#rebellion’s infancy

[b-radley66]

Wonderful commission from @punkzcakes of two Fulcrums. The ‘other’ Fulcrum is an OC known only as Face; she was raised by a Mandalorian after she tried to pick his pocket. Ahsoka realized that she needed to be in more places than she could be. Of course, this is either a discussion of Rebellion Things (tm) or Face trying to get Fulcrum-Prime to audition for dancing at the club. Fulcrum-Prime maintains that she doesn’t need to audition, she has experience dancing on Jabba’s sail-barge, which is a story in itself.

Please, go visit @punkzcakes and if they have commissions available, commission them! They are so talented and great to work with!

[fanfoolishness]

I like to imagine that in the future, people remember the clones. After Palpatine falls for good on Exegol, imagine an explosion of freedom and knowledge in those days after the final defeat: imagine archaeologists and scholars plumbing the depths of Imperial and First Order records, trying to figure out what had happened so it could never happen again. And through it all they find the clones’ story woven into everything, until a new field emerges of Clone Studies, a loose alliance of military history buffs and research biologists and anthropologists and ethicists.

They catalogue the Kaminoans’ research; they review the clone memorials on Coruscant, on Zeffo, monuments as large as a massive wall or as small as a quiet statue, from people throughout the galaxy who were grateful for what they did. They study the great tragedy and betrayal of the chip, finally understanding the scope of Palpatine’s plans and bringing them out into the open, sharing the truth that the clones never chose to betray the Jedi Order and Republic they had served faithfully. They study old war vids and oral histories from people of long-lived species or whose grandparents remembered the clones; they build, memory by memory, a sense of the culture, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the loyalty. They collect vids of battle songs and in-jokes and an interior language shared among them, springing up over the years.

They find and list their names, self-chosen or given by their brothers: Rex, Fives, Howzer, Echo, Tup, Gregor, Wolffe, Cody, Boil, Waxer, Cut. They study the clones whose differences defined them and knit them into a family whose ties could not be broken, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Omega. They study the discarded who nevertheless still had value - 99, Emerie, the clones who were culled in infancy for being wrong. There are specialists who devote their entire branch of study to the only male unaltered clone and his infamous exploits throughout the galaxy, so alike his father’s. They study the years of the clone rebellion, a fight that paved the way for the next wave of fighters and the next after them.

The clones are gone. That is undisputed. Their kind came for a little while, and then vanished, burning brightly; their tale was a tragedy, but one unique in all its seeming sameness. There are conferences and holovids and books. There are debates and research firing up young scholars about a time only their great-grandparents can remember.

In the future, after all the clones are gone, there are still stories.

[aithusarosekiller]

Why Jegulus would actually work with their (barely existent) canon personalities:

This isn't a place for a debate so literally don't bother, I'm just trying to articulate to appeal to the 'iT maKEs No seNsE' crowd because while I don't care about canon, some Jegulus haters don't respect you unless you worship it so

-

First: James' benefit from it-

To begin with, you have the superiority complex. As much as fans (and Sirius) like to say that Sirius immediately saw through his parents' beliefs when he was born and was a perfect activist from infancy, this is not true. First of all it's highly improbable and much more likely that he told that sort of tale that in order to convince himself and Harry that he was always good, but he isn't and we see that. He is progressive but he still treats Kreacher incredibly poorly, he uses oppressed creatures as jokes and sees no issue with it (yeah, canon-worshippers, sorry but in PoA there is no remorse for the prank, he laughs about it proudly) so he would have had to grow out of most of the behaviours he did have when he was sorted. He would carry some leftover beliefs from his family that James and the others had to help him unlearn. He would be willing to of course but it was still work. Why on earth would James not have reason to think 'I can do it again! They were raised in the same house they're practically the same.' Sirius had described his brother as weak and idiotic so James sees it as an easy win for his ego and the worth of his name, maybe even in Lily’s eyes.

And even when he falls in love and realises he may not be able to change them? Canonically? James wouldn't care. Not before he was 17 at least. He only ever relies on equality when it matters to him. They bully for no reason but target Snape a lot anyway, they already hate him when James sees the opportunity to stand up for Lily, speaking over her wishes instead of with her. He seems more intent on humiliating Snape and making a scene than actually fixing any issues. He's never truly evil but he's not a perfect virtuous angel. So him staying with someone who's morals are compromised wouldn't feel evil to him, he still thinks he's great and perfect, he just loves people who aren't. Let teenage James be morally grey, it's all he ever has been. It would give a pretty cool exploration of his growing maturity in the later school years. There's no real explanation for it apart from 'well it worked for him getting Lily' (which I hate, he nastily jokes about dating her infront of a crowd in exchange for not physically assaulting her friend and then she marries him? Give them more fucking depth than that, it reminds me of too many creeps I know) so it would be kind of cool to explore what could have set him off down the path of becoming a better person. Maybe age or outside pressure but I like the idea of him having a personal relationship that helped him to grow. He's with someone he can never be open to the public with and it's eating away at him because technically he should call it off but he doesn't bloody want to. When it ends, it's all too much and he chooses to flip his life over. He realises how Lily must have felt having Severus turn around on her and force her to leave him; he looks at the war and social climate with more integrity. He begins to change for the better in response to this upheaval of his life and his heartbreak. Also regulus gave him that snitch he was playing with and nobody can convince me he didn't.

Now for Regulus:

The betrayal is the obvious one, he'd always been tentative and naive according to Sirius. Sirius is under the impression he would've just tried to run when it got scary and we can assume he just misjudged him but wouldn't it be interesting if somebody was there to help him embrace his courageous, reckless side? If James sat there whispering words of victory and bravery to him, planting the seeds for his later rebellion? It could also have begun to place seeds of doubt in his mind surrounding the death eaters, even if they did not come to fruition until later. Even if you think he only changed due to Kreacher being hurt, the disproportionate response of sacrificing his entire life over it in some grand display of power is SO JAMES of him.

Then there's the opportunity to explore him on a more personal level. Who is he outside of his family? Was the locket the only secret betrayal or were there more? How does this impact his relationship with Sirius, regardless of him knowing of it or not? It adds even more layers to the meaning of his name and it helps to explore his own doubts before they are ever apparent to his family. James would likely not feel a sense of betrayal in not telling Sirius due to his ego and the fact that British teen boys are just like that™️ with their friend groups. But would Regulus? He would likely feel guilt anyway, but towards his brother? Did he still see him as a family member, as someone worth telling things to, as someone James belonged to? Well never know the canonical answers to this and that's why it's so FUN to explore. The layers to the secrecy and hope in their relationship is amazing.

What are his lingering feelings like after it ended? Hatred, regret, jealousy? And for James- guilt, sorrow, crushed hope?

The timelines add up too- the mark, James growing more mature, the snitch and the bullying of Snape.

And if your argument is 'they're not gay' tell me what makes you think that. Their personality? There isn't one 'way' to be gay. Prejudices? You think gay people are born holding a rainbow flag and chanting peace and love? So may gay ppl are vile to other marginalised groups. James married a woman? Bi people exist.

You don't have to like it, but don't say it makes no sense becuase it can and neither do half of your hcs about wolfstar and the prank and James' sunshine personality and how perfect jily were

[milkywayes]

my vakarian family dynamic hc just got a new and very important addition: garrus was an unplanned child.

and the thought of ANYTHING being UNPLANNED is anathema to papa vakarian. he’s already back on the citadel working (after taking two years to be with his mate and raise baby solana) when he hears the news. it throws a wrench into his carefully-laid plans.

see, papa vakarian is a hierarchy man through and through. he likes schedules, he likes standard operating procedures, he likes making up his mind and sticking to it. he does not like surprises.

garrus is a surprise.

and then he just never grows out of being one.

but it’s not just him. not just the fact that he’s weird and passionate and still wants to be a spectre past the age of 6 and squanders all his incredible potential by insisting on quitting the military before his requisite 15 years are over and then quitting c-sec on a whim and everything that follows.

it’s that the relay 314 incident happens a couple of months before his scheduled birth or at least no more than a year into his infancy. the relay 314 incident, as much as it is only an incident and not a war, which is a big fucking deal and harkens the end of life as they know it—or maybe it’s garrus’ birth that did, depending on how you look at it: a new species on the citadel and the emergence of the first real galactic threats since the krogan rebellions over a thousand years prior and then finally the reaper war. the war to end all wars.

and who’s smack-dab in the middle of all of that? his son. his unplanned, unanticipated, bringer-of-chaos-and-rejecter-of-social-mores renegade of a son.

behold the orb of entropy.

“father, i’m going to be your worst nightmare”

[sinisterexaggerator]

Rebel With A Cause

Echo x Gen! Reader

Warnings: None. Fluff and a kiss. A little bit of angst in relation to wartime and heartfelt goodbyes.

582 words

Notes: I decided to write a series of "goodbye" ficlets where the reader takes / removes something from each of CF99 as they part ways. I plan to do the others. I wrote Crosshair some time ago.

---

The Rebellion was in its infancy, yet you were amongst those placing themselves on the front lines, determined to make a difference in a galaxy that otherwise seemed uncaring and oblivious. Your native home had been overrun by the Empire and all its lackeys, leaving you to find a greater purpose, one shared with many others; it was something to be proud of, and you had never once looked back.

Neither had this soldier, a clone who had been dealt a rough hand in life, parts of him not man, but mechanical, yet this in no way put a damper on your feelings.

As in times of war, his was another hasty exit, leaving your heart aching and your mouth dry as he strode with purpose, meaning to board the ship that would carry him away.

“Echo!” you called out, desperation coating that single utterance of his name; your legs felt like jelly, even as you forced them to propel you forward. The distance was short, finding yourself to be in the presence of your lover before he could even turn around.

You stood before him and swallowed back your spit, butterflies having taken flight in your belly. Still, you would not allow him to leave without saying farewell; there was always the real possibility he would never return to you, or you to him.

“Officer,” he started, one of his brothers watching from aloft. Your gaze darted upward, and he drifted inside the cover of his ship; you were thankful Rex understood you wanted this time alone.

“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” you pleaded, unable to stop the tears that were beginning to well in your eyes. That stoic face softened, brows knitting in concern. Echo reached out to you with his scomp, then hastily lowered his arm.

“I’m…” The clone trailed off, unsure of what to say, or how it might be received. You smiled at him, finally daring to take up the one hand left to him.

Carefully, deliberately, you removed his glove. He watched you intently, deep brown eyes rising to meet your face. It felt as if time stood still, the thrum and hum of the rebel encampment behind you all but dying on the breeze; it was welcomed wholeheartedly as it cooled and refreshed your balmy skin.

Gently, you lifted his wrist, setting his hand against the curve of your cheek. This allowed Echo to feel your sorrow as it trickled from you in discrete drops, your lips brushing the inside of his palm as you whispered your one and only wish: “Be careful.”

Echo drew you in, fingers curling behind your ear as his thumb swiped away your tears. His lips met yours, kissing you fervently, and as if his life depended on it.

Words no longer felt necessary, his sentiments expressed through the impassioned swirl of his tongue. You loosed a whimper, Echo pulling back to study the intricacies of your face, those things that made you, you.

“I will,” he affirmed, temporarily placating you. He took up the glove offered shyly back to him, stowing it away, then turned on his heel to board the ramp, one final glance cast in your direction.

This alone would keep you hooked, desiring nothing more than for this blasted war to end, a life spent by his side something that may have already crossed your mind.

[whencyclopedia]

George I of Great Britain

George I of Great Britain (r. 1714-1727) succeeded the last of the Stuart monarchs, Queen Anne of Great Britain (r. 1702-1714) because he was Anne's nearest Protestant relative. The House of Hanover secured its position as the new ruling family by defeating several Jacobite rebellions which supported the old Stuart line.

King George may have struggled with both English and the English, often preferring his attachments in Germany, but his reign was a relatively stable one. His greatest legacy was as a patron of the arts, in particular, his support of musicians like Handel and such lasting cultural institutions as the Royal Academy of Music. He was succeeded by his son George II of Great Britain (r. 1727-1760).

Succession: The House of Hanover

The Glorious Revolution of 1688 saw the end of the reign of the male Stuarts and placed William, Prince of Orange on the throne as William III of England (r. 1689-1702) with his wife, the daughter of the exiled James II of England (r. 1685-1688), made Mary II of England (r. 1689-1694). Mary's sister became the ruling monarch in 1702 as Anne, Queen of Great Britain. When Anne died, so ended the Stuart royal line, which had begun with Robert II of Scotland (r. 1371-1390).

Queen Anne outlived her husband Prince George of Denmark (1653-1708) by six years; she died at the age of 49 on 1 August 1714 at Kensington Palace after suffering two strokes. Queen Anne had had many children, but all died in infancy. The greatest hope for an heir had been William, Duke of Gloucester (b. 1689), but he died in 1700, aged 12. Anne's official heirs, the Hanoverian family, were selected as such in the 1701 Act of Settlement.

The Hanovers were connected to the British royal line as descendants of Elizabeth Stuart (d. 1662), daughter of James I of England (r. 1603-1625) and brief Queen of Bohemia through her husband Frederick V of the Palatinate. The chosen successor – although she was not permitted by Anne to even visit England – was Elizabeth Stuart's daughter Sophia (l. 1630-1714), wife of the Duke of Brunswick and Elector of Hanover (a small principality in Germany the size of Yorkshire). Sophie of Hanover was Queen Anne's nearest relation of the Protestant faith, a vital consideration given that Parliament had already passed a law forbidding a Catholic to take the throne. For this reason, more than 50 other claimants to the throne had been deemed unsuitable. When Sophia died in 1714, her son, George Ludwig, took over the role of heir apparent to the British throne.

Continue reading...

[rotzaprachim]

one of the most interesting aspects of andor to me is how i think it didn’t decision to alter character timelines so much as make the decision to alter- or rather, cut open and interrogate- the entire timeline of the rebellion, in ways that have fascinating implications for the entire worldbuilding of the starry wars. one of the lingering uncertainties of “andor” comes from the refusal to play any of the cards of the Rebel Alliance as the plucky good-guy army, for whom Joining the Rebellion is as straightforward as enlisting and getting a uniform, who can show up and do army things at any moment. as the episodes build and build and build and the tension and power of the imperial army grows higher, the Rebel Alliance just.... doesn’t appear. there is no Secret Base for Luthen to take Cassian too, only a tiny group of guerillas in the highlands. there is none of the famous iconography of the Rebellion- no orange flight suits (though boy does andor give a new cast to that color choice), no rebel armed rebel bases, no x-wings go swoop in at the last moment. as I watched Andor I felt the lingering stone-drop realisation: the Rebellion, as we know it, simply does not exist. what we get is a hyper-isolated, fragmented rebellion in its infancy, tiny groups and intellligence operations so low on cash that the theft of a single sector’s payroll or access to a single wealthy woman’s family funds. Cassian can’t join the rebel alliance, because it doesn’t exist yet. 

And that’s one story. that’s a far, far more complicated story, and a more difficult story to exist within, than the plucky rebel army versus big empire narrative star wars has been living in. how do you join something like that? it really isn’t that easy. BUT! here’s the thing. BUT BUT BUT. andor complicates that further by showing, over and over again, that even if that rebel alliance can’t swoop in and save the day, that even if the number of *official* Rebellion members is a tiny fraction down to their last resources, organised rebellion is, in fact, possible. and it already exists. it exists everywhere, in numerous forms. it is both non violent and violent, and it is often the work of *civillians,* because the fundamental conditions of war, occupation, and totalitarianism make, politicise, designate everyone as a soldier. looking back on andor, there isn’t a single arc that isn’t made possible by some form of organised, collective rebellion. cassian couldn’t have escaped from ferrix if ferrix didn’t already have a system of pounding metal in order to spread the word, if salman and wilmon paak didn’t get set to banging metal, and brasso didn’t weld weights to the police squad car. the rebels couldn’t have pulled off the aldhani heist if hundreds of local aldhani hadn’t continued their cultural rites and kept coming on that pilgrimage even as local imperial agents actively worked to prevent it- because existence can be rebellion, because the continuation of cultural and religious traditions under oppression can be rebellion. the crowning point of the season, for me, is the prison break at narkina five, the five thousand prisoners knowing that there’s only one way out, and that’s by running, shooting, killing, by climbing out together. the series ends on an entire local uprising as a town’s funeral march turns into a riot against armed, shielded cops. 

And it all leads into these much more nuanced things that Andor is saying about the natures of both oppression and resistance. Because it isn’t giving the (individualist, and somewhat defeatest, but sure damn repeated) narrative that rebellion against authoritarianism is about a few Englightened individuals - the luthen’s, the aldhani rebels- versus the mass of Sheeple who just take it. Are thankful for it. That there’s just the Special ones who see the light, and those that.. Haven’t. Nor are there the essentialistly Good Pure Rebels who have all the Right Ideas in a nice Color Coded Format, who have fought Purely and Totally for the Rebellion From the Start, versus the bad guys The structures of empire don’t work like that- they make huge numbers of people complicit because of the way they stack and tier and turn subjugated people against each other when so few individuals, actually are in charge, and they make the alternative to complicity be nothing but death, in horrific ways. The people in Andor have dirt on their hands. It’s about what they do now. The X-wings can’t come to save Cassian from Narkina. The prisoners have to climb their way out. No one can give the Aldhani rebels backup. Only Luthen and Cinta and Vel can come to Maarva’s wake, and when the fighting comes, it isn’t even about them, anyway. Andor asks what happens when there isn’t the golden saviour, the Good Guy army coming in for us, and makes the case for rebellion as something intensely collectivist and intensely local, that rebellion and rebels exist before our very eyes, in more complicated ways. It’s what makes the show both brutal and brutally hopeful - for one of the first times, watching star wars, i get the sense viscerally that better worlds and forms of existence are possible within the star wars world.

As for cassian, the arc I hope they’re going for, and i really do think are going for, is not that he joined the rebellion as we see it in rogue one. It’s that that rebellion as we know didn’t exist yet, and that his arc will be about helping to stitch together the various forms of rebellion that already exist, everywhere. I think we’ll walk into Rogue One now not seeing Cassian as Mon and Draven’s hand- already fascinating - but as one of the rebellion’s quiet powerbrokers and kingmakers whose a big part of why they’re there to begin with.

[fis-paprikas]

it's so hard to put my finger on why the ahsoka vs andor discourse sounds so juvenile. But i think the folks saying "not everything can be serious and political, we like lightsabers and fun battles too!!!!" completely fail to realise that's not what the andor fans are taking issue with......

Like we want light-hearted easygoing star wars with jedi and spaceships. the issue isn't tone or content, it's EXECUTION. what's not clicking. andor wasn't good because it was a serious, more realistic portrayal of the rebellion's infancy, it was good because the people making it were skilled and passionate about their work. People don't like it just because it was different to what we had before (although it was refreshing), people like it because it had a tight script, consistent tone, interesting themes and ideas and a wildly talented cast. and everything I've seen from ahsoka looks like nothing more than a hollow cash grab like every other thing disney has made in recent times. It's okay to demand quality from your silly escapist shows i promise

[lamemaster]

Gods Who Kneel

Request: @asianbutnotjapanese- Can you spin the wheel for my baby Fingon please 🥺

Pairing: Fingon x Reader

Genre: Mythology au

AN: Thanks for requesting 🥹I love this au so much.

(What in the Hell is Happening Event)

What makes a fallen God? What strips the divine of divinity? 

For you, it had been the love of a mortal. A harp-bearer whose melodies wove through the temple like moonlight, each note a caress that resonated deep within your divine core. You found yourself drawn to the music, your heart a traitor whispering along with the mournful strains.

Sacrilegious!" the other deities boomed, their voices echoing through the celestial halls. Shame burned at your core, yet a defiant spark ignited within you. How could they understand the yearning that Fingon's devotion had awakened, a longing you barely recognized in yourself?"

While others spouted hate in the title of “Spawn of the Devil.”

Your love for Fingon had made you into a broken God. Yet, never in your life had you ever been this fulfilled. A simple hymn that deserved your blessing instead took your heart. He had played with such bare conviction that even the eons of your existence or the love of your parents could not have held you in the heavens away from him.

He had been yours since infancy, his mind, his heart, forever imprinted with your image. From his first wobbly steps to the man he was now, Fingon had always been your devoted priest, your loyal servant. And now, his love resonated with a desperate yearning you couldn't ignore.

And so, in your love you knelt in front of him. In your form with the light of godhood. An act that led to your banishment from your enraged father. But you were only so much pleased to follow the order.

To join your beloved on the plane of mortals. 

A traitorous smile played on your lips despite the churning in your gut. You were a god, yet banished. Yet, the prospect of a life with Fingon outweighed the celestial throne.

Driven by your love, you knelt before him, your divine form ablaze with the fading embers of godhood. It was a crown slipping, the celestial energy draining from you with each passing moment. You reached for Fingon, the warmth of his hand a stark contrast to your own, which flickered in and out of existence like a dying flame

He hesitated for a heartbeat, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and terror. Then, with a gentle murmur of your name, he wrapped his arms around your shimmering form. His voice, a mere whisper that spoke volumes, echoed in the silence, "You…came." His words held the weight of the impossible, the knowledge that you might have exposed his mortal mind to a world he wasn't meant to see.

"It was a choice," your voice raspy from the toll of transformation. "I chose you. No eternity is worth anything without you." You cupped his face, brushing aside the braided golden ribbons that had always captivated you.

Fate was set in stone. You were his. Just his. Not a God to be shared with anyone.

Fate's decree echoed in the silence. You were his, a celestial being tethered to a mortal man. A tremor ran through Fingon's hand as he grasped yours, the weight of your sacrifice settling on him like a mantle of stars. Could a human heart truly hold the love of a fallen god?

Would he, the man who had dedicated his life to the divine, dare to reach for the hand of a fallen god, knowing the consequences could shake the very foundations of his faith?

That perhaps was your true punishment. To watch a shadow of uncertainty creep into Fingon's eyes as he held your fading form close. A love story born of rebellion, but with an ending yet unwritten, a dance with fate that could either blossom or crumble in the face of an uncertain future.

Fate worse than any banishment or woe.

[scotianostra]

On 21st May 1424 James I was crowned King of Scots at Scone.

James I of Scotland was a complex and colourful king. He was a poet, a sportsman, a musician and a patron of architects.

James survived being kidnapped by pirates when he was just 12 years old - and the following 18 years he spent as a hostage to the Lancastrian kings of England.

In 1424, he made a triumphant return to Scotland and was crowned at Scone, but 13 years later he was brutally stabbed to death, his body dumped in the sewer below the Blackfriars monastery in Perth.

James Stewart was born in 1394, the third son of King Robert III and Annabella Drummond. By the time he was eight years old, he was their only surviving son. His brother Robert died in infancy and his other brother David, the Duke of Rothesay, died in suspicious circumstances at Falkland Castle while he was being detained by his uncle Robert, the Duke of Albany.

After David’s death, James was the heir to the Scottish throne, but he was also an impediment to the royal line being transferred to the Albany Stewarts. Fears grew for his safety and plans were made to send him to France.

In March 1406, he boarded a boat bound for France, but just days into the voyage, the vessel was intercepted in the English Channel by pirates who delivered him to Henry IV of England.

On 4th April 1406, Robert III died and the 12-year-old James was now the uncrowned King of Scots. But he was imprisoned in England and his uncle, the Duke of Albany, became regent in Scotland a position he had no intention of giving up.

James may have been a prisoner, but he was allowed to keep a small household and was treated well by Henry IV. This lasted until 1413 when Henry IV died, his son Henry V became king, and James was transferred to the Tower of London with other Scottish prisoners.

It took another seven years before James’ standing improved enough for him to be regarded more of a guest than a hostage - but it took a third change of monarch in England before James was finally allowed back to Scotland. Henry V died in 1422, and the regency council for the infant Henry VI were eager to organise his release as soon as possible.

Despite opposition from the Albany Stewarts, it was arranged for 1424 when he arrived triumphantly in Edinburgh on Palm Sunday, accompanied by his newly-wed English wife, Joan Beaufort.

Prominent members of the Albany Stewarts were found guilty of rebellion and executed, but a conspiracy against the King began to grow and he reigned for just 13 years before his death.

On 4th February 1437, the King and Queen were in their royal apartments at the Blackfriars monastery in Perth, when a group of about 30 people was let in by one of the conspirators against him. James was alerted and had enough time to hide in a sewer tunnel, but his exit was blocked and he was trapped and killed. He died in a pool of his own blood, stabbed dozens of times.

The assassin, Sir Robert Graham, is said to have screamed after his death: “I have thus slayne and delivered yow of so crewel a tyrant, the grettest enemye that Scottes or Scotland might have.”

James I was buried within the grounds of Perth Charterhouse, but the priory was destroyed in the reformation, now no-one is exactly sure where his grave is.

The last pic is a reconstruction of how the site at Scone may have looked.

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun Sneak Peek - Chapter 25

Vander gets protective. Just like a loyal dog would.

In the days following, it really seemed like the whole thing would blow over. That this mild wrinkle within the Children’s ranks had already been ironed out. Until a small group of three older teen boys approached Vander in the early hours of The Last Drop being open.

Their timing was purposeful; only a small handful of beleaguered and elderly Zaunites were peppered around the tavern. Men and women who didn’t want to be talked with or entertained. They only wanted the momentary peace a rocks glass or tankard could offer before they had to get home, go to bed, and live another day. It was a time during working hours Vander was more available. It was a time there were fewer witnesses.

“We need to talk,” one had said. His upper lip quivered as he took in the man-mountain before him.

Vander’s eyes narrowed, and he peered over the group. His customers appeared at ease, so he jerked his head, instructing the young men to follow him. His instincts fizzed as they trailed behind. The hair on the back of his neck pricked up, his muscles coiled and braced.

Vander slid into one side of a shadowed booth. The others toddled in awkwardly with all the grace of new whumplings fighting for space in the nest, shoulders bumping and legs twisting together.

“What’dya need?” he asked once they were settled across from him.

His eyes cut from one face to the next. He recognized them as part of the gaggle that had orbited around Kells, but knew none by name.

“You heard about what happened in the mines a couple days ago,” the one on the right said. He was wiry with curly brown hair and pale skin. Dark green eyes blinked up at Vander under thick lashes.

Had his instincts not been priming his mind and body for some kind of fight, Vander would’ve thought him pretty.

“Aye. I have.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do about it?” The middle one asked.

Vander’s nostrils lifted. This one had limp dark blond hair, a pug nose, and too-round cheeks that were splotched angry-red.

“I wasn’ aware there was something to be done about it.”

“Silco killed Kells!” the one on the left hissed, his dark brown skin radiating vengeful heat. Black-brown eyes blistered beneath his thick, ebony hair.

Vander’s eyes flashed quick-silver. “He didn’.”

“He was going to if the medic he’s been eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!” the middle one said, pig-nose flaring. “They probably planned it together.”

Vander shot up from his seat, knuckles hitting the table with a crack! as he braced his arms and loomed menacingly. The three young men collectively jumped, and hunkered back into the booth. The vinyl at their backs crackled as if in warning. Gone were their indignant expressions, replaced by utter shock and fear as they beheld the behemoth lording over them. Vander’s body and wrath blocked out the little light that reached into the booth’s alcove.

“Listen up,” he hissed, his voice all growl and warning grit. He bared his teeth at them and loomed closer. They shrank further. “Kells died ‘cause he made a stupid, evil decision” – it wasn’t his place to speak about Katya’s assault, so he kept it firmly tucked down his throat – “n’ he got what he deserved, frankly speakin’.” He leaned closer, broad shoulders hunching up threateningly like a crest, “This conversation is over. ‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya tryin’ to rustle up more problems, you’ll be the first bodies I test my gauntlets on. Savvy?”

After a beat, all three reluctantly nodded and crawled out of the booth, scampering for the door.

Vander stalked back behind the bar rubbing his temples, mind spinning like a top.

It was one thing to fight with Topside. It was another for it to happen amongst the Children. This burgeoning rebellion wouldn’t withstand in-fighting. Zaun would bleed out, wouldn’t make it past its infancy, and be buried by Piltover again. The Children of Zaun needed to stick together, Brothers and Sisters arm-in-arm; an impenetrable wall of scrap metal, zeal, and will.

Then the threat he’d delivered to those three yellow-bellied malcontents . . .

“‘N if I catch a whiff of any of ya . . . .”

A wince creased Vander’s face. He didn’t suppose threatening Brothers and Sisters did anything for morale or loyalty. There was the chance that he had just made things worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He needed to keep his temper in check.

That was difficult when his Brother was concerned. Vander was protective of Silco, loyal to him – perhaps even more so than he was to Zaun. Although, Vander felt they were often one in the same. Yes, they had dreamed up the idea together, small and squatted behind minecarts, but Silco latched onto the idea like it was air. Cleaner and purer than anything in Piltover. He had always led the charge from there on out. And Vander would be at his side.

“Yer as loyal as a dog to ‘im, Van,” Benzo had said one night, long before the Children of Zaun.

He had said it with a certain amount of distaste that had Vander’s brow curling questioningly.

“He’s my best mate. ‘Course I am.”

Vander’s heart and shoulders softened at the memory. But immediately tensed again when he recalled what the blond teen had said.

“He was going to if the medic he’s eyeballin’ hadn’t’ve jumped in!”

Vander’s hand dropped heavy onto the bar top, gathering empty glasses and crumpled napkins. The comment had been innocuous, and utterly meaningless. The shithead had only meant to implicate Katya. But that little throw-away barb had slid under Vander’s ribs as if expertly laced.

“Oi! Vander!”

A customer in need of a refill pulled the barkeep from his spinning thoughts. Landed him right back into the moment like someone dropping a melon off Old Hungry. Grateful for the distraction, Vander went back to work.

[b-radley66]

Author’s Note: Those of you who read the @sl-walker Blackbirds series (if you don’t you should be) may start to recognize a character at the end of this chapter. He is borrowed with permission, with gratitude, and with love for this reality. Spoiler Alert—things look slightly grim, but fear not. You can find her works here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/works

Chapters: 9/20 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ahsoka Tano/Original Character(s), Rae Sloane/Original Character(s), Qi’ra/Original Character (s), Original Character(s)/Original Character(s) Characters: Ahsoka Tano, Rae Sloane, Qi’ra, Morgan Elsbeth, Simon Greyshade, Shyla Merricope, Shaak Ti, Plo Koon (cameo), Mace Windu (Cameo), Yoda (cameo), Jame Blackthorn | Bryne Covenant | Taliesin Croft |Tempest (Original Character), Dani Faygan |Ishta (Original Character), Nola Vorserrie |Seoladen (Original Character), Meglann Florlin |Ina|Hammer (Original Character), Phygus Baldrick | Touchstone (Original Character), Null-13 | Drop | Tarre Tredecima |Balor (Original Character), Talle Tredecima | Orla (Original Character), Alyysina Faygan’ii na’ Torstan’ii |Serquet |Sina, Ano Lessi (Original Character), Delilah Sal |ISB-010 | The Untrusted Other (Original Character), Edan Kozume (Original Character), Sulen Gallamby (Original Character), Nathanaan Beten’ii (Original Character) Additional Tags: Hutt Cartels (Star Wars), Crimson Dawn, Nar Kanji, freedom fighting in the truest sense, Slavery, daring greatly, rebellion’s infancy, Love, love of the light, fighting slavery, Espionage, mild swindling in the service of the light, Family, Dysfunctional Family, Found Family, Polyamory, Corellian Family Values, Blackbirds AU (sorta) Series: Part 46 of Rise and Fight Again Summary:

World in Thrall! Ahsoka Tano, Bryne Covenant, and the other Links move to depose the new ruler of Nar Kanji, a Hutt apparently named Geddak, who is kin to an ally of Shyla Merricope’s, Geddan, who was executed for embezzlement on the orders of Ming Lardai. They intend to ally themselves with Kanjiklub, a criminal organization dedicated to freeing the slaves of Nar Kanji, while suborning Imperial officers such as Rae Sloane, and another criminal organization’s representative—Crimson Dawn’s Qi’ra. Along the way the deceptions they give rise to will imperil them all.

Just another day for them.

[cosmicallybound]

DRAGON   AGE   VERSE   :     blazing   a   path   for   herself

     long   before   corporeal   bodies   occupied   the   material   world,   spirits   filled   these   empty   crevices.   yet   even   in   its   infancy,   there   existed   a   spirit   far   more   ancient.   a   primordial   spirit   that   witnessed   the   creation   of   stars   &&   planets   alike   before   settling   upon   the   land   that   would   grow   into   what   would   be   known   as   thedas   a   few   millennia   in   the   future.

     this   spirit,   one   of   wisdom   &&   curiosity,   was   far   more   content   to   watch   &&   observe   from   a   distance.   it   watched   as   fellow   spirits   grew   tired   &&   bored   of   their   inconsequential   lives,   desiring   for   more.   even   still,   the   material   world   held   little   value   for   this   ancient   spirit,   watched   as   other   spirits   enforced   their   will   &&   stole   the   very   essence   that   sustained   their   corporeal   bodies.   this   all-seeing   spirit   eternalized   the   memory   of   the   war   between   titans   &&   evanuris.   watched   as   the   war   nearly   tore   the   world   asunder   before   the   evanuris   came   out   victorious   &&   inhabiting   physical   bodies,   all   thanks   to   the   dread   wolf   solas   &&   his   lyrium   dagger.

     millennia   passed   within   the   blink   of   an   eye   for   this   spirit.   though   it   had   yet   to   inhabit   a   body,   this   primordial   spirit   of   wisdom   traversed   the   world   with   glee,   offering   aid   to   any   who   called   upon   it.   yet   it   was   not   blind   to   the   growing   horror   of   the   evanuris   &&   the   suffering   they   enacted   upon   their   subjects.   the   growing   murmurings   of   a   rebellion   stirred   something   within   wisdom,   for   it   held   a   wealth   of   knowledge   &&   trembled   with   the   desire   to   spread   it.

     though   not   a   well-known   general   of   the   dread   wolf's   rebellion,   wisdom   continuously   stroked   the   desire   for   rebellion   within   enslaved   elves.   it   revealed   means   of   escape,   the   best   way   to   break   the   physical   chains,   &&   how   to   find   the   rebellious   wolf.   it   watched   with   pride   that   soon   turned   to   horror   as   the   evanuris   continued   manipulating   their   blighted   creation   against   the   rebellion.

     yet   the   evanuris's   hubris   &&   the   dread   wolf's   cunning   lead   to   their   downfall.   with   mythal   gone   &&   the   evanuris's   fate   all   but   sealed   with   her   divine   blood,   wisdom   slipped   away.   for   the   first   time   in   its   existence:   silken   flesh,   golden   ichor   &&   a   cosmic   heart   replaced   its   incorporeal   form.   newly   made,   this   being,   this   woman,   left   her   burning   world   behind   as   the   veil   came   crashing   down   behind   her.   though   she   stumbled   at   first,   mourning   the   loss   of   most   of   her   power,   she   continued   with   steady   feet.

     hyeon-seung,   more   well-known   as   maria,   traversed   thedas,   offering   aid   &&   wisdom   when   requested.   such   a   powerful   mage   created   whispers   as   centuries   passed.   some   say   that   this   particular   mage   is   andraste   reincarnated,   or   perhaps   the   new   bride   of   the   maker.   others   call   her   an   abomination   —   no   mage   should   be   that   powerful   and   not   be   bound   to   a   circle.   none   who   questioned   the   elf   ever   lived   to   report   their   findings. 

     &&   so   centuries   pass   with   little   fanfare.   kings   &&   empires   fall,   blights   continue   to   infect   the   world,   &&   yet   hyeon-seung   continues.

  origins:

the   ancient   elf   known   as   hyeon-seung   is   found   in   the   brecilian   forest.   a   friend   to   the   dalish   yet   utterly   sympathetic   to   the   lady   of   the   forest,   hyeon   is   found   on   the   outskirts   of   the   werewolf   lair.   she   will   insist   on   accompanying   the   warden   &&   companions   into   the   lair.   with   hyeon   in   the   party,   any   stray   werewolf   will   simply   ignore   the   party   until   they   reach   the   inner   sanctum   where   the   lady   of   the   forest   &&   the   rest   of   the   werewolves   reside.   she   will   turn   on   the   party   if   the   werewolves   are   persuaded   to   attack   the   dalish   clan.   however,   if   the   party   ends   things   amicably   by   ending   the   curse   or   kills   the   lady   &&   the   werewolves,   hyeon   will   offer   to   join   the   party.   she   is   a   spirit   healer   &&   arcane   warrior.   hyeon   is   romanceable   &&   is   fond   of   sparkly   jewelry,   ancient   tomes   found   around   southern   thedas   on   ancient   elves   &&   her   special   gift   is   an   ancient   pendant   of   a   celestial   phoenix   with   an   engraved   message   written   in   ancient   elvish   found   in   haven.   she   approves   of   anti-slavery   /   anti-bigotry   options,   is   very   pro-mage,   &&   supports   saving   the   circle   &&   breaking   the   possession   over   connor   without   killing   anyone. 

  dragon   age   ii:

this   is   a   continuation   of   her   origins   verse,   but   she   is   either   not   recruited   or   romanced.   if   she   is   not   recruited   in   origins,   she   will   show   up   in   act   one   as   another   task   by   mythal   or   she   will   show   up   once   merrill   returns   to   her   clan   for   the   eluvian.   she   is   recruitable   &&   romanceable,   &&   her   specialization   is   a   mixture   of   arcane   warrior   /   spirit   healer.   she   approves   of   anti-slavery,   pro-mage,   &&   humorous   /   diplomatic   responses.

  inquisition:

after   the   events   of   daii,   hyeon   travels   southern   thedas   for   a   while.   she   kept   in   contact   with   leliana   since   origins   &&   offers   her   assistance   once   the   inquisition   is   formed.   she   is   recruitable   before   the   fall   of   haven   &&   is   romanceable   by   any   inquisitors.   if   she   isn't   romanced,   she   has   a   thing   with   crem   &&   will   not   explain   further.   again,   her   specialization   is   an   arcane   warrior   /   spirit   healer   mixture.   she   approves   of   pro-mage,   humorous   /   diplomatic   responses   &&   can   often   be   seen   butting   heads   with   solas.

  veilguard:

tbc   when   i   am   not   exhausted.

[shummthechumm]

since seeing a few posts about TPB and how it treats firestar’s kittypet origins as a flaw he needs to overcome, wouldnt it be amazing if the “fire alone” prophecy was failed in some way? yes, short term, he DID save the clan, but in all the arcs following this? 

(looong post under cut)

yeah he’s a decent guy, but his clan immediately turns back to the status quo. sure, lionclan united to defeat tigerclan, but the relationship between wind and thunder deteriorates as soon as windclan rebellion starts. cats within his own clan, who witnessed the impact his very not-in-accordance-to-the-code actions had on defeating tigerstar. aka ONE OF THE BIGGEST TYRANTS IN RECENT CLAN MEMORY. but oh actually everyone dislikes kittypets still in tnp. dustpelt/mousefur especially love to bring up their distaste with the state of thunderclan (”too mixed”). even brambleclaw, his own apprentice, judges cats like daisy based on the fact that she isnt clanborn. it reads as thunderclan respecting firestar in spite of where he came from, instead of them appreciating a major part of his identity that they wouldnt let him forget just a few books ago? you know? getting over their biases and learning to respect others outside the clan? 

were these xenophobic ideas not utilized by tigerstar to climb maim and torture not just cats outside the code, but those who dedicated their lives to it? is that...not a sign for introspection?? 

and on a similar note: the books really want us to know that the only reason scourge was defeated was because he didnt believe in god, which is a really weird conclusion to end this arc on. we see fireheart constantly questioning the code and using his better judgement (most of the time anyway) to do what is the morally righteous thing to do. his unique outlook on clan culture saved a lot of lives. he wanted desperately to find belonging in thunderclan, but often sacrified his safety + position to save lives. but no actually the moral we’re supposed to take is “firestar became leader and proved that his soft kittypet roots couldn’t hold him down!!!” i dont know if him being born in thunderclan wouldve changed his very justice-driven personality, but maybe not being brainwashed from infancy played a factor in many of his choices in TPB.

so with these moments where firestar starts to show some of his conditioning crack through (ex: feeling horrified at the idea of cloudpaw not believing in starclan--and wanting to SHOCK him into being a believer; etc etc), is genuinely an engaging character flaw...that should be treated as a flaw. all of these standards of what a “true warrior” should be--constantly being crammed into his head from a pretty young age; against his own sense of personal identity and moral compass. does he WANT to be seen as a true warrior? does he want away with all of these redundant rules? does he want to redefine what that even means?

even in FQ he is pretty pissed to hear bluestar trying to justify an ENTIRE BRANCH OF THEIR CULTURE being axed off because no one was willing to spare territory. while that book has other issues, its still nice to see glimpses of that characterization i like slipping through. if it was an intentional internal conflict, you can take it even further. 

this is why i like to imagine that firestar’s prophecy came from whatever ancient beings sent down the po3 prophecy (i believe in oots they downright confirmed that the ancients likely sent starclan/the tribe of endless hunting the po3 prophecy decades before even mapleshade’s time). firestar may have served as the short term solution, maybe as a way to get set up the three in thunderclan. im 90% their prophecy outdates his, anyway. what was the intent of this prophecy, truly? 

was he meant to save the clan(s) from a few one and done baddies, or was something more long-term intended. if so...did he fail???

how does firestar cope with this? does he reflect? he knows about the po3 prophecy--what if he were to learn of the manipulation his kids went through by the forces he was taught to worship? ik canon firestar doesnt rlly react to the secret reveal post po3, but...in a better series...would he stand for it? how could he react, knowing that starclan targeted his very bloodline for a prophecy far older than the clans themselves? 

in a different world, would bluestar had even accepted him had it not been for the prophecy?? where would he be then? how would he fare with the knowledge that many cats he idolized when he was younger--cats he grieved for, were roped into perpetuating the unhealthy cycle of reliance both starclan and the living clans have for each other?

......is starclan even the source of the fire alone prophecy??? if not them, then who was??>?? how far did this go?? how far is starclan willing to go to get their desired outcome?

 give me existential  firestar, PLEASE 

[dragonnwriter]

Inviolable Bindings

AemondxAegonxFemOC

All Chapters Here!

Summary:

Viserra was named after her great aunt; a spirited and determined girl. Her own grandmother, Saera Targaryen was also a fierce and difficult woman, having been exiled and lived a life abhorred by her Targaryen family back in the Seven Kingdoms. This is the story of an impetuous girl searching for her place in the world and finding belonging and heartbreak along the way. The blood of the dragon runs hot in her veins and for the first time in her life, she finds others who share the same fire. Thrown in to the chaos of an unstable Kingdom during the fight for the crown, Viserra also realizes she has caused contention between the very family she sought belong to.

Slow burn.

Chapter 1:

King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne bore six sons and seven daughters by 80 AC. Not one of their children would live without tragedy and this seemed especially true for the princesses’ that survived infancy. The fifth daughter born to them was Princess Saera Targaryen, a fierce and difficult young woman. Who after a long bout of rebellion, used her intelligence and wit to escape sentencing with the Faith in Oldtown. Eventually, she escaped to Volantis and lived out a life abhorred by her Targaryen family back in the Seven Kingdoms.

Saera bore three sons of noble birth in Volantis, though none of them seemed to have made much of a name for themselves. Her youngest son, Vaelon, was said to greatly resemble his grandsire and had once tried to lay claim to the throne when the Jaehaerys’ naming of an heir was uncertain.

Encouraged by his mother, Vaelon carried his Volantene wealth to Westeros to try and persuade the lords to support his claim. However, with no deep-rooted connections to the Seven Kingdoms beyond his Targaryen blood, his request was ultimately rejected, and the title was awarded to his cousin, Viserys. With only minor disappointment, he utilized his wealth to barter for a dragon egg, hoping that if it hatched, it would grant him more influence and prosperity back in Volantis.

Over the years, the egg never made an indication that it would hatch for him, even when kept warm and always near the fire. It was when his daughter was born more than a decade later, that his hopes for it would hatch finally began to gain some merit.

Princess Saera’s granddaughter was born with fire in her veins, her Targaryen blood evident from the time she took her very first breath and let out a roaring cry. She survived her mother, who eventually succumbed to the complications from a long and difficult labor, and surprised the birth attendants who assumed the child would be stillborn.

Proving to already be formidable and strong willed, she was named after her grandmother’s sister, Princess Viserra Targaryen. The tales described this daughter of King Jaehaerys as another spirited and determined young woman, though she unfortunately had met her demise due to her reckless and rebellious behavior.

Saera had suggested that they place the dragon egg in her cradle almost immediately after Viserra was born. While the body heat of a babe was nowhere near as warm as embers, she believed that temperature was not the factor that could influence its success in hatching.

On the day that Viserra’s mother died, just four days after her birth, the egg coincidently began to crack. A small, black and red dragon hatched almost as if there had been some kind of magical exchange between life and death. From that day forward, the little girl and her dragon were inseparable and once she could talk, she called her dragon Rhyn.

Growing up, little Viserra was well aware of her family’s history, and prided herself on being well read across many topics. She was taught both high and low Valyrian alike, to be able to communicate with the low born and slaves that remained outside of the Black Walls.

Having only lived in the riches of Volantis, she had an insatiable curiosity for her family’s legacy and an ever persistent desire to meet those who also shared her Targaryen blood. Her grandmother had only encouraged this inquisitiveness, despite her father’s wariness, repeatedly reminding him that if he tried to hold her back, she would only find her own way to what she wanted. As she learned and read more about Westeros, her desire to leave the Free Cities only grew.

When Viserra was six years of age, she had been brought to a fighting pit for the first time. Instantly enamored with it all, she had begged her father to learn how to wield a sword and at one point had refused her studies until he had agreed to find someone to teach her. 

Vaelon sent word for a man he had met many years before, an old friend and talented Braavosi swords master named Davos. While initially he did not think much would come from the request, he was impressed with her the first time she wielded a blade, it seemed as if it were an extension of her arm. For years, he stayed in Volantis and became Viserra’s dedicated instructor and mentor in weaponry. Even with her youthful ignorance, she seemed to already know the potential for her own greatness. Davos saw this as well and pushed her further in her sword skills and studies.

“I believe you will do great things one day, Viserra. Your Targaryen blood gives you a fire that many others can only dream of.” Her father would tell her, only to have her roll her eyes at him.

By the time she reached the age of eight and ten, she had traveled all across the Free Cities with Davos, fighting in small arenas to refine her skills and learning all about the different customs of each land. She had even participated in several fighting pits in Meereen, making a name for herself in the large city. As a woman, they had called her many things, all unbecoming of a noble woman, she showed no mercy on those who disrespected or underestimated her. 

Pentos had been the last place the pair was to stop before traveling home to Volantis. There, Viserra learned that her cousins, Prince Daemon and wife Lady Laena had stayed for years before childbirth took the dragonrider’s life. Finally residing in a place where her blood had also stayed greatened the longing she felt to meet the family who seemed to not only share her looks, but her boldness and fire.

The few weeks spent in Pentos were not focused on training or sparring. The merchant lords took great pride in hosting a dragonrider and there had been much feasting and partaking in Pentoshi wines and delicacies. Truth be told, she didn’t have any more patience for another poor attempt at courting by one of the young Magisters.

Viserra found herself pleasantly surprised when her father had showed up in the last few days before she was to depart back home. Pentos had been known to be their last stop but his urgency to see her gave suspicion that this was more than just a coincidence. Vaelon had seemed anxious when he saw her and she could sense that there was something troubling his mind.

Meaningful conversation had been put off until dinner that night. At first he divulged rumors that the Seven Kingdoms was quietly dividing in the decision of the King’s heir. There were whispers that some would not support a woman as Queen, but instead called for his firstborn son to be crowned.

News and rumors from the Seven Kingdoms were constantly circulating within the Free Cities. This information surely would have reached her even in her distant location, so she listened attentively, pondering why her father had undertaken the journey to reach Pentos and deliver this message to her sooner.

“Viserra,” her father sighed, suddenly placing his hand on top of hers at the table, “I know that you have always desired to ride across the narrow sea and see the history and lands of our family.”

She nodded, watching his face closely, realizing there was indeed more to this conversation.

“The Seven Kingdoms are unstable and King Viserys’ health has been declining rather rapidly. His impending demise is bound to thrust the realm into chaos. Maintaining peace and stability will necessitate both power and dragons in the aftermath. Although there are countless rumors, some less credible than others, I believe it might be the opportune time for you to resume your journey across the Narrow Sea.”

She contemplated in silence for a moment, feeling as though her father had already orchestrated some sort of plan without her input. Decisions seemed to have been made, leaving her with little say in the matter. She attempted to conceal her irritation but found it challenging.  “What of it Father? Would you have me fly to their doorstep and present myself on the basis of rumors? That sounds as foolish as admitting treason to the face of a king and expecting not to be thrown in the dungeons.”

There was a palpable tension between them and Viserra pursed her lips together while patiently waiting for her father to get to his point.

“My dear, I have received a letter directly from the Hand of the King. He has heard his own rumors regarding your travels throughout Essos. I confirmed his suspicions, verifying that you were indeed Saera Targaryen's granddaughter. They are willing to overlook the actions of my mother in turn for the support of another dragon rider.” He stared at her, looking for an answer but found that she did not give much away with her expression.

“I will go.” Viserra nodded, pulling her hand from his. “When?”

Vaelon displayed a relieved smile and nodded, grateful that she didn't reprimand him for handling these communications without her prior knowledge. "They have asked you to depart as expeditiously as possible upon accepting this proposition.."

Furrowing her brows, let out a sigh, slightly irritated at being part of someone else's agenda and now being rushed on top of it. 

“You will fly on dragonback for the venture. If you leave at dawn, you will make it by dusk keeping a steady and strong pace. Rhyn will be tired by the time you get there, but it might be best for him when setting eyes on another dragon for the first time. Pack your things tonight and tomorrow morning you shall depart.”

Viserra nodded her head and got up from the table, quickly turning on her heels and heading back to her rooms. It was all so sudden and it felt as if her head was slightly spinning while trying to take in all of the new information. Once reaching her rooms, the servants opened the doors and let her inside.

“Please draw a bath,” she requested, motioning towards the large built in tile tub that sat in front of the windows.

Viserra turned her focus to packing while waiting for the tub to be filled. It only took her a few minutes to collect the attire and items she wished to bring. As a guest of the King, she assumed she would have dresses and other clothing made there, so she aimed to make her packing light. Trying to remember how different the styles would be in King’s Landing, she realized the weather might also be a bit different. Heat and humidity were heavy in her home lands but she was unsure how different the coastal climate was over there.

The bath drawn was piping hot, something she always cared for no matter the weather outside. One thing she had thought for sure, was hoping it wasn’t too cold of a city where both herself and dragon would be chilled. Though she was reassured that the other dragons had lived there without issue for the last century.

Thinking back to her childhood studies, she tried placing the locations of things around King’s Landing, but it seemed rather unreal and the images in her head were blurry. Closing her eyes, she sank down into the water and stayed there for a peaceful  moment.

After emerging from the water, a servant approached to begin helping her wash her hair. Viserra mentally reminded herself to bring her own oils in case she didn't like the scent of the ones in King's Landing. Giving herself another moment undisturbed, she let last of the heat fade from the water before getting out and drying off.

Before retreating to her bed, Viserra stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. The small scars and new bruises placed all over her body from the most recent fights did not bother her but she softly ran her fingers over the large scar across her abdomen. The ugly mark reached from below her left breast to the top of her right hip and was raised, pink, and still tender. It was the closest she had come to death.

A little over a year ago, she had learned a valuable lesson to never let her guard down. But that night, it was a reminder that she would have to be diligent and smart in her doings once she arrived in King’s Landing. Though she would look similar to the others who shared her blood, she would still be a foreigner when it came down to it. Women were much less respected in Westeros and she knew that her lack of femininity at times might not be welcomed.

In truth, it would help keep propositions for marriage and other undesirable things off of the table. She thought that if her behavior alone did not push any suitors away, these marks would be sure to disgust any of the men who laid eyes on her body.

It did not bother her though, as she never intended to take a husband anyway. With marriage came the topic of producing heirs. She vowed she would die fighting atop her dragon, not in the battlefield of the birthing bed. Shaking the thoughts from her head, she felt content in being summoned to King’s Landing with the sole purpose that her skills and training would finally be utilized.

Despite the uneasiness she had felt about her morning adventure, she initially slept soundly without too much tossing and turning. Her dreams were full of skewed memories from the fighting pits and drinking all of the varieties of wine that each city had to offer. She dreamt of the flight she was to take in the morning, having never flown an entire day atop her dragon. But the innocence of her dreams came to an end when they took a turn into something that stirred an unusual fire within herself.

The final images in dreams were of two men, one standing in front of the famed throne that was built of hundreds of swords and one sitting upon it. She could not make out their faces, but noted they both had silver hair. The one sitting on the throne wore a crown and at the same time, they both seemed to turn in her direction. With caution and curiosity, Viserra tried walking towards them, reaching out and trying to call whomever she was seeing. Her heart started pounding but she realized there was no noise coming from her mouth. With a burst of frustration, she tried to power forward, only to suddenly open her eyes and realize she was sitting up on her bed, safely in her room.

It had been just a dream.

Viserra sat in bed quietly, wondering why this vivid dream seemed so real and why the whole scenario seemed to make her heart jump from her chest. She reasoned with herself that she had always felt called to the lands of the Seven Kingdoms and it probably was her pent up excitement that brought forth the dreams.

Looking out of the window, there was just the slightest evidence that the sun would start to rise soon. Her body felt rested and the anticipation of today was starting to build in her veins. If she wanted to make good timing, she needed to get going.

Prioritizing comfort for the long ride, she donned her riding leathers and a cloak of light fabric. She dressed quickly and braided her long silver hair back into a single, tight braid. She then picked up the sword and dagger sitting by the wardrobe and secured them to her hip.

Slowly she ran through the items she needed in her mind, hoping not to forget anything she would need later. Once satisfied that all had been packed last night, she exited her room and went to the front corridor. The packs that had her clothing items and food were placed by the front doors, her father sitting quietly next to them. Vaelon looked at her and took a slow breath in, handing her a map of her destination.

“The flight is simple Viserra, follow the sun to the east and you will meet land mid day,” he paused then continued in a softer voice, “The only advice I have is to trust no one and do not mind the peoples’ opinion of you.”

With a slight tilt to her head, she questioned him, “Because I am so unbecoming of what their definition of a woman should be?” With that she let out a small chuckle and shook her head. “I know what the standards are for Westrosi women. When have I ever cared about what others have thought of me? A quick pull of my sword will shut the mouths of those who wish to speak ill of my presence.” She looked at her father to give her a reaction, but continued on when he did not. “It will not take long for others to see who I am and to mind what they say around me. I will not change who I am simply because I am the guest of the King. In fact, I believe that it would undermine my value there if I were to cower and conform to their ideals.”

He smiled at his daughter and gave her a short hug before letting her leave out the doors. It took a few minutes' time to walk down to the open area where she could call on her dragon to find her. Like clockwork, the beast screeched and flew in from above within a few moments.

“Rhyn, are you ready for this journey?” She asked, placing her head and hands on Rhyn’s neck, stroking the dragon and making him chirp in response. “We are going to find some other dragons as well, I hope you are ready to finally meet some of your kind. I know I am.”

The dragon rubbed his head against Viserra’s body as if to understand this would be a life changing adventure for them both. The packs were easy to tie onto his saddle once Viserra climbed atop his large body. She readied her leather straps, tying her legs to the saddle, and commanded her dragon to take off. They both took to the sky in a large sweep of air and headed over Pentos’ walls and to the Narrow Sea.

While the hours seemed to pass by quicker than she thought, there was a certain time blindness from only seeing water on each horizon. The winds were blowing in their favor, letting Rhyn glide a considerable amount of the way and conserving his energy. Viserra watched as the sun slowly settled directly overhead, making her sweat underneath her leathers and wishing that maybe she had layered better for the journey.

The sun started to fall east, causing the brightness to be a bit much for both her and the dragon. They weaved in and out of the clouds, hoping to get a respite from the glaring rays. After coming into clear skies once again, she spotted land in the distance, likely the peninsula bordering Blackwater Bay. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing now that she could follow the land inwards and not worry about her dragon being exhausted over the open water. The thought had first crossed her mind that they could stop for a while, but instead she decided to push on in case they did not make it before sundown. She was unsure of how a city housing a King would feel of an unknown dragon flying in after dark. The last thing she would want to do is put them in danger before establishing any allies there in the city.

The sun continued to be annoyingly in her eyes for the last couple hours of the flight. Though the clouds had offered some relief, she still felt like she might be blinded after the whole ordeal. Viserra squinted, thinking that maybe she saw the small outline of a castle and buildings on the next side of land.

Soon enough, they flew in further and her eyes locked in on the Red Keep. At first glance, she was not very impressed. This was where the Seven Kingdoms housed their king? She had expected something not only huge, but extravagant. Maybe she had been expecting a castle that rivaled Dragonstone in its details, which had been described as great beauty in her texts. The city seemed very large in itself, but it also looked crammed and the streets narrow.

She circled her dragon around the big castle set on the hill, trying to find a place to land. There seemed to be only one place that would be big enough for her dragon to safely touch down, and that was right at the front gates. She realized in that moment they would be making a scene with their arrival and smirked to herself at the prospect.

“Here we go, Rhyn. There’s no turning back now,” she smiled.

The dragon started to growl and huff as if to express his uneasiness in landing there. Both of them saw that they had gained the attention of the guards and that a few people surrounding the gates were starting to quickly scatter. Viserra pulled on Rhyn’s reins to land and they hit the ground with a loud thud, dust flying around them while the guards began rushing towards them.

The sudden stink of the city filled her nostrils and she scowled at the change in the air. This was not what she was expecting at all. Viserra stayed atop her dragon while the dust settled, watching as the archers pulled their bows and the grounded guards began to surround them. Rhyn moved around with irritation, sweeping at the guards with his tail.

“I am Viserra Targaryen, I have been summoned by the King and the Hand,” she shouted, looking at the two guards that stood directly in front of them, “I would be happy to barge my way in if needed, but I am hoping that will not be necessary.”

Suddenly, the gates opened and out rushed a tall man with rough brown hair and a neatly cut beard. He was dressed to the standards of royalty, and projected the image that he wasn’t phased by her arriving on her dragon.

“Ah, Lady Viserra!” He exclaimed. His hands held behind his back as he stared directly into her eyes, “It is an honor to have you here in King’s Landing. Welcome to the Red Keep.” He motioned to the guards to stand down, and she watched as they quickly listened.

Viserra did not respond to him, but untied her packs and began to climb down the side of her dragon. Once dismounted, she looked to Rhyn and commanded in Valyrian, “Jikagon, nyke kessa brōzagon ao lo nyke jorrāelagon ao.  Ūndegon mirros naejot ipradagon se rest isse se blēnon.” Go, I shall call you if I need you. Find something to eat and rest in the hills. She then looked back to the man standing before her. “And you are?” She questioned, holding her ground with her hand sitting on the hilt of her sword.

“Otto Hightower. I am the Hand of the King.” He announced with confidence and clarity. “I was the one in correspondence with your father, the one who sent for you. There have been many whispers of you and your dragon over the last few years and it is an honor to have you here with us.”

They kept eye contact, Viserra having an off-putting feeling about the man before her. Something told her that her father may have been directly referring to him when he told her not to trust anyone.

Otto Hightower noted her hesitancy. “We have a large building that has a massive underground pit for our dragons here in King’s Landing. At your convenience, I would be happy to show you where that is and the dragon keepers would help tend to your dragon.”

A pit? She thought to herself,  They keep their dragons underground? The thought was absurd to her, that such large and wild beasts would be kept contained. “That will not be necessary. I have no intention of restraining my dragon as he has never before felt the constraints of chains.”

Otto nodded slowly and turned to walk back into the Keep. Two servants came up beside her, bowing, then taking the packs from her hands. She eyed them before continuing in after the Hand, throwing her hood up and over her head to hide her silver hair. She didn’t want the servants inside starting more whispers before she had surveyed the scene and environment herself. Keeping her hand on her weapon and taking in the courtyard scenery, Viserra slowly started to feel more at ease. The distance to their destination seemed lengthy and there were many steps along the way.

“You must be hungry after your long flight, did you make it in two days or fly the entirety of today?” Otto asked, slowing down to close their distance.

“I left this morning,” she answered shortly.

“I believe you caused quite the commotion around the Keep, as an unfamiliar dragon circling the castle is quite a sight. Would you like to be taken to the guest chambers to wash up before heading to eat?” She could tell that he was implying that she probably smelled of dragon and that the leather tunic and pants were not appropriate attire for a lady to be wearing to supper. 

“No, I shall be fine in my riding clothes. There will be time for a bath later,” she stated with confidence, pulling the hood securely around her face. There was no way this man would get her to conform to their social norms within the first few moments of her arrival. She would arrive armed to meet the King and his family, like any other that had been summoned for similar reasons.

Otto sighed and looked at her up and down. “Very well,” he breathed with obvious disdain for her presentation.

They continued walking for another few minutes before arriving at the doors of what appeared to be a meeting room or smaller dining room. Viserra took a deep breath in and slowly let the air out and suddenly she was feeling a little bit anxious.

The Hand asked the guards to open the large, heavy wooden doors and motioned for her to enter in front of him. With her hood still hiding her hair, she walked into the room and felt suddenly overwhelmed at the amount of people she saw before her.

Notes:

Hi all! I am a few years rusty on writing fanfics, so bear with me as I find my groove again. My preference is to be writing rather than reading and I have finally found the drive to start typing away. I am hoping that this is not too similar to other writings, but I see the number of HotD fics growing daily so I do apologize if it is! I will be taking pieces from both the books and the show, so please don’t come at me for things being too inaccurate.

For those who are solely the show watchers, Saera Targaryen was one of the real daughters of Jaehaerys and Alysanne (King Viserys's grandparents). She did indeed flee to Lys, then Volantis after quite a big scandal in the Keep. She bore three children, all who came to court when Jaehaerys was trying to figure out who would be his heir. The ASOIAF wiki has a good detail on both her and her sister Viserra for those that care. :)

On that note, enjoy! There will be eventual smut in the chapters ahead…don’t you worry. I just enjoy the slow burn in the meantime. Hang in there with me.

[haggishlyhagging]

Now that birth control is more or less routine, infanticide seems an unrelated and horrifying event; but to colonial women, who had no alternative and whose offspring were very likely to die in infancy anyway, infanticide might be a desperate kind of birth control after the fact. Various means of contraception were known at the time, and coitus interruptus was widely practiced. Sarah Smith, who had two husbands and several lovers, may have known about such things, but no means of birth control was foolproof. Young unmarried motherless women like Mary Martin, on the other hand, probably knew nothing of birth control. And in some cases birth-control information wouldn't have helped. Alice Clifton, the sixteen-year-old slave, was "debauched" in an alley by a white man known as "fat Shaffer." Women in desperate circumstances then turned to infanticide. But in killing their infants they not only committed murder; they also asserted, symbolically at least, that a woman should not be punished for her sexuality, that she is entitled to some measure of control of her own body. Such statements challenge civil and divine authority most of all. In a patriarchal society, they are revolutionary.

In Chester, Massachusetts, a week after Abiel Converse was arrested for murdering her bastard child, a Mrs. Tyler, several years a widow and several months pregnant, ate rat poison for breakfast. She spent the day "in great agony" and, about sunset, she died. The editor of the county newspaper took a dim view of this "inconsiderate conduct," and the Reverend Mr. Bascom denounced her at the Converse execution as "an unclean and whorish woman [who] was led on by this abominable wickedness, to murder herself: deliberately, designedly, without hope of any mercy; and without desiring the good wishes or prayers of any friend whatever." Not even the Reverend Mr. Bascom.

It is hard to read the old sermons today without suspecting that men like the Reverend Mr. Bascom were more concerned with their own authority than with God's. Always they warned women to be docile and obedient. At the executions of women convicted of infanticide, the ministers harangued women about "uncleanness"; but they also warned them against the sins of lying, secrecy, anger, disobedience, hypocrisy, sullen discontent, idleness, and "gadding about" with other women. In a political context, these "sins" amount to resistance, rebellion, subversion, sabotage, coalition, and conspiracy. No wonder the preachers thundered: "The Apostle wou'd have the young women taught to be sober, discreet, Chast, Keepers at home, that the word of God be not blasphemed. . . ."

But women apparently were not keepers at home, for during the eighteenth century bastardy became such a common offense that penalties against it had to be reduced. In 1747 Benjamin Franklin's marvelous fictitious creation, Miss Polly Baker, prosecuted for bearing a fifth bastard, argued that she had done her civic duty in adding "to the king's subjects" and should have a statue erected in her honor. Franklin's satiric essay is a serious argument for distinguishing "sin" from "crime." By 1780 the Marquis de Chastellux could relate straightforwardly the story of a "deceived" Miss Dorrance in Voluntown, Connecticut, being well cared for by her family. And George Grieve, Chastellux's translator, who also had met the family, advised English readers that in America such a young woman was "pitied rather than blamed" and could "still retain all her rights in society and become a legitimate spouse and mother, though her adventure be neither unknown nor even dissimulated."

Court dockets were crowded with bastardy cases. At the Court of General Sessions of the Peace held at Springfield, Massachusetts, in May 1785, Mary Howard, a "singlewoman," appeared and "voluntarily confesse[d] herself to have been guilty of the Crime of Fornication, and that she . . . had a Female Bastard Child born of her Body on the twentieth day of January last past. . . ." Mary Howard was followed by six other women. Each made a similar confession. Each was fined six shillings and charged three shillings for costs—a little more than a week's wages for a skilled spinster. A woman who accepted her child and her shame could be rehabilitated, but a woman who took matters into her own hands could not. In the same month, the Superior Court meeting nearby at Northampton sentenced Hannah Piggin to die for concealing the death of her bastard child. It was almost as though women who committed infanticide were punished not so much for killing but for trying to put one over on the authorities.

-Ann Jones, Women Who Kill