#rook royce

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (12/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, unprotected sex, targcest stuff, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Never before in her life had she been so terrified as she was the night their army was supposed to return from the battle of Rook's Rest. Lying in bed in her chamber, she looked towards the door, hoping in despair that it would open in a moment and he would appear in it, saying that they had won.

That he had returned.

It frightened her how far this had gone, how attached she had become to him, that the thought that he might die made her eyelids fill with heavy, burning tears.

She didn't care if he married her or not, she didn't resent him for taking her maidenhood even though he wasn't her husband, she didn't expect anything from him.

She just wanted him to survive.

She stood up, knelt before the bed on the floor and folded her hands as if to pray.

"Father, surround him with your support and wisdom. Warrior, give him the strength to fight. Mother, protect him and let him return home. Stranger, do not take him away yet." She muttered and sobbed quietly, burying her face in her hands, thinking she was pathetic.

He'd abducted her and forced her to serve him, fucked her like a whore, merely ensuring she didn't betray him, she repeated to herself, trying to pull herself together, but then she panicked again at the thought of never seeing him again.

She swallowed loudly, laying her head on the bedding, trying to calm her breathing, wondering how she would feel if he and Aegon had died and her father had marched into the Red Keep at the head of his army to liberate her.

Would she throw herself into his arms with joy?

Would she feel relieved?

Her heart and mind were filled with complete emptiness when she realised that she would not.

She didn't want to be saved.

The longer she thought about it, the more it came to her that she and her cousin were identical: they were drawn to each other like moths to a flame, burning in each other's embrace, taking from each other what they both so desperately craved.

He felt as rejected as she did, overlooked by his mother, who showed more tenderness to her lover instead of to him, her son, who was dying every day in the loneliness of his heart. Moreover, he could not openly ask for his mother's attention: it would show his weakness, the fact that deep down he was not a man but a little boy.

As rider of the greatest dragon in the world and protector of the Realm, he could not afford it.

She had only fallen asleep at dawn and shuddered when someone suddenly walked into her chamber, snapping her out of her deep slumber.

"My Lady. Prince Regent summons you to the Small Council chamber." Said Lysa.

Prince Regent.

She reached for the robe lying on the chair as quickly as she could, threw it over her shoulders, tying it around her waist, and went out into the corridor.

What has he done?

She made her way through the Red Keep with a quick step, finally standing in front of the door that the guards had opened for her, and she caught sight of his face sitting at the head of the table in the place reserved for the King.

What has he done?

She glanced around at the people sitting at the table – the Dowager Queen and Criston Cole looked distressed and tired, as did the other lords, however her cousin was grinning broadly, looking at her in a way she felt uneasy from.

"Leave us alone." He ordered and everyone around him stood up, bowing to him, leaving the chamber one by one.

She swallowed quietly as the door finally closed behind her with a quiet clatter of old wood, and they were left on their own. For a moment, they just looked at each other – her cousin hummed under his breath and spread himself comfortably in his seat, as if he was enjoying the moment, satisfaction and contentment in his gaze.

"Come closer, hāedar." He said softly, making a gesture towards her with his hand, as if encouraging her not to be afraid.

She moved towards him uncertainly, feeling that her lips were slightly parted in an accelerated breath, her heart pounding like mad.

She wanted to ask him where is Aegon, but didn't, recognising that the question would upset him.

He didn't like not being the centre of her attention, like a small child demanding her full involvement.

When she stopped in front of him his hand was still outstretched towards her, so she placed her fingers on it – she sighed as he pulled her gently and she fell into his lap, sitting down clumsily, trying to find a comfortable position, leaning against his shoulder for balance.

She closed her eyes when she felt his lips place a soft, sweet kiss on her cheek, the tip of his nose running over her skin as if he wanted to wordlessly tell her that he was glad to see her.

"– lēkia –" She whispered, not knowing what to say, afraid to use words, knowing that she had to be careful what she did now, feeling that something had changed.

He felt mighty and powerful.

Something had happened on the battlefield.

Had he disobeyed her?

Was Aegon dead?

Fear mingled with a sense of pleasant comfort in her heart when his familiar, broad hands stroked her back, trailing up and down, sliding up to her very buttocks, causing a delightful shiver to pass through her.

"– look at me, hāedar – look at me –" He sighed, his index finger tilting her face so that she looked straight into his own – his gaze was hot, filled with something she didn't understand, his breathing heavy, as if the very sight of her aroused him.

She dared to take his cheeks in her palms, and he closed his eyes as her thumbs gently stroked his skin, his lips slightly parted in a blissful expression.

There were so many things she wanted to ask him.

She was so afraid.

What have you done?

Why are you so proud of yourself?

Will you take me now while your brother's body is rotting somewhere?

She pressed her forehead against his, not knowing what to do, who was the man who had returned to her, thinking that he was at once close to her, beloved and foreign, terrifying.

"– iksan arlī, hāedar (I'm back, little sister) –" He whispered, stroking her hair, her shoulders, her back, her waist, her buttocks as if trying to remember what it was like to feel her body, his eyes closed, his face relaxed, as if he were in heaven.

"– ivestragon nyke skoros massitas, lēkia (tell me what happened, big brother) – kostilus (please) –" She muttered pleadingly, and his eye opened – contrary to what she had feared, his gaze was not cold or frustrated, but filled with warmth and relief.

"– my brother thoughtlessly interfered in the battle between Vhagar and Meleys – he paid for his foolishness and burned in the fire – he is alive, but incapable of performing his duties – I will remain Prince Regent until that changes –" He said quietly, as if he was telling her his secret, something meant only for her ears, stroking her cheeks and hair.

She sighed in relief and for some reason embraced him, cuddling his face between her breasts, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

My brother thoughtlessly interfered in the battle between Vhagar and Meleys.

So he didn't do it, she thought, feeling lighter, as if someone had dropped a stone from her back.

Simply the will of the gods had happened.

"– do you believe me, zaldrītsos? –" He whispered, as if he needed to hear it, his hands clenched tightly on the material of her robe at her back.

She had to believe him.

Hundreds of soldiers must have witnessed it, the sight of the dragon falling from the sky and what had happened before.

Why would he lie now, knowing that she would discover the truth anyway?

She stroked his soft white hair with her palm and placed a warm, loud kiss on the top of his head, cuddling him into her as if he were a small child.

"– I do, lēkia – I do –" She assured him and felt his manhood pulsate hard beneath her, then again and again.

She sighed when she felt his fingers untie her robe and nightgown, when with a light, impatient movement he slid their material off her shoulders, exposing shamelessly her breasts.

"– someone will see – ah –" She mumbled, involuntarily pressing him closer to her body as his lips in some subconscious, thirsty impulse found her nipple, sucking and licking it alternately – a powerful shudder ran along her spine, down to her fingertips and her swollen lips, making her cunt pulse hungrily around nothing.

She moaned helplessly as one of his hands clamped down on her ass, his hips beginning to roll back and forth, rubbing his hard, swollen erection against the place between her thighs.

"– no one dares –" He murmured softly, pulling away from her hard, puffy nipple only to move his mouth to the other, repeating the same caresses on it. "– I forbade it –"

She cried out in pleasure, clenching her fingers in his hair when she felt his hand slide from her buttock to between her thighs from behind – she began to rub against his fingers when she felt them sink into her leaking, soft folds with his sigh of satisfaction.

"– my little sister missed her brother – hm? –" He gasped, circling around her swollen bud, making a wonderful, tickling tension begin to rise in her lower abdomen, their hips meeting each other, his cock hard and swollen between her thighs.

"– did you not hear my desperate prayers? –" She mumbled, rising to her knees, lifting her robe and nightgown above her thighs as his hands slid down to his belt – he unbuckled it, looking at her with eye that was surprisingly vulnerable and warm, as if something in her words moved him.

"– what were you praying for, sweet girl? –" He whispered, untying and spreading the material of his breeches to the side, embracing her waist with his arm, with his other hand holding his swollen erection.

She liked the new position she found herself in – she knew that if he had wanted to, he could have simply come and fucked her in her bed, he, however, clearly desired something else.

Proof that she missed him, that she wanted him, that she needed him.

She placed her hands on his shoulders for balance and slowly lowered herself onto the fat head of his cock, feeling him open her wide on himself with their quiet sigh of pleasure.

She decided to tease him for a while and see how he would react to that.

"– for the Father to give you wisdom –" She gasped softly, letting him deeper into her hot core only to lift herself up again, sliding his manhood, slick with her moisture, out of her almost all the way, his mouth parted wide, his gaze fixed on her face, simultaneously terrified and delighted at how pleasurable what she was doing was. "– for the Warrior to give you strength –"

They both groaned pathetically as she let him into her all the way, closing their eyes only to open them a moment later, their hips in some subconscious, natural rhythm beginning to thrust out against each other as she pressed her forehead against his.

"– for the Mother to protect you –" She mewled as they both sped up, his stones slapping again and again against her asscheeks with loud splats of their bare skin, his cock thick and swollen, teasing her sweet spot with cruel precision, making her cunt begin to leak, the chair underneath them creaking loudly.

"– fuck –" He muttered, digging his short nails into the bare skin of her arse, forcing her to let him pound into her harder, his mouth grabbing her hard, sweet nipple and began to suck on it again, a wonderful, aggressive thrill of pleasure shook her body, her walls giving his erection a firm, sure squeeze.

"– for the Stranger not to take you away –" She cried out, moaning loudly along with him, her fingers clenched in his long hair, their bodies slamming against each other like mad, the tension deep inside her reaching its zenith, making her pant hard, their sweaty foreheads pressed together, their eyes fixed on each other.

"– hāedar – oh f-fuck –" He mumbled out, clenching his fingers on her body as tightly as if he felt he could no longer escape what was happening to him, how much he wanted it – their lips met in a messy, sticky kiss full of their tongues, her weeping cunt began to clench around his throbbing erection, bringing them closer to fulfilment.

"– ah – don't stop – gods, your brother is about to fill you –" He breathed out, and she cried out loudly, feeling that his words had done something to her – she heard him groan loudly, shocked when he felt her come hard on his cock, soaking his entire manhood in her wetness – they were both panting with relief and delight as his mouth spread wide in bliss, and his warm seed spilled deep inside her.

She snuggled her face into his neck, moaning quietly, unable to calm down as he did, their hips rocking for another moment, his arms embracing her tightly, cuddling her into his body.

"– dīnagon nyke, hāedar –" He sighed softly, combing his fingers through her hair, his lips placing a warm, tender kiss on her temple, as if he wanted to reassure both her and himself.

She froze, clenching her fingers on his black leather tunic, feeling her heart stop in her chest.

Marry me, little sister.

"– my brother is plunged into a deep sleep – there is no telling when he will awaken – we will manage to marry in the Great Sept by then – I have ensured that the message sent by the King does not reach the Iron Islands – I want it to be you –" He said in a voice trying to be calm, but she could hear it breaking, filled with the fear of rejection.

Gods, what was she to do?

If she became his wife, she would never run from him again.

She will become his property, like his chair, table or bed.

She would bear him children and he would bed his servants as soon as she was no longer young and beautiful.

"– I'm afraid –" She mumbled at last.

She heard him swallow hard, his free hand stroking her back reassuringly, as if he wanted to soothe her.

"– what are you afraid of, zaldrītsos? – tell me –" He whispered in her ear and fell silent, waiting anxiously for her words.

She pressed her lips together, feeling warm tears under her eyelids, her heart filled with stinging pain.

She embraced him and snuggled into him, deciding that this one time she would try to do what she had always dreamed of doing.

That she'll confide in someone like a friend.

"Marriage is for a woman like a cage. She can be happy only if she gives her husband children while still remaining young and beautiful. I don't know if a person born out of hatred can be fertile, but even if I am, I don't want to wait for the days when I find out that you are not faithful to me – I don't expect you to be, because since when have husbands been faithful to their wives? Isn't that why the world is filled with mistresses that everyone curses? I have never been the most important person for anyone and I know I won't be for you. I understand it, but our marriage would be a lie, even though everyone would have to believe otherwise. They would pity me, knowing that I have become a vessel for your seed." She muttered in a trembling voice, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her face, her throat clenched as if she was choking.

She heard him draw in a loud breath and sigh, his chest quivering all over – she lifted her gaze to him and froze, seeing that his jaw was shaking.

"If I wanted to have a mistress, I would marry Floris Baratheon and took you to my bed." He muttered at last, trying to remain calm, his eye large and filled with suffering fixed far ahead of him. "I wish for you to fall asleep and wake up beside me. For us to roam the skies together. For you to dine with me, read with me, speak with me. For you to always support me. For our children, if born, to be the result of our closeness. I will never dishonor you."

He said and looked at her, his hand stroking through her hair as if she were a small child.

"Marry me. I will care for you, and your place will always be by my side. I will protect you."

She felt her lips tremble, her eyebrows arching in pain as she heard those familiar words, what he had said to her then, as they lay under the stars.

If you tame a dragon, I will treat you like my little sister.

She understood what he was trying to tell her.

Had he lied then?

Had he let her down?

Had he abandoned her?

No.

"Yes." She whispered.

He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, licking his lower lip.

"Yes, what?" He asked in a trembling voice.

"Kesan dīnagon ao, lēkia (I will marry you, big brother)." She whispered.

He pressed her body to his chest and sank his face into the crook of her neck, twitching all over with emotion.

She smiled, embracing him tenderly, thinking with amusement that she had already forgotten that his soft manhood was still deep inside her.

For some reason, the fact that they were one flesh seemed natural to her.

Her cousin announced their betrothal during supper later that evening, and although everyone at the table lowered their gazes, no one dared to contradict him.

He threw her a satisfied, piercing look as he sat at the head of the table in his brother's place, grinning broadly, and she sighed quietly and smiled, thinking that she might have been trying to lie to herself, but it was no use.

Her destiny was tied to this dark, violent, unpredictable man.

She spent that night in his chamber, for the first time feeling light-hearted with the fact that she was lying bare in his arms, in his pleasant, tender embrace, in which she felt safe – there was something wonderful about the way his fingers roamed lazily over her back, forming different shapes, while they lay in silence.

A silence full of understanding and contentment.

Her cousin wanted to use the time while his brother was unconscious, so he pushed for a quick nuptials – she didn't mind and agreed that he would organise everything as he saw fit, much to his delight.

"I haven't had time to congratulate you, my Lady. You are about to become the Prince's wife." Said Gwayne Hightower, Queen Alicent's older brother, raising his eyebrows in what she would call a mixture of amusement and mockery – he approached her with his hands folded behind his back as she practised archery in the courtyard.

She smiled under her breath as she drew her bowstring and took aim, releasing it, her arrow again hitting the centre of the target.

"Thank you, my Lord, for your kind words." She said lightly, not even bestowing a single glance on him, reaching into her quiver behind her back for an arrow, intending to take another shot.

She heard him snort under his breath, combing the sand beneath his feet with his boot.

"You could use tracks to shoot from a greater distance. You won't learn anything else here." He said softly, and she sighed, amused, pressing the bowstring to her cheek.

"On the contrary. I'm learning patience." She hummed, taking another accurate shot, looking up at him finally.

Indeed, Queen Alicent and her brother resembled each other, however, his eyes and hair were paler – she thought he looked like a confident and mischievous man, who was none too pleased that she was to join their family despite the fact that he himself owed his position to his sister.

The Court breathed hypocrisy.

"Surely your patience will come in handy with my nephew." He sneered, looking at her with a smile full of curiosity.

Did he really think she would let him provoke her, that she would tell him something about her cousin that he could then use against her?

"Prince Aemond doesn't like it when people speak about him behind his back. He generally doesn't like to be spoken about. He would not be pleased if he found out that you wished to discuss his affairs with me." She said, lowering her bow, coming closer to him, making his eyebrows raise.

He licked his lower lip, looking at her cheekily, as if he recognised that he had accepted the challenge.

"So he is oversensitive about himself. Like any Targaryen." He stated.

"He just doesn't like gossip. It's a trait of his character that I value in him." She replied.

Ser Gwayne cocked his head, taking a step towards her, standing, in her mind, too close to her – but she did not pull away, recognising that she would not be the one to pay the price.

"Are you carrying his child yet?" He asked, and she lifted her chin higher, understanding that with this innocent question he wished to humiliate her, reminding her that she was lying in bed with a man who was not her husband.

In his mind, she had simply seduced his nephew, whom he considered weak and vulnerable to manipulation.

"Possibly. I, unlike our Dowager Queen, don't make sure every time that my actions won't have consequences. I am prepared to pay them." She said calmly and smiled when she noticed that his gaze grew grimmer, his eyebrows straightened, his jaw clenched in fury.

He opened his mouth to say something, but they were interrupted by another voice.

"Hāedar."

She turned towards her cousin and smiled at him reassuringly, seeing his tense figure walking towards them, his gaze once on her, once on his uncle.

He stopped beside them and licked his lower lip, impatient.

"Skorion massitas (what happened)?" He asked coolly, staring at her expectantly.

She sighed quietly and threw him a soft, calm look.

"Aōha kēpus jaelagon naejot gīmigon lo nyke gryves aōha riña iemnȳ nyke (your uncle wants to know if I am carrying your child). Nyke udlitan zirȳla bona gaoman gīmigon daor (I answered him that I do not know)." She said and saw that he closed his eyelid and turned his head away, furious, swallowing hard the rage that surged in his body.

"Henujagon īlva, hāedar (leave us, little sister). Jikagon naejot ñuha tistālion (go to my chamber)." He said matter-of-factly.

She nodded and moved ahead without bestowing a single glance on Ser Gwayne Hightower.

She smiled under her breath, guessing that her betrothed would teach him a lesson in humility.

She sighed quietly as she went into her quarters for a moment, wanting to change and take a quick bath before heading to his bed, all hot and tired after the physical exertion. She put her bow, a gift she had received from her Prince on the occasion of their betrothal, into one of her trunks and stood up, undoing the buckles of her leather tunic one by one.

She froze when she noticed a small roll of parchment lying on the table by the window.

Was it possible?

She walked over there and reached her hand for the letter, feeling her heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down her back at the thought that her father and his third wife's spies were still in the Red Keep.

She knew it was him.

It had to be him.

She unrolled the parchment and swallowed hard, feeling her heart jump to her throat as she read what was written in it.

Congratulations on your betrothal Kepa

[backjustforberena]

"The Stranger has visited me more times than I can count, Grand Maester. I assure you… he cares little whether my eyes are open or closed."

Laena, and her unborn grandchild: far away from her, unexpectedly.

Laenor: in their home, whilst she was sleeping, he was murdered due to dangers she had already articulated.

Vaemond: in front of her eyes, despite her earlier warnings, by her own family.

Corlys: far away from her, on the brink of death, after six years apart.

No matter where she is, what she does, if she foresees the danger or not, if she has her eyes open or shut to the reality, the Stranger doesn't care. Her loved one can die right in front of her or a country away. The Stranger leaves her powerless. The Strange takes and takes. She couldn't save any of them.

Rhaenys is proximate or aware of most deaths during the series. She is a castle away from Aemma, her cousin, who dies on the birthing bed - and is present at her funeral. She details, casually, the manner in which Rhea Royce dies. She is there and a witness to Joffrey's death.

And then we cast forward to after she says this statement. Corlys lives, yes but who else dies? How many more deaths is she attached to? How many graves? There's the general theme of war: the cost of it, the savagery, the toll. She thinks of it almost constantly ("if something were to befall you"). But actual deaths?

Viserys: The very next morning, after this quote. He dies rooms away. But he's been dead to her for a long time, despite the love there.

Caswell: she sees his hanging body.

Visenya: She sees the blood and the beginning of that death. She is present at the funeral.

Luke: She is there when he volunteers, she did not foresee this, she wanted to keep those boys safe. Yet he dies. And she feels that grief but is not allowed to feel that grief because everyone else feels it far too heavily, and there's a job to do. She attends his funeral.

Jaehaerys: She is present when the Blacks get the news. She didn't see it coming but isn't surprised. She looks straight at the culprit.

Erryk and Arryk: Again, so proximate to it. In the same castle, one would assume. And she stands at their graveside.

Then Rook's Rest. Literally staring death in the face. If we go back to "He cares little whether my eyes are open or closed", then it has to circle around to Meleys and herself. That final look. Her eyes are wide open as she watches Meleys's close. And she is powerless to save her dear, dear dragon.

And then she falls herself. Her eyes open. It doesn't matter if she closed them or not, she's falling. She's dying. She's dead.

[sweetbunpura]

Rook getting called He-Man

Leona getting called Thundercats

Malleus getting called Goliath (in reference to Gargoyles)

Ace and Deuce getting called Thing 1 and Thing 2

Rollo getting called Rolie-Polie-Olie

Yuu, in her text messages that I should one day post, literally calls Adeuce Thing 1 and Thing 2.

Rollo went from "Flamme" to "Rolls" to "Rolls-Royce" (Cause he is a luxury few can afford)

Vil getting called "Sharpay"

Riddle's is "Da Rules" - Fairly Oddparents

Yuu has shouted out Leroy Jenkins while playing a MMO with Idia and Lilia, both were confused as fuck.

Jade and Floyd are "I'd sell you to Satan..." - Jade "...For a corn chip" - Floyd

Epel got called "Jigglypuff" Because he puts people to sleep with his UM.

Jack's nickname on her phone is "There are two wolves"

The list goes on and on and it only succeeds in confusing people. She makes a game out of it.

[mejcinta]

Parallels Between Daemon and Aemond (narrative foils).

1. Both believe they would make better kings, even dismissing the existence of their brothers' heirs ahead of them in the line of succession e.g Daemon with baby Baelon, Aemond with Jaehaerys.

Episode 1 Daemon: "Until your mother (Aemma) brings forth a son, you are cursed with me."

Episode 9 Aemond: "I'm next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me, I intend to be found."

2. Both men, however, are loyal, respectful and defensive towards their brothers' positions as kings, even though they actively oppose their brothers' decisions and challenge their suitability to the role of king.

Daemon to Viserys in ep 1: "The blood of the dragon runs thick...he (Otto) doesn't protect you, I would."

Aemond to Lucerys at Storm's End, about Aegon: "Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

The duo also notably pursued their ambitions after their brothers were officially out of the picture, with Viserys dead and Aegon severely injured and incapacitated after the battle of Rook's Rest.

3. Both Daemon and Aemond have escaped marriages of duty, more or less. Daemon's marriage with Rhea Royce ended when he killed her. Aemond's betrothal to Floris Baratheon was dissolved or put on hold indefinitely after he killed Lucerys.

4. Both men have been romantically entangled with lowborn women, who they tried to legitimise to no avail.

Daemon took Mysaria as his lady when he captured Dragonstone for himself, demanding that she be recognized as his wife. He also later consorts with Nettles, a young dragonseed, who he is forced to leave in order to preserve her from Rhaenyra's wrath.

Aemond was besotted with Alys Rivers, a bastard woman in Harrenhal that was believed to be a woods witch skilled with potions and gifted with visions. He's assumed to have married her (as she was referred to as his widow) and she fights for their son's claim after Aemond's death.

Aemond and Daemon are foils, different as they are similar. Second sons burdened with the demands of duty and loyalty, cursed with dreams of greatness never quite fully realized; yet ending it all fighting for the cause they believe in and for the people they love.

[forkingandcountry-if]

The Great Houses of For King and Country

House Wynd

Title: Lord Paramount, Emperor Edmund Wynd

Ancestral Seat: Wyndham Castle

Region: The Wetlands

Coat of Arms: Partizan Spear with Grey Cloth tied to end

Motto: “Strike True, Strike Once”

Vassal Houses: Gray, Freymen, Cole, Dustin, Courtney, Cadfael, Douglas

House Radwell-Cadderly

Title: Lord Paramount Cade Radwell-Casterly

Ancestral Seat: Two Prince's Crossing

Region: The Princeland

Coat of Arms: Two Inverted Golden Crowns and a Golden Sun Between

Motto: “Only One Crown Above Ours”

Major Vassal Houses: Royce, Roy, Vardy, Barclay, Harvey, Godwell, Radwell, Carter, Cadderly

House Merivale*

Title: Lord of the Vale, Lord Paramount Lancet Merivale

Ancestral Seat: Kingsport

Region: The Vale and Great Lakes

Coat of Arms: Golden Crowned Falcon and Golden Buck on Split Green and Blue Background.

Motto: “Honor From On High”

Major Vassal Houses: Uplands, Grenplace, Loras, Lorelei, Flowers, Blondewood, Darley, Greenspan

House Abbey

Title: Lord Paramount Finneen Abbey

Ancestral Seat: Oldchurch

Region: The Midlands

Coat of Arms: Silver Crown in White Star

Motto: “Steel to clean the hearts of men”

Major Vassal Houses: Morrel, Coffer, Abney, Woods, Arden

House Chamer

Title: Warden of the Hinterland, Lord Paramount Ornold Chamer

Ancestral Seat: Mount Reave

Region: The Hinterlands and Firth

Coat of Arms: Bucking Horse

Motto: “All things can be ordered”

Major Vassal Houses: Cramer, MacAffey, Mulholland, Vicar

House Champion

Title: Warden of the Greater Realm, Lord Paramount Hal Champion

Ancestral Seat: Guard's Round Hall

Region: The Borderlands

Coat of Arms: Knight in a Field of Wheat

Motto: “Faithful Unto Death”

Major Vassal Houses: Daunt, Gallant, Richard, Radclyffe, Reeds

House Fischer

Title: Stewardess of the Royal Woods, Lady Paramount Moira Fischer

Ancestral Seat: Diver Castle

Region: The Greenwood

Coat of Arms: Wooden Keep

Motto: “Swift to sow! Swift to swords!”

Major Vassal Houses: Keats, Trent, Pole, Diver, Greenwood, Hart

House Parish

Title: Lord-Governor of the Plain, Lord Paramount Merritt Parish

Ancestral Seat: Fortress Merill

Region: The Plains

Coat of Arms: Burning fortress flanked by rivers

Motto: "First to Fury"

Major Vassal Houses: Murgatroyd, Everly, Eccleston, Farnham, Gladwyn, Dane, Dwerry

House Galagar

Title: Lord Paramount, King o' the Rock Brent Galagar

Ancestral Seat: The Rook

Region: The Highlands

Coat of Arms: Heraldic Eagle flanked by Lions

Motto: “In Our Own Right, Kings”

Major Vassal Houses: Aron, Link, Broeker, Burnes, Arrowsmith, Keeper, Fletcher

*You are an heir of House Merivale up in the Vale and Great Lakes.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

Finally, after long last, I'm done! A character lineup for @the-dye-stained-socialite's fic Take a Bow, written during the Fallen London Fic Swap! I got very inspired by all the descriptions of characters and costumes and went uh. A little nuts. Can't say they're all accurate as historical stage costumes go, but I think they look cool as hell, so!

Characters and who they belong to under the cut! Because there's quite a few of them.

Jamie Awnings, @thedeafprophet

Elias Leroux, @the-dye-stained-socialite

Rook, @moonstruck-stormy

Irving Merritt and Harper Faraday, (me)

Jules, @thedandy-detective

Orsinio Elderwood, @house-of-mirrors

And finally,

The Ex-Disgraced Academic, @alexis-royce :-)

[jasdiary]

“I don’t question this world anymore, 2+2 could be 8 for all I know!”

Original Juvia Intro Post

Name : Juvia Yuyi Espejo

Nicknames : Juvi, Prefect/Housewarden, Piss Baby (Samuel @terrovaniadorm , Ellis @starry-night-rose , and many others,,,), Bestie (Ellis), Juju (Keres), A deer and a puppy..?(Artemis), ‘Via(Deuce and Ace), Sunshine (Deuce), Henchman (Grim), Human (Sebek), Child of Man (Malleus), Potato (Vil and sometimes Epel as a joke-), Mademoiselle Jaune (Rook), Sea Bunny (Floyd), Sunflower (Deuce), Nena(Ruggie and Azul)

Jp Va : Ueda Reina

En Va : Felecia Angelle

Age : 17

Height : 160 cm (5’3)

Homeland : [not found] … [Earth:The Bronx]

Birthday : 12/13 December 13th

Zodiac sign : Sagittarius

Species : Human

Hair Color : Chocolate brown with honey blonde highlights

Eye Color : Caramel Brown

Gender : Female (She/Her)

Sexuality : Bisexual

Family : Janae Oscuro(Mother), Javier Oscuro(Father?), Johan Oscuro(Younger Brother), Jayde Oscuro(Younger Sister), Solana Díaz(Grandmother), Royce Espejo(Biological Father), Unnamed Great Grandmother†

Occupation : Student at Night Raven College, Housewarden of Ramshackle

Twisted From : [not found]

WARNING!! Juvia’s backstory and trivia contains mentions and themes of sickness/chronic illness, depression, suicidal thoughts, child neglect,eating disorders and mentions of death. Please read at your own discretion!!

——————————————————————————

——————————————————————————

School Information

Dorm : Ramshackle

School Year : 1st (Freshman)

Class : 1-A

Best Subject : Art

Worst Class : Math

Club : Board Game Club

Dominant Hand : Right

Favorite Food : Shrimp Alfredo

Least Favorite Food : Anything with condiments

Likes : Drawing, making friends, Being away from Crowley, Being with Deuce and Ace, Dying her hair, Rabbits, Grim!, Going to club meetings, The color yellow, Her grandma

Dislikes : Crowley™️, TREY!!!!, Floyd (most of the time), Mayonnaise, Being ignored, Being sick, Her body, Insects, Her mom, math!!

Hobbies : Digital art, singing, dancing, Cleaning up Ramshackle, Doing Crowley’s bidding/hj, Watching over everyone, Being NRC’s personal Therapist/j

Personality : Juvia’s goofy, she’s so very sweet and she’s super friendly! She adores making friends, whether she thinks they’ll stay or not. As the magicless prefect from a different world, Juvia’s extremely curious about Twisted Wonderland as there’s still so much she doesn’t know! At first meet, Juvia’s shy as she’s not very good at talking to people and tends to keep to herself. Once you actually befriend her, she’s never afraid to speak whatever is on her silly little mind. She’s super quick-witted with her jokes. Juvia describes herself as someone with so much love in her heart for everyone. She’s a little air-headed at times, which she usually laughs at!

Unique Magic : Nothing. She has…nothing. But, if she had nothing…why does the magic mirror tell her to be careful of her emotions?

Backstory + Part 2:

₊ ⊹ ⪩⪨ ┆Juvia Yuyi Espejo Backstory*✨ ‹𝟥

Juvia is a Puerto Rican-Dominican girl from the Bronx. Her life wasn’t particularly special or interesting and she wasn’t exactly rich or poor but she was grateful for everything. Except for living. Juvia despised herself. A fateful day where she sat in front of the mirror, her stomach churned looking at herself and the words were starting to get to her again. She hated her body, she hated her freckles, she hated her hair, eyes, eyebrows, nose, everything. She was a good person, so why her? Why are people so mean? Why is she so mean to herself?

Juvia could do something about it, to make the pain go away. But, she knows she’s too much a coward to do anything. As she goes to stand up, Juvia feels something or rather…someone push her directly into the mirror in front of her.

The last thing she heard was the glass shattering before her vision darkened and she went unconscious.

When Juvia opened her eyes after what felt like forever, everything was still black. She was inside of somewhere, and it was entirely too closed up for her. Anxiety skyrocketing, Juvia frantically tried to get out of wherever she was. Banging and kicking every corner as hard as she could, she managed to succeed…..but she fell flat on the cold floor. When she scrambled back up, still wobbly and dizzy, her vision focused on the amount of people staring at her in dark robes. But what really shocked her was the…coffin?? next to her slamming open and out came a little grey creature. Wait, was he on fire?

Juvia tried to ask where was she was but her voice wouldn’t come out. No matter how hard she tried, her voice refused to cooperate. Probably due to shock. When a tall man with a crow mask walked up to her, the first thing he did was scold her! Who the hell was this guy? And wait a second, what the hell is a familiar?!

Juvia couldn’t really do anything but stand there and let the masked crow guide her in front of a giant mirror. Why…why does it have a face- WHY IS IT TALKING??

Her soul wasn’t from this world? Well, she knew that much!! Just what was going on?! God, she has so many questions…

₊ ⊹ ⪩⪨ ┆Juvia Yuyi Espejo Backstory Pt.2✨ ‹𝟥

Ever since Juvia was young, she’s been in and out of hospitals. No one, not even doctors, know exactly what her sickness is. She’s just…not okay. Coughing up blood, Cataplexy, Memory loss…Something was horribly wrong with little Juvia. However, one thing was known. It was Fatal. The more and more her parents took her to the hospital, the worse she got. Eventually, her mom became frustrated. Not with the doctors, oh no. Juvia herself. Why couldn’t she just been a healthy child that was easy to take care of? Was this her birth fathers doing? Why does SHE have to take her?

From then on, she half-assed every doctors visit no matter how severe Juvia’s condition was. Little Juvia was smart so she was able to notice how her mother started to care less and less about her, watching the sparkle from her eyes dim into nothingness. But she love mami! and Mami loves her too!…..right? And why does dad look so sad? These questions were too much for Juvia’s migraine ridden brain. It wasn’t until she fell into Twisted Wonderland that she didn’t feel all these things. less headaches, less dizziness, she felt fine for the first time in forever.

But…will she continue to stay this way? With her heart slowly turning into obsidian liquid, Her time in Twisted Wonderland may be limited even more.

Random Trivia!

Since spawning in Twisted Wonderland, Juvia’s heart was drowned in blot. The blot greatly slows down her sickness which is why she seems healthier in Twisted Wonderland. But because it’s fully blotted, she’s greatly at risk to overblotting at any time. This is why the magic mirror or those who can see blot accumulation tell her to take care of her emotions.

Speaking of emotions…Juvia’s very emotional ����

Juvia’s extremely close with Azul Ashengrotto and Ruggie Bucchi! she sees them as her older brother figures

She’s the closest with Deuce Spade, they’re seen together a lot even without their little ginger friend

Though she aspires to be in art, she has theater experience and is said to be a great actress

Juvia speaks spanish fluently and especially enjoys when people ask her to translate words

Back in her world, Juvia dyed her hair a lot! Her favorite color she did was purple. She doesn’t dye it as much nowadays because she finds it too time consuming

If Juvia was in a different dorm, she’d be in Scarabia!

You’ll almost never see her without those two black rings on each of her pointer fingers. if one of them leaves her sight, she begins to panic. They were her late great grandmothers rings.

She’s the butt of many…piss jokes due to her love of the color yellow💔

Her favorite professor is Trein, He treats her more gently than some of the other students because she reminds him of his daughters ☹️💕

After the events of Chapter 6, she’s become an honorary member of Pomefiore + Her relationship with Idia was slightly severed

Many of her friends have to keep an eye on her food intake as she forgets meals and sometimes isn’t used to eating a decent amount of food due to being sick.

Juvia’s stamina sucks balls. Sick or not, this girl is seeing stars after walking up a flight of stairs.

Juvia’s very sensitive. She’ll sob uncontrollably if you speak in a certain way to her ☠️😭

[Seen in her dorm uniform] Juvia has a small pocket watch that times her blot accumulation outside of her heart. In Chapter 8, it’s seen to be half filled.

Juvia’s hand is bandaged and then scarred after Grims manic episode in end of Chapter 5-Beginning of Chapter 6

Chapter 6 and 7 are the closest Juvia has gotten to fully overblotting

These Juvia Designs Show up near the end of Chapter 5. Juvia’ og design is still very much Canon and exists.

[chosetherose]

FULL ARTICLE:

WHEN TRAVIS KELCE was a young man, his college football coach pulled him aside one day and told him the secret of life: Everybody you meet in this world is either a fountain or a drain.

“I need fountains,” the coach growled at Kelce. “I don’t need f—ing drains. Travis, you’re f—ing draaaining me!”

The advice left a deep impression. (“Changed his life,” says one of Kelce’s closest friends.) Yes, Kelce thought—you’re either a giver of the basic wellsprings of life or a thirsty taker. He vowed to be the former. In a world of gutters, be a geyser. 

You think about that story as Kelce drives you around his beloved Kansas City, home of his world-champion Chiefs, for whom he’s the star tight end and arguably the second-most popular player, after his best friend, quarterback Patrick Mahomes. You think about that story on a gorgeous autumn afternoon as Kelce gives you a personal tour of his decadelong history in this city, his singular journey from clueless rook to legend. (“I used to take this scenic route [to the stadium]—there’s just something about seeing the city you’re about to go represent….”)

You can’t help thinking about that fountain story, not only because Kelce’s custom-made Rolls-Royce looks like a font of glowing light, not only because its silver goddess hood ornament is a burbling spigot of mercury. You think about that story because, as Kelce stops at a red light, as shirtless guys begin shambling toward the Rolls, apparently intent on opening the doors, getting an autograph, maybe even catching a ride, Kelce doesn’t seem the least bit alarmed. He’s smiling, waving, honking, even chuckling at a fan who leaps off the curb and “hits the stanky leg,” a dance Kelce has been known to bust out after a touchdown. At one point Kelce rolls down the window and exchanges hellos with some guy heedlessly reversing his rig into oncoming traffic, just so he can pull alongside Kelce and give a thumbs-up.

A different sort of celebrity might be more guarded, might even chirp those big Rolls tires and speed away before someone throws their body across the luminous silver bonnet, but Kelce’s default emotion is this—exuberant extroversion. He likes people. Loves people. Never mind deciding not to be a drain. If people gush at him, he can’t help it, he gushes back. 

Noting all this, you think how fame itself might be a kind of fountain. Some people moan about getting wet, others frolic like kids around a hydrant. You even wonder if this fountain-drain paradigm might be the skeleton key to Kelce, the Rosetta Stone for which half of America seems to be hunting right now. 

Kelce was famous for several years, thanks to his Hall of Fame résumé, his symbiotic relationship with Mahomes, but that was just football famous. This year, after winning the Super Bowl, after hosting Saturday Night Live, after starring in all the commercials, Kelce became inescapable. And that was before—you know. 

People have begun to ask in all earnestness why they can’t turn on their TV anymore without seeing Kelce’s sculpted mug. They wonder, not with snark, but in all sincerity: Who the frick is this guy? And where did he come from? 

You have a TV. You wonder too. So you decide to join the search for answers. One weekend, in the thick of football season, you get on a plane to Kansas City.

BUT FIRST. Back up. Like that knucklehead who threw it into reverse, go back. Before you can take the Travis Michael Kelce Guided Tour, you need to watch him cry. 

Kelce is a hard man to tackle, but he’s shockingly easy to trigger. You just have to mention his best friends, the tight-knit crew who hang at his house and tag along on his golf outings, who manage his money and curate his diet and fill his private suite at Arrowhead Stadium. Suddenly, his cornflower-blue eyes, which normally twinkle, start to glisten. Now come the tears. Big sloppy ones. Talk about your fountains. 

Kelce tries to play it off. He launches a sentence, stops. He launches another, again aborts. He paws his eyes with his giant hands and looks to be on the verge of losing it, because if Kelce loves people, what he really loves is his people. 

This whole display takes place on a Monday afternoon at a Kansas City steakhouse, where you and Kelce are having an early dinner. Like, retirement-community early. He’s in recovery mode, healing from dozens of violent collisions sustained during the previous day’s win over division rival Los Angeles, and food is medicine. He can intuit when he’s hit the caloric sweet spot necessary to mend or maintain his 6-foot-5, 260-pound frame (roughly 4,000), and he’s not there yet. So he orders the dry-aged filet rubbed with coffee, Caesar salad (hold the anchovies), a side of “triple-cooked” fries and a glass of water. 

After a long pause, and several Lamaze breaths, Kelce collects himself, apologizes. Can’t help it, he says; those folks who always have his back, who call him by the ancient secret nicknames (Big Yeti, El Travedor, Killatrav, Michael, etc.)—they’re everything. He doesn’t think of them as his entourage; he thinks of them as family, an extension of “Mama Kelce” and “Poppa Kelce” and older brother Jason, the starting center for the Philadelphia Eagles. 

Patrick Bacon, a friend since first grade, says Kelce’s go-to method of winding down after a hard game or long day is to sit with this “core group” around his kitchen island and chop it up. Talk, that’s what nourishes Kelce, not videogames, not bottle service at some club. 

“He loves to talk about the old days,” Bacon says. But it has to be with people from the old days. People who know that Kelce will sometimes dismiss a bad or subpar thing as “buns.” People who know that one of Kelce’s favorite desserts is French toast dripping with whipped cream and syrup. People who know that, growing up, he played every sport in Cleveland Heights, Ohio, and also know the difference between Cleveland Heights and Cleveland proper. You want to break into the Kelce core group? You better have a phone number that starts with 216. 

And yet, you wonder how well his friends really know him, how well he lets anyone know him, because to a person they all say Trav lives in the moment, Trav never thinks about tomorrow, Trav never worries about retirement, despite recently turning 34, making him a Gollum in the NFL, whereas Kelce confesses that he thinks about it nonstop, “more than anyone could ever imagine.” In the same spirit, perhaps, he keeps his own counsel about his round-the-clock physical anguish. “That’s the only thing I’ve never really been open about,” he says, “the discomfort. The pain. The lingering injuries—the 10 surgeries I’ve had that I still feel every single surgery to this day.” 

Kansas City’s longtime tight ends coach, Tom Melvin, says Kelce undersells the pain because the alternative is not playing, and the man will not miss games. “He has phenomenal pain tolerance. He’s played through things that other athletes I’ve coached through the years have not been able to push through. Mentally tough—way off the charts.” 

Kelce’s trainer and physical therapist, Alex Skacel, says there’s not a single day, in season, when Kelce stretches out on the training table and doesn’t have some gruesome bruise. What few realize, however, is the insane number of scratches. Guys claw each other out there, Skacel says; it can leave Kelce’s epidermis striated with crimson. To bounce back after such abuse requires more than basic therapy. Kelce and Skacel use a battery of esoteric treatments, from cupping to dry needling to occlusion therapy: essentially tying off a limb with a tourniquet while Kelce works out. Kelce also adheres to a pregame regimen of anti-inflammatories, which he doesn’t like to discuss because they “have a history of affecting people’s insides.” 

Despite it all, Kelce sounds like a man who’s never loved football more. Skacel recalls being with Kelce in Paris for Fashion Week. Around midnight, after 12 hours of bouncing from one designer show to another, Kelce was feeling guilty that he hadn’t done enough that day for his body. He suggested a run. Soon, a quick jog along the Seine turned into a mini-marathon, then wind sprints across empty bridges. While Paris slept, Kelce and Skacel grinded. It was cinematic, both men say, a double pump of adrenaline, like something out of Rocky. More, it was a reaffirmation of what matters most. 

IF KELCE BROODS on life without football, one reason is that he had an excruciating sneak preview. A redshirt sophomore at Cincinnati, he got booted off the team for smoking pot. In a blink, he lost everything—his purpose, his meaning. “It was like my life was over.” 

He also lost his scholarship. He had to get a job. The best one he could find was at a telemarketing firm, doing healthcare surveys. “Eye-opening,” he says, bowing his head.

Cold-calling people in southern Ohio, northern Kentucky, eastern Indiana, asking what they thought of Obamacare, taught him a lot. (“Uh, sir, I ran out of the comment box, I can’t write anymore, we gotta kind of keep this moving.”) Above all it taught him that he didn’t want to ever do that again. 

He probably won’t have to. He’s got options. Sometimes he sees himself in a broadcasting booth. Sometimes his manager talks about action flicks. (Maybe a Marvel movie? Kelce’s already built like Wolverine.) You also get the sense that Kelce toys with notions of doing some form of comedy. He haunts clubs, lives for open-mic nights, and he’s gotten to be friendly with several rising stand-ups.

At the moment, of course, the only thing millions of people want to know about Kelce’s future is whether or not it will include Taylor Swift. And the second thing they’re dying to know is how he and she got together in the first place. 

More study has been dedicated to the opening salvos of their relationship than to the first seconds of the Big Bang, and thus far both origins remain a mystery. People have even speculated that Kelce somehow spoke his desire into the universe and just—manifested Swift? 

Did he sit in a dark room and say Jumanji three times? He laughs. “I don’t know if I want to get into all of it,” he says, and then he gets into it, because fountain. 

It all started when he tried to meet Swift at her Arrowhead concert in July and got blocked, presumably by security. He then recounted the experience in a charming way on the podcast he does with Jason. Soon after, he says, he received an unbidden assist from inside Team Swift. 

“There were definitely people she knew that knew who I was, in her corner [who said]: Yo! Did you know he was coming? I had somebody playing Cupid.” He wasn’t aware at the time, however; the revelation only came later, after he looked down at his phone and got the shock of a lifetime. “She told me exactly what was going on and how I got lucky enough to get her to reach out.”

He lets slip that some of his early helpers were part of the Swift family tree. “She’ll probably hate me for saying this, but…when she came to Arrowhead, they gave her the big locker room as a dressing room, and her little cousins were taking pictures…in front of my locker.” 

Understandably, he’s not handing out details about the first date, though he will say that he managed to not be nervous. “When I met her in New York, we had already kind of been talking, so I knew we could have a nice dinner and, like, a conversation, and what goes from there will go from there.” 

If anyone was nervous, he adds, it was his core group. “Everybody around me telling me: Don’t f— this up! And me sitting here saying: Yeah—got it.”

As those first heady days unfolded, as news bulletins and cutaways showed Swift cheering Kelce on from his suite, Kelce was uncharacteristically guarded with the media. “That was the biggest thing to me: make sure I don’t say anything that would push Taylor away.” 

Likewise, his mother. Donna Kelce still berates herself for how she handled a question about Taylor on the Today show. Trying not to sound too enthusiastic, she came off underwhelmed. Kelce, not wanting his mom to feel bad, immediately phoned her and assured her that she did a super job—adding that her green eyeglasses looked great.

These days, however, with the relationship progressing, Donna feels more at liberty. “I can tell you this,” she says, beaming. “He’s happier than I’ve seen him in a long time…. God bless him, he shot for the stars!”

Kelce seems freer, too. He doesn’t need to be asked about Taylor; he mentions her unreservedly, lavishes praise on her, calls her “hilarious,” “a genius,” notes that they share compatible worldviews, especially when it comes to family and work. “Everybody knows I’m a family guy,” he says. “Her team is her family. Her family does a lot of stuff in terms of the tour, the marketing, being around, so I think she has a lot of those values as well, which is right up my alley.”

One of Kelce’s friends describes a sweet, magical moment, a late-night gathering around Kelce’s firepit. Kelce and Swift looked like two “peas in a pod,” the friend says, and at one point they even burst into a memorable duet of—“Teenage Dirtbag”?

This must be fake 

My lips start to shake 

How does she know who I am?

LONG BEFORE MEETING SWIFT, Kelce was just another Swiftie. In some ways he still is. He explains the concept of her concert—“She does it in eras”—as if you live in a yurt in Outer Mongolia. Then he eagerly informs you that the night he attended, he was counting the minutes until she got to 1989. (Both he and Swift were born in 1989.) “ ‘Blank Space’ was one I wanted to hear live for sure. I could make a bad guy good for the weekend. That’s a helluva line!”

More often than not, he says, it was a Swiftian beat, a melody that captivated him. (“She writes catchy jingles.”) But lately he’s all about those lyrics; he’s scrutinized the breakup stuff. What a miracle, he says, the way Swift can turn life into poetry. “I’ve never been a man of words. Being around her, seeing how smart Taylor is, has been f—ing mind-blowing. I’m learning every day.”

Something he might need to learn from Swift: how to handle the attention. Kelce lives in a quiet neighborhood north of downtown—leafy trees, trim lawns, no gates. There’s now a clutch of desperate-looking dudes with cameras stationed on his sidewalk 24/7. He’s followed everywhere, drones buzzing overhead—it’s stressful, more than he lets on, according to one confidante.

“Obviously I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of aura about them…. I’ve never dealt with it,” Kelce says. “But at the same time, I’m not running away from any of it…. The scrutiny she gets, how much she has a magnifying glass on her, every single day, paparazzi outside her house, outside every restaurant she goes to, after every flight she gets off, and she’s just living, enjoying life. When she acts like that I better not be the one acting all strange.”

Asked if he has anything to teach Swift, he looks shy. He can’t think of anything offhand. 

Football? 

Sure, he says, sounding unsure. 

Of course, the thing she probably wants to learn about most is him. While talking to Kelce you realize all at once that the most avid participant in the national scavenger hunt for clues about his character is likely Swift herself. To that end, Donna says that anyone wishing to understand her younger son would do well to start with her older. Travis “could never quite catch up” to Jason, she says. “He was always just second, just searching to be the best, and never quite getting there.” (The only way in which the two brothers were full equals was appetite. As boys, Donna says, “they would sit down and eat whole chickens.”) 

Others say the key to Travis is simpler than that. He’s basically still the kid who filled his Dad’s shampoo bottle with hand cream. “He just lives his life with so much joy,” Jason says. “He’s always kind of surrounding himself with people who are funny, who have a zest for life; it’s one of the things that defines him.”

Jason recalls many nights in the Kelce family room, the two brothers and mom eating in front of some comedy. “We had one of those coffee tables that the top would lift up and meet you at your face if you were eating,” he says, guffawing.

Maybe that’s why Kelce still watches and rewatches those same movies and shows? All his sacred entities got fused into one dollop of sensory memory—food, family, laughter.

Indeed, Kelce has warned Swift that she’s going to have to reckon with this part of his personality. Adam Sandler, Chris Farley, Will Ferrell—they will all be a part of the relationship. “I told Taylor that I have that world, I’ve got to introduce it to her. I let her know: This is my jam right here.” (Kelce does an uncanny imitation of Farley’s dorky baritone, and the ringtone on his phone is Farley primal screaming: For the love of GOD!) 

If the past is any prelude, this will register like an 8.0 earthquake among Swifties. Their queen—screening Tommy Boy? Every new factoid, every new piece of the puzzle, gets eagerly cataloged, investigated, celebrated, especially on “SwiftTok,” a fervent virtual community, according to Brian Donovan, a professor at the University of Kansas who teaches a seminar called The Sociology of Taylor Swift. 

Donovan says several of his class discussions this semester have been given over to No. 87. Swifties make no apology for delving into her relationships, just as Shakespeare scholars like to contemplate the subject of the sonnets. But the deep “vetting” of Kelce, Donovan adds, goes well beyond fans. “I think there’s a public fascination, because it seems like a pure unalloyed moment of joy in the wider context of global wars, deepening political polarization, dysfunction in Congress, an ongoing health crisis. There’s a lot of bad news out there, and this is a common story that everybody knows about and can talk about. I don’t think we’ve had that in American culture for a long time.”

NOW GET IN THE CAR. Now you’re ready for the Rolls. Or are you? Gawking at the ceiling, you ask, Are those stars? 

Yes, Kelce says. 

You stare in disbelief. Embedded in a leather firmament are scores, no, hundreds—many hundreds—of twinkling lights, a fiber-optic galaxy meant to resemble the larger galaxy in which we’re all floating. For the sake of verisimilitude, the Rolls even produces a shooting star now and then. There was one, just a second ago, Kelce says. “Make a wish. Dreams come true.” 

He guns the engine and steers toward downtown. The Rolls doesn’t drive so much as waft you around Kansas City. The ride is so cush, it almost makes sense, for a moment or two, that the car is worth more than many of the buildings you pass. (A Rolls Ghost, before customizing, goes for nearly half a million dollars.) All of which makes it that much more startling, as you come to the heart of downtown, when Kelce points out his first-ever apartment and shows you the alley door where he’d sneak in and out when he was late on the rent. 

What? 

It was his rookie season, he says, and the paychecks rolled in every week. But he didn’t understand that paychecks stop when the season does. So he didn’t budget. “I don’t want to say I was broke….” But he was. “There might have been one or two days I avoided the landlord.”

He’s not ducking landlords these days. Still, he’s grossly underpaid. His $14 million salary, though near the top among tight ends, is half what the league’s star receivers make, and Kelce often functions as a receiver. 

Nothing to be done, he says flatly. The Chiefs know, he says, that he would play for free. They know he loves his city, his quarterback. “Unfortunately, in this business, things gotta get ugly, they gotta get unpleasant [if you want more money], and I’m a pleasant son of a buck.”

Thank goodness for endorsements. At this point, says his co-manager Aaron Eanes, “the NFL is just his side hustle.” 

Eanes and his brother, Andre, handle much of Kelce’s business life, from investments to marketing, and it was they who widened his investment portfolio, putting him into a tequila company, an energy drink and a chain of car washes. They also steered him into lucrative endorsements, like Bud Light and the Covid vaccine, for which he caught much grief from Aaron Rodgers. The Jets quarterback, out since game one of the season with a torn Achilles, belittled Kelce as a Pfizer shill during one of his Tuesday appearances on The Pat McAfee Show. 

Kelce took the high road then. He’s staying on it now. “Aaron’s always been cool to me,” he says. “I knew he was trying to have some fun. He’s in a situation where Tuesdays are his game days…. So I get it, man, I’ve been injured too…. Who knows what the guy is going through?”

Kelce double-parks the Rolls outside a building that’s brightly lit, unusual in this neighborhood. That’s Operation Breakthrough, he says, voice swelling with emotion. Founded in 1971, the charitable organization provides safe spaces and cutting-edge educational resources for the city’s poorest children. Kelce enjoys coming here to visit, and sometimes invites the children to his suite on Sundays. And three years ago, when Operation Breakthrough wanted to expand, he bought them the muffler shop next door. 

Mary Esselman, Operation Breakthrough’s CEO, says that whenever Kelce visits, he doesn’t bring media and he doesn’t leave until the last kid has felt seen and appreciated. Not long ago, she adds, Kelce sponsored a football camp. Afterward, Esselman asked the children to name the highlight of the experience. 

One told her: “He remembered my name.” 

Kelce drives you past a jazz club he likes, a coffee place he used to frequent. Just recently, he concedes, he could go to a Starbucks in Manhattan without anyone looking twice. Those days seem over. Minutes later, he’s steering past a small airport, where Swift’s plane is often prominently parked these days.

Is it there now, gleaming in the moonlight? The Kelce eras tour is coming to a close. Left unsaid, but palpable: She’s at the house, waiting. 

The Rolls pulls off the highway, up the hill to your hotel. You thank him for taking so much time, for answering all your questions. As you step out of the Rolls, you turn, ask him one more. 

You ask him if you’re going crazy, or did he really say that thing when you first got in the car? Did he really point to a shooting star in the ceiling of his Rolls-Royce and say, “Make a wish. Dreams come true”? 

He cracks up. 

He did. He said it. 

He’s not running from it. 

What’s more, it might just be true. 

“How do you think I manifest it all?”

[horizon-verizon]

Nettles isn't important at all. Nettles is just a plot device against Rhaenyra. Nothing else. And yes I also don't think Mysaria as a character was that important either. Also there's not enough source material to think Nettles isn't a bastard daughter of a Targaryen for any of us to especulate that she was just randomly chosen by Sheepstealer. Please do keep in mind that the sources are biased.

Didn't some of us (not you apparently) in the fandom and esp on Twitter already try to do this song and dance of "just a plot device" in Baela? The actual daughter of Daemon who also put Aegon into worse commission before he landed on Dragonstone and symbolically/ironically halted his attempt at a victorious display of kingship/authority/power, thus mirroring Rhaenys at Rook's Rest? No one (you) learned from that, huh?

In so far as there is a plot and every single character serves a purpose, every single character is technically a "plot device" and was put there for a reason. And both Mysaria and Nettles are "supporting characters":

A supporting character is a character who isn’t the main focus in the story but instead supports the protagonist in to ultimately help them achieve their goal, have a transformation, or ["or" is a magical word, really get to know it, anon] move the story forward. -- Studiobinder

So what you are really trying to say is that Nettles' importance and role in the plot is infinitesimal, nevermind her character or personhood. Take her out and the story/plot would stay the same or Rhaenyra would have had the last part of her fall still exist in the same way in the way it went. Same for Mysaria. Oh, and bc there is no proof or strong enough material to be relied on to believe that she isn't Daemon's bastard daughter, we cannot claim that she isn't Daemon's daughter and that's how she was able to bond w/Sheepstealer.

I already gave the reasons why the first part of this take is delusional HERE and HERE and in the given definition of "supporting character". However, in some posts under the tag of "daemon and nettles", not only have I accepted the bio-daughter theory as possible, I already explained how it is plausible HERE. I just so happen to present other theories for their bond and before a certain point I also said I didn't quite believe in the bio-daughter theory until I put more credence to it in one of the links I already gave.

Also, it's ridiculous to claim that Mysaria was unimportant to the plot/story when:

it is through her and her connections that Daemon got one of Aegon-Helaen's kids killed in retaliation for Luke's death; he wouldn't have been able to have that done as smoothly or at all w/o her; which also got Aegon so angry to risk himself in Rook's Rest (consequences, anon)

Daemon and Rhaenyra both used her for information so much and for so long that she became the official mistress of whispers after they took KL, which shows that they felt they could rely on her abilities, resources, connections, and desire for more power more than others'

she was the one who was rumored to suggest the Brothel Queen punishment (the event that many green fans say actually happened and what we were bombarded with for months on Tumblr and Twitter...but as for her suggesting it or making a not-so-offhand remark about it, that is plausible)

her exile back to Lys had a negative effect on Daemon and Viserys' relationship, even though Daemon never seriously rebelled against Viserys except in marrying Rhaenyra

Daemon--out of any and every sex worker he came across, including Valyrian-looking ones--decided that she was the one he'd at least stay around to hear speak and allow to be his mistress, to carry his child when he also already had a Royce wife for that...so something about her allowed her to be closer to the Targs; she isn't special just bc a prince chose her so much as she managed to get Daemon to think she was worth hanging around or useful in some way

she is the one to finally convince Rhaenyra that Nettles is a threat, and thus trigger the series of plot events of Daemon and Rhaenyra's demises -> Rhaenyra's targeting of Nettles set about getting rid of Rhaenyra's partner/lines of defense, disunified the blacks more, and thus made her more a subject of both more grief, new shock, and be vulnerable to other moving forces

Mysaria as her unique history, relationship, and present situation w/Daemon & Rhaenyra makes her act in the way she acts, puts her close to them, and thus be able to make critical choices/acts that lead to all their deaths in the way that we see them. Without her, things would have been a whole different, we'd have a different story. The same goes for Nettles. They both move the story forward or trigger/cause transformations in the protagonist(s). So this "just a plot device" nonsense is just that: nonsense. Secondary characters are not "unimportant" just because they are secondary, supporting (and not necessarily "supportive"), or/and not the main players or the protagonists/antagonists. They need to exist or there is no story that a plot outlines and provides.

Therefore, it has to be something else that makes you so defiant and dismissive of Nettles and Mysaria to be so desperate to downplay or erase them. You can't try to collapse a basic and fundamental understanding of literary study and knowledge and thus think unreasonably just because. So you either hate them (which can be for various reasons, like racism or classism or misogyny/misogynoir [you don't like lower-classed/SWs/darker skinned/racially demeaned people become more actively/thematically intrinsic to nobles' journeys] or what I describe next), hate how they move the plot into a place you do not like or make a favorite look/reveal an immoral or terrifying dark part of their personality, or the second guides you into the first if you aren't racist, classist, etc. This is thinking in bad faith, anon.

Also, the "the sources are biased" only goes so far in explaining the relationships between characters precisely because they are biased and/or were not there to witness so we could assess their witnessed narratives for ourselves. You have made the conclusion, still, that Nettles is Daemon's bio-bastard daughter (I'm assuming bc you were so adamant about its consideration), but the only way you could access information about Nettles & Daemon is through the text. You only know them bc GRRM created them and provided characterizations personality traits and events for them. Nettle being Daemon's daughter is a theory that comes from Daemon's philandering of his youth or pre-Velaryon/Targaryen marriages. This is a trait of Daemon's and bastards being born of aristocratic men cheating on their noble wives is a given in this feudal world--worldbuilding & characterization.

Who are you to try to tell me that these characters are not important by making it as if the same text and its unfolding story that we both are reading doesn't matter?! When you say there isn't enough "material" to say Nettles is/isn't Daemon's kid, but imply that there is enough to think that she is, thereby revealing your use of the text. Your arrogance is astounding.

[martuzzio]

Medieval 141 AU Ideas

This is a huge work in progress but here's the ideas I have for this so far! Feel free to send me an ask if you have any thoughts or ideas of your own :D

I made a tag for this AU so it's easier to follow everything

In general, there's some sort of war brewing (with who? No idea) because you can't have a Medieval knight AU without some sort of impending doom. Ghost and Soap start as enemies and eventually fall in love

Soap: Head Knight (aka Captain) of the King’s Guard, the youngest knight ever to hold the position. Dreamed of being a knight as a child. He lives in the castle with the rest of the Guard and hangs out with Roach and Gaz when he can, which is less and less now with the war approaching. His horse Brèagha ("Beautiful") absolutely gets way too many carrots and sugar cubes from him

Ghost: Infamous mercenary with a long list of kills. He was paid to assassinate Soap to cripple Price's operation and kickstart the war but Soap's charm wins him over instead. I don't know what his horse is named but it's either something endearing (like "Sweetheart") or incredibly stupid (like "Sir-Bites-A-Lot-Explosion-Murder"). Totally falls in love with Soap first but is too chicken to say anything about it so he just follows Soap and the other knights around like a lost puppy

Price: King of... whatever the kingdom is called (either England or a made up country). Always busy, always tired. Loves his crazy found family of knights and killers and academics. Adopted Gaz when he was a boy

Gaz: Price's adopted son and heir to the throne. Enjoys running drills with Soap and Roach more than sitting for his history lessons. Best friends with Roach because they pretty much grew up together

Laswell: An advisor in the King's Court, like a Prime Minister-level person who works alongside Price. Super well respected and loved by the people because she's awesome :D

Roach: Another knight in Price's Guard. Mute, communicates with sign language. Has been Gaz's personal knight (and best friend) since forever. Orphan vibes

König: A knight from another kingdom sent to Price as a sort of exchange/show of good will. Was an executioner in the past (sniper's hood -> executioner's hood) because he was tall/strong enough to physically subdue the prisoners. Carries around an axe instead of a sword

Alejandro: ??

Rudy: ??

Graves: Either a knight in Price's Guard or an advisor in his Court that betrays them for the enemy kingdom

Shepherd: King of the other kingdom they're at war with

Other knights: Nikolai, Yuri, Poet, Meat, Toad, Archer, Zach, Chemo, Merlin, Royce, Peasant, Worm, Scarecrow, Rook, Ozone

[chasingthedragons]

The History of the Greater and the Lesser Houses

HOUSE TARGARYEN of King's Landing TITLES: King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men Lord of the Seven Kingdoms Protector of the Realm Warden of the King's Mint Vassal Houses - House Darklyn of Duskendale - House Massey of Stonedance - House Staunton of Rook's Rest - House Cargyll - House Thorne

HOUSE TARGARYEN of Dragonstone TITLES: Prince of Dragonstone Lord of Dragonstone Vassal Houses - House Velaryon of Driftmark - House Celtigar of Claw Isle - House Bar Emmon of Sharp Point

HOUSE BARATHEON of Storm's End TITLES: Lords Paramount of the Stormlands Vassal Houses - House Wylde of the Rain House - House Dondarrion of Blackhaven [Overlord of House Cole] - House Fell of Felwood - House Swan of Stonehelm - House Caron of Nightsong - House Stokeworth of Stokeworth - House Lonmouth

HOUSE LANNISTER of Casterly Rock TITLES: Warden of the West Lord of Casterly Rock Vassal Houses - House Westerling of the Crag - House Marbrand of Ashemark - House Lefford of the Golden Tooth - House Crakehall of Crakehall

HOUSE TYRELL of Highgarden TITLES: Warden of the South Lord Paramount of the Reach Lord of Highgarden Vassal Houses - House Hightower of the Hightower "of Oldtown" [Overlord of House Beesbury of Honeyholt] - House Redwyne of the Arbor - House Caswell of Bitterbridge - House Merryweather of Longtable - House Tarly of Horn Hill - House Rowan of Goldengrove

HOUSE TULLY of Riverrun TITLES: Lord Paramount of the Trident Lord of Riverrun Vassal Houses - House Strong of Harrenhal - House Blackwood of Raventree Hall - House Bracken of Stone Hedge - House Mooton of Maidenpool - House Frey of the Crossing - House Mallister of Seagard - House Mudd of Oldstones

HOUSE ARRYN of the Eyrie TITLES: Warden of the East Lord of the Eyrie Vassal Houses - House Royce of Runestone - House Corbray of Heart's Home

HOUSE STARK of Winterfell TITLES: Warden of the North Lord of Winterfell Vassal Houses - House Bolton of the Dreadfort

HOUSE GREYJOY of Pyke TITLES: Lord Reaper of Pyke Vassal Houses - House Sharp

[david-rambles]

David's OCs Masterpost

FAR CRY SERIES

Deputy Cricket Dawn Rook (FC5) // Matthew Dennis (FC5) // Sister Rizpah “Maggie” Mags (FC5) // Sunny “Bunny” Mizer (FCND) //

DRAGON AGE SERIES

Eve Surana // Bernadette Cousland // Anaise Amell // Darius Tabris // Marrien Amell-Hawke // Neri Lavellan //

FALLOUT SERIES

Ana Catherine Klebitz (Fo3) // Joanne “Joey” Parker [courier 6] // Camilla (F:nv) // Judas Mason (F:nv) // August Royce "Fucker" (Fo4) // Myra Chen (Fo4) //

VAMPIRE THE MASQUERADE

Gwendolyn Graves // Yuri Stewart // Sylvia Sinclaire // Langdon Macaulay // Hatred Bathory // Lucky Morris // Dexter Drayton // Valentino Giovanni // Giorgio Melchiorre // Daphne Sullivan //

GRAND THEFT AUTO SERIES

Ljubica Belić (Lucy Bellic) [GTA IV/V/O] // Tatjana Milić Belić [GTA IV] // Lorna Wilhelmina Howell [GTAO/???] // Thomas Jared “TJ” Bentley Carmichael III [GTAO] // Guadalupe "Lupe" Benitez Garcia Howell [GTA:VC] //

MISCELLANEOUS

Valkyrie Kitagawa (CP2077) // Murphy Butcher "Rat" (Saints Row) // Mars “Duck” Remington (The Outer Worlds) // Sol (Dragon's Dogma) // Faerryn (D:OS2) // Guy/Roach (Postal) // Muiruil Maelair (BG3) // Kristoff Johan Schwartz (AoT) //

*bold are characters I'm currently focused on & open for asks💙

[lemonhemlock]

Before I rant,

I agree with anon at large. 2. I tend to mix HOTD and F&B up depending on my mood but stay with me.

One thing that stood out to me is that Aemond in relation to Alicent takes up a similar narrative space as Daemon in relation to Rhaenyra. There's little room for Aegon here, let alone the fact Aegon is down after Rook's Rest. (Your anon aside, I disagree with the general notion that Aegon doesn't do much in the Dance; there's plenty of focus on his actions/decisions pre-Rook's Rest (when he spilt ink over Otto's lap I cackled out loud) and post-Sunfyre reunion. I also really enjoyed how GRRM teased his resurfacing, as well as, Sunfyre's return in the page's building up to it.) The lack of Daeron was also deeply suspicious, and I believe the rumours that they had planned to cut Daeron, and give large chunks of his plot beats to Aemond instead.

It's interesting that Alicent in F&B counts on Aemond returning with fire and blood, but it's Aegon returning to her (only with a broken body and a dead dragon instead).

The narrative continuously drives home that Rhaenyra is the chosen one, thus making the central tragedy of the Dance the fact that the wrong monarch (Aegon II) sits the throne. (IMO one of the tritest decisions they've made is turning Rhaenyra into this chosen one, thus shifting the focus away from the horrors of war way too much for me to find compelling any longer.) In a similar fashion, it would be the wrong son (Aegon) who returns to her. And with the writing so far, which seems to have Alicent relapse into Rhaenyramania after (1) act of kindness, I also see an ultimate angle of Alicent's tragedy being that son pushed onto her returns to her instead of the woman (and monarch) she would prefer, thus uniting Aegon's unwanted monarch/unwanted son energy, and further highlighting that this story is about the tragedy of, and between Alicent and Rhaenyra.

If they actually go with mutual romantic feelings Helaemond, Aegon would also fill out the role of unwanted husband. Huh, who knows maybe Sunfyre can't stand his ass either 🤷‍♀️ Wouldn't put it beyond the writing so far to go down that route.

A lot of Aegon's narrative so far seems to be about being unwanted (and that includes the raping -- which is why I'm probably one of the few who doesn't mind the addition, though the execution and narrative choices are left wanting). Borros wants his son to be named Aegon for Aegon II but his wife rejects his posthumous wish and names their son Royce (after her own father I think) instead. It adds to the pile of Aegon's rejections (and like the rape, mayhaps for good reason; "Why should I name my son after the imbecile whom my idiot husband died for pointlessly in an even more pointless war?". But then again, to make Aegon, by the end of the Dance, the sole ruler over the domain of pointless war (and during pre-Dance, rape) is silly and reductive. I think a lot of it will be dependent on narrative/POV choices and on how (further) enamoured the writer and audience will become with Rhaenyra and other team black characters, especially Cregan Stark (a warmonger in his own right), as well as, someone like Aemond, who seems to be well received so far (and hey why not bank on it? Plus hot witchy gf? As you said, imagine the TikToks! plus he's not the wet useless wastrel of his brother, no he's the stoic philosopher king -- if mommy had just pushed him out first 🎻🤏)

Whether suicide, which can be read as a last agentive act, and, at the same time, the succumbing of the suiciding party to the pile of rejections (and I say succumbing as oppose to "Giving up" very intentionally); OR poisoning, which would be the ultimate Rejection of Aegon III, the central question seems to be "Who want me?🥴❌��� [Results: not a soul 💯]"

I find the notion of "Cregan avenging Aegon's murder" so funny. The whole time, Cregan was building up to put Aegon II to the sword (and by the end Aegon II had lost all hope of being sent to the wall by Aegon III for killing his mother; and again the question "Why shouldn't Aegon III want Aegon II dead?) yet when Cregan arrives he got a case on his hand that he did not ask for nor want lol. It's a mummer's farce of a murder inspection.

Ultimately why I find Alicent and Aegon (and Aegon even more so due to the extremities of his flaws) so interesting, is that they're flawed victims (deeply flawed in Aegon's case lol), as well as unwanted-yet forced to perform duties. I understand why so many would be put off by the rape aspect of his character -- but it ultimately comes together for me with other aspects of his character. He happens to be the peak for "worst person in awogot" so far, especially to casual audiences, not due to any inherent worstness on his part, but simply due to screen time and narrative choices that favour other characters as tends to happen in fictional stories. That's simply how the cookie sometimes crumbles for secondary/tertiary characters.

TGC ate tho and that's why I'm here typing for the past 20 mins lmao.

a few disjointed thoughts:

The lack of Daeron was also deeply suspicious, and I believe the rumours that they had planned to cut Daeron, and give large chunks of his plot beats to Aemond instead.

perhaps this could be a reason why they chose to mollify aemond and vilify aegon?

Rhaenyramania

Huh, who knows maybe Sunfyre can't stand his ass either 🤷‍♀️

he's the stoic philosopher king -- if mommy had just pushed him out first 🎻🤏

reader, i laughed 😂😂😂

i had forgotten borros wanted to name his son aegon, what a trooper he was! greenpilled till the end, god bless. shoutout to lord grover tully as well, gone but never forgotten 🙏

i do agree that one of the reasons aegon is so underdeveloped is practical: ofc the older character will have more screen time, they've lived longer

however, he would not nearly be as reviled and we would not be writing these thinkpieces if they just made him the funny debauched drunk a la tyrion. people love those types of characters, without thinking they're the epitome of responsibility and maturity

[444names]

Names generated from American, French, German and Irish forenames, including the letter "O"

Adaleort Afforia Alloé Amhíonie Amilo Ammaoine Amonid Amonnya Ançoil Ançoilín Aodavick Aodne Aoibh Aoilda Aoill Aoille Aoilley Aoistarl Aolance Aolenne Aolmán Aolomthín Aorgarain Ardori Ausiodhán...

Baolf Beroibhal Berto Biancaoin Boran Brentio Bricton Brole Broline Brottor Bríof Bríonn Bébaolle Caoinn Caoistyad Caonie Caoran Carcott Carko Carleo Charon Cheidhon Chlothace Chollyn Chomhín Cháilon Ciodh Ciolaoldo Clacenoé Codebain Codhnn Coirnán Coirée Coist Coistoy Colcha Colda Colen Colfhle Colia Colle Collew Colman Colorcán Colrie Colte Coluc Colucinch Colán Comene Comil Comóing Conaina Conit Conna Conne Connethy Conni Connon Conya Corach Coran Corce Corchilla Coreit Corghum Coriamhán Corrennie Corya Cosconn Cothghine Couine Cuilíon Cyroseph Daicto Dalor Daríon Debon Delour Diarkony Doilín Dolis Doloue Domhín Domán Doreggy Dorene Dorenn Doretis Dorlora Dymon Ebodh Edolch Eicio Eidon Elionnd Ellorie Elory Eloïc Enona Eochelph Eodie Eogenne Eogán Eoibhaël Eoinann Eoine Eonarrean Eoria Eosarr Fabhfhleo Fançoiste Fiochrie Fiodhán Fiolf Fiomth Fiona Fionach Fionm Flonaibha Flonièle Flord Flore Flouid Floydell Fodalyn Forgeory Formla Frapronid Fredoryan Frobnal Froyanie Fréadhloy Fíofáina Fíomh Fíonie Fíonn Gardo Geogán Geoiff Geonaim Geond Geore Gobela Gobhan Gobhie Gobháine Gobie Gobitarce Goird Gored Gorith Gréaore Günto Haoill Heogette Holaoine Holiodel Holle Honiandie Honori Honóilín Horiari Iodia Jefaol Jeffodh Jenicon Jeronie Jeseo Jimonatta Jimonned Joachán Joand Joandrian Joanick Jocéa Jodamard Jodhley Jodhna Jodhnn Johal Johalk Johallyn Johanie Johnaim Johnasty Johne Johnne Joradrew Jorilín Josado Josamon Joscais Joscarnie Joseath Josephie Josia Joséamhán Judomait Jériolan Jéroy Kathon Katoire Kattonna Lachone Laoill Liaron Linicola Listéado Lochella Lochra Lodne Loldele Lomór Lonna Lonnbhla Loraquel Loray Lorciait Lordghdh Lorenz Loreteán Lormi Lorooke Lorrette Lorsey Lortomáir Lotthy Louelber Louibhne Louir Louiríof Lucecio Lumertomh Lütole Maoddie Maodhel Maoghinne Maoisa Maomamhóg Marconne Marictona Marionn Marolinín Marona Maríon Masonn Matrolany Medaois Meitéo Mictoib Mikolmóna Mildo Mohandse Mohna Moley Monaineth Moncin Mondy Monia Monnad Monnleill Monorgelm Monse Monya Morad Morean Moreghara Munormax Munoth Munto Mélochyl Nichophy Nioberie Nolibh Nonair Norede Noree Norice Norminn Odhnain Odhnn Odiard Odola Odony Oibhat Oibhcheit Oibhín Oinnorle Oinín Olacola Olanie Olbhfhla Olinné Ollawn Olmance Olmuid Olmus Olriú Olruance Oláicio Oniann Oretta Oriena Ottank Ottin Pamilíon Patifto Paudoisty Paudon Paurosna Phaidonie Robbierry Roberne Roberry Robhilinn Robilmary Roibhin Roigmurie Roilives Roirtín Rolaith Rolchla Rolfray Rolie Roliodh Rolmar Rolte Romhghaël Romth Ronna Ronnia Ronán Rooke Rortaíbhí Roselaudo Roselle Rosha Rosna Roste Roséathy Roxanoît Roxave Royce Roydid Rualiando Ruandaros Ruançoir Rudomae Rudovie Runtona Ríomarry Ríosel Saettom Saodh Saole Saolmh Saolriodh Saona Searona Sefion Seody Seord Shandano Shançoir Shaois Shaolaye Simbroin Siodhna Siona Sionya Sonied Sonnd Sopalina Sophna Sorain Sortrinn Stiertio Stino Stéodh Sussamone Sventon Sébaoin Síoniar Thomhanie Théroste Tinnaogán Tionn Toild Toimhóg Tolene Tomhne Tonjan Torgaille Troxan Ulingeonn Uresseon Velandony Viobhlais Viomigney Volgha Volynetty Waymo Wenzo Wilbhlon Wolmar Wolmuan Yolaitith Yolchared Yvolastie Yvole Yvoltois Yvonn Árdona Éimon Éimothy Éisaon Éross Órdhnando

[thepersephonecabin]

Volstovic Cycle OCs ctd.- Adamo spouses

As mentioned here, it is mine and @toaslanscountry‘s hc that adamo and laure have 9 kids, with their 9 kids come a combined total of 11 people commonly known as “the spouses” aka the people the kids are married to. And without further adieu here they all are below the cut because its looooooooooooooong

1. Rory’s wife Emmeline- Emmeline was originally only known as “neighbor girl” because Emmeline lived a ways up the road from the Greylace Estate. Not within spitting distance, but close enough that they’re houses could be seen from the windows of the other. Emmeline’s parents were semi-rich snobs who were obsessed with propriety and raising Emmeline up to be the perfect wife for a noble, to the point that they would use violence to abuse her into submission. Unfortunately for them, Emmeline is a giant repressed lesbian and she happened to live down the road from Rory, an openly gay butch woman who spent years being run off by nobles whose precious daughters she was caught fingering. Emmeline and Rory hid their relationship for years, but eventually were caught by Emmeline’s parents. Em was locked in her room like Rapunzel in a tower until she could be married off,  but Em managed to sneak out and run to the Greylace estate where she and Rory begged Rook, Rory’s godfather to marry them before her parents found out she was gone

2. Jean’s wife Nina- Nina is a sex worker in Molly with a toddler daughter who for a time was left in the care of the children’s home Jean ran in Mollyedge because Nina was too poor to care for her. Eventually however, Nina saved up enough money to get her daughter back and it was then that she met Jean. Jean thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and gave zero fucks about the fact that she was a sex worker. They eventually married and Jean legally adopted Nina’s daughter the same day.

3. Ivy’s “””wife””” friend with benefits Sophie- as mentioned in the previous post, Ivy is aromantic, but he has a long-term sexual relationship with his best friend Sophie, another sex worker and the godmother of Nina’s daughter. They met through Nina and Jean’s relationship and Ivy first began seeing her as a client not long after. Eventually they became good friends, then roommates, and eventually they married legally for technicalities only. That way they wouldn’t be separated by life in Mollyedge and Sophie could have the financial benefits of being married to Ivy. They never become romanitc. Ever. The end.

4. Vera’s wife- Vera met her wife while giving aid in a warzone. Her wife was a refugee who knew no Volstovic, and Vera didn’t know any of her language either. Vera ended up saving this mysterious woman from gross misconduct on behalf of some Volstovic soldiers, and decided to personally guard her until further notice. Despite the language barrier the two had obvious chemistry and grew very close. Eventually, when the area became particularly dangerous again, Vera married the woman she was already beginning to fall for in order to give her safe passage as an immigrant into Volstov away from the fighting. 

5. Natalia’s husband- Natalia and the Prince of Volstov grew close out of pure accident. He was autistic, though at the time, the word “autism” wasn’t in fashion, and he was panicking and overstimulated in the midst of a royal ball. Natalia stumbled upon him and having grown up around PTSD ridden veterans mistook his anxiety attack to some sort of post traumatic episode, so she sat down and calmed him with basic kindness and understanding. He had never experienced such a kindness and became quite attached. They fell in love, and courted for some time, before he proposed. Natalia initially rejected the offer out of fear of ruining the prince’s reputation with her skin color, but was heartbroken and changed her mind not a half hour later

6. Niall’s husband- Niall specialized in capturing unusual bodies in art, only accepting models with scars, disfigurement or obesity. He was tired of drawing porcelain, flawless, mannequins, but he’d never been so enamored with anyone than when he was sent to fetch a sack of coffee from the general store a block aways from Luvanders shop. The store was family owned, and the cashier run by a shop boy, who measured up at 6′10″ and hundred and hundreds of pounds. He was gorgeous but he thought he was repulsive and Niall made him feel otherwise.

7. Lauren’s 1st husband Lindsey- Lindsey was a thief living out of the remains of a long burned church in Mollyedge. One day as he ran from the cops with loot, he accidentally slammed a girl with crutches, Lauren, to the ground. Her brother Jean who was walking with her, enraged by the disrespect given to his obviously disabled sister, chased him down and caught him. Upon realizing that Lindsey was on the run from the Wolves and likely a punishment that outweighed the crime, Jean gave him a place in the children’s home seeing as Lindsey was only 16 at the time. Lauren visited him every day, and soon became his most trusted companion. She became the first person to know that he’d been born a girl, and his first love.

8. Lauren’s 2nd husband Viktor- Years after Lauren and Lindsey met, Lindsey had been preparing to propose to Lauren when a tall dark and handsome man named Viktor dropped into her lap. He was a bastard of a noble white father and a black indentured servant mother, disowned for the shame he brought to them and forbidden to see his mother, he was heartbroken when Lauren offered him a place to stay. Lauren was polyamorous and Viktor had nothing to lose, so he Lauren and Lindsey formed a triad relationship, despite the uneasy start he and Lindsey initially began with. He was Lindsey’s best man when Lauren and Lindsey said their “I Do’s”

9. Lauren’s wife Zaaira- One day Viktor came home one day to find that Lauren and Lindsey were both pregnant and the babies were both his. It was pure accident and luck, but there was no denying it. Lindsey adamantly refused to go to the doctor, even when he started spotting. Given this predicament, the news of Lindsey’s pregnancy reached Karakhum, carried by Malahide, Ana’s mentor of a sort. Kalim remembered his friend Mollyrat Rook, and eagerly sent his tribe’s best midwife, a woman named Zaaira, to help knowing that she would be sensitive to Lindsey’s unique situation of being a trans man having a baby. She as sweet and full of light, and by the time the babies were ready to come into the world, Lindsey, Lauren, and Viktor couldn’t imagine life without her.

10. Mags’s husband, Cpt. North Thorne- North Thorne came to Ghislain’s ship as a runaway youth, only 6 or 7 and already wanted for capital murder. He had been sold to a mob as payment for his father’s gambling debt, and he killed those who kept him captive. Ghislain sheltered him and raised him up to be his First Mate. After Ghislain died after a mortal injury in a raid on a trading schooner, North inherited his ship, Chastity’s Revenge. In his time as a youth on a pirate ship, North had seen Ghislain’s infamous godson, Mags Adamo, in passing, and when he met Mags again after Ghislain died, North was disgusted to see that Mags had become a Naval captain and a spymaster at that, in effect betraying his godfather’s memory. North seduced Mags with the intent of interrogating him or taking him captive, but Mags explained with a knife to his throat that it was a misunderstanding, that Ghislain had known about his role as a spy and approved. North let him go, and the two began a cat and mouse game of rivaling fuckbuddies before it grew into much much more

11. Ana’s husband- Ana wasn’t necessarily held back from dating because she was trans, but she was cautious nonetheless. Her intimate escapades were primarily limited to casual hookups and short flings, until she was in her late 30s, early 40s and Inglory’s airwoman in the 3rd Wave. Her husband was a goofy fellow airman, who rode a dragon of Natalia’s creation. They began as best friends and suddenly, when he saw her dressed for a ball in a sparkly blue dress meant to look like the night sky, he realized he wanted to be more than friends. He already knew she was trans and was completely supportive, so she was able to trust him full stop and if nothing else, she liked that for once there was a man in her life who was taller than her and who liked her family as much as she did. Though Laure and Adamo had both passed on by the time they married, they said their vows in front of the statues of all the Airmen who prededed them, so Laure and Adamo were truly there to see their last daughter wed after all

[shadyst0ner]

Just Tonight

short kinky drabble with dom Em for my sub Kells fans <3 will be completed over the next month!!

The roar of the crowd was almost deafening, even from backstage. Colson pulled his shirt up, using it to wipe the sweat from his face before tossing it aside completely. Fuck, that was a good show. Took a lot of energy out of him though. He contemplated lying down on the couch as he kicked his dressing room door open with the scuffed toe of his docs. Not a bad idea. He could catch up with the rest of the guys later, maybe go for drinks or something. His muscles trembled from the adrenaline of being on stage. Fuck it, he thought, practically dive bombing the shitty fabric sofa that was pressed against the wall. He deserved some rest after his performance. Barely noticing as his eyelids fluttered shut, he drifted into a dreamless slumber.

"DUDE! you gotta see this, there's a- oh shit!" Rook's voice dropped to a whisper halfway through his sentence as he noticed the sleeping form of his friend on the couch.

"Aww, sleepy Colson," he muttered to himself, staring for a moment before a brilliant idea popped into his head. Silently, he tiptoed to the table in the corner, grabbing a bundle of thin rope and a roll of pink duct tape. He made quick work of tying Colson's wrists together and slapping a piece of tape over his mouth. Rook could barely contain his laughter as he stood back and admired his work.

"Sweet dreams homie," he grinned, heading out the door and closing it quietly. Hopefully his friend wouldn't be too pissed when he finally woke up. After all, he'd pranked Rook more times than he could count on both hands. 

Marshall was getting seriously fed up with the amount of people who wanted him to squash the beef with MGK. Paul had called him to discuss it on Monday, and by Thursday night he'd been sent an long worded email from Diddy requesting they talk it out. He had to put his foot down, right? Eminem wasn't known for kissing and making up with the people who'd fucked with him. Actually, it was quite the opposite. Marshall didn't give a fuck about the stupid blond twink or his dumb new pop punk album. Not that he'd listened to it (on more than one occasion.) That was beside the point! He wasn't about to take pity on MGK just because his fans could get a little crazy on twitter sometimes. If it was affecting the younger rapper so badly, he should be the one grovelling at Marshall's feet. When Friday came around, he noticed even Royce seemed to be up his ass about it. 

"Maybe it'd be a good thing," he'd said. "You can move onto other shit without everyone bein' up in arms."

Yeah, that was the last straw. 

Now it was Sunday, and Marshall couldn't believe he was actually about to go through with this. He'd waited for the venue to clear out, but decided to pull his hood up as he stepped out of his car, just to be safe. Scrubbing a palm over his face with a sigh, he made his way up the steps to the back entrance of the stadium. The sound of his footsteps on concrete reminded him of his impending doom. What the hell had he gotten himself into? What if Kelly wasn't all talk and actually wanted to kick his ass? or even worse, what if he laughed in his face? Marshall grumbled something about "fuckin' Paul," as he trudged down the hall, stopping to pound a fist on the door of the young rapper's dressing room. No answer.

Shit, maybe he'd been too late. He jiggled the knob, surprised when the door swung open with a click. It wasn't until he'd closed the door behind him that he noticed the state of the young rapper in front of him.

Now that he was sitting upright, Marshall was able to see the disgruntled look on Kelly's face, which only seemed to darken when his eyes fell on the older man. He was squirming, thrashing about and throwing a little hissy fit, clearly trying to undo the bright pink ropes that bound his thin wrists together. Marshall couldn't help the small smirk that spread across his face when he noticed the duct tape over Kelly's lips.

"Pink really is your colour, huh?" he teased, mind focused on the situation at hand. The only response he received was a deadpan glare from the blond.

"How'd you get yourself into this situation? wait- don't answer that," he grinned at the irony. "let me guess...some crazy fangirl broke in here to get the big man all to herself?" Kelly didn't reply. He exhaled loudly through his nose, gazing up at Marshall with a look that seemed to beg help.

"Y'know, Kelly, I think I like you better like this. You can't run your fuckin' mouth," Marshall spoke, stepping closer to the man before him. "All tied up for me like a goddamn present," he purred. The blush that spread across Kelly's face didn't go unnoticed. Huh. Interesting.

"Is that how it is then? You got a little crush on me or somethin'? tryna pull at my pigtails? You're a big boy, use your words," Marshall gloated. "Oh wait. You can't."

Colson rolled his eyes at the laughter that followed. If this asshole wasn't gonna help him, he was doomed to sit here and listen to Eminem taunt him for God knows how many hours.

"Aw, don't be like that. Here-" Marshall yanked the tape from Colson's mouth, causing him to yelp in pain.

"OW! fucker..." Colson mumbled, raising his wrists to rub at his mouth. "The hell are you doing here anyways? Fuck it, actually. I don't care just- help me get out of this," he gestured to the ropes.

"Nah."

"Excuse me?"

"I said nah," Marshall repeated. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, he decided, gazing down at the squirmy blond in front of him. "You didn't answer my question."

"What fuckin' question?" Colson spat. 

"Don't play dumb. I wanna know if you started all this just to get my attention. You got a crush on me, Kells?"

The younger rapper looked away, avoiding his eyes. "It's Colson," he muttered stubbornly.

"Well, Colson, you still didn't answer my question," Marshall sing-songed. 

God, he was annoying. Colson didn't know what he ever saw in-

"Wow, you're taking a really long time."

"Fuck you."

"If you insist," Marshall grinned, leaning in to gently press his lips to Colson's. Surprisingly, the blond wasted no time in returning the kiss, parting his lips to let the dark haired rapper's tongue slip inside. This had to be a dream. He just hadn't woke up yet, right? There was no way this was happening, no way that-

Marshall pulled back, eliciting a dissapointed groan from Colson. 

"Jesus, I can fuckin' hear you thinking," he muttered under his breath, moving back in to reconnect their lips. "Relax," he whispered into the kiss, earning a soft whimper that made Colson's cheeks flush with embarrasment. The older man pressed his bound wrists above his head, until they were rested against the arm of the sofa.

"Keep 'em there."

Colson wasn't about to object when Marshall was kissing him like that. He could feel himself hardening in his boxers as he was pressed into the couch by the other man's weight. He felt marshall's hands slip beneath his waistband, palming at his perky ass. The blonde squirmed out of Marshall's grip, panting as new air filled his lungs. 

"Nah, no way- I don't ride bitch," Colson stated defensively, glaring at the soft laugh that escaped the other man.

"You ain't really in the position to be making demands right now sweetheart," Marshall grinned at him. "Don't wanna bottom? That's fine. I'll see you around, Kelly," he spoke nonchalantly, standing to leave and nearly making it to the door before he heard Colson cry out.

"Wait!"

There was a moment of silence

"Come back, you cant- can't leave me here like this," the blonde said.

"You gonna let me have that slutty hole of yours?" Marshall turned to lock eyes with him.There was no mistaking the whine that escaped Colson's throat. So it was like that, huh?

"S-sure just...take it easy man," he muttered shyly, a soft shade of pink colouring his cheeks.

Marshall smirked, slowly making his way back to the sofa to rake his fingers through the blonde's fluffy bangs. 

"Good choice," he paused, brows scrunching up as he glanced around the small dressing room. "Lube?" 

"In my jacket," Colson nodded at the leather draped across the back of a chair. "Left pocket. You're gonna have to get it," he trailed off, embarrassed.

"You'd think I would've picked that up right Kelly? I mean-" Marshall's sentence cut off at the chuckle he let out, pulling his hand from the pocket, fingers wrapped around a little pink bottle. "Strawberry? Well aren't you just the cutest, princess."

"Shut the fuck up," Colson hissed through gritted teeth, glaring in the shorter man's direction as he made his way back to the couch. 

"You wouldn't want me to grab the duct tape now, would you Colson?" Marshall teased, sliding a palm up his jaw to cradle the younger man's face. The taunting smirk reappeared on the older rapper's lips as he forced Colson to face him with a bruising grip on his chin.