly showing restraint now, Aemond? How unlike you,” his brother sneered. “You’d burn the entire continent if someone gave you passage to do so.” 

Aemond shoots Aegon a look, violet eye sharp like a dagger. His jaw clenched, followed by an acute sting of pain in his eye socket, the nerves within lighting like a mass of torches. A storm swirls inside of his head, words flowing from his mouth on their own. “It’s difficult…” he swallows, looking almost sheepish as he speaks, a look that doesn’t quite suit him. “It is difficult to show restraint. To quell myself.” It isn’t exactly what he wished to say— the vulnerability was too much.

He screamed to himself, the searing agony of his socket drilling it into him. She is a few moments away upon Vhagar and I cannot get her. I have the largest dragon in the world and I’m still powerless when it matters. Powerless, powerless. It was moments like these where he felt like a child with no dragon again, two-eyed and physically whole but grasping at any semblance of his heritage, of his bloodline. He was bereft of it except for name and likeness alone.

“We’ll get her back, brother. I promise you that– as your King. And… as your brother too, I suppose.” Aegon didn’t look at his younger sibling, he didn’t need to, he could feel the torment swirling within him. It was familiar to all of them.

—

“Undefended! You left the city undefended whilst you two traipsed to Dragonstone to… taunt Rhaenyra? Primp yourselves like benign peacocks?” Otto was as furious as his two grandsons had ever seen him, apples of his cheeks red with anger. “I expected this foolishness from you, Aegon, but not you Aemond. You’ve been taught better than this!” 

Aemond let his grandsire rant and rave, only cutting in when the older man stopped to regain his breath. “To clarify, the city wasn’t undefended. The queen was watching over upon Dreamfyre. I’m sure the smallfolk were pleased to see their queen among them, defending them so stalwartly.” 

“The smallfolk? What would they do if Rhaenyra and Daemon came upon their two dragons and took the city after slaughtering your sister? How do the smallfolk amount to dragons with lords atop them, Aemond?” 

Aemond closed his mouth, looking over at his skulking brother. Even though he wore the crown and held the power of the Kingdoms in his hands, he was still so easily torn down by a tongue lashing from his grandsire. Aegon was turned away, collapsed into himself as he bit at his already stubby nails. 

“Thank you for your insight, lord hand. I will see you at first light for the council meeting. I suspect we’ll have much to discuss in terms of next moves now that Dragonstone has been cut off.” the prince, in so many words, dismissed his grandsire.

Otto narrowed his gaze but said nothing, leaving the two brothers alone. 

Silence stretched between them until Aegon looked to his brother. “Do you think I’m foolish?” 

“Depends on the situation.”

“You see I am trying, don’t you? I am the fucking King and yet I am still treated like less than a lecher by him, by them.” 

Aemond began to loosen his riding gloves, finger by finger. “The plan was well executed, Aegon. I think you may find that there are many people grateful for their King’s valiance,” he said, glancing towards the open balcony that overlooked the sprawling city. 

Aegon considered him for a moment, locking eyes with his brother before his expression softened. “War isn’t only fought by lords. I’ve spent enough time in those streets to know. Once, when I was coming back from the Silk, I saw a mass of people tear a raper limb from limb. ‘Twas deep in Flea Bottom, no lords or guards or laws there, only the code and anger of those who live there,” he paused, “A dragon can kill thousands— but thousands can kill a dragon, too. Their unrest shouldn’t be underestimated.”

The prince looked at Aegon, blinking slowly. The king did have a unique perspective on the smallfolk, and mayhaps he cared more for them than the monarchs that came before him. It may prove to be useful in the future, if Aegon was ever given the breadth to make his own choices. Aemond thought his brother sloven and foolhardy at best— inept, brainless and sinful at worst— but the few days of his reign had changed his view ever so slightly. He was still lazy like a fat tom cat, and yet, a fat tom cat may still catch as many mice as any other cat. He just may have a different way of doing it. 

—

The lucidity was too much. It was too bright, she wanted to go back to sleep. 

Bright, too bright. Shera sobbed silently, tears falling across her cheeks without any toil. Stars and figments of candle flame danced before her eyes, igniting a phantom pain in her eye that she thought gone. Her suffering that stemmed from Driftmark didn’t manifest in nerve pain in her eye like Aemond’s, but rather pain in her throat and her seizing episodes. She just wished for darkness and Aemond. 

“P-pl… please let me go back… to the weirwood,” she mumbled. “He was waiting… for me…”

Her hand was in Jacaerys’, held together by a sash that bound them as husband and wife. It was colored with red and gray thread, the color of their two houses. 

Shera felt… exposed. Exposed and cold, like a terrible draft was whistling through her, using her bones like windchimes. 

The room was barren, save for Rhaenyra and the two newlyweds. It was dark, too, the only light dancing from candles and dragon heralded sconces. The brightness that tortured Shera was her nerves on fire, a deep throbbing pain coming from her scar. The man who had officiated had left, the only semblance of his presence being the words that continued to echo in Shera’s mind. 

The union of Jacaerys Velaryon and Shera Stark is now absolute, in every respect. They are wed in the eyes of the Old Gods and the new.

It felt like a curse— a curse she knew was coming, a curse she had been waiting for. Something she thought thwarted by giving into her heart’s throes with Aemond.

How silly of an idea to avoid fate.

Her stomach was in knots, or mayhaps not there at all. “Jacaerys,” Shera whispered, a familiar feeling of weightlessness catching up to her. “I’m going to fall,” she squeaked, “Please don’t let me fall.” her plea wasn’t out of want for comfort, but rather necessity.

The prince untied the sash and supported Shera with a hand on the small of her back. “Like this?” 

“My… my hip,” she continued. “It is where… where Moongeist holds himself.” she lamented to be touched any further, her skin on fire and writhing with each misplaced caress. But she would hate to fall, legs crumbling beneath her like a newborn fawn. She felt like a tortured child, her feelings all too large for such a small body to handle. Her mind went back to the basest of needs— she wanted Aemond, she wanted Helaena, she wanted Moongeist. 

Jacaerys adjusted his hold with a confused and slightly anguished look. “Mother,” he addressed Rhaenyra, who looked on in stoic concern. “She needs… she needs a cane, or… or something.” 

Rhaenyra’s face didn’t crease in traditional consternation, her features unmoved. There was only a twitch of her brow and the dilation of her pupils that gave away the inner turmoil. “Go fetch the maester. He will have something made up for her, surely. I will escort her to your chambers.” 

Your chambers. Your chambers. No, not hers. Jacaerys’ chambers. The realization and panic washed over her as unforgivingly as a riptide. Was she expected to consummate the marriage?

“N-no, please,” Shera blubbered as Jace helped her into the arms of his mother. “I want to go home, I want to go home.” 

There was a solemn hollowness in Rhaenyra’s voice as she helped Shera walk down the corridors. “You are home now, dearest,” her voice was fauxly soothing, “I know it is difficult. I wouldn’t have wanted this for you— not… not like this,” there was something inherently warm about her touch that broke through any outward reservation, her hand caressed Shera in a way that could only be described as maternal. “I will do everything in my power to see to your comfort. You’re safe now, Shera.” 

Her body and mind were at odds with one another. Her brain told her that this wasn’t right, it wasn’t— it was all a facade, it had to be. Her body, however, leaned into Rhaenyra’s hold, her gentleness stirring something long dormant inside of Shera. 

She never really had a mother, in truth. Her life was riddled with surrogate mothers like Alicent and whomever her father had assigned to take care of her when she was a babe. Alicent did her best, of course, but there was always a fine line separating Shera from her own borne children. The nursemaids and stewardesses alike at Winterfell never had a gentle touch or affectionate words— not like a real mother would. Out of Shera’s myriad of issues, the mother-shaped hole in her heart was the least of her worries, easily pushed and locked away like a bad memory. 

But times like these— times where Shera’s constitution of mind and body were being tested, broken past her already fragile limits, the hole turned into a chasm, swallowing up the earth beneath her feet and making any further pain unbearable. 

As Rhaenyra sat Shera down on the feather-filled bed, she pushed a stray auburn lock from her face. 

Shera grasped at her hand, holding it with both of hers. “P-please, don’t go,” she whispered, her voice broken and far-away. She hardly recognized it as her own, thinking it more alike to that of a young child. “P…please, I do not… I don’t wish to be alone… n-not yet.” 

“Jacaerys will return quickly, dearest, you won’t be alone for long,” Rhaenyra replied, letting the frightened woman hold her hand, head cocked in slight confusion.

“N-no, no,” she cried, squeezing tighter upon the queen’s hand— a plea, a cry of a child long gone, forgotten. “Please.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for long enough that Shera thought she might’ve left, even if she was still holding her hand. A soft breath left her nose as she shifted, sitting down next to her now good-daughter and wrapping both arms around her, taking her into an all-enveloping embrace. 

No more words were exchanged, only the sound of Shera’s wheezing breaths, shaking body wracked with sobs filled the room. 

Jacaerys did return to his chambers, with the cane in hand, but upon seeing his weeping wife and mother, he bowed his head out and didn’t return that night. 

Rhaenyra stayed with the poor girl all eve and into the early hours of the morning, shifting Shera into a lying position on the bed and covering her with a blanket. It gave her some despair to see her cry herself into exhaustion and eventual sleep. 

As the queen left the room, her mind was flooded with thoughts, swirling like tumultuous waves. 

Have I done the right thing? Am I righteous in my choice? 

She passed her son in the halls, Jacaerys bowing his head to her. “Is she… alright?” he asked, eyes dark as he already knew the answer.

“You know her better than I,” Rhaenyra looked back to the closed chamber doors. “Is that… her normal air?”

“No, it isn’t her usual demeanor. She is very… morose, of course, but this– what exactly are you letting Daemon give her to render her so?” his tone took a turn, almost accusatory in its nature. 

The queen was taken aback by the snap in his words– it was unlike him, always the dutiful and polite son. Courtiers walked by them in the hall, their gazes averted, but she knew they were staring, listening. She pulled Jacaerys into an alcove. “Daemon has been dealt with for making such rash decisions without my consent,” she hissed, “You must trust in me, Jacaerys— as your mother and your queen. This is just one of the many pieces moving on the board, moving towards my ascension, to my throne.” 

“Shera is just a pawn, then? A means to an end? And by marrying her to me, am I not the same?” Jace folded his arms over his chest, moving back from his mother. “Am I merely fodder for your fight against the usurpers? Usurpers, amongst whom is your dearest childhood friend? You and Daemon talk so openly of war, but you had cast the first stone with Shera’s… abduction!” 

“What would you have me do? Ask kindly for my birthright back? Chalk it up to a misunderstanding and give them pats upon their backs and a place at my court?” Rhaenyra scoffed. A thorn lodged in her heart at Jace’s implication of Alicent, a ghost who had haunted the queen’s very thoughts since she heard news of Aegon’s crowning. “My father was a great King in many ways, his reign one of peace— but he was blind with inaction. I will not stay my hand when the time comes to strike. I will have my throne, in fire and blood if I must.”

Indignation flashed in Jacaerys’ deep brown eyes— but like a storm, it dissipated into calm waters and clear skies. “You’re right, mother,” he murmured, bowing his head. “Your grace.” 

— 

Shera finally felt well enough to walk by herself. Although, her legs felt cold and wobbly without Moongeist. It was midday, the skies clear around the island. The sun was even shining, warming her skin just a touch.

The maester upon Dragonstone had prepared a walking cane for her— an instrument hewn from dark gnarled cherrywood. The exterior was a deep brown, whilst the inside was a deep, bloody red. She had worn small grooves on the top of the handle with her nails, exposing the inner layer of cherry, the color staining her fingertips sanguine. 

Rhaenyra had instructed Shera’s handmaidens to dress her in a more Valyrian-style wardrobe to ‘help her adjust’. She felt like an impostor wearing the garments, usually tailored in red, black and gold, coupled with intricately braided hairstyles, fashioned to her head with a dragon pin. A small veil was afforded to her after much pleading, one that only concealed her eyes and left her nose and mouth barren. Her choker was replaced by looping golden chains, imbued with rubies. 

Shera’s nails laid in the indents of her cane as she arrived into the dining hall. The Queen apparently likened to having her family lunch with her at least once a week— a tradition that became more sparse when the war began. 

She slunk into the hall as quietly as possible, the scattered sounds of Viserys and Aegon playing, as well as Lucerys and Joffrey conversing animatedly about swords and dragons, muffled the noise of her cane hitting the stone floor. She settled into her seat next to Jace, who looked irritated, a mood that befell him more often than not as of late, as he tried to serve in his mother’s war council, but was met with blockage after blockage from the other courtiers— something that Shera didn’t hear the end of for at least a fortnight. 

Despite the newly wed couple’s proximity to one another, Shera sleeping next to Jacaerys each night, they weren’t intimate in any way. They had come to an understanding, knowing their souls were each entwined with another’s. They didn’t need to muddy the waters any further with meaningless sex. 

That being said, they did confide in one another to some extent. Or rather, Jacaerys would vent his frustrations of the day, of the bickering of the council, of Daemon’s recklessness, of his own mother’s discounting of his skill— and Shera would listen intently. 

“Wife,” Jace murmured, clasping a hand over Shera’s as she took her seat. His jaw was clenched, bone grinding against bone. “Thank the Gods you’ve come.” 

“Has something… happened?” she whispered, glancing around the table. The children were unphased— but the older ones had an air of ice around them. Baela had both hands on the table, head angled downward as she bore holes through a wall. Rhaena was despondent, looking down at her hands. 

Daemon, however, was lazed. He leaned back in his chair, inspecting a singular grape as if he had no care in the world. “Shera,” he said, not meeting her gaze. Rather, he addressed her with such informality that it made her cringe. “A Valyrian vision you look to be. Mayhaps we should send her into the Dragonmont to bond with a dragon, since she now looks so much the part.” 

“A sheep changes wool rather easily,” she began picking at some fruit on her plate, stabbing her fork into a juicy piece of cantaloupe. 

“Ah, yes. Our wolf in sheep’s clothing, is it? Or mayhaps, a wolf in dragon’s clothing, better yet,” he squeezed the grape until it burst between his fingers.

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra cut in, hand up to stop him from saying anything further. “How are you doing this morn, Shera?” 

“I’m… well,” Shera kept her eyes down at her plate, wishing to shrink into nothingness. 

“Enjoy the fruit while it lasts,” Baela piped up. “They’re blockading the island.” 

What? Blockading? Her mind raced with the possibilities, but she stayed quiet. 

“I’m sure we can go without such frivolous things like fruit,” Jace scoffed, pushing his plate away. 

“Fruit, grain, most meat, silks,” Daemon drawled. “I don’t understand why we don’t stop the situation.” 

“Do we wish to go toe-to-toe with Vhagar? Sunfyre can be easily dispatched by Syrax, but do you believe Caraxes can survive her?” Rhaenyra snapped, placing down her cutlery on the table. 

“That hoary old bitch is cumbersome,” he continued, dismissing any shred of Rhaenyra’s concern as if it were nothing. 

Vhagar. Sunfyre. Something bubbled in Shera’s chest at the mention of the two dragons, who were undoubtedly with their riders. She continued to stare down at her hands, trying to contain a smile, biting her lip until it bled. 

“Cumbersome she may be, but her jaws could snap any of our dragons with ease. Mayhaps Caraxes and Meleys may pose a threat to her but…” the queen’s voice trailed off, her fingers drumming on the table. 

“… there’s been no news from grandmother, nor Driftmark, your grace,” Baela sighed. “The ships appear to be… dispatching any ravens attempting to cross the Gullet.” 

“We will just have to wait, then. They cannot fare forever against Corlys’ fleet. Jacaerys, any word from the Greyjoys?” 

Jacaerys shook his head. “Our letters have gone unanswered.” 

“Lord Greyjoy is just a boy of sixteen, Rhaenyra, no older than Lucerys. Untested in the matter of war, unblooded. We must seize Harrenhal and raise a land army.” Daemon stared at his wife, brow furrowed in agitation. “I will go with or without your leave. I have no need for passage.” 

There was a long stretch of silence, the chatter of the children stopped— it was as if the whole of the table held its breath. 

“We will speak upon it later, Daemon.” Rhaenyra finally said, the bags under her eyes more prominent than usual. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but was overcome with a strangled sigh. “Gods,” she whispered, clutching her stomach. It was almost easy to forget that she was in her last days of pregnancy, belly round with child, all whilst the war was being waged just outside. She writhed slightly, face pinched.

“Mother?” Joffrey spoke, his voice small and scared. 

The entirety of the table erupted as handmaidens, maesters and nursemaids alike were summoned, gathering around the queen as her labors began. 

Shera stayed sitting, watching as Daemon glanced over the situation before leaving the room, no doubt off to skulk. 

Soon enough, the room was empty. She blocked out the cacophony of agonized screams echoing from the corridors as she stood up to leave. A small pool of blood was beginning to dry in Rhaenyra’s seat. A chill passed through Shera then as she turned to the window, leaning against the sill. 

A green dragonfly rested upon the trellis of growing vines on the wall of the keep, the leaves withered and crusted in salt. 

Hordes of boats were littered in the sea, arcing around the island like a noose. Glancing to the cliffs, she sees a glint of gold off in the distance, coupled with a hulking mountain that almost reminds her of… 

No, it couldn’t be. 

It isn’t.

She wouldn’t let herself look again, she knew it would only end in disappointment.

As she went to walk away, something pulled her back. She clung to the window, peering out as if in hiding. 

Her hopes were true as the golden vision of Sunfyre came into view, the sun shining off his pale yellow and pink scales. Next to the gorgeous beast laid a stirring mass— the Queen of all dragons. Vhagar. 

Shera’s heart raced, thumping against her ribcage like a caged bird. Aemond— Aemond and Aegon had come to save her, they had! She vowed to never let herself be separated from Aemond again, never to let them be apart. Surely Aegon would dissolve her marriage to Jacaerys and let them marry, wouldn’t he? Oh, of course he would. 

The giddiness she felt was elating, her swimming pain and sorrow temporarily abated. She watched as Sunfyre took to the skies, Vhagar behind in a slower pace. They’re coming to get me now, they are! 

The dragons climbed in altitude and drifted off from the bay— in the opposite direction of Dragonstone. They were flying away from Shera. She stood still for what felt like an eternity, not breathing. That can’t be right.

Any semblance of happiness was crushed instantaneously, her feverish pulse stopping for a beat. They were leaving. They were leaving without her. They weren’t coming to get her. 

[misscinnamonroll16]

Brozone headcanons

In reference to my last post, Floyd has piercings in his ears, eyebrow, lip, and tongue. They have a lot of real estate in their ears so why not decorate them. So a lot of his piercings are in his ears. Floyd somehow lost the piercings he had so when he gets back, he goes to Volcano Rock City to get more bc they have lots more piercings than Pop trolls

All of the boys are biters. Affectionately and defensively. They're part rock and rock trolls often bite. So their partners often have bite marks on them from when they were intimate

Clay is not allowed to drive. He was the kid who drove the toy car around like a maniac so John never wants to see him behind the wheel of a vehicle.

Clay and John hate having their hair in their face. It bothers them. That's why John wears the goggles (upon other things) and Clay often wears a headband.

Bruce has server hand. He can balance things one handed from years of serving. He's also really good at just doing things one handed

The other bros book John a spa day, mainly the massage part he can fuckin relax. The masseuse has to bring out the big guns to get John's muscles to relax. By the end of it, John Dory feels like he's floating on a cloud. He doesn't remember ever feeling this relaxed

JD has incredibly fast reflexes. Branch goes to tap him on the shoulder and suddenly John has his arm pinned behind his back until he realizes it just Branch. It takes him time to get used to being touched suddenly bc he's so used to being on his own.

I've said it once but JD is strong, he just can't lift heavy things over his head. Clay and Bruce don't believe it until he pins them down (they startled him and he reacted defensively)

JD likes spicy food, he has an iron stomach

Clay is squeamish about vomit

JD barges into the others bedrooms without knocking. Hes done that since they were kids and has caught all of them mid change

Floyd has an insatiable sweet tooth.

Clay likes salty snacks

John Dory does that thing of telling his brothers not to do something without even looking at them. *Is about to touch obviously hot object* "Don't you dare touch that." *Immediately pulls hand away*

JD is definitely the fun uncle for his brothers kids

John Dory isn't the smartest in the means of book smarts but he is not dumb. He's learned a lot on his travels about other cultures and people. He recites facts in a way that makes him seem dumb. The brothers learn that he is in fact very smart, just seems dumb

John likes falling asleep to the sounds of rain. It's soothing and reminds him of nature.

Clay often falls asleep with a book on his face or lap.

John Dory has an incredibly good poker face. He can keep a straight face through lots of stuff. That's why it is harder for the other bros to read him, except for Bruce

Floyd sneezes multiple times in a row so when he sneezes it's best to just wait till he's done to say bless you or you may be saying it like five times or more

[thatbennybee]

Some ChordStriker Branch outfit concepts i doodled during some free time!! I feel like he'd change a lot the longer he stays in Volcano Rock City.

(Sorry I'm not around much, I'm going through a lot of life changes right now and things are finally smoothing out just a little bit :'] I've only had time to write for things while I'm at work having down time, so barely with me!! 💔)