#or have propensity to bastard

[windsweptinred]

Desire of the Endless Log

(The torments of Haunted Twilight Princess Big Brother)

Nefarious plot number 82: Lord George Gordon Byron.

(Insert Picture)

Plan

Construct Human Dream look alike, make them overflow with wanting, the walking embodiement of passion. Point in the direction of one lovelorn, centennial blue balled Robert Gadling and watch the f*ck dickery unfold.

Intended Outcome

Immortal human forgets brother for smexy easily accessible replacement. Brother betrayed, despairs. Another bae bites the dust!

Progress:

Experiment has so far failed to reach intended target. Keeps getting distracted, by anything with legs... Both proud and vexed.

Dream onto me, has launched a counter attack and gifted him the skill of (gag)... poetry. With hopes of tempting him toward his dominion. No matter! I shall encourage him towards romanticism. All the better to seduce immortal love sick peasants with.

Experiment has gone rogue... In every sense of the term. Should not have used actual essence of my brother for ingredients when creating him. Has inherited his propensity towards bouts of extreme dramatics, misguided romance and humongous temper tantrums. Caught him moping in the rain... Why is this my life?

(Side quest) Introduced experiment to the Corinthian in hopes of luring the Nightmare away from his master and into my grasp. Intense period of rambunctious sex proceeded. Very promising...

Has dropped the Nightmare like a hot blonde potato...Made the Corinthian cry and swear off men for the next decade. .. Little f*cker!

Finally made contact with target. Promising start, Dream's pet project obviously smitten.... Victory is at hand!

Experiment has been politely turned down, with a nauseatingly kind offer of friendship. Dream unbearably smug bastard... What have I done to deserve this?!

Conclusion

Experiment: Failure... Abandoned.

Additional Notes...

Dream has stolen experiment post life and let him set up shop in the Dreaming. Titled him Lord of Misrule. I've been informed he has lovingly settled down with that milk fop William Shakespeare. Apparently they have taken up... Gardening!!! I'm telling Mother!

#dreamling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #lord byron #hob gadling #the sandman #mary shelley

[dailydemonspotlight]

Day 16 - Queen Mab

Race: Night

Alignment: Neutral

April 11th, 2024

Irish folklore is a strange rabbit hole to plunge down, filled with legendary heroes and strange villains, but the story of Cu Chulainn, the protagonist of the Ulster Cycle, is one that has always caught my interest. This story was the originator of many a trope, many a book series, and its main antagonist, the menacing Queen Medb, is an incredibly fun example of a femme fatale and a warrior queen.

Medb was the queen of the kingdom Connacht, a woman who had many lovers and was famous for her promiscuity... and trickiness. Cunning and ruthless, and with a propensity for manipulation, she served as the ultimate enemy of Chulainn, at first trying to seduce him with her daughters until eventually realizing that the plan wouldn't work, likely due to Chulainn's fealty towards his wife (or, alternatively, his asexual swag.) According to irish folklore, Medb could also be very, very similar, if not the same as Medb Lethderg, goddess of sovereignty in the irish Kingship of Tara.

Medb came to power in the story 'Cath Bóinde,' wherein she was born under the care of High King Eochaid Feidlech, a man who was purported as having killed the former king to take his place. Medb was married off to the king of Ulster, Conchobar mac Nessa, and in spite of them having a daughter, the marriage soon fell apart. They left, yet Medb held a grudge, and seeing that Eochaid had given Conchobar another one of his daughters, Medb went ballistic. She slaughtered her while still pregnant, leaving the child to be born via a medieval C-section. The king of Connacht was also desposed of around this time, and Eochid put Medb back in her rightful spot, now as Queen of Connacht.

After all of this, several marriages and kids, and a rise to power, Medb felt on top of the world. In her bloodlust with all of the power she gained, she soon grew jealous of her husband being richer than her... albeit only by one bull's price. Since the person who held onto this bull, Dáire mac Fiancha, rejected her offer, she went to take it by force, landing her in her first major conflict with the wandering teenaged warrior Cú Chulainn.

Ever since this very first conflict, their storied rivalry encompasses many a tale, eventually ending in Cú Chulainn's death, in which the warrior ties himself to a stone to keep fighting, even as his life comes to an end. I'll go more into this in the future during my Sentana/Cú Chulainn analysis, but needless to say, Medb's involvement in the Ulster Cycle makes for a fascinating deep-dive into Irish folklore.

As far as her design goes, the epithetical Warrior Queen has a rather strange appearance in the SMT series, almost appearing like a punk rocker such as a member of KISS- albeit with much more color. However, I have a personal theory as to why this may be- and it all has to do with cultural perceptions.

Queen Medb was seen as deviant, a cruel woman who rose to power with her own overwhelming strength, and while she was a bastard, a bit of the hatred felt towards her could be due to a sort of misogyny common in the middle ages. This is all purely conjecture, of course, but a controlling and domineering woman could've been something seen to be feared...

Much like how punk-rockers were seen as satanic in the 90's. During the satanic panic, a lot of people outside of regular circles were ostracized as being demonic in some way, shape, or form. Metal bands were especially targeted by this moral crusade, and it may just be where the influence for her design came from!

Past my own pet-theory, though, the rest of her design is rock-solid. A helmet-esque mask, steel breastplate, and long blade all play well into the 'Warrior Queen' quality she's well known for, and her gloves appear as snakeskin or even latex at first glance, playing into her domineering and controlling role. All in all, while Queen Mab wasn't my favorite demon at first, the research into her folklore has led me to finding an all new appreciation for the Ulster Cycle's main antagonist.

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #smt nocturne #queen medb #queen mab #ngl i'm very proud of this one #the ulster cycle is unironically great #like its almost like a fuckin shonen

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

OFMD S2 EP 4-5: Izzy Hands (from a S1 Izzy fan)

I'll admit. I teared up at the Izzy shit in ep 1-3. Not a full-blown cry. But close. I was stressed, and tired, and hurt more than anything. I only cried in my car driving home. It hit, but it was more prolonged.

Do you know what got me crying? Izzy opened that letter, revealing 'For The New Unicorn'. He looks up and smiles. I went from 0-100 dry eyes to crying in seconds. I had to rewatch it because HELL.

The entire episode, hell, debatably from (S1ep4) we see Izzy go through it. Socially isolated and losing his identity. Leading up to S2ep4. Drunk and sad and heartbroken. He tries his best to stay afloat without a lifejacket as his self crumbles around him. He doesn't care anymore. He thinks his life is over. He lashes out because there's no one there to help him.

BUT THEN THE LEG. He cried and I cried during both scenes.

BECAUSE HE IS CARED ABOUT AND HE CAN HEAL!

GOD, and the way that leads into EPISODE 5. Izzy slicked his hair back and regaining some of his own personal identity. Izzy genuinely bantering with Stede, and gently helping him to be a better Captain. The way he desperately asks Stede if Ed said anything else nice about him? Showing that. Yeah, he's not all the way there yet, but he's working on it. The training scene where Izzy just looks on in fascinated horror at Stede's skills? THE LITTE OKAY HANDSIGNAL AT THE END WHEN STEDE USED HIS GRUFF VOICE? He smiles, and jokes, and TRIES. Izzy is pissed, obviously, but he's getting there.

He is kind and caring, all WHILE STILL BEING A PRICK? Him being a total nerd during the curse monologue? Izzy mutters 'rude' and pointedly crosses his legs as Stede ruins the vibe. I laughed harder at Izzy sitting at that desk than I did at most of the jokes in the show. THAT'S MY FUCKING BASTARD!! I'm so happy I saw a character and have been rewarded by showing, yes. He is kind, and trying, but he needs to learn to let himself become new.

I fucking love him. I can tell from the teaser that Izzy is just going to grow closer with the crew (and with himself) and I can't wait. (Even if it means his imminent capture, whoops).

I do think they'll do something with Izzy/Lucius, at least a single happy (Izzy no longer holding himself back from wanting) consensual kiss or genuine discussion about life(post-wedding) to show their growth as characters because I had to pause with the cig and shark interaction. Jesus Christ. I didn't really ship it before, but they are so snarky and it's great.

I'm a bit sad as Izzy's current arc likely means he might not get the big 'fuck you' moment of anger to Ed that Lucius got. Mainly because Con would make me cry, but If Izzy is genuinely just shoving this shit down, ignoring the years that Ed ignored his existence, then...idk.

They purposefully gave Izzy and Ed no scenes and thank god we get a TINY break. Because Ed will try to patch things up, and I don't think it works like that with Izzy. He needs proof that Ed is trying. Add to that Ed ACTUALLY saying sorry to him, and not expecting Izzy to immediately accept it(my theory as to why Lucius pointed it out: Ed will ACTUALLY say sorry to Izzy and mean it. This will heal something for Izzy, and hell). I can't wait for Ed to come back and see him. See him for who he is, a silly prick who is loyal to a fault, who is loved.

This is likely the happiest two episodes we'll get, and fuck, I loved them both SO MUCH. After a rewatch I'll write about the crew. Ed/Stede is actually working for me as we watch them both learn, and Fuck, Lucius/Pete...my darlings.

NOW FOR THE TEASER:

THE IDEA OF SEEING CON IN DRAG AGAIN MAKES ME SO HAPPY! Especially what it means for Izzy. Izzy lets his hair down and has fun with Wee John as he explores what actually makes him happy. Hell, him opening up to being a bit of a masochist as a joke while tied up is...actually my favorite thing (while obvious, given his propensity to put Ed before him in all matters, Izzy casually mentioning 'I like to be roughed a bit up' in front of the crew is the type of openness about himself that I crave). Izzy "cocksuckers" Hands letting himself joke about SEX-GAY SEX(probably)- Kill me now.

(To clarify: I don't think he or Ed ever got off to the abuse, hell, we see Ed flinch away when Anne/Mary do it. That's not the face of someone who knows what that's like as the Sadist).

I just love the way Izzy has so obviously relaxed into a person that he'd never let exist. Hell. I hope Izzy gets to rub this happier version of himself RIGHT in Edward's sad face. I need a 'he was never like this with me' moment of Ed watching Izzy SMILE to parallel Izzy's jealousy in S1.

Con obviously loves this character, you can see it in the performance. He fills the role perfectly, from his ups to his downs. Con smiles and hell, that's not Con, that's Izzy fucking Hands. Striding along proudly pretending his world isn't changing, because it is, and he is healing and I LOVE IT.

I am so proud of our growing Izzy loving community. For some, we've been through a lot of shit. Probably in life, and hell, maybe even in this fandom. Even if you haven't been harassed, you loved Izzy, you saw yourself in him, and I hope you felt the show giving us a big fucking hug.

We grow, we recover, and hell. We get a happy fucking ending (with a few yet-to-be-seen bumps in the road).

#izzy hands #if someone can do a meta breaking down how Izzy's drunk words to the Unicorn equate to his journey I'll be thankful #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 ep 4 #ofmd s2 ep 5 #con o'neill #ofmd s2 spoilers #Our Rare Unicorn

[daenerysoftarth]

one of the things I love most about GRRM’s writing of ‘cripples, bastards, and broken things’ which is that almost all of george’s focus on how these identities affect characters is on how the external world treats these characters, and THEN chooses to portray the internal narrative they construct around the societal conflict they face

I know it sounds obvious, but so many supposedly progressive stories go in the reverse order. by which I mean they focus on how these identities make us different, and then shows society’s reactions to these differences. which makes sense but I think it focuses too much on individual differences which are supposedly inherent, without acknowledging how much being labeled and marginalized by a society alters your personality, and how it can force you to conform to a role that isn’t necessarily ‘genuine’ or ‘true’ in the sense that you face external pressures to make certain hard choices that others don’t ever have to face

this is most notable with tyrion’s character but imo he does well at showing this with cersei and brienne as well. none of these characters are the way they are because of some innate quality of good or bad, but because of the way in which society has molded them into specific roles on account of identity. despite Brienne’s chivalry and bravery, she is still nothing more than an outcast and has been left to die in the riverlands. only Jaime cares about what happens to her (bc he’s obsessed), and her own commanding officer says she should be assaulted for stepping outside of prescribed gender roles. cersei always had an underlying current of anger and propensity for violence even as a child, but these bad qualities were elevated by her inferiority complex from being a woman, and with being forced into an abusive marriage with a drunk. tyrion was a smart and precocious child, who is ultimately whittled down into a hollow shell of his former self due to the crushing grind of the ableist society he finds himself in

but the narrative shows time and time again how these characters have been made into the people they are by this outer society. it’s not because of some innermost secret marker which puts them in a ‘good’ or ‘evil’ category, it’s because of what they’ve been force to do to survive in the world they find themselves in

#this is too long and not comprehensive but u get what I mean #grrm #tyrion lannister #cersei lannister #brienne of tarth #asoiaf #got #valyrianscrolls #my posts

[bohemian-nights]

Arlī(Anew) Chapter 9

Word Count: ~10,044

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood

Description: Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

The finale.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

————————————-🐉————————————

131 AC- Kings Landing

War is inevitable. Peace does not last forever. It can not. The nature of man will not allow it. The very nature that brings about men’s volatility and propensity for violence. Conflicts always arise. Old grudges are hard to forget. The sins of past wrongs bubbling to the surface. Our emotions can not be so easily pushed to the side. They can only be repressed for so long before we must give in. The cost being too high to not do so.

Nothing in life is without its costs. We are in a constant battle of give and take. When we do not get what we want we become hungry. Greedy for what we feel is ours. Seeking glory and redemption no matter the cost or the burden. Seeking to protect what is rightfully ours. Though the matter of what is yours or mine is a subjective one. Entirely fueled by our boundless wants.

Envy is a disease that festers. Rotting the mind like a wound that was never tended to. Becoming gangrenous as it spreads throughout the body. Infecting each limb and tissue along the way until the body is overwhelmed. Succumbing to the sickness at long last.

Such is the case with war. Those who yearn for power claim it through less-than-honorable means. Harvesting the seeds of discontent that were planted eons ago. The starving man can not help but feast upon its ripe flesh. Curing its weary soul and broken body. What is honor compared to desire? For he is hungry and has long since been denied. Envy makes bastards of us all.

Were envy and greed the reason why it had all come to this? Peacetime at long last ending across the Seven Kingdoms in the wake of Viserys death. Petty grievances and blood feuds perhaps killed it. It had been a slow painful death as was the late kings, but he had found relief in his departure from this mortal plane. That would not be the case for the Kingdom he had left behind.

For the first time since the dreaded bloody reign of Maegor the Cruel war was on the horizon. There was no stopping the not-so-distant sound of swords being drawn, shields clashing upon the battle, of dragons roaring above them, firing down upon them. There was no stopping it all. Not unless something drastic were to happen, but the balance was rapidly tipping in favor of the Warrior. One could only accept their fate and pray to the Gods that they would be spared. War was what was coming for them all.

“We hold twelve full-grown dragons to Rhaenyra’s five.” Daemon's voice reigned around the small council chambers that were already beginning to take on the image of that of a war room.

While the lords and ladies of court celebrated Aegon II's crowning, the prodigal son succeeding his father upon the Iron Throne, his chief supporters were called to the small council's chambers. There was too much to be done to leave it for the morrow. Drinking and feasting would be postponed. Their guests could enjoy the merriment for now. There was too much at stake. Too much that could go wrong. Too much that had already done so.

The king himself had chosen to sit in on the council meeting. His presence at his council was a shock though not necessarily an unwelcome sight. Some measure of duty must have snapped into him from his crowning. The adoration of the people was more sobering than any tonic that Grand Maester Orwyle could concoct and give to Aegon. He was king now. For the first time in Naerys nephew's life, he had a true purpose.

All eyes were upon Daemon as he lectured the council. Even Ser Otto who listened to the Targaryen man with a clenched jaw, but otherwise he too let the Rogue Prince lead on. A certain stilted truce had been erected between the two men. A common goal did wonders for their ability to tolerate the other’s presence though both took to glaring at the other in scorn when his head was turned. It was hard to forget the history that stood between them. Naerys strongly suspected that if given the chance they would strangle each other.

Nonetheless, the Hand of the King had offered Daemon a position upon the small council. His pick between his old position of Master of coin or Master of ships. He could be by the king's side, but it was the wrong king.

He declined both. For accepting any post would mean leaving Dragonstone in the care of Daenys and Aemond for the foreseeable future. Their daughter was more than capable of ruling in his stead. She had been groomed as heir since she was four name days old and by all accounts had the makings of a thoughtful and firm steward.

However, baseless as it may be, Daemon did not fully trust their new good-son with the sole care of their daughter nor did he see him as deserving of the position. The boy had been corrupted by his grandsire. He was not to be trusted. Who knows what he might do if he was not there to watch over her. It was a matter that Naerys would put aside to deal with later. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.

Aegon’s crowning, though successful, had almost been overshadowed by Rhaenys and her dragon. Uninvited guests. Crashing through the Dragonpit with no care for the small folk or its other occupants. It was not them who she spared. No, it was the king himself this time. A warning. He would not be so lucky the next.

“My niece will want to claim Dragonstone for her own.” Naerys recalled how Daemon and Otto spoke with hushed voices earlier that day. The older man walked beside them as they made their way out of the now-ruined Dragonpit back to their wheelhouse. Her husband’s grip on her loosened somewhat, but he had not let her go.

Rhaenys' stunt had shocked him enough not to. He kept her arm and hand resting in his, rubbing circles into the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. She had to confess, it had been a comfort.

The Rogue Prince had tried to grab ahold of Daenys as well, but the girl remained glued at her new husband's side. It was a battle he folded to Aemond with a clenched jaw. There was not much he could do on that front anymore. Their daughter was undoubtedly not just theirs anymore.

Daemon cast his violet gaze down at Naerys. Giving his niece-wife a small smirk as she had shifted where she stood. He knew exactly who would put it into Rhaenyra’s head to make way for Dragonstone. Sixteen years of marriage would tell him if nothing else. Ser Otto no doubt had his suspicions as did the rest of those present. It was more than obvious.

Naerys was the most likely person to aid in her aunt's ill-timed escape. She herself would not correct their assumption. The princess had intended on smuggling Rhaenys out of the Red Keep. Albeit under a different set of circumstances, but she was in part to blame for her flight. They all might have paid the consequences for her sentiments had not the elder princess exercised caution or her husband acted with haste.

Dragonstone had no dragonriders to speak of upon its shores then. They had an urgent need to remedy their seats' present circumstances. It would not do to let such an asset fall into the hands of Rhaenyra and her ilk. The small island presented too much of a temptation, a goldmine for her to turn a blind eye to.

“It is what I would do.” Rhaenyra would grieve for her father that could be sure. Her greatest supporter. The man who put her before all others was lost to his sick bed, but she could not grieve long. With Rhaenys flying for Hide Tide, they could be sure that the older princess would inform her that Dragonstone’s Lord and Lady were presently absent from their keep. “Naturally, she’ll try to install Jaecerys as Prince of Dragonstone.”

Driftmark was only a half-hour flight from Dragonstone. It did not take a military strategist to see that the Black Queen had a chance. A small window of opportunity that she would not be able to miss. Could not miss it. The island after all possessed an edge Rhaenyra desperately needed if she were to turn the odds in her favor.

Four unclaimed dragons called Dragonstone their home. Sheepstealer, Grey Ghost, Cannibal, and Vermithor. The first three were wild, having never been claimed by man, but the last, though not wild, had not been claimed for near on thirty years. For his last rider had been no other than Naerys' great grandsire, the Old King Jaehaerys.

Silverwing would often wander off to coil herself around Vermithor in his cavern beneath Dragonmont where he had taken up residence, but he was a fearsome thing. It would be a difficult endeavor to tame all the dragons wild and old alike though not impossible.

Riders would of course have to be procured. Dragonseeds were not so hard to find. One need only look for their silver heads, or their many shades of violet eyes, or both, upon the shores of Driftmark, Dragonstone, and the alleys of Kings Landing. The Targaryen’s had always been more than generous with their favors and amorous attention upon the small folk of the realm. It was a gift to bear the fruit of a God. Or as close to it as mortally possible.

The capture of Dragonstone could easily turn the tide of the war in Rhaenyra’s favor if she moved quickly. If she had enough sense and foresight to employ its treasures to their fullest extent. The Greens had precious little time before the Realms Delight would gather her strength and strike. They could not lose their advantage to the hands of the would-be queen and her allies.

The castle had been left in the care of Maester Orlys. The kindly old man was as loyal as they came. As were the rest of their household and islands’ occupants, including a small garrison numbering less than five hundred. Daemon had always inspired a certain level of loyalty in his men, from his time as lord commander of the city watch to now. Always rallying their spirits.

Their soldiers would defend the ancient Targaryen seat in their prince and princesses name, but what was their loyalty to the might of a dragon? Or better yet two full-grown dragons? The Blacks would take the island under threat of their queen's house words' reigning true.

Daenys volunteered to journey back to father's seat. She was to be Lady of Dragonstone after him. The island was her home. The young princess would not see it fall into her cousin turned half-good-sister's clutches. She had been born on its smoky shores and she would rule over them when the time came. Why should she not insure its safety?

Her father was needed in the capital and he would not want her mother out of his sight. The two rarely parted from each other. He would not wish for her to defend, but they did not have much choice. Aemond had his mission at Storm's End. As much as she loathed to be parted from her husband so soon after their nuptials, Daenys was well-equipped to handle the issue on her own.

Helaena, who had looked and sounded more than elated at the prospect, extended her own services. “Two dragons are better than one and Dreamfyre is swift as is Moondream.” Neither her good sister's parents nor her brother would allow Daenys to go by herself. The little queen would more than makeup for her brother’s temporary absence.

At any rate, the she-dragons, apart from Daeron's Tesserion, with rider and dragon alike gathering support in Oldtown, were the fastest dragons in their possession. Both were lithe nimble things that would take the new queen and her good-sister to Dragonstone before Rhaenys or Rhaenyra could rally their own dragons and ships to make way for the fortress.

Truth be told, Naerys thought that the young queen was a great deal overwhelmed with her newest occupation. Helaena had always been a girl who preferred the close intimacy and company of those she loved best. Not unlike her good-aunt.

Her ladies, her family, and her non-human companions shined brighter in her violet gaze than all the dazzle of court. She had never taken to the spotlight as her sister or even her now good sister had. The now queen would have made an excellent lord's wife. Somewhere in the Reach or the Westerlands mayhaps.

She would have done well to marry into her mother’s house. In the comfort and safety of Hightowers towering stonewalls. There was much entertainment and less idle tattling to be found outside the barrier erected by her crown. Alas fate had other plans for Helaena.

Although it was done with care, Aemond shot down his sister's assistance. “You are needed here sister. Kings Landing can not be left without its own protection.” In her own words, just as Dragonstone would be better off with two dragons instead of one so would the capital. “I shall journey with my wife.” The pale girl’s eyes lost some of their brilliance, but she conceded with a small nod of her silver head.

The one eyed prince would give Rhaenyra more of a pause than either Daenys or Helaena. She would hesitate to strike Dragonstone with her half brother and his dragon upon its shores. Slow and old Vhagar might be, but she had seen war. She was the largest dragon in the world and though her rider was untested in battle, he was a force to be reckoned upon dragonback with or without a sword in his hand.

Of course his business at Storms’ End could not be delayed. With Daeron away in Oldtown gathering the support of the Reach lords alongside their cousin Lord Ormund it fell down to him to insure an alliance with the Storm Lords. He was to propose a betrothal between one of Lord Borros’ daughters and his younger brother on his behalf.

Time could not be wasted on the onset of war. Aemond could only stay long enough to cement his wife’s position on Dragonstone before taking to the skies for the Baratheon seat. He would only be gone for a few hours, but that would be more than enough time for Rhaenyra to try something if she was alerted of his absence from his Daenys’ side. His wife would have her fathers guards, but Aemond, as men often want to mark their territory, wanted a man of his own with her.

The prince asked his grandsire for leave of Ser Criston. He was a valued friend and mentor. It was clear to all that he trusted the Dornish knight with his own life. He would be up to the task of guarding his little wife while both himself and her parents were away from Dragonstone. Should the need arise he would be able to whisk her away to safety.

A resounding no was the answer to his request. From his goodsire and grandsire and surprisingly Naerys. The first and viewed the knight with the utmost distrust. His wife was prone to agree with him. While she did not think she did not believe him to be a malevolent man as her husband would describe, she did not believe that he would do all in his power to defend her daughter if it came to it.

Thankfully, Ser Otto had need of him. As the new Lord Commander of Aegon’s Kingsguard Ser Criston could not leave the capital. Not while their new king's reign remained tested and the exact whereabouts and plots of their enemies were yet unknown. Aemond was given his uncle Ser Gwayne Hightower instead.

Though he was no Ser Criston he was a worthy and honorable knight. Unlike in the case of the Dornish knight, his regard for his nephew extended to Daenys. He viewed her as her mother’s daughter rather than her fathers. The issue was settled when no objection was given. While it pained him to admit to it, viewing him to be over familiar when it came to her, Naerys knew that her husband trusted him enough to see to their daughters welfare. For a short while at least, Ser Gwayne was safe from Daemon’s suspicion as long as he kept to his person and minded his post.

“Helaena mentioned a beast underneath the floorboards.” Daenys had leaned in to not so subtly whisper to her mother on the walk up the hill where Vhagar and Moondream rested. Apart from Naerys and her husband, who were to see the newlywed’s and the Hightower knight's departure, the rest of their party had gone back to the Red Keep.

The now queen in question had always been a unique child. Insects called to her more than people, even animals. Dragon dreams. A gift to some or rather a curse for others. She was a sweet girl, but it was clear that the Dreams had taken a toll on her.

Giving the appearance of a half-scattered mind. Daenys the Dreamer had been half made they say. Prone to getting lost within the rich fancifulness of her imagination rather than the solid reality that stood in front of her. Her imagination was what ultimately led to House Targaryen’s continued survival. Past the doom and beyond.

“Nyke gaomagon daor pendagon bona ao istan se cause hen skorion massitas? Muñnykeā. Nyke pāsagon ziry istan va moriot meant naejot massigon.” I do not think that you were the cause of what happened mother. I believe it was always meant to happen.

Naerys felt her face heat up as Aemond and Daemon guffawed at Daenys remark. Ser Gwanye could neither speak nor understand Valyrian, but he seemed to infer what had been said when he added his own chortles to the fray. Whatever doubt they had at her part to play in the incident vanquished. If both Daenys and Helaena could see what she had inadvertently caused, there could be no uncertainty.

“Do stop fussing kepa. You look so grim.” Daenys laughed lightly when her father placed a kiss into her curls after she had saddled her dragon. “My husband will see that I am comfortable before he leaves and he won’t be gone very long.” It went without saying that Ser Gwayne would deal with both Daemon and Aemond’s ire should anything happen to the young princess.

Daenys then went to place a kiss upon her mother's cheek as Naerys pulled her in for a hug. Letting out another round of laughter at her mother's tight grip. “Don’t fuse either. I shall see you both soon enough.” The newlyweds and Ser Gwayne, who climbed upon Vhagar’s back with some hesitation after his nephew, were off to Dragonstone.

With both Aemond and Daenys away securing Dragonstone and Storm’s End the present agenda rested on their strengths and allies in relation to Rhaenyra’s. The chief among them being their dragons.

The loss of Meleys was a greater inconvenience than her rider. There was always a danger that came with the opposition gaining an additional dragon, but they held both more dragons and dragonriders than Rhaenyra. They were at the advantage in the skies as Daemon had reminded the council, but he, and Aemond, would hesitate to send either herself or Daenys ride into war. In all likelihood they would not need to.

The Blacks' five dragonriders comprised mainly of the would-be queen's children. They all knew that Rhaenyra, like her uncle and second brother, would be reluctant to send any of her boys into battle unless need demanded it. Jacaerys and Lucerys, who while were more than adequate riders, were learning the commands and capabilities of their beasts as well as themselves. Joffrey's dragon was too small to be ridden into war. Rhaenys would no doubt hesitate to send her granddaughter the Lady Baela into battle as well.

Lady Rhaena had no dragon to speak of. Only three dragon eggs, given to her from one of Syraxes clutches that had all yet to hatch. Though the sweet young lady did pray to the Gods every night that she would be made a dragonrider as her mother the late Lady Laena had been. To join the fold beside her grandmother and elder twin. Naerys had heard that the youngest Lady Strong could seldom be parted with her eggs.

Dragons of course were not the only way to win a war. They were an advantage sure enough, but they were to be the last option on both sides. They brought more danger than they were worth many times over. For when dragons dance, the destruction can be endless.

It could not go without saying that the Rhaenys' escape had left them with little time to execute the Greens' more diplomatic plans. Plans which depended a great deal upon the older princess’s temporary captivity within her guest quarters. It was a setback, but not one that they would not be able to recover from.

Ser Otto had sent a raven to Driftmark for its maester. A man, who in addition to studying as a novice alongside Grand Maester Orwyle many ages past, was a great friend of Naerys' late uncle Ser Vaemond. So much so that he often sought his counsel ahead of that of his own brother. Of course, this tendency to seek guidance in the form of Hide Tide’s maester was helped by him being a blood relation to the Velaryon knight's now widowed lady wife.

When an acolyte takes his vows and forges his chain to become a maester, a degree of impartiality is expected to follow. One’s previous allegiances to their house, their name, and the lands from which they come from must fall to the wayside, but the call of blood is a hard bond to break. He had been shown to hold his lord's brother’s opinions and interests on matters relating to the Driftwood throne. The maester kept council and advised his sons in the wake of their father's untimely end.

Driftmarks maester would have alerted Ser Vaemond’s sons of recent events in the capital upon receiving the hands' letter. A king had been crowned. A king who was sympathetic to their woes. Knowing all too well of the plight of the rightful heir against that of their enemies.

Offering the hand of friendship if needs be. The need only to embrace said friendship and a hand would be lent to place one of Naerys' cousins upon their rightful throne. However, with Rhaenys traveling back to Driftmark they could no longer be so sure that their friends would be able to act on their good faith.

With good weather, the Queen Who Never Was could be back on Driftmarks shores by the day's end. Meleys was older now, but she rose to the task when needed. There could be no doubt that Rhaenys would alert Rhaenyra of the Greens' treachery and treason. Of the danger that would soon be upon her and her sons. Bringing her a worthy ally and a much-needed dragonrider. However, the situation at present was temperamental.

Naerys could not doubt that if she were to transport herself within High Tides' white stone walls she would find a den of discontent. Unease brewing from an unwelcome guest upon its shores. An interloper. Filling up every chamber within the castle. Waiting. Building up dread until the cup would overflow.

What was supposed to be a time of triumph had become a time of mourning for too many reasons to name. They had been made a fool. The sons of House Velaryon. The blood of the seahorse and old Valyria. The rightful heirs of their uncle’s throne. First Ser Vaemond and now they too were being pushed aside. Their pain was being paraded over by a feckless woman and her bastards.

If nothing else, the disquietude should unsettle the Black queen. She was an island surrounded by enemies. It did not occur to her that she had made a mistake coming to Driftmark. She had thought herself safe even with her sole advocate, the formidable Sea Snake lying in his sick bed. She had another that would scare off the monsters for her a thousand leagues away within the Red Keep, but he was dead now. Gone to the seven hells. If Rhaenys did not make it back to her husband's shores in time, Rhaenyra could find herself fighting her own battle within her chosen place of refuge.

A series of what-ifs had overtaken fate. Naerys cousins’ would not speak a word against Rhaenyra and her sons for fear of the king's might and reach, but their silence would only last for so long. They would not forget who made them so low. Never mind if it happened a day ago or ten years.

If Ser Otto’s letter was received before Rhaenys arrival it would only take to gag and bound the would-be queen and her sons. Delivering them to the Red Keep. To Aegon to do with as he pleased. All would be right with the world then. Driftmark returned to its proper heirs. If not, a fight would commence for another day.

“Our support lies heaviest in the south.” Ravens had been sent to houses small and great alike throughout the Seven Kingdoms but had yet to receive replies in mass. It was the early days yet. The lords of Westeros waited to see where the deck would land.

The Riverlands were divided at best. It had always been that way. The support of the Reach and the Westerlands were all but guaranteed. Aemond was dealing with the Stormlands. The North was unlikely to join their cause, but they were unlikely to be of much help to Rhaenyra either.

Winterfell and the lords of the North were a long way away from Driftmark much less Kings Landing and as the Starks' house words do so dutifully remind both friends and foes, winter is coming. With the heavy snows of winter, the journey south would be a long one. The fighting might be down before Lord Cregan Stark ever reached the neck. The Vale was without a doubt lost.

“Perhaps we might send the princess to parlay with Lady Arryn?” The new Master of Coin Ser Tyland suggested, but he backed into himself once Daemon began to glower at him from the opposite side of the small council table. “Or mayhaps a messenger or a raven might be better suited to offer terms of friendship.”

“Jeyne Arryn would sooner see the Prince of Dorne as king than Aegon.” Jeyne Arryn’s blood was Rhaenyra’s. Enmity remained well within the lady’s mind. Her opinion of Daemon remained sour. He was reason enough to side against the Greens. The Rogue Prince had twice done her kin over. Leaving Rhaenyra to fend for herself. Turning his back to her when she needed him most. The business of him marrying his daughter to the son of a traitor would further leave a foul taste in her mouth.

Lady Arryn neither trusted Ser Otto nor Alicent to keep her interests at heart. They had crowned an unworthy man, a usurper, all because he had the luck to be born with the right appendage betwixt his legs. She herself had to contend with countless attempts to unseat her as Lady of the Vale from her own less-than-worthy male relations. If they were to send an envoy it would be a wasted effort.

“We should send an envoy to Hide Tide.” Daemon turned to Ser Otto. “Before we do anything. We might be able to settle things peacefully.” Ser Otto held his tongue though he did narrow his eyes at the Targaryen man's suggestion. “She’s at a disadvantage.” War was a last resort or rather it should be, but for the Hand, Naerys had found that he believed war to be their only option. They were dealing with an unreasonable foe blinded by her emotions and entitlement.

“She has the support of House Velaryon and House Arryn at the least.” More houses were soon to follow. “She is not so weak.” Ser Otto said as his light eyes flitted to the map spread out in front of them. “The princess will not give in so easily.”

Rhaenyra was a proud woman. If she believed herself wrong or denied what was hers she would not give up. From where she stood, damn the laws of men and Gods alike. Her father had seen to such. The Iron Throne was hers. She would not turn her back upon it now. Or ever if she had the means to. She would fight. For as long as she could, but no one fights a war which they could not win.

“We still might reason with my aunt.” Rhaenyra had the support of House Velaryon, but without them, even with her four dragons, she would surely lose. No allies would come to her rescue if the Velaryon’s left her out to dry. Taking away her support would stop the chaos before it began. If they were to take away the Velaryon’s and their fleet, this war could be over by the end of the day.

Rhaenys did not want war herself. Not truly. Not a woman who had sacrificed her own crown near thirty years past to prevent one, but what could they offer her? She sided with Rhaenyra for her granddaughters. For their just due. Naerys did not doubt her aunt's words. Everything she did was for them. They could not offer her eldest granddaughter the crown, but perhaps they might offer Lady Baela Driftmark to rule over in her own right. By all the natural laws in the land, it should be hers.

“Rhaenys has made her decision.” The dowager queen kindly reminded her. Painfully so. The Dragonpit would take weeks to repair from her choice of action. Alicent gave her a soft smile and pulled her brown hand in her pale one before turning to face the rest of the council. “My good daughter has not. We might still reason with Rhaenyra. We offer her fair terms. Jaecerys will be the lord of Driftmark after Lord Corlys if he so wishes.”

It would anger Naerys' cousins, true enough. Though it was a necessary sacrifice for the time being. Surely a future betrothal could smooth things over when the time came to. War was too much of a burden to give into her cousin's demands as honorable as they may be.

“Lucerys a Lordship of his own. Joffrey may become Aegon’s cupbearer or Aemond’s squire at Dragonstone or your own Daemon.” Her husband snorted, throwing his violet gaze at the king's mother. However, he did not say anything against the proposal. Ser Otto looked as if he too wanted to object, but he once again stayed his tongue. The Hand of the King was increasingly becoming outnumbered.

“They all will be welcomed at court.” She gave a pointed look to her father who stiffened in his chair, “and they may keep their titles. On the condition that Rhaenyra journeys to Kings Landing, bends the knee, and swears loyalty to our king.” Alicent turned her eyes toward her son in acknowledgment. Aegon’s violet eyes seemed to liven at the image that his mother painted. “She is Viserys' eldest daughter. Not his son. It is time she recognizes that.” If Naerys' cousin were to give in she would stand as no threat. The once crown princess had bastards for heirs. She was a woman. She was not a threat.

Ser Otto conceded as did the rest of the council. The right course of action dictated it. Diplomacy demanded it. If there was any way to solve this matter civilly then by all means. The dragons may not dance yet. They must first exhaust all of their options before declaring war upon Rhaenyra and her allies. Only then if she rejected their offer of a truce. Their offer of kinship, would they have no choice, but to pursue less than peaceful measures.

It had been ten odd years since Naerys had last stepped foot onto Driftmarks shores. The castle remained unchanged. She wondered if it was even a possibility that it ever could. Some things were stuck within the ages. Remaining a static fixture in our memory. Hide Tide stood as a reminder of youth. An echo of a distant past. Of the joy and naivety she had in it.

The people, however, were a different story. Hide Tides' occupants were more changed than the castle in which they resided. Very much so. Seasons came and went and they were weathered by the passing storms of time. Weary from the days that stained and left their mark upon their skin and in their eyes. The hauntings of past lives and lost chances.

Rhaenys and to Naerys' shock her uncle Lord Corlys were waiting for them. Her mother's eldest brother's umber complexion looked dull in the dusk from his sickness. His neck had been wrapped in gauze. He should be resting, but the man had become especially obstinate in old age. No warm words of welcome were exchanged between the two factions upon the beach where they had landed Caraxes and Silverwing. The only greeting they received were weary looks. Her aunt would not fully meet her eye as she looked on ahead past them.

“Where is Princess Rhaenyra?” Ser Otto was the first to speak. His raspy voice sounded out over the crashing waves. Naerys and her uncle-husband were well suited to offer terms of alliance to Rhaenyra, but the older man had insisted upon journeying with them. His trust in Daemon was fickle at best and Naerys relationship with her cousin was less than idyllic. If they were to choose diplomacy, the occasion called for a steady hand to guide them which is what the Hightower man believed himself to be.

Lord Corlys lips parted in reply, but then there was no need to supply an answer. A roaring could be heard above them. Syrax’s. On top of the golden she-dragon sat Rhaenyra wearing her fathers crown.

Rhaenys was not the only one to have made a half-mad escape from the Red Keep during Aegon’s coronation. Ser Errk had turned his white cloak. At least in service of the new king. The last anyone had seen of him was brother seeing him off Blackwater Bay aboard a ship to Driftmark no doubt. To his queen. He had taken Viserys crown with him that now rested on top of the Black queen's white head. If Rhaenyra could not have the crown of the conqueror, her fathers would have to do.

“I wish to speak to my uncle.” Rhaenyra kept her eyes trained upon Daemon as she climbed off her dragon to face them. Only briefly strained her lilac gaze down at Naerys. She looked the part of queen. Had made her entrance as such, but she was ever herself. Queendom would only make her more so. “Alone.”

Daemon made to answer her. Something crude judging by the smirk upon his pale brow, but Naerys beat him to it. “Go with her kepus.” She met her cousin's narrowed stare with one of her own. A crown upon Rhaenyra’s head would not change her. Her father’s death would not bring her humility, but their was something upon her pallid visage that did show a chink in her queenly armor. She would not deny her closure. Let this be the last of it.

Daemon did not listen to his niece-wife. “My wife can wait in the hall dear niece.” He sneered at the realms delight as he grabbed Naerys small hand. Her husband pulled her along towards the castle without sparing the Black Queen a second glance. Rhaenyra fummed, but she held her head high when she saw her cousins’ dark amethyst eyes turning back to glimpse at her.

The rest of their party attempted to follow them, but guards blocked a positively vexed Ser Otto and his men from doing so. The Lord and Lady of Driftmark scampered off when they were back behind the safety of their stone walls.

They came to a standstill at the heavy oak doors leading to her uncle’s Great Hall. Her husband placed a kiss on her brown forehead smoothing back her silver coils before pushing her towards a bench outside of the hall. Her cousin took care to slam the door shut after Daemon went through.

Naerys did not know how long she remained sitting on that bench. Time seemed to become immaterial.There was nothing to mark it by. She did not worry herself with her thoughts. There wasn’t much Rhaenyra could do or say that would move her husband. There was no harm in leaving the two alone. Good may in fact come from it.

Her cousin cherished their uncle’s opinion above all. She was obsessed with it. If anyone could make her see sense it would be he. She heard no noises coming from behind those shut doors. Not until she heard a loud bang. Dread made her pull open the door. The scene she walked into was a half-surprise.

Daemon and Rhaenyra stood on opposite sides of the long table which occupied the center of the room. Much like a map of the Seven Kingdoms was spread out on top of it. Naerys' husband was leaning over a chair. Seemingly trying to control his breathing. Her cousin stood pacing around her side of the room. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Whatever queenly veneer she had slipped out from her.

“Leave us.” Rhaenyra turned her head to hiss at her. For a brief moment, Naerys was transported back sixteen years. Back to Dragonstones shores. A distant memory of her happening upon them when she went to fetch a book she left in the painted table’s chamber. She had told her the same then.

Naerys was frozen. Trapped in time. Mayhaps people change less than the chambers and halls in which they take up, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. She herself needed reminding of that. Her husband's voice snapped her back to the present.

“Do not listen to her little one.” Daemon breathed harder than he would have had he been sparing with his men around their training yard. He held out a white hand for her to take. His face had lost what little color it had. still leaning over the chair as he motioned her to him “Come here my sweet girl.” He kissed her forehead again before burying his face into the top of her coils when she had reached him. Drinking her in. He seemed to calm somewhat. “That’s a good girl.”

“Kepus.” Naerys tried to begin, but he only buried his head into her neck. The princess sighed as she brought a hand to run through his silver strands. Grazing the scars that ran down his neck. She would let herself bring him comfort once more. Questions on what had upset him could wait for when they were behind the safety of their own walls back at Dragonstone.

“Sweet kind Naerys, you’ve done everything that’s been expected of you.” Her face had turned sour. As if she had bitten into a lemon cake made without sugar. She spoke through clenched teeth. It was a wonder how they did not break from the strain. Her lips screwed up into a frown. “Everything apart from giving our uncle sons. I guess your womb is where it all comes to rot. You were never worthy of that.”

“You are a placeholder.” Rhaenyra continued on. Hurling half-truths in rapid succession. Her mask was put back into place. The appearance of ease. Of self-surety, but her eyes, the eyes always tell. Frustration. Neither darkness nor truth, but her displeasure was unrestrained. “That’s all you really are Naerys. My replacement. He couldn’t have me.” She would never let her forget that. My father wouldn’t allow it, so he took you.”

Why was she still here then? There was no need to have her still. If she had overstayed her welcome there was nothing tying him to her. Apart from what her dear cousin did not want to name. Daemon loved her. He was not an easy man, but she pleased him. She was sorry for it. Naerys pleased him beyond measure and that was what haunted the would-be queen. She made him happy as he did her. It was unexpected, but she would not feel ashamed for it.

“Rhaenyra, dear niece I couldn’t have your father.” Daemon let out a snigger that resounded around the room. No longer leaning upon Naerys to stand. while placing a hand to stroke down her arm. “We could have been each other’s everything had circumstances been different.”

Rhaenyra blanched at their uncle's words. Her thin mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish. “I even pictured Viserys in your place on occasion when we fucked. Naerys was the first time I hadn’t the need to.” Rhaenyra collapsed into a nearby chair. Naerys herself felt as if she too might collapse at her husband's admission had he not held her up rubbing circles into her back to calm her.

“You’ve bewitched him!” Naerys could not help but laugh at the utter ridiculousness of it. She had no tricks up her sleeve. No wiles which to capture him by. She had been a girl ten and five when she had married Daemon. Whatever she had done to make her husband care for her she had done unknowingly. One could not take what was freely given.

The anger came then in Rhaenyra’s pale glower. A frown dropped across her brow as her eyes darkened. A spark. Lit by scorn. By rejection. “Do not take it as a compliment dear cousin.” She spat the next words at her. Leaning over her chair to do so.

“I chose her.” He removed himself from his wife’s side to stride over to where Rhaenyra sat. “She does not know her power over me. She does not know she wields such a thing.” Rhaenyra sank further into her chair at her uncle's approaching form. She recalled the last time she had stoked his temper. Her dress's neckline covered the evidence of it. “Naerys did not climb into my bed in the middle of the night to seduce me away from you.” It had never been about her. “Have you actually ever loved anyone Rhaenyra?”

He came to a stop to bend down to meet her cousin's eye, but the woman avoided him. Taking to staring at Naerys instead, before Daemon yanked her head to face him. His eyes were grim. “I have already told you that if you had her you would understand. She’s given me more than I deserve.”

He reached out to take her wrist in his hold. Her cousin struggled against his strength, but he only tightened his grip. “She would have given me a son, but what good is a son without her?” Rhaenyra wasted no time in snatching away her hand when Daemon released his grasp. “I admit I am a selfish man, but I would do everything for her.”

“Nyke sorry ziry gaomagon ao.” I am sorry he used you. Naerys spoke out. Having to take a breath to steady herself. Both sets of pale violet eyes turned to face her. “Nyke sorry syt bona.” I am sorry for that. Her cousin was a victim in her own way. That could not be denied. Her husband had greatly misused Rhaenyra. He had used and discarded her when he had seen fit. More than either suspected. She knew her uncle. He would never apologize for it.

“Yn nyke emagon dōrī ōdrikagon ao.” But I have never hurt you. She had not made him do the things he had. Daemon was his own person and he had chosen to bend to her. He chose her own on his own violation. He had strung her cousin along, but Naerys was not the cause of it. The Rogue Prince had started his games long before her husband had set his gaze upon her.

“Nyke emagon dōrī jeldan ao ōdrikagon.” I have never wished you harm. Despite everything she had done to her to the ones she loved, Naerys could only feel pity for her rather than true contempt. Tried as she might to rid herself of the sentiment she could not hate her. To do that would mean she resented her. Rhaenyra had nothing of value that she wanted except for her surrender.

“Ziry does daor emagon naejot mōris bisa ñuhoso.” It does not have to end this way. Honey words. The call to kinship. The Lady of Dragonstone could not forget why they were here in the first place. Peace. It was for peace. It was up to the would-be-queen. They could avoid the destruction of their house. If she bent the knee to Aegon and gave up her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She could live a life here among House Velaryon. Make her court there or wherever she wished. “Ao kostagon sagon dāez Rhaenyra.” You may be free Rhaenyra.

For all her posturing, Rhaenyra was not a warrior queen. She rode a dragon, but she was no Visenya. She was not even Queen Rhaena. She was a princess of leisure. Preferring the comforts of court and its admirer’s than the endless toil of battle. She was not a political woman either. She was no more suited for war than she was to sit upon the Iron Throne after she waged it and paid the price in blood she did not have.

Rhaenyra glared at her. A shadow blotted her face. She sensed her pity and she did not want it. Pride. It would keep her cousin from doing what was right. Her conceit would not fall today. It would be her undoing.

“You are considerate to try little one, but Rhaenyra is just as mad as her father.” Daemon removed himself from looming over the Black Queen, sauntering over back to Naerys. “Believing in dreams.” Letting out a chortle at her cousin's sullen expression. “Even if that prophecy my brother obsessed over is true, we are all the conqueror’s blood. It could mean any one of us. In case you have forgotten, my wife has given me a child. My blood, my grandson shall sit upon the Iron Throne.”

He grabbed her hand before Naerys could process the meaning of her uncle's words. So much had been said she felt as if she was being thrown from one revelation to the next. Barely keeping a hold onto her head. “If all you wish is to talk of is riddles, then there is nothing left to discuss.”

Daemon gestured to the Dark Sister at his side.“I could end it all here. I’d be doing the realm a favor but for the love I bore your father. I spare you this kindness. Let it be my last.” He left the chamber doors wide open as they made their exit. Storming out the castle at double the rate which they had entered into the halls of High Tide.

“You shall do as you please Lord Hand.” Daemon snarled as they passed Ser Otto. He had been proven right. The Hightower man’s eyes gleamed beneath his solemn face as he gave the signal to his men to move out. Naerys' husband helped her onto Silverwing before mounting Caraxes who was just as tempestuous as he rider. They took flight for their smoky shores without another word exchanged.

Dragonstone was quiet when they arrived back. Their welcoming party consisted of Maester Orlys and a couple of servants. The genial old maester informed them that Aemond had not yet returned back from Storms End. Daenys had retired to their new apartments in the Sea Dragon Tower far enough away from her parents in the Stone Drum.

That did not stop Daemon from ordering a servant to fetch Aemond as soon as he arrived so that he may enlighten him of the outcome of his mission. “It can wait kepus.” Naerys uncle’s mood remained foul, but that did not mean that he needed to bother the boy. It would be well past a decent hour whenever he and Vhagar landed. Whatever business he had with their good son could wait until the morrow.

Both he and their daughter deserved the night to themselves. He did not argue with her, but being reminded of their daughter's recent nuptials seemed to set him off further. Leading him to march up to their chambers while whispering curses under his breath.

Naerys could recollect that Daemon had kept her in their bed for a week after they had wed. He had not even loved her then. Of course love had very little to do with attraction. “I believe I have broken you.” He had laughed then when she frowned in confusion as she pulled slightly off his chest after their lovemaking.

She had been mostly frightened of him and the emotions he invoked in her. Emotions he likely shared. “Issa iā sȳz run dōna riña.” It is a good thing, sweet girl. He pulled her back down to lay her on top of him, lining her heat up again with his hardening member. Bringing the back of his rough hand up to caress her face. “Pāsan emā pryjatan nyke tolī.” I believe you have broken me too.

Naerys called for a bath to be brought for their chambers. It had been a long day. The first of many to come. They could worry about what would happen in the coming weeks tomorrow. For now, they needed to rest. They would be no good in the agitated state they were in.

The steaming water calmed their nerves. They sat in quiet contemplation. Daemon had taken to pulling her onto his lap after they had finished bathing the grime of the day off of each other. Resting his chin on top of her head. Stroking a warm hand up and down her bare arm while the other took her hand in his to play with her fingers. Naerys closed her eyes daydreaming of a not-so-distant future.

“It shall be nice to have children running around here again.” Daemon hummed in reply kissing her forehead. Naerys recalled that even in the darkest days when she was laid up in bed the little patter of Daenys feet and her laughter bouncing off their walls had been the most blessed sounds she heard. It had kept her sane in spite of her failures. “Future kings I suppose.” She would not pressure him for an explanation, it would come naturally.

“Aegon is not worthy to sit upon the throne.” Her husband looked at her as if it was obvious as she turned her gaze up to him. He was right about Aegon himself, but their nephew's line did not end with himself.

“Aegon has sons.” Jaehaerys and Maelor. Sweet little cherubs. They held their mothers' temperament rather than the impudence of their father. With the proper training, Jaehaerys could be an honorable heir. “Our nephew is healthy.” Their king was a lustful drunkard, but he otherwise was in perfect health.

“Men die every day as do children, especially in war.” Daemon breathed into the shell of his niece-wife’s ear. “In any case, they would need a regency.” It would never come to that. They both knew it. The lords of Westeros would rather seat a grown man upon the throne than boys even in peacetime. It was why during the Great Council Ser Laenor was passed over in favor of Viserys claim. “We would need a strong king to lead us.”

Aemond. He was next in line and conveniently married to their daughter. An overstep that Ser Otto and Alicent had missed in their haste to secure Dragonstone for themselves. An advantageous position for an ambitious man. For a second son.

“As well as a strong Hand to lead our king.” Her husband let out a chortle at her musings. Aemond no more liked his new good father than Daemon liked his good-son, but he was not too fond of his grandsire either.

Daenys would no doubt convince her husband who was besotted with his little wife that her father would make an excellent hand should it come to it. Naerys did not wish for her daughter to find herself in the precarious position of queendom, but our fate is rarely within our control. The Gods have the final say.

“Viserys was a weak man little one.” He sighed into her hair. “I will not let my affection for him blind me to his faults.” More than brotherly love by his own admittance. Or rather more than brotherly worship. It had been an obsession. “He is the reason why we find ourselves in this mess. My brother was never meant to sit upon that damned throne. He let vipers rule his court for him.” Daemon would not allow the same mistake to happen twice.

“From my blood come the prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire.” The riddle. The one that had caused her husband to spiral before she arrived. Daemon let out a snort. “The conqueror’s blood. My brother thought it referred to his line as does Rhaenyra.” Presumptuous given that neither he nor Rhaenyra were the only ones with the blood of the man who united the Seven Kingdoms running through his veins. The folly of their house. A lack of hubris. “It could just as easily be ours.” Their blood upon the Iron Throne. A call to right the past wrongs. The idea was too great to ignore.

“Ziry dōrī ivestretan issa.” He never told me. Daemon took to gazing at the flames from their chamber’s fire. Its light cast shadows across his pale face. He squeezed her hand. Bringing it to his lips to place a kiss upon the back of it absentmindedly. Giving her a half smile. “Hae baseless hae ziry istan ziry dōrī ivestretan issa se nyke istan zȳhon dārilaros.” As baseless as it was. He never told me and I was his heir. Dreams were not always so baseless. Naerys wondered if her uncle truly believed his own words. Surely he could not. His face was too troubled for him to believe it was pure conjecture.

A knock sounded at the door. Daemon barked at the poor soul on the other side of their door to bother them in the morrow, but the interruption came with urgency. Aemond had arrived back worse for wear. Rambling. His Hightower uncle Ser Gwayne had been the one to greet him. Whatever condition the young Targaryen Prince returned in had stoked his uncles’ distaste. The two quickly found themselves in a shouting match within the Painted Tables Chamber.

Daenys was called for and she had tried her best to diffuse the situation, but she could not make sense of it and had descended into her own mutterings. They did not need to be told twice when their daughter was in great distress. Daemon Hastily jumped from the bath helping his wife dress before grabbing Dark Sister. The two bound for their map rooms chambers across the Stone Drum that remained eerily muted.

The reason for Ser Gwayne's repulsion and their daughter's distress was apparent to the naked eye when they entered the chamber. “What have you done boy?” Aemond was soaked to the bone. Half drowned was more like it. Drenched by rain from the Stormlands and something darker. Crimson specks scattered across his face and into his long silver strands. He paced the room running his hands down his face while his young wife was comforted by her lady’s maid. Ser Gwayne stood.

“I was owed an eye.” His expression, red with irritation and rage, was as wild as the rest of him. Turning to face his good-fathers assessment. Rancor had clouded his judgment. The fury of a vengeful God. Or rather a young man who thought himself such. “The debt has been paid nuncle.” At the cost of their lives.

“Lucerys was there.” Ser Gwayne supplied with his hand still furiously rubbing his temples. Bringing up the other to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Delivering a message from his mother. He had left. The boy had left, but he chased him down.”

“I was owed an eye!” Aemond repeated. Daenys tried to go to him, but her mother held her back. Pulling her daughter's head to her side. Petting her silver strands like she did to soothe her as a girl. The young princess had worked herself into a frenzy. “I had every right—”

“Were you owed his life as well?” Naerys' husband met the younger man’s wroth with his own cold fury. The boy backed down some. Glancing at Dark Sister strapped to his good-fathers person. Aemond played the part of a God Daemon was every bit a malevolent Valyrian God of old.

“Aemond did what he thought was necessary kepa.” Only Daenys came to her husband’s aid. Breaking free of her mother's hold. The young girl put her hand in his. Her honey face was pale and her violet eyes were red-rimmed. The first blush of a new bride was gone.

Aemond had the veracious nature of a man of his house. Feed by the fire of youth. He did not know how to control his temper. Rash anger rather than reason Daenys had gotten her first taste of the violent passions that a man such as her husband possessed. A Targaryen man in his prime. Naerys herself had married one. He had mellowed over the years, but sleeping dragons do not lie dormant forever.

“He was her son.” Aemond went rigid at Naerys' chiding. Not expecting his good-mother's reprimand. It was as if his mother was in the room with him and not in her chambers in the Hands Tower oblivious to what he had done. “Rhaenyra would gladly die for any of her children.” Her cousin was many things, but she was a mother above all else. Naerys knew what a mother's love could do.

“As would I! As would your mother!” He was a boy beyond his depth. He was not a mother. He did not understand the depth of that bond. To carry and give birth to a child only to have him snatched away from you. He could not know. His half-sister would repay them in kind ten times over.

“A son for a son. That is what she will want. Do you have any idea of what you have done you half-blind fool?” It was Naerys who had to rest her hand upon her husband to calm him. To stop him from throttling their good-son. “Aōha mandia jāhor emagon aōha bartos valonqar!” Your sister will have your head boy! The Lady of Dragonstone thanked the Gods Daemon had the good sense not to reach for Dark Sister.

Understanding that her new husband provoked her father's ire and that nothing good could come from staying in his company, Daenys dragged Aemond to their apartments. Putting some distance between the two Targaryen men was for the best. Ser Gwayne rushed from the chamber to the rookery to inform his father and sister of the events that had unfolded tonight.

Rhaenyra would not stop until she had her fill. Her feast upon their innards. Until they felt as she did. They would know her pain. A mother's broken heart. The sound of Valyrian steel slicing through bone and flesh alike played in Naerys head. Dragons flames. Burning everything in their path. Colliding with each other in a crimson blaze beneath ash and ruin. Only blood would pay for what was spilled today. The price of vengeance.

Ao3 Link:

Tags: @misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @bubblebuttwade @beggarsnotchoosey @m-indkiller @pearlstiare @green-lxght @lazypinkpig @mvrylee @janelei

#daemon targaryen x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader #prince daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targeryan #daemon #house of the dragon #hotd #houseofthedragon #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfiction #lol the finale of part 1 #part 2 will come soon #bnhotdfic

[une-sanz-pluis]

The Death of John of Lancaster, Duke of Bedford - 14 September 1435

Bedford died in Rouen Castle on 14 September 1435 at a critical moment in the war, a week after the English left the congress of Arras unsatisfied in their demands, and a week before the conclusion of peace between France and Burgundy. On 13 April 1436 Paris was reconquered and English possessions, including Bedford's, were confiscated for the crime of lèse-majesté. Normandy was lost by 1450 and by 1453 all France except Calais. In accordance with the provisions of Bedford's nuncupative will, he was buried 'magnificently' on 30 September in Rouen Cathedral, on the north side of the choir near the high altar, near the other royal tombs. His effigy was destroyed by Calvinists in 1562, but a funerary plaque bearing his arms, heraldic insignia, and Garter collar survived to the eighteenth century [...] The burial was excavated in 1860. A large-framed skeleton was reportedly uncovered, fitting with Waurin's description of Bedford at Verneuil as a man of great physical strength with powerful limbs. [...] He left no legitimate children, but two bastards, Richard and Mary, apparently conceived before the regency. Their mother is unknown. [...] Bedford's reputation survived the reconquest of France and Normandy. His familia and former captains, such as Sir John Fastolf, are recorded in William Worcester's Boke of Noblesse as lamenting the passing of the regent and what he stood for. In his own century many English and French (especially pro-Burgundian) chroniclers eulogized Bedford; Thomas Basin described him as 'wise, humane and just' (Basin, bk 2, cap. 2). Lively pen portraits of Bedford and Anne of Burgundy are sketched by the Norman chronicler Pierre Cochon and by the anonymous Parisian, the Bourgeois de Paris, who wrote approvingly of Bedford's propensity to build (maçonner) wherever he was. His hot temper emerges in a few episodes, as does his religious orthodoxy. [...] Criticism of Bedford and the regency has been strongest from nationalistic historians of Normandy and partisans of Jeanne d'Arc, in line with the historiography of the Hundred Years' War as it developed in the nineteenth century. Most historians have emphasized his devotion to duty, to his dead brother's intentions, and to the service of his nephew Henry VI. Bedford was a mighty prince, a brave soldier, and a considerable patron and collector. His court and its ceremonies fulfilled a crucial political role in giving an illusion of permanence and stability to the Lancastrian presence in France.

Jenny Stratford, "John [John of Lancaster], duke of Bedford (1389-1435), Oxford Dictionary of National Biography

#ootd #john duke of bedford #historyedit #why does his anniversaries always sneak up on me #historian: jenny stratford #edits

[earlgreyinpajamas]

ooh la la more fake dating for both ships? x

merthur

The King's Final Defense by piece_of_pierce

Prince-recently-turned-King Arthur has a problem. You see, the royal family of a nearby kingdom, Lindania, have just made arrangements to come for a diplomatic visit. This, in itself, is a good thing. What causes the problem in this whole situation is the Princess of Lindania, Princess Leora.

Princess Leora, ever since they'd first met, has continuously attempted to woo Arthur with every meeting since. Not to mention the occasional letters.

Arthur's excuse not to court the woman has always been that he was waiting until he became King before pursuing a relationship of any kind.

Now he's King, meaning he's lost his last line of defense against Leora, and she's coming to visit in only a handful of weeks.

Luckily for Arthur, he has one more trick up his sleeve.

~~~

ahhh they're so cuteee

2. champagne promises by illiterateowl

“So, Arthur, I was wondering–”

“Merlin,” Arthur cuts him off, “the answer is no. I’m not going to dress up as you to get you out of work or take a cheesecake to the neighbors who put in a noise complaint because of you or try that disgusting plant water that you call milk–”

“My oat milk is perfectly palatable, thank you–”

“My point stands: I will not be risking my arse for one of your harebrained schemes again.”

“The oat milk was hardly risking y–”

Arthur fixes him with a look and it takes all of three seconds before Merlin visibly deflates. He even lets out a breath as his shoulders sag and he sinks into his chair.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” he says petulantly. “Care to tell me what it is, then?” Arthur asks dryly.

Merlin fingers a deep scratch on the table and Arthur thinks that it was probably because of something else stupid Merlin did. “It’s about Cenred.”

or, fake dating to keep cenred off merlin's back would have been perfectly okay....if arthur wasn't a protective bastard.

~~~

scheming!merlin be like

3. Something Hitch-ish by Excited_Insomniac

Every time Merlin has ever dated someone, they have inevitably found their true love and dumped him. Now Morgana wants him to use his 'superpower' to save her brother from a lifetime of misery. Merlin, foolishly, agrees.

~~~

dhjfdkhla merlin why are you like this

00q

Like real people do by withered (@everything-withered)

Q finds out they're married after Bond's been declared Killed in Action. For Bond's sake, he better be.

~~~

i am emotionally compromised

2. The Odd Couple by soufflegirl91 (@soufflegirl91)

5 times Bond and Q had to pretend to be boyfriends for reasons and one time they were

~~~

gahhh why are they so cute i cannot

3. The Bonds from London by BootsnBlossoms (@bootsnblossoms)

“I should sleep on the couch,” Bond murmured.

“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Q snorted unattractively. Bond, amused, filed away this propensity for sleepy swearing as something to remember. “What is it? That’s a text alert, not a perimeter alarm. Nightmare, then? Damn you double-ohs and your issues, I swear to god.” He lifted his arm in invitation.

“Q, I don’t think —”

“The window’s open and I’m cold,” Q insisted.

Bond sat on the edge of the bed and finished the last finger of his drink with a quick swallow. He had no idea if Q was hinting that they needed to keep up their pretense due to the open window, or if he really was just cold. Either way, Bond wasn’t a man to deny himself what small pleasures he could take from this wretched life, so he slid under the covers and tugged Q on top of him until their legs were tangled and Q’s head rested on his shoulder.

But as Q dropped back into sleep, Bond stayed awake, correcting himself. Having everything he wanted, in his grasp and completely out of reach, wasn’t a small pleasure at all. It was torture.

~~~

probably one of my fav 00q fics

#merthur #bbc merlin #00q #00q fanfiction #00q fic rec #00q fic recs #00q fic #merthur fic rec #merthur fic recs #merthur fanfic #merthur fluff #merlin emrys #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #merlin x arthur

[wordy-little-witch]

Regressed Buggy entertaining himself with tying ropes for hours on end.

Regressor Buggy wanting to play POKER of all things with Crocodile, because that was the first card game he learned on the Oro Jackson. Crocodile denies, not because Buggy cheats (which Buggy claims isn’t even really cheating, because back then all of the crew had at least one card stacked away in their sleeve), but because he’s a sore loser and he doesn’t need the brat throwing a temper tantrum near him. Regressor Buggy who crosses his arms at this and pouts, but who’s heart flutters at being called a brat of all things, because he grew up around men who would call him and Shanks „little bastards“,„you two little shitheads“ or „you snotty brats“ affectionately a million times before they ever uttered a „sweetheart“ to them (He likes those too tough.)

Regressor Buggy who hums the filthiest sea shanty’s you ever heard to himself while playing but doesn’t know a single children’s nursery rhyme of the top of his head. He has to think real hard before he even remembers twinkle twinkle little star.

Regressor Buggy who positively beams with joy when Mihawk gifts him a butterfly knife. He has always been good with knives and throwing knives is one of his favorite things to do even when not regressed and he actually did practice with Balisongs before specializing more on those. He runs up to Mihawk excitedly to show him how good he’s gotten, letting the knives twirl around his fingers with ease, not even close to nicking his skin and his Chop Chop Powers having to activate. Mihawk graces him with a nod of acknowledgment and Buggy rides that high for hours.

Just…. Regressor Buggy and his extremely dangerous and unchildlike favorite activities to do when he feels teeny

YESYESYES I LOVE YOU

Absolutely, Buggy has the least child friendly hobbies even little, especially little, like this boy has no filter. Ironically, he swears less when he's Big. When he's little, he swears like the sailor he is, the sailor he was raised as, and the first time someone tries - futile though it winds up being - to correct it, he's just. Bamboozled. And also angry. But mostly confused.

He plays knife games, he loves knots, the closest he has to a "typical" toy/activity is building.

When he was little, he and Shanks had a set of blocks. They shared them, Roger carved them, and Buggy had this one block in particular that he got attached to. He still had the block, and it's about the size of the palm of his hand now, the paint has been worn out, the edges smoothed and dented and chipped. He keeps it in a box of precious keepsakes.

Buggy's more used to rough and tumble men and Crocodile being a little more firm is the most familiar to him. He gravitates to Croc specifically for that, the size difference, and the logia user's propensity to just scuffing him like a kitten with his hook ((the first time Croc does it while Buggy is regressed, the little clown giggled hysterically, kicking his feet, and Crocodile had to take a moment to process that)).

Buggy's also used to level headed, chilly distance, and so Mihawk also hits all those points. He's whine and complain and throw a tantrum, but Mihawk's steady response helps him process things. His emotional regulation is in the trenches, he has big feels that he can't handle on his own, but Hawkeye's calm collectedness gives him something to grasp onto even in the worst of his explosions.

They're the perfect mix of familiar/safe and new/supportive.

Buggy has a plethora of things that aren't healthy, things instilled from a young age and things he acquired in response to other things. Buggy copes as best he can with things, but having a safety net helps in ways he never really anticipated.

The turn around of distrust and paranoia to him finally feeling secure and safe is rocky, but once it's done, he's doing better than he has in ages.

#thank you so much i love thisss #agere buggy #little buggy #pirates and parents are not cohesive synonyms no offense meant #roger did his best i don't doubt that but yeesh #cross guild poly #people are more than welcome to send asks about this or anything else i loveeee

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Could you go into the meaning behind the aesthetics? I'm intrigued but I'm uncertain if I'm fully grasping everything I want too!

Character by character? Sure. Clockwise from the top left: young anglos only I will have to do the others another time

Alfred: Clockwise from the top left: chalkboard to represent his math and science oriented brain from early days especially as he predates calculus in multiple handwritings to show the collaboration of science. Lady liberty emerging from the fog, his ideals looming over him. The microscope is a sign of innovation. The moon is his hops and ambitions ever upward. The car both the american auto industry and the innate loneliness of it. The national bird, the eagle in flight, the ferocity and aim he often has for his goals. the horseshoes for the old west but also the odd nostalgia Alfred has for things that never were. Then the star, rusting on a warship. theoretical end of empire but never the end of american airpower. And finally his portrait is his spacesuit. The only one without hair/visible human features because no country has ever projected such a strong image around the world and it obscures him.

Matt: Whittling with a small knife because he's got anxiety and a lot of woods. a looming moose for the darker force and mystery of nature and his own personality. Pancakes because he's a domestic fuck when permitted. a hatchet. Lots of wood an also war crimes. his tools are often weapons too. Maple tapping. A reliance on the natural resources at his disposal that shaped his culture tightly. man's outline in front of a fire is for Matt's propensity for salt and burning and personally annihilating obstacles when properly motivated. sunrise through a frosted window. Spring and hope rising over winter and despair. A repeating rifle. He too, is the result the arms of empire. And finally his 'portrait' a young man facedown in the sheets, lots of curls. This one is popular for Matt aesthetics for the hair but he's a tired, depressive bastard who tends to linger in safety rather than push himself for better.

Jack: a selection of fossils. The happiest part of his childhood was in natural history but these very collections are soaked in empire. A kangaroo and joey. His fauna but also his instincts of aggression about his environment and sometimes his sister. Meat pies because they're popular but also, born a penal colony he lacked a lot of agency over his own food and being as fast growing as he was he's a chronic snacker. map of Australia. could be self explanatory but even all the way down there he's pretty concerned about his place in the world and tends to look at himself at globes when he sees one. Two horses. Man and his country love to race but also I picked two because he really is not a person who prefers to be alone for long periods of time, as misanthropic as he can be. Surfboards: he loves his water-sports but the sunny, 'no-worries, mate' attitude too. Coffee on books. He's always been very keen to prove his wine, coffee, cuisine and tastes can stand up to the snobs and a flat white was an Australian invention. Golden wattle is the national flower and symbolizes resilience, often appearing first after fires and floods. And finally the portrait. A young man with a collar pulled up and one hand on the back of his neck, pondering his future? being a bit sheepish? both suit him.

Zee: Two sheep gently headbutting each other. Sheep and a stubborn affection is something she shares with Jack even if it probably influenced her culture more. Books because she's the best educated of her generation for a long time but the titles for birds, fairytales and oxford classic texts are for her famous birds, her two sets of folklore and culture and her oxford education. Kiwi box on bike handlebars. Bicycles were a massive part of early feminism and her own independence. The box and kiwi silhouette see something she probably knocked together herself. She's handly like that. Silver ferns are a national symbol and very hard to kill, resilient and the shape is very elegant and invokes Māori art and resistance. A grumpy looking Kea. This image looks very cranky but they're the goofiest and probably smartest birds on the face of the earth. Map of new zealand on a globe. Her name is bigger than she is on the map because its somewhat imposed on her nd there's also her brother always in the corner. A canoe or boat to symbolize her maritime culture, but also her own ability to build and engineer and pilot one. Her portrait I chose a woman with her hair type elegantly put up and looking away, back to a wall, a hint of a smile on her face because she has her strict lines and a slog of struggles but also a pretty decent place in the world.

#Art History and Aesthetics || our eyes across the ages #jack || a land of summer skies #alfred || o beautiful for spacious skies #zee || ahakoa he iti he pounamu #matthew || my country is winter #the ask box || probis pateo

[thecreaturecodex]

Lucien, the Mithril Prince

“White One” © ArtStation user “mucuzi”, accessed at their gallery here

[I had initially hoped that this wave of big bad blocks would have more demigods. But demigods take a long time, and I’m very tired. So I’m going to showcase a few unique NPCs, similar to Kojark or Warduke.This is a character I’ve never used, but have had rattling around in my head for a while. The genesis was “Mithril Prince would be a good title for an eldritch knight”, but I decided to make the actual stat block a magus, because magus is a cool class I haven’t used much.]

Lucien, the Mithril Prince CR 15 CE Monstrous Humanoid This handsome human man has red hair and pale skin. He wears a white tunic and red cloak over his gleaming silvery armor.

A doppelganger named Chut had a propensity for violence, so joined up with an army to indulge it. His ruthlessness got him promoted to the rank of sergeant, but his callous disregard for life got his squad overwhelmed and nearly wiped out. One of the few survivors on the battlefield, he had a vision of a beautiful winged woman with empty, bleeding eyes, exulting over the slaughter. And so Chut saw Szuriel, the Horseman of War, for the first time. And fell in love.

Chut has devoted the rest of his life to waging war. His current alter ego in that capacity is Lucien, the Mithril Prince. The Mithril Prince is the leader of a mercenary army, willing to fight for any country, cause or creed for very reasonable prices. The highest ranking members of his army are just as depraved as he is, but many of the rank and file do not know that their general’s ultimate goal is to kill for the sake of killing. Lucien is skilled in finding and exacerbating tensions between rival powers. If he cannot do so subtly, he does so through false flag operations, committing assassinations and atrocities in one country while disguised as a member of the other’s forces.

Although Lucien is a commander of battalions, he does not hesitate to get his own hands and blade dirty. Continuing the doppelganger tradition of flexibility in tactics, he has trained as a magus, blending sword and spell with deadly efficacy. He usually prefers to open combat with an area of effect spell, like cloudkill, cone of cold or fireball, both as a show of force and to exult in any collateral damage. When fighting as Lucien, he keeps his mithril armor gleaming and pristine, but he can change its appearance and design at will, the better for posing as a terrorist.

Lucien, the Mithril Prince             CR 15 XP 38,400 Doppelganger magus 14 CE Medium monstrous humanoid (shapechanger) Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +15 Defense AC 25, touch 11, flat-footed 24 (+1 Dex, +4 natural, +10 armor) hp 156 (18d8+72) Fort +15, Ref +11, Will +18 Immune charm, sleep Offense Speed 20 ft. Melee +1 bastard sword +23/+18/+13 (1d10+9/17-20) or 2 claws +22 (1d8+8) Ranged longbow +15/+10/+5 (1d8/x3) Special Attacks greater spell combat, magus arcana (13 points, accurate strike, arcane edge, devoted blade, pool strike +5d6, spell shield), spellstrike Spell-like Abilities CL 18th, concentration +20 (+24 casting defensively) At will—detect thoughts (DC 14) Spells CL 14th, concentration +18 (+22 casting defensively) 5th—acidic spray (DC 19), cloudkill (DC 19), cone of cold (DC 19) 4th—dimension door, fire shield, greater invisibility, illusion of treachery (DC 18), wall of fire 3rd—displacement, fireball (x2, DC 17), fly, vampiric touch 2nd—bear’s endurance, cat’s grace, frigid touch (x2), mirror image, scorching ray 1st—expeditious retreat, magic missile, ray of enfeeblement (DC 15, x2), shocking grasp (x2) 0th—dancing lights, detect magic, ghost sound (DC 14), ray of frost, read magic Statistics Str 26, Dex 12, Con 16, Int 19, Wis 12, Cha 14 Base Atk +14; CMB +22; CMD 32 Feats Combat Casting, Deceitful, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bastard sword), Extra Arcana, Extra Arcane Pool, Improved Critical (bastard sword), Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Persuasive, Power Attack, Toughness Skills Bluff +24, Diplomacy +20, Disguise +24 (+44 using change shape), Intimidate +23, Knowledge (arcana) +14, Knowledge (religion) +22, Linguistics +11, Perception +15, Sense Motive +12, Spellcraft +14; Racial Modifiers +4 Bluff, +4 Disguise Languages Abyssal, Common, Daemonic, Elven, Orc, 7 others SQ change shape (humanoid, alter self), fighter training, improved spell recall, knowledge pool, mimicry, perfect copy Gear belt of giant strength +2, headband of intellect +2 (Knowledge [religion]), ring of mind shielding, +1 glamered mithril full plate, +1 bastard sword, cloak of resistance +2, pearl of power (1st level), wand of cure light wounds (50 charges), potion of lesser restoration (x2), longbow with 40 arrows, 438 gp Special Abilities Mimicry (Ex) A doppelganger is proficient in all weapons, armor, and shields. In addition, a doppelganger can use any spell trigger or spell completion item as if the spells were on its spell list. Its caster level is equal to its racial Hit Dice. Perfect Copy (Su) When a doppelganger uses change shape, it can assume the appearance of specific individuals.

#npc #lucien the mithril prince #chut #doppelganger #pathfinder 1e #daemon #szuriel #four horsemen of the apocalypse

[kieranwritess]

COD MWII x Cyberpunk 2077 AU Brainrot

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: 141, LV, Graves, Laswell

Notes: cw for graves /lh, perhaps a bit of implied soapghost, bisexual soap, bisexual johnny silverhand, probably ooc but i do what i want ❤️

a/n: inspired by @yeyinde and my midnight-fueled obsession :) I'll probably make a part two to this because it's now my baby. knowledge of Cyberpunk 2077 is recommended because I reference in-universe characters. yes it's very niche, no I don't care.

- set in 2077

- they would all hate Johnny Silverhand. no exceptions.

- Soap's a little sad he shares a name with that fellow bi disaster bastard tho

- in a similar vein, they'd probably not be too fond of River; Price would envy him for his naivety and Gaz sees himself in River

- fanon Rogue and Price would 100% bond over being mother hens to a ragtag group of idiots

- Graves but Meredith Stout

- no questions asked

- the bitch would work for Militech or some other arms corp

- probably Militech because it is very American™ and he's a little yeeyee boy

- i might have Rudy's characterization wrong, but I feel like he'd have started in the NCPD like River

- poor boys only wanted to make the world better but instead Rudy became jaded and is sort of resigned to his job like Han

- Alejandro would be his buddy from Heywood who was always trying to get him to quit the force

- Ghost is probably the most like V in terms of skills and attitude

- but he's not some gonk kid who wants to make it big, he's made it big

- fixers either love him or they hate him

- one of those "going down in a blaze of glory" dudes

- would never work with Dex, though, and is especially relieved he never did after he hears about the Arasaka heist

- Price: veteran, but in a Mitch way and not a 6th street way. I feel like he had the potential to be a fixer, but wanted to try to have a quiet life after the war (Price bbg, there is no such thing as a quiet life in NC)

- is kind of like Takemura in the sense he'd love to run off and join a nomad clan (because fuck this place, honestly)

- but NC is all he knows and he has people he cares about there (read as: poor dude is attached to the 141 boys)

- Johnny (Silverhand) respects him, even if Price wants to rip him a new one every second they're around each other

- he could definitely become a mentor figure to V and would consider joining up with them if they take The Star ending

- honestly, i can still see Laswell working for the NUSA government

- but I'm not sure how we'd get a connection between her and the 141

- fuck logic, Price and Kate are still besties

- Soap and Panam get on like a house on fire

- a propensity for a little rule breaking and an affection harbored for an authority figure (i'll let you decide in what sense) brings them together

- I probably hc Gaz as younger than he actually is, but he gives off baby solo vibes

- brb thinking back to Jackie and V at the food stall outside of H10 and crying about it

- anyways

- Gaz would probably be the most like streetkid V

- bro knows his way around local fixers

- hc that Ghost and Gaz met on a job before Ghost made it big time

- and Ghost is all "I work alone >:(" but they discover that they work well together

- again thinking back to the streetkid intro, albeit Ghost is nowhere near the same as Jackie personality wise

- they probably grew apart after Ghost becomes a solo

- but Ghost is the first one to suggest Gaz when asked to put together a team for a big job (i.e. the heist but it doesn't go sideways)

- and yeah imo that's how c77!141 is put together

- Ghost knows Gaz, Gaz grew up around Price, and Price knows of Soap through the grapevine

- I guess to "convert" each of them into ttrpg factions, Soap is a techie, Ghost is a solo, Price is prolly a fixer, and Gaz might fall under lawman (as a PI or something)

- i am making less and less sense so I'm gonna stop here for now

#kieranwritess cod #kieran's cod au #cod mwii fanfic #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw headcanons #cod hcs #cod mw2 fanfic #i'll probably fix tags later i just don't know what to put for this fandom

[faintingheroine]

Now l'm interested in what are the similarities between Nihal and Hatice? And are there any between Nigar and Bihter ?

What are the similarities between Nihal and Hatice?

First of all, there needs to given some context to the question. Hatice is often likened to Nihal from Aşk-ı Memnu in Turkish YouTube comments. But this Nihal is not the Nihal from Aşk-ı Memnu the book, it is the Nihal from Aşk-ı Memnu 2008, the soap opera adaptation. (Aşk-ı Memnu 2008 and Magnificent Century have quite a bit of overlap in their viewership). I can’t say much about Hatice’s similarity to this soap opera Nihal. She shares nothing with the book Nihal, she is a bastardized horrible creature who only shares a name and some superficial traits with my favorite character.

As for any similarity between Hatice and the book Nihal… Well, they are both privileged, mentally fragile daughters of rich families. They both are both pampered on and emotionally neglected by their families. Their families superficially handle them with care lest their mental health will worsen but they also simultaneously inflict pain on them by their decisions. They both are tall and slender (though Hatice is more curvaceous than Nihal). They both have a propensity to faint (though to be fair all Magnificent Century women faint when pregnant whereas Nihal’s situation is a quite concerning pathology). They both are possessive over their loved ones and fear when their loved ones prefer another. They both have intuitions and sometimes a Gothic aura despite the Ottoman setting they are in.

But they are quite different as well. Hatice does worse things, but she is an adult woman in a soap opera set in 16th century, whereas Nihal is a young teenager in a literary domestic drama set in late 1890s. I would say that in her natural state Hatice is probably a better person than Nihal. Less spiteful. But things that happen to her harden her and she becomes pretty bad. Another difference is that Hatice is quite traditional and simple in her wants and wishes. She wants a traditional family with her beloved man at her side. Nihal’s motivations and emotions and what she expects out of life are quite a bit more complicated. I also would say that Nihal is much much more intelligent (sorry).

Both Nihal and Hatice have a situation where they are informed that their significant other cheated on them. We can compare their reactions. The situations aren’t identical, Behlül is only Nihal’s betrothed and he didn’t technically cheat on her, his affair with her stepmother predates their engagement. Still it is useful to compare their reactions. Both are absolutely devastated. But Hatice is in a lot more self-denial than Nihal who understands and accepts the situation a lot more quickly. I would say that Hatice has a propensity to want to be blind to things that hurt her which isn’t a trait Nihal has.

It is interesting that Nihal’s reaction to infidelity is to want to die so that her father will be sad. Hatice by contrast gets more vengeful, ordering the execution of Nigar. Which is interesting, since I would say that Nihal is a more naturally petty and spiteful person. But it might be related to how much power each has. Hatice is an adult Sultana. Nihal might be rich but she isn’t a Sultana and she is a child - she doesn’t have any power to punish others so her aggression is directed to herself. Another difference is that Hatice is in love with Ibrahim the person, and she is hurt by him (and by extension Nigar) specifically. Nihal’s relationship with Behlül is more complicated. She views him less as her beloved man and more as the last person who loves her, the last person left to her after Bihter took everyone in her mind. So it is more the last drop that overflowed the cup for her. All of her grievances are bundled up with this big grievance.

As for Nigar and Bihter, as people they aren’t similar at all. Nigar is an unglamorous relatively sleazy Kalfa, Bihter is a charismatic gorgeous fashion icon. I don’t think their personalities are very similar either. But their careers as “fallen women” can be compared I guess. Both of their “loves” for Behlül and Ibrahim arise from a place of sexual repression I think. They are the only men they have contact with. But Nigar truly falls in love with Ibrahim. Whether Bihter ever truly falls in love with Behlül is up to debate.

In the aftermath of the scandal they give opposite reactions. Bihter can’t live with the prospect of a ruined reputation and kills herself immediately after her husband learns of the affair. Nigar lives on. Afife Hatun is disgusted with her and can’t even look at her face, Nigar actually enjoys this. *Cue Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation*

@struttingstreets @mc-critical @hurrempilled @la-pheacienne

#magnificent century #muhteşem yüzyıl #aşk ı memnu #aşk-ı memnu #nihal #nigar kalfa #hatice sultan #bihter #mc asks #asks #aşk ı memnu asks #aşk ı memnu 2008

[lupinusalbus]

What did you think of Kit’s Freudian comment at the con? I’ve seen people dismiss it as a thoughtless statement and others say it means he thinks Jon’s previous romantic relationships are abusive. How did you take it?

It’s a very complex question. One of the things that immediately struck me about Kit Harington’s comments was that he was speaking about the characters of Ygritte and Dany in a different context than what I often see written about them on Tumblr. What I mean to say is that Kit accepts both of these women as having been in "love" relationships with Jon Snow, in the sense that Kit thinks that Jon really loved them. During a different question from the one where the reference to Freud came up, Kit said that Jon loved Dany “fiercely”, but then she “turns a corner”, necessitating that Jon kill her. So Kit seems to accept that Jon loved both of them.

As Kit also said during the Q&A sessions, Jon is not a modern man. Because of the cultural context of Westeros, I don’t think Jon ultimately viewed Ygritte as a sexual abuser, as we might very well see their relationship by today’s standards, or in "meta" readings of their relationship. Yet, because of Jon’s youth and personality, and also his status as a kind of spy among the Wildlings, he is definitely the less assertive partner. Kit seems to be saying that there is something about Jon that causes him to be attracted to a “dominant” woman like Ygritte. The reference to Freud means that he is somehow tracing Jon’s propensity back to Catelyn’s treatment of him.

I don’t know though. I feel like a lot of their dynamic has more to do with Jon’s temperament than it does with his “mommy issues.” Think of other characters in the TV version, such as Theon before he was castrated, or other male characters who we might think of as being sexually bold, or at times even coercive or abusive to women (as is so often the status quo in Westeros). They would have had fewer qualms and tortured feelings about sleeping with Ygritte than Jon did, because …Jon is Jon. He seems sexually conservative (and a better person) by nature.  He experiences guilt over breaking his vows, is tortured by the thought of fathering a bastard, and so on. It takes someone like Ygritte, who is assertive sexually (like in the cave scene in the TV series) for him to break his vows. (Note: I know the circumstances are somewhat different and more controversial in the books). I’m not sure how much of this has something to do with Catelyn Stark.

I suppose the story would go something like this: Jon’s self esteem or self-confidence around women was so wounded or messed up by his interactions with Catelyn, that he is now attracted to women who are the controllers or the seducers rather than the other way around. But it could also be due to the natural reticence around women that he seems to possess by temperament.

As for Dany: in order to analyze Kit’s remarks its necessary to take him at his word that Jon loved Dany. We only have the show version of Jon and Dany, but there are definitely some parallels with Ygritte. In their first interaction, Dany attempts to dominate Jon by insisting that he bend the knee, hinting that he will become her prisoner, and so on. As the scripts progress, It seems like she is the one who becomes infatuated by Jon first, and then she flies north of the wall to try and rescue him. He may be attracted to her, but he is also kind of the passive one who eventually capitulates. Is this why Kit thinks Jon is attracted to Dany, because of her assertive qualities, where he also seems to be overlooking the aggressive tendencies? Also, the circumstance of Jon suddenly bending the knee when he didn’t have to do it in order to gain Dany’s support seems to add more fuel to this fire.  I can only assume that this dynamic, as written for the show, is what Kit is talking about. 

In neither of these two relationships was Jon the pursuer. Maybe Kit wants Jon to have a more balanced relationship in the sequel :)

#sorry it took so long to answer #jon snow #anti daenerys #catelyn stark #kit harington #asks

[bitchfitch]

Lil Ensio and Peregrine doodle. Idk they've been on my mind lately, Not enough for me to actually write anything for them, or put effort into drawing a bg, but enough to get me to make some edits to their story to make thing Fit better.

Besides Valko's like, whole situation, and the vaguely discussed witch who cursed him and Ensio, theres basically no magic in their story. Which makes the secret giant wolf man living in Ensio's backyard feel ridiculously out of place.

What was also out of place was Peregrine's entire situation. His family needs him to marry to secure a deal with a moneyed family to secure new business partners or whatever. It's all very political and money focused. And given Peregrine's Deal being that he's a pragmatic dreamer, it doesn't feel at all right for him to be as resistant to the idea of getting hitched as he needs to be to make his part of his and Ensio's whole "Let's get married for money we totally won't fall in actual love with eachother" vibe to work.

So I've changed two things about him to make this all fit better.

1. Peregrine is a witch now. He keeps it on the down low to prevent his parents finding out. Studying magic is his passion but it's seen as an unfitting/dangerous hobby for a young woman of noble birth

2. And that's the other thing. Peregrine is trans now. A massive part of his hesitation is because he doesn't expect to be able to find a partner who would actually respect him as a man. There is no sum of money that would make him willing to closet himself again, especially not when it would mean potentially ending up a disrespected house wife.

This gives Ensio more ways to differenciate himself from other suitors and be worth Peregrine's time. It also gives them something to bond over. Ensio is not especially gifted or knowledgeable about magic, but he respects it as a show of skill and with his curse... having a witch around to soothe his inner wolf is a massive help. Plus his weird curse would be fascinating to Peregrine.

the other thing I've changed is who the witch is. Peregrine and Ensio predate Arlo. So Ensio and Valko's curse can't be his fault. It can however be Maiden's fault. The original owner of the corpse Arlo wears now. It feels right for her to get cucked and curse her lovers unborn bastards like that. She wasn't a very nice person and also had Arlo's heart in her, a propensity to sling weird curses is just a side effect of that.

#(colors are weird bc its a gradient map on a bw image)

[yoo-jeongneon]

the sticky tab series | sticky tab one: 6B

× minors/ageless/empty blogs dni. you will be blocked. ×

× series masterlist × main masterlist × × <- previous × next -> × seventeen (ot13) x gn!reader genre: mystery, thriller, drama warnings: journalist!reader, former journalist!jun, explicit language, smoking, written as a journal entry in the first person, discussions about journalism, dates given in dd/mm/yyyy word count: 748 taglist: @hipsdofangirl × @strawberri-uyu × @asyre × @minhui896

name: wen junhui date of birth: 10/06/1996 date moved in: 12/02/2018

When I stepped into his apartment, the first thing I caught was the scent of tobacco mixed with a dried out reed diffuser. I couldn't possibly say what the scent was, but something tells me it was earthy.

Speaking of tobacco, one of the first things I learned is that Junhui is a smoker. I'm not, so I declined his offer. He wasn't rude about it - he spared me a 'suit yourself' and just sat down on his leather three-seater.

I sat on the matching two-seater. Comfortable, but judging by the wear it was likely a few years old. The dried diffuser was on a side table pressed against the wall on the other side of the room. The kitchen was to my left and there was a pair of double doors that opened out to a balcony.

Junhui apologised to me for what the man from 4B wrote in his letter, though he admitted while he knew a note had been mentioned, he didn't believe the man actually went through with writing and leaving it. The second he heard me mention his apartment name, it twigged in an instant. "I should've known that bastard would actually do it. Like I said he's got a propensity for pissing me off."

He asked me why I came to the building, informing me that he saw me arrive from his apartment window, pointing to the set of double doors. I explained my reasoning and he seemed surprised.

"No one ever comes to Drawbridge. People just snap pictures from afar then run off to write bullshit about it." It didn't surprise me that the residents here knew of the reputation. He took more hits from his cigarette as he continued. "And you told me you were ready to turn and leave when you realised people lived here, but you picked up the phone."

He caught me with that. It is true that I had picked up the phone. I fell silent for a while as he studied my expression.

"I get why you did," he said, "you're a journalist at the end of the day. Like I said, I share your experience. I was a freelance journalist at one point. No matter what, we'll take any chance to get a story."

I couldn't believe I was sitting here, having this conversation. I did not expect to turn up to find out there were thirteen residents. I also didn't know at the time what was to come..

I told him, "I am not here to, as you said, 'drill holes in your walls'. In fact, I will be ready to leave after this conversation."

Junhui stared at me then. "I appreciate you not wanting to do that. Though I must admit, it might quell some rumours about this place.."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what of you trying to keep your solitude?"

"I can wish for solitude while wishing the reputation didn't exist."

That struck a chord. I wondered how many other residents here felt the same way. At the time, I considered I wouldn't be getting those perspectives.

"I suppose.. as long as you don't go ahead and make this whole situation public in the way only a journalist would-" He gave me a knowing look; I held back from rolling my eyes. "..Then I suppose I can tell you a little something, former journalist to current journalist."

I didn't know how to respond. Initially, I wasn't going to take him up on his offer, but I already felt that I'd made a vow.

I pulled out my journal, to which he smiled. It was rather frustrating in its smugness but.. it was clearly the smile of understanding.

'I share your experience.'

Details of note from our discussion:

junhui was the fifth person to move in

junhui took 6B as he felt it had the nicest kitchen

project drawbridge almost didn't go through

several investors were sceptical of its tenancy power

junhui doesn't know who lived in 7B

7A is the only person who knows about it (and he hasn't shared that info)

junhui doesn't get on well with 6A

junhui stopped being a journalist in 2021

3A doesn't talk to him because of his experience in journalism

people have made small efforts to remove the 'silent dweller' name from searches after learning what the project name is

3B was the last person to move in

× yoo-jeongneon ×

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #jun x reader #⚡yoo jeongneon⚡ #the sticky tab series📑

[darkestspring]

DO YOU REMEMBER THE AU WHERE LUCERYS TAKES LISENYA'S EYE? WELL, IMAGINE LISE TAKING REVENGE.

After Lisenya loses her eye and hears a rumor that Rhaenyra plans to marry Daemon she probably intends to take revenge, she maybe she finds a way to give Rhaenyra a poison that renders her infertile, preventing her from having legitimate children. Lisenya is so smart that no one knows it was her except Otto, Criston and Alicent who were surprised at first but later justified it by saying that Lisenya was fair.

So Rhaenyra can't have legitimate children, meaning Aegon III and Viserys II are never born.

hm.... very interesting. i genuinely don't think lisenya would go that far unless there was some sort of provocation afterwards, like rhaenyra making a claim that lisenya shouldn't have gotten involved and she got what she deserved for getting involved or made some sort of cruel comment having to do with lisenya losing her eye.

lisenya while kind and lovely is still a dragon, her temper rivals daemon's at time but she doesn't have a big propensity for violence but you piss her off, anything is possible.

she does this in a way that it doesn't link back to her or her family at all. but alicent knows her daughter. otto knows his granddaughter, criston knows his daughter. they all know that lisenya is capable of great things when she feels wronged.

"my sweet love, why?" Alicent would ask, running her hand through lisenya's hair as she, otto, and criston stood in lisenya's painting room.

lisenya's purple eyes glared at the floor, anger tearing at her before she looked up at her mother. "If she loves her bastards so much that she'd dismiss her strong boy taking a princess' eye, then she should only have them."

alicent hated that lisenya had to get her hands dirty like this, if only viserys had taken action instead of favoring rhaenyra once again then none of this would have happened "Oh my sweet love."

otto and ser criston watched on feeling conflicted. of course, now it would be easier to get aegon on the throne but to see their granddaughter/daughter in such distress, anger over her missing eye was painful.

"I've gotten us justice mother." Lisenya spoke from resting her head on alicent's chest. "I will not let you be dismissed any longer. Have faith in me, mother. I will make them all regret the day they hurt you."

#lisenya targaryen #little dove #rip to the blacks. they've awoken vengeful lisenya