#husbands to the twelfth power

[thedoctorwhocompanion]

Celebrating Seven Years of the Doctor Who Companion

Celebrating Seven Years of the #DoctorWho Companion

Today (26th March 2023), the Doctor Who Companion celebrates its seventh birthday. That feels quite mad, honestly. As you might or might not know, the DWC was created after Kasterborous seemingly sunk and the displaced crew was looking for somewhere else to enthuse about Doctor Who. I began writing for Kasterborous in 2011 and the DWC launched in 2016; while the K has been going long before that…

[wonder-worker]

A central element of the myth of [Eleanor of Aquitaine] is that of her exceptionalism. Historians and Eleanor biographers have tended to take literally Richard of Devizes’s conventional panegyric of her as ‘an incomparable woman’. She is assumed to be a woman out of her time. […] Amazement at Eleanor’s power and independence is born from a presentism that assumes generally that the Middle Ages were a backward age, and specifically that medieval women were all downtrodden and marginalized. Eleanor’s career can, from such a perspective, only be explained by assuming that she was an exception who rose by sheer force of personality above the restrictions placed upon twelfth-century women.

— Michael R. Evans, Inventing Eleanor: The Medieval and Post-Medieval Image of Eleanor of Aquitaine

The idea of Eleanor’s exceptionalism rests on an assumption that women of her age were powerless. On the contrary, in Western Europe before the twelfth century there were ‘no really effective barriers to the capacity of women to exercise power; they appear as military leaders, judges, castellans, controllers of property’. […] In an important article published in 1992, Jane Martindale sought to locate Eleanor in context, stripping away much of the conjecture that had grown up around her, and returning to primary sources, including her charters. Martindale also demonstrated how Eleanor was not out of the ordinary for a twelfth-century queen either in the extent of her power or in the criticisms levelled against her.

If we look at Eleanor’s predecessors as Anglo-Norman queens of England, we find many examples of women wielding political power. Matilda of Flanders (wife of William the Conqueror) acted as regent in Normandy during his frequent absences in England following the Conquest, and [the first wife of Henry I, Matilda of Scotland, played some role in governing England during her husband's absences], while during the civil war of Stephen’s reign Matilda of Boulogne led the fight for a time on behalf of her royal husband, who had been captured by the forces of the empress. And if we wish to seek a rebel woman, we need look no further than Juliana, illegitimate daughter of Henry I, who attempted to assassinate him with a crossbow, or Adèle of Champagne, the third wife of Louis VII, who ‘[a]t the moment when Henry II held Eleanor of Aquitaine in jail for her revolt … led a revolt with her brothers against her son, Philip II'.

Eleanor is, therefore, less the exception than the rule – albeit an extreme example of that rule. This can be illustrated by comparing her with a twelfth century woman who has attracted less literary and historical attention. Adela of Blois died in 1137, the year of Eleanor’s marriage to Louis VII. […] The chronicle and charter evidence reveals Adela to have ‘legitimately exercised the powers of comital lordship’ in the domains of Blois-Champagne, both in consort with her husband and alone during his absence on crusade and after his death. […] There was, however, nothing atypical about the nature of Adela’s power. In the words of her biographer Kimberley LoPrete, ‘while the extent of Adela’s powers and the political impact of her actions were exceptional for a woman of her day (and indeed for most men), the sources of her powers and the activities she engaged in were not fundamentally different from those of other women of lordly rank’. These words could equally apply to Eleanor; the extent of her power, as heiress to the richest lordship in France, wife of two kings and mother of two or three more, was remarkable, but the nature of her power was not exceptional. Other noble or royal women governed, arranged marriages and alliances, and were patrons of the church. Eleanor represents one end of a continuum, not an isolated outlier.

[muzansfangs]

Shinji arguing with wife reader cuz he don't want her going on missions turning into passionate breeding 🙏🙏

Maternity leave.

Starring: Shinji Hirako x f!reader;

Format: drabble;

Warnings: nsfw, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, breeding kink, mention to pregnancy, turn back the pendolum arc, power imbalance, dirty talk, established relationship, married couple, altercations, overprotective Shinji, jealousy, kind of toxic Shinji;

Plot: When you decide to request a transfer from the Fifth Division to the Twelfth, your husband feels the ground shake beneath his feet. All of his efforts to keep you away from supposedly dangerous missions had turned out to be useless. Maybe, then, it is time for him to assure your absence from the battlefield for nine months.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“What did ya say?” the Captain of the Fifth Division disinterestedly asked you, cheek propped onto the upturned palm of his hand, his posture indecent for a man of his rank. Trying to keep Shinji Hirako in line, however, was impossible. You had given up on it long ago, leaving the absurd and tiresome task to the brilliant Lieutenant your husband had just appointed.

Anyway, biting your tongue not to reprimand him for his deleterious habit of slacking off early in the morning, you huffed and threw your hands in the air in frustration “I said that’s my last day in the Fifth Division. Do I have to ask Captain Unohana to check your hearing?” you replied pointedly sarcastic in the inclination your voice took.

He blinked. A reaction. This time you had his full attention.

“What the heck? — he scoffed — I don’t think I get it”.

“Well, that’s not my problem. I’ll keep my rank of Fourth seat, but I’ll be working for Captain Urahara starting from tomorrow” you informed him, narrowing your eyes at his scornful attitude. You expected him to hamstring your initiative. After all, he was your husband and your Captain. He refused to let you go.

Despite that, Captain Hirako had it coming. After decades of denying you the consent to go on ‘risky’ missions in the World of the Livings, you had officially decided you were not going to accept such a treatment any longer. You were even better than the Third seat he had promoted a couple of years ago, yet he had confined you to a lower rank for the sake of his obsession to keep you safe and sound. You were so fed up. His decisions were questionable and even your collegues were starting rumors about ‘the Captain’s favoritism towards his wife’. On the other hand, arguing daily with your husband hurt you. The best solution was for you to be another Captain’s underling.

“Why? Do ya really think I’m gonna sign the documents to allow—”.

“It won’t be necessary” you cut him off, unfolding a paper signed from the Captain Commander himself. Of course you had outfoxed him. You were far-sighted, sadly. Your husband knew how sneaky you could be, when you wanted something so desperately.

He tsked, scrunching up the paper in indignation and tossing it in the bin underneath his desk “You can’t do that to me! What have I done to deserve this?”.

“And what did I do to be perpetually the last choice for missions? You secrifice lower ranks to spare my life, when I could easily get the job done unscathed and save them from a miserable death!” you snapped, watching your husband clench his fists down his sides and circle the desk to stand directly in front of you.

The tension was palpable between you two. Shinji knew you were right. He had sent the ninth and tenth seats to fight off a couple of Hollows in Karakura only for them to never return. The mission was initially yours to take. The kind Lieutenant had even offered you his support, suggesting your husband to let you make your experinces under his watch.

The idea of you in another dimension with a man that was not him revolted Shinji. Sending two young recruits to die had been incredibly reckless from his behalf, but it was not yours the name your comrades were mourning now, right?

“You should be grateful I’m protecting you!” Shinji retaliated, staring you down coldly and expecting you to fold like you always did when this got messy.

The moment you bitterly laughed at his face and shook your head at his declaration, he realized how serious you were about abandoning the Division and spit on his face for loving you a little too much “This is your excuse for making me cast off my role of a shinigami? I have been serving the Gotei 13 longer before we started dating. I am a warrior, Shinji. No matter what happens to my sentimental life. I have sweared to protect this place before you decided protecting me was your priority”.

You watched his eyes widen in horror, hand palming his forehead before he closed his eyes in what you assumed was defeat. There was nothing he could do to prevent you from working for Urahara. Still, there was actually something he could do to temporary keep you out of the battlefield. You had been talking about it for years now, but the longevity of your lives somehow alleviated the pressure of procreating. Here. This was what he had to do. He had to impregnate you, fucking you so hard and intensely you were going to beg him to fill you up over and over again.

The hot minute of silence between you two made you think it was time to leave to pack your stuff, but you were suddenly spun around by your husband whose lips stole a scorching kiss from you.

The initial surprise left your body almost instinctively as you began to reciprocate his kisses. His hands fumbled with the sash of your hakama to yank your pants down your thighs. You could sense some eagerness in his frantic actions, his nimble fingers working their way insides your underwear to pry your dewy folds open. Sharp intakes of air filled the silence of his office, whilst he began to rub your clitoris furiously.

“You can’t solve your problems with sex” you pointed out, a strained moan erupting from your throat the moment he sank his index into you hole.

“Too bad you let me fuck your attitude out of you every damn time then” Shinji rasped out, teeth nipping at your earlobe while he heedlessly backed you to his desk. How many times he had wrecked you on the office forniture. How many times you had let him do that. Today was not an exception.

You rolled your eyes at him, legs finally free from your trousers as he lined his shaft to your entrance and hovered over you completely. Your legs enveloped his narrow his, a blond waterfall of silky hair draping over your face as he snapped his hips forwards. You moaned out in pleasure, his cock splitting your warm walls apart gradually. How beautiful you looked like that to him.

Mouth ajar, you spasmed out in bliss, allowing him to bask in your beauty.

“C’mon, tell me I’m a massive idiot for putting your safety above anythin’ else” he flaunted himself, pulling himself half way out before plunging back into you with force.

The desk creaked, you whined “You think a quickie can change my mind? Bold of you to assume I’m so shallow” you retorted, hands tugging at the long strands of his hair as he liked you to do.

But Shinji knew what he was doing, when he did not pull out that night. He knew what he was doing when the following day he sent you to Urahara with wobbly legs and his seed leaking out of you with each step you took. He knew he had won when you got pregnant and Urahara granted you a maternity leave.

After all, he was not going to lose the argument, or you.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Happy Halloween, guys! I have literally picked a random thirst from my inbox and … Well, I have written it down impulsively. Hopefully, this does not suck. Anyway, let me know your precious opinions and remember to support your favorite blogs by liking, commenting and, above all, re-posting!

Love,

– Luce

TAGS: @j-u-u-z-o @jesurum-says-hi @villainsrtasty @yeowangies @my-my-my @dehemetera (un po’ di Shinji non guasta mai), @noirfan12 @pin-k-ink @persuasivus

[infinatenoise]

Shakespere plays badly described in one sentence:

Romeo And Juliet - Your "Love had different plans" writing excuse ended with a restraining order and two dead kids

Macbeth - Girlboss uses her sopping pathetic wet dog of a husband to gain political power, ends horribly.

Hamlet - Pathetic emo boy destroys career of his creepy uncle

Titus Andronicus - It's a soap opera because after you watch it you feel the need to wash yourself thoroughly

The Tempest - One man's real person ship fic saves the government from corruption

Merchant Of Venice - The way to make your play where the main villain is a jewish person portraying every negative stereotype is by making the main christian characters the biggest pricks in existance

Twelfth Night - Shakespeare was a COWARD for not making the woman marry the sister and the man marry the brother.

Othello - A commentary on racism slightly ruined by the fact that the main villain shares a name with a cartoon disney parrot

[boizandgurlzinthehouse]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

pairing: coriolanus snow x toxic!fem!reader

summary: someone always throw a spanner in her works, to achieve her biggest dream —being coriolanus' lover, wife and claiming power. luckily, y/n is not on the loser side when it comes to playing.

trigger warnings: mastermind!reader, toxic!reader (for real, she's doing nasty things), reader's family is a bit fucked up, reader is obsessed with coriolanus snow, lying, swearing, blood, violence, killing people, hunger games stuff, i just love volumnia gaul, reader hates lucy gray and everybody who's around coriolanus, mental health problems mentioned such as psychotism.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

their peace was harassed. again. 

lying on her bed, y/n’s legs were flexing with the same rhythm as her heart beated and her brain ticked. 

that bitch. that dickhead. that fucking new rule.  

turning onto her back, y/n bruised her hands into her hair. too many things happened today, too fast and she couldn’t do anything. she couldn’t do anything to get closer to her first and only lover, coriolanus. it was the perfect plan she had made; going to the same places he went, organizing her whole life around him and gaining access into his heart. and after that? marriage, of course. and kids, and endless wealth that could be provided by her family and his position, because y/n didn’t accept anyone else as a husband than the president of panem. they could be the perfect couple, and her family almost gave the benediction to their marriage. 

only if this fucking day wouldn’t happen. 

today, in the school were coriolanus was studying –y/n was a private student, her family only trusted the teachers that educated the former younger members of the family like her older brother, who was now the leader of the first district–, a new rule was stated: students’ grades wasn’t the reason anymore for the plinth-prize, no. they needed to be a mentor for those poor losers who fought on the ruthless game named hunger games. y/n didn’t care about hunger games really much, but when her family was watching it on the tv in the salon, she sat down too, to watch how people’s true nature came out. while her family enjoyed watching it, they got her to take medicine since the doctor of the family stated her as a little bit mentally unstable. he said some symptoms like… lack of empathy, callous and manipulative? she was just like her grandma, astoria. it was nothing special. 

coriolanus got to be a mentor, and she got a girl from the twelfth district. it was not only the reason of her rage that that fuckhead casca took most of his chance away from winning the prize, and that he needed to work on this much more so they couldn’t be together, but… he got a girl. a girl named lucy gray. and lucy gray can watch herself if she does anything to woo coriolanus. 

y/n got to know him when they sat at the same time in the library; it was love at the first sight. she fell too deep, and from now on, she did everything to get close to him. if she was the universe, coriolanus was the sun; everything was for and about him. she made it known to him even, telling him that he has a big future, and that he needs to watch out because everybody’s going to hunt him down. but she’s gonna protect his safety, not significantly, because she knew how important pride was for men, even if she thought that it was sometimes hilarious. she’s gonna be the shadow around him, the shadow nobody can step over to get to him. y/n knew what’s good for him, and she made real intentions in the past too, from things like speaking with her father so he could soften up casca and give him that damn prize to the even action like being friends with his sister, tigris and his grandmother, the grandma’am. they were nice anyway, so she didn’t mind, same with the money she left in their house ‘accidentally’, or paying for oriolanus’ and hers dinner or snack or coffee when they were hanging out together. her father loved y/n endlessly, because she was just like his mother, her grandmother, but he couldn’t crawl under casca’s skin against the man’s will. while her whole family laughed at that damn girl, lucy gray, who sang and got knocked down on the ground, y/n knew that she was a potential danger. in that moment when she saw the way coriolanus looked at her, y/n decided that lucy gray, this or that way, had to go. there wasn’t any space for others in their love, and anyone that decided to harass it, was gonna pay the prize. 

turning on her stomach, she drew out her journal with shaky hands from anger, tearing up the page where she wrote down steps for the plan. she had another notebook for the doctor who read it monthly, and that notebook was full of ‘normal’ thoughts. but this, this journal… this contained everything that was her. and all of her love for corio, with pictures, letters they wrote to each other, little notes they changed through boring library afternoons, her plans for the wedding dress she’s gonna wear when they marry, and the names of the children they’re gonna have, not to mention the plan and the little footnotes she added to make it really, really perfect. scanning through the papers, she knew she hadn’t planned for this. how could you be so stupid? or was casca that dickhead, that fucker, he’s throwing a spanner in my works, but he’s gonna regret it. yeah, he’s gonna regret it, but not now. this was so perfectly worked out, it was truly a masterpiece, and now, some dickhead fucked it up completely. there were two things y/n didn’t like: people who stood between her and coriolanus, and people who thought they had the right to shit into her plan. 

throwing her journal away with a scream, her white, beautiful cat, persephone meowed loudly, jumping out from the way. looking into her direction, y/n called the cat closer to herself with bending her fingers. crawling into her arms, she rocked her like a real baby. 

“casca thinks he can stop us, sweetheart. but we gotta show him that we are clever, aren’t we, persy?” she asked, stroking the cat’s fluffy fur. persephone was y/n’s best friend; she never gave away her secrets, and always purred when the girl took her into her lap. “we can’t give up, no, sweetheart. we’re almost there, we can’t give up now, and we won’t, will we?” 

persephone meowed again, while y/n picked up the journal. grabbing a pen, thinking about the plan, what was wrong with it? was it not detailed enough? was it too straight? or… her cat accidentally tossed down a picture with her big tail, making y/n sigh. 

“you need to diet, persy.” muttering, when she lifted up the picture, it was her and coriolanus, her favorite picture. and in the background, there was sejanus, clemensia, arachne and many more of his classmates. in the background, blurred out, just as she liked… 

what do they have in common? 

they all had a relationship with corio. with her too, but… that can’t be all. what if the plan was wrong because she only focused on her lover? but it’s the point of it, to have a focus on him. suddenly, it hit her like a train her brother came last night with from the first district.  

she had to peel them down from coriolanus… one by one. it’s gonna be a little bit tiring and difficult, but y/n always loved challenges. and everything that could lead to coriolanus was worth fighting for –even if this fight was a little bit dirty. but her plans weren’t dirty, and she could never be dirty. she did it all for love, for their happiness. 

“you are a fucking genius, persy.” she muttered into the cat’s fur, making her meow again. 

before she could really write down the list of the people who could stand in their way, someone knocked on her door. 

“dear sister, could you come down for dinner?” it was her older sister, morphia. she was about to wed the mayor of the second district. y/n was gonna miss her, really, but not when she disturbed her mind while planning another masterpiece. 

“of course, i’m coming!” she opened the door. kissing the cat’s fur and putting her down to the bed so she could nap, noting in her mind that she needed to bring her food after dinner. morphia saw behind her back, on the bed her other notebook, the ‘normal’ notebook. 

“were you writing down your day?” morphia asked while walking beside her little sister on the hallway of the first floor of their home. they had a three floor house, the whole y/l/n dynasty lived together under one roof, including the husbands and wives who got married into the family. the wealth came from her sharp-minded grandfather, dmitri y/l/n, who had enough influence to get the control of the first and second district, getting ten percent of income from both districts for his own family after the war. he could do it because with his help, bombs were useful enough to stop rebellions. that way, the y/l/n house became rich between the richest, and they had enough respect so nobody doubted the wealth they had. did they get it dirty? yes. did they have guilt? of course not. 

“yeah, i was. so many things happened today. did you hear that corio has to attend the games like a mentor? he got a girl from the twelfth district, it’s so unfair, isn’t it?” she replied, walking beside the frescos of their deceased family members, facing the big windows shaded by heavy brocade curtains. the whole hallway covered with soft burgundy carpet, between the frescos, vases of beautiful roses stood on marble piles. everybody who took a walk in the y/l/n house, they could almost believe that war never happened. 

“you care so much about him, you’re gonna be the best wife. but still, please use your brain, sister. you are so clever, it would be a shame if our family wasted such a perfect mind between children and housekeeping.”

“i already submitted my papers to volumnia gaul. my grades and studies are great from biology and chemistry, maybe i can be one of her geneticists or scientists.” 

“it would be great. our family was never one of those who planned the games. father will be proud of you, just like me and everyone from the family.” morphia stroked her sister’s hair, going down the spiral stairs. the rain was softly falling, tapping on the windows. y/n’s smile was moderate; of course coriolanus was important, but her family was just as much. whatever, whenever, wherever you do, do it with pride. 

sitting through dinner, y/n formed the list in her mind, smiling and laughing when the others did, eating from the big plates. at night, she wrote down everything with persephone in her lap after her dinner too, a glass of wine beside the picture of coriolanus and a little, heart-shaped candle she got from him. 

the list. 

1.arachne crane. her family is part of the old guard of the wealthy from the capitol. they work in the travel industry, having developed luxury hotels in vacation destinations. she’ always very loud and always socking people. she’s not behaving like a noble, truly pathetic.  relationship with corio: they had grown up together, attending important events in each other's lives, as was natural for members of two families of money who lived close together, but did not really like each other. how to get rid of her: waiting. she got a girl from the tenth district, the tribute-mentor work will probably make her busy. at that time, i can speak on my behalf for coriolanus, maybe angering her towards me, to play victim. coriolanus doesn’t like her anyway. 

arachne was an easy prey. otherwise, the first rule of the plan was always to keep her hands clean. never, nobody could know that behind their downfall, there was y/n. 

2. clemensia dovecote  daughter of the energy secretary. she’s always up coriolanus’ ass, only because he’s the one who she can take advantage of. no original thoughts, only crawling up on everybody’s backs. really, really pathetic.  relationship with corio: only classmates. but a really annoying one.  how to get rid of her: she’s gonna fail herself either way, always wanting to be tricky, faith is gonna be her end. if not, talking with my father about her bad reputation, so her and her family’s gonna end up warned. 

y/n trusted her father enough to not to speak out loud that she was the one who intended on it. the y/l/n house always protected each other at all costs, and she wasn’t an exception. 

2. sejanus plinth // DANGER. only child of strabo and mrs. plinth, a wealthy couple from district 2. his father, strabo, made much of his wealth from munitions and weapon manufacturing. rich, has influence.  relationship with corio: his parents almost treat him as their own child. really, really dangerous.  how to get rid of him: …

y/n stopped while writing. sejanus liked her too, because he knew corio and she was almost a couple, but really… sejanus could stop him if he even said a word. it doesn’t work if she’s too kind, if sejanus himself doesn’t, his father will notice it, the bond is too tight and she didn’t want to suffocate in it. she needs to wait until something happens, and intervene when coriolanus is in doubt. 

“we have a lot of work before us, don’t we, persy?” she asked, leaning down to kiss her sleeping cat’s head. looking out the window, the rain fell continually, striking a bolt when she wrote down the fourth person. 

3. lucy gray braid // (?) family member of the nomadic group called ‘covey’, coriolanus’ contestant in the 10th hunger games. rumors say that she got into the games because she was messing around with another girl from the twelfth district.  relationship with corio: neutral. keep in mind if something happens. her actions may be out from surviving.  how to get rid of her: she has to win, so coriolanus can get the plinth-award. other than that, she’s gonna be taken back to twelfth district. keep in mind if something happens. 

lucy gray, lucy gray… you’re gonna be in big, big trouble if you take him away from me. you looked at him in the wrong way. 

y/n sighed, tossing her pen down. she needed to do some research for the coveys, whoever they were. it’s gonna be a long night, but her happy, perfect life with coriolanus will be even longer if she makes lucy gray gone. 

“songbirds can fly high enough to get away from snakes, you know that, persy? but even they can’t get away from a big storm.” y/n giggled, finding peace in the monstrous rumbling above them, heavy droplets banging on the window. sitting at her dressing table, she chose the lipstick she’s going to wear when coriolanus and she shares their first kiss. it was perfect. looking into the mirror, there was a strange glint in her eye, the one she always had only for herself. if she can’t get him one way, she will on the other. 

and anyway… her storm is gonna rock the whole panem. 

[yikesharringrove]

steve and billy teaching in the same school!! there's these teachers in my school and they work right across the hall from each other. they're always yelling into each others classrooms.

she teaches english lit 101 and he teaches gov 102

"Harrington!"

Some of the kids snickered quietly when Mr. Harrington jumped at the shout from across the hall.

He stared blankly at the last word he had written on the board, the black Expo mark wiggles from where he had jumped at the yell of his name.

He turned around, sighing exaggeratedly at Mr. Hargrove standing in the doorway.

"Kids, excuse my coworker here." He crossed his arms around his chest. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can Mr. H."

Steve rolled his eyes as his husband swaggered into his classroom, leading a line of ninth graders with him.

It's not the first time Billy's interrupted his class with a question about some inane bullshit that launched Steve into an over-excited rant for the rest of class.

Steve's tenth and eleventh graders were already closing their textbooks, knowing their teacher was just about to be insanely distracted for the rest of class.

"The birds n' I are reading The Crucible."

Fuck.

Steve's pretty sure Billy's kids pay him to bring them across the hall for these impromptu lectures.

"Witch hunts. I get it."

"Yeah, you know. Anyway, I'm giving some context to the publishing of the book. The Red Scare in the United States, well, the second Red Scare, as well as the rise of McCarthyism coincided with the publishing of the play."

Goddammit.

Steve's fucking master's thesis was on all about McCarthyism (more specifically, how the second Red Scare was directly linked to the Lavender Scare.) He cited the stupid play in his research.

Billy knows that. They were already engaged by the time Steve began his master's program.

Fuck this guy, for real.

Steve quietly closed his power point presentation on interest groups in America.

"Fine. Mr. Hargrove's class, find a seat. My class, your packet is still due Friday. I'll post the slides after class." He glared at Billy.

Billy grinned right back, his tongue poking out in that frustrating way it has since high school.

"1950s United States. What do you know?"

A few hands went up.

Even Billy raised his stupid hand. Steve ignored him.

-

"Which brings us to the end of the decade. With the early 1960s, we have the reformation in the Catholic Church, known as Vatican ll-"

The bell cut him off mid-sentence, and there was a mad scramble as the students all tried to pack up as quickly as possible, before Steve could keep going.

"My class," he nearly shouted over the scraping of chairs against linoleum. "Your packets are still due Friday! I don't care that Mr. Hargrove interrupted our time."

"And birds! The rubric is posted on the class page! I want outlines handed in on Tuesday."

The classroom door closed behind the final kid.

"You're a dick."

Billy laughed.

"Nah, you just teach that shit so much better than I do."

Steve rolled his eyes. He sat behind his desk, yanking over a stack of twelfth grade research assignments to begin grading. Billy perched on the other side of his desk.

"Y'know, you could just ask me to come in and lecture. You don't have to interrupt my own class."

"Yeah, but it's fun to wind you up and watch you go. And I think the birds like it when they see that you're passionate about something. Why do you think I always start with The Joy Luck Club?"

"Because you have mommy issues."

"No. Because Ying-ying's story makes me sob like a bitch, and the birds get to realize that I'm a real-life human."

Steve scrubbed his face with his hands, collecting himself before facing his dumbass husband again.

"Wait, you said they had an essay due. What's the essay?"

"Oh, comparing the Salem Witch Trials and the goings on of the U.S. government in the mid 1950s. You know."

"So, you created an assignment, knowing that I would infodump all that shit to your kids?"

"Yes."

"I want a divorce."

Billy laughed, leaning over Steve's desk to kiss his forehead.

"No, you don't."

"No, I don't. I love you. But also you suck."

The bell sounded to indicate the end of passing period.

Billy got off the desk, stretching with a groan.

"Would you be mad if I brought my senior class in?"

Steve glared at him in the doorway.

"What's the assignment?"

"They're presenting on the parallels between 1984 and the current political climate."

Goddammit.

"Bring 'em in."

[goodqueenaly]

Hi I loved your thoughts on Myranda Royce and was wondering what your thoughts were on Bronze Yohn? He seems an honourable sort but almost a bit to Ned Starkish for his own good. Do you think him and Sansa will end up saving each other by bringing down Littlefinger?

I think Bronze Yohn Royce is in many ways about as typical a Westerosi aristocrat, and specifically a blue-blooded Valeman, as we’re likely to find throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Even before we meet Lord Royce on page, we hear of him through social-political reputation: he is the head of Ser Waymar’s “ancient house with too many heirs”, the great lord whom Lord Commander Mormont was too afraid of insulting to refuse the under-experienced Ser Waymar command of his fatal ranging, the high-ranking guest of Winterfell welcomed at table with Lady Catelyn and in the yard and at hunt with Lord Eddard. His place among the top tier of Westerosi aristocracy has been long assured: Royce attended both the tourney of Harrenhal and the tourney at Lannisport, tilting at both, and defeated at least Thoros of Myr at the melee held to celebrate Joffrey’s twelfth birthday. Nor does Lord Yohn appear less than impressive when he comes into the story himself: Sansa counts him among the “heroes of a hundred songs” who pass by her at the Hand’s tourney, and almost reverently describes his namesake runic armor to Jeyne Poole. Indeed, Catelyn indirectly acknowledges Bronze Yohn’s stature in Westerosi, and particularly Vale, aristocracy by describing Nestor Royce as “Bronze Yohn’s cousin, from a lesser branch of House Royce”; even another aristocrat in his own right should, in Catelyn’s mind, be defined by his relation to the much greater Lord Royce.

Unfortunately for Bronze Yohn, being so typically aristocratic has at times influenced his decision-making, occasionally leading to unwinnable situations where traditional blue-blood lines of thought and operation simply do not work. If Royce was not alone in rejecting Tyrion as a bridegroom for one of his female relations, his refusal reflects the widespread ableism found among Westeros’ elite. Along with the majority of the other great (male) aristocrats of the Vale (at least according to Kevan Lannister), Lord Royce sought to court the widowed Lysa in order to exercise power as a sort of jure uxoris regent; unwilling, perhaps, to engage in a sort of Ainslie Bond-like approach to forcing Lysa into an aristocratically appropriate marriage (much less actually trying to imitate the historical Earl of Bothwell), and convinced that the Vale could only be ruled by an Arryn or one of the highest birth who was himself (specifically himself) closest to an Arryn, Bronze Yohn was perhaps, like his countrymen, stuck with simply trying to woo Lysa into marrying him in order to effect the changes he wanted. Even more problematically for Bronze Yohn (and his allies), in their approach toward Petyr Baelish the Lords Declarant were simply outmatched, caught by the very aristocratic forms they were trying to enforce. Certain that only a blue-blooded Valeman would do to raise Jon Arryn’s son, disdainful of the relatively lower born second husband of Lysa Tully controlling the Arryn heir, Bronze Yohn was, like his allies, limited to making bald but impotent threats against a man with sufficient personal and royal resources (themselves largely one and the same, of course, as the late great Steven Attewell explained) not to be intimidated by such posturing. In turn, Bronze Yohn seems to have poured at least some of his energies into cultivating the would-be Arryn heir, Harry Hardyng, staging (in every sense of the word) a melee at Runestone and knighting the victorious Harry thereafter; it is perhaps not unlikely, if no better for it, that Bronze Yohn, intractably opposed to Littlefinger, encouraged young Harry to look down on Littlefinger - a snobbishness that for Harry has extended, at least initially, to open rudeness toward “Alayne Stone”.

However, Bronze Yohn’s ironclad (or should it be bronzeclad?) belief in his aristocratic position does not preclude him from a willingness to act in the name of honor, and to lead his family accordingly. While he might have been pursuing Lysa as a suitor, Bronze Yohn was nevertheless not shy about “stirring up all sorts of trouble”, in Lysa’s opinion, by demanding that “[Lysa] call [her] banners and go to war” on the side of Robb Stark - a recognition by Lord Royce, I think, not just of the historical kinship between Stark and Royce (and the threat to him personally, as one of those identified in Cersei’s initial demand for homage) but also of the generally dishonorable conduct of the Lannister-Baratheon regime. Too, though Yohn Royce obviously did not know about the secret agreement between Lyn Corbray and Littlefinger (nor, by extension, the pretended dramatics Lyn acted out during the Lords Declarant meeting), Bronze Yohn responded with honorably appropriate fury - denouncing the man he believed was his ally to defend the hallowed tradition of guest right (even where the beneficiary of that tradition, in this scenario, was the much-loathed Petyr Baelish). Likewise, I think due credit should be given to Bronze Yohn for raising at least two of his sons (certainly those two most familiar to us as readers) with a sense of duty and bravery even in the face of unwindable odds: though both Waymar and Robar demonstrated some of the haughty self-assurance typical of young Westerosi aristocrats of their rank (albeit perhaps not totally for Waymar), both also proved willing to die in the name of honor - Waymar distinguishing himself as a man of the Night’s Watch in doing battle against the Others, Robar allowing Catelyn and Brienne time to flee while he himself fought the grief-stricken Loras Tyrell following Renly’s murder.

Ultimately, I do believe that Bronze Yohn will be an ally to Sansa, both because of that aristocratic standing as well as his personal sense of honor. Sansa already considered revealing herself to Bronze Yohn when the latter came with the Lords Declarant to the Eyrie, and while she decided against doing so in the moment, she had no way of knowing that her reasoning was wrong: Royce did want to fight for Robb, and with Sansa the last remaining legitimate Stark (or so Sansa and Bronze Yohn believe for now, anyway), I think there is a very good chance that Royce will want to fight for her once Littlefinger’s plan to reveal her kicks into gear. Moreover, if Sansa, learning of Littlefinger’s crimes against her family and her friend Jeyne, calls upon northern and Vale lords to cast him down, I firmly believe Royce will be first in line, ready and more than willing to cast down the man Sansa knows was responsible for Jon Arryn’s death (among much else).

[novaursa]

The Second Daughter (prelude to war)

- Summary: You were born as a second daughter under the watchful eye of a full moon. And just like the moon you were beautiful—and cursed to exist only in the dark.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the roar

- Next part: the demand

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @l3thal-l0lita @alkadri-layal @ninihrtss @barnes70stark

The Departure of the Lion and His Dragon

Grand Maester Mellos, in his letters to the Citadel, records:

"On the twelfth day of the twelfth moon, the Red Keep bore witness to the departure of Princess Y/N of House Targaryen and her lord husband, Jason Lannister, as they took their leave of King’s Landing, returning with their children to Casterly Rock. The departure was as grand as their arrival, if not more so, for it was not merely a family traveling westward, but a declaration of power, a spectacle for all to see."

"The streets of the capital were lined with common folk, stretching from the gates of the Red Keep to the great road leading west. Word of their departure had spread swiftly, and all wished to glimpse the princess once more. Gold cloaks lined the route, ensuring order, though the crowd was jubilant rather than unruly. Many called out well wishes, others merely watched in awe as the grand procession passed. For leading them was not only the Lord of Casterly Rock but a Targaryen princess who, though blind, saw clearer than most."

"At the head of the column rode Lord Jason, his Lannister crimson gleaming under the sun, his cloak rippling behind him like the banners of his house. Beside him, on her black mare, rode his lady wife, clad in embroidered velvets of red and black, the colors of both her houses. Silver threads shimmered like dragon scales in the light, a subtle homage to the blood she bore. Their son, the young Aemerys, sat astride a small pony watched by servants, proudly bearing the sigil of both his parents upon his tunic, a golden lion entwined with a dragon of silver."

"Behind them, the twin daughters of the house, still babes, were carried carefully in a covered carriage, attended to by nursemaids and shielded by banners of Lannister and Targaryen alike. But most grand of all was the sight above them—two dragons soared in the skies. Silverwing, the great she-dragon once bound to Good Queen Alysanne, circled lazily, her presence a reminder that Casterly Rock was now as much home to dragons as it was to lions. And beside her, smaller but no less fierce, was Valyros, young yet already displaying the fire of his kin, keeping close watch over the procession as if he too understood the importance of the moment."

Mushroom, ever one for dramatics, recounts the scene with his usual flourish:

"Never before had King’s Landing seen such a departure! Oh, there were farewells given to kings and queens in the past, but this? This was a spectacle, a pageant meant to remind all who watched of the power that now rested in the hands of the Lord of Casterly Rock and his dragon-riding wife."

"I stood amongst the crowd as the procession passed through the gates, and I tell you true, I saw many a lady sigh wistfully after Lord Jason. ‘Twas always said the lions of Lannister were handsome, but never had the West produced one so golden and proud. Beside him, Princess Y/N was a vision, serene and untouchable, a dragon in human form. And their son? Ah, the boy rode like a princeling already, his little head held high. That child, mark my words, will grow into something formidable."

"But not all faces in the Red Keep were pleased. Queen Alicent stood upon the steps of Maegor’s Holdfast, her hands clasped before her, her face unreadable. Some say she gave no farewell to her step-daughter, nor did she bid Lord Jason safe travels. Others whisper that her eyes lingered too long on the banners of red and gold, as though she saw in them a threat she could not yet name. And Prince Aegon? The boy sulked like a scorned lover, his eyes following his sister’s horse long after it had disappeared beyond the gates. Had he been older, had he been a man grown, I daresay he might have drawn his sword right then and there, to keep her from leaving."

"The King, however, was another matter. Viserys wept openly as he embraced his daughter one final time, pressing a kiss to her brow as though he feared it might be their last meeting. ‘Write to me,’ he bade her, his voice thick with sorrow. ‘Tell me of the Rock, of your children, of everything.’ And she, ever dutiful, promised him she would. As for Lord Jason? The Lion of Lannister bent the knee once more before the King, though I could not help but notice the smirk that lingered at the corner of his lips. A man who knew the game, that one."

Lord Tyland Lannister, writing in his personal ledgers, provides a more political account:

"The departure of my brother and his wife marked a turning point in the delicate balance of power within the realm. What once was seen as a mere marriage alliance has become something more—something that unsettles those who sit too comfortably in their positions of influence."

"Jason’s presence in King’s Landing was not merely to pay respects to His Grace, but to observe, to measure the worth of those who claim to hold dominion over the Seven Kingdoms. And he has seen what many choose to ignore. The Crown is reliant upon Lannister gold, yet the Hightowers seek to command its flow. My brother’s decision to halt shipments from Lannisport was a message, and one that was heard loud and clear. And now, as he returns westward, he takes with him not only his wealth but his wife and their children—Targaryens who are now raised under a lion’s banner."

"The court watched them leave, and I wonder how many among them felt the shift of power that day. It is no small thing when dragons take roost in the West. No small thing when a Lannister walks through the halls of the Red Keep as an equal, not a servant of the Crown. The Queen sees it. Her father sees it. And though Viserys may weep for his daughter’s absence, he too must understand—his blood now strengthens a House that does not answer to him."

"In time, they will all come to see that the power of a throne is not only in the seat upon which one sits, but in the wealth that fuels it, in the men who raise their swords for it, and in the dragons that take flight in its name. And of those three things, my brother holds two."

Thus, the Lannisters departed, and King’s Landing watched as the banners of the West disappeared beyond the city gates, leaving behind murmurs of speculation, whispers of shifting allegiances, and the faint echo of dragon wings upon the wind.

The Lions and Their Dragons: The Years 119–125 AC

Ser Alester Lannister, in his letters to the Maesters of the Rock (125 AC):

"Six years have passed since my cousin Jason and his wife, the Princess Y/N Targaryen, departed from King’s Landing. And in those years, Casterly Rock has not only grown in wealth but in legacy. Where once it was the seat of the lions alone, it is now home to dragons as well."

"Aemerys, their firstborn, is now a boy of nine, his features an uncanny blend of both parents. He has his father’s mind, his mother’s unshakable calm, and the striking silver-gold hair of his Valyrian heritage. The twins, Rhaelya and Alysera, are golden-maned with the unmistakable lilac eyes of their mother’s bloodline. But they are not the last of Jason’s and Y/N’s union. Over the years, the Lady of Casterly Rock has given birth to three more children—first another son, Tygren, who is now four, then a daughter, Aelina, and finally, a newborn boy, Maelys, who rests in his mother’s arms as I write this."

"These children have permanently bound House Lannister with House Targaryen, a connection that no king or queen may ignore. Even now, courtiers whisper of the implications—should Rhaenyra’s sons fail to hold the Iron Throne, will the realm look to the Rock instead? Will the people favor the children born of the strongest house in Westeros, raised not only among lions but under the wings of dragons?"

"For dragons still fly above the western lands. Silverwing has long claimed her perch upon the cliffs, watching over the children she has known since their birth. And now, Aemerys’s dragon, Valyros, soars beside her, growing ever larger, ever more fearsome. The boy rides with confidence, as if he were born in the saddle, the sight of him and his silver beast above the Rock a thing of legend already."

"But even with such power, Jason Lannister does not sit idle. He fortifies his lands, strengthens his alliances, and ensures that House Lannister is more prepared than ever for whatever storms may come. And if the murmurings from King’s Landing are true, there is a storm on the horizon indeed."

Mushroom, ever the storyteller, gives a more scandalous account (125 AC):

"Oh, what a sight it was when the envoys from the Crown finally came to Casterly Rock! I daresay they thought they were coming to remind Jason Lannister of his place, but instead, they found a man whose wealth outshined the throne itself."

"It was said that Lord Tyland, still a member of the small council, urged the King to send his voice westward, to remind the Lannisters that their duty was to the realm. And so the Queen sent her father, Otto Hightower, who no doubt believed himself the most cunning man in Westeros. But oh, how he underestimated the Lord of the Rock!"

"When Otto arrived, he was met with a display unlike any other—not a desperate lord seeking favor from the Crown, but a dynasty that stood on equal footing with it. The great hall was filled with gold, banners of crimson lined the walls, and Jason Lannister sat upon his gilded seat like a king in his own right. At his side, his wife, the Princess of the West, the blind dragon of Casterly Rock, whose eyes saw more than most. At their feet, their children, their dragon-blooded heirs, golden and silver-haired, the future of Westeros staring back at Otto with curiosity and quiet judgment."

"And what did Jason say to Otto? He did not bow, nor did he cower. He simply smiled, sharp as a lion’s fangs, and said, ‘Tell your Queen that her sister’s House still prospers. And that the Rock does not forget.’"

"Otto returned to King’s Landing with little else to say."

Lord Allard Reyne, in a letter to his brother (125 AC):

"The tides are shifting. House Lannister grows stronger by the day, and Jason’s power is no longer something the Crown can afford to ignore. His coin funds many of the Crown’s projects, yet he does so not as a servant to the realm, but as a partner who holds more leverage than most realize. His children, half lion, half dragon, are growing into formidable figures of their own. The boy Aemerys is nearly a man, his Valyrian blood unmistakable. Already, there is talk of betrothals, of what alliances might be formed through these children of fire and gold."

"King Viserys grows weaker, and the battle for succession looms on the horizon. But what few realize is that, should war come, it will not only be between Rhaenyra and Aegon. No, there is a third force in play, a power that neither side truly understands. And that power rests in the West, where the lions roar beneath the shadow of dragon wings."

Grand Maester Orwyle, writing from the Red Keep (125 AC):

"It is no longer a question of whether war will come. It is only a matter of when. And when it does, no man can say whether the Lannisters will march for the Crown or claim one for themselves."

"Whispers abound in the court, some fearful, others speculative. Alicent Hightower watches with growing unease as Jason Lannister’s influence spreads beyond his borders. She sees the way her son, Prince Aegon, scowls at the mention of his sister’s children thriving in the West, how he still resents that his favorite sister was taken by a man he views as an enemy. The Queen does not trust Jason, nor does her father, yet they cannot move against him without alienating the very resources that sustain the Crown."

"King Viserys, now frail, still speaks fondly of his daughter in the West, still receives her letters, still sighs wistfully whenever a raven from Casterly Rock arrives. It is said that, in his weakest moments, he whispers her name before any other. Rhaenyra worries for her father’s health, but she also watches the West with curiosity. She knows that, should she seek to claim her birthright, the strength of House Lannister will determine whether she succeeds or fails."

"The lines are being drawn, even if no swords have yet been unsheathed. And the Lannisters? They have positioned themselves carefully, watching, waiting. For when the realm burns, it is not fire alone that will rule. It is gold. And gold, in the end, belongs to the Rock."

And so, as the year 125 AC loomed, House Lannister stood apart from the brewing storm, neither Green nor Black, but something else entirely—something more dangerous.

The Gathering Storm: The Year 127 AC

Ser Gerion Lannister, in his private journals, writes:

"It is no longer whispers carried by the wind—war is coming. The King weakens with every passing moon, and with his decline, the realm begins to fray at its seams. Lords who once spoke in veiled words now make their alliances known, and those who have long been patient are beginning to position their pieces upon the board."

"Here, at Casterly Rock, my lord cousin Jason stands firm, ever watchful, ever calculating. His power does not wane, nor does his influence shrink, for his family continues to grow. My cousin’s wife, the Princess Y/N, has once more blessed our House with children—another set of twins, a boy and a girl, their cries filling the halls with new life, their Valyrian blood mixing with that of the lion. The babes, Vaeron and Myrrana, are golden-haired like their elder siblings, their eyes bright with the pale lilac of their mother’s lineage. Already, the servants whisper of what fate awaits them, of whom they may wed, and what alliances they may secure."

"Yet even in joy, there is tension. Prince Daemon Targaryen has come to Casterly Rock more than once, visiting his beloved niece, whom he still calls his little star, much to my lord cousin’s irritation. He does not trust Daemon, and why should he? The prince is a man of tempestuous desires, driven by passion rather than reason. On his last visit, the two argued within the halls, their voices echoing through the chambers like clashing steel. I do not know what words were exchanged, but when Daemon left, his expression was dark, and Jason was no better."

"It does not take a maester to know that whatever was said, it was not an idle disagreement—it was something deeper, something that will fester in the years to come."

Mushroom, as ever, adds his own embellishments:

"Ah, now this is a tale worth telling! What I wouldn’t give to have been a mouse upon the wall when the King of the Stepstones and the Lord of Casterly Rock had their great quarrel! It is said that Daemon arrived with fire in his heart, but he left with ice in his veins, his patience spent, his mood as black as a Dornish widow’s veil."

"The cause of their argument? Why, the princess, of course. Who else could drive two powerful men into such a battle of words? Some say Daemon sought to bring his niece to Dragonstone, that Rhaenyra herself had called for her sister’s presence, urging her to visit. Others claim that Daemon wished for Jason to lend his strength to his wife’s cause, that he sought the wealth of the West for the war that was to come."

"But Jason Lannister is no man’s puppet. He told Daemon plainly and without fear that House Lannister bends to no one, that the Rock has prospered without the meddling of dragons, and that they would do well to remember it. And when Daemon pressed further, when he spoke of Targaryen blood, of family, of duty, Jason simply smiled and asked, ‘Tell me, Prince Daemon, how much did duty mean to you when you took your brother’s throne at Dragonstone?’"

"Oh, I tell you, Daemon was livid! He left Casterly Rock that very night, his dragon’s wings cutting through the sky in fury. He has not returned since, and some say he will not again."

Ser Tomard Hill, Captain of the Gold Cloaks in King’s Landing, writes:

"The Queen’s court is restless. Alicent Hightower watches her husband with growing impatience, for the King is more often asleep than awake, and when he is roused, his thoughts wander. He speaks of Rhaenyra’s children, of the daughter he has not seen in years, of the lion she wed. It is said that when he receives letters from Casterly Rock, he smiles, but when the Queen asks what they contain, he merely waves her away."

"Prince Aegon sulks more than usual, his hatred for his sister’s husband still fresh, his bitterness festering. He has grown into a man now, tall and silver, but his temper is still that of a boy denied what he desires. He speaks ill of Lord Jason whenever the opportunity arises, calling him a ‘golden usurper’ who hides in the West, biding his time. The Queen chastises him, but does little to curb his growing resentment."

"And now, there is talk that the Princess of the West has been summoned. Princess Rhaenyra, eager for allies, has written to her sister, asking that she come to Dragonstone, to speak as kin before war rends the realm apart. But will she go? The King has not commanded it, nor has her husband approved of such a journey. And Jason Lannister is not a man who lets go of what he holds dear so easily."

"If she goes, she risks bringing the West into a war that has not yet begun. If she stays, it may be taken as a slight against her sister. Either way, the Queen watches closely, as does her father. And should Princess Y/N return to Dragonstone, she may find herself walking into the heart of a battle that has not yet been declared."

Grand Maester Orwyle, from the Red Keep, writes to the Citadel:

"The King’s health deteriorates, and with it, the realm holds its breath. There are no more councils where his voice holds authority, no more decrees where his will reigns absolute. Instead, there is a silent war being waged between his wife and his daughter, a war of letters and whispers, of alliances forged in secret and promises made in shadow."

"It is said that Princess Rhaenyra grows desperate, that she knows she cannot face the Hightowers alone. She calls upon her sister, hoping that blood will outweigh politics, that love will triumph over caution. And yet, her sister is no longer just a Targaryen princess. She is a Lannister now, and the West does not move unless its Lord commands it."

"Lord Jason is cautious. He has not yet chosen a side, but he has ensured that his House is prepared. His ships are ready, his armies drilled, his gold untouched by reckless wagers. He plays the long game, watching as the rest of the realm sharpens its blades. The Queen’s court sees this, and they are afraid. They do not know what Jason Lannister intends. They do not know if he will march, or if he will watch the rest of them burn."

"War is coming. Whether the West will join it remains unseen. But one thing is certain—when the lions do roar, the realm will hear them."

And so the year 127 AC drew to a close, with war creeping ever closer, and the fate of House Lannister hanging in the balance.

The Moon of Shadows: The Year 129 AC

Lady Leonella Lannister, in a letter to the Septa of Lannisport (129 AC):

"I have never known my son to be shaken by anything, but these past moons, I have seen a man beset by worry, by quiet terror that he refuses to speak aloud. Jason is not a man who breaks, but I fear something is weighing upon him, something dark."

"My daughter-in-law, the Princess Y/N, has been unwell for some time now. It began subtly—restless nights, whispered fears that she could not name. But now? Now she cries out in her sleep, tormented by dreams she does not recall upon waking. She wakes with trembling hands, her breath shallow, her voice hoarse. Some nights, she does not wake at all but falls into such a deep, unnatural sleep that even I grow afraid. Jason stays with her always, refusing to leave her side, refusing to allow the maesters to prattle their useless remedies unless he deems them necessary."

"When I speak with him, he is silent, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He tells me only that this is temporary, that she will recover, but his voice is not as firm as it once was. And I see it in his eyes—the way he watches her, the way he tenses at every breath she takes in sleep. He fears something, but he will not name it."

"Even the children have noticed. Aemerys, the eldest, hovers near his mother, unwilling to leave her side. The twins grow uneasy when she does not wake to their calls, and little Maelys—barely walking—clings to his father as if sensing his unrest. The household grows quieter each day, the servants whispering their concerns behind closed doors, their prayers increasing in the sept. There is something wrong, and none of us know what it is."

"I have sent word to the Citadel, though Jason does not yet know. I fear that whatever has taken hold of my daughter-in-law is not of the body, but of the spirit."

Lord Damon Lannister, writing in his personal records:

"It is a strange thing to see a lion in distress, and stranger still when that lion is Jason Lannister. He does not speak of his wife’s affliction, does not allow anyone beyond his mother to ask after it. Even I, his uncle and trusted councilor, have been met with silence when I inquire. He buries himself in the affairs of the Rock, throwing himself into matters of trade, fortifications, and war preparations, but his mind is elsewhere."

"When I see him at her bedside, I see a man haunted by something he cannot fight. A warrior cannot strike down an enemy that is unseen, and whatever grips the Princess of the Rock is something beyond even his reach."

"And yet, he does not waver. He is at her side every night, watching her, waiting for some sign that the shadows plaguing her have passed. But they do not. And with each passing night, he grows colder, sharper, less like himself."

"I do not know what will break first—her affliction, or Jason’s patience in pretending it does not exist."

Maester Orwyle, in a letter from King’s Landing to Grand Maester Gerardys:

"There is talk of illness in the West, and though none dare say it outright, many believe it is not an affliction of the body but something far worse. The Princess Y/N Targaryen, Lady of Casterly Rock, is said to have been plagued by severe night terrors, unnatural fatigue, and strange waking dreams. Some say she does not speak upon waking, that she stares blankly at the walls for hours before she finds herself again."

"Others whisper that she sees things that are not there—that she mutters names long dead, that she wakes gasping for breath, as if she had been drowning in her sleep."

"But the most curious reaction comes not from the West itself, but from King’s Landing."

"Prince Aegon, upon hearing word of his half-sister’s illness, flew into a rage the likes of which the court has not seen before. He was heard shouting within the Queen’s chambers, accusing Lord Jason of being the cause. ‘He is killing her,’ he was heard to say. ‘I told you! I told you he would!’ Even after the Queen attempted to calm him, his fury was unrelenting. He drank himself into a stupor, storming from the halls, his anger seething beneath his breath. Those who serve him say he now speaks of Jason with nothing but hate, his distrust for the Lannister Lord turning into something far darker."

"It is not merely brotherly affection that fuels his rage. No, there is something more, something deeper, something festering since the day she left King’s Landing. And now, with Jason standing firm, refusing to let even the maesters see to her without his approval, Aegon grows convinced that this is not mere illness—but a slow, calculated death."

"Whether there is truth in it or not, the matter remains dangerous. Aegon has always been reckless, but reckless men with power are never predictable."

Mushroom, gleeful in his embellishments, whispers a different tale:

"Oh, but this is no ordinary sickness! Mark my words, there is more at play here than maesters and their fool talk of vapors and humors! The Princess sees visions, or so the whispers claim—visions of things that have not yet come to pass."

"I hear tell that she murmurs in Valyrian, words that none understand, not even her lord husband. That some nights, when Jason holds her, she weeps into his chest, muttering of fire and death, of dragons and war, of things unseen."

"Some say that she speaks of her father, of his final days drawing near. Others say she calls for her sister, Rhaenyra, in moments where she is neither awake nor asleep, as though she can sense that her presence will soon be needed."

"And then there is the Prince. Ah, dear Aegon, young and drunk, who cannot let go of the one thing that was never his to begin with. When he heard of her sickness, he all but declared war then and there. ‘Jason is killing her,’ he said, and I believe he meant it. But what will he do, I wonder? Will he march west? Will he take up arms against a man who has done nothing but hold his wife as she suffers?"

"Or will he watch from afar, waiting, hoping that the man he despises loses her first?"

And so, as the year 129 AC neared its end, the realm held its breath.

Viserys still lived, but barely.

Rhaenyra called for her sister, but Jason refused.

Aegon seethed, blaming the man he already hated.

And in Casterly Rock, the princess fought an enemy no blade could cut.

The war room had been alive with the usual discourse—talk of troop movements, border disputes, and the lingering tensions between House Lannister and the Reynes. Jason had been in the middle of a terse exchange with Ser Alester when the doors burst open, slamming against the stone walls with a force that sent a hush through the chamber.

Alys stood in the doorway, her face pale, her breath coming in short gasps.

"My lord," she choked out, her voice sharp with urgency, "You must come! Now!"

Jason rose from his seat at once, pushing aside maps and ledgers, ignoring the questioning looks of his advisors.

“What is it?” His tone was hard, but beneath it, there was something else—something unspoken, something wary.

Alys hesitated for only a breath, then she blurted it out.

“It’s the princess. Something’s wrong. She—she’s—” Alys shook her head, as if struggling to find the right words. “She’s drawing.”

Jason stilled.

The room had gone utterly silent, save for the pounding in his ears.

He didn’t need to ask what Alys meant. He didn’t need to clarify.

His wife could not see.

She had never seen.

And yet, she was drawing.

Without another word, Jason moved, his strides long and purposeful, all other matters forgotten. He heard the war council behind him, the murmurs of confusion, of concern, but he did not stop, did not slow. Alys struggled to keep up with his pace, but she pressed forward, leading him through the halls of Casterly Rock until they reached the heavy wooden doors of his and Y/N’s private chambers.

The moment Jason threw them open, he was met with chaos.

The chamber was a wreck—furniture knocked askew, pillows and blankets strewn across the floor, ink pots spilled upon fine carpets, staining them with black streaks. But worst of all were the walls—covered in frantic, erratic markings.

Drawings.

Images scrawled in ink and charcoal, covering nearly every surface, reaching as high as her fingers could stretch. And there she was—his wife, his princess, the mother of his children—standing before the wall, her fingers stained black with ink, her breath ragged as she traced yet another jagged line.

Jason felt a cold weight settle in his chest.

Y/N had never seen the world. Had never known the shape of things beyond what had been described to her.

And yet, these images…

Jason stepped forward, his voice low but firm.

"Y/N," he called, his tone measured, careful, like one might speak to a wild animal on the verge of flight.

She did not turn.

Her fingers continued to move—fast, desperate, as if she were trying to outrun something only she could see.

Jason moved closer, and only then did he realize what she was drawing.

A dragon.

Not just any dragon—a massive, gnarled beast, its wings stretched wide, its form swallowing the space before her. But it was wrong—its body was twisted, its jaw unhinged, its eyes hollow, empty. Beneath it, the shape of a man, falling, falling, into the abyss.

Jason’s stomach twisted.

His wife was blind.

How could she possibly know the shape of a dragon to draw it? Embroidery was one thing, where she felt wool and silk under her fingers. But this... this was something else.

"Y/N," Jason tried again, his voice closer now, softer. "Love, you must stop. You’re—"

But then she spoke.

Her voice was not her own.

“He is dead.”

Jason froze.

The ink dripped from her fingertips as she turned toward him, her blind lilac eyes unfocused, but unerringly certain.

"He is dead," she repeated, her voice eerily calm now, like the sea before a storm.

Jason took a slow step forward, his heart pounding. “Who is dead, love?”

She blinked, her chest rising, falling, her whole body trembling now, as if something had just been ripped from her.

Then, her lips parted.

“My father.”

Jason barely had time to react before another voice cut through the room.

“Gods be good,” came the breathless rasp of Grand Maester Halford, who had just entered behind him. The old man was stunned, his eyes darting between Jason and the princess. “My lord—I—”

Halford hesitated, his face pale, his hands trembling as he clutched a sealed raven’s message in his grip.

Jason turned, his stomach twisting in a way it never had before.

Halford swallowed hard, before he held the parchment out to Jason.

“This… arrived just moments ago,” the old man whispered, voice thick with something like disbelief.

Jason did not take it.

He didn’t need to.

His wife had already spoken the words that lay within it.

King Viserys I Targaryen was dead.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review 32 – The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

This is the first book this year I picked up specifically and entirely because it got a Hugo nomination; I’d previously vaguely heard of it, but never in any detail and the title didn’t really grab me. Despite what an exercise in masochism the whole ‘read every nominee for best novel and novella’ turned out to be last year, I’m actually very glad I stuck with it. Not sure I’d actually vote for it – this years best novel slate is actually incredibly strong – but it was an absolutely lovely and just fun read.

As one might assume, the story follows the eponymous Amina al-Sirafi, infamous and legendary corsair, smuggler and general rogue plying the Indian ocean sometime in the 12th century. Dragged out of an obscure retirement by the aristocratic mother of a former crewman whose fate still haunts her, she is sent on a mission to rescue the crewman’s kidnapped (or runaway) child by the twin incentives of more money than she could ever spend on one hand and blatant threats to the safety of her own family on the other. From there, she puts her crew together, has an unfortunate reunion with her demonic not-technically-ex husband, makes a pact with an island of officious peris, and races to prevent a Norman warlock from seizing control of an ancient relic to make war upon God.

The setting is honestly the point of this as much as the actual plot or any of the characters are. The late medieval Islamic maritime world and the wider Indian Ocean trading networks are an incredibly rich milieu to sink your teeth into, and one the author’s clearly fallen wholly in love with. I can’t speak for their accuracy, but little details of life and flourishes of historical terminology drip off every page, and the whole thing sings with the amount of research that was put into it. It’s the vanishingly rare work of fiction with a list of further reading at the end that actually makes me want to go hunt them down.

Specifically placing it in the twelfth century is kind of interesting, in terms of placement in the Islamic Golden Age – long, long after political power became fully fragmented and the Islamic world was linked more by economic and cultural ties, in the midst of the Crusades in the Levant, but still a few generations before the Mongols sack Baghdad. I really don’t have any ideas or assumptions about te why here, it’s just centuries later than the voyage of Sinbad the book is clearly riffing off of, so it makes me curious.

The enthusiastically researched and real-feeling setting does sadly kind of stop with the characters. Amina is sincerely religious and comfortable with the supernatural in a way that feels much more fitting than the vast majority of fantasy protagonists, but in every other sense she is clearly written to be relatable and sympathetic to an assumed audience of modern liberals. (Near-)Queernorm settings are great, but does jar with the fixation on historical grounding a bit. (The whole beat where dragging a runaway bride back to their family and decades older rich fiancee is unfortunate but for their own good until it’s realized they’re trans also kind of feels like a parody of a certain kind of identity-focused liberalism).

Between this and the Radiant Emperor duology I’m definitely rediscovering a real love for historic low fantasy. The research burden is immense but it’s hard to beat the actual past for making a world that feels lived in and real, and provide the vital sense that there are a thousand other stories happening just out of shot. The complete lack of generic-western-fantasy magic and monsters is also nearly as appreciated as the lack of castles and earls.

Which is good, really, as if you ignore the setting there isn’t really much to chew on here. To an extent this seems deliberate – the story is trying to be a pulpy, larger-than-life swashbuckling adventure, what with the getting dragged out of retirement for one more big score and the getting the band back together and the cackling 1.5-dimensional villain trying to make himself as unto god. In the main it absolutely succeeds at this (though the introduction of a generous and competent pirate captain who lends Amina a ship and a spirit-cutting magic sword out of nowhere at the end of the second act does strain things a bit). It does end up feeling a bit like using the most gorgeous, lusciously details stage in the world for a bunch of puppets to act out a pantomime, though – Amina is basically the only character in the entire story that feels like a person instead of a cartoon. They are, at least, more amusing cartoons than not. Raksh the murderous but cowardly ambition-seeking incubus husband was a highlight.

All in all, a very fun, page-turning read. I’m looking forward to the sequel.

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

THEORY: SUSAN FOREMAN IS THE ONE WHO WAITS.

And also possibly Ruby's mother. 

And also Mrs Flood. Probably.

The Doctor promised her that he'd come back. And she never stopped waiting. She's been waiting for sixty years. 

THEORY, (it's very specific because it's inspired by “Wait For It” from Hamilton):

So Susan is left on Earth with David, whom she loves. Over the years, they become closer, even when sent to separate battlefields. The pain of being abandoned softens over time, and as she and David grow closer, eventually she allows herself to love him properly. He proposes, and they get married, and have children.

But over time, especially once she finds Ian and Barbara's diary - and possibly, subsequently, their graves - it starts to weigh on her. And, slowly, first her husband, her friends, her son Alex, and then her other children, her grandchildren, their children, start to die around her, and she's powerless to stop it.

And still the Doctor does not come back - she waits and waits for him, but he does not return. 

Until one day she receives summons from Gallifrey - a Time War, and they need her. She's extremely powerful, the only living descendant of the Timeless Child, (EDIT: in canon she had strong telepathic skills that even the Doctor was impressed by, and which almost got them all killed a few times) and one of the most important people they get on their side. Therefore, they also need a way of controlling her, which they don't yet have. During the Time War she spirals out of control - she repeatedly throws herself towards death and danger, only to find out that she cannot die once she's killed for the twelfth time. She starts experimenting with her power, testing her limits, seeing how powerful she can become. And when people ask who she is, she leaves a message for the Doctor - “tell him I'm still waiting for him to come back.” This leads to her being nicknamed "The One Who Waits".

Eventually, this madness manifests as her trying to attract the Doctor to her - creating mysteries, eventually creating fear and destruction amongst her enemies, terrorising the Pantheon - able to predict, via telepathy, every move that the Toymaker will make - in an attempt to lure him in, just so that she won't be alone anymore. (see: that one post about Sherlock post-Reichenbach where John is the murderer to lure Sherlock back to him).

The Time Lords realise that they need a way to control her, PRONTO. 

Now this bit in particular is a bit iffy:

Ruby might have been an orphan that Susan decided to look after, feeling responsible for the deaths of her parents

She may have been created like Jenny in an attempt to make more soldiers to fight, only it went wrong 

Maybe Susan fell in love, and as such has a baby.

Whatever the case, the Time Lords suddenly have their hostage. 

And they take Ruby. 

Doesn't really work. Susan's accustomed to committing war crimes at this point, therefore probably qualifies for President automatically - anyway, she storms the Capital and takes her baby back. But now she has the problem of how to protect her. So she takes Ruby to her own home - Earth. Uses a chameleon arch on herself, to make herself human, and watches over Ruby as Mrs Flood (that's a whole other theory that I'll post very soon)

Either this, OR

While Susan spirals out of control, the Time Lords, in retribution, dump Ruby on Earth, in 2004, just before we first meet the Doctor again (so near the end of the Time War probably is what I'm saying). The Doctor possibly has something to do with it. Susan, furious, burns through space and time in an attempt to find Ruby - which is why we keep seeing Susan Twist. She then - having regenerated - came up with the false identity of Mrs Flood upon finding Ruby living in London and settled down as her neighbour.

(EDIT: I would guess that Susan Twist is a red herring, created and fractured through time by the real Susan in order to find Ruby, but not only that - she's a mystery that the Doctor cannot resist, and he'll follow the trail, and finally "come back", like he promised.)

Whatever happens, Susan begins to blame the Doctor for hers and Ruby's situation, blaming him for taking everyone she loved from her - for abandoning them both on a planet where they would outlive everyone they love. 

There's the theory. Now, even in the Classic series, while Susan is often shown as the typical screaming girl stereotype, this is not the case - often, it's her who tips the balance of power within the TARDIS, she's often violent, quite ruthless, threatening, even, and seems to know more about hers and the Doctor's home, and why they left it, than the Doctor does. Whenever Gallifrey is described, it's Susan describing it - she reacts almost in horror when he says that they'll someday return there - and when Ping Cho asks where her home is, she replies evasively - “that's a very difficult question to answer, Ping Cho��. Usually, she's the one to explain things to others, a role that, when she leaves, the Doctor then takes on. 

I'm writing this out now because in the latest DWM there was an article on The Legend Of Ruby Sunday/Empire Of Death, with no less than SIX REFERENCES to Susan's era, directly using the phrase "unearthly children" to describe the Space Babies. The article also contained the phrase, "it started out as a mild curiosity in a churchyard -" (a play on a first doctor quote, "it started out as a mild curiosity in a junkyard") "- Now it's time to return". I take this as a reference to the line "One day, I shall come back" - and use it as further proof of Susan, who is waiting for him, ending up with the nickname The One Who Waits.

There's a lot more to this theory, including the Mrs Flood side of it, but there's the basics of it. Let me know what you think :-)

[evita-shelby]

Twelfth Night

Or during the Riley Clan's celebration of the Day of the Three Wise Kings at their new mansion, Tommy discovers Franz Kafka.

Mentions of accidental violence, and Tommy’s insecurities and also Kafka’s writing

1923

Tommy had been curious about the traditions Eva’s country had about the twelfth night.

He had introduced her to the English ones on her first time celebrating it by making sure she got the pea in the Twelfth so she could have the paper crown John’s children made for even if he got the clove instead of the bean. Tommy had also played a harmless little prank on her the following morning which resulted in her reacting with her fist right on the kisser.

They laughed about it then ---well he did to make her feel less guilty for punching him--- and laugh about it now as they take a holiday to America to see her family.

They’d bought a mansion in the country, the second largest home in all of fucking America to be exact and would be hosting the entire family now that they had a place more than large enough to accommodate them.

Arrow House as an estate was about twice the size in terms of land, and quite large too, but it looked like a modest row house in comparison to the 19th century castle the Rileys had acquired.

It was a status symbol as well as a home just as much as Arrow House was.

But strangely enough, the Rileys treated the cavernous hall as anyone would treat their home while Tommy still felt a stranger in the bed he and his wife had bought.

Children laugh and play with their parents and nannies, servants bustle about preparing for tonight with the members of the family helping out and while everyone treats him well, Tommy feels as if he stepped through the looking glass.

“I didn’t want to interrupt, but I wanted to check on you before dinner,” she said softly as he hid in the library reading Robert Frost. He’d read Kafka’s short stories and when that made his feeling of otherness worse, Tommy decided to turn to poetry and the whiskey in the crystal decanter.

“If you’d come minutes ago, I would’ve asked you if you’d love me if I turned into a cockroach.” He tries to shove his discomfort away and remembers Eva hardly ever saw her family and they’d be home by next week.

“Kafka is definitely worth learning German for, even if his work is rather dark.” The witch smiled as she joined him on the sofa. She smelled of pastries, even in her fine clothes she was found in the kitchen with the staff.

Hates being idle, a trait that seems to be as common as brown eyes in her family.

If she wasn’t helping about, she was taking care of Charlie and taking him to explore the nearby town or the unending grounds.

“So, would you?” he asks shifting to get comfortable with her, with the army of servants and relatives willing to take one year old Charlie off their hands, it was nice to have her all to himself for a while.

Even with so many roaming about, Tommy and Eva still had quite a lot of privacy.

“I’d find a way to turn you back, and in the meantime, I suppose I’d let you roam Arrow House and eat all the rotten food you want.” Eva answered as if she was powerful enough to undo even something as strange as Kafka’s metamorphosis. “Just imagine the stories of Thomas Shelby, the successful businessman and giant fucking cockroach.”

He laughs at her words and wished they could skip dinner, but formal gatherings came with the life he’s made for himself and Eva’s family was a good place to start.

“Anything I should know before your cockroach husband sits down to dinner with your family?” he asks hoping he is all caught up.

“No matter what I tried to stop it, the tiny Jesus figurine is in your slice of rosca. I’m afraid we’ll be hosting my darling family next year. Or have another baby, depending on who you ask.”

And sure enough, on January 1924 he hosts the Rileys at his home on the condition the tiny Jesus isn't on his slice of cake and convinces his wife to have a second child.

Rockwood Hall was the second largest home in America, remodeled and owned by JD Rockefeller until his death in 1922 and then demolished in the 1940s. It had over 204 rooms and spanned 1k acres. Surprisingly Arley Hall, which is used as Arrow House has 2k acres but the house is smaller.

Kafka’s The Sons ,a collection of short stories that features the Metamorphosis was published in german in 1915. Tommy in this fic can understand German as the translation to English wasn’t made until 1930.

[cultofdionysusnet]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 ~ 𝓜𝓛

It's spring and the flowers are blooming! Take a walk through a cultivated garden or a wild meadow to inhale the wonderful medley of aromas provided by mother nature. But with each blossom and bundle of pollen is always an underlying meaning. Whether you're broken hearted, attempting to explain your feelings, or simply looking for subtly-worded revenge, flowers can be your language.

°˖✧✿✧˖° Masterlist°˖✧✿✧˖°

°˖✧✿✧˖°First Flower by Jackie @mint-yooxgi: One Love (Mingi, Ateez) Yellow Tulip {One Sided Love}

Summary: The ones we love never truly leave us, do they?

°˖✧✿✧˖°Second Flower by Dee @desirehorizon: Hibiscus (Mingi, Ateez) Hibiscus {Gentle}

Summary: be gentle with your pretty boy :((

°˖✧✿✧˖°Third Flower by Rain @itsnotmydejavu: Make Sure To Forget Me Not! (Chan, Stray Kids) Forget-me-not {true love}

Summary: being a teacher was tough work, but you loved watching kids grow into smart and amazing kids. If there was one thing, however, you were confused over was how Mr. Bang, the father of little Felix, was handing you so many forget-me-nots. And why it makes Felix giggle every time his dad did. No matter, they were beautiful and perfect for your house and…wait did Chan ask you on a date?!

°˖✧✿✧˖°Forth Flower by Jackie: Permanent (Wooyoung, Ateez) Bluebell {Grateful}, Lavender {Faithful}, Lily of the Valley {Sweet}

Summary: Expect the unexpected, especially when it comes to your boyfriend.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Fifth Flower by Kat @hee0soo: The Meaning of a Flower (Jongho, Ateez) Carnation {fascination, distinction, love}, Daffodil {respect}, Daisy {faith}, Camellia (white) {waiting}

Summary — The language of flowers was something Jongho had never bothered with. Maybe he should heve tho...

°˖✧✿✧˖°Sixth Flower by Bro @bro-atz: Freesia (Wooyoung, Ateez) Freesia {childish, immature}

Summary: all wooyoung wants is someone to love him.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Seventh Flower by Anya @anyamaris: Morning Glory (Yeosang, Ateez) Morning Glory {willful promises}

Summary: Your best friend comes over after an unexpected visit from your cheating ex, and a night of comfort produces something unexpected.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Eighth Flower by Rain: Paradise (Taehyun, Txt) Spanish Jasmine {friendly, graceful}

Summary: you - the queen of this land- had just lost your king, whatever shall you do? In your husband’s will, he had told you to move on, to find someone suitable for your heart…and you figured, who better than the man who you loved first, Kang Taehyun.:

°˖✧✿✧˖°Ninth Flower by Jackie: What about Me? (San, Ateez) Yellow Rose {jealousy}

Summary: An innocent gesture, or something much deeper?

°˖✧✿✧˖°Tenth Flower by Topaz @sanjoongie: I belong to you (Yeonjun, Txt) Zinnia {loyalty}

Summary: when you, a vampire master, learned of your lover Yeonjun's death, you fell into a deep sleep rather than mourn the loss. Yeonjun, as it turned out, wasn't dead but was devoted to waiting until you woke up. This is your story~

°˖✧✿✧˖°Eleventh Flower by Anya: Devoted to you (Soobin, Txt) White Rose {innocence, silence, devotion}

Summary: As you tend your garden, you're unaware of the presence watching over you.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twelfth Flower by Topaz: I will consume you (Hyunjin, Stray Kids) Endelweiss {courage. power}

Summary: When a horrid government decides the only way to deal with you is to make you a priestess of a dark god, 'a great honor', when actuality is a death sentence, you put on your bravest face and go head to head with the horror of your fate. But when it turns out not everything is as it seems to be, just perhaps you could be in charge of your fate... if you survive, of course

°˖✧✿✧˖°Thirteenth Flower by Jasper @starlitmark: The Magnolia (Yunho, Ateez) Magnolia {natural}

Summary: You were enjoying a peaceful moment in the café when a man came to sit across from you at the table. Something in you changed.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Fourteenth Flower by Sar @kpop-stories-21: If You Walk Away, I know I'll Fade (Yeonjun, Txt) Lily (orange) {hatred, revenge}

Summary: You're used to Yeonjun being mean, teasing people and calling them awful names. You just brush it off as harmless fun, calling the ones that get upset wimps who can't take a joke. But when Yeonjun's acidic words get turned on you, you suddenly realize just how toxic your boyfriend really is.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Fifteenth Flower by Queenie @wooyoungqueen: Revenge (Ateez) Lily (orange) {hatred, revenge}

Summary: a young king doesn't care for anyone but himself, destroying everything . but two villagers will stop him and get their revenge

°˖✧✿✧˖°Sixteenth Flower by Bro: Daffodil (Hongjoong, Ateez) Daffodil {respect}

Summary: you can't help but have a crush on your child's teacher, mr. kim hongjoong.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Seventeenth Flower by Ki @kwanisms: Sweet Temptations (Seonghwa, Ateez) Lily (white) {purity, chastity}

Summary: Y/N favorite part of working at the Sweet Temptations Cafe is the view of the gorgeous flower shop across the street and the handsome and kind florist who comes in every morning at 7 am on the dot.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Eighteenth Flower by Topaz: I can fix you (Yunho, Ateez) Black Lily {love, curse}

Summary: when a devastating accident in the engine room destroys your body, a scientist offers his abilities to repair you... he sees a beauty, you see a beast. His love is truly a cursed one

°˖✧✿✧˖°Nineteenth Flower by Rie @pyeonghongrie: Guilty as Sin? (Hongjoong, Ateez) Camellia (yellow) {longing}

Summary: Faded fantasies making way to labored breaths, the idea of a person making a home in your mind, even when the nights are long and lonely. You can't find it in yourself to feel guilty.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twentieth Flower by Bro: Chrysanthemum (Jongho, Ateez) Chrysanthemum (white) {truth}

Summary: you and jongho lay everything out there over chrysanthemum tea.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty First Flower by Bro: Iris (Mingi, Ateez) Iris {good news, glad tidings, loyalty}

Summary: mingi just wants to be a dad, but you don't really want to have a child.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Second Flower by Daeeun @daddyfordaeddy: I Can't Make You Love Me (Jongho, Ateez) Tulip (yellow) {one sided love}

Summary: You're in love with Jongho, but all he wants is your body. Against your better judgement, you keep letting him use you.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Third Flower by Bro: Cherry Blossom (Seonghwa, Ateez) Cherry Blossom {kind, gentle, transience of life}

Summary: seonghwa wants to take you on an animal crossing date under the cherry blossom trees.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Forth Flower by Jay: @twisted-tales-of-all: Until We Meet Again (San, Ateez) Camellia (red) {in love, perishing with grace} and (white) {waiting}

Summary: Although San is left alone to watch the shrine after his friends move onto the next plane, he faces someone who reminds him of his past love.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Fifth Flower by Bro: Daisy (Yeosang, Ateez) Daisy {faith}

Summary: you keep plucking daisy petals trying to figure out if yeosang liked you back.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Sixth Flower by Sky @yoonguurt: The Secret Garden (Hongjoong, Ateez) Gardenia {secret love}

Summary: Spring brings with it the need for a change. You're in a writing rut and that just can't happen right now. You decided to spend a few months with your aunt at her massive garden estate. for the first time in 10 years. Dreams of a boy you don't remember become a nightly thing. Who is this boy?

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Seventh Flower by Bro: Dahlia (San, Ateez) Dahlia {good taste}

Summary: san is your perfect man, but he's also the perfect man for others.

°˖✧✿✧˖°Twenty Eighth Flower by Bro: Carnation (Yunho, Ateez) Carnation {fascination, distinction, love}

Summary: you find a photo album that you've never seen before, and you have many questions

[wonder-worker]

"It is astonishing that only one woman in any of the native Welsh sources originating from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries is awarded the title of brenhines [queen], that is Angharad ferch Owain ab Edwin (d. 1162), wife of Gruffudd ap Cynan, king of early twelfth-century Gwynedd. […] The biography of Gruffudd ap Cynan tells us that Queen Angharad was noteworthy for being generous to the poor and mildtempered, compared to the occasional ferocity of her husband. She was honoured for being wise and prudent, but above all, a woman of good counsel – a counsel-woman, an advisor. She also held and managed a significant portion of lands in widowhood, including the crucial harbour and commote of Porthaethwy on Anglesey. The fact that it is recorded that Gruffudd left her half of all his possessions on his death is testament to the potential power she wielded as consort. Perhaps it was even Angharad herself who commissioned the biography in honour of her husband’s memory and was concerned with the dual portrayal of her person as one who prescribed to Welsh socio-cultural gender expectations and stereotypes (literally being the opposite of Gruffudd in every characteristic), but also honouring her own independent influence and authority as a queen in the twelfth century."

— Danna R. Messer, Joan, Lady of Wales: Power & Politics of King John’s Daughter

[wishesofeternity]

“Few figures experienced such a dramatic and disastrous turn of the wheel of fortune as did Eleanor of Aquitaine in the autumn of 1173, when she fell from her place as Henry’s assistant in ruling his collection of territories to detention as his prisoner in Chinon Castle. Eleanor inspired and participated in her sons’ rebellion of 1173–74 that became a widespread revolt against Henry. Spreading throughout his domains, it was the greatest challenge to his authority that he would face until his last days. The record of the royal couple’s sons for rebellions against their father and for fighting each other is almost unequaled in medieval history, and the queen’s active part in a revolt against her royal husband was near unimaginable to contemporaries. Writers ever since have accused the English queen of fomenting her sons’ rebellion, and the family’s troubles are still so notorious that they are a subject for films and plays. The chronicler Ralph Diceto writing not many years after the revolt admitted that young Richard, count of Poitou, and Geoffrey of Brittany in fleeing to Paris to join their elder brother in 1173 were “following the advice of their mother Eleanor.” He then listed over thirty instances of sons rebelling against their parents, but was unable to specify a single case of an earlier queen rebelling against her royal husband.

The dysfunctional character of the family life of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henry II, and their sons was no secret to their contemporaries. One late twelfth-century monastic writer likened the English royal family to “the confused house of Oedipus,” and another commented that “this father was most unhappy in his most famous sons.” Courtiers at the English royal court could only explain the intense hostility by recalling an Angevin legend of the Plantagenet family’s diabolical descent, having as ancestor a demon-countess of Anjou. In fact, Henry was largely an absentee father during his sons’ early years, and following aristocratic custom, he was content to leave their upbringing in others’ hands. Once his sons became adolescents, they resented their father’s refusal to share power with them, denying them authority over the lands that he had designated for them in various partition schemes.

- Ralph V. Turner, Eleanor of Aquitaine: Queen of France, Queen of England

[haveihitanerve]

There is an old tradition, that when a Regalian royal comes to the throne, a random peasant is picked for them, and they have one night together. It has been effective in the past, the royal appreciates their people more and usually the peasant is given a high rank within the military or even a part of the Royals court. One queen even made her peasant her king, although they spent more than just one night together before the choice was made. (this tradition is done whether or not the said royal already has an established relationship, everyone is aware of the tradition and if they chose to be in the relationship before their spouse comes to power that is their choice to make, although an exception was made after a twelfth cousin eight times removed came to power and had already been married for over twenty years, seeing as no one, especially not her nor her husband had anticipated gaining the throne) Most of the time, the random peasant will be similar, if not the same, in age, sometimes older, sometimes younger, but never underage. But for the young queen Luxa, an exception was made. A young boy, perhaps a few months older than the queen, from the city, the most peasant of the peasants, was chosen. (of course, any chosen peasant may refuse, and if the royal feels uncomfortable at any time they may also refuse, but it is not common, most pairings work well enough) Queen Luxa braces herself for an arrogant, preening, whiny older boy who thinks himself above her, cocky with his pick at bedding the queen, and prepares to call her guards to claim she is uncomfortable. (which, if her predictions are true, will not be a lie) instead, she gets gregor, a stumbling, shy older boy who blushes when he looks at her and truly sees her. He, Luxa decides, is a far worse partner. But she cannot call the guards on him. She can’t.

[rinwellisathing]

WIP whenever. I was tagged by @picathartidae unfortunately I don't have any unpublished Papa Bhaal's House of Horrors yet because I'm still planning out my next chapter, but here, have some of the potential sequel to Paint The Lines Cut The Flesh and also some of my more niche Fatal Frame inspired horror AU 'A Crimson Lover' I tag @iron-bullogna and @vialae

“Happy birthday, your ladyship!” That had to be about the twelfth time Alyce had heard that as she made her way through House Ravengard towards her parents' bedroom. She inclined her head in polite acknowledgement and murmured a demure, gentle thank you. Father always told her she must be sure to treat the household staff as equals, it was their work that allowed her to do hers, after all. And that made sense, of course Alyce valued the people who made her life easier. But as important as they were, there was one person who no one could ever measure up to in importance to her. The source of her hurrying this morning. She slowly approached the large wooden door that led to her parents' room, her heart sank as she could hear the heavy coughing from behind the door. Her body tensed and her head lowered, of course it was a foolish thing to imagine she would be doing better, birthday wishes weren't real. Only hard work and powerful magic could give her what she wanted. As she gently pressed to the door, pushing it open, light peeked in. Above the grand bed was the finely painted portrait, her father, tall, handsome, and regal in fine red and gold robes, his dark hair pulled back into many ornate, elegant braids and woven with beads of gold. His good eye, bright ruby red, gazing down warmly. Her mother seated beside him in her chair, her blue skin painted less sickly in the false perfection a portrait insisted upon. Her pale blue eyes gazed fondly up at her husband and her long golden hair, now shot through with streaks of white, was worn in an elaborate braid with pearls and shells pinned into the strands. Alyce stood between then, she must have been fourteen at the time, her halo of golden curls worn loose for the picture, surrounding her head and horns like a crown. Her dark eyes stared forward with intense focus and her hand rested on the shoulder of her younger brother, Edward, only nine years old then, missing a tooth but smiling brightly, his dark hair worn in gentle coils pulled into a ponytail. His big dark brown eyes gazed eagerly at the painter, so excited to be painted. Beneath the painting, her mother lay still in the bed, coughing heavily, the blankets still pulled up over her, although rumpled. Her chair was pulled up beside the bed. Alyce could see she had tried to get out of bed, tried to make an appearance today for Alyce's birthday, only to succumb to another coughing fit. “It's alright, mother...I don't care for grand balls anyway...you know that.” Alyce whispered gently as she crossed the room and sat on the bed beside the sickly tiefling woman, gently taking Jaina's hand in hers and squeezing it tightly.

And then A Crimson Lover:

“To protect himself from being discovered by his enemies, the god Baal commands that people must die. This ritual requires the shedding of a brother's blood. Two people go in and only one person comes out. The blood nourishes the runes in the ceremonial hall and flows into the lower chambers of the temple. The stronger the brother's devotion, the more powerful the ritual.” -A rough translation of a faded Bhaalist placard outside a crumbling ruin. Sentry watched the dim streets outside the window of his cell. Tomorrow, he and Orin would meet in combat in the sacred arena below the temple. Only one of them would survive. It felt strange to him, being inches from death and still with so many souls left alive on the earth. Since childhood, he had been raised as chosen, told that he was special, that father had a plan for him. By the time he turned fifteen, that plan boiled down to him standing alone among ashes and bones strewn across the barren wasteland that was the world. A part of him knew that this was still father's plan, that the priests had every intention that he be the one to survive and not Orin. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe if he believed it was a fair fight, it would have been alright. If Orin had been older, more experienced in single combat. But she was young, just twelve years old this year, and she was an assassin, ambushing from the shadows. Sentry was sixteen years old and a battle hardened warrior. The fight could not have been more unbalanced in his mind. The cult at large would not have known, COULD not have known, but since he had been younger even than Orin, Sentry had visited another temple in the city, learning about the faith of Ilmater. He had learned the value of sacrifice, of martyrdom. He had taken sacred scars as he'd learned their ways, read of their lord and his doctrine. And now, at the final hour, he was on his knees at the window, his words not meant for his father, but instead for The Broken God. He prayed for guidance, for the best way he could to save Orin. His wishes were true, earnest....but he couldn't have known the consequence it would have for his family and for their village.... “ Tragedy occurred during the last-minute ceremony. The favored son made a vow to another god and sacrificed himself for his sister. However, she was also unclean due to her poor bloodline. Because of this, Baal abandoned his followers, and the temple and its people were swallowed up by the earth and now live in the gray wastes of Gehenna.” The passage was a rough translation, of course, but what of Raphael's ancient library wasn't? Enver rolled his eyes and closed the book as his hand rested on the goggles he had upgraded recently, lenses which could detect the presence of ghosts and spirits. Raphael intended to send him into the abandoned ruins of the temple of Bhaal far beneath the city where Enver had lived what seemed like ages ago, in order to hunt for artifacts for his archive. “This ritual required two pure-blooded children of Baal with a deep connection to each other to fight and shed the blood of their beloved brother. Criteria for failure were shedding diluted blood, tainted blood, blood pledged to someone else, or no blood at all. The winner of the battle must be a true child of Baal, who is then chosen and then declared responsible for arranging the necessary rituals. This was known as the "letting go ritual" or "blood ritual."” It all sounded rather fanciful to the young man, who had very little time for gods or their demands. Still, the texts made sense for Bhaal, a murderous and selfish deity from what Enver knew of him. He smirked, holding back a chuckle as he wondered how much dangerous Bhaalist spirits might be than the ordinary ones which haunted grave yards and more banal and simple ruins. He supposed he would find out since Raphael had demanded that he spend the night in the ruined temple tonight and record anything useful he found in his search for relics.