#shear success

[bittershins]

things i never expected to have strong opinions about going into college: ponds

[shiongenkai]

Jabberwock's B's-Log Pages!

Sorry for the horrifically blurry text. It's the best I can do, but feel free to ask for something zoomed in. I can easily provide!

Rough TL of what I considered important text under the cut.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional TLer, and this hasn't been proofread by another. I prioritized speed and therefore may have made mistakes. If you see them, please let me know. This is meant to be a very quick TL so people can have a rough idea of what to expect! TL notes are included on certain lines.

EDIT: I totally forgot to add like, a full two sentences. Those are there now. Im so sorry.

Main Story Summary: The members of Jabberwock, struggling to stay out of the red, head to a mission at the 'Father Farm' in order to make some cash! The farm has a labour shortage following each of its staff members quitting in succession. Furthermore, every retiree mentions the existence of a strange 'cat'. Even Ren, who usually hates troublesome work, agrees to go along, assuming it'll be easier than taking care of the anomalous animals. However... 'Father Farm' is a parody of a real life amusement park thing called 'Mother Park'. You get to do fun farm things like sheep shearing, racing pigs, a duckling procession, etc.

- Little Haru Image: "The heck happened to you guys?! When did you get so gigantic?!" Haru is so hard to translate I am Not up to date on my kansai…

-

Outfit Blurb: The Jabberwock members go on an undercover investigation! Here's a sneak peek at their super cute and colourful outfits! The actual outfit notes aren't that interesting, so I didn't translate them

-

Haru Sheep Blurb: The bright and cheerful voice of the announcer echos across the park, attracting visitors towards it. The MC is in charge of the capybara, Towa in charge of the sheep, and Ren in charge of the ducks! But their peaceful time quickly disappears as the fence containing the ducks breaks, leading to them escape....?!

Image Dialogue: "Welcome in, don't be shy! C'mon, everybody! Come on in, see the bang for your buck!"

-

Haru On Knees Blurb: At the farm, the temporary staff's main tasks obviously include taking care of the animals, but they also include helping to organise the events and shows! Due to that, the uniforms are cute work clothes that take after various animals. I honestly can't tell if their animal characteristics are fake or not… maybe they're anomalous? Shrugs.

Image Dialogue: "What the hell are these outfits…" (Ren, probably)

"R-Ren and Towa too huh? You look great in those matching outfits!" (Haru) I split this into two sentences because I think he's doing two thoughts… otherwise, it's 'Y-You guys look great in those matching outfits!' or something like that

"～～、～～……." (Towa)

- Towa Image: "Hehe~. Since Dandelion looks pretty, I'll protect her~."

[fantasticstoryteller]

Maddie hummed a familiar lullaby as her scalpel moved with precision. She made the incision, opening the torso in front of her. Jack waited with the bone shears until the rib cage was visible. Then he carefully snapped each rib, the body on the table jolting with each movement despite the straps holding it down.

Images danced in her head as Jack pried the rib cage apart while she worked. In her mind's eye she could see Danny. She remembered when he was about three and obsessed with giving her flowers. His favorite flowers to give her had bees napping in them. It was so cute.

There. Anomaly one. She carefully removed it from the body in front of her and Jack solemnly held out a biohazard bin for her to put it in. She didn't know how many more to go, so she got back to work.

She remembered when Danny was first starting school. He'd been so excited to meet all the other children. He'd told wild stories about he and his friends would go on all these crazy adventures, and hunt ghosts just like his parents. She still remembered the gleam in his eyes as he proudly said he was gonna grow up to be just like them.

There. Two more Anomalies. How many were there? How many did she have to--no. Speculation was useless. She continued to hum the lullaby.

Danny had been so excited when she and Jack had finally scraped enough money together to send him to a NASA sponsored space camp. He'd come back with the stars in his eyes and a new goal: to become an astronaut. While she and Jack had been slightly saddened to see that he no longer wanted to be just like them, they'd been supportive.

There. Another--dear God, this one had broken. "Jack," she whispered, voice tight.

"Got it," he said, his voice unusually grim.

She barely bit back a hysterical laugh. Of course he was grim. Of course he was worried. Who wouldn't be in these circumstances? She double checked the restraints of the motionless body on the table.

Jack returned with a small vacuum, and she used it to get all of the Anomaly. She knew that she couldn't leave any trace of it.

Danny hadn't had as much success--on paper--in high school as he'd had previously. But he had his two best friends, and she knew they got up to mischief together. Typical teen shenanigans, as her grandmother would say. Always running, always on the move. Always--always the best.

"What are you guys doing?"

Maddie glanced behind her at the entrance to the lab and saw Jazz staring at them in horror. Hands brought to her mouth. Jack moved to stop her as she rushed towards them.

Maddie couldn't blame her daughter, but bent back to her work as Jack tried to explain what had happened. She couldn't leave any of the Anomalies in the body in front of her. She also knew that Jazz would stop her in a moment. Jazz would do anything to protect her brother, and Maddie took pride in that. She'd raised her children well.

There. Last Anomaly. She dropped it to the floor, heedless of the way the glass container broke. "Jack!" she yelled as she slammed the rib cage back together and began to staple the incision.

"Got it!" he broke away from Jazz, grabbed the emergency box, and slammed the syringe into Danny's thigh as Maddie released the restraints.

"Quickly!" Maddie ordered as her daughter came closer. Jazz, sweet Jazz, she was not ready for this.

None of them were.

She grabbed Danny's still (too still, too lifeless, had they made it in time?) body and heaved it towards Jazz. "Get him to Frostbite!" Jazz stared at her mother in disbelief. "Now!" Jazz's mouth set in a grim line and she hauled the body towards the portal. Not a moment's hesitation before she went through it.

Good. Maddie turned to see Jack on the floor, holding one of the broken bullets, fine red powder sifting around his hand. "They're getting smarter," he said, voice soft.

Maddie nodded. Then the enormity of what she'd had to do hit her and she collapsed onto her husband. She sobbed as her mind, her treacherous, torturous mind, replayed her own hands cutting, cutting, cutting into her son. She'd had to do it. The Blood Blossom bullets would have killed him if she hadn't, and even then--

No. Jazz would make it. Danny would survive.

They couldn't do anything else.

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Sheep

Debut: Super Mario Odyssey

Wow! Sheep, from Super Mario Odyssey! Sheep are such an extremely iconic animal, it's hard to believe they were invented by this game in 2017! The success of Super Mario Odyssey has gaslit us into believing that sheep were even one of the very first animals to be domesticated by humans. That just shows the massive impact Super Mario has on society!

Sheep in Mario's world weren't domesticated by humans, they were domesticated by skeletons! They are first seen in Tostarena, under the ownership of a Tostarenan farmer, and every last one of them wears a sombrero. These sheep are tired of their wool being used to make clothing for other entities. They decided THEY could wear something stylish yet practical, too! And they did it. Now they can graze in the desert without having to worry about sun in their faces! I don't know what they are grazing on, but they can do it safely, so don't worry about it!

Or ARE they wearing sombreros? They wear them regardless of region, and no matter how much the sheep get knocked around, their hats remain firmly affixed! Maybe... they are not hats at all! Perhaps these sheep have been selectively bred for bizarre horn shapes, resulting in a sombrero-shaped mass of keratin that naturally shields their eyes from the sun! Which is then decorated to look nice.

I don't mean to be rude to any fake pretend people in this fake pretend world in this videos game, but I don't think any of them are very good sheep owners. Every single sheep owner in this game, no matter the kingdom, has lost all of their sheep and needs Mario's help to herd them back! You would think sheep owners would be better at that, but I guess not. Maybe it's because they keep their sheep in shallow depressions in the ground with no fence to speak of. I personally would not do that.

These sheep seem to be based on the Suffolk breed, which is the most generic cartoon looking sheep there is, pretty much! I think there is such a charm in a real animal looking like the generic cartoon image. If you are in the northern hemisphere, it is currently Sheep Shearing Season! If you are able, I recommend going to see some shearing happen! It's funny. They get sat down on their butt like a person. Hee hee!

[alizayildiz]

Kenan Yildiz Preferences {Dad, Dad to be, Husband}

✮ dad to be Kenan, who carries everything while you're pregnant, not that he didn't when you were not. But not he's just super extra careful.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who seventy hopes that the two of you are having a son so that he can teach him how to play football and how to treat woman right.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who buys the most expensive baby equipment, everything that you child could possibly need.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who thinks of names almost every dad.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who started putting away dangerous things around the Mansion, like knifes, before the baby even arrived.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who immediately called his best friends Arda and Can to tell them the news that the two of you are having a baby together.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who trains even harder than he already does. In mission to achieve way more success and money than he already has. So the three of you can continue living this glorious lifestyle.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who demands that guy stop going to work after you've had the baby and while you're pregnant these nine months. Due to the fact that he knows too much stress is not good for pregnant women.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who got more protective of you the second you told him that you're pregnant.

✮ dad to be Kenan, who bought books for couples that are expecting their first child to be better informed when the baby arrives.

✮husband Kenan, who threw the biggest wedding party. Letting you spend as much money as you want to. Main thing for him is that he gets to call you his wife.

✮ husband Kenan, who booked three whole months of Honeymoon. All over different places in the world. Booked in the best hotels, with tourist activities yk do while you're there.

✮ husband Kenan, who never takes off his wedding ring, even during matches he wears it. Sometimes getting confronted about it with the referee that guides the game.

✮ husband Kenan, who loves being married to you more then anything else is his life.

✮ husband Kenan, who just looks forward to come home to you after training, his wife, and cuddle with you taking in your scent.

✮ husband Kenan, who always reaches out for you hand, holding it and playing with the big rock on your finger, your wedding ring, whenever he's nervous.

✮ husband Kenan, who supports every single decision of you, being the most gentle men you've ever met.

✮ husband Kenan, who looses his temper way to fast when someone is being disrespectful towards his wife in the slightest way possible.

✮ husband Kenan, who buys you fresh flowers every single week, for years now, never letting it slip. And he also plans dates night every two weeks. He wants to keep the marriage of you two active. Not like other couples who give up on each other easily after being married for just a year.

✮husband Kenan, who financially supports and covers everything by himself. He's a huge gentleman and thinks no woman ever should have to pay for anything.

✮ dad Kenan, who was the first person to home y'all's baby. Shearing tears as he got a look at the beautiful face of the baby.

"Thank you for blessing me with such a beautiful baby" was the first thing he said after you gave birth.

✮ das Kenan, who let's you sleep from night to morning. Taking care of the baby himself, he knows how tired you are so he wants to make sure you rest. It doesn't matter if he's tired too, you and the baby are his priority.

"Shhhh, you're going to wake up your beautiful mommy, everything's alright, daddy's here"

✮ dad Kenan, who takes your kid as often so training or to matches as he can. He wants to have his family with him before, during and after the game.

✮ dad Kenan, who buys every toy in store that your child touches or even looks long at.

"What am I gonna do with my money if I don't spend it on our kid ?"

✮ dad Kenan, who calls you and the baby over FaceTime every single morning and night when he has to be away for important matches.

✮ dad Kenan, who thought your son how to play football at an early age. Also how to treat a woman right.

"Look mommy they're for you" your son said happily, holding a bouquet of flowers ins his petite hands.

✮ dad Kenan, who gets on father mode as soon as he sees a boy having interest in you daughter. Teaching her all about their lies and how to manipulate them.

"So if he tells you that he's not looking for anything serious, he mean that he's not looking for anything serious WITH YOU, he's still going to mess around with other woman. So she best thing you're going to do is cut off ties with him".

✮ dad Kenan, who learned to be patient on a whole different level since being a father.

✮ dad Kenan, who turns into a literal lawyer when someone is having a problem with your child, or when they're accusing them of something. In the end you child stays untouchable due to Kenan.

[metamorphesque]

Accept and forget difference or desire that separates and leaves us longing or repelled. Why briefly return to play in broken places, to mock the ground, to collect infant shards, coins, fossils, or the familiar empty canisters and casings that glint from poisoned roots in the blackened dust? We make bad ghosts, and are last to know or believe we too will fade, just as our acrid smoke and those strange flakes of skin and strands of hair will, into largely undocumented extinction. Lie down, lie down; sleep is the best thing for being awake. Do as we’ve always been told and done, no backward glances or second thoughts, leaving sad markers buried in the sand. Sleep now, dream of children with their heads still on, of grandmothers unburdening clotheslines at twilight, of full kettles slow-ticking over twig embers. Ignore boneless, nameless victims that venture out on bitter gravel to claim remains while we rest. Pay at the window for re-heated, prejudiced incantations. Take them home and enjoy with wide-screen, half-digested, replayed previews of solemn national celebration. Then sleep, by all means; we’ll need all the energy we can muster for compiling this generation’s abridged anthology of official war stories, highlights of heedless slaughter, to burnish our long and proud imperial tradition. At some point, by virtue of accidentally seeing and listening, we may find ourselves participating in our own rendering. Few of our prey will be left alive enough to water the sun with their modest, time-rubbed repetitions, to rephrase their particular, unifying laws. Our version of events has already made its money back in foreign distribution and pre-sales; all victory deadlines must be met. It can get so quiet, with or without the dead watching our constant deployments. From our tilted promontory we may see one last woman scuffle away across cracked parchment of dry wash beneath us, muttering to herself—or is she singing at us? —as she rounds the sheared granite face and disappears into a grove of spindly, trembling tamarisk shadows lining the main road. We’ll soon hear little other than our breathing, as shale cools and bats rise to feed, taking over from sated swallows. Night anywhere is home, darkness a cue for turning inward, quiet an invitation to review our expensive successes before morning extraction from the twin rivers of our common cradle.

"Back to Babylon", Viggo Mortensen

[sparklingself]

𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧

do you know yourself? do you know your imagination? the most important job for you is to learn to know your imagination. how can you do that? by spending time in it, by observing, by testing.

there are some fundamental questions you must ask yourself if you want to apply the law in a successful way.

does imagination actually create reality?

is imagination enough to fulfill my goals?

can i honestly imagine something i desire and it comes to pass in this world?

etc.

i will answer yes to all of these. but will you? how do you know for sure if you don't test it? the only reason i follow the law is because i have empirical proof it works. i've proved to myself that my imagination creates and i do not need to raise a finger in order for it come about.

the law is all about inner-work. no matter how many blog posts you read or how many of neville's lectures you listen to, the thing that matters the most is that you learn to be within yourself. that's how you master the law.

"Now we will go back to the 2nd of Genesis. It is said "And God placed man in the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it." Now when you read the story you think it happened thousands of years ago. I have come to tell you it is now. You are now in the garden of Eden and you think you are shut out or banished. You are in it, and the garden is your mind, but you need--like every gardener--you need pruning shears. For you have slept, as you are told in that second chapter; having slept, weeds have appeared in the garden and the weeds are revealing themselves by the conditions and the circumstances of life. For your garden is always projecting itself on the screen of space, and you can see by looking carefully at your world what you allow to grow in the garden of God. But you have a mission, you have a purpose, it is not to amass a fortune--you can do it if you want to--it's not to be famous, it is not to be some mighty power, but simply to tend the garden of God. That's your purpose. You are placed in the garden to dress it and to keep it, that only the lovely things grow in the garden of God ." - Neville

you need to learn to tend to your garden. every day you need to water the plants and pull out the weeds in order to keep it flourishing. so create a routine, create habits that let you explore your inner-world. that could be journalling, meditating, etc.

edward art proposed a ritual in one of his posts you may want to implement: every day in front of the mirror when you get dressed be aware of your thoughts. are you feeling and thinking the thoughts you desire or are you self-sabotaging? make your thoughts lovely and feel the love.

little rituals like this really make a difference. curate something for yourself that fits into your day. it doesn't have to take a lot of time and energy. it just needs to be enough to keep you focused. the point of these rituals and routines is for you to meet your objective in your mind. all things are possible to the imagination and it will rearrange the outside for you.

[oristian]

I truly believe that the fundamental importance of a mating bond has become misconstrued across the fanbase. A mating bond is a soul connection, something more profound and more integral to self than a simple relationship—a reflection of one’s inner being onto another person. Fae would spend their entire existence searching for their other half, as there is nothing leveled higher than a mating bond in regard to love and relationships within that culture.

Elain and Lucien were chosen by the Mother to be mates for a reason, and I am inclined to believe that their book will document the intricacies and nuances of a mating bond that the reader has been kept from knowing beforehand. A connection between souls that allows the other to feel emotions, to fundamentally understand their partner, and to know that half of them exists within their world.

A mating bond is not a simple string of fate that can be sheared and disregarded. Simply speaking, a mating bond never disappears, not even upon rejection. Not only will the two individuals be tethered to one another for the rest of their existence, but they will both suffer greatly from any impact to the other. If one were to be injured, the other would feel such. If one experienced great emotion, the other would feel such. If one were to die, the other would feel as if half of their being had perished, as well. The bond is a soul tie; a link between two individuals. A rejection simply allows the bond to simmer and dim, but never leave.

There is something so hauntingly romantic about a mating bond. Two distinct souls handpicked by the higher position of power, the most holy and sacred source of religion, to find one another and to live out their long lifetimes together. Two souls meant to sing to one another—a song that only can be heard between them. Certainly, there are matches that simply do not work and not every mating bond will bring about success in a relationship. However, according to what is known from canon, those very rare instances stem down to abusive partners, power hungry reaches, and previous engagements/marriages to other fae. Elain and Lucien have nothing of the sort against them.

Elain and Lucien are the most well-matched and compatible mated pair across the entire catalogue of SJM’s work. Down to the very bones of their personalities, they are so incredibly similar. The awkwardness between them currently is intentional, as a means to set tension up for their book. To find solace and healing in an individual picked just for you? There is simply nothing more romantic than that. Elain and Lucien are it for one another, as the books have foreshadowed.

[deepdreamnights]

Hey there, saw your post re: harassment around artists using gen ai and thought it was great esp with the debunking of data usage myths. Would you share your thoughts regarding concerns that models are being trained to copy specific art styles and thus pose a direct threat to the artists whose art styles are being used?

Well, there's several levels to that.

The main one is that on copyright grounds, styles are explicitly non-copyrightable. Moreover:

No one's style is unique

No one's style is unimitatable by analogue means.

The second point is important, because anyone can go on Fiverr right now and and find someone to replicate any given art style, and every competent draftsperson has to be able to do it to some degree or another. No major animation house, art studio, or comic company has ever hired someone because they couldn't find someone else that could imitate the surface-level aspects of their style.

The first point is just a matter of basic reality. Ex-nihlo creativity either doesn't exist or is so rare as to be a once-in-an-epoch thing. Everyone builds on the influences that they learn from, and if you think someone has a unique style what they really have is a different media diet than you.

For example, Don Bluth. Born 1937, aged 15 in 1952.

Same year Time released this this picture of Burlesque Performer Dale Strong.

Someone made an impression.

Marilyn Monroe was also a national sex symbol when Bluth was a teen, putting some context to most of his other ladies, but especially Goldie Pheasant (or maybe she's more Jayne Mansfield, hard to tell through the bird-ness). His art style has obvious roots with Tex Avery and I would guess he read Mad Magazine a lot as a kid.

And Not to hang the guy out to dry alone, I was a teenager in the 1990s, and most of my sexy fictional ladies are 9/10 some combination of Dana Scully, Peg Bundy, and Rhonda Shear.

The point being that style isn't something you create intentionally so much as an accumulation of influences, drawn from the commons. Attempting to claim ownership of such a thing is by itself an act of theft in my view, and allowing them to be protected under the law would mean a judge being shown exactly how many pieces of prior art the Walt Disney Corporation owns that your work superficially resembles. Why, they'll even run it through a style recognizing AI to make sure they catch them all.

But let's talk about style matching.

It just takes one image now, and doesn't require training.

Which I'm sure sounds frightening, but this has been the situation since February for Midjourney, and it was available in the Stable Diffusion ecosystem long before that. If the threat were as pronounced as feared, we'd have seen the impact by now. And we haven't, and we're unlikely to, for several reasons, several of them listed above.

The largest is that style isn't even close to the be all/end all of what an artist brings to a given project. And the kinds of execs who are making a 'replace 'em with a robot' kinda decision aren't the kinds of people who care about art style beyond how much it looks like the most recent successful thing. And nobody's ever needed a robot to ride coattails.

But the next largest part is that AI style imitations aren't really accurate because the robot doesn't see style in the same way we do. It's all just math to the robot, and it prioritizes what it notices, not what we do.

I'll demonstrate.

Jack Kirby will be my example, for several reasons.

He has a bold and identifiable style, he's arguably the most famous artist in western comics history, and he has many analogue imitators and homagers.

Using Midjourney and prompting "an illustration of dana scully by jack kirby, 1968, in the style of 1960s marvel comics --ar 3:4 --s 15"

Using the base model, on the first roll we get three complete style mismatches and one that's kinda close, though I'd say that's way more Sal Buscema or John Byrne.

Kirby's women had a certain, difficult to describe oddness about their faces that the robot doesn't seem to grok, and it doesn't touch on the kinds of wild patterns and bold black/white swatches that make Jack's work feel 'jack'.

Tom Scioli's take on Kirby is a sort of lovingly flanderized parody, but it captures the spirit of Jack's art much more directly even if a lot of individual details aren't period-accurate. He draws Kirby the way you remember Kirby from your childhood, but I don't question whether the page above is trying to be a Jack Kirby homage or one to Sal Buscema.

But Midjourney has style reference, so we can inject the Kirby right in. Using the picture of Sersei dancing from above with the same prompt, we get:

Well, the work is more convincingly period, but again, we're not terribly close to being on-point. In fact, they're not very consistent between each other. Top left is any 80s marvel fill-in artist. Top right is maybe Kirby-esq. Bottom Left is flat out Jim Lee, bottom right is very Byrne-y.

Using three reference images to give the best shot, I'm also moving to using images of a similar color style, and all with a woman as the central focus. I have included the infamous Crystal pin-up shot because as I said, Kirby women have a certain oddness to them (fondly).

Results (MJ 6.1 on the left, Niji 6 on the right):

It all says 60s-70s Marvel, but I don't think Kirby would be the first guess for any of them. Maaaaaaybe the lower-left Dana in image #2 if you squint.

And that's Jack Kirby. Massively popular and prolific with a career spanning decades. If anyone in the comics space should be impersonatable by this thing, its him.

I'm sure you could train a LORA to get closer, and sure, the tech is only going to get better from here, but by the nature of how the system works no generation pulls just from what is referenced. Every generation is both blended with other concepts and emphasizes only what the machine catalogs as relevant, not what we might.

There's not much to stop someone from imitating your style with a machine, but there was nothing stopping them from doing the same with an underpaid freelancer. The results are likely to miss the mark regardless.

If the client wants you, they'll try and get you. If they just want something kinda like you, they've always had an avenue to that.

Fortunately, you're more than your style, and whatever anyone can do with the machine, you can do better because you've got access to both.

[bonefall]

Hi! How would you draw a tool-evolved cat paw?

Aeons ago I wrote some speculative biology thoughts on what a tool-focused cat would begin to look like, and mentioned the way that a caw's paw might evolve. I can try to draw it out as a sketch; but fair warning that I put my art style points into cartoony anime stuff SO you're not gonna get a realistic drawing lmao

Evolution doesn't "think." It's many changes over generations that snowball into bigger ones. So I tried to look at WHAT exactly is happening between an animal with less sophisticated tool use (chimp) and one that COMPLETELY relies on tools (human) to predict where the cat's paw would end up in a few thousand generations.

Please note! My paw would still be a "link" between the ancestor, and something even more reliant on tool use. This proposed species would still be 100% capable of doing what the cats in-canon do, like hunt alone. It's for a feline species that is tool-ADAPTED, not tool-RELIANT.

(In that way, it's more comparable to, say, a lemur and a chimp. But lemur palm refs were hard to find and I did this quick because I've already thought about it.)

This paw would exist in-tandem with a "tool tooth;" A V-shaped gap in the jawline that a single fang would nestle into. Early tool-using felines would likely use their mouth to "break" or "shear" their crafts, leading to broken teeth that would make them less successful. So there would be a lot of evolutionary pressure to have better, stronger teeth.

Evolution doesn't do "one thing at a time," so if you happened to port yourself into a group of these cats and watch them craft stuff, you'd see them using their mouths as well as their paws!

Finger Size + Tool Claw

When you see real cats batting stuff around and manipulating things, and when you look at canon where they like to "hook things on a claw," it's usually the index "finger" they favor. In fact, they do a LOT of "poking," even when a cat bats at something they seem to mostly explore with the tip of their paw.

So I figure that would actually be a big difference between this species and humans.

Unlike us, who usually have our middle finger as the longest (though there are exceptions) so we can "stabilize" the things we grab, I'd give these guys a "Tool Claw" which is not involved in grappling at all. It's longer, more deeply grooved, but also more fragile than the "hunting" claws.

When at rest, the Tool Claw would stick out from the rest of the foot, straight upwards. The fur is able to "sheathe" the other three, but the index's would be too long to be fully hidden.

Because one of those fingers is now mostly taken out of combat, the pinkie would probably thicken up to compensate. Another difference from the human hand. I can imagine that if the trend continues, they might end up supporting their full frontal weight on the pinkie pad to free up the other fingers for tool use.

(But evolution's not always predictable! They might end up becoming more "back heavy" like raccoons, or rely on the invention of shoe/gloves, or just abandon silent hunting all together to become tool-reliant.)

Paw Pad Changes

Cats use the pads on their paws to move silently. As long as the species is relying on silently stalking prey, they will need to have these pads in contact with the ground to be good hunters.

So instead of the digital pads sliding down to create the "top" of the palm, I figured the metacarpal pad would split in two. So now there's a snug, dipped "shape" with which they could nestle an object into as they work with it, but also there is ALWAYS still pad in contact with the ground.

The amount of fur in-between the bottom (metacarpal) and top (supercarpal) pads probably just depends on culture and genetics. It wouldn't really have enough of an impact on the paw to be selected for to be furry or hairless.

I can imagine some groups being weird about it and thinking it should be shaved or braided or something, lmao. Or cats who live in muddy environments clipping it for hygiene reasons.

[freshdickies]

This is INCREDIBLY self-indulgent Meronia art, drawn at the end of 2024, based on a particular AU!Mello and AU!Near that my friend and I played together in a panfandom supernatural survivor horror LJ RP back in 2009. TWO THOUSAND AND NINE-!!!

Anyway, peek under the cut for a hella long explanation of these two and their whole business:

AU!Mello's original world setting is as follows: A basic Canon Divergence situation. In his universe, L defeated Kira by writing his own name in the Death Note, & during the days he had left to live, L sent word back to England that he wanted Mello & Near to succeed him together, as a pair. While Mello wanted to respect L's decree, he was still too psychosexually hostile towards Near to accept that, & he therefore elected to split L's inheritance, taking up his Erald Coil alias so that he could defeat L-Near by becoming the World's Greatest Detective on his own terms. By the point on his timeline where he was 'extracted' for the panfandom RP, Erald-Mello is 22 years old, & years of working as a detective has calmed & seasoned him into a shrewd, pragmatic, responsible person. Further, getting betrayed by a subordinate & blowing himself up to escape from an undercover situation involving the LA Mafia has both given him his iconic scar, & a renewed desperation & thirst for proving himself as the Best.

AU!Near's original setting is as follows: Plain & simple. He came from a world where L & the succession system had never existed, & as such, he was just a brilliant orphan whose potential was squandered in the foster care system. He was spawned into the RP as a quiet, isolated 16 year old orphan.

After being brought to Nihil [the panfandom RP setting] & meeting/hearing about the alternate realities that his peers came from, AU!Near quickly became fascinated with the fact that every other version of Near or Mello was so brilliant & driven, whereas his world seemed to have given him & HIS Mello back home no purpose. At first, he became resigned to this, & chose to sleepily dissociate from the high-stakes survival situation they had all ended up in. However, my Mello - driven, responsible, a bit egotistical - had taken it upon himself to lead & look after the other people stuck in the survival horror setting, & took a special interest in this frustratingly resigned, helpless Near. Mello was both annoyed with Near for being so useless in the situation, & like... oddly fixated, from very early on. He KNEW Near could be better than this. He respected Near, after all, & alternate universe or not, Near is brilliant. In a way, he felt driven to 'fix' this directionless & squandered Near by pushing him to think, to act, even to collaborate. With all this extremely personal pushing, Near's interest was piqued, & he became infatuated with my Erald-Mello in what would eventually become a kind of yandere way, where if Mello really thought that he had it in him, he wanted to become HIS Near & to earn his respect & hatred as a rival.

Key to their dynamic by the end [where this image is set, after they've broken free of Nihil & ended up in Mello's universe together] is that Mello is still a hornet's nest of conflicting emotions about all of the fucked-up things that have happened between them [Near killing himself to save him, Mello resurrecting Near in a gory ritual where he had to crack open his ribcage with garden shears & his bare hands, the two of them sharing a single pulse after that, Near killing them both in a deliberate bid to break them out of Nihil- a LOT lot lot], & the fact that he was ultimately circuitously seduced by teenager who is a doppelganger of his lifelong nemesis. But the thing is, he's been through hell with this Near, & ultimately chosen to accept his twisted, relentless love as something that he actually desires- something at first thrust upon him, that he now wants to hoard for himself with all of the grim determination of a man who's finally willing to admit that they've twisted & bent themselves into corresponding shapes that have no choice but to fit together. Meanwhile, Near is taking the biggest victory lap of his life & is comfortably smug about it, because after developing a quiet but intense complex about being the least impressive Near, practically unworthy of sharing their name or face, to his mind he has now become the BEST Near, because he is now the chosen rival & PARTNER of a Mello who is, again to his mind, the best & most impressive Mello.

[simpingforbots]

Stargazing

Being Optimus specialist in guns was not an easy task as it seemed. Especialy on Earth now. Prime was addiment on not shearing weaponry system with humans and Ironhide sort of understood why, he’ve seen their cruel nature first hand and Bee was victim once, yet he watched in owe as Lenox changed completely when he was with his family. Instead of leader of elite group of N.E.S.T. he was a father who loved his little offspring and his wife. And time to time such abrupt change in personality really made him question gust how he saw humans. So he started driving around during night, al while still looking for signs of decepticon, parking in some heavily populated area and just people watch. Their life was constantly buissy, streets boiling with life. Group of youngling going in to another night club, some people heading home after long shift, some going in to cafe to catch up with their families or their friends, making him forget completely that they were cruel. Sometimes he would also watch Sam and Bee, seeing them interact time to time and he would get this strange filling, making his snort and roll his opticks before walking away.

Well now he knows it was jealousy.

It al started on one night, where he was just watching people when he noticed something off, a decepticon, pretending to be a taxi, just waiting on the curb. He watched from a far, not daring to move anything in his body, wondering what this scum was doing, until one of the humans get in. Scrap. Now it will get messy. The con drove off far to quick and Ironhide can see human start panicking, well with that the chase was on. The cab swerved in between the cars without a car, causing more cars to crash in to each other to get some more time to outrun Ironhide. After some time Ironhide managed to bump him of a road, sending him tumbling and transforming. The human he kidnaped was flung along, screaming all the time as they rolled down the hill. Ironhide transformed as well, running down the hill while blasting at the con trying to create some space between him and the human. The con still did his best to grab at you, which was successful when they came to a stop, wrapping his claws around you and holding up like some kind of shield, which did work as Ironhide stopped blasting, coming to a stop him self, though still holding his guns up.

“Release the human, punk” he grumbled, letting an angry huff out, ready to pull the trigger any second, stomping from one foot to another “and I may spare your life”

“We both know how soft you Autobots are with humans” the con hissed out, shaking now silent human, who was trying to push the fingers apart to free them self, kicking their legs and letting quite grunts out.

---

You just finished your shift and wanted nothing more then to go home without any incidents. The busses were off limit as you really did not wanted to wait 30 minuets for it to come and having to pray for an empty spot, going underground was out of question as it will take longer, even if it was cheaper, so you decided to take the cab home. Luckily for you there was a cab right there. Waving to the driver, who did not react at all, you opened the door, whishing them a good evening and asking if you can get in. The driver nodded, allowing you in and the engine woke up from it’s slumber. Though as you closed the door the cab suddenly sped off, which did not felt right. You were about to ask the fuck he was doing when seatbelt wrapped around turning you in to unwilling passenger in a strange chase between the cab and black truck. You screamed every time the cab swerved in between cars, trucks and busses, causing quite the raccus, regretting being so lazy and when the truck managed to hit the cab in to the hill, you were sure you gonna die tonight. What you did not expect is for the cab to suddenly let the strange noise that sounded like metal cracking open and the next second you were rolling down the hill, the world spinning in your eyes and filing like you about to hurl. When every thing stopped, you had only split second before huge metal hand wrapped around you and you were hoisted in the air and held far away from what ever was holding you and being shaken like a jake ferret, legs swinging side to side. Your heart was beating like crazy by now, realizing that you were being held hostage by a huge robot, who was a second ago was the cab, all while the other bot, black truck, was holding the hugest guns pointed at you and your captor. You did not hear what the black one said, just focusing on getting out of the grip and with ears ringing and being defend by your own heartbeat. It did not take long for the cab suddenly pull the gun out of his ass and start shooting.

Ironhide did expected that con would start shooting first and he had to take cover, quickly thinking though his next step. He need to get the human out of decepticon’s hands and then he will add more holes in to his torso. Which will not be easy but if he don’t do anything now who knows what is gonna happen to civilian. Cliking his guns, he ran from behind his cover, aiming at the foot of the con, making him take steps back and try no to stumble, and using this momentum, he flung his body in to the con, knocking him over and grabbed at the human. As soon as his servos were wrapped around the soft body of screaming human, he pulled back and shot quickly, ending Con’s activity once and for all. Letting a grumble, he lifted quite human up to his face, expecting them. They were a just another run of the mill human, nothing special, not any one special by the looks of it, just an unlucky human who ended up in this whole situation purely by accident. Moving them slightly to inspect for any injuries he was relived to see that non harm was done to them, so he let them go.

“You’ve seen nothing, got it”

“th. Thank you sir!” You spoke loudly as Iron hide was walking away, freezing a spot. “Thank you for saving me mister” it took a second for him to slowly turn around.

“Sure thing?” no fear? Usually humans would run screaming or just run, not thank him for saving their flashy aft. “You not scared of me?”

“You sort of saved me, right?” the human cocked their head to the side just like any animal when they see something they don’t understand “so it’s only right to thank you? What is your name?”

“Ironhide”

--

The day finished and all the autobots reported to the hangar, going in to separate rooms to recharge. Todays mission was quite quick and simple, just one decepticon and not this hard, though Prime was getting worried about how often the reports strated coming in. Ironhide did not really care, having a reason to go in blasting and let his anger out. Though he knew well that his day yet was to end, al he had to do is wait for others to go in to recharge. It took some time for the window of opportunity to open up, but when it did, Ironhide snuck out of the hanger, sneaking though and trying not to get much attention, steping over the fence and transforming, getting back on the road and driving off in to the city. It did not take to long to find you. Your apartment was facing a dark alley, with other windows closed and every one sleeping by now, allowing Ironhide to transform in to his alt mode without being noticed. Slowly standing up, he peered in to your apartment, scaning for you, which did not take to long to find in a small box of a room that you lovingly called “studio”. You were snuggled in your small bed, under blankets, with the back towards him, doom scrolling through your phone. Feeling the cogs inside him whirr with what he now knows is excitement, bot taped on the window, quickly getting your attention as you jumped up in your bed, wide eyed before calming down a bid and waved with nervous smile. Getting out, you wrapped your self in throw on blanket, shuffling towards the window and opening it up.

“Evening Ironhide” you greeted him with a soft smile and tiered voice. “how was your day?”

“Buissy as ususaly” Ironhide leaned on the wall, looking at you with his blue eyes. He liked this sort of quite interactions, though he was also looking forward to something both of you planed weeks ago “Ready for the ride?”

“uh...” you looked away, before nodding shyly “sort of. Just give me moment”.

Reaching for the windows, you closed it and put the curtains down and Ironhide smiled to him self. You both agreed to go out of town to stargaze, something that he noticed you would do time to time while walking around the town to you work. You would suddenly stop, your head up, just staring at what stars you can see. So he managed to talk you in to this. So far you were very peaceful, even shy, skittish time to time even. It did not take to long for you to come out from the back door, dressed warmly for cold desert weather of the place they were going. Taking his car mode, Ironhide opened his doors, letting you in, stifling a chuckle as you tried your best no to take to much space or even move as they drove though the city, light shifting on his armour and scenery soon changing. When they reached the spot, he transformed aorund you, keeping you in his hands. You sort of relaxed, just allowing him to do what ever. There was even one time were he just swing you softly side to side, your legs swinging about, making you feel like a ferret again, though it was nice on your spine, feeling it stretch a bit, getting this pain out of your back. Stomping further away from road, Ironhide plopped down by the rock, lening against it and you on his chassis. You sunk immideatly in to warmth, bringing legs to your chest and trying to get as much warmth as you can, letting a long sigh out. Then you finally looked up. Ironhide can see the second you drowned your self in stars, your eyes widen in wonder, pushing your self up and just staring up, breathing softly. Ironhide chuckled a bit, leaning in to the rock and brining his gaze to the sky as well, staring at the countless stars along you, wondering just what is it you were looking for in the endless night and light.

“Where is your home?” you spoke, not breaking gaze from the stars, your eyes shifting slightly

“Don’t know” Iron hide shrugged, not able to tell which one of those million stars was home, or even if it was able to be seen from earth “Not sure you can even see it from here.”

“hm... do. Do you like it here?” finally you looked at him with those big eyes “ on Erath?”

“it’s... It’s getting better” he looked up, avoididng the eyes of little human resting on his chest. It really was getting better on earth now. Especialy with you. Leaning back, he sort of lifted his hand and started running it back and up your little back.

It’s been a while since e saved you and so far he did not regret telling his name to you. You liked to listen to him and would even questions about guns he had. Though in the back of his mind he was getting worried as it’s been to long and he felt like he was stretching the band further and further, fearing that when it’s snaps back, N.E.S.T. will find out about you and would force you to stay away from him. He really did not wanted it now having another earthly friend, even if you were not of military status, just a simple human with simple life. A nice break time to time.

--after some stargazing and returning you back---

Sneaking back in to base, Ironhide could only thing about recharge and hoping no one noticed him missing. Walking by quietly and opening hangar, he slipped in, closing it slowly as to not make even the slightest of noise, though the sound of a grunt quickly  made him spin around and stare up at Prime. Judging by Optimus face, he was not to happy with him sneaking out.

“I hope that stargazing with civilian was worth it?”

“scrap”

[bronzefuryfic]

Bronze Fury

When the only child of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce is brought to King's Landing to meet with the rest of her family, she finds herself caught in a crisis of succession. The Greens battle for her support... and her affections.

Chapter Thirteen: The Sacrifice / Previous Chapter / Directory

Something is lost, things have changed, but in the end... is there something to be gained?

Rhae was vaguely aware of the King's arrival—he was heralded by shouting and furious questions, many of which Rhae herself would like to know the answer to. What happened? Where were the guards? Who did this? 

But she couldn't focus long enough to hear the answers. Aemond had now, thankfully, been given milk of the poppy to ease his pain and dull his senses. The medicine must have helped, if only a little, because Aemond had stopped his howling. He'd even managed to resist squirming in his chair, though his nails still dug into the armrest as the Maester continued his work. 

Even as she watched the Maester carefully close the gaping cut in Aemond's face, Rhae could not reconcile the stitchings with the bloody bowl in which his eye lay. They'll put it back, she thought, though she has no idea how. She couldn't stop hearing its removal.

Snip.

Rhae finally tore her eyes away, unable to bear the sight any longer. She focused her attention back on Viserys, who had taken an uncharacteristically commanding tone.

"How could you allow such a thing to happened?" The King demanded of the Kingsguard Commander, Ser Harrold Westerling. "I will have answers!"

"The princes were supposed to be abed, My King." Ser Harrold said.

Princes?

In all the chaos, Rhae hadn't realized Rhaena, Baela, Luke and Jace were battered and bleeding nearby. Thankfully, none looked nearly as bad as Aemond—the worst off seemed to be Luke, sporting a bloody nose. Had they been attacked, as well?

"Who had the watch?" Viserys asked next. Ser Criston stepped forward in answer.

"The young prince was attacked by his own cousins, Your Grace." He said, glaring daggers towards Rhaenyra's sons. Rhae felt her mouth fall agape. Her hold on Helaena tightened in surprise as she looked to Aegon to confirm he had heard as she did.

Jace and Luke... they did this?

But Aegon was still watching Aemond in horror, looking as though he were about to be sick.

"You swore oaths!" Viserys boomed. "To protect and defend my blood!"

"I'm very sorry, Your Grace." Ser Harrold said, bowing his head in shame.

But Ser Criston had none.

"The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace."

Viserys' face screwed up in anger. "That is no answer!"

For once, Rhae had to agree with him.

"It will heal." Queen Alicent managed. She was crouched beside her son, her voice choked with fear. "Will it not, Maester?"

A hush fell over the room—it seems all were as hopeful as Rhae that by some miracle Aemond's eye would find its way back to its socket. They all watched with bated breath as the Maester finished the last stitch. Using a small pair of shears, he wedged the blade on the spare thread holding Aemond's face together.

Snip.

"The flesh will heal," he said heavily. "But the eye is lost, Your Grace."

Rhae cannot help the groan that passed through her lips, the whole room echoing in defeat. The King hung his head regretfully. Aemond would spend the rest of his life a cripple.

Alicent looked wildly about the gathered crowd. Unable to face her disappointment, she searched for some other source. She looked to the Velaryons, to Viserys, and then finally settled her vengeful gaze upon Aegon. She went to him, grabbing roughly at the collar of his shirt.

"Where were you?" The Queen demanded. Rhae's heart dropped. With me, she thought, and prayed Aegon would have the sense not to bring it up now.

Aegon acted indignant. "Me?"

Alicent slapped him across the face so hard it knocked his head to the side. Helaena yelped and looked away, startled. In her shock, Rhae reached instinctively to pull Aegon away from his mother's fury. But her hand dropped just as quickly—it is not her place to intervene. And so she bit her tongue at the injustice and let her shame burn her throat, regretful that her first worry was for herself.

"Agh!" Aegon held a hand up to his cheek, which grew red from the impact. "What was that for?"

The Queen looked venomous in her contempt.

"That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool!"

Aegon looked like he may argue, until he cast half a glance towards Aemond's bloodied face and bowed his head in silent agreement. 

The sound of the door swinging open drew the attention of the room. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had finally arrived, looking furious.

"What is the meaning of this!" Lord Corlys shouted, as Princess Rhaenys swooped to Baela and Rhaena's level to check their injuries and hear their tale.

"What's happened?" 

But before either girl could respond, another door opened and Princess Rhaenyra rushed through.

"Jace?" She gasped, spotting her pair. "Luke!"

Poor Lucerys let out a sob the instant he laid eyes on his mother, clutching her hand the moment she reached his side. Before the door could shut behind her, another passed through. But it was not Rhaenyra's husband Laenor that joined them, but Daemon. He kept his distance, leaning against the far wall and gazing about the crowd, just as he had at the reception earlier that day. 

The hall suddenly began to feel too crowded.

"Who did this?" Rhaenyra demanded, trying to move Luke's hand from his face so she could study his injury. Aemond twisted in seat, shouting his answer before the others could get the chance:

"They attacked me!"

"He attacked Baela!" Jace countered, taking an angry step forward. Rhae's eyes widened in surprise—what would cause Aemond to do such a thing? It's not right. It can't be right.

"He broke Luke's nose!" Added Baela.

A broken nose? Rhae's disbelief hardened.What does that matter? Aemond has lost an eye!

But the accusations continued to flood in.

"He stole my mother's dragon!" Rhaena cried.

Vhagar. Rhae thought of the booming roar that shook the castle—had he really done it? Had Aemond claimed the Queen of All Dragons? She thought back to their time on the boat, and how he'd wondered if Vhagar was on the island. And merely an hour ago, his vow to make himself stronger. Had he been planning this the whole time?

"Enough," Viserys said, but his command lacked both conviction and an audience. The shouting continued.

"He was going to kill Jace!" Luke screamed.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Enough," Viserys tried again, but still no one listened.

"He called us—!" Jace started, but Alicent joined the fray and drowned his voice.

"It should be my son telling the tale!" She interjected furiously.

"SILENCE!" Viserys boomed. At last the fighting took pause. All eyes fell onto the King—though, just behind him, Rhae could see Rhaenyra stoop so that Jace may whisper his unshared defense. 

Viserys clacked forward on his cane until he was in front of his second son.

"Aemond," He huffed, frustration clear on his face. Rhae clenched her jaw at the injustice. "I will have the truth of what happened. Now."

"What else is there to hear?" Alicent interrupted. "Your son has been maimed," she jabbed a finger toward Lucerys, who hid his face in his mother's skirts. "And her son is responsible!"

"It was a regrettable accident," said Rhaenyra, her expression unreadable. Alicent scoffed.

"Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush— he meant to kill my son!"

"It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves!" Rhaenyra snapped, leaving Rhae more confused than before. Whatever happened, surely sweet Luke had no intent to murder. But what would Rhaenyra know? She'd only just arrived.

The Princess continued:

"Vile insults were levied against them."

Viserys looked at his daughter, uncomprehending.

"What insults?"

Rhaenyra's face turned steely.

"The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question."

Shit. Rhae thought. Aemond... he didn't...

But if Viserys knew what Rhaenyra was referring to, he does not show it.

"What?"

Blind old fool.

"He called us bastards," Jace said.

The self-satisfied smirk on Aemond's face was all the confirmation Rhae needed. It is the same look Ser Criston wore when he'd baited Harwin Strong into an attack.

"My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons." Rhaenyra pressed, her voice unwavering. "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders."

Tortured? Rhae would have never thought Princess Rhaenyra so cruel. Aemond twisted in his seat, willful as ever, demanding she say it to his bloodied face. Even Alicent, always so critical of Rhaenyra, shook her head in disbelief.

"Over an insult?" The Queen looked to the King for support and found none. "My son has lost an eye!"

But Viserys only had ears for Rhaenyra, all anger for his son's injury disappeared.

"You tell me, boy." The King bore down on Aemond. Son! Rhae wished to shout, to correct... but her throat was clamped with fear. "Where did you hear this lie?"

Alicent looked nervous now—her husband had abandoned her cause, if he could have ever been said to be a part of it.

"The insult was training yard bluster," She interjected. "The lot of boys. It was nothing."

"Aemond," Viserys continued, eyeing the boy with contempt. "I asked you a question."

"Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder?" Alicent tried again, glaring at Rhaenyra. "The boys' father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter."

This worked. Viserys looked about the room.

"Yes." He agreed. "Where is Ser Laenor?"

Now Rhaenyra looked flustered.

"I do not know, Your Grace. I..." She faltered. "I could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk."

"Entertaining his young squires, I would venture," Alicent leered.

But with no more distraction, the King turned his gaze back onto his son.

"Aemond..." He said dangerously. "Look at me."

With his remaining eye, Aemond glared up at his father.

"Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?"

For all his conviction thus far, Aemond hesitated a moment. Rhae recalled the numbing effect of poppy's milk from her own injury, and how cloudy it made her mind—it was not a condition suitable for testimony. He looked to his mother—

—And Viserys turned on her in an instant, his glare accusing. The Queen could not quite absolve her face of guilt.

But the King held his tongue of condemnation, looking back to their son to confirm of his suspicions.

But it had bought Aemond the time he needed. His eye flickered back to Viserys defiantly. 

"It was Aegon."

"Me?" Aegon asked in surprise.

But the elder had no time to recover his wits—Viserys clacked over to him, his frustration growing with each delay.

"And you, boy?" Viserys demanded. "Where did you hear such calumnies?"

Aegon's bottom lip trembled, staring into empty space as his mind no doubt raced for an answer. The King no longer seemed driven by a want for truth or justice, but a desire to see the conflict put to bed as quickly as possible—regardless of the consequences. He stamped his cane in fury.

"Aegon!" He yelled, spit flying from his tongue. "Tell me the truth of it!"

"We know, Father." He said at last. Viserys looked taken aback—we? Aegon turned to look him in the face, imploring. "Everyone knows... just look at them."

Viserys looked to Rhaenyra and her bastards, before looking wildly about the room for some other answer. Even when Aegon gave his father exactly what he asked for—the truth—it was still not enough.

"This interminable infighting must cease!" Viserys shouted. "All of you! We are family!"

Family?

The word cut through Rhae's chest but could not find its way to her heart, its edge having been dulled from years of disappointment. She looked to Daemon, still on the far side of the room, knowing with more certainty than ever that the distance would never be closed.

We are not family.

But Viserys continued, unaware his cause had been lost long ago.

"Now make your apologies and show good will to one another." He barked, clacking his way to the center of the room. "Your father, your grand sire, your—" he stamped his cane again, "—KING demands it."

The dread was suffocating. Just as the King had refused justice for Rhea Royce, he now denied his own son in favor of his preferred kin. Daemon and Rhaenyra, his real family, incapable of wrong and impervious to punishment. And if they could get away with murder and treason...

Rhae looked to each of her friends and saw the quiet comprehension creep in on them, too.

But Alicent, who had warned them all of this very outcome, could still not face her disappointment. She looked to Aemond, then back to her husband.

"That is insufficient." She argued. "Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. 'Good will' cannot make him whole."

Rhae thought of what Ser Gerold had told her of Alicent's stand at Princess Rhaenyra's wedding—arrived late, cloaked in green. A beacon of defiance against the crown. Her heart soared with admiration, witnessing it now.

"I know, Alicent." Viserys said, exasperated. "But I cannot restore his eye."

"No," Alicent agreed. "Because it has been taken."

"What would you have me do?"

"There is a debt to be paid." The Queen glared at the Princess. "I shall have one of her son's eyes in return."

The room buzzed as nobles erupted in murmurs amongst themselves—can she do that? The King looked nervously about.

"My dear wife..."

He is your son, Viserys." Alicent begged. "Your blood."

"Do not allow your temper to guide your judgment."

And what guides yours? Rhae thought. Some part of her knows that this demand is too much...

But she heard it again.

Snip.

And something inside her—somewhere deeper, and somehow stronger—cried out in agreement. Rhae found herself waiting in eager anticipation.

That's more fair, isn't it?

"If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will." Alicent declared. "Ser Criston... bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon."

"Mother!" Luke wailed. His cry was piercing, striking through the thick haze of anger and alcohol that clouded Rhae's mind. Suddenly, the fear in his tiny voice was punishment enough...

But not for the Queen.

"He can choose which eye to keep," She flared. "A privilege he did not grant my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenyra said, pushing her son behind her.

"Stay your hand," Viserys commanded Cole.

"No, you are sworn to me!" There was a gravel to Alicent's voice, fraught with emotion. It seemed she may roar as loud as Vhagar had, if she was denied yet again.

But Ser Criston could not help her.

"As your protector, my Queen."

The crisis of authority averted, the King turned once more on his wife.

"Alicent, this matter is finished. Do you understand?" The Queen did not so much as nod her head, but it seems that her silence is all that Viserys truly wanted, for he continued:

"And let it be known... anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra's son should have it removed."

He glared pointedly at Alicent, his meaning clear.

No exceptions.

He turned to leave, but Rhaenyra's insolence knew no bounds. Her response, unneeded and unasked for, dripped with salted satisfaction onto the open wound.

"Thank you, Father."

Snip.

Helaena flinched just before it happened—with the King's back turned, Alicent lunged for the Valyrian dagger at his hip, ripping it from its sheath and raising it high over her head.

"Your Grace," Ser Harrold sprung forward, shouting to his men. "Stay with the King!"

But it was not the King who was in danger—Alicent charged across the room, dagger raised, intent to take the eye herself.

Luke was one of the first to realize what was happening, his scream alerting his mother just in time.

"No!" The Princess caught Alicent by the wrist, driving her several steps back. There was more shouting as nobles rushed back and the guards rushed forward, all while the Princess and the Queen grappled for control of the blade.

Rhae could just make out Ser Harrold's voice over the commotion.

"Do not, Ser Criston!"

But Rhae had lost sight of things in the flurry of movement. Still holding Helaena tightly by the hand, Rhae pushed forward to witness the struggle. Aegon stuck close by her side, wide-eyed and pale, gripping her shoulder for support. Finally, Aemond rose from his chair to join them—standing in front. He created a barrier, however small, between them and the violence.

"Stay your hand, Cole!"

Rhae could only just make out what was happening over the tops of heads much taller than hers, but it's all she needed—Daemon's silver hair was easily distinguishable amongst the crowd. He and Ser Criston were locked in confrontation, neither able to protect the Princess or Queen.

"You've gone too far," Rhaenyra grunted.

"I?" The accusation strengthened Alicent's resolve, her grip on the dagger tightening. "What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please!"

"Alicent, let her go!" The King demanded.

It was useless—The Queen was spitting with rage.

"Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?" She lunged again, but Rhaenyra managed to hold her steady. "It's trampled under your pretty foot again!"

Ser Otto called out to his daughter:

"Release the blade, Alicent."

But the Queen was beyond reach—they had denied her justice, robbed her of dignity...

All that was left was her fury.

"And now you take my son's eye," Alicent heaved, pushing the dagger. "And to even that, you feel entitled!"

"Exhausting, wasn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness." Rhaenyra grimaced with effort, dropping her voice to a whisper so that only Alicent could hear...

"AGH!" The Queen shouted, slashing down with the dagger and slicing the Princess's forearm. Rhaenyra stumbled back, caught by Lord Corlys, as blood ran the length of her lower limb and dripped down her fingers.

Alicent breathed heavily, the blade slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.

Everyone looked to the King. But Viserys was at a loss for words.

Blood for blood... is it enough?

Aemond stepped forward in answer.

"Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange." All heads turned toward his mangled face. "I may have lost an eye... but I've gained a dragon."

Rhae felt a shiver run down her spine, remembering how Vhagar's roar shook the castle. She'd been so certain they were being attacked—and she was right, in a way. Someone had been. A dragon's call always signaled suffering.

It hadn't been the first time she'd heard it, and with a sinking feeling, Rhae realized it would not be her last.

She flexed her scarred fingers.

"This proceeding is at an end," said Viserys.

For now, Rhae thought.

All the guests were ordered back to bed at long last—no one seemed satisfied, yet everyone was relieved.

This time, Rhae went to her room quietly, and alone. Sleep did not come easily, and when it did, she was plagued by nightmares:

She sees Ser Gerold burning, but when she calls his name she bleats like a sheep. The flames billow and the smoke is suffocating. But when she thinks it will finally swallow her, she is dragged to safety by the charred remains of her left arm. It's Daemon. She tries to scream, but she can only bleat. Daemon shakes his head, amused. She tries to roar, but it is as though her vocal cords have been cut. Snip. No noise comes out now. Daemon looks disappointed.

"You should've stayed away," he tells her. She tries to roar and fails. He kisses the top of her head, but when he pulls back, his face is scaled and his eyes are narrowed into slits. Red wings unfurl from behind his back, and with a screech, Daemon slithers to the sky.

Rhae tries to roar after him. She fails.

Rhae turns around and finds that she is in the Red Keep's training yard, her bow in hand. She instinctively notches an arrow, but when she peers down its shaft, she finds Aemond on the other end. He's been chained to a post, a dozen arrows protruding from his left eye.  

Rhae drops her bow, horrified by what she's done. She runs to him, but the length of the shooting range grows with each step, until it has stretched so far she can't even see him. 

Rhae roars. It comes as a croak.

She turns back to see how far she's come, but instead finds herself inside the castle. Aegon sits on the Iron Throne.

Rhae draws closer and she sees the swords that make his seat have cut him wide. His blood spills down the throne's jagged steps and pools at her feet.

Rhae rushes to him, desperate to stop the bleeding. She tries to undo the fastenings of her cloak, but her fingers fumble with the clasp. She gives up, ripping the cloth from her neck and holding it to a gaping wound in Aegon's chest. It's only as the fabric becomes soaked does Rhae realize it's not her travel cloak, but a brides one.

Rhae roars. It comes as a strangled shriek.

It's too late—he's gone. Rhae turns heel and runs from the room and through the halls. Outside, she can hear Daemon's terrible, high-pitched call.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAARTCH!

Rhae pulls an unlit sconce and the wall in front of her swings open on hidden hinges. She prays for safety as she creeps her way through the castle walls—this isn't a passage she recognizes.

She reaches the other end and finds Helaena, staring out a window. Down below, King's Landing burns.

Rhae goes to her dearest friend, pulling her away from the destruction. Helaena's eyes are glassy and unseeing. The princess is taken by another of her spells.

"Promise?" Helaena whispers. Then her skin begins to wither and turn to dust. Within seconds, Rhae is left with nothing but the fabric of her dress. She rubs the velvet between her fingers, trying desperately to understand how this could've happened.

Gone... They're all gone...

 Rage and sorrow builds deep in Rhae's stomach, filling her insides before scorching its way up her chest. She doubles over in agony, falling to her hands and knees. Her skin bubbles and boils, until the flesh melts away to reveal glimmering bronze plating underneath. Her family's armor? Rhae tries to see through her tears, which evaporate from her face before they can slide down her cheeks. No, not armor—scales. Rhae writhes, her body unable to contain it any longer. She throws her head back as flames burn up her throat, expelling out her mouth in hot fury. 

RRRRAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGHHHHH!

...

Rhae shouted herself awake.

It was late morning, and the near-noon sun bathed the bed in warm light. But Rhae could still see stars, her head aching with the consequences of last night's binge. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her stiff, injured arm, and when her vision finally cleared, she was relieved for once to see the waxy, scarred tissue.

But relief from her nightmares were only a small reprieve, as she remembered the reality of her waking day.

Aemond...

Surely she couldn't visit him yet, nor should she—an injury such as his required a great deal of rest. But...

She was the head of her house—she did not need to wait on anyone's permission to leave her room and go see if she could visit her friend. Rhae thought of the long hours spent alone in bed during her recovery. Maybe Aemond would like the company?

There was only one way to find out. Rhae kicked herself free from her sheets and began to dress, trying not to dwell on the image of Aemond on the other side of her arrow.

Luke... he'd done it, Rhae tried to remind herself. Not me.

But this does little to assuage her guilt. If she had only spent more time with him the other night... would he have told her his plan? Could she have gone with him?

By the time Rhae climbed the stairs to the Princes' rooms, her head was still spinning—though she could not determine if it was from last night's wine or the questions rattling about her skull. She kept her eyes trained downward, focusing on each stone step, until she reached the top and found herself staring at a familiar pair of boots.

"Aegon," Rhae blinked up at him, his name catching in her throat. He looked as bad as she felt. She found herself longing to reach for him, but her hands balled into fists, swaying at her side indecisively.

Something was... different.

"You look like shit," Rhae managed, earning her the faintest of smiles.

"You're one to talk," Aegon replied, his voice hoarse. He too had his hands swaying at his side, clenching and unclenching restlessly.

Aegon bore a face of crushing defeat. Rhae recognized the look, though she'd never seen him so resolute. The King Viserys... Aegon's father... would never choose him. Not ever.

But that wasn't all.

"Rhae..." Aegon choked. She was reminded instantly of her dream, and the gaping hole in his chest. Standing in front of her, he looked just as pale. Her blood ran cold. "We... we..."

But he needn't finish—they'd seldom needed words to understand each other, anyways. He knew. And with sobering clarity, Rhae knew too.

"We tried," Rhae whispered, her eyes already brimmed with tears.

Aegon's head fell onto her shoulder as he sniffed and gulped simultaneously, barely containing a sob. Rhae's arms wrapped reflexively around him, squeezing tightly, holding him together as best she could.

Our relationship is at an end, Rhae thought hollowly. We must do our duties. The consequences of our folly... She thought of Aemond claiming Vhagar, alone. She thought of his bloodied face, and his mother's rage.

 Aemond knew, as did Queen Alicent—the stakes are bigger than our wants. We've been fools to ignore them, to gamble our safety on Rhaenyra's mercy...

She'd never have believed the Princess capable of such cruelty—it was a mistake she'd never make again. Rhae thought of the heir's words the night before, and of her demands that Aemond be 'sharply questioned'...

For the truth! For the truth Viserys will not admit, even when it is impossible to deny. He looks, but he does not see...

Rhae's fingers curled and clawed at Aegon's back, anger and sorrow causing her to dig deeper. Some part of her would rather see him torn to shreds than taken from her, just so that she may keep some scrap of him, and his love, all to herself.

But he's not mine to keep, Rhae reminded herself, burying her face into his shoulder, taking comfort in his warmth for what she knew may be her last time. But Aegon did not savor the moment as she did—his arms still hung loosely at his side. Perhaps he feared he'd be unable to let go. Aegon must be King. He must wed Helaena and claim every remnant of legitimacy Viserys will not grant him. And I...

Rhae thought of Daemon's warning—to get out of the way of what was coming. What wickedness would her father concoct for her future King and Queen? Her resolve hardened as she remembered her promise to Helaena—to always be there. No matter what. 

I must claim a dragon. I must wed Aemond and we must grow stronger, together. We must train and recover and we must be their battered shield. I will avenge my mother... and I will protect my friends from her fate.

Rhae slowly, painfully, peeled herself back to look at Aegon. His eyes were dry, though bloodshot, and his sorrow seemed to bob up and down his throat.

"I'll still be here," she said softly, her hands dropping back to her side. "You know that, don't you?"

Aegon swallowed.

"Not for me."

And without another word, he pushed past her, disappearing down the stairs from which she came.

Rhae took a long moment to steady her breathing and dry her eyes. He doesn't mean that, she tried to tell herself. For months he'd confided in her, and she in him. Their circumstances had changed, but surely all they had would not just... vanish?

She stared down the steps, wanting to descend after him. But some part of her was angry, too. After all they'd been through...

How can he say that?

Her heart ached as much as her head, and Rhae considered it might be best to throw herself back into bed and not leave for another week. At least she had the choice. It was more than could be said for...

Aemond. She'd come to see him, and she could not leave without trying. She made her way down the hall, wondering which room was his, until a door swung open and a Maester shuffled out. It was the same one who'd treated Aemond's injury. Snip.

"Come to visit the young Prince, I take it?" The Maester sighed when he spotted her. "As I told Prince Aegon, the boy should be resting."

"Is he awake?"

The Maester grumbled unhappily beneath his beard as he stepped to the side, as though to say: Just make it quick.

Since she'd last seen him, Aemond's face had bandaged and cleaned of blood. He blinked hazily as she approached the bed, but still managed to sit a little straighter as she took a seat beside his mattress.

"Oh, Aemond..." She whispered.

"Spare me your pity," he muttered, the hand closest to Rhae clenching into a fist. "I've been subjected to plenty already."

"That's not why I came," Rhae placed her scarred hand over his. "I thought you could use the company—though it sounds you've had plenty of that, too."

Aemond seemed to relax a little—Rhae knew it was not just his face that had been injured, but his pride. He had never been one to seek sympathies.

"Mother was here all night," he said. "I don't remember much..."

"That's for the best," Rhae said.

"But when I did drift awake, I could hear her weeping." Aemond continued, his brow furrowing. "And Aegon, he was the first to see me this morning. Would you believe it? He apologized."

Rhae's heart panged dully with a feeling she could not quite place.

"For what?" She asked.

"Stupid stuff," Aemond said, suddenly looking embarrassed. They sat in heavy silence, until he continued: "I don't regret doing it."

"Why should you? You've claimed Vhagar." Rhae only said it to make him feel better. She felt proud, and horrified—she always knew he was capable of claiming a dragon, and he'd never made it secret how he felt about his sister's bastards... But the consequences of his actions were steep, and she could not help but press him: "I just... wish you'd said something more. I could've been there."

"You were preoccupied," Aemond reminded her. "And beside... you would've tried to stop me."

In all her guilt for not being there, Rhae hadn't considered this. What if she had? Could she have stood by and watched Aemond risk his life, when she knew all too well what would happen if he failed?

"Maybe so," She admitted, her throat growing sore. "You're far braver than I."

The unbandaged side of Aemond's face grew pink.

"I fear it won't matter," he mumbled. "Vhagar deserves a rider that can match her in strength. I thought I could be a warrior worthy of her, but now..."

Snip.

"Just yesterday we had arrived to this island on a boat," Rhae said. "When we leave, you'll be flying. It'll take time... but you'll get better. And I'll help, in whatever way I can, okay?" Aemond's fist unfurled on the mattress, and Rhae gently turned his wrist so she may lay his palm on his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll do it together."

Aemond nodded, stifling a yawn.

"Together," he agreed drowsily.

Rhae looked to his bedside table and saw an empty cup—with her free hand, she picked it up and gave it a sniff, instantly recognizing the earthy fumes of poppy. The Maester must've given him more, just before she'd arrived.

"I should let you rest," Rhae said, rising from her chair.

"You can stay," Aemond muttered, his remaining eyelid already beginning to droop. "If you wanted..."

Rhae considered him closely—the boy... the man that may be her husband. She sat back in her seat beside his bed, his features looking especially soft as he was pulled back into slumber.

"Okay," She whispered. She rested her arm on the mattress and lay down her head, placing her hand back in his. "Okay." 

Next Chapter: Ch. 14 - Aemond 'One-Eye'

AO3 | Chapter Discussion

Thanks for reading!

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Vardzia, a Medieval Cave City in Georgia (South Caucasus), c.1150-1200 CE: Vardzia was built as a fortress/monastery, and it was accessible only through hidden passageways; it contained more than 6,000 caves, 15 chapels, 25 wine cellars, an apothecary, a forge, a bakery, farming terraces, and an irrigation system

The monastic caves at Vardzia cover an area of about 500 meters. They are carved into the cliffs along the Erusheti mountains, which are located in Javakheti (a southern province near the borders between Georgia, Turkey, and Armenia).

Vardzia was originally meant to serve as a fortress, particularly in the event of a Mongol Invasion. It was protected by defensive walls, and the cave system itself was largely concealed within the mountain (though much of it is now exposed); it also contained a secret escape tunnel and several dead-end tunnels that were designed to delay/confuse enemy forces. The cave city could only be accessed through a series of hidden passageways that began near the banks of the Mtkvari River (which runs through the valley below the cave complex). Water was supplied through an irrigation system that was connected to the river, providing the inhabitants with both drinking water and agricultural irrigation, as the site contained its own terraced farmland.

The cave complex also functioned as a monastery, with a large collection of manuscripts and relics ultimately being housed at the site.

In its prime, the complex at Vardzia was inhabited by tens of thousands of residents.

Unfortunately, most of the original structures at Vardzia were destroyed by an earthquake that struck the region in 1283 CE, just a century after its construction; the earthquake sheared away the outer layer of the cliffside, exposed many of the caves, and demolished almost two-thirds of the site. The surviving structures represent only a fraction of the cave complex that once existed at Vardzia, with only about 500 caves still intact.

When the earthquake tore through the site in 1283, much of the fortress and many of its defenses were also destroyed, and Vardzia lost most of its military/defensive purposes. Still, it continued to operate as a Georgian Orthodox monastery for several hundred years after that. It narrowly escaped the Mongol Invasions of the 1290s, but it was raided by the Persians during the 16th century; the invading forces burned many of the manuscripts, relics, and other items that were stored within the cave system, leaving permanent scorch marks along the walls of the inner chambers. The site was abandoned shortly thereafter.

Medieval portrait of Queen/King Tamar: this portrait is one of the Medieval frescoes that still decorate the inner chambers of Vardzia; Tamar was the first queen regnant to rule over Georgia, meaning that she possessed the same power/authority as a king and, as a result, some Medieval sources even refer to her as "King Tamar"

Vardzia is often associated with the reign of Queen Tamar the Great, who ruled over the Kingdom of Georgia from 1184 to 1213 CE, during a particularly successful period that is often known as the "Golden Age" of Georgian history. Queen Tamar was also recognized as the Georgian King, with Medieval sources often referring to her as King Tamar. She possessed the powers of a sovereign leader/queen regnant, and was the first female monarch to be given that title in Georgia.

The initial phases of construction at Vardzia began under the command of King George III, but most of the complex was later built at the behest of his daughter, Queen Tamar, who owned several dedicated rooms at Vardzia and frequently visited the cave city. Due to her relationship with the cave complex at Vardzia, Queen Tamar is sometimes also referred to as the "Mountain Queen."

Despite the damage that the site has sustained throughout its history, many of the caves, tunnels, frescoes, and other structures have survived. The site currently functions as a monastery once more, with Georgian monks living in various chambers throughout the cave system.

I visited Vardzia back in 2011, during my first trip to Georgia. It's an incredible site, though some of the tunnels are very narrow, very dark, and very steep, which can get a bit claustrophobic.

Sources & More Info:

Atlas Obscura: Vardzia Cave Monastery

CNN: Exploring Vardzia, Georgia's Mysterious Rock-Hewed Cave City

Lonely Planet: Vardzia

Globonaut: 5 Facts about Vardzia, Georgia's Hidden Cave City

Wander Lush: Vardzia Cave Monastery (complete visitor's guide)

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #38 – Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion

Didion is one of those canonical authors I always feel like I should already have read at some point (isn’t that what high school English class was supposed to be for). Of course this was a very vague feeling, and not attached to a single scrap of actual information about her and her work beyond the general time period and cultural milieu – so I grabbed this from the library and started it entirely blind (partially my own fault for skipping the introduction by a different and much worse author tbf). Fascinating book, artistically successful and emotionally affective, but not one I’m able to say I really found enjoyable, or even necessarily beautiful (it’s no Giovanni’s Room, to compare another bit of canonical latter-20th century high literature).

The book follows Maria Wyeth, an (increasingly former) actress in 1960s Hollywood, through her slow decline from up and coming starlet and wife of a prestigious young director to an enforced retirement as an isolated upscale sanitarium/hospital resort. Which is hardly a spoiler – the book starts at the end and jumps through the timeline freely, and in any case the whole thing feels telegraphed to the point of inevitability. Maria’s life in LA is contrasted with how she grew up in a tiny desert town in Nevada, so small it at some point stopped existing, and in the process more or less gives you the narrative of her life.

Which is as close to a plot as the book has, really. Maria and her internal monologue are the near-sole focus, and her view of the outside world and what’s happening around her basically always says more about her than the world. Watching Maria’s life falls apart really is watching a car crash in slow motion – you’re never really surprised at any point, but the shearing metal and flesh are hard to look away from.

The book’s very much capital-l Literature, here meaning that the style and prose is at least half the reason to read the book. The story’s told through short vignettes (I’m not sure a singe chapter was more than ten pages, whereas the vast majority were two or three) and the deliberate, generous use of white space, both figurative and literal. Maria is pretty relentless in her self-deception and lack of self-awareness, and in any case is quiet elusive and vague with descriptions of people and events – reading between the lines is quite necessary. This overall really does work for me - the imagery is vivid and memorable, and Maria’s head is a compelling and believable place to be.

It’s also just intolerable. I have no particular issue with deeply unsympathetic, tragically unselfaware, or wince-inducingly self-destructive characters, but Maria sure is all three of those to a degree I rarely see. More than that, she is just profoundly passive. It is, for me at least, far easier to be invested in operatic delusion and hubris leading to ruination than a just resolutely thoughtless and pettily cruel person letting her life rot around her. Which is a failure of literary empathy on my part, probably, but did make this a somewhat frustrating book to read. You’re left want to scream at Maria to just do something (anything!) that she isn’t led to by people around her like an ornery goat to water.

This is probably exacerbated by the supporting cast. Who are all very much portrayed as hopeless, clueless gamblers and unprincipled, hypocritical Hollywood decadents,, absolutely – but despite that, keep trying to reach out and offer her lifelines or support. Which is mostly surprising because she might literally not say a single kind word to another human being in the entire book, is relentlessly caustic in her internal monologue, and sure isn’t doing favours or advancing the career of anybody. The real tension of the book ends up not being whether or not she’ll destroy her life and more how long before everyone around her just lets her.

It’s a blisteringly cynical novel overall, really – both in its portrayal of individual characters and of society as a whole. I joked while reading it that it felt like American Psycho without a Patrick Bateman, and while that’s a bit too far – everyone’s still very recognizably human, most of whom do care about at least a few things besides status symbols and dick measuring contests – but the portrayals of Hollywood and Wall Street certainly feel like they rhyme.

Though the implicit politics of that cynicism do feel do feel very different here. Very possibly because the back cover called it something like ‘a blistering satire of the excesses of the ‘60s’ (paraphrasing from memory), but the book definitely ended up feeling very (socially) conservative, full of worries about broken families and marriages of convenience and just generally decadence. The whole plot where Maria gets a motel-room abortion to deal with the consequences of her affair which almost kills her, sends her spiralling into months of total, life-ruining depression, and destroys her relationship with both her husband and her paramour feels like something you’d only see coming out today in explicit pro-life propaganda, for example; certainly it’s a trope I’ve seen complained about more than (until now) I’ve ever actually seen done. The fact that Maria’s foremost redeeming feature is always her love for and desire to be with her (disabled and permanently hospitalized for vague reasons), and that the climax of the book is a suicide directly caused by infidelity, also. None of which should exactly be surprising, really – a book almost as old as my parents has dated opinions on social issues! - but for some reason I always expect canonical authors to have been free-wheeling libertines and bohemians.

Speaking of being written nearly sixty years ago – the time capsule quality of this book is positively fascinating. Which I say whenever I read something from before the millennium, but still – the ‘60s are still so profoundly mythologized I do love the chance to see anything written about them at the time, if only for ‘the past as a foreign country’ tourism reasons. The Hollywood of exploration, drug abuse, meaningless sex, vicious gossip and every combination of the above feels like it could almost be written about today, right up until the point where an easy divorce means finding an amenable judge and finding a witness to corroborate the husband’s admission of wanton emotional abuse (which becomes a stark reminder of how horrifying even a historical five minutes ago was when you consider what happens if you can’t meet any of those conditions). The illegal abortions, the utterly casual homophobia, the auteur theory being a hot new thing, the cult of the open road. It all adds up to an interesting effect.

Speaking of the cult of the open road – Maria’s only real sense of peace, happiness and self-control in the entire book is when she’s spending all day cruising the highway at dangerous speeds just for the sake of it, without itinerary or destination. No real coherent point to make, just that there’s something truly and incredibly American about that? The descriptions of the Nevada desert and highways, too.

But yeah, an expertly written novel that’s positively lovely in places (the opening monologue is near-sublime, for example), but not one that really awed or oved me the way some other literature has.

[dcdreamblog]

Are There Any Hero Forn Norway

i Aks This To do

1 I love Superheros And There History

2 The Fact That I Live In Norway But No Nothing About Norway (somehow) (I Know A Lot A The US But NOTHING ABUOT My Homeland)

and 3 i Wnat Do Know More About NON-US Heros (and Villans? Maybe?)

Sure.

While Norway wasn't a founding member of the Global Guardians (because its original members were all part of the UN's Non-Aligned Movement and Norway was obviously a founding member of NATO) it did join very swiftly after the group's membership expanded in the early 70s.

It has had two champions who have been called "nasjonale heltinner" which I'm told means something along the lines of "national heroines". A more famous one whose fame has spread outside her homeland and one who is still much more homegrown. I'll quickly touch on the more famous one first since she's apt to come up more often.

(Photograph of Ice released during her time with the Justice League International. Yes the seal clubbers are real. Yes this is the picture they went with. Yes the JLI did stuff like this a lot)

Tora Olafsdotter AKA Is AKA Ice.

Olafsdotter's early years are clouded in mystery but she has ties both to the Norwegian Romani population and a hidden group of Homo Magi known as the Ice People, the working theory that she is biracial between the two. She spent large parts of her early years in both Germany and New Zealand before returning to Norway after the nation's slot on the Global Guardians was temporarily emptied.

Her time on the Guardians was ultimately brief, during the period when the Guardians had their UN funding cut in favor of the Justice League International, Ice (the Icemaiden) and fellow Guardian Green Flame (later Fire) joined up with the JLI where most of her career took place.

She's the most internationally known heroine from Norway by far as a member of the JLI where she ultimately laid down her life against the Overmaster. Though she has since returned to life and active duty.

Norway's home grown heroine however, one whose work is much more focused to WITHIN Norway itself.

(Glacier's official portrait, the original copy currently hangs at the Global Guardian's Dome headquarters in Paris, France)

Sigrid Nansen, formerly Isjomfru/Icemaiden, now Isbreen/Glacier

Nansen received their powers from an experiment at the behest of the Norwegian government, wanting to artificially duplicate the powers of the "Ice People" Homo Magi tribe that Olafsdotter came from.

Nansen's mother was a rather famous scientist who "volunteered" her child for the procedure. While at the time it was assumed Nansen herself was enthusiastic, it was later revealed that Nansen's mother was abusive, both towards her child's lack of scientific interest and lack of "popularity" with male suitors.

The procedure was a success, duplicating the Ice People's cryokinetic abilities, at the cost of dyeing Nansen's skin permanently blue. They were placed on the roster of the Global Guardians, becoming the group's first Norwegian member. They were placed in a rather infamous shear and revealing costume that only further exacerbated Nansen's body dysphoria. Memories from their teammates at the time recall them as depressed and withdrawn.

When Tora Olafsdotter was unveiled, Icemaiden resigned from the Global Guardians and took a several year long sabbatical. They didn't reemerge until after Ice was killed in the line of duty with the JLI. Reappearing and offering themself as replacement, Nansen revealed to the world that they were bisexual, the first openly queer member of the Global Guardians.

The Church of Norway publically condemned Nansen, JLI teammate Guy Gardener famously sent an official reply to the Church consisting of floating outside of the Church's headquarters for 6 hours beaming a large energy construct of a middle finger into all the windows.

They were rotated off active JLI duty after sustaining heavy injury in a battle against the alien Hyperclan, they remained active on and off for a couple years afterwards before being kidnapped by the Ultra-Humanite. The nature of the invasive procedures conducted during that time are not known but one can compare before and after pictures for themselves.

Nansen fell off the map for several years after that, eventually reappearing under the thrall of a villain named Minister Blizzard who was harnessing Nansen's powers for his own designs, Nansen having fallen into a spiral of self loathing about their powers and underlying body issues.

When they were finally freed from that situation, Nansen made two announcements. That they were now going by Glacier, rather than Ice Maiden And that they used they/them pronouns.

Since then, Glacier has returned to active duty on the Global Guardians, where they serve with distinction. As well as being seen among the company of the LGBT superhero support group known playfully as the "Justice League Queer"