#ch: king robert i

[feyhunter78]

the way your jon snow fic has the most VICOUS hold on me. like i love it so much you have no idea. please please add me to that tag list! also whens the next part coming out i beg to know.

I can do that, and I'll do ya one better and drop the next chapter right here!!!!!

Chapter Eleven - Another marriage, and now a few moons later Queen Margaery has settled into her throne and it is time to celebrate her nameday with yet another feast, this time in Highgarden.

Ch 12

When your Uncle Jamie—really your only uncle now, as your Uncle Robert is long dead—slips back inside your aunt’s solar, he seems different, withdrawn, and pensive. You blame it on the death of his eldest child, wishing to not worry about whatever he and Jon spoke of. Though you know he is not so broken up about Joffrey’s death, he never truly liked the boy.

Your aunt is calm now, only a few stray tears and sniffles, Tommen curled in her lap. Your grandsire sitting in a chair his back ramrod straight, your father standing by your side as you lean against the table, your eyes on the large windows overlooking the Keep.

“We must uncover the assassins and hold a proper funeral for the king.” Your aunt says, her arms wrapped tightly around Tommen.

“We must write to Myrcella first; she needs to know of Joffrey’s death from us, not strangers.” You argue.

“No, we must secure the safety of all members of the royal family.” Your uncle says, his arms folded across his chest.

Your grandsire sighs. “You are all wrong, first we must arrange for Lady Margaery to marry Tommen and place Tommen on the throne, we cannot waste time, every second he does not sit on the Iron Throne more schemes to take it from him are hatched.”

“He is barely half her age.” Cersei protests.

You look at your father, this must be part of the plan, though you do not understand how, it must be. Besides, Tommen is a sweet boy, he will not harm her, nor will Margaery harm him.

“Grandsire is right, we cannot allow the Tyrells to slip from our fingers.” You say, earning a look of approval from your grandsire, one you so rarely get.

So now you stand in the crowd once more, dressed less lavishly than you were for Joffrey’s wedding, watching as Tommen and Margaery say their vows. The affair is duller, quieter, Margaery of course looks beautiful, but you cannot find it in yourself to be joyous. Your father has not explained how this is part of the plan. The wedding has happened, the vows were said, how is she to marry Robb while Tommen still lives? Perhaps an annulment? It would make sense; Tommen is far too young; no bedding will happen until he is of age. But it does not make sense in terms of succession.

You wring your hands, trying to piece together some way Robb can take the throne while Tommen still lives. Then the ceremony is over, the feasting and dancing commences, and Tommen seems…happy. That is truly all you want for him, happiness, but there is a cloud hanging over you that you cannot shake.

As you disperse with the rest of the crowd, a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned man steps into your view, his fine clothing colorful and cut in a distinct fashion.

���Lady y/n, may I have this dance?” Lord Oberyn Martell extends his hand, and you take it, giving him a gracious smile.

Myrcella has written of Oberyn, of his quick wit, of the way he dotes on his daughters, how he cares greatly for nieces and nephews, and though he still holds her at a distance he is not unkind to her. Despite all that she still warns you to be wary of him, that he earned the name Red Viper for a reason.

The song is familiar, the steps easy, and you fall in line with the other dancers, gliding and turning on beat, the melodious strings accompanied by clear toned woodwinds invoking the image of young lovers enjoying a spring day.

“Your cousin speaks highly of you.” Lord Oberyn says, his words far more accented than Jon’s, but still clear as day.

“I do miss her.” You twirl then return within his arm’s reach.

“Trystane takes good care of her I can assure you; I have never seen a young man more smitten than him” There is a look on his face, one of mischief, and he gracefully inclines his head towards Jon. “Though your White Wolf could put up a fair fight.”

“He is devoted, as a sworn sword should be.” You say nonchalantly, before attempting to turn the conversation back to Myrcella.

Oberyn stops you, dipping you low, a devilish smile on his handsome face directed towards someone you cannot see, though you imagine it is Jon. “If that is the case, then perhaps, I shall take your aunt up on her offer of further betrothals in Dorne.”

You stumble, catching the Dornish prince’s foot with the edge of your heel. “My apologies, My Lord.”

“No harm done; I expected such a reaction.”

“I think it would be best to speak with my father, not my aunt, if you wish to marry me to one of your nephews or cousins.” You say primly, curtsying to him once the dance has finished.

He presses your hand to his lips. “And if I wished to marry you myself? Would I still need to speak with your father.”

Your face burns and you snatch your hand away. “You have daughters younger than me, Prince Oberyn, and I do not think their mother would take kindly to another woman attempting to take her place. Nor would I want to. I mean no offense, but I cannot enter a marriage where I must share my husband, especially not when the other woman has had him first.”

He laughs, the sound warm, banishing the tension from the air around you, lifting the weight from your shoulders. It reminds you a little of how Jon laughs, the comfort it brings. Is this how all Dornish men laugh? If so, you can understand why Lyanna and Myrcella did not find it hard to fall for their own Dornish lovers.

“She would not, but she will appreciate your words.” He takes your hand gently, kissing it once more, then releasing you.

You give him a smile and gracefully take the arm of your next partner, then the next one then the next one, until finally Jon is able to steal you away, leading you back to your father.

“I have just turned down Oberyn Martell’s proposal, Father, I wished to let you know.” You say, a weary smile on your face as you slump in the chair next to him.

“Oh, did you? How bold these Dornish are, asking a girl for her hand without first consulting with her father.” Your father says, a ghost of a grin on his lips.

Jon stiffens from his place behind you.

“I reminded him he has daughters younger than me. Also, that I would not share my husband, it is too…unsavory for me, though of course I did not phrase it so.”

Your father snorts. “You told the Red Viper that you will not play the whore in your own marriage?”

You can hear Jon shifting his weight, and he hates when others use what he deems foul language in your presence. Though, you always remind him that Theon had given you quite the course in how to speak as a proper sailor does.

“No, I said I would not like to take the place of another woman.” You take a cube of cheese from his plate and pop it in your mouth. “Though perhaps I should have said lions are far too possessive to ever share their mates.” You catch sight of Jon in your peripheral and flash him a teasing smile.

He clears his throat and looks away, his arms clasped behind his back.

Jon has been oddly distant since the night of Joffrey’s death, and you fear it has more to do with whatever your uncle said to him than the death of the so-called king.

“Do you not think I spoke right, Ser Jon?” You ask, unable to resist drawing him into the conversation, though you know he would rather not participate.

“I think it is dishonorable to take more than one wife, or to have a mistress. It sullies not only the marital bed, but the house itself.” He says, his posture stiff, his words stilted.

You frown and your father shrugs before handing you another cheese cube.

The Roseroad toward Highgarden is well-kept, guards and small towns scattered along the winding road, the countryside lush and brimming with life. The air is cleaner here, sweet smelling compared to the unwashed filth that permeates the air of King’s Landing, and you are once again thankful that no one allowed your Aunt Cersei to take her gargantuan wheelhouse on this trip.

You are divided into smaller groups, within smaller wheelhouses, with windows that allow air to flow through. Your aunt is in one with her ladies, your father, uncle, and Tommen ride their horses alongside the guards, while you and Margaery were able to snag a wheelhouse to yourselves. Margaery claims she needs the extra space to prepare for her nameday festivities, and no one could deny their queen.

“We are a few hours out from my home, I cannot wait to show you the grounds, they are especially beautiful this time of year.” Margaery says, looking out the window, her face lit with a radiant smile.

It has been a few moons since her wedding to Tommen, and you have grown closer to the older girl, you and she are in fact Tommen’s favorite people and in turn spend much time together with or without him.

“I have heard tales, but I am sure words cannot compare.” You say, joining her at the window as she points out places she used to ride to with her brothers.

After a while of you two quietly enjoying the countryside, Margaery clears her throat delicately.  “Speaking of words.” She draws back from the window and pulls the curtain closed. “Have you heard anything from our dear redheaded friend?”

You scoot closer to her, lowering your voice to a whisper. “She writes to say that all is well, her home has fallen back into routine and regrets she is unable to attend the celebrations but holds out hope she will see us soon.”

“And what about…” Robb, she means Robb, she wishes to know if he thinks of her.

You reach into your satchel and dig out a letter, “I had been hoping to save it as a nameday present, but I guess I could give it to you now.”

After her and Tommen’s wedding your father roped you into secreting letters between Margaery and Robb, the seals were Hawthorne coming in, and Lannister going out. In truth, it made you feel part of a romantic story, playing the kind maid that helps the young lovers sneak away to be together.

Margaery rips open the letter and devours it, a soft smile on her face, her hand coming to cover her lips as her eyes begin to water.

“What, what did he say?” You ask, suddenly alarmed by the tears in your friend’s eyes.

She hands the letter to you, “he—he is so sweet.”

My dearest Lady Margaery,

I cannot tell you how delighted I still am each time your letters arrive, though I must admit my joy is dimmed by the continued reminder that you are wed to another. That I cannot speak freely of my affections for you. I know it is in name only, and that I should not be envious of a child no more than eight nearly nine namedays, but I am. To think that I, a man grown, is envious of a child for the mere fact that he is allowed to hold your hand. That he is allowed to call your name, to dance with you, it is shameful, but I would bear this shame and many others for you. There will come a day soon that we will be united, that I will take your hand and let all the realm know that you are not only my queen, but my heart’s desire.

I shall not drag on with sentiment lest I embarrass myself, so I will get to the meat of this letter. Sansa informed me it is to be your nameday soon, and that you will be traveling to Highgarden to celebrate. Part of me wished to set out for Highgarden the moment she said so, surely, I would be able to disguise myself well enough, but Sansa squashed that scheme quite quickly. Nevertheless, I am hopeful that Lady y/n will be able to present you with my gift. And if it is not too forward, I would ask that you wear it during the celebrations, and know that I am with you, that you carry my heart in your hands.

I have had your latest portrait replicated, made smaller, and set within a locket so that I might carry it around wherever I go. Theon teases me quite mercilessly about it, but I care not. While we are parted, I wish to do all I can to keep your visage beside me. The curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, and the soft blush that adorns your cheeks, they give me strength, and I will draw on them until we meet, and I no longer need drawn or painted images.

The Gods smiled upon the realm the day you were born, and I swear to you, when we are finally together, I will spend every moment I can making up for our time apart, especially your namedays.

-          Ever yours, Robb

“This is quite sweet; he has a way with words I would not expect.” You say, handing her the letter back.

“Why would he not? Even the way Jon spoke to you when he helped you into the wheelhouse was full of passion.” She bristles, holding the letter close to her chest.

You need only call for me, I will not be far. Perhaps have Ghost stay with you, it would ease my mind. He had said, before trying to force a very resistant Ghost into the wheelhouse. You thanked him but told him to let Ghost run free, knowing the direwolf would grow bored on the long journey.

You reach out and squeeze her hand. “I meant no offense, it is only that Jon has spent much time here, and Robb has not. I imagined they would speak differently, but it seems there is a hidden romantic streak in House Stark.”

She smiles, a pretty blush decorating her face, then she smooths out her expression and holds out her hand with the air of a queen. “My gift please?”

“Of course, My Queen.” You say, bowing your head ridiculously far as you hand her the small velvet bag.

She pulls the drawstrings open, gasping as she carefully pulls out the gift. It is a necklace made of gold and citrine, arranged in an elegant yet sturdy way, the gems draping down, the gold perfect and glowing against Margaery’s skin. “It is as he has described Grey Wind’s eyes.”

“Is there anything else?” You ask curiously, smiling as she holds it up to her chest once more.

She digs in the bag and finds a golden ring, engraved with the letters M and R in curling script, hidden within the rose emblem.

You hold out your hand for it, and she gives it to you. You fiddle with the edge of it until it pops open. Inside reveals a small, detailed portrait of a bright blue eye. “I wondered if he would go through with it.”

“Is that his?” Margaery asks, tracing the edges of the ring longingly.

“From what I remember it is, and Tommen also has blue eyes, so if anyone discovers it, they will be none the wiser.

She carefully replaces the gifts in their bag, and you feel a pang of sadness. You cannot imagine what she must feel like, married to a child, in love with a man she must keep secret, unable to even pretend they are merely friends, unable to freely send him letters.

A knock on the wheelhouse door pulls you from your thoughts. “My Queen, My Lady, we have nearly arrived.”

Highgarden is beyond beautiful, set upon a hill overlooking the Mander, built with clean white stone, and narrow towers that seem to scrape the clouds. Rows and rows of briar hedges, fields of flowers, and works of art tastefully scattered about the halls and grounds, complete the fairy tale look of the Tyrell’s castle, and you cannot wait to see more.

“And you must see the Three Singers, our Godswood is known throughout the realm for its beauty.” Margaery says, as the wheelhouse finally grinds to a halt and the door is pulled open.

“Sister,” Loras says, holding out his hand to her. “Welcome home.”

Margaery takes his hand, gracefully exiting the wheelhouse, her excitement radiating from her like rays of the sun. Then Loras goes to help you, but Jon’s hand is already there.

“My Lady, the Dowager Queen requires a word with you.” Jon says, his face unreadable, his eyes never lingering on you for too long.

“Thank you, Ser Jon, I will go to her once we have settled into our chambers.”

You sit and wait for your aunt, fiddling with your sleeves, birdsong, and the sound of harps playing floats in through the open window.

She sweeps in, head held high, and closes the window, plunging the room into dead quiet. “I know your father has been lenient with you since your poor mother died, but as your aunt, the only motherly figure in your life, I can no longer stand by and watch you waste away your future.”

“Beg pardon?”

She takes your hands, her expression soft, caring, one you have not seen since you were a little girl. “Y/N, we must find you a husband, a good man, who will provide for you, for your children.”

“Father said—”

“I know your father has filled your head with stories of freedom, and true love, but that is for children, and you have not been a child for some time now.” She takes the seat across from you, her ruby gown looking harsh and garish among the soft colors and fabrics of the guest chamber she has been given.

“You are right, I am no longer a child.” You agree, trying to give her an answer that betrays nothing of true value.

She brushes your cheek with her knuckles, her eyes looking for something, in your own. “Your mother was a great beauty, with a kind heart, far too kind. I do not want you making the same mistake she did. Not that you are a mistake, my darling girl, you are the only worthwhile thing that has ever come from my brother, but your mother did not examine her prospects wisely enough.”

“I do not have any prospects.” You tell her, torn between feeling comforted and wounded by her words.

“At tomorrow night’s feast there will be many lords from all across the realm, and you will dance with them, you will talk and flatter, and laugh at their jests even if they are not humorous.”

“But if I dance with so many, how will I know who is good?”

She gives you a smile and smooths down your hair. “Allow me to take care of that, I want you to enjoy yourself, and show the realm how delightful you are.”

“I will try.” You say, giving her a weak smile, hoping she believes it is born of nerves and not a complete lack of interest.

“You will do more than try, you will succeed.”

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film

[silver-inked-quill]

Lost in the North

Ch. 1 Lions in the snow

Summary: Robb's twin sister has widowed a few months after her marriage to a young lord in the North. Since there was no heir she returned to her birth-home.

Pairing: Jamie Lannister x reader, Theon Greyjoy x reader (it is yet to be decided)

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: General Game of Thrones warnings🙄

“Y/N!” my mother exclaimed- her voice toned with pure panic as she was preparing the castle for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon, friend of my father’s but still the King of the seven realms along with the house Lannister.

“Yes mother?” I responded loud enough as I moved to the main dining room.

“Please do see that Arya is properly dressed- and aid Sansa with her own dress.” She spoke and I looked at her. “Oh and please tell the boys to shave- be presentable as well.” Her gaze rather apologetic, she never really enjoyed burdening me with the matters of our household ever since my return from White Harbor- Barely married to young Lord Manderley who passed before we have been together for a moon. No heir- No nothing just the first born daughter of House Stark in a foreign land with no heir. My father claimed me back and cancelled our wedding. I loved my husband but the 7 gods had different plans for my future and his.

I paced down the balcony, my eyes searching for my brothers, they were by the targets. My twin Rob, always followed by Jon Snow-my father’s bastard- and by Theon Greyjoy, my father’s ward. Bran huffed, another missed arrow, I noticed a galore of them stuck everywhere but the target. Jon kneeled and tried to tutor him and I smiled. Arya rose out of nowhere grabbed the bow and pulled the string releasing an arrow straight at the target’s center. I saw Arya chime and the boys make gentle fun of Bran as my father came and stood by me.

“Fine little beast your daughter has become.” I commented as he stood by me leaned in the railing, I could see the pride flair up his eyes as he looked down at his boys- no at his children. “Reminds of another fine beast that used to run around my feet with her braids and play with bows and arrows instead of dolls.” He commented and I chuckled looking at him “At least one of your daughters turned out to be a proper lady.” I said still smiling as I stared back at the targets. “You turned out to be a proper lady… and you can stab an arrow within an arrow too.” My father spoke, his voice gentle like he snow falling upon our roof. “How do you know I can do that?” I laughed and asked, I felt eight again and he would tell me stories and convince me and my twin that they were true.

“I can see it in your eyes- they shine when you see something you enjoy and you exceed at.” He said, his voice poetic- too poetic. “Oddly specific thing the glint of my eyes told you…” I laughed at him, it was a rare thing for me the years passed. “We were exchanging ravens with Lord Manderley, concerned how your stay at the White Harbor was- he mentioned that you were quiet the archer… Why don’t you show your siblings off?” My father asked me, his smile apparent- one only his family could see.

“You want me to boast? Father are you feeling alright?” I asked him laughing. “Yes- However, love, it doesn’t hurt to boast on boasters.” He commented and pointed at my siblings and then kissed my forehead as climbed down with a swift motion snatching the bow from Arya.

“Didn’t know you could handle a bow sister?”  Robb looked stunned as he saw me take an arrow from Bran’s quiver.

“You do not know many things Robb.” I turned at him gently pressing him and Jon to take a step back. They stared at each other for a moment.

“In the Iron Islands, it is common for women to fight.” Theon commented and opened the way. “I was surprised to see in the North there aren’t such habit.” He said.

“We honor tradition here” I said and pulled the string. “But women here are allowed to have hobbies…” I smiled and as I breathed out I let the arrow go, It flew to the one Arya shot at the target making it tear in half.

“Did you see that?! she is better than all of you three combined!” Bran exclaimed and hugged my waist looking up at me. “Me too- You will teach me first!” Arya exclaimed crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“No- it is me, I should learn first” Bran huffed pointing at Arya.

“That was impressive Y/N.” Jon spoke and smiled at me.

“It was- alright” Theon spoke and looked at me and then at Robb.

“What happened, feeling overshadowed?” Robb spoke and placed an arm around my shoulders. His voice mocking but no real meaning behind his words.

“Oh- you should feel overshadowed too Robb.” I chuckled and patted his cheek. “However brilliant my archery is- I am here as a bearer of bad news… The lot of you has to shave before the arrival of the King… and even more unfortunately for me- I have to dress you up Arya…” I smiled and looked at her eyes, she really despised them dresses and gowns.

“No… Not happening.” She exclaimed and she attempted to flee but with a spinning motion Robb caught her like. “We do not like it either” Jon smiled and ruffled her hair and I gently took her hand leading her to her room.

~

Not many hours passed. Bran’s voice exclaimed that the King was arriving. I chuckled as Mother was outraged that Bran was climbing again at the wall… Sansa and Robb were already close to my father as my mother guided Bran and I bore Rickon’s hand as he soon left me to go next to my mother. Arya appeared wearing a helmet. I heard Jon’s chuckle from behind… He always stood behind us with Theon.

The kind arrived, the stag and the lion banners stood next to the ones of the direwolf. We bowed as King Robert Baratheon who stood before us. He signed us to rise and we did. “You grew fatter.” Robert commented staring at my father’s grim face. The grim in his gaze was unbearable but his lips tugged nodding “You too your Grace.” He said and after an exclamation of joy he hugged ny father and then my mother.

“you are a handsome future lord.” Robert said and shook my twins hand. “And what is your name?” “Arya, your grace.” His gaze shifted to Sansa “You are a pretty one” he giggled before he ceased his movements standing before me. I swallowed staring at his blanked gaze. I knew what I reminded him of and it made me feel bizarre. My father’s face hardened and the Queen looked at me in despise “You look just-.” He was to say but then Bran got his glare. “And you- you will be a knight! Show me those muscles!” Bran flexed and I smiled my glare lowered to the floor.

~

They all gathered at the main ballroom to have the feast and once the formalities came to an end. I fled the room and went to the cellars first taking a skin of ale, as I stumbled upon the imp. “Lady Stark- or is it Mandreley.” He asked me and I raised my eyebrows. “What are you doing down here lord Lannister?” I asked him and looked down at him. “Same as you I assume- seeking comfort in the warmth of alcohol… However it isn’t suitable for a lady to drink alone now is it- It could be scandalous.” Tyrion Lannister commented. “But then again you are a widow- one in grief can do as they wish.” He added and I simply walked alone up on the wall, there was this small spot- it allowed me to have the greatest view- one painters could never draw and bards could never sing about. I simply sat there and drank from the skin- it tasted horribly but my mind was at peace.

“I love coming up here as well- All the times I would think of my father and the Iron islands I would come here.” Theon came from behind me and leaned in the stone railings I was seated upon.

“My father treated you better than yours.” I told him and drunk down the ale. “But you are rather ungrateful and bitter.” I spoke

“I am bitter because Ned is not my father…” Theon spoke “I do feel affection for this family- I was only ten when I was brought here. You Rob and Jon- you treated me no different than you treated each other- I always loved you a bit more than the other two you know- you showed more compassion which is normal- you are a girl—a woman now. It pained me to see you in tears Y/N… It always has.” Theon spoke and I looked at him with a small smile.

“Are you confessing you have feelings towards me Theon?” I asked with a small laughter hiding behind my voice as I turned to look at him and he didn’t respond he simply grasped the ale and drunk it down.

“I always hoped to be for you- I know I am a lord without a kingdom. I admire you Y/N- your compassion your skill” He smiled and kissed my knuckles gently as he looked at me and left with no other word.

“Ah… scandals of the North I always enjoyed seeing the word and the lady of the late Lord Manderley with the hostage ward of the Iron Islands. I thought North was about honor.” I heard a voice yet unknown to me.

“Sir Jamie Lannister is it…” I turned around “And what would a kings guard wished wandering on our wall.” I made the question towards him.

“Lady Y/N Stark second of her name… And yet you steal kings words just like the first of your name did” The knight responded.  “They say you take after your aunt Y/N, in looks and spirits” He added, his voice smooth and mocking.

“I am alike her in both you have heard correct.” I said and looked at him. “Therefore I bet my twin brother wouldn’t enjoy hearing your manner sir… Just like you do not enjoy insult when it comes to the Queen’s name…” I smiled and looked at him. “It’s a twin thing isn’t it… But then again, some twins are closer than others.”

Jamie Lannister’s face didn’t shift as if it was okay for me to say those things. “Watch your sharp tongue Lady Stark.” He smiled.

“Or- Will you threaten me Jamie Lannister- inside my home, for noticing how much you love your sister.” I smiled and leaned in, I could smell his perfume and sweat.

“You are a bittersweet thing Y/N Stark. I have never fucked another’s twin…” He spoke and I didn’t flinch, I maintained the eye-contact. “Interesting, I bet the Queen would be most delighted to hear of your new discovering appetite.” I said and he stared at me for some good moments. He was handsome- too handsome and my heart was racing as if I was running for my life. Perhaps I was. “Is that a threat, lady?” he asked and I smiled “It is a reaction followed by an action.” I smiled and then stood up making my leave.

Hey there gentle reader , First i would like to thank you for reaching this point and reading my fanfiction. I wish to know your opinion on it as a whole and on a more flaming matter- Jamie Lannister or Theon Greyjoy? I mean i think she has connection with both and quiet some chemistry too but please i need you to enlighten me... Yours, silvermist

[v-akarai]

References in Servamp

Arabian mythology

Jinn. Ch. 16

Greek mythology

Elpis. Ch. 75

Moirai. Ch. 108

Pandora. Ch. 130

Pygmalion. Ch. 123

Pandora's Box. Ch. 97

Japanese mythology

Gashadokuro. Ch. 129

Kitsune. Ch. 3

Raijin. Ch. 85

Norse mythology

Baldr. Ch. 39

Bifröst. Ch. 88

Brunhild. Ch. 88

Fimbulwinter. Ch. 40

Freya. Ch. 65

Frey. Ch. 131

Gleipnir. Ch. 101

Hati. Ch. 91, 131

Hod. Ch. 39

Hliðskjálf. Ch. 96

Idunn. Ch. 65

Loki. Ch. 15

Mimir. Ch. 29

Mjölnir. Ch. 53

Ragnarök. Ch. 101, 122, 131

Sigurd. Ch. 101

Thor. Ch. 41

Yggdrasil. Ch. 42

Biblical references

Abel. Ch. 8

Adam. Ch. 128

Boaz and Jachin. Ch. 42

Eden. Ch. 21

Eve. Ch. 1

John the Baptist. Ch. 122

Judith. Ch. 147

Lucifer. Ch. 135

Noah. Ch. 145

Nod. Ch. 29, events

Hinduism

Asura. Ch. 57.5, 89.

Tarot

The Fool - Mahiru. Ch. 50

I. The Magician – Night trio. Ch. 41

II. The High Priestess – Mikuni. Ch. 42

V. The Hierophant - Shuhei. Ch. 77

X. Wheel of Fortune - Junichiro. Ch. 53

XII. The Hanged Man - Tsurugi. Ch. 50

XV. The Devil – Shamrock. Ch. 72

XVI. The Tower - Touma. Ch. 47

XVII. The Star - Iduna. Ch. 73

XVIII. The Moon - Yumikage. Ch. 69

XX. Judgement - Mikuni. Ch. 144

Literary references

 "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" Lewis Carroll. Ch. 3, 4, 7, 19, 98, 122. Misono, Lily, Dodo, Mitsuki, Yamane, Hattori, Mikuni, Bad B and Good B.

"As You Like It" William Shakespeare. Ch. 10, 38.5. Mikuni's spell.

"My Fair Lady" English nursery rhyme. Ch. 10 Mikuni's spell.

"Dracula" Bram Stoker. Ch. 12, 30. Hugh.

"Romeo and Juliet" William Shakespeare. Ch. 23, 34. Hyde, Ophelia.

"Faust" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Ch. 29 Johannes.

"Through the Looking-Glass" Lewis Carroll. Ch. 29, events. Mikuni, Johannes.

"Julius Caesar" William Shakespeare. Ch. 23, 84. Hyde.

"Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" Robert Stevenson. Ch. 23, 37. Hyde, Licht.

"Macbeth" William Shakespeare. Ch. 24, 31. Kuro, Saint Germain, Mahiru.

"Night on the Galactic Railroad" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 26, 142. Higan, Tsubaki.

"The Little Prince" Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Ch 30, 67. Kuro, Mahiru, Sloth demon, Gear, probably Jeje.

"Hamlet" William Shakespeare. Ch. 33, 34. Hyde, Ophelia.

"The Phantom of the Opera" Gaston Leroux. Ch. 36 Licht and Hyde technique.

"Peter and Wendy" James Barry. Ch. 44, 56, 74. Tsurugi, Touma, Mahiru.

"Ring a Ring o' Roses" nursery rhyme. Ch. 53 Junichiro's spell.

“Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens” James Barry. Ch. 53, 75. Tsurugi, Touma.

"Death in Venice" Thomas Mann. Ch. 55 Gilbert technique.

"Total Eclipse" a play by Christopher Hampton. Ch. 55 Rayscent's technique.

"The Morning of the Last Farewell" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 57.5 Tsubaki.

"Spring and Asura" Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 57.5 Tsubaki.

"The Catcher in the Rye" Jerome Salinger. Ch. 62 Shuhei.

"Four and Twenty Blackbirds" Agatha Christie. Ch. 62 Shuhei's spell.

"Metamorphosis" Franz Kafka. Ch. 62 Shamrock technique.

“The Nighhawk's Star” Kenji Miyazawa. Ch. 62, 76. Shamrock technique.

"Rock-a-bye Baby" an English lullaby. Ch. 70 Touma's spell.

“Schlafe, mein Prinzchen, schlaf ein” lullaby. Ch. 70 Touma's spell.

"Who Killed Cock Robin" an English nursery rhyme. Ch. 70 Yumikage's spell.

"The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" Lyman Frank Baum. Ch. 70, 88. Tsukimitsu brothers’ spells.

"Daddy-Long-Legs" Jean Webster. Ch. 74. Dark Night Trio, Touma.

"King Lear" William Shakespeare. Ch. 86. Hyde.

"The House of the Sleeping Beauties" Yasunari Kawabata. Ch. 86. Iori.

"The Divine Comedy" Dante Alighieri. Ch. 118, 120, 121. Niccolo, Ildio, Gluttony demon.

“A Brute's Love” (人でなしの恋) Edogawa Rampo. Ch. 122 Mikuni, Lily.

"Coppelia" ballet Leo Delibes. Chapter 122 Mikuni, Lily.

"Salome" Oscar Wilde. Ch. 122, 147. Mikuni, Lily.

"Turandot" opera by Giacomo Puccini based on the play by Carlo Gozzi. Ch. 129, 136. Lily.

"The Tempest" William Shakespeare. Ch. 131. Licht and Hyde.

"The Old Man and the Sea" Ernest Hemingway. Ch. 134 Hugh.

"Flowers for Algernon" Daniel Keyes. Ch. 135 Hugh.

"Jane Eyre" Charlotte Brontë. Ch. 136. Hokaze.

"Madama Butterfly" opera by Giacomo Puccini. Ch. 136. Lily.

"Hansel and Gretel" the Brothers Grimm. Ch. 140. Faust and Otogiri.

"Girl Hell" Yumeno Kyusaku. Ch. 147. Mikuni, Noah.

Music

"Für Elise" by Ludwig van Beethoven. Ch. 34

"Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring" by Johann Sebastian Bach. Ch. 125

Sonata No. 17 "Tempest" by Ludwig van Beethoven. Ch. 131

Movies

"It's a Wonderful Life" (1946). Ch. 131

"Life is Beautiful" (1997). Ch. 131

I believe this list can be expanded. Somewhere I’ve written only chaps when some reference was mentioned for the first time and omitted all further mentions.

Special thanks to hello-vampire-kitty, joydoesathing and passmeabook, because some works wouldn’t be included in the list without their observations.

[whencyclopedia]

Of Plymouth Plantation: Brief Summary & History

Of Plymouth Plantation (also known as History of the Plymouth Plantation and William Bradford's Journal, written 1630-1651 CE) is the first-hand account of William Bradford (l. 1590-1657 CE), second governor of the Plymouth Colony (1620-1691 CE) relating the events leading to his congregation of religious separatists (later known as pilgrims) leaving Europe for North America, their voyage aboard the ship Mayflower, and the establishment of the colony in modern-day Massachusetts. Bradford's book is the ultimate source for the term 'pilgrims' as applied to the separatist congregation as he writes of them, "they knew they were pilgrims" in describing their journey of faith to an unknown land (Book I. ch. 7). The work is considered among the most significant of early American literature and history, not only for its artistic and historical value but also its influence on the development of the national character of the United States of America.

Bradford's narrative emphasizes the importance of people of different backgrounds, nationalities, and religious beliefs working together for their collective good but, at the same time, highlights individual accomplishment and how, in a land of unlimited opportunity, one may rise only as high as one's character and determination allow. In concise prose, Bradford narrates the experience of the early colony noting how their commitment to work together with each other and the Native Americans, for the collective good of all, established a community where individual effort was rewarded by benefits, not only for one's self but for all involved.

Although this aspect of the work is far from its focus, the theme of the self-made man creating something from nothing runs throughout and has informed the collective vision of the United States since the book became available to the general public in the 19th century CE. Bradford speaks directly to the reader in an honest voice throughout, emphasizing personal devotion and responsibility to one's God, self, and the greater good, and the determination to succeed in spite of seemingly overwhelming odds.

Persecution & Relocation

Bradford's work begins with the history of the persecution of the religious separatists by the Anglican Church under King James I of England (r. 1603-1625 CE). Although the church had been founded by Henry VIII of England (r. 1509-1547 CE) during the Protestant Reformation in opposition to the Catholic Church, it still retained many aspects of Catholicism which some Protestants, derisively known by Anglicans as “Puritans” because they wished to purify the Church, objected to.

King James I, the same who commissioned the famous King James Translation of the Bible, was the head of the Anglican Church, interpreted this criticism as treason, and authorized officials to fine, arrest, imprison, and even execute dissenters. By age 12, Bradford had read the Geneva Bible, a translation influenced by the theology of the reformer John Calvin (l. 1509-1564 CE), who advocated strict adherence to a literal interpretation of the scriptures which encouraged worship services modeled on the simplicity of the early Christian community. Bradford was further influenced by a religious movement known as Brownism, founded by a former Anglican priest named Robert Browne (l. 1550-1633 CE) who claimed the Church was too corrupt to be purified and the only course for a true believer was to separate one's self from it. Bradford found like-minded Christians in a separatist congregation in the village of Scrooby, close to his hometown of Austerfield, England.

In 1607 CE, the Anglican Church became aware of the Scrooby congregation and arrested some, placing others under surveillance, and fining those they could. The congregation, under the leadership of John Robinson (l. 1576-1628 CE) sold their belongings and relocated to Leiden, the Netherlands, where the government practiced a policy of religious tolerance.

Between 1607-1618 CE, the congregation lived freely in Leiden but could only hold menial jobs and became concerned that their children were losing their English heritage. The English had established the colony of Jamestown in the Virginia Patent of North America in 1607 CE, which, ten years later, was flourishing, and the Leiden congregation were already looking into some means of creating their own colony in Virginia when, in 1618 CE, one of their leading members, William Brewster (l. 1568-1644 CE), published a tract criticizing the Anglican Church and orders were given by the English officials for his arrest. Brewster was hidden by his friends, but the congregation stepped up their efforts to relocate and contracted with Thomas Weston (l. 1584 - c. 1647 CE), who was a merchant adventurer who matched potential colonists with investors. By June of 1620 CE, they had two ships, the Speedwell and the Mayflower, and were ready to begin their voyage across the Atlantic Ocean to a new home.

Continue reading...

[acakessss]

Fearless by Lauren Roberts, Alternate Ending Ch. 1

An alternate ending to Fearless because I couldn't handle the real one.

Dedication: To the brotherhood I couldn’t save. 

My head.. feels like it’s seeped in mud. Was I sleeping? Opening my eyes feels like a chore, as if each lid weighs a ton. When I finally get them open, I realize I’m in the medical wing of the castle. It feels a bit dark and hard to make out the interiors, or maybe my mind is only slowly starting to piece shapes of objects together. Kai and I were just together weren’t we? We were sparring or arguing about something. Oh. 

It was about her, it’s always her. Ruining our liv-

“Oh! Oh my, you’re awake!” A maid shrieks at the foot of my bed but I can’t seem to recognize who she is. “ Your Highness, you’re awake!” I  know everyone in this castle, how do I not recognize her?

I don’t have enough time to consider my lapse in memory before she runs to open the room’s double doors and shouts,

“The King is awake! He’s awake!” She turns to one of the awaiting Imperials, “Please go get the Prince and hurry! Tell him the King has finally awakened!” She’s out of breath by the time she turns back to me, her excitement rippling off her like waves. I don’t think anyone’s ever been this excited simply because I woke up.

“Don’t worry about it”, I try to say but the words don’t ever make it past my lethargic lips. My throat feels scratchy, as if my vocal chords haven’t been used in quite some time. 

I’ll go find Kai myself. I don’t like this wing of the castle very much. I don’t need to wait. 

Wait– we were sparring and he stabbed me. And with a fire stoker at that. The plague had ruined my mind so much I couldn’t even remember a sparring routine I’ve practiced and repeated since we were children. I reach for my chest where the stab wound should be. However my arms never make it past their current location at my sides. My hands merely twitch in response to my mental command. They feel so heavy. Have I been sedated? 

I urge my legs to rescue me from this miserable bed, only for them to shuffle the blankets atop me. I don’t understand what’s happening.

I try once more and I’m finally able to leave this bed.

My body collapses onto the floor, face planting into the old dingy carpets of this infirmary. I try to look around but my neck suffices to lift my head the few inches needed to breathe in fresh air. My sight is obstructed by a sea of blonde hair, clinging to my face and sprawling across the carpet, as the servant rushes over. 

“What the hell?”

I'm finally able to let out grunts that start to resemble words. My limbs won’t seem to listen to me. I’m a jumbled heap on the floor, a lowly king with a fraying decaying mind and now failing body. This is all my fault. I thought I was strong enough to resist the plague but it seems to have completely atrophied every aspect of my being. 

But my mind actually feels–  less clouded. Somehow clearer, even if by a hair, than it had before. Before– 

“Your Highness!” The maid shouts as she rushes over to lift me.

“How long was I asleep for?” That one was closest to resembling words but I doubt she could understand me. She tries to help me up but is unable to bear my weight. After her attempt, I’m a heap on the floor again.

“Please, your Highness, the Prince will explain everything. For now let’s just get you back into bed. He’s actually been here nonstop everyday, it just so happens he had to step out for–” The servant pauses her speech sounding a bit unsure.

Ah right, it must be Paedyn he’s had to rush out for. Even the staff know of his love for her. Will she be forever a thorn in my side. A blight I can seem to escape.

“Kitt!” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My whole mood shifts as I hear Kai’s voice.

“Kitty you’re awake” He exclaims as he lifts me off the floor and embraces me. “I thought I killed you Kit” He cries into the hug, “I thought I killed you.”

Right he stabbed me while– defending Paetyn.

“Kitt I’m so happy you are alive” Kai continues as he raises me back to the bed. He leans my back onto the pillows and then reaches down to lift my legs back onto the bed, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“What’s going on Kai?” This time I know my words are clear enough to understand.

“There is so much to explain… honestly there’s too much. I don’t know where to start.” He’s running his hands through his hair as if he’s nervous, but still smiling and sounding breathless, like he ran back here as soon as he could. He runs his hands down his tear streaked face. He looks to the servant and nods for her to leave. 

“You’re awake” Kai says relieved, like the largest weight was just flung from his shoulders.

“Please”, I push out. What is going on–

“You’ve been asleep for a year and a half, Kitt.”

I snap my head in his direction, well more like tilt in his direction. I stare into his grey eyes trying to understand what he just said. A–

“Yuuear”

“After I stabbed you and you lost consciousness, I thought you were gone. You were bleeding out in my arms but Paedyn was able to retrieve a Healer before your heart stopped. As soon as I felt their power I was able to start healing you. When the healer arrived in the room, we were able to heal your injuries but you still wouldn’t wake up. We didn’t know if you had lost too much blood but we believe the plague was preventing you from healing properly and regaining consciousness.”

Kai is pacing around the room hands in hair as he recounts the events of that night.

“So we moved you to the infirmary where Healers periodically tended to you. We found your letters and…Then a few days after that the Scholars found a cure for the plague!” He looks up smiling, but his smile starts to fall as he says, “But, if administered it would put you into a deep sleep. And they didn’t know how long or if you’d ever wake up.” Kai trails off sounding more hollow, reliving the lapse in time when it was unsure if the King would ever open his eyes again.

I just stare up at him trying to process the flood of information. My brain is still moving at a glacial pace.

“They gave you doses every day for a month. The dark veins in your face began to disappear, the color returning to your cheeks, and the dark circles under your eyes lessened. It looked to be working but a week had passed after their last dose and you still wouldn’t wake up. So we just waited. And I–” Kai starts to get choked up again pausing.

“I was starting to believe you would never wake up brother” His hands have now drifted to the back of his neck, then through his hair again, “But you are awake.” he finishes quietly.

“I’m awake after a year and a half” I say astonished, staring off into nothing. Thankfully those words sounded as they should. “What about everyone, the kingdom, my plans with–”

“Queen Zailah figured out something was wrong with the roses before allowing them to infect her Kingdom.” Kai cuts him off. “She figured Paetyn had nothing to do with it and so didn’t take action against our Kingdom. The two seem to have developed a bond.” Kai says thinking back to some event I have no recollection of. “ We have established a trade route with them and the first shipment arrives sometime next week.”

I start to grimace. My plans for a great Ilya are failing, have failed and everyone loves her. But I can’t seem to rile up the hatred I previously had towards her. Her name seems to sting less every time I hear it.

Noticing my reaction Kai opens his mouth to say something but I interrupt.

“So my plans have failed.” My head is spinning, jumping around like I wish my body would. 

“Kitt the kingdom is thriving. It was a blessing that your plan to infect Izram failed.” Kai responds, shaking his head. “You weren’t thinking straight before. The Plague was fraying your mind–”

“But I can still start with Dor” I barely hear Kai as I murmur I’m lost in a different approach to achieve my plans. I can spread the Plague to Dor and–

“Kitt the Plague nearly killed you!” Kai yells. “If it hadn’t been me stabbing you, that Plague would have finished the job.” Kai fumes “You were talking to people that weren’t there. You were irate and easily agitated. You weren’t you brother.” Kai motions to me beseechingly.

“Oh the easy going, kind Kitt. So weak and soft and a failure of an heir.” I yell through creaking vocal chords that finally obey me. “This can’t fail Kai you don’t understand! I have to be better than our father. I can’t exist as a disappointment. You were everything he wanted, powerful. While I was a meek, feeling obedient child, running to do his every command and still falling short.” I push through shaky breath, lifting heavy hands to clench my chest. “Brother you have to understand. I have to–” I heave, quickly exhausting my body. 

“Kitt, those are all the things I love about you, we all love about you. You are not a failure. Stop trying to live up to the man that killed our sister!” Kai shouts back. “And for what? For his obsession with power. Fear of not being weak?”

“She was just a child” I say more quietly thinking. “That’s why she died, she was too young to handle–”

“Kitt” Kai interrupts, “You almost died. The Plague was eating at your body and mind. If it weren’t for the healers who found a cure, you’d be dead!”

I shake my head “No, no”, there has to be a way. It has to work. Every city on our maps will be ours and I will rule them all. A truly boundless Elite kingdom far greater than my father could ever achieve. I stare down at my hands hoping a plan will materialize in them. If only my head was a little clearer–

“Whether you understand that or not doesn’t matter.” Kai says, interrupting my thoughts. “Because I won’t let you use that Plague again.”

I look up at Kai astonished. Doesn’t he understand I am doing this for us? Oh “It’s because of her isn’t it. Don’t want the Plague to kill your beloved.”

Kai straightens. “She is of course a reason why. But there is one more thing I must tell you brother.”

I stare at him dumbfounded. He still doesn’t understand–

“I have a daughter Kitt.”

I think I stopped breathing

“And unlike our father, I will not risk her life for the pursuit of power.”

My mind goes blank.

Editor Notes:

This is my first fanfic ever I hope you enjoy! I consumed the series via audiobook so I might have gotten name spellings wrong. I plan to continue this fic and add images and videos.

Feel free to read the reddit post I made about my opinions on the ending. It cut me deep Shrek.

https://www.reddit.com/r/fantasyromance/comments/1jymkiy/fearless_by_lauren_roberts_ending_discussion/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

[moonvisi0n]

THE PITT(box)🗣🧠💙🍸

(Pre-monaco gp 2025 + more talk of ‘That jackrabbit’😄)

I have a massive migraine and am feeling like absolute crap But here are a few times during my week when D’Pitt returned👁🫀 And not just bc I conditioned myself w/ Baby by Robert Bradley's Blackwater Surprise to lock-in In the morning 💼 🏎

My linguistics research, besides sending me into another quarterly identity crisis, showed me literally trinity from dexter s4 and it caught me off guard. Also Conclave. Boyed f*wler and j*rdan ch*se🫵. Lumen/Julia stiles💙💙 Dexter discourse in 2025😁

Also for you all out there, Hatosy is in exactly 2 dexter eps but mentioned ALL the way to the very last second of S5. So have fun with that, it reminded me of Jack abbot like a sword to my chest each time.

Former F2 driver Paul Aron now turned alpine reserve driver no where to be seen and under my radar now malheureusement but

Paul Aron—Aaron Paul—Aaron Paul in Breaking Bad—Breaking Bad—Bryan Cranston—Taylor Dearden, daughter of Bryan Cranston—Taylor Dearden—Dr.Mel King🤍—The Pitt🤍—The Pitt night shift🤍—Dr.Emmry Walsh🤍 like that’s my actual wife I don’t know what else to tell you—Dr. Ellis(🫦)🤍 Dr.Mohan.🤍 You wouldn’t get her okay, more love for fav hollywood working girl Supriya Ganesh🫀🫀

Everything leads back to the pitt trust, I was telling my roommate about the episode transcripts being released, 32 my ass (jk).

Also you can tell my respect for each pitt character by how I refer to them, Almost forgot “Samira” bc she is Dr. Mohan to me! and she is going through it!!

Idk where else to bring up Shen but he’s randomly the goat for me also rn🍓 Fav tweet is “You can tell he was trained by Abbot”, that gd jackrabbit🙄🫦

Monaco 2025 tomorrow at 6AM for me christ (Leclerc ahead into T1 or no one ok Ciao🐇

PS. I was going to upload this 20 mins ago but then called my mom breaking down about my migraine/research work eating me alive. So in tears now, I post this jack abbot and medical staff appreciation scrapbook page from the heart cheers🍸

[rhiawriter]

The Dragon's Cloak Ch 11

As the royal party rode south, Lyanna sat on Flurry in uncharacteristic silence. Ashara tried to goad her into making up their own verses for “The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” but Lyanna refused to join in the fun. Ned was in the royal party as well, headed back to court with his sister while Brandon, Catelyn, and Rickard all traveled north. Ned also tried to talk to her, concerned that something had happened with Robert at Riverrun. But Robert was the least of Lyanna’s worries.

Their last night in Riverrun, the maester had confirmed Rhaegar’s suspicions. Lyanna was with child. She was carrying a dragon-wolf, which perhaps explained her dreams. Rhaegar had been overjoyed at the news, but Lyanna had found it more shocking. She shouldn’t be surprised. She was a newly married woman who bedded her husband often. This was the natural course of things. And yet, her pregnancy filled her with a terrible fear.  

She convinced Rhaegar to keep the news quiet until they returned to King’s Landing. The maester told them it was early yet, and it was still possible she would lose the babe. When they had returned to bed that night, Rhaegar was eager to talk and make plans for the future, but Lyanna had insisted on sleep. A good night’s sleep eluded her, however, as she was once again beset with an unsettling dream of a dire wolf with wings leaping off the Wall. The symbolism of the dream was now clear, but that gave her no comfort. If she was carrying the future prince or princess of the Seven Kingdoms, why were they at the Wall? The only explanation matched Rhaegar’s own visions too closely for her comfort. Was she spending so much time with her husband that she was now dreaming his delusions? Or was there truth to his concerns about a darkness stirring in the north? She didn’t know which possibility she feared more.

On the journey south, she avoided Rhaegar. His joy at the news of Lyanna’s pregnancy quickly turned to dismay at the distance between them. Lyanna felt his eyes upon her always, tracking her every move. He was likely eager to make sure that she wasn’t being foolish on the road and was following the maester’s orders to keep their child safe. He allowed her to ride, but only at a slow and careful pace. When Rhaegar tried to speak to her, she was as cold and evasive with him, as she was with everyone on the road. She insisted that they pitch a separate tent for her, and slept apart from her husband at night—hoping that that would allow her to sleep in peace, but her disturbing dreams continued.

The one person she did seek out was Howland Reed. He was headed south with them, although he had warned her and Rhaegar that he would need to return home soon. He wasn’t built for a life at court.

“Howland,” Lyanna approached him. He road towards the back of the group, and they had a semblance of privacy. “I have been meaning to speak with you since our trip to the Isle.”

“I have as well,” Howland said, looking remorseful. “The Isle of Faces is an unsettling place. Forgive me, Your Grace—I know it’s none of my business—but I feel terrible the trip caused a conflict between you and your husband.”

Denials rose in Lyanna’s throat, but she felt too tired to put on an act of a happy marriage.

“I did find it unsettling,” Lyanna said. “I also find it unsettling that my husband keeps so many secrets.”

Read the full chapter on Ao3.

[ghelgheli]

The Stuff I Read in September 2023

Stuff I Extra Liked Is Bold

Books

Orphans of the Sky, Robert A. Heinlein

Starship Troopers, Robert A. Heinlein

Revenant Gun, Yoon Ha Lee

All Systems Red, Martha Wells

Artificial Condition, Martha Wells

Rogue Protocol, Martha Wells

Exit Strategy, Martha Wells

Friendship Poems, ed. Peter Washington

Introduction to Linear Algebra, ch. 1-3, Gilbert Strang

Manga (mostly yuri [really all yuri])

Yagate Kimi ni Naru / Bloom Into You, Nio Nakatani

Kaketa Tsuki to Dōnattsu / Doughnuts Under a Crescent Moon, Shio Usui

Onna Tomodachi to Kekkon Shitemita / Trying Out Marriage With My Female Friend, Shio Usui

Kimi no Tame ni Sekai wa Aru / The World Exists for You, Shio Usui

Teiji ni Agaretara / If We Leave on the Dot, Ayu Inui

Nikurashii Hodo Aishiteru / I Love You So Much I Hate You, Ayu Inui

Tsukiatte Agetemo Ī Kana / How Do We Relationship? Tamifull

Himegoto - Juukyuusai no Seifuku / Uniforms at the Age of Nineteen, Ryou Minenami

Colorless Girl, Honami Shirono

Short Fiction

It gets so lonely here, ebi-hime [itch.io]

Aye, and Gomorrah, Samuel R. Delaney [strange horizons]

Evolutionary Game Theory

Red Queen and Red King Effects in cultural agent-based modeling: Hawk Dove Binary and Systemic Discrimination, S. M. Amadae & Christopher J. Watts [doi]

The Evolution of Social Norms, H. Peyton Young [doi]

The Checkerboard Model of Social Interaction, James Sakoda [doi]

Dynamic Models of Segregation, Thomas C. Schelling [doi]

Towards a Unified Science of Cultural Evolution, Alex Mesoudi, Andrew Whiten, Kevin N. Laland [doi]

Is Human Cultural Evolution Darwinian? Alex Mesoudi, Andrew Whiten, Kevin N. Laland [doi]

Gender/Sexuality/Queer Stuff (up to several degrees removed)

Re-orienting Desire: The Gay International and the Arab World, Joseph Massad [link]

The Empire of Sexuality, Joseph Massad (interview) [link]

The Bare Bones of Sex, Anne Fausto-Sterling [jstor]

On the Biology of Sexed Subjects, Helen Keane & Marsha Rosengarten [doi]

Vacation Cruises: Or, the Homoerotics of Orientalism, Joseph A. Boone [jstor]

Romancing the Transgender Native: Rethinking the Use of the “Third Gender” Concept, Evan B. Towle & Lynn M. Morgan [doi]

Scientific Racism and the Emergence of the Homosexual Body, Siobhan Somerville [jstor]

White Sexual Imperialism: A Theory of Asian Feminist Jurisprudence, Sunny Woan [link]

Haunted by the 1990s: Queer Theory’s Affective Histories, Kadji Amin [jstor]

Annoying Anthro

The Sexual Division of Labor, Rebecca B. Bird, Brian F. Codding [researchgate]

Factors in the Division of Labor by Sex: A Cross-Cultural Analysis, George P. Murdock & Caterina Provost [jstor]

Biosocial Construction of Sex Differences and Similarities in Behavior, Wendy Wood & Alice H. Eagly [doi]

Political Theory

Some critics argue that the Internal Colony Theory is outdated. Here’s why they’re wrong, Patrick D. Anderson [link]

Toward a New Theory of Internal Colonialism, Charles Pinderhughes [link]

The Anatomy of Iranian Racism: Reflections on the Root Causes of South Azerbaijans Resistance Movement, Alireza Asgharzadeh [link]

The veil or a brother's life: French manipulations of Muslim women's images during the Algerian War, 1954–62, Elizabeth Perego [doi]

A Difficulty in the Concept of Social Welfare, Kenneth J. Arrow [jstor]

Manipulation of Voting Schemes: A General Result, Allan Gibbard [jstor]

China Has Billionaires, Roderic Day [redsails]

Other

Conversations I Can't Have, Cassandra Byers Harvin [proquest]

Earth system impacts of the European arrival and Great Dying in the Americas after 1492, Alexander Koch et al. [doi]

Why prisons are not “The New Asylums”, Liat Ben-Moshe [doi]

Uses of Value Judgments in Science: A General Argument, with Lessons from a Case Study of Feminist Research on Divorce, Elizabeth Anderson [doi]

Boundary Issues, Lily Scherlis [link]

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Six - The tourney has finished, and Jon finds himself in your chambers. As the events of the game go on Jon must adapt to his ever-changing role.

Ch 7

He is sweaty, dirty, tired, and yet he feels more alive than he has in years, perhaps it is the remaining exhilaration of victory, or the words of King Robert that ring in his ears.

You look up at Jon, then at your aunt, then back to Jon, and there is a sinking feeling in his gut. You do not want to kiss him, not even on the cheek.

He decides to spare you the shame and embarrassment, turning to King Robert intent on gracefully declining when your lips meet his cheek. It is quick, a peck, a whisper of soft lips against his stubble covered cheek and the words die on his lips.

The crowd behind him cheers, King Robert raises his glass towards him, his eyes glazed over with drunkenness. “A fine paring they would make, if it were not for his unfortunate birth.”

Lord Stark, his father, clenches his fist, but puts on a smile, patting King Robert’s shoulder. “I think it is time we retire to your tent, my friend.”

Shame washes over Jon, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks away from the makeshift throne.

“Father, I have grown tired from all this excitement, might I be allowed to retire to my chambers?” You ask, loud enough for all around to hear. You are giving him an escape.

Tyrion nods magnanimously. “Of course, my daughter, and take your champion with you, lest he be mobbed by his hard-won crowd of admirers.”

It is only now that Jon realizes the chanting that he’s been blocking out is for him. The moniker they have bestowed upon him White Wolf. A reference to Ghost he knows, but it fills him with pride, never has a crowd chanted his name, never had more than his siblings chanted his name, but now? Now he was their champion. At least until the jousting began, then a new champion would be chosen. It matters not, for in this moment Jon feels special.

In your chambers nestled within Maegor’s Holdfast, Jon sits as you tend to his wounds. They are nothing, truly, some cuts and bruises, but still, you treat each one with such care.

Ghost rests his head on his knee while you work, painting on salves and covering cuts with soft gauze.

“Look up for me?” You half ask, half order, gently cupping his chin with one hand, keeping his head still as you tend to the cut on his cheek.

He winces when the cloth you are holding meets his broken skin, and you breathe out a soft apology before gently dabbing the salve on the cut. Your fingertips are soft, your focused expression allowing him to observe you. His lovely lady, truly his, until you marry that is, but there are no signs of any marriages happening soon.

Not for the first time he allows his mind to wander, to imagine you and him together—married somewhere, maybe Casterly Rock in one of the many wings you have told him about, or a keep in the North, perhaps Moat Cailin. If he could get his father to lend him the men, the supplies, it could be restored to its former glory.

“Ser Jon?” You ask, pulling him from his daydreams.

“Apologies. My Lady, I was lost in thought.”

“I asked if you had any other injuries?” Your voice is soft, as soft as your touch, and he craves it. Desires to feel more, to hear more, for you to always look at him with such rapt devotion, with such interest in his wellbeing, with such care. Gods he had never felt so cared for in his life.

Jon bites his tongue hard. He does, earlier in his duels one of the Redwyne men had slammed his elbow into his stomach, Jon is sure there is a bruise forming. “I do, My Lady, but it is in a place that would require the removal of my tunic.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and you nod stiffly. “Well, it is my duty to care for my champion, so I shall turn around, then you let me know when you have removed your tunic. We are both members of great houses, we can act with decorum.”

Jon nods and waits.

You wait as well, just staring, then seem to realize what he is waiting for with an adorable “oh, right,” and turn around.

He chuckles and sheds his tunic folding it neatly and placing it in his lap, dislodging Ghost who grumbles and goes to lay on the plush pile of pillows you had moved into your chambers especially for him. “Alright, My Lady.”

You turn back around, and for a moment Jon thinks you are having a stroke.

You blink rapidly at him, your lips parting then snapping shut. “Oh, um, yes, right, where is the injury?”

He motions to the ever-darkening bruise in the center of his abdomen.

You make a small, strangled sound, one he would not have been able to hear if not for the quiet of the room, and gently kneel, salve in hand as you scrutinize the bruise. “I cannot get a good position for my hand without digging my elbow into your leg; I need to get a little closer…”

You and Jon stare at each other, you can only get closer if you invade the space between his legs.

He coughs and spreads them, looking away as casually as possible, praying to the gods, old and new, that a certain part of his anatomy does not decide to take interest in the sight before him.

You work quickly, but diligently, using featherlight touches as you apply the salve, your other arm resting on his thigh keeping you steady. “You did very well today, I am glad to see all your training has paid off.”

Jon looks at you instinctually because you are talking, he always looks at you when you speak, it is only polite, and he immediately regrets it. You are looking up at him through your lashes, on your knees between his legs, your hand on his abdomen. It is a sight he only dares to imagine in the darkness of his own chambers, with his hand wrapped tightly around himself.

“And I must admit it brings me no small amount of pleasure that it was my sworn sword who was named champion, you should have seen Ellyn Farman’s face, she was all but green with envy.” You smile, it is a joyous, deviously delightful smile, and he feels the urge to go back to the tourney field and defeat another seven men.

“My victories are yours.” His voice pitches up at the end when you slide your hand down as you get up, your head turned towards Ghost, fully unaware as you continue talking.

“And of course your moniker, how exciting, truly Ser Jon you are making quite a name for us.” He grabs your wrist preventing it from sliding any further, and you turn back towards him with confusion in your eyes, then you glance down then rip your hand away as if he had burned you. “I am so, so, sorry, I did not mean—”

“It is alright, I know you had no intention, and neither do I.” He reassures you. He never wants you to feel unsafe with him, never wants you to doubt his loyalty is not contingent on the possibility of carnal pleasure.

You hold your hand to your chest, taking him in with those ever-inquisitive eyes. “I do understand why the other girls speak so highly of you, I always have, but I understand this reason now.”

“What reason?”

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear and glance back at Ghost. “You are handsome, Ser Jon, surely you must know that.”

“Robb is handsome, Theon is handsome, I am—”

“Tarnishing one’s maidenhood worthy?” You supply, that teasing tone in your voice making him glad his tunic still remains over his lap.

“I would not.”

“I know, you are honorable, and I admire that, greatly.” You have dropped the teasing tone and give him a genuine smile. “Now, I suggest you redress, lest someone find us here and think you not so honorable.” You turn back around, humming a song to yourself.

Jon feels special, you make him feel special. More than the crowds, the king, and it is a feeling he sees himself becoming quite addicted to.

He no longer feels special, not as he looks on as his father kneels before Joffrey, Sansa in tears pleading for mercy. They were bastards, the three of them born of incest, had you not told him as much in his nightmares? Why had he waited, why had he not gone to his father the moment he suspected his dream were truth? Now the King was dead, and Joffrey had taken his place.

“Lord Stark, you have claimed the late king declared you as his regent and leveled great insults against my son.” Queen Cersei says, her chin held high, a cruel light in her eyes.

The steps of the Great Sept of Baelor are pristine, the domes of glass and gold looming behind them, the sun shining down through the fluffy white clouds. He stares at his father’s feet to keep the tears back, his throat tight as Sansa’s sobs tear at his heart.

You are dressed in Lannister red, the bright ruby, not your darker crimson, your gown lavish, and intricately embroidered, your hair up in a southern style, a near perfect duplicate of the Dowager Queen. Your hand has an iron grip on his wrist, fingertips outstretched to his palm, hidden behind your skirts.

“Please, I beg of you, spare my father, send him to the Night’s Watch for his crimes.” Sansa cries, clutching at the collar of her gown, tears streaming down her face. Theon stands behind her, still part of the crowd, his eyes never leaving her form, his lips etched into a deep frown.

“I am nothing if not merciful.” Joffrey says, spreading his hands wide, a smile on his face.

Jon’s stomach churns and your grip on him tightens.

“Do not act rashly.” You whisper, leaning into him ever so slightly, keeping him grounded.

Sansa sobs her gratitude, her sobs turning to screams when a kingsguard grabs her, pulling her back as Ser Ilyn Payne steps up Ice in his hands.

Jon can see Theon struggle against a few men, his curses muffled by a rag they shove in his mouth.

“Close your eyes, you should not have to see this.” You tell him. He ignores you, ripping his arm from your grip, but you move in front of him your hands on his chest, your strength is nothing compared to his, but the tears in your eyes stop him for a moment. “Please, Jon, he will kill you if you interfere.”

A whistling sound fills the air, then Lord Payne falls to the ground, an arrow sticking out his back. Another flies towards Joffrey and misses, clattering to the steps beside him. Chaos breaks out, people scream, arrows fly, the steps of the sept are tainted with blood.

His father gets to his feet, grabbing Ice, Theon rushing to him, a flash of Sansa’s red hair then Jon can no longer see them, the crowd closes in, and he hears a scream. It is you, he knows your scream, heard it time and time again in his nightmares. Jon turns on his heel, you should be right beside him, you are always right beside him, but now the space you always occupy is empty.

“Y/N!” He yells, scanning the crowd, hand on his pommel as the crowd surges against him.

“Jon!” Your voice comes from somewhere on his right, and he pushes through the crowd, catching sight of your gown. It is enough, and he presses on, a wolf stalking its prey, even as bodies crash into him, the sounds, and smells overwhelming, he follows you, elbowing and shoving others to get by, gaining ground until he is able to see you fully.

Some man has you, one he has never seen before, hooded, and cloaked, his arm around yours, a knife to your side as he drags you along.

You do not call out when you see him, smart girl, and he quickly overtakes the man, driving his sword through his back, the man freezing and sputtering, before collapsing as Jon pulls his blade out. This is the first life his blade has taken, and it is a righteous deed.

“Jon, oh gods, oh gods.” You sob, throwing your arms around his neck, your body trembling.

He wraps his arms around you, crushing you to his chest. “Seven Hells, y/n, are you hurt?”

You shake your head, jasmine perfume drowning out the scent of the city, of the crowd. “No, no, are you?”

“I am unharmed.” He assures you, releasing you only so he can pull back and examine you.

You are unharmed, roughed up, dirtied and scared, but there is no sign of injury. More screams, more people push past, and you look at him, tear rimmed eyes, large and fearful. “I want to go home.”

He is strong, stronger than Robb, than his father, and you weigh nothing compared to the barrels Lord Santagar makes him run with day after day, so he throws you over his shoulder.

You yelp at the sudden switch in gravity, clinging to him as he pushes through the crowd, his knuckles will be bruised and bloodied, but he cares not, he must get you to safety.

Jon does not put you down until you are safely inside the Red Keep, your father is there, in the throne room, as well as your grandsire, a surprise Jon is unsure whether is welcomed or not. Both men were not due to arrive from Casterly Rock for another fortnight.

“And here comes the White Wolf with my daughter slung over his shoulder like a Dothraki warlord.” Tyrion sighs.

Now on your feet but still clinging to Jon, you face your father. “He saved me, it is what he swore to do, I will not stand here and allow you to insult him.” Your words are weak, stained with tears, and you are still trembling, but they are earnest.

“Yes, yes, good job, Ser Jon.” Tyrion says, patting Jon’s hand.

“Thank you, My Lord.” He says, stunned and unsure. Where is his family, have they escaped? Been killed?

“Where is Sansa? Is she alright?” You ask, searching the room for her.

“The bitch has escaped, along with her traitor of a father, and that Greyjoy scum.” Joffrey’s voice rings out, as he sits down on the throne, the queen standing beside him, Lord Tywin going to flank her.

He is alone, alone in enemy territory, but at least his family have been able to escape. He sends a prayer to the old gods for their safety, then one for his own.

You smooth down your hair and craft your expression into one of disbelieving outrage. “My King, I am sorry. I never thought sweet Sansa would betray you.”

“She is a Stark, it is what they do, Ned Stark betrayed my father, and now his daughter betrays me.” Joffrey turns his eyes onto Jon, they are not like yours, no life lives within them, only death, sickly green and glowing with malice. “And what about your Stark, dear cousin, will he betray you?”

Jon shakes his head; he has seen you play this game with Joffrey enough times that he believes he knows what role he must play. “No, My King, I am a bastard, and sworn to Lady y/n, I hold my oath to her higher than that of my so-called blood.” It pains him to speak the words, to play this game, but he will have no chance of seeing his family, of seeing Arya, again if he’s dead.

TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

: La Quête du Graal - Arrivée de Galaad à la cour (c 1380)

* * * *

"By the way. You remember that argument we were having about aggression? Well, I have thought of a good reason for starting a war." Merlyn froze. "I would like to hear it." "A good reason for starting a war is simply to have a good reason! For instance, there might be a king who had discovered a new way of life for human beings — you know, something which would be good for them. It might even be the only way from saving them from destruction. Well, if the human beings were too wicked or too stupid to accept his way, he might have to force it on them, in their own interests by the sword." The magician clenched his fists, twisted his gown into screws, and began to shake all over. "Very interesting," he said in a trembling voice. "Very interesting. There was just such a man when I was young — an Austrian who invented a new way of life and convinced himself that he was the chap to make it work. He tried to impose his reformation by the sword, and plunged the civilized world into misery and chaos. But the thing which this fellow had overlooked, my friend, was that he had had a predecessor in the reformation business, called Jesus Christ. Perhaps we may assume that Jesus knew as much as the Austrian did about saving people. But the odd thing is that Jesus did not turn the disciples into storm troopers, burn down the Temple at Jerusalem, and fix the blame on Pontius Pilate. On the contrary, he made it clear that the business of the philosopher was to make ideas available, and not to impose them on people.

—T H White, The Queen of Air and Darkness ch viii (1939) being the second book of The Once and Future King.

[Robert Scott Horton]

[itsrattysworld]

Without Prejudice Mervelee Myers End HMCTS CPS CJS SRA BSB DBS IOPC JCIO CCMCC HMPPS MOPAC CLCC Miscarriages Of Justice NHS UNISON Housing For Women The Housing Ombudsman Service LEA LSB Southwark Council Adult Social Care Barclays Nationwide Building Society Santander FOS Involve In Breaches Of Equality Act Protected Characteristics Met Police Commissioner Sir Mark Rowley Signed IN HONOUR OF STRONG WOMEN EVERYWHERE At A New Met For London Launch June O'Sullivan Sanctions The Discrimination At BIB After I Front Ofsted With Richard Harty MIC Drag Queen Storytellers Abusers Wants To Be Remembered As A Disruptive Influence Zaiba Qureshi Modern Slavery Thriving In UK Employ Samantha Gibbs Trina Philbert Black Females Do Dirty Work Coercive Control Debbie Gilchrist Target Tenants Raised Legitimate Concerns Repairs Disbanding Customer Scrutiny Panel Hony Premial ASB Author Devonshires Solicitors LLP Narin Masera Possession Letter July 2023 Bereavement Disabilities Barrister Miranda Grell Trap Me During Grieving For Husband Neglected Byron Ward Kings College Hospital Removed From Bedside 6th April Windrush Vigil A&E 7th AET Died 8th 6 Hours Before Nurse John Started Work To Be Informed DJ Sara Elizabeth Beecham Get HHJ Richard Roberts To Trigger Atypical Parkinsonism Hide Judgement Online State ASB Started May 2022 Am Calling On Social Media ITV News Sky News Kings College London Border Crossings Cancer Research UK Parkinson's UK Macmillan Cancer Dementia Friends Rev Rose Hudson-Wilkin To Report On Ms H Presley Ms Gilchrist Whose Lives Changed Results Richard Blakeway Failures To Act About Complaints Reach Stage 2 Of Procedures I Did University Of Huddersfield Damp Mould Research RADAR-CNS Heal-D Dr Maria Hudson The Experience Of Multiple Discrimination Was Tristan Salter Groomed To Make Me Homeless Charging Me To Pay For ASIAN Contractors Brought To Take Jobs Homes British Citizens Windrush Generation HHJ Richard Roberts HHJ Marquand DJs Greenidge Swan Sterlini Hayes Pigram Bell Bastin Naidoo Reference Claim No: GO8YJ214 DJ Manning CCCS CN: F21YM135 TAA-17584-25-0101-IR Crime No: 4221169/23100 PC Kate Willoughy-Parsons 693MR Directorate Of Professional Standards-AS PSU CHS 34217/21Ap25 29102/20Apr25 Why I Have 18 Pages Report Met Police Crime Number Dating 30/10/2017 To Date Police London Ambulance Service Attempts To Section Murder Kidnap Me At 16 Alma Grove Bermondsey London SE1 5PY Made Inactive Patient No GP Because I Refused Risperidone To Make Me Unable To Function H4W Can Get Money Keep Me Sedated Shorten My Life To Get My Home To House Traffic Women To Work In Sex Industry LEYF Paedophiles Jumping Ship In EYFS At Richard Harty UEL Why He Panic Call Mobile Kick Me Out Track Patterns Of Breaches Of Equality Act To Know Rogues Gallery Of Offenders Will Expose UK As Nye Bevan NHS Founder No Society Can Legitimately Call Itself Civilised If A Sick Person Is Denied Medical Aid Because Of Lack Of Means Nelson Mandela Purpose Of Freedom Is To Create For Others I Have Been Writing From IVAN SANDYMAN NEMBHARD Was Stricken With Parkinson's Disease PERLINE LOUISE CHAMBERS-NEMBHARD Sacrifices Will Be Part Of My Legacies Of Foundations I Created Online Intellectual Property Copyright Pedagogy Images CPPDP Harvested Build Brands Am Made A Criminal Need ERT Violent Nuisance UURICA-LE To Cover A-Z Of Gaslighting Misogyny I Have Written Open Letters Participated Research As An Expert Authority On Subjects Cradle To Grave Did The Unlawful Injunction State I Must Remove My Windrush Oral History If The Lion Don't Learn To Write The Hunter Will Always Tell The Story Why Nanny Of Maroon Take To The Hills Against British And Is A Heroine 22/4/2025

Refer to Changes to legislation: Equality Act 2010 is up to date with all changes known to be in force on or before 16 April 2025. There are changes that may be brought into force at a future date. View outstanding changesstatus warnings Collapse all – Introductory Text Collapse –Part 1 Socio-economic inequalities 1.Public sector duty regarding socio-economic inequalities 2.Power to amend…

[lapful-of-fics]

United by Love, War, and Butterflies

Summary: Aemond and his twin are reunited after her arranged marriage fails, and Aemond realizes his feelings for her are far more than brotherly. Unfortunately for him, now that she has her freedom, she never wants to be in a relationship again. But she's very physically affectionate, and it's driving Aemond out of his mind. Meanwhile, their mother is keeping secrets, there are rumors of unrest in the Riverlands… and seriously, why does Helaena keep mentioning butterflies?

Word Count: 34.5K (so far)

Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17

Warnings: Past DubCon, Past Emotional Abuse, Team Green, Canon-Typical Violence, angst with happy ending, p in v, Twincest, PTSD-Type flashback, Anxiety, mention of voyeurism, oral sex

CHAPTER 1

Prologue

Alicent unrolled the tiny scroll with a sinking feeling in her stomach. The raven from Lord Robert Boniffus confirmed her worst fear: Eight months into their marriage, her daughter Aemma had failed to give him an heir, and he’d given up on her. Lord Robert demanded the marriage be annulled—and with it their political arrangement. Aemma and her dragon would be returning to King’s Landing as soon as the dragon’s wing was healed enough for it to fly.

This was a nightmare. Viserys was furious when she told him. He insisted Aemma had purposely prevented herself from getting pregnant to get back at him for sending her into a marriage she was vehemently opposed to. He shamelessly pleaded with Lord Robert to give her another chance, just a few more months, but he refused. He was getting old, he said, and since his three boys perished in a fire, he no longer had an heir. He had no more time to waste. He needed a fertile wife who would give him sons.

*****

Aemond watched Aemma lay her face against her gold dragon, her hand tracing over the silver-edged scales as she spoke softly to her. Goldenwing purred her response, and Aemma closed her eyes and smiled. Aemond’s heart pounded as he looked at his twin. He hadn’t seen her in two months, and they hadn’t been able to spend a proper amount of time together since her wedding.

He walked across the platform where many dreamers had attempted to claim dragons only to meet a violent and fiery end. Goldenwing snorted as he approached, and Aemma looked up and met his eye.

“Aemond!” She gave her dragon a final nuzzle before running to throw her arms around him. He returned her embrace, then held her at arm’s length so he could study her. Aemma’s silver hair was pulled back in long braids, as usual. But her cheekbones were sharper, her normally bright, lilac-colored eyes were dull, and the bags under her eyes made him wonder how many weeks it had been since she’d had a good night’s rest.

“I’m so happy to see you.” She cupped his cheek as her eyes filled with tears. “So much has happened.”

He leaned into her soft touch. “You’re home now. And you’ll not leave again. Vhagar and I won’t allow it.”

She sniffled. “I know. I’m grateful for you, brother. I shouldn’t be crying. I apologize.”

He wasn’t sure which startled him more: that the fiercest person he knew was crying, or that she’d apologized for crying. He held her face, and gently wiped the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “Em. Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. Now that I’m here, I’ll be fine.” She smiled, putting her hands over his and pulling them away.

He wasn’t satisfied by her answer, but he knew he wouldn’t get any more information out of her right now. She would talk to him when she was ready.

“What of Goldenwing? The raven’s message mentioned she was injured, too injured to fly.”

Anger flickered in her eyes as she swiped at the remaining tears. “She has mostly healed, but the flight home was difficult for her. We’ll speak of it later.”

They mounted his horse and trotted through the streets. His eye scanned their surroundings for threats. He’d come alone, despite the protests of the Kingsguard, so the two of them could reunite without an audience.

“I'll instruct the guards not to disturb us when we return, so that you may rest."

“Not yet. I’m famished. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed our meals. The food at Lord Robert’s castle was unfit for even sheep to eat.” She shuddered. “There was this green soup. I should’ve brought some back for our Maesters to study. Twice I saw it move on its own.”

Aemond snorted. She wrapped her arms more tightly around him and laid her head against his back. Two highborn ladies stopped and stared at them, whispering to each other as they passed them on the street. They dropped their eyes as they met Aemond’s glare and hurried along.

As the Red Keep came into view, Aemma said, “Goldwing has endured much. As you well know, dragons are prideful creatures.” She paused, and he knew she was carefully considering her words. “Lord Robert’s servants were terrified of her, and they didn’t care for her as I explicitly instructed.”

Aemond said nothing, although his hands tightened on the reins as he thought of common servants coming near Goldenwing, let alone caring for her, whatever that even meant.

“I don’t know everything that happened. There are things she has hidden from my mind, like how the injury to her wing occurred. She will need much of my attention for a while.”

“Are you implying that your dragon was harmed by common-born imbeciles?” he asked, carefully controlling his fury to avoid drawing attention. “Why did she allow it? She should’ve burned them all.”

“Because of me.” Her voice broke. “They threatened to kill me if she didn’t submit to them. I failed her, Aemond. I should’ve done something. They kept me from her. I didn’t know where she was. I didn’t know how to help her.” The tears she’d just gotten control of flowed freely again. “I’m so sorry. I tried to run, when I first found out they were hurting her. I couldn’t find her. They caught me. They said they’d kill her if I tried to leave again. Gods, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing!” he snapped. “You’ve done nothing wrong!”

“I’m—” she paused, closed her eyes, and began again. “I have brought shame upon our house. I have brought shame upon you.”

“Anyone who says such a thing will have their tongue ripped out.”

She didn’t respond.

Lord Boniffus and those of his house will be sorry they ever heard the name Targaryen, Aemond thought, his face twisted in rage. He’d make sure the dragon had her opportunity for revenge, too.

The advantage Viserys believed they’d gained by wedding Aemma to Lord Boniffus was an illusion to begin with. The armies they’d been promised through their alliance were small and poorly trained; Aemond doubted they could win a battle against cats. Viserys had given up a dragon and a dragon rider in exchange for nothing. He was losing his mind, and his council was enabling him.

They were met at the gate by an anxious servant Aemond didn’t recognize. He bowed, barely looking at them before dropping his eyes.

“Begging your pardons, my Prince and Princess. The King has requested your immediate presence in the throne room.”

“The King can wait,” Aemond said sharply.

“I’m sorry, my Prince,” he said, flinching. “He was very clear about his wishes.” He braved a longer glance at Aemond, taking in the scar and the eye patch.

He was not in the mood for this. “You may tell the King to—”

“It’s alright.” Aemma put her hand on his arm. To the servant, she said, “Tell King Viserys we are on our way.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He bowed again and hurried away.

“Some things never change,” she muttered.

“Let me handle it. He can wait.”

“No. Let’s just get on with it so I can rest, and we can enjoy each other's company.” She squeezed his shoulder before pulling her hand away.

Her reluctance to defy his wishes infuriated him. “He sent you away, and now the instant you’re back he demands to see you? You’re not his whore. You’re his daughter.”

“Still so overprotective,” she said as she dismounted the horse. “As you well know, it means nothing to him that I’m his blood. It’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“As you wish.”

She smiled at him as he hopped down from the horse in one fluid motion. He drank in the sight of her: the deep dimples at the corners of her mouth, her flawless skin, the rosiness in her cheeks. He’d missed her laughter and her jokes. He’d missed the way she looked in his eye and saw him.

“Your overprotectiveness used to drive me insane, you know.” She hooked her arm in his as they walked. “But you can’t imagine how much I’ve missed having you looking out for me these past months.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he asked, “When have I ever been overprotective of you?”

Aemma hummed. “Lots of times. Let’s see. Remember when we were around thirteen or fourteen years old, and we slipped away from old Ser— what was his name? Godfrey, I think? Anyway, we wandered through that field of grass and weeds that were taller than we were. There were pink and white flowers growing here and there, and hills in the distance. The view was breathtaking. I'll never forget it. And then we found that lake. And I wanted to go swimming, but you wouldn’t let me. You said we didn’t know what might be living in the water.”

“That wasn’t overprotectiveness,” he said. “It was common sense. And as I remember, there was a fish swimming near the bank that was quite large and covered in spikes. It would’ve attacked you.”

She put her hand over her chest, gasping dramatically as she leaned into him. “Imagine the scandal.” Imitating a gossiping lady, she whispered, “Have you heard? The Princess was attacked by a quite large fish that was covered in spikes after her brother foolishly allowed her to swim in a lake.”

He scowled at her as they entered the throne room.

Viserys sat on the throne, with Otto on his left side and Alicent on his right.

“My sweet girl,” Alicent said, smiling as she walked over to Aemma. She grabbed both sides of Aemma’s face and kissed her forehead. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, Mother.” She smiled.

Viserys glared at his daughter and said nothing.

You haven’t seen her since you shipped her off eight months ago, Aemond thought, and you can’t even manage a ‘hello’? You can’t even say ‘welcome home!?’

Like with the countless other rejections, insults, and brushoffs they’d gotten throughout their lives, Aemond told himself it didn’t matter. Viserys wasn’t going to change.

Alicent went back to her place by the King. Aemond stood by Aemma, who mirrored exactly the impassive look on his face.

Viserys leaned forward on the Iron Throne, as if trying to see her better. Aemond wondered if he’d lose his balance and fall off. The man looked half dead. He supposed he should be concerned, but he felt nothing.

In the way he had of smiling without smiling, Viserys said, “Aemma. I see you’ve found a way to end the marriage you were so opposed to.”

She stood at her full height, head held high, hands clasped behind her back just like her twin. “I made every effort to perform the duty that was expected of me, Father.”

He looked at her with dead eyes, as if he were looking at one of his subjects. “You will address your King as ‘Your Grace,’” he said.

‘Your Grace?’ Aemond thought, narrowing his eye. And what if I tell him to address her as ‘Princess’?

Even Otto looked uncomfortable. His mother looked at Viserys and began to pick at her thumbnail. Aemond thought she might say something in Aemma’s defense, but she didn’t. He listened with increasing anger as Viserys questioned his twin relentlessly.

“Tell me why you didn’t get pregnant,” Viserys demanded.

Aemma’s shoulders drooped, just slightly. “I don’t know… your Grace.”

“Did you somehow prevent yourself from getting pregnant?”

“No, your Grace.”

“Did you participate in any behaviors that might’ve prevented pregnancy?”

Aemma took a deep breath. “No, your Grace.”

Aemond could feel her frustration. He kept his face expressionless with an effort. He heard Aemma’s stomach growl and wondered when she ate last.

“Perhaps you were secretly having the Maester bring you a certain tea in the mornings."

Aemma bristled. “No, Your Grace. Please, I have already been—” She swallowed. Aemond saw her look at him out of the corner of her eye with fear. “—interrogated in front of Lord Robert’s council.”

Interrogated.

Aemond’s hands balled into fists. Perhaps he would do some interrogating of his own.

Alicent watched her daughter with concern filling her brown eyes.

“I’ll tell you what I told them! I longed for pregnancy! A child would’ve given me something to live for.” With pleading eyes, she looked at Alicent.

“We have been blessed, Husband, with five beautiful children,” Alicent said, turning to him. “As you know from the death of your first wife, motherhood is never guaranteed.”

Viserys glared at her, and something hard but unspoken passed between them. Alicent held his gaze until he turned back to Aemma, who, incidentally, bore his first wife’s name.

“I understand Lord Robert’s Maesters examined you frequently and could find no medical reason for your failure to become pregnant. I can only conclude that you must in some way be responsible.”

Aemond wanted to punch the smile off his face.

“I told you, I wanted a child! I had no one!”

“You’ve never wanted a child! Or a marriage! I've always believed there was something wrong with you. You’ve always been rebellious, a constant thorn in my side.”

Aemond's lips pressed into a twisted line. His entire body tensed as he considered stabbing the King in the face with his sword.

Aemma grabbed his arm in a panic and held onto it. "No!" she said, leaning close to his ear. "I know what you're thinking. You'll never get past his guards. You'll be executed."

He smiled at Viserys and was pleased to see a spark of fear in his eyes.

"Don't, Aemond!" she hissed. "I need you!"

She quickly resumed defending herself to her father. “If you can’t believe I wanted a child, then believe this,” she said. “If I could’ve gotten pregnant, I would have immediately, if for no other reason than to get him to stop touching me! He’s old and awful.”

Aemond looked at her. Her lips were trembling, and the corners of her eyes were wet. He reached for her hand, but she crossed her arms.

Alicent looked at him, shaking her head. “Viserys… this isn’t necessary. She’s been through enough.”

“This is Crown business, Alicent. I will decide what is necessary,” he said, dismissing her. Returning his attention to Aemma, he said, “I’ll not hear you speak of a Lord in such a manner.

“Perhaps you didn’t make enough attempts. Perhaps you should’ve tried harder.”

“Your Grace. With the Maesters and Septons overseeing, Lord Robert and I ‘made attempts’ every morning and night.”

Aemond squeezed his hands together with nearly enough force to break the bones. The thought of that old toad fucking his sister while a bunch of other old fucks watched and got off on it… He turned to look at Alicent, who was rapidly blinking her wet eyes. She nodded slightly at Aemma, encouraging her to continue.

“The Septons prayed over me twice daily. I was forced to stay in bed, lying flat, for much of the last month, to ensure his seed stayed inside my body.”

Aemond looked over at her as her voice broke.

She stared at the marble floor and subconsciously rubbed her wrists.

She rubbed them as if they’d been tied, and she was remembering.

‘Forced to stay in bed,’ she’d said.

He would kill Lord Bonifuss slowly.

“But perhaps you should’ve—”

“Viserys! Crown business or not, we’re done here,” Alicent said.

He turned to her in protest, but Otto cut him off before he could continue. “The Princess has just arrived on dragonback after a lengthy trip, my King. She requires food and rest.”

“Come darling. I’ll have the evening meal brought to your chambers.” Alicent put an arm around her and guided her out of the throne room. Aemond met Viserys’s eyes, and they stared at each other for a long minute before he turned to follow Aemma and Alicent.

The three of them stopped outside the heavy door leading to Aemond’s chambers. Alicent kissed Aemma’s cheek, then left to instruct the servants. The guards opened the doors, and Aemond led his twin into the rooms they’d shared since birth, up until the time Aemma was given to Lord Boniffus.

Finding out she’d been betrothed to him had been one of the worst days of Aemond’s life. Viserys had given her away like she was nothing, to someone who thought of her only as a means to an end. He and Aemma had always assumed they’d be betrothed to each other, as Targaryens had done for centuries, like Aegon and Helaena had been.

Then they found out they’d be separated by hundreds of miles for the rest of their lives. They’d protested, of course: Aemma wasn’t meant for the mundane life of a lord’s wife, he’d insisted. She wasn’t suited to domestic responsibilities. Ser Arryk added that she was a fine swordsman, a fearless dragon rider, and a competent soldier. She was Aemond’s partner in the sky when the presence of dragons was required, and it would be a bad idea to change that.

Even Otto suggested to Viserys that with her fighting skills and dragon, she was too valuable to marry off.

Their protests were dismissed as “selfish” and “misguided.”

But now she was here, in their chambers, and Aemond would not let her go again.

As he helped her settle in, she didn’t speak. What she’d endured at the hands of a husband who should've protected her was unimaginable. Being questioned like a common criminal about something so intimate by their own father, such as he was, in front of their grandfather, was cruelty beyond measure.

She went to her bureau and pulled out some of her own clothes. Aemond watched her run her fingers over the fabric with a small smile before taking them behind the dressing screen. Aemond had kept all of her possessions exactly as she had left them. Lord Boniffus had refused to let her bring anything of her own with her. He covered her in exquisite jewelry and dressed her in fancy gowns he had specifically created for her. She was an ornament, a prize, meant to sit by his side at parties and social events with no purpose other than to be admired and lusted after, to boost the ego of a man who wasn’t worthy of breathing the same air as her.

Aemond sat on Aemma’s bed to wait for her to dress. He hated feeling so helpless. He wanted to take away her pain, but even when they were children, he’d never been any good at knowing how to comfort her when she’d been hurt. He’d been taught to fight, to be a weapon, to inflict pain. Not heal it.

He thought back to their childhood. When Aemma had nightmares, she’d crawl in bed with him to feel safe. But the last thing she’d want after the last months was to be in a man’s bed, even his.

When someone had hurt her, he’d beat them until they begged him to stop. That was certainly going to happen; Aemond would fly to their tiny little islands and he’d slice Lord Boniffus into pieces. He’d do it slowly, over the course of days, for as long as he could keep him alive. He’d see to it that he suffered a hundred times as much as he’d made her suffer. And then he and Vhagar would incinerate everyone. But knowing that wouldn’t make her feel better right now, either.

He knew Rhaenyra hugged Jace and Luke when they were upset, and Alicent hugged Helaena on the rare times when she’d allow it. But he’d already hugged Aemma when she arrived, and it clearly hadn’t helped her feel less pain.  

He didn’t know what to say that could possibly make up for what she’d gone through.

As a child, she’d assured him all he had to do to comfort her was to be with her. But that couldn’t possibly be enough.

“They chained Goldenwing,” she said from behind the screen, startling him. “I was rarely allowed to see her. She wasn’t allowed to fly, except for the times I convinced them to let me meet with you. They barely fed her enough to keep her alive.” Her voice broke. “I could feel her anger and loneliness, her pain, her terror for me, and I could do nothing to soothe her.”

“Seven Hells! Aemma! You spoke nothing of any of this to me! Why? Did you not trust me? I could’ve helped you!” He wondered how close she’d come to never returning home.

“Because I know how you would’ve ‘helped.’” She came out from around the screen in breeches and a tunic, barefoot. “Much better, don’t you think?” she asked. She smiled slightly and sat beside him on the bed.

“He will suffer for what he’s done to you. They all will.” He couldn’t look at her. He’d failed her. He should’ve taken her on Vhagar before they shipped her off and went—somewhere. Anywhere.

She shook her head and put her hand over his. “Aemond— he’s not worth it. I just want to forget about the whole thing.”

He scoffed. “Forgetting what people have done to you is not as easy as you might think. I want to forget about this, too,” he said, touching his scarred face and looking at the candles on the wall. “It’s never going to happen.”

“Of course not, not for you,” she said gently. “You have to see it, endure it, every day. But I—I—”

She suddenly burst into tears. He turned to her and watched helplessly as she sobbed. After a moment, he hesitantly put his hand on her shoulder, unsure if she’d pull away from being touched like she had in the throne room. She turned to him, not meeting his eye as she sniffled. Then she did something completely unexpected. He froze as she crawled into his lap, wrapped her legs around him, leaned up against his chest and tucked her head into the crook of his neck. Her arms locked around his back. It was like she was trying to attach herself to him, and it was... nice: her warmth, the weight of her in his lap, the texture of her soft braids pushing into his chin.

“For the love of the Seven, Aemond!" she sniffled. "Stop thinking and hold me.”

He cradled her head against him and ran his fingertips up and down her back the way Sylvi did to soothe him when he went to the brothel.

A servant brought in two trays of food, as Alicent promised, but Aemma's hold on him didn't lessen at all. She had no intention of moving over to the table to eat, and he had no intention of trying to make her.

He held her as she cried until she had no more tears to shed.

She finally leaned back, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, and met his gaze. “I missed you,” she said softly.

“Me too,” he said, looking at her face and wondering how anyone could hurt her.

“I have a confession to make,” she said. A corner of her mouth turned up. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but it feels wrong not to.” She shifted herself in his lap and tucked her legs tighter around his waist.

Gods, Aemma, he thought, horrified to feel himself starting to get hard. Stop wiggling before this gets awkward.

“You can tell me anything,” he managed to say.

“I thought of you. When he was taking me.”

“You thought of— What?”

Not helping!

“Please don't be angry. I didn't know how else to survive it,” she admitted softly. “It was unbearable. He disgusted me. So, in order to endure it, I closed my eyes and pretended he was you. That it was us. You know. I fantasized that we were—that it was us. That’s how I was able to get through it.”

He had no idea what to say.

Aemma’s cheeks grew red as she looked away and chuckled. “I can’t believe I just told you that. Are you angry?”

Aemond pulled her close again. “No. Of course not,” he whispered into her hair.

They sat like that, holding each other in the silent room like they were the last people in the world. After a while, she let go and leaned back, locking eyes with him. He inhaled sharply as she slowly lifted her finger to his face. She hadn't touched his scar since they were kids, at least not on purpose. Her fingertip slid back and forth on his forehead, feeling the texture of the uneven skin. She ran her finger along the sharp red line cutting down to where his eye had been. She traced her fingers over the eye patch, feeling the thin edges of it, the strap, the texture of the leather, her eyes never leaving his. Then her fingers trailed across his cheek as her thumb slid down the deepest part of the cut, the part that Luke had sliced open with the most force.

The memory slammed into his mind, and suddenly he was ten years old again.

There’s four of them

And only one of him

But now he’s their equal.

Because of Vhagar

They’re jealous

They’re FURIOUS

They don’t think he deserves Vhagar.

But Vhagar found him worthy.

Vhagar makes him powerful,

and he’s so very tired of being weak

He calls them bastards, because they are.

They’re coming at him

All of them

And he’s alone

Aemma was in bed with a stomachache

He didn’t know where Aegon and Helaena were, but they weren’t here

They knock him to the ground, but he fights them off, all of them, as adrenaline pumps through his body

He gets back up, but they're not done with him yet. He has no weapon to defend himself. He'll carry a dagger from now on, he decides. In the meantime, he picks up a rock

Luke pulls his own dagger, and the girls yell at him to drop it

And then there’s dirt in his eyes and nose and mouth

He can still smell it, taste it, even now

There's pain, pain like he's never felt in his life

A flash of light fills the vision in his left eye. He doesn't know it yet, but it's the last thing that eye will ever see.

The pain doesn’t stop

It never stops

Luke—

He didn't know it was possible to feel so much pain.

He's on the ground.

His eye Why can’t he open his eye

So much blood

Rivers of blood

Oceans of it

He can't see

His heart pounds like it will explode out of his chest

He hears yelling, and he thinks it might be coming from him.

then Vhagar, in his mind for the very first time

really, truly in his mind

Different from when he’d flown with her.

He has a dragon, he has THE dragon

and THE dragon is furious

He hears her roaring

She is his now

And he is hers

And she is very, very, angry

His hands, sticky with blood

Voices mix together

Vhagar vows to avenge him

He is scooped up into strong arms, surrounded by frantic voices calling for the Grand Maester

He already knows the Grand Maester can’t fix this.

No one can.

He wants to walk. He's not weak. He realizes for the first time that he's never been weak.

He can't tell where his rage ends and Vhagar's begins. He waits to see how his father will punish Luke

Needles poke his skin, then pull on it, then stick him again, trying to put his face back together, sticking him, pulling, sticking. Gods, will it ever end?

His father is furious

But not at Luke

At him.

AT HIM.

His own father doesn’t care

Doesn't care at all

His half-sister wants him punished

For speaking the truth

Him.

“They've taken his eye!” his mother yells. “He has been punished enough! You will not touch him!”

He’s never heard his mother yell like that before.

Vhagar, in his head, promises revenge

His father cares only that his bastard grandkids were insulted. He demands to know where Aemond heard such 'nonsense'. He doesn't care that his son is covered in blood.

Aegon is suddenly next to him. He stands up for him, leaving Viserys speechless when he says “We know. Everybody knows. Just look at them.”

He hears Rhaenyra respond, but doesn't pay attention to what she says. It doesn't matter.

His mother is outraged, at least. Now SHE has a dagger, and she intends to take Luke's eye.

It’s almost funny. He hasn't laughed in a long, long time, and somehow that makes it seem even funnier.

He wonders... does she want to punish Luke because he hurt him?

or because she's embarrassed that she now has a disfigured son?

And then she's crying

She's next to him

He leans into her and she puts an arm around him.

He wishes Aemma was here

“Aemond!”

He needs her.

“Aemond!”

Someone was shaking his shoulders.

“Where are you?”

Aemma’s panicked voice.

He blinked, snapping back to the present.

“Aemond? What’s happening? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

He turned away from her large, frightened eyes. What was there to say? That he was wishing for the ten thousandth time that he’d seen Luke coming with his dagger, seen Jace grab the handful of dirt he’d thrown in his eyes, that he’d been able to move out of the way in time to avoid it?

She reached for his face and turned him back to face her. Her hands stayed on his jaws. Embarrassed, he reluctantly met her eyes. He’d never told her how the memories came back sometimes and took control of him. It had never happened in front of her before. He couldn’t tell her. He couldn't let her think him weak.

“I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“About what?”

To his great relief, the door opened, saving him from having to answer. Ser Arryk announced, “Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena. I know you requested privacy, but Prince Aegon insisted--"

"You're dismissed."

Aegon’s eyebrows raised at the sight of Aemma sitting in his lap with her legs wrapped around him. Aemond put his hands on her hips to help her up, but she clearly didn’t plan on moving anytime soon.

“Welcome home, sister,” Aegon said. “We missed you.” He grinned. “It’s good to see the two of you… reuniting. Actually, now that I think about it, I really don’t want to see that.”

Helaena stared at Aemma for a moment.

“You brought back the butterflies,” she said.

Next

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[mitspeiler]

Director's Commentary Ch. 8

These are for my book The Dream Quest of Henry Sinclair, which you can read here on Ao3 or here on Royal Road.

Ahh, The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep, my favorite individual chapter in Dream Quest as well as my biggest flop (somehow the chapters immediately before and after it have more views on Royal Road. I don't know why).

I don't actually have a lot to say about this chapter, which, most likely, is not selling you on why this is my favorite. I gush about my love of fairy tales and the original inspiration for this bit in the author's notes.

One thing I shall say is that it was originally going to be longer. Ayane would have gone on to rescue Henry from Dream Lady Titania's Dark Tower on a bit of a quest. But I decided it was just a bit too much for a single chapter worth of content. The scenario will yet play out in a future entry; Titania is still out there and interested in Henry, (or rather, interested in taking him away to see how people react to his absence.) I want to expand on Titania, who has risen to fill a certain niche in my heart that was not altogether displayed in the text; that of an agent of chaos who is first and foremost an actress playing a role, and loving it. I also want to expand on Hans. In spite of everything, he's still an Einzeller, which is what a call a sort of derivative of trickster who's just dumb and lucky rather than intelligent, and I want to experiment with how that would play out in a conflict.

To expand on this concept a little more, I was often fascinated by the use of the term Dark Tower in Joseph Jacobs' version of Child Rowland, in contrast to Robert Browning's Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came. They are, in fact, completely unrelated stories, and indeed, Jacobs named the Elf King's castle The Dark Tower as a deliberate reference. But they idea they could be somehow one and the same haunted me. We'll come to a Dark Tower yet.

[ina-shumelim]

Hi, boys and girls, I’m Danbert Nobacon, I’m the inside joke of the group

The very real award for Most Fun Name Within Chumbawamba definitely went to Danbert Nobacon every year he was part of the collective and probably for some years thereafter. Danbert Nobacon. It’s just so fun to say. I think so. Chumbawamba definitely thought so. Because while I cannot think of any other member of the band being mentioned in any of their songs (excluding live versions such as their final performance of Add Me in 2012), Danbert’s name is, to use another word that is so very fun to say, ubiquitous in their discography. And because I love collecting stuff, I tried to collect every mention made of him in Chumbawamba’s songs (it’s not actually that many and I probably missed something) and also found some other fun things.

Danbert Nobacon, his name no doubt inspired by early Chumbawamba anti-meat attitude (consider, for example, No!). Musically, his main addition to the band’s discography were his “absolutely unembarrassed vocals”. Shhh credits what I can only assume to be his evil alter ego Bert Bacon with “vocals, elastic band, foam”. And then there’s also the 1998 Brit Awards that weirdly ended with British deputy prime minister John Prescott soaked in ice water. In summary, a man of many talents.

1. Because He’s a (Gender Nonconforming) He

Danbert’s first mention on a Chumbawamba record itself appears to have been on 1994’s Anarchy. Feminist Bad Dog is followed by a number of samples before the beginning of anti-fascist Enough Is Enough:

- Hi, boys and girls, I’m Danbert Nobacon, I’m the transvestite of the group. - I like it, I like it.

At this point in time, Danbert was well known for wearing skirts. An anarchist blog recounts: “During his early gigs, he was known for exposing himself to his audiences, and he would often describe himself as a transvestite. During several gigs, he would often be seen wearing a nun’s habit.” A 1997 news article mentions his arrest by Italian police in “a short black skirt and panty hose, which I often wear … supposedly because I didn’t have my passport with me. But the real reason was that I offended their masculinity” (see also ch. 26 of Chumbawamba singer and guitarist Boff Whalley’s autobiography Footnote*, 2003). Appropriately, the live album Showbusiness (1994) credits Danbert with “vocals, tiny dresses”.

Above mentioned blog goes on to say: “In 1987, Danbert released ‘Bigger than Jesus’ on Mind Matter Records ... ‘Bigger than Jesus’ was sold inside brown bags in stores because he decided to use a photograph of his penis for the cover.” Bigger than Jesus features a song called Because I’m a He which reads more like a white cis man’s reflections on intersectional feminism than actual song lyrics, but honestly, good for him.

I would at this point also like to mention one of the stories behind the name Chumbawamba. Yes, there are different ones. Yes, they are all made up. Anyway, Danbert recalls a dream in which he was trying to use a public toilet. However, instead of the usual two genders, the rooms were separated into “Chumba” and “Wamba”, confusing Danbert. Note also the Spanish(-ish) plural: Las Chumbas Wambas.

2. Getting All Mixed Up with Raymond

The following year’s Swingin’ with Raymond (1995) presented us with anti-authoritarian All Mixed Up. I hadn’t paid much attention to this song until recently and I’m only slowly warming up to Swingin’ with Raymond as a whole. The song describes turning a “no-wit whose face fits” into a political puppet leader by the grace of “Queen Victoria of Grantham” Margaret Thatcher. The verses are shouted by Danbert (I think; he is only credited with “666”), who is then crowned king in the pre-chorus:

Good King Danbert at the helm His face on every coin of the realm

Why Chumbawamba consequently ask Robert F. Kennedy’s assassin “Sirhan Sirhan, where have you gone?”, I will leave up to your, the reader’s, interpretation.

3. Of course, Tubthumping

I really don’t have much to say. You know Tubthumping (1997). There’s a “Danny boy” in Tubthumping. You do the maths.

4. He’s in Trouble Again

I’m in Trouble Again on 2000’s WYSIWYG ironically tackles Chumbawamba’s newfound mainstream success. The liner notes describe their songwriting process under EMI:

We ring up our record company and they tell us what sort of thing the kids are listening to these days, so that we can construct our pleasing and melodic tunes with one ear to the marketplace … It’s all so pleasant that we can’t understand why some hurtful, hateful people think that we’re nasty and mean.

In I’m in Trouble Again, the singer is just trying to live their “squeaky clean” life as a pop star, while the cops are digging up their cellar floor looking to get them in trouble again (note the parallel to the marionette in All Mixed Up who is described as “squeaky clean, no skeletons”). The height of mainstream success expressed thus:

Now I turn water into corporate pop And Danbert is a friend of mine.

Danbert’s status of a meme within the collective (a term anachronistic to his time with Chumbawamba) seems perfectly embodied in his overly dramatic and simultaneously silly opening speech for their final concert in 2012. And in the sleeve notes to the respective DVD Going, Going, Boff remembers his first time meeting Danbert:

We talked, and I discovered a quiet introvert who collected stolen hubcaps and beer mats and wore a home-made straitjacket. That’s how Danbert is today, frankly – not hubcaps and beermats, no. But a bizarre (and beautiful) mix of unassuming everybloke and unpindownable show-off.

[guywithbeer]

THE KING, with Timothée Chalamet and Robert Pattinson, is a historically inaccurate but entertaining movie about King Henry V.

#theking #TimothéeChalamet #robertpattinson #biography #drama #history #movies #film #review

[trhor]

Wikipedia page of King Robert I After several days, I finally managed to make something that looks like a Wikipedia page. HD version right here