#war peace and cattle shows

[horizon-verizon]

Yet it would all be undone in a trice by the king’s half-sisters, the very twins whose succession Unwin Peake had been so determined to prevent. Fewer than a dozen maids remained, and the press had thinned considerably, when a sudden trumpet blast heralded the arrival of Baela Velaryon and Rhaena Corbray. The doors to the throne room were thrown open, and the daughters of Prince Daemon entered upon a blast of winter air. Lady Baela was great with child, Lady Rhaena wan and thin from her miscarriage, yet seldom had they seemed more as one. Both were dressed in gowns of soft black velvet with rubies at their throats, and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on their cloaks. Mounted on a pair of coal black chargers, the twins rode the length of the hall side by side. When Ser Marston Waters of the Kingsguard blocked their path and demanded they dismount, Lady Baela slashed him across the cheek with her riding crop. “His Grace my brother can command me. You cannot.” At the foot of the Iron Throne they reined up. Lord Unwin rushed forward, demanding to know the meaning of this. The twins paid him no more heed than they would a serving man. “Brother,” Lady Rhaena said to Aegon, “if it please you, we have brought your new queen.” Her lord husband, Ser Corwyn Corbray, brought the girl forward. A gasp went through the hall. “Lady Daenaera of House Velaryon,” boomed out the herald, somewhat hoarsely, “daughter of the late and lamented Daeron of that house and his lady wife, Hazel of House Harte, also departed, a ward of Lady Baela of House Targaryen and Alyn the Oakenfist of House Velaryon, Lord Admiral, Master of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 645-646 [Baela, Rhaena and Daenaera’s Entrance PT.1]

[stromuprisahat]

Fewer than a dozen maids remained, and the press had thinned considerably, when a sudden trumpet blast heralded the arrival of Baela Velaryon and Rhaena Corbray. The doors to the throne room were thrown open, and the daughters of Prince Daemon entered upon a blast of winter air. Lady Baela was great with child, Lady Rhaena wan and thin from her miscarriage, yet seldom had they seemed more as one. Both were dressed in gowns of soft black velvet with rubies at their throats, and the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen on their cloaks. Mounted on a pair of coal black chargers, the twins rode the length of the hall side by side. When Ser Marston Waters of the Kingsguard blocked their path and demanded they dismount, Lady Baela slashed him across the cheek with her riding crop. “His Grace my brother can command me. You cannot.” At the foot of the Iron Throne they reined up. Lord Unwin rushed forward, demanding to know the meaning of this. The twins paid him no more heed than they would a serving man. “Brother,” Lady Rhaena said to Aegon, “if it please you, we have brought your new queen.” Her lord husband, Ser Corwyn Corbray, brought the girl forward. A gasp went through the hall. “Lady Daenaera of House Velaryon,” boomed out the herald, somewhat hoarsely, “daughter of the late and lamented Daeron of that house and his lady wife, Hazel of House Harte, also departed, a ward of Lady Baela of House Targaryen and Alyn the Oakenfist of House Velaryon, Lord Admiral, Master of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.” Daenaera Velaryon was an orphan. Her mother had been carried off by the Winter Fever; her father had died in the Stepstones when his True Heart went down. His own father had been that Ser Vaemond beheaded by Queen Rhaenyra, but Daeron had been reconciled with Lord Alyn and had died fighting for him. As she stood before the king that Maiden’s Day, clad in pale white silk, Myrish lace, and pearls, her long hair shining in the torchlight and her cheeks flush with excitement, Daenaera was but six years old, yet so beautiful she took the breath away. The blood of Old Valyria was strong in her, as is oft seen in the sons and daughters of the seahorse; her hair was silver laced with gold, her eyes as blue as a summer sea, her skin as smooth and pale as winter snow. “She sparkled,” Mushroom says, “and when she smiled, the singers in the galley rejoiced, for they knew that here at last was a maid worthy of a song.” Daenaera’s smile transformed her face, men agreed; it was sweet and bold and mischievious, all at once. Those who saw it could not fail to think, “Here is a bright, sweet, happy little girl, the perfect antidote to the young king’s gloom.” When Aegon III returned her smile and said, “Thank you for coming, my lady, you look very pretty,” even Lord Unwin Peake surely must have known that the game was lost. The last few maidens were brought forward hurriedly to do their turns, but the king’s desire to put an end to the parade was so palpable that poor Henrietta Woodhull was sobbing as she curtsied. As she was led away, King Aegon summoned his young cupbearer, Gaemon Palehair. To him was given the honor of making the announcement. “His Grace will marry Lady Daenaera of House Velaryon!” Gaemon shouted happily.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

I need a painting of the twins on their horses. Blood of the Dragon, bitches!

[fresh-fanfics]

Yandere! Kaoru Hanayama x AFAB! Reader

TW: Depression, Mommy Issues, Stalking, Obsessive Behaviour, Possessive Behaviour, Delusional Thoughts.

Reader: A foreign college student who's currently taken. She's a bit of a brat, but has a good heart.

So I finally have an idea for a fanfic with Hanayama. I really like the idea of making Yandere fics with him, he just seems so perfect for them. This fic is gonna be a multipart, I'm used to making slow burns so if you don't swing with that, I don't know what to tell you. Buckle up? Anyways, enjoy.

Hanayama was no romantic man. Even with all the money and power in the world, no girl would ever want to stay with someone as dangerous as him. For a while, he was satisfied with this life. He had accepted that no person would ever look at him in adoration and pure love. As empty as it was going day to day, girl to girl, brothel to brothel, it was enough to distract him from his loneliness. When work became too much, he distracted himself with empty pleasure and the moans of prostitutes that were just there for the money.

He laid down against a brick wall, bleeding on the cold and dark floor at a filthy alleyway. It had been one of those days where the underground world was at a state of unrest, violent gang wars breaking out without any signs of stopping. He had no choice but to step in, show everyone who the real boss was. Hanayama knew he would survive. He always does, but sometimes he wished he didn't. He knew he needed to move, but peace like this was a luxury. Any man that tried to disturb this solemn moment would not live to tell the tale. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the cold wind blow against his face.

"Oh my God, sir, you're bleeding! Are you okay? What happened?" A feminine voice took Hanayama out of his thoughts, his eyes opening to find a woman that bent down with concern in her eyes.

He stayed silent, his steel-hardened gaze observing her delicate stature. She was a cute little thing, the equivalent of a tree sapling that had yet to bloom. He trumped her in size and strength, yet she was unafraid. Hanayama had seen hardened men twice her height and stature that would quiver at his feet, but not her. This naive woman who dotted over him like cattle. He watched her ramble about and rummage through her purse for some kind of thing that would stop the bleeding.

He knew it was useless and no amount of nursing from a stranger was going to make the pain disappear, but he commended her effort despite how foolish it was. Did she even realize who she was helping? She was naive to be tending to a man that has crushed millions of gangsters like a grape.

"Okay, almost...Got it." She had tied a makeshift tourniquet around his left arm using her cardigan.

"Can you get up?"

The large man gave a slight nod, struggling to stand up on his two feet while this stranger tried to help him stabilize his trembling form.

What was this woman doing? She must have either been the most oblivious thing on the planet or the most wreckless. She certainly didn't look like she belonged here.

"You speak good Japanese for a tourist." He spoke at out of the blue, making her slightly jump from his sudden comment.

The woman gave a forced chuckle.

"Actually, I've been living here for a while now. I know I don't exactly look like I am, but this is still my home as much as yours."

Kaoru felt conflicted, processing the words inside his head. Despite being born and raised in Japan, it didn't feel like home. Being raised in a Yakuza family was not easy for a young kid. Violence was your normal, and there was no telling if you would live to fight another day. He envied her naivety, the innocence in her eyes that he never got to keep. It was depressing to think about, to say the least.

"We definitely need to get you to the hospital. These injuries are not something you can shrug off." She reached for her phone before he grabbed her wrist with his other hand, causing her to flinch from its tight grip.

"No need. I know a doctor. I'll give you the number." He noticed her trembling form, loosening his grasp as he dialed the numbers and letting the phone ring.

"Hello? Who is this? How did you get this number?" An elegant voice could be heard from the other side, calling out to whoever was there.

"Kureha. I need your services." Without even uttering his name, Hanayama knew that Kureha would recognize his deep and raspy tone. He spoke with conviction and directness.

"Kaoru? What happened to-You know what, it doesn't matter. Where are you right now?" Kureha sighed in exasperation.

"I'm in an alleyway at the Red Light District near Deathmatch pub. Come quick." He hung up without so much as a goodbye, dropping her phone in her hands.

"You can go. I don't need your help anymore."

The foreigner girl's face soured, glaring at him as she shoved her phone in her bag.

"Hmph. You're welcome." She grumbled, gritting her teeth and turning up her nose at rude man.

"I guess I'm not needed here. Good luck. I hope you recover well." Sarcasm dripped from her tone as she left him alone in the alleyway.

He watched her figure disappear through the bustling crowds in the city streets without even as much as looking back at him. Hanayama stared into space, alone in a cold alley once again. Despite her bratty behaviour, he didn't mind it at all.

"Huh. Strange. This girl is something else. For someone who claims to have lived here for a while, she's damn clueless. I'll admit, she has guts to talk down to me like that.."

Before he could dwell on it any longer, a series of loud sirens blared down the streets with an ambulance stopping nearby. Paramedics clamored to take him away for treatment, rushing him towards the hospital.

It would seem that he'd have to hold that thought for a while...

To be continued.

[mothiir]

the war hawk

because i need to write some more jagahatai. no cw for this one!

”Stand,” says the Great Khan from his throne, lounging like a true conqueror, safe in the knowledge of his victory. His gur is gigantic, larger than the cathedrals of your city home, and permits a great gathering of people — some his strange white-armoured sons, but mostly humans. They array in a circle around you, with no clear demarcation of rank, and none of the finery that the noble families of your home would display in such a gathering. You get the sense that they are all of one kin, a bond forged in the crucible of war. Perhaps if your own family had set aside its internecine struggles —

No. You cannot think like that. They didn’t. They lost. That is all there is.

You stand with the help of one of your attendants, schooling your face into careful, decorous blankness. You will not dishonour your family by weeping. Women of your family have married for politics for generations — yes, it has been centuries since any of your foremothers were offered up to a warlord in exchange for peace, but it is not your place to bemoan your fate. No: you must be thankful. You must wring gratitude from this misery, because no man found under the stars — or among them — will be charmed by a dour, shivering wretch.

“Yes, my Lord Khan,” you say. “Forgive me — I do not speak your tongue —“

“That is no matter,” he says. “I speak the language of this system well enough.”

Your maid gives you a swift, curious look, which you deliberately ignore — though you share her thoughts. The stories you both heard spoke of barbarian sheep-herders that tore books apart in anger because they could not read them.

“You honour our meagre home with your presence, my Lord,” you say, swooping into another curtsy. The clothing you wear is gorgeous, but highly impractical: a chain mail dress, ornamented with gemstones; a headdress anchored in place with hairpins that bite at your scalp. You wear the tribute, and you are the tribute. Gold, sapphires, precious metals, precious fuels — and livestock. The finest horses, cattle, sheep and poultry that your homeland has.

And you, of course. You who feel that you have more in common with the broodmares and fattened lambs in your entourage than with the crown on your head.

The Great Khan acknowledges your flattery only with the slight incline of his head. His throne is draped in so many furs you cannot see the original shape of it. It looks comfortable. To his left sits three of his sons, clad in their armour, but helmetless. To his right is an elderly man, a hood pulled over his head, so his face is shadowed. An advisor, maybe?

“Your father did not say this when he first met our envoys. We interpreted his broadcast. Sheepfuckers and misfits, he called us,” he says, idly, and your stomach drops into your feet. Instinctively, you pull your handmaids closer to you, grasping their chilly hands with yours.

“My father —“

“And in this letter he sent you with,” the Khan says, unfolding the parchment. It seems tiny in his gigantic hands. “He says that he is but — ‘a worm in the garden of my resplendence’ — he has quite the way with words, does he not? And such a change of heart! A modest man, to say he is but a worm in the garden of a sheepfucker.”

A few of his sons chortle; someone jeers. Your cheeks flame, and you lick your lips before replying.

“My father’s words were misspoken and arrogant.”

“Indeed. And he has learned the error of his ways. As long as he pays his tithes, he and his people will be treated as valued members of the Imperium — and under the protection of the Emperor of Mankind.”

The Great Khan turns back to the parchment, and makes a show of reading further.

“He has some words for you too.”

You swallow thickly. Your mother had been all careful posed dignity when she sent you away; your father had embraced you and wept. His first child; his first girl. His eldest. Sacrificing so much for the sake of her people —

“‘—though she is no great beauty, and is altogether too clever, she is swift to learn, and her mother bore eight children, four of whom were boys, so it is likely that she will likewise be fertile,’” the Khan reads, and something inside you freezes. There are no chuckles now — even if there had been, you would not have heard them over the strange high ringing in your ears. Your fingernails dig into the back of your handmaid’s hand, leaving bloody red crescents; she does not seem to notice; or if she does notice, she does not care. “And if she is not to your liking then rest assured she has sisters, who are fairer and younger and —“

“Don’t you dare!” you shout, without thinking, without considering and — oh by the gods what have you done? And then you remember that these strange men from the stars burn churches and despise worship, and so calling on the gods just makes things worse — and you freeze, heart rabbiting, eyes wide. “I mean, my lord, please — the next-oldest of my sisters is sixteen summers —“

You were born to be a politician — bred to be one — and yet all of your training has been for nothing, for in that moment you are not a diplomat but a sister, white-hot fury pulsing behind your eyes. If you had talons, you’d rip your fathers face from his skull; if you had wings, you’d pull your sisters and handmaids under their span, tuck them safe and secure and hidden. But you have neither: only a clumsy tongue, and rage that stoppers your throat, and grief great enough to drown in. And all the while the Khan watches you, impassive as a hawk; a great predator, with no concern for the mewling of women —

“Jaghatai,” says the cloaked figure to his right, pulling her hood back. “You’re scaring the girl.”

What you had assumed to be a withered old man is in fact a withered old woman, with nut-brown skin, heavy black hair, and bright eyes glittering in folds of corrugated flesh.

“I am — ah,” says the Great Khan, and then his face relaxes minutely. He smiles — though the gesture does nothing to calm you, directed as it is at the woman. “Apologies.”

“Don’t apologise to me, Khan — apologise to your poor bride! Soldiers! Really!”

She stretches like a cat, her joints clicking, and stands. Three of the astartes hasten to help her down the dais, but she waves them away.

“I can manage just fine on my own, boys,” she says, and hobbles her way down to you. She’s barely up to your shoulder, hunched over with age; her clothes are of fine quality, but thoroughly worn. “Honestly.”

“My lady Hoelun — “ one of the men says, but she points her stick at him.

“Tsubodai, I knew you when you were stumbling around after your father’s goats — when I need your help, I shall ask for it. All of you! Useless!”

Instinctively, you curtesy to her. She chuckles, and catches your chin with one gnarled hand.

“Let’s have a look. All your own teeth, no mutations,” she says, tipping your face this way and that. “Clever, that letter said, and I’ll believe that — every woman we’ve met in this system can read and write, which is a blessing, believe me. Half of my grandsons are still learning. They like their bikes and their ponies, what do they need letters for?”

She pinches your cheek.

“Smart, because you knew how to greet the Great Khan. And reckless brave, because you shouted at him. And —“ She looks down at your hands, which still clutch at your whimpering maids. Her gummy smile widens. “And decent too.”

She turns back to the Great Khan.

“You’ll marry this one, Jaghatai. I’ll make the arrangements for the ceremony in two moons time. Until then, we’ll follow tradition.”

The Great Khan does not seem at all surprised at the display. His smile has deepened, and for the first time he looks more like a man than a hunting bird.

“Very well, Mother,” he says. “If you approve — my lady, you will be granted your own household, and a gur large enough to hold them. You may bring women to attend you from your home planet if you wish — or if you prefer, I can name some from within my own family. A hundred head of horse are yours as of today; for each week until our wedding another hundred shall be added to your herd. You will learn our language and our customs, and you will sit in on my council with my mother —“

“My lord — I am no warrior,” you say, and he holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. But I am no politician. An empire can be conquered from the saddle of a horse, but not ruled from one. You will attend council with my mother and learn from her, so that when we are wed you may pick up the governance of this sector in my absence.”

“But — my father is the governor,” you say, brow furrowed, still feeling like you are stumbling to catch up. Hoelun chuckles.

“For now. But who trusts a man who puffs up his chest only to crawl in the dirt with nary an arrow fired?”

The implication of her words should horrify you. You think of your sisters, and you feel only a hesitant, fragile kindling of hope. Hoelun gives your cheek another affectionate — if slightly painful — squeeze.

“Welcome home,” she says.

[femoso-seben]

Monster fic:

Human Shaped Monsters

Blood bathed the soil. It spans decades, and at this point, there is no way either side could turn back, and strike a deal for peace. The humans who have been enslaved and the monsters who were belittled and forced into segregation for centuries.

Blood soil the hands of both leading sides, eyes shrouded by hatred and rage. This was a war to end either species… and the humans were losing.

Two decades before the start of this war there was a faction of monsters pushing for equal rights and humans siding with them. Not even that solidarity could bring both sides together. It started with peace and ended in the blood of an innocent.

The human resistance was shrinking and the leading factions began to divide a plan. A last-ditch for freedom.

Rabies.

It was a slow race, the first to be infected were the werewolves and other beastmen. It was a long wave of modification by a small group of scientists. They made sure it could jump to every other monster, the only free of it were, mermaids, gargoyles, and shadow beings.

They made it with no cure.

It was an overnight success. Their militaries begin to fall into smithereens. One by one they had to kill their own forces and burn their corpses. New fear spread across the monsters.

The humans leaked the information.

The fear of humans was raised again.

Switzerland was the only country that allowed humans and Monsters to live together, of course, there were some apartheid laws but in all of was far better than other countries where they were actual slaves, broodmares, pets, and cattle.

It was a painful year for the Monsters before they decided to come to a ceasefire with the remnant of free humanity.

They meet up in neutral territory, Switzerland.

Laswell’s wing folds flatly against her back as she looks over to see her escort, Task Force 141, and shadow company’s Graves. “Are you sure about this?” Price was in his wings folding.

“I don’t like making concessions to them but if they have a cure—“

“I doubt it,” Soap snears, “knowing that vermin they were trying to kill us off.” He grips the door his long nails scrapping the metal door, his tail swishing angrily.

“Kate Laswell,” a feminine voice calls out, they all turn to see a young human woman standing there flanking her side is a monster in tactical gear. Laswell walked forward and they followed after them.

“Are you part of the delegation?” Laswell asks. The human looks up.

“Well, I’m part of the… welcoming committee, we in Switzerland don’t want war.” The human smiles her dark auburn hair was pull back into a low ponytail.

“A bunch of cowards and weaklings,” Soap smears. The soap didn’t always hate humans, he grew to hate them. In his youth, he was to stay in love with one until another human took her. He watched as they destroyed the world, their corruption throwing the world into a near-constant war.

He hated them.

“What would Santana think?” The human girl asks, Soap found himself sneering at the human woman for being up his old love.

“She’s not here because of you-“

“That was far before my time.”

“You’re young,” Gaz notes.

“Well, this country is made up of refugees, our parents fought to be free.” The human said side eyeing the Harpy.

Gaz didn’t like humans, he had no fold memory of that human or that human in his mind where they showed their famed humanity. He has only seen their bigotry. His home was napalmed by war. He hated humans too.

“Why aren’t we needing at the capital?” Graves asks looking around. The sun was setting and he could see the beautiful landscape of Switzerland’s countryside.

“Too many people live there, too many anxieties. Here if war breaks out not so many people be hurt.” Soap snorts but looks around the air is smooth and clean, far less dusty than the battlefield.

“Mother Maia,” the human woman calls out. There in the setting Sun of a large building, what used to look like a big retail store was a woman taking down hung sheets.

“As Jezebel,” the woman’s sweet voice calls out. “Are these the monster’s delegates?”

“Yup,” the group stops in front of this strange woman. She was in all black, with no skin showing beside her hands. She didn’t look Muslim just… like a Victorian woman in mourning. It was nostalgic for Graves he couldn’t stop smiling, her dark veil covering her hair and face. “How are the kids?”

“It’s dinner, you know how the little werewolves get, so territorial. Then the gargoyles want to sit at the top. The dragons are trying to hord people.”

“Is Michael sweet-talking people for food again?”

“Of course, you can’t stop young sirens from praying on others, especially on crawfish night.”

“Crawfish? Damn now I’m hungry-“

“We’ll take your group to the meeting point and if you get their fast enough and back we might still have some leftovers.” The woman in black tease.

“C’mon, let’s hurry,” Jezebel said rushing the group of monsters.

“What is that place?” Ghost asks. There were monsters there? And a human talking so nonchalantly about them too.

“That’s an orphanage, government sponsored, that’s the head director, Mother Maia.”

“Is she a nun?” Soap asks. Jezebel cackles and turn to him.

“Nope she’s a former Sniper, before retiring only a few weeks ago.” A cold chill run down tje monster’s bodies.

“What was her name?”

“Something like the pale death.” The monster stopped walking Soap nearly ran back to that woman to kill her.

“Relax Johnny it’s a bad idea to kill her here.” Ghost said resting his stone hands on his friend’s shoulder. Soap bared his fangs but let his shoulder sag.

“That bitch has killed dozen of our men-”

“Hey,” Jezebel said, “you better be careful this is her boyfriend right here,” Jezebel pointed to the armed monster next to him. He was a humanoid monster, maybe a wraith… that would make sense at night he was the most powerful.

“Traitor,” Gaz glared at the shorter male who had a strange antenna coming from his helmet.

“C’mon, let’s keep going I’m missing out on delisting crawfish!” Jezebel practically jogged to the meeting point.

“Look at her, so carefree. Humans truly disgust me.” Soap whispers to Gaz who flew slightly above him.

“I know mate, they only care for themselves, and discriminate against those that differ from them.” The moment they got to the meeting Jezebel took off.

—————————— /\ ——————————

“Mother Maia?” The woman in black looks up and walks up to the group of monster. Walking into the giant old building. The inside was converted into a home.

“Yes?” She asks.

“They wanted to see the orphanage a little more,” assistant Andres said, his wolf tail swinging side to side.

“Of course come in—”

“That killer in in charge of our kind?” Soap sneers, walking up to her. His eyes widened she was quite tall for a human, 6ft.

A set of low growls ooze out from the back as a small group of five teenage boys stalked in, they were young Werewolf pups. They got in between her and him.

“Who the fuck are you pendejo?” One asks his accented English rolls off his tongue.

“She killed our kind—”

“You killed your kind! My parents were killed by cunts like you,” the Australian boy shouts.

Soap glared at the young boys in front of him. They were young, stupid, and weak. A few had missing eyes, and arms, and one missing a leg. In the order of monsters, they should be dead.

“Enough!” Mother Maia snaps loudly, pulling the young alpha back. She leans down. In a low tone, she said, “Go protect the other orphanage.” Soap frown, another orphanage? The young back sneered at him one last time and stalked off.

“Have some grace, most of them were maimed by the monster’s militia when their parents tried to flee. Most of their parents were either murdered in front of them or eaten.” A chill ran down 141’s back.

“Mate—”

“Of course, we have some monsters affected by humans, but humans wouldn’t let a single monster live. These survivors or victims of you.” Mother Maia said setting the basket closed down.

“So, pale death-“ Graves walk over a smirk on his face.

“Killed anyone of them?”

“They are my children, don’t you know? Human pack bond with anyone.” She said in the same flirty tone as Graves. She clears her throat and looks at the greater whole, “where would you like to begin?”

“What type of monsters do you have?” Gaz asks looking around, he can smell a plethora of monsters, even prey monsters.

“We have beast men, harpies, mermaids, fairies, shark born, dragons, gargoyles, vampires-“ a group of bats came flying in and transformed small little kids running up to Mother Maia.

“We’re hungry.”

“Go to the kitchen.”

“How do you feed them?” Graves asks, there was about six of them the oldest no older than twelve.

“Donation of course, this country knows blood from monsters and humans are welcome. Of course, we have animals.” Graves subconsciously nods. “We have a few turned, they don’t want human blood.”

“We also have pray hybrids.”

“To feed-“

“No.” Mother Maia cuts off Price.

“Come I’ll show you the barn,” Mother Maia turned and led the group. There in the back was a large barn, it smelled like a barn.

“Lenard,” Mother Maia calls out, a figure jumps down and a young gargoyle appears, “we’re bringing in some guess, go tell Jin.”

“Jin isn’t gonna like this… not these unknown predators in his camp.”

“I know but go tell him,” The gargoyle nods and flies off.

Mother Maia turns to them, the veil is getting annoying, and the strange clinking sound as she walks. “Don’t eat anyone of them, I’ll kill you.” Her tone turns from sweet and welcoming to cold and cruel.

She opens the barn.

Screams erupt.

There was many cattle hybrids. Sheep, goats, alpacas, llamas, cows, and even some deer. They all backed up and only one thing approached a small girl screaming.

“Yumna-“

“Get out!” She shouts. She was a stout girl? And from the marking of her fur, honey badger.

“Do they have to be here?” A new voice asks in the arms of Lenard was a boy, Jin. The horns said it all along with the one wing, dragon. This was his hord.

“Quit,” Mother Maia said, silencing the barn.

“As you can see we have farmed more prey species since they don’t want to be killed or eaten. We’re leaving now,” she pushed everyone out and close the barn after Lenard who climb back onto his perch.

“So…” Price smiles blowing out his cigar smoke, “that’s his castle and hord?”

“Indeed.”

They begin to walk far into the fields small predictor hybrids poke their heads up and watch them leave before going back to playing. They walked for a few miles to the ledge of a cliff down below the ocean.

“We don’t have any big trees, so most of the Harpies live on the cliffs in huts, down below in our seaways are Merfolks and shark borns. Of course, as you see another gargoyle and in the water an eastern dragon born.” Gaz eyes widen seeing the little harpies flying around. It reminded him of home.

“Priscilla,” Mother Maia calls out, a young woman in her early Twenties or late teens walked up. Gaz thought she was human at first until he noticed her feet. She was a wingless harpy. Gaz felt feather’s raising anger boiling under his skin. She inched her way closer Gorgyle behind her.

“Since Harpies are communal and the boldest of the youth train the harpies to fly, but since Priscilla had her wings ripped off most of the young harpies don’t fly.” Mother Maia said.

“We can!” One shout, from the cliffs their small heads and raptor eyes glued on them. “We just… don’t want to.” The little boy said shyly.

“And in the small brush forest we have the smaller pray species and a pack of werewolves.”

“A pack?” Soap asks, “there’s more than one?” Mother Maia nods.

“We have five they like doing mock battles to see who gets five feet of territory into another’s back, it’s all friendly games they come together to defend this area when needed.” Soap couldn’t help but smile, maybe if he was younger this would be a great place to create a pack.

“I can teach them how to fly,” Gaz said mindlessly staring at the cliff where there were probably over 20 harpies. All the young children and the oldest were younger than him, they wouldn’t survive if they couldn’t fly.

“Really?” Priscilla said her shoulder feathers raising in excitement.

“We’re staying here a few days.” They two turn to another Maia for an answer.

“You have to ask Baihu.” Pricilla cringed and sighed, “As the most senior member of this community and the oldest, it’s your duty.” Pricilla nods.

“Alright let’s go asks him, c’mon.” She begins to walk to the cliff Gaz following suit.

“Isn’t it a little cruel to have a human looking after a monster?” Soap ask.

“Not at all my counterpart is a monster taking care of humans, his hord.”

“This seems too perfect.”

______________________

Word count: 2.2K Would you be interested in this being a full fic?

Inspire by @bluegiragi @gremlingottoosilly

taglist: @kkaaaagt 

Part 2

[vikings-til-valhalla]

Heyoo I'm Jay and I'm non-binary and follow Loki, Freya and Thor. Not quite great at it but still. One thing I'd like to know is.. is Valhalla pretty much a Ragnarok training camp? I'm hoping I go to be with Hel.

So the short answer: it is that exactly, but also so much more.

Long answer is:

Valhalla is the land of honored dead who fell in combat. Yes, a majority of the depictions is explaining how the halls are full of battle and preparation for Ragnarok, and that Odin chooses the valiant slain during combat for the reason that they are powerful fighters and therefore worthy. But it's also about comradery and kinship, merriment, and celebration.

Other depictions of Valhalla portray it just as much a place of endless celebration where one who is chosen goes to revel with others in eternal glory and joy for the heroic warring deeds they did while alive. Everyone is together in these celebrations, and the sense of unity is immense. It's the place where legends never die, and tales are told eternally.

It's true that Valhalla is the place of battle and preparation for the ultimate fight, namely because those who died fighting are the chosen. But just as any warrior would do with their bands of siblings in arms, it's a place to celebrate your victories because, in the days of pre-Christian Scandinavia, death was seen more as a victory not a defeat. It was valor to die fighting for your clan and kin.

Hence you get things like the Havamal stanza 75 (pitt.edu translation): "Cattle die and kinsmen die, / thyself too soon must die, / but one thing never, I ween, will die, -- / fair fame of one who has earned."

Overall to understand the true purpose of Valhalla, you have to have an understanding of the life and facts of life that were during this time period. Much of the gods' tales across all accounts are about the inevitably of death and embracing it because nothing is eternal, and death is a given. Everything ends. Death is an end. But endings are a new beginning, and that new beginning can be beautiful. It's a chance for something better and greater to take the place of what was. And Valhalla as a concept shows us that we must revel in the glory of what was, and celebrate those who've done great things. And when the time comes for things to end, so be it. Joy and prosperity had their time and place, and a new life for other joy and prosperity will be born.

That isn't to say that Helheim and other lands are dishonorable and valor-less, though.

Just the same as Valhalla, it's often depicted that Helheim is a place where all others ascend who are not dishonored, and who Odin does not choose. This, therefore, includes the musicians, poets, artists, ethicists, scholars, anyone and everyone at all who simply lived an honorable life and died without being in combat. Legend lives elsewhere as much as it does in Valhalla, it's just simply in another form that isn't war and physical might.

I don't recall which sources I'd read from for this. But some folks choose to believe that the artistic people of Hel's realm are the ones who write songs and draw portraits of the legendary warriors of Valhalla. And others choose to imagine it holds the most intelligent of debates!

Whereas battle and merriment are the place of Valhalla, Helheim is the place of peace and honor. It was Christian depictions specifically which put Helheim in a poor light and made it seem like a desolate, torturous place akin to their land of hell, which, from what I understand, experienced a similar thing as a result of the crusaders, though I'm not Christian so I truly can't confirm or deny that.

But in the end, it's honorable to be chosen by either Odin or Hel, and if you have no desire to be a fighter in the end days, you have no obligation to be. Just as the skalds carried forth the legends, and scholars taught the wisdom sought by many, and crafters made the tools and clothes for survival, and cooks made the food and drink needed for sustenance, Hel understands everyone has a purpose and that this purpose isn't always living and dying to fight. She provides a place to keep those people after death where they, too, can be honored and together just as Valhalla, only without the violence.

So to sum it up: Valhalla is a place of celebration with combat. Helheim is a place for all non-warriors, and without combat and war.

I'm sorry this was so long, but I hope I answered your question well enough at least!

[a-romantics-guide-to-life]

 *ੈ✩ 𝓭𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 ˖*°࿐

i feel so bad for the drought ya'll and i have a few blurbs i have been writing in between classes so yea, here ya go!

It was on mornings and moments with you like these that Billy truly felt at peace when the rest of his world was war.

You, of course, were at the center of that peace.

His life had been a whirlwind of grief and death, anger and sadness, yet also love and kindness. You were at the eye of the hurricane Billy called his life. Calm, peaceful, loving, adoring, ethereal, there were many words Billy could use to describe you yet he could never find the voice to say them all.

Of course, he found solace in expressing his devotion to you through song.

You two had quite an exhausting day (and evening). Billy had been with the boys the entire day, herding cattle and farming while you had been cleaning the house up, cooking, and washing clothes. As soon as Billy had gotten home that night, he had kicked his boots off, hanging his hat on one of the chairs as he rushed into your bedroom where he knew you would be mending his torn blouses. 

You had perked up when you heard the door open. Billy had left early that morning, getting to work as soon as the sun had risen, leaving your bed half-empty. He worked on the farm tirelessly, only stopping for lunch and water. In truth, the only reason he had started working was to start saving up for a ring.

It was Billy’s every intention to marry you. Reality was he wanted everything with you, marriage, kids, a whole farm of animals, love, sex, really anything you’d give him, he’d take. You had loved his right, as he said, you really knew him too. You knew when he was angry all he needed was a hug, when he was sad? A kiss on the forehead. You showed him day after day that you loved him, and that you’d do anything for him. Billy had decided that he too would do anything for you. 

Which is why he worked so hard so you’d never have to see a grueling day working yourself to death.

Of course, it usually meant that he got home late. At first, it was hard getting used to Billy getting home at nearly an hour before midnight. He’d stumble in, stomach growling, begging for sustenance. Before, you always left food for him in the kitchen, usually going to sleep. He’d come home and eat a bit of food, he was usually too sleepy to eat too much, and collapse in bed with you.

You’d stir at the movement and turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he snuggled his face against your neck, breathing you in. You’d ask about his day gingerly twirling his hair in between your fingers as he wrapped his polar bear arms around you, liking you impossibly closer. 

Nowadays of course, you’d wait to eat with him, and ask him about his day. You’d get ready for bed with him before collapsing in eachothers arms, dreaming sweet dreams of each other together.

It was on mornings like those that you felt all the love and adoration Billy felt for you. It was also when you felt most at peace with your life, like nothing else mattered.

Of course, when you woke up after a very exciting night with Billy, it was expected that, as the day before, he would leave before you even started to stir awake. 

Yet as soon as you came to, the smell of something warm and sweet hit your nose. It was comforting and unexpected. At first you panicked, hurriedly throwing the covers off of your form, feet stomping on the wooden floors of your little home as you rushed to the kitchen. But as soon as you heard the soft humming of a deep voice you calmed, your heart still beat as you listened in.

You slowly tiptoed to the kitchen, carefully listening in on the hums. As you got closer and closer, they grew louder and louder. Slowly, you heard the deep baritone singing.

“I LOOVE YOU BABBY, and if its quite alright i need yoouuu babbbby too on these lonelyyy nightss!”

You laughed as you finally walked into the kitchen. Plates were on the table all white and bright, the room smelled heavenly of the pancakes Billy was cooking on the stove. All sorts of fruits were lined up on the island as Billy carefully flipped another pancake over, looking at you right after.

He ran to you, picking you up, the sound of giggles and laughter filling the air as he swung you around, your toes barely grazing the floor as he spun you.

Billy finally set you down, his hands perching onto your hips as your arms found their way to his neck. You twirled your fingers through his messy chestnut hair.

You started to hum along with him as you two started to sway gently around the kitchen. Every so often, Billy would peck at your lips gently before leaving you to flip or put another pancake. 

You’d pout, adorably pulling your bottom lip out whenever Billy turned to the stove. When he’d come back, he’d smile that bright smile that made you light up inside before kissing your head gently and humming a slow tune again.

It was in moments like those that you two truly fell in love deeper and deeper, sinking away into time, only the hums of love songs echoing into history forevermore.

[chubbybunny25]

Juno talks to Percy after the son of Poseidon showed no interest/tenderness towards his future husband. She would seem to gently, politely explain to Percy how lucky he is. Most often, in political marriages, young girls and mild-mannered youths most often found themselves with cruel, ugly old men who treated them terribly. Jason is not like that at all, he is young, kind and good-looking, he would never intentionally offend Percy, and Percy should be glad and grateful. Percy is not impressed and definitely does not experience the same thing Juno wants.

Annabeth is talking to Percy. She says how terrible and wrong it all is that Percy is being treated like this and put into a forced marriage just to make peace. They give it away like cattle. She suggests that he escape, she has already come up with plans and has taken away allies who also want to help Percy. Percy hugs her and says he can't, he just can't. He can't start another war just because of his selfishness.

Percy wanted a puppy as a child, and in new Rome, as in ancient Rome, dogs are highly valued. Jason gives him a dog to carefully show his sympathy.

Gifts are a fairly common way in Rome to express your sympathy. Jason presents Percy with earrings and he does not reject them, but begins to wear them regularly. Juno is pleased, Percy wears earrings because it reminds him of Sally who wore earrings all the time.

Oh my, it's been sooo long, and I almost forgot about this ask!!! I'm so sorry.

Anyway, these are really interesting hc's! Of course, Percy would feel understandably bad about the whole political marriage thing. The sea cannot be restrained, after all. Btw, protective Annabeth is my favorite kind of Annabeth!

Speaking about Hera/Juno, I'd like to think that Percy would at least try to "strike a deal" with her, like I'd marry Jason on one condition, which might be angsty on Jason's part, too, because like, he sees how Percy naturally cares for others, while Jason thinks Percy is just being nice to him for diplomatic purposes. Jason would long for Percy's affection, in a way.

Giving Percy a dog and other gifts! I think Percy would recognize how hard it is for Jason to express his feelings once Percy sees how life in Camp Jupiter is, and he'll try to be a bit more considerate to him. Why do I think sharing a bed and cuddling is something that Percy would offer as a truce?

[visenyaism]

Fire and Blood: Being a Complete History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros (Martin, 2018) is an in-universe canonical history of the Targaryen Dynasty from the Song of Ice and Fire series unique for its biased historicization of the canon through its unreliable narrators, which often results in varying and sometimes dubious permutations of narrative events. For example, the character introduced in the twenty-first chapter: “War and Peace and Cattle Shows,” commonly referred to as “Daenaera Velaryon” by fans, actually does not exist. That didn’t happen that’s not real. It’s not. You’re free.

[witchofhimring]

Cassandra Baratheon profile

This is both a character study and my personal headcanons for the character. This is part one of the "Daughters of Borros Baratheon" series. This template will be used in all my upcoming fics unless otherwise specified. I find it hard to write characters who do not have a cemented personality so I decided to make some up.

Space divider provided by:@firefly-graphics

Backround and theories:

Cassandra Baratheon's personality is not clear through the texts of Fire and Blood. Anything regarding her is also highly suspect given that the sources are highly suspect at best and women are rarely treated fairly texts-wise. This means that most of Cassandra's personality will be based on headcanon's with little source.

The first we hear of Cassandra is when Aemond arrives at Storms End. While in the show the Baratheon sisters are represented as adults the text implies they are much younger. Borros Baratheon says that Cassandra as the eldest will be the first to flower. This means that Cassandra has yet to flower and is still quite young. On average most girls get their period at 12 (although this is far from universal), meaning Cassandra is likely younger than 12 (which makes Aemond's kissing of the Baratheon sisters far more disgusting). This makes her actions in Fire and Blood all the more suspect as while the text treats her as an adult Cassandra is very young.

Cassandra is depicted as sneaking and conniving is Fire and Blood. While the story itself is suspect we might get a glimpse of Cassandra's personality. The next time we see Cassandra is in The Short, Sad Reign of Aegon 2nd. When Aegon gets back to Kings Landing he is betrothed to Cassandra putting her in line to be queen. Next in The Hour of the Wolf, it is claimed that Cassandra wept tears of sadness at not being queen. Whether this is true or not is suspect as even the author uses the words "it is said". So we will not know, however I do not doubt that she was likely disappointed at not being queen. In The Hooded Hand Prince Aegon is crowned king and Cassandra goes to Kings Landing with her younger sisters Ellyn and Floris. In War and Peace and Cattle Shows Jaehaera dies, supposedly by suicide. However rumors of murder came about and Cassandra was one of those accused. The writer refers to those who have accused Cassandra of murder as "detractors". So Cassandra murdering Jaehaera, while possible, holds no solid evidence. Personally I do not think she did. Despite Cassandra being cleared the narrative of "jealous vindictive Cassandra" is still being perpetrated in Fire and Blood. Lord Peake is important to our view of Cassandra as he is involved in her tale. Lord Peake attempts to put his daughter forward as queen but is unsuccessful. In order to clear the way he conspires to knock several other girls out of the competition, Cassandra included. Cassandra wrote "well prepared to serve as queen". This letter is likely true and shows Cassandra wanted the crown. The Maidens Ball is put on so Aegon might chose a wife. Peake, not done with plotting, spreads rumors about Cassandra and other maidens. Casandra's story ends shortly, but not before a very unfortunate event takes place. The new Hand of the King Lord Manderly carries out an investigation on those who may have killed Gaemon (illegitimate son of Aegon 2nd) and treason against the king. Three women in attendance to the queen are presented, Cassandra included. After the death of Jaehaera Cassandra becomes a companion to the new queen. After Queen Daenaera is poisoned, Cassandra is brought to trial.

It should be mentioned that Cassandra is only accused. However Fire and Blood does not provide conclusive evidence that Cassandra was involved. As far as we know Cassandra shared a bed with Ser Mervyn Flowers. Yet this alone is not conclusive evidence in my opinion. At the end of that sequence it is written "Though unquestionably part of the conspiracy". This part caught my attention because the evidence presented in the book is far from conclusive.

The character of Cassandra Baratheon is complex. While I have no doubt she harbored some resentment towards Jaehaera and later Daenaera, much of the accounts are suspect. For example, some of the "facts" about Cassandra as more rumor. And the trial of Cassandra is deeply unsatisfying. This presents us with a characters that once had it all, the Baratheon heiress, future princess (possibly if Aemond had chosen her) and future Queen. All was lost.

Relationships: (headcanons)

Borros

Father and daughter are close. She was his first child, Borros's pride and joy. In Fire and Blood Cassandra is referred to as "Cass". This short form drew my attention because this was a formal setting and nick names are less common. Personally I think this shows Borros harbouring a soft spot for his eldest. As a baby he would carry her around in one arm. He placed a lot of trust in her, Cassandra helped draft letters and writing them. Cassandra liked to read to her father when he was unwell. The only time they really spend with eachother is tea and sewing.

Elenda

In my mind Elenda does not get on with her daughters. Resentful of only having girls, Elenda distances herself from them. In Fire and Blood the scant information about Elenda presents a practical and tough woman. Cassandra and her mother are not very close, although their relationship is not as bad as the one between Elenda and Marris. Elenda treats Cassandra more as a ward than daughter. Not unkindly (purposely), but with little closeness.

Marris

Not overly close but they do not have a bad relationship. They are very different people and so hardly are around each other. There is a bit of jealousy from Marris's side but Cassandra is unaware of it. Out of all her sister Marris is probably the only sister Cassandra somewhat gets along with.

Ellyn

These two do not like each other. Ellyn, bitter over being ignored, starts to hate Cassandra and Cassandra begins to dislike her. They fight a lot and hardly get along. Cassandra found joy in upstaging her sister and being "better" than her. This rivalry would continue until Cassandra was married off.

Floris

A distant, terse relationship. Cassandra is jealous because Floris became their fathers favourite. At first Borros was disappointed to have another girl. But Floris found her way into his heart and became the favourite. This causes Cassandra to become jealous and ignores Floris. Cassandra chose to try and outshine Floris but it did not work.

Personality: (headcanons)

-Cassandra is a very prideful and slightly arrogant person. This is not done intentionally but it is very much present. Growing up as possible heir to Storms End gave Cassandra a sense of self importance. She had ideas of greatness and wanted the world to know.

-Cassandra is also ambitious. Allowed to take on a more masculine education Cassandra perused knowledge. She in fact is advanced enough to forge several maester's chains. Cassandra likes to read and will sometimes hide away to enjoy a book (or two).

-Cassandra does not like to ride horses. They scare her.

-Loves lemon cakes and the colour yellow/gold.

-Is a very kind friend to those she cares about. Cassandra has a group of loyal friends who followed her through everything. Even when she got married off they still supported her. She is a ride or die girly.

-Cassandra can be easily jealous and petty. Is not good at tempering her emotions (she's a Baratheon).

This is all for now. Next will be Marris.

[thevelaryons]

Unwin Peake, Lord Regent and Hand of the King, draped an admiral’s golden chain about his neck and presented him with a silver replica of the Queen Rhaenys as a token of his victory. The king himself inquired if his lordship would consent to serve upon his small council, as master of ships. Lord Alyn humbly agreed. “Then the Hand’s fingers closed about his throat,” says Mushroom. “The voice was Aegon’s, the words Unwin’s.”

[…]

And Alyn Oakenfist, that proud and headstrong youth, found he had no choice but to agree to sail his fleets around the southern end of Westeros.

[…]

The trap was neatly set. The voyage was perilous, and like to take a heavy toll of the Velaryon fleets. The Stepstones teemed with enemies, who would not be taken unawares a second time. Past them lay the barren coasts of Dorne, where Lord Alyn was not like to find safe harbor. And should he gain the Sunset Sea, he would find the Red Kraken waiting with his longships. If the ironmen prevailed, the power of House Velaryon would be broken for good and all, and Lord Peake need never again suffer the insolence of the boy called Oakenfist.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: War and Peace and Cattle Shows

The precursor for Alyn being caught in Unwin's trap is him being presented with the golden chain to wear. Alyn himself is both content and ignorant of what it represents.

There's a lot of Odysseus-coding to Alyn's first great adventure, in the sense that he encountered many obstacles that sought to delay him and send him on detours.

For example:

Lord Alyn was anxious to take on provisions and depart on his long voyage home, but the westermen were loath to see him go. With their own fleet destroyed, they remained vulnerable should the ironmen return under the Red Kraken’s successor, whoever he might be. Lady Johanna even went so far as to propose an attack upon the Iron Islands themselves; she would provide as many swords and spears as might be required, Lord Velaryon need only deliver them to the isles.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: The Voyage of Alyn Oakenfist

In the end, Alyn did manage to return home, and he turned what was meant to be his downfall into his success instead.

Queen Daenaera, blushing prettily and stammering just a little, hung about his neck a heavy golden chain studded with sapphires, “b-blue as the sea where my lord has won his victories.” Then King Aegon III bade the admiral rise with the words, “We are glad to have you safe home, my brother.”

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents: The Voyage of Alyn Oakenfist

Next time it’s a golden chain studded with sapphires like the sea. Another grand trophy to commemorate Alyn's victories, and in the future he will continue to prevail against his enemies. But a chain is still just a chain. Foreshadowing for how Alyn will be bound to the sea for the rest of his life, always leaving home for one reason or another, never truly residing at Driftmark for long.

Soon thereafter, Lord Alyn Oakenfist grew restless, and began to make plans for the second of his six great voyages.

— Fire & Blood, The Lysene Spring and the End of Regency

[horizon-verizon]

Daenaera Velaryon was an orphan. Her mother had been carried off by the Winter Fever; her father had died in the Stepstones when his True Heart went down. His own father had been that Ser Vaemond beheaded by Queen Rhaenyra, but Daeron had been reconciled with Lord Alyn and had died fighting for him. As she stood before the king that Maiden’s Day, clad in pale white silk, Myrish lace, and pearls, her long hair shining in the torchlight and her cheeks flush with excitement, Daenaera was but six years old, yet so beautiful she took the breath away. The blood of Old Valyria was strong in her, as is oft seen in the sons and daughters of the seahorse; her hair was silver laced with gold, her eyes as blue as a summer sea, her skin as smooth and pale as winter snow. “She sparkled,” Mushroom says, “and when she smiled, the singers in the galley rejoiced, for they knew that here at last was a maid worthy of a song.” Daenaera’s smile transformed her face, men agreed; it was sweet and bold and mischievious, all at once. Those who saw it could not fail to think, “Here is a bright, sweet, happy little girl, the perfect antidote to the young king’s gloom.”

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin, pg 646 [Baela, Rhaena and Daenaera’s Entrance PT.2]

[stromuprisahat]

A handful of the braver maidens made so bold as to address the king, in an attempt to make themselves more memorable. ... A northern maid named Barba Bolton, daughter of the Dreadfort, said, “If you send me home, Your Grace, send me home with food, for the snows are deep and your people are starving.”.

Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Northerners...

[whumpsday]

Whumpmas in July #7

Post a link to your favorite whump fic of all time (or reblog it and/or make a list of them!)

you know me... i love lists, so here my top 10 favorite whump series of all time! limiting myself to 10 was sooo hard but if i didn't i'd be here all night.

🪆 Dollhouse by @whumpshaped - Being obsessed with dolls at a young age isn't anything harmful or concerning. The problems only start to show when that obsession stays, only growing stronger instead of slowly fading away. Grace never quite managed to give up on the dream of her very own dollhouse - with the perfect, living dolls to go along with it. (multiple whumpees, body modification, nonconsensual surgery, drugging, starvation)

🦹 Hazeshift by @whumpwillow - A villain named Haze is rescued after having been held captive by a vigilante, but the heroes that find him aren’t exactly forgiving of his past crimes… (whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, villain whumpee, hero caretaker and whumpers, torture, magic/powers whump)

🌓 Magnanimous Moonrise & Savage Sunset by @not-a-space-alien - Valen is a vampire on a mission…one which unfortunately puts him at odds with vampire hunters, who aren't happy about such a creature being so deep within their territory. Alexis and Ariana are partners and vampire hunters, trying to protect as many people as they can from the horrors of a world where vampires see humans as cattle, fair game for being snatched up and taken home as food. (vampire whumpee, lab whump, torture, recovery, contains 18+ content)

⚔️ Of Vampires and Men by @whumpy-writings - For years, the vampire nations of Lucia and Torin have lived in an uneasy peace. That all changed when Lucia annexed the independent city-state of Cesvic. Now, war is looming on the horizon and no one is safe. (vampire whumpers, vampire caretakers, vampire & human whumpees, war, dystopia, contains 18+ content)

🚀 Riot Kings by @befuddled-calico-whump - An overthrown crime lord is finally captured by his enemies--after he’s been thoroughly broken by someone far more dangerous than him. (sci-fi, war, villain whumpee, torture, webcomic)

👑 The Dark Side of the Sun by @quietly-by-myself - (this one didn't have an official summary so i'm writing a fan-summary) Cassius's work as an alchemist comes to an end when he's captured by the king of the tainted, kept to be tortured for his amusement as punishment for his wrongs. Hakon, who now loyally serves the king after being taken in following the brutal torture Cassius put him through in the name of science, has to decide whether he's willing to help his former tormenter now that the tables have turned. (whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker, fantasy, magical whump, completed)

🐺 The Monster of Lindborough by @secretwhumplair - A werewolf caught stealing sheep is made to pay by their owners, regardless of the fact he never meant harm. (werewolf whumpee, whumper turned caretaker, found family, overwork, completed)

🧛 Things End | People Change by @whumpcloud - Clary Nikitin has been free for four years. She's doing okay. But she's angry. And when she hears that her kidnapper, vampire Vincent Maddox, has been captured, she isn't going to pass up the chance to see just how pathetic he's become. She didn't expect to take him with her. But what's the point of taking revenge if he's begging her to do it? (vampire whumper/whumpee, whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned caretaker)

🏡 Tomas and Rowe by @whumpzone - (this one also didn't have an official summary so i am writing a fan-summary) Tomas has his work cut out for him when he takes in a traumatized human pet. As much as he tries, Rowe never stops being afraid. Little does he know, dark things are happening in his house when he leaves. (pet whump, dystopia, secret whumper, recovery, sadistic whumper, completed)

@whumpmasinjuly

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons: A Military Analysis (Pt. 2)

If the 100+ notes on Part One are any indication, y’all really enjoyed my analysis! Huge thanks to my mutuals @lemonhemlock and @thephantomcasebook for their feedback, and to @sayruq for their interesting theory about the Dance and how it connects to the conclusion of the ASOIAF books! If you haven’t read Pt. 1, the link is here!

I’ve decided to analyze the use of sea power (navies, merchant fleets, etc.) and airpower (dragons) first, allowing me to focus on the ground war without too many digressions. This is also because of the limited effect that sea and airpower had upon the outcome of the Dance; I know that will seem like the hottest of hot takes, but rest assured I will explain myself.

Sea power is defined roughly as those institutions and technologies that allow for power projection via the sea, including warships, merchant vessels, shipyards and ports. When it comes to George’s portrayal of how both factions use of sea power, his MO is to heavily nerf that of the Blacks while pretending the Greens had none whatsoever. 

It is true that Rhaenyra’s sea power assets were considerable when the Dance began, comprising the Velaryon Fleet alongside House Celtigar and the Ironborn. Rhaenyra’s forces also had access to the port facilities of Dragonstone, Driftmark, the Iron Islands, Gulltown, White Harbour, Duskendale and eventually King’s Landing. Despite this, Aegon II could rely upon the Royal Fleet itself as well as the naval and mercantile fleets of Lannisport, House Hightower and House Redwyne. The Green Council also absconded with the Royal Treasury upon Viserys death, keeping a quarter in the capital and splitting the rest between the Iron Bank of Braavos, Oldtown and Casterly Rock; this combined with the considerable wealth of the Lannisters and Hightowers would have made it easy to hire Sellsails. The great Westerosi ports of Oldtown, the Arbor and Lannisport were all under Aegon II’s control as was King’s Landing itself, while Otto Hightower’s diplomacy secured an alliance with the Triarchy. 

There should have been a degree of parity between the sea power of the Blacks and the Greens; yet Gyldan declares that the Velaryon fleet gave Rhaenyra superiority at sea and suggests that Aegon had only the Royal Fleet. Comparing these forces is difficult owing to George’s inconsistency in providing numbers for the size of the factions armies and navies. In the case of the Velaryon fleet, Alyn Velaryon assembles 60 war galleys, 30 longships and over 100 cogs and great cogs to attack the Stepstones in 133 AC (according to Under the Regents - War, Peace and Cattle Shows). As the Velaryons are said to have lost almost a third of their fleet in the Battle of the Gullet in 130 AC, this would suggest that their fleet numbered more than 250 warships at the start of the Dance. George gives no indication of how many ships were commanded by Dalton Greyjoy at this time, though The World of Ice and Fire states that he was making preparations for war over a year before the Dance began. As the Iron Fleet did not exist at this time, the majority of Dalton’s ships would likely have been Longships. In A Dance With Dragons, these are said to be a third the size of the Iron Fleet’s warships which are themselves smaller than the Dromonds used by the Seven Kingdoms. As Euron Greyjoy’s fleet in the books is currently comprised of 1000 ships (based on this estimation by @madeinmyr), and this is despite the losses in ships and population from the Greyjoy Rebellion a decade prior, 900-1000 ships seems a reasonable number for Dalton’s fleet.

Determining the size of the Greens navies is incredibly difficult due to George giving almost no information on their size; the exception to this being the fleet sent by the Triarchy for the Battle of the Gullet, which consisted of 90 ships. The World of Ice and Fire states that it was the Hightower and Redwyne Fleets that prevented the Andals from invading the Reach by sea, but neither force plays any role in the Dance in what could at best be described as a blatant omission on George’s part. The Redwyne Fleet was part of Aegon’s invasion of the Iron Islands in 2 AC, and contributes 30 warships to Alyn Velaryon’s expedition against Dalton Greyjoy in 133 AC; A Feast For Crows tells us that the Redwyne Fleet has 200 warships and 5 times as many merchantmen as of the War of the Five Kings. Lyonel Hightower contributes 20 warships to Alyn Velaryon’s expedition, but we otherwise have no numbers to go off; 100 warships might be a reasonable number, but this is purely guesswork. Ormund Hightower and Daeron Targaryen also force the submission of the Shield Islands later in the Dance, and these had at least 50 warships at their disposal in A Feast For Crows, though this is far in the future. As for the Westerlands’ fleet, George claimed that House Lannister possessed 20-30 large warships at the time of the main books; the number of 50-60 large warships used by the Game of Thrones d20 role-playing game seems like a better basis to me given the wealth of the Lannisters and the size and importance of Lannisport. A fleet of 100 or so warships of various sizes and types would make sense for the Westerlands during the Dance, though once again this is purely a guess.

As I stated before, George nerfs the effectiveness of Rhaenyra’s sea power while pretending Aegon’s doesn’t exist, and this is borne out by the narrative; Rhaenyra’s effective use of sea power goes no further than the blockade of the Gullet, as Dalton Greyjoy’s attacks on the Westerlands coincide with the destruction of the Lannister army at the so-called ‘Fish Feed,’ after which the Westerlands played no major part in the war. Little can be said about the Ironborn attack on Casterly Rock and Lannisport other than what George tells us, that 75% of the Lannisters ships were captured, the rest were sunk and Lannisport was sacked. Despite the Ironborn having been preparing for war for over a year and failing to respond to the Greens offers of alliance, it seems the Westerlands had no security measures in place, though George uses a lack of screening and basic security in his narrative so the Lannisters are hardly alone. 

More can be said about the tactics of the Battle of the Gullet however; prior to this battle, Princes Aegon and Viserys (Rhaenyra and Daemon’s sons) are dispatched to Pentos by ship in order to keep them safe from the war. Their ships the Gay Abandon and it’s seven escorts are waylaid by the Triarchy Fleet, which moves on to attack Driftmark and the Gullet blockade. Pentos is located just north of the Triarchy and the Stepstones, and Daemon’s spies should have had almost a year to uncover Otto Hightower’s alliance with the Triarchy; a wiser choice would be to send the princes to join Joffrey and Rhaena in the Vale or send them to Braavos. The Triarchy attack with the rising sun at their backs and completely surprise the Velaryon Fleet, despite Prince Aegon’s return to Dragonstone via his dragon Stormcloud, which should have served as a warning of the Triarchy’s allegiances. We’re also supposed to believe that there were no dragonriders flying patrols over the waters around Driftmark and Dragonstone, nor were there any patrols by ship that could possibly have detected 90 warships moving in two squadrons. Jace and Corlys were in the middle of planning an attack on King’s Landing, so the astonishing lack of security reflects poorly on them both, while Jacaerys decision to attack the Lyseni ships alone is even more bizarre. The battle ends with High Tide and Spicetown sacked, these symbols of Corlys’ wealth and status as a mariner being left in utter ruin along with a third of his fleet; only 28 Triarchy ships survive with the bulk being lost to dragonfire, although 25 Lyseni ships survived despite being the first ones attacked by Prince Jacaerys and Vermax. 

This concludes my thoughts on the use of sea power in the Dance of the Dragons, or rather it’s misuse or lack thereof. George either sidelines the navies of the great houses entirely or situates them largely in the background of the land battles. I’d greatly appreciate feedback on this part, as I’m not quite satisfied with my writing and analysis as compared to Pt. 1; otherwise, thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to follow along!

[starksinthenorth]

I haven’t seen this anywhere, but imo it’s pretty clear each season of HOTD is two chapters of F&B? So we probably get 2-3 more?

season 1: heirs of the dragon; the blacks and the greens

season 2: a son for a son; the red dragon and the gold

season 3: Rhaenyra triumphant; Rhaenyra overthrown

season 4: the short, sad reign of Aegon II; the hour of the wolf

maybe season 5: the hooded hand; war and peace and cattle shows