#battle of the heiresses

[homestuck-best-girl-tournament]

Once again, June art by @epichomestuck

[pochapal-pokespe]

platinum berlitz discovering the plague of generational wealth and nepotism that haunts the sinnoh region's institutions in real time.

[k-star-holic]

I thought it was just a good-looking face... RO WOON, who suddenly emerged as a Choi Soo-jong contender

[luminnara]

Gladiator | Feyd Rautha x Reader

REQUEST: Feyd-Rautha fights in the arena, hoping to win your favor and maybe even your hand.

Warnings: violence

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

Feyd-Rautha didn’t know why your face was the only one he seemed able to pick out of the crowd. Out of all the eligible daughters the Houses had thrown at him, you were the one he couldn’t get out of his head. Deep down, he knew he should consider himself lucky for the privilege to have a say in his marriage, but most of the heiresses he had encountered did little to interest him and he had grown more than bored of the whole ordeal.

Until he was presented with you.

He had known little of your family, and he hadn’t cared to learn more. You had been from far away, and your culture was probably far different from his own. Perhaps it was arrogance that had fueled his initial disinterest, his ego rearing its ugly head. He had seen you and assumed you were boring and prudish, based on your style of clothing, and had initially been beyond irritated when you were offered up before him. He had cursed his uncle the Baron, and nearly killed the nearest servant. He had wanted nothing more than to be as far away from you as possible, exhausted and annoyed after a week of meeting princess after princess, all of whom he had rejected.

Why, then, had he become intrigued by you? Had it been the way you looked at him with such boredom, as if he had nothing to offer you? Had it been the information that he was simply one in a long list of suitors you were slogging through, much in the way he had been for what felt like an age? Or had it been the sudden revelation that you had more in common with him than he had thought possible, and the sudden knowledge that if he wished to catch your eye, tradition dictated he must show you a spectacular fight and defeat every other man whose goal was your hand in marriage?

“It is the way of her people,” Rabban had shrugged, oblivious to the way Feyd’s world was slowly being turned on its head. “I have heard that they were fighting long before House Harkonnen built our first arena.”

Now, Feyd-Rautha was stalking back and forth through the sand, thinking of all the ways he could slaughter his competition. He was one of ten, ten suitors, none of whom were drugged or weak from starvation the way his quarry on Giedi Prime always was. As he glared at the opponents around him, he knew that you were watching from the stands, in a luxurious box with your parents and ladies in waiting, and when a glance in your direction confirmed his suspicions, he was overcome with the desire to kill for you.

He had never felt that before. He was plenty familiar with the urge to maim, to slice and tear, to take lives—but he had never wanted to do it for another person. His darlings, in a sense, garnered that from him when he killed servants to feed them…but this was different. That was a life taken as a gift and a means to spoil them. This was a fight to the death, a way to prove himself to you…and for some strange reason, he wanted—no, needed—to succeed.

“Today we gather in the ancestral arena of our great House to honor a tradition which we have kept alive for one thousand generations!” A voice boomed. “Today, the Great Houses send their sons to fight for the hand of my daughter, and should they be so lucky, one will win her favor!”

Feyd-Rautha glanced at his nearest competitor, a round-faced man who was far too old to be marrying you. He knew the man thought he was safe; they had all received a speech on the importance of not actually killing each other, but Feyd had had no interest in listening nor adhering to the rules. If he was to truly win your hand, he knew he must make a grisly spectacle of himself. He had gone so far as to fight shirtless, so as to show you his smooth, unscarred skin, and display his enemies’ blood upon his flesh.

“Now, warriors…do battle!”

You watched from above as the fight commenced.

“I like the looks of that Halleck boy,” your mother commented as she peered through her positively ancient opera glasses.

Your eyes found the one she spoke of and you sighed. “He favors his right leg. He will not last.”

Your father plopped down in the throne next to you, a hearty laugh booking from his chest. “That’s my girl. Ever the strategist, with the sharpest eye in the known universe. Tell us, then, who do you predict will win? We can make a bet on it.”

“I hardly think gambling is appropriate on today of all days.” Your mother shot him a glare.

He only laughed louder.

“I like the Harkonnen.” You said, watching as Feyd-Rautha drove a blade into another man’s shoulder.

Your mother made a tutting noise. “He is…”

“Bloodthirsty,” your father offered.

“Yes,” you said, somewhat transfixed. “He is.”

Your eyes followed Feyd-Rautha’s every move, glued to his form as he lithely parried and dodged his opponents’ attacks. He was a surprisingly welcome sight after the many suitors you’d turned your nose up at, and while he had initially bored you just as the rest had, there was something in his demeanor that had piqued your interest.

Upon meeting, you had both been irritated and more than ready to stay unmarried forever. You had heard that Feyd-Rautha had also been meeting potential suitors, and if the rumor mill was correct, he had nearly killed more than one of them. When you had first laid eyes upon the pale, hairless Harkonnen heir, you had immediately decided that you might give this one a chance; many of the others you had met had seemed ill suited, abhorred by the concept of fighting for your hand in an archaic ritual. Feyd-Rautha, however, had changed when he had heard, shifting from disinterested to focused, his dark eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of a duel.

Now, he was stalking through the sand below you, wielding wickedly sharp hunting knives as he attacked a competitor from behind. He wasn’t above fighting dirty, you noted, his blackened teeth bared as he head butted another man. Only six remained including him, the other four having given up or lying unconscious at the feet of their opponents.

“He’s going to kill someone!” Your father exclaimed, his voice gleeful.

“And what a diplomatic nightmare that will be,” your mother mumbled.

You weren’t sure if Feyd-Rautha had truly taken any lives so far that afternoon, but as he drove a knife into the gut of another fighter, you surmised that your mother may be spending the rest of her day smoothing things over with and paying off the families of some of these men.

You watched, smiling to yourself as they all fell, one by one, into groaning, bloodied heaps in the sand, until only one remained on his feet. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was the victor, as you had hoped he’d be, and as the crowd erupted into a roar of cheers, you stood.

Your parents watched you carefully.

“Are you certain?” Your mother asked.

“Do you have any objections?” You countered.

“…none whatsoever.”

You turned to your father. “And you, Father?”

He shrugged, leaning his chin on his hand. “I quite like the boy. He will make for an interesting match.”

“Then it is settled,” you sucked in a breath, steeling yourself before turning and walking to the stairs.

In the arena, Feyd-Rautha was drinking in the sounds of an entertained crowd. He could put on a show anywhere, it seemed, and if he had been at all concerned by leaving Giedi Prime to fight on your planet, they were long forgotten. His blood was still boiling, chest heaving as attendants began collecting his fallen foes, of whom more than a few sported serious, possibly life threatening injuries. And after he had struck each one down, he had glanced up to find you there, watching him.

The crowd hushed suddenly, and Feyd-Rautha saw that it was because you were approaching him, stepping over your battered suitors without so much as a glance down at them. Your eyes remained focused on him, never leaving, boring into his form as he straightened up and faced you.

“Feyd-Rautha,” you greeted him.

“Princess.”

“You fought well.”

“Thank you.”

You smirked at him. “You hope to gain my favor, do you not?”

“I had hoped for your token, yes,” he admitted, watching you with those dark, intelligent eyes.

“A token, or my hand?” You asked.

“I will take whatever you see fit to bless me with, princess.”

With a sly smile, you closed the gap between you, pressing a hand to his chest. He felt warmth there, and when you pulled away, the roar of the crowd returned and he looked down to see a crimson handprint on his skin.

“Congratulations, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen,” you said, your voice cutting below the cheering of your people in the stands above. “We are now engaged.”

With that simple statement, you turned on your heel and left.

It was foolish to turn one’s back to a Harkonnen, especially Feyd-Rautha, but you both knew he would never do anything to you. Not now. Not when his eyes refused to leave your retreating form. Not when his heart thudded in his chest excitedly. Not when he knew he suddenly had a wife, one for whom he would kill anything and anyone.

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could I request Aemond x a civilian reader that’s more or less been adopted into Rhaenyra’s family? Like she originally grew up on a farm of some sorts so she still has a lot to learn, a quick talker and often somethings blurting out things that she should think about before saying.

She’s with Jace and Luke when the family comes back for the lil “family reunion,” and ends up seeing Aemond for the first time during his training. She’s already been made aware of who he is, but she certainly isn’t expecting a hot blonde. Which prompts her to blurt out “you didn’t tell me your uncle was hot” during that tense little stare down. Everyone is mortified, but instead of being irrated, Aemond finds her boldness amusing, and her innocent oblivious quite cute. And having there own little dance alongside Hal and Jace during that rare moment of peace.

I just think Aemond deserves some love

The farm princess and the rough sapphire

Aemond x civilian reader warning : fluff, kiss, comfort, dysfunctional family, no use of Y/n Summary : In the entire Targaryen dynasty history, there has only been one record of an adoption from outside the family, a former civilian child now grown into the mockingly named Farm Princess finds herself with her adoptive sibling at the royal court and is not ashamed to admit her admiration and especially feelings for a certain one-eyed prince...where will this lead?

info : I'm so sorry that you had to wait so long dear anon i hope you like the story, it was really really fun to write and others too have fun reading and thank you for the request :)

ps : Aemond deserves every love and Jace+Hel were so cute

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dnyaste of the dragonrider family of the house of targaren was no millennia old, starting with Daenerys the dreamer, the woman who would change a whole continent in the future with their reign and the dragons the family brought with her.

From the initial three conquerors, the battles began within their own family and continued for more or less a century after Ageon's conquest until the reign of King Viserys, the first of his name, and his second wife Alicent.

Slowly they began to fporm themselves there, but this was a matter for the future, whereas his daughter, the jewel of the realm, had problems of her own in love and at court. The former friendship long forgotten, her kind heart had found feelings and emotions in motherhood when she gave birth to her first son Jacaerys, only a few years younger than his uncle Aegon, her half-brother.

But shortly thereafter, as the princess established her own lineage, uprisings began outside King's Landing, uprisings of renegades of savages ravaging the inhabitants, matters the crown would settle with common soldiers, except that they were not common people.

Wild dragons ravaged the land, and village after village came to claim their people, ,,We want compensation! Someone must do something!" cried the crowds of commoners and for the first time in history, the king was stricken by his illness, Rhaenyra turned away from her former friend, now queen, and her stepmother, the Targayren princess and heiress to the throne won the hearts of all as she flew to the burning remains on her golden dragon Syrax and took from them the one survivor.

Her adopted daughter, the third princess of the realm after Helaena, the farm princess, was given the title of a girl of the same young age as her son, but a child who had had different beginnings.

A girl who had looked at her with wide eyes and had given orders to Syrax to give to the dragon and Rhaenyra couldn't help but laugh, ,,You are quite a dragon" she is said to have said when she had put the child on her dragon and had gnawed the streets of King's Landing.

The people loved her new princess and treated her not only with love but also with hope for better times...but all this was a long time ago seconds, days, months and years turned into another decade and after a long time the naughty child grew into a pretty but not quite noble young woman.

,,Who needs dragons when you have the people and a pitchfork?" she had once said as she watched her brothers tame Vermax and Arrax and Aegon and Helaena also got their dragons, her mother had Syrax and her uncle had Caraxes even the princess Rhaenys had Meylys and her adoptive father had Seasmoke only she didn't have a dragon but somehow she didn't want one either.

She didn't have dragon blood, she wasn't even a bastard child she was adopted through her body so she knew the blood flowed from farmers who had been there for generations and were in the service of the crown she was the highest of the people on the streets but a dragon no.

,,Remember brothers, one should never underestimate the population like the ravens and the grain" she had said to Jace and Luce who were training the komandos with their dragons in Valyrian which she understood but hardly cared about how? She realized that she loved her family above all and was grateful to them.

Rhaenyra had saved her life, but politically or even family-wise she was worthless, ,,You are my daughter, my flame, my pretty dragon, don't you dare think otherwise" her mother always instructed her and gave her small gifts in the form of dragon or flame embroidered clothes and as much as she wore them for her family she also accepted the simpler clothes or those on which grain, wagons and other simple things were embroidered.

But as much as this life was beautiful, it was different when they went back to the city that had been the greatest for her since she could remember, ,,King's Landing! A disgusting city but my home!" she exclaimed as she clung to Rhaenyra's back as she flew towards the city with her mother she usually rode with the heiress to the throne her mother wanted to make her feel like a dragon at least and she enjoyed this with cheers and thankful hugs.

,,There's our home," Rhaenyra murmured and had to smile slightly when they flew over the dragon pit a few months later and landed there, but this was also quickly resolved and before the Targayren could pay attention to her daughter, the young woman had already disappeared on a horse she had been given as compensation for a dragon.

,,I'm in the inner courtyard, mother, don't worry!" she had shouted before the black horse had left and Rhaenyra could only shake her head slightly and face her family while her daughter searched for her brothers Jace and Luce.

It took a few minutes to get from the dragon pit to the inner courtyard, but on the way she was recognized by some of the inhabitants, who greeted her and enjoyed a little of the city's interior. It was really good to see familiar simplicity again and not always just Dragonstone, the castle of "her" ancestors, at least the ancestors who made everything possible for her.

With a grateful thought to her loving mother, however, she reached the courtyard and stopped her horse which was taken from her by a stable boy, but looking around she soon saw the crowd gathered around someone and she caught sight of two dark heads of hair, ,,Dragon tamer brothers! I've missed you!" she shouted stormily.

She hurried to the weapons display where she embraced her brothers, they had all grown older since the days of toys and wooden swords, they each carried real steel and she also preferred to have at least one bread knife hidden in her pencil, an old habit.

,,How nice that you're here, dear sister," Jace said and Lucerys nodded in agreement, the girl was thrilled to have someone else here, an adopted princess and three bastard children was a daring combination but they had somehow managed to keep the rumors at bay so far.

Just as she was about to vent about Jace's hair, she heard the clapping and tense murmuring and turned to the crowd standing around the two fighting, ,,Say, who's fighting there? " she asked and pointed with her finger, which was immediately taken down by Jace who tried to make them all look good, ,,Ser Criston Cole from the Kingsguard and our uncle Aemond" Luce said, who must have been watching the situation closely while his older brother was still at arms.

,,Aemond, you say," she murmured to her thoughts, vaguely remembering the quiet boy with whom she had spoken and played from time to time until they chased each other with earthworms and other crawling things and Alicent the queen stopped them because a peasant daughter should not play with a prince, but she did not stop her from going up and watching with her brothers. And what she saw amazed her.

Gone was the little boy, a young man stood there with long straight Targaryen light hair, a dark eye patch that hid the injury he had received from his brother. Fine sharp features and a lean but muscular body she could frame where the fabric allowed.

He was a god in her eyes, ,,You didn't tell me your uncle was hot," she simply spoke her thoughts openly as Aemond twirled the sword around as she was commanded to do so but his gaze, the gaze of his violet eyes was clear on her and the smile seemed almost pleased and amused at the same time.

A few of the crowd snapped indignantly at such vulgarity while Jace made himself small and Luce tried to hide slightly under his coat. So much for not doing anything.

But this seemed to be just the beginning when they were invited to a family dinner a few hours after the "incident" in the courtyard. Everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior, a time of peace in what was probably the last few months for her adoptive grandfather, her king, whom she never called her grandfather even though he had always insisted on it.

Viserys always had a smile for her, no matter when she told him about simple farm things or excitedly about armor, he liked his adoptive princess and did not despise her, ,,I am glad to see my family, my whole family here, living and happy like this, an old man who cares a lot," he finished his speech and even if he seemed to be in pain, it was something that made her smile, she was glad that Viserys thought he appreciated it and she held out a goblet to her king for the symbolic toast, which Aegon answered with an almost mocking laugh.

The prince had probably already poured too much into the cup anyway, she smelled his alcoholic fumes at several hundred meters and her comment, ,,Maybe you should be in a barrel instead of just the cup" only seemed to have pissed him off more and he gave her a warning look and tried her other family members instead.

While she had initially chatted with Baela and Rhaena about fishing and ships, she had given Lucerys courage as they drank and Jace had teased her about his hairstyle, she barely noticed the looks from the Queen, the Hand and Aegon. Looks of distaste, looks of no acceptance, ,,A truly exceptional round, Lord Husband," the brown-haired woman muttered, earning a warning look from Rhaenyra, who was about to stand up for her daughter when Jace slammed on the table over Aegon's comment.

The circle seemed to fall silent and again they didn't quite know what was going to happen next, ,,A round of peasant blood," Aegon muttered into his goblet, rolling his eyes and looking a lot more like his mother.

However, only seconds later he choked on it as the said farm princess threw a piece of bread at him and he looked like he was about to walk over to her when Aemond stood in his way and pushed his brother aside to get closer to the princess. She gave Aegon one last scowl of surprise before looking to Aemond in wonder, ,,Would my dear princesses dance with me?" he asked, seeming to want to join his sister and her nephews who were dancing.

Accepting his offer with a nod, ,,I'd love to, Aemond," she smiled at him dnakably and let herself be pulled out onto the open floor, about to start something wilder when she suddenly felt his other hand on her hip, paused, looked at him a little uncertainly and leaned towards him, ,,I can't do the Targaryen dance" she whispered and heard him smirk a little, seeing that he was no longer wearing an eye cap the darkness of his sapphire eye fascinated her and only made him look even more beautiful ,,Don't worry let me be your leading chariot" he said with a nod and seemed at least relieved that she didn't find him ugly like other ladies-in-waiting at the castle.

Relaxing, he began to move slightly, his own steps a veritable dragon dance as she guided the fire that seemed to be the sword he gently wielded around her, her dress making the movements look more fluid. ,,The sapphire suits you, Aemond," she murmured softly, feeling the brief twitch of his hand, his eye glancing briefly to the ground and lingering briefly on her lips before he thanked her as he spun her around and the two of them attempted a little dragon dance of their own, somewhat like Jace and Helaena.

Aemond with his polite dragon dance and she with her wild twirls and wide arm movements as they all danced together at the village festivals it was funny and their laughter could be heard over and over again as they touched hands and completely ignored the looks of the others that went from fascination to pride until the piece was over.

They both found each other one last time and held each other as the music became a little quieter again and they looked at each other, Aemond bowed and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, a gesture that made her heart beat faster and she stifled a giggle.

Before she simply responded, ,,Thank you my rough sapphire," she whispered and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before sitting back down and taking a large sip from her goblet to calm her nerves but at least she had behaved in her own way.

And who knows, maybe the farm princess would end up with a dragon after all, a rough dragon from Saphier who appreciated her wares and together they could form a kingdom of outsiders together in love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[alavestineneas]

i can feel the soil falling over my head; no people are here, just the void in my chest

pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!reader summary: Harkonnen men rarely wed; they just take what they capture—men and women—and turn them into slaves. Some, if particularly sweet, are reserved for fucking. There are no special songs for that; there isn't a specific word in their native tongue for wife, either. warnings: mentions of death, violence, implied/referenced child abuse, religious symbolism, daddy and sister issues, bald men chapter 1 - chapter 2 word count: 6,5K

author's note: hi beautiful people! this chapter may be classified as a prologue (yes, I am aware of its size, sorry, lol), but it is still integral to the story. we love evil people, especially evil bald people, in this house, so have fun and don't forget to wash your hands before reading! also, if you see things that are not canon, just know that me and the books are two parallel lines and we do not cross. feel free to point out grammar mistakes, though - english is not my first. love you!

Kaitain, 10176 AG

The violent streaks of light fight with the heavy cloth of drapes to find their way into the small, stifling chambers. The time was slowly crawling towards noon in the heavy summer heat, and the woman lying on the heavily decorated sheets was battling to get a breath in. Whether because of the annoying star, or the poisoning waiting, the patterns of sweat stained her tired face with esculent ornaments. Her lips, formed into a thin line, gleamed with small spots of dried crimson.

''Where is the messenger?'' The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes glued to the dancing light filtering through the window. ''The girl is strong; I can't hold her for much longer.''

The black figure on the chair in the corner slightly shifted at words. She was veiled, despite the heat—like a black hole, she seemed to suck the little air left. ''Forbearance,'' her raspy voice cuts through the room. ''The child makes you impatient. Control yourself.''

''I've waited, and waited long enough,'' the woman snapped, her frustration evident in her trembling hands. ''A few more minutes and all that is left of her will be a corpse.''

''Be quiet, Echidna. The child will live. If not, she was never meant to be part of our world in the first place.''

The woman clenched her jaw in a wave of pain and nodded. The girl ought to see the light of this planet today. Deep in her thoughts, she almost missed the rushed steps behind the door.

One of the Emperor's guards burst into the room, his eyes almost frantic. ''Lady Anirul has graced the Imperium with a daughter.''

Echidna smiled in relief, but her expression quickly changed as a beast-like cry pierced the air. The child was coming, with little care for the damage it caused to her aching womb. She tore the tissue down to the individual cells, gnawing her way with fists and elbows, moving the bones aside with brute force. Soon, her own cries were answered by much louder ones, as the head of the girl showed itself, covered in a thick layer of almost black blood. Just for a moment, the woman wished it would not steal another breath from the room, but she sharply composed herself. With a final push, the child left her body forever, leaving it a raw wound.

The small creature shrieked when the black figure approached, and slender, wrinkled arms took it from the warmth of rufous-red liquid. Echidna watched as the figure carried the girl away, resting her hurting body against the soaked pillows. She fulfilled her duty; she granted Bene   Gesserit the daughter they wanted. She is bleeding under a beautiful sun; she is holding the ghost of her child in her arms—the real one was never hers anyway. Echidna knows the Emperor will not come. From now on, it is just her and her never-passing pain. Thus, Kaitain, home to the Corrino dynasty, was warmed by the light of a new sun—Princess Irulan, an heiress to the Imperium—and chilled by the shadow of her sister, born a few minutes later.

-

The calmness of the gardens was disturbed only by the soft strokes of brushes against a thick canvas. YN sighed, her eyes still fixed on the tree nearby, its young branches swaying with the wind. Her body ached from stillness, the tension in her neck from holding her head slightly bowed spreading down to her small back. They posed for a portrait of what seemed like an eternity to a child, and was almost it to an adult who dared to inquire; the painter, while satisfied with the draft, looked at the group of young girls almost in fear—no normal child of that age would be unmoving for three hours. And yet, they were.

YN felt one of her sisters shift even through the thick fabric of her silver dress. Small Chalice turned, her cheeks red from the heat or tiredness, her lips forming a pout—the child was tired, sleepingly rubbing her eyes. YN thought for a moment, debating if the punishment would be worth it, or if her sisters could wait just a little bit more until the man with colours would end the session for today. She noticed how Irulan's face was starting to droop, her eyes fluttering closed and opening just a second later. Their youngest, Wensicia, was already asleep in Irulan's arms; her golden hair spread across her and YN's laps as a beautiful cover, shining under the faint sun.

''I am tired, Master Chen. We should end the painting for today,'' YN finally spoke; her voice was almost a whisper. She did not know whether it was not to awaken her sister or out of fear of the Emperor's anger; it did not matter. The man nodded and left, taking his canvases with him, leaving only a few drafts behind. Then, the sisters were left alone in the garden.

''Thank you,'' Irulan said softly, placing her head on YN's shoulder.

YN only nodded. Her eyes found the paper not so far away, her gaze studying the strokes of the pencil with interest. Wensicia, a beautiful girl of two, was smiling brightly, holding an olive branch in her chubby hands, her small feet peeking under the hem of her white dress. Small Chalice was at the opposite end of her, her curly hair surrounding her head like a halo as she leaned forward, holding a small dove inside her palms. Then, sitting at the bench, surrounded by lush greenery and bushes, they. Irulan and the Other.

YN was placed just a step away from her older sister, her head turned away from the gaze of the viewer. The delicate folds of her silver dress carefully cascaded down, creating an air of mist around them. Her hands were empty; she did not know if the artist hadn't decided with each object to grace her with, or left them hollow intently. She looked like a shadow—a ghost, maybe; her eyes were escaping the viewer as if hiding a secret.

Irulan was different. She was a sun-kissed creature, her head facing straight ahead. Her eyes, as if inviting for a challenge, were made from duty, steel. With a burning star on her regal forehead, crowning the streaks of golden hair, Irulan was water and air, dulcet and ever-bending; her figure held the place and her pose was distinct and commanding.

YN looked at the girl beside her, who was now quiet nearby. Irualn was wise, the wisest of the sisters; her eyes were all-seeing, her heart all-knowing. She was created in the shape of a mother since they could walk, and the small ones bathed in her light, drinking her till the last drop —like flowers following the warm embrace of the sun. The only one who could not enjoy the love was her, the Other. The other sister, the other half. For they have been too close in age, too similar to let each other pretend the burden was not a heavy one to bear.

When Irulan was natural in her all-caring shape, YN had to claw her way to the only role left—the father. An unbent tree, a silent soldier—she was not born to fit as one, but wishing for a different order of things was almost blasphemy. That's how it always was with them—out of two, one was the protector, the other - the protected. "Husband," Irulan humorously called her often. She smiled, and, for a moment, the wave of resentment in YN's soul calmed. She never called her wife in return: Irulan was too whole to be one, too proud to be moulded into. She stood alone, on a higher pedestal than all of them, closest to the Emperor, whom the Other was to call father, and closest to the Truth. No, Irulan was God.

God does not know how to love someone who is not his servant, because there is no one who would refuse to serve him; it is the only way. God guides, despite all one's protests. God gives, and God takes. God demands; Irulan demands—silent obedience without a need to explain or answer. That, she takes from their father. So, the Other takes a blade into her hand without compassion for her dead wishes and learns to wield it in God's name. She is the one little ones turn to when the world is too wicked for their fragile souls when the creatures under their beds lose all of their human form and turn violent. She takes their sins and bears the punishments, for they are not deserving of such cruelty. YN thinks not of her own guilt—what difference would one scourage make to one who counts in centuries? And when the sun shone, and God smiled, the Other almost forgot of the bruises she carried.

-

The first time he saw her, it was not supposed to happen at all. Feyd-Rautha just closed the door to Maester's chambers with such force that it shook against lean walls; the grumble echoed in the long corridors of Giedi Prime's fortness. The ache in his body was muted, but still present; the torn flesh inside his heart howled and clawed, slicing the ribcage in half. He would've screamed, or perhaps beat his hands bloody against the concrete until the dull pain turned into something as sharp as his knife's blade. Maybe he would've drowned himself in a small water bowl by his nightstand and done anything to escape the shame and humiliation that consumed him from within. But instead, Feyd-Rautha stood still, his jaw clenched tight and his breathing shallow. One day, it will pass. One day, he will see the world choke on its own spit.

That's when he noticed a small, shadow-like figure at the end of the hallway staring at him. A girl, not older than him, was in a dress so foreign to him that it hurt his eyes. The daughter of the Emperor, he guessed. One of many—only then would the golden stitching on her sleeve would make sense.

''What are you doing here?'' he barked, caring little for the common courtesy. Of course, she was a guest almost as prized as her father, but she was in his territory and dared to look at him for long enough without averting her eyes. Long enough to notice the bruising on his pale skin and a swelness surrounding his lips. Long enough to hear him cry.

''I was walking with my mother, but then I turned into the wrong hall,'' she shrugged. ''Will you be kind enough to show me the way out? Or should I find it myself?"

Feyd-Rautha ignored her question. What a weird creature she was—with cascades of hair and eyes that seemed to see too much. ''It is dangerous to walk these halls without guard, Princess.'' It is dangerous to be here, alone with him and the weapon strapped to his hip, but he did not add it.

''There is no use of guards if the one who wishes to kill you is their master.'' The girl took a step forward, pointing to the weapon at his side. "I am not afraid."

Feyd-Rautha laughed. It came out more as howling than human sounds, the abrupt nature of it ringing with high notes, tip-toeing down to hysterical; it sounded creaky, like his throat was not made for such sounds; yet here he was, laughing. ''Come,'' he gestured to her, his hand moving quickly, like ordering a slave around. ''I will show you why you should be.''

So, they walked. Inside the grandiose chambers and small rooms, filled with ancient artefacts or the newest technology Harkonnens came up with; inside the green lavish garden inside the dim castle and the training grounds, Feyd-Rautha showed every place that was built to display the greatness of his house and bestone fear inside both guests and people inhibiting it. He wanted to see the horror in the girl's eyes, to make her eyes water and her frame flee. Instead, he listened to her steady breathing just a step behind him, her curious questioning satisfying another need he did not know his heart possessed: reverence.

He was the youngest member of the ruling line, the smallest stone in the castle of power his uncle had built. His title meant nothing within these walls; he was too small in comparison to the Baron and his authority. Feyd-Rautha was feared, despite only being nine; he was the shadow in the corner that grew longer as the sun set, the whispered name that sent shivers down spines. But here, in the hallway he led the girl into, he turned out to be something else.

''Stunning,'' the girl whispered beside him.

Weapons. The walls, from the floor to the high ceilings, were covered in ritual and fighting blades. The pride of house Harkonnen, the tree of their dynasty, black, silver, golden, and steel knives, swords, and daggers gleamed in the dim light. Feyd-Rautha smiled, revealing a row of sharp teeth. "Welcome to our burial ground."

They stopped near every one, his voice briefly covering the story of each blade and his owner; barons that came before him; fighters and rules that defined their legacy. Some still have blood on them—the highest honour; some look almost virgin. The small signs underneath them tell the names of people who wielded these weapons, their stories forever immortalised in the cold metal. ''Each Harkonnen ruler is crafted a blade of his own, the one he is to honour in battle.''

The girl nodded, her fingers tracing the shape of the last blade carefully. Her palms danced around the sharp edge, taking in the ancient symbols she had no chance of knowing. ''Will you have to kill Baron Vladimir in order to have one, like he did with his father before?''

Feyd-Rautha paused. Of course, he has thought about it before. The idea he repeated like a mantra in his head for all of his short life, the belief that spread burning flames down his spine. The words left his mouth for the first time but felt almost natural against his cracked lips. ''I dream of the day I have the chance to.''

The pair of foreign eyes that stared back at him held a glint of intrigue that quickly changed with a flash of acknowledgement. Feyd-Rautha held the gaze; not a single thing about it was hard. Still, he was the first to turn away; the burning sensation of being  seen  made him want to tear his flesh apart. ''Let me escort you to your rooms, Princess. The walls grow colder as the evening approaches.''

-

The weather on the planet leaves too few guards out of their breath, Irulan notes. The striking sun burns through the rounded windows of man-built walls, the frankly depressing landscape of huge boxes constructed with little intent for anything else but utilitarianism. She must not fear, while those lands will also be under her power with time, but the dreadful atmosphere of the lonely planet makes her skin break out in hives.

She believes the people here are more terrifying. White, hairless creatures with eyes as dark as the sun above them speak with just nods and courseys, paying little to no attention to the world around them, save for the concrete floors.  ''Tell them to set themselves on fire, and they will,''  Irulan recalls Baron Vladimir telling her father over the banquet. She believed it to be a simple boast at first, but now, after a few days in the strange world, the words make greater sense.

Perhaps, the harsh weather made people here hardened. Perhaps, such cruelty is necessary for survival. What terrorised her more was her sister—the one who now silently reads nearby, her long dress carelessly spread on the floor. Irulan would never allow her dress to wrinkle before the concluding dinner, but she is not Irulan. Despite them being demisisters, they shared fewer similarities than one could guess. Two lambs, as many in court would call them—the white and black ones. They knew one another better than anything else; where one went, the other followed. Where Irulan failed, her sister succeeded. What was allowed for her sister, was fobility towards Irulan. No one was embedded in their small circle; no one could get close enough to understand the bond they shared—together, they were whole.

Yet as they grew older, the bond seemed to thin. The path to the mind of her sister was more often closed to her now, her thoughts veiled by the silence rooted deep into her veins. Irulan knows they are just growing up, trying to find their path in the unknown. But she is scared; what would be of her without her sister? What use would the river have without fish to fill it?

''I shall go,'' her sister says, closing the book. ''The dinner starts soon, and I wanted to return the book before it.''

''Is it the one Na-Baron recommended?'' Irulan voices. Truth be told, she would never touch anything that Baron or his family possessed, even more recommended, but her sister seemed to enjoy the ancient text.

''It is. Rather interesting are the traditions of these people. Did you know their slaves have no tongues?''

Irulan feels sick to her stomach; the thought of having slaves brings the small bits of her recent meal to her very present tongue. ''Can I come with you?'' she asks, instead of answering. Irulan does not want to leave the faint safety of her rooms, but even more, she does not want to be left alone. She feels vulnerable—she is not of power here, despite being the embodiment of it in all of the other corners of the Imperium.

''You know I walk without guards.''

Irulan knows. While she is not able as much as bathe without the presence of someone with fighting knowledge, the rules do not seem to apply to her younger sister; she can move freely, as she wishes. Was it because she carried a thin blade with her and knew how to use it, or because of the lack of care from their father? Irulan was not sure. What she was sure of, was that no woman of twelve should leave her sister alone in the halls of Harkonnens' fort.

''It is just to the reading room and back, is it not?''

''Yes,'' her sister nods.  ''I'll take you,''  it means.

So, they walk. Fortunately, the guards usually waiting outside are nowhere to be found, and they manage to slip away unnoticed. Irulan holds the hand of her sister tightly, with each noise from the outside digging her nails deeper into her soft palm. Her sister says nothing; she steps calmly into the labyrinth of corridors, navigating them without much evident trouble. Soon, they find themselves in front of a huge black door, incarnated with words Irulan hold no knowledge of.

Inside, the chamber is massive; it forms a beautiful, round circle with ceilings so high that the air in it is always chilly. Rows of books and manuscripts fill the shelves out of oxidant, contrasting starkly with the white wall. The black circle table of cold stone is filled with replicas and ancient artefacts, each emitting a soft glow.

Who knew the small, desert planet held such treasures inside? Irulan forgets about her sister entirely—the texts call to her, golden lettering shining under the light. Irulan follows the names on the covers: legends, myths, histories, and art overviews. Some even contained gardening and soil research; Baron likely held those for a good laugh.

Irulan travels deeper and deeper until the voice of her sister addressing the only library keeper almost disappears, consumed by tall bookcases. The section she finds herself in is solely dedicated to martial arts; where, if not here, would the hundreds of books on such a topic be stored? Some of them are used; the spines are slightly older; others look brand new.

Irulan is brought to her senses only when she notices a black figure moving in the corner of her vision. She puts the book back and Listens. Just like the Sisters taught her, her inner ear picks up the faint voice of her sister, and the moving of two sandaled feet—the slave handling the books. She feels something else, too. A presence familiar enough to recognise but not enough to name.

''We have to go,'' she says, grabbing her sister by the shoulder and pressing. ''We will be late,'' she explains to the slave. Not that it would question the whims of the princess.

''Why?'' her sister turns to her, confused. ''I was looking at some other books. Weren't you also?''

''Please,'' Irulan whispers. ''We spent enough time here as it is.''

Just as her sister was about to answer, the atmosphere shifted. The air, sitting in its calmness, heavied. The silent before slave turned on its feet, its eyes burning holes in Irulan's body. It lurches towards them, opening its obsidian mouth to show the blackened void inside—indeed, it possesses no tongue.

Irulan freezes. The void seems to suck her in, the sharp mouth growing wider as its owner approaches her body. The fear paralyses her, planting her otherwise quick feet deep into the ground. Now, her training as Bene Gesserit should awaken—she should oppose, or at the very least dodge, the attack. But the black mouth continues to draw her in, clouding her thoughts with terror.

The body beside her shifts; her sister is quick. With one strong thrust, she pushes Irulan aside. '' Hide ,'' the voice within her head commands, and Irulan has no force to object to the technique. She crawls under the heavy stone, frantically looking for something—anything—to protect herself with.

Despite the long skirts, her sister moves like Adam's wine; she bends and turns, and strikes the man far taller than her, but he seems determined on the idea of killing her. Her sister grunts under the heavy hits; one sits in her abdomen, and another lands on her knees. The slave's nails leave a trace on her skin, rough enough to pierce the young dermis.

Eventually, her sister grows tired; the slave pushes her to the ground, pressing his slender body on top and closing its white, almost translucent hands on her throat. Irulan clasps the found sharp cutting instrument to her chest, desperately trying to calm the wave of fear forming there.  ''I must not fear. Fear is a mind killer,''  she whispers again and again.

She watches as her sister's hand slips under her clothes and emerges an illicit, slender blade—it shines under the light just as lettering did on the books a minute ago. To Irulan, it feels like a year's hundred. ''No!'' she wants to shout as her sister raises the steel and preys it into the eye of the slave, but the words are unable to leave her throat. Like a waterfall, crimson covers her sister's face, staining her light grey dress in hot circles.

The slave falls on his back, his hands leaving their place on her sister's neck.

''Enough, please! Sister, stop!'' Irulan cries, crawling out of her hiding spot but daring not to get closer.

Her sister doesn't hear; she lurches towards the man in a slick puddle and takes his life quickly, cutting his throat in one swift motion. The blood from his arteria leaves the body in pulsations; they spatter everywhere, some drops going as far as touching the shelves.

The silence settles in the chamber once again; only the sound of weakly flowing blood disturbs the stillness. Her sister does not shed a tear; she meticulously cleans the blade with the slave's white cloth and slips it back into the folds of her gown.

''What have you done?'' Irulan whispers. Her hands tremble; the sight before her crawls into the deepest corners of her mind and tears everything there down. How can one kill so easily? How can one be so cold and calculating, as if it were nothing more than a daily chore? How could that one be her sister, the one she shared a life with?

''I protected.'' Her sister's voice is hoarse, but firm. There is no remorse in her tone, only weariness. ''What have you  done?'' She turns to face her. Her hair, carefully braided by servants for dinner, is undone; the wet strands of it grip her face like a vice, framing the unseeing eyes.

Like that, she looks like a woman mad. Irulan backs into the safety of the doors, feeling her fear turn into something much greater. ''Do not come near me,'' she commands. Just as the heavy doors close behind her, she sets off running.

-

YN waits until the footsteps of her sister are no longer heard, and only then does she come out of the reading room. She pays the body on the ground little attention; no one would bet an eye on the death of a useless creature like that. It did not intend to kill; rather, someone made it do it. Who, in their right mind, would try to harm the heir of the Emperor? How would they know that Irulan would follow her there?

Irulan. The one who watched as the Other almost gave her life for hers, the one who had the nerve to be repulsed by the blood on her hands—the blood she spilt protecting her. What do you do when you are not allowed to be angry at God? Why does God shame one for the will she herself inflicted on one to bestone? YN would ask the sun, but it hid behind the walls of the fort. She would ask, but no one would answer.

So, she does what she is meant to do—finds her way into the large dining hall, where everyone, of course, is starting to gather. The Emperor would be dissatisfied to find her not there on time; she has no time to fix her appearance. In light of the slight possibility of shaming their House with her muddled hairstyle or suffering yet another punishment for being even late, she chooses the first option.

The guards let her in without saying a word. YNr watches as the shield slides open, revealing a full hall. Rows and rows of tables, filled with foods one would imagine never would have made their way to the Giedi Prime, and laughter not so usual for a harsh realm.

''Princess...'' the servant starts, announcing her arrival, but she shushes him with a slight wave of her palm. She does not notice the crimson liquid staining it.

The Other makes her way to her seat calmly, careless of the way people around her stumble and twist their faces in shock. The only eyes that watch her without fear at the Emperor's table are those of Lady Echidna. Her face betrays no emotion at all—hidden by her veiled black cloth, it only slightly moves when the YN passes her seat.

She holds the angry gaze of the Emperor calmly. He will demand an answer, of course if Irulan has not whispered the truth into his aged ears already. Her sister probably would do no such thing; in that, she would admit to disobeying the orders bestowed upon her. YN is puzzled at the attention directed towards her humble figure—the first thing a Bene Gessarite in training learns is not to be repulsed by the anatomy of her body. Why be grossed out by the liquid coursing through her veins—the liquid she carries all her life? Why be scared of death, when it is always at your doorstep? In the sway of her thoughts, the Other also seems not to perceive the pair of icy blue eyes glued to her figure as she finds her seat and takes her place.

-

"The boy follows you around like a dog." The mother's tone stands not in judgment but rather simply states the truth.

Lady Echidna is not veiled now; her heavy hair is still tightly braided out of her face. Just a small black ribbon highlights her status as one of the Emperor's senior concubines, a position most would bear with honour. To her, it was yet another stain on her earthly body—the body she could not call her to possess. The black sun of Giedi Prime is finally long behind them; nothing but a few light orbs floating around illuminate the chamber, yet her intense gaze seems to pierce right through the girl that sits across her.

"I know, mother. His steps are heavy; his thoughts are even heavier; they follow me much more often."

The woman's fingers stop working on an intricate needlework for a moment, before continuing as it was. "You are to call me Sister, girl," she speaks, her voice low.

YN drags her teeth across her tongue, feeling the anger flow through the veins in her body. She wishes to be far away from this small chamber, to run and never face the woman's eyes again. "The girl has a name, Sister. Or do you fear to voice it?"

Lady Echidna places the cloth on the table beside her gracefully, as if paying no attention to the words spoken. But YN can sense can feel the resentment that burns inside her mother's stomach, spreading its molecules to her throat. "A name holds meaning; for a person to have a name, one must first be of character and substance. You are none."

YN bit the soft flesh inside her mouth; it tasted bitter. It was better if her mother shouted, if she hit her if she did anything to prove YN is still here in her eyes, that she was not just a void the woman spoke her riddles into. Maybe then the pain inside her would have a meaning, would have a reason better than just childish hurt. "Did I not have a beating heart when I left your womb, Sister? Did you not hear it loud and clear? What kind of proof is needed more of me?"

"My daughter died that day, screaming. You took her place. So do not bother me with your foolish talks anymore, for we both know they just waste the air we breathe. Am I heard?"

She was. The tears dried on YN's face before having the chance to spill, and she turned to her studies. Once more, a feeling of ever-lasting cold surrounded her shoulders. The never-leaving vision in her mind appeared once again—her mother's quick steps as she walked away in another corridor of Giedi Prime's fort, her head straight ahead as YN pleaded not to leave her alone, her legs glued to the command spoken. It was a blessing that the boy found her earlier than his uncle.

-

Time has passed since the first time YN's eyes saw the black sun of the foreign planet so far from hers. The Other trained, restlessly, in the tongues of ancient warriors and the most prominent whisperers, slowly earning the right to bear Knowledge in her crown-empty head. She had much yet to learn, but the prospect did not frighten her; with every passing day, she felt power building in her hands and soul. Patience, the greatest virtue of all. She was alone now, without her half of a sister; alone, in her solitude, the heavy bearings seemed not as heavy—she had no one to enlighten about her battles. Still, God was on her mind; YN felt her presence near, her watchful eyes guiding her. Like the tight, dampened cloth on her bruised knuckles, her sister was stuck to her open wound of a soul.

Irulan has grown. Her complexion changed; she no longer looked like a bright-faced girl who left her sister alone in Harkonnen's library; the plump cheeks were gone, and so was fear. At the Other stared a sole statue of power she bloomed into. Silver collars, light blue waves of fabric—the cut is, as always, straight. The Other eyed her up and down, taking in each detail of the painting-like sight. Irulan did the same—a slight disgust at the Other's simple tunic and pants, creased from the sparring. Irulan did not need to be broken in order to be a Sister in the Bene Gesserit; they wanted her Corrino first, and a servant second. The Other, however, held no such value—a child carried not by the lawful wife, a second, a spare. So, there would be no bone in her body left untouched by the lessons, no string in her soul unharmed by the knowledge. They crushed her cartilage in grey sand and forced her to swallow the bitter truths of their ways. Yet, God remains undisturbed—stoic. Eternal.

''Will you not eat again?'' Irulan musses, putting another piece of dish in her mouth.

The Other would take it as a cruel joke from anyone else, but not from God. She shakes her head instead. ''I am forbidden.''

Irulan hums. It was not the first time YN would be disciplined this way; the cycle of punishment and forgiveness was all too familiar to her. The room is silent; there is no one but the two of them. She could offer to eat, and no one would know she did, but Irulan won't offer. The Other does not expect her to; pity is not something a sister can possess.

''How are your lessons going? A fresh knowledge, perhaps?''

YN nods. If she opens her mouth now, her voice will betray her. She could cry all she wanted in the presence of a sister, but it is not appropriate for a thirteen-year-old to behave this way in front of God. The Other is reminded of that with an absence of bruises on Irulan's skin; her hands were never cut by the sharp blades, and her mouth was never starved. ''Why was I summoned from training?'' She asked, directing her eyes to the figure in front of her.

''I am here as a messenger from the Emperor.''

YN's eyes narrowed. ''And what does our dear Emperor desire to tell me now?'' She wishes not to hear anything he has to say; the Other is perfectly content here, amongst her Sisters. Here, she is of cost.

''Recently, Baron Vladimir turned to our House for guidance. He and na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen felt misled by the House Artreidis, and their promise of a bride that did not come. Our father has graciously offered to negotiate the conflict and pay the needed price for the Baron's cooperation.''

''Of course, he did. With all of our might, we are still afraid of the savages that made Arrakis their home. With what advice, may I ask, did the Emperor provide the Baron?''

Irulan's lips turn into a straight line, with the small wrinkle on her forehead appearing. Something that she carried with her through childhood. Something that still reminded of home. ''With the proposal of a woman of our House to na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.''

''A gift? Irulan, I am so sorry.''

Sure, the bridge between them was long forgotten, growing with tall grass and wildflowers, but the weight of their shared history still lingered in the air. Irulan was still her sister, no matter how many times the Other tried to tell herself otherwise. And no woman sane would consider giving her sister to the inhumane brutes that were Harkonnens—the people even Bene Gessarit wished to observe from afar; the people so ruthless mothers told stories about them to their small offspring in an attempt to instil fear and obedience.

Irulan does not answer. She hides her gaze, her eyes following the wooden panels of the quarters.

''What is it, sister?  Speak .''

''The offer Emperor found the most fitting would be of your hand, not mine.''

The Other exhales. As if a heavy stone were put on her chest, she fights to bring much-needed oxygen to her bloodstream. She almost feels the erythrocytes scatter from her face into her neck, hidden by the cloth, and gather there in an attempt to regrow their might. Her throat twists and closes, its muscles compressing until not even an ounce of air can get in. All of her organs, from heart to stomach, made their presence known; one by one, they tensed and burned, forcing the otherwise relaxed hands to grip them.

It was supposed to be Irulan. The first one to marry is the oldest sister; the title high enough to satisfy the ambitious Harkonnes would be hers, no less. Yet, here she stands, not even looking at the one taking her place as she sentences her to an ultimate death. No matter how much power the Corrino name held, on Giedi Prime, she would consider herself fortunate enough if she were to meet her end quickly.

''Why, Irulan? Have I not been a loyal servant to you all those years? Have I not followed every order without question? ''

Irulan is unmoved in her position. ''We can not risk the Harkonnen blood getting on the throne, you know it.''

''You mean we can not risk you? We are not eight anymore, dear Irulan; you can speak truthfully now. Do you really think the Emperor will treasure you more if you say nothing now? We are no sons, Irulan; we are sisters, you and I. Please, spare me this fate.''

''Yes,'' the girl lifts her eyes, taking a step closer. ''We are no sons; you knew that one day we would marry for the peace of the Imperium. Why do you shout now?''

''Married, yes, but not murdered for the sake of the fucking old man who could not hold his promise. They are monsters, Irulan, spilling innocent blood for the fun of it. I beg of you, sister, show me the mercy I know you are capable of.''

''You are worried about blood? What could one more splash of blood mean to you? You have been no sister for a long time; I order you, as an heir of the Emperor and as the messenger of his will here, to comply. Do not make it harder than it has to be.''

The Other smiled—she would not grant the pleasure of tears. ''Very well, then. Someone needs to go first. I'll go; I'll be first, at least here. Tell the Emperor that I will comply with any of his wishes, whether it be to throw me to the sharks or to feed me to the sandworms. As a confirmation of my undying loyalty, you may show him this:''

She slaps her. She slaps her not like a warrior, not like the trained assassin she was raised to be; she slaps her like a sister, bitterly, harshly. For the first time in her short life, YN raises a hand on something she deems holy—the God's shocked face brings a sense of satisfaction to the Other's veins, even if the same blood courses through them. She turns on her heels and walks away, leaving the forsaken room behind. Leaving God behind.

[the-trinket-witch]

Eugenio Enters the Hunt

(Monster Lover AU concept courtesy of Writing-Heiress)

With a name easy enough to call out in a cry for help, Eu wasn't initially set on becoming a monster hunter. The town they were staying in, one of many they've drifted through, found itself under the vengeful paw of a raging beast. It all happened so fast; Eu suddenly found the same beast under their boot sighing out its last breath. Their battle had dragged out into the woods, to the beast's den. Eu suddenly felt as if they'd been the one staked through. A weak cry from the back of the cave alerted them to a now abandoned little one. It would be much to small to remember that night, and Eu needed to amend their action. They were a believer in the notion that nurture could overcome nature with a gentle enough hand.

Their deed had drawn the townsfolk to thrust them into the arms of the Red Hoods. A member helped them harvest their first weapon: claws from the beast fashioned to retain magic. Another showed the secrets of how to create a potion, one that allowed the body to receive their familiar and grant them certain abilities. When asked what they did before, Eu couldn't really remember. For the longest time they wandered and did odd work to feed themselves. Now they had a purpose.

There are many a monster back on the road. Neither Eu nor Grim are given much opportunity to rest. But lately they've been coming to find a bit of comfort in the 'coincidental' run ins with someone they nicknamed Hornton. It was all they could think of as the stranger wouldn't give his name. What he did give, though, was eventually a small peridot necklace; a 'Gift'. Eu can feel there's magic imbued, but can't tell what kind. Did it increase their magical output? Allow for faster healing? Hornton could only laugh to himself as this curious human willingly put the tracking device around their neck.

TAGLIST

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[tumblingxelian]

Near Uniquely RWBY - Main Characters

I was chatting with my sibling the other day and we were joking about the fact in 90% of the media I consume I generally don't like the main characters.

Not in the sense I necessarily hate them, but I generally don't find them to be the most interesting, engaging or enjoyable person on screen or page. Instead I tend to gravitate towards secondary or minor characters and even minor antagonists before any of the big names.

Some of this is rooted in my often rooting for what tends to feel more like a real underdog or characters that feel like they got dealt a bad hand by the author unfairly. But its also that in a lot of media the main characters tend to immediately, slowly or quickly go into personality lockdown.

Becoming less a personality and more the embodiment of expected tropes and themes, or they lose their unique edge or circumstances because the plot demands one benefits or personality changes be heaped on them to keep the tone and story going.

Some examples of this would include say:

Ichigo from Bleach, with him and his supporting cast being very unique and super interesting during the initial arc. But as Soul Society came in, he became a much more standard Shounen determinator a the expense of his personality and his supporting casts were largely watered down & left behind.

Or how in Naruto or Dragon Ball the whole underdog/hard worker aspect of the characters felt undercut by legacy power ups and an endless wellspring of natural talent, alien biology, ETC.

I know these are just two examples, but they cover the general gist of what I mean.

So, what makes RWBY different?

Well, off the cuff, is simply that the four main characters are women.

I've often felt simply putting anyone other than a cis-het guy into the main character slot of say, a battle Shounen, or Isekai stands a good chance of making it more interesting by default. Even if the author does nothing with it the audience reaction would be different because the MC would be an exception to the norms.

In that vein, while one can call RWBY some sort of Shounen or adventure fantasy or magical girl show the main four are unique in how they manifest on screen at the very start. From how they participate in action, to how said action is structured and framed and the kind of adventures and topics they tackle.

But being unique alone is not enough, that would simply make it more interesting than the bog standard but what elevates RWBY is the execution and exploration of such elements and its characters.

Going into every aspect would be difficult, but in light of what I said above would be how each of the main four are initially presented as familiar archetypes, only to subvert or deconstruct them.

Ruby is a peppy goth who just wants to be normal but has inborn powers from her mysteriously vanished mother and serves as a beacon of optimism to others.

Except Ruby's version of normal still involved fighting death monsters with a sniper rifle scythe and she is actually one of the more ruthless characters. Her peppy persona obscures that she can have a pretty vicious temper when pushed and has displayed strong bloodknight tendencies.

Her unrelenting optimism and desire to fix the world is a complex mix of true beliefs, coping mechanism for trauma and her grappling with positions forced on her against her will. Her inborn power is potentially useful but also not that much of a game breaker outside specific contexts & said power sure as hell didn't save her mom.

Weiss Schnee is the Tsundere heiress of a powerful family, with a haughty attitude that hides her loneliness.

Except the "Tsundere" is more of a defense mechanism born of coming from an abusive home where every member of her family manifested a different trauma response. Freeze (Mother), flight (Sister), Fight (Weiss) Fawn (Brother).

Despite her upbringing & some projected trauma, she's far from ignorant as to the worst excesses of her nation early on, and her journey was more about overcoming the impacts her abuser had on her and finding a family in her team that let her be safe enough to let down her walls. Also despite being "The ice queen" she's actually one of the characters least inclined towards more ruthless actions and is extremely empathic.

Blake Belladonna is a mysterious and silent rougish woman, something of a shrinking violet even, but she carries with her a wounded heart thanks to her old flame, the edgy Adam Taurus.

Or more accurately, Blake is the daughter of activists and politicians who represent the worlds main discriminated against minority. She spent her youth on the road as a protestor and where even her father could be nearly killed by a lynch mob. She was targeted & groomed by a man who claimed to want to fight the same injustice she did but who was only interested in using the movement to grow his own power.

Her initial aloof-ness was a trauma response to having spent years under his thumb and overcoming him and the idea she had to 'save' him was one of the main corner stone so her character. Also, despite the "Revolutionary fighter" backstory she like Weiss is much less inclined towards ruthlessness than her team in large part because her past experience with it.

Yang Xiao Long, introduced as the fun loving big sister of Ruby & boisterous bruiser of the team who loves to party & flirt.

Except no, Yang was parentified as a child and forced to raise her own sister as their family unit fell apart. Her "Party girl" persona was outright framed as judging a book by its cover in her own trailer and something she put on or took off as she needed.

She became disabled over the course of the series run as well as entered a Sapphic romance with her partner Blake. Unlike the stereotype of characters with her design, Yang is actually an excellent student, fighter and engineer/mechanic. Plus much like her sister she tends to be of the more ruthless and pragmatic persuasion despite being from the "Normal" background.

Character Conclusion

So, all the characters break out of their initial archetypes, which already makes them more interesting. What's more, these sorts of characters just being oput together and made the main characters rather than circling a dude is in of itself unique.

But there are other aspects of the writing which endear me to how it handles the main characters and what keeps them interesting.

Anger & Violence

See, while in various media women do express anger at times it is still often far less so than men. What's more, often women's anger tends to be presented in... Less flattering lights.

With the anger obscuring fragility while in a man it conveys strength. Or implying a sort of hysteria rather than an appropriate or controlled response. Or worst of all being demonized in general unless its rooted in or coming from traditionally feminine places.

The same tends to be true when it comes to violence with a lot of media either trying to find some way to make women in battle less... Brutal than their male counterparts. (More more like fanservice) Along with rarely letting women fight men, unless they are a special exception to the norm.

RWBY does not do this.

The main characters, hell, all the women in the series express a multitude of different forms of anger and violence. They battle men, they battle each other, they battle monsters all with no distinction nor fanservice shot in sight.

What's more though is that said anger and violence are not presented as, for lack of better words, wrong. The writers don't draw overt attention to this fact, they don't hang a big sign up saying "Girls can fight & shout too" or the like.

They just present these women with a range of emotions, motives and actions that are treated according to what fits the theme of the show rather than hewing closer to gendered lines.

This isn't to say anger & violence are lionized, but more that the experience and usage of them is not demonized or undermined because of the characters gender.

I suppose what I am saying is that CRWBY by and large lack double standards when it comes to exploring these things that I see so often in other media. The women in the main cast, among the villains, both sides respective allies and beyond can be flawed, or angry or do both good and terrible things.

But the writers are always treating everyone's pain as equally valid regardless of gender or situation. Which means that the situations that cause anger exist within a tone of respect that forms the depiction and framing of anger itself.

Which is just something I really enjoy.

Thanks for reading!

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 2: Hera, Goddess Of Childbirth]

A/N: Enjoy Chapter 2 a little early! See you on Sunday for Chapter 3 🥰

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

You are buzzed at a private party in the Rainbow Room of Rockefeller Center, Midtown, February 1966, chandeliers and candlelight, pink and red hearts made of paper hanging from shimmering strings and littering the floor. Your roommate Barbara Nassau Astor—yes those Astors, Astor Avenue in the Bronx, Astoria in Queens, “the landlords of New York”—brought you along tonight, and the chance to be swept up into her glittering existence is precisely why your father sent you to a school like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart. Barb knows people who know people who know other people and every single individual in that grand design is wealthy and worldly and could possibly lead you into the generous arms of your future husband. You are from Tarpon Springs, Florida, heiress to a sea sponge fortune, and your father nurses powerful ambitions of intermingling his blood with the Northeastern elite.

You scan the selection as you sip your Pink Squirrel. You could marry a doctor and sit in the living room waiting for him to come home at 9 or 10 or 11 p.m., fix him a Whiskey Sour or a Sazerac, listen to him bemoan the complexities of nerves and veins before accompanying him to bed and repeating the whole process the next day. You could marry a lawyer or an advertising executive, and your fate would be much the same. Your own parents are partners in life and business, but you have seen enough to know how rare this is. These men of the Rainbow Room, 65 floors above icy streets radiant with headlights, want a wife whose hands will stay manicured and idle: nannies will tend to the children, maids will clean the house, mistresses will massage the knots out of the muscles of his back. And you—a relative upstart, new money among ancient bloodlines—will have no right to demand otherwise.

A man interrupts your reverie. He wants to know about the pendant you wear around your neck. You sigh before you turn to him; you resist the instinct to roll your eyes. And then you see him. Tall, blonde, blue-eyed, with a curious intensity and a teasing little smirk, an Old Fashioned in his grasp like molten gold. You don’t know it yet, but he is a senator from New Jersey, very recently elected, victorious yet still hungry. He steals the oxygen out of your lungs. He drowns you in the amber-musk warmth of his cologne.

“It’s Athena,” you say, touching your fingertips to the silver medallion self-consciously; and you are rarely self-conscious. The black polish has been scrubbed from your nails and replaced with a soft, shimmering champagne. You spent two hours this afternoon having your hair painfully teased and arranged into a Brigitte Bardot-inspired updo.

“Goddess of wisdom.”

“And war and peace. And math.”

“Math?” He is intrigued.

“That’s what I’m studying at school. Math.”

“And yet you are not disinterested in the humanities. You know Greek mythology.”

“Well, Tarpon Springs has a lot of Greeks, and that’s where I’m from, so.”

“Studies math. From Tarpon Springs, Florida. I’m learning everything about you.” He smiles, this magnetic stranger who has captured you like a moon lured into a planet’s gravity. He swallows a mouthful of his Old Fashioned, moisture glistening on his lips. “Do you like Greek food?”

You can’t seem to follow his words. Blood is rushing into your face, hot and dizzying. “What?”

“Greek food. Have you tried it? Hummus, tzatziki, gyros, spanakopita, horiatiki, baklava.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve had it. It’s great.”

“My family owns a house on Long Beach Island,” he says casually. “We eat a lot of Greek food there. You should join us for dinner sometime soon.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Very soon. Maybe this weekend. Are you free?”

No, you’re not; but you’ll cancel plans until you are. “Um, okay. Sure. And who…sorry, I might have missed it, but…who are you…?”

“Aemond Targaryen.” And he shakes your hand like you’re someone who matters. “I’m a senator. I’m trying to end the war.”

With him, you could be a part of something magnificent. With him, you could help save the world.

~~~~~~~~~~

Asteria is the goddess of falling stars, but the home of rising ones. On the north end of Long Beach Island, New Jersey—only 100 miles south of the sleek bladelike skyscrapers of Manhattan—lies the sprawling Targaryen estate. The nine-acre property features one main house and another three for guests, a swimming pool, a tennis court, a ten-car garage, a boathouse, a pier, and an ample stretch of beach that abuts the Atlantic Ocean, open water with nothing interrupting the infinite, miles-deep blue from the East Coast to the Iberian Peninsula. It is the first week of July, 1968, and your 23rd birthday. You are lazing in a lounge chair on the emerald green lawn and eating your third slice of melopita, a cheesecake-like dessert made with honey and ricotta. It originates from the Greek island of Sifnos.

“You two can’t murder each other while I’m gone,” Aemond says. He’s sitting between you and Aegon. His stitches have healed, the worst of his pain has subsided, his poll numbers have only improved since the assassination attempt. He has a glass eye that he can insert for public appearances, but he dislikes it; at home he wears a leather eyepatch that still unnerves the children. Tomorrow, Aemond is flying to Tacoma to campaign ahead of the Washington State Convention on the 13th. Most of the family will be joining him, with only three Targaryens remaining at Asteria: ailing Viserys, useless Aegon, and you, officially too pregnant to travel by plane. You are wearing a floral, flowing, two-piece swimsuit. The sun is blazing in a clear sky. The record player is piping out Time Of The Season by the Zombies.

Aegon waves a hand flippantly, then adjusts his preposterously large blue-tinted plastic sunglasses; he is shirtless, flabby, very sunburned. “I’ll barely be here.”

Aemond looks over at him, amused. “Oh yeah? And what pressing engagements do you have to attend to? I’d love to know.”

You take a bite of your melopita and scatter crumbs across the swell of your belly: seven and a half months along. “I’m sure the prostitutes miss him.”

“They do,” Aegon snaps. “I’m their favorite customer.”

“Well you’re a reprieve for them. It’s always over so quickly.”

Aemond is snickering. Aegon says to him: “23, huh? A 13-year age difference. She could almost be your daughter.”

“And 17 years younger than you. She could definitely be yours.”

“That’s how Aegon likes his girls,” you say. “Too inexperienced to recognize end-stage degeneracy. Still stumbling their way through Shakespeare for English class.”

“Why can’t she stay at the brownstone?” Aegon asks irritably. Aemond owns a historic townhouse in Georgetown for when Congress is in session, though he’s rarely been there since he announced that he was running for president.

“Because Doxie is here to make sure she’s taken care of,” Aemond replies. Eudoxia has been the head housekeeper of Asteria for decades, a formidable battleaxe of a woman who speaks very little English and has a seemingly endless supply of patterned scarves to wrap around her ink black dyed hair. There currently aren’t any permanent staff stationed at the brownstone, and Aemond does not trust strangers. “And because my future first lady is hosting a tea party on the 10th.”

“A tea party!” Aegon gasps, mocking you. “Surely that will patch the wounds of our troubled nation. She’s an inspiration. She’s motherfucking Gloria Steinem.”

“She’s Aphrodite,” Aemond says, beaming with pride, his remaining eye fixed on your belly. He’s lost one piece of himself, but in a month and a half he’ll gain another. “Goddess of love.”

“There must be a more appropriate mythological character. Medusa, perhaps. Lyssa was the goddess of rabies, Epiales was the goddess of nightmares.”

“Aegon, I had no idea you were so…” You search for the right word. “Literate.”

“Io was turned into a cow.” He grins at you, toothy, malicious.

“She’s also one of Jupiter’s moons,” Aemond muses. He draws invisible orbits in the air with his long, graceful fingers. “Beautiful, celestial, pristine…”

“A satellite,” Aegon says. “Mindless. Aimless. Going wherever she’s told.”

Aemond insists as he twists the bracelet around your right wrist, a delicate gold chain he bought during your honeymoon in Hawaii: “Aphrodite.”

“Didn’t she fuck around with, like, everyone?”

“Maybe you should be Aphrodite,” you tell Aegon.

Mimi appears, tottering across the lawn with the straps of her sundress sliding off her shoulders and her Gimlet sloshing precariously in its glass. The children are playing in the surf with the nannies and Fosco, who is entertaining them by diving for seashells and delivering his treasures into their tiny, grasping palms. Criston is supervising from the sand, though he steals frequent glimpses of Alicent as she feeds a wheelchair-bound Viserys—much diminished after a number of strokes—his own slice of melopita, one careful, patient spoonful at a time. “Can we…” Mimi bursts out laughing and almost falls over. She claws her way upright again using the back of Aegon’s chair. “Um…I was thinking…”

“What?” Aegon asks, annoyed, avoidant. If they’ve ever been happy, it was a transient epoch that came and went long before you joined the family. It was before the asteroid killed the dinosaurs.

“We should go back to Mykonos. We had such a nice time in Mykonos. Didn’t we? Didn’t we just adore Mykonos?”

Aegon sighs, glowering out over the ocean. “Yeah, we sure did. Ten years ago.”

“Exactly!” Mimi gushes, oblivious. “When can we go? Next week? Let’s go next week.”

“Mimi, you and the kids will be in Washington, remember?” Aemond says. Alicent will have to be her handler; usually it’s your job to make sure Mimi is ready for photos, eats enough to stay conscious, doesn’t trip over her own feet, doesn’t talk too much to the press.

“Washington?” Like she’s never heard of it.

“The state. Not the city. For the convention.”

“Oh right. Right.” She gulps her Gimlet. You could set your watch by Mimi’s drinking. Tipsy by lunch, drunk at dinner, crawling on the floor chasing the dogs around by 8 p.m. The Targaryens keep a drove of Alopekis, small and white and foxlike. “Well…maybe some other time.”

“After the election,” Aemond says with an abiding, encouraging smile. He tolerates Mimi because he needs her: happy wholesome family, American Dream. Down at the water’s edge, the nannies are giving towels to Fosco and the children as they scamper out of the frothing waves, Mimi’s five and Helaena’s three: Daphne, Neaera—no one can ever seem to spell her name correctly, least of all the six-year-old girl herself—and Evangelos.

Mimi departs, on the hunt for a fresh Gimlet. Aegon reaches into the pocket of his swim trunks—Hawaiian print, royal blue—and pulls out a joint and a Zippo. He sticks the joint between his teeth and goes to light it.

“No,” Aemond says immediately, yanking the joint out of Aegon’s mouth and stomping it into the earth. Then he points down the beach towards the sand dunes. “You know journalists will sneak around trying to get photos. You know we’re never truly alone out here.”

“They can’t tell what I’m smoking!”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“You know there are teenagers getting their limbs blown off in Vietnam right now? I think society has bigger problems than me smoking grass.”

“And yet to solve those bigger problems, I have to win in November. And the suburban housewives will not vote for me if they think I support legalizing marijuana. Trust me, I know. I’ve met them.”

“I wouldn’t want those people’s votes,” Aegon says derisively.

“You’d rather Nixon get them?”

Aegon doesn’t have a speedy rebuttal this time. He contemplates the Atlantic Ocean, the wind tearing at his hair.

“It’s hot as hell,” Aemond says to you, gathering up the newspapers he’s been leafing through, never not thinking about the election, never not strategizing. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

As you accompany Aemond towards the main house—and of course you follow him, always, anywhere—Alicent waves you over to where she and Viserys are sitting to wish you a happy birthday again. From this vantage point, you can just barely spot Otto and Helaena strolling through her garden, a jungle of butterfly bushes and herbs. The stricken Targaryen patriarch beams at the swell of your belly. Viserys likes you, you are his favorite daughter-in-law, though perhaps this is not so lofty an achievement. Moreover, he likes that you are carrying the child of his decent son. Aemond has already decided on the baby’s name: Aristos Apollo. If it is in fact a boy, you suppose you’ll call him Ari, but he doesn’t feel real to you yet. He belongs to Aemond, to the Targaryens, to the nation, but not quite to you. He is more myth than flesh.

“Nothing is more precious than children,” Viserys tells Aemond, raspy and frail. “I would have had at least five more if I could.” Alicent bows her head, an acknowledgement of her failure in this regard. Viserys expects it. You and Aemond politely avert your gazes.

“Thank God for this baby,” Alicent says. “After the year we’ve had? That the whole world has had? We all need something to be grateful for.”

“Yes,” Aemond agrees, smiling. It must be the promise of a son that has made his maiming go down smoother, and maybe it is his soaring poll numbers too, and maybe it is gratitude that he escaped with his life, and maybe it is even the fact that he has you.

But long after dusk when you’re getting ready for bed—slathering yourself in Jergens, stepping into your chiffon nightgown—as you pass through the sliver of light pouring out of the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of something that stops you. Aemond is standing in front of the mirror with his hands on the rim of the sink, his eyepatch slung over the towel rack, his voided eye socket exposed and gory and irreparably wounded. There’s something in his scarred face that you can’t recall ever seeing before. There is a seething, secret, animal rage. There is fury for everyone who has ever denied him anything.

You remember who you were before you met Aemond at the Rainbow Room in Manhattan at a party you were almost not illustrious enough to attend. You wore your hair long and loose, you downed shots, you smoked, you swore, you slept through class almost every Monday; and then you packed all of this away in your allegorical attic and became someone who could stand beside a senator, and then a candidate, and then a president, someone who could tip the scales of fate.

And you think as you lurk unnoticed in the doorway: Maybe he’s been hiding parts of himself too.

~~~~~~~~~~

July 10th, 10 a.m. He’s snoring on a couch in the living room, the one patterned with sailboats. He’s hugging his acoustic guitar like a child clinging to a teddy bear. Sometimes he plays it for the kids: Get Rhythm, Twist And Shout, Stand By Me, You Can’t Hurry Love. That’s about the extent of his involvement in their lives. He has a law degree from Columbia that his father bought for him. Aside from a brief and disastrous stint as the mayor of Trenton, he has never been gainfully employed. You pour the cupful of ice cubes you collected from the freezer all over his bare chest.

“What the fuck!” Aegon screams as he startles awake. “What is wrong with you?!”

“The guests are arriving in two hours. And you’re going to help me host.”

“I’m not slobbering at the feet of those manicured elitists.”

“It’s easy to say ‘vive la révolution’ from your family’s mansion that you reside in as a professional failure.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I’m so worthless. If only I spent more time hosting tea parties.”

“I can’t small talk with governors and congressmen, so I have to charm their wives instead. That’s how it works, you idiot.”

Aegon rolls off the couch and rubs his forehead, wincing, hungover. In the dining room, Eudoxia is readying cups and plates, polishing silverware, folding napkins. The caterers will be here soon, and there are also three dishes that you made yourself: stafidopsomo, a bread with raisins and cinnamon; rizogalo, Greek-style rice pudding; and baklava you spent hours chopping walnuts for. At least one show of domestic prowess is an expectation, two is impressive, three is above and beyond, something for the other political wives to chatter about. You know the importance of making a good impression on them. They are as much a part of their husbands’ careers as the speech writers, communication directors, fundraisers. “I need a Bloody Mary,” Aegon groans.

“You need to pull your goddamn weight. Everyone else is working to get Aemond elected. Your five-year-old kid is out on the campaign trail and you can’t walk around with a tray of hummus and mini spanakopitas? Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious,” he says, standing with some difficulty and then shoving by you. “Fuck off, Miss America.”

“Aegon!”

But he’s padding off towards the kitchen with his bare feet, tiki print boxer shorts, bedraggled hair. You follow after him in your spotless white heels and sundress patterned with common blue violets. Your earrings are pearls. You’ve wrangled your hair into a tidy French twist. Aegon is getting a pitcher of tomato juice out of the refrigerator, a bottle of vodka from a cardboard Apple Jacks box. He keeps booze and pills hidden everywhere; you’re always stumbling across his caches.

You open your mouth to unleash something hurtful, something hateful, but then you feel the cold flare of liquid on your thighs as the ocean breeze gusts in through the windows. My dress, you think, alarmed. What did I spill on it? One of the ice cubes you threw at Aegon must have caught on the skirt somehow and melted. That’s your first guess, and it is welcome; water doesn’t stain, and you aren’t sure if you have another outfit that is both formal enough and will still fit you. But when you reach down to touch your leg—now the liquid reaches your knees—your hand comes away red.

You look up at Aegon. He’s staring back at you, thunderstruck, horrified. His Bloody Mary ingredients are now forgotten on the countertop. He shouts for the housekeeper: “Doxie?!”

There is indistinct, cantankerous Greek grumbling in return.

“Doxie! Call an ambulance!”

“I don’t understand,” you say to Aegon, bright clotless blood dyeing the whirls of your fingerprints. I ruined my dress, you think nonsensically. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt?”

“Don’t move, don’t do anything, just wait for the paramedics.”

But the edges of your vision are going dark and hazy, and the room spins like a flipped coin. Your knees and ankles fold, bones turned to paper. As you drop, Aegon dives for you. You clutch at him, but there’s nothing to grab onto, no suit jacket, no tie, only skin that glows with sunburn. “If I don’t wake up, tell Aemond—”

“You’re not dying, bitch. My luck’s not that good.”

But his eyes are panicked; and they are the last thing you see before you black out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Arteries of cement, bones like lead, heavy eyelids opening to reveal strange white walls.

Am I dead?

But no: you hurt all over. Heaven isn’t supposed to hurt. There are needles pierced through the backs of your hands, a splitting rawness in your throat.

Was I intubated? Did I have surgery…?

You try to sit up. The pain is blinding; the severed and sutured latticework of your abdominal muscles is a pit of glass. You gasp, moan plaintively, fumble for the nurse call button on the wooden nightstand.

“Will you stop moving?” Aegon says as he walks into the room. He’s slurping on a straw that pokes out from a Dairy Queen cup. The fluid inside is clumpy and red. Instantly, you think of blood, and a wave of nausea punches through the shredded gore that was once your belly. Aegon flops down into the salmon pink armchair beside the bed and props his combat boots up on the ottoman. “They sliced you up like the Black Dahlia. You’re gonna rip your stitches.”

“They did a c-section…?”

“Yeah, you had some kind of uterus…thing. I don’t remember.”

The baby?? Is the baby alright?? “An abruption?”

More slurping. “No…I think it started with a P.”

“Previa?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You remember waking up a few times: on the kitchen floor as men were lifting you, in an ambulance as the siren shrieked. Someone said you were being taken to Mount Sinai in Manhattan. And that makes sense, that would have been Criston’s plan. Mount Sinai is one of the best hospitals in the country. You look around the room for a bassinet or a crib. Instead you see a wheelchair and a myriad of flower bouquets; word has already gotten out, and so the customary well wishes are pouring in. Lady Bird Johnson sent bluebonnets, the state flower of Texas; Abigail McCarthy sent lilies of the valley; Muriel Humphrey sent roses, traditional, safe, uninspiring; Pat Nixon sent blood orange gladioli. Mrs. Wallace, newly deceased, neglected to call a florist. “Where’s the baby?”

“He’s fine. He’s downstairs in an incubator.”

Ari, you think, though he still doesn’t seem real yet. “What…?”

“His lungs are underdeveloped. But the doctors think he’ll be alright. You want a Mr. Misty? There’s a Dairy Queen like two blocks from here.”

“No, I don’t want a Mr. Misty,” you say, incredulous. “I want to see the baby.”

“Well they can’t move him and they can’t move you, so you’ll have to wait.”

“I’m going to see him—” You swing your feet off the bed and feel daggers, fire, a splintering like someone has taken a hammer to your bones. You almost scream; it takes everything in you to choke it down and only gasp as your flesh becomes an inferno. I want a joint, you think randomly, an urge you’d believed you had exorcised from yourself, an archaic relic of a past life.

“Told you,” Aegon says smugly.

You lie panting, helpless, glancing at the phone on the nightstand. “Aemond knows?”

“Oh yeah, I’ve called everyone. He knows.”

“Good. So he’ll be here soon.”

“Sure,” Aegon says, perhaps a tad noncommittally.

“Okay.” You’re still trying to catch your breath. Tacoma is a six hour flight away. Even if Aemond doesn’t leave until morning, he’ll be here by sundown tomorrow. “You can go now.”

“Go?!” Aegon exclaims, then laughs, one of his reckless, taunting cackles. “Oh no. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You definitely are.”

“No, I’m not,” he insists, grinning. “For once in my life, I’m the person who’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. I’m the honorable one. The sacred heir of the favorite son has just been born, and the blessed mother has been sawed in half like Saint Simon the Zealot, and where is Aemond? Where is literally everyone else? Across the continent shaking hands and forcing smiles to win him the great state of Washington. I’m not going home. I’m collecting every second I spend here like coins from a slot machine. I won the jackpot, babe. No one is ever going to be able to call me the family fuckup after this.”

The pain is horrible, insurmountable; you can’t think through it. You close your eyes and try not to sob, to wail, to split yourself open in body and soul. I can’t let him see me break down.

“What’s up?” Aegon asks. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I want a Mr. Misty. Go get me a Mr. Misty.”

“Okay,” Aegon says doubtfully. “What flavor?”

“I don’t care. Not red.”

“They have orange, lemon-lime, grape—”

“Just pick one!” you shout, tears brimming in your eyes. Get out, get out, get out.

“Calm down, psycho!” he yells back, heading for the door.

As soon as he crosses the threshold, you snatch the call button off the nightstand and press it frantically until a nurse arrives. You get more morphine and sink into a stillness like deep water, down, down, down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s dark outside, stars and a crescent moon. On the television is grainy footage from the Battle of Khe Sanh. American soldiers younger than you are dragging their wounded brethren to a Chinook helicopter for evacuation: bandages, burns, missing limbs and faces. Aegon had dozed off in his chair—assisted by an ample amount of Vicodin, surely—but is stirring awake now. He blinks groggily at the screen.

“It’s so fucking awful,” you say, and Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up; it’s the first time you’ve ever sworn in front of him. You trained yourself to stop when you met Aemond. “30,000 Americans dead, God knows how many Vietnamese peasants, Buddhist monks setting themselves on fire, and for what? So we can say we did everything we could to stop communism? So we can humiliate the Russians? There is no liberation of Vietnam. All we’re doing is making those people hate us. And we’re destroying ourselves too.”

“I didn’t know you cared about the war.”

You look at him, mystified. “Everything I do is about the war.”

“But you never really talk about it.” Aegon yawns and stretches, reaching up towards the ceiling. “You talk about Chanel dresses and tea parties.”

“Well yeah, because it’s…it’s unseemly, I guess. For me to speak on the war. Me specifically.”

He snorts. “Because you’re a woman? Who told you that? Aemond?”

You hesitate, watching the television again. Now there are napalm bombs incinerating villages and rice paddies. “I had a boyfriend before Aemond, you know.”

“What, in kindergarten? Chasing each other around the playground? Illicit snuggles beneath the slide?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “A real boyfriend.”

“No way. You did not.”

“I did,” you insist, smiling a little. “We met at a party my freshman year of college. He was at NYU studying…oh, I always forgot, that was one of our jokes. It was either archaeology or anthropology. I actually thought I was going to marry him for a minute there.”

“Scandalous.” Aegon is gazing at you with his murky blue eyes, grinning, playful. “What happened?”

“He had a moral crisis about poor kids getting shipped off to Vietnam to be slaughtered while he was tucked safely away in his ivory tower. So he enlisted, and honestly it was shocking how quickly I started to forget about him. We exchanged a few letters, it didn’t last long, I think he was forgetting about me too. But he ended up getting killed in action in October, 1965. His old roommate told me.”

Now Aegon is thoughtful. His crooked grin dies. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s his parents I feel bad for. He was an only child. I heard his father drank himself to death.”

“You’ve been carrying a story like that around with you and you never used it? Not in an interview or an article, not at one of your asinine little tea parties?”

“I can’t,” you confess. “Aemond doesn’t want me to. He doesn’t like to be reminded about…you know. That there was someone else before.”

Aegon throws his head back and cackles, combing his fingers through his disheveled blonde hair. “As if Aemond was a virgin when you met him.”

But it’s not the same. It isn’t to Aemond, and it wouldn’t be to the rest of the world either. It is your eternal disgrace. It is something you will be expected to atone for until you’re in the grave. “Give me a joint.”

Aegon is amazed. “What?”

“I know you have some, you always do. I want one. Give it to me.”

“You smoke grass?”

“I used to. Then I gave it up. But I’m making an exception.”

He gawks at you for a while, then slips a joint out of one of the front pockets of his green army jacket. He places it between his lips, lights it with his little chrome Zippo, and inhales deep and slow. Then he offers it to you.

“I don’t want herpes.”

Aegon laughs. “I don’t have herpes. I swear.”

“Not yet, maybe. Give it time.”

“Are you gonna smoke or not?”

You take the joint and fill your lungs with earth, floral notes, a tinge of spice. It’s been years, but it comes rushing back in an instant as the high hits your bloodstream: calm quiet weightlessness, a sense of wellbeing that fills the honeycomb hollows of your bones. “I need to see the baby.”

Aegon stalls. “The doctors were really insistent that you stay here.”

“And all the sudden you care about rules.”

He considers this, drumming his palms on his thighs. His jeans are ripped; he’s biting his lower lip. Then abruptly, he stands. “Alright.” He grabs the wheelchair and pushes it up against the bed. “Let’s go.”

You take another drag and then discard the joint in your empty Dairy Queen cup. You throw off your blanket and try to touch your bare feet to the cool linoleum floor. It hurts, it feels like razor blades, but you keep going. Then you remember you still have one IV in the back of your left hand. “Wait, how am I going to…?”

“You’re in luck. I am well-versed in needles.” Aegon holds out a palm. Nervously, you give him your hand. He peels off the medical tape, takes a moment to examine the vein, then slides out the needle so smoothly you don’t feel it at all; it barely even bleeds. He balls up a Kleenex from the box on your nightstand and secures it to the wound with the same strip of tape. “You’re welcome.”

“Junkie.” You try to lower yourself into the wheelchair and a yelp rips from your throat.

“Oh, this is pathetic,” Aegon says, but not quite unkindly. “Here.” He leans down in front of you. Too desperate to be prideful, you link your arms around the back of his neck. Aegon’s shaggy blonde hair tickles your cheek; his hands skim gingerly to settle on your waist, steadying you without too much pressure. He helps you into the wheelchair, where you collapse gasping and sweating bullets.

“If you ever mention this again, I will guillotine you.”

He winks. “Relax, little Io. I never kiss and tell.”

“I’d assume you’re usually too plastered to remember the details.”

“Be nice. I could roll you down a staircase.” But he doesn’t; he rolls you into the hallway instead.

The lights in the corridor are dim for night, for dreams. You see a few nurses shuttling in and out of other rooms from a distance, but none seem to notice you and Aegon. He steers the wheelchair into the elevator and you ride it down two floors, then cross another hallway and pass through a set of doors. There must be a dozen incubators, half of them occupied. The nurse on duty—currently cradling a tiny infant in her arms, a girl judging by the pink hat, and feeding her from a bottle of formula—gapes at you.

“Ma’am? You aren’t supposed to be—”

“Shut up,” Aegon tells her, and the nurse doesn’t say another word.

Aegon pushes the wheelchair down the line of incubators until you reach the one with a name card labelled Targaryen, Aristos Apollo. And there he is: unmistakably fragile, impossibly small, blue veins like a roadmap beneath translucent skin, tangled in tubes and wires. In his sleeping face you don’t see Aemond or even yourself, but rather an inexplicable familiarity. You feel like you’ve met him before. You feel like you’ve known him all your life.

You press your hand to the clear, domed wall of the incubator; shadows in the shape of your outstretched fingers fall over Ari’s face. “He’s real.”

“Of course he is.” Aegon is watching you; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, a blur of blonde hair and high cheekbones. When you turn to him, he immediately looks away.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing.” But his voice is distracted, bewildered, like someone fumbling for a light switch in a dark room.

[meraki-sunset]

A lot of people were asking about the fussion trolls God tiers So here they are! Plus the dancestors

In case you forgot them or haven't seen them this is them. They were born like that in this AU, and their hemospectrum it's smaler and has diferent colors as a result.

I'll cover the story of their game as well as their dancestors and ancestors in another post

Here are the dancestors! Like in canon, they played their game and ended up scratching their game. But things went a little diferent for them...

The Legido. Araeta has Aradia's aspect and Nepeta's class, while it's reversed with Damlin, who has Damara's class and Meulin's aspect.

There isn't much to say about them, in the alpha trolls session it was Araeta who ascended last moment and stoped Jack noir. Damlin ascended in order to sabotage the beta troll's session, like Damara did in the original story.

Karlux Captas has Karkat's aspect and Sollux's class, while Mitkri has Kankri's class and Mituna's aspect.

In his session, Karlux took the role of the leader, his classpect Mage of blood should've made it easier to manage leadership (mage=understands aspect. Blood=Bonds) and the session went of well, for the most part, thos the ending was almost the same as the canon one, with them being traped in the meteor and people shooting left and right.

Mitkri was the seer of his team, but his vissions only consisted of fatidic scenarios, which his teammates often ignored due to his insistence geting in the way of progresing in the game. in the end, he lost his mind while using his powers in the final battle, losing conciousness. when he woke while his moirail restored his brain, his prediction had already been fulfilled and they had lost the game.

Teraya has kanaya's aspect and Terezi's class, and Latrim has Porrim's class and Latula's aspect.

As a seer of space, Teraya was tasked with the creation of the genesis frog and was helped by Karlux.

Latrim, she was the secondary healer of the group and kept everyone's mind active

Tavius has Tavros's aspect and Equius's clas, while Rufuss has Ruffio's class and Horuss's aspect.

This arrangement of class+aspect i did simply because the oposite of a heir of breath + rogue of void would've been a Page of void + Page of breath, and that would've been kinda ridiculous, plus i'm trying to have as many classes as i can.

Tavius literally has John's classpect now, he's more free than ever

Rufuss,on the other hand now has Roxy's exact aspect too, which is a funny coincidence. Like roxy he worked on manifesting things for his team.

Dear lord this two.

Erizee has Gamzee's aspect and Eridan's class, while his dancestor Crolos has Kurlos's class and Cronus's aspect.

Due to the wierd conection between the Amporas and Makaras this two would've shared class one way or another, since Gamzee and Eridan have eachother's dancestor's class, with Eridan being a prince like Kurlos and Gamzee being a bard like Cronus, but having the rage aspect like Kurlos and eridan having the hope aspect like Cronus.

I decided against having too Bards because i felt like a price creates a straigther path to destuction. Since a prince not only destroys his aspect but with his aspect, wich means Erizee would've appeared Rageless during the game but exploded in the meteor.

Crolos on the other hand whould've been manipulative like Kurlos but ill intended and gaslighty like Cronus, appearing hopeless until he ended up destroying everyone's hope.

His ghost would've kept instructing Erizee on how to proceed when he reached the new session, Erizee doesn't like him.

The heiresses to the throne of Alternia and Beforus.

again, to avoid having two thiefs (funny enough they would've been a thief of life and a thief of light) Vriezi is a witch of light and Meenea is a sylph of life.

when combining the two Serkets and the two Peixes you get a real interesting result, you get two very similar girls.

To me the fact that instead of them being thiefs, they both have "benevolent classpects" makes it all the more interesting. Makes you think how they can use good powers to cause harm.

Vrieri being the heiress has Feferi's will to dethrone the condesce (wich was alternate-adult Meenea) but Vriska's savage aproach to fighting. And Meenea, like Vrieri, looked forward to dethrone her ruling ancestor (wich was alternate-adult Vrieri) looking to manipulate and eliminate those in her way.

By playing the game, they both lost the chance to do so

if this two cross paths, it'll be a deathmatch on sight

If you haven't realized by now, this means, the two teams of trolls together, compose a full team.

It also means the dancestor's session was unviable from the begining, due to the lack of time and space players. just like the canon Alpha kids session

[my-heart-beat-for-anime]

HEIRESS OF FIRE AND BLOOD

Pt.1

I hope you like it

In 131 AC, a bloody war was fought between the divided Targaryen house, at the end of the war, the daughter of the previous queen Rheanyra took the throne, the girl tried to return the whole kingdom to peace and tranquility. Unfortunately, the peace that the new queen tried to establish did not last long, as the greedy eyes of a powerful man focused on this very planet. And Harkonnen always got what he wanted.

The kingdom was recovering from a bloody dragon war, and all eyes were on the new dragon queen, Learys Targaryen. The young, barely nine and ten -year-old girl has already proven herself as a strong leader of armies, but also as a protector of the innocent in the cities, which were attacked by the green armies. Although she was a beloved ruler and wanted queen, she did not smile unless she was in the presence of the rest of her family. She kept her brother and cousin close by her side, refusing to let them out of her sight. Many servants recall how the young Prince Aegon sought comfort in her arms when the night terrors seemed all too real, or when the queen was found braiding little Jeaheara's hair into an intricate hairdo which she then decorated with flowers, it was also a rare case, when even the little princess smiled. Although many advisors recommended that Jeaheara be taken away from Kingslanding, the queen retorted firmly that the house of the dragon would no longer be divided according to the past war and that she would not send a daughter to suffer for the sins of her father.,, Jeaheara is of my blood and will therefore remain by my side where she will be granted shelter and welcome.” announced the queen to settle the issue once and for all.

 The peace that the kingdom needed was disturbed by the arrival of three harkonnen warships, which like shooting stars fell to the surface of the planet, which the ruthless na-baron was tasked to conquering and adding to his uncle's empire.

"My queen," the guard rushed into the gardens and called for the queen, who was trying to convince her little listeners that she had really flown to the sun on her dragon. "What's the rush?" asked the queen with tension in her voice.,, Three harkonnen warships are approaching, lord hand wishes to discuss strategy in the throne room.",,Take the children to one of their rooms and keep them inside." she ordered in a commanding tone as she made her way to the throne room with her guards.

 Once seated on her throne, the Queen was presented with information that Harkonnens are about to land near Storms End, and that from the equipment they were carrying, it looked like they were ready for war.,, When will they land Grandsire” she asked her grandfather and the lord hand, Corlys Velaryon.,, Over the next three hours." the girl just nodded and then shouted at the guard.,, "Prepare my dragon." The guard just bowed down and rushed to fulfill his order.,, Your Grace you can't be serious, you can't..” began one of the lords but was immediately silenced.,,I am the queen, and as queen I will protect this kingdom with my life. My dragon is the fastest and strongest in the kingdom. We will end it with the Harkonnen as quickly as possible so that they do the least amount of damage and there is no one to change that because if they try to take this planet they will meet nothing but fire and blood.” the queen finished her battle speech.,, Now if excuse me my lords, I must go prepare for battle.” All the men in unison bowed to the departing woman and lowered their eyes to the floor in respect to her.

Learysa was fitting the last piece of her war riding armor when there was a knock on her chamber door. Thinking that it is her servant, the queen gives permission to come inside. What she didn't expect, however, was her brother with tears in his eyes. "What happened my sweet boy?" his sister asked him. Instead of words the young prince ran into her arms where he nestled like a little bird. "I don't want you to go, I don't want to lose you like the rest of our family ." Aegon cried. Learysa gently stroked his hair and whispered to him,, You will never lose me my little dragon, I will always come back to you, but right now I really need you to stay with Jeaheara and take care of her, would, you do this for me my brave knight.” The prince just snorts and nods. The siblings share a last moment before a servant comes in to say the dragon is ready.

 Feyd-rautha had just been informed that contact would be made with the planet's surface in ten minutes. He couldn't wait for his new blade to taste new blood. He looked forward to the conquest, war and bloodshed as he planned. There was no way the little princess who called herself queen would manage to get an army together. This planet was theirs. Just as his planning was peaking the ship landed and the na-baron rushed forward to start the whole thing. However, he did not expect that when the door of the ship opened, that the only one figure would be waiting for him. He didn't even count on the fact that he wouldn't be fighting against a princess or a queen, but against a fucking dragon.

[tarre-was-right]

ROUND ONE: MATCH-UP TWO (CORRECTED VERSION)

Remember, this is NOT about who would win in a fight. This is about who makes the best leader for Mandalore as a whole.

Explanation post

Seeding

Propaganda below the cut! You can submit more on this post and I will reblog it back to here!

KORKIE KRYZE

Anon: props for Korkie! We don't know enough to say that he'd be bad at the job like some people! He probably learned some of both what to do and what not to do from his aunts which gives him a leg up in the actual ruling part of things!

@spacetime1969: The kid's got that mandokar spirit. A little more practice in leadership and he could really shape up into someone great.

Anon: Korkie Kryze would be Satine's heir (if we assume she's a monarch rather than an elected official), he was raised to have a position in government, he helped end the career of a corrupt government official, he took classes under Jedi padawan Ahsoka Tano. Additional propaganda: He's my special little guy.

Anon: Korkie has been training basically his whole life to lead Mandalore, has seen first hand the struggles that Satine’s Mandalore had, he also knows what went wrong with the more traditional rulers of Mandalore, so he is perfectly poised to compromise the pacifist ideals of the New Mandalorians and the traditional values of the other citizens of Mandalore.

Anon: For Korkie propaganda: he was literally raised for the role; he showed himself to be a good leader and concerned with his people well-being; he actively works for and fights for his people when we see him; also he's loyal and smart which is always a bonus.

SABINE WREN

Anon: Girlie is the eldest daughter of House Wren, with ties to House Viszla— and therefore has a claim to the heritage of Tarre himself. With the smarts and training her position gave her, she has always put her family and Mandalore first. She made a mistake as a child, and it has been one she has been making strides to set right since such time. She recovered the Darksaber that Maul stole, and began resistance to the imperial threat, battled and fought honorably for her people and family. Respecting both New Mandos pacificism and not discounting their efforts of resistance as well as paying homage to her warrior heritage, she was further trained by the Jedi Kanan Jarrus and Ahsoka Tano to meter her flaws. When she first had the sword, she acknowledged she was too young to lead, and gave up her sword to her elder. Now older, and hopefully wiser, the last standing heiress of clan Wren absolutely has it in her to lead Mandalore in a new era.

@spacetime1969: She's arguably one of the only two people on this list who actually won the darksaber in a proper duel (Not when she reclaimed it from Maul, but when she fought Saxon for it). Not really the point of the poll I know, but it could help her get political support. She rallied her clan and their allies into a rebellion against the Empire. She was the one who legitimized Bo-Katan's rule as Mand'alor by giving her the darksaber. She has experience leading from her time in the rebellion.

[flameobitch]

"I'm always lucky, Ronnie. You were lucky to be born."

Hello everyone!!! I'm doing some dark sketches today. Meet Izumi and Bumi's youngest daughter, Hina. In my version of the canon with my friend, she travels across continents, and in this one she strives to take the place of her mother and become the next dictator.

Iroh gets caught in a storm in this universe and was declared dead, which gave her a chance to become an heiress. Iroh renounces his family and finds peace with the airbenders and confronts his parents in the final battle.

Iroh and Hina are called "Blue Spirits" because of the color of their flames. Izumi and Bumi are unaware of their enmity and the power of competition. For them, both of their children are the most valuable thing they have.

And I also started the picture with Toph, Lin and Su, and I intend to finish it within, I don't know, a week?

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The lads and their lady

warning : comfort, kisses, cuddling, hurt/comfort (the healthiest couples currently in hotd next to Rhaenys and Corlys honestly)

Summary : Several sides face off in the looming war. Everyone chose their side the black or the green also Oscar, Davos, Aeron and Willem had to choose their sides which turned out to be more difficult than expected but their betrothed was there to support them no matter what…there was always affection to be had in the oddest hour.

info : The lads, even if Willem,Davos and Aeron aren't quite part of it, but I wanted him in it. I like them all innocent, a little crazy in a war but cute well have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oscar : It was his first real and important assignment given to him by the Master and his foster father Simon Strong, it would be a meeting with the Prince Regent, the husband of the Black Queen and although he was still young, had never fought in battle, he was good with a sword, kind and dutiful but nothing could have prepared the young Tully for what he would be confronted with by the Targaryen.

Instead, he was left with an uncertain dejected but mostly confused expression in the main room as he watched the silver-blond haired one leave and as soon as the door closed he heard her footsteps. ,,What a rude ruffian asking you to kill your own Lord Grandfather and what foul words" he heard the grumbling of his betrothed the eldest heiress of one of the sworn to House Tully and her hand going to his to stroke it.

He had quickly noticed that she always sought his hand when she was upset or angry to fulfill the promise of a noble lady. Despite their young age, they always wanted to look good, but after such a conversation, who wouldn't be so angry?

Oscar remembered himself from the engagement how nervous they both were and how his own grandfather had encouraged him - how could he even kill him? His greenish dark eyes shifted gratefully from his foster father to his lost one and he gave her a reassuring smile before gripping her hand tighter and pulling her into a grateful hug.

His greenish dark eyes shifted gratefully from his foster father to his betrothed and he gave her a reassuring smile before gripping her hand tighter and pulling her into a grateful hug. ,,I appreciate your compassion and opinion that the print was truly removed with shameful words," he said with a murmur and let his eyes drop to his sword at his side, the creepy thought of killing his grandfather giving him goosebumps.

But before that could happen, he felt her hand detach from his and tousle through his hair, ,,Come on my future Lord Tully let's see if the library is full of other ways to help your grandfather where dragons don't fit," a gesture she made to cheer him up but it was just what he needed before a smile formed on his lips and Simon Strong allowed them both to leave, pleased that they weren't losing hope, at least in the face of the dark future, as they walked lovingly into the library holding hands.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Davos : Loud voices and cursing could be heard from the distance as she waited on the castle walls of Raventree Hall for her betrothed. The small scouting party of her newly knighted davod had set out with a few short ones to scout the borders of the territory, but apparently something had happened even on such a normal errand.

The party seemed to be upset about something and she saw that there was dirt and mud on the dark red and black of his clothes as they waited on the lowered drawbridge from the castle walls. ,,Was your mission dirtier than you expected my dear fiancé? " she asked with a slight smile and stifled a laugh when she saw the dirty face on the boys.

She gave a sigh of relief when Davos first snorted and then with a nasty grin wrapped his arms around her and covered her new dress with mud, ,,So it seems my dirty little bird" he replied before the two smiled at each other and the group headed back into the castle with the innocent actual young mind.

Clothes could be washed but lives were not easily replaced something they quickly realized during this time and the young couple soon found themselves together again in the evening in the great hall where the meal was taken.

She could still see that Davos still seemed annoyed about what had happened, as she had learned of an altercation with Aeron Bracken she had seen him a few times but House Bracken had also chosen sides ,,Don't fret Davos hotheadedness and courage are on your side…besides you have a shield that Aeron doesn't have" she said.

Seeing him look to her before she gave him a kiss on the cheek seeing his cheeks take on a tinge of pink and he lowered his gaze with a smile and his hand held hers ,,A shield of love" he only murmured before taking a sip of the wine and the two of them returned to the conversation table.

But all the time he didn't let go of her hand, he played with her rings on his finger, seemed to be calmed by her with a simple smile, a loving look or a quick kiss when he got upset again, while his rough hand held hers, giving her a feeling of security.

Even if here and there they could both still see the dirt that had covered them it was all the same they had each other and she would help him where she could and if it meant a hundred clothes getting covered in mud so be it. It was true, they both had each other in a time when you had to trust in love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aeron : The horse was his symbol, a symbol of his family, a symbol he would wear on his armor someday, now as a knight of the House of Bracken he had duties to fulfill but most of all he would marry his betrothed during or after the war.

His heart, his love the reason why he hoped that the war would somehow end well so that he could spend his life with his love in peace.

But for now, the only thing the young knight felt was wetness and hardness as his body still lay in the dirt and his cheek stung where Davos had struck him until the three knights could separate their "knights" and friends.

Now he sat leaning with his little group under the trees, looking at the grazing animals and trying not to look too closely at the Blackwoods' side until suddenly a horse caught his eye in the distance, riding faster and faster until the brown-haired man was pleased to see that it was his betrothed. ,,My beloved, what are you doing out here, isn't it safe?" he asked and his friends bowed slightly, even though such formalities were hardly necessary when they were alone, but he didn't get an answer so quickly.

Instead, he saw worry in her gaze as she dismounted her brown horse and took his hands in hers, ,,Safe? Aeron you-you all should have been back hours ago, I was worried," she confessed, seeing how confused he seemed. Her heart had longed for him when he had left with his group, he had hidden himself in front of her and left a kiss on her lips, chaste but full of love, assuring her that he would come back and she had taken him on his oath so she finally had him again.

A look at the sky and the surroundings that he should have paid more attention to said that he was true, ,,Forgive me my dear it was just a little altercation" he tried to explain and stroked her hand but she just shook her head with a sigh before taking her silk scarf and wiping the blood from his cheek. ,,Small maybe…the main thing is you're all well and we're going back to Stonde Hedge," she decided and took his hand before brushing a mud-crusted strand from his face and looking at his rosy cheek before forcing him to get on the horse with her while his friends led the animal.

With Aeron in front of her, she embraced him from behind and laid her head on Aeron's shoulder, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Thank you, my heart," she heard him murmur, not only about the worry but also about her rescue of him, because they wouldn't have lasted much longer here. Before he leaned his head against hers for a moment and closed his eyes, relieved to have his love with him again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Willem : He had once given his heart, his hope and his honor for the princess of the realm, the heir to the throne of the real heir to the throne after the death of the former King Viserys. The princess Rhaenyra now proclaimed as queen he would follow but the love he once held in his heart for the princess now belonged to another woman for years.

His former betrothed now became his wife after the death of his brother, the woman at his side who not only helped him through his grief but also supported him in the care and counseling of his nephew.

But the decision in the war was as good as clear not only had the Bracken chosen a side, House Blackwood had also made its decision and the house and its followers were under greater pressure than ever before. ,,Men have already fallen in the battle of the burning mill, our grace is surrounded by ghosts on Harrenhal, we must do something," she heard him mutter as her husband leaned over the map of the land in their shared quarters on Harenhal after Willem returned from his conversation with Prince Daemon, who seemed to be completely beside himself.

She knew the moments Willem wanted to protect his house, protect her and protect his nephew in a war that was beyond them all. Her hand found its way to the table, wandering over the areas and scattered territories and she pushed House Bracken slightly aside, ,,Haunted by spirits our grace may be but you my dear Willem can take chances to ask him for advice to chastise the wretched horses" she gave her opinion and tilted the stature of the horse before placing the weirwood tree on it.

She watched with a satisfied smile as her husband looked at the situation before instructing a servant to take a message to Simon and Oscar before turning to his wife and placing his hand on hers. Rough hands stroked her gentle fingers, he looked at the ring on her ring finger for a moment, a dark red gemstone a symbol of blood and love that he had given her when she gave herself to him. ,,What would a knight do on the battlefield without his goddess?" he asked, his own lips curving into a smile as she stroked the brooch on his cloak, tracing the ravens of his house, and felt his gentle, grateful kiss on her lips.

,,Waiting for her wisdom and devotion," she murmured before clasping him in her arms and resting her head on his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her husband and feeling the calm beat of his heart. Sometimes even the most excited raven needed a little help from his steady tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Is Eridan’s fake attempt for land dweller genocide just a manifestation of his guilt of orphaning all those trolls? He says he wants to kill them all so they will no longer have to deal the loss of losing their parent to some finned hipster asshole?

So Eridan's life pre-SGRUB is primarily concerned with one thing: it is his Duty as a violet-blood who is close to the Heiress to feed her lusus so that it doesn't throw a tantrum and Kill Everybody. It's a manifestation not of guilt, but of anxiety.

He describes the murder he commits in pursuit of this as "all i evver done practically," and we never see him participate in a hobby he enjoys - we learn he's a hipster because Karkat calls him one, he FLARPs to fill Gl'bgolyb's belly, and people have fought with me before, but I maintain that his "interest" in military history is also just a part of his posturing/something he reads like somebody would doomscroll, as it validates his anxiety, because he only ever talks about history twice, in the vaguest possible terms, and the first time, it's just part of him posturing at Kanaya, and the second time, he's literally just. Wrong? He's just incorrect?

CA: yeah go ahead and kiss us off but therell be blood on your hands CA: you could either play along as our auspistice and do a little mediating like you wwere fuckin hatched to CA: or wwatch she and me devvolvve into fuckin full fledged kismesisses the kind like you dont get once in ten thousand swweeps CA: you knoww thats wwhat it wwould be there wwould be rainboww rivvers runnin through star systems and all nebulizin like liquid firewworks CA: it wwill be beautiful and heartbreaking all at once CA: you should read up on your history instead of poring through that godawwfull sunny rubbish

CC: None of your plots to kill t)(e land dwellers ever work out, and every doomsday device you get your )(ands on turns out to be a piece of junk! CA: so CA: i got to keep tryin thats howw all the great military masterminds became great through upright persevverance

Like I just. Don't believe him when he says he's obsessed with military history when he doesn't seem to be able to name five specific battles, and thinks the main attribute a military leader needs to succeed is "persevverance". We know that Karkat's interest in romance is real because he brings it up more than twice and also starts infodumping about it to Vriska at one point, but Eridan only seems to mention it because he thinks he's supposed to care about it.

Which is pretty much, like, one of the biggest tensions in his character: how he feels he's supposed to act vs. how he actually feels about acting that way. He faces multiple pressures to be a certain person, which run counter to his actual feelings.

He has to be a murderer, because if he isn't one, then Gl'bgolyb will do a genocide on his entire species.

He has to be an unrepentant murderer, because they live in a horrible fascist murder-society where highbloods are supposed to kill lowbloods all the time for literally any reason.

He has to be the one getting his hands bloody because his ancestor, Dualscar, was also the Orphaner, and (especially highblood) trolls need to take up their ancestors' mantles.

He has to be rude and condescending to everybody else because that's how highbloods, and especially sea dwellers, have to act.

He cannot express compassion, sympathy, or pity, because sea dwellers and highbloods aren't supposed to act that way.

Magic has to be fake, because it's for shitty wigglers, and Eridan's not a wiggler anymore!

He has to be in a torrid pitch relationship because that was the most defining one Dualscar had, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to be in a flushed relationship because Dualscar had an unrequited flushcrush on the empress, and he needs to complete Dualscar's unfinished business.

He has to hate the lowbloods because he's a highblood.

He has to hate the land dwellers because he's a sea dweller.

But wait! That's weird. He has to hate the land dwellers and lowbloods, but he's the one responsible for making sure they don't all die by keeping Gl'bgolyb full?

In truth, it would be all too easy to solve the land dweller problem once and for all. You'd just need to lighten up on the feeding schedule for a while. Maybe you'd be a little too busy to bother with that hassle for once? Or maybe you could happen to be off your game for a spell? It happens, even to the best sometimes. But nah. It would make her upset. More emotions. More problems. That's all you need.

And he has to be an unrepentant murderer even though he clearly feels more guilt for it than Feferi?

That should keep her happy for a while. And make a freshly orphaned troll somewhere pretty sad.

And you claim magic is fake idiot stuff for babies but you like it SOOOO much?

You also like MAGIC, even though you know it to be FAKE. Like a made up friend, the way wizards are. Made up make believe FAKEY FAKEY FAKES. It's still fun though.

So we can see that Eridan is basically being pulled two ways at all times.

On one hand, there's everything society says he needs to be: an unrepentant murderer, a military dictator, ruthless bloodthirsty sea-dwelling aristocracy, hater of all low bloods and land dwellers, Orphaner Dualscar's heir.

And on the other hand, there's the guy Eridan actually is: doesn't give a shit about the hemocaste, just wants friends and/or relationship partners, likes magic, like hipster stuff, kind of a tool, guilty and traumatized.

It doesn't help that the people he's surrounded by are the least likely to recognize his distress as distress - Feferi loooooves being a princess, Kanaya has never really voiced any strong opinions on the hemocaste because it largely doesn't concern her since she's a rare jade blood, and Vriska is doing a lot better than Eridan is at fitting the mold they were born into (not that she doesn't have problems, she's just doing better than Eridan, which is a low fucking bar). Even Karkat, because of his own hangups about being a mutant pariah, venerates the society he was born into, because he (wrongly) sees it as a means to gain validation so he can hate himself less. As a result, Eridan winds up with basically 0 support system, because pretty much every aspect of his life reinforces that the thing society says he should be is correct, and that there's something wrong with Eridan for being unable to meet that expectation.

Especially because, for at least all the "murderer" he's supposed to be, if he fails to meet that expectation, everybody dies. So it's not just that he's got a pushy lusus and a shitty society, like Vriska does, but that there's also the added weight that adhering to those expectations is literally, objectively, the correct thing to do, so long as he doesn't want literally everybody to die.

As a result, he's constantly trying to overcorrect his behavior and cognition to line up with what he thinks he's supposed to be. That's why he's constantly saying slurs even though he doesn't actually treat anybody differently for their caste. That's why he's constantly talking about murder and military history, even though he clearly doesn't enjoy doing either of those things. That's why he's always pushing this image of a big bad fascist wannabe, even though he actually wants to be a magic-slinging wizard.

The thing about genocide, for Eridan, is that he's already obsessed with genocide - the prevention of genocide. Keeping his species from being genocided is, without exaggeration, the most time-consuming pursuit in his life. BUT WAIT! He can't say, think, or believe that his actions are for the benefit of the land dwellers, because first of all, he feels kind of guilty about killing them, and second of all, because he's not allowed to express compassion to the people he's keeping safe. So between the stress, the cognitive dissonance, the anxiety, and the fact that Eridan doesn't really do a lot of introspection because he's so overwhelmed by emotion, his existing preoccupation with genocide is transmuted into something that's socially acceptable: "wanting all the land dwellers dead."

"[I]t would be all too easy." Indeed: if he ever slacks in his duties, they will all die. In fact, it's easier for him to let them die than to not. He clearly doesn't like doing all that killing, and it clearly makes him feel bad, and takes up a shitton of his time if nothing else, so it's probably occurred to him over, and over, and over, that maybe he should just... not! What if he just stopped.

Well, then everyone would die. Gl'bgolyb would raise her voice a little and it'd kill all the rust bloods, then the bronzes, the golds, the limes, the olives...

Wait! Is he feeling bad for them? He's not supposed to be feeling bad for the low bloods! Shit, shit, shit. Say a slur and then say something about how you WANT all the low bloods dead. PHEW. OKAY. SAFE. But that means you need to kill all the lowbloods. Because you said it, so it has to be true, and also, this is the way you're supposed to be. So, fuck, well, go commission a doomsday device. Okay, done. PHEW. It probably doesn't work, but nobody can say you didn't try! Hooray, you did it! You have performed a Sea Dweller Action! Oh it's time to go kill some people again. Damnit. Killing people sucks. It makes you feel bad, and it takes up so much of your time. What if you just didn't...

And we can see this with the way his lust for genocide is described. There's no mention of why he hates the land dwellers, no mention of how he believes society will improve with them gone, or even what they're doing that's so bad in the first place. He rambles at Feferi about "keeping the bloodlines pure" at one point, but this is clearly contradicted by him stating he wouldn't kill Kanaya, because what sort of friend would he be? (And the fact that he cares about Kanaya, Vriska, and the anon-blooded Karkat, who could be literally any blood color, at all!)

So yeah, like, the thing is, he doesn't want to kill them all. He even calls himself out for knowing his latest doomsday plot was a bust from the start:

You are almost starting not to care about this stupid doomsday device which probably won't even work. She probably KNOWS you know it won't work. She has probably put all the pieces together and knows it was an elaborate ruse to be in cahoots with her again.

And so does Feferi:

CC: None of your plots to kill t)(e land dwellers ever work out, and every doomsday device you get your )(ands on turns out to be a piece of junk! CA: so CA: i got to keep tryin thats howw all the great military masterminds became great through upright persevverance CC: I t)(ink deep down you stack t)(ese plots against you so you fail because you know it's wrong.

And here he is outright contradicting his stated goal of killing the land dwellers because, jegus, he'd never kill his friends:

CA: but somethin thatll kill all land dwwellers wwhat else wwould i be after GA: Can You Just For A Moment Entertain The Thoughts Of One Untouched By Megalomaniacal Derangement And Tell Me Why Id Want To Assist You With That CA: wwell CA: im not goin to vvery wwell kill you am i that wwould be fuckin unconscionable CA: wwhat kind of friend wwould i be

And a reminder that one of his closest friends at this point in time is Karkat, whose blood color is currently anonymous to his friend group, meaning he could be literally any blood color and Eridan wouldn't want him dead:

CC: You know, I'm not sure w)(y we never talk about our romantic aspirations. CC: We s)(ould more often. It is kind of -EXCITING! CA: shrug CC: Probably because you fill your gossip quota wit)( your nubby )(orned bro.

But Karkat also explicitly lumps himself in with the low bloods, so Eridan can't even use the excuse that Karkat might be nobility (but sea dwellers are still suppose to hate land dwelling nobility so that still wouldn't be a defense EVEN IF it was true):

CG: CHALK IT UP AS ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY.

Because Eridan does not want to genocide the land dwellers. He's just anxious.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

hi! so i started reading when christ and his saints slept (your recommendation, it's great btw) and wow george really dropped the ball on the dance cause what is this going on. like older sister against brother?? why would that work George??

i've seen tb make arguments that the usurpation set women's rights back for centuries, and that seems kind of silly cause the rule of (bloody) mary i still led to the rule of elizabeth i. personally, i think the issue of women's rights has more to do with the lack of queen dowagers and regents which are more common in real history but less in asoiaf who use their power of being mothers of the king to advocate for women, and lay the groundwork (e.g. margaret beaufort, nurbanu sultan, anne of austria, etc)

but, also what are the greens meant to do because if viserys did not settle inheritance for his sons (through heiresses) whilst he lived there's no reason why rhaenyra would do it when she's queen.

for me the greens have three options : take the throne through conquest, ask for a great council (they have vhagar they can make demands), or three literally die.

like as much as i am green supporter if i was rhaenyra and i peacefully ascended to the throne and my half-siblings who are brothers with sons of their own well, they just have to die ottoman style, because allowing them cadet branches undermines her own and in the end you get a house bourbon supplanting house valois situation (something catherine de medici committed war crimes to prevent); you can't let them leave because well 6 dragons outside of targaryen control — you might as well be asking for trouble ; send them to the citadel —well two are married to each other, one has vhagar with clear anger issues, the other has tessarion and can just leave when he wants and, not even talking about the kids with their own dragons.

the truth is the greens can't just sit and do nothing. if viserys doesn't want the trouble of his sons ,and wants rhaenyra has queen then simply don't remarry or do you your duty to the sons that you have sired.

reading christ and when his saints slepts its actually comical how house targaryen don't have mistresses and they began to have them when the dragons are dead

this was a long rant but the greens don't have much options especailly cause their living in an environment where sons inherit before daughters. i would ask how would you make the story more compelling and logical causing reading penman the dance is not.

also, big can of your writing ofcir and akab are holding me down since hotd has been feeding us crap.

Anon I've had this reply sitting in my drafts and should have answered ages ago, so my apologies for the late reply!

I'm so glad you're reading When Christ and His Saints Slept. It's my go-to recommendation for historical fiction about the Anarchy, and Penman in general is just my absolute favorite historical fiction writer. I hope you continue the series that follows Matilda's son, Henry II, his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their brood of children.

You're right that the greens didn't have many options if they wanted to stay alive. The show has downplayed that aspect this season but Alicent's sons and grandsons would always be a challenge to Rhaenyra and Jace's rule. You only need a basic understanding of the world to see that they were in an impossible position. Ultimately, Viserys is the one who destabilized his succession and deserves a lot more blame than the show is willing to give him.

As for the matter of powerful women, queens regnant, and women's rights, irl history is full of powerful queen consorts like Eleanor who exercised power, defended garrisons, negotiated peace, and sometimes, as in Eleanor's case, even rebelled against their own husbands. In the Anarchy, Stephen's wife, Matilda of Boulogne, was a force to be reckoned with, besieging Dover castle and making a treaty for Stephen with the king of Scotland. When he was captured in battle, Matilda raised an army, and when her army captured Empress Matilda's half-brother, Robert of Gloucester, who was one of her biggest supporters, Matilda of Boulogne negotiated a hostage exchange and secured Stephen's release. And this isn't even a Westeros problem because we see politically powerful women who are not queens regnant in-world-- Cersei as regent for her children, Catelyn, who was basically running the war effort before Robb set her aside, and even book!Alicent, who exercised a good deal of power. In fact, somewhat ironically, show!Alicent was well set up to exercise even more power than her book counterpart. It's clear Aegon actually listened to her and valued her counsel, even seeking out her advice and guidance. Having the ear of the king is no small thing, and if she'd done anything other than belittle him she could have ended up as his most trusted advisor. Look how easily Larys moved in! But the show instead had Alicent alienate Aegon and then treated her disempowerment as if it were a function of her gender rather than a result of her inability to provide useful counsel.

So no, a lack of queens regnant is not keeping Westerosi women out of powerful positions, and you're right anon, in that HotD seems to have decided that powerful women didn't exist as consorts, dowagers, and regents even though that's not true irl or in Westeros. As for women's rights, unfortunately having a queen regnant historically has done very little for women as a whole. Royal women tended to align their interests with other royals or nobles rather than with women as a whole, that is, solidarity is formed along class lines more often than it is formed along gendered lines. We see this even in our world today, where companies with women as CEOs in fact tend to hire fewer women in lower management positions. Rhaenyra being denied the throne doesn't mean much for the average Westerosi woman, but civil wars caused by an unstable succession can make everyone's lives demonstrably worse.