#too few stewards in general

[yharnamesque]

I had fun at Comic Con yesterday and am going to be forever happy with the photo I got with Neil, but really the way Theo Solomon got treated at the panel was so so so disheartening. Anytime a question got asked I was sitting there internally thinking "oh boy I wonder what Theo's gonna say on the matter!!!" especially the one about getting into being a game actor

And it just never happened. The poor fella was so obviously not happy about it and he absolutely deserved to have the spotlight on him more

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[istaricelebelasse]

There is a horn. It is nothing special, made from the tusk of some beast that Aredhel barely even recalls felling.

There had been many such beasts on The Ice after all.

The horn had found its way into her luggage and over so many restless nights watching over little Idril she had made it.

It does not compare to those that The Hunt had used in Aman, bound as it is with scant strips of leather and metalwork repurposed from a necklace that she could not wear on The Ice.

But it is hers. And it is precious, in a strange way.

She does not take it when she leaves her brother’s city. It remains, untouched, in her rooms.

It watches as she slowly fades from a poison bestowed by her husband.

The horn is given to her son, yet he has no use for it. A love of hunting and the great outdoors was not anything she passed on to her only child.

It is gifted to another, to a child borne of his cousin, a more precious gift than perhaps his cousin realises.

(One of the few pieces he has of his mother. A wish and a warning and an apology all at once.)

Somehow it survives the Fall. Somehow it ends up in Sirion.

It does not burn in the destruction. Nor is it taken by the Sons of Feanor as they take their hostages.

It lies, abandoned on the floor, until the King comes (too late) to the aid of the city.

There are too few survivors, but they can ill afford to leave any supplies behind. And besides, Gil-Galad can recall his cousin placing a strange solemn honour upon the hunting horn.

It sits, unused, until the Sons of Earendil are returned to their king, whereupon it, aged and yet bearing a presence is returned to them.

There is little argument over which of them gets that piece of their father when it is time for them to separate. The elder twin takes it, as he took their foster father’s sword. The younger is content with a silver harp and the book of their mother’s herblore.

Elros takes it with him. A symbol of his House, and honour for his heir to bear.

Down it goes, down down down the generations until there is little but a drop of Numenorian blood left in its bearer.

It crosses oceans and continents and Ages of the World, survives battles and sieges and the falls of Great Cities and Great Kings until all that is left is a Steward upon his throne sending a son to find answers for a dream.

Finally, on the shores of a river, overlooked by statues of the Kings of Old, the horn is blown for the last time.

It is blown to summon aid, to draw attention, to allow those it’s bearer would protect the chance to escape.

It takes three arrows to take down the horn’s bearer, and the Falls of Rauros to finally grant the horn rest.

The Horn of Aredhel Maeglin Earendil Elros Numenor Gondor is no more.

[vexwerewolf]

To His Granite Lordship Ferdinand-Cannamos (@ktbofficial) of the House of Stone,

Cousin, I hope this missive finds you well.

I implore your forgiveness that I did not convey proper congratulations on your appointment to the position of official Karrakin representative to the omninet in person. I have been travelling to Throne Karrakis these past few months, and – as is usual – uncle Hyderad (Unshakeable Be His Foundation, Unyielding Be His Resolve, etc. etc. etc.) has made the entire thing difficult for me.

I must confess, cousin, that I feel your behaviour falls short of the lofty responsibilities such a grand and noble station entails. I must again beg your forgiveness for critiquing you in a public letter this way, but as uncle always told me – at length, with glee, and often (as you may recall) in front of hundreds of dinner guests – that a lesson attached to a public humiliation is a lesson that will be remembered the rest of a man’s life.

Remember, upon your shoulders rests the unenviable duty of presenting the face of the Karrakin to the greater galaxy, and it is by your words that all of us – from the proudest Knight Vitreous of Ispahsalar to the most desperate refugee of Bo – shall be judged. When the citizens of Union listen for the Baronies, they will hear your words. Against the honeyed words of Harrison’s Steward Council and the poison that hides beneath their sweetness, you are our bulwark. Yet you are stubborn, brusque, contemptuous, intolerant. You are quick to accuse and slow to admit fault.  Since you will brook no critique from outsiders, it must fall to a fellow noble of your House to deliver it.

I know that like many of our House, you are proud. You are unyielding, like the Stone from which we take our namesake. We of Stone have some right to be proud, no doubt, for who else in history could stand against Tyran of Delamar? Laugh in the face of his threats? Fight him to a standstill? So too are you proud of the Baronies in their totality. Again, there is no error in that, for who, truly, could look at what we have achieved and yet not feel some small satisfaction?

But stone is also inflexible, and beyond any other flaw that individual rulers or Houses have laboured under, inflexibility has been the creeping sickness that has doomed us time and again. Was it not inflexibility that led us to underestimate the Armory’s new technology? Was it not inflexibility that lost us Rosegift, Underthrone, Stone Harbor and Odeland? Was it not inflexibility that made us treat those of the Ludran Underground like slaves rather than siblings?

The Baronies are more than the Hagiographs, and the Hagiographs are not free from sin. Was it not the Hagiographs that destroyed the Pilgrim, throwing us into a war with Union for which we were totally unprepared? Was it not the Hagiographs that pushed us to war with Harrison Armory, then lost us a generation of nobles – and the Stonelord themself? And if we may share in the bounty of Ludra at its height, how can the House of Stone elude responsibility for the abuses that led to the uprising of the Ungratefuls? Yes, it was House Ludra that failed them, but they were House of Stone too, and reducing them did not erase our responsibility.

I shall leave you with a reminder of our culture’s classics. Do you remember the words of the playwright Montague-Adellian, in “The Witch of Magritte?”

Ennio-Altia: By what strange Virtue conjurest thou, that in thy family’s victories thou exalt, yet for their defeats shed not a single tear?

Yond-Cassius: Fie, slanderer, keep thy tongue still, lest I still it for thee.

Ennio-Altia: Wilt thou for plaudits beg when the sun shines, yet curse the Magus when it rains?

Strength in Stone,

Lord Atreyu-Cannamos of the House of Stone

P.S. (For those beyond the boundaries of our Baronies, or those within whom have not had the luxury of studying theatre, Adellian was a playwright of the House of Glass famed mostly for his critique of other Houses. The Witch of Magritte was a lampoon of the House of Stone, which he cleverly disguised by casting its heroes as scions of Stone and its villains as scions of Glass. His intent was that the House of Stone could not ban it without insulting themselves. Of course, we banned it anyway, which of course only made the play more popular, and proved his point about our House’s choleric temperament.)

[syndrossi]

On the topic of Jon getting more comfortable to relax and being vulnerable in this life; I do wonder if you've given any thoughts to Jon exploring his sexuality? In the books, you see him just push his attraction to Satin to the back of his dead, and obviously, we don't have any resolution. Here, I can almost guarantee that Daemon will love and support his children, always. And I bet getting the support of Rheagar too would be a relief.

And of course, Jon slowly giving in to comfort and allowing himself to be vulnerable and have prefrences (like the cake scene you shared, which killed me).

Can you tell I absolutely love Jon?

I'm pretty sure that Aegon will ensure that all the royal children explore their options. 😅 My position on societal views of sexuality at least in Resonant (but seems to be somewhat true even in canon), is that the more power/station you have, the less anyone cares about your preferences, so long as you do your marital duty and are either capable enough at your job, or fearsome enough. There are quite a few canonically gay/bi (or highly implied gay/bi) characters who don't seem to be viewed negatively. Princess/Queen Rhaena and her many beloved female companions is one of the more notable ones, though obviously there are more. Lady Jeyne Arryn is described quite similarly to Rhaena in terms of beloved female companions.

Heck, when considering Rhaenyra's options, Laenor's sexuality was openly discussed and literally amounted to "who cares which he prefers if he does his martial duty?" And his favorites seem to have been well known at court.

Things do seem to be trending less tolerant by the time of Robert Baratheons rule, so perhaps it was a shift over generations (either influenced by the Faith or the general lack of stability post-Dance).

Regarding canon-Jon's attitudes, I do wonder if the southern kingdoms of the time just tend to be a little more open than the North in regards to such matters? (There were the men urging him not to take Satin as a steward due to his past, after all, though I forget if we know where they hailed from.) And obviously it will differ person to person, even amongst highborn and smallfolk. Because meanwhile, you've got canon!Rhaegar's whatever with Jon Connington. It may or may not have been wholly unrequited, but you can't tell me Rhaegar wasn't aware and clearly still considered him a dear friend. And it did not seem that he was shunned by others in Rhaegar's friend circle.

[thecolourpurple123]

Fourier Lugunica ramble (with excerpts from Ex 1)

Fourier is, much like all the members of the Lugunican royal family, somewhat airheaded but charming in nature. The Lugunican royals are all genuine and good people, but not particularly skilled stewards―which is pretty much the exact description the LN uses across all the side content I've read recently including Ex 1, 2, and 3.

In his normal state, he's prone to being incredibly impulsive and needy. He rolls up to the Karsten estate at random to bother them with whatever he's fixated on at any given moment and is very good-natured about the teasing he is subject to―not being particularly aware of the depths of Ferris's wit, but always rolling with whatever punches he does see. Fourier's obviously a bit pampered considering how he whines about the cold to the degree that he never goes anywhere without his fancy red coat, but he's not totally adverse to hardship or pain seeing how readily and regularly he challenges Crusch to duels for years of their youth despite never really standing a chance.

Generally, he does not concern himself with his own status, and readily waves it off in pursuit of whatever he's fixated on because he's just that kinda silly goofy guy. At the same time though, he's keenly aware of his status as the fourth prince, and while he does know the kind of effect he can have on people―as seen in how he stalls for time when Crusch is fighting the rabbits by distracting the people at her party with improvised songs and sword demonstrations―Fourier is not one to care for the fact that he's royalty in any ambitious or grand sense. However, as seen in Ferris's unusual appointment as a royal knight, he does know when it can be used to get what he wants/thinks is right and necessary.

Further, Fourier is very much one for bravado and putting on a brave face. He wants to be strong and look cool, especially for Crusch, and in all matters Fourier is one to throw himself headfirst into situations with a high degree of overconfidence. It's actually noted as being part of his charm, the fact that he so readily pretends that he's better than he is and is princely, while also not really caring for being seen as princely and competent, which ends up making those times where he's princely and competent all the more impactful to the people he interacts with.

(here we see Fourier and Ferris discussing after the duel with Crusch to make her wear a dress, for a more relaxed example of Fourier being both overconfident and not caring for how he appears which Ferris takes advantage of to tease him)

(this one is of Crusch talking to Fourier about Ferris's family history that he pretends to already know about and lies to Crusch about blatantly to save face, only to prove himself unknowingly in her eyes in the next breath)

(and this one is Julius talking to him later in Ex 1 for a more serious example of how Fourier views other's views of him)

Ultimately, Fourier is a bit of a walking contradiction. He's oh! so jolly yet still respectable and competent when the need arises. He doesn't care for status yet walks around with overconfidence. He's keenly aware of social dynamics at times when it counts, yet often blunders his way through conversations in a way that's disarmingly absent-minded.

It's a contradiction explained by the fact that Fourier is one of a rare few of his family to be a "master of the blood" as Miklotov puts it, or the Lion King's Blessing as the fandom has come to call it. He's able to just… intuit things, a lot of the time. He knows what moves to play to win at games, knows answers to obscure questions his tutor asks without knowing why, is able to only ever show up to the Karsten estate when Crusch and Ferris aren't too busy to see and hang out with him, and of course is able to coordinate several royal knights to rescue Crusch from Ferris's dad while also setting Reinhard as insurance for stopping Miles (a spy he doesn't know exists, just has a hunch exists based on pretty much no evidence at all) from escaping back to Vollachia all without ever knowing the full scope of his own machinations.

I think the most iconic moment of Fourier is this:

In one move, Fourier pushes Crusch to accept her dual roles of being a Lady and being the martial heir to house Karsten, thrusts Ferris into knightship in a way that doesn't leave him insecure or gives him any room for doubt, and saves Crusch's dad's life from the rabbits―only to after Crusch and Ferris leave, tell a servant Crusch tied up that he has no idea what's going on and that they should probably figure that out.

Fourier is effortlessly foundational to Crusch and Ferris's entire worldviews, and he doesn't even know how or why he just follows his instincts and garners their total respect and admiration. He's humble in an unspoken way that leaves his dramatic overconfidence as endearing instead of irritating. He's a royal with once in a generation blood, yet all he cares for is to see the buds in the garden that are those he holds dear in his life bloom into their own.

The only time he ever really cares for his station, is because Crusch is a little obsessed with the legacy of the Lion King, and Fourier wants that attention on himself (all the while not knowing that he already has it). He makes giving his everything feel like nothing yet still everything―which is all the more tragic, all the more foundational for Crusch going forward, because that very essence of Fourier is exemplified in his death where his very memory is but a footnote in a wider chapter of the nation's history. Everything to Crusch and Ferris, but nothing to a nation in mourning.

This is why, after finishing Ex 1, I have gained an appreciation for Crusch who I'd thought as a very boring character having only experienced her presence in the main series. For years now, I've always looked down upon that short-sighted selfish goal of hers to break the covenant with the dragon, just because she can't get over Fourier's death. But it's deeply understandable if you come to know Fourier, and see it from Crusch's perspective.

Crusch started with this chip on her shoulder regarding needing to be worthy of inheriting this mantle of the lion, and then by the end of the novel she inherits this impossible dream of Fourier's too―where he pictures this future together with Ferris and Crusch as he dies in her arms, not even able to finish telling her that he loves her before he goes.

Fourier was her Lion King, he always was, and in his absence, given this singular opportunity through her candidacy and in the context of the seemingly callous attitude of the Sage Council and the gathered nobles… to me, it just feels so earned that she would despise the Dragon, whose mere promise of protection overshadows the deaths of so many royals who were amazing in their own rights. Ultimately, Crusch's ire does come from misplaced grief, but it's one I can't help but respect now. The path Ferris and Crusch walk is not one that is kind to either of them, but it is one that is quite fitting. One that is lonely by necessity, because even though Fourier told Ferris to rely on his friend Julius, he was unable to finish telling Crusch his full feelings for her, leaving Crusch with an impossible dream and shoes she can't fill even with Ferris at her side.

So basically, all of this is to say that my favorite ferret man Ferrier Lugunica haunts the narrative and after reading Ex 1 he lives in my head as rent free as he does in Crusch and Ferris's.

[subwaytostardew]

▽ Adoptable Joltik  - Sidetracked Events⚡️

I added a 7-event (more like 3, really) storyline included as an update to the Adoptable Joltik mod. It consists of Emmet not taking loss well. He misses his Joltik. He doesn't want to bother you about it. He will get back on track eventually.

These play when you enter the backwoods/mountain pass between 6:00 and 10:00 AM after seeing the adoption event and have at least 8 hearts with Joltik. Enter the mountains at the same time for the 5th event (with Ingo). Each event unlocks a new line of daily dialogue from Joltik and starts a cooldown for the next event to not start until after 4 days. The final (7th) event requires 9 hearts with Joltik.

As always... Commentary under the read-more.

▷ Station Steward Thylak

This update didn't really have any planning. It was a spontaneous decision to make more events and all the content was written as I coded so it's a bit rougher than previous events.

I've been wanting to update the Joltik mod to use Emmet's new recolored spritesheet and lock adoptability behind 8 hearts as intended (and also... fix the event requirements since I realized it was set to 10 hearts instead of 8... oops). The file was also zipped in a way that removed the containing folder so it made using mod loaders like Stardrop and Vortex more finicky.

If you've already seen the adoption event, there wouldn't be much incentive for downloading an update since Emmet doesn't appear outside of events. I'm not ready to release him as a full NPC to the general public just yet! His heart events are still broken. I dread going back and fixing them. I got a bit burnt out from working through my backlog of things to do for the mod and wanted to switch tracks from pixel art (so many portraits...). Eventing is my favorite thing to do regarding the mod, so I decided to make more events to include in the update as a break of sorts (not working on the mod? Taking an actual break? Why, I'd never!). More events are the perfect solution for me wanting to show off the new art for Subway to Stardew while also not implementing submas as full NPCs in the Joltik mod.

I could make Emmet's 9-heart event but... I feel like that's more of a Subway to Stardew thing than an Adoptable Joltik thing... if that makes any sense. I might include it later when I get around to writing/coding it, but I thought it would be a bit abrupt to add in the Joltik mod since you don't really get to befriend Emmet as intended there. There's also some people who aren't obsessed with submas and do download the Joltik mod for well, Joltik! Only Joltik. I went into eventing with that in mind and well...

I missed Emmet. I wanted him to be clingy again. I think you can tell where I got a bit self-indulgent. Making a mod is a lot of work and if I have the ability to turn Stardew into an Emmet friendship simulator, I'm going to make the most out of it. I need my emotional support Emmet to keep me on track. So for people familiar with Subway to Stardew and do like submas, you can get Emmet hugs at 9 hearts with Joltik now because I got derailed. Yippee!

The sneaking around in the mountain pass part was just silly. Since you can't visit Emmet in the Adoptable Joltik mod, I wanted to write around you not being able to find him. He's actively avoiding you now. Whether or not you notice him doesn't matter. He's not going to talk to you. It's safer that way.

I was thinking that Emmet doesn't take loss or changes in his routine very well; adopting Joltik would cause him to split tracks with you for a little bit. He's clingy and can't stand the few he cares about being gone even a little bit. He overthinks Joltik being happier with you so his inferiority complex flares up and he gets insecure about you forgetting him, too. He's jealous of you being a two-car train and he misses having Joltik aboard. He knows it's wrong to direct his frustrations at you since all you did was make Joltik happy.

There is a lot derailing his train of thought. While it's hard for him to stay on track, he still cares about you; you're still his best friend and favorite passenger (at the end of the line...). He doesn't want to split tracks forever, so he'll steer himself away in case if he accidentally lashes out or you end up thinking he's annoying with his visits for Joltik. He doesn't want you to hate him. He just wants to make sure Joltik still cares about him and still care for them while he takes the time to adjust to the changes in his routine. He's still frustrated with you, but that's his problem, not yours. He knows that. He thought it was a good idea to avoid you until he adjusted.

After all of that, his frustrations die down and he's a little deprived of his favorite (not-Joltik) passenger. He's clingy again. He won't let anyone derail him. Not even you. But he's back on track!

[ass-deep-in-demons]

Please don't think I'm trying to trick you into doing my homework for me, BUT... you obviously know Gondor/Men/Númenóreans much better than I do, so I come seeking headcanons and advice!

Your "Speaking Tongues" masterpiece is set in 3006, so you must have given thought to what Boromir's life was like in those years, when he was new as Captain and still in the fresh years of this 20s. Do you have any headcanons of his activities, duties, and military accomplishments in those days? Obviously there were already rising conflicts and troubles with Mordor going on, but how involved do you think Boromir was in them when he was younger? Were there any significant experiences that might have molded him?

You always seem very detailed and action oriented in your fics, so I see you as one of the best people to ask! 😊 I don't want to cause you to spoil your own fics, so please be as vague as you need to! Thank you in advance.

I ALWAYS HAVE TIME TO TALK ABOUT BOROMIR, so thank you for this ask :D

A lot of my headcanons about Boromir's upbringing have already been included in my works, but I can share a few details here :D

1. Adolescence. I headcanon that both Boromir and Faramir were knighted when they entered adulthood, and as such, had to first have been squires. In my AU, Boromir squired under his uncle the Prince of Dol Amroth, and so has formed a closer relationship with Imrahil and his family. Faramir was not afforded such honour, and istead squired in Pinnath Gaelin, where he met and befriended Lord Hirluin.

2. Courtship. It seems unrealistic to me that Boromir would remain unmarried for so long, with no efforts from the Steward to secure the line. He was an heir to a kingdom! And his dad was a control freak! So I headcanon that Boromir was previously engaged. To whom, and what became of her, would be too much of a spoiler :D

3. Titles & duties.

I based the hierarchy of Minas Tirith on the scarce information from the books and took some elements from Lord of the Rings Online.

Over the years, as the Steward gradually descended into a paranoia, Boromir was saddled with more and more official duties. At being knighted, he received the title of Captain of the White Tower (the Citadel) - in my headcanon a leader of the Steward's Knight Cavalry. This had been a title historically given to the Heir to the Throne of Gondor, and it was the title that Boromir used in the books during the introductions in Rivendell. This title also came with certain representative functions at the Steward's Court (which Boromir absolutely hated). It also granted Boromir a privileged seat in the Council of Gondor.

Later Boromir got appointed Captain-General (at the age of 28). This meant he became the leader of the five Captains of Minas Tirith, the Barons of Anorien, and the main coordinator of Gondor's armed forces. Faramir mentions this title of Boromir in Return of the King.

However, later, when Boromir was 33, he also became High Warden of the White Tower (the Burg). Again, Faramir mentions this as one of Boromir's titles in the books. I headcanon that this title gave Boromir jurisdiction over the Citadel Guard, which essentially made Boromir the chief of Minas Tirith Police.

Now that is A LOT of responsibility to saddle one person with, however, at that point Boromir was well used to working over his capacity. The reason the Steward did this was because he, forseeing the war with Mordor, wanted to consolidate power and strengthen the position of the Steward relative to the Council. By giving those titles to his son and heir, he gained advantave over the other great houses. He also did not want the control over the army and the city to go to any of the rival councillors.

(Poor Boromir needs years of therapy after dealing with all this.)

4. As for possible military campaigns and adventures, I sort of need to do further research on this myself. I try to build over canon and expand it wherever I can :D

Thank you for asking!!! I could talk about Boromir for hours! <3

[bluebellofbakerstreet]

BluebellofBakerstreets 007 fest 2024 finish line master post

15 point art:

(I know we don't use points anymore, but it's how I'm used to organizing things.

Spot the Difference, Pub Wedding, Q in Covent Garden, Kingston

10 point art:

Big Ben, Q Paper Doll Drawings, Llewellyn Q, Strawberry Fields, Camille Montes, Eve Moneypenny, Nomi, Dalton Bond, May Day, Severine, Cleese Q, Dr No Cover

5 point art:

M&M Cat, Rebus Pictures

5 point writing:

Dr. No, or James and the Magical Island

Scavenger Hunt Fills:

#6 Design 3 outfits for a Bond character or your Station character to be worn on 3 separate occasions.

#26 You need to create an identifying image of a Bond character of your choice for one of your contacts. For reasons too dreadful to recount, your voice is temporarily shot and all pencils, pens, paper, tablets, and other traditional sketching materials are unavailable. Find a way to show the character's appearance using any other equipment (food, household materials, dirt, whatever) of your choice.

#28 Fill a prompt on the 007 Fest 2024 prompt on the Anon Prompt Exchange! I did two: here and here (prompts are listed below)

#39 It's never too early to introduce James Bond to the next generation, although some of the content is too mature. And too long. Rewrite a Bond book or movie as a children's book. If you can, record yourself reading it like a bedtime story to a child!

#41 Create a remix that's inspired by the work of somebody also participating in 007 Fest (with their permission). i.e. art to a fic, a fic of a fic, make a podfic, etc  (ex: Illustrate a scene from a different point of view) I did this twice: here and here.

#58Create and post a Bond-themed crossword.

#59 Solve someone else's Bond-themed crossword.

#64 Find the Difference  - Create an almost identical image and change a few things there (could be an edit or art). Tell us how many things have changed when you post it.

#68 Create at least 5 Bond-themed rebus puzzles

#74 Meet up with another member of Bond fandom! Take a pic to commemorate the moment. (Does not have to have identifying features in it.)

Prompt Sheet fills:

# 50 Missions in which Q will appear in different costumes, or uniform or just funny outfits!!  I'm dying to see him in a police uniform and cap, or in navy uniform, in a full suit of three layers, etc.. (or Q dressed as a steward, but not for flight of course) 50

# 57 Show us a Bond character in a different historical period. 57

Collab Table:

Llewelyn Q

Strawberry Fields

Camille Montes

Eve Moneypenny

Nomi

Dalton Bond

May Day

Severine

Cleese Q

Events:

Logan Lucky 7/1

Paddington 7/5

Layer Cake 7/15

The Martian 7/22

Game making night

Game Morning 7/27

In-person meetup 7/20

57 comments

[umlewis]

lewis hamilton, p3, is interviewed during the post-race press conference, hungary - july 21, 2024 (transcript under the cut)

Interviewer: "Lewis, coming to you. 200 podiums. What a score, what a trophy cabinet. Now, you've often said that you're not into statistics, but this surely means something?" Lewis: "The number doesn't, no. I mean, I just think about these two and how young these guys are. [laughs] They were in nappies when I started, so… [laughs] No, honestly, it just makes me think about the whole journey and all the great people I've had the chance to work with. I got signed by McLaren when I was thirteen, and so there was always so much love for that team and through the journey that we had where I had my first world championship, and then they went through a really difficult time. To see them back up there is really, really great. I'm really happy to… That's my old family, so really, really grateful to be up here with them. And then ultimately I think it was a tough race today, and I definitely didn't think I would be having 200 podiums, but… What have I done, like 340-something races, so not too bad a score. But I couldn't have done it without all those great people that I've worked with in both these teams." Interviewer: "Lewis, many congratulations. You've got to go to the stewards very shortly, so I'm gonna open this to the floor, and can we start with any questions to Lewis, please. Any questions for Lewis, before he heads to the stewards. Yup."

Journalist: "Sorry. Luke Smith from The Athletic. Lewis, could you talk through the touch with Max? He obviously made that move down the inside, you guys touched. He was on the radio saying about you were moving under braking. Could you talk through your side of it, please?" Lewis: "Yeah. [laughs] No, I think… I mean, from what I can remember, obviously we passed a backmarker, I got to the braking zone, then Max appeared, to overtake the car behind me, so I moved over to defend. I left enough room in the inside, but Max locked up and he was going a different trajectory to me. I was going towards, around the corner, and he came shooting across, so… It felt like a racing incident, and it's easy to make mistakes like that, and so I don't feel there should be any hostility. But, of course, from his side there always will be." Interviewer: "Alright. Any more for Lewis, please?" Norris: [unintelligible] Lewis: [laughs]

Journalist: "Hi. My name is Jannik Sauer. I work for a German news website called Watson. I was wondering, because you have this little fan laying next to you, especially after a hot race like today, there were some headlines in the past few days about the FIA planning to implement some sort of cooling for the cockpit and the drivers. So you are surprised, I see. Do you have any opinion on that?" Lewis: "Well, firstly, I didn't know that, and it's not needed. This is Formula 1. It's always been like this. It's tough in these conditions, and we're highly paid athletes, and you've got to train your ass off to make sure you can withstand the heat, ultimately. And it's tough-it's not easy, especially when you go to places like Qatar [laughs] and Singapore-but I don't think we need an AC unit in the car." Interviewer: "Thank you. Any more for Lewis? Yup, we can do one more."

Journalist: "Florian Niedermair, from Motorsport-magazin.com. About your race pace in general, did you expect before the race to be battling with Max, or was it a surprise for you, especially given the conditions?" Lewis: "No, I think out of pure pace, we weren't. Unfortunately we're still not, in hot conditions particularly… So you saw in Austria and here, we're not able to keep up with these guys. But in stint one I was really surprised to see that I was able to hold on to Max, and I wasn't even having to push too hard to stay around a second behind him, so I thought at that point that maybe I was in for a chance of at least fighting for that place. But then in the second stint it was a bit of a disaster. It didn't feel good [laughs] and the true pace of the car started to show, I think, on those tires. But we obviously got the undercut, and track position is clearly key on this track, and I think that really, ultimately made the difference." Interviewer: "Thank you, Lewis. Any more? Okay. Lewis, we'll let you go. Thank you very much."

[football-and-fanfics]

Concussed - Mason Mount

Who: Mason Mount Prompt: Knocked unconscious during a match or training Requested by: anonymous Warnings: mentions of injury, ambulance/hospital. GIF by me.

You were in the stands at Stamford Bridge when the sickening collision happened. Mason collided mid-air with one of the players from the other team, and you instantly knew he wasn't walking this off. The way he fell to the ground and lay motionless, instantly brought you to tears and near-hysterics. There was no doubt in your mind that he was knocked unconscious and that this could easily be a serious injury.

For nearly 15 minutes Mason was treated out on the pitch. You watched horror-struck as the Chelsea medical team delicately handled him. At some point Mason slightly moved his feet and seemed at least a little responsive to the medical personnel, but a trip to the hospital still seemed more than likely.

You immediately hurried down from the stands when the medics stretchered Mason off the pitch. All you wanted was to be with him. Mason was probably just as scared as you were, so you were sure he needed you right now. Several stewards blocked your way as you tried to get inside, and you had to make a scene with a few of them, before Stamford Bridge's head of security recognized you and showed you the way.

Mason was just placed into the ambulance when you reached him. He still looked only half-awake. A bandage was wrapped around his head, with a red stain to the side betraying the probable wound beneath it. He was conscious, but still very dazed.

"Hey, sweetie." You smiled softly as you climbed into the ambulance with him. Tears streamed down your face at seeing him like this. He usually was a vibrant, mischievous personality, but in this moment he looked so helpless. "What’s happening?" Mason's voice quivered with fear.

The paramedic sitting on the other side of the gurney caught your eye. Mason's answer didn't do much to ease your fears, as he appeared lost for where he was and what was happening altogether. It must have been showing on your face, because the paramedic gave you a small, reassuring smile. "We suspect he has a concussion," the paramedic explained, "short-term memory loss and confusion are common symptoms. He'll be thoroughly examined in the hospital, though, to make sure we're not missing something."

Soothed slightly that this behavior was not too worrisome in his current condition, you gently ran a hand over Mason’s arm. "You’ll be okay, babe." "Don’t go." His hand suddenly took a strong hold of your hand. "Don't leave me alone." "I won’t," you assured him, "I’m going to stay right here by your side." Mason calmed down a little, but still held an iron grip on your hand. He maneuvered himself to the very edge of the gurney he lay upon, to be as close to you as possible. "I'm scared," he mumbled weakly. You kissed the back of his hand. "I know all of this is scary, but I'll be with you. You can squeeze my hand to mush, or cry on my shoulder as much as you want." Mason nodded minutely, closing his eyes. "I'm going to need that."

Tags: @evie-pr, @auawdo, @meteora-fc, @de-geas, @stonesyyyy, @drizzyreese, @hbstre, @liverpoolfanfiction, @sternennebel2001 Mason tags: @livstilinski, @juliabrghs, @footballffbarbiex, @youkantebeserious, @laurasstufff1, @girlnamedrue, @mmountswb PL tags: @ella33

Add me to the tags list | Request an imagine | Request a photo prompt Mason masterlist | General masterlist

[stabbed-monster]

I wanna tell you about my favorite dwarf.

This guy:

He wasn't a necromancer when he first got here but that's ok as i'm currently doing a necromancer/undead fort. Also he is kind of a liar since he tells everyone he's just 54 years old and that his name is "Steel Relievedarches"

And currently is chained because has quite the historial:

His first plot dates back to 164. Dwarves are adults at 18y old and currently is the year 526. This indicates that the guy is at least 380 years old. Despite this, he is well conserved (and quite hot) as he is also a vampire

I assigned him a bunch of roles on the fortress because he's just that useful. He is a natural leader as before coming here as citicen he managed to grab important roles in his former civs as steward of a bowyers guild and leader of his own gang of criminals. His former civ now doesn't exist probably exterminated by the goblins or the several necromancer towers active (My local government is The Doors of Strapping and our civ The Tomb of Esteeming)

He has been chained for five years now and still has to wait a bit more because he doesn't stop killing the performersi hire as they are the only population that's trully alive in the fort. He also has tried to steal a bunch of artifacts:

Being such a ruthless criminal and general headache, why i love him so much? First of all he's bisexual and at some point managed to get a polycule of seven lovers (idk if it was all the weird undead interactions and bugs or the long imprisonment but now doesn't have any relations)

He also is in a special squad i called Hellrisen. The squad goal is to have one (or several) undead necromancer so they can train endlessly on the pile of reanimated corpses i keep under the fortress from all the failed attempts of getting intelligent undead. They could also raise all the invaders we keep getting, maxing quickly all their stats and combat skills. I managed to put him in there and he got quite a killstreak

That was ok but at the moment he was killing any child too so i decided that since he also was legendary ambusher and schemer and had plenty of social abilities i could use him to track and steal some artifacts which he did quite well. Until one day he dissapeared.

I was kinda sad because i was getting attached to him and he had a couple of artifacts on him as well as divine metal armor. A few weeks later the queen came to the fortress to make it the capital. And this attracted plenty of nobles from around the world. At some point a random baron asked for residency and i checked on him. It was the guy that somehow managed to capture(?) a fort and get a title for himself. After that he came back to his luxurious rooms here in Cryptgloves just to get thrown into the most luxurious cell he could hope for with the most expensive armor and weapons money can buy

Idk how his left glove gauntlet ended up in a tree but we recovered it and is now sitting in a stockpile waiting for 600 something days. His clothes are that rotten because i usually forget to check on him since he can't do much

[totally-not-deacon]

~*~WIP Wednesday~*~

Tagged by... myself. But for once I have writing to share - so Imma post before I promptly forget. Again.

Got in in my head to throw Mar into Turbo Hell (read: Vigilant-based fic), but I guess things gotta start relatively normal before I ruin her life. :)

No content warnings... This time. It will not remain that way.

“Three hundred gold? That’s it? Well-rewarded my ass!” she barked the moment the doors to the Jarl’s longhouse swung shut. The nuisance giant they’d been sent after lay in a pool of its own blood, stark against the ice just south of town. All in a day’s work. But this? They trekked all the way out to, “godsdamned Dawnstar for this? I should feed that steward his own tee–”

“Bail’s coming out of your drinking money, not mine,” said Nebarra. Marasa glared over her shoulder at him, retort ready to fire back when she took pause. By now they’d attracted the attention of more than a few guards, and jail wasn’t exactly a place she was fond of finding herself in. Again. Fine then, he could pay for the carriage fee out of this dump. She stomped ahead with a huff.

They knocked the snow from their boots before stepping into the inn. The scant few hours of sunlight winter afforded were waning, and a stiff wind was picking up off the Sea of Ghosts, meaning it was the perfect time to settle in and spend the pocket change they’d received. That had to be the only reason anyone lived out here – the Jarl paid so little no one could afford to leave! At least they’d taken care of that whole daedric nightmare fiasco last year, so hopefully they could get a decent night’s sleep before huddling for warmth in the back of an uncovered wagon for the next gods knew how long.

Marasa tugged her helmet off as she approached the bar, stray hair pulling free of the loose bun underneath. It felt as if they’d seen every bed of every inn Skyrim had more than their own. Dawnstar, unfortunately, was no exception. They were practically on a first name basis with half the city guard, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the three days she spent driving them mad in lockup after someone wasn’t watching his coinpurse back in Riften and couldn’t bail her out. Yes, it was her that broke that guy’s nose – did you hear what he said about my ears? And yes, it was her that sent a chair flying through the inn’s only window. But still! She’d have been out in a few hours after he’d gotten a change to sell some of their loot, but of course that was when the general shop owner decided to take a damned fishing trip. Doesn’t she just have the best of luck? It wasn’t so bad, though. The whole Dragonborn thing turned out to be pretty useful when it came to weaseling into some special treatment, she had to admit. Honestly, by the time he’d returned with the money, she was fairly sure the guards would’ve paid him to get her out of their hair.

She wasn’t allowed to pick fights at the inn now. Milk drinkers.

She met Nebarra back at their usual table, dropping down next to him with a tired grunt. At least the bard wasn’t singing tonight. “How long’s it been since we killed a dragon?” she asked. Marasa flicked her bottle’s cork between her fingers before rolling it across the table, too slow to catch it before it dropped over the opposite edge and out of sight. Oops.

Nebarra paused feeding a reed into his helm, ridiculous as it always was. She rolled her eyes. “A month, maybe two. Wouldn’t it be easier for you to keep track of that?” Had it really been that long? Sure, there was a finite amount of them, she knew that, but it had only been what, three years since taking down Alduin? Must’ve thinned the herd more than she thought. “Remind me – why are we still in the province?”

“Because these Jarls make the East Empire look like a charity with how tight they hold their purse strings,” she mumbled with a petulant pout. Some thanks she gets for saving the world.

“And you dri–”

“And we drink it all away.” Marasa looked pointedly at his rapidly draining bottle, ignoring the fact that her own was in much the same state. She sighed, picking at a splintered bit of tabletop. “Where would we even go, though? High Rock’s not so bad, I guess. Still, can’t stand the all the politics.”

[saentorine]

Patriarch vs. Parent

I feel like the films and by extension much of the fandom overlook how Denethor is not only Boromir and Faramir’s father, but also their lord and commander. There is ongoing tension between the personal and political dimensions of their relationships, which honestly explains like 99% of what can feel “mean” about Denethor’s treatment of Faramir. Indeed, part of Denethor’s arc is recognizing his personal love for and reframing his role as father to his son just as Gandalf predicts: Your father loves you, Faramir, and will remember it ere the end.

Denethor is invoking the political dimension of their relationship when he bids Faramir return to defend Osgiliath: if there is a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord’s will. Even as their discussion references Boromir and their personal relationship, Faramir makes his points about conditions in the role of a captain and Denethor ultimately commands him as is his right as the highest point of authority. And the command is not even a necessarily bad one: Denethor is a ruler in a desperate position, seeming even more desperate by the information he’s gleaned from the palantir, and is using the best resources he has left to defend the realm. Even as Faramir begs his father to “think better of” him personally, he accepts his commander’s instructions as he must as a captain of Gondor’s military.

Denethor’s choice of Boromir for the journey to Rivendell was also more political than personal. In the books Denethor initially prefers Faramir for the assignment but is convinced to send Boromir, who by political measures is the better choice: his heir, the titled Captain-General, the more experienced of the two brothers. The council favors him. Even in his bitterness Faramir acknowledges that it was “the lord of the city” that made that choice-- Denethor as ruler, not father, even if the consequences are deeply personal for both of them.

In general, Denethor seems to lean more heavily into his role as his son’s ruler and commander-- something which we can easily imagine has colored the lifetime of their relationship: duty over desire, public service over personal warmth. In the patriarchal inherited power structure of Gondor, especially in wartime, Denethor’s primary concern with his sons would be their efficacy as an extension of his rule. Under the pressures of the Stewardship of a struggling realm, no shit he’s too burnt out to sustain a warm father-son relationship distinct from the political, especially by the time his children are grown-ass adults sharing this responsibility. However, he is more father than commander in a few notable moments, which become more significant over the short period of time we see him. Faramir in the books (and Mablung in the movies) states that death is the penalty for flouting the Steward’s orders to waylay travelers and apprehend those of political interest. However, when Faramir returns from Ithilien, even though he has done precisely what Denethor hoped to avoid by allowing a strategic resource to leave their domain, Denenthor doesn’t even mention capital punishment. He literally ignores the stated law as it pertains to his only surviving son. He does throw some sharp fatherly jabs-- Faramir’s persistent naivety about the harsh realities of ruling during wartime, his relationship with Gandalf, comparing him to Boromir, etc.-- because indeed, Denethor must be especially disappointed that his own son cannot be trusted to respect his laws and the chain of command. But he also affords him major grace considering the established consequences that would presumably be enforced for anyone else.

Denethor’s fatherly grief for Boromir is also what first starts to compromise his efficacy as Steward, along with his use of the palantir. Gandalf is critical when Denethor’s priority upon his arrival is to discuss his son’s final days with Pippin rather than the state of the ongoing war. (And here is a place the books and movies differ significantly: in the book Gandalf and Pippin see that Denethor has already called for aid from Rohan and has set his people to work repairing the Rammas Echor; it is only in the film that Gandalf accuses him of having “done nothing”). And we only see Denethor after this point, which seems to be why a lot of folks assume Denethor is paranoid and incompetent and always has been-- but both Faramir and Imrahil, close to Denethor, observe that he is not himself. The man has held shit down up until that point; Gondor has lasted as long as it has because of Denethor’s rule, not despite it.

And when Faramir is returned to Minas Tirith on death’s door, Denethor flips dramatically, withdrawing his attentions from the siege to focus entirely on the fate of his dying son. (And he truly believes he is dying!). He renounces his command and soundly rejects Gandalf’s entreaties that he return to the defense of the city as his role demands, and chooses instead a private death alongside the child he believes already doomed by the choices he made as Steward. (In addition to reasserting autonomy over Gondor and his own fate-- but that’s another post).

It doesn’t end well, and it certainly doesn’t afford any opportunity to live a renegotiated, repaired relationship, but Denethor does indeed remember it ere the end that he loves Faramir and is first and foremost his father.

[daitranscripts]

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Deleted Dialogue

Various snippets of dialogue that didn’t make it into the final cut of the game - listed in scene order.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts Masterpost

—

Guard: This storeroom is locked for the party. The palace entrance is over there… through the very large, gilded doors.

Guard: My lady. You have had too much wine. This is a locked storeroom. Not an entrance. Guard: My lord. This door is locked for a reason. Please go into the palace through the front doors.

Guard: What was that? Merde…

Guard: The steward will have our hides for this.

—

Sera: I could break more stuff. Just for fun? This place is so dull.

Dialogue options:

I need a diversion.

We’ll go in soon.

I need a diversion. PC: Do me a favor, Sera. Distract those guards over there so I can see that they’re protecting. Sera: You bet your arse I will!

We’ll go in soon. PC: We’re going inside soon. Just be patient. Sera: Ugh! So bored!

Sera: (Yawns.) Whatever.

—

Dialogue options:

General: It’s an honor. +10 Court Approval (Vivienne in party)

Celene (Vivienne in party): Accompanied by our court enchantress, no less. Vivienne: Your loyal servant is delighted to be in your presence, Your Majesty.

—

Solas: Such lovely pageantry.

—

Iron Bull: They said this stuff is a garnish, but nobody stops you if you fill your plate with it.

—

Vivienne: Watch your back, Inquisitor. Remember: everyone here wants you dead.

—

Speaking to Gaspard’s vassal

Nobility perk: I am interested in heraldry. (Use the Nobility/Politics persuade.) PC: It’s good to see the council present. I’ve always had a love of heraldry. Vassal: Indeed, the council had to be present, since the talks concern inheritance of the throne. Of course, they would have hardly refused any invitation from Empress Celene.

Dialogue options:

She is delightful.

That would be madness.

What about from Gaspard?

She is delightful. PC: The empress is very elegant. Vassal: Her majesty is a far more brilliant jewel than anything from the imperial treasury!

That would be madness. PC: No one would turn down the empress! Better to paint yourself blue and live in the trees! Vassal: You have it exactly right, Inquisitor! Better to give up civilization entirely than live without the empress.

What about from Gaspard? PC: But would they refuse an invitation from the grand duke? Vassal: Absolutely! He had allies on the council once, but burned those bridges years ago. Gaspard is a villain. Little better than a bully. Shouting his vile death at the council to give him the crown. The Chalons heraldry will never over the palace. The council will not bow to him.

Vassal: But I must get back to work! It is a rare pleasure to speak with someone knowledgeable. Good evening, Inquisitor

—

Speaking to Lady Marcellette

Nobility/Politics: Court history is fascinating. (Use the Nobility/Politics persuade.)

Nobility/Politics: Court history is fascinating. PC: I’ve always been intrigued by the history of the Imperial Court.

Lady Marcellette (non-human PC): Really? I would never have expected… Lady Marcellette (human PC): History is a living subject. So few understand that.

Lady Marcellette: The struggles of the court a hundred years ago still plague us to this day.

Dialogue options:

Even longer than that. PC: Not only the last age. Thousands of years of history still make their mark on the future.

Some people never learn. PC: We are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past if we don’t pay attention to our forebears.

They caused the civil war. PC: Certainly, they brought us to the current war.

Lady Marcellette: Truly! How much of what happens tonight was set in motion by the Queen Mother Asha Subria in the Exalted Age? How much bloodshed could have been avoided by a word from the Emperor Etienne I in the Blessed Age?

Dialogue options:

If only we could find out.

It’s fun to speculate.

Better not to wonder.

If only we could find out. PC: It’s a pity we’ll never know. Lady Marcellette: True. But understanding where our trouble begins is the first step toward solving them.

It’s fun to speculate. PC: I’ll bet you concoct stories in your spare time about how different things would be. Lady Marcellette: Well, I’ve written a few… but they’re not worth sharing.

Better not to wonder. PC: It’s wiser not to play “what if?” Lady Marcellette: Very true.

Lady Marcellette: You should visit the library while you’re here! It isn’t open, but I can give you the key. It’s an absolute treasure for history lovers. You must not miss it.

—

Noble 1: Very well.

Noble 1: Indeed? If the Inquisition intends to hold those deserters accountable, I should be glad to pledge my support.

—

Noble: She’s trampling the wisteria! Has she gone mad?

Noble: He’s brutalizing the wisteria! How dreadful!

—

Noble 1: Is that the Inquisitor? What is she doing? Noble 2: She wouldn’t actually climb that trellis, would she?

Noble 1: Is that… the Inquisitor? Where is he going? Noble 2: He wouldn’t dare climb that trellis, would he?

Dialogue options:

Just looking at the garden.

It’s adventurous.

Shut up.

Just looking at the garden. PC: Of course not. I’m simply admiring these plants. Noble 2: A thousand pardons, Inquisitor.

It’s adventurous. PC: In every Orlesian romance, someone climbs a trellis. Admit it, you were thinking of doing the same. Noble 2: Whatever I might have thought, I wouldn’t have done it…

Shut up. PC: Mind your own business. Noble 2: Hmph!

—

PC: Uh-huh. Something funny about this.

—

PC: Maker, these people hate me. How do I fix this? PC: Josephine will kill me if I mess this up any worse. Now what?

—

Underworld: We might work together. (Use the Underworld/Criminals persuade)

PC: I want the grand duke’s men there out of the way, and unless I’m mistaken, you want the same thing… Elf 2: I think we understand each other. Elf 1: My [lord/lady] Inquisitor.

—

In the game room:

Dialogue options:

I can answer. (Use the arcane persuade.) PC: The answer is “What does it have in its pockets?”

Noble 2: How did you answer that so easily?

—

Dialogue options:

Why did you two part ways?

You still love her.

Investigate: Why did you two part ways? PC: What made the two of you part ways? Celene: She wanted change. And she thought I should deliver it. My word is law, Inquisitor, but laws don’t command people’s hearts. Culture does not transform itself overnight. She never loved me. Only my influence. Wisdom is never bought cheaply.

General: You still love her. PC: Maybe you kept it because you still care for Briala. Celene: I do. it is not wise, but… we cannot always be wise.

—

Dialogue options:

Maybe it’s sentimental.

It was yours, then.

Maybe it’s sentimental PC: It might have meant something to her. Briala: Or she held onto it in case she needed something.

It was yours, then. PC: So, this did belong to you. Briala: It did. But that was a long time ago.

—

On entering royal wing:

Varric: I didn’t think you were drunk enough for this plan, Handy.

Varric: Usually we don’t reach this stage of a plan without a lot more drink, Lucky.

—

In Celene’s Quarters:

If the PC doesn’t free the man and speaks to him again: Noble: You piece of shit. Let me out!

—

Josephine: Oh, no, no. You can’t dance in that.

—

Celene: I do. Those “wild stories” have made some things abundantly clear. Gaspard: I hardly know what to believe anymore. Briala: I think everyone believes them, Your Grace.

—

Celene: Gaspard? Do you have any last words?

[batsplat]

Hello! I have a question about tyre pressure penalties. Why do they pop up so often and why now? It didn't seem to be a big topic a few years ago, what changed? The tyres, the bikes, the rules?

Thank you so much for answering

yeah, the rule was introduced in july of 2023, so it is still a very new thing! and... well, it's basically the bikes and the rules that have changed, whereas the tyres haven't changed as much as they need to. here's the tldr on why the rule was initially introduced:

so I'm afraid the actual explanation is going to be a bit longer and more complicated - but here's the most basic summary. if you don't read anything else, hopefully this will give you a general sense of what is going on here:

last few years: more aero, ride height devices, faster bikes = more stress on the tyres, more heat, higher tyre pressures

when you follow another rider, your tyre pressure may rise very quickly; when you're in clean air it'll get lower

too low tyre pressures = tyre may degrade which can be safety issue

too high tyre pressures = bike buckles under you, makes overtaking harder and crashing more likely (also competitive disadvantage)

controversy in 2022: leaked michelin document showing several riders weren't above minimum tyre pressure level. rules just hadn't been enforced -> teams demanded change

proposed rules in 2023 for minimum tyre pressure: seen as very strict + harsh penalties were criticised. the penalties were reduced, rule when introduced was still controversial

particularly heated discussion when it looked like it might influence the title fight, with both pecco + jorge receiving a warning

rules changed for 2024, made somewhat more lenient than initially proposed, but clearly it remains an issue

okay, that's the short version. let's give a little more context. discussion surrounding this proposed rule introduction really got going in 2022, as a result of a controversy surrounding the lack of enforcement of the existing rule. we've had tyre pressure rules since basically forever... it's just that michelin wasn't actually going to the stewards and saying 'hey, you've got to penalise these riders'. the thing is, all teams are chasing low tyre pressures to gain a performance advantage. you're trying to get the tyres to operate in the ideal window of grip level - if you're setting them low, you're attempting to ensure that you won't be screwed over if your rider ends up in a race situation where the tyre pressure suddenly rises outside of that level. see this from 2022:

so, again, to be clear: the existence of tyre pressure regulations isn't new, it just hasn't been enforced. the article I linked to was from a piece after jerez 2022. it's about how a leaked document from michelin confirmed that several riders, most notably pecco and ducati, had essentially run their tyres in an illegal manner but would not be penalised for it. this had been common practise for years and years, but at last other manufacturers were complaining about this state of affairs - which stemmed from a "gentleman's agreement" between the manufacturers and michelin not to disclose any breaches. for obvious reasons, this is not ideal. it's a) unfair from a competitive standpoint, and b) quite possibly dangerous. which also doesn't really make this bit ideal, does it:

and here's the leaked michelin document:

'only 0 laps' slay

so basically it was the manufacturers themselves that had kinda had enough of the status quo and provided the initial impetus for change (ironic, given where the rest of this post is going). the situation also wasn't helped by how michelin had told journalists like a race earlier that infringements were "very rare", which obviously they were not

which, okay. seems straightforward enough, right? teams are chasing performance advantages - but they should be penalised if they're pushing things too far. tough for them if higher tyre pressures are making them slower! the issue is... well, these fluctuating tyre pressures and how often they end up getting very, very high is actually a massive issue in and of itself. it doesn't just make bike performance worse... it makes the racing worse. from another article at the time, that outlines how few overtakes there had been in recent races and how this was a problem riders up and down the grid had talked about:

basically, the idea is that if you end up following another rider too closely, your tyre pressure might suddenly rise to the stratosphere. (obviously, you saw the reverse of that in assen - marc worrying his tyre pressure was too low and having to fall back behind diggia to try and get it up again.) it's described as quite a radical difference, not just in terms of performance (making it harder to overtake), but also in terms of handling... and ultimately safety, because suddenly rising tyre pressures can make crashes more likely. I'll give a bunch of quotes from riders here, but I'll also summarise them afterwards

and to get slightly more technical with this, here's how bastianini described the issue:

so, tldr for the above quotes:

even tiny changes in tyre pressure can make a massive difference in how the bike handles

following a bike closely can cause the tyre pressure to rise enough to make it start buckling under you, making it a lot easier to crash. specifically, it becomes really hard to brake in a controlled manner

it's easier to lock the front when you're braking in these conditions (with a smaller contact patch between tyre and ground), so you're compensating by pushing more when braking, with less grip - that's what makes you more likely to crash

this makes overtaking harder, essentially relying on bikes in front to make a mistake. unless you have a clear speed advantage, you may be stuck in a pattern where you gain but then have to drop back for tyre pressure reasons

it's very hard for the teams to figure out beforehand how to set the tyre pressures, not least because obviously it depends on what sort of race situation their riders will be in

and that's the problem in a nutshell. low tyre pressures are a problem for safety reasons. high tyre pressures are also a problem for safety reasons, plus come with the added downside that they have contributed to making the racing a lot worse in recent times. it's tough for teams to predict how they should set their tyre pressure, but some teams had been deliberately going high risk (low pressure) for a competitive edge - even if their riders weren't always aware of it. and the rule wasn't being enforced

so, let's tackle the obvious question: why has this become such an issue at all specifically in the last few years? I'm going to basically just summarise the linked article for this, though obviously I'd recommend you go read that in full:

the michelin front slick tyre has always been sensitive, though it's gotten particularly bad these last few years

the racing is both faster and closer now than it used to be, so these small margins have become more important

the out-sized aerodynamics have reduced wheelies and led to greater downforce during braking, which means you have more load on the tyre. to explain a bit more (from here): tyres are being pushed down by weight of bike + rider, the engine generates friction, which determines grip - and also heats the tyre up. more heat = more pressure

rear devices: dropping the rear of the bike on straights for reduced wheelies and to "adjust the angle of the downforce aero". so basically you're sticking the tyres to the ground, you're keeping the bikes super low, there's more weight, you're putting a lot of stress on the front to do the front to do the braking and you're braking from higher speeds. all of this raises the temperatures enough to be a problem

slipstreaming: typically a massive part of racing in motogp, as it gives the rider behind an advantage when following. the problem is if you have aero that's creating such a massive vacuum that it's essentially sucking the rider in... creating a lower-than-atmospheric pressure that makes it super hard to brake. because low pressure = good when you're on the throttle and trying to go fast, by extension low pressure = bad when you're attempting to brake and go slow

I hope this is like... more or less clear - we could get more technical with this and I'd advise you to follow the links I've provided, but I'm trying to keep it relatively straightforward. also, obviously I'm extremely not an expert on this either. basically, it's aero and ride height devices and sheer performance that are putting a lot of load on the tyres. increased stress means more tyre pressure fuckery and threatens the integrity of the tyre. high tyre pressures are dangerous. low tyre pressures are also dangerous. not ideal. these michelin tyres also fundamentally were not designed with aero and ride height devices in mind (they've been working on a new front tyre since 2019). there's a few different reasons why michelin hadn't been able to roll out more suitable tyres, including a) covid-caused delays, b) the reluctance of riders to actually test new tyres (preventing enough data from being collected), and c) the reluctance of motogp to force the issue by having enough testing and bullying riders into using the tyres. all this has meant that now, in 2024, we still don't have a front tyre that's really suitable to the actual bikes we have

so, what to do? now, obviously *casey stoner voice* maybe you should simply ban literally all this shit. strip off every single wing, chuck out everything that even looks like it might be applying for 'device' status, take a hammer to anything that wasn't on these bikes twenty years ago. also, just slow the bikes down! while michelin isn't responsible for most of this and being a tyre supplier in a motorsport is a notoriously thankless job, they are the primary reason why everyone is smashing lap records left right and centre this year. get rid of all of it. racing was better twenty years ago. return to the glory days, bring back the real sport *end casey stoner voice*

given they're not going to change the tech regulations overnight - and the proposed next ruleset (while far from perfect) does include changes that theoretically should help address this problem - it was felt like a more immediate change was needed. so over the course of 2022, there were more and more discussions about how you'd more firmly clamp down on teams playing fast and loose with the existing tyre pressure rules. initially, the new rules for tyre pressures and how strongly they'd be penalised were supposed to be introduced pretty early in 2023, with the introduction of a unified monitoring system that ensured these teams didn't like... just pretend their own problematic numbers were down to their inability to measure their own numbers

these proposals were met with massive backlash - and I think you should be able to guess why. these tyre pressure rules are about mandating a minimum level... but a lot of this post has been about why high tyre pressures are also a massive problem. as we've established, different race situations can also lead to very sudden changes - so if you're setting it higher to begin with, it might end up being so bad you cause a lot of crashes:

the other big complaint was about the harshness of the proposed penalties, which were initially going to be instant disqualification. eventually, once the rule was finally introduced in mid-2023, it was with lighter penalties:

another quirk was that, initially, it was checked through randomised post-race inspections. this is because they didn't want to just rely on the new system they'd installed in the bikes, but also wanted to manually check afterwards - which they didn't have the capacity yet to do on all the bikes. even with this change, the rule wasn't exactly universally popular. one complaint, expressed here by zarco, was with the idea that low front tyre pressures even are as dangerous as they're being portrayed as:

and again, the argument that this is bad for racing:

the more moderate version of this complaint was aired by aleix - the rule itself was fine, but the exact application was too strict:

this situation is the definition of lose-lose-lose. it's bad for riders because they're constantly having to monitor tyre pressures, running the risk of being penalised and also racing in a dangerous manner if their tyres aren't exactly right - plus racing in a dumb manner if they have to adjust how they're conducting their race to what their tyre pressures are doing, for instance by dropping back into the pack to get back to an acceptable level. it's bad for michelin because everybody's constantly complaining about this rule and their tyres - and while this rule they've insisted on doesn't necessarily appear to be the best solution for an imperfect situation... of course they're not the main party to blame for the imperfect situation in the first place. and it's lose for the viewers because, well, it makes the racing processional and at times extremely daft

now, there was obviously plenty more discourse about this, but the controversy really got going again late last year - at the height of the title fight, when both jorge (after thailand) and pecco (after sepang) ended up being slapped with warnings, with a penalty to follow with another infringement. obviously, given how close the title fight was, the idea that it might be decided by something this dumb was appealing to literally nobody. martin was particularly outspoken after sepang about how it was impacting the racing:

it was very visible in the sepang sprint how jorge was adjusting his tactics to this race situation - he just couldn't race normally because of the tyre pressure calculation they'd made not matching to the race situation. on the flip side, bastianini was given a warning after the race for his low tyre pressure... but well, he won that race, and it was obviously worth it for him to low ball it, given the absolute lack of championship implications and how the rules essentially gave him a freebie. which, if this is a safety rule, how is that a reasonable way of regulating it? you're allowed to chew up your tyres in a dangerous manner but just this once, as a treat?

as ever, jorge was backed up in his complaints by aleix:

make engineers less anxious 2k23

also, I do just need to quickly bring in another thing jorge said, because it's still very funny to me

no?? don't do that?? just because pecco also has a warning, that does not mean you can take all the risks you want?? how does that even WORK?? what if pecco plays it sensible and he doesn't get a penalty??

anyway, of course neither of them ended up being penalised - though diggia lost a podium at valencia. with plenty of talk again at valencia, obviously it was a concern going into the next season, especially given the penalties were supposed to be escalated so that a rider would be disqualified at first offence. the organisers ended up changing their mind on this rule last minute - and now we have a mere 16 second time penalty instead. more importantly, the actual threshold was made a little more lenient:

relatively speaking, the situation this year... well, it could be worse. there's been a few penalties here and there, like fabio's in the jerez sprint - which obviously was a complete chaos race where fabio from pee five million on the grid really wouldn't have been expecting to run in clean air. (four other riders were also penalised there.) marc's assen one is particularly memorable, given it included those bizarre moments where marc let other riders ahead of him to get his tyre pressure in an acceptable range. that still wasn't enough and due to (according to marc, anyway) the bastianini contact he ended up just falling afoul of the laps you need within the allowed margins. of course, none of this is ideal. there's a bunch of ways in which it makes racing worse: for safety reasons, by making overtaking harder, by making it harder for riders to adjust to unexpected race situations. there's also not really an easy solution and no party here is 100% blameless. hopefully michelin will at least construct a new tyre that makes all this a little better. hopefully we can one day fire ride height devices into the sun