#before it had too many views they were double imo

[somewhereincairparavel]

whenever someone says that jason would have followed his father's footsteps if he hadn't ended in camp half blood i cringed because i don't think there is enough evidence for that statement. it was implied that jason and reyna might have had something and when reyna saw venus and she told her "lol no" she changed around him which is not his fault. and we don't know much more about his relationship with other people around camp. jason himself said that he viewed her as a friend but we also know that he never fully got his memories back so we cannot fully confirm that at one point (during their flirting?? stage) he didn't have feelings for her. also jason was fourteen or barely fifteen when that was happening so the judgment feels pretty heavy for two kids.

Very true! The thing about the whole Jason and Reyna thing is that it's just mostly speculation. Also, Reyna made plenty of mistakes in the situation too (rightfully so because the are both teens with no experience) so I don't get why people only pin the blame on Jason saying that he "led" her on and that it was wrong of him to move on with Piper.

Because if you put it that way, Reyna was also very quick to develop a crush on Percy just a few days within his arrival at camp. And I've seen no one say that it's a bad thing?? Double standards much? If people are gonna blame jason for developing feelings for Piper then they should also fairly blame Reyna for developing feelings for Percy aswell. But oh no it's only Jason who's the insensitive jerk :/ people need to stop victimizing Reyna so much and gloss over her mistakes to dig reasons to hate on jason in this situation it's not even that deep.

Also, Jason is mostly nice to people, so there is a possibility that Reyna might have miscalculated his behaviour towards her as "romantic". There's no telling at all really. Both Reyna and jason had major communication issues and so much misunderstandings. Also, Reyna avoiding and ignoring jason in Hoo always gave me the ick tbh, I get that it's awkward for her and stuff, but flat out refusing to acknowledge him in BOO (when she was addressing only Piper when jason was standing right next to her) was super petty imo. Instead of talking to jason about it, she avoided her problem instead, which only caused heartache on both sides because jason died before they could even share a single word with one another. I just know Reyna felt super guilty about that in his funeral :(

And as much as I love their friendship, I also doubt if they were all that close tbh because they kept quite some secrets from eachother. Jason was only a praetor for a month (?) I think. Reyna never told jason about hylla or the Venus situation, and Jason didn't tell Reyna about Thalia. Sure, this might be a stretch on their "closeness" with one another, but a part of me feels like they only saw eachother as close co-workers since they hesitated to tell eachother many things and then proceeded to have communication issues with one another. If they were really "best friends" they wouldn't have had so much trouble trying to reconcile.

[hoboblaidd]

The Agents of Fen'harel

Before Veilguard comes out, I wanted to break down Solas' spy network in the Dragon Age. I am only focused on the modern age, and on mortal (or immortal elvhen) agents. I'm not discussing spirits, but suffice to say, spirits are a crucial part of his network. This is a very long post, so strap in.

Ancient Elvhen

We know based on Felassan that Solas had agents even before he woke up. I think it’s safe to assume that these agents were ancient elves because Solas believed until Inquisition that modern elves weren’t ‘people.’ I don’t know how many are still alive and kicking. They located his orb and manipulated the Venatori to find it.

It’s possible these agents were just regular modern people of course, but I’m leaning towards no. He has too much prejudice at the start of DAI to trust modern elves.

The Sentinels

Given his regard for 'true' elves, the sentinels (and any other ancient elves kicking about) are likely Solas' closest and most trusted agents. Solas recruited the surviving sentinels soon after, if not during, Inquisition. His brief conversation with Abelas was, in my opinion, a coded recruitment:

“There are other places, friend. Other duties. Your people yet linger.” “Elvhen such as you?” “Yes, such as I.” “Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas.” Bro nod of acknowledgement.

Elves, at least ancient elves, took on new names or titles in much the same way the Dalish now take vallaslin. Offering Abelas a new name is, imo, offering him a new purpose. This later with Dorian:

Dorian: There could be others, in ruins we haven't yet discovered. Shouldn't we be looking for them? Solas: Perhaps Abelas will do that. Dorian: I wonder if that's a good thing.

I think that's exactly what Abelas did, so by the time Corypheus was done and Mythal's power absorbed, Solas could rendezvous with the last of his People and start his endgame.

Inquisition servants/agents

Leliana is smart enough to view any new recruit with suspicion, especially as Solas "stays one step ahead" of all of her efforts to find him. So logically, his spies were those elves already embedded with the Inquisition before he left. I've talked about his recruitment of servants before, but I think he also recruited several of Leliana's elven agents. 

Flipping spies into double agents is a well-established art in the real world. It is a slow, careful process of untangling old allegiances and rewiring them with your own ideology until they essentially ask to be flipped. As the leader of a rebellion, Solas would have tons of experience trying to do this with evanuris loyalists. He knows what works and what doesn't, where to push and when to back off. Solas had a year to work on Leliana's spies during Inquisition and I think he started on day 1. It was incredibly subtle and careful. By the end of Inquisition, I don't think they all jumped ship to his side, but they'd have trusted him enough that if he or a friendly elf approached them, they'd offer to help his cause. For those who didn't outright turn, he still utilizes as sources of HUMINT - intelligence gathered from people within an organization who are spying for you but not generally taking actions on your behalf.

After Trespasser, and regardless of whether or not the Inquisition is disbanded, his Inquisition spies are probably burned since Solas stupidly told the Inquisitor he had them. Leliana would logically not trust most of her elven agents except those like Charter who proved themselves a thousand times over. 

Did he tell the Inquisitor on purpose? Eh. He admitted to Charter that his monologuing in Trespasser was a momentary weakness. At most, he probably shifted to the few non-elven agents he still has in Leliana's network since they're less suspicious.

City and enslaved elves

For those who could escape alienages, slums, and masters, the Dread Wolf is a natural place to rally around. He is promising (and can seemingly deliver) worldwide change to better the lot of the elves. He accepts all elves, and doesn't get into the stupid 'flat ear' bullshit the Dalish have. He is, in essence, what the disenfranchised elves always believed the Dalish to be. I also hope that Solas, when doing shit around Thedas these past 12 years, liberates elves where he can. Never at the risk of jeopardizing his goals of course, but on an ad hoc basis at least.

Of all things that might make them hesitant to join is his unrestricted magic, and yes, I'm taking a lot of this from Fenris. It's an incredibly logical fear and distrust to have for people enslaved in Tevinter, but also for most elves raised in a Chantry world. It's not like they had access to a great education or academic discourse on the pros and cons of magic aside from the propaganda the Chantry has fed them. Solas could try to assuage their concerns, but it'd be a lot to slowly show them that his use of magic is different and that magic is itself not a bad thing - because when the Veil comes down, they're probably going to get that magical connection back (if they survive it).

Special mention goes to Briala and her agents. They had access to a portion of the eluvians using Fen'harel Enansal as a password. They fight a covert war for elven freedom in Orlais. They are, as Felassan said, very much like the Dread Wolf and his rebellion. They could be natural additions to his agents, but it's complicated by the whole Felassan of it. Solas would accept Briala's agents with no question, but idk where Briala would fall. We also don't know how Solas got control of her section of the eluvians aside from him overriding the magic personally, but he probably just cartwheeled into the Crossroads and literally overrode the magic. I don't think he'd have needed to kill her or anything for them. RP-wise, I'm willing to go any way, all options are logical to me.

The Dalish

The Dalish are trickier. They are founded around two beliefs: (1) never again shall we submit to slavery, and (2) the ancient power of the elves as they understand it should be upheld/restored. On the one hand, a powerful elf with a concrete plan that would see that elves will not only never have to submit to masters but also restore the world of the elves at the time of the fall of Arlathan is exactly what the Dalish want. But on the other hand, it's the Dread Wolf making these promises. They're going to have to get really cool with a lot of stuff really fast. How do you undo millennia of propaganda praising tyrannical gods and demonizing the one asking you to join him?

The Dalish are not a monolith, and I think whether or not they're recruited is on an individual basis or, at most, one Clan or another. The devs said that both Davrin and Bellara will have Thoughts about Solas-Fen'harel. This sort of religious division probably plays out amongst every Dalish elf that hears the Dread Wolf is back. Some who might take the old tales as more apocryphal than gospel truth would likely be more willing to join Fen'harel, while others who are zealous will likely not.

Solas does have an advantage of his true identity being revealed in Trespasser. For the first time, well, ever, the Dalish have definitive proof that one of their 'gods' is real, walking the earth, andpromising to do what they've wanted the gods to do. There's got to be a level of curiosity except in the most devout. It's like if Maferath showed up in Orlais. The Chantry maligns him, but you know there'd be a good amount of priests and people like 'yeah but I want to talk to him because holy shit'. 

Non-elven agents

Yes, I think he has some non-elven agents because it's a smart strategy, but I think he chooses and uses them sparingly. He can't limit himself to one stream of intel. First, elves can go a lot of places, but they can't go everywhere. Second, after divulging to the Inquisitor that he has spies in the Inquisition, elves would be the most suspected.

The most numerous are likely defectors or converts from the Qun - their ideology parallels Fen'harel's enough that they'd be reasonably trustworthy.

Qunari - I think he’d use actual Qunari spies sparingly. He’s wary of the Qun and he’d need agents who can live and operate in that world without actually being dogmatic. For example, a Tal Vasoth qunari won’t give him insight into the Antaam’s movements, but an elven ‘convert’ who is essentially a double agent could report to him on the Antaam’s business.

Humans - I think the majority of human spies don't know exactly who they're reporting to. He probably has a network of increasingly trustworthy humans that he props up as puppet actors that these folks report to, and uses other ideologies to entice them to spy (i.e., Freedom for all Tevinter; Peasants in Orlais; etc.).

Dwarves - Dwarven society is generally somewhere elves really can't go without standing out. He needs to know what's shaking with Orzammar and Kal Sharok (and the Carta), and elves are going to be limited. Given the castes, dwarf commoners are probably far more likely to be recruited, but again, he'd treat Dwarven spies exactly as he treats human spies - under the shell idea of A Casteless Society.

[autobahnmp3]

i've made my household chores page on notion look nice and functional

[tundrainafrica]

Which would you say are your favorite fanfics ever? (Levihan ofc)

Okay, I don’t think I’m the best judge of what’s quality or not quality cause I ain’t no writing authority so I cannot vouch for whether you will like these fics or not. But I am a firm believer that good writing makes readers feel things and leaves a lasting impression. 

So lemme rephrase the question… What fics left a lasting impression?

So brace yourself for one hell of a ride while I talk about fanworks that just fucked me up in the following ways: 

Caused me to irrationally hate one random character

Made me forget something isn’t canon

Made me completely rearrange my day because I completely f-ed myself up.

Made me feel guilty for fucking up the view count because I keep going back there.

Makes me remember the fic as an aesthetic, not as actual words. Like literally I will imagine the setting almost perfectly in my head and like when I try to remember what happened, I don’t really remember the writing style or anything, but I could probably create a sim house about how exactly I imagined the house to look like or the yard to look like.

Changed the way I approach fic reading.

I don’t wanna spoil these fics because I’m assuming people are gonna read it so as much as I wanna make a long ass detailed review about why I love each of them, I won’t. I’ll probably just mention what the hell I was doing when I read the fic and how I completely fucked myself over. 

I probably will miss some since I’m just listing these out from the top of my head. So here goes…And I’m only posting completed fics because I’m just that way. 

Second chance by @fanmoose12

This is my comfort fic. The first time I read this fic, it was like 4am or 5am in the morning and I remember after reading it once, I read it like 5 more times that day. 

This is literally the fic I just randomly open on my computer at work on some incognito tab when I’m just tired from all the shit they make us do at work and this is the random fic that I just open up when I feel like reading. And this is one of the fics I plan on showing my children one day when I explain to them what love is. 

This isn’t depressing so I guess it doesn’t fall in the ‘fucked me over’ category but definitely one of the fics I read too many times to count that I remember it scene by scene like some simp. 

Partners by fanmoose12

Woops, one exception for WIPs. I just had to post this here because it definitely left a lasting impression. 

This was the first AU I have ever read and been invested in and I have been reading fanfiction since before I could remember and I have always stuck to canonverse fics until I got into Levihan. 

This fic got me into the AU genre and I have never read AUs in my life before this so I think that says a lot about how much this fic means to me. 

Somewhere Only We Know by @someonestolemyshoes

It’s not completely posted in ao3 yet. But since I beta-ed the fic, I finished it long before SSMS posted it but this fic. It started slow so it took me a week of on and off work to get through  but I got through the second part of the fic, the last 30,000 words  incredibly fast. I vividly remembered reading those last final scenes over breakfast completely in shock while my whole family was there. I literally had to leave the room and take my dog out for a second walk . 

I remember the aesthetic of the overall story vividly enough to actually make a moodboard of it and spend a good 1 hour going through country side pics after finishing it. . 

Yellow by @ariadneamare​

God, this fic. I read this over a day of work. Like breakfast, first few thousand words, Lunch next few thousand words. And I finished the rest before bed and oh god, this is the type of fic that builds a great aesthetic, some lightness and just to fuck you over in the end. 

I like to compare it to a longer and AU version of Pristine in terms of how it strings emotions along. I know they’re two completely different fics but the energy of the fic, the stream of emotions on how it strings you along is fairly similar. 

This is literally one of those fics where I’m just having a good day, and my mind goes ‘remember that one fic’ and I just wrinkle my nose like ‘yeah THAT FIC’ 

Pristine by @mannatea​

I’m sure everyone has read this, it’s practically a classic and I cannot count the number of people who told me it was depressing and I do not know why I did not believe them. I read this while waiting in line for milk tea. I lost my place in line around the time I finished that last part and just gave up on buying milk tea.

It has this build up, this incredibly fluffy build up which won’t make you think it will end the way it did. 

Well. you know a fic is good when you know it’s gonna end a certain way but you allow yourself to get strung along anyway. 

A Simple Choice by just-quintessentially-me

This is one of those fics for me that double as an aesthetic piece and a plot piece. I remember INCREDIBLY WELL, the road I was imagining that they were walking through and it satisfied my hurt comfort feels as well. Definitely one of my favorite 115-126 fics and one of the first ones I read in the fandom for sure. 

So those are the english fics, I have to Japanese fics that fall in that category. 

(For anyone who knows Japanese I guess but I personally think they’re worth a google translate.)

熱に浮く(Feverish Dream)

Classic canon compliant. Hange takes care of Levi when he’s sick fic but there are misunderstandings here, they contemplate their relationship and they are incredibly emotionally constipated here. Definitely one of the classics imo and it feeds my need for hurt/comfort.

前世なんてクソだと言う女と 全て忘れた男 

(A girl who thinks past lives are not real and a boy who forgot everything)

Hange is a teacher, Levi is a janitor. Hange remembers stuff and Levi doesn’t and just really cute stuff. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are tired of me rambling about how much this fic means to me but really, I wrote a Tale of Two Slaves (Which is just brushing 100k words already) because this was just so beautiful it got me into the reincarnation genre.

私の中の少女、あなたの中の少年

(The girl inside me and the boy inside you) 

Levi and Hange are exes/childhood friends and they meet again in a matchmaking party. This is just the greatest balance between emotional constipation and love. The premise was just perfect for the type of build up 

Closest thing I’m gonna drop to smut here. Will leave my smut recs for another post but I’m low key really still thinking whether or not I should expose myself by dropping my favorite Levihan smut pieces hahaha.

Filo Socmed AUs

A lot of these probably aren’t google translatable since Tagalog google translate sucks but if anyone is interested, most Filo Socmed AUs have a fair amount of English so it’s coherent. I guess? I completely forget though how much is in English and how much is in Tagalog but these are the Filo Socmed AUs I REALLY remember and really go back to. 

Vividly Remembered 

This one got me blowing my days worth of salary on some meal in a restaurant because I didn’t wanna go back home to my house yet so I remember just crying over a meal while finishing up this fanfiction instead of going home. 

Basically a fic where Levi and Hange were together already and were about to get married already but shit happened. I irrationally hate Nanaba because of this Socmed AU. Like everytime I see Nanaba, i think of this Socmed AU and I just hate her again. 

Photographs 

Levi and Hange are part of the photography club and shit happens. I remember being behind on work because I decided to take a three hour lunch break to finish this AU. This satisfied my sick Levi craving in so many ways (especially after reading Yellow)

Wherein Levi doesn’t have social media accounts and Hange is the class beadle

This last one just has the overall aesthetic of my own university so it really stuck tbh. And the premise of the build up is just incredibly cute. 

These are the ones I can remember from the top of my head so I’m sure these are among my favorites. I’ll definitely update this as I read more.

[ezarelz]

Yeah, don't like Erika for many reasons but some are: When visiting Mary-Anne all she wondered was why Leif was so angry when the walls were covered in blood with kids that were tortured there. Her s** scenes are uncomfortable, she seems possessed to me and kinda forces herself on the guys. It's disgusting how she used "demon" as a slur when she's one. A hypocrite- kills Yvoni, attempts Anne but doesn't understand others who have a more personal revenge. The cheating V-day too, I can go on.

Hey anon! :) I definitely agree with some points you made.

One thing I dislike about the dialogues they gave us was in episode 27, when “our” character/Er*ka snaps on citizens asking the chiefs questions, but then, literally five seconds after, asks them and gets sad when they strictly say “you’re going to be told exactly what everyone else is told, I can’t tell you.” I was like??? And then she’s like “Woooow! Okay, I see how things are.” and runs away, prompting the boy (LI) to chase after her. Then, when he asks what’s wrong, she talks about everything else and how overwhelmed she is. I get it, a lot of things happened, but she needs to check her double standards and understand that she’s not a Light guard member, either. I thought it was hypocritical for sure, and for the guy to have to deal with that in the middle of a mayhem, I just felt bad. 

Yes, Beemoov writers aren’t careful enough about how they go about sex scenes, and we’re left with a boundaries-breaking MC. It’s so, so annoying. I played episode 22 again, and she literally says: “I know Ezarel hates being touche but I reach-” Let me stop you right there. If you know, don’t allow yourself unless formally being given the right to. It just teaches that boundaries are “vague” and flexible, and that you can try to push them if you (not the person being touched) feel comfortable doing so. There are also too many instances imo where the way the sex scene is written that suggest that she, again, pushes their boundaries, and I feel uncomfortable, because that’s the last place it should occur. Boundaries during sex are what makes it feel safe for anyone implicated. Sometimes, it was written: “I succeeded in convincing him into giving in”.... Um, jail. Anyway. 

As for the slur, yes, it’s not hard to understand that slurs to discuss races are bad and that if members of a community ask that you don’t refer to that racial group as (enter slur), you don’t do it. As an aengel whose blood is heavily mixed with human one, she definitely should’ve been more careful with “throwing around” that term. Had I existed in that world, I wouldn’t have allowed myself to use it as it demonizes an entire race, which, wtf, plus, as an Earthling, it resonates with life on Earth so, she had no excuse :/. 

I don’t remember my opinion on her view of killing, but I could come back to this once I go through the scenario again :).

As for the Valentines Day event, to me, events aren’t exactly canon. So I don’t consider it cheating per se, although her feelings lack consistency. Especially between TO and New Era. It could’ve been better worked, because although she says she’s trying to move on, it seems a little too easy. Like,,,, wasn’t that the love of your life? I mean, had I been with Leiftan, I’d tell him if you don’t want to be with me anymore you need to explicitly tell me, because we didn’t magically break up in the crystal, and you were already repenting before the sacrifice, so the fact that they barely spoke and acted regularly the next day is mind-bending to me. That’s literally ONE example of all the routes. Like, had my boy been Ezarel, and Nevra had put his hand on my face at the cliff, I’d be like “Wtf Nevra. I was with your best friend literally two months ago in my eyes, I’m overwhelmed, confused. I feel alone, sure, but for you to do that is crossing a line.” Maybe I have stronger principles, but oh well. It’s not about seven years having passed, it’s about taking (and in Nevra’s case, giving) the necessary time to heal before even considering anything else. 

There are too many inconsistencies anyway. Although Nevra’s anecdote of his,,,, ahem being almost experienced with twice by the crazy labman is CANON AF in my eyes lmao.

[ilkkawhat]

Any tips for first time writers? Specifically any tips and tricks for writing CSI stories and the Nick/Greg ship? Trying to stay in character and make the story interesting like a show episode instead of a boring text procedural is hard.

lmao as someone who is forever insecure about my own writing when it comes to keeping the characters in character, I think something to keep in mind is that you may view a character differently than someone else--and sometimes those views align with others, and most of the time it's better than what's presented in canon, and it can be really difficult to get confident about that, but I think that creating anything, even if it's not just writing--drawing, giffing, photo edits, etc, you do know and love that character enough to bring them to life under your hands and it's something that's just so like, poetic about keeping these characters alive, even if the show offed them or the show is cancelled, in these works (honestly the song "poet" by bastille says this best imo) and you may end up discovering parts of yourself as you explore these characters in depth, you'll learn more about them, too, and the more you write, the more confidence you will gain

but be weary of the validation trap (says someone who falls into it literally every time I post a fic)--do not rely on comments and feedback to let you know you're doing it "right." the fact that you're getting thoughts into words onto paper is good enough, and you are good enough and even if you don't end up sharing it, you still did something special that nobody else has done before, and that, is amazing!

I'm not gonna lie, a huge weakness of mine that I feel I've known ever since I started writing CSI fic is that I really don't do well in making cases for the CSIs to work on--and even when I do, the case is usually forgotten by the end of the fic and I end up just kinda focusing on the emotions between the characters and describing their feelings and actions the best I can and unfortunately the plot sometimes suffers because of that.

I guess it really depends on what you want out of your story--do you want a really intriguing case and basically make an episode of CSI, or do you want to kind of bend out of the procedural drama, and just write something fluffy like Nick/Greg going on a roadtrip or something actiony like them getting into some sort of trouble? (as I often do lmao)

Something that does always help me when I do decide I want an actual like, "plot" to the fic beyond just playing around with the characters and making them do things or experience things is that I'll make myself a very flexible outline--which I will admit, at times, does kinda drain the fun out of the actual writing part but I found that I'll try to write chapters/fics in segments in this way, like I'll have the start of a fic, and then when I feel like I need to break but want to write what I got going next, I'll have something in brackets like: [Self deprecation at home/drinking, evil Nick in the mirror?] (for agony), and sometimes maybe a bigger summary, and sometimes less to just kinda remind myself of what I wanted to accomplish with a fic

BUT know that there are gonna be things that pop up sometimes. twists that come to you halfway through a fic--or if you're lucky, you'll find that your reader friends will kinda give you a twist to add in (my fic Last Breath is the greatest example of this--I originally was gonna do like, 12 chapters but then @dannilea said "HEY MK GIVE NICK AMNESIA" and then the fic got doubled in length lmao) so don't feel confined to any sort of outline. go with the flow, go with what feels right for you.

I know it's a lesson I'm still learning myself, but do not pressure yourself with these sorts of things. there are no deadlines. you're not doing anything wrong. if you don't like something you wrote? don't delete it (i've deleted so many things--fics, my entire blog, old art and gifs I did and it's one of my biggest regrets that I carry with me and god...it just hurts) but don't be afraid to tweak, re-write or rework if you need to--I know ao3 has an option where you can even say something is a "remix" of another work if you write a fic and then somewhere down the line, decide to expand on it or change it up? (I think it's meant for that at least, I haven't done that sort of thing....yet)

and that's another thing--you'll always be learning new things as you keep writing. I've been writing since I was like, twelve years old. Had a long ass depressive gap (though I did still write some things, just not...as intensely as I used to) before I came back to the CSI fandom (which I never felt I contributed to before, when I joined tumblr I posted some caps but that was about it, it really wasn't until 2018 that I started giffing and writing and three years later lmao here we are!) and there are just hard lessons you do learn--like I said, the validation trap and pressure and all of that

but motivation wise, something I've been (trying) to do is write at least 100 words per day. Doesn't have to be a specific fic, doesn't have to be anything I intend to make a fic, but just...getting the words flowing. But again, no pressure, because I recently had another depressive bout and went 33 days without writing and it climaxed to me having another mental breakdown swearing I was never gonna write again and damn near deleting everything and giving up.........only to start writing again the next day (and full disclosure, I did have a friend helping me literally every day with that and if they read this, I hope they know how forever grateful I am that they convinced me to keep going and I would not actually be here without them)

You will need to recharge, you will need to be mindful of outside stresses that may be impacting your creative energies. And sometimes, you can try doing things not relating to writing at all. Make a playlist of songs that make you think about the fic; if you can, draw or make photo edits of the fic. find a friend to bounce ideas off of--so many of my fics were enriched by that, I can't even begin to list them all lol.

But above all, again, just know that what you're writing is unique to you, nobody else will be able to write the way you do, and that is just...so special. writing can be difficult, it's exhausting, it's a thankless job at times but when those words start clicking together and your fingers just keep typing/writing, you'll just kinda get this like, rush like nothing I've ever been able to match.

and lmao I know you said specifically CSI and Nick/Greg and feel like I got sidetracked--but the great thing about CSI is I feel like you'll have excuses to put them in situations given their line of work, but like I said before, you can bend out of the genre a little bit. Have Nick and Greg go on a vacation, or make an AU (even something as wild as a sci-fi AU--honestly Specimen Stokes is the most fun I've had in writing the past three years) or if you do want to stick to canon, and don't want to make a whole new case or elaborate on the details--play with an established episode. If there was a Nick focused episode, what was Greg doing and vice versa? Did they talk about things afterwards, or did something happen leading up to the episode that made them act a certain way around each other?

I'll honestly find inspiration also just watching the episodes--something I've been doing in these past few months of my rewatch is making little ficlets about the episode, like I wrote one about Nick and Greg post 6x02 elaborating on the breathplay that Greg hinted about earlier in the episode, or I made a revenge fic for 14x12 where that douchey abusive husband went after Nick, etc. So sometimes it helps to dive back into canon and play in that sandbox too

I hope these tips can help get you started and honestly, don't feel obligated to agree or do any of these things I listed above. We all have different ways of going about writing, and it is just one big learning process and something I don't think I'm ever gonna perfect or master in any sort of way--(not to say I think I'm the worst writer in the world but I just...try to humble myself and not believe I'm the best or better than anybody else cause that's part of the validation trap, you get those ideas in your head and then it can destroy you when you realize you're definitely not)--and there will be times you get heavily discouraged, but...you just gotta keep going. keep pushing. find outside encouragement, but don't rely on it. practice a lot of self care and don't pressure yourself to finish or share or write more than you think you can. just...let it come, and enjoy the ride

I honestly feel like I'm one of the least qualified to say all of these things, but I really do hope it helps and hey, you already got one cheerleader, me, who will be excited to read whatever you share!

[ohsofoxyclocks]

‪So, I have many thoughts about the finale ending that I haven’t even sorted out my feelings about yet BUT posts on here have helped me see the positives in the ending...Yes I’m still bothered by some of the beach conversation and the TIMING of Steve’s temporary leave and the fact of what we see last on the screen despite knowing Steve will of course return, but I’m going to put that aside to focus on OMG WE JUST GOT AN ALMOST WHOLE EPISODE STRAIGHT FROM A FANFIC THAT I ABSOLUTELY LOVED. I know much of this has been discussed so I apologize if it’s repetitive, but a bunch of my favorite McDanno fanfiction tropes just actually happened in canon and I just...still can’t believe we actually got all of it? So I wanted to make my own list, and feel free to add on or expand or share your thoughts about any of these!! Let’s take stock (warning, this is long!): ‬

‪-Danny calling Steve in distress, Steve immediately leaving his important cipher mystery meeting to get to him. Can already see Steve starting to freak out before the gunshots ring out when he looks out the window and stutters. ‬

‪-Gunshots ringing out OVER THE LINE, and Steve very obviously starting to panic. Drives like a maniac (still confused on how going INTO oncoming traffic was supposed to help but I digress). Steve yelling Danny’s name repeatedly desperate to hear his voice‬

‪-arriving at a burning camaro, screaming Danny’s name (fun tip: play this bit in slow motion!), and STICKING HIS ARM IN A BURNING CAR/catching himself on fire when he thinks Danny could be inside‬

‪-You can hear the creeping desperation/emotion in Steve’s voice as he’s giving orders to HPD (“Detective Danny Williams-MY PARTNER-you know who he is”)‬

-Steve actually mobilizing the whole island to find his Danno. (Again, something I never really expected to see outside of a fanfic). “I want every person on this island with a badge looking for Danny Williams”‬

-Steve’s face when he walks into HQ with Cole and the tears in his eyes when Tani is showing him the kidnapping footage ‬

‪-Just the whole “An enemy of Steve’s uses Danny to get to him”!!!! I always wanted it but never expected it so explicitly ‬

‪-“I HAVE THE PERSON YOU CARE ABOUT MOST IN THE WORLD.” GUYS—IT DOESNT MATTER WHATEVER ELSE HAPPENS BECAUSE THIS IS CANON BABY. We knew it, everybody knows it, but now it’s confirmed. When rewatching the series, remember this<3 also part of me is like, will all the other criminals hear about this and try to do the same when Steve comes back since Steve put up no fight in giving in to Dayui Mei’s demands? Isthiswhyheleftsoquickly‬.

-video footage of Danny strung up and bloodied...fanfic come to life. Steve’s face when he sees this....‬

‪-Steve looking like he’s gonna simultaneously collapse, panic, and murder someone when Dayiu Mei is asking him what he will do‬

‪-Steve not hesitating to give into Mrs. Wo Fat’s demands bc any risk is too risky when Danno is involved‬

‪-The team trying to get Steve to give a flying fart about the cipher when Danny’s life is on the line and Steve still not giving a flying fart. ‬

-Steve finding Danny lying helpless on the floor. His whispered “Danny” when he first sees him (you have to listen close for this because the dramatic background music is super loud at this point).‬

‪-His little stream of soft, comforting reassurances as he’s getting Danno to the car. Danny holding onto him‬

‪-CRADLING BLOODIED, STRUGGLING TO-BREATHE-DANNO TO HIS CHEST IN HIS ARMS. My mom, who doesn’t ship McDanno romantically but loves their friendship, when this happened: “whoa! That’s a little much (gay), don’t you think?” Hehe, no, it’s perfect. ‬

-More tears from Steve as he’s holding Danny on the way to the hospital.‬

-Steve’s comforting reassurances and refusing to let go of Danny on the gurney until he’s absolutely forced to. DANNY REACHING FOR HIM, Steve’s reassuring pat. Steve’s face as he looks down at him fearing how dire this is.‬

‪-Steve’s face as he collapses against the wall when they roll Danny through the double doors, closing his eyes, trying to calm his breathing as he tries to avoid thinking about the unthinkable.‬

-STEVE BARGAINING WITH GOD FOR DANNY’S LIFE. After not seeing him pray before I don’t think? His face...that emotion...omg. He very obviously can’t imagine living in a world without Danny in it, and would rather die than do so. ‬

-Side note: Imo, Steve seemed closed off to the team—physically and emotionally—when he wasn’t sure Danny would make it. Almost as if we got a glimpse of the Steve he’d be without his Danno, if that makes sense. Notice how he’s turned away from them in the waiting room/chapel, how he didn’t even look at them when Danny was wheeled away through the double doors. How he didn’t give an eff about the cipher they were trying to get him to care about. Not that he doesn’t have beautiful Ohana bonds with the other team members because of course he does, but...it’s just different with Danny and I don’t know how he would’ve made it through this one, especially considering his already struggling state at the time. I think we kind of saw a glimpse of that, is my point. They both helped each other grow since first meeting, and it was almost like that part Danny helped bring out in Steve went away with Danny when Steve thought he might lose him. If that makes sense? More on this later? ‪

‪-Steve holding unconscious Danny’s hand❤️❤️❤️ Closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath right after taking his hand (anyone want to gif this moment? ;) )-side camera view of this moment so was hard to see but it’s there. Seeming to look at the machines for reassurances that Danny is alive, healthy. Scanning him over and likely feeling guilty for the marks on his body. Holding his head in his hands by Danny’s bedside.‬

‪-the whole conversation when Danny wakes up! Danny, probably a little doped up, all sweet and reassuring and cuddly and funny. “Why’d you stop holding my hand?” and Steve immediately taking his hand back and rubbing his forearm I think (this was out of the camera angle tho so idk for sure). Steve’s voice tinged with so much emotion when he says “Buddy.” And, Steve being emotionally vulnerable/open again bc his Danno is back!! This whole scene I just fhdisksml. ‬

‪-Steve’s smiling and squeezing and wrapping his arms around Danno like an octopus when he hugs him (I wish we had some additional slightly different camera angles of this hug-as was shown in the promo for example-but I digress again). Danny closing his eyes for a moment, seeming to savor it. Steve getting Danny to look him in the eyes to tell him he loves him. To me, this scene had a very ���see you again soon” rather than “goodbye” vibe even though I wish there were parts of the dialogue that were different. ‬

‪-Steve slowing down, looking unsure, and turning back to look at Danny before he leaves. Anyone wanna analyze this? Maybe just a “I know I need to do this so I can come back and be the person I need to be for both of us but fuqqit imma miss you while I’m gone” or “I need to leave so no one can use/hurt him to get to me again right now.” Or just “hey maybe this isn’t the most genius plan.” Idk, but I would LOVE to hear Scott and Alex’s take on this scene. Also they filmed this scene before the show was ended by CBS so who knows how that factored into it. If they thought there would be a possible reunion later?

‪-Telling Eddie to look after Danno, which definitely means Danny will be keeping his house/bed warm til his hubby returns.‬

‪-fleeting thought I have that I might expore later: possible acting choices in the difference in hand holding/smiles between with Danny vs. Catherine?Notthepointofthispostthosoweskipfornow‬

‪-I might post thoughts on other things later but I mainly just wanted to compile this list of straight-out-of-fanfic moments that 100% confirms Danny IS the most important person in Steve’s life and OF COURSE he will return and text/call him everyday til then. Regardless of the end, which is really so open that we can do so many beautiful things with now, most of the episode served as a beautiful culmination of what Steve and Danny have come to mean to each other throughout the last 10 years, and we can rest peaceful and happy in that. ❤️‬ (this is also me still trying to convince myself to be okay with the way things were left on the beach/the conversation, etc)

I would love to hear y’all’s thoughts about any of this!!‬ if you made it this far—I apologize again for the length but lovey boys call for lovey rambles

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany's empathy, compassion, compromises and sacrifices for other people

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile ALL* the book passages showcasing either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

 *Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is of course no guarantee that it is perfect, but I did my best.

Also, people can interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

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

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

Along her way Daenerys has convinced herself that she wants to rule for the people and created a utopian ideology around herself as a benevolent freedom fighter -- while on a repressed, involuntary emotional level, the Iron Throne is actually a symbol to her of pain and trauma. So even though she doesn’t understand this herself, all this time her inner dragon wasn’t really driven by hope or the promise of change, but by rage and the will to avenge the abuse she endured at the hands of her enemies. (x)

~

Dany makes big, risky offensive plays, while Cersei -- surrounded by treacherous snakes and haunted by a prophecy that’s outlined how much she will lose - plays defensively. In light of all this, it makes sense why Dany views everything as positive opportunity and Cersei sees the negative angle. Daenerys wins hearts along her way not just because she’s a humanitarian, but also because she has to. (x)

~

[Dany] is a great and terrible leader who is spreading bloodshed and pain in their path. Entire civilizations have been burned at their whim. And her all-consuming desire to rule Westeros? She’s not particularly fussed about the rights of the smallfolk or worried about the impending frozen hell creeping its way from the North. She wants that Iron Throne because it’s her birthright. It’s hers, gosh darn it! Woe to the men and women who stand in her path. (x)

~

It’s likely the idea of Dany as queen would feel more applause-worthy if she stopped burning people alive and avoiding tough chats in favor of actually meeting the people of Westeros. Think about the end of season 3 finale “Mhysa,” when the dragon queen allowed herself to be enveloped by the freed slaves of Yunkai. Although the scene had a distinct and uncomfortable white savior feel, at least we saw Daenerys actually interact with the people she claims to care about so much. None of that behavior has been seen since Dany stepped foot on Westeros, only giving credence to some lords’ claim she is a “foreign” royal, despite her birth on Dragonstone. Instead of getting out and meeting her prospective subjects for a minute, Dany has spent season 7 either holed up in her castle with her advisors or riding her favorite dragon into battle. These are not the actions of someone determined to lift up the common folk. (x)

~

Daenerys isn't bothered by the idea of taking lives to achieve her goal[.] (x)

Dany isn't driven by hope or promise of change? Dany wins hearts because she "has to"? Dany isn't "fussed about the rights of the smallfolk"? Dany doesn't get out and meet her people? Dany isn't bothered by the idea of taking lives to achieve her goal?

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but it can be all over the place and .... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

A girl might spend her life at play, but she was a woman grown, a queen, a wife, a mother to thousands. Her children had need of her. Drogon had bent before the whip, and so must she. She had to don her crown again and return to her ebon bench and the arms of her noble husband.

Hizdahr, of the tepid kisses.

~

No, Dany told herself. If I look back I am lost. She might live for years amongst the sunbaked rocks of Dragonstone, riding Drogon by day and gnawing at his leavings every evenfall as the great grass sea turned from gold to orange, but that was not the life she had been born to. So once again she turned her back upon the distant hill and closed her ears to the song of flight and freedom that the wind sang as it played amongst the hill’s stony ridges. The stream was trickling south by southeast, as near as she could tell. She followed it. Take me to the river, that is all I ask of you. Take me to the river, and I will do the rest.

The hours passed slowly. The stream bent this way and that, and Dany followed, beating time upon her leg with the whip, trying not to think about how far she had to go, or the pounding in her head, or her empty belly. Take one step. Take the next. Another step. Another. What else could she do?

~

Dragonstone was still visible above the grasslands. It looks so close. I must be leagues away by now, but it looks as if I could be back in an hour. She wanted to lie back down, close her eyes, and give herself up to sleep. No. I must keep going. The stream. Just follow the stream.

Dany took a moment to make certain of her directions. It would not do to walk the wrong way and lose her stream. “My friend,” she said aloud. “If I stay close to my friend I won’t get lost.” 

~

“Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was ... her name ...” Dany could not recall the child’s name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. “I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons.”

~

I gave you good counsel. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, I told you. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and go west, I said. You would not listen.

“I had to take Meereen or see my children starve along the march.” Dany could still see the trail of corpses she had left behind her crossing the Red Waste. It was not a sight she wished to see again. “I had to take Meereen to feed my people.”

You took Meereen, he told her, yet still you lingered. 

“To be a queen.”

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros. 

“It is such a long way,” she complained. “I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”

ADWD Daenerys IX

She pushed herself to her feet, splashing softly. Water ran down her legs and beaded on her breasts. The sun was climbing up the sky, and her people would soon be gathering. She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself.

~

“How should Meereen ever come to trust the Brazen Beasts if I do not? There are good brave men beneath those masks. I put my life into their hands.” Dany smiled for him. “You fret too much, ser. I will have you beside me, what other protection do I need?”

~

“He would be willing to wait, the woman Meris suggested. Until we march for Westeros.”

And if I never march for Westeros?

~

“Have you ever seen such an auspicious day, my love?” Hizdahr zo Loraq commented when she rejoined him. [...]

“Auspicious for you, perhaps. Less so for those who must die before the sun goes down.”

~

A palanquin lay overturned athwart their way. One of its bearers had collapsed to the bricks, overcome by heat. “Help that man,” Dany commanded. “Get him off the street before he’s stepped on and give him food and water. He looks as though he has not eaten in a fortnight.”

~

“Those bearers were slaves before I came. I made them free. Yet that palanquin is no lighter.”

“True,” said Hizdahr, “but those men are paid to bear its weight now. Before you came, that man who fell would have an overseer standing over him, stripping the skin off his back with a whip. Instead he is being given aid.”

It was true. A Brazen Beast in a boar mask had offered the litter bearer a skin of water. “I suppose I must be thankful for small victories,” the queen said.

“One step, then the next, and soon we shall be running. Together we shall make a new Meereen.” The street ahead had finally cleared. “Shall we continue on?”

What could she do but nod? One step, then the next, but where is it I’m going?

~

Her lord husband stood and raised his hands. “Great Masters! My queen has come this day, to show her love for you, her people. By her grace and with her leave, I give you now your mortal art. Meereen! Let Queen Daenerys hear your love!”

Ten thousand throats roared out their thanks; then twenty thousand; then all. They did not call her name, which few of them could pronounce. “Mother!” they cried instead; in the old dead tongue of Ghis, the word was Mhysa! They stamped their feet and slapped their bellies and shouted, “Mhysa, Mhysa, Mhysa,” until the whole pit seemed to tremble. Dany let the sound wash over her. I am not your mother, she might have shouted, back, I am the mother of your slaves, of every boy who ever died upon these sands whilst you gorged on honeyed locusts.

~

“A boy,” said Dany. “He was only a boy.”

“Six-and-ten,” Hizdahr insisted. “A man grown, who freely chose to risk his life for gold and glory. No children die today in Daznak’s, as my gentle queen in her wisdom has decreed.”

Another small victory. Perhaps I cannot make my people good, she told herself, but I should at least try to make them a little less bad. Daenerys would have prohibited contests between women as well, but Barsena Blackhair protested that she had as much right to risk her life as any man. The queen had also wished to forbid the follies, comic combats where cripples, dwarfs, and crones had at one another with cleavers, torches, and hammers (the more inept the fighters, the funnier the folly, it was thought), but Hizdahr said his people would love her more if she laughed with them, and argued that without such frolics, the cripples, dwarfs, and crones would starve. So Dany had relented.

It had been the custom to sentence criminals to the pits; that practice she agreed might resume, but only for certain crimes. “Murderers and rapers may be forced to fight, and all those who persist in slaving, but not thieves or debtors.”

Beasts were still allowed, though. Dany watched an elephant make short work of a pack of six red wolves. Next a bull was set against a bear in a bloody battle that left both animals torn and dying. “The flesh is not wasted,” said Hizdahr. “The butchers use the carcasses to make a healthful stew for the hungry. Any man who presents himself at the Gates of Fate may have a bowl.”

“A good law,” Dany said. You have so few of them. “We must make certain that this tradition is continued.”

~

The battle was followed by the day’s first folly, a tilt between a pair of jousting dwarfs, presented by one of the Yunkish lords that Hizdahr had invited to the games. One rode a hound, the other a sow. Their wooden armor had been freshly painted, so one bore the stag of the usurper Robert Baratheon, the other the golden lion of House Lannister. That was for her sake, plainly. Their antics soon had Belwas snorting laughter, though Dany’s smile was faint and forced. When the dwarf in red tumbled from the saddle and began to chase his sow across the sands, whilst the dwarf on the dog galloped after him, whapping at his buttocks with a wooden sword, she said, “This is sweet and silly, but …”

“Be patient, my sweet,” said Hizdahr. “They are about to loose the lions.”

Daenerys gave him a quizzical look. “Lions?”

“Three of them. The dwarfs will not expect them.”

She frowned. “The dwarfs have wooden swords. Wooden armor. How do you expect them to fight lions?”

“Badly,” said Hizdahr, “though perhaps they will surprise us. More like they will shriek and run about and try to climb out of the pit. That is what makes this a folly.”

Dany was not pleased. “I forbid it.”

“Gentle queen. You do not want to disappoint your people.”

“You swore to me that the fighters would be grown men who had freely consented to risk their lives for gold and honor. These dwarfs did not consent to battle lions with wooden swords. You will stop it. Now.”

~

The boar buried his snout in Barsena’s belly and began rooting out her entrails. The smell was more than the queen could stand. The heat, the flies, the shouts from the crowd … I cannot breathe. She lifted her veil and let it flutter away. She took her tokar off as well. The pearls rattled softly against one another as she unwound the silk.

“Khaleesi?” Irri asked. “What are you doing?”

“Taking off my floppy ears.” A dozen men with boar spears came trotting out onto the sand to drive the boar away from the corpse and back to his pen. The pitmaster was with them, a long barbed whip in his hand. As he snapped it at the boar, the queen rose. “Ser Barristan, will you see me safely back to my garden?”

Hizdahr looked confused. “There is more to come. A folly, six old women, and three more matches. Belaquo and Goghor!”

“Belaquo will win,” Irri declared. “It is known.”

“It is not known,” Jhiqui said. “Belaquo will die.”

“One will die, or the other will,” said Dany. “And the one who lives will die some other day. This was a mistake.”

~

“Magnificence, the people of Meereen have come to celebrate our union. You heard them cheering you. Do not cast away their love.”

“It was my floppy ears they cheered, not me. Take me from this abbatoir, husband.” She could hear the boar snorting, the shouts of the spearmen, the crack of the pitmaster’s whip.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“...They can close their fingers around our throat again whenever they wish. They have opened a slave market within sight of my walls!”

“Outside our walls, sweet queen. That was a condition of the peace, that Yunkai would be free to trade in slaves as before, unmolested.”

“In their own city. Not where I have to see it.”

~

So Daenerys sat silent through the meal, wrapped in a vermilion tokar and black thoughts, speaking only when spoken to, brooding on the men and women being bought and sold outside her walls, even as they feasted here within the city. Let her noble husband make the speeches and laugh at the feeble Yunkish japes. That was a king’s right and a king’s duty.

~

No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. Better a few should die in the pit than thousands at the gates. This is the price of peace, I pay it willingly. If I look back, I am lost.

~

When the gluttony was done and all the half-eaten food had been cleared away—to be given to the poor who gathered below, at the queen's insistence—tall glass flutes were filled with a spiced liqueur from Qarth as dark as amber.

~

“If it please you, Yurkhaz will be pleased to give us the singers, I do not doubt,” her noble husband said. “A gift to seal our peace, an ornament to our court.”

He will give us these castrati, Dany thought, and then he will march home and make some more. The world is full of boys.

~

Hard by the bay was the abomination, the slave market at her door. She could not see it now, with the sun set, but she knew that it was there. That just made her angrier.

~

“It would please me if he had turned up with these fifty thousand swords he speaks of. Instead he brings two knights and a parchment. Will a parchment shield my people from the Yunkai’i? If he had come with a fleet ...”

[...] “Dorne is too far away. To please this prince, I would need to abandon all my people. You should send him home.”

~

“Bring him to me. It is time he met my children.”

[...] She smiled. “My prince. It is a long way down. Are you certain that you wish to do this?”

“If it would please Your Grace.”

“Then come.”

~

Broken chains clanked and clattered about his legs. Quentyn Martell jumped back a foot.

A crueler woman might have laughed at him, but Dany squeezed his hand and said, “They frighten me as well. There is no shame in that. My children have grown wild and angry in the dark.”

~

“They are ... they are fearsome creatures.”

“They are dragons, Quentyn.” Dany stood on her toes and kissed him lightly, once on each cheek. “And so am I.”

ADWD Daenerys VII

Her foes were all about her. [...] They would not try to take Meereen by storm. They would wait behind their siege lines, flinging stones at her until famine and disease had brought her people to their knees.

Hizdahr will bring me peace. He must.

~

“Dorne is fifty thousand spears and swords, pledged to our queen’s service.”

“Fifty thousand?” mocked Daario. “I count three.”

“Enough,” Daenerys said. “Prince Quentyn has crossed half the world to offer me his gift, I will not have him treated with discourtesy.”

~

“Your Grace does not love the noble Hizdahr. This one thinks you would sooner have another for your husband.”

I must not think of Daario today. “A queen loves where she must, not where she will.”

~

“The day is too hot to be shut up in a palanquin,” said Dany. “Have my silver saddled. I would not go to my lord husband upon the backs of bearers.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one is so sorry, but you cannot ride in a tokar.”

The little scribe was right, as she so often was. The tokar was not a garment meant for horseback. Dany made a face. “As you say. Not the palanquin, though. I would suffocate behind those drapes. Have them ready a sedan chair.” If she must wear her floppy ears, let all the rabbits see her.

~

“...This match will save our city, you will see.”

“So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit.” Does it matter that Hizdahr’s kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?

~

Galazza Galare awaited them outside the temple doors, surrounded by her sisters in white and pink and red, blue and gold and purple. There are fewer than there were. Dany looked for Ezzara and did not see her. Has the bloody flux taken even her?

ADWD Daenerys VI

“...Let us distribute the food, Your Grace.”

“On the morrow. I am here now. I want to see.”

~

The Astapori stumbled after them in a ghastly procession that grew longer with every yard they crossed. Some spoke tongues she did not understand. Others were beyond speaking. Many lifted their hands to Dany, or knelt as her silver went by. “Mother,” they called to her, in the dialects of Astapor, Lys, and Old Volantis, in guttural Dothraki and the liquid syllables of Qarth, even in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Mother, please … mother, help my sister, she is sick … give me food for my little ones … please, my old father … help him … help her … help me …”

I have no more help to give, Dany thought, despairing.

~

It was growing harder to find drivers willing to deliver the food as well. Too many of the men they had sent into the camp had been stricken by the flux themselves. Others had been attacked on the way back to the city. Yesterday a wagon had been overturned and two of her soldiers killed, so today the queen had determined that she would bring the food herself. Every one of her advisors had argued fervently against it, from Reznak and the Shavepate to Ser Barristan, but Daenerys would not be moved. “I will not turn away from them,” she said stubbornly. “A queen must know the sufferings of her people.”

~

Their eyes followed her. Those who had the strength called out. “Mother … please, Mother … bless you, Mother …”

Bless me, Dany thought bitterly. Your city is gone to ash and bone, your people are dying all around you. I have no shelter for you, no medicine, no hope. Only stale bread and wormy meat, hard cheese, a little milk. Bless me, bless me.

What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?

~

“Food should not be wasted on the dying, Your Worship. We do not have enough to feed the living.”

He was not wrong, she knew, but that did not make the words any easier to hear.

~

The queen surveyed the scene around her. “If we were to share our food equally …”

“… the Astapori would eat through their portion in days, and we would have that much less for the siege.”

Dany gazed across the camp, to the many-colored brick walls of Meereen. The air was thick with flies and cries. “The gods have sent this pestilence to humble me. So many dead … I will not have them eating corpses.”

~

“I cannot heal them, but I can show them that their Mother cares.”

~

There was an old man on the ground a few feet away, moaning and staring up at the grey belly of the clouds. She knelt beside him, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and pushed back his dirty grey hair to feel his brow. “His flesh is on fire. I need water to bathe him. Seawater will serve. Marselen, will you fetch some for me? I need oil as well, for the pyre. Who will help me burn the dead?”

By the time Aggo returned with Grey Worm and fifty of the Unsullied loping behind his horse, Dany had shamed all of them into helping her. Symon Stripeback and his men were pulling the living from the dead and stacking up the corpses, while Jhogo and Rakharo and their Dothraki helped those who could still walk toward the shore to bathe and wash their clothes. Aggo stared at them as if they had all gone mad, but Grey Worm knelt beside the queen and said, “This one would be of help.”

Before midday a dozen fires were burning. Columns of greasy black smoke rose up to stain a merciless blue sky. Dany’s riding clothes were stained and sooty as she stepped back from the pyres. “Worship,” Grey Worm said, “this one and his brothers beg your leave to bathe in the salt sea when our work here is done, that we might be purified according to the laws of our great goddess.”

The queen had not known that the eunuchs had a goddess of their own. “Who is this goddess? One of the gods of Ghis?”

Grey Worm looked troubled. “The goddess is called by many names. She is the Lady of Spears, the Bride of Battle, the Mother of Hosts, but her true name belongs only to these poor ones who have burned their manhoods upon her altar. We may not speak of her to others. This one begs your forgiveness.”

“As you wish. Yes, you may bathe if that is your desire. Thank you for your help.”

“These ones live to serve you.”

~

“No ruler can make a people good,” Selmy had told her. “Baelor the Blessed prayed and fasted and built the Seven as splendid a temple as any gods could wish for, yet he could not put an end to war and want.” A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself. “After the wedding Hizdahr will be king. Let him reopen the fighting pits if he wishes. I want no part of it.” Let the blood be on his hands, not mine.

~

“Daenerys, my queen, I will gladly wash you from head to heel if that is what I must do to be your king and consort.”

“To be my king and consort, you need only bring me peace.[”]

~

Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

~

“I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys V

Daenerys received them in the grandeur of her hall as tall candles burned amongst the marble pillars. When she saw that the Astapori were half-starved, she sent for food at once.

~

“I’m no maester, mind you, but I know you got to keep the bad apples from the good.”

“These are not apples, Ben,” said Dany. “These are men and women, sick and hungry and afraid.” My children. “I should have gone to Astapor.”

~

“You want me to loot Meereen and flee? No, I will not do that.[”]

~

Daenerys looked at the faces of the men around her. The Shavepate, scowling. Ser Barristan, with his lined face and sad blue eyes. Reznak mo Reznak, pale, sweating. Brown Ben, white-haired, grizzled, tough as old leather. Grey Worm, smooth-cheeked, stolid, expressionless. Daario should be here, and my bloodriders, she thought. If there is to be a battle, the blood of my blood should be with me. She missed Ser Jorah Mormont too. He lied to me, informed on me, but he loved me too, and he always gave good counsel.

~

“I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …” She could not say it.

“Your Grace?” Ser Barristan prompted, gently.

A queen belongs not to herself but to her people.

“I need Hizdahr zo Loraq.”

ADWD Daenerys IV

Two of Dany’s favorite hostages served the food and kept the cups filled—a doe-eyed little girl called Qezza and a skinny boy named Grazhar. They were brother and sister, and cousins of the Green Grace, who greeted them with kisses when she swept in, and asked them if they had been good.

“They are very sweet, the both of them,” Dany assured her. “Qezza sings for me sometimes. She has a lovely voice. And Ser Barristan has been instructing Grazhar and the other boys in the ways of western chivalry.”

~

The cowards broke in on some weavers, freedwomen who had done no harm to anyone. All they did was make beautiful things. I have a tapestry they gave me hanging over my bed.[”]

~

“...You have not harmed any of the noble children you hold as hostage.”

“Not as yet, no.” Dany had grown fond of her young charges. Some were shy and some were bold, some sweet and some sullen, but all were innocent. [...]

Dany pushed her food about her plate. She dare not glance over to where Grazhar and Qezza stood, for fear that she might cry. [...] Hazzea was enough. What good is peace if it must be purchased with the blood of little children? “These murders are not their doing,” Dany told the Green Grace, feebly. “I am no butcher queen.”

~

Only then would her womb quicken once again …

… but Daenerys Targaryen had other children, tens of thousands who had hailed her as their mother when she broke their chains. She thought of Stalwart Shield, of Missandei’s brother, of the woman Rylona Rhee, who had played the harp so beautifully. No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry.

~

“...Meereen cannot endure another war, Your Radiance.”

That was a good answer, and an honest one. “I have never wanted war. I defeated the Yunkai’i once and spared their city when I might have sacked it. I refused to join King Cleon when he marched against them. Even now, with Astapor besieged, I stay my hand. And Qarth … I have never done the Qartheen any harm …”

~

“...I would sooner perish fighting than return my children to bondage.”

“There may be another choice. The Yunkai’i can be persuaded to allow all your freedmen to remain free, I believe, if Your Worship will agree that the Yellow City may trade and train slaves unmolested from this day forth. No more blood need flow.”

“Save for the blood of those slaves that the Yunkai’i will trade and train,” Dany said, but she recognized the truth in his words even so. It may be that is the best end we can hope for.

~

“So,” she said to him, “it seems that I may wed again. Are you happy for me, ser?”

“If that is your command, Your Grace.”

“Hizdahr is not the husband you would have chosen for me.”

“It is not my place to choose your husband.”

“It is not,” she agreed, “but it is important to me that you should understand. My people are bleeding. Dying. A queen belongs not to herself, but to the realm. Marriage or carnage, those are my choices. A wedding or a war.”

~

“You are fighting shadows when you should be fighting the men who cast them,” Daario went on. “Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid.”

“If I knew who they were—”

“Zhak and Pahl and Merreq. Them, and all the rest. The Great Masters. Who else would it be?”

He is as bold as he is bloody. “We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?”

“Your own subjects would gladly slaughter you.”

He had been so long away, Dany had almost forgotten what he was. Sellswords were treacherous by nature, she reminded herself. Fickle, faithless, brutal. He will never be more than he is. He will never be the stuff of kings. “The pyramids are strong,” she explained to him. “We could take them only at great cost. The moment we attack one the others will rise against us.”

“Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”

Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?”

ADWD Daenerys III

The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds. “It was these calamities that transformed my people into slavers,” Galazza Galare had told her, at the Temple of the Graces. And I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself.

~

“I want no slave. I free you.” His jeweled nose made a tempting target. This time Dany threw an apricot at him.

Xaro caught it in the air and took a bite. “Whence came this madness? Should I count myself fortunate that you did not free my own slaves when you were my guest in Qarth?”

I was a beggar queen and you were Xaro of the Thirteen, Dany thought, and all you wanted were my dragons. “Your slaves seemed well treated and content. It was not till Astapor that my eyes were opened. Do you know how Unsullied are made and trained?”

~

He was too eloquent for her. Dany had no answer for him, only the raw feeling in her belly. “Slavery is not the same as rain,” she insisted. “I have been rained on and I have been sold. It is not the same. No man wants to be owned.”

~

“My dragons have grown, my shoulders have not. They range far afield, hunting.” Hazzea, forgive me.

~

Dany wondered how many men thirteen galleys could hold. It had taken three to carry her and her khalasar from Qarth to Astapor, but that was before she had acquired eight thousand Unsullied, a thousand sellswords, and a vast horde of freedmen. And the dragons, what am I to do with them? “Drogon,” she whispered softly, “where are you?” For a moment she could almost see him sweeping across the sky, his black wings swallowing the stars.

~

"As you say, Your Grace. Still. I will be watchful."

She kissed [Barristan] on the cheek. "I know you will. Come, walk me back down to the feast."

~

One of her young hostages brought her morning meal, a plump shy girl named Mezzara, whose father ruled the pyramid of Merreq, and Dany gave her a happy hug and thanked her with a kiss.

~

“We are all dead, then. You gave us death, not freedom.” Ghael leapt to his feet and spat into her face.

Strong Belwas seized him by the shoulder and slammed him down onto the marble so hard that Dany heard Ghael’s teeth crack. The Shavepate would have done worse, but she stopped him.

“Enough,” she said, dabbing at her cheek with the end of her tokar. “No one has ever died from spittle. Take him away.”

~

Dany would gladly have sent the rest of the petitioners away … but she was still their queen, so she heard them out and did her best to give them justice.

~

Late that afternoon Admiral Groleo and Ser Barristan returned from their inspection of the galleys. Dany assembled her council to hear them. Grey Worm was there for the Unsullied, Skahaz mo Kandaq for the Brazen Beasts. In the absence of her bloodriders, a wizened jaqqa rhan called Rommo, squint-eyed and bowlegged, came to speak for her Dothraki. Her freedmen were represented by the captains of the three companies she had formed—Mollono Yos Dob of the Stalwart Shields, Symon Stripeback of the Free Brothers, Marselen of the Mother’s Men. Reznak mo Reznak hovered at the queen’s elbow, and Strong Belwas stood behind her with his huge arms crossed. Dany would not lack for counsel.

~

Reznak mo Reznak gave a piteous moan. “Then it is true. Your Worship means to abandon us.” He wrung his hands. “The Yunkai’i will restore the Great Masters the instant you are gone, and we who have so faithfully served your cause will be put to the sword, our sweet wives and maiden daughters raped and enslaved.”

“Not mine,” grumbled Skahaz Shavepate. “I will kill them first, with mine own hand.” He slapped his sword hilt.

Dany felt as if he had slapped her face instead. “If you fear what may follow when I leave, come with me to Westeros.”

~

“Those left behind in Meereen would envy them their easy deaths,” moaned Reznak. “They will make slaves of us, or throw us in the pits. All will be as it was, or worse.”

“Where is your courage?” Ser Barristan lashed out. “Her Grace freed you from your chains. It is for you to sharpen your swords and defend your own freedom when she leaves.”

“Brave words, from one who means to sail into the sunset,” Symon Stripeback snarled back. “Will you look back at our dying?”

“Your Grace—”

“Magnificence—”

“Your Worship—”

“Enough.” Dany slapped the table. “No one will be left to die. You are all my people.” Her dreams of home and love had blinded her. “I will not abandon Meereen to the fate of Astapor. It grieves me to say so, but Westeros must wait.”

~

“My lord, I will gladly have those ships, but I cannot give you the promise that you ask.” She took his hand. “Give me the galleys, and I swear that Qarth will have the friendship of Meereen until the stars go out. Let me trade with them, and you will have a good part of the profits.”

Xaro’s glad smile died upon his lips. “What are you saying? Are you telling me you will not go?”

“I cannot go.”

ADWD Daenerys II

“Who is that weeping?”

“Your slave Missandei.” Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

“My servant. I have no slaves.”

~

“Magnificence,” murmured Reznak mo Reznak, “we cannot know that these great nobles mean to join your enemies. More like they are simply making for their estates in the hills.”

“They will not mind us keeping their gold safe, then. There is nothing to buy in the hills.”

“They are afraid for their children,” Reznak said.

Yes, Daenerys thought, and so am I. “We must keep them safe as well. I will have two children from each of them. From the other pyramids as well. A boy and a girl.”

“Hostages,” said Skahaz, happily.

“Pages and cupbearers. If the Great Masters make objection, explain to them that in Westeros it is a great honor for a child to be chosen to serve at court.”

~

“[...] Will you hear my friends? There are seven of them as well. [...] They have come to add their voices to mine own, and ask Your Grace to let our fighting pits reopen.”

[...] Dany had no answer for that. If this is truly what my people wish, do I have the right to deny it to them? It was their city before it was mine, and it is their own lives they wish to squander. “I will consider all you've said. Thank you for your counsel.” She rose. “We will resume on the morrow.”

~

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter. “Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court.”

“We’ll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes.” When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle.

~

Somewhere beneath those roofs, the Sons of the Harpy were gathered, plotting ways to kill her and all those who loved her and put her children back in chains. Somewhere down there a hungry child was crying for milk. Somewhere an old woman lay dying. Somewhere a man and a maid embraced, and fumbled at each other’s clothes with eager hands. But up here there was only the sheen of moonlight on pyramids and pits, with no hint what lay beneath. Up here there was only her, alone.

She was the blood of the dragon. She could kill the Sons of the Harpy, and the sons of the sons, and the sons of the sons of the sons. But a dragon could not feed a hungry child nor help a dying woman’s pain. And who would ever dare to love a dragon?

~

“The freedmen work too cheaply, Magnificence,” Reznak said. “Some call themselves journeymen, or even masters, titles that belong by rights only to the craftsmen of the guilds. The masons and the bricklayers do respectfully petition Your Worship to uphold their ancient rights and customs.”

“The freedmen work cheaply because they are hungry,” Dany pointed out. “If I forbid them to carve stone or lay bricks, the chandlers, the weavers, and the goldsmiths will soon be at my gates asking that they be excluded from those trades as well.”

~

“Hizdahr swears that the winners shall share half of all the coin collected at the gates,” said Khrazz. “Half, he swears it, and Hizdahr is an honorable man.”

No, a cunning man. Daenerys felt trapped. “And the losers? What shall they receive?”

~

The guilt …” The word caught in her throat. Hazzea, she thought, and suddenly she heard herself say, “I have to see the pit,” in a voice as small as a child’s whisper. “Take me down, ser, if you would.”

~

What sort of mother lets her children rot in darkness?

~

If I look back, I am doomed, Dany told herself … but how could she not look back? I should have seen it coming. Was I so blind, or did I close my eyes willfully, so I would not have to see the price of power?

[...] On the road to Yunkai, when Daario tossed the heads of Sallor the Bald and Prendahl na Ghezn at her feet, her children made a feast of them. Dragons had no fear of men. And a dragon large enough to gorge on sheep could take a child just as easily.

Her name had been Hazzea. She was four years old. Unless her father lied. He might have lied. No one had seen the dragon but him. His proof was burned bones, but burned bones proved nothing. He might have killed the little girl himself, and burned her afterward. He would not have been the first father to dispose of an unwanted girl child, the Shavepate claimed. The Sons of the Harpy might have done it, and made it look like dragon’s work to make the city hate me. Dany wanted to believe that … but if that was so, why had Hazzea’s father waited until the audience hall was almost empty to come forward? If his purpose had been to inflame the Meereenese against her, he would have told his tale when the hall was full of ears to hear.

 [...] Dany chose to pay the blood price. No one could tell her the worth of a daughter, so she set it at one hundred times the worth of a lamb. “I would give Hazzea back to you if I could,” she told the father, “but some things are beyond the power of even a queen. Her bones shall be laid to rest in the Temple of the Graces, and a hundred candles shall burn day and night in her memory. Come back to me each year upon her nameday, and your other children shall not want … but this tale must never pass your lips again.”

~

Mother of dragons, Daenerys thought. Mother of monsters. What have I unleashed upon the world? A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros? I am the blood of the dragon, she thought. If they are monsters, so am I.

ADWD Daenerys I

“Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”

“He died for me.”

~

“Grey Worm, why was this man alone? Had he no partner?” By her command, when the Unsullied walked the streets of Meereen by night they always walked in pairs.

“My queen,” replied the captain, “your servant Stalwart Shield had no duty last night. He had gone to a ... a certain place ... to drink, and have companionship.”

“A certain place? What do you mean?”

“A house of pleasure, Your Grace.”

[...] “What could a eunuch hope to find in a brothel?”

“Even those who lack a man’s parts may still have a man’s heart, Your Grace,” said Grey Worm. “This one has been told that your servant Stalwart Shield sometimes gave coin to the women of the brothels to lie with him and hold him.”

The blood of the dragon does not weep. “Stalwart Shield,” she said, dry-eyed. “That was his name?”

“If it please Your Grace.”

“It is a fine name.” The Good Masters of Astapor had not allowed their slave soldiers even names. Some of her Unsullied reclaimed their birth names after she had freed them; others chose new names for themselves. [...]

Dany said a silent prayer that somewhere one of the Harpy’s Sons was dying even now, clutching at his belly and writhing in pain. “Why did they cut open his cheeks like that?”

“Gracious queen,” said Grey Worm, “his killers had forced the genitals of a goat down the throat of your servant Stalwart Shield. This one removed them before bringing him here.”

[...] Shrugging off the lion pelt, she knelt beside the corpse and closed the dead man’s eyes, ignoring Jhiqui’s gasp. “Stalwart Shield shall not be forgotten. Have him washed and dressed for battle and bury him with cap and shield and spears.”

~

To rule Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however much I may despise them.

~

The hall had filled. Unsullied stood with their backs to the pillars, holding shields and spears, the spikes on their caps jutting upward like a row of knives. The Meereenese had gathered beneath the eastern windows. Her freedmen stood well apart from their former masters. Until they stand together, Meereen will know no peace. “Arise.” Dany settled onto her bench. The hall rose. That at least they do as one.

~

“What was the name of the old weaver?”

“The slave?” Grazdan shifted his weight, frowning. “She was … Elza, it might have been. Or Ella. It was six years ago she died. I have owned so many slaves, Your Grace.”

“Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman.”

~

Reznak would have summoned another tokar next, but Dany insisted that he call upon a freedman. Thereafter she alternated between the former masters and the former slaves.

~

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence." Reznak bowed. "Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?”

Daenerys shifted on the bench. “No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they'll eat. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day. “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.”

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“I am going to take you home one day, Missandei,” Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? “I swear it.”

“This one is content to stay with you, Your Grace. Naath will be there, always. You are good to this—to me.”

“And you to me.”

~

“The city bleeds. Dead men rot unburied in the streets, each pyramid is an armed camp, and the markets have neither food nor slaves for sale. And the poor children! King Cleaver’s thugs have seized every highborn boy in Astapor to make new Unsullied for the trade, though it will be years before they are trained.”

The thing that surprised Dany most was how unsurprised she was. She found herself remembering Eroeh, the Lhazarene girl she had once tried to protect, and what had happened to her. It will be the same in Meereen once I march, she thought.

~

“Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.”

~

“Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.”

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint?

“A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.”

“But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.”

“What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo.

“Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

ASOS Daenerys V

Her host numbered more than eighty thousand after Yunkai, but fewer than a quarter of them were soldiers. The rest ... well, Ser Jorah called them mouths with feet, and soon they would be starving.

The Great Masters of Meereen had withdrawn before Dany’s advance, harvesting all they could and burning what they could not harvest. Scorched fields and poisoned wells had greeted her at every hand. Worst of all, they had nailed a slave child up on every milepost along the coast road from Yunkai, nailed them up still living with their entrails hanging out and one arm always outstretched to point the way to Meereen. Leading her van, Daario had given orders for the children to be taken down before Dany had to see them, but she had countermanded him as soon as she was told. “I will see them,” she said. “I will see every one, and count them, and look upon their faces. And I will remember.”

By the time they came to Meereen sitting on the salt coast beside her river, the count stood at one hundred and sixty-three. I will have this city, Dany pledged to herself once more.

~

“Strong Belwas needs liver and onions.”

“You shall have it,” said Dany. “Strong Belwas is hurt.” His stomach was red with the blood sheeting down from the meaty gash beneath his breasts.

“It is nothing. I let each man cut me once, before I kill him.” He slapped his bloody belly. “Count the cuts and you will know how many Strong Belwas has slain.”

But Dany had lost Khal Drogo to a similar wound, and she was not willing to let it go untreated. She sent Missandei to find a certain Yunkish freedman renowned for his skill in the healing arts. Belwas howled and complained, but Dany scolded him and called him a big bald baby until he let the healer stanch the wound with vinegar, sew it shut, and bind his chest with strips of linen soaked in fire wine. Only then did she lead her captains and commanders inside her pavilion for their council.

~

Daario Naharis gave Grey Worm a smile. “Perhaps the Unsullied should wield the axes. Boiling oil feels like no more than a warm bath to you, I have heard.”

“This is false.” Grey Worm did not return the smile. “These ones do not feel burns as men do, yet such oil blinds and kills. The Unsullied do not fear to die, though. Give these ones rams, and we will batter down these gates or die in the attempt.”

“You would die,” said Brown Ben. At Yunkai, when he took command of the Second Sons, he claimed to be the veteran of a hundred battles. “Though I will not say I fought bravely in all of them. There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords.” She saw that it was true.

Dany sighed. “I will not throw away Unsullied lives, Grey Worm.”

~

“...You stopped at Astapor to buy an army, not to start a war. Save your spears and swords for the Seven Kingdoms, my queen. Leave Meereen to the Meereenese and march west for Pentos.”

“Defeated?” said Dany, bristling.

[...] Dany set great store by Ser Jorah’s counsel, but to leave Meereen untouched was more than she could stomach. She could not forget the children on their posts, the birds tearing at their entrails, their skinny arms pointing up the coast road. “Ser Jorah, you say we have no food left. If I march west, how can I feed my freedmen?”

“You can’t. I am sorry, Khaleesi. They must feed themselves or starve. Many and more will die along the march, yes. That will be hard, but there is no way to save them. We need to put this scorched earth well behind us.”

Dany had left a trail of corpses behind her when she crossed the red waste. It was a sight she never meant to see again. “No,” she said. “I will not march my people off to die.” My children. “There must be some way into this city.”

~

The grove of burnt olive trees in which she’d raised her pavilion stood beside the sea, between the Dothraki camp and that of the Unsullied. When the horses had been saddled, Dany and her companions set out along the shoreline, away from the city. Even so, she could feel Meereen at her back, mocking her. When she looked over one shoulder, there it stood, the afternoon sun blazing off the bronze harpy atop the Great Pyramid. Inside Meereen the slavers would soon be reclining in their fringed tokars to feast on lamb and olives, unborn puppies, honeyed dormice and other such delicacies, whilst outside her children went hungry. A sudden wild anger filled her. I will bring you down, she swore.

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany considered. The slaver host seemed small compared to her own numbers, but the sellswords were ahorse. She’d ridden too long with Dothraki not to have a healthy respect for what mounted warriors could do to foot. The Unsullied could withstand their charge, but my freedmen will be slaughtered. 

~

One of the first things Dany had done after the fall of Astapor was abolish the custom of giving the Unsullied new slave names every day. Most of those born free had returned to their birth names; those who still remembered them, at least. Others had called themselves after heroes or gods, and sometimes weapons, gems, and even flowers, which resulted in soldiers with some very peculiar names, to Dany’s ears. Grey Worm had remained Grey Worm. When she asked him why, he said, “It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free.”

“If battle is joined, let Grey Worm show wisdom as well as valor,” Dany told him. “Spare any slave who runs or throws down his weapon. The fewer slain, the more remain to join us after.”

“This one will remember.”

“I know he will. Be at my tent by midday. I want you there with my other officers when I treat with the sellsword captains.” Dany spurred her silver on to camp.

~

Within the perimeter the Unsullied had established, the tents were going up in orderly rows, with her own tall golden pavilion at the center. A second encampment lay close beyond her own; five times the size, sprawling and chaotic, this second camp had no ditches, no tents, no sentries, no horselines. Those who had horses or mules slept beside them, for fear they might be stolen. Goats, sheep, and half-starved dogs wandered freely amongst hordes of women, children, and old men. Dany had left Astapor in the hands of a council of former slaves led by a healer, a scholar, and a priest. Wise men all, she thought, and just. Yet even so, tens of thousands preferred to follow her to Yunkai, rather than remain behind in Astapor. I gave them the city, and most of them were too frightened to take it.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver’s armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst.

~

“I cannot sleep when men are dying for me, Whitebeard,” she said.

~

“Our own losses?”

“A dozen. If that many.”

Only then did she allow herself to smile.

~

“Sellsword or slave, spare all those who will pledge me their faith. If enough of the Second Sons will join us, keep the company intact.”

~

“Mhysa! Mhysa!”

Dany looked at Missandei. “What are they shouting?” “It is Ghiscari, the old pure tongue. It means ‘Mother.’”

Dany felt a lightness in her chest. I will never bear a living child, she remembered. Her hand trembled as she raised it. Perhaps she smiled. She must have, because the man grinned and shouted again, and others took up the cry. “Mhysa!” they called. “Mhysa! MHYSA!” They were all smiling at her, reaching for her, kneeling before her. “Maela,” some called her while others cried “Aelalla” or “Qathei” or “Tato,” but whatever the tongue it all meant the same thing. Mother. They are calling me Mother.

The chant grew, spread, swelled. It swelled so loud that it frightened her horse, and the mare backed and shook her head and lashed her silver-grey tail. It swelled until it seemed to shake the yellow walls of Yunkai. More slaves were streaming from the gates every moment, and as they came they took up the call. They were running toward her now, pushing, stumbling, wanting to touch her hand, to stroke her horse’s mane, to kiss her feet. Her poor bloodriders could not keep them all away, and even Strong Belwas grunted and growled in dismay.

Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. “They will not hurt me,” she told him. “They are my children, Jorah.” She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, Mother, Mother!”

ASOS Daenerys III

“All,” growled Kraznys mo Nakloz, who smelled of peaches today. The slave girl repeated the word in the Common Tongue of Westeros. “Of thousands, there are eight. Is this what she means by all? There are also six centuries, who shall be part of a ninth thousand when complete. Would she have them too?”

“I would,” said Dany when the question was put to her. “The eight thousands, the six centuries ... and the ones still in training as well. The ones who have not earned the spikes.”

~

Dany let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying to keep her face blank and ignorant. I will have them all, no matter the price, she told herself. The city had a hundred slave traders, but the eight before her were the greatest. When selling bed slaves, fieldhands, scribes, craftsmen, and tutors, these men were rivals, but their ancestors had allied one with the other for the purpose of making and selling the Unsullied. Brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her people.

~

“My need is now. The Unsullied are well trained, but even so, many will fall in battle. I shall need the boys as replacements to take up the swords they drop.” She put her wine aside and leaned toward the slave girl. “Tell the Good Masters that I will want even the little ones who still have their puppies. Tell them that I will pay as much for the boy they cut yesterday as for an Unsullied in a spiked helm.”

The girl told them. The answer was still no.


Dany frowned in annoyance. “Very well. Tell them I will pay double, so long as I get them all.”


~

Two thousand would never serve for what she meant to do. I must have them all. Dany knew what she must do now, though the taste of it was so bitter that even the persimmon wine could not cleanse it from her month. She had considered long and hard and found no other way. It is my only choice. “Give me all,” she said, “and you may have a dragon.”

~

“When you are ... when you are done with them ... your Grace might command them to fall upon their swords.”

“And even that, they would do?”


“Yes.” Missandei’s voice had grown soft. “Your Grace.”

Dany squeezed her hand. “You would sooner I did not ask it of them, though. Why is that? Why do you care?”

“This one does not ... I ... Your Grace ... ”


“Tell me.”


The girl lowered her eyes. “Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace.”

Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you.

~

“Magister Illyrio is not here,” she finally had to tell him, “and if he was, he could not sway me either. I need the Unsullied more than I need these ships, and I will hear no more about it.”

The anger burned the grief and fear from her, for a few hours at the least.

~

“Do you remember Eroeh?” she asked him. “The Lhazareen girl?”

“They were raping her, but I stopped them and took her under my protection. Only when my sun-and-stars was dead Mago took her back, used her again, and killed her. Aggo said it was her fate.”

“I remember,” Ser Jorah said.

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”
“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”

~

“Unsullied! Defend us, stop them, defend your masters! Spears! Swords!”

[...] The Unsullied did not so much as look down to watch him die. Rank on rank on rank, they stood.

And did not move. The gods have heard my prayer.

“Unsullied!” Dany galloped before them, her silver-gold braid flying behind her, her bell chiming with every stride. “Slay the Good Masters, slay the soldiers, slay every man who wears a tokar or holds a whip, but harm no child under twelve, and strike the chains off every slave you see.” She raised the harpy’s fingers in the air ... and then she flung the scourge aside. “Freedom!” she sang out. “Dracarys! Dracarys!”

“Dracarys!” they shouted back, the sweetest word she’d ever heard. “Dracarys! Dracarys!” And all around them slavers ran and sobbed and begged and died, and the dusty air was filled with spears and fire.

ASOS Daenerys II

“Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. [...] Such is their courage. Tell her that.”

“I call that madness, not courage,” said Arstan Whitebeard, when the solemn little scribe was done. He tapped the end of his hardwood staff against the bricks, tap tap, as if to tell his displeasure. The old man had not wanted to sail to Astapor; nor did he favor buying this slave army. A queen should hear all sides before reaching a decision. That was why Dany had brought him with her to the Plaza of Pride, not to keep her safe.

~

He stopped before a thickset man who had the look of Lhazar about him and brought his whip up sharply, laying a line of blood across one copper cheek. The eunuch blinked, and stood there, bleeding. “Would you like another?” asked Kraznys.

“If it please your worship.”

It was hard to pretend not to understand. Dany laid a hand on Kraznys’s arm before he could raise the whip again. “Tell the Good Master that I see how strong his Unsullied are, and how bravely they suffer pain.”

~

“There are other ways to tempt men, besides the flesh,” Arstan Whitebeard objected, when she was done.

“Men, yes, but not Unsullied. Plunder interests them no more than rape. They own nothing but their weapons. We do not even permit them names.”

“No names?” Dany frowned at the little scribe. “Can that be what the Good Master said? They have no names?”

~

“More madness,” said Arstan, when he heard. “How can any man possibly remember a new name every day?”

“Those who cannot are culled in training, along with those who cannot run all day in full pack, scale a mountain in the black of night, walk across a bed of coals, or slay an infant.”

Dany’s mouth surely twisted at that. Did he see, or is he blind as well as cruel? She turned away quickly, trying to keep her face a mask until she heard the translation. Only then did she allow herself to say, “Whose infants do they slay?”

“To win his spiked cap, an Unsullied must go to the slave marts with a silver mark, find some wailing newborn, and kill it before its mother’s eyes. In this way, we make certain that there is no weakness left in them.”

She was feeling faint. The heat, she tried to tell herself. “You take a babe from its mother’s arms, kill it as she watches, and pay for her pain with a silver coin?”

~

Dany climbed into her litter frowning, and beckoned Arstan to climb in beside her. A man as old as him should not be walking in such heat.

~

“Make way!” Jhogo shouted as he rode before her litter. “Make way for the Mother of Dragons!” But when he uncoiled the great silver-handled whip that Dany had given him, and made to crack it in the air, she leaned out and told him nay. “Not in this place, blood of my blood,” she said, in his own tongue. “These bricks have heard too much of the sound of whips.”

~

“Dog,” he said happily when he saw Dany. “Good dog in Astapor, little queen. Eat?” He offered it with a greasy grin.

“That is kind of you, Belwas, but no.” Dany had eaten dog in other places, at other times, but just now all she could think of was the Unsullied and their stupid puppies.

~

“How many men do they have for sale?”

“None.” Was it Mormont she was angry with, or this city with its sullen heat, its stinks and sweats and crumbling bricks? “They sell eunuchs, not men. Eunuchs made of brick, like the rest of Astapor. Shall I buy eight thousand brick eunuchs with dead eyes that never move, who kill suckling babes for the sake of a spiked hat and strangle their own dogs? They don’t even have names. So don’t call them men, ser.”

“Khaleesi,” he said, taken aback by her fury, “the Unsullied are chosen as boys, and trained—”

“I have heard all I care to of their training.” Dany could feel tears welling in her eyes, sudden and unwanted. Her hand flashed up and cracked Ser Jorah hard across the face. It was either that, or cry.

Mormont touched the cheek she’d slapped. “If I have displeased my queen—”

“You have. You’ve displeased me greatly, ser. If you were my true knight, you would never have brought me to this vile sty.”

~

“They have been wild while you were gone, Khaleesi,” Irri told her. “Viserion clawed splinters from the door, do you see? And Drogon made to escape when the slaver men came to see them. When I grabbed his tail to hold him back, he turned and bit me.” She showed Dany the marks of his teeth on her hand.

“Did any of them try to burn their way free?” That was the thing that frightened Dany the most.

“No, Khaleesi. Drogon breathed his fire, but in the empty air. The slaver men feared to come near him.”

She kissed Irri’s hand where Drogon had bitten it. “I’m sorry he hurt you. Dragons are not meant to be locked up in a small ship’s cabin.”

~

Dusk had begun to settle over the waters of Slaver’s Bay before Dany returned to the deck. She stood by the rail and looked out over Astapor. From here it looks almost beautiful, she thought. The stars were coming out above, and the silk lanterns below, just as Kraznys’s translator had promised. The brick pyramids were all glimmery with light. But it is dark below, in the streets and plazas and fighting pits. And it is darkest of all in the barracks, where some little boy is feeding scraps to the puppy they gave him when they took away his manhood.

~

Cheaper than fighting, Dany thought. Yes, it might be. If only it could be that easy for her. How pleasant it would be to sail to King’s Landing with her dragons, and pay the boy Joffrey a chest of gold to make him go away.

~

“Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

ASOS Daenerys I

The captain appeared at her elbow. “Would that this Balerion could soar as her namesake did, Your Grace,” he said in bastard Valyrian heavily flavored with accents of Pentos. “Then we should not need to row, nor tow, nor pray for wind.”

“Just so, Captain,” she answered with a smile, pleased to have won the man over. Captain Groleo was an old Pentoshi like his master, Illyrio Mopatis, and he had been nervous as a maiden about carrying three dragons on his ship. Half a hundred buckets of seawater still hung from the gunwales, in case of fires. At first Groleo had wanted the dragons caged and Dany had consented to put his fears at ease, but their misery was so palpable that she soon changed her mind and insisted they be freed.


Even Captain Groleo was glad of that, now. There had been one small fire, easily extinguished; against that, Balerion suddenly seemed to have far fewer rats than she’d had before, when she sailed under the name Saduleon. And her crew, once as fearful as they were curious, had begun to take a queer fierce pride in “their” dragons. Every man of them, from captain to cook’s boy, loved to watch the three fly ... though none so much as Dany.

~

“Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

“Your Grace,” said Whitebeard, “the Prince of Dragonstone was a most puissant warrior, but ...”

“Go on,” she urged. “You may speak freely to me.”

~

“...A change in the wind may bring the gift of victory.” He glanced at Ser Jorah. “Or a lady’s favor knotted round an arm.”

Mormont’s face darkened. “Be careful what you say, old man.”

Arstan had seen Ser Jorah fight at Lannisport, Dany knew, in the tourney Mormont had won with a lady’s favor knotted round his arm. He had won the lady too; Lynesse of House Hightower, his second wife, highborn and beautiful ... but she had ruined him, and abandoned him, and the memory of her was bitter to him now. “Be gentle, my knight.” She put a hand on Jorah’s arm. “Arstan had no wish to give offense, I’m certain.”

~

“A queen must listen to all,” she reminded him. “The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found.” She had read that in a book.

~

“It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone. Every man I take into my service is a risk, I understand that, but how am I to win the Seven Kingdoms without such risks? Am I to conquer Westeros with one exile knight and three Dothraki bloodriders?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

“Make way,” Aggo shouted, while Jhogo sniffed at the air suspiciously. “I smell it, Khaleesi,” he called. “The poison water.” The Dothraki distrusted the sea and all that moved upon it. Water that a horse could not drink was water they wanted no part of. They will learn, Dany resolved. I braved their sea with Khal Drogo. Now they can brave mine.

~

The brass merchant was still rolling on the ground. She went to him and helped him to his feet. “Were you stung?”

“No, good lady,” he said, shaking, “or else I would be dead. But it touched me, aieeee, when it fell from the box it landed on my arm.” He had soiled himself, she saw, and no wonder.

She gave him a silver for his trouble and sent him on his way before she turned back to the old man with the white beard.

ACOK Daenerys III

They must weigh twice what they had in Vaes Tolorro. Even so, it would be years before they were large enough to take to war. And they must be trained as well, or they will lay my kingdom waste. For all her Targaryen blood, Dany had not the least idea of how to train a dragon.

~

“The Pureborn refused you?”

“As you said they would. Come, sit, give me your counsel.”

ACOK Daenerys II

The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

~

Beneath Dany's gentle fingers, green Rhaegal stared at the stranger with eyes of molten gold. When his mouth opened, his teeth gleamed like black needles. "When does your ship return to Westeros, Captain?" 

"Not for a year or more, I fear. From here the Cinnamon Wind sails east, to make the trader's circle round the Jade Sea." 

"I see," said Dany, disappointed. "I wish you fair winds and good trading, then. You have brought me a precious gift."

~

Dany laughed. "And will see more of them one day, I hope. Come to me in King's Landing when I am on my father's throne, and you shall have a great reward."

ACOK Daenerys I

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

~

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick, yet it was her dragons she feared for.

~

Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands and wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see the children, women, the wrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am a woman. Tomorrow I will be old. To each of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you.”

AGOT Daenerys IX

“Eroeh?” asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city of the Lamb Men.

“Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo’s bloodrider now,” said Jhogo. “He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat.”

“It was her fate, Khaleesi,” said Aggo.


If I look back I am lost. “It was a cruel fate,” Dany said, “yet not so cruel as Mago’s will be. I promise you that, by the old gods and the new, by the lamb god and the horse god and every god that lives. I swear it by the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. Before I am done with them, Mago and Ko Jhaqo will plead for the mercy they showed Eroeh.”

The Dothraki exchanged uncertain glances. “Khaleesi,” the handmaid Irri explained, as if to a child, “Jhaqo is a khal now, with twenty thousand riders at his back.”

She lifted her head. “And I am Daenerys Stormhorn, Daenerys of House Targaryen, of the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor the Cruel and old Valyria before them. I am the dragon’s daughter, and I swear to you, these men will die screaming. Now bring me to Khal Drogo.”

AGOT Daenerys VIII

“He fell from his horse,” Haggo said, staring down. His broad face was impassive, but his voice was leaden.

“You must not say that,” Dany told him. “We have ridden far enough today. We will camp here.”

~

“We must bathe him,” she said stubbornly. She must not allow herself to despair. “Irri, have the tub brought at once. Doreah, Eroeh, find water, cool water, he’s so hot.” He was a fire in human skin.

[...] While the bath was being prepared, Dany knelt awkwardly beside her lord husband, her belly great with their child within. She undid his braid with anxious fingers, as she had on the night he’d taken her for the first time, beneath the stars. His bells she laid aside carefully, one by one. He would want them again when he was well, she told herself.

~

“Help him,” Dany pleaded. “For the love you say you bear me, help him now.”

[...] “Your khal is good as dead, Princess.”

“No, he can’t die, he mustn’t, it was only a cut.” Dany took his large callused hand in her own small ones, and held it tight between them. “I will not let him die ...”

~

Dany hugged herself. “But why?” she cried plaintively. “Why should they kill a little baby?”

“He is Drogo’s son, and the crones say he will be the stallion who mounts the world. It was prophesied. Better to kill the child than to risk his fury when he grows to manhood.”

The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried. “I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo’s bloodriders will—”

~

Dany did not want to go back to Vaes Dothrak and live the rest of her life among those terrible old women, yet she knew that the knight spoke the truth. Drogo had been more than her sun-and-stars; he had been the shield that kept her safe. “I will not leave him,” she said stubbornly, miserably. She took his hand again. “I will not.”

~

“This is your work, maegi,” Qotho said. Haggo laid his fist across Mirri’s cheek with a meaty smack that drove her to the ground. Then he kicked her where she lay.

“Stop it!” Dany screamed.

~

“So you have saved me once more.”

“And now you must save him,” Dany said. “Please ...”

[...] “All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning.”

Her words were a knife through Dany’s breast. What had she ever done to make the gods so cruel? She had finally found a safe place, had finally tasted love and hope. She was finally going home. And now to lose it all ... “No,” she pleaded. “Save him, and I will free you, I swear it. You must know a way ... some magic, some ...”

~

She told herself she would die for him, if she must. She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

~

She caught him by the shoulder, but Qotho shoved her aside. Dany fell to her knees, crossing her arms over her belly to protect the child within.

~

Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. “No,” she wept, “no, please, stop it, it’s too high, the price is too high.” More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. “My baby,” she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo’s arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart.

AGOT Daenerys VII

The town was afire, black plumes of smoke roiling and tumbling as they rose into a hard blue sky. Beneath broken walls of dried mud, riders galloped back and forth, swinging their long whips as they herded the survivors from the smoking rubble. The women and children of Ogo’s khalasar walked with a sullen pride, even in defeat and bondage; they were slaves now, but they seemed not to fear it. It was different with the townsfolk. Dany pitied them; she remembered what terror felt like. Mothers stumbled along with blank, dead faces, pulling sobbing children by the hand. There were only a few men among them, cripples and cowards and grandfathers.

~

Ogo and his son had shared the high bench with her lord husband at the naming feast where Viserys had been crowned, but that was in Vaes Dothrak, beneath the Mother of Mountains, where every rider was a brother and all quarrels were put aside. It was different out in the grass. Ogo’s khalasar had been attacking the town when Khal Drogo caught him. She wondered what the Lamb Men had thought, when they first saw the dust of their horses from atop those cracked-mud walls. Perhaps a few, the younger and more foolish who still believed that the gods heard the prayers of desperate men, took it for deliverance.

Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbing in a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men.

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate.

“Most of Ogo’s riders fled,” Ser Jorah was saying. “Still, there may be as many as ten thousand captives.”

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

“I’ve told the khal he ought to make for Meereen,” Ser Jorah said. “They’ll pay a better price than he’d get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them.”

Behind them, the girl being raped made a heartrending sound, a long sobbing wail that went on and on and on. Dany’s hand clenched hard around the reins, and she turned the silver’s head. “Make them stop,” she commanded Ser Jorah.

“Khaleesi?” The knight sounded perplexed.


“You heard my words,” she said. “Stop them.” She spoke to her khas in the harsh accents of Dothraki. “Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape.”

The warriors exchanged a baffled look.

Jorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. “Princess,” he said, “you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward.”

Across the road, the girl was still crying, her high singsong tongue strange to Dany’s ears. The first man was done with her now, and a second had taken his place.

“She is a lamb girl,” Quaro said in Dothraki. “She is nothing, Khaleesi. The riders do her honor. The Lamb Men lay with sheep, it is known.”

“It is known,” her handmaid Irri echoed.

“It is known,” agreed Jhogo, astride the tall grey stallion that Drogo had given him. “If her wailing offends your ears, Khaleesi, Jhogo will bring you her tongue.” He drew his arakh.

“I will not have her harmed,” Dany said. “I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”

“Ai, Khaleesi,” Jhogo replied, kicking his horse. Quaro and the others followed his lead, the bells in their hair chiming.

“Go with them,” she commanded Ser Jorah.

“As you command.” The knight gave her a curious look. “You are your brother’s sister, in truth.”

“Viserys?” She did not understand.

“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.” He galloped off.

~

Mormont pulled the girl off the pile of corpses and wrapped her in his blood-spattered cloak. He led her across the road to Dany. “What do you want done with her?”

The girl was trembling, her eyes wide and vague. Her hair was matted with blood. “Doreah, see to her hurts. You do not have a rider’s look, perhaps she will not fear you. The rest, with me.” She urged the silver through the broken wooden gate.

It was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had been about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate.

“You cannot claim them all, child,” Ser Jorah said, the fourth time they stopped, while the warriors of her khas herded her new slaves behind her.

“I am khaleesi, heir to the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “It is not for you to tell me what I cannot do.” Across the city, a building collapsed in a great gout of fire and smoke, and she heard distant screams and the wailing of frightened children.

~

He started to reach out a hand to Daenerys, but as he lifted his arm Drogo grimaced in sudden pain and turned his head.

Dany could almost feel his agony. The wounds were worse than Ser Jorah had led her to believe. “Where are the healers?” she demanded. [...] “Why do they not attend the khal?”

“The khal sent the hairless men away, Khaleesi,” old Cohollo assured her.

[...] “It is not for Khal Drogo to wait,” she proclaimed. “Jhogo, seek out these eunuchs and bring them here at once.”

~

“The khal needs no help from women who lie with sheep,” barked Qotho. “Aggo, cut out her tongue.”

Aggo grabbed her hair and pressed a knife to her throat. Dany lifted a hand. “No. She is mine. Let her speak.”

~

“The Great Shepherd sent me to earth to heal his lambs, wherever I might find them.”

Qotho gave her a stinging slap. “We are no sheep, maegi.”


“Stop it,” Dany said angrily. “She is mine. I will not have her harmed.”

~

“Know this, wife of the Lamb God. Harm the khal and you suffer the same.” He drew his skinning knife and showed her the blade.

“She will do no harm.” Dany felt she could trust this old, plainfaced woman with her flat nose; she had saved her from the hard hands of her rapers, after all.

 AGOT Daenerys VI

She saw a beautiful feathered cloak from the Summer Isles, and took it for a gift. [...] When Doreah looked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it to the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well.

AGOT Daenerys V

Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then ... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother ... and my true king.”

“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.

“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.” ~

A sense of dread closed around her heart. “Go to him,” she commanded Ser Jorah. “Stop him. Bring him here. Tell him he can have the dragon’s eggs if that is what he wants.” The knight rose swiftly to his feet.

“Where is my sister?” Viserys shouted, his voice thick with wine. “I’ve come for her feast. How dare you presume to eat without me? No one eats before the king. Where is she? The whore can’t hide from the dragon.”

~

Her voice made Viserys turn his head, and he saw her for the first time. “There she is,” he said, smiling. He stalked toward her, slashing at the air as if to cut a path through a wall of enemies, though no one tried to bar his way.

“The blade ... you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food ... is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”

~

Distantly, as from far away, Dany heard her handmaid Jhiqui sobbing in fear, pleading that she dared not translate, that the khal would bind her and drag her behind his horse all the way up the Mother of Mountains. She put her arm around the girl. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I shall tell him.”

AGOT Daenerys IV

Dany followed on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont and her brother Viserys, mounted once more. After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame ... yet he had done as she bid. It had taken much pleading, and all the pillow tricks Doreah had taught her, before Dany had been able to make Drogo relent and allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column.

~

“So many,” she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, “and from so many lands.”

Viserys was less impressed. “The trash of dead cities,” he sneered. [...] “All these savages know how to do is steal the things better men have built ... and kill.” He laughed. “They do know how to kill. Otherwise I’d have no use for them at all.”

“They are my people now,” Dany said. “You should not call them savages, brother.”

“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said ... in the Common Tongue.

~

“I will give my brother his gifts tonight,” she decided as Jhiqui was washing her hair. “He should look a king in the sacred city. Doreah, run and find him and invite him to sup with me.” Viserys was nicer to the Lysene girl than to her Dothraki handmaids, perhaps because Magister Illyrio had let him bed her back in Pentos. “Irri, go to the bazaar and buy fruit and meat. Anything but horseflesh.”

“Horse is best,” Irri said. “Horse makes a man strong.”

“Viserys hates horsemeat.”

[...] While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.

She was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey border that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging Doreah by the arm. Her eye was red where he’d hit her. “How dare you send this whore to give me commands,” he said. He shoved the handmaid roughly to the carpet.

The anger took Dany utterly by surprise. “I only wanted ... Doreah, what did you say?”

“Khaleesi, pardons, forgive me. I went to him, as you bid, and told him you commanded him to join you for supper.”

“No one commands the dragon,” Viserys snarled. “I am your king! I should have sent you back her head!”

The Lysene girl quailed, but Dany calmed her with a touch. “Don’t be afraid, he won’t hurt you. Sweet brother, please, forgive her, the girl misspoke herself, I told her to ask you to sup with me, if it pleases Your Grace.” She took him by the hand and drew him across the room. “Look. These are for you.”

Viserys frowned suspiciously. “What is all this?”

“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“Please ... you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought ... maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki ... ” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon.

“Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”

“I’d never ... ” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes, yet he dared not strike her, not with her handmaids watching and the warriors of her khas outside. Viserys picked up the cloak and sniffed at it. “This stinks of manure. Perhaps I shall use it as a horse blanket.”

“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit for a khal.” “I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

His fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again, quailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the first thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze medallions. She swung it with all her strength.

It caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the edge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,” Dany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now, before I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”

Viserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day, slut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.

Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft cloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats.

“Your supper is ready, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui announced.

“I’m not hungry,” Dany said sadly. She was suddenly very tired.

[purgatoryandme]

Hey! I can't seem to find the post you made with all the books references in Illuminate Me and the reason behind it? Is it deleted?

I know that there is an incomplete one floating around in my reply tag, and it should be in the Illuminate Me tag, but tumblr’s search features are so bad that I went back to the original word doc of the complete list, so prepare for that particular storm lol.  Quoted/Referenced Reading List (In Order of Appearance) Shakespeare: Macbeth I opened on a Macbeth quote (‘When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lighting, or in rain’) because I wanted to start with something immediately relatable. Most readers were introduced to more ‘dramatic’ plays through Macbeth. Beyond that, they were introduced to the concept of pathetic fallacy, which I think plays nicely with Tony as a character (a man who is CONSTANTLY imparting emotion onto inanimate objects…and then actually giving them their own emotions) and with one of the core problems in IM, which is deciding the emotions of others for them. I was hoping to get the ‘feel’ of that without having to lean too far into the actual concept. 

Bonus: I picked this quote in particular because of the importance of threes in Tony’s life (his core group of friends, iterations of the reactor, number of times reborn, his bot children VS his AI children, the number of lovers or almost lovers he has in the fic, etc). Milton: Paradise Lost ‘What is dark within me, illuminate!’ is a modernization of the original Milton quote ‘what is dark within me, illumine’ for readability. I actually feel a bit bad about changing this considering how many people think this is the original quote now. This wound up being a central (and title) quote somewhat by accident. I’m fond of it because of how much I liked a different one that I had originally wanted for Tony’s thoughts of the reactor: ‘yet from those flames, no light, but rather darkness visible’. I had originally wanted to start off on a sadder note, one that showed how much Tony hated losing his humanity, and so the flames of Hell and their physics-bending concept seemed thematically appropriate. I had always intended to eventually invert the imagery – instead of Extremis being (to Tony) flames capable of extinguishing light, the reactor would become a water-like blue light that couldn’t be choked or recreated by any of the shadows that pursued Tony in his life. I picked Milton SPECIFICALLY for the imagery of light and shadows. 

But, man, listen. Darkness visible is a great concept, but it’s also tired. It has, as you’ve noted, been discussed to death. So as I was reading ‘Milton’s darkness visible and Aeneid 7’ to refamiliarize myself with some of the broader themes attached to that particular piece of imagery, I wound up thinking about how to invert the darkness itself instead of the overall concept. The flames of Hell extinguish light instead of having to exist away from it. It is a bad that cannot be penetrated by good. 

Instead of chasing away shadows, which would be implied by shining a light ON them, the request Tony makes here is to actually invert the darkness - to have it illuminate in and of itself. It’s becoming something better instead of being removed or forgotten. On the flip side of that, the darkness within isn’t growing as light weakens, but rather under its own force. Two forces equal in nature and origin in a person. It’s a different take on lighting than the one most critics hammer home. Long ramble is long, but this was the basis for using that quote. It grew from there to have many different meanings, however the core has always remained. All in all I’m pleased with it.

EM Forster: A Room with a View Very forgiving even in its satirical takes on human nature. A lot of passages are very therapy-quotable in their urging to accept the inevitability of causing some harm in life. It plays on a lot of the same concepts with light being obvious metaphor for good and evil that Paradise Lost does, but softens them into more realistic shades of human existence. Isaac Asimov: Foundation Continuing on with themes of rigid morality vs the flexibility and romanticism of humanity, we have Asimov, master of machines and the three rules of robotics! There are lots of quotable epigrams in this beast. The quote pulled from this has two readings depending on what you assume of the man who has said it. If you see him as manipulative, there’s an insidious underpinning of killing off your own morals. If you see him as a kind man, then you could read it as foregoing morals in place of empathy. Tony’s therapist loves a very specific brand of double speak that lets Tony work through the conversation purely through interpretation. Tolstoy: Anna Karenina Tolstoy’s prose is lengthy...so so lengthy, but Anna Karenina is worth the read as long as you relate to at least one of its major characters. Frankly, I think you can choose to read a single character’s plot arc and leave it at that. It’s mostly a novel that is interesting, not because of its plot, but because of its study of relationship dynamics. Tolstoy was really invested in picking apart the idea of what makes a ‘family’ and, beyond that, what makes a class. It’s refreshing to see so much of the critique occurring within the lived experience of the characters instead of through a narrator or outside punishing moral forces. Baudelaire: Windows and Benediction I cannot recommend enough reading multiple translations of Baudelaire poems (fleursdumal.org has a wonderful array available). Benediction is a personal favourite. I love me some malevolence wrapped up in religion. Dante: The Divine Comedy There’s a lot of bleak humor in Dante if you look for it. Several interpretations insist of making each piece excessively grim dark, but faithful translations tend to have a hint of humor in them. It works well for engraving War Machine’s spine - a benediction and a mockery of human limitations. I try to pick quotes that not only fit the scene, but would still fit into the context of the grander themes from whence they came...unless I hate the author. Tennyson: The Lady of Shallot “I am sick of shadows” vs “I am half-sick of shadows”. Tony’s expressing more frustration here with being alone and his passive involvement in that loneliness. Another quote I feel vaguely bad about changing, haha. The Lady of Shallot is a very nice classical piece that I’m sad isn’t taught in schools alongside Hamlet. There are some nice Ophelia parallels here. I wanted a feminine influence on Tony’s loneliness and one that is somewhat youthful despite his age. Yeats: Vacillation I fucking hate Yeats as a person. That said, the man can write. The man can REALLY write. His pieces are almost always layered to the point of absurdity and he’s perfect to swiping quotes with multiple meanings. Definitely Tony’s kind of author. Goethe: Faust Speaks for itself and in the author’s notes on its reference.  Dostoyevsky: The Brothers Karamasov IMO a book that deserves all the acclaim of Anna Karenina and then some. Very VERY Russian in its ethical debates of, as always, religious morality vs free will. Also dips into familial struggles and patricide, because it wouldn’t be a Russian classic if it didn’t contain some deeply buried bitter resentment towards paternalism. I’m going off-script here, but this is a fucking excellent book. I don’t really have words for how much I enjoy how Dostoyevsky explores the concepts that he does. Shakespeare: Julius Ceasar Shakespeare: Twelfth Night Twelfth Night deserves more credit for its development and maintenance of an enigma. Twelfth Night has charisma in spades both because of and in spite of the exceedingly petty actions of some of its characters. It is also a refreshingly simple take on love for the sake of it. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Stephen King: Lisey’s Story I consider Lisey’s Story to be the best of King’s work. The man has his obvious writing ticks and his even more obvious issues as an author. Lisey’s Story contains many of them, but navigates them far better than any of his other work. The monster here is all in the mind and is too vast to truly see or understand. It’s perfectly representative of a creeping sense of inescapable horror. It was fun to flip it on its head with a reference here – Tony isn’t terrified of dying, but he is terrified of his inescapable enjoyment of Bucky’s company. Maria’s family saying is inspired by Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass Armitage: The Death of King Arthur A genuinely fantastic classic tale of heroism, filled with all the drama, tragedy, and sacrifice that you’d expect with strongly feminine undertones. I’m a sucker for this kind of thing. TS Eliot: The Wasteland Excellent piece of poetry with many layered meanings and dual interpretations. I can’t really articulate my thoughts on The Wasteland, but I reference an essay at the end of this list that does that for me. Oedipus Rex Rupert Brooke: Safety Not directly quoted but obscurely referenced through Bucky and Tony’s war conversations + Bucky’s conversation about, you got it, being ‘safe’ with his therapist. His poetry is about WWI and is, largely, idealistic. Safety is…not quite an exception to that. His other poetry contains a certain sense of honour and duty, whereas safety, maintaining a seemingly light tone, has nothing of the sort. It is safety in the soul – something untouchable by the horrors of war or death. It treats that as a ‘house’, which leant itself to the article Tony send Bucky. Armine Wodehouse: Before Ginchy Not directly quoted but obscurely referenced through Bucky and Tony’s war conversations + Bucky’s conversations with his therapist. This is also WWI poetry, though far darker than Brooke’s work. It discusses the parts of the heart and soul soldiers lose. It is an extremely good piece AND references Dante’s Inferno. I had to work it in somewhere even if I didn’t want to directly quote it. Meyer and Brysac: Tournament of Shadows Referenced several times over in discussion of war, the great game, and British military history. Beautifully self-aware account of Britain’s insistence on rewriting history after the fact and the tiny hilariously embarrassing moving pieces that shaped what is often considered the heyday of espionage. Murakami: Kafka on the Shore I love Murakami’s response to questions about understanding the novel as a whole. There are no solutions, only riddles presented, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes place. It’s a great lens through which to view the book and individual passages taken out of it. Reminds me of The Wasteland having to be read in totality before you can begin picking it apart, after which each individual piece can be read of its own. Kafka on the Shore, with its musings on the uncertainty of fate and redemption, was the perfect book to outline Tony’s horrifying realization, which he is desperately suppressing, that he might be coming to accept Bucky’s feelings. This quote in particular, while I would’ve used it anyway, is also a great callback to the first chapter and its storms. Chapter 29 is a turning point. Beyond it there are some intentional quote contrasts that are probably more easter eggs than they are anything else. Yeats: A Dialogue of Self and Soul Great contrast with Vacillation. Some parts of self and soul are used in that poem and thematically they are connected and contrasted - self and heart vs self and soul. The symbolism and imagery in Vacillation is really on point and layered, but Self and Soul is peak Yeats for its reversal of the typical ‘the soul is pure and bluntly honest and the body is tainted and bad’ in Christian works. Also Self and Soul’s broader context is scrumptious considering the debate poems history of relying on divine forgiveness and lack thereof instead of on forgiveness of the self. 

It was fun to give this poem a double meaning in IM as both hugely ominous and ultimately pointing to the later forgiveness Tony receives from himself through the divine (if the soul stone can be called that) in the heavens (space!). There’s also another fun twist to ‘who can distinguish darkness from the soul’ in its contrast with ‘what is dark within me, illuminate’. To take that a step further, Vacillation was the beginning of the path of forgiveness for Bucky (understanding Tony’s heart…somewhat literally as he slowly gets closer and closer to the reactor itself), while Self and Soul is a final step (re: Bucky being presented the final hurdle of Tony deciding to move forward alone). Hermann Hesse: Siddhartha Hesse is wonderfully blunt at times. I gotta admit I love German takes on spiritual self-discovery because they always seem to tend towards much more straightforward answers than other countries. Hesse’s relationship with Buddhism in literature vs his lived experience is also really intriguing. Anyway, Siddhartha, in its humanizing of Gods, is wonderful contrast to the consistent imagery of the untouchable and unknowable forces of good and evil in previously quoted works. It has stopped bringing humanity to the divine and has started placing the divine within humanity. Emily Wilson’s translation of the Odyssey One of the ultimate poetic epics. Now that we are nearing the end, I’m going overtime with making the grander themes of this whole piece hit home. A lot of IM was built on a foundation of poetic epics, of heroism, and a bit of Greek tragedy. The Odyssey embodies all of those things beautifully. It also suited Thor too well to pass up. Yeats: An Irish Airman Forsees His Death Ah, Yeats. Very blatant foreshadowing here that is keeping with the foreshadowing from Self and Soul. Fate has, up till this point, been a bit of a question. It has been ‘when will it come to me’ and ‘how will I avoid or overcome it’. Now fate is a set point. It is knowable and present. ‘I know I shall meet my fate, somewhere among the clouds above’. This goes for the true onset of Infinity War and for Tony’s feelings towards Bucky – when he had no one, he allowed Bucky in after essentially promising himself he wouldn’t. If that’s not an accidental admittance of love, nothing is. Henley: Invictus Absolutely fantastic poem. Continuing with the heavy fate themes coming into this climax. Now that Tony knows his fate, truly knows it, he is choosing to take it on directly. Agamemnon (Anne Carson’s Traslation if you prefer a more modern language approach, Lattimore is you prefer a classic) Agamemnon is forgotten all too often in the world of poetic epics and it’s a damn shame. I cannot say enough good things about it. I always wanted to use lines from Agamemnon in a Tony fic because the Cassandra parallels were too perfect to resist. The chorus in this play was also a perfect narrative device for interacting with something of a hive mind. Yeats: The Wanderings of Oisin Another poetic epic. Nice contrast with The Odyssey, The Death of King Arthur, and Agamemnon. Here the dialogue is between an aged hero and a saint looking into the hero’s past. It has the kind of reflective and aged mood necessary for this stage of the story, but is actually a poem I sortof hate. The line ‘And a softness came from the starlight, and filled me full to the bone’ is absolutely gorgeous, though. Some final inspiration pieces:

The Penelopiad 

The Iliad 

House of Leaves (for surrealism in the final chapters) 

Dante at Verona (used in an author’s note as an intentional jab at the dull uninspired nature of the this particular take on Dante. Repurposed quote, essentially) 

a broke machine just blowin’ steam by themikeymonster (great character study of Bucky) 

Frank Kermode’s essay “Eliot and the Shudder” (inspiration behind Tony’s entire interaction with literature)

[heathered-beinn]

BTS American Hustle Life Ep 5

Episode 4 recap:  The first third of the episode was devoted to BTS doing chores; cleaning up their (absolute pigsty of a) dorm, doing laundry, food shopping. Afterwards they met the legend Warren G who took them on a tour of where he and a few other legendary rappers grew up. He comes across as a true gentleman and treats the band very nicely. His challenge was for each subgroup to write and record a song based on their lives. This allowed us to hear some of BTS’ thoughts about their experiences when joining the band. We (I) also learned more about each of the bandmembers personalities which hadn’t been so clear in previous eps and series.

All three groups came up with a great song and, while a tough call, Suga, V, and Jungkook won the challenge.

On to Ep 5!

So BTS is throwing party with Warren G; this will either be hilarious or a bit of a cringe fest lol but I’m glad Warren’s in a second episode 😊

Ooft that’s a fire and a half lol. Americans sure have got some bbq skills!

Aww poor Jimin wanting to get on with preparing the vegetables but Namjoon and V just keep eating them.

Lol at V challenging Jungkook to rock, paper, scissors and the loser has to eat an onion. Jungkook looks too calm and smug… and that’s why; V loses and has to eat an onion – and, ten seconds later, loses again. I wonder if it’s a running joke that V often loses at RkPS. These two are pinging me with a mix of brotherly and ‘partners in crime’ vibes.

Haha Jimin telling them both to do some work. He’s definitely coming across as more serious and hard working that in the first two series, bless him. Then he puts Jungkook in his place by beating him at rock, paper, scissors LOL. Jungkook is surprised!!

Jungkook and V then playing to see who the overall loser is and end up tying so they decide Jimin is the loser and make him eat some onion lol.

J-Hope, Jimin, V, and Jungkook playing around and dancing is the cutest thing <3

Oh my god, the sass from Jungkook rapping about Jimin being small (where did shy young Jungkook go lol??) and Jimin’s hilarious reaction of immediately trying to kick him <3 <3

Hahaha Suga and Jin trying to be sly about trying the bbq before the others and Jungkook calling Suga out on it. I love them getting Warren G to try Kimchi (Korean spicy pickled cabbage and other veg) and Warren G trying to act cool as the heat hits him.

Warren G asks about their lives and, wow, it seems that BTS spend a lot of time away from their friends and family. I get the feeling that even in Korea they work an awful lot and don’t get much down time. WTH? Jin has just admitted his family moved house quite a while ago and he hasn’t even seen it yet! That’s such a shame! It’s been 2 years since some of them have gone home?! OMG, that must be so hard, especially on the younger ones who might not have been ready to ‘leave home’ at that point. It’s clear they really do miss their families and some of them look close to tears talking about it, but I sense they don’t like to complain to the camera? They are such sweethearts and aww at Jimin saying he wishes he could take his parents to the nice places he gets to visit. Thank you Warren G for raising this topic and for talking about missing his own mother who died when he was in his 20s. You could tell that info hit some of them quite hard as many of them are close to that age.

 *********************************************

So it’s a brand new morning, what’s in store for the band now? Aha, Tony is in to wake them all up. Jimin’s like a toddler in his crib excited to be greeted by his parent. Everyone else is like a teenager and needs to be crowbarred out of bed. LOL,at J-Hope being carried into the living room and plonked down on the sofa still half asleep. Double-LOL at Jungkook being woken up on the couch like a baby by Tony gently shaking a stuffed animal in his face lol.

Awww, bless them, they’re still half asleep – it’s like me when I’ve been reading fic till 4am and the alarm goes off at 9!

Right, so the new mission is to make a music video full of hip hop spirit and swag. Hip hop music videos normally include a super car, a mansion, and dazzling accessories.

Ahahahahahahahahahahaha, the tutors saying BTS’s videos are good but there’s not a lot of girls. From what I’ve seen so far there is a good reason for that Tony and N(ate?)!!!!! <flashback to the awkward-as-hell elevator scene in Rookie King and every other female encounter since>

Do I need to gird my loins For some potentially cringe-worthy BTS-female interaction in the near future?

Oh jeez Tony, you’re going to make BTS go out and find girls and talk to them. Even BTS are groaning at the thought LOL.  

OMG, Tony and N are teaching them how to ‘approach girls’ and getting the lads to practice on them. This calls for some computer analogies

Hahahahahahahaha oh Jimin – smooth right up to when he needed to start the conversation and then: the operating system has encountered an error and must shutdown. RM did well until he hesitated in the convo and: this application is not responding. The program may respond again if you wait. Do you want to end this process. Yes. Jungkook surprisingly didn’t spontaneously combust but clearly had no clue how to chat anyone up (at least at this point). I mean, just going straight to “I like you”: this program has performed an illegal operation and will be shutdown. Quit all programs, and then restart your computer. If the problem persists, contact the program vendor. OMG, Tony and N just outright saying that V is the dumb blonde of the group!!!!!! I don’t know whether to insulted on V’s behalf or grudgingly admire their honesty cos…they kinda have a *teeny tiny* point… at least that’s how V has come across so far – maybe this changes as we get to know him more. OMG V, “nice watch, how much?” That’s like from a really bad foreign marketplace parody. *face palm*, can any of these lads act naturally with a girl? V-can-flirt-like-a-normal-human cannot be found ~ if the device is OFF, turn ON the device. Suga… he clearly wasn’t taking it seriously; The instruction at BE NORMAL referenced at ‘HOW TO TALK TO WOMEN’. The memory could not be written. Click on OK to terminate the program. J-Hope: The application failed to  initialize properly. Click Close to exit the program. Jin: This version of flirting is not compatible with the version of swag you’re running.

Ahahaha them in the car trying not to fret about how they haven’t really “talked to girls” before. To be fair, this challenge is quite (embarrassingly) heterosexual (and mildly sexist) but, then again, this series was shot a number of years back and hip hop, IMO, used to be a low representatitve of LGBTQIA+.  I do wonder if any of BTS are gay though, and, if so, if they knew at that particular moment? I’m aware of how Korean society views homosexuality and I can’t imagine if any of BTS are gay they would come out either while in the spotlight or before they’ve done their national service. Not that they owe anyone a public “coming out” – I could write essays on this and how dangerous it is to relate a celebrity ‘coming out’s to that of the everyday person. They both come with some specific pros and cons that don’t translate well to the other situation and can cause all sorts of danger. Anyway, I’m rambling now so let’s get back to the episode!

I think the story V tells really sums up BTS’s “girl skills”; when we were trainees, Jin-Hyung, Jungkookie (omg what a cute way of saying Jungkook’s name <3) and I did rock paper scissors to go and at least talk to a girl. We just told her she was cute, patted her head and left.

So they are going out in teams to pick up their girls for the music video. That might take some of the pressure off. Awwww at J-Hope cuddling Jimin in the car. 

RM and Jimin are told to get out the car first – lol at Jimin saying he’s nervous.

Okay, so RM and Jimin’s attempt went about as well as I thought it would LMAO. V, Jungkook and Suga are just as bad. This is quite painful to watch. Ahaha Jin and J-Hope manage to convince a lady – although, again, it was quite painful to watch. It’ll be interesting to see how good their success was the next day.

 Video shoot:

BTS arrive at the mansion for their shoot (same place 50 Cent shot one of his videos) and immediately go into ‘wide-eyed wonder and playful’ mode.

V rapping freestyle: From those seagulls that are flying high One of those got stuck to the moon And if they fall, they be stuck to our feet And that seagull with squirm like a human.

V, my lovely, even when we give some leeway to mistranslation, I think you better leave the lyric writing to maybe Suga or Rapmonster lol???!!!

Jungkook’s running a self-cam – I get the feeling he quite likes filming and being behind the camera rather than in front of it. Amusing for an ‘idol’.

Lol, BTS talking about their back up plan if the girls don’t turn up. They genuinely don’t think they’ve actually managed to charm anyone into actually turning up and if by some miracle they do turn up then it’ll be awkward LMAO.

Cute little interaction between RM and Jungkook as they agree it’s all so unlikely.

HAHAHAHAHA one of Jin and J-Hope’s ladies turns up – the others can’t believe it! My sides are aching from laughing at their expressions. Oh but then V, Suga, and Jungkook’s girl arrives too. I really think these girls were planted on the street to help the lads out but I’ll pretend that it’s all real lol. Ahahahaha Suga *hiding* with RM and Jimin so he doesn’t have to interact with the ladies. This band really doesn’t have any chill with the opposite sex.

Aaaand at the last moment RM and Jimin’s ‘girl’ turns up. Isn’t that such a coincidence that one lady for each group turned up… lol.

Interesting little remark there from Suga. When they go back to Korea they won’t be able to shoot music videos like these (presumably with ladies, bling, and the excesses that go along with the style of hip hop) until they retire? So is he openly admitting they have to act conservatively – or at least in a very specific way – in Korea until they retire (or at least end their contract)? Or is it that they won’t have the same opportunities/monetary funds to do videos like these?

Yeah, okay, those ladies are too chill at seeing Warren G. In fact, they are way too chill altogether – they’ve got to have been staged lol. I just don’t think BTS knew this was set up. I’ve kinda come to the conclusion already that some of them couldn’t act to save themselves.

Shooting time – all quiet on set!:

V was just doing his thing lol, poor Suga couldn’t even look at that woman ROFL – Jungkook actually did okay even though he was embarrassed and bright red (and sweating lol). I wonder what Warren G was thinking as he watched from behind the camera – if he is anything like me he would have been sitting there cackling to himself. LOL at Jungkook eating away his emotions. He’s definitely become a typical growing teenager; always hungry like a bottomless pit and yet no calorie seems to stick to his sides!

V!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Again!!! *Outraged noises*. Teaching the lady “Jimin is dumb” in Korean, how dare you lol. Poor Jimin.

Hey, J-Hope’s got the swag and looks like he’s the only one. Jin looks like he’s about to shit himself *crying with laughter emoji*.

Jimin and RM are surprisingly confident with their lady too! LOL at RM for getting in the way of the camera and frustrating Jimin.

Ah-ha! – Jungkook having the guts to pat his eldest hyung on the head – he’s gained confidence in leaps and bounds!

Final musings:

Yet another enjoyable episode – despite being a little cringy in places. It was hilarious to see how shy and genuinely inept the band was around women. I can’t wait to see how the video turned out in the end.

Some nice, but also sad, insights into the realities faced by the band. Some of them haven’t been home in 2 years and as most of them seem to be quite close to their families it must be very hard – especially for the younger ones who might not have been ready to ‘leave home’ so early.

Really looking forward to the next episode!  

[beatricebidelaire]

would love to know the tea vera! what are the sbg ships you can’t see working?

hey lauren! ahahaha so this is Highly Subjective Personal Opinions time, disclaimer first i don’t actually care if other people ship these sbg ships it’s just that in my mind and the elaborate headcanon universe i constructed they don’t work. but like we get so few canon details about them it’s easy for people to have different interpretation for these characters so it made sense some people might decide these pairings work in their headcanons.

first there are some characters i always read as lesbians or gays, and while most of these are arguably at most implied canon and not exactly what i’d call representation, ive always view them this way in my mind and it’s very hard to change now. such as, i see r as a lesbian and i can’t see her with any men, i see ernest as gay and i can’t really see him with any women. i also see jacques as gay but i have been known to make exceptions to read very good fics that paired him with a women, but only within the universe of that fic and i don’t really ship it outside the context of the fic (it was actually one of your earlier fics of jacques/esme i’m referring to sjdjjssj) (speaking of jacques, i also read book!jerome as closeted gay instead of bi and he just thought esme fit the expectations of women his family expected him to marry)

and then there are just some i can’t see their dynamics working, such as beatrice/olaf for example. i tend to view them as best friend to worst enemies, a lot of history and codependency there but it’s all platonic. they’re like pseudo siblings in a way. also tbh i think shipping them is so ... boring, like it makes their dynamics much less interesting in a sense to just interpret it thru the lense of romance. plus, there are enough arcs of vengeance based on failed m/f romance i do not care for more, it’s so ... boring. i just Do Not Care For It. (if it’s gay they it’s a different matter, beasme for the win am i right or am i right)

i also don’t see georgina/beatrice, i think I’ve said before but they lack the spark. there’s mutual dislike but not rivalry- the rivalry is at best one sided imo with heavy disinterest on georgina’s part, unlike the heated passion of beatrice/esme. esme’s hate for beatrice is like the thin line between love and hate thing, with heavy sexual tension, while georgina just doesn’t care for beatrice enough to hate her that much. she just dislikes her much like she dislikes most people, if finding her slightly more annoying than most, but georgina also find people in general annoying so that’s not saying much. (now georgina/kit i can see ... it’s cutting in from the stem women in vfd aspect and begrudging mutual respect of competence and casual flirting to Prove Something to Certain Actresses)

i also don’t see kit/bertrand but that’s just because i have too many headcanons and written too many fics about their friendships now i can’t ever see otherwise, and their friendship is just, v important to me. (also she gave him the ring to propose to beatrice... much like r gave the ring to lemony to propose to beatrice and r and lemony were also really good friends .... im a sucker for friendship parallels.)

i can’t see jacques/ernest but this one is a bit hard to explain why it’s mostly a vibe thing, if i had to pinpoint i’d say jacques is too deeply in vfd / too loyal to vfd to interest ernest, and also too deep in vfd to have an interest in ernest, someone on the other side, potential double agent he might be (and tbh the double agent part is debatable). like, he’s fine being civil to him out of respect to frank but he’s not interested. but also i think it has something to do with the vibes i imagine them because i have been thinking a lot about the “jacques swap sides AU” in which vfd murdered jerome for his fortune (by having beatrice marry him first and then widowing him) and causing jacques to switch sides due to grief and he and ernest became friends, and even in this AU where they are on the same side i can’t really see them together romantically but i can’t explain why to myself, maybe my version of ernest is romantically allergic to eldest sibling (only child doesn’t count, ofc) , i’ll need to reflect on that more sjdjjdjd

oh also i dislike Netflix!georgina/olaf because i don’t like how they make georgina so, affected by olaf tbh. book georgina and olaf were never involved and i like that.

thanks for this ask it’s a lot of fun rambling about these!

[pizza-soup]

Things about rural life I’ve had to get used to or have come to love:

- No food delivery. Most places won’t even have your zip code or it’s in a no deliver zone on account of how far/hard to find it is. I haven’t had delivered pizza in years now, we make our own which is actually cheaper, more customisable in size or thickness, and tastes better imo. Rosemary and basil mixed into the dough with spinach, various meats and fresh cheese. All with $8 worth of ingredients that can make at least three more full sized pizzas later. Yes!

- Learning to entertain myself. Don’t have a movie theater, mall or shopping center? A storm knocked out the power and no wifi? Sounds like a drag huh? Doesn’t have to be, I've learned to keep myself from getting bored by being more outside, picking up new hobbies, and working on projects around the house or learning to repair things. Plus, when the time comes I do go to the city, I’m actually excited to go to the bookstores, markets, malls and art stores. Makes you appreciate things more and turns an otherwise mundane thing into an event.

- Everything closes early, either by 6pm or 8pm. Whatever you gotta get from the store better be done in the daytime or you’ll have to make that long long two hour drive to the city on a highway that’s perched on a cliffside, not well lit and remote. If you get in trouble out there, well...you better hope a kind driver well pull over to help because there’s not even a highway patrol out there after dark. On the plus side, when they started doing curfews due to current events, nothing was changed. The only 24 hour places we have are a Pilot gas station, ATM and medical care building.

- Self serve fruit stands. They still run by the honor system which is such a rare thing these days. It comes in handy when I don’t want to go to the store to get groceries, and they usually have what I'm looking for, like squash, corn or carrots. As well as treats like strawberries and fresh pastries.

- Wild produce is a thing. They grow on property that’s left behind when people pass on or move away. Sweet potatoes, onions, asparagus, squash and pumpkins often regrow or resow themselves in abandoned gardens or spread toward the river and canals. Any trees like plums, apples and persimmons also grow on their own, having tapped into the water table. I’ve made it a habit to check on these wild gardens when I'm running low on staples, esp around the summer and fall. The local kids are the ones that pointed this out to me after I asked them where they got their produce. 

- Walking at night and early morning. Being a city girl, I was amazed just how safe it is to walk out here, and you’ll see others do the same. Seems to be a social thing too, as neighbors will sometimes talk outside their driveway or walk and talk before parting ways to go back home. Heck I've slept outside on my front porch in a papasan, with no worry of something happening to me.

- Hotsprings! There’s many little hotsprings and bathhouses here with prices ranging from high to free. It’s mostly a colder weather thing for me, but sometimes I don’t mind slipping my feet into one after a long hike. During the winter, my family soaks in the hotsprings often. Nothing like watching the snow fall while half submerged in bubbling hot water.

- No street lamps. This is a double edged sword. It’s so dark out here and sometimes during the rains/snow makes it hard to see where you’re going, but the view of the stars more than makes up for it. Lack of light pollution has made me take up an interest in Astronomy and I have since viewed tons of sky events, as well as attended many star parties. 

- The wildlife. While we don’t get bears, elk or bison, those tend to stick to the mountains, we do get mule deer, coyotes, foxes, hawks, raccoons, bobcats, river otters, beavers, snakes, quail, frogs, rabbits, cranes, turtles, coatis, and skunks. Living so rural I've had to get used to seeing my wild neighbors often and deal with them when they get a bit too close to my property. Usually fences and making a lot of noise does the trick.

- Animals in general. I never grew up by a farm. The only time I ever held a chick was during a school field trip. Now I live near a farm with a rooster that I hear every early morning, walking down a dirt path to the creek and seeing horses poke their heads toward me, seeing escaped goats as I drive on a backroad, and biking near beehives. Big bonus is that I get fresh eggs, goat milk for my lactose intolerant bro, honey and beeswax, and old leather scraps from saddlery. In all my life I never pictured myself living this way, but I wouldn’t trade it.

- Closer to my roots. My father was Coytero Apache, they were hunters and ranchers, NM is also native land. My mother’s father is from Aswan, Egypt, they were from a long line of agriculturists, mostly vineyards. I grow my own garden now and grapevines, I don’t hunt but I do wild forage, I'm also a lot closer to gatherings/powwows and native markets. I’m living a life very similar to my ancestors.

- Monsoons and blizzards. Okay so it’s not all sunshine. During the winter, we get snowed in, often for days and must prepare in the Fall accordingly. In the late summer, roads turn into rivers, playgrounds are underwater and rockslides are common on the highway. Good thing about this is just how lush everything gets, we don’t get a whole of mosquitoes due to a ton of dragonflies and the double rainbows are a big treat. Flooding is a headache but it’s tolerated, because wildfires are far more dangerous when it doesn’t rain enough.

- A small friendly community. Growing up I wasn’t used to knowing my neighbors at all, everyone kept to themselves which was dangerous when domestic/child abuse happened, or when someone was struggling with depression or financial issues. They all looked the other way. Here people look out for you, they help and share what they have. When I first moved in, I was still reeling from my trauma, I seriously appreciated having people help me adjust to my new home, move furniture and boxes in, as well as get donated food and items. It left such an impression on me and may have been a big part of my recovery. It’s also why I donate food and help out when I can now. Continuing the cycle.

- Seasonal events. I don’t really celebrate holidays, not because I hate them but because I didn’t grow up with them. My folks weren’t Americanized as much as my friends’ families were. Also they didn’t like how commercialized holidays had become. But we did celebrate seasons! There’s something like this here as well. While people still put up decor, the social pressure to celebrate isn’t strong, it’s there but only if you want to participate. This has lead to me celebrating in my own way, and I've timed a lot of them to the seasonal solstices. One big regional thing I participate in is Bonfire Season, which lasts from October to December. Lighting lanterns, candles and holding bonfire parties is a big cultural thing.

[blueprint-han]

Heyyy, so I’m sorry for bothering but I saw that your inbox is open for shit like this... I’m very worried about the hj situation. Like I’ve just recovered from the Han situation and now this... my main concern is... jyp won’t kick him out, right? I swear I’ll fucking lose it if that happens... regarding kingdom - i don’t even care honestly if they’ll not go on it or something, although it would be a big loss in terms of opportunities, I just hope they’re doing okay. Also - like, this may be a bit harsh but my dude apologized, even apologized to the people who made the accusations and they accepted it... I’m pretty sure all of us would want to yeet back in time (including hyunjin himself) and correct the mistake but like sheesh, give him a break, he apologized and is actively trying to be a better person - there’s nothing more he can do. I’m also confused - I’ve read that (almost) all the other idols that were accused recently denied the allegations so I’m not sure but like why y’all attacking one of the only ones who genuinely apologized? Ok nvm, the people telling him to leave the group and making petitions for it are sick in the head, I’m not saying what he did was good but people change and try to better themselves. There’s nothing more he can do rn. And also, this may be harsh but like knetz got some ridiculous double standards imo. (At least from what I’ve seen)

I seriously just hope he won’t be kicked out of the group or I will yeet myself to outer space. All these things piling up, all the hate towards skz makes me genuinely sick and reading how non-stays are bashing them is such a pain in the ass, they don’t deserve the amount of backlash they’re getting and I seriously don’t know why they are receiving it in the first place.

Sorry for the obnoxious length of it and have a nice day😔🎀

Hii babie! Yes, my inbox is always open for stuff like this, which is why I try not to rb any stuff about the discourse issue because I realise some people, including myself may not want to see posts about it on their dash. <3 under the cut!

That's what I'm concerned about too, tbh. :( I'm almost a 99% sure that they won't kick him off the group and maybe this is just some tactic to let the masses calm down before he comes out of his she'll again, but I also understand that 1% of doubt that crawls into me from time to time.

It's confusing, JYP’s method of handling this issue is confusing, I'll say. I think the major reason people are so confused right now is because JYP’s statement leaves such a huge grey area. They deny bullying accusations, while also simultaneously agreeing that hyunjin infact did something harsh. Whether that's because of a door or not, idk, but the statement is super fucking vague and had they had been more clear, a huge chunk of our paranoia would have been eased.

Also, I agree. I have myself argued with my commrades in the past, I've made mistakes in the past that I wish I could turn back time and solve, but the thing I can do is apologize and hope the person forgives me, though they have no obligation to. :\ I do infact think that the hiatus is a good thing for hyunjin. It's good for him to get some rest after handling this accusations and hate, it's more so the way jyp put it that freaked many people out. First saying that “they’ll do better in their artists’ selection process” and now this, OF COURSE people are gonna be worried because it comes off as so dangerously close to breaking the group. So my point is, I think the hiatus is good for him in the view of giving him some time to collect his thoughts and heal from the inevitable damage. However, I will say ‘reflecting on his actions’ at the age of 21 for something he did when he was 14 or so is total dumbassery and I don't understand why JYP would use that in their statement.

Also there are people making petitions for him leaving the group??? Gross. Don't listen to them much, darling. They're just looking for a moment to start discourse in the fandom, although it should not be ignored completely, don't stress too much over that, because there are more stays who will stay with skz than those delusional people.

At this point, cancel kingdom if this is the effect it has on an idols mental health. :\ Ik sweetheart, it's pretty scarring but all we can do is hopefully wait until hyunjin returns from his hiatus. ♡ I hope the other members are doing okay too :( and I hope he's taking care of himself :(

And pls, don't apologise! My inbox is always free for you to vent if you need to, thank you for trusting me <3

[cooltrainererika]

Alt-talia Double Feature: A Prodigy and An Underachiever

YEEESSS I FINALLY FINISHED A FIC FOR @historical-hetaliaweek ! YEEEEAAAAHHHHHH-

I just hope people are still watching this blog!

So this is a double feature for Mirror, featuring Germany and Italy respectively. ...Yes, I write Germany way too much. While the Italy one was intended to come first, it turned out much longer than intended, as is common for my fics. But I thought this prompt could be utilized pretty effectively for both of my versions of them. A bit ironic. While they don’t have the same relationship they do in canon in my universe, comparing and contrasting them can still be extremely interesting IMO. Though the Germany ones is... a bit underwhelming and it isn’t much of a contrast. But I want to get these done. 

I’m just glad I’m really starting to become engaged with my version of Italy’s character though! At first I thought his incoherence would as a country would be an issue preventing that, but it actually potentially adds to his character a lot. 

Oh yeah, this is a semi-AU. Characters are pretty different, and everyone treats it as a normal thing. Special OOC warning for Prussia.

Also, while a “Veneziano” and “Romano” are mentioned, they are not North and South Italy. Yes, despite not being in the fandom for too long, I think, it does still look a bit weird to me, but they are completely different characters with different appearances. The “Italy” who is the main character here is simply Italy. Not North Italy, not Italy Veneziano, just Italy. This is extremely important. Also, for those who have read “Italy’s First Christmas”, I just want to say here that his relationship with South Italy (or Mezzogiorno) isn’t set in stone, so “Italy’s First Christmas” isn’t an accurate representation as of yet. Also, Italy has a sliiiightly different appearance. Mainly, his skin is more a tan, if not too dark, olive tone than super white, and he has somewhat more muscle definition; basically he resembles the Italian stereotype a bit more, but not too mannish either, probably. This is very relevant too. 

I have debated using Italy’s human name, but yeah... this probably fits for now.

Also, Italy’s fic may have themes that aren’t suitable for all readers. While I do want to say what, I feel it might ruin the fic a bit, so I’ll just say discretion is advised.

Hall of Beginnings

“Deutschland?”

Those were the first words he had heard. 

“Deutschland. Can you hear me?”

A strict voice, but clearly trying its best to sound gentle. 

Something rough behind the softness that surrounded him. 

His eyes fluttered open. 

The first thing he saw was the face of a silver-haired man, his blood-red eyes staring at him as he held him in a way that struggled with delicacy. On his head was perched a fearsome, majestic black eagle, quizzically dipping its head down to see his face.

He looked around. There were so many people, all staring at him, their eyes wide. One stood behind the red-eyed one, his left eye covered by a monocle which the man flipped open to get a better view.

At the foot of the steps, a tired-looking man in white sighing in relief, and nearing to look at him was an old man with a distinctly regal air despite his widened eyes at seeing a child, one that was not there before, wrapped in the blanket in his nation’s arms. 

And around them, stood many others that he sensed were like him and the monocled man and the man holding him.

The crowd dramatically stepped away, lowering their heads, allowing him a better look around the place. 

The world he saw now was so beautiful; so much gold, so much pretty colors, so bright and shiny. And reflected in the walls, he saw himself, cradled firmly, surrounded by his kind and emperor and chancellor. 

The silver-haired man was looking as well, as if taking the sight in.

The silver-haired man... his father.

Their eyes met again. 

“Your name… it will be Ludwig. Welcome to the world, Ludwig Beilshmidt. Young Deutschland.”

“...Vater?”

His father held him close, tightly, his voice only enough for him and the monocled one to hear, shaking ever so slightly. 

“Thank God… Thank God. I’ve fought so hard, just to see you born...”

His father looked like he could barely hold back his tears; the joy of a father, felt by few nations, for which he was fortunate enough to experience, overwhelming even to him.

The cheers of humans and state echoed in the hall.

“HAIL DEUTSCHLAND!”

“HAIL DEUTSCHLAND!”

————-

Germany and Prussia walked into the hall, the long table of nations, diplomats, and heads of state sitting, waiting for them. 

Germany remembered this place; his first memory, surrounded by light and fanfare. 

Now, he trudged to his table, trying his damnedest to keep a stoic face. 

His archenemy limped to him on his crutches with conviction of a man who may as well had full use of his legs, the most evil, terrible grin on his face, the eye not covered by the bandages around his head shimmering with a sadistic, vindictive blue cocktail of wrath, pain, and contempt.

“You do know why I chose this place, right, Le Prodiget?”

“We agreed to sign a treaty. Let us get it over with.”

His father had raised him well with years of discipline; his voice was stoic, cold and emotionless, betraying none of what laid beneath.

“France, please don’t-“

France seemingly didn’t even hear England’s voice as he roughly, or at least as roughly as he could in his state, shouldered his hands off him, too busy savoring what he could from his rival’s defeat. 

Germany remembered this place; it was his first memory. And the man in front of him knew that all too well.

France scoffed; his smile - he was not exactly a smiling man, even if more than Germany or Prussia - forced and barely holding back decades of condensed fury.

England looked on warily, shaking his head at his longtime rival, his children speaking among themselves nervously now that the glow of being given spots on the table had - at least somewhat - subsided, Scotland with an expression that spoke of him expecting his childhood acquaintance’s behavior.

Italy, the nation a mere decade older than him, fidgeted with his hands - was he nervous? Impatient? After all, he had already claimed his spoils of war, though it apparently wasn't enough from how he grumbled incessantly of his supposed lack of promised reward. At least he was on the winning side.

“You thought you were clever, didn’t you Papa chéri? Using my palace for the birth of your little brat? Well well, look at where we are now. I hope it was worth all the Parisians who starved and died to your cannons and bayonets. But how appropriate; this palace also used to be home to a certain man and society that I rightfully rid myself of. Papa chose well.”

Japan, the rising nation who had come to his lands to learn from him and his father mere decades ago, lacking much personal stake in the matter as he too had already claimed his spoils, yet seeming somewhat sympathetic at their state - or was it mock sympathy, as it was him who stole Tsingtao and those islands from him - sat quietly, his pen scratching against his notepad. At least the Oriental had returned his prisoners happy and healthy.

“So where did that Place In The Sun go, mon wunderkind? You thought you could be an empire? I admit, you did well. Papa chéri raised you well! ...For half a century.“

Prussia’s scowl deepened.

Poland, appearing stronger than he had ever known Posen now that he was one again, and currently the most joyous nation in the hall, silently goaded France, snickering, clearly just barely suppressing the desire to join in himself.

“You even were strong enough to beat up on a lady. Yes, he sure raised you well!”

Belgium looked on in silence as other stares directed themselves to her. Wallonia sat next to his country, the ferocity of his glare second only to France.

“Well... He has a point, sport.”

America pointed his pipe at her direction and winced empathetically; she was hardly in better shape than France.

England nodded; the reminder of what was done to Belgium was enough to let some disgust creep into his expression.

Germany grit his teeth. But he knew deep down they were right. She was just convenient. She had done nothing wrong. He resented that.

“Consider yourself lucky, wunderkind. Consider yourself lucky that because of certain allies of mine and spineless diplomats, I couldn’t make this the place I gave the upstart brat that is you what you really deserve!”

Alongside a restless Croatia and Slovenia, eyed resentfully at by Italy, a heavily injured Serbia from his wheelchair watched intently, if tiredly - while he too lacked stake in this treaty, the man's admiration of France could only be matched by his admiration for his giant cousin to the east - Bosnia sitting beside him.

Germany wished to scream it wasn’t him who shot the Archduke.

“Okay, that’s enough! Let’s not start another war here, okay? Okay!”

America, his cheerful voice cutting through the tension, finally managed to get his arm in front of France and usher him back to his seat, the man still glaring hellfire at the young nation.

The mirrors which the room took its name from reflected father and son, and their pathetic, defeated forms, surrounded by enemies, state and human. 

But unbeknownst to his them, what they didn’t see reflected in the defeated nation’s tired eyes was the smolders of a wicked fire that would threaten to consume the world once more.

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Chi Sonno?

Italy finally finished buttoning his new jacket, taking it in as he gazed upon himself in his mirror.

He puffed his chest out, kicked up one leg, then the other, feeling the air against them, now without a long skirt or baggy pantalettes blocking them.

He caught himself about to stumble, but stopped himself before he snagged his new jacket and trousers on something. Whew!

He grinned. He felt so grown up!

Grown up…

His smile faded.

Staring back at him, who did he see?

He placed his hand on the mirror. His reflection did the same. The stray Italic curl bobbed by the side of his face. Staring back at him were his chestnut brown eyes.

Who did he see?

It was obvious; this was him. The Kingdom of Italy.

It started to dawn on him how baggy the jacket seemed. Strange, it should have been tailored to his proportions…

His eyes were drawn to his now half-exposed legs and knees; all the bruises, his bandaged right knee. Nations were supposed to heal quickly, he had heard.

No matter, they would be covered as soon as he put his boots on.

Just outside, the rest of his family waited. But yet, he felt like he heard their voices, their presence, their stares just behind him, like a dark miasma he couldn’t shake.

“It took you long enough.”

“Wonder how long it’ll take ya to mess it up.”

“Shit. Maybe shouldn’t ‘ve used good fabric!”

“Yuw cal this a navy?”

“No, no, I put too much hop’pe in ya. Just gonna need some time away at this Am’merica kid’s place since it's not like I’m gonna be gettin’ any less broke here. Just for a bit. C’ya.”

“Italia?”

Piedmont’s cool-tempered, but soft voice snapped him out of his trance, and he whipped around quickly.

A soft knock.

“Italia? Vhat is taking you so long? You neet help?”

“N-no, I’m fine!”

He sat, pulled on his boots, and gave himself one last look. His reflection stared back.

This would do for now.

————

Italy straightened his back, pulling on his Savoyan blue ascot so it was neat and taut. He couldn’t get the damn thing to not look uneven.

But he was a man now. It took him long enough; Germany was barely half a decade old and he had overheard Prussia talk about breeching plans.

But never mind that. This was his moment. And from what he knew of Prussia, it was much like him to go forward with the process so quickly.

The boy scrutinized everything with the finest detail, meticulously smoothing out every wrinkle and crease, combing through his hair, taking the utmost care to not snag the teeth in his Italic curl as he held it in his small, shaky hands, re-adjusting his scarf.

Thanks to his heritage, he had an eye for detail. Yes.

This would probably do, for the scarf. He picked up the stick pin on the stool, turning it over in his hand, carefully, slowly, for he didn’t want to stab his hand with one of these again.

The pin was a simple, but elegant thing, a humble silver star. He knew the symbol very well; a Stella D’Italia. It was an appropriate first pin, for his bright future would surely come, eventually.

He stuck it in, admiring how it shimmered.

Who was he?

The boy who stared back at him looked awkward in his adult clothing, no matter what he did.

The star seemed to shimmer so brightly; too brightly, as if it didn’t fit what it was attached to.

His face looked too effeminate. His arms were too thin. His light olive skin looked too pale; he wished he had inherited Mezzogiorno’s skin tone. He wasn’t standing straight enough. His voice was too high.

There was one incident, from a few years ago now, that stuck in his mind even now; as he often did, he was flattering a girl, not much older than he was at the time. Her response was a giggle and a joyful “You’re pretty too!”.

“Pretty”, like a woman. It was just an innocent mistake, he knew, and according to the boys from that school he had joined playing in the street later, she wasn’t known for being particularly bright, but…

He wished that when he looked into the mirror, he could see the grand empire whose blood ran through his veins staring back, not the effeminate, impotent coward who he was now seeing.

He shook his head, shaking off the feeling, pulling on the boots Piedmont had given him.

It would be fine. Everything would be fine. The fact that he had survived this long, unlike his predecessors who had faded away, stillborn, it had to prove he wasn’t a complete failure-

Then, he stumbled.

For those few fractions of a second, his arms flailed in the air for anything to hang onto, his room swirling around him.

CRACK

He yelled and jumped back as his mirror fell and shattered, fragmenting his visage with it.

“What was that?!”

“‘Nother broken thing? C’mon!”

He trembled, staring at his shattered reflection until he started hearing footsteps, and began cleaning it up.

Of course he messed up again.

————

Italy stepped in front of the mirror, finishing the last button on his shirt.

He looked nice in black, if he had to say so himself; it was a powerful, strong color, a jet black like a proud Arditi soldier’s fez.

Perhaps he could wear such a fez with this as well? He should definitely suggest it sometime. He would write it in his sketchbook before he forgot it.

He stood up straight, puffing his chest out. He felt stronger already.

Who did he see?

As he stared into the mirror, he thought he saw his visage change and morph, swirling and distorting to reveal his true self. His slender toned arms became more muscular, his bone structure thickened, his eyes grew sharper, his chest swelled, his skin tanned, his hair grew darker, swirling into espresso-colored curls, his Italic curl being replaced with two on different parts of his head, his simple uniform transforming into golden plates of armor. Magnificent, beautiful, yet so rugged and powerful.

He was the inheritor of Imperium Romanum. No, he was Imperium.

So many had tried to repeat his success, his glory, his prestige, but never had a rightful claimant to the throne risen to the occasion. Until now.

He would show them. They would regret betraying him, for mutilating his victory in front of his very eyes for all their sweet lies about him being a fellow great power.

And Romano, Piedmontese, Veneziano, Fiorentino, Lombardo, Genovese, Siciliana, Valdostano, even Mezzogiorno… he could finally be the temple of humanity, the utopia they wanted him to be. One who could convince Sarda that this was home, who could bring pesky little Bolzano to heel, who could be the home of all rightful Italian land, who could make the other Great Powers once again respect his might.

The Stella D’Italia would shine brightly from now on, finally leading the lost, starved sailor that was him to his destiny just as he had lost all hope.

It scared him. Surely, the Entente wouldn’t be willing to give away their precious power to an effeminate brat like him.

He cursed himself at the fear and the shiver the word “war” invoked. It would be gone soon.

Oh sure, he shouldn’t rush. That was going to be years down the line, probably decades. But one day, he would become the image in the mirror. Just like he was destined to be.

Who was he?

He was Ancient Rome. He was the Renaissance. He was this continent’s cradle of civilization, he was Italia.

He gave himself a satisfied smile, and made his way to the door in an almost skipping manner, singing a little tune.

He stumbled once, but it didn’t matter. He suppressed a wave of self-pity. He didn’t give a damn.

Or at least, there would come a day he wouldn’t. For, in this glorious dawn of a new era, it was finally within reach.

“♫Me ne frego

me ne frego

me ne frego è il nostro motto…♫”

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Some explanation for the characters (for those unfamiliar with Alt-talia) and historical stuff. Just don’t expect these for all my fics, at least not immediately:

Prussia: A strict father. ...So basically a lot like canon Germany, except probably less prone to loud anger. He’s basically where Germany gets his strictness from. Also, Gilbird is a full-grown eagle now. Yes, that’s Gilbird. Or “Kreiger”, as he’s known here. 

Germany: He’s about... physically 1 - 3 years old in the first scene maybe? I liked of the idea of him being known as a “prodigy” or “wunderkind” due to him being so successful from the outset, and yeah, it sums up my interpretation of him pretty well. Also, hopefully I’ll be able to reuse my post title for a fic which actually contrasts him and Italy...

Monocled Man behind Prussia: Brandenburg. Since apparently monocles were a stereotypical Prussian thing for British people, and I can’t imagine Prussia having one constantly, I gave Brandenburg one. 

Tired man in white: Otto von Bismarck. I read somewhere that apparently by the time of the ceremony, he was so tired and just kind of wanted it over with.

Regal old man: Kaiser Wilhelm I, obviously.

The two scenes depict the Proclamation of the German Empire and the Treaty of Versailles that ended WWI in the Hall of Mirrors in the Palace of Versailles, though I’m pretty sure everyone interested in history enough to be reading this knows. Then again I’m pretty sure the Germany fic was pretty straightfoward in general. Though this brings me to...

France: People tend to forget that as much as France and England’s rivalry is a central part to their character dynamics in canon, in this era France and Prussia/Germany were massive rivals for each other. He would hate this guy with a burning passion, and the fact that Prussia decided that he should be born in the Palace of freakin’ Versailles did not help whatsoever. He’s also extremely beat up from the war, as France’s land was massively scarred by the whole ordeal, and it lost as much as 4.29 - 4.39% of its population. Though I thought he would have a bandaged head and shoulder only, since most of the damage was in the north, I gave him crutches to emphasize it, as a reminder that he has a very good reason to be mad and as spiteful as he is. Honestly if he had it his way and he could he’d probably be strangling Germany here. I’m glad I’m finally getting to actually show the rivalry these two had, even if it is just a little bit at the end, instead of just the aftermath.

Oh yeah, IDK why the Bad Touch Trio is a thing. They allied and fought on the same side like once. Once. If anything, these three were often rivals. RIVALS. If they were competitive “friends” I could maybe forgive it, but they get a freakin’ song together? What? Spain was even Hapsburg for a while, I.e. the family that had a huge beef with the French royals. And Prussia? As you can see well for all of their modern relationship they did not get along whatsoever. Even during the pre-modern era, ever since the Reformstion Prussia was Protestant and France Catholic. Do you see the problem here? England and Portugal were the exception, not the rule. WTF is this BTT business about? If those three were best friends the continent of Europe would have been dominated with that monster of a triple alliance. I don’t understand.

Now, onto the less straightforward stuff:

While not conveyed fully due to POV bias, what France says here is true; Germany got it easy. Compared to what France got in 1871, what Germany got was extremely merciful. Britain and America and the others took pity on him and didn't go too hard. It's just that Germany was too high on nationalism (and on a character level, too young and naive to have any frame of reference) that he wasn't able to see that, especially by the 1930s. He and Prussia escalated the war, starting with brutalizing Belgium so bad the invasion and occupation was called the Rape of Belgium and he objectively violated her neutrality, others also suffered, and France, again, was beaten up severely and has a right to be pissed. France would have killed Germany if he got his way, or at least stripped him of so much he couldn't come back to start WWII.

Wallonia is the French speaking area of Belgium. Especially because of the status of women at the time, I’d imagine he often accompanied Belgium to official gatherings like this.

Japan is a bit detached from European Drama but he’s more just happy to be there sitting at the table with the other empires. Also unlike in WWII WWI Japan actually treated his POWs very well. Like while yeah they were prisoners I can imagine it was like heaven after getting out of being shot at on the muddy, grimy battlefield, because they obeyed humane standards on POWs to the letter. It was run like a summer camp, basically. He also took a lot of inspiration from Germany in nation-building, so I thought that despite basically opportunistically yoinking his territory while he wasn’t looking, maybe he feels a bit of pity for Germany here.

Posen was the fragment of Poland Prussia took. As of now the HC is that he was literally split into three people instead of just dying. I’d imagine he was treated as a punching bag by the German family and he got his territory cut up so of course he’s spiteful.

Croatia and Slovenia are restless because they didn’t really get what they want out of Yugoslavia; Serbia got the best deal, because he was liked the most by the Allies or something. Meanwhile Serbia is in a wheelchair because he lost anywhere from 16.7% to 27.8% (!!!) of his population. He absolutely got his teeth kicked in.

As for the second fic:

And then we have Italy. He’s less of a ditz, but much more of a klutz and can still be a bit scatterbrained and unfocused, especially before WWII. Also he has massive identity issues. I was a bit surprised to find how he somehow can come across as even more pathetic than his canon incarnation at times. Ironically he kind of is starting to look like a deconstruction of the canon version of the character. It’s also a bit surprising how his very boyish appearance actually kind of worked in my favor here. 

He’s a klutz because the Kingdom of Italy wasn’t the most stable of nations, with regional identities pulling at the seams and the government a bit of a mess. His confidence issues are because Italian nationalists often were critical of their people, calling them effeminate and cowardly, i.e. they basically thought of their fellow citizens as a bunch of canon!Italies. It doesn’t help that he embarrasses himself with his clumsiness and that what with the failures in Ethiopia. A lot of people also still had strong regional identities and were skeptical of the United Italy experiment, so as soon as things started experiencing issues, i.e. immediately, they were also pretty critical of the idea. Hence his family being so toxic. Compared to Germany, so much just went wrong with Italy.

This started to be broken by victory in WWI, but that was when Italy learned he had to compromise. He was not happy. Hence Mutilated Victory. Despite what Hetalia will imply, Italy was as power hungry as any. As the first fic implies as he glares at Croatia and Slovenia, he wanted Yugoslavian land but got none. So just when his confidence was finally high enough he gets shut down, or so he thinks; again, like Germany, he's kind of high on his newfound nationalism and has no frame of reference. Then again Italy didn’t want to go to war in the first place, and he only did because of the supposed handsome land reward he’d be getting if he won. Yes, that is why Italy “switched sides”. Not cowardice, but because of good old fashioned “land, my dear boy!”. Not to mention the Triple Alliance was supposed to be defensive.

Changing clothes was seen as a huge part of childhood development; as the kid got older, he took on more adult clothes. At first kids wore dresses called frocks, before getting breeched when the parents decided he was old enough to wear them. As for breeching, to quote Wikipedia, "Breeching was an important rite of passage in the life of a boy, looked forward to with much excitement, and often celebrated with a small party." Italy in the first segment is getting breeched, in somewhere in the mid 1860s, where he's probably physically about 8. It’s also a bit symbolic, what with him going from a feminine looking piece of clothing to a more at the time masculine one. The second takes place in the mid 1870s and I'd say Italy is about in his preteens to early teens here, and Italy is a bit envious of how fast Germany is growing. In the last one he's an adult, about to march on Rome. So yes, the content warning at the start was referring to fascism, if that wasn't apparent. Manliness was a huge important thing in fascism and in general at the time. So Alt-Italy, also being a nation known for its machismo, wants to be a real man, not a boy. He can't grow up fast enough. Unlike canon Italy, he resents his perceived femininity and how he thinks the world sees him as that.

And oh yeah if you can't tell by that description if you're a GerIta fan you may dislike my fics lol.

Fascist Italy deemed itself the second Roman Empire and sought to re-create it. I mean imagine being the descendant of Ancient freaking Rome, that would be a lot pressure. While I still depict Italy as jolly and outgoing, his insecurities run very deep.

Italy's family in true Italian fashion is huge. The regions BTW are still alive today (I mean South Italy is a staple character after all), though the family is probably a lot less toxic now (but it's still divisive). Technically Piedmont could be considered Italy's dad in the way Prussia is Germany's dad, but in practice it's just a huge mess and he's functionally another uncle with somewhat more authority. Especially when Not-Lavinio-Romano joins. And Bolzano is South Tyrol; it was of course a bit of a thorn in Italy's side, and he never really considers himself part of the family because he speaks German. He (or I think he's a he?) probably still insists on his surname being Edelmann at this point, though no one in the family calls him that. Sarda is Sardinia, Piedmont's probable wife, but in reality she's pretty left out of this and doesn't get acknowledged by her husband much in favor of caring for Italy, despite the kingdom often being called Sardinia. So yeah, again, this family ain't healthy.

I ended up turning both stories end on the nation's reaction to the end of WWI and I just realized that.

[jeannereames]

How does Alexander's personality change through the series? I've found that depictions of his later life range from showing as a splendid hero to a crazed despot. I'm excited to see your take, and to see how Hephaistion changes as well, and whether those changes bring him and Alexander together or push them apart.

HOW DO I INTEND TO DEPICT ALEXANDER IN DANCING WITH THE LION GOING FORWARD?

Ummm… this might have got long? My apologies. :-)  I threw in some pretty pictures to cut it up?

I tend to see Alexander as a man made by his culture. Macedonian kings were expected to win wars and provide loot. Furthermore, his society named men heroes for prowess in battle and personal bravery, not selfless public service. It was deeply agonistic, with zero-sum competition and a constant need to prove one’s personal excellence (aretē). Such demonstrations brought kleos–fame–and elevated one’s personal timē–honor or public standing. Humility was NOT a virtue, and there were no poor men, only rich men in the making. ;)

Put all that together, inject it with a hefty dose of testosterone, and you begin to understand Alexander (and larger Macedonian society).

Modern attempts to paint Alexander (ATG) as a hero or a villain often depend on modern views of virtue, not ancient ones. We want our heroes to be Captain America, or Frodo Baggins. Good-hearted, honest, humble, sometimes reluctant heroes. They’re driven by a sense of SERVICE, not a desire for KLEOS.

THAT IS EMPHATICALLY AT ODDS WITH ALEXANDER’S PRECHRISTIAN WORLD.

Which makes him a hard sell.

I don’t plan to paint ATG as either hero or villain, in the usual sense. The very last line of Dancing with the Lion: Rise is highly ironic. I won’t repeat it here for those who may not yet have read the second book, but while Alexander absolutely means what he thinks in that moment, it’s a young man’s fancy.

It ain’t gonna be so easy.

Riptide has said they likely won’t publish further in the series, even before the first two came out, because the whole thing is a tragedy, not a romance. The first two books (or really one novel) have a “happily for now” ending, so they were okay with that. But we all know how the story ends.

It’s not a tragedy, however, because Alexander is a megalomaniacal villain. The protagonists of tragedies are called the “tragic hero,” after all.

I want to continue writing him much as I tried to in Becoming and Rise: a human being with flaws and virtues. And as with any tragic hero, the greatest flaws are often overdrawn virtues. Virtue turned inside out.

So again, if you’ve read book two, go back to the novel’s last line. There’s his tragic flaw in all it’s glory. His desire to uphold that, often in the face of serious reality checks, will finally break him in Baktria, where in the name of virtue, honor, and piety, he’ll commit a terrible atrocity that will drive Hephaistion from him for some time. Hephaistion is still loyal to him as king, mind, but he can’t stomach what happens on a personal level. It’s no silly love triangle, situational misunderstanding, or manufactured angst for “drama.” It’s a deep, fundamental ideological clash–the sort of thing that Real Couples face sometimes, and must then choose to accept and move beyond, or acknowledge is irreparable and separate.

Obviously, they’ll get over it. But it’s not immediate. Nor easily. And it will involve a lot emotional blood on the floor, from both of them.

Baktria is the pivot point in the series, where it moves from triumph to tragedy. Things that came together are now falling apart.

Less poetically, Alexander is discovering–post Gaugamela–that “compromise” is the ugly truth of successful politics. I love the line from Hamilton, George Washington to another brilliant, impetuous young man named Alexander: “Dying is easy, living is harder.” Alexandros may want to be Achilles, but Achilles DIED.

In Alexander’s case, “Conquest is easy, ruling is harder.”

Alexander has no plans to die, but he’s going to realize how much of what he thought would be the case about rule…isn’t. And maybe his father DID know a thing or three, after all.

Historically, at the end of his life, Alexander is much less idealistic: shrewder, harder, less trusting, and more pragmatic. Just look at his appointments at the beginning and in his last two years. Early on, he’s inclined to put the former ruler back in charge, as long as that ruler surrendered to him, and add a garrison. After returning from India, he discovers how many of those men (and some garrison commanders too) betrayed his trust. So he kills the lot and reappoints…virtually all Macedonians (and a few Greeks).

This is the opposite of Tarn’s “Brotherhood of Mankind” (which was enshrined in Renault’s The Persian Boy, and picked up as well by Stone’s 2004 flick).

This is Macedonian Realpolitik.

It’s also Alexander Disillusioned.

But he’s still not the devil. That’s too simplistic, and too modern. While I greatly admire Brian Bosworth’s scholarship (he was THE Arrian specialist), I disagree with his assessment of Alexander’s career in his 1986 JHS article, “Alexander the Great and the Decline of Macedon,” wherein he ends with, “That was the unity of Alexander–the whole of mankind, Greeks and Macedonians, Medes and Persians, Bactrians and Indians, linked together in a never ending dance of death” (12).

What Bosworth ignores is that nobody at the time would have seen conquest in itself as evil, merely how one went about it. And how Alexander went about it is, actually, a mixed bag. Maybe that’s his problem. He’s not ruthless enough to be admired for his sheer bloody-mindedness (aka, Genghis Kahn), but he did some terrible things, which kinda undercuts the “squeaky good guy” image he wanted to project–and I think genuinely wanted to believe himself to be.

We live in a post-WWI and post-WWII world, where starting a war to take land is sorta frowned upon. Even if Putin, Xi, and Erdoğan Didn’t Get That Memo. But that colors how we read Alexander’s career. We can’t and shouldn’t ignore Alexander’s atrocities, but casting him as a Hitler-esque madman says more about us than him. Alexander was NOT Hitler.

One of the toughest things about doing ancient history is this weird “double think” wherein the historian must UNDERSTAND why ancient people do what they do or think what they think…without necessarily approving of it. THIS IS HARD. It’s really hard. Too often, both professional historians and fans of history either react with modern attitudes and anachronistic critique because they find something so appalling, OR they go so far into the “understand” that they confuse it with “approve.”

Walking that line is what I hope to do, going forward with Dancing with the Lion. There are ways to faithfully show ancient attitudes even while telegraphing to the reader that’s not okay. (Hephaistion often gets used for that, incidentally, both in what’s been published and in what’s coming.)

Back to Alexander…I suspect he was often frustrated with Macedonian pushback, given his need for approval/affection. (That’s one of the key elements of ATG’s character that I think Mary Renault hit dead on the head in her novels.) I also believe he was deeply disappointed in his Macedonian soldiers at times. As noted above, Tarn’s whole “Brotherhood” notion cracks apart when we look at what Alexander actually DID, not what he said in his “Reconciliation Banquet” speech. (Remember, ancient speeches are NOT what anybody actually said, but [maybe] the gist couched as a rhetorical exercise by the authors of these texts … regardless of whether it’s Thucydides’s “Funeral Oration” of Perikles, Arrian’s speech by Alexander after the Opis Mutiny, or Calgacus’s address to his troops found in Tacitus.)

Remember what I said about expectations for Macedonian kings? Win wars and provide loot. Alexander did that with bells on. As I’ve said before, here and elsewhere, he was the Energizer Bunny of Macedonian kings, just kept going and going and going….

Yet somewhere along the way, he decided he wanted to rule what he’d won, not simply plunder it. Opinions about Alexander’s “Persianizing” have waxed and waned. First, it was so tied into the “Brotherhood” concept that after Badian, et al., torpedoed Tarn, ATG was recast as simply a glorified marauder. Yet more recently, the pendulum has begun to swing back, pointing out that, rather than some ideological notion, perhaps it was pragmatic?

Alexander was a very smart man. He understood that to rule this new united kingdom he’d created, he had to get creative. I think he also, quite genuinely, LIKED some of Persian culture. IMO, there are two basic types of people. Those who see something different, regard it with fear and suspicion, and run away or denigrate it. Then there are those who see something different and regard it with curiosity and run towards it. Alexander was (I think clearly) the latter type.

Yet many of his soldiers were not. They belonged to the former type. Plus, they’d been conditioned to think of themselves as conquerors, masters, etc. They’d proven their superiority on the battlefield. It’s the most simple sort of ethnocentrism: the “schoolyard bully” type. We beat you, so we’re better than you. They didn’t hold with Alexander’s myth-infused notions of conquest. To be honest, I don’t think Alexander held with them after Baktria. But I do think he understood that if he wanted to become Shah-han-shah of Persia, he couldn’t squash the Persians (and everyone else) under his heel.

IMO, too many modern historians are inclined to elevate the objections of Alexander’s soldiers, as if they are somehow pure of motive while Alexander isn’t, and he’s betraying them. That’s buying into ancient narrative bias. Let’s recast the whole thing in the modern era.

I see certain parallels between Alexander’s Macedonian soldiers and the red-hat wearing mobs at Trump rallies, terrified of the “browning of America” and convinced of their own cultural (and racial) superiority. The more diverse Alexander’s army became, the angrier his Macedonian troops got. One of the breaking points behind the Opis Mutiny was the emergence of the “Epigoni,” The mixed-race and Iranian boys trained in Macedonian arms. That INFURIATED the rank-and-file Macedonians. How dare Alexander share the sacred trust of Macedonian military might with Those People (who we just conquered and so, must be inferior to us)?

Reframed so, I think it easier to get beyond ancient pro-Hellenic source bias.

This is definitely something I’ll be playing with in the novel. It will NOT be “the poor, benighted troops are being mistreated by Ruthless Alexander.” But it also won’t be, “Alexander can do no wrong, and his men have no legitimate beefs.”

Life is NEVER that clear-cut.

NUANCE is all. And in the end, Alexander’s own virtues: his creativity, his ability to think outside the box, his insatiable desire to succeed, and his need to at least appear to be honorable…all these things will be his undoing.

(PSA: I reserve an author’s right to change my mind as I go forward and see how the series unfolds, but at least at present, this reflects my intentions, and some details aside, I think the gist will stay true.)

[bigskydreaming]

I'm not sure if you got my request because i didn't had internet when i sent it, so i'll write it again xd Do you think Dick (and the batboys in general) are famouse like Bruce? Because in the comics there's not any clue about it, i've never seen anyone say something like "oh look! Its Dick Grayson!, y'know, Wayne's first ward/son And its a shame, because reporters would make such a hard life to all of them, it would maka a good narrative tool

Honestly, this is a prime example of that inconsistency I rant about, and also DC’s refusal to just COMMIT on even the most basic aspects of their universe like….uh…how many kids does Batman have. 

afhsahfklahsklfhal

Like, you would think that would meet the MINIMUM requirements of “shit you should probably have figured out and make sure everybody’s on the same page with” but DC’s like….nah, that’s not important.

So I mean…..I’m reasonably certain - like this is just my personal belief, but I’d put money on it being right, lol - but I think the primary reason there’s so little mention in the comics of how Bruce’s kids are viewed in the public eye/how much the public are aware of them (in the New 52, at least, as pre-Flashpoint there was a lot more plot around that kind of thing, especially back in the 80s and 90s)……

…is because 90% of the writers and editors have no clue either, and nobody wants to be the one to ask, and like, open that can of worms. I 100% think you could ask five different writers at DC which kids Bruce has OFFICIALLY adopted in this current continuity, and get five different answers, lol.

There’s been so much handwaving about Dick’s status ever since Spyral, and again - I think its because nobody bothered to think through the logistics of the Hypnos/global-mindwipe machine BEFORE writing it into the story, and then once it did occur to any of them to like….wonder just how specifically it worked, they were like, fuck it, better just be as vague as possible. So, according to Grayson, everyone Helena didn’t program into the exclusion list before the satellite was activated should have no recollection of Dick Grayson, which is why he was able to ‘go back to his old life’ and be Nightwing again, without worrying about his secret identity having been unmasked…..

But what does that mean for his official identity as adopted son or even just ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne? People can’t have NO memory of Dick Grayson and still remember that Bruce Wayne took in a kid named Dick Grayson. I mean, as far as I can tell, the overall consensus in the comics seems to be that after the satellite was activated, Dick just kinda started from scratch as ‘Dick Grayson’ like, he was free to be himself again, but it was like he was a blank slate/came out of nowhere as far as everyone else was concerned. But again, that means as far as anyone outside of their close circle of family and friends know….Dick Grayson is a non-entity to Bruce Wayne and the two have no history. 

Which I mean, is fairly shitty and you’d think if nothing else, there’d be massive story potential there for delving into Dick’s character and his relationship with Bruce and examining how he felt about ‘having his old life/identity back’….except with the caveat that as far as the world is concerned, his life and identity don’t and have never included his father.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaaah.

But even WITH that, plot holes persist, and abound, because…..why didn’t the satellite erase the Court of Owls’ knowledge/memory of Dick? Even before Luthor gave Cobb those goggles and files to help him with bringing Ric into the fold, Cobb clearly was already stalking Ric and knew exactly who he was….the Court obviously already had that doctor in place while he was still in recovery…so, whoops. I mean, you could probably come up with an explanation about the Court, via their own tech and resources, having had some protections in place 24/7 that kept the satellite from affecting them even though they weren’t on guard for it specifically…..but again, Occam’s Razor….I feel like the real answer is DC just didn’t care enough to think things that far through. Especially since the average Bludhaven citizen, like Bea, at least didn’t seem totally blown away when Ric revealed to her that amnesia aside, he was supposedly some rich billionaire’s adopted kid….which again suggests that as far as the writers were thinking, people in general are familiar with the idea that Bruce Wayne has more than one kid.

Then you’ve got Jason’s whole situation, and to be honest….I really only have the vaguest idea what’s going on there, because reading Lobdell books is against my religion, and I am a devout and deeply spiritual person, as you all probably can tell. I mean, I know that there’s something going on where like, Jason had himself legally resurrected in the public eye and is openly referring to himself as Bruce Wayne’s formerly-assumed dead foster kid……but like, is that the official official word, or would other writers if you asked them say they’d been operating under the assumption Bruce had adopted Jason too at some point in the Rebirth timeline, or….idek, man.

I…..honestly don’t have the faintest fucking clue what to make of the many back-and-forth retcons about Tim and his parents and his official place in the Batfam/relationship with Bruce, and am actually slightly terrified of even trying to make sense of that clusterfuck of a Gordian knot, so my official stance on Tim is to just like….back sloooooowly away from the anthropomorphic-migraine-masquerading-as-a-backstory, without like….agitating it and accidentally setting off another multiverse Crisis birthed wholly from just that one all-consuming black hole of a retcon.

I mean, there’s a reason I basically just shoehorn all the kids’ official pre-Flashpoint family statuses into anything I write in Rebirth continuity, and that’s not just stubbornness and my refusal to play the “now this kid is adopted…now he’s not…now he is again….except he’s not….oh he’s adopted again…..oh wait now he’s not again" game. 

Its like. Also for the sake of my sanity and stuff.

(And also hahahahaha fuck you DC times infinity, every time you use the words “blood son,” or “real family” in a comic, or have one of Bruce’s other kids refer to Bruce as “your father” when talking to Damian, as if that’s not an utterly bizarre and roundabout way for any sibling to refer to their mutual parent and thus I j’ete REFUSE to acknowledge it as valid….ahem, anyway, my point is, every time they do that in a comic, I double down and headcanon Bruce throwing a random as fuck gala for literally no other purpose than to remind all of Gotham that he has half a dozen kids and they’re all better than everyone else’s. Ugh. Kill it. Kill the “blood son” nonsense with fire and lightning and also lots of stabbing maybe).

Anyway, that’s my official stance on DC’s stance on Damian in the books.

Then as far as Cass goes….ugh, her origins were pretty much utterly butchered by the New 52, which IMO has also failed to give us Cass and Bruce bonding and dynamics sufficient to Sate Mine Ire™, sooooooo…..I mean, my perception of the current canon is that Cassandra’s official status is “secret mystery foster child that nobody really knows about,” but because I do not care for that and there’s the whole not sufficiently sated ire thing I mentioned, I officially reject this canon and willfully replace it with pre-Flashpoint Bruce and Cass love and adoption. DC’s welcome to kiss my critically acclaimed hiney if I’m doing it wrong.

Which brings us last, but certainly not least, as its only this way because I go sequentially and Duke is still Shiny and New comparative to the others and will be until the next inevitable fostering/adoption/clone hi-jinks bumps him up the sequential ladder (except I randomly switched Damian and Cass around this time because LOOK I DONT MAKE THE RULES, THERE ARE NO RULES i hvea Adhd hiccup sob leavem e aloooone soooooob)…..

Duke’s official status, much like the rest of the Batkids, can be summed up as Honestly, I Really Don’t Have A Fucking Clue And Am Just Winging This Whole Thing.

I mean, there’s less inconsistency with him, due mostly to the fact that so few writers other than Snyder use him (boo, hiss, and not just because I hate having to give Snyder credit for stuff - look, I love his Duke, but I loathe how he writes Dami, its a thing, I just…don’t get me started). But what inconsistencies there are….well….they’re a bit glaring.

Basically one major storyline showed Duke as being an official foster kid/ward of Bruce’s and living out of the Manor with Bruce and Damian and occasionally Tim when he’s not off road-tripping around the multiverse….and then Batman and the Signal had Duke in the care of his uncle, who was stated to be his legal guardian and Duke was constantly sneaking out in order to meet Bruce in the special Signal-cave he built specifically for Duke to operate out of so he didn’t have to like, drive all the way out to the Manor to change just so he could then drive back into the city and patrol. And then Batman and the Outsiders just said fuck all that, here’s Duke and Cass hopping hemispheres with the Outsiders every other issue, so apparently nobody’s making unscheduled visits anywhere back in Gotham to make sure these two are where they’re legally assumed to be, which again, for the record is…..*error, source not found*

LOLOL and the really fun thing about this little back and forth is I’m pretty sure allllll these conflicting takes are all the work of the same writer. Like. GET ON YOUR OWN PAGE, DUDE.

Also, again I have to assume the “Can’t Be Bothered To Give A Shit, Or Maybe They’re All Just Really Bad At Logic” curse has struck again, because….uhhhh…..

….at no point anywhere in Duke’s stories have I seen Bruce or literally anyone else express concern about the fact that Duke living with Bruce as his official foster, like he definitely and clearly was at some point at least…..means that literally every single one of his We Are Robin friends who knows that he was taken in by the Batfam (and there’s several of them who know this)….like, by the transcendent properties of You Can’t Honestly Think They’re That Dumb, that’s a good five or six civilians out there who probably took all of five seconds to play connect the dots and figure out the Wayne family, having officially taken Duke in on paper…..is pretty likely the Batfamily.

I mean, I like all of Duke’s friends and would definitely headcanon/write them as all being trustworthy and able to keep this knowledge to themselves for Duke’s sake, if nothing else, but I mean, its pretty unprecedented for Bruce to out himself and all of his kids/allies by extension, to like, that many civilian teenagers all in one swoop….

…sooooooo, you’d think, AGAIN, logically, maybe, perhaps, this is the kind of thing that should be brought up in a narrative somewhere as a plot point worth delving into, y’know, just for shits and giggles and maybe a little bit of that whatchamacallit - oh right, character development, but.

Cut to DC: Naaaaaaah.

 *throws up hands and does the I Can’t Even Shuffle all the way home*

In conclusion:

DC is a mess. The official/public status of each and every Batkid is a mess. Except for Damian, the blood son, but we have that pencilled in on the schedule to be killed with fire and also stabbing, so he can get filed under ‘just a fucking mess’ with the rest of his siblings. Hashtag Solidarity.

I mean, I say just write or headcanon their official status however you damn well please, and it’ll STILL be more effort than I believe DC has put into organizing and staying consistent with all of this, and thus STILL make more sense than what we currently have to work with.

*Shrugs* If they don’t care enough to provide a clear canon blueprint to follow when mapping the Bat Family Tree, I can’t be bothered to care if the one I make up myself happens to contradict one single mention of one kid’s official status as claimed by one issue of one book.

Especially if it was written by Lobdell.

Jason’s just a foster son my ass. grumble mumble bitter vengeful swears and a pox on all DC’s houses. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE HATE ADOPTION SO MUCH, INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW AND ALSO FUCK YOU.