#Ten Year Development Cycle

[hindbodes]

Just so you know, Jeff, I am currently working on a game that looks like this:

[trans-axolotl]

one of the reasons it's really hard for a lot of intersex people when intersex topics are on the news cycle is because the public's reaction reveals how little anyone knows or cares about intersex people, including people who call themselves our allies. almost every time intersex topics are trending, the discourse surrounding them is filled with misinformation. people who only learned today what the word intersex means jump into conversations and act like an authority. endosex/dyadic/perisex people get tripped up over things that are basically intersex 101, with tons of endosex people incorrectly arguing about the definition of intersex, who "counts," DSD terminology, and so much more. i've seen multiple endosex people say today that they've been "warning intersex people" and that we should have known that transphobia would catch up with us eventually, which is an absolutely absurd thing to say given the fact that consistently over the past ten years, it has often been intersex people sounding the alarm on sex-testing policies and also the fact that many, many intersex people are also trans, and already are facing the impacts of transphobia. there is an absolute failure from the general public to take intersex identity seriously; people seem not even able to fathom that intersex people have a community, history, and our own political resources. instead, endosex people somehow seem to think they're helping by bringing up half-remembered information from their high school biology class which usually isn't even relevant at all.

and this frustrates me so fucking much. not because i want to deny the impacts of transphobic oppression--i'm a trans intersex person, trust me when i say i am intimately aware of transphobia. this frustrates me because there is no way we can achieve collective liberation if our "allies" fail to even engage with basic intersex topics and are seemingly unaware of the many forms of intersex oppression that we are already facing every fucking day. if you are not aware of compulsory dyadism, if you are not aware of interphobia, if you are not aware of the many different ways that intersex people are directly and often violently targeted--how the fuck do you think we're going to dismantle all of these systems of oppression?

if you were truly an intersex ally, you would already KNOW that this is not new, and would not be surprised--interphobia in sports has been going on for decades. you would know that we do have a community, an identity, a history--you would have already read/listened/watched to intersex resources that give you the background information you need for allyship. you would know that although there is a really distinct lack of resources and political education, that intersex people ARE developing a political understanding of ourselves and our oppression--Cripping Intersex by Celeste Orr and their framework of compulsory dyadism is one example of how we're theorizing our oppression. It's absolutely fucking wild to me how few people I've seen actually use words like "interphobia" "intersexism" "compulsory dyadism" or "intersex oppression"--endosex people are seemingly incapable of recognizing that there is already an entrenched system of oppression towards intersex people that violently reshapes our bodies, restricts our autonomy, and attempts to eradicate intersex through a variety of medical and legal means.

you cannot treat intersex people like an afterthought. not just because we're meaningful parts of your community and deserving of solidarity, but also because intersex oppression impacts everyone!!! especially trans community--trans people will not be free until intersex people are free, so much of transphobia is shaped by compulsory dyadism, the mythical sex binary, all these ideas of enforced "biological sex" that are just as fake as the gender binary.

it makes me absolutely fucking livid every time this shit happens because it becomes so abundantly clear to me how little the average endosex person knows about intersex issues and also how little the average endosex person cares about changing that. i don't know what to say to get you to care, to get you to change that, but we fucking need it to happen and i, personally, am tired of constantly being grateful when i meet an endosex person who knows the bare minimum. i think we have a right to expect better and to demand that if you're going to call yourself our ally, you actually fucking listen to us when we tell you what that means.

okay for endosex people to reblog.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I can't believe Final Fantasy XVI comes out in two days. Ahh!

[crystaltoa]

Shoutout to @lesbioniclepod for reminding me about Whenua's kraata collection

It's really hard to imagine the other Turaga both knowing about and being okay with Whenua maintaining a collection of live Kraata that size. And yet, apparently the others contributed to the collection by catching Kraata in secret over the years and then presumably giving them to Whenua to be put in storage.

And I'd find it hard to buy that the Turaga would think that literally all the Kraata had to be stored in stasis and that killing them was not an acceptable option. Especially since none of them expressed objections to killing Visorak back in the day.

So, my guess is that the other Turaga let Whenua keep a collection of them in stasis so that they could be studied and better understood....

...but his siblings may not have been aware of the exact size of Whenua's collection.

I can imagine him telling the others that they ought to have at least one of each kind of kraata preserved in stasis. This seems fairly reasonable to the others. By kinds, he means kinds of power, right? How many types are there? Eight? Ten? Not more than a dozen, surely.

When he insists that nobody kill any kraata until he's had a chance to look at them and make sure he hasn't already got one of them, they begrudgingly accept that. Alright, they think. But this one's insect control, didn't you already have one of those that Matau caught for you a few years back? At which point Whenua admits that when he says "One of each kind", he's referring not just to breed, but also developmental stage. Alright, they think, he's the expert.

None of the others particularly want a lecture on all the gory details of how Kraata develop, which is of course what they'll get if they try to argue with Whenua. An evil slug wouldn't have that many stages in its life cycle anyway, would it? Two or three maximum, surely.

So the others are thinking Whenua has maybe two or three dozen Kraata stashed away somewhere safe. It wouldn't be good if they were released, but they could handle it if they had to.

Whenua, meanwhile is starting to think he should start a backup collection in case something happens to these specimens. He hasn't lied to his siblings... he said at the beginning that they should have at least one of each kind, and they agreed! So a few backups would be allowed. Maybe three or four of each should be sufficient. Or... five? Hmmm.... he doesn't really trust the number five. Six. Everyone likes the number six!

Anyway.

That's how we ended up here...

[artbyblastweave]

Any ideas to connect SU Diamonds and Worm Entities for a crossover?

For the past three years and change, I've been kicking around the idea of the Gempire as the residual result of an entity that botched its own cycle so badly that the central Zion-style figurehead holding the entire operation together is a hundred-thousand-year-gone memory. The result amounts to an entity with serious brain damage; The gems retain elements of the original programming for the cycle- namely, the ability to create anthromorphized avatars reflective of the local culture, and the drive to reproduce and consume planets to perpetuate themselves- but they've completely lost the plot on other important elements, namely the importance of hybridizing with local host species, their historical record, the full extent of their dimensional manipulation capabilities, best practices for resource extraction, and, most crucially, mutation, change and innovation as a desirable outcome.

Rather than an avatar, White Diamond is an intelligence analogous to a Endbringer or Titan who slid into the vacant role as the next-most-powerful autonomous portion of the network, holding the consolidated, stretched-thin remains of the original Network together by her fingernails while also deleteriously superimposing her own residual instinct from her original role onto the entire network- namely, to pacify, homogenize and sterilize host planets if and when a cycle is beginning to get out of control. This hybridized with residual data from previous host species that caused the gempire to organize in a fascimile of imperial structures encountered back when their cycle was still functional; essentially "Playing House" at the societal level, aping the culture of a host species without really remembering why.

The result of this is a "cycle" that's bad at everything it's supposed to do but effective enough that it limps on regardless- supremely energy inefficient, stripping planets bare rather than experimenting, and utterly developmentally stagnant. In the unlikely event that an entity were to cross paths with the Gempire, they'd have an uncanny-valley reaction to it and likely attempt to euthanize it, but compared to most entities the Gempire is tiny- while Shards canonically deploy in the hundreds of millions, the gems tend to reproduce only a few tens of thousands of themselves each time they claim a planet, and they usually only strip mine the handful of "active" worlds that would feature in a normal cycle rather than obliterating all dimensional iterations of it.

Yellow, Blue and eventually Pink are similar constructs to White, brought online to assist her in the project after the "imperial" territorial holdings grew too vast to micromanage. Unfortunately (for the cycle) another one of the things that got lost in translation were the controls meant to keep individual shards from developing autonomy or attachment-to-hosts. When the Gempire hit Earth, Pink Diamond and a significant contingent of the network, after patterning themselves after humans and spending a significant amount of time on the ground, pulled a fragile-one and went native, leading to a localized civil war that ended under unclear circumstances when the other the diamonds glassed the planet from orbit and pulled back their operations to prevent whatever affected the rebels from spreading.

All of this happened about 8000 years before the events of Worm, in a universe about 43 dimensions down the line from anything seen in the Earth Bet Cluster; due to the Gempire having mutated so much as to no longer be immediately recognizable as fellow Entities, and with so few active gems left on the planet in the aftermath of the rebellion, Zion ignored the crystal gems and folded them away into the inaccessible dimensional space, where the events of the show played out much as they did in SU canon. Ironically, Steven is the first ever example of this cycle successfully empowering a host, in the most roundabout way possible.

In my notes, and in keeping with the religious-theme-naming of the canon entities, I usually refer to this whole situation as Nirvana (what else would you call it when they break the cycle?)

[bootleg-nessie]

Predatory Bananas: an Evolutionary Horror

(Pls read, I literally spent HOURS on this <3)

A friend sent me the following video about the various potential methods of banana locomotion. It got me thinking. How would a banana move? Naturally, as an autist with a special interest in evolutionary biology, I took the joke a little too far and wrote a whole piece on the matter, analyzing the feasibility of each method and the changes they’d need to evolve in order to achieve them.

(Video courtesy of Burning Onion Animation on TikTok, they make great content, go check them out)

The first and most likely way bananas would move is if banana trees evolved to spread their seeds through their fruits rolling down hills like the morphology of #1 suggests. The only major mutations that need to happen are a more pronounced curve and increased rigidity to facilitate rolling and absorb the impact from falling from the tree. Overall, evolving to this point is relatively straightforward. #1 is the most feasible and realistic answer.

For bananas to develop motility like in #4 is theoretically possible with the right environmental pressures and with enough time, though much more difficult. I see this working in one of two ways. First, they could evolve rigid structures that change shape depending on moisture content, using natural dry/wet cycles to move a little more each time it rains, much like the seeds of Erodium Cicutarium (pictured below). The fruits of the banana tree would most likely evolve to have hooks on the end of said structures, contracting and pulling themselves forward a little each time they dry out, and relaxing and resetting their grip on the soil each time they get wet.

The second way I could see this happening is if they evolved true locomotion. True locomotion in bananas would take at least a few million years to evolve (probably more like tens of millions), and even then, movement would be incredibly slow. There exists a plant called the “walking palm” (socratea exorrhiza, pictured below) that’s capable of “walking” using its roots, but it can only travel about 20 meters per year in ideal conditions, and has the resources of the entire tree at its disposal, not just that of a single fruit.

While this is the more likely explanation as to how #4 might happen, it’s not what the video depicts. The video clearly shows a banana dragging itself along like an inchworm, indicating motor cells such as those present in Dionaea Muscipula (venus flytrap, pictured below). Whenever this type of movement in plants occurs, it takes an extreme amount of energy and is generally rather inefficient and slow. In addition to this, the banana is moving its entire mass every time, so it’ll have to move much more slowly to compensate. This means that the banana would probably only be able to travel a few centimeters before decomposing beyond the point of functionality. After a few million more years it’s possible that bananas could evolve to travel as far as several meters after falling off the tree, but the further they go, the more fit each individual fruit needs to be, and the more energy and resources they need. Eventually, it’ll reach a point where the energy expenditure will outweigh the benefit and the fruits will stop evolving to travel any further, which I imagine would plateau somewhere in the 0.5 to 3 meter range. However, the fruits still require a significantly higher amount of energy at this point because they’ve evolved to move autonomously, so trees would likely evolve to produce fewer, but more developed fruits as a result. Overall this is the second most likely way bananas would evolve to move, but the video depicts a time lapse, not footage taken in real time.

The next most likely option is #2, which is where things start to get much more interesting. At this point we are quickly beginning to leave the territory of the banana being a fruit and stepping closer towards the realm of the banana being its own independent organism. Whether the banana is still a single fruit from a larger tree depends on if the video is stabilized or not. First, let’s assume that the video has automatically stabilized the banana within the frame. This means that the banana is moving erratically and aimlessly, with the goal of simply moving as far from its origin as it can. The most simple form of this would be a ballistic dispersal method in which the banana grows curved and under tension, falling off the tree when ripe. Upon impact, the tension is released and banana extends, springing itself upward and outward with a single bounce. But this isn’t what the video shows either, it depicts clear and repeated movement, again suggesting the presence of motor cells much like those likely found in banana #4. In this case it probably evolved in roughly the same way as banana #4, but works less effectively due to having a less stable method of traveling.

But what if the video ISN’T stabilized, and the banana’s staying upright all on its own? In the video, the banana isn’t just moving along a single plane with one set of motor cells like the Venus flytrap. It’s full on galloping. This requires multiple groups of motor cells working together in a coordinated effort. This banana has real-time sensory input to orient and stabilize itself. This means that the banana has evolved some sort of internal gyroscope, much like our inner ear that helps it determine what up and down is, and more importantly, angular rotation. While plants have been observed reacting to and even predicting stimuli in ways that still baffle scientists to this day, this is far more complex than any plant every discovered throughout human history. Everything here points to something more, perhaps rudimentary intelligence, dare I even say sentience.

This begs the question: is it even a plant anymore? At this stage it’s evolved sensory organs and can move independently. But why? Organisms don’t evolve the ability to move without reason. This could mean one of three things. First, it could have evolved the ability to run as a means of spreading its seeds further. But this can’t be the answer. Moving more slowly would be way more efficient for a banana in terms of energy expenditure, and spreading seeds the old fashioned way is still perfectly viable, so it wouldn’t have evolved that way due to lack of necessity. This brings us to the first legitimate possibility: the banana is prey. If the banana were prey, then the ability to gallop most likely evolved as a means of escaping predators and to avoid being eaten. This is further evidence that the banana has evolved beyond being a humble plant as this goes completely against the purpose of fruits, which evolved to be eaten on purpose. Now, the banana’s goal isn’t to be eaten so that its seeds may be deposited elsewhere, its primary objective is to survive. At this point it’s relatively safe to assume that the banana no longer comes from a tree, and now reproduces through fragmentation, or perhaps even live birth. Its lack of leaves suggest that it’s evolved beyond being an autotroph and relying on photosynthesis. But if it no longer gets nutrients from a tree, how does it subsist? It must be getting its energy from somewhere. The most likely answer to this is that banana is a herbivore, and gets its energy from plant matter, which contains a lot of the same nutrients that the banana recently used to get by growing on a tree. Overall, this is the third most likely way the banana would evolve locomotion.

But what if it isn’t an herbivore? This brings us to the other possibility: the banana is a predator. The banana that concerns me the most is banana #3. While all the other bananas have undergone major changes to their morphology, banana #3 appears to be identical to any regular banana, yet it still moves. The only way that such movement could be possible is if the banana had some sort of internal mechanism that moves its center of mass around rather quickly within its outer shell, which also requires an internal gyroscope for balance. I know what you’re thinking; “but this is an incredibly complex mechanism, wouldn’t it be easier to evolve one of the other ways?” To which the answer is yes, it would. But this raises another question with an even more alarming answer: why didn’t it? The answer lies in the banana’s identical appearance to that of a typical Cavendish. Clearly, looking like an ordinary banana is central to its survival strategy. At this point, it’s evolved well past the point of being a fruit and has become the first of an entirely new kingdom of sentient creatures descended from plants.

According to my estimates from the video, banana #3 is only able to move at a pace of around a tenth of a meter per second, maybe a quarter or half of a meter at the most. This means that it probably didn’t evolve the ability to move as a means of running from predators. Based on the physics in the video, my best guess as to how the banana moves is through the use of mostly hollow internal chambers with a central mass (probably a calcified seed) suspended by tendons that can move in any direction, accelerating the banana in that direction. Here I’ve collaborated with the massively talented @pholidia to bring my ideas to light.

Picture it. You’re a lone banana farmer in South America. You’re out harvesting your crops when you see a single banana on the ground. It looks a little weird and bruised, but still totally edible. “No good in letting perfectly good produce go to waste” you think to yourself as you pick up the banana. You go to peel it when suddenly, you feel a sharp shooting pain through your hand. You drop the banana, then fall to your knees. You look around for the wasp or whatever it was that stung you, but you can’t find anything. You collapse in a heap on the ground, unable to control your body. It’s at this point you notice the banana start to move. “Are… are those teeth?” you think to yourself. At this point the venom has taken full effect. You are alone and completely paralyzed, unable to do anything besides observe the banana as it starts moving towards you. Sharp teeth and beady black eyes are fully visible now. It ambles towards you clumsily, moving almost as if it were being controlled by invisible strings like a marionette. It reaches you and starts to chew. It is at this moment that you discover, much to your horror, that the venom is merely a paralytic, and not an anesthetic. Helpless to the venom, you can do nothing but watch as your blood slowly drains out onto the ground as the creature consumes you. Slowly, your vision begins to fade to black. You pass out, either from the pain or the blood loss, you’re not really too sure. You take one last look at the creature, then you’re gone forever.

[majycka]

Megumi stans....we won, I guess? maybe just for now..

JJK 266 THOUGHTS AND SPOILERS AHEAD!

Aight megumi enjoyers, at least one of us has been in the trenches when Megumi was getting SHOVELED PILES OF SHIT ON for losing his will to live when he's a traumatized 15 years old boy having a valid reaction to a death of a loved one (aka who may I repeat, HEAVILY REITERATED in the manga is someone whose his entire desire to live hinges on). As of from the currents chap, I'm considering Yuuji's acknowledgement/understanding to Megumi's actions a W for us or idk maybe that's just me because he gives Megumi the empathy and understanding he needs in his crazy ass suicidal life, and it raises the question of whether this is gonna fully push Megumi for his comeback moment?

More yapping under the cut

In order to explain why the magnitude of this chapter is such an important development for Megumi, his trauma needs to be discuss first and, there's four people we need to go through to reflect his stages of life. Toji, Tsumiki, Gojo, aaaannd Yuuji! :D

TOJI, the dad who left for milk.

Although we barely see any interaction with these two (only one fight scene from them), Toji no doubt kickstarted the trauma of Megumi the moment he decided to left for milk and never return again. He's traumatized by the Zenin's which explains why he acted out in that way and abandoned his child. All he's life he's treated as the outsider for being the odd one out. He lashed out from it as he got stronger, calmed down when meet Meg's mom who then died, and went back to lashing out again, forgetting that he has a tiny son waiting for him at home. Big L for Toji.

I know that Gege reiterated in his interview that he wants to craft a story where there's no right and wrong people, but I'm gonna proceed to be harsher towards Toji here because he's the ADULT situation. Yes, a traumatized adult who's fucked up and not perfect, but I still hold him accountable in perpetuating Megumi's trauma because Toji proceeded to repeat the cycle of trauma that moment he decided to leave, thinking that turning over Megumi to the Zenin is the best option cuz he got The Ten Shadows Technique. From Toji's perspective, it seemed the better option because he was raised knowing his no cursed energy made him an outcast in his family. It's drilled to him that cursed technique was everything for Zenins, so of course, he thought that his son with a valued technique will make the Zenins, olympic gold medal holder of abuse, treat him better. But, heck no! Just look what happened to that Naoya, who despite being raised differently as Toji or Maki and Mai, ended up as a piece of shit. In the end though, I gotta give him the bareeeessst minimum because he kinda pushed Gojo to interfere with Megumi being sold off to the Zenins(which has another set of problems discussed for the later part of discussion).

I try to stay true in including Gege's intention in writing here, and also other nuanced perspective cuz that's the type of series JJK is that yes, Toji DID care for his son in the barest minimum and in his most emotionally stunted way.

However, the damage is done, and Megumi is left with no prime adult caretaker to protect/guide him with only an older sis to have any resemblance of it .

2. TSUMIKI, the manic pixie dream girl sister.

To define the term (as I've stolen from Google) , manic pixie dream girl (MPDG) means "a type of female character depicted as vivacious and appealingly quirky, whose main purpose within the narrative is to inspire a greater appreciation for life in a male protagonist." They are often associated as love interest in movies, BUT I AM NO WAY SHAPE IN FORM ENDORSING MEGUMI SEES HER THAT WAY. Instead, I am using MPDG as a loose term to describe Tsumiki because like most MPDG, we barely know ANYTHING about her actually and we only saw her through the eyes of Megumi which is being pretty and dead.

Not essentially dead and not essentially just pretty because Megumi described her to be the model of a kind person and someone that Megumi wishes to protect, aka his greater purpose of life, which is yah, great, but we are stuck with this perception of Tsumiki. We don't know her, and I think the closest thing we got an unbiased perception of her is when she chucked a cartoon of milk to Megumi (she will call out his BS). This connects back with Megumi's trauma because who else are you gonna hinge your will to live on when the prime adults in your life failed you? He sees her in a brighter light in order to survive. A way of coping mechanism even.

AND YET, despite all his talk appreciating her kind traits and killing people in the culling game to get back to her, you would be surprised that instead of apologizing to her that he was all emo about, he was a dick to her when they reunited. 💀💀

And in fact, the narrative punishes him for this flaw.

To the point that when Sukuna took over his body, he "killed: Tsumiki in his hands which didn't just left Megumi the guilt and shame of being a dick to his sister before she dies but also the impression that Megumi was the one who "killed her." This makes Megumi an active participant to his own tragedy, and it serves a big slap on his face that he's also at fault here.

3. GOJO, the traumatized bro who tried his best.

This is definitely the raging hot debate of the fandom which is their dynamic, and my take breaks this perception of the uwufied Gojo a lot of the fandom seems to like. Yes, I do see Gojo as another perpetrator to Megumi’s trauma, another adult that failed him but not in such of a black and white way thinking of Gojo’s the wholly bad guy here. Believe it or not, he’s still a part of the chain of generational trauma, being a "chain" as in he's a victim AND perpetrator of the system. I called him the traumatized bro who tried his best here because as much as Gojo knows how cruel the jujutsu system is for the kids, he still unintentionally passes over the core mindset of such cruel system to Megumi since Gojo still did grew up in this system normalized in his eyes.

"Jujutsu Sorcerer is an individual sport."

I say "unintentionally passes" because no, Gojo doesn't have the same intention as Zenins/majority of the system who drills "strength is everything" in the most fucked up way possible. Yes, he enjoys Megumi’s company and treats him nicely. Yes, he sticks his neck out for him. Yes, he wants them to be strong so they can change the system. But this isn't about Gojo. It's about Megumi who still undeniably suffered from the accumulation of the few adults in his life failing him which includes Gojo. Gojo offers protection to Megumi. KEYWORD: Offers. It’s in exchange for Megumi working under Gojo as a jujutsu sorcerer. Now, for smol Megumi here, who truly going through the horror show of abandonment from his dad, agrees to it because apparently, according to Gojo, it’s the only way to protect his sister.

"I'll take care of things! But you're gonna have to work extra hard. I'm countin' on ya."

Annnd thus the cycle repeats! Although it wasn’t as bad as Zenin’s abusive environment Toji was raised, Megumi is still pushed in the same cutthroat environment of the jjk world that Gojo believed he can survive just because Megs has a valued powerful technique if only he himself fullfills his potential, like Gojo’s Six Eyes. BUT Gojo, who delights in his power, forgets a crucial part that…..Megumi isn’t like him!

Check out what Megumi has to say. (aka bud doesn't want any of that sorcerers shit and just wants a domestic life)

So the thing is, was Megumi ever asked his input in choosing to be a jujutsu sorcerer? Well, yah….and all it circles back to just protecting his sister and people like her. There’s a set of problems that comes with this mindset though that Gojo was valid to point out and that is Megumi doesn’t think about himself enough. “It’s ok to be selfish!” Gojo said in the context of being a stronger sorcerer.

But at the same time, he also gave Megumi the idea to that if he doesn’t work as sorcerer, then he won’t be able to protect his sister when he was a mere 6-7y/o boy.

You know that circulating meme of Megumi pulling Mahogora for minor inconvenience? Well, guess what that tells his suicidal tendencies in protecting anyone but himself. Kid got no sense of self-preservation because his self esteemed has completely tanked itself due to his abandonment issues, and now that he’s expressing how it emotionally and physically paralyzes him, he has every valid reason to do so.

Why, yes, Gojo was 19/20 at the time he first met Megs, still a kid, doesn't know shit, and has unaddressed issues being treated as The Strongest Weapon(here’s a dedicated gojo-centric meta I wrote previously about Gojo and his issues cuz he's one complicated fool). I describe this whole situation as an unaware traumatized kid taking in another traumatized kid which is not a fun mix to have, and I understand that Gojo ain’t exactly prepared for that kind of job.

HOWEVER, I’m way harsher to point out Gojo’s failure as an adult in Megumi in the later part of the series because at this point, Gojo's a grown adult, he waxes poetry in being responsible for the next gen , and we get to see his priorities throughout the series especially with the Sukuna’s fight, like seriously he had one legitimate fun fighting someone on par with him.

Gojo DELIGHTS in power no doubt, he chooses kids with most potential, he gets excited finding those kids, and this is the type of the closest dependable adult Megumi has in his life.

Yes, financially supported but Gojo isn't around much when he's working and on demand sorcerer almost 24/7. That's why growing up sure do sucked ass for Megumi especially when no one’s really there to guide and to keep an eye on your development AS A PERSON AND NOT JUST A SORCERER which the latter part is what unfortunately Gojo’s more eager to do.

4. YUUJI, the guy who just wants Megumi to know he matters to him as a person.

Yuuji and Megumi were definitely the highlight of this chapter because in the bleak world of JJK where everyone seemed to be succumbing to the repeated fuck ups of the previous gen (like that Yuta-Gojo situation), this chapter actually offers that THERE IS HOPE that the new gen can do better like what Yuuji just did that the adults in Megumi's life are too emotionally stunted to do. Yuuji take the time to listen to Megumi's emotional thoughts, what he feels as a person, and not just listen, but to understand and empathize. It even took lots of attempts for Yuuji to make Megumi open up.

He responds to Megumi's vulnerability with care and love, and Yuuji understands the pain Megumi is going through from losing his sister. With someone in pain like that, Yuuji knows he can't just go around saying "just live" to someone who's practically suicidal.

The treat of this all is when this scene comes next. Yuuji also shows his vulnerability and expresses that Megumi matters to him!

"It's lonely without you..Fushiguro."

This scene clearly parallels Gojo and Megumi's first meeting, so I'm gonna try to throw my two cents here and explain why Gege choose this direction. Remember what I said about Yuuji giving us the hope of the new gen escaping from the shackles of generational trauma? Well, I think this parallel is a way in saying that what Megumi needed when he was so young was someone to see him and his pain who's just a kid abandoned and forced to fend for themselves because the prime adults decided to to dip out. This is Megumi we are talking about here who's unaddressed issues stays hidden beneath all the pressure of him being The Ten Shadows Technique. He's valued for his technique. That's why Gojo showed up to meet him in the first place. That's also what the jujutsu system looked after for their child soldiers. Yuuji tries to break this chain of trauma their mentor unknowingly repeats. He'll show up for Megumi again and again because he's his dear friend even if Megumi's being difficult to be pulled out of Sukuna. And the beautiful thing is Yuuji didn't had some grand inspiring speech or grand offer to convince Megumi, he wasn't even sure Megumi will be up for it. Yuuji simply want to say that he matters to him. That understands him. That he's important to him so much he'll be sad when he dies, and it mattered.

"This is...Fushiguro Megumi's...!!"

And now that Megumi is showing signs in taking his body back, it's now his turn to save himself. Yuuji did his part, and for someone whose future has been controlled by everyone but himself, this time Megumi gets to decide what comes next.

[mariacallous]

Earlier this month, the Alabama Supreme Court issued an opinion, complete with a wildly theocratic concurrence from Chief Justice Thomas Parker, that functionally outlawed in vitro fertilization (IVF) in the state.

In the wake of the ruling, Republicans have tried to unwind this mess, with the Alabama legislature considering passing a law to ensure IVF access and Donald Trump coming out to say he strongly supports access to IVF. 

All of this is a bit of rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, as the damage is done. The entire spectacle was inevitable once the GOP gave the party over to anti-choice zealots decades ago.

In brief, the reason the Alabama Supreme Court’s opinion implicates and outlaws IVF is that the state has a Wrongful Death of a Minor statute, and the court decided this applies to “all unborn children, without limitation.” But there’s no language in the statute that says this. Rather, it’s just that over the last 15 years, the Alabama Supreme Court has issued a series of rulings saying that the undefined term “minor child” in the statute can be stretched to “unborn children” regardless of what state of development the embryo is at. Once the court created such an expansive definition, the decision that frozen embryos are people was inescapable. 

To be fair, though, the Alabama Supreme Court is entirely made up of conservative Republicans, they were a bit hamstrung in their decision. Alabama’s state constitution states that “it is the public policy of this state to ensure the protection of the rights of the unborn child in all manners and measures lawful and appropriate." But that doesn’t necessarily mean the court was required to, as it did here, extend that “unborn child” definition to what it calls “extrauterine children” — embryos frozen by people pursuing IVF. 

That IVF is even controversial is an indictment of the GOP

An IVF cycle is designed to produce multiple eggs that can be retrieved in one procedure. The more eggs produced, the greater the likelihood of a viable embryo that can be implanted, hopefully resulting in a pregnancy. Because of this, multiple embryos often remain, and people freeze those for several reasons. People may use them if the first attempt at implantation doesn’t work, thus avoiding multiple egg retrieval cycles. They may save them for later if they decide to have more children. They may donate them to other people struggling with fertility issues. 

For people not saddled with the misguided anti-choice belief that a tiny clump of cells is the same as a person, this is a non-controversial process. It enhances the chance of pregnancy and allows people to plan for future children without undergoing multiple invasive egg retrieval cycles. But if one subscribes to the notion of fetal personhood — that a fetus is quite literally a person, with all the attendant privileges that confers — then those frozen embryos are the same as babies. 

This is, of course, a religious, not scientific belief. Chief Justice Parker, in his concurring opinion, made clear that his vote, at least, stems directly from his religious beliefs rather than being grounded in the law. Citing Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, John Calvin, the Ten Commandments, and the King James Bible, Parker concludes that “even before birth, all human beings bear the image of God, and their lives cannot be destroyed without effacing his glory.”

Notably, none of those things are legal precedent. Indeed, in a country founded on the separation of church and state, they shouldn’t inform a court holding. However, since religious conservatives dominate the US Supreme Court, that separation has largely collapsed. This has emboldened conservative litigants and conservative state and federal judges to take ever more anti-choice stances. 

Reproductive health activists have been sounding the alarm about the anti-choice attacks on IVF for years, particularly in the wake of the Dobbs decision overturning Roe v. Wade. At least two prominent anti-choice groups, Americans United for Life and Students for Life, have railed against IVF. The chief legal officer for Americans United for Life, Steve Aden, called IVF “eugenics” and said that IVF created “embryonic human beings” that were destroyed in the process. Students for Life called IVF “damaging and destructive.”

These same anti-choice groups also hate birth control, and the Dobbs decision paved the way for them to mount a theocratic attack on it too. Christopher Rufo, who ginned up a panic over benign diversity initiatives and helped force out the first Black president of Harvard, Claudine Gay, has already telegraphed that this is his next attack.

Over on Elon Musk’s increasingly Nazi-fied social media site, X, Rufo is spewing rhetoric about how “the family structure disintegrated precisely as access to birth control proliferated” and that recreational sex is bad and leads to single-mother households. 

Rufo isn’t alone. The Heritage Foundation, which is also busy with a blueprint for a second Trump presidency that would destroy the administrative state and whose leader is still pushing the big lie that Trump won the 2020 election, has also called for the end of birth control. Also over on X, Heritage’s official account posted last year that “a good place to start would be a feminist movement against the pill and … returning the consequentiality to sex.”

And there you have it. Religious conservatives are calling for a return to a world where sex isn’t recreational or for pleasure but is instead fraught with consequences — namely, pregnancies that can’t be terminated even when the pregnant person’s life is in danger. To do this, however, they would need to succeed in getting the Supreme Court to overturn Griswold v. Connecticut, the 1965 case that invalidated restrictions on birth control. 

More importantly, Griswold affirmed the constitutional right to privacy. It’s that right that not only underpinned the right to an abortion in Roe but also underpins other cases related to the rights of Americans to pursue sexual and marital relationships without government interference. In Lawrence v. Texas, decided in 2003, the Supreme Court relied upon Griswold to throw out laws that criminalized sexual contact between members of the same sex. Twelve years later, that same reasoning was used in Obergefell v. Hodges to affirm a constitutional right to same-sex marriage. 

Justice Clarence Thomas hates the right to privacy and has made no secret he wants it gone. In his concurring opinion in Dobbs, he called on the Court to “reconsider” all these cases and overrule them as “demonstrably erroneous.” Justice Samuel Alito has been a bit more evasive about this, writing in Dobbs that “nothing in this opinion should be understood to cast doubt on precedents that do not concern abortion.” However, Alito’s Dobbs opinion is littered with references to “fetal life” and how abortion destroys an “unborn human being.” As recently as last week, Alito wrote a statement decrying Obergefell because he doesn’t think it’s fair that people who are bigots about same-sex marriage ever get called bigots. 

It isn’t just Thomas and Alito. During her confirmation hearing, Justice Amy Coney Barrett refused to say whether she thought Griswold, Lawrence, and Obergefell were rightly decided. In 2012, she signed an open letter stating that the Affordable Care Act’s required coverage for birth control was an assault on religious liberty. Similarly, Justice Brett Kavanaugh, in his confirmation hearing, also wouldn’t say whether Griswold was correctly decided. Justice Neil Gorsuch did the same. 

That makes five likely votes — with Chief Justice John Roberts a possible sixth — for a rollback of privacy rights in America. With that pillar of law gone, states would be free to outlaw same-sex marriage, get rid of birth control, and impose any other theocratic conditions they’d like. 

The dog that caught the car

Right now, Republicans are scrambling to undo the damage they’ve wrought, realizing that an anti-IVF stance is alienating to most. Last year, the Pew Research Center found that 42 percent of adults had used fertility treatments or knew someone who had. From 1996 to 2018, over 1 million babies were born as a result of fertility treatments. Mike Pence has spoken publicly about how he and his wife used IVF and that the procedure should be protected. 

In Alabama, Republican legislators are planning to introduce a law that would say the embryo isn’t a person until implanted in a uterus. But legislation doesn’t trump the state constitution, which means the Alabama courts could throw out any law they deem contrary to their fetal personhood interpretation of the constitution. Several Alabama fertility clinics have stopped IVF services, citing the legal risk. The state’s GOP attorney general, Steve Marshall, said he wouldn’t use the decision to prosecute IVF providers or people seeking IVF treatment, but that’s a slender reed to rely upon. What provider or patient wants to rely upon the vague assurances of the attorney general rather than a law that protects access?

And it isn’t just IVF. Elected officials in states that have banned abortion have openly mocked those people who have come forward with horror stories of being refused abortions even as they developed sepsis or faced the possibility of permanent future infertility. Doctors have no clear guidance on when they can terminate a pregnancy to save the life of the pregnant person, leaving them vulnerable to prosecution. People who currently have frozen embryos have no idea what to do with them, and nor do clinics. If the hardest-line anti-choice people get their way, access to birth control will become as spotty and politicized as access to abortion is now. 

This type of amorphous fear is a feature, not a bug, of the post-Dobbs landscape. When the entire spectrum of reproductive health is murky, and the threat of prosecution looms large, doctors won’t perform abortions or IVF treatments. Patients won’t seek abortions even as their health deteriorates to a level that could result in death. People who can get pregnant will have their lives narrowed to nearly nothing as they try to sidestep the landmines of an ever-shifting jurisprudence over their bodies. 

And that’s exactly the way conservatives want it, no matter their current feeble attempts to get out from under an IVF disaster of their own making. The GOP made common cause with the worst people in the country on this issue, and now we’re all stuck with the consequences. 

[dfortrafalgar]

I'm Losing You

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock

Chapter 9

[Prev] [Next]

ou had barely gotten out of bed in the days that followed your emergency room visit.

You could barely even look at your husband.

This was far beyond Law’s realm of expertise, and he was quickly growing more and more concerned about your wellbeing.  You were barely eating, choosing to spend your days in bed with your head buried in your pillows as if you were trying to disappear completely.  It was incredibly generous that your boss had allowed you such ample time off, but Law knew for a fact that this self-isolation was going to do nothing but exacerbate the cycle of depression that your miscarriage had brought upon you.

Law swallowed a lump in his throat.

Miscarriage.

The word seemed so grim even prior to meeting you.  Now it held an entirely new meaning.  Miscarriage was what led to his wife spending her days alone in their bed, trying desperately to fall into a deep slumber to escape the crushing reality.

Shachi and Penguin had practically moved in with the two of you, helping to cook, clean, and take care of Bepo while Law was at work.  Neither of them had spoken to you, and Penguin hadn’t even looked at you in the days since you came home, no longer pregnant.  It was as if everyone in the apartment was afraid a single breath would shatter you like a pane of glass, tiny, glimmering pieces of a stabbing despair that were impossible to clean up.

Even your boss had come by, two days after you were forced to leave the office to go to the ER.  She had stopped by your apartment with a small basket of goodies as a condolence gift, and while she acknowledged that a few bars of chocolate was probably the least effective medicine for what you had endured, she expressed the desire to make sure you knew that the entire office was rooting for you.

When Shachi placed the small basket on your bedside table, you didn’t even move.

Law was starting to get more and more concerned about the risk of bedsores your constant, curled-up position might expose you to.

Even worse than bedsores, however, was the fact that Law still had to work.  Heart and lung diseases didn’t simply disappear just because you had a miscarriage, and as much as Law’s own heart broke whenever he had to slip on his shoes to leave, he needed to continue his job.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly thinking about you, however.

—

Law’s colleagues often joked that he operated like a robot when arriving at the prep theater.  The way he donned his surgeon’s scrubs and coat was the same way every single time: left arm into the coat, followed by his right, a 180 degree counterclockwise turn so his attending could securely tie the back, followed by his left hand glove, right hand glove, and then a second left glove, and a second right glove.  He had also developed the habit of placing his cell phone in the care of his circulating nurse, should any calls come from you at home.  It wasn’t quite allowed, and it definitely strayed from his own personal philosophy of a hyper-focused operating room environment, but he couldn’t help himself.  Despite this, Law’s second-nature ability to perfectly replicate operating theater etiquette did bring some level of calm to the entire surgery team, especially on days like today.

The cardiac team was about to undergo an estimated 6 hour coronary bypass surgery.

This was just the event Law needed to break out of his mold and return to life as it was about ten days ago.  For the first time since your emergency room visit, Law wasn’t thinking about you.

“Patient is a 45-year-old caucasian male with severe coronary artery disease.  He has experienced two heart attacks prior to this surgery.  We will be undertaking a triple bypass operation.  I understand this is a very daunting task for some of you, however you are expected to remain calm and do your work as you normally do.  Nothing about this particular surgery is any different than any other open heart surgery, just remember this.”  Law explained the procedure to his team in a very bold, emotionless voice.  

The operation began.

The lights in the room were dimmed slightly to allow for better focus from the overhead lamps onto the exposed portion of the patient’s abdomen.  Beside the table, a large machine that would be operating as a temporary heart for the patient was prepped.  The entire team was laser-focused on the patient, Law’s stern, strict aura seeming to radiate outward and affect the rest of his staff with a quiet, pensive attitude.  It wasn’t often to have idle chit-chat during operations considering the stakes at hand, however today seemed particularly tense.

Law led the procedure with a deft hand.  He expertly instructed his assistants with the suction and cauterization as he carefully opened the flesh of the man.  A saw was used to cut through the sternum and expose the pericardium.  Bleeding was carefully controlled and a fast-acting antibiotic paste was used throughout.  After approximately 20 minutes, the patient’s beating heart was fully exposed, the chest cavity held open by metal tools and a frame to fully support the operating window.  

The first cannula was placed into the aorta when Law’s phone began to buzz from the circulating nurse’s coat pocket.  She was standing away from the rest of the team and pulled the device out of her pocket to view the caller ID.  The focus wasn’t broken from the rest of the operating team.

“Silence it,” Law uttered, ingrained in the action of attaching the catheter to the air-tight bypass tube.

“It’s your wife, Doctor,” she awkwardly mumbled.  The phone continued to buzz.

A few awkward glances were tossed around the operating table.  Law simply kept his head down, beginning to search for the right atria to place the second cannula.

“Doctor?” she called again.

“My passcode is 0517.  Just text her and ask her what she needs.”

The anesthesiologist smiled, though it wasn’t visible below his mask.  “Isn’t that your wedding anniversary?”

The assistant holding the cauterizer cooed from across the table.  “Aww, that’s so cute!”

“I hope my husband is that sweet,” sighed the attending nurse.

Law grumbled.  “I’m inserting the venous cannula.  Attention to the patient.”

The room immediately snapped back to intense focus.  Behind them in the corner, the circulating nurse had unlocked Law’s phone and was navigating to his texts, being careful to avoid glancing at any pictures or messages he wouldn’t have wanted her to see.  She found your messages and began typing.

—

Your phone buzzed.

Baby~~<3

Hi, this is Doctor Trafalgar’s circulating nurse!  He’s currently in the middle of an operation but he told me to text you in response to your call.  Is there anything I can help you with or tell him?

You sighed, figuring that was the reason he hadn’t answered his phone.  Beside you, Shachi leaned over and gazed at the screen.

“Hey, can’t knock him for being focused!” he chided, nudging your shoulder.

Sitting with your legs crossed on the couch in your living room, you couldn’t fight the proud grin that formed on your face.  “That’s true… I’d much rather him ignore my call than lose focus on a patient.”

Penguin was in the kitchen, an apron wrapped around his torso as he pulled a tray of chocolate chip cookies out of your oven.  There were already four other trays cooling on the linoleum countertop.  “I think it’s cute that he gives his phone to his nurse in case you call.”

“He probably does that for any incoming call,” you scoffed.

“Nope, he definitely only started doing that for you,” Penguin called back.

Shachi had stood from the couch and not-so-stealthily approached the counter, reaching his hands out to snag a few cookies while they were still warm.  “It’s true, once I called him during an operation without realizing and he didn’t respond for eight hours.  When he finally did call back he was like, ‘Sorry, I got caught up with something.’  Like, dude, you’re a heart surgeon.  I think I could figure that out.”  He plopped back down next to you, passing you a cookie from his hand.

Holding the sweet treat in your teeth, you looked back down at your phone, tapping the text window to begin typing.

—

Law’s attending nurse felt another buzz in her pocket.

Wifey

Omg, im so sorry to interrupt!  Can you just tell him to call me back when he gets a chance?  Tell him its no rush, either, i dont want him to stress LOL

Wifey

Thank you for your hard work, i hope hes not pushing you guys too hard <3

The nurse smiled, replying to your message and placing the phone back in her pocket.

—

Six and a half hours and a very cramped right hand later and Law was finally sitting in the break room with a microwaved dinner of some orzo dish that Penguin had made a few days prior.  He ran a weary hand through his unruly black hair, slightly greasy from the sweat that had accumulated under his surgical cap.  Taking a small mouth full of his dinner and taking advantage of the late-night silence in the break room, he finally opened his phone and tapped on your name, ringing your number.  It was nearing 11:00PM, so he doubted you’d even still be awake, but it was worth a shot anyway.  If anything, it would probably be Shachi or Penguin that would pick up.

The dial tone rang twice before a faint click sound reverberated through the receiver.

[Hi, baby!]

Law’s heart rate doubled its pace at the sound of your voice.  Your voice that he had sparsely heard the last 10 days.  He suddenly wished more than anything that he could end his shift early and race home to see you.

He swallowed his spit.  “Hey, darling, you called me during a surgery, I’m sorry I missed you.”  He truly was sorry.  He felt absolutely terrible about leaving you waiting for six hours, despite his stern and pointed attitude throughout the procedure.  Duty does call, in the end.

[Never apologize, Law, I understand.]  He could hear your exhaustion through the speaker.  [How did it end up going?]

Law pushed his orzo around with his spoon.  “It was a great success, it’s been a little bit since my team and I have performed any sort of coronary bypass surgery, so I think everyone was pretty relieved when it was finally over.”

[That’s incredible…]  You sighed into your end of the line, your airy tone giving away the smile you surely wore across your lips.  [I’m really happy it went well.]

The black-haired man simply hummed.  “Was there something you were calling about earlier?”

[Yeah…] you affirmed, however your voice suddenly adopted a more far-away flavor.  [I wanted to know if you were free this coming Friday.  Dr. Robin gave me a call earlier today and said she wants to get me in for a diagnostic consultation.  I… I don’t really want to go alone anymore.]

Law’s heart sank at the way your words sounded so little.  “I’ll check my availability for you.”

[Thank you, baby…]

“Darling, are you going to be alright until I get home in the morning?”  Law slowly felt his appetite waning as his anxieties about your current state at home were dawning on him.  “I have all day off tomorrow to spend with you, and we can talk about anything for as long as you want.”

[I’ll be alright, I promise.]

“You really promise?” Law confirmed.  It wasn’t like you to be so brief with your words, but at the same time he knew these circumstances were well past the realm of reason.

A dry chuckle bounced through the receiver.  [I really promise.]

Law drew in a deep, heaving inhale through his nostrils.  “Baby, I love you.  I’ll see you in a few hours, alright?”

[I love you too, Law.]

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Nineteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

No tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen

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Author's Note: It's been a really hard month, ya'll, but here we are! We made it. Agonizing over this chapter positively drove me mad, but so many thanks to @vampire-exgirlfriend and @darkwolf76 for their love, support, and eyes on this to help me feel a little less insane. Go give them both some love!

CHAPTER NINETEEN - When It's Pulling Me Under

Alicent breaks and tries to mend. Jace tries to find Helaena. A twist within the thread.

“Cassandra Baratheon has bled.”

The queen’s rooms were quiet. Rich green and black drapes hung open as wide as they could to allow the light in, but the panes were closed to the cool fall breeze. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, dancing along the decorative stone swirls along the mantle. The usual gaggle of women that occupied the room had been absent these past few days - her court having dispersed to deal with multiple assignments for the daily running of the castle and the wedding. Alicent looked up from the parchment before her, releasing her lower lip from the intensity of her gnawing teeth. Her gaze met Lady Lysa’s from where the elder woman looked up from her own sheaf of parchment.

“I will go and speak with Lord Beesbury on these matters, Your Grace,” she said softly, rising in a whisper of apple red silk, her usual caul replaced by a barbette and veil given the cooler weather. The way the woman turned her head, reaching for her papers, reminded Alicent of her own mother in such a swift and sharply unexpected moment, that Alicent’s chest clenched and stole her breath. Lysa Fossoway was her beacon of normalcy over the past years, but she was not her mother.

How desperately she wished her mother was here. How keenly that feeling sharpened as the other woman left and Alicent remained here, alone, with Lord Larys Strong.

His firefly-handled cane thumped softly against the rich rugs scattered about her solar and he took a seat on the chaise, settling himself down like a vulture, waiting to feast. On her secrets, on her thoughts, on wherever his tightly guarded whims struck him. Yet, she had few that she could call confidant, even if she dare not call him friend.

“Good.” The snap of the wooden pen box punctuated the single word as Alicent put away her ink and tucked away the parchments that Larys so curiously watched. “Lord Borros insisted that we have this engagement sealed before the new year and the wedding.”

It felt like when Viserys dragged himself to High Tide to present himself to Lord Corlys to beg his heir’s hand in marriage for a sullied Rhaenyra . It was beneath him, it was unbecoming, and it was exactly why, Alicent felt, Lord Borros felt he could demand the way he did.

‘I am not beholden to my father’s oaths, but I will not be taken for a fool’, the man had said. No sons of his own yet, Alicent knew that it was not his fear of being taken for a fool that had brought him blustering and demanding, but the fact that his sister, his only sibling, had sons. Both, to Alicent’s knowledge, were unwed. There existed a possibility for Helaena, one she would have to revisit later.

For now, her attention focused on the fact that it appeared Borros Baratheon thought that Vhagar would be enough of a deterrent for his sister’s sons to claim the Storm Throne from his own children.

“So that is what is to be then? Aemond to the storm, to match the tempest inside of him.” Larys tilted his head in the thoughtful way he had, his hands folded along the top of his cane. “Better, maybe, than risk quenching his fire in the snows perhaps.”

Alicent furrowed her brow. “Snows?”

“Only a turn of phrase, Your Grace. There are many eligible women in the realm to tie our Prince to. The Stormlands keep him close, rather than the cliffs of Casterly Rock or even the isolated northern houses. Northern houses, such as House Karstark offer little, while Storm’s End grants you a realm. Better than his sister as well, although I have not heard Prince Aemond express those wishes in some time.”

Alicent rolled her eyes and went to pour herself some of the mulled wine from the carafe by her window. “House Karstark, or any of the other Northern Houses, would do little for Aemond.” As for Helaena, she too had noticed her son’s waning insistence over the past few months in regards to such a betrothal. She hoped that he too realized the futility of such an endeavor.

“And it isn’t as if Lord Borros could not take another wife should-”

The clatter of her goblet on the table cut off the direction of Larys’ ponderings, and she turned on him, a sick and ugly feeling in his chest. “It is unseemly to speculate or wish for such things, my Lord Confessor,” she said tightly. “My son will marry Lady Floris. Aemond will have a position and income here at court, regardless of what the future holds,” she whispered. “He will make a fine Hand.” When her father could no longer be Hand to Aegon, Aemond would be an ideal successor.

“And Daeron could serve the crown much like Ser Criston. Now everyone is taken care of.” A soft chuckle filtered into the room and sent a shiver up Alicent’s spine. “You have done well for your children, Your Grace. It is good that they at least have a mother who cares for them so.”

“Someone has to. If my son is not his father’s heir, then he should be taken care of. The realm knows too well the idleness of second sons and unhappy brothers.” She shook her head, unflinchingly meeting Larys’ disquieting gaze and the amused curl of his mouth. “If the king would not even be amenable to the idea of Aegon being his sister’s heir, then something must be done.”

A pulse of a headache thrummed behind her eye. Aemond chafed already beneath his brother, beneath the duty that had spurred him to his lessons, to his training, but she knew Aemond would want more. He hungered for more and she could not give it to him. Would her ambitious boy be content with his child married to Cassandra’s heir? ‘He would have to,’ she thought, though her fear persisted. This was the cost of duty.

“Have you only come to speak of Lady Cassandra’s state of non-pregnancy, or have you come to drop news that Helaena is with child.” The pointed non-question was sharper than she might have normally intended but the onset of having to tell Aemond, her angry, precious son, would give her a fit the way anything difficult aggravated her husband and king.

“All goes accordingly, my Queen,” Larys said, nonplussed, and if anything, the amusement was lingering there. Alicent hated the small feeling it gave her. No, not small, she realized; not small as how her father or even Viserys made her feel.

Larys made her feel trapped.

“Very good then. If there’s nothing else, Lord Larys-” The sharp, heavy knock on the door mercifully broke into the tension and Alicent could barely contain her desperate tone. “Enter!”

Gwayne was the most welcome sight behind the door, his doublet so deep green as to be almost black, the fabric of his gray shirt poking between the ties of his sleeves. The silver buttons were stamped with the High Tower and the flames atop it. The angles of his face reminded her so much of Aemond, but she could see all of her boys in that face. The sharpening of Aegon’s jaw, Daeron’s nose. Warm, brown eyes took her in before looking over her shoulder as Larys scraped his way to standing.

“Ser Gwayne,” the lord greeted and she felt, more than saw, her brother stiffen slightly. Gwayne had not been here long, but his dislike of the Master of Whispers had been a decisive one. Her brother was firm in his manner, much like their father; once lost, no good favor could be regained.

“Lord Larys. I’ve come to pull our Queen from these shady interiors to take a turn in the fresh air. I’m sure you also have much to attend to.” Not that the solar itself wasn’t brightly illuminated, stained glass windows sending streaks of colored light about the room, and Theraxis, Abby’s cat, was sprawled in a patch of warm light that the stained glass windows turned his gray fur purple and orange.

“Who would I be if I kept her Grace from spending time with her much missed brother,” Larys said, inclined slightly to Alicent. “I shall take my leave then. Good day to you both.”

As soon as the door shut, Gwayne’s blue eyes, their mother’s eyes, pinned her.

“I mislike you having private conference with that man. Where is Lady Lysa? Or Cole?”

Alicent raised an eyebrow. “You mislike.”

“I do.” He seized an apple from the basket on the table. Brown hair, once sandy blonde as Daeron’s in youth, fell into his eyes. He kept it short, as Aegon, and the sight of him had her wonder if things would be easier had her eldest looked more like her. “He is a foul man, and I do not like the way he watches you.”

She rolled her eyes at her brother’s protestation. Touched as she was by his protectiveness, it was too many years too late. “Well, Lord Larys is the Master of Whispers for a reason. There is a certain unsettling that comes with the position.”

Gwayne rolled his eyes this time and bit into the apple, the fruit crunching loudly. “I still do not like it.”

“You do not have permission to pass judgment and disapproval as you made the choice to leave.” Resentment rose ugly in her throat, her voice not her own; a fragile thing, a girlish cry. Her nails scraped along her wrist as she turned away from him to her desk, eyes unseeing as she reached for the first paper. “I had to make my own protection.”

“Ali-”

“No,” she snapped, shaking her head. “You left.” Then I lost Rhaenyra. “And do not claim it was your injury. You couldn’t wait to flee back to Uncle Rodrik. How sad it must have been for you to instead be sent back to the Tower.” Instead of staying there, with her, so she would not be alone, so their father would not be so bold as to push and press and bear down upon her. Bitterness dripped from her voice and the sound of tearing filled her ears. Alicent looked down to see how she’d torn the acceptance from Dragonstone for their presence at the wedding.

She felt like she would be sick.

A strange sound escaped her throat. It sounded like a growl or a wounded whine. Alicent could not be certain. What she was certain of was Gwayne’s arms wrapping around her from behind, holding her bones together as she felt like she would shatter. Her brother said nothing and for that she was grateful.

Fear tangled between her ribs, pulling them apart and compressing them just as tightly so she felt like she couldn’t breathe no matter what. Gwayne held her tightly, held her bones together, kept her body from bursting into a thousand shards. She gasped for air, tears hot in her eyes but refusing to fall. At some point, they ended up on the floor, the deep green of her skirts pooled around them as she leaned into her brother and he rocked her much as he did when she was young, when they would play knights and dragonriders in the gardens, when mother was there, and she’d fall and scrape her knee, or he had whacked her too hard with the stick, or Rhaenyra was angry when her moods got the better of her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwayne said softly, so softly she could barely hear it and her nails bit into the thick fabric of his doublet.

“You could have stayed,” she cried, her fist hitting his bicep. “You could have stayed, I needed you!” Her brother had nothing to say to that, he only squeezed her tighter as she finally wept, her fears tumbling out of her. “Why did he do this to me if they do not matter to him? They’re his blood too and he never cared, he never cared. He begged for sons! He begged for them and I gave him sons and it didn’t matter so what was it for?”

Alicent wept bitter tears, pushing and biting her fingers into her brother, who sat there, quiet and unmoving as she tore into him. The months, the years bubbled up in her, all the shattered dreams and the fear and the confusion, the immeasurable pain that had stripped away everything inside of her until she was whatever she was now, a stranger to herself. “They’ll kill them, Daemon or whomever seeks to curry favor with Rhaneyra, and he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care and they treat me as if I’m mad.”

She wasn’t mad. She knew that she wasn’t, everyone knew that she wasn’t, but much like the king never put Lord Corlys in his place all the times the man stormed out of the Small Council, Daemon perched as a vulture on Dragonstone for months without recourse until he stole an egg, Rhaenyra escaping recourse and being covered for her indiscretions. Had Alicent’s own children be fathered by Ser Criston, to pass off as trueborn children, her own fate would not be so kind.

Why had no one sought to protect her, the way the king, mercurial in his affections towards his eldest child to begin with, still protected Rhaenyra?

Alicent did not know how long they sat there, the gasping and the tears, the undulating pressure around her middle ebbing and increasing until it finally started to fade. Gwayne’s hand slowly stroked her back in soothing motions, his cheek resting upon her head. As the silence grew and her sobbing eased, her brother finally spoke.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And if you wish me to stay with you instead of accompanying the boys to Harrenhal, I will.”

She shook her head. “Aegon will need you. Guide him, help him. He’s doing so well, I’m so afraid that he will slip…”

“You are afraid of everything, aren’t you?”

Alicent scoffed, wet and stuffy nosed. “I am being realistic. I need someone there who will tell me if I need to intervene-”

“Alicent.” Gwayne shifted, his voice sharp enough to draw her attention and she looked up at her brother, meeting his blue eyes with her own brown. Gwayne had their mother’s eyes, the Reyne eyes. Would her grandchildren hold those eyes as well? Or would Aegon’s Valryian gaze overpower them? “Let him grow. Let him have a chance away from here.”

“And if something happens to him?” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it so hard it hurt. Her brother’s mouth twitched in a smile. Sad, fond.

“He cannot thrive if you are tangled around him like a choke vine.”

“And what of father?” she whispered, harsh and unnerved.

“I’ll handle father,” Gwayne reassured, or attempted to do so, but Alicent felt the fear pulse inside of her, the uncertainty at what felt like a foolish promise. His eyes searched her face for several moments and Alicent, unnerved, reached up to wipe her eyes with her handkerchief and tried to gather her wits. “Alicent? Do… do you want your son to be king?”

Alicent’s heartbeat thundered in her ears and she pulled back from her brother to stare at him. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out and she shut it with a click of her teeth that longed to nash and rend those around her. A fresh wave of tears burned in her eyes but did not fall this time. She pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt in her bones.

“Aegon may not want it, but it is the only way to protect us. Viserys will not. Rhaenyra will not. I tried. I did, and I never thought she would hurt the children but…” Alicent shook her head, the fear still there, still acrid and painful. “Her callous disregard of my son, her brother’s maiming. And what they did to Laenor?” Her voice was a whisper, the fear, the shock of it that still stuck with her. “It was Daemon, to be sure, but Rhaenyra knew. And it’s that which terrifies me. Rhaenyra doesn’t have to give the command, or even raise the blade or-or bring Syrax to exact her justice. Daemon and whatever other lords seek to curry her favor will do what they think needs to be done, and that is to keep my children from being a threat, from being beacons of rebellion regardless of them being part of it or not. And if none do it for her, she will be forced to do it.”

Aegon may not want his sister’s throne, but Aemond? Her precious boy had received a grievous injury, but his sire, his father and king meant to protect him, had not cared. That night on Driftmark showed the court how utterly vulnerable Alicent and her children were, and her father had been right. She had to fight for them in a way she never had before. Aemond had risen to the challenge beside his mother, a protector, but also quiet and feral in ways that frightened her, in ways that sometimes reminded her of the way Daemon Targaryen used to stride about - a siren song of strength compared to his elder brother.

If to truly protect them meant putting her first boy, precious in his own ways, her little Aegon who was finally smiling again, on the throne? To protect them? Then so be it.

Let all they’d been through, let all she had been through, be worth it, let it mean something. Mother and Father above, please just let it have been for something.

“They speak of the great insults done to our House,” Gwayne said softly, leaning against the foot of her bed, one long leg sprawled out before him, the other bent to lean his arm on. “To not name your son heir, then why take his Hightower bride?”

“I wonder, had he married Laena Velaryon, if he would have named her son heir,” Alicent said, frustration edging into her voice. “Corlys Velaryon would not tolerate his grandson not on the Iron Throne-”

“Which is why House Velaryon has not broken with Rhaenyra,” Gwayne finished with a snort, but there was no amusement in it. “The Sea Snake wants to make a name for his house. These Valyrian politics - but what man doesn’t?”

“Viserys doesn’t,” Alicent rolled her eyes and Gwayne met her gaze, the pair of them snickering like children. She felt the tension in her chest ease with the laughter, better than tears, and pushed at her brother’s knee. “It’s guilt over Aemma Arryn’s death and the king is a stubborn man. He is easily run roughshod but when his mind is made…” She shook her head. “Had father not pushed, maybe it would have changed. But father made him feel like a fool, and Viserys cannot abide that.”

“It was not just father, though,” Gwayne pointed out. “Our house pushed for it, yes, but whispers and confusion have run rampant through this realm since Aegon was born. Women do not sit the Iron Throne. Seven Hells, Jaehaerys held a council because he could not decide between a granddaughter or grandson. What power does House Targaryen truly have if they must beg the lords of the realm to decide their succession when it should be clear, the way the rest of the realm does?”

“Dragons,” Alicent pointed out softly. There were so many dragons now, many from Vhagar, a few from eggs that Meraxes had laid - she recalled from Aemond’s excited speeches, a thick tome of dragon lineages clutched in his arms. “They have dragons.”

Gwayne’s hand reached up, fingers warm against her forehead as he pushed away a loose curl. “You are just as fierce,” he told her. “If not more.”

“Stop,” she muttered and pushed at his knee before they rose and she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

The children were scattered that morning. Helaena was in the gardens with little Floris and likely Jacaerys skulking after her as he’d taken to doing when council meetings weren’t in session. He had behaved well enough, from what she had seen and what had been reported to her. Bastard born he may truly be, Jacaerys had always treated her daughter kindly. There was frustratingly little she could do with the boy now, for word would trickle back to Viserys, who would feel like he needed to roar to make himself feel in control before retreating back to his lair.

She knew that Aemond kept watch, although her boy as of late had been distracted. When not in his studies or the training yard, he was hardly to be found. Which left Aegon and Abrogail, and at least she knew precisely where they would be then.

The weeks following the festivities had seen a change in her son, and one that Alicent wasn’t sure how to feel. The dalliance with the Lefford girl aside (no bastard had taken root, and the girl had been given a place in her household until such a time a match could be made), as well as whatever foolishness he’d engaged in with Cassandra Baratheon, Aegon had performed admirably. His spectacle making tried her patience, but won admiration through the court. No longer her little boy, her first son, Aegon had come into himself in a way that Alicent had not thought him capable of, and feared that it would not last.

For all the pain that ached and clawed inside her ribs at the sight of them, the displays of affection between her son and Abrogail had also proven fruitful, and she did not sense any facet of artifice between them. When her son smiled down at his betrothed, an easing sensation coursed through her, as if the tightly spooled coil inside of her was able to release gently.

Relief. Relief that this might, in fact, work out better than she hoped.

Perhaps the girl had been right in defending Aegon, yet Alicent still held her breath, did not let her relief grow unbound. Aegon often threw himself into new pursuits, at least once upon a time. He’d let it consume him and just as she thought she found what he needed to truly take responsibility, the novelty wore off and then there they were, back where things began, her son drunk and dunked in a horse trough to sober him up.

They found the children in the small, family dining hall. Abrogail’s ladies were clustered on a set of low chairs and chaises that had been brought in. Lady Desmara Crane and Lady Merei Thorne sat on either side of Lady Wylla, silk and lace across all their laps as they worked on Abrogail’s trousseau. The Riverlands girls that Abby had taken for ladies had returned home in order to get their own things and order, and would meet the wedding party at Harrenhal. Alicent regarded their dresses - all different, and made a mental note to ensure that uniforms denoting their statuses as ladies-in-waiting were taken care of when the seamstress came for the next wedding gown fitting.

The dancing master stood at the edge of the parquet floor where her son and cousin stood, the minstrels in the corner with the Targaryen drum and other instruments. The room was cool in the early afternoon, the torches out, the curtains fluttering gently in the fall breeze. Samwell was sweet voiced, and had been in court since her wedding a score ago. He was not a particularly tall man, still plump, but the years had sharpened the roundness of his face. He still composed, but now served as a dance master, leading the court in new dances. Samwell had taught the children as well, and as Alicent watched him, his feathered cap of red and black striping bobbing in time with the music, it felt as if she were transported to a godswood and a song she never wanted to hear again.

Samwell’s exasperation was palpable, and Alicent could see the pink flushed along Abrogail’s face all the way up to her hairline.

“You go left,” he instructed her sharply, the cane he held to keep the tempo cracking loud enough to cause the children and herself to jump. “The prince turns right, as the flow of air. You are receiving him, my lady.”

“Left,” Abrogail repeated, fingers twitching in the pale blue damask of her gown. Aegon gestured in the direction she was meant to go in and the music resumed. Aegon had the steps down, but Abrogail struggled to follow the beat that was so different to the normal court dances. Alicent wondered if it was some memory of Old Valyria that thumped through her son’s veins, for she recalled that Rhaenyra and Laenor’s rehearsals had gone quickly. Alicent had mercifully been saved from such a dance, for the king had not wanted to perform it again.

A short ‘Ow!’ escaped Aegon and he jumped away as Abby apologized for stepping on his feet. Alicent sucked in her lips to hold in a laugh as Abby glared at him, snipping at him, “You are ridiculous.” Alicent clapped her hands and the music stopped, bows and curtsies from those gathered before her.

“Thank you, Master Samwell. I think that’s enough for today,” she said, watching Abrogail’s shoulders sag in relief. “You may resume on the morrow. No progress can be made when one is so frustrated.” She watched the girl open her mouth and then shut it quickly, eyes downcast. As the minstrels gathered their instruments, Alicent released her brother and approached the pair. Aegon had moved closer to Abrogail, curling a long, red curl around his finger.

Whatever her son was saying to her, Alicent could not hear, but she took the time to appreciate their closeness in a way she had not allowed herself to before. They had behaved themselves admirably in the weeks of festivities. Even as jealousy curled in her gut from the shattered dreams of her girlhood, the worries that had plagued Alicent’s days had eased as she saw how well they had gotten on, how favorably many in the realm looked upon them. Many had come to her, speaking highly of the match, how clear the pair were fond of one another.

How rare that very thing was in so many unions across the realm.

Alicent feared. She feared from the moment her eyes opened to past the time her eyes closed, feared for the safety of her children, and their happiness, unfairly, she knew, was not at the top of her concerns. To know that this might keep her son safe, to know that for the first time in years too many to count on her own hands, her son looked happy…

“I am half convinced the dance only makes sense to those with Valyrian blood,” Alicent said, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to reassure her cousin. Abrogail’s features scrunched up uncertainty.

“Should we also not do a Riverlands dance as well?” The uncertainty left her, a small curl of a mischievous smile crossed the girl’s face as she eyed Aegon. “I’d like to see how well you perform that.”

Alicent pursed her lips at her son’s indignant look. Abrogail was not pregnant, there had been no scandals, no whispers. Whatever the girl had done to influence her son appeared to be working, the words she had said in such anger had taken root as Alicent had hoped. Aegon had thrown himself into good presentation, regardless of whatever dalliances her son had engaged in with Lady Cassandra.

“You are marrying a Targaryen, and with that comes certain expectations and obligations,” Alicent said carefully, her fingers running along the deep sleeves of her deep green gown, fingers tracing along the golden embroidery of the cuffs. “The might of the Targaryen House will be on display.” The girl nodded, eyes averted respectfully and Alicent watched her son continue to wind one of the long, red curls around his finger. He tugged on it, drawing her attention.

Alicent looked away to watch the minstrels leave the hall, the door closing with a soft thud behind them, the ladies continuing to work on their sewing. “Your brother is not here? Nor Helaena?”

“Daeron is with Helaena in the gardens. He has no interest in dancing,” Aegon rolled his eyes as Gwayne did. “He’s twelve.”

“Aemond is in the training yard with Ser Criston,” came Abrogail’s soft addition, reaching up to bat Aegon’s hand away from her hair. “He’s training for the wedding tourney.”

Aegon snorted. “Even though he complains how tourneys are nothing to real war.”

“Do not think you’ll escape the training yard with me,” Gwayne teased him. “Just be grateful I won’t have you out at sunup, given your newlywed status.”

Abrogail flushed. “Is-is everything alright, your Grace? Did something happen?” Aegon’s eyes swiveled curiously from the girl to her and Alicent smoothed her hands over her skirt.

“We would announce it at dinner, but I had hoped to speak to Floris.” she shook her head. “Lord Borros has agreed to the betrothal between Aemond and her. Obviously not for a few years - she is only a girl, but it will at least give time for her and Aemond to get to know one another.”

‘You had been only a girl’, Alicent thought. It was why she had fought so hard against her father to wait just a little longer before betrothing Aegon and Abrogail. To give the girl more time, the way her mother would have wanted, the way that it had not been afforded to her. She would do what she could for Floris.

And hopefully give Aemond time to come around to the idea.

Alicent sighed. Hopefully, her second son would be in a more receptive mood after hours having Ser Criston exhaust him with drills. “I shall go find your brother and hopefully catch him before he flees for Vhagar. Floris will be easy enough to speak to, if her sister hasn’t found her already.” She reached out, stroking Aegon’s hair, pushing the silver strands out of his eyes. The way he stiffened did not go unnoticed, and her heart ached with guilt. Her hand dropped, her smile tight and Aegon gave her a slight bow, Abrogail bobbing her own curtsy, a murmured ‘Your Grace’ whisper soft.

The moment Jace saw Aemond dominating the training yard, he felt his stomach drop and promptly went right and through the tunnel towards the gardens. While things with his uncle had been only filled with tension, Jace knew when to pick his battles and that was one he did not need to dive into.

The terraced gardens of King’s Landing featured in some of his earliest memories, when things were simpler, when the animosity and the tension hadn’t suffocated them all. In the gardens, the rest of the world fell away, much like how he felt when he rode Vermax, his jade wings skimming the waves of the sea, the salt wind in his face. The suffocating stench of King’s Landing was not so bad here, and while one was never alone - too many servants, too many lingering lords and ladies, all to ever truly be hidden - it was still a reprieve and Jace made his way down to the third terrace where the fountains were. With the fountains were mud, and he knew that Helaena would be there with her jar to dig up little things to feed her collection.

The first thing Jace heard was the laughter of children, and he spied Floris Baratheon swinging a stick rather aggressively at Daeron, whose eyes were wide in shock at the battle cry she let out. A grin broke out across his face as he gathered himself, and swung his stick back with equal fervor. Baela’s ladies - minus his step-sister who was still at High Tide - were gathered on the stone terrace along with Helaena’s new lady, eating cakes and gossiping.

Helaena herself crouched beside some of the large stones, a jar beside her as she rolled over one of the stones. Her hair was bound in a simple silver braid hung over one shoulder, her deep green gown embroidered with silver moths turned muddy and damp from the wet ground. Jace watched her pick a worm from where it clung to the stone and set it carefully away.

“Fish with feathered fins,” she said as Jace approached and he noticed her gaze was focused on her work, fingers twitching, the words nonsensical. He had not seen the expression on her face in years, had thought, mayhaps, her moments had abated over time as she grew older.

It was not the case. It was not something the princess had grown out of, and he remembered with clarity of a frantic, sobbing fit she’d had when they were children. Helaena was meant to be handled gently - Jace remembered his mother saying as much when they were young, not long after Daeron had been born. He should treat Helaena kindly, and respect when she did not want to be touched, and be mindful of loud noises. And so he did, stern with Luke when he would screech in excitement or indignation, snap at Aegon when he raised his voice. It had been the two of them playing in the halls of the Red Keep, playing a game of hide and seek, and he’d found Helaena, frozen in the hallway to his mother’s room, tears streaking down her face, clutching something to her. It had been nothing, but she would not drop her arms, and not knowing what to do, Jace had gotten his mother. Belly round with Joffrey, she’d come out, concern etched on her features and together they sat on the ground with Helaena, his mother not touching her but speaking to her in calm tones.

“The rats, the rats, the rats are coming,” Helaena had whispered in a frantic mantra.

“The rats will not hurt you, hāedus. I will go to Lord Lyonel and we will ensure there are more ratcatchers employed. I promise.” His mother said firmly and clearly, not dismissing the concern, her gaze towards him.

“And if we find a rat, we will get Abby’s cat to help catch them,” Jace had promised with a nod.

She was not crying here. She was distant from the world around them, and focused on something that wasn’t the little bugs she was dropping into the jar. Helaena was so far away and Jace kneeled beside her. The ground was wet and cold and promptly began soaking into the wool of his trousers. He ignored the uncomfortable sensation and remained beside her, curls in his eyes and reached for the scurrying little bugs to drop in the jar.

“Fish with feathered fins and storms of ivy,” she whispered. “Not that one. The red ones get ignored.”

Jace started when he realized she had addressed him in the middle of her whispers and dropped the red pill bug back onto the soft earth. It eagerly burrowed back into the soil, vanishing without a trace.

“Shall we find you a fish with feathered fins?” he asked her softly, a slight jest in his voice as he attempted to draw her back into the present moment. Helaena did not reply to him but shifted the jar better between them and he went about pulling up the next large stone to pull the bugs from beneath it.

“Promises shatter in ice,” Helaena said.

“What?”

Heleana drew back to sit on her heels, the rock falling back in place and her hands covered in mud. Her gaze appeared to fix on them and Jace watched her quietly, the sounds of Daeron and Floris’ laughter filling the garden. It felt ominous to him, the feeling rushing in like water behind a broken dam.

Tentatively, Jace lifted a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Helaena, come back to me,” he urged gently, thumb stroking against the soft wool. “You’re going somewhere and I haven’t any idea how to follow you.” He would if he could, for he knew that whatever plagued Helaea was a frightening place that she should not traverse alone, even tethered to Dreamfyre as she was.

All he could do was reach for her, and hope that she heard him.

Helaena slowly blinked, as if the act itself was something she had to remind herself or force herself to do. Jace swallowed and chanced a glance over his shoulder. Daeron and Floris were still chasing one another with their sticks, and the ladies were occupied with their chatting. He frowned with an uncertain feeling. Should her ladies not be attending her? Or did they think it best to leave her be? A sharp inhale of breath drew his focus back to Helaena. She pulled away awkwardly, hands fluttering and fingers flexing.

“I…” Helaena looked lost, confused, and she stared at him but did not meet his eyes, mouth opening and closing, words unable to escape her. Jace shook his head and kept his hand to himself in her clarity of not wanting the touch.

“You’re alright. You’re safe here.”

“Helaena?”

Abrogail’s voice carried past the hedge and she came around the bed, mouth tight, gripping tightly to Wylla Karstark’s hand. The dark haired woman looked pale, face tense as she followed.

“See?” Jace said, hoping it would comfort the princess. “Abrogail’s here.” Would that help? He felt impotent, helpless, useless in the worst possible way.

Abrogail and Wylla dropped to the other side of Helaena, the mud and damp soaking into the hems of their skirts. “How long has she been like this?” Abrogail asked, voice quiet but firm, blue eyes searching the princess’ face before looking at him.

“Since before I came.” Abrogail reached for one of Helaena’s hands, spreading her fingers out and gently stroking each of them to keep them from bending back into the anxious claws they had been. The ease of the motion spoke to how often they’d done it, Abrogail pressing her thumb gently into Helaena’s palm to ease the rigidity.

“Helaena? What is the matter?” Abrogail leaned in and Helaena did not meet her gaze but drew back, pulling her hand away and clutching both to her chest. A sound escaped her throat, small, a growl perhaps? Or a whimper? Helaena’s silver braid swung and she sharply changed direction, shifting to her knees to grab Wylla’s hand.

“Silence doesn’t mean the grave,” Helaena hissed. Wylla’s gray eyes were wide, brow furrowed in confusion as Helaena leaned in, pinning Wylla in place like a moth on one of her boards. Jace could see how tightly she gripped the other’s hand.

“Your Grace?” Wylla whispered and Helaena grabbed her now with both hands, shaking her head. Abrogail met Jace’s eyes, confused, before her gaze went to the ladies sitting on the terrace. The confusion turned to incredulity.

“Have they been sitting here this whole time?” she asked him in a calm voice, and the familiarity of it hit him in the chest. Her voice was calm, but there was nothing calm in the words. There was a quiet anger simmering beneath those words, brightening her gaze, and it reminded him so much of Ser Harwin that it took his breath away. Gentle and fierce.

Jace knew immediately that she meant, and he felt his own jaw tick as his understanding of the situation shifted. He nodded, holding her gaze, feeling a tempest inside of his chest. “I’ll stay here,” he promised and Abrogail’s gaze softened along the edges, her hand reaching out as if she meant to cup his cheek before she stopped herself. Hand still in the air, her fingers curled and with another nod, she gathered herself up to do whatever it was she meant to do.

“Don’t.”

Abrogail stilled, awkwardly half standing, Helaena’s fingers gripping her wrist. “What?”

The princess dropped a hand from Wylla to reach for Abrogail’s wrist. “Don’t,” she repeated, her head tilting, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “Don’t do that.”

“But, Helaena-”

Helaena yanked Abrogail’s arm hard enough that the unbalanced girl toppled over with a wet slap and Abrogail grimaced as the mud and wet soaked into her more uncomfortably. “They are supposed to be tending you.”

“And they are. I sent Margaery away before Jace came by.” Helaena sounded more exasperated than the annoyance that filled her actions and she gestured for Jace to hand her the jar of bugs. “You mustn’t lecture them.”

“I-” Helaena gave her a look and Abrogail shut her mouth, chastened. “I’m sorry.” In the quiet after the words, Daeron gave a shout and Jace saw him hit the ground hard, his stick sword flung out of his hand as Floris Baratheon stood over him, her own sword pointing right into his face. The ladies cheered and clapped for Floris, and offered their sympathies to Daeron. Helaena huffed and let go of Abrogail’s wrist.

“Jace was here and I was fine. Thank you, Jacaerys.” His cheeks flushed beneath her unblinking gaze, chest warm, even as the confusion of what had all happened still stormed inside of him. “He came exactly when I needed. Not too early, nor too late. I am capable of expressing my own needs.” Abrogail flushed for different reasons, fingers twisting. “What is it?”

Abrogail looked to Wylla. “The queen came to our dancing lessons-”

“Was it about how you keep stepping on Aegon’s feet?”

“I didn’t step - No!” Abrogail’s nose wrinkled with annoyance. “‘Tis not my fault dances are so complicated and that my feet do not behave. No.” A deep breath, another look, this time in the direction of Floris and Daeron. “She said that Aemond and Floris are now betrothed, she was going to find Aemond and then you.”

The silence held. Then, “Even though Wylla and Aemond have been kissing everywhere?” Helaena asked.

“But she’s eleven,” Jace protested.

The words hung in the air while it was Wylla’s turns for her cheeks to flush and Abrogail to stare at her. Jace also looked at her, surprised that Lady Wylla would even want to voluntarily get that close to Aemond, let alone kiss him.

“You’ve been kissing Aemond? And you didn’t tell me?” Abrogail’s incredulous voice was hushed so as not to pull the attention of the others.

Wylla shrugged helplessly. “It hasn’t been everywhere,” she muttered beneath the attention. “And this isn’t the point. I…” Wylla shook her head. “Prince Jacaerys is right, Floris is a little girl, does she mean to send them both to Storm’s End?”

“At least it isn’t Cassandra,” Helaena said with a frown. “No, they will not be sent to Storm’s End. Floris is my ward. She will stay with me for as long as I can keep her.” A sigh. “Floris has many years before she is to be married. Who's to say the betrothal will even last?”

Wylla looked uncertain. “You sound sure of yourself.”

Helaena looked at her. “I’m not. But Lord Borros is feckless and mercurial, he may change his mind if it means he cannot betroth Cassandra, or if he has a son.” Jace did not know if those were truly Helaena’s opinions on the matter, or if she was mimicking what her mother had said.

“Can you not break it as you did yours?” Abrogail asked. Helaena shook her head.

“Breaking my betrothal to Aegon should never have worked, and it was because our grandfather already found it distasteful that he convinced our father to break it on the eventual promise that Aemond and I might marry, and that also isn’t happening. Obviously.”

The look on Wylla’s face was one of confused near-disgust, one that Jace had seen in many outside of their family. Most found it objectionable to imagine kissing their own siblings, and Jace himself could not imagine kissing Luke if his brother had been born a girl, so he perhaps understood that.

Besides, none would find it strange if Helaena was only his cousin, for the blood they shared was the same in that regard.

“Floris will not mind if you keep kissing Aemond, Wylla, do not fear that,” Helaena continued, tightening the lid on her jar.

Wylla sputtered, glaring at Helaena. “Respectfully, Helaena,” she said, not even giving her the proper title, and Helaena looked up from her jar. “I do mind. I will not be some paramour, or continue some ill-fated dalliance with your brother just because Floris doesn’t mind. Floris is eleven and she deserves to be treated respectfully, not to mention I deserve it. I will not be shamed, or the newest subject for court gossip.” She sniffed, and Jace could not tell if she was trying not to cry, or if she was so angry she could spit. Abrogail rested a hand on Wylla’s back, lower lip caught between her teeth. Helaena shut her mouth, brow furrowed, and looked at her jar of bugs. “If Aemond suggests such a thing, I will cease everything. I will not allow him to do that to me, nor anyone else. I will push him out of a window for such a thing.”

Jace smothered his laugh into a cough at the imagery of such a threat, and had to keep from offering to assist the lady.

Helaena pressed her lips together, a little snort escaping her. “I would like to see that. He does need it sometimes,” she allowed. “I will see what mother says when she comes.” Her fingers drummed against the jar, and still, Helaena did not meet anyone’s eyes, still caught in whatever in between space that plagued her, but her words were more present, and that was truly what mattered.

Sitting there on the cold, wet ground, Jace wondered what his mother would say about all this. He had been sent to King’s Landing not just to serve on grandfather’s small council, but to be her eyes and ears amongst the viper’s nest. Any piece of information, no matter how small, could possibly become crucial to her cause. But as he sat there, Helaena’s hand drifting to rest near him, it felt like a further betrayal to reveal the conversation, even though he had, more or less, been a part of this. It wasn’t as if it had been overheard and none of the women knew he was there. They had none, and spoken openly regardless.

He could put off writing. At least for now.

AND WITH THAT! We are on our way to Harrenhal! I'd love to know what you loved about this chapter, and what you're looking forward to! Any questions or curiosities? ALSO! WE are sooooo taking bets on what (if anything?) is going to go wrong at this epic Westerosi Royal Wedding. And if you aren't sure what to say, drop a dragon emoji in the comments so I know you were here <3 and as always, thank you for being here. I appreciate each and every one of you.

[Next Chapter]

[reasonsforhope]

"FYI to the non-parents out there, it takes at least 15 pairs of shoes for a child to grow from a toddler to a teenager—that’s a lot of trips to the Footlocker.

Fortunately, an Indian entrepreneur from Pune has designed a line of shoes that slowly uncurl as the child ages, intuitively solving the problem and reducing unnecessary manufacturing waste.

Called Aretto, the shoes were designed by Satyajit Mittal and his childhood friend Krutika Lal. Their innovative knitted uppers are designed with all the qualities a parent would want their kids’ shoes to have—durability, flexibility, and washability.

“Children do not wear the right shoes for the first ten years of their lives,” Mittal, who designed the Aretto shoes with consultations with concerned childhood podiatrists, told The Better India.

“Between zero and three years of age, children’s feet size changes every three months, and you need roughly 15 sizes between zero and nine, before attaining final foot size at 13 years. We figured out the problem that while feet grow, their shoes do not.”

What the podiatrists explained to him was that children have a broader footprint than adults, due to their not having worn shoes for most of their lives like adults. Tens of thousands of nerve endings provide the feedback needed for children to understand how to use the miraculous musculature in their feet to walk and run.

Most infantile and childhood shoes don’t consider this, and based on the frequency at which parents need to buy new shoe sizes, proper foot function is probably never even taken into account, and the occasional stuffing of toddler feet into shoes too small or too large, can disrupt this critical muscle development.

“We wanted to give children the right fit for all cycles. We chose one shoe to cover three sizes that allow 18 mm growth. We took inspiration from how a flower blooms from the bud stage to the fully-flowered stage. The transition happens organically every day. We applied this concept to the shoe,” said Mittal.

“We started working on a shoe that flexes as per the feet. Simply put, as and when the feet grow either from the front or back or sideways, and when a child wears this shoe, it expands accordingly and takes the shape and contour of their feet. That’s why children feel comfortable wearing such shoes,” he adds.

The shoes are priced between Rs 1,800 and Rs 2,600, ($22 – $31) and are available internationally as well, provided that international buyers have either an Indian bank, or Google Pay, Amazon Pay, or WhatsApp Pay.

The shoes are fairly new on the marketplace but have already generated 21 lakh, or Rs 2.1 million ($25,000) in revenue."

-via Good News Network, 4/10/23

Note: This is very mundane in some ways, but it's also something that's going to legit make a difference for some kids/families. One annoyingly regular problem/cost off the backs to parents.

Also, can say from painful experience that wearing shoes that don't fit or aren't supportive can Fuck You Up longterm--some people just get the pain from it sooner than others. So this design sounds fantastic

[linkspooky]

How to write the perfect revenge story with Kohaku-Sensei! What Tsukihime does better than Avatar the Last Airbender.

So a follower asked me why Kohaku was my favorite of the Tsukhime girls after I made an offhand comment on my Ciel/Noel post on how Kohaku is the perfect take on revenge. Both Noel and Kohaku's story arcs are near perfect revenge tragedies that make their characters the standouts in Tsukihime. I tried writing up just why I thought Kohaku's character was good but it kept turning into a carbon copy of this post by comun right here. Eventually I decided to dig deeper.

Why does Kohaku's revenge story work so well? Why does every other revenge story suck so hard in comparison? See the thing is I hate a lot of revenge stories in fiction because they are very shallow, black and white tales of the good guy giving the bad guy everything he deserves.

In other words, I'm disappointed by most omdern revenge stories because they display a critical lack of understanding of how cycles of abuse start in the first place, and how both sides on the conflict no matter what are equally human. Perhaps that's why Kinoko Nasu writes revenge so well, because he's a deeply humanist author who's not really focused on good guys or bad guys but rather just understanding the characters involved.

So to show just how well Tsukihime humanizes Kohaku as both victim and villain of the story, I'm going to compare it to one of the worst revenge stories I've read in fiction. Both of these stories are tragedies that kill their main character, a victim who just wanted revenge for the long abuses they'd suffered in life. However, one of these is Tsukihime, and the other one sucks. So without further ado under the cut.

ORESTES THE FIRST REVENGE STORY

So Yun is a character from a spinoff novel prequel of Avatar the Last Aribender, focusing on the life of Avatar Kyoshi. In a lot of ways Yun is like Noel. He's a completely new character, thrown into the backstory of an already established character. He also steals the show because he's allowed to be a lot more flawed and act as a villainous foil to the main character, Yun even acts as a Jungian shadow the second novel is literally called the shadow of Kyoshi.

However, there's one major difference Noel's character greatly enhances Ciel's even if she is fridged for Ciel's character development. Whereas Yun's character and the eventual ending the story gave him ruined any kind of enjoyment I could have had from the story for Kyoshi's character. In fact, I think Yun's death made the whole story fall apart thematically.

Which is ironic because it was the exact same ending. Noel's character ends with her dying by Ciel's hands. Kyoshi kills Yun with her own two hands in order to stop his revenge. In both stories the victim dies so why does one frustrate me to no end and the other ending elevates Tsukihime to one of my favorite pieces of fiction?

The devil is in the details.

Revenge stories are by their nature tragedies. It makes sense for them to, for the most part with a few hopeful exceptions have bad endings. Taking personal revenge against every single person who's hurt you grievously no matter how deserved that revenge might be does not solve the problem. In fact it creates several new problems.

This is pretty well explored tragedy in fiction, all the way back to The Oresteia. Orestes is the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra. If you know anything about the trojan war you should recognize those names.

The story begins like this, King Agamemnon of Mycenae offends the goddess Artemis by killing one of her stags. So, in retaliation she prevents the greek troops from reaching troy by taking the wind out of their sails, unless Agamemmnon kills his oldest daughter Iphigenia. Agammemnon drags his daughter away from his wife Clytemnestra who was crying and begging him not to and offers her as human sacrifice. Ten years later when Agamemnon returns home he finds his wife sleeping with another man, and the two of them together butcher him to avenge iphigenia.

Then in order to avenge her father's death, elektra urges her brother Orestes to kill their mother and the man she committed adultery with. Orestes eventually goes through with it out of duty to his father, but because he's committed the clan of kin slaying the gods send the furies after him to chase him down and torment him.

The revenge just continues to cycle. Orestes doesn't right a wrong by avenging his father's murderer, he just commits kin slaying a taboo among the gods. Even though he felt he had an obligation too because he couldn't let his father's murderer live, the gods don't let him live in peace. Orestes would have been chased by the Furies for the rest of his life if Athena didn't intervene and basically hold the first court case in order to rule if it was really just to punish Orestes like this.

The point of my long foray into greek mythology is that no matter how entitled each person in the revenge cycle might have felt to their revenge, in the end they were committing a horrible act. Clytemnestra was avenging her daughter against the man who killed him, but she alienated her other two children. Orestes was duty bound to avenge his father, but he still killed his own mother with his two hands. At each link in the chain there's no real innocent parties, and the moment you take revenge you become a perpetrator in this cycle of abuse as well.

That is I think a central concept that the greeks understood but many modern authors fail to grasp, that revenge is a cycle during which any time a person can become a victim of it, and also a perpetrator of it. It's not a matter of internal goodness or badness but rather an uncontrollable cycle of violence that people get caught up in.

What revenge stories should be about is escaping the cycle. When the character manages to escape like Orestes and live for something other than revenge that's a happy ending, but when the character fails to escape that's a tragedy. Whether or not a character actually accomplishes their revenge is a footnote.

The Count of Monte Cristo accomplishes most of his revenge but the act of revenge isn't what saves him, but rather the faithful love of Haydee who had always been by his side and the words "wait and hope." The Count isn't saved by the revenge he took on all the people who hurt him, but by the strength he had to wait through a terrible situation until it got better and then live on to the better future. Carrie accomplishes her revenge in burning down the school gymnasium and all of her bullies, then goes home and dies a few minutes after killing her mom the last of her abusers unable to escape the cycle.

While their endings are opposites, in both cases completing their revenge didn't give them any measure of peace at all. In fact, the Count almost in the course of his revenge committed a sin far worse than anyone had done to him by killing a newborn infant. No, any good revenge story should know that in the words of percy from Critical Role you can't murder your way to peace.

"There was nothing I could’ve done to save my family, yet I still sold my soul in search of vengeance. Later I allowed Ripley to leave, knowing full well she was a greater threat to the world than the Briarwoods would ever be. I traded the world’s safety for the belief that I could murder my way to peace; that if I could be a greater horror, it would bring my family back. And once this lie was shattered I scrambled to find a solution, to make a deal, to undo my mistakes and balance the scales. I now understand that there are no scales, there is no redemption, and no ledger that judges me good or evil. I am free to simply be myself and live with the terrible mistakes I’ve made." -Percy's Death Letter, Critical Role

In most revenge stories I've noticed that revenge is the main character motivator for the character taking revenge. Therefore the conflict becomes whether or not they can find something new to live for by the end of the story. The characters seeking revenge often make that revenge their entire reason for living, but then what next?

This quote from Oldboy a modern adaptation of the Count of Monte Cristo is relevant.

Seeking revenge is the best cure for someone who got hurt Try it The loss of 15 years the pain of losing your wife and child you can forget all this Once again revenge is good for your health But... What happens after you've revenged yourself?

What happens after you've revenged yourself should be the central question to these revenge arcs. The ones who don't have an answer to that question and are unable to free themselves from the cycle are the ones who end in tragedy.

YUN VS KOHAKU

Yun and Kohaku are characters from a western animated series that adopts eastern themes and a Japanese visual novel about vampires. These two characters come from very different genres of stories, an adventure story about magical warriors using martial arts to bend the elements and a horror story about vampires and serial killers respectively.

However, because both Yun and Kohaku are the central figures of a revenge tragedy they end up having a lot in common. The largest common thread between them is that both of them is that they are child abuse victims, specifically the victims of long term grooming.

They are children who were adopted and then groomed by their father figure for years. In Kohaku's case, it was sexual grooming, whereas in Yun's case it was grooming him into a child soldier. The official definition of child grooming works for both of these cases, it is when an adult forms a relationship with a child to sexually assault them or induce them into doing something dangerous or harmful to them.

Kohaku and Yun are more obscure characters though so for the sake of people who haven't read one or both of these series I'm going to go more into depth on their individual circumstances.

Kohaku is an empath, born with the ability to transfer energy to other people through sexual intercourse. She and her sister were brought into the Tohno Clan, because Makihisa Tohno the elder had demon blood in his veins. This demon blood made him at risk of going through a process called inversion, where he would slowly lose all his mind, all reason, and violently attack everyone around him until he was finally put down. In order to mitigate that risk, Makishisa engaged in regular sexual intercourse with a young Kohaku and made use of her abilities as an empath to control his demon side.

As the elder of twin sisters Kohaku made a deal with Makihisa that she'd let him use her whenever she needed as long as he never touched her sister. Since he kept his word to her, she found it hard to resent him in the long term. Also, because she was constantly high on drugs that made it impossible for her to feel pain.

"So, I took in everything Makihisa-sama wanted to do. I asked him not to touch Hisui-chan because I would take everything myself. He was probably ashamed and agreed to my request. He probably also thought it was better that as few people knew about this secret as possible."

Kohaku is eventually sent to take care of Makihisa's son who also inverted, but when he loses control and rapes her too that's when she loses her last bit of humanity and starts to think of revenge.

At this point she starts to think of herself as an unthinking doll who cannot move for herself, and can only move for revenge. She eventually starts to move against Makishia, first by informing Akiha and Hisui of the abuse she's suffered. She's surprised when Akiha immediately protests what he farther was doing right away, and the sexual liason ends and Kohaku becomes a normal servant. However, even after the abuse ends Kohaku decides to continue living for revenge leading to the main plot of the Far Side of Tsukihime.

Yun is the false avatar. If you've heard of Avatar then I'm sure you at least vaguely know of the concept of the avatar, spiritual guide in the world of avatar that reincarnates over and over again to guide both humanity and the spirits.

In the avatar prequel novels it's established each nation has its own way of tracking down the avatar, but because Kuruk died early and under mysterious circumstances the earth nation was in a panic to find the next avatar. Instead of waiting for more sure confirmation, they picked one random kid on the side of the road on what was basically a hunch that he was Kuruk's reincarnation. This kid was named Yun, a nameless but smart kid with no parents who was conning people by playing Pai Sho really really well. While all along the next avatar Kyoshi was right next to them as one of Yun's servants.

Yun is trained as the avatar through years, and is put through the kind of training that only the Zoldyck family from Hunter x Hunter would approve in. Including being forced to walk on spiked caltrops to learn bending, and being forced to microdose on poison to gain an immunity. Like, this is literally what Killua's parents did to him in HXH.

"I'm surprised you can move," Jianzhu said to him, more impressed than anything else. "Poison training," Yun spat through clenched jaws. "With Sifu Amak, remember? Or did you forget every darker exercise you put me through?"

Yun is a genius earth bender, a brilliant statesman, he works all around the clock to become the avatar everyone is telling him he's destined to be but he's not physically capable of bending any element other than earth. To the point where after a year of failing to learn fire, his bending teachers frequently lambast him as being lazy and not trying hard enough.

"Your situation isn't unique" Hei-Ran went on. "History is full of Avatars like you who tried to coast on their talents. You're not the only one who wanted to take it easy." Yun slipped. An event rare enough to notice. His motion took him too far outside his center of gravity, and he stumbled on his knees. Sweat stung his eyes, ran into the corner of his mouth. Take it easy? Take it easy? Was she ignoring the fact he spent sleepless nights poring over scholarly analyses of Yanghcen's political decisions? That he'd extensively memorized the names of every Earth Kingdom noble, Fire Nation commander, and Water Tribe Chieftan back three generations on the living and the dead? The forgotten texts he'd used to map the ancient sacred sites of the Air Nomads to such a degree that Kelsang was surprised about a few of them? That's who he was when no one was looking. Someone who dedicated his whole being to his Avatarhood. Yun wanted to make up for the lost time he'd squandered by being discovered so late. He wanted to express gratitude to Jianzhu and the entire world for giving him the greatest gift in existence. Taking it easy was the last thing on his mind. [Literally a few seconds later...] "In the old days, masters used to maim their students for insubordination," she said horsely. Yun restrained himself from flinching, "What wonderful modern times we live in."

So Yun is physically and emotionally abused by all of his teachers, Jianzhu, Hei-Ran and several other adults who were complicit with it to train him up into being the avatar. Then, when it turns out Yun isn't the avatar, he's immediately abandoned and left for dead.

Yun gets dragged into the spirit world as a human sacrifice to a horrifying spirit known as Father Glow Worm. He is abandoned by his master who makes no attempt to save him the moment he learned that he wasn't the avatar. Then, in the spirit world he fights Father Glow Worm for days and eventually has to eat him in order to escape home.

After getting to a random village he asks for water. Yun is mocked by a man he saved earlier fo rasking for a single glass of water. When the man throws the water on the ground and tells him to water bend it, Yun snaps and then kills the man who mocked him, the city guard, and everyone who was sitting in the teashouse and has his Geto moment. He decides to start living for revenge against all of the teachers who abused him.

"Well," he said out loud to no one. "It looks like I've been fired." Perhaps it was for the best. He would need the free time, because he had a losit of things to do. lots of personal business to take care of. And at the top of the list was paying his respects to Jianzhu. Filled with new purpose, Yun took off down the road, whistling as he went.

Both of these characters decide to make revenge their reason for living. To quote Oldboy, "Seeking revenge is the best cure for someone who got hurt. Try it." They also face the same fundamental issue, now that they're only living for revenge then what happens after they've revenged themselves?

These characters are also similar in a couple of other ways. They are schemers who mainly work through manipulating others. Yun fakes a political conflict between the fire nation royal family and another noble family in order to bring one of his abusers into the crossfire. Kohaku manipulates both SHIKI and Shiki through the use of drugs to orchestrate her revenge in the Far Side Routes.

They're also both trickster characters. Yun refers to himself as a clown and constantly hides everything behind a smile. "He added that smirk that everyone said reminded them of Kuruk's. After all, a clown needed his makeup." A major part of Kohaku's character is that after Hisui learned about how her sister was being abused she stopped smiling. Kohaku wanting her sister to be happy, started to fake a smile and goof around the way Hisui used to because she wants to see her sister smile again.

One more similarity before I begin dissecting their differences and the way these two characters are handled is that if Kohaku and Yun were the main characters of the story their revenge would undoubtably be framed as one hundred percent justified. If they were the main characters it would definitely be a kill bill situation.

I don't think they are justified, because straightforward revenge is boring. The fact that they are antagonists is the point of each story. I'm just making an underlying point on how a lot of revenge stories suffer from protagonist centered morality. It's alright if Maki Zen'in, or The Bride kills upwards of a hundred people in retaliation for the harm that was done to them and we're supposed to root for them without thinking too deeply on it because they're the protagonists of the story. Protagonist centered morality is bad, because it makes things too centered on the protagonist and therefore if the morality of a piece of based on the protagonist it will make things too easy and the protagonist will go unchallenged.

In fact, in the story of Tsukihime itself, the entire Tohno family thinks that Kohaku 100% has the right to take revenge against them. Akiha is fully aware of Kohaku's revenge scheme. She lets Kohaku get away with her revenge every step of the way, including taking what is essentially a bullet on purpose and dying for Kohaku's revenge scheme because she believes her family deserves it.

However, because they are not the protagonists they don't get the easy route of taking their revenge against the people who deserve it and then riding off into the sunset happily. No, Kohaku practically gets her revenge handed to her on a silver platter and still revenge doesn't fix anything.

Once again, revenge is good for your health, but...

WHAT HAPPENS AFTER YOU'VE REVENGED YOURSELF?

Yun and Kohaku are both characters who either lost everything, or had no reason to live to begin with and decided to make revenge a reason for living. Both of them were unable to keep living for revenge because revenge is unsustainable. It's not something you do once and you're done, it's a cycle. The act of participating in it continues to perpetuate the cycle. As a result both of them met their tragic end.

However, Kohaku's tragedy surpassed Count of Monte Cristo for my favorite revenge story in all of fiction, whereas Yun's ending made me want to rip his book in half.

There are some differences in how their revenge stories play out. Kohaku is a very unique character. In spite of being an emotionless doll, she takes her revenge not out of anger or hate but empathy. I can't word it better than Comun so I'll just quote their post:

Hisui route ends with the reveal that Kohaku masterminded the demise of the Toono family and her motives are pretty obvious but I never expect the way she felt about it. Kohaku describes herself as not as a human, but as Makihisa’s emotionless doll. Kohaku had to constantly intake pain-removing drugs in order to endure Makihisa’s (and latter SHIKI’s) abuse and this state of not feeling anything disconnected her from her emotions. Kohaku admits that, to some extent, she did all of this because it made her feel human a little. What you would expect from this premise? Kohaku channelling her remnants of humanity into hatred for the Toono family and orchestrating her revenge. Was that what really was on her mind? Nope, Kohaku (and Kinoko himself, as Fate/Grand Order is a great evidence of) has a much more positive definition of what it means to be human. Kohaku expresses her humanity through fairness, empathy and a desire to make the situation better. Even though, Makihisa singlehandedly completely ruined her life, she acknowledges that he didn’t do it out of sadism or perversion, he did because he really had no other choice in order to keep himself from inverting and causing even bigger harm to everyone. Kohaku sees Makihisa as much of a victim of this tragedy as herself. 

Kohaku's revenge actually takes a twisted form of empathy. Kohaku doesn't have the standard revenge motivation of just wanting to hurt the people who hurt her, because she can objectively see the points of view of almost everyone involved in the tragedy.

It's a bit like Orestes where there's no true beginning or end point. Makihisa is a sick pervert and the instigator, but he also didn't choose to be born with demon blood that made him liable to turn insane at any moment. SHIKI is kind of helpless in all of this, as another person with demon blood he couldn't help inverting at nine years old and going completely insane, he's not really in control of his actions. Hisui is an innocent, and while Akiha is a part of the same family the moment she learned what Kohaku was suffering she stood up for Kohaku and made it stop.

"But, there wasn't anything else I could do. Without a purpose like that, I couldn't live. A doll cannot move on its own. Without anything to guide it, it can't move." "But still--" ...... That is unforgivable.

Comun frames Kohaku's motivations as genuinely believing the world would be better off without the Tohno bloodline, because it only has caused everyone involved with it suffering. Therefoer she makes a plan to kill every member of the family, except for Hisui and Shiki who are technically innocents, and then herself finally so Hisui can run off into the sunset together with Shiki who she'd always loved.

I'd also add that on top of empathy there's also a certain justice in her actions. Not justice in the sense that she has to hurt the people who hurt her, more like justice in the sense of fairness? Like, Kohaku isn't driven by personal hatred but rather a desire to make things fair and balance the scales. A family like the Tohno who cause misery to everyone shouldn't exist, because people shouldn't have mixed their blood with demons in the first place. There has to be a consequence to Makihisa's actions because you can't get away with child rape and the only one who could enforce it was her. The same way that Kohaku considers everyone's opinion equally and considers everyone equal victims in this twisted family cycle of revenge, Kohaku also acts to make things more fair.

To quote Percy again, it's like she's trying to balance the ledgers.

"And once this lie was shattered I scrambled to find a solution, to make a deal, to undo my mistakes and balance the scales. I now understand that there are no scales, there is no redemption, and no ledger that judges me good or evil."

Kohaku's also constructing a narrative around her pain. She needs a reason to keep living, and that reason is the narrative she's constructed, the story she told herself that she only half believes that everyone would be better off if everyone associated with the Tohnos, herself included, except for Hisui and Shiki died off.

Of course this is just a narrative. A lie she is telling herself to justify her actions. Because Kohaku acts out of fairness, and empathy, but she also acts for the sake of acting. She wants a reason to move, because otherwise she would just be a doll, passively enduring suffering. The story she tells herself is in the end a lie, like all stories are. Kohaku ignores the feelings of two people in her assumption that everyone would be better off without the Tohnos, that is her own personal feelings towards Akiha, and Hisui's feelings towards her. Kohaku understands that the reason Hisui can't smile any more is that she's too horrified at all the things her sister endured to protect her. However, she can't grasp that killing herself in front of Hisui would just make Hisui live with that guilt forever. That Hisui would rather be miserable with her sister alive than happy with her dead.

(From the good ending)

"Nee-san......? Nee-san, hold on......!!" A desperate cry. Seeing that, the girl smiles like a child. "...... Huh? ...... Don't do that, Hisui-chan. Crying like that, it feels...... like back then." "What---Nee-san, why----" "...... Yeah, because if I, don't do, so, you won't be, able to return, to the way, you were." Her words in pieces, and with glazed eyes, she speaks to Hisui. "---------Nee, san." Hisui's face contorts in grief. Her tears flood her face. "...... Why? That's fine. I was okay with the way I was. If you were happy, then I was happy. I---I was always protected by you, so---" I was always happy. Painfully, she swallows her last words.

Yun is in comparison less magnanimous towards his abusers. He wants more straightforward revenge against his teachers and all the people who "lied" to him by promoting him as the false avatar.

This is the biggest area where he differs from Kohaku. Rather than Kohaku, I'd say he's more like Geto, someone with a savior complex who genuinely put their all into being good because they believed they had the responsibility to save people, only to be then betrayed by those same people they were working so hard to save.

I do still think empathy is the central motivation for both characters. Kohaku commits revenge out of a twisted sense of empathy to see the perspectives of everyone involved and decides the only way to fix everything is to destroy it all and wipe the board clean and give the two innocents in the Tohno Household a fresh start.

Geto and Yun are both high empathy individuals whose empathy for other people twists them so much when they're confronted by human ugliness and selfishness, that they end up turning on the same people they wanted to save. They feel a bone deep empathy that twists them into monsters because they're not able to exist in an unfair or imperfect world that isn't the way they imagined it to be.

'...no matter what, I hate non-sorcerers. But it's not like I hate everyone at Jujutsu Tech. It's just...' It's just that it was what Geto had to do. In some ways, Geto and Yuuta were the same. Geto was too sincere. To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel. '...that in a world like this, I couldn't be truly happy from the bottom of my heart.' To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in the curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality. This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to warp himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals. The only person who could bear such a curse was Gojo Satoru. JUJUTSU KAISEN ZERO LIGHT NOVEL

Geto is broken by the idea that all of his comrades and himself are considered expendable, and they're all meant to sacrifice themselves for an ignorant public. Yun is broken by the fact he broke his body and mind trying to be a great avatar because he wanted to help people, only to learn that it was all for nothing because he was discarded the moment it turned out he wasn't the avatar.

(Yun is more Morgan Coded but that's a different post).

It was too late. "I dedicated my life to people like you." Yun said. He couldn't tell if he was laughing, crying, croaking out beastial sounds of fury. "I wanted you to thrive. I wanted you to prosper. I tried so hard."

However, I'd say both of them Kohaku and Yun are driven by an underlying idea of fairness. They're not taking bloody violent revenge for personal gratitude, but because they can't cope with the unfairness of the world they're living in and are trying to find some ways to balance the scales.

Yun is so driven by fairness that he doesn't want to punish Kyoshi even though she technically stole the title of avatar from him. He considers her innocent of the whole thing, and even sympathizes with her and the struggles she carries right now as avatar.

"I can't believe you think I would ever hurt you." He gently tugged the closed fan out of her right hand. "You, the one innocent party in this whole affair! I would never hurt you, Kyoshi! For Yanghcen's sake, I used to be your whole life.!" He dropped the weapon and it pinged against the ground. "I know what's happening here. Your duties have gotten to you haven't they? I remember what it was like, carrying the weight of Four nations on my shoulders. Jianzhu used to liken them to unruly students in a classroom, requiring the guidance of a strong hand." He paused and chuckled, "I used to believe it meant showing the wya, leading my example. Now I know better. The world is a child refusing to listen, creaming in a tantrum. It needs to be slapped a few times until it learns to be quiet."

I think this is essentially the difference that makes one narrative and breaks the other. Nasu is fully aware of Kohaku's humanity even as she calls herself a doll. He goes to great length to demonstrate Kohaku's humanity in all the ways I pointed out above, by showing how much she sympathizes with others, by how she protected her sister, by how she's guided by principles.

More than anything, it sympathizes with Kohaku by making us as the reader understand that while she did bad things it was in retaliation to an even more horrible evil done to her. Also, that Kohaku only did these things because revenge was the only way she could think of to live, Kohaku was just a victim coping in the worst way imaginable. I think Nasu really nails down the hopelessness of someone who's clinging to revenge because they can't think of any other reason to live.

Whereas so much effort is put into Yun's backstory and detailing all of his suffering, only for him to be treated like a very standard villain. Like, honestly, Geto is a genocidal maniac and he's framed way more nicely by the story he's in than Yun. All Yun really wants to do is kill his abusers and that is apparently a sin too deep to continue living with.

Geto who does way worse things than Yun, and who is also killed by his former best friend is shown way more love and acceptance in his ending than Yun is.

This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to warp himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals. The only person who could bear such a curse was Gojo Satoru. Where did it go wrong? And how could they start over again? The answer was left in their far-away, far-away youth. And even considering everything that had happened until now, it was clear that this story was about to end. But, there was one thing that was concrete. Even if everything was different now, there was still one thing that - from the very moment it all started - had never changed. Gojo knelt down, meeting Geto's eyes as he sat there. '...Suguru.' '...?' Geto Suguru. It was a named that the Jujutsu Tech organization feared: one of the four special grade sorcerers, who had killed over a hundred ordinary people, who had been named and exiled as the most evil curse use. But to Gojo Satoru, he was —— '————, ————' '...ha.' When he heard the words Gojo blurted out, Geto couldn't help but laugh. Such embarrassing (t/n: makes you self-conscious) words. Even why they were students, those words had never been said before. 'You should've at least cursed me a little before the end.'

In the actual manga of JJK too, Gojo tells a teenage ghost of Geto that if his adult self was there he was the only one who could have satisfied him. Gojo thinks about how he has to finally catch up to Geto after being left behind that day, when he moves on to kill the higher ups. Gojo's dream of protecting the youth came about because he never wanted someone to suffer alone like Geto did again.

Whereas, this is basically the only thing Yun gets told from his best friend and the hero of the story who is supposed to be the chosen spiritual guide of humanity chosen by the gods.

“It’s time to let go.” Kyoshi lowered her hands. “Whether you kill me here today or not, you have to let go of what happened.” “And it didn’t brting me peace. It was wrong that you were lied to, Yun. It was wrong for Jainzhu to do what he did, but he’s gone. Whatever pain and anger you have left - you have to live with it. You can’t put it on anyone else.”

Have you tried, uhhhhhh getting over it?

The "you have to live with it" is just particulary insensitive because as I went to great lengths to demonstate above, Yun was TRYING to live with it. Just like Kohaku, revenge was the only reason he could come up with to keep living.

It's fine if the heroes cannot find a way to reach out to save Yun in time and he dies because living for revenge is unsustainable. That's what happens to Kohaku, that's what happens to Geto. There's just a cruel lack of empathy in the way that Yun's death is framed. It's framed as a mercy killing, because Yun, a like eighteen year old boy who was retialiating against his abusers was just apparently so beyond hope. Not to mention that Kyohsi deliberately sides with one of the abusers and gives Hei - Ran a chance to redeem herself, but doesn't give that same chance to Yun her victim.

It's just this way that they characterize violence as bad but don't analyze at all where the violence came from or why they'd want to retaliate in that way. Gojo mercy killed his best friend Geto, but he also realized that the problem didn't begin with Geto and sought to create change in Jujutsu Society after Geto's death in order to try to break that cycle.

"I'm sorry for saying you have to live with your pain." Kyoshi put her palm into his chest in a gesture of comfort. "Because you won't." The cold she sent through his body formed a tunnel of ice between his ribs. It happened so fast, and with so much force, the air behind him turned to frost. With his heart and lungs frozen solid, Yun fell to the side.

Kyoshi kills Yun by freezing his heart. She specifically uses a technique that was taught to her to heal people, to murder him and put him out of his misery.

In the aftermath Kyoshi buries him and then lets the entire world remember him as a boy who went crazy and tried to kill the avatar. She doesn't even like... tell the whole story. That he was abused and lied to his whole life to clear his name.

Like, what a great friend.

This is what happened with Noel and Ciel too, but as I said in my Noel / Ciel post, Ciel killing Noel is meant to make her look like a terrible person. Noel is a victim caught up in circumstances, and Ciel could have saved her much earlier by lifting a finger and now that it's too late all Ciel can do is coldly put her out of her misery because Ciel isn't a hero. Shiki, a character who chops women into tiny little pieces has the opportunity to kill Noel a couple of times and doesn't do it, because he knows that killing her would be wrong and leaves it up to Ciel to decide.

Noel is fridged and dies a miserable death as a victim but it serves the greater story purpose of pointing out what a terrible hero that Ciel is. However, in avatar, the story still wants me to believe that Kyoshi is the hero so the only way they can accomplish that is by villainizing Yun and giving him an unsympathetic death.

if you wanted Yun's life to be some great tragedy, then you should let Kyoshi look bad. Let Yun died because Kyoshi completely failed to save him, have it be her wrongdoing. If you don't want Kyoshi to look bad, if you want her to be a hero then have her save Yun. You can only have it one way or the other. If the only way you can make Kyoshi still look like a hero is by victim blaming a victim of long term child abuse for not just getting over it then I don't know what kind of story you're writing there.

The writing just needs Yun to be a straightforward twist villain in the end for Kyoshi to defeat, so they downplay all of these good points and his status as the victim to make him fit into a more two dimensional role. If Yun is wrong because violence against his abusers won't solve his problem, then why is the solution for Kyoshi to just put him down with violence? Why is Kyoshi's violence sanctioned but Yun's violence not sanctioned? Kyoshi is allowed to kill Yun and put him out of his misery, but Yun can't kill his abusers? It's justice when Kysohi does it, but revenge when Yun does it? Kyoshi preaches that you can't stop the cycle with violence you have to let go then proceeds to end the cycle... by murdering Yun.

You can't preach this empty revenge bad message unless you're willing to look into why a character like Yun would want revenge in the first place, and how the world has failed him in ways that he thinks the only way to keep living is for revenge. You can't just tell him to let go without showing both him and the audience what letting go would look like.

This is exactly what Tsukhime did right with one of the most beautiful scenes in all of fiction, by showing that the cycle didn't end with Kohaku killing her abuser, and it didn't even end with Kohaku killing herself because each time she tried to enact revenge all she succesfully did was bring more pain into the world.

"But----" "Eh?" "But, there was just one strange thing." Really just a little bit. She said that as her eyes trailed off into the distance. "Akiha-sama protected me in the end. I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance she would do that. I stayed close to her for that reason. Revealing Makihisa-sama's abuse and devotedly helping Akiha-sama who was slowly turning nonhuman. ---Yes that's right. Really, I knew she would die protecting me." That smile. Even though she is smiling, she looks really sad, as if she's-- "But----I was really surprised at the time. Why is she protecting me? Why is she protecting me, risking her life?" ---She looks like she might burst into tears. "I still don't actually understand if I was actually happy or sad when Akiha-sama died. But when I wake up in the morning, I take tea to her room even though I know she is gone. Isn't this strange? Even though there's no one in that room anymore."

Kohaku thought she was relieving everyone of pain by killing the Tohno, that everyone would be better off, but the moment she succesfully kills Akiha she regrets it. It's all so hollow that she goes to Akiha's room every day for like a month leaving tea in front of her door.

Kohaku's identity is so wrapped up in pain, she forgets that in spite of the pain caused by those bonds there's also love. Hisui might not be able to smile because she feels constant guilt over how much Kohaku endured for her sake, but that doesn't mean Kohaku disappearing would fix that because she loves her sister.

Kohaku may think that Akiha is better off dead, that they're both better off dead because they only cause each other pain through their twisted connection but once Akiha is dead she goes to her door and leaves tea there every. single. day. because she valued her connection to Akiha so much.

Then she kills herself by gauging her knife out with a heart, mirroring Akiha who was pierced by the heart protecting Kohaku. "Hang in there...! Why, why did you do that...!" "Because revenge was the only thing I could do----I can only disappear when it's all over. I tried to find new springs, but I could never find one, and time ran out." She smiles. That... for no reason at all---- "What the hell is that? What are you saying...!" I look at the wound like I did to Akiha. ---She won't make it. It has pierced her heart. "........." Why? There was no reason---I just can't bear the sadness.

Revenge was unsustainable but because she couldn't be her genuine self in front of others, because she couldn't get in touch with her genuine feelings of affection for people like Akiha tshe couldn't find any other reason to live in time.

Even after Kohaku has just confessed to orchestrating the murder of Shiki's sister and terrorizing him for weeks on end, Shiki still begs for her to live though.

"...... Right? You're a normal girl who liked Akiha, was always worried about Hisui, and laughed when we talked about stupid things. So----" Even if she wished it and caused the deaths of Akiha and SHIKI... "--Kohaku, there was no reason for you to die." Increasing my grip, I say these words from the bottom of my heart.

I think that's ultimately what makes Kohaku's story superior, because it is at its heart a story about an abuse victim who couldn't find any better way of living. The story bends over backwards to show us all of Kohaku's good qualities, and how it's those good qualities that led to her fall, not any internal badness on her part. Even if Kohaku is someone who's capable of doing bad things and got a whole bunch of unrelated people serial killed by SHIKI. The tragedy is also on the onus of the main character. That's what the story of the ribbon is for, the whole thing could have been prevented if Shiki could give the ribbon to the proper girl in time. The whole thing is written with the premise that Shiki could have saved her, and he does in her route. It's as much of the main character's failure as Kohaku's.

On the other hand, the tragedy in Yun's story isn't that Yun is a longterm victim who didn't get the help he needed in time. It's that Kyoshi is sad because she has to put down her childhood friend like a mad dog. All of Yun's good traits are invalidated and he's painted as a villain to make the story simpler and as a result it's far more boring and doesn't have anything to say about abuse, or the human condition and how it survives terrible abuse like Nasu's writing does.

That's why Nasu is the goat.

At least until Tsukihime Remake comes out and Kohaku's route gets padded out with filler and turned into a giant extended boss fight that didn't need to exist at all that takes like five hours to finish NO I'M NOT BITTER ABOUT CIEL ROUTE'S TRUE END IN THE REMAKE AT ALL.

[coollizzylou]

Hey gw2 peeps I recently learned that this interview exists (it’s from late December last year)

And I think reading through it gives a lot of context for why the latest update(s) may not have hit the mark for more story inclined people.

(My own thoughts/analysis under the cut. I’ll try to be vague spoilers but it comes with the territory)

Ok first to get it out of the way: my thoughts. I like this update! I think the new part of the map is beautiful as always, and it feels a LOT livelier than the first part. The new meta is less intensive than The Road to Heitor and feels fun to drop in and to replay, which is nice. I love all of the events that focus on helping civilians. I’m glad we have a portal from the Wizard’s Tower now, too! I haven’t really dug into all of the new weapon proficiencies on all classes, but I am enjoying engineer shortbow in WvW! I think this update has a lot more than a lot of people are giving it credit for, because what’s here is more mechanical gameplay than story instance content. I’m ok with the player character being A Hero and not THE Hero, but I do wish the commander had more speaking lines because it’s the little things that make the story so immersive and fun for me.

Speaking of, I want to highlight a quote from the interview I linked above. The rest of it is really fascinating, but this part stood out as specifically relevant to the discussion being had.

We’re learning a lot about how we develop and release content on this cadence, which absolutely has a downstream effect on the player experience. The overall shape of development between expansions 4 and 5 are very similar (timelines, resourcing, etc), even if the content and features are not. This means that we’re able to focus more on refining our development processes than reinventing them. The better that we can identify production issues like undocumented dependencies, bottlenecks, resourcing issues, etc, means that we can proactively address those issues in future dev cycles.

From our experiences with Secrets of the Obscure alone, we’ve adjusted development schedules, review processes, dev resource allocations, documentation and communication practices, and more. All of these contribute, to some degree, to improving the quality of what we deliver.

So basically what I’m getting here is that SotO was a huge adjustment, and if I’m reading between the lines correctly, I would guess that the adjustment was probably a little rough (to put it mildly).

I think this is why the story instance content was weaker than what other updates have provided. It makes sense that if a speaking part had to be cut/diminished, it would be the player character’s. 10 different voice actors for each line of dialogue is a lot more difficult to plan logistics for than a single voice actor reading ten lines.

But it also makes me hopeful that the devs at Anet will continue to learn from whatever might have gone wrong, and I am really excited to see what’s next!

[mgparker]

the bodyguard- din djarin

DIN DJARIN X F!ROYAL!READER [SERIES]

summary: tensions rise as the princess of the dystopian planet eiria finally approaches the age in which she will take the throne. despite her reluctance, she finds herself under the protection of the infamous mandalorian.

warnings: female reader, given surname, implied hair length (medium to long), little mandalorian content but that’ll change in the next chapter, world building, time jumps, elusiveness (for plot development), unedited so beware

series masterlist!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚. i. a stranger in my room *ੈ✩‧₊˚.

Long before the fall of the Jedi Order, there'd been peace. Harmony amongst those who made their way in the galaxy. Tranquility and above all, happiness.

Even in these times, Eiria was such place that many people could only dream of. A planet so ethereal and utopian it was a wonder that it truly existed.

Luscious greenery covered its surface, slipping through the cracks and edges of its magnificent buildings, built on a foundation of gold. Technologically advanced in its own right, humble and simple where it mattered.

Technology was only used to ensure the safety of its citizens, otherwise Eiria was a world untouched by the horrors of the galaxy. Kept safe by its council of leaders that had been appointed and passed down along the generations.

It hadn't always been led by this council. No, Eiria was a royal world. Since its first taste of civilization, the hand of a ruler had governed the lands...

But when the former king and queen fell ill to a sickness that had wiped out over a quarter of Eiria's population over ten years ago, the leadership of the planet had fallen onto the shoulders of a council that had existed long before their reign.

All left from their rule, besides the sparkling scenery and magnificent buildings they'd had built overtime, was their daughter.

She'd been spared from the wicked disease that had claimed the lives of her parents, taken under the wing of her father's closest friend and advisor, Senator Phex Dameron.

The Princess was as stubborn as she was loyal, dedicated to her people until her last breath, a weight on her shoulders since the moment she was born. Thrust upon her the crushing responsibility of royalty, only to be spared her teenage years and emerging adulthood.

Every day, she thanked the maker that her parents had decreed she wouldn't take the throne until she had reached twenty one cycles — even if it was solely to secure that the throne would remain in their families for cycles to come. You see, a leader could be challenged if they were deemed too young to take the throne. To avoid that from happening, the King and Queen had signed into law that should need arise, the Council would take over all governing responsibilities and otherwise until the Princess was of suitable age.

At just twenty cycles old, the last Altair was on the dawn of a new age...

But along with it, came the danger.

The Princess of Eiria stares ahead, cold and calculating, teeth gritted together, seething beneath the carefully constructed surface, and swears that one day she will never have to answer to anyone again.

Before you, a panel of men, women and creatures alike, watching you with those greedy, overbearing eyes. It's not you that wears a mask, it's them. With their false pretenses, the caring acts behind worried gazes.

They don't care about you. They care about the wealth. The riches. Getting in the good graces of the Senator.

You expect he'll be elected any day now. It's only a matter of time and until then, and even after, the Council will put on those infuriating masks.

The Senator stares at you without the mask. In fact, there's no expression on his face at all. Except for the hint of pity you sense from his body language. You've known him too long to not see it right away.

A twinge of annoyance hits you. This is partly his fault-- what pity could he be feeling?

You should probably speak now. Not to the Council or to the Senator. But to him.

As angry as you were, he was only here to do his job. You'd do your best to keep him out of your path of fury.

You politely tell him your name, though it's not needed, and thank him for accepting the Senator's offer of serving as your protector.

After all, the Mandalorian will be following your every step from now on. It's best to be on civil terms for both your sanities.

You ignore everyone else in the Council Chamber.

The Mandalorian gives one curt nod.

Normally, you'd be irked by his silence but in this moment, you're grateful for it. You spin toward the door, guarded by two Jedi knights the Senator had sent for.

You bite the inside of your cheek and stride for the exit.

"Sunshine," it's the Senator. You stop. "It's for the best. You'll thank me in the future."

You don't turn around. Heavy footsteps follow behind you.

You doubt it.

It's been exactly three days since your world was further more flipped on its axis.

The remnants of grief over your recent loss had been overshadowed by the irritation you felt over the presence of the Mandalorian.

It isn't his fault. You constantly try to remind yourself, even as you furiously glare at the stupid tin helmet that rests over his head. He's just doing his job and you're not making it any easier.

It was on day three that you made this realization.

"I'm sorry if I've been... cold towards you. We’ve barely said a word since we’ve met.”

“Don’t apologize,” his raspy modulator replies stoicly. “Socializing isn’t exactly in the job description.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and glare at your own reflection in the vanity mirror you sit before. The reminder that your only regular company, other than the Senator, was here by obligation sours your attempt to befriend the Mandalorian.

“Right. Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed your silent shadow hovering over me for the past seventy-two hours, I highly doubt watching me every waking second is in your job description either.”

He stays silent, despite your bait.

You have no problem going on, combing your hair absentmindedly. “Perhaps you should be doing other things. Surely the rest of the castle requires some sort of surveillance. The Council would pay handsomely.”

“My job here is strictly to keep you under my protection, Princess.”

Your lip curls slightly. “Well, as you can see the windows are shut, my balcony bolted and the biggest threat to me at the moment is tangling my hair in this brush. So I would kindly request that your services extend to the exterior of my quarters please. I’d like some privacy please.”

You’re trying to be as polite as possible. You really are, but there’s only so much stoic silence from a metal man hovering in one of the corners of every room you enter that you could take.

All your life you’d been as independent as a member of the royal family could be. The Senator had made sure of that— and it was partly the reason you were still so angry with him over this arrangement. So going from that to this, it was not going well for you. Not at all. Especially since your new stalker didn’t seem to make any noises or speak any words beside ‘yes’, ‘no’, or some bullshit answer to any specific question you’d ask. But only if it was job-related, otherwise, he was an unmoving, nonverbal statue.

Three days with the Mandalorian and you were beginning to absolutely despise his beskar helmet and the nonexistent sense of security the Council had believed he’d bring.

This was all done for their benefit. Not yours.

You didn’t need protection before and you certainly don’t need it now. He served no purpose but to make you uncomfortable under his unbreaking gaze.

“I will be right outside the door, your Highness.”

Your eyes jolt up to him in pure surprise. You had been expecting the usual silence, for him to ignore your request as he did all the other times you’d told him you didn’t require his unwavering surveillance.

Maybe the fact that you’d pointed out every single enter and exit strategy finally convinced him, but you couldn’t know for sure. Not with that obscure helmet.

You dismiss your thoughts and almost catch yourself beaming at his reflection in the corner of your room. “Thanks,” you breathe, opting for a smaller smile, filled with gratitude.

He nods once and then leaves.

You release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

The first thought that crosses your mind is one you dismiss just as quickly as it arose. The small traces of adolescence that cling on to you tempt you to sneak away from the Mandalorian. Break the rules. See how far you could run before he caught up to you.

But you dismiss it. Because you’re loyal to your people and you know why he’s here despite you not agreeing to all the dramatics.

The Senator claims this is all for your protection. That coming of age and taking the throne would likely bring danger as those who wished to rule the throne would start creeping out of the hiding places they’d taken residence in since the death of your parents.

But it itches beneath your skin the longer you gaze over at the crack under your bedroom door, the shadow of his feet unmoving and steady.

You could run. Make a little game out of it. See if he’s really as qualified as Senator Dameron says he is.

You sigh quietly and set the brush down very slowly. Your heart pounds in anticipation, a plan forming in your mind.

As quickly and stealthily as possible, you slip out of your casual gown into a pair of very unladylike trousers and a tunic that you laced up tightly.

You brainstorm different ways to make your exit. Maybe you could cough or somehow force a sneeze? Some way to let your Mandalorian know you were still unsuspiciously lounging in your quarters.

You decide against it, instead doing your best to unlock your windows without making so much as a creak. Surprisingly, it’s not all too difficult.

The window swings open, both panels nearly knocking into the stone exterior of the castle but you lunge forward to grab onto them. Your momentum drives you forward with more eagerness than you intended, your feet flying from the floor, tipping out into the evening dusk with the ghost of a scream on your lips.

Something pulls you back at the feet.

Your body remains suspended, hands clutching onto the panels white-knuckled. You quickly toss a glance behind you, fully expecting to see your bodyguard standing there with his stupid beskar staring disappointedly at you.

By the sheer grace of the Maker, there’s no one behind you at all.

The only thing that saved you from plummeting to your death was your pesky iron dresser, the one that had those decorative swirls that you often knocked your ankle against.

On it, the hem of your surprisingly sturdy trousers, which were beginning to rip at the seams the longer you stood there hanging like an idiot.

Quickly, you toss yourself back to safety, freeing your hem and sheathing your small dagger you kept under your pillow. When suddenly you hear a shuffle against the door and you freeze.

Your eyes are trained on the shadow under the crack of your door. It’s the Mandalorian, thankfully just readjusting his stance.

Deciding there’s no more time to lose, you drag a hidden rope you had tied to one of the posts under your bed from your younger adventures, and carefully climb out of your window. All the while hoping the Mandalorian wouldn’t decide to check in on you at that exact moment.

As soon as your feet touch the floor, you’re off, leaving the rope and your quarters in the dust.

An elated laugh escapes you. It feels like you’re floating over the stone pavement, more free than you’ve been since before you were orphaned.

It gives you a head rush, this thrill, knowing you’re breaking every rule in the book — for the Royal Princess of Eiria was not to wander the streets unattended, much less when the sun was falling below the horizon. Senator Dameron would probably burst a blood vessel if he saw you now.

After a few minutes of aimless sprinting, you begin to see the outline of the city, lit by its posts and the torches held by the knights on guard. You eye them, trying to figure out how to get past undetected.

Suddenly, you hear the sound of hoofs against the damp grass and the panic sends you flying into a nearby bush.

Your hair gets caught, a few thorns digging into your skin, one catching onto the skin of your cheek.

“Ugh,” you complain quietly.

Between the foliage, you begin to make out the figure upon the approaching horse.

“Gwaine!”

You smile in relief, your pounding heart beginning to settle back into your heaving chest. Gwaine is one of the few people you trust within the city walls, having known him since he was a boy. He is the blacksmith’s son, currently serving as his apprentice.

You spring out of the bush, startling Gwaine’s horse but he quickly reigned her back in.

“My lady,” he nods with an amused look.

You stand awkwardly for a moment, knowing you probably looked like a disaster.

Gwaine motions towards his own hair, near his ear. “You’ve got…”

“Oh!” You quickly snatch a leaf out of your locks. “Thanks.”

He eyes you, scanning your disheveled appearance from head to toe, before looking over at the patrolling guards and then back at you.

“Do you require some sort of… uh- assistance, my lady?” He asks as if he doesn’t want to know what you’re up to this time.

Poor Gwaine. One way or another you’d always managed to drag him into your various schemes over the years. But you’d never let him take the fall for any of your antics. Never.

Doesn’t stop him from fearing the day he’d once again see you with that same mischievous, faux innocence on your face. Which was more often than you cared to admit.

He knew your look of trouble like the back of his hand.

You jolt in realization and look past him, searching for any sign of the Mandalorian.

“You know,” you sigh a little dramatically once you realize the coast is pretty much clear. “I really shouldn’t drag you into affairs of the royal family. I’ll just leave you be—”

“What is it?” He cuts through the bullshit.

“Well, if you must know, I’ve taken the liberty of paroozing the sights of the city tonight, Gwaine.”

“We both know full well you have no liberty of ‘paroozing the city’ at this hour, your Highness.”

You try to hide your flinch.

“What’s with the formalities, Gwaine?” you divert. “Would it kill you to say my name for once?”

“Eh— might.”

You follow his line of sight to the guards that were stationed across the town square.

“You’re my friend. You can address me by my name, Gwaine.”

“You sure say my name a lot,” he says cheekily. Letting up his usual formalities. You feel relieved, giving him an easy smile. It was always like this with him— he’d address you by title, do everything by the book, and you’d have to slowly break him down until he accepts that you’re his friend. Not just the Princess. Years of conditioning made him that way you guess.

“It’s a mighty fine name,” you grin.

“Why thanks.”

His horse neighs suddenly. You both snap into reality.

“Seriously, Squeak. What’re you doing outside the castle? Aren’t you under strict vigilance right now?”

Squeak. It’s his nickname he’d given you ever since you had convinced him to help you climb to the roof of the stables when you were both small children. You were convinced you could fly (‘just like a bird!’ is what you’d told him) and jumped off to prove it. Needless to say, you were very thankful there had been a comfortable amount of hay on the ground below. Since that day, Gwaine began to call you ‘Squeak’ because you had screeched just like a bird when you landed face first in the hay.

“You heard?”

“The whole kingdom heard. A Mandalorian around these parts is rare. You mustn’t be alone when the Senator has gone to such extreme lengths to have you protected.”

Protected, your ass. Where was the Mandalorian now?

“I’m not alone,” you reply. “I’m with you.”

Gwaine purses his lips and gives you a half-hearted glare. Knowing in his heart, he couldn’t leave you alone now even if he wanted to. You’d just ensnared him in a royal duty whether you meant to or not.

“Nyla, settle down,” he murmured softly to his horse, as she began to get antsy from meandering around for too long. He looked back at you. “Well, are we going to stand here and wait to be caught?”

You give him a quizzical look.

“Well, you must’ve snuck out, haven’t you? I don’t see the Mandalorian around.”

But he’d surely be around if you kept standing here all evening.

You hustle over to Nyla, taking Gwaine’s outstretched hand and hauling yourself up behind him. Securing your arms around his middle, you smile softly at the familiarity.

“Where to, Princess?” He murmurs.

“Beyond the city walls, the abandoned watch tower.”

chapter 2 >>

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[its-alex-drawing]

[OC] Avis “Birdie” Whistler: Step 1

My first OLNF OC—come to think of it, this is the first OC I’ve ever made!

Avis’s character design and story is still very rudimentary: I’m just beginning to develop them—though I’m having lots of fun doing it!

Updated Visual!

Spent wayyy too long writing this—I’m terrible at creative writing anyways—and got photoshop working (sorta, it’s not the most seamless integration of the character art, but probably the best I could do at 4 am).

As you can see, the pencil design ended up quite different to the in-game customizable doll—mostly her hair. Avis still has her bowtie—though much thinner and ribbon-like, only visible from the rear. Her coat is fairly different as well. And while I don’t have colours, the palette is the exact same between both designs.

Some random tidbits about Avis:

Born September 3, 2000 in Milan, Italy.

Avis's nickname—Birdie—comes from the fact that her name means 'Bird' in Latin! Thus, her full name means 'Bird Whistler'—while a bird whistle is a reed instrument that chirps or warbles.

Against the Rosso Corsa norm of Italian racers, Avis's racing colours are a bright yellow interuppted by forest-green stripes.

At 140 cm, she's the average height for a ten-year-old.

Despite her namesake, Avis has a bad case of acrophobia!

Started out by building a makeshift kart using scrap parts and a 25cc, 2-stroke engine. After a while, her family saved up enough for Avis to rent officiated karts—before buying her own! It's a well-worn, though reliable 125 cc, 2-stroke thing, painted (crudely) in her racing colours!

Avis first drove her homemade creation at the age of 6, while she's been racing competitively since she was 8.

She bikes often—even if most of her cycling budget went towards karting instead!

Prefers wearing thicker jackets or hoodies—though, she also likes wearing basketball shorts.

[coldalbion]

"And in many ways, that complaint has only gotten louder over the decades. Stop talking to each other and start buying things. Stop providing content for free and start paying us for the privilege. Stop shining sunlight on horrors and start advocating for more of them. Stop making communities and start weaponizing misinformation to benefit your betters.

It’s the same. It’s always been the same. Stop benefitting from the internet, it’s not for you to enjoy, it’s for us to use to extract money from you. Stop finding beauty and connection in the world, loneliness is more profitable and easier to control.

Stop being human. A mindless bot who makes regular purchases is all that’s really needed.

Over and over again since that prodigal moment of shame and hurt and confusion, I’ve joined online communities, found so much to love there, made friends and created unique spaces that truly felt special, felt like places worth protecting. And they’ve all, eventually, died. For the same reasons and through the same means, though machinations came from a parade of different bad actors. It never really mattered who exactly killed and ate these little worlds. The details. It’s all the same cycle, the same beasts, the same dark hungers. [...] And while Twitter hurts, I’m not sure anything will ever hurt as much as Livejournal did. It feels like no one even remembers anymore what happened to lovely, flawed, dog-eared, wacky old LJ in the twilight of the aughts and the dawn of the tens. Even though in this year of our lord 2022, when there are some pretty fucking good reasons to remember it, and learn its lessons...

So when Livejournal was sold, not to Viacom or Google, but to SixApart, a company no one had ever heard of, it was confusing. As was its refusal to develop anything like a usable mobile app. When fanfic communities started getting banned for gay content in the name of “protecting the children,” it was alarming and confusing. When it started going down regularly due to constant DDoS attacks, the new owner accused the community of trying to blackmail and destroy him for questioning what the hell was going to happen to all of us, when the Russian Prime Minister was commenting on fucking Livejournal, and when Russian users started put posts in English to let others know what was going on…we all just felt so helpless. It was sold to SUPMedia, a Russian company, and by 2016, had moved its servers to Russia and changed the entire site to conform with that good old very free and inclusive Russian law, but by that time, the community had long fled. Which was the point. Make it unusable and unreliable, bleed off the Westerners and the eye of Western media, and use the database to find and shut down dissenters.

And as hard as it was for us to lose that space where so many of us found family and work and connection, I cannot begin to imagine what those brave dissidents lost. What Russia lost. What they are still losing.

It was a small piece of what was to come. Like Gamergate and the Puppies, an experiment to practice taking apart a minor but culturally influential community and develop techniques to do it again, more efficiently, more quickly, with less attention. To lay out a reliable pathway to commit harm and lie about it for so long and in so many ways that by the time the truth is available, it doesn’t matter, because the harm is a foundational part of the system we’re living in. The harm is the new status quo.

Lather, rinse, repeat."

As someone who's been online nearly 30 years (I'm 18ish months younger than the author) who cut his teeth on dialup BBSses, Fidonet et al rather than Prodigy, I cosign this and beg you to read the whole thing.