#OR. hear me out. or you could not participate in capitalism but still show love to the people in your life????

[artemisiatridentata]

single people who hate Valentine’s Day are corny. die in my arms

[jennyandvastraflint]

Would love to hear more about your thoughts on the commercialisation of fandom!!

Ooooh, boy you've opened a can of worms. I took a Fan Studies course at uni for a module bc I could choose it, and I did a lot of research into this specific topic... I hope it's okay that I'm just putting in some of my slides and then summarising underneath each!

Now, fandom in, for instance, fan fiction spaces, works on the basis of a Gift Economy in which gifts rather than money are exchanged. However, these gifts aren't just meant for one person, but for many, and even when you for instance do an artwork or a fanfic for someone, other people can still ALSO read it. These gifts can (but don't have to) be responded to with another gift, be it a comment on a fic, or a fic in return. Now, I could go into much more detail here, but I recommend checking out for instance this text by Trisha Turk on the TWC for some more in-depth stuff about this. (I'll list all the sources I used in the presentation in the end btw!) The gist of it is that fandom is a very complex system in which the reciprocation of gifts - and therefore labour - is distributed across the community.

(more under the cut)

HOWEVER capitalism, as always, comes along and tries to ruin things for profit.

Fandoms continue to form because of the unrestricted movement and no one dictating what is well, "really" canon and what isn't. I'm sure you've witnessed some fans in more recent years refusing to ship things that "won't become canon anyway", positioning the canonicity of a ship or a scenario higher than... well, their own critical reflection and interpretation OF the media and their own creative endeavours. At the end of the day, canon for me personally is something to draw on, negotiate with, or reject if it's stupid, while more recent fandoms I've seen sometimes go about their engagement with fandom as a sort of... worshipping of canon almost, and where being noticed by the creators is sort of the ultimate goal.

Now, this is of course connected to corporations realising that hey, actually people engaging with our media and creating something about it bring in numbers, and with them being able to make a profit off of views on social media, they seek to drive certain forms of engagement with the content. However, they are of course seeking to police HOW you engage with things, and don't you dare stray from their vision too much. This, of course, harms especially marginalised communities who propose alternative readings of media, who subvert the show itself and who transform it into something else, adding themselves into the work and into a world where, by design, they were invisible. It's also an attempt to undermine fan activism and grassroots organising by fans (if you wanna hear more about fan activism shoot me another ask and I will ramble <3 edit: link to post about fan activism) by keeping them in line with a sterilised version of fandom. In this sterilised and controlled version, the forms most often encouraged are things like video edits (but don't be too out there, that's bad too) that can be consumed like content by fandom... They like video edits, sterilised fanart, and things that are easily consumed and bring numbers, but "don't you dare write that nasty Spirk fanfiction where they have sex in the captain's chair! Ewww, yuck yuck!"

Rather than having a fandom driven by community, you have one driven by consumption, and that has become increasingly clear in the past few years, with readers on fan fiction asking "When next chapter?", pressuring artists, writers, etc. for more 'content' for them to consume without a) participating in the Gift Economy fandom is built upon and b) realising that these fan works are gifts to the community in the first place, and not content... These are, by the way, often the same fans who will cheer on AI because now they can finally read a story they wanted someone to continue :D Instead of using their own fucking brain, they're asking a bot trained on scraping works to produce them some bad, surface level jumble of words just so they can consume, consume, endlessly consume without ever having to think.

A few years ago (well in like, the late 2000s), a site called FanLib wanted to profit off of the resale of fanfiction, but were quickly shut down. Their mistake was that they mistook the community of fandom for a commodity to exploit for their own commercial interests. I'm not sure you've seen it, but Wattpad has sent authors emails asking them to update their fics frequently because it would appease the algorithm (see Tumblr Post about this here), which leads me to my next little point!

Algorithms! If you have ever done fan edits and posted them on sites like TikTok, Instagram, etc., you'll have noticed that... unless you post regularly and frequently (like. one edit a day at least), the algorithm will NOT push your video at all and it will be buried. Algorithms are based on how well a post performs not in terms of actual community that is built, but of course on numbers. Wattpad also functions on an algorithmic principle, which is why you have some........ individuals coming to AO3 and complaining about the supposed algorithm, spamming their work and reposting it, yadda yadda. Basically, these fans are so used to being spoonfed by an algorithm by now, they are confused when they are actually left on their own and are supposed to learn some basic fandom rules. It's honestly frightening to see fandom not only be reduced to this surface level interaction and to number-based algorithmic systems, but also to the trend-hopping TikTokification of fandom.

A study done by Booth and Dare-Edwards published in 2021 that focused on school age children basically came to the following conclusions... Children still connect "fan" with the same stereotypes of obsessive and unruly individuals that were plaguing us thirty years ago. A whole bunch of children think fandom is a thing of the past and that it peaked in the early 2000s - and while fandom of course is different now and has changed with the spread of the internet, fandom very much still is A Thing. Further, children connected fandom and being a fan mostly with buying merchandise and collecting, and also with plain consuming content, echoing "neo-liberal associations of ‘emotion’ with ‘buying power’, but at the same time, seemed to pathologize those who practice fandom (as they see it) ‘too much’" (Booth and Dare-Edwards 230). The text concludes that while there has been an explosion of media and you are becoming more multi-facetted in what you are a fan of, lilypad hopping and essentially abandoning fandoms after a brief period of surface level engagement and consuming content is increasingly becoming more common. From my own experience, this is for instance the case with shows like Willow (2022), Good Omens(ish), etc. Pretty much anything more recent doesn't have as stable a fanbase and if you enter the fandom a month too late it's already fizzing out. It's really fucked up, honestly.

Right, after that long tangent about this, I want to bring up ancillary models, which is an attempt by capitalist companies to market the previously unwanted Gift Economy of fandom as something new and desirable, but something they are in control of.

Ancillary Content Models try to lure fans in with "free" Behind-the-Scenes content. The guise they have stolen from fandom of acting like a Gift Economy of saying "here, this is for all our dedicated fans <3 Consume :D" is used to downplay the commercial infrastructure these Content Models (honestly it's already in the name). The "gifted" content is more concerned with getting loads of people to individually consume as much of it as possible to create an alternative revenue on for instance social media through views, clicks, likes, etc. They're essentially trying to commercialise our viewing time and keep us engaged with that additional content as much as possible. Rather than having a community that comes together to share their ideas and stories around a metaphorical campfire, Ancillary Content Models want each person alone to sit and stare at the stuff they put out as much as possible, always placidly clicking "like" and demanding more. They also want to cultivate an "official" fan community (aka the ones most dedicated to consuming additional content) that they can monitor and control, and they don't encourage anything that's too... out there, too subversive, too queer, etc. Coined "re-gifting economy" by Suzanne Scott, capitalism with these Ancillary Content Models has warped the Gift Economy fandom functions on into a model that equates consumption with community, and which wants to profit off of fans' engagement and their free labour of making viral TikTok edits that adhere to the sterilised version of what a fan "should be". The example I used in my presentation for this is from The Dragon Prince, which, while I do love the show, has been pushing such Ancillary Content Models. They also have a Discord (which is regulated and monitored) as their "official fan community" place, and not only are the rules pretty strict, but it also just... doesn't feel like a community but just like a bunch of people wanting more content gathered in one place :/

Now, to conclude this, capitalism sucks and is trying to ruin fandom communities in order to replace them with something they can make some more money of, and rather than having a critical fanbase that questions things, they want one that endlessly consumes the "free" content they churn out. Stay active in fandom, remember we're a Gift Economy, learn the fandom rules, and keep hating capitalism <3

Fan Work: Labor, Worth and participation in Fandom's gift economy by Trisha Turk

Now, the sources I have used for this...

Repackaging fan culture: The regifting economy of ancillary content models by Suzanne Scott

Stanfill, Mel. “The Fan Fiction Gold Rush, Generational Turnover, and the Battle for Fandom’s Soul.” The Routledge Companion to Media Fandom, edited by Melissa A. Click and Suzanne Scott, New York, 2017, pp. 77-79.

"No one's a fan of anything anymore, this isn't 2002.": Surveying 7–17-year-olds on being a fan and contemplating the future of fandom. by Paul Booth and Helena Louise Dare-Edwards

[aebi12]

"Resentment" - Chapter 15 [AemondxRhaena]

Summary

He is the cause of her sufferings. He took her dragon, her betrothed, and her father. Now, he will also take away her future by having to marry him.

With so much history and bad blood between Rhaena and Aemond, their forced union has everything to fail, except that the proximity will make them discover that perhaps they have more in common than it seems.

AU - the Greens win the war.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

Masterlist of my other works.

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, angst, drama, eventual smut, hurt/comfort

Please remember that english is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes...

Also please there are POSIBLE SPOILERS in this chapter. If you have not read Fire and Blood, I mention here the fate of certain characters that will happen eventually in the show, so please take that in mind. Also I describe *kinda* some aspects about the Blood and Cheese plot from the book, so keep this in mind.

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It had been the most intense dinner Rhaena had ever participated in.

Well…maybe not the most intense, but certainly the most uncomfortable.

Beside her, Baela walks in silence until they reach her chambers and are greeted by Morning, who flies to her usual spot on Rhaena's shoulders, growling playfully at Baela.

“What is she doing here?”

“Morning stays with me,” she responds, stroking her tail.

"Here? In your chambers?" Baela frowns looking at the dragon. Rhaena nods, “How strange.”

“We have not been apart since she hatched from the egg,” she comments as she follows her sister into the room. Baela is already taking off her jewelry and undoing the braids from her hair, “They did not have any appropriate place for her in the Vale, and no servant wanted to approach her,” she smiles at the memory, “So I am the one who always takes care of her.”

Her twin sighs and her gaze fixes on Morning. Rhaena is able to see the bitterness and pain in her eyes.

“Talk to me, Baela,” she asks softly, “Tell me what happened after I left Dragonstone.”

She needs the details. She needs to hear from her sister what happened during the war. Baela looks down and a silence settles between them. Rhaena fears that her twin won't talk, until she finally starts to.

“At first Rhaenyra was still hesitant about sending the dragons to fight, but that changed when we lost grandmother,” Baela's voice trails off and Rhaena walks over to her sister, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

“I so wish I could have spent more time with her,” she admits with a similar lump in her throat, “To have known her better, or at least said goodbye properly.”

“Everything happened too quickly after that,” her sister continues, “Jace had the idea of ​​​​start searching for dragon seeds to claim the ones on the island without a rider. We thought that it would work, for a while it seemed that way, we had more dragons than them, but then…” her voice falters again.

“The Gullet?”

“The Gullet,” she nods, her eyes filling with tears, “What should have been a peaceful and unnoticed trip turned out to be the opposite because no one was counting on the intervention of the Triarchy. Aegon managed to get back on his dragon, and Jace came back for Viserys, but we ended up losing them both.”

The fate of her little brother had been a hard blow to Rhaena. The letter had arrived with the news during the sunset, and she had not been able to stop crying for weeks remembering that little boy with platinum hair whom she had cared for with so much love since his birth.

“The queen was not the same after her loss. Jace's death plunged her into despair,” she shrugs, “She just wanted revenge and she got the chance when the kinslayer left the capital unprotected.”

“I still do not understand why he did such thing,” she says, “It was an obvious mistake.”

“The council believed it was another trap, like the one at Rook's Rest, that is why I stayed with our Aegon in Dragonstone,” her sister's gaze wanders for a few seconds, “About the other part of the story, I only know the same as you. The usurper managed to flee the city, and was hiding under our noses,” her expression hardens, her nostrils twitching, “Under my noses all that time.”

“I heard that the dragon seeds betrayed us.”

“Unreliable people,” she shrugs again, “Some changed to the usurper's side and others gave themselves pretensions that they did not deserve. In the end all of them died, including Addam and that made the queen feel more paranoid. The riots and the dragon pit…” they both shudder and sigh, “Maybe if I had been here I could have avoided so much misfortune.”

Morning interrupts with a growl and leaves Rhaena's shoulders, flying towards her usual spot by the fire.

“I heard people were angry. And hungry. They acted out of their desperation, it must have been terrible for them during the war”

Baela shrugs, “Savages, all of them. Our poor dragons,” her voice falters again and Rhaena notices her eyes watering.

“What happened in Dragonstone?” insist

“Aegon gained the trust of several noble lords who were dissatisfied with Rhaenyra. By the time I found out that the usurper was on the island, I went to confront him. I really believed I could kill him, that I could end the war. I did not expect for Sunfyre to appear,” Baela looks away and her hands touch her right side, “I managed to escape, although Moondancer was not as lucky.”

Rhaena wraps her arms around her sister, her hand caressing her back. Baela snuggles into her chest and a moment later she feels tears falling into her lap.

“I just wish her sacrifice wasn't in vain,” Baela whispers.

“I am so sorry, Baela,” she says softly, “I know how much you loved your dragon.”

The lump in her throat grows even heavier at the thought of having to experience something similar now that she has Morning.

There is a moment of silence until Baela pulls away from her arms, wipes her tears with her hands and sighs.

“Our grandsire got me pardoned, and for some reason the usurper did not execute our Aegon. After that I was sent to Driftmark to be Alyn's pupil. I was still recovering from the burns, my senses clouded by the milk of the poppy, so I learned later that Grandsire’s health worsened and that the shivers disease took him”.

“Just like it took our Aegon.”

Baela snorts, “Or so they say,” her gaze drifts to the door, “How convenient that our brother died so suddenly.”

“Little Jaehaera died too,” she says, shaking her head, “I do not think they lied about her death as well. Furthermore, there were several impartial lords here who assured that no harm was done to our little brother.”

Baela doesn't say more, but her look alone is enough to convey that she does not believe that version.

“Maybe it was for the best,” Rhaena continues, “Our little brother was a threat to them, he probably would have had a much worse fate if they had let him live. At least the illness was quick”

“And all this disgrace upon our family only because they decided to usurp Rhaenyra's throne. Because of their ambition and disloyalty,” the rage emanating from her sister's body is almost palpable, “I should be on Dragonstone now, being the crown princess, married to Jacaerys and perhaps mother of one or two already.”

“Baela…”

“Have you imagined it? Have you ever thought about how things must have been?”

Rhaena nods and sighs, “It is no use for such things. We gain nothing by living in fantasies."

“But we will have our revenge,” she assures, “We will just have to wait and our time will come.”

"Why you said so?"

Suspicions born in her mind when Baela looks at her and there seems to be indecision in her gaze, as if she is controlling herself from telling Rhaena about something.   

“Just trust me, sister. Our time will come."

“Whatever you are planning, Baela, stop. You cannot…"

“Shh, shhh, it is not what you think, I assure you,” she takes her hands and looks at her, “I know that the blood and fire of our family is not in you, after all you are not a dragon rider. Or not yet,” she repeats, giving Morning a furtive glance, “But we are going to be fine, we will just have to hold on a little longer. And remember who our enemy is.”

“Why do you say those things?” she asks again

“Remember our enemy,” Baela repeats, squeezing her hands.

“I know who the enemies are, Baela,” she replies, slipping out of her grasp and grimacing.

"Do you? Because in the queen's dowager salon I thought I noticed something else."

"I do not know what you mean"

“I think you know well what I mean,” Baela stands up, placing her hands on her hips, “I saw you looking at Aemond.”

"Nonsenses. I was just being nice”

“You do not have to be nice.”

“Yes, yes I have to,” Rhaena says with a harder voice and stands up as well, “I understand that you are angry, that you think it is a betrayal just to be in the same room as them, but I have no choice. Have you not thought about what may await me in a few days when I have to share a bed with Aemond?” her sister makes a disgusted face, “Because I have. And I am scared. I do not want to be violated, I do not want to have to experience terror every time he summons me to his rooms."

"So what? Does being nice to him changes something?”

“I am trying to be useful,” she explains, “I try to please him, help him in any way I can, earn even a minimum of his respect or consideration so that he does not see me as part of his property with which he can do whatever he wants.”

“He would not dare, if he were to do that I would…”

Rhaena laughs, although it is a humorless laugh, “You will do what? What could you do living so far from here?”

Baela does not respond. Rhaena takes a few deep breaths, trying to remain calm, “I know it is not the ideal situation, but I am just trying to do the best I can with what I have. Do not hate me for that, Baela.”

“I could not hate you,” she replies immediately and closes the distance between them, hugging her sister, “I just want it to be clear to you that you cannot trust him. None of them. They are our enemy,” she cuts off her embrace, taking Rhaena’s face in her hands and looking directly at her eyes, “They always will be.”

Rhaena just nods, although Baela does not seem to notice, because she immediately releases her and takes off her dinner dress to put on her nightgown. Rhaena stares at her, noting the scars left by the dragonfire on her right side.

A while later, when they both enter the bed snuggled under the covers, the conversation turns to more nostalgic topics such as their childhood in Pentos. But, although her sister falls asleep after a while, Rhaena cannot sleep.

Sitting on the bed, she watches her twin and Baela’s question from a while ago comes back to her. What would have happened if the succession that Viserys wanted had been respected? What would have become of her? What would be her fate? Would she be in Driftmark at this moment as Luke's wife?  Or would she have married someone else? Her mind had felt calm and grateful upon learning of her betrothal to Lucerys. He had been a kind and good-tempered boy, he would probably have been an ideal companion. Her heart, on the other hand…her heart did not feel for him what she was supposed to feel. They had spent many years together on Dragonstone, but that had only made her as close to him as a sister. And although it was in her blood to marry a relative, Lucerys awakened in her nothing but brotherly affection.

Still, she had felt grateful to have an honorable destiny that was in keeping with her birthright. Although a little part within herself, one that she tried not to listen to too much, longed to find someone who would make her experience what she had sometimes read in the books that the septa did not approve of. Or what her father used to say about feeling like the true “blood of the dragon”, with that passion that made him commit crazy things, that generated pain and desire in equal parts, that one that did not conform and that sought to find its other half. The one that was a fire that burned the insides from within, consuming everything and not caring about anything. The one that Rhaenyra had felt for her father.

The one who broke your mother's heart.

Rhaena sighs and rubs her eyes before pulling the covers back over her, trying to sleep. Only after several minutes it is evident that she will not be able to fall asleep, so she slowly gets out of bed and approaches the fireplace. Morning sleeps soundly and she does not want to disturb her by touching her, so since her mind is still too restless, she takes refuge in reading.

At some point she loses the sense of time, immersed in the stories as she is, and suddenly the first rays of sun begin to enter through the curtains.

“Rhaena?”

Her sister's voice startles her. Baela sits on the bed and rubs her eyes, yawning delicately, “You woke up early.”

“Apparently not before you,” her twin smiles, stepping out from under the covers and walking over to her, “What are you reading?”

“A gift from Lady Jeyne,” she lies, closing the book immediately and standing up to put it on one of the shelves, feeling a pang of guilt as she remembers that it was Aemond who gave it to her. “Should we eat?”

Rhaena orders the maids to bring food for them and they get ready in silence before eating.

“I would like you to accompany me in my tasks today,” Rhaena bites into her muffin, “I must supervise the castle apartments where the lords who will come for the wedding will stay.”

Baela raises her eyebrows in her direction, “Do you personally take care of those matters?”

“I like to keep busy,” she nods.

“It is better than being locked up all the time, I guess.”

“They do not keep me imprisoned in a room, if that is what worries you,” she clarifies, “I am free to meet with the ladies of the Court, attend theatrical performances or walk through the gardens and the city.”

Her sister makes a dismissive gesture, “It sounds boring.”

Rhaena sighs. Of course Baela found all of this very distasteful, considering that she had grown up spending most of her time with her dragon.

“What do you normally do in Driftmark?”

“Whatever I want, of course,” she shrugs, “I usually ride horses, swim, practice crossbow shooting or sword fighting. Alyn does not limit me. These last few months I have even been accompanying him to the shipyards to learn more about the ships”

“That sounds amazing, Baela,” she smiles and takes her hand, “I am glad you can pursue your interests freely.”

“Yeah, whatever, what are we supposed to do today? Not having to socialize too much with our relatives, I hope."

“No, I suppose not,” she replies, sipping her juice, “I will meet with the royal butler and visit the rooms of the Fortress. Although, if it gets too domestic or boring for you, you could stay with Marianne and join the other ladies.”

“I'd rather be with you,” she responds quickly.

Rhaena suppresses her smile, “Come on, then.”

***

Baela is clearly losing patience little by little.

“Is it really important that Lord Beesbury not cross paths with Alicent Hightower's brother?”

The butler glances between Rhaena and her sister, his eyes finally settling on her, “Ser Gwayne must stay in the chambers next to those of the royal family,” she instructs, “I am sure the dowager queen will appreciate having her brother close by. Place Lord Beesbury next to the Tyrells, it will surely be less complicated that way.”

“Of course, Lady Rhaena.”

“Likewise, instruct the servants to keep the fires lit constantly, it is too cold at night.”

Baela snorts and Rhaena sighs, “That is all for today, thank you.”

The man bows and leaves the room. Rhaena waits until they are alone before turning to her sister, “You do not have to follow me. Could you…"

"Do what? Socialize with the ladies of the court?” she rolls her eyes

“It is not that bad, it is actually quite fun if…”

“It is not my idea of ​​fun,” she cuts her off, running her hand over the velvet curtains of the room they are visiting, “Being polite and well-liked is your thing, not mine.”

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip, suppressing her response.

“Come on, we have done enough for today,” she tells her, although she knows that in reality she has only just begun to make the decisions she should. A part of her mind tells her that she should worry less about entertaining her sister, and more about doing a good job, as she had assured Aemond she will, but in the end, she decides to take her sister's hand, “Let's go see Marianne. “You owe her an apology and we can walk around for a while and drink wine and catch up on the gossip of the fortress.”

“Could we at least go into town?” Baela proposes, “Get out of this place for a while”

“Maybe that is not a good idea,” she replies, “We would probably have to get permission from the Dowager Queen or Ae… from Prince Aemond.”

At the mention of it, her mind recalls their fleeting encounter in the hallways that afternoon. She had felt her cousin's gaze fixed on her, but had kept her gaze downcast, her hand firmly gripped in Baela's.

“I guess it will be tea with the ladies,” Baela finally relents.

Only, after a couple of days, it is clear that Baela does not particularly enjoy those gatherings either, no matter how many bards, puppeteers, or dancers appear before her.

“Lady Manderly requested an audience with you,” Marianne tells her as the others applaud the bard singing the exploits of Aegon's conquest.

“I do not grant audiences,” she replies, amused.

“That is what they are calling it,” she smiles, “They all want the chance to meet you and build good relations with you now that it seems the Dowager Queen has handed over her duties to you.”

“You know that is not the case,” she shifts uncomfortably in her chair, aware that her sister is listening attentively to the exchange.

“I am just telling you what I hear,” Marianne takes her hand, “I have already received several letters from important ladies of the kingdom wanting to invite you to drink tea or take a walk around the fortress.”

“Well, they will have to wait, I still have a lot to do.”

“I did not know they would be here today.”

Rhaena follows Marianne's gaze to Lady Redwyne's front doors, where they are gathered this afternoon, to see the Baratheon sisters enter. The girl hadn't seen them much lately, which was a relief.

“Are they the daughters of Borros Baratheon?” Baela sounds curious next to her. Rhaena nods, “Interesting.”

Rhaena is tempted to leave, but eventually just returns to her conversation, joined by Lady Stokeworth and Lady Darklyn, who steal her attention by happily whispering about the wedding.

“Where is Baela?” she asks after a few minutes

“Over there,” Marianne points her face toward where her twin is conversing with the Baratheon sisters.

Rhaena frowns in her direction, but she tries to hide her displeasure at seeing them together and continuing the conversation with the other ladies, while she internally wonders what they could be talking about with her sister.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she finally says, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer.

Rhaena walks purposefully towards her twin, gently and firmly holding her elbow to get her attention. Baela turns and smiles widely at her, “Rhaena!”

“You were absent without warning,” she responds.

“I wanted to come and say hello to our cousins.”

“Of course,” Rhaena feels, “Cousins.”

“Cousin Rhaena,” they greet almost in unison.

“What were you talking about?” Rhaena asks without holding back

Baela opens her mouth, but Cassandra interrupts, “I do not think Rhaena would like to hear what we were saying about her future husband.”

"Oh no?" Baela continues smiling, “Why? We are not telling lies."

“Baela…”

“He's so presumptuous! He had the audacity to use a sapphire to cover his missing eye,” Baela giggles, “It does not do him any favors.”

“I share your opinion,” Maris replies.

“I think it gives him a certain air of mystery,” Floris says.

Rhaena finds herself agreeing with Floris. And she hates herself for that.

“Maybe when he was riding Vhagar, but now he is nothing more than a cripple who…”

“Enough, Baela.”

Her voice sounds harsher than she intends, “All of you, enough. I thought you came here to encourage your sister, not to spread mean comments.” Rhaena turns to her twin, “I would expect this from anyone but you.”

Without giving them a chance to respond, she turns her back on them, and leaves the room.

Baela reaches her without problems, holding her arm, “There was no need to get so angry, we were just joking.”

“It is beneath you to make fun of someone's appearance.”

“I wonder if you would react like this if it were someone else we were talking about?”

“You know I would,” she replies, “I do not like to be cruel. And neither are you."

"He…"

“Baela, stop it,” she asks, an ache starting to form in her head, “I do not want to fight. Let's just go. I still have things to do.”

Her sister relents again and they return to her chambers, where Baela entertains herself reading while Rhaena embroiders the bridal goods, her hands mechanically tracing the patterns of the prince's initials. Her eyes drift to the book she hasn't opened since that other morning, her insides feeling strangely empty at the thought of the prince.

***

It is amazing, Rhaena thinks, how she most often encounters her cousin when she tries not to see him.

At the beginning of her arrival at the Fortress, it was strange if she saw him once or twice during the same week. Now, however, she saw him repeatedly, always in the company of other lords. And he always looked for her gaze.

A look that she refuses because her relationship with her twin is increasingly unstable, and she knows that Baela does not take her eyes off her every time Aemond appears, waiting for Rhaena to react in some way that confirms that this supposed closeness between the two is more than a simple strategy on her part.

Which is totally false, she thinks. She was only nice to him because she had to be, not because she wanted to.

So why is it increasingly difficult to stop yourself from approaching him and finding any excuse to talk to him?

Rhaena bites the inside of her lip and looks at the scrolls the royal butler hands her. This afternoon Baela is not with her, preferring to stay in her rooms to write a couple of letters for Alyn.

“Lord Bracken requests an unusual number of candles,” the man comments.

“No less than Lord Blackwood.”

“That was to be expected,” she murmurs, “Put the same amount in both rooms. And make both of their servants to be housed at different ends of the servants' quarters, if possible, I do not want to give rise to possible altercations."

"Yes, my lady"

“What about the food?”

“The hunters got deer, pheasants and wild boar”

“Well, do not forget the lamprey pies, they are the queen’s dowager favorite,” she hands the scrolls to the man, “Once the food is ready, distribute some of it to the people of the city.”

“How come, my lady?”

“What you just heard,” she nods, “Breads, fruits and some meat. And wine. The people should also enjoy the royal wedding.”

“I don't know if the prince regent…”

“Prince Aemond will surely accept my idea.”

"Indeed"

Aemond's voice bursts into the room so suddenly that for a moment she thinks she is imagining it. But, when the royal butler turns his head toward the door, Rhaena does indeed find the figure of her cousin there.

“Do as Lady Rhaena orders.”

The man bows to the prince, who has approached them, stopping near Rhaena.

“The last guests of the Vale delegation also arrived, they are…”

“Enough for today,” Aemond interrupts, “Leave us.”

“Thank you, we will continue tomorrow,” Rhaena tries to smile at the man, although inside she is dealing with that annoying feeling of nerves that Aemond's presence produces.

Once they are alone, Rhaena begins to play with her hands, her throat suddenly feeling dry and she doesn't know what to say. What is Aemond doing here? He does not usually visit this part of the castle, surely he hasn't come expecting to find her.

Or had he?

“You have been diligently taking care of your tasks.”

Her cousin's voice breaks the silence. Rhaena nods, still not daring to look at him, “It is a welcome change to occupy my hours with activities beyond tea with the ladies of the Court.”

"Hmm"

Aemond does not say more, just takes a step towards her, coming so close that his knees touch the folds of her burgundy dress. Rhaena takes in the elaborate details of the dark green leather doublet he is wearing, trying to distract herself from the intensity of his gaze, not wanting to look directly at him.

But it is impossible not to do so.

Finally, sighing, she looks up and meets the prince's. Her husband-to-be. Is it her impression or does his face seem less severe? Rhaena digs her nails into the palm of her hands, trying to calm the palpitations of her heart and distract her mind.

“I am glad you accepted my idea of ​​distributing food to the people,” she ends by saying.

“It was a good idea,” he admits, tilting his head.

“Yes, yes, it was,” she nods.

Rhaena wants to say something else, but any coherent thought is lost when Aemond lifts his left hand and brings it to her neck. There is a moment of hesitation in the prince's gaze, as if he doubts what he is going to do, but finally his fingers close around the pendant he bought in the city for her. Rhaena closes her eyes as his fingers brush against her skin, his touch as delicate as…

"What is the meaning of this?"

Baela's voice cuts through the intimacy of the moment. And Rhaena is suddenly aware of how close she is to Aemond, so she immediately backs away from him.

“Bae…” she clears her throat, “Baela, I thought you were writing to Alyn.”

Her twin steps into the room, her wary eyes darting between Aemond and Rhaena.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No, no, of course not,” she is quick to respond.

Beside her, Aemond purses his lips and glares at her before looking at Baela.

“Let's go, Rhaena, I do not want you near the kinslayer.”

“Kinslayer?” Aemond says sarcastically.

“That is what you are,” she spits, “A murderer, a violent villain, and a coward…”

"Coward? "I think you are confusing me with your father, cousin."

Rhaena gasps and is aware of her sister's self-control fading as she closes the distance between them, ready to attack Aemond.

“Stop, Baela, stop!”

Rhaena manages to place herself between them and take her sister's arm, trying to restrain her. Aemond, fortunately, does not move, although his expression remains one of mockery and clear satisfaction.

“Remember your place, Baela. You are nothing more than a guest here, totally at the mercy of my good will and kindness.”

“Usurpers! You and your family are traitors!”

“Sister, please, he is just provoking you,” Rhaena whispers in her ear, “Say no more and let's go, please.”

“You should listen to your sister and keep silent.”

"How dare you!"

“Aemond, please.”

Rhaena looks at him, imploring with her eyes for him not to continue with his bickering. Aemond grimaces and finally says, “Very well.”

Baela releases from her grasp, her chest rising and falling from her labored breathing. “How can you tolerate him?” she asks Rhaena

“I have already explained it to you,” she replies with a sigh.

“Well, I do not understand,” her furious gaze now turns to her sister, “What were you doing here with him before I arrived?”

“Not the things you are thinking.”

“I am not stupid, Rhaena.”

Rhaena hears Aemond mutter something, although she does not understand what it is.

“I thought you were here alone and… terrified… surrounded by our enemies, but… it seems like you are enjoying it.”

"What?" Rhaena gasps.

“Yes, yes, that is it,” Baela laughs gracelessly and a malicious glint settles into her eyes. Her sister has never known how to contain her impulses, but knowing that doesn't make her next accusations hurt any less, “You enjoy playing the grand lady of the castle, don't you? Clinging to any scrap of power they give you, to the scraps they throw at you."

"I do not…”

“Do you think I have not noticed? The importance you give to yourself with your ladies-in-waiting and with the invitations of the Court, walking with your dragon from one place to another, enjoying being the center of attention for the first time”

Rhaena doesn't know what to say.

“Is this your way of punishing us?” Baela continues, “Is this your way of punishing your family for exiling you to the Vale during the war since you were useless because you were not a dragon rider?”

Exiled to the Vale. Useless.

Baela’s words echo in her mind and her tears slide down her face, but she doesn't bother to hide them. Her eyes meet her sister's, but she only sees disappointment and anger in them. She wonders if Baela sees the pain she is causing her.

“Enough,” Aemond says, the soft tone of his voice not disguising the clear warning he conveys, “I do not want to hear another word from you. Leave the city, you have already extended your stay here for too long.”

Baela looks furious, but it is perhaps her survival instinct that makes her not respond. When Rhaena tries to approach her, however, her sister turns around and strides out of the room.

“Baela…”

Rhaena wants to go after her, but Aemond's arm on her elbow prevents her from doing so. Rhaena turns to him and looks at him still with tears in her eyes.

“You should not have told her those things,” she reproaches him.

“She should not have spoken to you that way,” he replies coldly.

Rhaena pulls out of his grasp and backs away as she shakes her head from side to side, “She is going to hate me now. She was so upset…she thinks…she…she thinks…”

“What difference does it make what your sister believes?”

“She is going to hate me!” she repeats, crying again, “And it is your fault.”

"My fault?"

“Yes, your fault!” Rhaena lets out a sob and tremors invade her body, “All because I tried to be nice to you, I explained it to her, but she does not believe me, she thinks I am a traitor and…” her ideas mix in her head, her mouth blurts out the first thing she thinks of. “I should hate you. I should hate you, I should feel sick every time you are near me."

"Oh yeah?"

“Yes, because it is all your fault,” Rhaena almost screams and approaches again, her eyes fixed on Aemond's, “Everything bad that's ever happened in my life is your fucking fault. You killed Lucerys, my betrothed. I was going to marry him, I was going to return home to Driftmark, to live close to the memories of my mother. I was going to be happy and you took this away from me. And you killed my grandmother and you even killed my father. You killed my father and now you take my future and join it to yours. Not counting the hundreds… or thousands of people you killed in the Riverlands. Innocent women and children. My sister is right, everyone is right… you are a kinslayer.”

Something changes in his expression when he hears her call him a kinslayer. His temper, under control until then, is unleashed and the latent rage that never quite goes away is released, “Yes, I am a kinslayer, and I enjoyed becoming one. Especially when I killed your father.”

“How can you be so heartless?”

“Heartless?” he hisses, grabbing her arms violently and shaking her, “It was not me who sent two murderers to kill a little boy. Your side likes to wallow in their false morals and forget about the crimes they committed. Tell me, Rhaena, as much as you like to mourn your loved ones, do you think I didn't feel the loss of mine? Do you think I didn't feel anything when I found out my nephew's head had been cut off?”

"That was…"

“Your father was a coward. He did not confront me, but rather he preferred to send two criminals to do his dirty work. Do you even know how they tormented my sister? Do you? Answer to me!"

“I don't know,” she answers honestly.

“They made my sister choose between her two children. And when she wanted to offer herself in their place, they threatened to assault my niece. And all under your father's orders. My sister had to live with the weight of her decision, of knowing that she chose one son to save another. That drove her crazy. I lost her at the same time as I lost Jaehaerys. And then when we lost little Maelor, she threw herself out the window. Do you know how that felt? To find out that my only sister threw herself from the tower until she fell on the stakes because she couldn't stand being alive anymore? My sister was innocent! Her children were innocent! Even so, Maelor was torn to pieces by the crowd because they all wanted to receive the reward that your queen placed on him. Did you know that, Rhaena? Do you still believe now that your side was the good and honorable one?”

Aemond releases her so violently that Rhaena stumbles and falls to her knees. The prince watches her for a few seconds before approaching her and offering his hand to stand up, but she rejects it, preferring to sit on the cold stone floor and hug her legs, hiding her face between her knees.

She doesn't know how much time passes, nor does she care. She just cries. She cries and thinks about everything Aemond just told her, her mind reliving every monstrous detail of the death of her cousin Helaena and nephews. And the Gods Eye. In her father flying over Caraxes, her father, a hard and cruel man. A…kinslayer. She feels sick. She feels… dirty. And she feels the nausea rise in her throat, but she breathes deeply until she manages to quell that feeling.

Finally, when she calms down, she lifts her face and is amazed to see that Aemond has sat down next to her, although at a safe distance. When her face seeks his, she seems to notice that he too has cried.

And although his face is a mask of coldness, Rhaena can see the tiredness and sadness in his eye. The same sadness that she had seen that afternoon at the orphanage in the city. The one that overwhelmed him every time he, surely, remembered his sister Helaena.

“I did not know the details of what happened to your sister and her children,” she says, her voice hoarse and weak, “I was angry and filled with indignation, of course, when I found out about Jaehaerys. It was not something Rhaenyra or anyone on Dragonstone wanted. By the time I found out that it was my father who gave the order, he had already left for Harrenhall without giving me the opportunity to confront him.”

As if you dared to do it, that voice inside her says, though Rhaena silences it immediately.

"That was the last time I saw him. I left for the Vale shortly after the attack on Rhaenyra and... the news I had of the war I heard through Lady Jeyne, who I believe was trying to protect me from the most grotesque and unpleasant details."

Aemond seems to consider her words for a long moment before simply nodding.

“Anyway, those crimes do not justify yours, not entirely,” she dares to say, “You hurt a lot of innocent people.”

“We were at war”

“A war that should never have started in the first place”

Aemond tilts his body towards her, “The throne was my brother's birthright.”

“And the king wanted his daughter to succeed him,” she replies, looking at him defiantly, “Does that count for nothing? Does the word of a king have no value?”

When he does not respond, she just sighs. After a few seconds, he finally speaks.

“I felt no pleasure in killing Lucerys. I lost my temper, I was impulsive and it was a mistake. I was sorry for what happened,” he admits.

Rhaena holds his gaze and, strangely, finds sincerity in his words, “And my grandmother?”

“We were at war,” he says again, “I had to protect my family. It was her or me."

And it ended up being her.

“About your father, I think I have already made my reasons clear.”

Rhaena nods, and bites her lip, contemplating whether she should continue. In the end she simply lets her heart speak, “He was not an easy man. Half the time I feel like I did not even know him. He and I didn't… I don't think we really connected. Daemon preferred to spend his time with Baela, teaching her to speak Valyrian and flying together. I was a…"

The girl leaves the idea in the air and shrugs her shoulders.

“My father did not have time for me either. In his mind, I am sure, he only had one daughter. My siblings and I never really counted. And even between them, I did not quite fit growing up. They had their dragons and I did not have Vhagar yet."

Rhaena agrees. She, too, had felt like an intruder among her family.

“That night in Driftmark I was so envious of you,” Rhaena admits.

“I did not steal from Vhagar.”

“No, not for your dragon,” she giggles, “For your mother. While the maester attended to you, Queen Alicent did not leave your side for a moment. And then she stood up for you and it became clear to everyone how much she loved you,” she smiles sadly, “I had just lost my mother. And I was alone, in a strange castle, and yes, in theory I had my grandparents, but it was the first time I had seen them and... I only wanted my mother. A hug from her, a caress, a word of encouragement. I saw you with the queen and that hurt a thousand times more than the fact that you claimed Vhagar."

 “Daemon…”

“He was there, yes, but he was more attentive to Rhaenyra's children than to me,” she recalls, “And then… once we returned to our rooms, he came to tend to Baela's wounds and I finally thought, ” she smiles, ��He is finally here and he will comfort us and tell us that it was not our fault or that… I do not know, that everything was going to be okay, but instead he blamed me.”

“Why did he blame you?”

“He said it was my fault that you had claimed Vhagar. That, if I had been braver, I would have taken the opportunity to finally have a dragon.”

And that way the oldest beast of the Targaryen house would not have ended up in the hands of Hightower trash.

But she decides not to tell him that part.

Aemond just looks at her, as if he considers her words. Finally, he makes a face and speaks again.

“That night was one of the few that I felt my mother's loving touch. I know she cared about us, but it was not in her nature to show it with displays of affection. I was probably her favorite until before the war. When I became regent,” he tilts his head, “I felt that having her by my side was a weakness. And I had also disappointed and scared her after what happened in Storm's End. She looked at me with fear, as if she doubted me and I... I pushed her away. And then I disappointed her even more. Now she can barely look me in the eye or hold my hand. And it is now when I most seek her affection, her attention, but it is someone else who receives it."

“Daeron.”

“Yes, Daeron.”

“I noticed,” she finds herself saying, “It is obvious that you want to be her favorite again. Or maybe I just know what it is like to be in your position,” she shrugs, “The fact is, I have been using that desire of yours to cement my position here”

“Mmm,” he smiles sideways, “It is smart to use the advantages you have, which aren't too many.”

“I had to do something”

“Because, how did you say? I will soon take your future to join it to mine?”

“You cannot blame me for fearing being your wife,” she responds with her face up, facing him, “We have been in opposites side since the beginning, and I have heard terrible stories about what happens in the intimacy of couples.”

“Do not be afraid, cousin, I do not like to force women.”

“Can I trust you then?”

“Regarding what?”

“Regarding you won't mistreat me once I am your wife.”

“You have my word,” he says and adds, “If you trust it.”

“I trust you,” she replies.

And, for some strange reason, she is certain that it is true. That despite everything she knows and has seen of Aemond Targaryen, she trusts him to keep his word on that.

“How about a new deal, then? Or better yet, a truce."

"Truce?"

“Between both of us and with my sister too”

“She is annoying and she is also jealous of you. Baela resents everything you now have because she lost it.”

Rhaena ignores him and decides to think later on his words, “A truce, Aemond, to get along better. We will be one, in a way, in a few days. I really would like to at least be able to enjoy your company and have your friendship in this marriage.”

Rhaena extends her hand towards him and watches him consider her proposal. In the end, he takes her hand, the butterflies in her stomach reviving at his touch.

“Truce,” he nods.

And then he brings her hand up to his mouth and brushes his thin lips against her knuckles, causing a wave of pleasure inside her that makes her think that maybe he will get more out of her than a simple friendship.

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[amuelia]

How do you think Roose will meet his demise? Or will he survive? What's your best Roose end game predictions?

Thank you for the question! This will be a long post under the readmore, going into my thoughts on the show ending and exploring what the books may have set up in regards to themes and characterization, as well as a bit of general analysis of Roose' story arc in a Dance with Dragons (and some speculation about Ramsay as well).

If you click on the readmore i will have divided the post into sections with bolded Headers, if you want to only read my specific endgame ideas you can skip ahead to the "His Endgame?" section.

In The Show

The show had him get killed by Ramsay in s6, which informs a lot of the fandom speculation about this storyline.

I am not a fan of the show's scenario as it was both similar to tywin and tyrion as well as a mirror of robb's death; it would also be offscreen in the books since neither of the characters are PoVs and Ramsay would need to do the act in secret. This would ultimately undercut Roose' role and impact, being a death scene that is not very unique and also isn't shown to the reader directly. Since no PoV is even in Winterfell currently, we would just hear of it from afar and not witness the consequences.

The show also has a different dynamic in the Bolton storyline, emphasizing Ramsay as the "main character" of this arc, and elevating him to the main villain for s5-6 to fill Joffrey's shoes as an evil character played by a very charismatic actor. Ramsay's show writing is informed by the needs of a TV setting that wants shocking moments and capitalizes on "fan favourite" actors; his rising importance in the show thus is not necessarily an indicator of his book importance. The show was also missing many central characters like the northern lords and the Frey men in Winterfell.

The show had a tendency to kill off characters early when they wanted to cull storylines or had no plans to adapt more of the character's story (like Stannis, Barristan, possibly the Tyrells...); In Mance Rayder we have the most obvious example, where they killed him off for real in a scene that in the book was a misdirection. We also have characters like Jorah where it appears the showrunners had their own choice of how they want his storyline to end, even if Grrm has his own ending in mind.

"For a long time we wanted Ser Jorah to be there at The Wall in the end," writer Dave Hill says. "The three coming out of the tunnel would be Jon and Jorah and Tormund. But [...] Jorah should have the noble death he craves defending the woman he loves." - Dave Hill for Entertainment Weekly

So a death in the show does not need to be an indicator that the books will feature an equivalent scene, even if it gives a hint as to what may happen. By s5 the show has become its own beast, and the butterfly effects from radical changes they made as well as the different characterizations results in the show having to cater to its own needs in many cases when it gets to resolving a plotline.

"We reconceived the role to make it worthy of the actor's talents." - Benioff and Weiss for the s5 DVD commentary, on Indira Varma's casting as Ellaria

In The Books

(Since this post was getting out of hand in length a lot of these arguments are a little shortened/not as in-depth as i'd like! Feel free to inquire more via ask if something is unclear or you disagree)

In the books i find it hard to make a concrete guess as to how it will end. Occam's razor would be to assume the show sort of got it right and that it will vaguely end the same, which could very well happen and i will not discount the possibility; Ramsay is cruel, desires the Dreadfort rule, and is a suspected kinslayer and has no qualms to commit immoral violence.

"Ramsay killed [his brother]. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison." - Reek III, aDwD

Reek saw the way Ramsay's mouth twisted, the spittle glistening between his lips. He feared he might leap the table with his dagger in his hand [to attack his father]. - Reek III, aDwD

Arguments against this or for a different endgame come down to interpretations of the themes in the story arc and opinions on dramatic structure/grrm's writing, and are thus very subjective.

The way the story currently is going, Ramsay killing Roose treats Roose almost as a plot device; his death brings no change or development to Ramsay's character as we already know his motivations and cruelty align with such an act, and we can assume that he would feel no remorse about it either. The results of such a scene would be firmly on a story level, as it brings political changes and moves the plot along into a specific direction. Roose himself cannot have any relevant character development about it as he does not have a PoV and we would not be able to witness his reaction from the outside.

“The only thing worth writing about is the human heart in conflict with itself.” - William Faulkner, often quoted by Grrm

Further, killing his father is very difficult to pull off in secret (Roose is frequently described as very cautious, and employs many guardsmen). And even if Ramsay pulls it off (people often interpret Ramsay as Roose' blind spot, assuming he might be caught by surprise, not expecting Ramsay would bite the hand that feeds him), Roose is the one that holds his entire alliance together; The Freys would be alienated by Ramsay who would antagonize Walda and her son as his rivals, The Ryswell bloc appears to dislike Ramsay (especially Barbrey), and the other northmen are implied to not even like Roose himself. Killing Roose would quickly combust the entire northern faction, and hinder Ramsay's further plans (another reason why I am not convinced of a book version of the "Battle of Bastards"). Though this might of course, if we look at it from the other side, be grrm's plan to quickly dissolve this plot and move the northern story forwards.

"Ramsay will kill [Walda's children], of course. [...] [She] will grieve to see them die, though." - Reek III, aDwD

"How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known? Only Lady Barbrey, whom you would turn into a pair of boots … inferior boots." - Reek III, aDwD

"Fear is what keeps a man alive in this world of treachery and deceit. Even here in Barrowton the crows are circling, waiting to feast upon our flesh. The Cerwyns and the Tallharts are not to be relied on, my fat friend Lord Wyman plots betrayal, and Whoresbane … the Umbers may seem simple, but they are not without a certain low cunning. Ramsay should fear them all, as I do." - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' death at Ramsay's hand also removes him thematically from the Red Wedding, as we can assume such a death might have happened regardless of his participation in the event (seeing as Ramsay is getting provoked by Roose constantly in normal dialogue, and has a general violent disposition). Roose already took Ramsay in before aGoT started, and married Walda very early in the war, which is already most of the buildup that the show's scenario had. It also has little to do with the The North Remembers plot except set dressing, since the northmen are presumably neither collaborating with/egging on Ramsay nor would they appreciate the development.

Themes: Ned Stark and the rule over the North

Roose is treated as a foil to Eddard; They are often contrasted in morals and ruling styles, while also having many superficial similarities that further connect them (they are seen as cold by people, grey eyed, patriarchs of rivalling northern houses, etc...).

Pale as morning mist, his eyes concealed more than they told. Jaime misliked those eyes. They reminded him of the day at King's Landing when Ned Stark had found him seated on the Iron Throne. - Jaime IV, aSoS

They both have a "bastard son" that they handle very differently; Roose treating Ramsay in the way that is seen as common in their society. Ramsay and Jon as a comparison are meant to show that Catelyn had a reason to see a bastard as a threat (since Domeric was antagonized by his bastard brother), but also shows that her suggested plan for Jon would not have stopped any danger either (as Ramsay being raised away from the castle didn't help).

And if his seed quickened, she expected he would see to the child's needs. He did more than that. The Starks were not like other men. Ned brought his bastard home with him, and called him "son" for all the north to see. - Catelyn II, aGoT

"Each year I sent the woman some piglets and chickens and a bag of stars, on the understanding that she was never to tell the boy who had fathered him. A peaceful land, a quiet people, that has always been my rule." - Reek III, aDwD

It appears to me that Roose' story functions in some ways as an inversion to Ned. He makes an attempt to grab a power he was not destined to (becoming warden of the north), where Ned did not want the responsiblity thrust upon him ("It was all meant for Brandon. [...] I never asked for this cup to pass to me." - Cat II, aGoT). Where Ned rules successfully and his northmen honor his legacy ("What do you think passes through their heads when they hear the new bride weeping? Valiant Ned's precious little girl." - The Turncloak, aDwD), the Boltons are largely hated and there are several plots conspiring against them ("Let me bathe in Bolton blood before I die." - The King's Prize, aDwD).

It seems possible to me that in terms of their family and legacy, Roose might also live through an inverted version of Ned's story; where Ned died first, leaving his family behind, Roose already lived to see the death of his wives and trueborn heir, and might thus also live to see Ramsay's death. Ned leaves behind well raised children and a North who still respects his name, and even though he dies it will presumably all be "in good hands" in the end (in broad strokes, obviously this is all much more morally complex). Roose however built up a bad and toxic legacy, and also built his way of life around evading consequences; it makes sense to me that he would be forced by the story to finally endure all the consequences of his actions and witness the fall of his house firsthand. After all we already have Tywin who fulfils the purpose of dying before his children while his legacy falls to ruins, and a Feast for Crows explores this aspect thoroughly.

Roose' arc in A Dance With Dragons

The story repeatedly builds up the situation unravelling around Roose, and him slowly losing a grip on it and becoming more stressed and anxious.

Reek wondered if Roose Bolton ever cried. If so, do the tears feel cold upon his cheeks? - Reek II, aDwD

Roose Bolton said nothing at all. But Theon Greyjoy saw a look in his pale eyes that he had never seen before—an uneasiness, even a hint of fear. [...] That night the new stable collapsed beneath the weight of the snow that had buried it. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

Lady Walda gave a shriek and clutched at her lord husband's arm. "Stop," Roose Bolton shouted. "Stop this madness." His own men rushed forward as the Manderlys vaulted over the benches to get at the Freys. - Theon I, aDwD

It also directly presents him as a parallel to Theon's rule in aCoK, who similarly experienced a very unpopular rule and his subjects slowly turning against him. Presumably, the point of this comparison will not just be "Ramsay comes in at the end and unexpectedly whacks them on the head". Both Theon and Roose invited Ramsay into their lives, giving him more power than he deserves, and causing Ramsay to make choices that increasingly alienate others from them (the death of the miller's boys for example has repercussions for both Theon and Roose). Grrm is likely steering this towards a difference in how they will deal with this situation.

It all seemed so familiar, like a mummer show that he had seen before. Only the mummers had changed. Roose Bolton was playing the part that Theon had played the last time round, and the dead men were playing the parts of Aggar, Gynir Rednose, and Gelmarr the Grim. Reek was there too, he remembered, but he was a different Reek, a Reek with bloody hands and lies dripping from his lips, sweet as honey. - a Ghost in Winterfell, aDwD

"Stark's little wolflings are dead," said Ramsay, sloshing some more ale into his cup, "and they'll stay dead. Let them show their ugly faces, and my girls will rip those wolves of theirs to pieces. The sooner they turn up, the sooner I kill them again." - The elder Bolton sighed. "Again? Surely you misspeak. You never slew Lord Eddard's sons, those two sweet boys we loved so well. That was Theon Turncloak's work, remember? How many of our grudging friends do you imagine we'd retain if the truth were known?" - Reek III, aDwD

Roose' arc is deeply connected to the relations he shares to the other northern lords, which has been heavily impacted by the Red Wedding. It stands to reason that they are going to be an important part of his downfall, and we see many hints of them plotting to betray him.

The north remembers, Lord Davos. The north remembers, and the mummer's farce is almost done. My son is home." - Davos IV, aDwD

Themes: Stannis and kinslaying

The books set up Roose and Stannis as foils as well; Both lack charisma and have trouble winnning the people's support, Stannis and Roose both parallel and contrast Ned, Stannis appears as a "lesser Robert" where Roose is a "lesser Ned", Stannis represents the fire where Roose represents the ice, both struggle over dominion in a land that doesnt particularly want either of them, etc... What i find interesting is how they are contrasted over kinslaying:

"Only Renly could vex me so with a piece of fruit. He brought his doom on himself with his treason, but I did love him, Davos. I know that now. I swear, I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach." - Davos II, aCoK

"I should've had the mother whipped and thrown her child down a well … but the babe did have my eyes." [...] "Now [Domeric's] bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?" - Reek III, aCoK

Stannis is set up as someone who is very thorough and strict in following his own code and his "duty", even if he does not like what it forces him to do.

Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady." - Davos IV, aSoS

The armorer considered that a moment. "Robert was the true steel. Stannis is pure iron, black and hard and strong, yes, but brittle, the way iron gets. He'll break before he bends." - Jon I, aCoK

Roose however is frequently characterized as someone who tries to get as much as he can while avoiding negative consequences, and who does not have a consistent moral code and instead bends rules to his benefit to be the most comfortable to him.

It is often theorized that Stannis will end up burning his daughter Shireen; the Ramsay issue might then serve to contrast the two men. If Grrm intends it to be compared by the reader, I can see it going two ways: Either Roose will be forced to finally act in a drastic way after avoiding his responsibility in regards to Ramsay and he will be forced to get rid of his son, making him break the only moral hurdle he has presented adhering to during the story (though analyzing his character, the kinslaying taboo is probably less a sign of moral fortitude and more him using the guise of morals to explain a selfish motivation). Or he might not act against Ramsay and suffer the consequences, presenting an interesting moral situation where some readers might consider his action "better" or more relatable than Stannis', breaking up the otherwise very black and white moral comparison between the two men. It serves as an interesting conflict of the morality of kinslaying compared to what readers might see as a moral obligation of getting rid of a monster such as Ramsay; contrasting Shireen whose death would not be seen as worth it by most. Ramsay as a bastard (who was almost killed at birth if he hadnt been able to prove his paternity) also makes for an interesting verbal parallel with the bastard Edric Storm, and might be used for a look at the utilitarian principle of killing a child (baby ramsay/edric) to save countless people from suffering that underpinned Edric's story.

"As Faulkner says, all of us have the capacity in us for great good and for great evil, for love but also for hate. I wanted to write those kinds of complex character in a fantasy, and not just have all the good people get together to fight the bad guy." - Grrm

"Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" - Eddard VIII, aGoT

"If Joffrey should die . . . what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?" - "Everything," said Davos, softly. - Davos V, aSoS

However Grrm decides to present these conflicts or which actions the characters will take in the end, it will result in interesting discussion and analysis for the readers.

His Endgame?

Looking at the trends of the past books, it is probably going to be hard to predict any specific outcome; every book introduces new characters and plot elements that were impossible to predict from the last book even if their thematic importance or setup was aptly foreshadowed.

Roose has a lot of plot importance and characterization that has, in my opinion, not yet been properly resolved in a way that would be unique and poignant to the specific purpose his character appears to fulfil. However I also have a bias in that i did not like the show's writing of that scene which makes me averse to see a version of it in the books, and i really like Roose as a character and want to see him have more scenes in the next book(s). This leads me to discount plot speculation that cuts his character arc short offscreen early. Roose is only a side character; however, i have trust in grrm's writing abilities and that he would give him a proper sendoff that feels satisfying to a fan of the character.

"…even the [characters] who are complete bastards, nasty, twisted, deeply flawed human beings with serious psychological problems… When I get inside their skin and look out through their eyes, I have to feel a certain — if not sympathy, certainly empathy for them. I have to try to perceive the world as they do, and that creates a certain amount of affection." — George Martin

Considering my earlier analyis, there is a case to be made for Roose killing Ramsay; however it appears grrm might have a different endgame in mind for Ramsay, foreshadowed in Chett's prologue:

There'd be no lord's life for the leechman's son, no keep to call his own, no wives nor crowns. Only a wildling's sword in his belly, and then an unmarked grave. The snow's taken it all from me . . . the bloody snow . . . - Chett, aSoS

I tend to think something might happen to Roose/the Bolton bloc later in the book that would cause Ramsay to attempt to flee the scene again like he did back in aCoK fleeing Rodrik's justice; perhaps Ramsay is sent out to battle but then flees it like a coward, or he sees his cause as lost. This time, the fleeing and potentially disguised Ramsay would not make it out to safety though, and get killed without being recognized as Ramsay, dying forgotten. This would serve as dramatic irony since Ramsay so strongly desired to be recognized and respected as a Lord of Bolton, without being too on the nose.

As for Roose, i could see him getting captured and somehow brought to justice (either when someone takes Winterfell or in some sort of battle). I see it unlikely that he will be backstabbed like Robb was, because it seems very "eye for an eye" and ultimately doesn't teach much of a lesson except "he had it coming"; But the various people conspiring against him could lead to his capture by betraying him (giving a payoff to the northern conspiracies and the red wedding). I would find a scene of him standing trial interesting since i believe we didn't have one of these for a true non-pov villain yet, and it would be an interesting confrontation that he cannot escape from (he also loves to talk so it would be a good read to see him make a case for himself).

I assume Roose will be out of the picture when the Other plot finally properly kicks into gear (whether dead or "in prison"). With Stannis as a false Azor Ahai and Roose as a false Other (with his pale, cold features), their struggle in the north seems to be a representation of the false "Game of Thrones" that distracts people from the "real threat" of the Others.

As always this is just my opinion, and it could all go very differently in the books! There could always be something that completely uproots my analysis and goes into a direction i did not expect from the material we had; But i have fate that Grrm as a writer will deliver and give me something i can be satisfied with.

[wasabito]

thank you to @sparkexplosive and @vs-redemption for beta reading it for me! merry christmas & happy holidays everyone ♥️

➽ synopsis: being a member of the royal guard is a grueling and thankless job, so you decide to remind katsuki a little of what it’s like to be young again—what better way to do that than with some healthy competition.

➽ word count: 1.7k

➽ tags: fluff, budding romance, royalty au, childhood friends

➽ author’s note: i had a ton of fun participating in my first ever secret santa!! this is my gift-fic to the lovely @katsushimaa​ hope you enjoy, yssa!

"So, this is where the hell you've been hiding?"

His voice tore through the midday stillness like a blade, equal parts raspy and gruff. He sounded irritated and mildly fatigued. Not that Katsuki Bakugou would ever admit to being anything less than a hundred and ten percent. He climbed off his steed, heavy boots crunching under the weight of his feet, and secured his horse against the stump you were leaning on.

You flipped the page of your book, not sparing the man even a cursory glance. You would prefer to keep your attention occupied by fictitious worlds, warriors, and battles fought in the name of love and justice.

It was much easier to allow yourself to become the bearer of fictional hardships, because at least they could be solved through a well-constructed plot with each turn of a page, as opposed to the realities of your actual life, a slow spiraling disaster in comparison.

Bakugou stood in front of you, vein ticking on his throat with every clench of his jaw. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, red gaze pinned on your hunched form. He wasn't at all the kind of person anyone could easily ignore. His very presence demanded attention and drew eyes like a magnet.

Case in point, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you simply couldn’t.

"Please tell me you aren't going to stand there the entire time. Take a hint will you." You went to turn another page, but Bakugou reached over and snatched the book from your hands with deft fingers and speed you couldn't hope to match.

"Give. It. Back."

"Nah, I don't think I will just yet." He sneered, thumbing through the pages. "I was told to bring your dumbass back to the estate, so that's exactly what the hell I'm 'bout to do."

You blew a puff of air from your lips, eyes blazing with a kind of defiance that only burned harder the more you glared at him. "Then I guess you'll just have to drag me back kicking and screaming."

Bakugou only smirked, teeth spread in a feral grin that sent a chill down your spine.

That had always been his intention.

Almost an hour later, you stood before your parents, clothes dusty, creased, and smudged from having been manhandled like a sack of flour before promptly dumped in front of your waiting audience.

A frown marred your delicate features as they began their lecture.

Your mind drifted elsewhere the more they reminded you of your lineage and that you were royalty and how it was imperative you behave as such. You’d heard it all before, known this for as long as you could remember. As the King and Queen of your home country, your parents never failed to emphasize the importance of keeping your every move in check because of the reputation you had to uphold.

Katsuki stood somewhere behind you, and although he stayed mostly silent, you could almost hear him grinding away at his molars. The King and Queen were taking turns subtly digging into him as well, implying that his incompetence was a stain upon the royal guard perfect record of achievements. If he couldn't keep you in line, what was the point of holding rank?

They annoyed him way more than they did you, but he dare not voice it, not if he wanted to keep his head attached to his shoulders. Far be it from him to send himself to the guillotine

You both were in for a long night.

“Honestly, this kind of behavior is unbecoming of someone of your status. What will our countrymen think if they see you roaming about unattended like a vagabond?” Your father stroked his beard as if waiting for a response. But everyone in the room knew he really just liked to hear himself talk.

He was no better than a machiavellian swindler in expensive robes. A puppet if you would.

The real leader of the land was your mother. After all, she had only married into the family, having been the daughter of a mere advisor with no royal blood. She spoke little, but her glare was more than enough to convey just what she was thinking.

By the end of the lecture, you felt like all of your energy had been sapped from you, but thankfully your parents left you to retreat into your bedroom for the remainder of the day. Bakugou escorted you, following close behind.

“You’re gonna do it again, aren’t ya?”

You paused, foot nearly catching against the carpeted floors of your bedroom. Fiddling with a piece of your hair, you shrugged. “...maybe.”

“You’re a huge idiot.” Bakugou shook his head with a low laugh.

A tiny smidgen of a grin danced on your lips as you considered him. He was your childhood friend. No one knew you better than he did. And he was also the guard most assigned to watch over you and keep you safe from harm.

Despite that, you’d come to notice how much he’d changed. He wasn’t the same Katsuki you grew up knowing and you missed him dearly. Occasions like this, where a part of his guard was let down, were becoming few and far between. There had to be something you could do.

“Let’s make a wager. If you can manage to find me, I’ll do one thing at your command.”

“Challenge accepted.” He reached into the folds of his uniform, pulled out your little novel, and slapped it right into your open palm. "No matter where you run off to, I'll find ya. Trust me on that, princess."

His eyes were like candles in the night, ignited by a spark of passion. Not a single lie could be detected.

"I won't make it easy on you, Katsuki, just so you know."

"Heh, you better not." He sniffed, tucking his hands into his uniform pockets. And with a final half-wave, he was gone.

In and around the capital city, winter had completely lost it's bite. The weather was tepid, swinging a mild breeze that coasted through the countryside. It was the sort of winter where one felt as if woolen clothing were worn more for comfort than necessity. In what should have been the chilliest part of the year, Bakugou found himself traversing one of the many beaches that hedged the southern peninsula.

After a full week following the challenge issued in your bedroom, Bakugou realized you were entirely too good at evading him or any of the other guards at the kingdom’s disposal, for that matter.

Day in and day out, he spent his shifts searching tirelessly for you, just to stumble upon you in the most random of places and only when you had wanted him to find you. The running score was six to five in your favor, but he was determined not to lose to you again.

And there you were, standing at the very edge of the shore, as if a mere thought had manifested you right before his very eyes. Your loose billowing dress of soft satin waved to him like a white flag of surrender in the air. He'd finally found you.

"Not gonna run off this time?"

"Nope! You won this round." Your cheeks creased in a smile.

Given the boots he'd worn, it was no surprise that his feet kept sinking into the sand. You said nothing as he toed off his shoes and socks, bare feet settling into the depths of warm, grainy sand.

He couldn’t help but feel more relaxed. Over the past few months, he’d found himself losing sight of his goals, caught in the dredges of the mundane and routine.

The cool waters lapped at both his and your feet, fizzing and bubbling, leaving behind traces of salt. You went further into the water’s touch, your back to him as the tides licked at the your calves. Even he had to admit, the view was a beautiful one, possibly even more so with you against the backdrop.

“I’m glad you found me,” you called over the cry of seagulls. “For a second, I was worried you’d lose this round.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “Tch, as if I’d ever lose to you, princess.”

“Naturally.” You laughed.

“What the hell are we doing out here anyway?”

He knelt to roll up his pants, a mere moment away from following after you like always.

“I... really just wanted to show you the view. Do you remember when we used to come down here as kids? Remember how we used to dare each other to see who could go the farthest into the ocean?”

Of course he remembered. Those were some of his most cherished memories of his time spent with you before duty to the kingdom took precedent.

You reached a hand out to him, an open invitation. “I just thought you needed a little reminder of what that was like.”

For some reason, Katsuki was determined not to meet your gaze, scowling at some point on the horizon, until you came over and nudged him with your elbow. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that I’m right.”

With a sigh, he reached over and tugged you into a hug. You snuggled close to his chest, gripping the back on his uniform. It may have been your imagination but you could’ve sworn you felt the soft press of lips against your temple.

“Thanks... you know... for everything.”

Beaming, you leaned back to get the full view of his heated cheeks.

“Of course, of course.”

There was something earnest in his eyes that told you no matter how far you went, or however far you traveled, he’d always be a step behind you. It sent your heart hammering in your ribcage. You were suddenly all too aware of the way he held you secure against him like he would never let go.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

You blinked owlishly, taken over by your feelings and mumbling a hushed. “Oh, nothing.” The two of you were just a royal and a guard, bound to one another by duty.

If there could be anything more than that...well, only time would tell.

[atinydise]

Ateez reacting to their s/o speaking a bunch of languages

❦ Genre: Fluff/crackhead.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 13k.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋 

❦ Masterlist.

❦ Warning: ⚠️I used Google Translation for most of the languages used here! So I apologize in advance if I made mistakes. Feel free to correct me (as someone did already 🥺)! Thank you!

HONGJOONG (Korean)

You were walking hand in hand with Hongjoong. It was a bit cold, so you took the opportunity to stick yourself to your boyfriend, a bit closer than usual. “Are you cold Y/N?” he asked, noticing that you were glued to him. “No… I’m just enjoying your presence.” You smiled at him. “Oh, then I won’t complain.” He tickled your chin before wrapping his arm around your waist. You continued to walk peacefully, enjoying the Christmas lights. Hongjoong was always so happy during this period. He wanted to go out and admire the decoration with you. You were dating for 2 weeks now. It was a fresh and new relationship. Both of you were still a bit shy and awkward sometimes but it was getting better these days.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” He suddenly asked you. “Hum… there’s so much thing that you know already.” “In 2 weeks? Come on, tell me your little secrets.” He insisted. “Okay okay…” you chuckled. “My favorite meal is… pizza!” “I knew that already babe.” “Okay what about-” “저기요?” (excuse me) Both of you stopped to look at the schoolgirl standing next to you. “전화 좀 빌릴 수 있을까요? 저는 제 것을 잃어버렸고, 어머니께 전화를 해야 해요.” (Can I borrow your phone, please? I lost mine and I need to call my mom) You grabbed your phone in your bag. “네, 천천히 하다 !” (take your time) You smiled at her. When the young girl went a little bit far away from you to get her privacy, Hongjoong stared at you. “Why you never told me you could talk in Korean?” You tilted your head, “I guess that it’s something you ignored about me.” “왜 우리는 항상 영어로 말해요?” (Why do we always speak in English?) “Because I love hearing your English accent.” You winked. “And can you only speak in Korean or English?” “I can speak more than 10 languages.” You declared. “10?” he shouted, making people staring at you. “Are you serious?!” “Yes, but it’s not a big deal.” The schoolgirl came back and handed your phone before bowing politely at you. “감사합니다!” (Thank you) “천만에요! 지금 집에 가요!” (You’re welcome. Now go home!) “I can’t believe it…” claimed Hongjoong when the girl left. “There’s so many things you ignore about me finally.” You smiled, grabbing his scarf to kiss his cheek.

SEONGHWA (French)

“Wow… a French restaurant.” You said, looking at the brand name. “Yes, it’s a new one. I thought it would be cool to eat here.” Added Seonghwa, arm wrapped around your shoulders. “That’s a really good idea sweetheart.” “Let’s go then,” he pulled you inside. It was a fancy restaurant. A waiter came instantly to guide you to a table. “We are going to spend all of our salary here.” You giggled. “But you worth it.” Seonghwa glanced at you, to see your disgusted face, as always when he says something kitschy. “Then I’m going to order the most expensive things,” you claimed. You couldn’t see it but Seonghwa was probably scared for his wallet. “Sure… sure, go ahead.” He gulped. You held his hand on the table, “I’m kidding Hwa. Relax.” “Why are you calling me Hwa and not Seong?” He suddenly asked. “Because… you are “Hwa-ouh”!” Your boyfriend looked at you without saying anything. A big silence settled between both of you after this bad joke. Seonghwa puffed at you. He couldn’t resist any longer. “That was SO bad! You are such a clown,” he laughed at you. Before you could answer, a man who looked like the boss or the owner of this restaurant came to your table. “Bonjour!” He greeted both of you. Seonghwa bowed a bit, understanding what he just said thanks to his previous concert in France. “Bonjour,” you replied. “Oh! You can speak French?” asked the man. “Un petit peu, (a little bit)” you said in a perfect accent. “Vous avez l’air d’être une experte en français !” (You seem to be an expert in French) “Je fais de mon mieux!” (I do my best) “Très bien.” (good) “Je venais voir si tout allait bien.” (I came to check if everything was okay). “Tout va bien, merci beaucoup !” (Everything’s fine, thank you so much) When the boss went to see another table, Seonghwa coughed to get your attention. “Yes?” “You can’t talk in French?!” “Oui monsieur.” (Yes mister) “I just understood ‘yes’ but this sounds so sexy!” “I can talk more languages, but French is one of my favorites.” “Interesting… but continue to talk in French tonight.” He bit his lip. “Hum… Je m’appelle Y/N, enchantée.” (My name his Y/N, nice to meet you) “I love it…” he whispered. “Okay I’ll stop there before it’s going too far.” You laughed. “Again! Please! Just a last one!” He begged.

YUNHO (Spanish)

“What’s the name of Canada’s capital? Ottawa or Toronto?” Yunho plopped down next to you, on the couch. “Are you watching this TV show again?” “It’s fun.”  You replied. “I should participate. I think I could win.” “You?” Laughed Yunho. “You and ‘win’? In the same sentence?” You threw a pillow at him, “you are so mean!” Yunho grabbed your legs to put it on his laps. “I don’t think I would win though,” he added. “Few questions are really hard but not impossible.” “How the main character in Big Bang Theory is called? Sheldon or Stuart?” Asked the MC. “Sheldon!” you shouted at the TV. “Are you sure?” questioned your boyfriend. “Oh, you replied Stuart, but the right answer was Sheldon,” announced the MC. You looked proudly at your boyfriend. “Yes, I’m sure.” “Look at her being so modest.” He tickled your toes. “How to say, ‘come to eat’ in Spanish?” asked the MC. “This one is hard.” Said Yunho. “Vamos a comer.” You replied easily. “Good answer!” “How do you know that?” Asked Yunho, completely shook. You smirked at your boyfriend. “You ignore that I can talk few languages. Spanish included.” “Really? Why you never told me!” “It’s funnier to see your face.” You stuck your tongue out at him. “You are so evil,” he smirked. “Pero… te gusta.” (but you love it) The look on his face made you bust in laughter. “Si pudiedas ver a tu cara, es muy divertido.” (If you could see your face! It’s so funny) “I don’t understand anything!” He whined. “Lo sé. Es muy gracioso.” (I know, and it’s so funny) “At least, I know where we are going for our summer holiday.” “In Spain?” You asked. “Es une buena idea.” (It’s a good idea) Yunho pocked your tights and belly. “What are you doing?” you giggled. “I’m trying to turn off the Spanish mode.” “Okay okay I stop.” “Thank you! Finally, I’ll understand you.” He smiled. “Should I talk in Chinese then? “Wait what-”

YEOSANG (Dutch)

“Is there a movie you want to watch?” You asked slipping under the sheets. “Black Panther!” Shouted Yeosang. “Again? We watched it 2 days ago?” “But you are always on your phone,” he raised a brow. “You probably watched 20 minutes of the entire movie.” “Okay touché.” You rolled your eyes. “We can watch something else if you put your phone away.” “Okay then let’s go watch Pocahontas.” You smiled widely. “I’m already regretting my words…” he sighed. As promised, you let your phone on the nightstand and cuddled with Yeosang. Just when Pocahontas was about to meet John Smith, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. At first, you just said that you were to call this person back tomorrow. It was pretty late anyway. “You should pick up. Maybe it’s important.” “But you said, ‘no phone’.” “Yes, but it’s a call, so you can have it.” He kissed your cheek. “Okay, I’ll make it quick.” You grabbed your phone and called the unknown number back. “Hello?” you said. “Oh! Nia, het is lang geleden!” (It’s been a long time) Yeosang looked at you. He wasn’t expecting you to speak another language. “Het is zo leuk on nieuws van je te hebben !” (It’s so good to have news from you) “Which language are you speaking?” Whispered your boyfriend. You made a sign to shush him down because you couldn’t hear your friend anymore. “Wanner kom je naar Zuid-Korea?” (When are you coming to South-Korea?) “Korea?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?” “1 minut Nia!” (1 minute Nia), you said before ending the call. “What do you want Yeosang?” “Which language are you speaking and with who?” “It’s dutch and I’m talking, or at least trying to,” you mentioned that he was distracting you from your call. “With Nia, my Dutch friend!” “Why you never told me you could speak Dutch?” “You never asked me! Now shh!” You put your phone against your ear again. “Waar hadden we het ook al weer over?” (What were we talking about?) “I can’t believe it…” he said, sliding on the mattress.

SAN (Japanese)

“Argh Japanese is so hard!” Growled San, bumping his head on the desk. You entered his studio, “are you okay babe? I heard a loud noise.” San turned around on his chair, a pout on his face. He opened his arms widely, making you understand to give him a hug. “What’s happening babe?” You put down your cup of hot chocolate on his desk. “I can’t write lyrics…” he pouted. You sat on his laps, wrapping your arm around his neck. “You are always doing pretty good with lyrics, San. You shouldn’t even doubt about it. Okay?” “I’m doing pretty good with Korean lyrics.” He rested his head on your shoulder. “I don’t get it,” you raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a Korean song?” San shook his head, “it’s for a Japanese comeback.” He pointed at the sheet of paper behind him. “I’m pretty sure you are dramatizing.” “This is terrible, I can’t send this to Hongjoong Hyung.” “Let me see…” you whispered, grabbing the paper. “The lyrics are in Japanese, you won’t-“ “Konna hazu ja nai yo, yoku yatteru tte itte yo, I wanna grow up, susumitai motto*..” you read easily. “Understand…” he finished, surprised. “Yumemita basho oh oh tōku, yukkuri de mo ī, samayowanai yō tonight*...” “How can you read it so easily?” You smiled at him, “probably because I can speak Japanese.” “Really?!” His eyes opened widely. Ready to go out of his eyeballs. “Yes silly,” you flicked his forehead.” And I can say that your verse is pretty good. As always.” He ripped the paper of you hand, throwing it on the floor. “Screw the lyrics! Tell me more about how you learned Japanese!” “Hum… I learned by my own in high school then I went for 6 months in Japan.” “Why you never told me about that?” he asked, almost upset. “You are a whole ass idol, it’s nothing compared to 6 months in Japan or to speak a bunch of languages.” “Wait,” he stopped you. “Firstly, this is not true and secondly… a bunch of languages?!” “Yes? I can speak more languages than you think,” you smirked proudly. San blinked dumbly, not believing the current situation. “Anyway… just focus on your work. Baka.” (Idiot) You stuck your tongue out at him and almost ran away, hoping that he didn’t understand what you said. “Hey! I know it’s an insult! I watch Naruto with Yeosang-Hyung!” He shouted, following you.

*Lyrics from their Japanese song: Better.

MINGI (Portuguese)

“How cute you are!” Giggled Mingi, pinching your cheeks playfully. You wanted to try your new peach make up palette. At first, you thought it was not really well applied and that you skin color wasn’t matching well but Mingi’s giggles and cute compliment helped you to change your mind. “What did I do to be so lucky? My girlfriend is the prettiest and the cutest of all!” He continued acting like if you were a baby. “Mingi, you’ll ruin the makeup with your big fingers!” You slapped his hand. “But I can’t help it, you’re too cute!” He kissed your entire face. You tried to push him on the couch, but he was definitively glued to you. “Mingi! I need to go. I’m already late!” “Can I come with you?” he asked. “It’s a girl’s night.” You simply replied, making him understand that he was a boy. And that boy wasn’t allowed. “I can tie my hair in a ponytail and wear a skirt.” You couldn’t help but to imagine him like that. “Tempting but no. You are going to stay here.” You grabbed your bag and left your boyfriend in the dorm. But before going out, you stared at him. “O bobo.” (idiot) Mingi thought he was dreaming, or he didn’t hear well what you just said. The next morning, when you came back to the dorm, Mingi was sitting right in front of the door. “Stupid?!” he asked you straight, making you shiver a bit. “Good morning to you too babe,” you raised a brow. Your boyfriend was holding an English/Portuguese dictionary. “You told me “o bobo” before leaving.” “Did you really search the word in a dictionary?” “Yes! Now you are the “o bobo”!” You yawned at your boyfriend, ignoring him “okay… I’m going to sleep. Boa noite or whatever.” (Good night) Mingi rolled his eyes, frustrated again and opened the dictionary. “Since when do you speak Portuguese!” “Not only Portuguese… and since a long time now,” you yawned again. “Not only?” he repeated. “Mingi, I’m tired…” “Wait!” He cut you straight, not letting a chance to hop in your comfy bed. “Which languages are you speaking?” “Too much,” you simply replied, kissing his cheek before heading to his bedroom. “Which dictionary I need to buy then…?” he whispered, completely lost.

WOOYOUNG (Italian)

You threw your coat on the coach next to you. “Finally, home…” you sighed, rubbing your shoulder. “Oh Y/N! You are already home.” Smiled Wooyoung exiting the kitchen. “Yes… but today was so exhausting,” you complained. “Really? Maybe you should take a nap. I just started to cook.” He came behind you to gently massage your shoulders. “I would like to rest a bit, but I prefer to watch you doing all of your cooking and stuff.” You replied, enjoying the little message session. “Okay then! So today I will cook Strolombolani-” he started. “Stromboli*.” You rectified. “Huh?” “You said ‘Strombolani”, the real name is Stromboli.” “How do you even know that?” he asked, tightening his apron. “Because I know it.” You sat on the counter, apple juice in the hand. “Do I need to remind you that I spent almost a year in Italy so I enjoyed these incredible recipes.” Wooyoung dropped the spatula he was holding when he heard your comment. “You what?” “What? I already told you that I went to Italy before going to Korea.” “Yes, but you never mentioned that you went there for almost a year,” he almost shouted. “Calmati,” (calm down) you giggled. Wooyoung blinked, his brain trying to process what you just said. “What did you say?” “Just focus on our meal! I’m hungry!” You whined, rubbing your belly. “Come on! Just talk to me in Italian! I love it!” He walked in front of you. “Cucina così non avrò bisogno di ucciderti e mangiarti.” (Just cook so I won’t need to kill and eat you) “You said a lovely thing huh?” he winked. “Yes sure,” you nodded, as if you didn’t threat his life. “Another one!” he asked you. “Just cook Wooyoung!” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “Just something! Please!” He whined, pouting at you. “Se non mangio il mio pasto entro 30 minuti, sarai la prima cosa che mangerò.” (If I don’t have my meal in 30 minutes, you’ll be the first thing I will eat) “Grrr,” he smirked. “This is something hot right?” “Totally.” You lied again. “Again!” “I just want to eat…” you whispered, annoyed.

*Stromboli: an Italian is a type of turnover filled with various Italian cheeses (typically mozzarella) and cold cuts (salami, capocollo and bresaola) or vegetables. The dough used is either Italian bread dough or pizza dough. Stromboli was invented by Italian-Americans in the United States.

JONGHO (German)

“Ich bin Jongho, schön dich zu treffen!” (I’m Jongho, nice to meet you) You stopped right in front of Jongho’s bedroom door. “Danke, dass Sie gekommen sind-” he paused. (Thanks for coming) You stuck your ear on the door. “Kommen zu-’ he stuttered. (Coming to-) You cracked the door quietly and glanced at your boyfriend who was laying on his bed. His head was almost buried in the book he was reading. “Are you okay Jongho?” you asked. “Yes, why?” he sat correctly on the bed, smiling at you. “Do you need something?” “No. I just heard you talking alone. I was curious to know what’s going on.” He patted the spot next to him, making you understand that you needed to sit here. “I need to practice few sentences in German for the world tour.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and delicately kissed your forehead. “I’m sure you are doing good.” You grabbed the book off his hands. “My accent is terrible,” he chuckled. “Okay practice with me,” you closed the book and stared at Jongho. “You can’t even talk in German,” he giggled. “Oh really?” You grunted. “Hallo, mein name ist Y/N.” “Did you just say, ‘hello my name is Y/N’?” “Exact,” you smiled proudly. “You never told me you could speak German,” he smiled. “I can speak more languages than that, but German is one of my favorites.” “Really?” You nodded, “Deutsch ist wirklich hübsch, ich mag es.” (German is really pretty, I like it) “I like to hear you talking German. Even if I don’t understand anything.” He said shyly. “Übe, damit wir gemeinsam auf Deutsch sprechen können.” (Practice so we can talk in German together) Jongho smiled at you, “I don’t understand, but yes please.” “Yes please?” You laughed. “Yeah! I don’t know a word you said but I’ll do everything you want if you continue to talk German!” “Silly,” you giggled, punching his arm. “Only with my German teacher,” he smirked. “Du bist so anhänglich!” (You are so clingy) “Teach me more please,” he grabbed your chin to kiss you.

[jaz-xedarix]

The Return of the Star

So here we are. Finally after sooo many years of hiatus, I am able to go back to the action by translating this amazing work from our beloved Mr. Yoshida. 

I want to thank to the proof readers that helped me checking this English version. As you know, English is not my mother tongue and plus it is not perfect at all, less in this late times that I haven’t talk at all with English speakers as before, as you see I manage to comunicate with you quite well but it is different when one need to comunicate someone else’s ideas XD So there might be some little mistakes in this text, feel free to tell me if there’s something wrong with it. 

As for some words, one of them that is still making some noise in my head is “Hansom”. Usually I use google translate to help me with the job and usually it gives me some words that I have never seen before and that’s why I depend on you guys to help me correct XD So mr.G.Translate said “hansom” is “a two-wheeled horse-drawn carriage accommodating two inside, with the driver seated behind.”. And you can find this word a couple of times in this text, and reading the novel I think this is the best word for it, if there’s another word for it, please tell me. 

Maybe this is the only word I had trouble with. Anyways I hope you enjoy this as I did translating this for you guys. 

Thanks so much to Buffalo Borgine and Lamy for helping me correcting the text.  ❤ Part II is in process, so wait for it soon ❤ So, with no more to say, here it is: 

                                                                                                         ----------------

And I have given to them

knowledge of your name, and will give it,

so that the love which you have for me

may be in them and I in them.

JOHN 17.26

                                                              I

 “Aaahh, I can't take it anymore!”

“Why are you whining again, father?” Esther Blanchett asked, in an annoyed tone to her companion, who was putting on a face like a man condemned to death.

 Surrounded by the steam from the train, halfway down the ladder, she turned her slightly tanned face towards her interlocutor.

 “Don't waste your time and come down immediately. If you stay there, you will disturb the other passengers.”

“Esther... couldn't it be possible for me to go straight back on this train?”

 The evening light that was filtering through the stained-glass ceiling of the international arrivals platform had a reddish hue. In the wintry air, hard as a witch's kiss, the station passengers and employees moved busily.

 The one who continued to complain stubbornly was the tall priest with the rebellious silver hair who accompanied Esther. If he had been quiet, it could be said that he was attractive, but he did not leave his miserable expression as he descended from the train with a suitcase in each hand.

 “What is this so urgent that the Cardinal wants? If it's a report, we could have done it in Rome. Coming just here... I have very bad omens. I know something horrible will happen to me again.”

“Father, isn't it a common thing for Her Eminence to scold you? I thought you were used to it.”

 Father Abel Nightroad nodded, still murmuring as Esther shook her long red hair theatrically. After a year of working together, she had already learned that there was no point in reasoning with this complainer. Lifting her suitcase with both hands, the nun started down the platform, expressionless.

 The international arrivals area was packed with people. The participants of the ceremony that was to be held three days later must have been arriving. All the travelers carried large suitcases, and the air was filled with incomprehensible conversation. In the midst of the confusion, the nun began with a steady pace...

“Ahhh...!”

Feeling the night air in her lungs, Esther heaved a little sigh. As if finally realizing where she was, she stopped dead and looked out of one of the station windows.

“Sure... I'm back...”

 The landscape that unfolded before her eyes was not that of Rome, where she has spent the year before. It was neither the one in Byzantium, where they had been until a few days ago, nor the one in Skopje, where they had stopped that day. The city surrounded by gentle hills and crossed by a meandering river was certainly like Byzantium or Rome. However, the twisted capitals and ceramic tiles gave the panorama a personality of its own, it was the landscape that had surrounded Esther for as long as she could remember.

  The city of Istvan, protectorate of the Vatican.

It was the easternmost of the cities controlled by mankind… and the place where Esther had grown up.

“Nothing has changed... nothing...”

 Facing the city that she saw again a year later, Esther heaved another sigh.

She had changed a lot, but her city remained the same. The running of the Danube, the cracks in the cobblestones... The sweet evening light embraced the same landscape that Esther had left back a year before.

 However, even if you thought your city was still the same, could you feel at ease? There she had sad and painful experiences, the memory of which made her suffer. Maybe that was inevitable when one returned to one’s homeland...

“Aaaaah, what did they get me this time?”

 The young woman was now absorbed in her warm memories but she came to herself as a rumbling voice rose like coming from the depths of Hell. Annoyed, she turned, and was met by a long figure who was sighing wistfully. The spectacled priest stroked his hair like a bad actor of tragedy who wanted to convey the idea of ​​bearing all the pain in the world.

 “Have they heard that I've set up a garden at the seminary? Or have they discovered those peaks that I added to the invoices...? Aaaah, Lord, protect your servant! Can't get them to turn a blind eye?”

“I have the feeling that before you became religious you were already a failure as a human being...”

 Lord! That she could not even have a moment of peace being with that companion! Esther sighed deeply, feeling sorry for herself. Come to think of it, it was precisely in that place where she had seen the father for the first time, a year ago. That meeting had been the beginning of the person she had become. Under normal circumstances, it would be a very important memory. Why was she unable to get excited?

 “But the truth is that you have some reason, father…” Esther continued speaking, being careful not to meet her eyes with her companion’s. “Why did Her Eminence make us come to Istvan? Even if they do the ceremony for the fallen, we don't have to attend ourselves… Do she want to hear the report about the Empire as soon as possible?”

“If that's just it, we'll be in luck... To get back to Rome from Skopje, going through here doesn't mean much of a change in route in terms of distance either. But the Cardinal does not like to change plans. That she had given a counter order is extremely rare... Aaaah, they must have caught me on something!”

 At the surprised look of the nun, the priest squatted and clutched his head.

 Two days before, once their mission was completed in Byzantium, they had reached Skopje, capital of the Marquisate of Macedonia. According to the original instructions, from there they were to take the road that go straight to west, to Rome. However, he had received an encrypted message ordering them to change their plans: «Instead of going back to Rome, go to Istvan to participate in the ceremony for the fallen. Report your mission when we meet».

 The ceremony to which the message referred was in honor of the fallen in the battle of Istvan the previous year. It was promoted by the Archbishop of the city, the Vatican's Public Relations Minister, Antonio Borgia, and Pope Alessandro himself were going to be present. As Secretary of State, Cardinal Caterina Sforza was also going to participate, and that is why she was in the city at the time. In that regard, meeting in Istvan to present the mission report made sense.

 What Esther did not understand was something else...

 «Participate in the ceremony for the fallen.» Why had she explicitly summoned them to participate in the ceremony? Those who organized it were the Archbishopric and the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations. Esther, who worked for the Secretary of State, had nothing to do with them. Could it be that there was a new mission? Telling the truth, it looks a little strange

“Well, the easiest thing will be to ask the Duchess of Milan directly… Hurry, father.”

  The agglomeration was considerable. If they didn't hurry out of the station and take a hansom, they would have to walk to the hotel the Secretary of State had reserved for them. To try to avoid it, Esther forcibly lifted her partner. Taking the tickets from the two of them, she headed purposefully toward the checkpoint.

“Staying here raving doesn't help much either. We have to meet with the Cardinal at once and make your report.”

 For security reasons, the international arrivals platform was separated from the outside by revolving doors. Esther showed the officer her passport, which identified her as an employee of the Holy See, and quickly went through the doors to go outside. While the priest went through the same process, she turned to look for a hansom.

 “Sister Esther!!!”

 A brutal, deafening scream rose around her.

 At the same time, her eyes were filled with white lights. She didn't even have time to realize that it was the flashes of a multitude of daguerreotypes. The nun turned her face away as a wave of voices washed over her.

 “Sister Esther! Finally, you are here! A few statements, please!”

 The chorus of voices followed by a crowd of men and women armed with notepads and fountain pens. Dazed by the flashes, Esther couldn't make out their facial expressions, but it didn't seem like those violent voices were directed at her by mistake or that it was all an elaborated joke. Among the mass crowded around the nun and the priest, the flashes continued to shine.

 “Eh, eh?”

But what was happening?

 Esther was stunned, surrounded by the sparkles.

 All those people seemed to be reporters and journalists. Those who carried that heavy tape recorder, were they from the radio? They were of all ages and aspects, but they all wore press passes issued by the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations on their chests. But why would the media be so interested in her?

 Stunned by events, Esther could do nothing but stand there. It was then that a laughter rang out behind them.

 “Heh, heh, heh! Finally, my time has come! At last, the world recognizes my charisma!”

 Abel, who had been just as surprised as she, began to show off with a boastful air, turning so quickly it looked like he was about to break a bone, he offered the cameras the profile he thought suited him best.

 “Hello everyooone! As I see that you are so interested, I am going to tell you some secrets about myself. My full name is Abel Nightroad. I am an itinerant priest of the Vatican. I am Virgo and my lucky number is 13. Regarding my career, I am precisely considering writing some memoirs that… Eh !?”

 With a cry like a toad, the priest was swallowed up by the mass of journalists who huddled mercilessly. Ignoring his painful moans, the reporters began bombarding Esther with questions, who remained motionless in the center of the crowd.

 “Sister Esther, what impressions do you have when you return to your homeland?”

“It's been a year since you finished with Gyula, how do you feel now?”

 Screaming echoed through the clicking sound of the flashes. Unconsciously, Esther recoiled from the throng of journalists and cameras.

 “What... what do you want?”

 When her brain began to function normally again, she realized that the goal of all this was her. But why? What did all those journalists expect of her!?  She was just a simple nun!

 Esther's questions were immediately answered when a middle-aged journalist, dressed in a dirty coat, showed her a piece of paper.

 “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to see the script for this new opera? Do you have any comments about it?”

“Eh... huh...!? I do not have any idea of what is happening... An opera...? What opera!?”

Looking at the paper, Esther stood with her mouth open with the surprise.

 It was a flier printed in high quality paper. One couldn't say that the colorful design or the propaganda phrases were the best taste, but whatever. More than that, what stunned Esther was the central illustration.

 Against the background of a striking cross, a beautiful nun struck down a man with a sword blow, dressed in aristocratic clothes, the fallen one twisted his monstrous face and showed two long fangs between his lips. And the legend of the drawing said:

 «The Star of Sorrow. Next release. Saint Esther and the devil Gyula: An apocalyptic fight!!! ». But what does this mean?!

 “It is a commemorative work for the liberation of Istvan, Sister Esther. It represents your fight against the vampire... Didn't you know anything about it?”

 The journalists looked at her, puzzled, but Esther didn't realize it. She was not for those things. Squeezing the paper in her hands, she tried to put the chaos of her thoughts in order.

“Saint Esther?”

 But where did that come from?!

 “Well, it's a very important work...” continued the journalist, with a certain pride in his voice, as if he were the scriptwriter himself. “Not only the casting, but also the production has had the support of the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations. The script was written by the Archbishop of Istvan himself and a budget of one million dinars has been invested. Tonight is the premiere... Ah! Is it for that why you've come today?”

“Eh? Well, no…”

 At the question, Esther only had the strength to shake her head.

 What was happening before her eyes seemed so unreal that it would be said that she was dreaming it. She wanted to return to her hometown to walk quietly through the streets again, visit the bishop's tomb, go to greet the families of her fellow partisans one by one... As she remembered her plans, a distant noise made her come to her senses.

 “Sister Esther Blanchett,” a monotonous voice sounded over the sound of a horn.

Looking for that familiar voice, she saw that, beyond the mass of journalists, there was a car parked. The face staring at her from the driver's seat was one she knew all too well.

“Father Iqus!?”

“The Duchess of Milan has ordered me to come and find you. Get in the vehicle, please” explained Tres Iqus, Ax Gunslinger's agent, with his hands on the wheel. “Ignore the media and present yourself immediately. Those have been the words of her eminence. Get up at once. The Duchess awaits you at the Opera House.”

“Agree!”

 What was all the fuss about? And what was the Duchess doing at the Opera House?

She had many questions in mind, but she nodded and followed the instructions she had been given. Her superior's orders were clear and Caterina herself would surely know how to explain something more about that bad taste joke.

 “Father Nightroad, get up, we're going!”

“I ... it's my moment... I'm so charismatic...”

 Dragging Abel, as if he were another suitcase since he was still semi-conscious, Esther ran with all her might amidst the rain of flashes and questions from journalists. Without turning to the chasing mass, Esther yelled as she approached the car:

 “Father Iqus, open the opposite door!”

 They had not seen each other for three months, but now was not the time for long greetings.

 “Who they're chasing is me… I'll meet you later, but decoy me now, please.”

“Understood. Request fulfilled.”

The short priest did not hesitate for a moment. Probably, thinking about the possible courses of action, his circuits had reached the same conclusion as Esther. Quickly opening the other door, he added:

“Current time: eighteen-zero-zero. The Duchess of Milan is in the Opera House. Head there as soon as you can. I will mislead the media.”

 Nodding firmly at the cold but confident voice, Esther let her luggage into the back seat and ran out the other side of the vehicle. Just when she had finished hiding behind some construction materials there, she adjusted the bonnet around her head, the car started.

 “Wait, Sister Esther! Some statements!”

The plan worked and the journalists came out in droves after the vehicle that had left behind only the smell of the tires burned. Those who had been so sufficiently farsighted were set up in their own cars, and the other took hansoms. Between the whirlwind of yells and engines, no one noticed the place where the nun had hidden.

“They've already left...”

After checking that everyone had moved away, Esther got up and dusted herself off.

“What did it all mean?” Looking at the flier again, the young woman bit her lip.

«Commemoration of the first anniversary of the liberation of Istvan».

«Saint Esther».

«Devil Gyula.»

 Esther crumpled the paper into a ball and put it in her pocket. Those sensational expressions had left a very unpleasant impression on her chest.

 She had to speak to the Cardinal as soon as possible. She had to talk to her and hear from her own lips the truth about all this charade...

 “Wait, Sister Esther, I still have a question for you”, a hoarse voice stopped her just as she was about to walk.  

 Turning around, she found a man in a soot-stained coat. It was the same journalist who had given her the flier earlier, so he was the only one who had noticed her ploy.

 “I expected no less from the young woman who defeated the Marquis of Hungary. You are very clever. And thanks to that I have my exclusive… Ah, but I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Clement from the Picadilly Gazette in Albion.”

 The man handed her a yellowish business card. Although he was smiling politely, he did not miss the opportunity to scan the young nun with his eyes.

 “I've told you before that I don't know what you're talking about,” Esther replied, somewhat frightened, instinctively turning her face away from that penetrating gaze. “If you want to know more about the ceremony, I recommend that you go directly to the cathedral, Mr. Clement. I don't know anything...”

“No, no, what interests me is your personal circumstances, sister.”

 So the one who smiled slightly mockingly at her on the deserted street was one of those famous paparazzi from the gossip press.

 “I've been investigating your family... I know you were abandoned as a child and that the bishop raised you... Vitez, was her name? Therefore, do you not know who your real parents are?”

“I... I know something about my father...”

What right this man have to intrude like this in her private life? Lifting her face decisively, she snapped:

 “But I only know he was from Albion. Are we finished with the questions, Mr. Clement? I'm in a hurry. We will talk another time.”

“Well, well, you don't have to be like that either.”

 However, the journalist did not seem to be affected by her serious tone. Still smiling, he took a few yellowed sheets from his pocket. They were official documents of the city council, as indicated by the seals with the emblem of the city.

“What do you think this is? It's a copy of your birth certificate, which was filed at the town hall. According to these documents your father was Edward Blanchett, knight bachelor of Albion. The lowest rank of the nobility...”

“But how did you…?!”

 Seeing the documents the journalist had, Esther flushed with anger and her breathing began quickening. She stood up to face him and said:

"Give me that! You have no right to snoop there!”

“If you tell me what I want, I will give it to you soon. It costs me a lot of money to get this copy. I cannot give it to you just like that. So... back to what we were talking about...”

 Clement laughed, satisfied, as if enjoying the fact that he was once again in charge of the conversation. Waving the paper in the air, like a lure, the journalist continued:

“Well, your father was Edward Blanchett, but do you know what kind of person he was?”

“Didn't I tell you that I don't know anything else about him!?”

“Oh yeah? Well, me neither. And I am not the only one. In fact, absolutely no one knows anything about him. Because the truth is that he never existed…”

“Eh?”

 Esther had reached out to grasp the document, but stopped short. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the reporter. What did he mean by “never existed”?

 As if enjoying his interlocutor's confusion, Clement continued to speak slowly.

“According to our investigations, there is no trace in Albion of an aristocrat named Edward Blanchett. We have examined the noble records, the files of appointments, even the secret documents of the Institute of Heraldry, but there is no trace of anyone named that.”

“Uh... huh... But that...”

 Hesitantly, Esther tried to find a way to answer him.

The truth was, she had consciously avoided investigating her father. Because of her work, she wouldn't have had a difficult time if she wanted to know more about him, but she was afraid of what she might find.

 However, Clement's words were too impressive to ignore. Had there never been a nobleman named Edward Blanchett?

 “Of course, identity theft or falsification of one's own past are not so rare things either. He would not be the first to arrive in the provinces and say that he is an aristocrat from a distant country... But there is one thing that intrigues me: that he used the name Edward Blanchett eighteen years ago...

“??”

It was clear that it was a trap. Even she is aware that the verbiage of her interlocutor was captivating her, Esther tried not to escape. In fact, she even encouraged him to keep talking with a fearful question:

“What puzzles you, Mr. Clement?”

“Well, now is when you and I can do business, sister.”

 Seeing that his prey had swallowed the hook, the journalist shook the documents again and continued to speak slowly, showing nicotine-stained teeth.

 “Why don't you join me for a moment? It would be better to go to a quiet place, where we can talk without being disturbed by anyone.”

“B... but now I don't have time...”

“Are you not interested in the deal?”

 Clement's gaze narrowed like a reptile locating its prey. With a theatrical sigh, he put the document back in his pocket.

 “Then there is nothing to do. I will publish the results of my research in my next article. «The secret of the origin of the Saint»... Ah, I'll send you a copy when it comes out. Do I send it here, or better to your office in Rome?”

 Esther tensed her face and, instinctively taking her arms to her chest, moaned:

“Are you trying to threaten me!?”

“Ah, I see you have understood perfectly, sister,” replied the journalist, as if enjoying the young woman's reaction. And he added in a threatening tone: “You come with me now and you grant me the exclusive, or your father's secret...?”

“Threatening others using family secrets is not a very respectable hobby, sir.”

The voice that echoed in the twilight was contrasted with Clement's in its serenity. Turning quickly, the veteran journalist encountered a man who was slowly shaking his head.

“And more in the case of an innocent sister like this… Is it that those of your profession don't know the meaning of the word moderation?

“And who are you?”

 Looking up, Esther saw the dark shape of a man.

He looked to be in his early thirties. His shapely face and the black Inverness coat that wrapped him were impeccable. Under his dark hair, intelligent black eyes shone through silver glasses.

 “I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. My name is Isaac Butler. I am a steward of one of the aristocratic houses of Londinium.”

 The young gentleman lifted his top hat with his cane as he bowed gracefully.

 “I did not mean to meddle in your affairs, but I was waiting for someone and by chance I overheard your conversation. Sir… Clement, right? The truth is that I cannot praise your professional ethics too much. Thus violating people's privacy and using it as a tool to threaten others… You should be ashamed.”

 “What does it matter to you!?” The journalist snapped, looking at him with hyena eyes, in a tone that sounded more like a bully than anything else. “If you go where they don't call you, you can get scalded… Besides, I'm not threatening anyone. Here we are just talking without any coercion. I have not done anything bad.”

“Taking unauthorized copies of someone else's birth certificates is a crime,” Butler muttered, raising his hand. Seeing what was in it, Clement was dumbfounded.

“B... but when did you...?”

 The butler showed him a paper stamped with the city hall letterhead.

 Clement reached into his pocket, but… Esther's birth certificate was missing!

“Y… you're a thief! Give me those documents back immediately!”

 The paparazzi paled for a moment and then turned red. Showing the teeth in a horrible grin, he reached for the man to try to forcibly get back the paper... but did not even touch it. There was a thud, and the journalist rolled on the ground.

“Good work, Guderian” whispered Butler to the man who had appeared like a wall between him and the reporter.

He was a somber man with gray hair. He was not too tall, but his body was athletic, and his pupils had a flash of predator gleaming. He made a move to approach the paparazzi, but Butler stopped him with a gesture and politely addressed the fallen man:

 “Good, Mr. Clement. My companion, Mr. Guderian, is, unlike you, a gentleman, but he is also very ruthless. I do not recommend that you face him hand to hand...”

 The butler lit a pipe and began to smoke while he continued speaking indolently.

 “Besides, don't you have anything more important to investigate than disturbing the young lady? For example ... Oh yes! They say that this year the damage caused by the wolves has been extraordinary, after feeding on the corpses of the war last year, it seems that the wolves have begun to attack the cattle and the inhabitants of the place. Isn't that interesting news?”

“...”

Clement sat up, eyes full of hatred, but careful to take enough distance.

“Okay, I'll go... But sir... Butler was it? I never forget a face. We will meet again. You'll see what it means to antagonize with the media...”

“I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again. Until next time, Mr. Clement.”

 As if he had instantly forgotten the reporter who had cursed him, the man quickly turned to Esther. Slightly bending his waist with a smile, he respectfully offered the document which the journalist had used as a bait.

“What a bad night you’ve had, sister!”

“T... thank you very much, sir...”

    Did they know each other before?

 With a strange feeling of having seen the man somewhere, Esther lowered her head as she thanked him and took the document he offered her.

“Lucky you have appeared. I will never forget what you have done for me”.

“It was nothing. Helping a lady in distress is the duty of any gentleman. Oh, and please don't think now that in Albion we are all like that journalist. Most of us are true gentlemen.”

“Are you from Albion?”

 At the hearing the name of the country of his father, the expression of Esther softened for a moment, but at once recovered the tension before. The man had claimed to be an aristocrat's butler, but what was someone like him doing there? Wouldn't that be another trick to gain her trust?

Suspicion was probably written on her face, because Butler gave a sheepish smile and proceeded to introduce himself in detail.

 “You are probably wondering what a poor butler like me is doing here. The truth is that I am looking for someone. He is a friend of my lord, who disappeared a long time ago… Someone who had some problems… He caused a scandal in his youth and had to flee the country. My lord has found out that he arrived in this region and has sent me to search for clues as to his whereabouts.”

“It seems like very hard work...”

Butler's words made sense and he had explained without hesitation. He was probably telling the truth. Esther decided to believe that the man was who he claimed to be.

Butler's partner jerked his pocket watch to him, and the butler snapped his fingers. After putting out the pipe, he respectfully took Esther by the hand.

“What a disappointment! Seems that it is late! Sister, if you do not need us at all, we will withdraw, with your permission.”

“Oh, sure! I'm in a bit of a hurry too... Thank you very much for your help; really, Mr. Butler.”

“Oh, please, I don't deserve that much respect.”

Bringing the nun's hand slightly to his lips, the man smiled and whispered in Albion's language:

“It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon…”

As the young woman flushed, the butler bowed politely and turned. The man named Guderian followed half a second later.

Esther was lost in her thoughts, watching the two figures move away down the dark street.

 When she came back to reality, she realized that the streetlights had come on.

“Ah, I have to hurry!”

 She had no time to waste. Clicking her tongue, the young woman ran to the opposite side of the street.

                                               ---------------------------

So this is it, Stay tunned for next part, we’re having a nice coloring next time. Love you guys! ❤

[buildingrelationshipsinanarchy]

A New Intimacy Model

So what spurred this project is a culmination of a few things. Namely, frustration with the imprecise and incomprehensible words, Platonic, Romantic, and Sexual. The English language hasn’t been great at adapting the words for personal relationships as our times and values change.

I fell into Anarchism only very recently, stumbling into the language of ‘relationship anarchy’ through the internet in discussion with forms of polyamory years ago when I started this blog. Over the last year, I’ve been getting into radical politics and finding how my un-politicized opinions were validated, and then stretched the more I learned and studied up. While I’m still learning more about Radical politics, Anarchism, Marxism, Queer and Feminist theory specifically, the more I wanted to link some of my perspectives on intimate relationships with these political and theoretical texts.

“The Personal is Political.” - Carol Hanisch, Feminist Author.

@mythr1der​ wrote a post detailing a bit of the frustration I also share in regards to how the Dichotomy between Platonic and Sexual (which almost all definitions of Romance boil back into), leave much to be desired when discussing attraction, desire, intimacy and relationships in general. I believe that this very simple dichotomy reflects, oddly enough, capitalism and the history of the role of state power in culture. I rant a little bit about it as a response to @mythr1der​‘s post here. 

It’s long, and incomplete, but I proposed an idea of just building entirely new words, so we can build an entirely new map for talking about love, desire, attraction, and relationships that actually discuss what its like to be next to someone you like to be next to! 

What is intimacy? It’s closeness right? To be near some ‘intimate’ part of another person, or them near something meaningful about why you’re you. I wanted to start this series by talking about what it means to be close to someone. If you remember my birthday without Facebook, that might make me feel a bit special. But if you remember how badly I was abused by an old friend, its because I trusted you enough to share some of the sadness that I’m not as loud about.

Intimacy isn’t always trauma, sometimes its tears of joy hearing that your cousin is out of prison, or the laughter of your friends. Being close to each other in a hyper-digitized age is a bit tricky, but phone calls, facetime, snapchat are only some of the tools we use to keep each other updating on what we’re feeling. Whether its about our love life, sex life, work life, or home life, just sharing that information can be real special, and bonding.

When we say that we have friends or that we are [Queer] Platonic Partners, does that mean we’ve decided how often we’re gonna talk or what we’re gonna talk about? What if we just send each other memes or rant about politics? Am I supposed to devalue those interactions because they aren’t the person I’m crying on the phone with?

Intimacy can be as deep as childhood scars and as simple as surprising me with my favorite snack. It all just means you know who I am, what I like, and what I care about. I want to intentionally forge those connections. And this why I set these definitions first. 

Other Words:

A Daekkon (n.) would be person/partner whom you’ve developed intentionally this kind of relationship with. 

If you desired this kind of relationship with a certain person, you’d be feeling Daekeen (adj.) for/about that person.

People who are desiring or actively doing these activities together are Daekkoning (v.). 

This would be understood as Daekkonic (adj.) behavior; as in, “My roomate isn’t super talkative with me, but is deakkonic (adj.) with Sandra from the Mosque.” 

“Tom is going through it, he’s felt deakkonically (adv.) deprived since the move.”

________________________________________________________________

In our sex-negative, ironically repressed culture, we seem to think that if you’re touching your bodies together at all, it means *something*.  I want to remove that idea. I want to reclaim physical affection. I want to be touch and be touched by others. I don’t want my afab friends who have experienced some sort of sexual violence in their lives, to ever feel weary about the fact that I’m physically affectionate. It’s been my #1 Love Language for the last 10 years. 

Fighting r*pe culture is a full-time fight, but I think adding a word, and therefore an idea[l], can be useful in reclaiming safety, and boundaries regarding bodily autonomy, for all of us. Clear communication and respected boundaries and asking consent for everything are the bedrock we need to continually practice. And as trust builds, I believe this could be very useful theoretically tool for improving the quality of our relationships and help create clearer discussion about our individual boundaries, needs, and desires. I feel like this leads me to a relevant question. What activities are inherently platonic, romantic or sexual? Is holding hands inherently romantic when almost all of us have done it with a friend? What about those of us who are religious or spiritual and have held hands with members of church, mosque or synagogue; do you think we’re out here non-stop blushing at the Pastor? Or when we held hands with family members? Doesn’t sound like it holds up, huh? 

What about snuggling a roommate? Holding a teammate while celebrating a victory? The kiss my bestfriend gave me on our shared birthday dinner? Are we left to through our Aro and Ace friends’ out of the discussion, just because our culture has bad takes on sex and romance as the only forms possible of significant physical touch? Physical touch is such an important way to communicate love and affection, as well as care, concern, and comfort. They don’t get to cast their shadow on this space anymore!

Other Words:

If you had this desire for someone, or wanted to approach cultivating these forms of affection in a relationship, you could say you’re feeling Phaddish (adj.) for that person.

.Participating or initiating acts of a non-sexual physical intimacy Phadronic (adj.) quality are said to be phade-ing/phading (v.).

A Phadrone (n.) could be the name of a person/partner you share this kind of relationship with. 

Phadroning (v.) would the act of cultivating this kind of intimacy with another person. 

Phadronically (adv.) could describe a certain level of intimacy implicit in a physical touch between to particular people.

________________________________________________________________

Now lets talk about Sex. That’s the thing the everyone’s mind always gravitates to when discuss words like, intimacy, attraction, desire. It’s the thing we want to stay away from when you use the Platonic or Friendly. But, lets be real. Haven’t many of us had sex with people didn’t even consider friends? Or people who became our “Strictly Platonic” friends after we may have had sex, once or several times, with them?

People who gravitate toward polyamory or non-monogamy tend have had a “hoe-phase.” The boundary between friend and lover, or partner and fuckbuddy have been blurred in a good chunk of people’s lives. Non-monogamous or not, I think it’s useful to talk directly about our sexual experiences, desires, fantasies, and how different it can be with different people, or in different stages of our lives. But what makes an experience sexual? Maybe that sounds redundant or obvious; I mean, it’s got the word SEX in it, maybe that’s got something to do with it? But maybe not... 

Lets ask an odd question. Is sex inherently sexual? Who wouldn’t assume the answer is automatically yes? Well, my first thought is to talk to those in the Adult Entertainment industry or friends of ours who are sex-workers, in whatever capacity. Is every client sexy or shoot erotic? Those of us who have sex, have we never been doing it and been bored through most of at least one experience? 

If sex is inherently sexual, why do we have so many Sexual Health Educators, Marriage Counselors, Pornstars, Yoga Teachers, Personal trainers and Writers telling us how to have sexy sex? Dating Coaches and Websites, telling us how we are getting something that’s supposed to sound so easy wrong.

I’ve come to the opinion that sex isn’t about body parts, genitalia, certain body motions, or even clothing [or lack thereof]. I believe that sex, or eroticism, is all about the context and the people involved. There’s nothing inherently sexy about fruit, or food in general, but if woman eats a banana in public, there are at least several men in area thinking of something than her healthy food choices. 

This is why talking about sex directly is good. And understanding it as an energy that you imbue to any activity or circumstance, could help have better sex; and and on the flip-side, show us how we may need to more aware of how we may take up space with our body language. I do also feel, that in part, some of our Ace friends (those who aren’t sex repulsed), may be able to find some resonance with this model; sex doesn’t have to feel passionate or any particular way at all (other than good?), because sex isn’t about sexiness, but about human connection and pleasure.

Other Words:

Serotic (adj.) activities include any activity that is engaged due to, or is infused with, sexual desire and/or erotic intention. It also describes the type of desire you’re feeling for another person. 

A Serato (n.) is any person you engage in serotic activities or feelings with. 

An activity that was originally un-serotic (adj.), but became sexually or erotically charged, we could described as having become Serotically (adv.) charged. 

When you are cultivating or charging an act with serotic energy, you are Seroticizing (v.) that activity

________________________________________________________________

Lately, especially since diving into Radical Politics, I find less and less desire in defining Who I Am as a part of a relationship unit. It’s an overlay from monogamy, The Couple being the only social unit that is recognized, as it’s necessary to the Nuclear Family; a super important thing for Capitalism to sustain itself. The relationships I cultivate with others, with whatever forms of intimacy or interactions therein, cant be understood by that model. I am more than my interactions with a handful of people; I am a human person, and my engagement with the world isn’t actually reducible to whether or not I’m having sex with someone or not. 

We’ve talked about multiple forms of intimacy, and some of the desires or interests associated with them. Have you noticed that in the desire, or need, to discuss relationships on a basis of, ‘sex: yes or no?’, that we haven’t talked about the webs that form because we are all reliant on each other to survive? Not everyone in your community or workplace or online spaces, you’ll get to know or talk to. Do they, as people, matter less because they aren’t in your contacts list or your DM’s?  

This is a space where not a lot of us to tend think or engage as much. An easy word to discuss this space is community. But is a community the people or the place you spend your time, whether online or off? Is the community the place you live and your neighbors? Is it the people who may share some of your identifiers or face similar forms of oppression, despite living in a different city, state, country?

We are multi-dimensional beings, and with the use of technology, there are so many ways to form relationships, and share resources. I think the ‘community’ is any space you find yourself in, which means that mutual aid is something you are always able to engage in. Whether it’s feeding the homeless guys who hang out by the intersection, or dropping a few bucks in a trans kid’s venmo, mutual aid is so much easier.

But what if that feels so inconsequential? It’s not! But it does, from time to time, feel like the problems of the world are so big, and that you and so many you know are suffering in ways you wish you could help. Well, community organizing is always happening somewhere, online and off. It becomes important to join up with others in order feel like we can actually make a positive impact on the lives of others. We don’t have to wait on a government who’s interest isn’t ours, don’t have to wait for some politician to fail on a promise to Make Things Better.

We have each other, and we are all we really have. At the end of the day, all of our concepts are man-made. COVID-19 showed us how drastically things could be different if the people in power made decisions that actually benefited us. A lot of us understand the need to do something. Capitalism says that competition is what drove human kind into evolution, the fight for survival in a meaningless, terrifying world. Anarchism, as I’m learning, throws the whole idea in the trash where it belongs.

Peter Kropotkin, whose been called both the Godfather and Santa Claus of Anarchism, penned in Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (1902), “under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life.”

We are better off together. Capitalism and the property relationships in our compulsively monogamous society try to tell us other wise. We don’t have to follow that model.

Other Words:

To Mudshop (v.) is to build a mudship with a particular person, organinzation, or community; Mud-shopping (v.). 

A Mudshipper (n.) is an individual in a mudship of any scale. 

I’ve said a lot. I hope this reads as accessible to as many people as it can be. I built this because I want to tell the people in my life why I love them as dearly as I do. And that I’d love to build relationships with as many awesome, lovely people as I can.

If you try to use the words Romantic and Platonic while you look at this post, and find it almost impossible, I’ve done my job.

I hope those words die along with oppressive ideas they uphold.

[pluviophile-bookworm]

Understanding and acceptance: a short story consisting of things that actually happened

[A/N: I was on the phone with my mum and she told me that I seem to be in a creative mood and that I should write something. I decided to kill two birds with one stone and share a personal story while also writing it as if it’s fiction. So here goes.]

Word count: 2K

-- 2 weeks ago --

It’s a quiet Saturday evening. My brother Max and I are walking home together, deep in conversation. I have no memory of what the conversation had been about when it started, but I do remember that it somehow got to this:

‘...all this assuming you’re straight, of course, and I’m not assuming anything--’

‘What does being straight mean?’ Max says in a tone that tells me he genuinely doesn’t know. So I feel obligated to explain it in the simplest terms possible. ‘Well, in your case it would mean that you, a boy, like girls.’

‘Well, that’s the normal thing for any person!’ He nearly cuts me off with this. I calculate my next step carefully.

‘Not every person,’ I say, keeping my voice as calm as possible. ‘I’m not straight.’ Of course, he knows that. I came out to my whole family at once three years ago, hoping for the awkward discussions to be over with that. It hasn’t worked out quite as I envisioned it yet.

‘Yeah, but you’re not normal either,’ Max parries. Can’t argue with that. Lucky for me, that is when we reach the front door and each one goes off to mind their own business.

I know very well just how ‘not normal’ I am. Not in that cliche ‘I’m not like other girls’ way, but in a way that causes Bulgarians undereducated on mental health and identity labels (which is unfortunately most people over 30) to brand a person clinically insane, unstable, a threat to the Traditional Bulgarian Family™. Being aroace and having severe social anxiety and ADHD to top it off, I hardly classify as ‘normal’. This is a frequent cause for arguments at the dinner table at home, most of which end in a. tears and/ or a panic attack on my part, b. my father storming off and pretending to be asleep whenever someone goes to call him back to dinner, c. my brother gluing himself to his phone, leaving his plate half-untouched, d. my mother crying over ‘what kind of mother am I that I can’t even have my family together at the table once’, and usually e. all of the above. 

For this scenario to play out, however, the whole family of four is required to be present. So fortunately it only happens every other weekend when Dad and I come back home from the capital, where we have been living for the better part of three years now, ever since he got promoted and I started uni. When I’m away from my loving but over-controlling mum and my brother, who seemed to become obnoxious overnight the moment he turned 13 a little over a year ago, I usually have significantly fewer reasons to cry or feel anxious about... you name it. So we do fine. For the most part.

-- this evening --

I am watching Joe and Frankie’s performance of A Whole New World for the thousandth time today when I get a text from Mum.

Mum: How’s my girl doing?

Mum: I haven’t been able to hear from you with all the fuss about your brother.

Max is at that point in his education where he’s applying for high schools. His exam results have just come in and now everyone in the family is stressing about whether his scores will be enough to get him into the school he wants to go to. It’s a big deal, but with all the Rodfini magic going on (and with how terribly behind I am on my internship assignment) I have just been completely unable to care.

Speaking of Rodfini and A Whole New World, I have been repressing the instinctive urge to send my mum the video all day, and when I get her texts, I almost nearly muster up the courage to do it. But between me and her, this is not something you do over text. So I give her a ring instead. 

When she picks up, the sound of her voice combined with the anxiety over what I want to tell her makes me tear up and the words are stuck in my throat. 

‘Erm-- Mum, can I tell you something?’ I say, still not sure if I’m not about to regret taking up the subject at all.

‘Dear, you know you can tell me anything,’ she says, sounding concerned at my obviously-trying-to-swallow-tears voice.

‘You mean it?’ I ask, listening to her tone to make sure. I wish I could read tones better. ‘Anything?’

‘Is something wrong, honey?’ Oh gods, she’s in a really benevolent mood. I grow more and more afraid of ruining that with my ‘obsession with gays’. 

‘Erm, so I guess you should know Dad and I had the tiniest disagreement just now,’ I say, deciding last minute to start with something she might deem ‘more relevant to the family’s personal lives’. ‘You know, we were watching the Euros and then the match ended and we watched the news, and then Dad changed the channel so he could watch the next match. And I was like ‘whoa, what’s with the video quality’, and so dad was like ‘you really need go get your eyes checked out’; and I tried to explain that there was a very obvious difference in quality between the two channels, and he kept yelling at me that I was ruining my eyesight spending all day staring at a screen.’

‘Did he sound annoyed or just concerned?’ Mum asks me.

‘I know what you’re thinking. And I know full well that he’s my parent and he’s concerned about my health. But you should have heard his tone.’

‘So are you two in a fight now?’

‘No. Well, I don’t know.’ I really don’t. It’s hard to tell when one side of the argument refuses to talk about his feelings as if that will kill him. But I don’t tell Mum that. She’s been dealing with Dad since long before I was even planned, so she knows him better than I do. ‘The thing is, he called me back and said that, well, one of the channels was HD and the other was not, so there was indeed a difference, but he thought it was ‘unnatural’ that I was able to register it so immediately, and he kept insisting there was something wrong with my eyes. I should think that seeing something quickly would be a sign of good vision, not bad. Besides,’ I keep talking, nearly  desperate to justify myself, ‘I did some research and sensitivity to light is a symptom of ADHD. So it’s nothing new, really.’

‘Oh, please, dear. You’re of a new generation, and ADHD is something of the older generation. Don’t be so quick to self-diagnose.’

I guess there’s some reason to what she says, or at least the last part of it, so I give up on pursuing the subject further. ‘Yeah, anyway,’ I say, ‘I just thought it was all a bit rich coming from the man who refuses to wear his prescription glasses. I haven’t got any prescription glasses, you know.’

I don’t want to come off too cheeky because I still want to try and talk to her about how happy Rodfini have made me today. A while ago, Mum would accuse me of only calling her to complain when I was unhappy, so I have since made it a point to call her when I am happy and tell her so. That’s why I’ve been itching to share this with her. And now the time has come.

‘You know, I’ve been crying in a completely different way today,’ I begin tentatively. ‘A good way, A really, really good way,’ I add quickly before she can get worried again.

‘Yeah? So what was it that made you so happy that you cried?’ Goodness, there’s no turning back now. I decide to proceed with caution.

‘Oh, well, it was this performance, you know. A really beautiful song. So I’ve been wanting to show it to you, but I was worried about how you’d react.’

‘And why would that be?’ she asks in the same kind tone that keeps making me anxious about potentially ruining everything.

‘Well, erm...’ I feel myself start to stutter. ‘See, it’s a love song, and it’s... ok, I’ll just say it. It’s sung by two guys. As in, a couple, you see.’ I keep feeling up the ground with my words, anxious to hear her reaction. It’s like when I’m opening an exam result -- I want to know, but I’m too scared to look. And so now, in my anxious despair to know what she thinks about it, I miss the beginning of her response. ‘And I know how you are about those things, so I...’ I genuinely don’t know what to say. I’ve done my thing again. I’ve kept talking so much that she hasn’t even been able to react audibly. So I trail off, determined to let her speak this time.

‘Ok, but... why do you get so affected by those things?’ Mum says, starting to sound suspiciously like she’s about to question my own orientation again. I feel the need to justify myself for the second time since the conversation has started.

‘Well, it’s just that... I really wish you would just see them, Mum. If you could just see how they look at each other, you’d see that there’s just love. So much love. And joy at being able to express themselves as they are.’

I’m speaking from the heart now. I am finally letting out how much I want her to give them a chance because she deserves to see and hear their magical performance. She must be sensing the anguished sincerity in my voice as I finally manage to stop crying and I smile through the tears, because she says, ‘Dear, are you... are you trying to tell me something there?’

I sigh. She’s asked me this question nearly every time I’ve started speaking ‘too’ passionately about anything LGBTQ+ Which isn’t an awful lot in her presence, but there have been several occasions. Once about Solangelo, at the beach. Once about NPH and his husband David and their children, at the dinner table, as I was trying to explain how same-sex couples can have kids; that one resulted in a seriously bad scene of the type I described earlier. Once about a participant in a reality show who identified as a gay man then, but has recently come out as a trans woman; whenever she’s been mentioned on television, I’ve fought to repress my inner urge to express my happiness for her and the representation she is for the Bulgarian LGBTQ+ community. I wonder even now if my parents have noticed my silence on the subject -- because they certainly do notice when I am not silent.

So now, when the time seems to have come for me to set things straight about my non-straight-ness (bad pun very much intended), I try my best to keep my voice from shaking. ‘I’m not trying to tell you anything I haven’t already told you, Mum. Really.’

‘Are you perhaps attracted to the same gender, dear?’ It seems so unbelievable that she’s said it, and even more that she’s worded like that, but she really has. I force myself to be calm and patient.

‘No, Mum. I’ve told you -- I am not attracted to any gender, be it male, female or anything else, really. You know that.’

‘Well, it sounded as if you--’

‘No, Mum. Really. But I do need you to understand that part of my identity is that I feel the need to support people with other identities different from straight. I’m happy for their successes. I'm concerned about their issues. They’re a sort of family to me. Do you understand that?’ I say, relieved to be speaking my truth at last. At the same time, I try to sound as reasonable and mature about the whole thing as possible. I don’t want to put her off, especially not now that I’m knee-deep in the subject already. I’ve gone too far to turn back now.

‘Yes, honey. Yes, I do. I just don’t want you to exert yourself emotionally, is all. Plus I’ve been so stressed out about your brother and all, you know...’

‘Yeah, I do know. And I know he’ll be fine. He’s a nice boy. I just wished he didn’t keep calling me ‘abnormal’ all the time...’

‘Oh, well, don’t listen to him. He’s been quite stressed out too. And he’s 14. It’s just how he is at this age.’

I’m not too sure about that. ‘Boys will be boys’. It’s ok for boys, then, to pour salt into their neurodivergent sisters’ wounds? I don’t think so. But I can’t fix every problem in one talk. Plus my mum sounds tired now.

So I just say, ‘I guess... Well, anyway, thank you so much, Mum. For hearing me out, and for supporting me, and for everything else. Please don’t worry so much.’

But I know she can’t not worry at all. I’ve got that from her.

‘If you’re sure you’re all ok now, dear...’

‘Yeah, mum, I am. Or I will be. You know, there’s this expression with English, ‘to run with something’. So I’ve been telling myself, I’ll at least try to walk with things. You know I’m not much of a runner anyway.’ I actually laugh, even though the pun is quite untranslatable into Bulgarian.

‘You know I’m proud of you, right?’

I know that has very little to do with the kind of pride I’ve been celebrating all month, but I say, ‘Of course I do. And you know what? I’m quite proud of myself, too.’ I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I mean it. I mean it wholeheartedly this time.

‘I’m nearly falling asleep, though, dear, so I say we call it a night?’

‘Good night, Mummy. And thanks.’

I hang up. Then I forward the video to her.

I’ve come so far, indeed. I reckon we both have.

[nataliedanovelist]

My 2020 Tumblr Top 10

1). 471 notes - Oct 6 2020

I would fucking die for this owl.

2). 303 notes - Feb 9 2020

GF - Dr. Mystery (A gift I did for the amazing @siro-cyll​.)

Ever since the Pines family had returned to Gravity Falls for the summer, Soos and Stan shared the role of Mr. Mystery. It was primarily Soos’ responsibility so that Stan could sit in his boxers for as long as he wanted, but every so often - to give the old man something to do or so Soos could work on a project or a repair - it was like the good ole days with the original My. Mystery scamming tourists and a humble handyman making the shack stand strong.

Unfortunately, Soos caught a bad case of the summer flu, and so to try to keep two old men and two young teenagers from getting sick, he quarantined himself in his room and Stan had to fill in the My. Mystery role. It felt good to be back in his old ways for a bit, amazing gullible tourists with made-up attractions; he had been doing this for thirty years, he could do it for a week, right?

3). 253 notes - Feb 5 2020

GF - Tiger Stripes (Another gift for @siro-cyll​!)

With the soft, warm steam coming from his mug, the pleasant early-morning sun baking his naked chest, and the cool breeze awakening his senses gradually, it would be an understatement to say that Ford was comfortable.

The breeze ruffled his fluffy charcoal-gray hair playfully before disappearing, leaving behind a still Summer’s air. While it is true that he became cold easily, one of the reasons why he wore turtleneck sweaters all year-round, the star his planet revolved around warned his exposed skin pleasantly and Ford felt no anxiety nor unpleasant chill as he stood on the porch, watching the day begin.

4). 240 notes - Sep 8 2020

1 Minute and 4 Seconds of Pain (This was both fun and painful to put together. Credit to everyone in the video who participated.)

5). 197 notes - Feb 14 2020

GF - Sweatertown (... I may or may not have gone overboard back in Feb. Sorry, @siro-cyll​. ^^; )

It was raining that day. Maybe that was why it took Ford awhile to decide that it wasn’t a figment of his imagination he was hearing, or another natural sound the woods would make in this weather. No, no it was definitely crying.

6). 180 notes - Oct 9 2020

GF - Can’t Stand It (Oh gosh, a gift for @ho-ne-ye​ that she AND @sealbatross​ were kind enough to draw for. Thank you so so much guys!)

Stan was having a bad day. Well, a bad week. Scratch that, a bad month.

It was March, a beautiful time out in the Arctic. For several weeks the Stan twins hardly ever saw the sun or didn’t see it at all. Closer to the holidays they traveled down south to Northern Europe, exploring the United Kingdom and the Northern Islands in order to enjoy daylight, but now that Summer was approaching and Spring was on their side, the Stan O’ War II was moving up to sail above Canada, breaking melting ice and meeting new creatures.

7). 163 notes - Mar 18 2020

GF - Boxing (... How does the saying go? What goes around comes around? Do something nice and the world will do something nice in return. Huh. I’m noticing a pattern with all of my top 10s... Anywho! I did this one for @artsymeeshee​!)

It all started back when the Pines family first arrived back at the Mystery Shack. Mabel was up in the storage room (It was much fuller than wise, but the attic was used as a bedroom at the moment.) and had dragged Dipper along with her to help find some old photographs. With only two weeks to work on her special birthday present for her grunkles, she needed all the help she could get in making them the perfect gift: a new scrapbook full of old photos of Glass Shard Beach and pictures Mabel had saved on her phone and was going to print of the old sailors out at sea.

8). 136 notes - Feb 10 2020

GF - Arm Wrestling (ANOTHER gift for @siro-cyll​! Seriously, they’re a gem for tolerating me. XD )

Fiddleford cleared his throat, a feeble attempt to get his colleague’s attention, but to no avail. He sighed and sat cross-legged on the grass, his backpack full of gear by his side. He propped up his head by his chin and on his fist, his elbow on one knee, and he watched half-bored, half-amused, as his best friend arm-wrestled a unicorn.

And no, the author did not mean to put down “harmed, wrestled and mourn”, nor did the composure of this tale mean “alarmed and sworn in”. No, the anomaly-researcher was truly arm-wrestling a unicorn, and had been at it for a few hours now.

9). 127 notes - Oct 27 2020

GF - Amalia (OH MY! @artsymeeshee​ had blessed us so I had decided to give her something in return.)

The snow reflected the tiny amount of sunlight the capital of Iceland received. Spring was coming, though still a ways off, but the large island still welcomed the sun that was starting to rise earlier every day and stay longer as February was coming to a close.

10). 123 notes - Jul 26 2020

GF - Counting Stars (A gift for the wonderful @sealbatross​!)

Original comic belongs to @sealbatross! GUYS, they’re so talented, I luv ‘em! GO SHOW ‘EM SOME LOVE!!! Sorry it’s a little choppy, but the original comic just flows SO WELL! I highly recommend checking the original post. 

[thepandapopo]

His Star

This is my first FE fic in over ten years. The last time I wrote anything for FE was back in FE7 which, to this day, is my second favourite game of all time.

I have been on a Claudeth binge lately and since it is our favourite deer’s birthday tomorrow, I thought I would try my hand at a fic.

This is most likely going to be a multi chapter fic as I am spinning the plotline in my head as we speak, but whether or not that plot bunny makes it to paper is a different story.

Pairing: Claude x F!Byleth

In which Byleth falls sick for the first time in her entire life, but those who slither in the dark insist on making her life difficult. 

OR

The one where Claude fears he won’t make it in time.

Chapter List: 1 / 2 / 2.5 

Masterlist

XxXxXxXxX

“Professor, you need to rest!”

For someone so demure and dainty looking, Marianne is deceptively strong. Though, Byleth thinks absently as she lets her former student push her back down onto her large 4 poster bed, she shouldn’t be so surprised since she’s seen even Raphael himself bend to the gentle bishop’s will in the odd instances that he sustains a critical enough injury to land himself in the healer’s tent.

“Don’t worry, Professor. I’m sure Seteth will be able to hold down the fort while you recover.” Leonie says from her place at the foot of the bed. Despite the fact that the war has been over for nearly 6 months, her lance is still clipped neatly to her belt, next to her sword scabbard - close enough within reach to attack on a moment’s notice.

Since the end of the war, Leonie had taken it upon herself to act as the new Queen’s Head of Royal Guard. When Byleth had questioned the orange haired girl about her decision, she was merely met with a grin and a simple “I would be a terrible apprentice to Captain Jeralt if I let anything happen to his only child.”

“I’m... sorry.” Though the words themselves are not strange on her tongue, the unfamiliar dryness of her mouth and stuffed nose make Byleth sound weaker and more hesitant than she would have liked.

Leonie snorts, “you don’t have to apologize for catching a cold, Professor. Especially one due to stress. Despite what I think of you when you’re on the battlefield, you really are just a person like anyone else - of course you’re bound to get sick every now and again.”

Still, Byleth broods silently as she watches the blue haired healer usher her other student out the bedroom door, she has never gotten sick in her entire life until now and it just seems a tad bit unfair.

Fusing with the progenitor goddess has several advantages, but unfortunately it seems like being immune to illnesses is not one of them.

As her eyelids begin to lose the fight against consciousness, Byleth cannot help but let her mind wander longingly until she falls asleep dreaming of beautiful emerald eyes and a crooked grin that shines brighter than the dawn.

----

It only takes one week of being bed ridden before everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

Byleth is finally starting to feel well enough to stand up without feeling like she has ingested a vial of Claude’s infamous dizziness poison, when the scouts return with a report that the remnants of the Imperial army have joined forces with Those who Slither in the Dark and are marching for Derdrui, the country’s new capital.

It does not take a tactical genius to figure out that they are coming for the newly appointed Queen and Archbishop of the United Land of Fodlan.

Urgent messengers are sent out to all the nearby houses, requesting any available troops they can spare without leaving themselves vulnerable. It’s almost laughable the pitiful number of men that show up to help fight, but the arrival of all her golden deer is enough to raise Byleth’s morale and hope that she can conquer this disadvantaged fight without her schemer by her side.

Despite the protests from her students - former students, she corrects herself - Byleth steels herself and leads the meager army at her disposal in a defensive formation. This is her duty, after all. Without her, troop morale would falter and that in itself can be the deciding factor in a battle. Additionally, though she has not used it in several months and truly, she does believe in all her students’ skills, Byleth cannot help the unease that creeps up her throat when she thinks about her precious deer on the battlefield without her Divine Pulse. She has fought so hard to make sure they lived to see the peaceful world Claude and her dreamed of, that it would seem like a cruel joke only for them to fall now.

Even sick, the Ashen Demon earns her reputation. Fells of enemies fall to the Sword of the Creator as it burns with power, whipping around its wielder like a snake striking with deadly precision at the enemy’s weakness. Byleth refuses to let any enemies get close to the city. Her people have already been ravaged by war. They deserve peace, not another battle at their front step.

Hilda is somewhere to her left swinging Freikugel and cleaving through enemies with all the difficulty of a hot knife slicing through butter. Byleth is tempted to relocate the pink haired girl to the back line to act as a final barrier, but she knows that those orders will fall on deaf ears.

“If you insist on going out there Professor, then I have to come and make sure you don’t die. Can you imagine what Claude would say if he came back to find you dead? He would mope for the next century!”

Ignatz and Lysithea are further back providing cover with their long ranged attacks. Arrows and black magic rain from the sky, piercing through unsuspecting enemies and carving a path for Byleth’s battalion to advance and cut through the ranks of the enemy.

Somewhere to her right, she can hear Raphael’s battle cries above the cacophony of sounds. Judging by his sheer volume, Byleth knows that he is doing well despite being far outnumbered. Besides, the brawler is accompanied by Lorenz and Bernadetta, and while Lorenz specializes in black magics, he knows enough healing spells to keep them afloat. Plus, no matter how timid she is off the battlefield, Bernadetta is a force to be reckoned with when protecting her loved ones. Especially her mountain of a husband.

Marianne, Leonie, Felix, Ingrid, Seteth and Flayn are scattered elsewhere to protect against the enemies from crushing them in from both sides, but as the battle wages on, it becomes more and more apparent that their ranks are thinning and those that still stand are beginning to feel the fatigue of being outnumbered three to one.

The battlefield has long since warped into a jigsaw of cracked earth and chasms, courtesy of some nasty earth spells from Those Who Slither In the Dark. Where there should be rolling plains leading out onto the salty water of the ocean, there are now steep cliffs of jagged rocks jutting out of the ground, and despite her best efforts, Byleth eventually finds herself cornered on the precipice of one such cliff.

It can’t end like this.

Another enemy falls to her sword and Byleth barely has time to parry an oncoming arrow before another wave of nausea assaults her body.

She knows she’s probably burning up right now. Mint green strands of hair are matted to her skin with dirt and sweat, and the pounding behind her eyes is growing increasingly difficult to ignore. Byleth is pretty sure that had it not been for her father hammering in years of battle instincts into her, she would have had her head lopped off ages ago.

Despite how much she tries to will herself to stay in that cool, collected mindset that has won her numerous battles, Byleth cannot stop the tightness in her chest that accompanies the tears of frustration accumulating at the corner of her eyes.

She wanted to see Claude again. To feel his arms around her. To fall asleep to the steady pounding of his heart that seemed to inexplicably speed up every time she let her body melt into his. To let herself drown in the scent of pine needles and spices.

She could try using the Divine Pulse, but where would she rewind to? A few minutes would not be enough to make a drastic enough decision to turn the tide in their favor.

It’s not fair.

Goddess. She is so tired. But she cannot give up. Not when she has a promise to keep.

“I love you. With everything I am. And the next time we see each other... it will be at the dawn of a whole new world. A peaceful, happy world.”

Claude...

The ground beneath her feet teeters and he sky is suddenly above her. It is a brilliant blue with fluffy white clouds and even though she knows she is falling, she cannot help but be reminded of the first time Claude invited her out on his wyvern and they spent the afternoon soaring and diving through the air on a beautiful day just like this.

Claude... I’m sorry I couldn’t keep our promise...

She thinks it is a trick of her mind, but right as Byleth feels her consciousness slipping away, she hears his voice one last time crying out her name with such fear and anguish.

Then, there was nothing.

----

“BYLETH!”

Claude feels his heart stop and clench painfully as the familiar black and green figure tumbles off the edge of a jagged cliff.

He is shooting across the battlefield on his wyvern’s back before he can even spare a thought to how absolutely reckless it is to fly so low in the range of archers.

Behind him, he vaguely registers his generals shouting at him in alarm and Nader barking out orders to support the retreating Fodlan forces.

All he can think about right now is getting to His Star in time.

Later, he will wonder to himself if perhaps he might have the power to pause time as well, because although it was probably less than 4 seconds, Claude swears that the world around him slowed as all of his senses honed in on his one goal.

Please, goddess, let me reach her in time.

---

To those who participated in the Final battle with Those Who Slither in the Dark, they would recall vividly the moment when a loud battle cry rang out from the east heralding the arrival of the Almyran army.

They would also recount the arrow of white and gold that shot across the battlefield towards the Queen whom had made her last stand on the edge of a cliff before fainting from exhaustion and tumbling down to the depths below.

Above the din of weapons clashing and cries of agony rose a single name, cried out with such fear and panic that even those who knew not whom the shout belonged to, felt their hearts clench painfully with the raw emotion.

Although not many could say for certain what happened next, all the surviving Fodlan soldiers would recall shortly thereafter seeing their former leader, Claude von Riegan, atop his white wyvern loosing arrow after arrow on the lingering enemies with such brutal efficiency that reminded everyone exactly how he had ended the war.

When the fighting ceases and casualties are tallied, fear for their Queen runs rampant through the soldiers. For those who have had the privilege of fighting under the combined leadership of Claude, the master tactician, and Byleth, the Ashen Demon, they know how strong the bond is between the two, and although they have their doubts, they allow themselves to let their worries melt away when they see Claude exit the medical tent with a look of such knee wobbling relief that he has to lean on a nearby wall to stop from collapsing.

XxXxXxXxX

Ugh. I hate how this ended. I’ll come back and fix it another day.

Anyhoo, hope you all enjoyed it!

Chapter 1

Next: Chapter 2

[cenestpasmoi-bechloe]

Wherever you may go, wherever you may be, I will never be far away

Beca has been exhausted with work and overtime in order to provide nice things for Chloe, and pay the bills, etc. When Beca comes home at around 11pm, she finds Chloe curled up on the couch after attempting to wait for Beca. Beca becomes very very soft. :)

Title from Billy Joel's Lullabye (Goodnight My Angel).

Thank you to the anonymous donor for participating in the Pitch Perfect Fandom Drive! This fic is gifted from anon to @green-eyed-weirdo on Tumblr.

Thank you for contributing! Also, happy belated birthday to @green-eyed-weirdo !

I hope you enjoy it and I apologize for taking so long!!

For more info on how to help, visit the @ppfandomdrive page.

Read on Ao3

Beca is exhausted. She’s been working her ass off at Capital records, trying to make a name for herself, and to provide for her small family of three.

Her girlfriend Chloe, herself, and their newest addition, their rescue puppy they had named Chase, because of how he had chased Beca around the first time she saw him. He was a mix of a Collie and something else they couldn’t figure out, but he was the cutest dog ever. At least that was what Chloe had said, and Beca had come to understand it.

But she would never admit that to Chloe. But that dog was damn adorable.

They live in a nice 2 bedroom apartment in Pomona, CA where Chloe can go to Vet school, at Western University of Health Sciences, and Beca can commute to her office.  Chloe has two more years of school, and she’s going to become a Vet after that, but while she goes to school, Beca is the main source of income. They weren’t broke, but they weren’t rich either, and they tried their best to keep it that way. Chloe worked at a Veterinary Clinic near the school, and helped pay the apartment rent. Although Beca had insisted that she didn’t have to, Chloe had somehow convinced her. And Beca couldn't say no to Chloe Beale.  

They had started dating after the USO tour, after Beca had gotten signed to Capitol, and Chloe had been accepted into WesternU, when Beca finally decided to sack up and tell the ginger her feelings.

Their move to California was scheduled around the same time, and having lived in Brooklyn together before, and having started dating, they had mutually decided that moving-in together was a good idea. Her workplace was not too far from where Chloe was going to go to school, and it being cheaper to live in a bigger apartment in Pomona than being crammed in a small apartment in Hollywood, they had chose to live near WesternU. They had started out living in different rooms at first, but found themselves sleeping better, and much more comfortable together in Beca’s room, and they had transferred Chloes old room into a guest room/Beca’s studio when she needed to work from home, or she wanted to work from home.

Beca usually has work with her clients until 7pm, then edit and work on other things until around 10 and then finally, head home. The drive was about 30 minutes, 45 minutes tops, and she would get home at around 11. She had her days off on Wednesdays, and Saturdays and Sundays were half days, or she would sometimes have the weekends off. She always tried to spend more time with Chloe, and she tried to keep a no-work-at-home policy although there were exceptions. That was easy since she had a girlfriend who she could barely say no to.

Tonight was one of those late nights.

The wifi stopped working, and then there was the printer jamming incident, and then had to make sure her emails were sent to her boss about the new client. She finishes up around a quarter to 11, and she gets in her car, sending a quick text to Chloe, telling her that she’d be heading home now. She doubted that she was still awake though since when she gets home at 10:30, she’s usually getting ready for bed, and on days like this, she’s usually fast asleep on Beca’s side of the bed. She drives home, and gets home at about a quarter past 11.

She unlocks the door quietly, and then opens the door slowly, making sure she doesn’t wake up Chloe, who is probably in another room. She just wanted to be safe, just in case. And then Chase comes trotting over to the door, welcoming her home.

“Shhhh… don’t wake mommy up okay?” She says as she crouches down to pet the puppy.

She sees that the light is still on in the room and looks up, seeing her girlfriend curled up on the couch, asleep.

She’s wearing Beca’s gray Bellas sweater, the one that was originally Chloe’s, she stole it somewhere around her sophomore year when she started living in the Bellas house. She had declared that it was hers now, and Chloe had allowed her to keep it all through the years, and now, Chloe’s back to wearing it again. She smiles, walks to the couch, and sits on the floor to kiss the ginger’s cheek.

“I’m home baby.” She says cupping her cheek and kissing her on the lips.

Chloe flutters open her eyes, and wakes up, looking sleepy as heck as she looks at Beca. “I was waiting for you to come home. “She yawns and stretches, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“Sorry I’m late. I was supposed to leave earlier, but a lot of things happened, I can explain tomorrow. “ She smiles and pecks Chloe’s forehead.

“It’s okay. Did you have dinner?” The ginger asks her as she sits up and stretches her arms.

“No. But I’m not that hungry though.”

“Becaaaaa…. you have to eattttt…”Chloe says to her as she gets up. “I have some leftovers I can heat up.”

“No it’s fine. I’m fine. I’m gonna take Chase out before I get ready for bed. Wait for me in bed?” She asks the ginger, getting up and leaving her bag and taking her jacket off, leaving it on the couch. “Chase. Let’s go out. Bathroom time. “ She says to the dog and he runs to the door excitedly.

“Okay fineee, but I’m coming with you two. I don’t wanna be left behind.” She says with a pouty face as she grabs the leash off the hook.

“Okay then, let’s go.” She takes the leash from the ginger, and connects it to Chase’s collar. “Mommy’s coming with us too.”She smiles, holding onto the leash. Chase jumps up and down excitedly, “I know bud, I’m happy that she’s coming with us too.”She says to the pup and pats him on the head.

“Let’s go!” The redhead returns to the living room, and they both walk out the door, letting Chase mark his territory around the complex, while Chloe and Beca talk about their day, holding hands and walking together.

“Jill keeps texting her boyfriend at work, and she’s always on her phone. I don’t understand how she still has a job.”Beca giggles as she talks about her day.

“I’m sure you’re like that sometimes, I swear, sometimes my phone doesn’t stop vibrating with texts from you.”The redhead jokes, holding Beca’s spare hand which isn’t holding Chase’s leash. The summer breeze makes it a bit chilly, and Chloes glad that she wore her hoodie.

“Oh, I’m not that bad!” Beca exclaims in her quiet nighttime voice, “But I also can’t resist my girlfriend sending me sexy snaps in the middle of the day.”She smirks, squeezing the gingers hand for a moment. Beca had to make sure she had set her notifications to be private, she had that one incident when she almost showed her girlfriend on Airplay at a work meeting. From then on, she knew to keep her notifications discreet. She didn’t need anyone seeing her messages. “I swear to god I almost died when I accidentally opened my Snapchat from you during a meeting. I made it just in time but that was so dangerous.”

“That was because you sent me a raunchy text baby. It’s all your fault. “Chloe scoffs.

“I could’ve been fired!” She whisper yells, raising both her occupied arms up.

“Oh stop exaggerating!”The ginger laughs.

"Oh I'm totally getting back at you for that time!"She jokingly says, pointing at Chloe. "I'm gonna do something to make you so horny that you'll have to take a break, no take the day off!"

"Oh, try. You'll never be able to do that. Remember who always loses the no touching challenge?"

"..um... you?..."

"Oh you wish."Chloe giggles, kissing her nose and running ahead of them. "You can't catch me!!"

"H-Hey!! Chloooooo!"Beca follows along with Chase, but it looks like Chase is taking poor Beca on a run.

“Hey Bec?” Chloe says as they make their way back into the house, unhooking Chase’s leash off of him and letting him run inside.

“Huh?”Beca looks at the ginger, closing the door behind and then making sure it’s locked.

“I love you.”She says, her smile soft and genuine.

These are the moments that make Beca’s heart pound like crazy. Like how did she deserve this angel? How? “I love you too.” She repeats back, kissing the ginger and wrapping her arms around her. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”she mumbles into Chloes shoulder as they awkwardly toddle over to the couch and fall onto it.

“Everything Bec. You’re amazing. I wonder if I ever deserve you. You spoil me too much baby. “She chuckles as she kisses her forehead.

“And you tease me too much.”Beca jokes, and she earns a light slap from the ginger. “Heyyy! Thats not fair!”

“Its fair alright, I tease you because you’re just too damn adorable.”

“Am not! I’m not adorable! I’m badass!” She says as she tries to pry herself away from Chloe, but her girl is too strong, making her stuck in Chloe’s embrace.

“Okay, okay, whatever you say cutiehead.”She giggles, kissing her right on the cheek.

“Ugh, I hate you.”Beca pouts jokingly.

“You do not hate me. Exaggerator!”She kisses her cheek again, this time much more like a wet-grandma-like kiss.

“Ewwwwww… you kiss like a grandma! My cheek is wet!”Beca complains, wiping it off with her arm.

“Want me to do it again?”Chloe asks, going in for the kiss again, but Beca’s hand stops it from reaching her cheek. “Noooooooooh!” Her lips get closer again.

“I don’t hear a please Beca.”Chloe teases, getting even closer.

“NOooooooh!”

“C’mon Beca. Just one word baby.”

“Okay fine! Please stop!” Beca gives up and Chloe’s lips retrieves.

“See? That wasn’t so hard? Was it Beca? When you’re a good girl, you get your way, or can get things faster.”She winks. “But when you’re a bad girl, you don’t get your way, and sometimes you can get more pain or teasing from it. “She lowers her hand down to Beca’s ass and squeezes it, making Beca wince. She had been a bad girl in bed last Saturday, and the pain was much better but its still hurt a bit. But that story’s for another day.

“Can we go to bed? I’m really tired. Like exhausted.”Beca asks her girlfriend, looking up at her with pouty eyes.

“Okay. Let’s get to bed, really tired. I don’t know where my Beca went though.”She jokes and giggles, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom.

“Its almost 12. Which means it’s already tomorrow, and now we don’t have anymore time to sleep…”Beca mumbles as she walks into the closet and gets changed into her pajamas, an oversized teeshirt, which is of corse Chloe’s, and plops down on the bed.

“You’re okay. C’mere baby.”Chloe says as she lifts the comforter up and slides in, waiting for Beca to do the same.

Beca yawns as she gets in and curls up close to Chloe, her bing the little spoon and Chloe being the big spoon. “I love you.” She closes her eyes, and lets Chloe wrap her body around hers, feeling safe and comfortable.

“You’re quite the over thinker, aren’t you baby.”Chloe chuckles as she peppers kisses all over Beca’s head, and then starts running her fingers through Beca’s hair, allowing her to relax.

“But it’s true though, i.....”

“Shh… baby. Stop talking and calm down.” The ginger says gently and kisses her head once again.

Beca’s train of thoughts don’t stop though,she stops talking but the thoughts in her mind keep running, and she can't seem to stop them. She thinks about how perfect her life is, with Chloe and Chase, and how she want to pop the question soon. How she's gonna do that, what say to ask Stacie to help her pick the engagement ring, and then how the wedding is gonna be, how she's gonna tell the Bellas, and on and on and on and....

“Beca. Turn off your thoughts. I can still hear the gears turning.”Chloe says.

"I'm no...."

"Save the questions and the thoughts for another day Becs. " She rubs her arm.

“Mkay….night...”Beca mumbles, turning and facing Chloe’s body, curling up once again as she rubs her back.

It can wait another day.

She soon relaxes and lets sleep take over, feeling safe and sound in Chloe’s arms.

Chloe kisses the sleeping brunette's head for the last time before she falls asleep.

“Good night, my angel.”

[wongiemei]

3. Social Darwinism

A rash has slightly developed on your neck where the sun hit it just right without the defense of your coat. It was very uncomfortable but you didn’t let it bother you, instead focusing ahead outside the window. After your shopping trip with Jaehyun, you felt like it was time to go home even though you wanted to stay longer and didn’t want to be trapped in that house.

It’s been weeks since the wedding but you felt like it was longer.

The car stopped, the driver stepping out and walking over to your side before opening your door so that you can get off.

“Your highness,” he greeted before bowing and extending his hand out for you to take.

You gratefully nodded and grasped his gloved hand to step out of the vehicle, adjusting the sunglasses that has fallen to the bridge of your nose. The chauffeur went to the trunk to retrieve your shopping bags and luggage from your trip to France. 

The smell of the daisies and the roses from the garden out back was so strong that you were sure anyone, even without super senses, could smell it.

You loved the smell of roses.

Heels clacking against the marble floor of the entrance hallway, the maids stopped in their tracks and hastily bowed 90 degrees upon the sight of you. As you raised your hand to take of your sunglasses, some of them visibly flinched and it unconsciously placed a smirk on your face.

You’re worked so hard to be feared and you have lost so much to be at the status you are now and you weren’t going to let that go to waste because of a stupid little boy.

The butler, whom you now know as Jun, led a few footmen who were carrying your luggage and stopped a few feet behind you. With a flick of his gloved hand, the maids were dismissed and they scurried away from the sight of you.

“Take these to the Head Maid and she will take them to Her Highness’ room.” The footmen nodded and wandered off to the old woman waiting by the staircase. Jun stepped in front of you and smiled kindly before raising an arm. “If you could follow me, your Highness. The Prince has requested your attendance to the drawing room.”

Upon walking down the hallway with gold-painted walls, you could feel the eyes of the portraits that hung up high. Although they weren’t even supposed to be real, the judgeful eyes of the past ancestors of the Orenda kingdom seemed to follow you and you could even hear their hateful whispers and hisses.

‘Kalon blood, on our territory?’

‘Perish and repay the lives lost of our House for yours!’

‘Dirty blood mixed with ours will taint the House line for eternity!’

The whispers weren’t even there but the creation of your imagination as you could feel yourself slowly slipping away to insanity with this forceful arrangement that altered your life forever. With the gender you were born with and the belief that no woman could rule a kingdom, the only way you could have what you wanted was to ally yourself with your rival House. 

But the only way you’ll keep your sanity is to play wisely and not hesitate to let him burn for the benefit of you.

Pushing open the tall oak wood doors, you were a little startled at the amount of faces when you only expected one, your husband’s. Even without getting to formally know them, it was still your duty as a royal to be familiar with all of them as they were all princes from various kingdoms of your world. From the honey-haired boy to the ridiculously bright orange-haired prince, the only thing that they all had in common was the bright red eyes. 

The stark difference between the twin princes of the Cerilian House was enough to show the diversity of the line of their ancestors. Situated in the Indian Ocean, their kingdom could easily prey on poor fishermen filled with luscious human blood.

Born with platinum hair, Lee Jeno always stood out from the rest of the 4 Lee princes and combined with his defined facial structure, he became feared and his ruthlessness was enough to make him Jaemin’s right man. He was the one Jaemin called first regarding the ambush attack on his family from House Pezzerio and together, they became the most feared duo in the Underworld. Even though he rarely spoke during council meetings, Jeno’s eyes always held whatever he wanted to be expressed and he was known to always keep an eye out for his brothers and the crown prince, Taeyong. Rumor has it that Jeno’s eyes and ears are so sharp, he could easily detect a traitor from across the room. There is no definite answer as to if this was true but who do you think was supplying his brother, Donghyuck, his toys?

Meanwhile, Lee Donghyuck stayed in the shadows. Known as the playboy prince, he often stayed away from his kingdom, preferring to spend his time in Tuscany with human girls to feast on. The melanin, honey haired boy wouldn’t even be thought of as a vampire, much less a vampire prince, due to his soft features. However, out of the 4 princes, he was the most cruel. He saw the world and its people, human or Underworlders, as toys and nothing but his source of enjoyment in this dark world he lived in. Like his brother Jeno, their smile could be saying one thing but their eyes were always very honest, especially if it didn’t reach their eyes. With a dangerously playful nature, Donghyuck participated in the torture of war criminals and traitors of House Cerilian and had a thirst for the look of intense pain from the enemy as he used his lighter to tease the fragile vampire skin.

House Dormir was placed on the East China Sea, extending to the North Pacific Ocean and ending near Hawaii. With the vast territory, their kingdom usually split up in 2 different sections with 2 princes who co-ruled the kingdom. With the Orendian and Kalonian kingdom being smaller even when combined, House Dormir was known to sometimes challenge the authority of the Capital just because of the size of their territory.

Being a direct ancestor of the original line of Dormir kings, Zhong Chenle became powerful even before he turned 12. The death of his King father and older brother urged his mother to make him mature quicker with plans of ascending the throne by his 18th birthday but he wasn’t prepared. Rebelling against his mother and doing anything he can to piss her off, he teamed up with Jisung and constantly did childish things to make their immaturity known. Showing up with orange hair definitely caught the attention of the council and they knew this little boy was going to bring Dormir’s downfall. In came the 3 older princes: Jaemin, Donghyuck, and Jeno. At first, he was being used as a pawn for the Orendian Kingdom and the Cerilian Kingdom wanted to take over his large territory and split it for themselves. But Chenle was smarter than that and he threatened the 3 enough that they stopped the expansion, instead becoming close to the boy after seeing themselves in him.

However, this couldn’t be done without the help of Chenle’s cousin and the future ruler of the other half of Dormir, Renjun. With his quick wit and intelligent way of thinking, Renjun helped Chenle play many wars to get what he wanted. Not knowing if he was going to be trusted, Chenle was suspicious but Renjun has made it clear with his clear intentions as he only wants to rule alongside Chenle. After all, with Chenle by his side, everyone was forced to submit to him due to the power his family has. Known as the Night Raven, after his famous midnight colored hair, Renjun called the shots whether captured criminals got to live another day or not. He knew exactly where someone’s weakness was and would mercilessly torture them with it, all with a smile on his face. Let’s just say, him and Donghyuck get along very well.

Last but not least, the little pink haired boy. Known as the last surviving son of House Vermille, Park Jisung built a strong connection to Zhong Chenle and by association, became connected to the rest. You knew him ever since you were little and saw him as a little boy in the parties you were forced to attend and his mousy features that have defined itself due to his growth. You always remembered him as the boy with the sharpest teeth as whenever he smiled, he would accidentally cut his bottom lip and him sheepishly smiling afterwards. His innocent and adolescent nature made you feel nostalgic because you wanted to take him under your wing since he was so young. With just turning 140 a few months ago, Jisung was by far the youngest crown prince and the least capable. You vaguely remembered when he turned 115, he reached the age of intense hunger and he wiped out an entire French village thus almost causing a war with Metanoia. But, your family stopped the war because House Kalon, too, had territory in France and they didn’t want to jeopardize the alliance they’ve made to the kingdom in the Atlantic Ocean near Languo.

Of course, you knew them.

The perfect plan to obtain Underworld domination was to start a fire in this room as it contained the most powerful people in the Underworld.

All of the boys studied you and you cracked a smirk, crossing your arms across your chest. “Well, hello boys,” you greeted with a sultry tone.

Closing the door behind you, you stopped short by the end of the oval wood table that seated your husband at the head. Making eye contact with him, Jaemin smiled before he stood up and walked over to you, arms wrapping around your middle and pressing a slow kiss to your temple.

“Hello, darling. How was your trip?” Jaemin asked with a sickeningly sweet tone that made you wretch inside.

Placing a gentle hand on his strong bicep, you peered up at him through your lashes. “Enjoyable, but not pleasing enough.” You answered with a smile but grit your teeth and squeezed his arm the hardest you could and his smile fell, replaced with a hardened expression.

Oh, he is going to destroy you later.

“You could’ve told me your little friends were coming. I could’ve came back earlier and arranged for scones,” you gazed at the others who wore faint amused smirks at the interaction in front of them.

Jaemin’s gaze remained on your face and you felt it piercing through your cheeks, “There was a human boy found wandering the woods. He will serve as our refreshment.”

Nodding silently, you took a seat beside Jisung and laced your fingers together. “So what has brought you all to this side of town?”

“Malor just lost an entire noble family in England a few days ago from vampire hunting. They planned to stay in Yorkshire for a few months for vacation but word got around of their true identity and burned their vacation home. The Council wants to know our opinion about it and the family wants us to deal with it. Something about this being a trial run for the future.” Jeno explained as he visibly tried to get comfortable while crossing his legs.

Jaemin nods and he returns to his seat and leans back, brushing his long fingers through his hair. You unknowingly licked your lips at the action and only noticed your behavior as he caught your eye and looked at you teasingly. You coughed and held your right hand out to examine your nail.

“Well, Malor is quite known for their, should I say -idiotic- elites. Vacationing in a country that has vampire stories riding the winds and not expecting to be hunted with no hesitation? Consider me improper but they deserved their demise.”

Donghyuck let out a dry chuckle and rested his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his right hand. “I must say, princess. I never considered you as the deserving justice type.”

You returned his cheeky smile with a wink, “If I were to rule the Underworld, I would make sure the weak and stupid ones were gone first, right? It would be better if it wasn’t done by my hand.”

“Applying Social Darwinism to your court? A bold yet risky move,” Renjun commented, eyeing you curiously.

It must be odd seeing a woman speak so rashly and freely about topics like these, much less a royal woman.

“Our world can only survive if we get rid of weaklings. Sorry, but I don’t make the rules.”

Chuckles surrounded the table and even Jeno had to suppress the smile that threatened to come out. Jaemin looked at you once more and he started to think differently of what he originally thought was a privileged, spoiled brat who only wanted the crown of jewels on her head, not the responsibility.

It was the good kind of different.

“Well, because of that rash attitude, the union of your houses has caused quite an uproar with an underground resistance that is forming in the Capital as we speak. The war from years ago is still fresh in the minds of many and are outraged at the outcome of the 2 kingdoms. Word has it that they are planning an attack and it is even sponsored by other kingdoms as well. My men have no guaranteed answers and no direct evidence for the suspected Houses or whether the attack is directed to you or to us by association.” You eyed Jeno curiously and noticed the strong aura he radiated. It felt familiar but strangely ominous and made you nervous.

“Well, why don’t we catch them now? We know there’s a rebellion happening and we know that they’re planning something. Are we just going to stand and wait for it to happen?” Jisung argued and Chenle nodded in agreement, looking at the faces of the elders.

You turned to him and placed a manicured hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, little mouse. A lesson about war, it is in your best interest for the enemy to come to you. Thinking on your feet is the best way to win and as a bonus, requires less thinking which should be beneficial for you.”

“So, what you’re saying is, they should come to us rather than us going to them?” Chenle asked curiously, confused by this battle tactic.

You nodded, “Precisely.”

“If they are planning something, it’s only natural for you two to be the target since you’re the future king and queen. Someone might be taken as an exchange for you but it’s suspected and there might be a way to escape that,” Renjun commented.

You frowned, slightly confused and even a little shocked at what they were saying. “Don’t focus on only the two of us. All of you are princes as well and it’s only wrong for you to be thinking about our safety. Regard your titles as you are also a royal member of your respective kingdoms. Any action placed upon you can cause a war and a rebellion amongst the people and give them more power. The last thing we need is an internal conflict that could possibly weaken us.”

But Jaemin grinned cynically, razor sharp teeth on display. “Oh, darling, you don’t have to think about that. If something were to happen to my boys, with the combination of our armies, we could crush anything. I could feel a revolution running through my veins and with the help of them, we could destroy those other treacherous kingdoms.”

“So what do you have in mind, Jaems? What could bring them to us?” Donghyuck asked, lazily playing with a stain on the wood.

Both you and Jaemin looked at each other and you scoffed as you seem to be thinking what he was thinking. 

“An auction. Human auction.” He answered and Donghyuck smiled happily, eager to find more beings to play with.

“There is no certainty that we will find a King that is sponsoring this rebellion but it could give us a good idea that could help narrow it down. We must not be rash about this situation but we must be on high-alert as well.” Nods were sent to you and Jaemin sent you an approving nod.

“Well there we have it! We got a plan, we execute the said plan, and we live happily ever after! Huzzah!” Donghyuck exclaimed, rising out of his seat. 

But Jeno tugged down his shirt and made him fall back on his seat again. “Not so fast, Dongie. We still have to talk about your magical adventure in Milan that caused a few dozens of missing girls’ cases to appear.”

You stood up, brushing invisible dust off of your skirt. “As much as I would love to ask about your insane thirst for young, virgin maidens, Donghyuck, I do have a party to plan.”

“But it’s not a party,” Jaemin remarked. You scoffed and sent him a manic smile.

“With wine, cocaine, and blood? Oh, yes, my love. It is a party.”

The bed creaked as a series of powerful thrusts of his hips snapped towards you, making you whine and gasping for air. Your arms were starting to give out, letting Jaemin hold you up by your waist and continue slamming himself into you. Sweat gathered on his forehead and left his luscious blonde locks to plaster themselves against his porcelain skin.

“I” thrust

“Am” thrust

“Your” thrust

“King” thrust

“Understand?” thrust

A high-pitched whine left your lips as he sunk deeper into you, relishing the satisfaction of him touching you places you couldn’t even fathom was possible. 

Not hearing your response, Jaemin let one of his hands go and swiftly twisted your hair into a make-shift ponytail and tugged you close, lifting you so you were against his chest and on his lap. The sudden action made you scream since he sank even deeper.

“I said, understand?” He hissed and you couldn’t even control yourself, whining and moaning at the sharp thrusts.

“Yes, my king.”

“Good.”

a/n: not gonna lie, this was kinda weird to write and severely overdue. THANK YOU to you guys who stuck by me even though i haven’t updated in a while and never stopped supporting me!! i love you guys!!

Taglist:

@d0dges​ @bobohu-s-ane-yeobo​ @heyyyun​ @thwia 

[kianmaydelcam]

Hey all! I wrote something for my fictional writing class; I'm pretty proud. I present my short story, Protector of the Stars. Sorry in advance for the long post.

The plain before Nava was awash with the golden glow of thousands of campfires, the lights almost twin to the stars above her. This time tomorrow, she knew the verdant green plains would turn crimson as the Amaranthian people, her people, fought their last battle in a desperate bid to win their freedom from Ashya, a crude, brutal country determined to become an empire.

She snorted. They were foolish for believing they could enslave Amaranthia, a country of light and learning, a beacon of knowledge and hope in a dark world. Or perhaps they targeted Amaranthia first for those reasons. Either way, the fate of Amaranthia and their world would be decided tomorrow.

“My Queen,” ventured a young, feminine voice from behind her, interrupting her quiet brooding. It was a voice she treasured above all others.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me ‘queen’ or ‘majesty’ or whatever fancy title they come up with, Nya?” Nava turned to smile at her younger sister. At 16 years old, Nya was already a great beauty. They might both have the silver hair and blue eyes that were characteristic of their people, but Nya took after their mother, with her courtesan-like features. Nava had the look of a warrior, albeit a feminine one. It was fitting, she supposed, considering the rebellion and eventual war she led her people through the last six years.

“Would you prefer ‘royal pain in the ass’?” She smirked. “At least, that’s what General Navin would like to call you after you decreed that you will duel that two-faced usurper currently occupying that stupid golden throne alone.”

“He can call me whatever he wants. This is my burden to carry, not his.” Nya began to respond, but Nava interrupted her, already knowing what she was going to say. “Neither is it yours, Nya. Our people need their Silver Flame leading the charge tomorrow.”

At the mention of her earned title, Nya smiled. She won that name after she recovered their sacred, silver flame that was gifted to them by the stars from one of Ashya’s nastier generals. The Silver Flame was eternal, requiring no air nor fuel, and was her people’s most treasured artifact. Nya’s recovery of it earned her both the title and the love of their people. “Yes, but they also need their Queen,” Nya sighed. “And I need my big sister.”

“Even if I die in this so-called suicide mission, I will always be with you in the stars.” She closed the distance between them and drew Nya into a hug. “I love you, but I need to do this.”

“You’re just like Father; stubborn and proud.”

“And you, little one, are just like Mother. Charming and loved by everyone.”

“We will win this for them. For Mother, for Father, for Sam,” Nava’s heart sank at the mention of her betrothed’s name. “We will win this for everyone we lost.”

The charge began at dawn, and Nava was forced to watch as the two armies, her soldiers in silver and Ashya’s in gold, collided in a clash that she swore rattled the sky above them. Even from here, she swore she could see her sister, resplendent in her silver armor and battle crown, leading from the vanguard. Swords flashed crimson in the early light, and already, the moans and cries of the dying and injured reached her at her vantage point almost a mile away. Her place wasn’t with them, not today.

She turned from the carnage and entered an old forgotten tunnel, a tunnel that her scholars said would lead her right to her quarry, King Garrow of Ashya. It was a small miracle when they discovered the tunnel led under the thick city walls of Ashya’s capital, Athurna. From there, its long, windy passages led straight to the castle’s dungeons.

Her spies told her that the king would not participate in today’s battle, due to his not entirely unfounded belief that his soldiers would annihilate her people. After years of wins and losses, her people were tired and many had called for peace at any cost. Walking through the damp, dark tunnels, her sword like quicksilver in the sparse light of her torch, Nava was alone with skittering animals and her thoughts.

Even if she was successful today, Nava would face an even bigger challenge. Becoming the true Queen of Amaranthia. She could still hear the hushed whispers that followed her through the countless war camps. Nothing like her sister. She chose war. Does she even care about us? Nya was quick to shut down any talk and comfort her, yet she still wanted to scream at them. She did this for them. She led them through hundred-mile marches, fought at the head of her armies, and accumulated numerous scars, both mental and physical, for them.

Despite that, despite the stars choosing her, she still did not think she was the right person to be Queen. She would rather serve as her sister’s loyal general. Nya was wise, strong, and even enjoyed the court politics. Hell, she even thrived under the shriveling gazes of their court that left Nava wanting to hide forever. But if she gave her crown to her sister, she would not only condemn her sister to the shackles of the throne, she would spit upon the will of the stars. Their crops would die, their children would be born deformed, and Amaranthia would fall into ruin. No, she could not and would not run from her fate.

Yet, as she walked through the catacombs, she allowed herself to daydream and reminisce. Anything to keep her mind from her impending fate, be it her death or crown. She pictured Sam, strong and alive, walking next to her, his silver hair practically glowing in the dim light. He could hear his laugh, twinkling like starlight, as he pulled on her braid when she was 15. They were betrothed the next year. She loved him, and he loved her. He made her feel like she could do anything. But she couldn’t save him when it mattered most. She sent him on that mission; his death was her fault, despite what Nya said.

All thoughts left her, however, when she reached the door she knew would lead her into the castle’s dungeon. Her mouth dry, she summoned her courage and pulled open the handle, sword ready at her side. She came face to face with a dozen guards pointing swords directly at her chest.

Summoning her notorious swagger and confidence, she sheathed her sword and crossed her arms. “What are you waiting for? Take me to the rat who calls himself King of Amaranthia.”

The guards, foolish in their arrogance, did not bother to disarm her as they grabbed her by the arms and led her through the extravagant palace. She did not dare reach for her sword or numerous dagger hidden in her black, leather armor, nor did she allow any expression to cross her face but that of cool detachment, boredom even. It grew difficult, however, as she passed by the numerous expensive trinkets and luxuries that were paid for by the blood of her people.

She did, however, allow herself a vicious smile as the guards pushed her onto her knees in front of the king. She was shocked when the guards left her and their monarch alone in the giant throne room, but she did not dare allow it to show. They even let her keep her sword. Did they not understand that all Amaranthian royalty was trained as warriors from the moment they could hold a sword?

“Nava Amaranthia.” For a man who considered himself Lord of the Realm, he was of surprisingly average height, yet his honeyed voice sent chills down her spine. “I am most curious; do all Amaranthian royals take on their country’s name?”

“Yes, your majesty.” She smirked. “I assume you already knew that, so let’s get the annoying small talk and eventual banter out of the way. You killed my mother, my father, and my beloved Sam. You enslaved my people, separated mothers from their babes, and turned brother against brother. I, Nava Amaranthia, Queen of Amaranthia and Guardian of the Stars, sentence you to death.”

Her sword whined quietly against its sheath as she drew it. The king laughed quietly and stood, drawing his own sword. “You do realize, Nava, that if you kill me, you take your throne?”

“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes.

“You, the Queen who has led her people to death and destruction. My spies have told me exactly what your people think of you. Your generals barely tolerate you, your people fear what rash decision you will make next, and you are responsible for the deaths of thousands. Your sister, however, is loved by all. Wouldn’t she make a better queen?”

“The stars made their choice, and I will live with it.”

Nava did not give him a chance to respond as she closed the distance between them in two strides and struck. She was shocked when he blocked her blade with inhuman speed and, with an almost lazy flick of the wrist, knocked it out of her hands. The taste of ash filled her mouth, and she could not prevent the fear that made her heart pound. Shade.

She must have whispered the word out loud, because the king laughed as his eyes, even the whites, turned black. “Correct,” he said and stabbed her, the blade ice in her stomach.

He did not pull the blade out, and instead, leaned with a lover’s closeness to her ear. “How else did my armies almost wipe out your people in less than a year?”

Shades were evil beings that infested their land, harmless unless called upon by foolish sorcerers. They brought devastation to the world, and the fact that she was now in the arms of one stole her strength away faster than the sword in her gut. This wound would kill her, she knew it in her very bones. She could not, however, allow this monster to live. Doing so would doom her sister and her people.

She whispered, her voice already weak. “You were right.”

She did not give the king a chance to respond as she flicked her wrist and a silver blade shot from her vambrace into the king’s heart. “Nya would make a better queen.”

A dark wind filled the throne room as the king’s face contorted into an ugly mass of rage and pain. His body dissolved into a pile of ashes as shadows fled from his body and dissolved into nothing. Nava dropped to her knees. Outside, she could hear and feel a panic spread through Ashya’s ranks. No longer under the influence of the Shade, Ashyan men and women looked around in confusion and laid down their arms, and a flurry of nervous activity and shouting could be heard in the halls leading to the throne room. Amaranthia’s cheer of victory and relief even reached Nava. They won. They finally won.

She did not know how long she laid there, the sound of her rasping breathing filling the giant room. Minutes, days, years later, she could hear armored feet running towards her. Nya’s blurry face was suddenly in front of Nava, and a pang of longing wrenched her fragile heart. Her beautiful, wise, and loving sister was about to lose her last living family member.

“Hey there, Squish.” Nava referred to Nya by her childhood nickname.

“You know I hate that name.” She could hear the tears in Nya’s voice as she gently placed her head in her lap.

“Stop,” Nava gasped. “If I’m going to die, I want to at least be on my own two feet.”

“Shut up, you’re not going to die.” Nya was shaking her head. “The healers are coming right now. They can fix this.”

“No, they can’t.” Nava sighed. “Please, help me up.”

“You never said ‘please’ before, so don’t start now.” She was openly crying now but gently lifted Nava to her feet.

Stars swarmed in her vision as she stood upright and looked down at her sister’s face. So beautiful, so full of life. Even the blood and gore speckling her armor and face did not diminish her beauty. So many words filled her mind and weighed down her tongue, yet she could feel the stars calling her home. Not long now, so she settled for the simplest.

“I love you,” she said. “You’re going to be such a great queen.”

Nya let out a scornful laugh and glanced at the pile of ash near them. “Not as great as you. Looks like you killed yourself a Shade.”

Nya’s face crumpled. “Please don’t leave me, I need you.”

“You never did. Go, marry that General Navin. Be happy.”

Nya drew Nava into a hug and whispered, “I will. I love you.”

“I love you more, Squish.”

As Nava’s vision began to flicker and fade into darkness, three bodies came into view in front of her. Their edges glowed silver, and she, suddenly free of pain and weakness, ran into the arms of her beloved and walked into shining starlight with Sam, her mother, and her father. Above Amaranthia, a new star winked into existence.

[faintblueivy]

Remember I participated in Nanowrimo of this year. Mine got interrupted because of sudden exams. 

So I’ve finally started posting the novel I wrote. I’m so excited to share it with you all. And I’ll be extremely honored if you give it a read. 

Princess Ayana of Ruvesta was offered to Emperor Bekadna as a symbol of Peace Treaty. This is how the days of her torture and humiliation began. Years later, she stands amidst the ravaged ruination of the country she had sacrificed everything for, being forced to murder the man who had loved her, fought for her freedom and the safety of her country, she realizes that she may have lost but the wicked Emperor cannot win. Her last act of defiance ends with her own blood spilled and her life sacrificed to a poisoned blade. But a scared wish changes the course of fate and the tragedy of Princess Ayana ends with a ten years old royal princess waking up after a nightmare. Can Ayana fight what destiny has decided for her and her loved ones?

Here is the link for anyone who is interested!

Her is an extract from the first chapter:

The sky was painted in a violent shade of red mingling with orange and yellow hues, reflecting the chaos and screaming of  the people below. The capital was set ablaze, flames higher than ever, and indiscriminate slaughter of young and old followed. Children were snatched from mothers, women were raped and beaten. Cruel laughter gradually overpowered the screaming of innocents. The once alive streets were bathed in the red blood of dead people. It was a terror like history had never seen before.

The royal palace was no different.

He stalked through the large hallways, dragging her by hair, grinning as she stumbled and fell, showing no mercy as he violently yanked her up on her feet laughing maniacally at the pained yelp that escaped her lips.

The dread clawed at her throat when she realized the destination he was taking her to.

The throne room.

The place where her father had sat, ruled the country and had sold her to this madman for the safety and security of the people. To save his own hide and protect his beloved sons. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered. The insane tyrant had still done the slaughtering he wanted. She vividly remembered how the heads of her father and brothers had rolled and how the blood had splattered across her face, staining her vision with red.

The doors to the room opened, the large golden throne that sat atop the stairs was glowing red.

“You see that? My dear wife?” The man sneered at her, “The throne I’ve been waiting for so long is finally mine!” His grin sharpened at her glare of vengeful hatred. “I'm a kind and generous Emperor, dear wife. I am not shameless enough to ascend the throne of your kingdom without you by my side.”

Her once shining silver hair was matted with dirt and blood and her dress was in tatters. The bare minimum jewelry on her person had never seemed as heavier as it did now. He hauled her up like a ragdoll on the stairs and dropped himself on the throne with a grand gesture and forced her on her knees in front of him.

Her heart burned with humiliation.

“My lovely Ayana,” he cooed at her, “I have one more gift for you.”

Oh god, she hated how it made a shiver of absolute terror run down her spine. It must have shown on her face because he smiled gleefully before announcing, "Bring him in!”

The man his soldiers brought in was already half dead, naked. His skin was marked with uncountable cuts and slashes. Bruises and burns littered his ashen skin and his red hair seemed to clump together due to blood. She could see that a deep gash on his side was deeply infected, skin looked a sick purple color and swollen with infection. It looked beyond painful. But she didn’t recognize the man.

The devil behind her laughed, “How do you like my gift? I heard you were extremely close as children, Ayana?”

As soon as her name was uttered and the man looked up with absolute fury shining in his blue eyes. She had no control over the gasp that escaped her lips because this was not how she had ever wanted to see him. His gaze flew to her and his face morphed into one displaying an identical horror to hers. She could hear the tyrant laughing at her back but somehow the all she could stare at was him.

“Ryan?” she whispered to herself, her senses going numb.

The emperor leaned in, his lips almost touching her ear, “You know, he was my greatest adversary. He was the reason I had to wait so much to give you your absolute misery Ayana. It was all his fault.”

It was the only warning before kicked her in the back and as she was about to tumble down the stairs, he got a hold of her hair and jerked her back closer to him and bit the nape of her neck like an animal, hard enough to draw blood. A pained cry escaped her lips.

“Get your fucking hands off her! You bastard!” Ryan screamed and snarled and thrashed against the ten knights holding him back.

The tears that she had so valiantly held back, the screams she had bit her tongue for, were all threatening to break out of her. The absolute fury he was showing on her behalf clashed against the relief that she had seen on her family’s faces when they had sold her out to save their skins. Ryan had been the one fighting for her since the beginning.

Ayana, once upon a time, was the esteemed and beloved Princess of the Kingdom of Ruvesta and now, she was a broken and humiliated concubine of a monster. Everything she had ever known had changed. Her country was burnt down to ashes. Her family and people were dead. But the only thing that remained the same was Ryan. He had fought for her even when her world was right and he was fighting for even now when nothing was.

She watched as he struggled, only coming to senses when a soldier whipped him with a spiked whip. She whimpered for him as he refused to react, his blue eyes on her.

Everything will be alright. They seemed to say but Ayana was not the same naïve princess who had once lived in her own world.

“Please...please stop! Don’t hurt him anymore!” She begged, unable to bear him suffering more.

“Oh?” The emperor taunted, “You’re begging for him? You didn’t make a sound when I killed your family. You want him spared?”

“Yes. yes, please.” As much as it killed her to beg the man she hated the most in this world, she was not above bearing all kinds of humiliation if it meant keeping Ryan safe.

“Then why don’t you start off by licking clean my shoe?”

The deafening silence that followed his words broken by Ryan’s scream of rage as she trembled on the floor in absolute defeat.

“I will do it, just please...spare him.” It took everything in her to choke these words, eyes burning in shame as she lowered herself in front of this man.

“No! Oh god, no, please! Don’t do it!”

She ignored Ryan and his cries as she offered this man the last bit of her dignity.

“Please, your majesty…”

“Hm…I didn’t think you would be really willing to stoop so low for him. But since I’m a man of my word, so I’ll give you two options, dear wife. And you have two days to make your decision. First is, I spare his life but he spends the rest of his life in captivity with all kinds of tortures and punishments to entertain me. Since he is your dear friend he deserves all the special treatment I could get him.” He smirked at horror dawning on her face and leaned in. “Second is, he is lucky if you love him enough to put him out of his misery.” Those words were like a slap to her face and she felt her already shattered heart breaking into million pieces.  

She doesn’t remember what happened after that. Everything was a smudge of her senses whirling together in a mess that she couldn’t sort out. When she finally came back, she realized she had been locked up inside her old bedroom in the castle.

She had two days to decide Ryan’s fate. If she let him live, she’d be condemning him to a life of nothing but torture and pain and if she....

Oh god, how was she supposed to kill the most important person in her life?

She collapsed on the floor again, breathing hard.

Nothing felt real. She didn’t want it to be anything more than a nightmare.

She wished it to be over soon.

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[viciousgracearc]

LYANNA STARK IS A WARG & A GREEN SEER

I would like to preface this headcanon by saying that this is borne out of my own imagination + analysis of the text + hours of conversation with @luxfurem. There’s a very high possibility that I’m completely off the mark here and of course, you don’t have to agree with me on this headcanon specifically. But as far as this interpretation is concerned, I’M ADAPTING THIS HEADCANON IN ALL OF LYANNA’S MAIN VERSES.

THINGS TO KEEP IN MIND BEFORE READING FURTHER (based off of my PREVIOUS HEADCANON):

LYANNA IS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. I think this is as good as canon at this point.

RHAEGAR FOUND OUT THAT LYANNA WAS THE KNIGHT OF THE LAUGHING TREE. As a sort of acknowledgment, he crowned her The Queen of Love and Beauty by the end of the tourney at Harrenhal. It doesn’t go any deeper than that (a.k.a. they’re not secretly in-love, sorry).

THE MAD KING ALSO FOUND OUT AND ORDERED FOR LYANNA’S ARREST. I’ve written extensively about this in the headcanon linked above, but pretty much the mad king was triggered by the KOTLT and couldn’t let shit go.

ADDITIONALLY, CONTRARY TO FANON:

LYANNA DID NOT RUN AWAY WITH RHAEGAR TO ESCAPE THE BETROTHAL WITH ROBERT. While I don’t think Lyanna was the most eager to be married to Robert Baratheon (or to be married at all ), I also don’t think she ran away with Rhaegar to escape her betrothal. She could have run away, point blank period. But with a married prince? I don’t think so. (Considering too, that Lyanna’s initial reservation against Robert was his inability to keep to one bed. Based off of that alone, I don’t think Lyanna would willingly participate in infidelity of any kind. In this separate essay I will –)

LYANNA WAS DUTIFUL to a certain degree, but not in the same way as Brandon could have been or Eddard was. Lyanna’s upbringing was focused on being a proper lady who would marry a highborn lord someday, so she can pop off male heirs. She won’t inherit Winterfell, unlike Brandon, and she’s not even next in line unlike Ned. The expectations of her were quite different compared to the expectations of her brothers, thus, she wasn’t as committed as they were to the idea of duty, or at least not in the same way. That being said, she still held her family’s honor to great esteem and she went out of her way to defend and uphold that honor.

LYANNA WAS NOT SELFISH. I see this around a lot and it’s the most mind-boggling of all. This was the girl who, at 14 years old, was ready to throw down against three grown squires to defend the honor of her father’s bannerman. She later fought in a tourney and won, and asked the lords that the squires served to teach them manners. If she would go that far to defend a sworn bannerman to House Stark, who was not just being bullied but also discriminated upon because of his culture, then I’m pretty certain she’s the type to stand up to injustice without regard for herself. In that similar vein, I don’t think she would besmirch her family’s honor on a whim, knowing how seriously she took the meaning of that honor as made clear by her defense of Howland Reed.

Now that we’ve gotten all of those out of the way, it’s time to dive in into the void.

As is already previously established by canon, ALL STARK CHILDREN ARE WARGS. I know this mostly pertains to the six children of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, but there’s literally no reason why it could not extend to the generation of Starks that came before them. Brandon and Lyanna for example, possess the legendary “wolf-blood” of the Starks of old, and thus are tied very closely to the Stark mythos of being descended from the First Men. According to AWOIAF, “Greenseers had the greensight and were wargs as well.” While not all wargs are greenseers, we have evidence in Bran that the greensight is definitely alive and well in the Stark line (and in the North, as evidenced by Jojen Reed, a crannogman, and Brynden Rivers a.k.a. Bloodraven, whose mother was a Blackwood).

Following this logic, I don’t think it’s far-fetched at all to say that Lyanna might have been a green seer (and a warg). The ability in Bran was triggered by his fall, whereas it almost came too easily and too naturally to Rickon. Rickon and Bran shared the same dream about Ned’s death (which they predicted even before Maester Luwin made the announcement), and Rickon also knew when Catelyn and Robb left that they would never see them again.

In Lyanna’s case, I don’t think she knew what she was (I don’t think the Starks ever realized how closely they were tied to what’s left of magic in the world). She knew she was said to have the wolf-blood, which she thought had something to do with her temperament (a trait she shared with Brandon). By all accounts, Lyanna was wild and brave; she thrived off of independence and did not do well with restrictions. She rode horses “like she was half a horse herself” according to Roose Bolton, and maybe that’s because she understood horses like no ordinary human could?

I’ve already headcanoned that my Lyanna is a warg, so I’m going to take it a step further and say that she’s a green seer as well. No, she’s not as good at it as Bran, mainly because it was not a talent she cared to develop. But this ability ties her up with Rhaegar, who we know to be prophecy-obsessed. This even ties her up with with the Ghost of High Heart, who Rhaegar sought out time and time again just to hear her foretell the future, no matter how disjointed these predictions were.

So my theory essentially is that Lyanna had a run in with a wildling (most likely raiders caught by Rickard’s men) and before this wildling was executed, they told Lyanna something about the same prophecy that consumed Rhaegar to the end of his days. I imagine it had something to do with blue roses and blood, which are the images / symbols closely associated with Lyanna. I also imagine it mentioned the same fire and ice prophecy that Rhaegar so determinedly chased throughout his short life. In addition, I also think that on the way home from Harrenhall, Lyanna contracted a fever which triggered her green dreams. This drove home the urgency of the prophecy and you could even say, it gave Lyanna clues — about what she should do and where she should go to play her part in it.

In my FIRST HEADCANON, I speculated that Rhaegar (a good year after Harrenhal) went to rescue Lyanna in the Riverlands from his father’s men (who found out she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree), but I also think that for some reason they were fated to cross each other’s path, and they knew it, because by this point both of them were aware of the prophecy (by virtue of each of them being in contact with green seers, by virtue of Lyanna being a green seer herself albeit an untrained and unskilled one). But before any plans were set in motion, they visited the Ghost of High Heart to confirm the prophecy, and only then did they decide that yes, for mankind, we will fulfill our roles in this prophecy TOGETHER.

Worth noting: At some point, Lyanna realized that the prophecy, to come into fruition, would have to mean her death (blue roses and blood). But after everything she’d seen through her green dreams and after what she’d been told by the wildling green seer, by Rhaegar, and by the Ghost of High Heart, she determined that this cause — saving the world — was worth losing her life over.

Something you have to understand about Lyanna Stark: she wanted to be more than just someone’s betrothed, someone’s wife, someone’s mother. This prophecy — to a young, idealistic, romantic, wild, and by all accounts, good girl — was almost irresistible. This was something bigger than herself; she had a real chance to do something here, to be both the maiden AND the hero in a tale where she saves the realm from an ominous threat (and wasn’t Lyanna like Sansa in this way? In love with stories of maidens and heroes?). The KOTLT incident showed us that Lyanna had a strong sense of morality, and also a penchant for risky yet grand gestures of bravery. Saving the world was the kind of thing that she would not even think twice of doing, no matter the cost to herself.

Things Lyanna did not foresee: Brandon’s reaction to the news that she was missing and Brandon’s fast assumption that it was Rhaegar who took her. AT MOST, LYANNA EXPECTED THEY WOULD NOTICE HER ABSENCE AND WOULD ASSUME SHE RAN AWAY FROM HER BETROTHAL, BUT FOR HER BROTHER TO ACCUSE THE CROWN PRINCE AND STORM THE CAPITAL WHILE DOING SO… DID NOT OCCUR TO HER. Also, IMPORTANT: Lyanna and Rhaegar had no idea about Rickard and Brandon’s death until after the Battle of the Bells, when Gerold Hightower finally found them in TOJ and asked Rhaegar to return to King’s Landing. By this time, Lyanna was already pregnant.

Whether or not Rhaegar and Lyanna were right about the prophecy doesn’t really matter here. They could be completely wrong. Dany could be the TPWWP and not Jon. Heck, it could be Aegon (who really isn’t Aegon, LBR). Basically, this was just how they interpreted the prophecy, and they both paid in blood for it. Since they’re both alive in mine and Bubbles’ main timeline verses, the blood is of their loved ones, which was infinitely worse for both of them than if it were their own blood.

Is this a ship now? Well, no. At least not during TOJ, and heck, not many years after that. Lyanna was miserable in that tower and I can’t imagine Rhaegar was all too happy either. They’re doing what they thought they had to do, and Lyanna was going into it thinking she would die. All things considered, that might have been her preferred outcome, now that she knew just how much blood she had to pay to assume the role that would make the prophecy come true. The only real consolation in the aftermath was Ned’s forgiveness and the fact that Jon was kept alive because her brother loved her enough to give up his honor for her. But even then, it was a bitter consolation, and Lyanna would spend all her life trying to make up for her mistakes.