#I would say generation loss but eh

[sag3-th3-mag3]

Okay, so I’m here to present a little theory of mine (and a little from others but that’s okay)

Y’know how this is basically showing them as little action figures? Yeah they’re adorable, I want one!

But this could imply a lot of lore and shit. They’re being sold, in a market, as action figures. What if the theory that this whole entire thing is a tv show? They’re just being filmed and streamed to live TVs for other’s entertainment. They made these little action figures as merchandise for the fans/viewers of this show.

As someone on Twitter pointed out, Sofia said something about how they’re all in a television experiment. They’re all just being filmed and streamed for entertainment for people to see. To watch. All with realistic actions and such, everything is natural and not scripted. It can also explore more out of lore moments

Anyway it’s like 12 am, goodnight

Edit: wow I was kinda far off, that’s so wholesome

[moonstandardtime]

i want to put link in isat. im sure hed do fine. the heros spirit endures

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Guess who's back. (semi-back, I'm going to take it slow for a while)

*

Now, Detective was quite sure he had locked his office.

He stopped dead in his tracks, watching the door that was slightly opened. The last time this had happened, he’d found himself in front of two guns. The time before that, he’d found himself against a Villain, who didn’t need a gun. His own weapon was of course safe and locked in a drawer somewhere. He rolled his eyes at himself and listened intently. There wasn’t a sound. He threw a glance by the opening, ready to jump back and run.

His place looked blissfully intact, but now that he was closer, he heard it. Someone was breathing unevenly. He stepped forward. A head popped from behind his desk.

Well, well, well. Wasn’t this new. Detective let out a sigh half of relief, half of annoyance, and snapped:

“This isn’t a nursery, kid.”

He went round the desk to find a skinny teen huddled on the ground, their arms around their knees. They were wearing one of these stupid red capes that told everyone in the city they were special with powers, ooooh, aaaah. From the traces of tears on their face, they didn’t seem to feel especially happy about it.

Detective leaned over them, frowning. He’d already met that child. He snapped his fingers in an attempt to remember:

“You are, you are- oh, you’re that Sidekick kid, right? The sidekick of this hero, the one with the stupid boots.”

They nodded.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want-” Sidekick sniffed. They took a handkerchief from the desk, blew their nose, and kept on: “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Detective was opening his mouth to ask why this would be his problem, but Sidekick added quickly:

“ I thought I could...hide here for a little while? Hero won’t find me here. I didn’t steal anything, honest.”

“Except the handkerchief.”

“You can have it back.”

“Thank you, I’ll live with that loss.”

He sighed:

“Tell you what, what about I phone your Hero and tell them what you’ve decided, so you can sort it out with them?”

The teen froze, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Detective raised an eyebrow:

“That bad, uh?”

Sidekick nodded once, avoiding his gaze.

“Did you already tell them?”

“Yeah…”

“And they said?”

“That if I tried to leave, I’d be found dead on the road.”

Detective paused.

“Ew.”

Yes, that was what he’d said. An eloquent man, Detective. In his defense, that was short to the point at least, not to say accurate. Child abuse was icky.

He didn’t ask anything else, mostly because he wasn’t particularly surprised. Once or twice he had to deal with clients Hero had “saved”, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Hero was the kind of person that didn’t mind saving the day if they were the one saving it, so they could reap the benefits after, no matter what happened to the others. If the kid shattered the illusion that they were perfect, well. This kind of people was willing to go very far to protect their image, especially when they could blame on any villain passing on the streets.

Sidekick, knotting their hands together, whispered:

“I thought you could...maybe hide me for a little while?”

Detective blinked. He asked with a mild voice:

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but isn’t your Hero the one who makes the ground shakes just by walking?”

“Yes?”

“The one who can crush people with a pinch?”

“Yes.”

“The one who can punch buildings?”

“Yes…”

Detective looked thoughtfully at his fists and his gun, all that he had – when the gun wasn’t forgotten in his office. He shrugged:

“No worries then. Just checking.”

Sidekick bit their lip, looking at him like a kicked puppy. Detective scratched his head, embarrassed. The silence was lingering for too long. He patted his pockets to look for something, anything, but there were just a pair of handcuffs and some old receipts. As a last resort, he generously held out his flask to them:

“Take a drink, kid. You’ll feel better.”

Sidekick looked at it with a wary look:

“I’m fourteen.”

“Eh, there’s no age.”

The teen took a little sip and yelped in surprise:

“It’s...cocoa?”

“Yep.”

Sidekick drunk a little more, then held it back to him:

“ I thought it was whiskey or something.”

“Psch, as if! With people shooting lasers with their eyes or whatever, I don’t need to get plastered. I need something stronger than booze to get through the day.”

Detective crossed his arms and sighed:

“Okay kid, you’ve won. Let’s find a place for you to sleep.”

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“I read my colleague Hadley Freeman’s column in The Sunday Times this weekend in a growing state of shock. Hadley described how, on three occasions, a man had choked her in bed. I then read the section in Escape, the book she references, written by another journalist, Marie Le Conte. Le Conte writes that choking during sex was “mainstream” among those under 40. “If I were to rank it,” says Le Conte, “I would say it sits somewhere around the light spanking mark . . . not so out of the ordinary that you would mention it to someone.”

Readers around my age, 58, will appreciate how I felt. Never mind incorporating strangulation into sex, we belong to a generation where the “light spanking” Le Conte references is itself regarded as a bit weird, a bit pervy, a bit “why would you want to hit someone, or be hit by someone, in bed?” As regards throttling a partner, a phrase I am shocked to find myself writing, that belongs in my mind to the realm of bullies, abusers, thugs, misogynists, rapists. Very niche. Very sinister. Very illegal.

I would regard even pretending to strangle a partner as an outrage. If a male friend told me such behaviour turned him on, that friendship would end. If I contemplated doing it myself, I’d get therapy. And let’s be clear, the choking under discussion, which a study last year found almost 60 per cent of female students in the US had experienced, does not refer to play-acting, but actual hands round the throat, pressure on the windpipe, possible-loss-of-consciousness suffocation. WTF?

When I got to work yesterday morning three younger female colleagues — in their forties, thirties and twenties respectively — confirmed how widespread the practice is. I suppose when Men’s Health carries idiotic articles headlined “how to do choking safely, according to experts” I should have known asphyxiation-as-foreplay had become, if a long way from normal, then at least normalised. All three women said they had encountered it, along with being slapped, hair-pulled and spat on (eh?!) by male partners. None had welcomed any of these actions.

I should emphasise that these were not super-traumatic encounters with evil psychos, but otherwise consensual acts with otherwise normal blokes. Not pleasurable in any way, but not, I gathered, a massive deal either, such is the extent to which formerly minority, hardcore aberrations have entered the everyday bedroom experience.

The youngest colleague told me several of her female friends did enjoy the experience. I’m sceptical about that. I fail to see how partial suffocation by someone physically stronger, someone you don’t necessarily know well, with no help at hand, can be anything other than terrifying. I find it more likely that some young women, not yet fully confident, have been persuaded that being choked is not only not weird, but now a standard aspect of sex to which they ought to submit. Human beings are hard-wired for self-preservation: oxygen deprivation is something we desperately strive to avoid, not embrace. I’m in no doubt that the vast majority of women subjected to choking do not like it, to put it mildly.

What shocks me is why men, so-called normal men who aren’t sadists who ought to be locked up, would want to strangle their lover in the first place. Of course the easy answer is the malign influence of protracted youthful exposure to pornography. Such exposure has, it is argued, normalised sexual behaviour previously thought extreme. And yet it is possible to view porn without going anywhere near clips of men choking women.

A correctly socialised teenage boy in receipt of the correct moral guidance would shut down such content in a cold sweat should his cursor so much as inadvertently hover over a link. Yet evidently lots of boys and young men blithely consume the dodgy stuff, presumably not knowing it is dodgy. They then expect to mimic it when their sex lives begin to encompass people other than themselves.

Therefore, older people, parents, specifically fathers, are not doing their job properly. Shame on them. They should be telling their sons that all sexual violence is despicable, full stop. We’re not in groovy, liberal, “each to their own” territory here. We’re not talking dress-up or role play. We’re talking about actions which are at best distressing and degrading, and at worst deadly. This behaviour should not be up for discussion. It’s just plain wrong.”

[posarmeklen]

Don’t you hate when you turn your back for a minute at your dead-end copy job (sorry, dead-end desktop publishing job), and all of a sudden, one half of your sister’s cool teen quartet along with your horndog conspiracist friend are holding paper products (er, helping with a big job) and flapping their lips about the latter’s fairly new unplanned pregnancy?

It was just a coincidence that Goat swung by to visit Alex at Repro Man’s shortly after Fruity and Matt came in, and even though they had heard through Chaka (who, naturally, knew because of Alex) that the older man was in a “delicate” condition, it was their first time bumping into him in person since.

Hearing Fruity’s compliments, Matt turned around from the poster in his hands. “Oh, hey, Goat,” he greeted him.

“Hey, Matt, what’s up?”  

“Probably nothing compared to what’s up with you, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.” Goat coughed.

“Yeah, you know, my cousin just had a baby a couple months ago,” Matt offered up. “I’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t easy for her, but she said it was totally worth it. You know, yin and yang and all that.”

“Hey, I don’t think this situation calls for the poetry.” Fruity made a disapproving smacking sound with his lips.  “Man, can’t you just leave this beautiful thing be?” Goat smirked.

“Chill out, alright?” said Matt, gingerly transferring a large stack of paper from Fruity’s hands to his own and placing it by the copier. “I was just going to ask how he’s taking it.”

“Well,” Goat said emphatically. “Do you want the miracle-of-life Demi Moore Vanity Fair edition, or the cold unabridged truth?” His words conjured an image of himself, au naturel and assuming the pose of the actress, which subsequently splintered and fell away like a broken pane of glass.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less than the second one from you.” Matt smiled.

“Oh, it’s fuckin’ brutal,” he asserted. “Imagine the most head-splitting zombifying hangover, with none of the fun from the night before.”

Fruity raised his eyebrows. “None?”

“Oooh, rough…” Matt mumbled sympathetically.

“My back hurts all time. Everything’s sweaty. Plus, on top of that, I can’t really see my junk. It makes for a challenge when women’s volleyball is on and I wanna –”

“Alright, alright…” Matt’s laugh cut the description of his plight short. “I think we get the picture.”

“Hey, we’re all guys here!” grinned Fruity, giving an open-palmed shrug.

“I will say, it’s not a total loss,” Goat went on. “I seem to have unlocked a brand-new level of savoring life’s pleasures.”

“Oh, because you had trouble with that before, right?” teased Matt.

“Eh, I don’t know, but this baby must love Ring-Dings and Bud Light.”

“Hey, and at least the ladies eat up this stuff,” Fruity said. “You know, feeling the baby kick and comparing its size to a dill pickle and crap. They must be all over you.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, right on.” Goat looked past him, letting out a sigh. “Is there a bathroom in this place? I gotta take a leak.”

“Yeah, right over by the back wall,” said Matt.

“I won’t keep you,” Fruity added, motioning in the general direction of the door.

So anyway, when it comes to Fruity’s comment re: the “fairer sex” and pregnancy, I would be remiss not to mention the kindred spirit Goat hit it off with, the child’s second parent (seen in my Downtown posts of yesteryear. However, I did change her name for some reason. Friendship ended with “Jackie”, “Kasey” is my best friend now). *clears my throat and shuffles flashcards* There came a point of awareness that despite their similarities, they were at really different life stages (Goat had been doing his own thing for years, but Kasey, a trans woman who was Goat’s age, had been living as herself for a fraction of that and was relishing her freedom) and while Goat initially hadn’t changed his lifestyle a bit to accommodate the pregnancy, she didn’t want to live like him forever and begrudged his seeming lack of trying. Words were exchanged, and the pair went their separate ways. Not to worry – they would soon rekindle, and both put forth effort to be healthier (in Goat’s case, he was mostly propelled by the knowledge of his physical condition; in Kasey’s, she was inspired to show a sort of solidarity with him, plus she would soon be a parent as well, despite not physically being pregnant).  But given their respective issues, neither swayed the other in a positive direction, and they soon reached the disappointing yet amicable conclusion that they were perhaps too alike to remain close. And in the midst of that, they just knew neither of them were cut out to raise children (what were we thinking?) – so wish granted for a lucky adoptive parent(s). But I digress… I wonder if some of this diverted him from regaling Fruity and Matt with salacious tales when given the opportunity.

Also, by the way? Even though Fruity was being facetious in my picture and Goat wouldn’t name his offspring after himself, he and the aforementioned second parent did discover at an ultrasound (the first and only; Goat completely forgot about an appointment scheduled earlier in the pregnancy 😑) that the fetus was male. Goat after he and Kasey exchanged an overwhelmed glance and muttered fragmented agreeable noises upon being asked if they were interested in finding out the baby’s sex today: “Rock on! Built-in apprentice and wingman, here I come…” *medical technician politely chuckling intensifies*

[beevean]

What's your opinion of Juste from Nocturne?

For me, I abhorrently hated the way Juste was treated in Nocturne. As I've played Harmony of Dissonance, I had a soft spot for him as a character and it was no joke when he was known as the "most powerful magician of the Belmont clan" when playing as him.

Juste could've been a mentor to Richter as a promising vampire hunter, a close familial connection to depend on after the loss of his mother, his teacher to the art of magic, anything that could've made his character and/or inclusion much more meaningful and significant. As an aspiring writer, the amount of absurd creative decisions the showrunners are making on the fly just physically hurts me.

In my rewrite of Nocturne, I've decided to do just that for Juste, making him an important figure in Richter's life while also being a major player in this new storyline. The reason for why he was absent most of the time is due to his vast responsibilities as a veteran hunter battling vampires across Europe, not because he's a deadbeat or something.

Juste is my second favorite Belmont. I love his energy and attitude, how determined he is to help his friends, how he values them and their bond (you save Maxim by wearing friendship bracelets! that's just adorable lol), of course his weird passion for furniture because my man is going to redecorate a room in a castle that will collapse in a few hours out of principle dammit, but also how he has a tendency to deny issues because he is too busy fitting himself in the mold of "hero", shown in the best ending where he forbids Maxim from revealing the truth to Lydie. The worst ending is also gutwrenching, as he has technically accomplished his duty as a vampire hunter, but utterly failed as a friend - and now, the rest of his life is uncertain. His theme is called "Successor of Fate" for a reason: the legacy is starting to crack, ever so slowly.

I fucking hated how the show treated this interesting concept.

First of all, screw you for saying that Maxim died to a random ass vampire. Sit down and play Maxim Mode. My ninja boy is OP as all hell.

More importantly, what do you mean, that losing his wife and best friend would lead him to become a deadbeat dad and grandpa? What do you mean he'd abandon them rather than double down on protecting them like the Juste I know would do? What do you mean he's just Trevor 2.0??????

That's the thing! He's Trevor all over again! A cynical asshole who doesn't believe in the heroic cause anymore, ripe to be mocked by those meant to be closest to him - I have nothing against show Richter but man he's such an asshole to his own granddad even though they have lost the same person! Eh, guess he has learned from his bae :V but yeah, this is boring! I have already seen a Belmont who gave up on life due to trauma and getting treated like shit for it! Try something else!

(I also twitched when he said that he's such a powerful magician that he doesn't even need the whip. From any other show, it could have been a clever reference to how insanely strong his magic is in HoD. From this show who hates the Belmonts with a burning passion, it's just another way to devalue their legacy.)

But yeah, after that Juste in S1 is completely useless. You'd think that he'd be the one who'd help Richter regaining his magic, but nooooooo he gets tied down like a chump by two generic vampires and Richter reminesces about the woman who insulted him and mocked him for his lack of magic and that does the trick! Basically Juste exists only as a warning for Richter to not become like that, and it's just... disrespectful. Not Hector's levels of pure malicious spite, but still an insult to the character.

I have no hopes for Juste in S2, now that Alucard is back to be the true protagonist. Also his beard ugly af.

[incarnadinedreams]

This isn't really new, but it's actually really interesting to me what a sticking point the 'enemy of the cultivation world' line is for people who have a less favorable interpretation of Jiang Cheng's character.

When I first read the novel, it honestly just seemed obvious to me that it was part of The Plan with their staged falling out/defection from the Yunmeng Jiang clan. Whether it was a good or likely to succeed long-term plan or not is up for debate, but considering that we know the entire duel and 'falling out' was staged, I thought it was a given that was just part of it.

So I was actually pretty surprised to see so many people adamant that even if the duel was staged, that statement was a specific lie/betrayal on Jiang Cheng's part. Because of the duel/defection situation being generally light on description in the novel, there's not enough detail to say conclusively and definitely either way.

The first time we hear about the 'enemy of the cultivation world' declaration is actually in the prologue, where some dude is telling the "citation needed" summary version of the Yiling Patriarch's life story (7S version):

"[...] The former Jiang sect leader raised him like his own son, eh? But look at him: publicly defecting from the clan, making himself an enemy of the world. He’s embarrassed the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng utterly and almost doomed them to the same fate of extermination. [...]"

Of course it's not until the end of ch. 73 that we really know the circumstances of this defection. Where the duel is described the style of narration shifts noticeably to that very detached, third-party narration, the tone shift that indicates throughout the novel that this is the story the public believes.

The ExR translation phrases it this way:

They fought quite a fight in Yiling. Negotiations failed. Both resorted to violence.

Under Wei WuXian's command, the fierce corpse Wen Ning struck Jiang Cheng once, breaking one of his arms. Jiang Cheng stabbed Wei WuXian once. Both sides suffered losses. Each spat out a mouthful of blood and left cursing the other. They had finally fallen out with each other.

After the fight, Jiang Cheng told the outside that Wei WuXian defected from the sect and was an enemy to the entire cultivation world. The YunmengJiang Sect had already cast him out. From then on, no ties remained between them—a clear line was drawn. Henceforth, no matter what he did, they'd have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect!

The official translation from 7S makes it even clearer that this is the 'what the public is meant to believe' type of thing by formatting it this way (including the italics):

Following the duel, Jiang Cheng made this public statement: "Wei Wuxian has defected from our clan and become a public enemy. The Jiang Clan of Yunmeng expelled him and has broken all ties with him, drawing a clear line between his deeds and our own. No matter what this man does going forward, his actions have nothing to do with the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng!"

Whether it's a verbatim quote or not doesn't particularly matter for my interpretation (I don't particularly doubt the statement itself happened), but I would be interested in how it's presented originally; unfortunately I can't read it, so as always there's the 'going off translations' caveat here.

Immediately in the next chapter we see the aftermath of the duel and Wei Wuxian's nonchalant attitude to it, and then later in ch. 75, when Jiang Cheng brings Jiang Yanli to visit Yiling and show off her wedding robes and she reveals he suggested she have Wei Wuxian pick her son's courtesy name.

That's where we really realize just how staged it was (bolding mine):

Jiang Cheng raised up his bowl, "To the YiLing Patriarch."

Hearing this, Wei WuXian remembered the proudly fluttering banner again. All that was in his head was the ten golden words ''all hail the supreme Lord of Evil Patriarch of YiLing', "Shut up!"

After he drank a mouthful, Jiang Cheng spoke, "How's your wound from last time?"

Wei WuXian, "It healed a long time ago."

Jiang Cheng, "Mn." With a pause, he continued, "How many days?"

Wei WuXian, "Less than seven. I told you before. With Wen Qing, it was nothing difficult. But you really did fucking stab me."

Jiang Cheng ate a piece of lotus root, "You were the one who smashed my arm first. You took seven days, while I had to hang my arm up for an entire month."

Wei WuXian grinned, "How could it seem realistic if it wasn't hard enough? It was your left hand anyways. It didn't hinder you from writing. It takes a hundred days to heal a wound to the bone. It wouldn't be too much even if you hung it up for three months."

[...]

Before they parted, Jiang Cheng spoke, "We won't see you off. It wouldn't be good if someone saw us."

Wei WuXian nodded. He understood that it wasn't easy for the Jiang siblings to have come out here. If someone else saw them, all those things they did for the public to believe would be wasted. He spoke, "We'll go first."

We don't actually know, exactly, to the letter, what the plan was. Everything after Wei Wuxian says they could cut ties to protect the Jiang sect and Jiang Cheng saying they should have a duel is very light on the actual details.

Even with that wiggle room, I just don't buy the interpretation that the 'enemy of the cultivation world'/'public enemy' line was some extra betrayal behind Wei Wuxian's back, totally unknown to him, some sort of sneaky move meant to simply make everyone hate him even more for no reason.

They were clearly concerned with the possibility that nobody would truly believe that they'd actually fallen out, and felt they needed to go to fairly extreme lengths to sell this story to the public. While there were definitely some hurt feelings (on both sides) at this point, there was definitely still some hope that things would work out in the end, somehow.

I think this part of the novel works better with them both clinging to a thread of tenuous hope, a desperate last-ditch effort to somehow figure out a way to keep both the Yunmeng Jiang sect and the Wens safe because neither one of them can back down but neither can really let go yet.

If anything I'd say it would be a bit weird to take the public statement made after an event we know is staged to deceive the public... and assuming that for some reason, that specific line of it should just be taken at face value.

As with many aspects of the novel, the public story and what actually happened are just not the same thing.

[offside-the-lines]

tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier | Ep 2. Winter

This is a completed series! Read Full Fic | 🧸 Series Cover Page/Masterlist 🧁 | 🎵 Playlist 🎶 << Previous Episode || Ep 2 || Next Episode >>

Chapter Summary: Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

A/N: You can refer to cover page for the series summary, author's notes, tropes, general warnings and other fun tidbits. This series contains mature themes. Minors DNI. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team.

Word count: 4.4k // 44.5k

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

I. Winter

Evie — December 31

In the past few days, her text chain with Tito has settled into a nice rhythm. At first, it was a couple of texts a day: when one of them saw a funny Instagram post or reel, they would send it to the other. 

Things changed on Friday when she broke her usual routine of curling up on her couch with a blanket and book and instead found herself watching Tito's game. Her book lay untouched in her lap as her eyes tracked number 91 across the ice. After the game, she stayed up later than she meant to, eagerly picking up her phone every time it vibrated with a new text from Tito.

So, she concluded, I watch hockey now.

Which is why Evie ends up being late for the New Year’s party that Kelsey had invited her to. She couldn’t bear to leave when she had planned to, watching as the score kept ratcheting up for the wrong team. Her stomach curled every time Tito’s frustrated face is shown. 

To Tito 🌞🏒: i’m sorry about the loss, tito. fucking sucks. i hope you’ll still try to enjoy your new year’s eve?

By the time she gets to the party, she’s glad she can slip in among the partygoers without much fuss; everyone’s already a little tipsy on champagne. She knows she keeps pulling out her phone to check her notifications, but she can only hope she doesn't seem too rude.

It’s almost 11:30 pm when her phone buzzes, and she’s surprised to see it’s an incoming call and not a text. She slips out to the balcony as she connects the call.

Tito’s voice comes through too loud, “Evie!”

She laughs, “Hi, Tito. You good?”

“Yeah, you said I should enjoy my New Year’s Eve, so I went out with some of the guys,” he says, his words slurring ever so slightly. Evie can hear the background noise dim through the phone as if he had also stepped outside.

“New Year’s Eve in Dallas; you living it up?”

He laughs, “Dickie’s taken us to some fancy bar he used to go to. There’s a bunch of the Stars guys here too. Not that I really want to see them right now,” he groans.

“God, yeah. I saw, I’m sorry. That was a rough way to end the year.”

“Yeah, well…” He clears his throat and tries to inject some levity into his voice, “I don’t want to think about that right now. We’re trying to have fun, right? What're you up to?”

“Kelsey— my coworker— she’s also friends with Leanne— she invited me to a party. I’m at someone’s penthouse apartment. I have no idea whose. It’s pretty cool, though— Great view. There’s a lot of people, actually.”

Tito whistles. “A lot of choices for a midnight kiss then, eh?”

“I guess?” she laughs. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not that much,” he says unconvincingly. Evie can picture him scrunching his face at his own blatant lie.

“Okay,” she laughs, “I’ll have to let you go back then. Get some more champagne in you.”

“Nah,” he whines a little. “No midnight kisses in there. Fuck! I’m going to be even more unlucky next year if I don’t get a kiss.”

It startles a laugh out of her. “Anthony, buddy, I don’t think that’s a thing,” she chuckles, shaking her head.

He hums and doesn’t say anything else.

“Are you making friends at least?” she asks.

“Eh… more like passing time. A party’s a party, right?” 

“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

“They’re not!” he says a little too loud before repeating himself, “They’re not bad. That isn't what I meant. I just… I don’t know. I don’t really know if we’re friends, so much, just teammates.”

Evie softens. “Jason and Alandra were nice. They seemed to be trying to be your friend, at least. I bet he had to drag you out tonight.” 

“Yeah, he’s cool. It’s just—” He groans. “I think we’re both a little too drunk to try to figure out the difference between a buddy in the league who I’ll spend a couple of months playing with and will almost never talk to again and a friend.”

Leanne catches her eye through the glass and raises an eyebrow in question. Evie sends a small smile back. 

“It’s tough, Tito, to move around. I’m sorry this year has been so fucked for you as well.” She sighs. “Listen, I gotta get back inside. Leanne's making weird faces at me. And you should go back inside, too.”

She hears Tito suck in a shallow breath, voice once again full of false cheer, “Of course, of course. Shit, sorry for being a fucking downer. I promise I’ll go back inside and have a good time.”

“Have fun, dude. You’re a hot professional athlete at a fancy bar on New Year’s Eve. I think you’re not going to have any trouble finding someone to kiss at midnight.”

“You think I’m hot?” his voice genuinely lightens; she could hear the smile lighting up his face.

“Goodnight, Tito,” she laughs pointedly, “Happy New Year.”

She hears him finally let out another genuine laugh, a sound that warms her despite the cold Chicago air, “Happy New Year, Evie. I’m really glad we reconnected last week. It’s nice to have a friend in the city.”

And with that, they hang up, and she slips back into the throng of party-goers. She doesn’t get far before Leanne catches her elbow.

“What was that?” Leanne asks, handing over a new champagne glass.

“Oh. It was Tito.”

Leanne’s eyebrows immediately jump. “Oh yeah? You guys are calling now?”

“I mean, I guess? That’s the first time we’ve called so,” she shrugs.

“Mhmm,” Leanne hums, clearly unconvinced, a smirk lacing her lips.

Evie bumps her shoulder. “Oh, shut up. His team just lost 8-1 on New Year’s Eve. It fucking sucked. Cut him some slack.”

“Yikes. Okay, in the spirit of the season, I’ll let it slide just this once.”

Evie laughs and rolls her eyes, letting herself relax into the drink and the rhythm of the people celebrating around her.

Evie — January 2

To Tito 🌞🏒: shit, just saw the hit. are you okay?!!

Evie sits on her couch and stares at her silent phone, her knee bouncing. She hasn’t been able to sit still since she saw the hit, and it just got worse with each replay, so she turned her TV off. But now, she's just sitting in unsettling silence— I’m not entirely sure that this is better.

She checks her phone again. It has been 15 minutes since she watched Tito skate himself off the ice, clutching his left arm. She calms herself with the thought that his silence doesn’t mean there’s something very wrong; if they were running tests, it might just take a while before he sees his phone. 

She decides to make a cup of tea and pick up her book again. It makes her feel a little settled, but not enough, as she’s still checking her phone every few seconds. If she’s honest, she's just reading the same page over and over.

Finally, an hour later, her phone lights up, and she picks it up so fast it almost flies out of her hand.

Tito 🌞🏒: doc says it’s probably broken. they’ve immobilized it but i have to come home for more tests.

“Shit,” she says to her empty apartment, hitting Dial on her phone. She fiddles with a loose thread on her shorts as the call tone rings before she finally hears the click of Tito picking up.

“Tito,” she says too loud, leaping up from her couch. Her book crashes to the floor, startling her; she sits back down in embarrassment.

“Hey,” his voice sounds tired.

“Hey,” she responds, voice gentler, “Shit, I’m so sorry about your wrist, Tito.”

He sighs, “Yeah. It was so fucking stupid. I shouldn’t’ve had my hand like that there.”

“Hey! Dude, no. This is not your fault. And maybe it’s not the other guy's fault, either. But it’s definitely not your fault. How many times have you done the exact same thing and not been hurt? It’s not your fault.”

Tito’s silent for a bit; she listens to the jagged ins and outs of this breath. Eventually, with a voice so quiet, she’s only able to hear him due to the utter silence in her apartment: “Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

She feels a lump form in her throat and tries to clear it away. “You said they’re sending you home?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely broken, so I won’t be playing for a while. It’s probably too late for a flight tonight, so I’m probably going to be on an early one tomorrow.”

They're both silent for a moment, letting that hang in the air.

“Can I pick you up from the airport?”

“You really don’t have to do that. The team’ll pay for a Lyft.”

“Are you going to be on pain meds?”

“Yeah. I’m already feeling it, to be honest,” Tito says with a light laugh.

“Are they sending you back alone?”

“Yeah, it isn't a concussion, so I don’t need supervision.”

“Okay. Then, I would like to pick you up if that’s okay.”

“I—” He pauses for a long time, breaths getting heavier. When he continues talking, his voice comes through thick, “I really don’t want to put you out, but if you’re offering, I would really like that.”

“Well, I'm offering, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me the deets?”

“Yeah.” She feels something in her chest loosen. “And Evie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

She chuckles, “No problem. Text me. And try to have a good sleep.”

“You too,” he whispers, pausing before hanging up.

Putting her phone down on the coffee table, she lets out a shaky breath.

Evie — January 3

“Are you sure you want me to drop you off at yours?” Evie asks, looking over to Tito in her passenger seat. His curls poke out under the hood of his sweater, and his skin looks pale and clammy. His usually bright blue eyes are dulled, shadowy smudges betraying his lack of sleep. 

He sends her a soft smile before closing his eyes and leaning back against the headrest. “Yes, please.” His voice sounded as tired as he looked.

“Okay.” 

Evie reaches over and gives his good hand a light squeeze before pulling away from the airport. She keeps the drive to his apartment quiet, and she's surprised that she feels less tense than on her drive to O’Hare despite the silence. 

Every so often, she peeks over at Tito, cradling his wrist, eyes closed, and face carefully neutral. She doesn’t feel good about leaving him alone in his apartment, but she also knows that they haven’t known each other long enough for her to insist.

Half an hour later, she pulls into the entrance of a very fancy-looking apartment building in the center of Downtown Chicago. The doorman helps them unload Tito’s suitcase and drags it into the lobby for him. 

Too soon, they're left standing at the curb.

“Thank you so much,” Tito says, his tired eyes warming a little as he regards her.

“It’s absolutely no problem. Please let me know if you need any help, okay? I make my own hours and work from home for a reason. Call me anytime.”

His smile broadens. “Seriously, Evie. Thank you. You didn’t have to come get me.”

“I know. I wanted to.”

Tito leans in for a hug that Evie reciprocates, careful to avoid his broken hand. They stay connected for a few seconds longer than normal, but neither complains.

“Alright, I’ll leave you be then,” Evie says after they disconnect, stepping into her car with a nod.

Tito remains at the curb, one hand in a sling, the other reaching up for a wave as she pulls away. His figure stays in her rearview until she turns the corner.

Tito — January 11

The days that follow the injury become monotonous quickly. Tito wakes up. He does his morning routine. He takes his pain meds. He rides with Foligno and Bedard into the training facility. He gets poked at by some doctors and told to not do anything with his hand. He rides the bike by himself while everyone else gets to skate. He avoids Bedsy angrily pouting in the hallways; not his rookie, not his problem. He goes home and sits on his couch, just clicking play on whatever comes up on Netflix. He eats his microwavable frozen meal plan. He watches the team drop three of four games. He sleeps. 

Rinse and repeat. 

It has only been a week, and he's close to losing his mind already. The only bright spots are his ongoing text conversation with Evie, and his daily FaceTime calls with Barz. The boxes still sit unopened in the corner; well, at least he has a good excuse now. 

Today was meant to be a break in the monotony. While the team is on a short road trip, Tito’s schedule is a little different. No one ever talks about how uncomfortable it is to drive with a broken wrist. The facility is only 15 minutes away, so he figures that he’ll go in to see the trainers and maybe do some grocery shopping afterward. 

The plan was going quite well until he noticed that he had a flat tire on his way to the grocery store. 

He pulls over to the side of the road and just sits there for a minute, fighting the urge to cry. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, letting out a small scream before he gets out to assess the damage. He mutters a few choice swears when he eventually finds the big nail in his tire. 

He pulls out his phone and texts Evie while he returns to the driver's seat.

To evie 🧁: i told you my year would be unlucky [attachment: photo of his flat tire]

He starts looking for the roadside assistance card, but since it's a new rental, he’s still frustratedly fumbling around when his phone rings.

“Hello?” he answers, not even looking at his phone.

“Tito, what’s going on?”

He pauses his rustling, surprised to hear Evie’s warm voice pouring through the sound system. The familiarity of the French immediately relaxes him. He sighs.

“Oh, um. I was driving to the store. And I just realized the tire was flat. I think the hole has been there for a while, but because of the wrist and stuff, I hadn’t driven since before the roadie.”

“Shit. That’s annoying. Where are you? You wanna drop me a pin or something. I can help you change your tire; you definitely can’t do it with a broken wrist.”

He pauses, surprised by the offer. “Oh! Um… I was just going to call roadside assistance. If I can just find the card…”

“Don’t be stupid. That’s gonna take ages. If you’re close by, I can come help.”

“Um… Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” she huffs, “I could use a break from the computer anyway. I’ll grab my coat and keys.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’m probably not far away because I just left the training center like 5 minutes ago.”

“Sweet, no problem. Drop me a pin, and I’ll be right there.”

In less than 10 minutes, Evie is stepping out of her car in her wool coat, leather gloves, and an oversized winter scarf that cocoons her up to her nose. She smiles and waves as she jogs over to give him a tight hug. Whatever tension was left in his body from the long week drains from his body as her arms wrap tightly around him. 

They remain connected for a few seconds, his face buried in the mess of scarf and hair around her neck; her perfume fills his lungs with warmth despite the cold Chicago winter air.

“Thanks again for coming.”

“Stop thanking me. My god.” She exaggeratedly rolls her eyes as they finally separate. She starts getting all the tools as she says, “I want to help the city’s best winger. It’s a public service. I’ll forward the bill to the owner. Or maybe even the mayor.”

It startles a laugh out of him, relaxed by her light-heartedness. He realizes that he has been kind of down recently, only leaving his apartment for meetings with trainers. 

“Well, I hope you’ll charge them a fair rate, considering the express service surcharge. You did get here very quickly.”

She nods mock-sternly, “Yes, of course.”

With all the necessary tools laid out next to her, she bends down to begin jacking up the car. He fishes out his snow jacket from the trunk and hands it to her. 

“Here. So you don’t have to kneel on the ground.”

She smiles up at him from where she’s knelt, “Thanks.”

The rest of the tire change happens in silence; Tito’s content to let her focus on what she’s doing. He watches intently and doesn't want to acknowledge his embarrassment that, at 26 years old, he still doesn't know how to change a tire. 

As she’s working, it starts to snow lightly. The flakes stand out against her glossy coffee-dark hair that has fallen to curtain her face, and Tito resists the urge to brush it back so she can see better in the overcast dimness. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to have something to do with them.

When she’s done a short while later, she spins around, still kneeling, beaming up at him with pride as she sings, “Voila!” 

At that moment, as she sparkles up at him, their eyes meet, and a snowflake catches on her eyelashes. It hits him square in the chest; this might be the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. The realization knocks into him so unexpectedly that he has to fight through the tightness in his throat to exclaim back in excitement.

“Awesome!” he strains.

“Yep!” Her voice is bright and melodic as she turns back to lower the car. “It’s all done. You’re going to need to get this tire patched or something at a shop, though, and—”

She continues to explain some important details that are totally lost on him as he tries to quash the twisting of his guts. She is indeed beautiful, engaging, and scarily competent, but none of that matters. 

None of that matters because his stay in Chicago is temporary. So he takes that feeling and shoves it down deep. But, he hopes that a transient athlete who is, as it turns out, not very good at his job will adequately fulfill the role of Good Friend.

Being a good friend is something he can do. 

Being a good friend is something he’s good at.

“— groceries for dinner, if you want?” 

He tunes back in just in time to catch the end of what she's saying. Maybe he should also retract the previous statement about being a good friend.

“Um, I’m sorry. I’m feeling kinda out of it. What was the question?”

She laughs and squeezes his elbow sympathetically. “Tito, it’s okay. You’re kinda pale right now. Like, you look like you’re gonna be sick. Look, I know you said you were going to the grocery store, but I really don’t think you should be driving and stuff right now. I’ve got plenty of food at mine. I was probably going to cook pasta or something tonight. Just come over and hang out? It’ll make me feel better.”

He mulls it over, and the dull throbbing in his wrist convinces him to nod. It does sound much better than what he had been doing this past week.

So they do just that. Tito isn't complaining: not about the delicious home-cooked meal or watching B99 again. He didn’t realize he was waiting to watch it with her. They find themselves pausing the show numerous times just to chat about something the show brings up: a memory from childhood, something from her life in Toronto or his life in New York, or just a passionate opinion that they have. 

He's burrowed deep into the opposite end of her couch with the latest cup of tea she has made him, feeling more at home than he has in over a month when he discovers the time is so much later than he thought.

“Oh crap, it’s past 10 pm. I really should get going,” Tito says, finally sitting up.

“Shit, I didn’t even see that,” she laughs. Evie looks out the window. “You know. It’s really late, you’re on pain meds, and the roads look kinda slippery with the new snow. Why don’t you just stay here? This couch actually has a really comfy pull-out bed— my brother Will said so anyway when he visited.”

“Oh,” he pauses, comfortable and heavy-limbed but uncertain, “I don’t really have anything with me.”

“That should be okay. I’ve got a bunch of extra toiletries and some of Brandy and Will’s clothes.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, if that’s really okay with you, I’d love to not have to drive home with my wrist. It sucks.”

“Of course,” she smiles, reaching over and squeezing his knee before standing up and walking into her bedroom.

He figures he should help, so he moves the warm fuzzy blanket she had over her legs and the throw pillows to the corner of the room. He clears the tea mugs that litter the coffee table before pushing it back. He’s inspecting the couch for the pull-out function when Evie returns with a small pile of sheets and clothes and a few pillows.

“Oh, thanks for clearing the space!” She smiles at him brightly. “So, I found you a T-shirt and some sweatpants. There are spare toiletries under the sink.”

“Thanks. You’re truly the best.”

“You are so right,” she winks, laughing softly. 

They put together the couch-bed in tandem, and both take turns getting ready for sleep. Eventually, Evie, in her pajamas, bids him goodnight warmly before shutting her bedroom door, and he's left lying on the pull-out bed looking around at the living room, lit only by the city lights streaming through with big windows. 

Tito — January 19

“Wait, so you’re telling me you’ve been replacing me with this girl, and you haven’t even bothered to introduce us?”

“Okay, Barz, that’s a little dramatic. I have not been replacing you.” Tito desperately pleads with his eyes for Mat to stop talking so loud in this somewhat nice Italian restaurant he and Evie had discovered a few nights ago.

“No, seriously. Why didn’t you invite her? You should invite her. You know what? I’ll do it. Hand me your phone—” Mat makes a desperate grab for Tito’s phone that was sitting face down on the table. 

Tito puts his hand on it and whispers. “Dude, stop it. I’d like to come back here again sometime. The food’s actually so good.”

Mat grins and wiggles his eyebrows, “Oooh, come back here again, like on a date with Evie?” he says, dragging out her name in a suggestive tone.

“No, Barz. Not a date. We’ve been over this. We’re just hanging out- like you and me. We’re friends. That’s it. Neither of us even wants to date right now anyway.”

“Okay, bud. If you say so.” Mat rolls his eyes while taking a sip of his wine. “So, you’re saying if you were both open to dating, you’d be interested.”

“No— Well—” Tito pauses and sighs. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. And it’s not what’s happening, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, come on, Beau. I’ve known you for ages, dude. There is no way— you’re telling me that you’ve seen her almost every single day, for most of the day, this whole month, and you haven’t even thought about it?”

Tito sighs pointedly, clenching his jaw. “Yes. I haven’t thought about it. Because there’s nothing to think about. We text. We hang out. We watch TV and eat food. We—” He cuts himself off abruptly. He knows if he mentions the sleepovers, even though he's always on the pull-out couch, Mat will take it the wrong way. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I get to see you, like, twice during the season. I want to hear all your dumb stories.”

Mat eyes him skeptically but eventually relents. “My stories aren’t dumb. But okay. So, last week…” he excitedly recounts.

The night returns to a familiar rhythm. He misses this: the easy conversation with a guy who’s known you for ten years. There are no awkward lulls or having to explain a joke or backstory. It’s just comfortable, and it feels like home: a warmth burrowed deep in his chest. 

There’s a gaping vacancy that gnaws at him later when he’s lying in his own bed, unable to sleep. It’s almost as if Mat took that feeling of home with him when he gave him a lingering hug goodbye, squeezing Tito so hard it hurt a little.

He stares at the ceiling and thinks about how his favorite sleep shirt— one of his early Islanders t-shirts with a 72 on it— was still at Evie’s apartment. He also thinks about the hoodie that he left there.

The team's about to head on an extended roadie while he remains behind, doing not much. He hates it when he’s the one left behind watching the team play without him. That’s the thing with professional sports. You’re around a team all day, every day, for most of the year. You know everything about everyone. You’re almost never alone. Which makes it all the more stark when you’re with a new group of faces. Or when you’re suddenly stuck at home, injured, and alone.

He leans over and picks up his phone, the sudden brightness of the screen making him squint. 

To evie 🧁 : hey, so on second thought, if the offer still stands, i’d like to stay over this week? totally okay if you changed your mind. just figured it’d be nice to have some company, and you’re much closer to the rink. To evie 🧁: and you still have my favorite hoodie. i want it back.

Series Cover Page/Masterlist || Next Episode >>

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[am-i-the-asshole-2]

Would I be the Asshole if I try to say goodbye?

I don't really tend to post or ask anything online, but I am at an utter loss here, and everything feels terrible.

I, 23f recently got married to the love of my life, 25m, and the wedding was a raucous, chaotic and beautiful event.

It was very much a community effort, and without the aid of the Bridal Party and the Grooms Party nothing would have gone anywhere near as well. We're talking decorating the ceremony and reception venues the day before on one hell of a time crunch.

At the time we felt that we had expressed gratitude and appreciation to everyone involved, despite the stress of pulling everything together before our wedding day. I gifted all members of my bridal party with customized daggers and had intended to write them thank you letters but ran out of time as we barely had a second to breathe that week.

They were toasted during the speeches, and heavily praised in the group chats following the wedding.

One of my bridesmaids, a close friend of more than thirteen years has since cut all contact with us. She is a legend- without her there wouldn't have been a hens weekend, she did so much prep work and was generally am absolute star!

I was sure I told her this, but according to a mutual friend she felt underaprecciated and uncomfortable due to the presence of a guest that we were unable to kick out; despite our best efforts. (Nobody wanted this guest there aside from my dubious M.I.L and she wouldn't let us wriggle out of it. Everyone was angered by this. She also didn't follow our explicit rules about this guest, but that is a post unto itself. )

Any and all attempts to contact her have proved fruitless, so I cannot even say that I'm sorry, that I'd like to talk it through, and I cannot tell her how much I love and appreciate her. It has devastated and heartbroken me to put it mildly.

I'm getting ready to send out the thank you letters alongside the pictures from the wedding via the group chats- letters to the individuals they are for to their own accounts.

Should I send her her letter regardless? It's likely she will never read it, or even open the message. I would be planning on adding an apology and a thank you for your friendship and best wishes at the bottom. I know she doesn't want to be friends anymore, but I'd appreciate being able to say goodbye...

I'm torn on the matter. I don't want to harass her by sending her a message she doesn't want at the same time as the above sentiments.

I wish her nothing but the best. She is an amazing strong person, and it's been an honour knowing her for thirteen years. I hate that I've caused her any hurt, and don't want to cause anymore.

Would I be the asshole if I send the letter?

[plaindangan]

October Update + New Event!

Update Below

(Your Hostess pops into view!~)

Puhuhuhuhuhu!!! Hello my precious little participants!! Welcome to the 1st Annual Jabberwock Island Survival Game!!! Hosted by none other than your favorite bear/humanoid robot thing - Monokuma-Chan!~

…Eh?!!! What do you mean I’m in the least popular requested?!!! ;_; Ugh, this wounds me more than learning my cherished manga had to wrap everything up in less than five chapters!!

Hm?? What’s that you say? To you, beyond the 4th wall, you never heard of it before in your life? Aren’t you supposed to be a part of the info savvy generation?!!!! How un-bear-able!!!!

But, I’d be a bad Headmistress if I didn’t educate my precious audience, so I’ll give you the scoop on this sensual situation:

As the name suggests, it’s up to every player here to survive on Jabberwock Island up until November 1st! Seems easy enough, yeah? Weeeeeell, it won’t be!! Because thanks to a certain genius bimbo we got some actual stakes here!!!

See, Jabberwock Island is INFESTED with ghouls!!!!!!

(...Or zombies if you prefer, blegh)

Naming conventions aside, these will be your main foes they must outwit and outrun, for they have quite the taste for flesh~ Now, should also note, they don’t really want to eat your brains or skin off…but, they are into another sort of ‘flesh tasting’~

Yeah, since this is Miu, she pretty much created absolute sex ghouls that look hawt as Hell (gotta emphasis no rot, just gray skin, white eyes, with curvy-ass to hunky bodies here) and want nothing more than to fuck the players sideways!! Though, there is a catch to this. See, it wouldn’t be a good undead apocalypse if there wasn’t a way for the ghouls to increase their numbers, right?~

Basically any player who winds up being fucked silly by these guys will become a ghoul themselves, becoming a member of the horny horde~ Completely unable to think of anything but fucking the next person they see!!! Puhuhuhuhhuhu!!!

Also, don’t worry your little heads about whether or not your faves will be like that forever if caught or even if we snatched them against their wills. We’ve made sure that not only is everyone aware they’ll be fixed up in a jiffy afterwards, but all have signed on…….mostly since the thought of being chased, trying to avoid falling into temptation and being fucking railed by a hot ass monster does hold an immense appeal to these freaky lot~

Here’s how it’ll go for First Round:

Available Islands for the players will be:

Central Island, First Island and Second Island!! 

Because there’s no fun if all the islands were available right off the bat!!! It’s all up to them to see if they can survive this first wave up until Oct 7th!! Puhuhuhu!! Wonder who's gonna get out during this time~

-

Hello, welcome to the new event for the Halloween Season!!!! I was inspired to try my hand at it thanks to the great @ghostsbest and their own zombie survival game last year for their Fangan blog @sdranothersmut.

In this case, it’s pretty much all the muses of PlainDangan trying to rough it out. Following in Ghost’s set-up, they have 4 ‘chances’ to so to speak before a ghoul could get to them and turn them into apart of the horny dead~ If you’re also wondering

As the asker, you can decide how a muse eventually winds up in the situation they’re in, though whether or not that results in loss of ‘armor’ depends on the whims of the die (and, occasionally, if I just find it fitting. Mostly dice and I would tell you otherwise XD)

In this case:

Roll 1-2: Muse keeps the armor

Roll 3-4: Muse loses 1 armor

Roll 5-6: Muse loses 2 armor

Likewise, of if the muse has no armor than 3 and above is gonna be wraps for them~

Which brings us to the other aspect of this game…for now~

Muse Zombies! Muses Zombies are stronger than normal zombies, dealing 2 armor loss on a 3-4 roll, and 3 armor loss on a 5-6 roll. At least, in terms of encounters they are neutral against.

Depending on who gets turned, they might do better or worse against certain Muses than others. For example, a Ghoul Akane, might do really well against a weaker muse…but someone of the same strength as her or greater could be able to repel her better.

In this case, for types I feel would have the advantage, they need to hit a 1-2 to escape, as 3-4 now becomes 3 armor loss and 5-6 is 4 straight. Which, depending on how a muse is currently with their armor, could mean another one joins the horde~ This system also works vice-versa, with the defending muse being in a better position as the encounter would become just a regular zombie encounter.

Can have asks with up to 4 muses in them. When that happens, who loses out and who gains will be determined by a bit of randomization as well, in addition to taking in what the scenario wants.

Finally, use Survival Jabberwock (SJ) for

Anyways, for now, that’s pretty much the gift of things! Hope you enjoy this event and send the asks in to see who might survive it all! You can still send in regular asks too as well! Though am super leaning on Halloween or monster based asks too!!!

…

Oh, also Tribe Nine girls can now be asked, with Kuronaka and Haru as their guys' representatives for now! Finished their anime and got to know more about its closed beta so felt it was right have them join the Tookyoverse

Mainline: Komaru, Hiyoko, Akane, Sakura, Kyoko, Kanon, Peko, Ruruka, Miaya, Maki, Tenko, Himiko, Older WOH

Fangan: Hu Jing, J, Rose, Eva, Wenona, Eloise, Emma, Iroha, Kanade, Akane Taira, Mikako, Rei

Tookyo: Fubuki, Guillame, Melami, Iruka, Nun, Enyne, Ryo, Swindler, Pupil, Enoki, Minami, Tsuki, Saori, Yui Kamiki

Special: Juniper Shields (Successor Beta), Reiko Kamitsuki, DR0/Student Council Asks, Killer Killer girls asks,, Yori Fuchisaki, Kotone Naegi, Sato, Miyadera

Genderbend: Kyosuke, Juzo, Makoto, Komaru, Byakuya, Kokichi, Rantaro, Mahiru, Mikan, Kazuichi, Leon, Kiyo

[eukaryotesrool]

Leucism and Kimba

So this is gonna be real life facts (ones I'd say are interesting) mixed with some fan stuff, you don't need to know about the franchise to understand this, but it will be long and only slightly hinged.

Grab a snack, a drink annnnnnd...

What is a Kimba?

(Kimba (1965) running)

This guy, the titular hero of Osamu Tezuka's Kimba the White Lion franchise (AKA Jungle Emperor Leo(direct translation), Janguru Taitei(untranslated title))

For now, all you folks need to know about him is that he comes from a long lineage of lions with uniquely white fur.

Gee, you know what else relates to lions, white fur, and genetics, oh boy, a segway into the next thi-

What is a leucism?

(Pronounced 'luke-ism')

(Animals with a leucistic disorder, leucistic peacocks look neat, though, they all do)

leucism is a variety of conditions causing a lack of pigmentation in animals.

"Isn't that albinism?"

They're comparable, but seperate, their causes are different, also no leucistic condition removes eye pigmentation, so, Kimba's blue eyes aren't a problem.

(Kimba (1965) running, he does that a lot)

Now I'd like to go over every major leucistic condition and compare/contrast them to what we can note about Kimba.

No, I am not joking.

(OH MY GOD ITS SO CUTE I- er, this is a real life white lion cub, owing its white fur to a leucistic disorder)

Something to remember, most of these conditions don't (or don't to our knowledge) affect lions and could be easily swatted aside as such, but KTWL (Kimba the White Lion) is a work of fiction which consistently does absurd things, for example, Great Mother, a surviving mammoth who lives on a magic mountain and has magic powers or a blue lion (no I won't tell you what makes him blue), so I'm willing to brush aside SOME realism... also I researched them so I want to talk about them.

Yes, there is a condition that causes real life white lions, buuuuut I'm saving that can of worms for later.

Easily disproven

These ones don't work for several reasons, I'll be using only the most glaring issues for the sake of brevity.

Vitiligo & flavism: These two conditions happen over the course of one's life, but we see Kimba near birth, and he possessed his white fur.

Chédiak–Higashi syndrome: Causes symptoms (including but not limited to: peripheral neuropathy) which Kimba almost certainly does not have.

Isabellinism: affects only birds and leads to a golden white, not a snowy one.

(An isabellinistic bird, majestic fellow, eh?)

Xanthochromism: Makes things fucking yellow.

(A xanthochromistic (pictured right) and normal (pictured left) Argentine horned frog, so cool.)

Axanthism: only affects things with light reflecting pigments, and can only make things with normally yellow color have white color.

Amelanism: Meaning lacking melanin, so those black tipped ears and tail would be a no-no, yet we observe numerous pelts of his ancestors all with the exact same ears, and, we have reason to believe, the exact same tail (his father also possessed the same tail)

Okay, that was the bulk of the list, we're making good progress.

Maybe

These ones are harder to disprove, but I'd still say they're obviously not what we're looking for.

Piebaldism: Now, this one seems convincing as it can generate black AND white fur, it is genetically dominant, therefore, could lead to the continous lineage (where at least one of few children seems to always inherit it) but it lacks the uniformity, as I said, every white lion posses the same pattern, with few inconsistently appearing exceptions within the franchise, we'll get to that later on, the point is, consistency is the rule, chaos is the exception, and piebaldism is too chaotic.

(Piebaldistic animals. That squirrel looks so neat! Like his back is covered in snow!)

Waardenburg syndrome: Specifically type two is a strong contender, most notably because it causes bright blue eyes (or a blue and brown eye, sometimes) along with its other effects, HOWEVER, it also causes congenital hearing loss, and in cats (Felis Catus or house cats, technically, but they're the closest comparison I have to lions) said hearing loss is more common and more extreme, I doubt Kimba has that. Type 1 and type 3 cause other malformities that Kimba visibly doesn't posses.

Not sure

I tried, but my research was not conclusive, if you have answers, I'd be glad to hear them.

melanophilin: it is listed, but isn't a disorder, it is a carrier protein, I did some research and disorders with this protein don't seem like they'd make the snow white color we're looking for.

Undisputable

Oh, uh, there's nothing here, we've gone over every major leucistic disorder, there ARE more, but we'd be here all day, and so little is known about them it'd be arbitary.

Well, we're not through with every leucistic condition on the agenda, there's still...

THE CAUSE OF REAL WHITE LIONS

That's right, we've made it.

There's obviously a myriad of similarities, Tezuka was probably inspired by the real life white lions.

For example

(Pictured left, Kimba (1989 anime series) and his love inyerest, Raiya, a fellow lion, but not a white lion. Pictured right, two lionesses, one being a white lion)

The jarringly (among other lions) snow white fur.

(Sorry the images of Kimba's paw sucks, you won't believe it, but it was SO difficult to find a pic online with his paw pads in it, real life white lions? Pfft plenty of pictures in an instant.)

(Yes, pink is the unpigmented color for paw pads)

The pink paw pads

(Pictured left, Kimba's father (2009 movie) pictured right OH MY GOD SO CUTE)

The genetic basis allowing for lineages that share the trait

So then, this is it?... no, no, no, no, sadly, no, not so simple, there is one glaring inconsistency.

Firstly, an aside: I tried researching the specific cause of white lion leucism (it comes from a mutation for tyrosinase) but very little is known about it exactly, though, I gleaned something just by using the oldest tool in the zoology briefcase, me own eyes.

Notice a difference between Kimba and EVERY image of a white lion I've provided? Here, have some more white lion.

(Look at 'em all!)

From male to female, newborn, to cub, to adult, one consistency that Kimba does not share, maybe you already noticed and want me to get to the fucking point, maybe I will, maybe I won't, okay, I will.

(Circles denoting where Kimba posseses the trait, 'x's denoting where the real lion cub does not)

Black fur, Kimba has black fur on the tips of his ears and tail, no image of a real life white lion that I've seen has that pattern, or ANY black fur (wait, did I just retread my point about amelanism? Damn), and I'm lead to believe that does not occur amongst real life white lions, so then...

Kimba is a an anomaly

(From top left to bottom right Kimba's aunt (1989) Kimba's father (2009) and Kimba's father (1989)

In the 2009 version the only white lions we see are Kimba and his dad, and his dad lacks the black fur, in the 1989 series the only white lions we see are Kimba, his dad and aunt, both of the latter lack the black fur, but Kimba retains it in all versions.

Perhaps the cause of white lions is the same as real life white lions, and Kimba is a very rare anomaly within an anomaly, I don't know a whole lot about genetics, but that sounds reasonable enough for KTWL standards.

Buuuuuut, every other version, including the manga that started it all has other white lions retain the same color palette, and even show dozens of white lion ancestors, and a DISTANT white lion ancestor who all have the same palette, so, this anomaly theory is ironically only relevent to anomalies, the 1989 series and 2009 movie, what about for the whole franchise, well...

I don't know

Here's where I'd like to pull something out my hat and save the day with the obvious and true answer... but, there isn't one, at least, not one I found, sooooo, yeah, everyone must come to their own conclusion, maybe you even disagree with some of my reasoning and come to a conclusuon I've disregarded!

I'd love to hear your take away, and what comes next is merely my own personal take.

I don't know (good ending)

i don't know, and that's the point, I like that conclusion, the Kimba franchise contains mystisms, but never delves into them, leaving them as strange mysteries, it is a story about the exotic, it is ever out of reach.

I choose to believe white lions are semi-magical, thus why Kimba's lineage is the ONLY white lions we see in a franchise that stretches from 1950 to 2009, with over a hundred episodes, thus why white lions seem to always produce a white lion cub, but usually only ONE white lion cub, and the rest resemble the mother, because it works by magic rules.

In the 1989 version(and possibly others) Kimba is directly or indirectly likened to the supernatural, the Great Mother, a huge mammoth who can summon powerful snow storms in tropical Africa treats Kimba as such.

Simply, it can't be explained IRL, that's pretty cool, not everything needs to be explained, and MAGIC!

Thanks for sticking around through my insanity, hope you learned something and had fun, I did!

(Normally I'd put a pic riiight here to close things off but I hit the Tumblr image limit, didn't even know they had one)

[dufferpuffer]

Unpopular opinion: had JKR died after writing OotP, the series would have been better that way. The last two books have rather poor pacing, do not add much to the setting or characters, destroy all of the credibility of Voldemort as villain (for the adult leader, at least), and probably do more harm than good to Severus Snape's character. Yes, we wouldn't have had Grindelore (or Grindelwald in general), Snily and Kreacher redemption, but... these are still not enough to redeem the existence of HBP and DH. And fans would almost certainly came up with a better series continuation/finale.

I read this as "Unpopular Opinion: JKR died after writing OotP"

For HBP - I'd say that is unpopular. I like that one, I like how everything went in it, I think she finally worked out how to write a decent mystery... and it was great for Dumbledore's arc.

I'm not saying the Author is particularly good, she was just fine - but she did a decent job in specific ways I don't trust fandom to: I like that she is a nasty, biting, distrusting, traumatized little weirdo that knows what its like to suffer and be trapped. I like that she knows what its like to be deeply mentally unwell, crippled by it - and how fame and money don't change that. I like that Harry Potter is a miserable, nasty, darker version of the Muggle world - and I think most things since the books ended just... forget that. Make it cozy. The love softens the hurt. But she never did that. She made Love a theme - but allowed her characters and her world to be brutalized at every turn. It's great!

This fandom? Handling Dumbledore after OotP? Handling Draco Malfoy? Handling the recent death of Sirius Black? Handling the sheer concept of Harry being a doomed child-soldier...? Shit, we can't do that now, with all the hindsight. All the expanded world-building we got in the last two books, now that Harry was older and given more independence...? Gone? Like 70% of who Snape is and why he does things is in those last two books. And he was one of the few things done perfectly: He is the thread knitting the entire story together. it might be called Harry Potter - but the story is about Severus. He was everywhere doing everything, and you don't realize till right at the end... yet can go back, through every book, and see it quite clearly, now that you can look back on them with Harry's adult eyes and not his kid eyes. She pulled it off really well. It makes a re-read of the books almost mandatory just to go WOAH. It's not One Piece, but it's good - especially for childrens fiction. I'm pretty happy with what we got, especially in HBP.

DH... eh. That one dragged its feet... I like most of the ideas and set-pieces: Starting the book with Moody's death shattered the entire concept of the Order - Hedwigs death was a nice touch, Harry's complete loss of 'Home'... the death of Charity... the wedding getting interrupted... the idea of these kids camping and starving and getting captured over tiny mistakes... But yeah - the way they are executed and tied together is lackluster. Especially the final conflict and the goddamn epilogue. It feels like it was rushed. That there were dot-points and they were strung together and said 'good enough' - because ending something is hard. But HPs ending was unsatisfying. We can do better.

I don't really know what you mean by it destroying Voldemorts credibility as a villain. Like he wasn't the most compelling villain overall, but I don't know what in the last two books was particularly bad. Maybe I'm forgetting something. I don't think about Tom much... But as an egocentric manipulator, only interested in his life story, using prejudice that already exists in the world for his own gain despite not caring for it himself...? I think that went ok.

Please don't take this wall of text as like angry at you or anything - I just blab! It's an interesting idea, Harry Potter without the final two books. You're right in saying 'not wanting HBP' being an unpopular opinion... I dunno if the same can be said about DH :^9

[aishangotome]

Minamoto No Yoritomo: Chapter 19

Chapter 18

♡———♡

Yoshino: ...You didn't look like that.

Yoritomo: ......

Yoritomo: What? Were you observing my face without saying anything?

Yoritomo-sama's hand reached out and touched my cheek.

Yoritomo: You're a naughty girl.

Yoshino: I'm not being naughty!

Seeing my reaction, Yoritomo laughed playfully deep in his throat.

(He's teasing me again...)

(Or rather... it's more accurate to say he's evading the question.)

I felt like I was being gently pushed away, and I felt inexplicably lonely.

(We're not really lovers, so there's no need to feel lonely... How strange.)

In the night wind, Yoritomo suddenly spoke.

Yoritomo: Speaking of which, good work.

Yoshino: Eh?

When I asked back, not knowing what he meant, Yoritomo continued bluntly.

Yoritomo: You were treating the wounded until just now, right?

Yoshino: Ah, yes. But it was just simple treatment.

Yoritomo: Stop with the pointless modesty.

Yoritomo: I've heard that you've prepared a large amount of medicine in storage.

Yoritomo: You can just honestly brag about your work, you know.

(This is... the sly part of Yoritomo.)

(Even though he always teases me, he definitely notices when I've made an effort.)

Yoshino: Thank you very much! I hope I can be of some help to everyone.

Yoritomo: You're plenty helpful.

Yoritomo: There will be even more wounded starting tomorrow.

Yoritomo: Some of them will surely have their lives saved by your medicine.

(Ah...)

I gasped in surprise.

Before--Yoritomo had said that the loss of many lives for his sake was the karma of being the heir to the Genji clan.

(What was he thinking as he looked down at the blood-soaked plains?)

I couldn't tell from the eyes of Yoritomo, who was now beside me.

Yoshino: Um, if...

Yoritomo: Hmm?

(If you're feeling anxious, I want to comfort you.)

(...I can't say such an audacious thing, can I?)

There's probably only a little I can do for Yoritomo, who is stronger than anyone.

That's why I couldn't cross the line drawn by Yoritomo.

Yoshino: Well... huh? I forgot what I wanted to say.

Yoritomo: You're an idiot.

Yoritomo laughed, with a kindness that was almost cruel.

It was lonely and loving, and my heart ached with conflicting emotions.

(I fell in love with him, including this part of him.)

Yoritomo: Well, when this battle is over, I'll give you a generous reward.

Yoritomo: With that, you can live comfortably running an apothecary in any town.

Yoshino: Yoritomo-sama... You remembered my dream.

Yoritomo: Of course I did.

I came to Kamakura aiming to become an independent pharmacist.

(I thought I had been working hard towards that goal, but...)

I put on a joking smile.

Yoshino: If I go back to being an ordinary pharmacist, I won't be able to enter and leave the Imperial Palace anymore, right?

Yoritomo: That's a shame. I'll have to find a new attendant.

Even though I brought up the topic myself, I was momentarily at a loss for words.

--CHOICE--

That's lonely...

Your bullying...

Even if someone else comes...

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

Yoshino: I guess it'll soon be over, being bullied by Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: I guess I'll have one less amusement.

Yoshino: That's too bad. If I had a medicine to cure bullying, I would have given it to Yoritomo-sama.

When my cherished dream comes true, I won't be able to see the person I love anymore.

I continued the conversation with a smile, pretending not to know the pain in my chest.

Yoshino: What about you, Yoritomo-sama? Is there anything you want to do after the war is over?

Yoritomo: Nothing different from before.

Yoritomo: I'll expand the shogunate and lay the foundation for the samurai's world. That's all.

Yoshino: I see...

Yoshino: So, Yoritomo-sama's battles will continue from now on.

(No matter how difficult this battle is, it's just a stepping stone for Yoritomo-sama.)

(Because he's moving towards a bigger goal.)

Yoritomo: It's not such a grand thing.

Yoritomo made a sarcastic expression at my cough.

Yoritomo: After all, I'm not a hero.

Yoritomo: It's just a matter of steering the boat I'm on so it doesn't sink.

(Not a hero, huh... It's a twisted way of putting it, typical of Yoritomo.)

I was moved by his unwavering conviction, and at the same time, a question spilled from my lips.

Yoshino: But... don't you have any desires of your own, Yoritomo-sama?

Yoritomo: My own desires?

Yoshino: Yes. Not a great cause you want to achieve for everyone, but a small desire that's just for you.

Yoritomo: .......

Yoritomo: Well, I've never thought about it.

Yoritomo: I can get anything I want now.

Yoritomo: Where is the need to want more?

Yoshino: That may be true, but...

(As I thought... Yoritomo-sama seems to have everything, but he has nothing.)

(Because he doesn't wish for anything for himself.)

I was saddened once again by the realization of the distorted form of his strength.

Yoshino: I think you should be more greedy, Yoritomo-sama.

Yoritomo: What's that?

Yoritomo laughed in astonishment and ruffled my hair.

(Hey... I'm being serious.)

The warmth given by his fingertips disrupts my heart more easily than Yoritomo probably thinks.

(This is no good... I need to be more decisive about my feelings.)

(I'm happy enough just being able to protect Yoritomo-sama.)

(I shouldn't wish for anything more.)

Yoritomo: Let's go back. If you stay up any later and are sleepy tomorrow, I'll be in trouble.

Yoritomo quickly flipped his haori and turned around, the corners of his lips lifting.

Yoritomo: I won't pull you up if you fall off your horse.

Yoshino: ...I won't be that sleepy!

I followed Yoritomo, hiding my feelings that were growing stronger day by day.

-

Meanwhile...

In a simple hut in a village near the battlefield, a secret meeting was taking place.

Yasuchika: For now, it seems like the shogunate has taken the initiative in the battle.

Subordinate 1: Yes. As expected, the shogunate not only has superior numbers, but Yoritomo-sama's leadership is also formidable.

Yasuchika was receiving reports from several subordinates.

Yasuchika: It would be troublesome if only the rebel army's forces were to be depleted.

Yasuchika: It can't be helped, so I'll have to interfere with the shogunate tomorrow.

Subordinate 2: Yes, sir. But are you sure it will work? I've never seen such a technique...

Yasuchika: Oh dear. You don't trust me?

Subordinate 2: N-No... I know you're a genius in Onmyodo.

The subordinates looked fearfully at Yasuchika, who was smiling but whose expression was unreadable.

Yasuchika: That's right. The power of belief creates miracles...

Yasuchika: Now, it's time for conspiracy.

-

The next day --

(The battle is even more intense than yesterday...)

Once again, I was riding on Yoritomo's horse, galloping across the battlefield.

Yoritomo: Yoshino.

Yoshino: Eek!

Yoritomo's sword casually deflected an arrow that came flying with a roar.

Yoritomo: Hey. I told you to keep your head down.

Yoshino: ...Thank you.

Yoritomo: It's getting chaotic. Don't let your guard down and hold on tight, okay?

Yoshino: Yes!

Yoritomo looked back and announced sonorously to the soldiers.

Yoritomo: The formation is already complete! Advance and tighten the encirclement!

In response to Yoritomo's voice, the shogunate's main force quickly changed.

(It's amazing no matter how many times I see it...)

Yoshino: Speaking of which, I wonder if Morinaga-san and Shigehira-kun, who are fighting on the front lines, are safe.

Yoritomo: So far, I haven't received any reports of them being killed.

Yoritomo: We're pushing the battle.

Yoshino: Really...?

Yoritomo: Yes.

I let out a small sigh of relief.

Yoritomo: As planned, Morinaga and Shigehira will strike the rebel army's main force from the left and right, dividing their forces.

Yoritomo: At the same time, we will attack from the front, scattering the enemy's detachments and going for Yoshitsune's throat.

Yoritomo: At that time, I want you to use your fox spirit power. Okay?

Yoshino: Yes, I'll do my best!

(I hope everything goes well without any problems.)

But--

The situation changed when the sun rose to its zenith.

-

Yoritomo: A large number of sudden illnesses?

Vassal: Yes! The cause is unknown, but many are unable to move.

(What happened...?)

Yoshino: Yoritomo-sama! May I examine them?

Yoritomo: Yes.

Yoritomo, still wearing the mask of the perfect Seii Taishogun, furrowed his brow slightly.

Yoritomo: Shall we hide in the mountains for now? It's easy prey to be immobilized in the middle of the battlefield.

Protecting the sick, we entered the mountains.

-

After taking refuge in an empty mountain temple, we laid dozens of sick people in a large room.

Yoritomo: Have you found anything, Yoshino?

Yoshino: No... The symptoms vary from person to person, such as fever, headache, and nausea...

Yoshino: There must be a reason why so many people suddenly fell ill.

Yoritomo: We can't make medicine without identifying the cause.

Yoshino: Yes... I'm sorry.

Yoritomo: It's not your fault.

Perhaps it was my anxiety, or the delirium of the sick, but the air in the room was heavy.

(I felt like the soldiers who weren't bedridden were also lacking in spirit and strangely on edge...)

As I was recalling the state of the soldiers resting in another room...

The sliding door of the room was suddenly opened.

Tamamo: Good grief, what a terrible smell.

Tamamo: A ditch after the rain would be somewhat better.

Yoshino: Tamamo!

Yoritomo: Why are you here?

Tamamo, who had entered, beckoned me and Yoritomo to the corner of the room.

Tamamo: I have a report.

Yoritomo: What is it?

Tamamo: It's about the outbreak of sudden illnesses. The same thing happened in the rear.

Tamamo: And... a large number of low-ranking ayakashi were possessing those who collapsed.

Yoshino: Ayakashi...? It wasn't just a normal illness?

Tamamo: Yeah. I took care of the ayakashi in the rear for now...

Tamamo: But Kagetoki asked me to check on the main force.

Tamamo spread his hands as if to say, "Oh well."

Tamamo: As expected, the smell of ayakashi was strong from the time I arrived here until now...

Yoritomo: So something is possessing them, even though we can't see their form.

Tamamo: Yes. Yoshino can see them if she wants to.

Yoshino: Me? How can I do that?

Tamamo: Here, let me help you.

Saying that, Tamamo gently took my hand.

Tamamo: I'll pour a little bit of my magic power into you.

Tamamo: Don't worry, your hair and eye color won't change.

Yoshino: Okay, I understand...!

As I nodded, the palm of my hand that was touching his became slightly warm.

Tamamo: Good. Now try to concentrate and look at the soldiers.

I followed his instructions and looked...

Yoshino: What's that!?

Yoritomo: Did you see something, Yoshino?

Yoshino: How should I put it... There's something gooey on everyone's heads!

Looking closely, I could see a dim, murky substance writhing eerily throughout the room.

Tamamo: That goo is a formless ayakashi born from human resentment and suffering.

Yoshino: There are ayakashi like that too...

I stared at it fearfully, still unable to believe it.

Tamamo: It's one of the ayakashi you often see in the human world. It originates from human emotions.

Tamamo: Well, it's supposed to only have the power to make people feel down or slightly ill...

Yoritomo: But it's caused quite a disaster, hasn't it?

Tamamo: There are just too many of them.

Tamamo: With this many gathered, it's not unreasonable for those with weak hearts to be affected.

(Those with weak hearts...)

Yoshino: Aside from Yoritomo-sama, I'm not affected at all...

I can't believe my heart is stronger than other samurai.

Yoritomo: Maybe it's because you're shameless?

Yoshino: You're being mean! I have a surprisingly delicate side too, you know.

Tamamo: You two are hopeless.

Tamamo interjected with an exasperated look on his face.

Tamamo: Yoshino is already contracted to me, so she won't be possessed by other ayakashi.

Tamamo: Since my magic power is flowing through her, she should be less susceptible to their influence.

Yoshino: I see... That makes sense.

Yoritomo: I see. It's good news that Yoshino won't collapse.

Yoritomo pointed at the lying soldiers.

Yoritomo: So, if Yoshino takes their magic power and exorcises the ayakashi, they'll get better, right?

Tamamo: For now. Yoshino, you should do it.

Yoshino: Okay!

(Ah, before that... If my hair color changes, it'll be very noticeable...)

I hurriedly pulled out the hood I had prepared in my luggage and put it on, covering my tied-up hair.

Yoshino: Then, I'll start.

Yoritomo: Yeah. I'll leave it to you.

I nervously walked up to one of the soldiers and gently knelt beside him.

I placed my hand near his head and concentrated.

(I want to heal this person. --So, take the magic power.)

My body felt hot, and the heavy air in the room started to move towards me.

Delicate particles of light appeared and were sucked into my palm...

The murky substance clinging to the soldier's head slowly disappeared.

Yoshino: I did it!

Soldier: U-uh... Yoshino-san?

Yoshino: Are you alright!?

The soldier who came to his senses opened his eyes in a daze and looked at me.

Soldier: Somehow, my body suddenly feels lighter... Did you treat me, Yoshino-san?

(Um...)

As I hesitated to answer, Yoritomo placed his hand on my back.

Yoritomo: Yes, it's thanks to her. Get some more sleep and try to recover.

Soldier: Y-Yes, sir! Yoritomo-sama, Yoshino-san, thank you...

I looked at the soldier who fell asleep again and nodded at Yoritomo and Tamamo.

(Let's make everyone feel better like this!)

And then...

-

Yoshino: This is the end of the "treatment" for everyone for now.

After taking the magic power of the ayakashi that had possessed everyone who had been bedridden, we went out to the corridor.

Yoritomo: Well done. Are you tired?

Yoshino: I'm fine! I'm glad everyone is feeling better...

Tamamo: But... unfortunately, this doesn't solve the root of the problem.

Tamamo: Considering the number of ayakashi I saw on the way here, they'll probably be possessed again soon.

(So, what should we do...?)

Yoshino: Do I have to take their magic power every time?

Yoritomo: Or cut off the root cause.

Yoshino: The root cause?

Tamamo: It's unnatural for such a large number of ayakashi to gather.

Tamamo: We can assume that someone is intentionally summoning and manipulating them.

.

.

.

.

.

Chapter 20

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to buy me a coffee here! :)

[forevertrueblue]

Notes taken during Eras Tour Paris N1 livestream

I like the new Lover outfit(s). I've been waiting for Taylor to embrace orange more so that was nice to see! Sad about The Archer getting cut but I guess I get it?

Nice to see the silver brought back from the Fearless tour. Not much else to say about that era.

Red third now, okay. Nice shirt lol and also like the new bodysuit! I don't care for most of the inclusions in this era tbh since it's mostly the singles and the majority of Red's singles are mid IMO. And All Too Well 10 Minute Version staying is surely going to end up pissing me off in the long run when we find out what else is cut.

I like the new Speak Now dress but Long Live being cut is AWFUL, like there were only two songs in this era to begin with, cut something from Red instead ffs. (I swear I do like Red but the album is better than the way it's represented on this tour.)

Reputation is the same which I'm cool with since I liked the way that era was to begin with!

I've been predicting Folkmore combined which I'm not happy about but I think this is it. Pretty yellow dress. Glad Cardgian is safe but she's singing it on the roof and I do prefer Invisible String or The One. :( Glad all three triangle songs are safe because it's weird to do some but not the others especially if she's talking about that storyline in the Betty speech. Some of them were chopped down but that's okay, I guess.

Okay yeah Champagne Problems so a combo. I knew that one was gonna be safe from the rehearsal footage. Few more Folklore songs...okay finally more Evermore! Marjorie and Willow! It would have been weird for her to cut either of those (for different reasons). But TLGAD and Tolerate It are pretty big losses. I don't LOVE Tolerate It but the performance was different from anything else on the tour.

1989, nothing cut. (Something really should have been cut from both this and Red, but it probably would have been Wildest Dreams which is one I really love so glad it's safe!) I don't like the new outfit because of the colors looking strange together in this context.

TTPD looks like the dancers are prisoners for the first part of the set which eh, don't really love how basic the outfits are. Taylor's dress with the poetry is nice though (can't wait for someone with eagle eyes to decipher it!). Happy that So High School was included, if only for a bit, to get that Anthology rep in there. Pleasantly surprised by WAOLOM because people had me convinved she'd destroy her voice if she did it (hoping they're wrong lol). Some of these song choices are dull af (both Fortnight and Down Bad for a stadium show, really?) But LOVE the intro and performance of ICDIWABH! I kind of think this should have been the new finale set but I get why it's being kept the same.

Nice new dress for surprise songs. Paris was a predictable choice and I figured the other would be from TTPD, but was expecting an anthology track.

I love the Midnights set (surprising since the album isn't my fave) but if she doesn't cut something from it I'm gonna be annoyed. And that something better not be Vigilante Shit. Aaaaand the whole thing remains intact.

TLDR: The best eras (literally my top 4 albums were the ones that lost songs and my top 2 were combined) were chopped down and the more basic (dare I say mid) ones remain completely intact making the tour a bit more of a generic pop show on the whole. I understand cuts needed to happen but the wrong ones were made IMO.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud Masquerade Dress Personal Story: Part 2

"Even if you say you believe in me..."

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[Diasomnia Dorm – Lounge]

Idia: Why…

Idia: There was less than a 30% chance, so why was I chosen…?

Idia: And on top of that, the three selected were Malleus-shi, Azul-shi, and me… All Dorm Leaders…?

Idia: That's gotta be a statistical anomaly!! I demand a re-do!!

Ortho: Ni-san…

Ortho: I came all this way to Diasomnia to check in on you, 'cause it felt like it was taking forever for you to come back…

Ortho: But now I see you were just clinging to a pillar in the dorm lounge refusing to practice. No wonder you weren't coming back at all.

Idia: Ortho, you're here to pick me up, right!? Okay, let's team up and head back to Ignihyde.

Ortho: Hmmm. I don't know if I can do that, even if you're the one asking me…

Idia: Eh. Why!?

Ortho: That's 'cause I'd be happy, too, if you'd sing in front of everyone!

Idia: You little…!

Sebek: Hey, human! Why don't you try to be a little more like Malleus-sama!

Sebek: Despite his already melodious singing voice, he wastes no time whatsoever and continues training with Lilia-sama!

Silver: Azul is also practicing hard every day.

Silver: He said he wished to return to basics, so once practice was over, he went to speak to the music teacher.

Idia: I-I can feel the fire burning within those two… B-But that's why I don't want to deal with it!

Idia: But no matter how much I offer to give the main vocal spot to one of the other guys going to the cultural exchange…

Idia: "That would not be fair," they'd say, or "I do not wish to incur Malleus-shi's wrath" and they all refuse me…

Idia: I really want you all to give me a break!

Sebek: I cannot comprehend why you would shirk singing this much… And you call yourself a mage!? How are you even passing your usual music classes?

Sebek: Music are essential in order for a mage to cultivate their imagination.

Silver: That's right. In order to become a distinguished mage, if there is something you aren't proficient in, this would be the best venue to overcome it.

Idia: Th-Th-Th-That's not what I mean…

Ortho: My brother doesn't hate singing, nor is he terrible at it.

Ortho: Back in his room, he's always singing the opening songs of anime, or video game theme songs.

Idia: Ortho… You can't just blab that out to people like that! I'm gonna be lying awake tonight with embarrassment!

Ortho: Why? You're so good at it, so I've been hoping for a while that others can listen to you too.

Ortho: You can sing on key, and your emotions have such an expressive range that even I can tell. I really love your singing voice!

Ortho: That's why I was so happy to hear that you were selected to be one of the main vocalists. Because you're so good.

Idia: Ortho…!

Idia: I mean, sure, I'm glad to hear all that praise… It's nice and all, but…!

Silver: If it isn't a skill issue… Then it must be an issue of self-consciousness.

Idia: Y-Y-Yeah! That!!

Idia: It's too high of a hurdle for me to have to stand in front of others, and sing while being at the c-center of attention…!

Sebek: How weak. Just think of everyone, other than the Young Master, as mere rocks!

Idia: So a huge rock's just trying to lecture me right now. 'K, I'll just ignore it, then.

Silver: Idia-senpai… Allow me to teach you the secret to singing.

Idia: The secret to singing…?

Silver: That's right. This.

Ortho: That's a glass cup filled with drinking water. There doesn't seem to be anything unusual with it…

Idia: Wh-What, you want me to drink this…?

Silver: No, I don't.

Silver: When you see your face reflected in the water like this… Doesn't it feel like a song begins to naturally build up from inside yourself?

Idia: NO, IT DOESN’T!?

Silver: Ever since my father taught me this "ancient method passed down for generations," I've used this approach whenever I required it.

Idia: What do you even mean by "see your face reflected in the water"? I don't get it at all.

Sebek: Unfortunately, I'm also at a loss…

Silver: If that method does not work for you, then you must simply practice.

Silver: As you sing in front of all of us, you'll slowly build up your courage. I'm sure that will help you develop the courage for the actual performance.

Ortho: It's just as Silver-san says. C'mon, Nii-san, you gotta practice, so we can go back to Ignihyde!

Idia: I DON'T WANNA～～～!!

Idia: I'm definitely, absolutely, hundred percent, never going to sing!

Silver/Sebek: Sigh...

(Part 1) Part 2 (Part 3)

[minsyal]

Long May He Reign, Pt. IV

Tywin Lannister x Targaryen!Reader

Summary: The Hand of the King spends years vying for the princess's affections. Only fate would have it that the two cannot be. As Aerys Targaryen II slowly descends into madness, can their love survive his instability and the war to come?

Warnings: General Game of Thrones violence later on, death and stuff, shitty characterizations, eh age differences, Ser Barristan being a lovely darling ✨

Everyone dined separately that night following the tournament. Aerys had sequestered himself to his provided chambers and ordered Ser Lewyn and Ser Grandison to keep guard through the darkness into the safety of the daylight. He feared for his life in such a densely Lannister place, but he came out of principle. The crown has no fears, he would tell himself repeatedly in his mind as he jittered at the slightest of foreign sounds. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur had drank with Rhaegar, with none of the men falling to the full temptation of their fiery liquids. Laughter rang into the evening air as the three found amusement in the results of the joust. But once the Rock quieted and a sleepy hush fell over the people, only the euphonious notes of a despondent song lingered in the thin air.

The musical tune echoed through the emptied hallways, jumping off of the cold stone of the passages and climbing down from the many balconies that extended throughout the Rock. Rhaegar’s long fingers plucked at the strings of his harp and his lips buzzed with the constant hum of his sorrowful ballad. A lean leg hung from an open windowsill, stretching downward toward the waters that waved their white-capped hands skyward. His head hung down, closing off the space between his chin and chest. If his fingers had not been moving, one would have assumed him to have fallen asleep.

“Farewell, my brother.” The princess stepped from her position in the hallway. After she and Ser Barristan navigated the winding corridors that led to doors in all directions, she bid him goodnight at her chambers and promised to lock the doors from the inside. Her mind could not sleep, even as her body beckoned her to the bed. It raged with vigor from the eventful days and coming nights as the court eventually set off for King’s Landing. She wondered what her father would say about her leaving. She thought of Viserys, the poor babe, who could not even attend a tourney thrown in his honor. But she mostly thought of Tywin.

She eventually found herself pacing the corridors until her weary feet brought her to Rhaegar’s side. “A ballad about the Cargyll brothers' plight in the Dance of the Dragons.” Adjusting the draping of her dress, she joined him on his perch and listened as the crashing waves of the Sunset Sea harmonized with the hypnotic flow of his eloquent playing. “A sad choice of song for such a joyous event. Is this your projection of your loss to Ser Arthur?”

Ignoring his sister’s coltish jab, he plucked a few more notes. The cobalt effervescence of the glowing moon cast shadows across her softened features. Despite being out of line in leaving King’s Landing and having the anticipation of her father’s wrath looming overhead, she felt an acute calmness that stretched further than any consequence could. Footsteps bounced from the walls, shaking Rhaegar from his thoughts as the glint of a necklace he had not seen before flashed under the sapphire irradiation.

“A new necklace? It is not difficult to imagine where that has been sourced, sister dearest.” He kicked his leg out, blithely jabbing it against her hip. The footsteps did not amount to anything, as whoever they belonged to never exited onto the outlook. Still, Rhaegar lowered his voice.

“It would be an insult to not accept a gift when you are a guest in someone’s home.”

He snorted, “it is not often that a gift is made to conceal whom it stemmed from.”

“It was left in my room. For all I am aware it could be from another lord.”

“Another lord?” Rhaegar mused, closing his eyes in a playful flutter as he rested the crown of his head against the pillar he sat against. “Lord Addam Marbrand, perhaps?” He leveled his head to cast his sister a knowing look. “I heard you made acquaintance with him before bursting into my tent… I also heard you had been escorted away from Addam on Tywin’s arm.”

“Word travels at an alarming pace.”

“It does.” Rhaegar hummed in agreement as he became enamored with the gold plating of his harp with intricately spun designs pressed into its sides. “Father harbors a growing disdain for his Hand.” He peered over his shoulder and around hers, ensuring they were alone. “He could not keep his focus off of you during the joust.” There was a strange severity in his tone that she had not heard often from her genial brother. “Lord Tywin brings you happiness like no other, I understand that… He commands a crowd and holds great power.” Leaning forward, he muted his volume so that she had to strain to hear him. “But to a king, he is powerless.”

His insinuation was clear as the waters that flowed from the gardens in Dorne. Whatever she and Tywin had built could easily be disassembled brick by brick whether it be by Aerys himself or his growing court of people ready to please. They were willing to do anything to climb their way to the king’s side. Yet, she debated whether it was a place people truly wanted to reside.

“All I ask is that you remain ever cautious.”

She wet her lips, unable to comprehend the twisted web of dangers she had been playing in for the past three years. Then, reassuringly, she took Rhaegar’s hand in hers and cradled it in her other. “Worry is not a suiting expression on you, brother.” Her lighthearted ability to brighten his mood was a gift. “I assure you that I will approach the future with vigilance.”

The return to King’s Landing was done without Tywin as he and Cersei followed a few days behind. Aerys had instructed Ser Barristan to keep a close watch on the princess so as to not have her wander off again. Formally henceforth, he was assigned as her personal guard. No true punishment had been enacted from her actions and she was more than happy to have the company.

Strolling down the Blackwater, she relaxed in the midday sun. It shone down brightly from the cloudless sky, warming her chilled skin with its golden rays. The entourage had stopped for lunch at the behest of the king who, despite his unease with his distance from the Red Keep, much preferred dining when it was not an in-motion affair. This allowed the princess to venture from the rear room of the carriage house to the freedom of the outdoors.

“Do you foresee your new assignment being satisfactory?” She chided to Ser Barristan who walked in step with her nearest to the water’s edge. “Royal nursemaid to the princess who by happenstance does not appear to be an infant… at least as far as I am aware.”

He chuckled. “It is my duty to protect the royal family, princess. By definition, that would include all the royals.” Casting a glance outward to the flowing water, he watched as a lone log floated fastly downward, carrying on the harsh current. “I have always enjoyed my time in your company. I do not believe that will change in the coming days, weeks, months, even years.”

“You think that I will be watched this closely for years?”

“It could be a possibility.”

“By the gods, you will be guarding me even once father sends me away.” She brushed her fingers against the necklace draped on her breastbone. “Your life will soon be overflowing with boredom. You will be begging him to station you elsewhere.” Everything she said was in jest, but the undertones to her overcast words was clear to the man who had watched her grow.

“You underestimate yourself, princess. Kingsguard or not, I would follow you to the end of the earth.”

She considered his words for a moment, allowing the sounds of nature to overtake their conversation. Birds wings flapped together, crafting a harmonious buzz of feathers and wind as they spiraled through the open sea of blue that hung overhead. The water splashed against the eroding river banks, ripping away at the tearing and fraying grass that clung to the dry dirt. Chatter erupted from the small camp of knights and Kingsguard who hung around the wheelhouse, waiting for the king to give his approval on the move forward.

“I will keep you honest to your word then, Ser Barristan.”

“I would not expect anything less.”

Upon their official return to the Red Keep and Kings Landing, the king Aerys II confined himself to the spaces of his chambers. Her mother, Rhaella, had been quartered into the Holdfast with no provisions to leave and very few to keep her company. At times, she would seek her mother’s audiences but would often be met with the septa’s that trailed behind her much like Ser Barristan had taken to following the princess. Though, even before, she rarely saw her mother.

The birth of Viserys caused Aerys II to plummet in his state of mind. His nails grew longer in line with his unwashed and unkempt hair. Fear began to strike his heart as his beliefs of conspiratory behavior struck his veins and seized his waking moments. When he did sit the throne, he returned to the Holdfast with cuts littering his fingers and clothes. All needed to be treated by Pycelle, who would also attempt to calm him with medicinal treatments but nothing would put a halt on his increasing paranoia.

When Tywin returned to Kings Landing he brought with him his daughter to continue living at court as she daydreamed of the life she intended for her and the crowned prince. News of the young Melara Heatherspoon’s death swam through the halls of the Red Keep for a short time before it disappeared all together and she became nothing more than a faded memory. It was a tragic death, a mere accident, that started in the woods and ended at the base of a dried well.

The princess took to her lifestyle prior to her short-lived rebellion. Attending frequent lessons with her septa, strolling silently through the gardens, and slowly rebranding herself as the royal’s diligent princess was part of her routine. The king did not name her a husband, nor did he seek for one.

She met infrequently with Tywin, mostly enjoying his company on days when the sun was the brightest and the inhabitants of the Red Keep flocked to the outdoors to enjoy the sunlight in the midst of a chilling winter. It was often said that she was most striking in the frozen weather. Her gowns became more ornate and crafted of richer silks, her skin flushed with a soft rose that spread from her ears to her nose, and the cloaks that covered her shoulders in the outdoors were delightfully ethereal in the way they glittered against the snow.

The colors she opted for in the winter were of a deep red or rich green. Contrasting against her silken skin, the luxuriant fabrics made her appear like a shining star in the glittering snowfall. She radiated a phantom aura of her ghostly complexion and everywhere she stepped seemed to sing.

There was something about the cold of winter that seemed to wake the fire that burnt within.

“Lord Tywin.” Ser Barristan, who did not appear to mind the cold that blew through the skyward towers of the Red Keep, welcomed the figure to their company. Though guarded and ever scrutinizing of their relations, he recognized that the princess required some light in her often-dim life. With a respectful nod, he side-stepped away from the lord and retreated to a spot a comfortable distance away.

Tywin assumed the emptied spot next to the princess. She could not feel the warmth that lingered on the surface of his clothing, the light brushing of his arm against her cloaked shoulder was enough. “I often wonder how the Northerner’s withstand the winter when we struggle here in the south.” He could see the plushness of her lips and redness of her nose past the hood of insulated furs draped softly over her immaculate hair.

From their comfortable viewpoint, they could look down into the streets of King’s Landing. Plumes of white smoke rose from each active chimney, emanating life in such a desolate landscape. The people moved like ants in the crowded streets, barely visible among the stone walls of their homes and shops. The city was bursting at the seams with people clamoring from outside the walls to the interior for the safety of the crown. Peasants begged on the streets while others died in the alleys. The bodies were carted outside the walls to be discarded in pits.

“How do they ensure little loss of life in times such as these?” She pondered aloud as Tywin shifted from one foot to the other.

He looked commanding in his choice of fabrics. Summer tunics made of brocade and silk were quickly exchanged for wool and leather. His shoulders appeared broader and strengthened by the cloak of black wool and tanned fur that hung from golden clips securing the fabric to his body. She liked the way he looked in the winter.

“The Northerners understand winter better than any of us ever will.” Tywin turned his attention to the streets. “That is not to say that they do not suffer casualties in the same capacity.”

“We have an abundance of barley and wheat in storage. Can we not utilize it to keep the people fed?”

“You have a good heart but lack the mind for politics, princess.”

“You have a mind for politics,” she turned her head to face him, “but lack a good heart, Lord Tywin.” Any other would never dare speak to him in such a manner, but the princess found herself among the very few exceptions. Not only was she heavily protected as the daughter of the king but she also held a part of his heart that had only been open to one other in his lifetime. “Each child who perishes in the winter storm is not given the opportunity to prosper in the spring rains. I wish to see to it that they may open their eyes to the summer sun and bloom as the gardens here do.”

“How is it that you intend on seeing to this?”

She scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes in thought. Thus far, she held no true power in Westeros. She acted as a symbol of regality among the other royals who roamed the halls. Rhaegar had made contributions to the prosperity of their father’s reign, but she had not been given the chance. “I am not sure.”

“Perhaps should you find yourself in the good graces of the Hand, he would assist in fulfilling your wishes.”

A smile was brought to her lips as her infectious grin somehow spread to the sullen man. Ser Barristan had told the princess that he had never seen Tywin in such a light before he was assigned as her personal guard. The lady Joanna was the only one to pull the old lion out of his stone-faced and serious mood until the princess started harboring feelings for him.

“What must I do to find myself in such a situation?”

Tywin’s hand was warm against her skin as he reached out and cradled the necklace between his fingertips. The back of his palm rested against her collarbones. He had distinctly removed the moleskin glove that covered his fingers before, holding it in his other hand. A fingernail popped open the clasp that held the large ruby to the center of her necklace. “Never remove this.”

It was the herringbone-linked necklace, crafted with gold from the Lannister mines, that had been left in her chambers during the tourney at Casterly Rock. Rich and heavy, it was connected with large ruby embellishments that had been cut into trillion shapes for the outer links and three fine navette jewels that were framed in gold at the center. To anyone else, it appeared as fine jewelry with the red signifying the Targaryen dragon. But to them, it was a wordless promise and an act of a Lannister marking his claim.

“I do not feel it is often that men request a lady to keep her clothing on, my lord.” The princess joked, burning a beet red as his fingers grazed over base of her neck.

An amused chortle passed by the scruff of his upper lip. Yet, no smile or even small tug of the corners of his mouth followed. He was solemn and serious, holding true to the face he showed the rest of the world. The smile that had lit his face moments prior was now nothing as the hardened lines of his softened skin became clear.

He had always been a thoughtful man. Not in nature, as the man did not do favors or deeds for glory, but in mind. Like his son, his inner monologue never ceased. Every move he made was calculated and propelled him further toward some unknown goal that tingled in the back of his head.

Because in the end, no matter what he must do, Tywin would get what he wanted.

~~~*~~~

“Do not be nervous, princess.” Ser Barristan stood at the castle’s gates with a small armada of escorts and servants carrying overflowing carts of supplies. A deep mahogany palanquin waited in the courtyard with four men ready to depart.

“I am not nervous.” The young woman feigned, tugging at the skirts of her dress as she pushed fallen hair from her face. “I just am not accustomed to public outings.”

“Your only official trip was on the wind.” He added, providing a hand for her to grasp as she stepped inside. “You have the finest knights in all of Westeros at your aid. When the people understand why you are walking amongst them, they will rejoice in your presence.”

“I do hope you are right.”

The cart jostled and shook as the men carried it dutifully down the steps from the high hill to the streets of King’s Landing. She watched as the people looked on with curiosity, wondering why someone was venturing onto their streets.

Lord Tywin Lannister had discreetly set aside the minuscule funding required to purchase a ten room building located on the edge of Flea Bottom nearest to Rhaenys’s Hill on the northeastern portion of town. The building was run down and leaning slightly to one side. Old tattered curtains hung from the broken windows and moss covered the outermost stone that cradled the cracked street.

When she had stepped out from the palanquin, the sunlight burst through the skyline that stretched overhead. She could hear the inquisitive murmur of whispers as a group of young men watched her enter the building. The stone floors were packed full with cement made of mud and clay, large smooth rocks were crammed together within to form an uneven surface.

“Princess.” A familiar voice called out from the doorway. Ser Alliser Thorne was a man loyal to the Targaryen household. He was older than the princess, nearly a decade to be exact. With striking and sharp features, the man presented himself as a hardened soldier with great respect for those in authority. “The crone.”

Stepping aside, he presented her with a frail old woman of an age she could not imagine. She walked like she was in her early eighties but appeared as if she was alive during the Dance. The skin of her face sagged into her neck and her nose was pimpled with sunspots.

“That is no way to address a woman, Ser.” The princess scolded lightly as the woman swatted her wrinkled hand in the air to dispel the tension in the young girl’s shoulders.

“Nonsense!” Her voice was ragged and raspy but held a certain tune that filled her with loving joy. “No woman is insulted by her own name.” She shortly nodded her head to the princess in lieu of a courtesy. “Apologies, my dear. The years have not been kind. My knees do not bend as they once did. The young boy was simply calling me what I am. The Old Crone. You should do well to follow suit.”

The princess looked to Ser Barristan for any form of assistance only to find his shoulders shrugged.

“Very well then.” She watched as men and woman piled through the doors and began fortifying the various areas of the house that needed improvement. “I am very glad you have accepted the responsibility of running this home for me, my lady. I believe it will prosper under your eye.”

“Under my eye?” The woman let out a garbled laugh that sounded disgusting to most but warmed the princess’s heart. “Can’t see much out of this one,” her overgrown nail pointed to her left eye, “the other will have to do what it can. Been searching for proper housing for years, my dear. Any roof is better than the god’s one… this one won’t rain on this old head.”

Stifling a laugh, the princess nodded. “We should hope so at the very least. I want this to be more than a shelter.” A man passed by, loading beams inside that would soon hold the floors up higher. “I want this to be a home for you and anyone else should they need it.”

“A home would be nice.” The Crone mused, hiking her skirts to her lap as she sat ungracefully upon one of the many stools that littered the boundaries of the room. “Well then, let us get to work.”

The princess hesitated as she cast a security glance to Ser Barristan. As she turned her head back to the Crone, a pile of cotton was thrust into her arms along with a needle and thread. “A home isn’t much of a home without blankets for the beds, deary. You know how to sew, right? You haven’t been skipping your lessons, have you?”

Ser Barristan smiled as the princess frantically ruched the fabric in her arms and followed the Crone as she made for a back room. “Never, my lady.”

“You!” The Crone hollered back at Ser Alliser who stood awkwardly in the room nearest to Ser Barristan. “Start a fire in the hearth, would you?”

The fluttering of her skirts was the last thing the older knight saw before he too joined them in the old rickety room. Her footsteps were followed by the scratchy voice of the Crone as she dismissed the proper title once more.

The winter was in its midst as Lord Steffon Baratheon was sent across the Narrow Sea to Essos with the intention of finding the crowned prince Rhaegar a wife of Valyrian blood. The princess had found herself busied with the nonsense work of finding and maintaining sufficient funding for the shelter house while also looking to local craftsmen for apprenticeships to aid the residents in starting new lives.

“Lord Steffon searches day and night to find a bride befitting a crowned prince.”

“Yes, but that was not my question, sister dearest.” Rhaegar pat his hand on hers as they walked through the gardens together with her arm laced through his. “Who do you think they’ll match me with?”

Rhaegar and his sister walked amongst the gardens, framed beautifully by the soft blooming winter flowers. Talk of finding him a wife was in circulation. Many tried to get on the king’s good side by finding Aerys as much information as they could that would cast someone else in a bad light. The majority of the talk seemed to revolve around the Hand of the King.

“Someone who is not of your own blood.”

Brushing a stray hair from his face, he noticed the group of women who whispered amongst themselves and turned quickly when they made eye contact. “He should have matched us.”

Her feet stopped moving as the back of her skirt hit her legs. “You’re mad, brother.”

“No.” Swatting away her disapproval, he gathered her hands in his and pulled her forward to one of the overlook balconies. Snow frosted ivy grew up the sides of the two large white pillars that held up dark wooden beams.. “You’re mad that you did not think of it before I.” He sat himself down on a stone bench and guided her down by his side. “We wed, fulfill our duties, but still seek our own happiness. You found yours with,” his voice lowered, “our Lord Hand. I should be allowed to find mine also.”

“I don’t dispute that you deserve happiness, but our lineage does not bode well for the future of our house. One can only marry brother and sister for so long before madness ensues. Perhaps, if you were so in love with me you should have bid this idea to father many years ago.”

“I thought it was I who was deemed the more interesting of the king’s children.” Rhaegar found great amusement in the princess’s relaxed state as their father became absent in their lives. “You are developing too much personality, sister. I would bet a hundred golden dragons that it is solely derived from your extended company of Ser Barristan.” He joked, poking fun of the Kingsguard who only tilted his head backward for a fleeting second to display the painted smile on his lips.

Cold winds blew in off Blackwater Bay, carrying their silver hair in its gentle breeze like a loose piece of silk hanging on a clothes line. The smell of the capitol was more pleasant in the chilled months. The summer sun could not bake the filth and grime to the streets. Smells that did rise on the air were carried for many more leagues than before. From the highest tower in Maegor’s Holdfast, even the worst of noses could smell the steaming freshly baked goods on the street of flour.

“I think you would have made a fitting bride.” Rhaegar commented as he released the strained tenseness that riddled his pointed shoulders.

“You do not believe the words you speak.” The princess placed her hands on the stone wall that separated the siblings from the sea. Her fingers chilled atop its frozen surface, but she found comfort in its uncertain ease. “You fear that Lord Steffon will return with a woman you will not love.” His eyes were suddenly empty and hollow. Playful jolts of electric energy died down as a palpable hesitancy clawed its way down his dried throat.

After a passing moment filled with the static of silence, Rhaegar let out a pume of hot breath into the open air. “How can one love another when they are not certain in the prospected changing of the tides?”

“Certainty is not afforded to those who carry the name Targaryen… Lord Steffon is a reasonable man. He will not bring back anyone who is not fit to hold the title of ‘queen.’”

“With personality came wisdom.” He snickered, turning fastly as his uncertainty faded into nothingness. “You should be sent away to the Citadel to assemble your chain.”

Shaking her head, she pushed her hand against his arm and rolled her eyes. “Ser Barristan would grow bored surrounded by such a group. Perhaps I should instead be sent North. I can shed the wisdom and replace it with bravery.”

“The Targaryen princess banished to The Wall.” Rhaegar chided. “You can fight with the brothers in black against The Others.”

“The prince is to come of your lineage, not mine.”

“Oddities of the world are not set in stone. The prince could be a princess.”

“I was right.” The princess smiled with her teeth and tucked her chin to her chest as she looked down at her hands. “You are truly mad.”

Rhaegar’s hand shook her shoulder as he clasped it firmly over her cloak. “Madness is a disease we are rather prone to, sister. At the very least my form will not turn the realm to ash and dust.”

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