#truly living up to her namesake

[livwritesstuff]

I’m not going to lie I’ve been thinking nonstop about Grey and Moe and the tiktok you said they would be as like an unaware couple. How do you think Moe’s family reacts when they finally realize they’ve been into each other the whole time? Like is anyone shocked or was it kinda understood what was happening to everyone but Moe and Grey? I live for this AU and think about it way too much to be normal.

i am also thinking about this ‘verse way too much. i have so many other things i’d love to be working on but i simply cannot because this is the only thing i ever want to write

Anyhoo, yeah, Moe and Gray getting together is a surprise to no one except for Moe. Steve had seen that shit coming since they were in middle school, and Eddie caught on not too long later.

Gray knew too – I feel like it’s a Gray fell first, Moe fell harder situation, where Gray realized they had a crush on Moe sometime in high school, but given how they never felt safe coming out to their parents while still living under their roof, the Harrington house was one of very few spaces where they could be 100% Gray without having to hide anything. “Selfishly” (because it’s not actually selfish, but it might feel that way at sixteen-years-old) Gray wanted to preserve that more than they wanted to risk what could be lost if Moe didn’t feel the same way.

Moe, on the other hand, had no idea. I was watching Clueless the other day and realized that she’s kind of like Cher if you dialed the bubbliness all the way down and the logic/reason all the way up. She’s a schemer, she’s always got something going on, and she’s got a seriously chronic case of tunnel vision, so she doesn’t always notice even very obvious things happening around her if it isn’t the exact thing she’s focusing on. Given that Gray had been a constant fixture in Moe’s life since kindergarten, Moe didn’t really think too much about what exactly she was feeling about Gray until the utterly in love with them basically smacked her in the face.

They finally started dating during their last year of college and, in true Moe fashion, she forgot to tell anyone. Steve and Eddie had to find out from Robbie (who only knew because she was living with both of them at the time).

Steve, during a routine call with Robbie: What's Moe up to tonight?

Robbie: She and Gray went out to dinner somewhere for their anniversary, I think.

Steve: *looks at Eddie for any sign he knew about this*

Eddie, just as clueless: Uhh...what??

(Eddie proceeded to torture what restaurant they were at out of Robbie and called to cover their bill, and then he made the hostess put Moe on the phone to congratulate them)

On the whole, though, everyone was thrilled about it. Eddie had always joked that Gray was his favorite child, and Steve liked to say that he wishes he could declare them as a fourth kid for the extra tax break at the end of the year. Gray had already been practically another member of the family, so Moe and Gray getting together didn’t change anything other than making that official.

[inga-don-studio]

Who cried on two separate occasions today over animatronic Disney dragons?

[estavionpira]

Shame on Tattletale for not living up to her namesake. Everyone on her team lies directly to her face about major things and she just sits there and goes "yeah. mhm. alrighty." What she SHOULD have done was tell everyone on the team everyone else's secrets, but told them they were the only ones entrusted with that information. That would have fostered the culture of mutual distrust and resentment within which a Lisa truly thrives.

[ladystoneboobs]

[Bran, to Theon:]“But you’re Father’s ward.” [Theon, to Bran:]“And now you and your brother are my wards. [...] You’ll tell them how you’ve yielded Winterfell to me, and command them to serve and obey their new lord as they did the old.” -Bran VI, aCoK “He[Ramsay] is a great hunter,” said Wyman Manderly, “and women are his favorite prey. He strips them naked and sets them loose in the woods. They have a half day’s start before he sets out after them with hounds and horns. From time to time some wench escapes and lives to tell the tale. Most are less fortunate. When Ramsay catches them he rapes them, flays them, feeds their corpses to his dogs, and brings their skins back to the Dreadfort as trophies. If they have given him good sport, he slits their throats before he skins them. Elsewise, t’other way around.” -Davos IV, aDwD [Roose, to Theon, about Ramsay's mother:]"[...]I was hunting a fox along the Weeping Water when I chanced upon a mill and saw a young woman washing clothes in the stream. The old miller had gotten himself a new young wife, a girl not half his age. She was a tall, willowy creature, very healthy-looking. Long legs and small firm breasts, like two ripe plums. Pretty, in a common sort of way. The moment that I set eyes on her I wanted her. Such was my due. [...] This miller’s marriage had been performed without my leave or knowledge. The man had cheated me. So I had him hanged, and claimed my rights beneath the tree where he was swaying. If truth be told, the wench was hardly worth the rope. The fox escaped as well, and on our way back to the Dreadfort my favorite courser came up lame, so all in all it was a dismal day." -Reek(/Theon) III, aDwD

something something the way theon tries to rectify his childhood trauma by taking his captor's place as lord of wf and taking ned's younger sons as his "wards"/hostages, while ramsay repeatedly reenacts different versions of his own conception by hunting and raping peasant women. except theon fails in his role reversal when (unlike him in his own captivity at wf) bran and rickon escape custody. and ramsay enhances roose's "dismal day" by killing all the women he catches to prevent any more bolton bastards and further punishing those of them who fail to give him "good sport" (which his mother apparently did not give roose) while those who do satisfy him are "honored" with a quick death (and a canine namesake). and then the consequences of theon's failure to replace his captor/cold noerthern father figure include losing wf to house bolton and becoming the new "reek"/another of ramsay's dogs. (meaning he made himself ramsay's prey but gave him "good sport" in the experience)

ramsay starts out as deceptive dark trickster figure/evil adviser/devil on theon's shoulder in clash but he's also a dark mirror of theon, and a more successful one at that, not just better suited to villainy but more able to get away with his crimes. neither will ever be truly accepted by their fathers but ramsay is made heir once he's the only son while theon is rejected as such despite his better birth. ramsay profits from the alleged kinslaying of his actual brother by blood, while theon is more openly condemned (and seen as still not punished enough) for (falsely) killing stark boys who were never his actual kin. it's almost as if ramsay is an evil force who came into being to find theon and was drawn to him upon his return to the north. we first learn of the bastard of bolton's existence after theon returns to pyke and learns of his father's invasion plans, then his last hunt with the original reek just shortly precedes the ironborn attacks, all so that he's captured and waiting in wf right in time for theon's real plan to go into action, and we don't actually meet (disguised) ramsay in-person through dialogue with rodrik cassell or any other northerner but only when theon arrives as the new lord to free him from the dungeon. as the first reek may have corrupted ramsay, ramsay-as-reek corrupts theon. reek belongs to ramsay and ramsay belongs to reek.

[angsthology]

𖤓 intro to camellia ayudisha (ft. the commentary by yours truly)

-> series masterlist

Camellia, oh, Camellia.

She is as pretty as her namesake and as delicate as its petals.

If Jupiter was a hail-storm disrupting one’s lives (the so-called journalists are very dramatic, they should try writing a screenplay instead), Camellia was the gentle breeze in the early morning greeting your skin. If Jupiter has the sky and storm in her control, Camellia was the wind god that has control over whether or not your hair is going to stick to your lip gloss.

Not everyone can understand her beauty but anyone who does has been blessed with the right retinas.

Her presence is one that people debate whether she should be driving at all when she feels like royalty (and let’s be honest, a passenger princess), someone in deserving to the throne under that crown.

She is the person you think of when you hear the phrase ‘pretty girl’. Fitting to her name, she looked like she was hand-picked in the prettiest flower field; sweet dark chocolate-colored eyes under her long lashes (everyone, me included, very jealous of those) — her dark, once black hair turned brown from her continuous sun exposure (especially the one that is in her hometown), her skin that warm-toned tan color. And you could never miss her delicate face, cheekbones high and visible on her round face—(something everyone goes crazy for? Post-race glistens where all of her light makeup is either gone or has become one with her skin giving her face that glow).

When people throw around the term ‘Grid Princess’ it only truly sticks to her and only truly serious with her.

Everyone knows the story, the ‘myth’ of Camellia Ayudisha; had her father not meet her mother, had he not marry her, had he not created Camellia, she would be a princess—well, she’d also be nonexistent but if she did exist—she does, but under different circumstances—she would be.

You get what I mean.

She is how one might say… perfect.

The perfect role model, perfect ‘intro’ of sorts, the perfect woman.

She was, the firs and foremost of ‘her kind’, she set the path for women in motorsports, and there was no one better to do it than her. She is perfect.

Perfect Camellia is the media angel, perfect Camellia would never go against the rules, perfect Camellia would never out-do her teammate in equal machinery. (well, she still did.)

The perfect male fantasy as to what a female Formula One driver should be.

Well, she was perfect to them. For the first three years of her career, she was as well-behaved as everyone expected her to be, she didn’t fail anyone’s expectations. The perfect fantasy.

“WHAT IS THIS? Camellia Ayudisha’s Toro Rosso has overtaken Nico Rosberg in the Mercedes! If she keeps this up for a few more seconds she will be making history as the first ever woman to win a Formula One Grand Prix… Oh my Goodness! SHE CROSSES THE FINISH LINE! THE CHECKERED FLAG HAS WAVED FOR THE FIRST TIME THIS WEEKEND! CAMELLIA AYUDISHA HAS WON THE TWO-THOUSAND-SIXTEEN JAPANESE GRAND PRIX!” the commentator yells into his mic, cheers following in the background at what just happened.

The crowd was loud with their gasps and cheers, even those who weren’t her supporters managed to had the jaws slack.

Her radio was much worse,

“THAT IS P1! MEL, YOU JUST WON A GRAND PRIX! YOU’RE THE FIRST WOMAN IN HISTORY TO WIN A GRAND PRIX! CONGRATULATIONS! P1 oh I can’t take this, take it in Mel… you’ve just made history.” Her engineer and entire team celebrated in her ears, prompting tears to form in her eyes.

When they heard her voice again, her emotions were contagious, “Demi apa… Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God… I did that…” her voice giving away her tears. “I can’t believe it…”

“Oh, you best believe it, this is your day! A day for women and girls everywhere, we all thank you.”

“Okay, Ray, I mean this in the nicest way possible… please shut up.”

And when they thought she was done talking to cry by herself, they were wrong.

“THIS IS FOR YOU MALIQ!” she cried into the radio, saying the words with her Indonesian accent heavy on her tongue.

They’ve just witnessed history live in front of their eyes.

Then there are the luckiest interviewers to have been blessed to get her first few words minutes by the history-maker herself.

Right after she was done getting weighed, Camellia walked over to her post-race interview. Her mouth in a permanent smile, one might mistake her for having just inhaled glue with her entire face.

“Look at you!” the interviewer greeted happily, “You’re glowing!”

She laughed lightly, “First time I’m hearing that. Thankfully not in a different circumstance…” her comment making the reporter and herself crack another laugh.

“No, seriously, you’re beautiful!” she can only smile at the compliment, “I guess winning does that to one, huh?”

She chuckled again, “I guess so…”

All-the-while she didn’t realize the visible tears that had ran down her cheeks, the tears that were still running down.

“Are you crying?” he asked with a light-hearted laugh.

When it came to her attention, Camellia immediately wiped it away and looked at the tear on her knuckle, “I can’t stop it, I swear…” she replied with the same light-hearted laugh.

“You just made history! I wouldn’t be able to stop crying too if I were you!”

It was known from then on, Camellia was not afraid to show emotion, her vulnerability. She took it all with great pride.

Many says she was ‘weak’ but more stated that she was unafraid, she was fearless.

“Wow, look at that, only nineteen-years-old and had just marked her spot in history by winning her first Grand Prix.” The commentator narrated as the dark-haired girl was seen walking towards the podium with the 1st cap in one hand and the other pushing her hair back.

“Even the way she walks, just look at her! So elegant.” As she stepped on the top podium, teeth shining with her smile. So sweet, so beautiful.

“Now let’s hear it for the Indonesian national anthem.”

The smile on her face was the smile no one has seen before — which was saying a lot cause Camellia smiles for ninety percent of her life.

As her anthem plays, she removes her winner’s crown only for it to be replaced with the sun as if she wore a halo as her crown.

To the world, she could’ve done no wrong.

Until,

Ugh, until…

Jupiter Nightshade once again ‘ruined something that was once great’. — the media claimed.

Maybe there was always a flame inside of Camellia that the world had yet to see before ever in her Formula One career, a flame that was only set the season she met the rookie in Renault.

When the rookie won the driver’s championship in a Renault—it triggered something in her.

A rookie… had won… a championship before her. —In a Renault of all things! The first Renault driver with a championship since 2006! That was three histories she made in her first year.

In the early days of 2019, after months-long silence from the driver and her team, emotions and tension bubbled over the internet over their radio silence.

Until eventually, it broke out:

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to leave Red Bull.

BREAKING: Camellia Ayudisha to join Mercedes in 2019.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

The reactions to her move grew opinions from the internet.

One spoke, ‘I need to lie down.’ (me too, and I did kinda) — another yelled, ‘her and Lewis as teammates… SIR LEWIS HAMILTON AND THE PRINCESS, I won.’ (they do look beautiful together, who doesn’t love colonizer and colonizee royals as teammates) — unfortunately another man spat; ‘who does she think she is? Red Bull quite literally boosted her career.’ (she is Camellia and she did everything she has achieved herself, thank you very much and shut the fuck up.) — but when a man speaks (again, unfortunately) another person (as delusionally great they are) says; ‘CAMELLIA AYUDISHA 2019 WDC!’ (I like the spirit and enthusiasm, keep it up, you’re going to need it.) — ‘damn, no more Indonesian colonial times teammates [broken heart emoji]’ (I mean, well. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that.) — and you obviously cannot forget the ones who is always going to be there for her; ‘I’m glad she left, I did not like the way they treated her there. To hell with that rocket ship, as long as she’s happy and okay that’s all I’m going to need for now.’ (she appreciates that a lot).

I mean, it’s not like any of that will matter, Camellia was known to be chronically offline. A grass-toucher, if you will. But by her profession, you could say gravel-toucher… enough.

Her name eventually became the equivalent to ‘surprise’. ‘Cause somehow, just somehow… she shocked the world again the time 2021 came around.

BREAKING: Audi to join Formula One for the 2021 season.

Carlos Sainz Jr. to drive alongside Camellia Ayudisha in Audi for the 2021 season.

The Royalty, the Flower, L’Angelo; Dewa Ayu Camellia Anisha Primaningtyas.

not proofread | taglist; @disneyprincemuke @eugene-emt-roe @nikfigueiredo @treehouse-mouse @sadieurlady @trouble-sistar @almostjollypizza + ask to be added (crossed out means i cant tag you)

[g0lightly]

Visenya and Rhaenys; Rhaena and Alysanne; Sansa and Arya: An analysis of older and younger sisters' relationships to love and duty in Westeros

While Arya may be the more obvious Visenya comparison at first glance due to her inclination toward warfare, bear in mind that both Rhaenys and Visenya were warriors; arguably, Visenya's impact on Westeros is more defined by her diplomacy (an art Sansa has been learning her entire arc, specifically in the Vale and the Crownlands, the places Visenya conquered) while Rhaenys' impact is one of a warrior (specifically in the place that Arya's direwolf's namesake once ruled). I think that Sansa will ultimately be the Stark sister to fall into the Visenya archetype while Arya is more of the Rhaenys.

To be clear, this analysis is more about the Fire and Blood characters' roles in the story than their actual personalities since the text inherently leaves F&B characters' personalities way more open for interpretation than any POV character. With that in mind, I will be commenting on choices made by F&B characters that demonstrate character traits that the Stark girls also demonstrate and situations/events that mirror their stories. I also do not think that any character in ASOIAF is ever anything even close to a perfect 1:1 of any other character and do not intend to imply that this is the case.

Here's a previous reblog with my commentary on this subject, some of which I will repeat here. To summarize that commentary, I believe that Visenya and Rhaena (who directly compared herself to Visenya while comparing Alysanne to Rhaenys) establish a pattern of eldest sisters who were sought-after wives due to their place in the line of succession but ultimately choose to buck the rules when they realize their sense of duty to the system they live under will never truly help them. I strongly believe that Sansa is on her way to a similar arc and that this is (at least partially) what Lady's death means for her story.

Though one may be quick to think of Rhaenys as a more dutiful wife than Visenya since she is framed as the more traditional of the two women, I would like to remind my fellow readers that Visenya married Aegon for duty while Rhaenys married him for love. Visenya also established the first Kingsguard along with its vows because she believed that Aegon's guards were not attentive enough -- not unlike Sansa establishing the Brotherhood of the Winged Knight in the Vale to protect the young Lord Robert Arryn. While Sansa does not wish to be a warrior herself, she loves everything to do with knights, tourneys, and heraldry -- that is more of the way I see her emulating Visenya.

Regarding Visenya's diplomacy in the Vale specifically, I think it is notable that the Vale during the conquest was ruled by a regent on behalf of a boy king, not unlike Sweetrobin and Littlefinger. Though one might expect Visenya and Vhagar to burn the Eyrie to a crisp, as they had previously done to ships in Gullstown, she instead invited the young King Ronnel onto Vhagar to amuse the boy. The dragon's presence was also an inherent threat to Queen Regent Sharra Arryn, don't get me wrong. Without dragons in Westeros, the Eyrie was impenetrable. With dragons in Westeros, it was not -- and Visenya chose a very diplomatic way to remind Sharra Arryn of that fact. This is the kind of approach I expect Sansa to come away with from the Vale: Tactful and courteous but no less effective. She just needs to wield the power to back it up.

If Rhaenys had been more duty-minded, perhaps she would have married into a great house to give the Targaryens more allies in their conquest of Westeros. Instead she followed her heart and I believe Arya would do the same -- especially if she had a goddamn dragon. Additionally, because Alysanne and Jaehaerys are remembered in the histories as this perfect couple, it is easy to forget that they defied Alyssa when they married. Because of the reaction to Rhaena's marriage to Aegon, Alyssa reasonably worried that Jaehaerys and Alysanne's marriage would be unpopular. Nevertheless, Jaehaerys and Alysanne overcame this and went on to be remembered as the most beloved rulers in Westerosi history.

Sansa, on the other hand, pursues a man she actively dislikes (Harry Hardyng) because she believes she must marry him to retake Winterfell. This same pattern can be seen with Rhaena as well -- despite Rhaena clearly being a lesbian, she marries her own Aegon and has his children. Not unlike Sansa, Rhaena's place in her family's line of succession leads her to become one of Maegor's Black Brides. Though Sansa did not marry Joffrey, like Rhaena she experienced physical and sexual abuse from a cruel king at the Red Keep. Both Sansa and Rhaena had to mourn their fathers and brothers -- their most trusted male protector figures -- during their time in the Red Keep and were forced to marry into the political faction responsible for their deaths.

After Maegor's death, Rhaena shocked her family when she married the simple second son of the modest Fair Isle rather than making a match that would benefit House Targaryen. Of course, it was Elissa Farman that Rhaena loved rather than Androw Farman. As the closest thing to a canonically lesbian character in the ASOIAF-verse, Rhaena's place in the Targaryen line of succession meant that love and duty would always be at odds for her. When Rhaena fulfilled her duty by marrying Aegon, she was rewarded with the loss of her lover (Melony Piper), the loss of two of her brothers (one of whom happened to be the father of her children), being separated from her daughters, and her marriage to Maegor the Cruel. I can't blame her if that experience made her decide that a woman's "duty" in Westeros is a trap, because it absolutely is. After all of the losses she has endured, I would not be surprised if Sansa goes on to feel the same.

Since Rhaena is one of the more fleshed out characters from Fire and Blood, we also know a bit about how she dealt with her emotions. Like Sansa at the Tourney of the Hand when a young knight from the Vale was killed, Rhaena is noted to have had stony reactions to the many tragedies in her life (I believe this is because she was a dragon dreamer; that's for another meta but I mention this because Sansa was also emotionless for a reason that may have been related to her magic bond with her magic pet). This creates a little triad with Sansa and Alyssa Arryn, for whom Alyssa's Tears was named. Rhaena also had a favourite from the Vale named Alayne Royce, I'm just saying.

Just as I believe Sansa will have to kill the idea of being a lady to become the leader she needs to be, I think that Arya had to break away from civilization as her direwolf did to grow into someone who can lead her own pack just as Nymeria does. Like Alysanne, I think Arya will use her power to help the most powerless people in Westeros. Like Rhaenys, I think her impact on Westeros will be one of a warrior. However, I think Arya's unique experiences and personality will ultimately make her more effective than either Rhaenys or Alysanne were in both warfare and welfare. I especially think this will be true if she is able to work closely with Sansa and Bran -- they're the real trio that mirror the conquerors of the Starklings IMO, sorry Jon. With Arya the warrior, Sansa the diplomat, and Bran the greenseer king, they would be unstoppable in ruling Westeros.

A pair of sisters from Fire and Blood that make for a more obvious comparison to Sansa and Arya would be Rhaena and Baela. Unlike the other examples, however, their place in the line of succession does not shape their lives in the way it does for Visenya, Rhaena, and Sansa. When the matter of their place in succession does come up in choosing an heir for the young Aegon III, however, his regents argued that Rhaena would be the more suitable choice despite being the younger twin. When they suggest that the "willful" Baela make a proper match as a possible future queen consort, she defies them by sailing off to Driftmark where she marries Alyn Velaryon. Rhaena, however, agreed to marry Lord Corbray per the regents' wishes.

Sadly, Rhaena suffered miscarriages in her effort to fulfill her duty to the realm as heir. Some time after Baela bore a daughter, the two sisters united to present Daenaera as Aegon III's queen consort. Alyn also brought back to court an heir with a better claim -- Viserys II -- taking the pressure off of Rhaena to endure more miscarriages to provide heirs. I believe that for Baela, presenting Daenaera and Viserys to court was in part an act of love for her sister, to free her from the demands of being heir. I believe this most likely also took the pressure off of Baela because her own daughter would be Aegon's heir if anything happened to Rhaena and I don't think she wanted that for Laena.

Baela and Rhaena were not the first twin girls whose place in the line of succession was determined by their own choices rather than their birth order, however. Assuming you believe that Rhaella and Aerea (which sounds a bit like Arya) really did switch places at their mother's wedding to Maegor, these two little girls determined their own places in the line of succession by seizing one of the only scraps of agency they would realistically ever get in their lives. Both Sansa and Arya repeatedly demonstrate this same willingness to seize whatever agency they have in the books, though the form that agency takes looks as different for them as it did for Aerea and Septa Rhaella. The twin switch means that the twin who wanted to live with the Faith got to do so and the twin who wanted to explore could do so as well. For Septa Rhaella, I believe there was a certain freedom in giving up her claim to live a quiet life.

I firmly believe that both Sansa and Arya will be significant leaders of some kind by the end of the series. Assuming Bran is king at the end, I think they will have a lot more agency in shaping their own titles/roles as leaders than they might in other circumstances. Or at least that's my hope. Even though I am first and foremost a Sansa fan, I don't think her story needs for her to be Queen in the North. I love the idea of her becoming a leader outside of the traditional power structure she initially wanted to be a part of. As for Arya, I love the idea of her bringing what she learned in her life outside of that power structure to be an effective leader within it.

I think Ned put it best:

"Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me." - A Game of Thrones, Arya II

Shoutout to this ask on @atopvisenyashill for kicking me back into hyperfocus about Visenya's commonalities with Sansa so I remembered that I was ever even working on this... this meta sat unfinished in my drafts since the summer! Many such cases in my drafts, I'm afraid.

[archduchessofnowhere]

I bring you not very good news: Nancy Goldstone wrote a double biography on Elisabeth and Empress Eugenie, to be published on February 6 of next year.

After reading @vivelareine's review of Goldstone's book on Marie Antoinette I simply do not trust this author is a good researcher, and while I won't judge this book until it's out, I can't help but being very wary already. The synopsis alone doesn't give me much hope:

From the acclaimed author of In the Shadow of the Empress comes the thrilling chronicle of two of the most influential and glamorous women in nineteenth-century Europe—Elisabeth, empress of Austria, and Eugénie, empress of France—and their efforts to rule amid the scandal, intrigue, tragedy, and violence of their era.

When they married Emperors Franz Joseph and Napoleon III, respectively, Elisabeth of Austria and Eugénie of France became two of the most famous women on the planet. Not only were they both young and beautiful—becoming cultural and fashion icons of their time—but they played a pivotal role in ruling their realms during a tempestuous era characterized by unprecedented political and technological change.

Fearless, adventurous, and independent, Elisabeth and Eugénie represented a new kind of empress—one who rebelled against tradition and anticipated and embraced modern values. Yet both women endured hardship in their private and public lives. Elisabeth was plagued by a mother-in-law who snatched her infant children away and undermined her authority at court. Eugénie’s husband was an infamous philanderer who could not match the military prowess of his namesake. Between them, Elisabeth and Eugénie were personally involved in every major international confrontation in their turbulent century, which witnessed thrilling technological advances, as well as revolutions, assassinations, and wars.

With her characteristic in-depth research and jump-off-the-page writing, Nancy Goldstone brings to life these two remarkable women, as Europe goes through the convulsions that led up to the international landscape we recognize today.

You see, I don't think it's crazy to pair up Elisabeth and Eugenie in a biography if your focus is going to be their queenship. Because they were very different as empresses, and I'd love a comparative study on why and how was that possible. Yet the synopsis is implying they were similar? How was Elisabeth personally involved in every major international confrontation? She was only personally involved in the Compromise, every other event she only reacted to (if even). Meanwhile Eugenie actively tried to participate in the politics of France and influence her husband (successfully in many cases, I believe).

The "domineering mother-in-law" part also worries me. Unsere liebe Sisi's been out since 2008, there's no excuse to not give Sophie a more nuanced portrayal.

But well, authors usually don't write the synopsis of their books, so I won't read more into it than what I've done already. I truly hope this biography isn't terrible because we don't need to add one more book to the already giant pile of books about Elisabeth that are filled with myths and misinformation.

[the-curious-butterfly]

A Dappling (or was it called Appling?) short.

PLOT TWIST

After word got out that it was her instead of Daring who woke up Apple, Darling half expected to be chased out of Ever After with torches and pitch forks.

Perhaps not exactly to that extreme but at least something to that extent. She expected mad looks, curses (both literal and verbal) being thrown her way, and an angry mob of princes she could definitely beat in a fight if they lined up one by one. If they came at her all at once, however, it could prove just a tad bit more difficult but she’s pretty sure she can still win against that too.

But she digresses, the point is she expected things to get very bad and very awkward. Well they got awkward alright but not in the very bad way, though she couldn’t really call it the good way either. More like they got awkward in the “okay, I guess this is happening” sort of way.

No, once word had reached a certain person in particular that she, a princess no less, woke Apple from her cursed slumber it took no time at all for her to find herself in the office of one Snow White. The mother of said previously cursed princess and also the Queen of Ever After. And by no time at all she meant no time at all, she doesn’t even remember how she got here or when this semi-large packet came to be in her hands.

Darling decided to ignore the concerning implications that thought had and instead looked down to find in big bold fancy red letters the words: ‘So You Want to Marry My Sweet Apple Dumpling do You?’

There was another phrase underneath with the word ‘Daring’ in it but it had been hastily crossed out so Darling couldn’t exactly read it.

‘Wait….marry?!’

“Ummm, your majesty, what is this?”

The Queen places down her mug with the words ‘fairest of them all’ onto her desk before finally addressing Darling.

“Darling please, call me Snow. We are soon to be family after all.”

“Right…Snow.” It felt so weird to call her by her first name. Not just because she was the Queen but also because Darling was a knight and thus was more use to addressing others the way a knight would, with formality and respect. “What do you mean by soon to be?”

“What do you mean by what do I mean? Will you or will you not be proposing to Apple?” The Queen narrowed her eyes at Darling as if telling her to think carefully about her answer.

“Your majest- I mean Snow, I would love to propose to Apple some day it’s just that you know I thought that you, hex that the entire realm would be upset I wasn’t Daring. Plus we’re both still in school and all.”

“Nonsense, Darling, all Apple’s destiny truly calls for is a Charming, and from what I hear you certainly live up to your namesake. Besides, I’ll have you know the first Snow White was married before she even started school.” (I’m so sorry, I hated learning this but the original Snow White apparently was somewhere around 14 and I completely understand if you want to beat me up for bringing it to your attention.)

“I’m not so sure if that’s something to be proud of, your majesty.” The words were out before Darling could even remind herself who she was saying them to.

“Oh I completely agree, that was the one part of my story I thought was utterly ridiculous.” Phew “Which is why I waited until senior year.”

“Wait, you were also poisoned while attending Ever After High?”

“Darling, I’ll let you in on a secret, most stories end up happening at Ever After High. Hex, as soon as the Evil Queen saw me she tried to poison me. Every day was a fight for my life, those were the best four years I could have ever after wished for.”

“…oh….kay” was all Darling could really think to say.

“Now if you will, turn to page seven.”

“Page seven?” Snow gestured to the packet Darling had forgotten was in her hands. “Oh hex, forgive me I-“ she went completely dead silent as soon as she saw the first few words the page contained.

Heirs and You

“Now granted, this was written with Daring in mind so I never thought I needed to add this which is why I’m saying it now. I don’t mind adoption but your first child must be a product of both you and Apple thus I took the liberty of getting in contact with a renown enchantress who I am certain will be able to help you and…Darling?!”

A loud thud reverberated throughout the room as the knight had passed out before Snow could even finish saying her name.

~~~

Apple come quick, your mother is traumatizing your Prince Charming.

[chaoss-incarnate]

i don't think I've ever seen anyone talking about this but all i can think about since finishing the goldfinch is how theodore decker never truly left new york.

okay so we have 13 year old theo, whose mother just died in the museum, living at the barbour's, and meeting hobie and seeing pippa again. this much is obvious, he's still living in new york, wandering the streets and places where he and his mother frequented, being a shadow of his previous life. at night he dreams of the museum, and wakes up screaming.

his father appears, takes him to vegas. and despite meeting boris and doing all sorts of things with him (drinking, drugs, you name it), he's still 14 year old theo believing his mother is waiting for him back home. he wakes up from the museum more often than not, but i believe this is also when his dreams take a different turn; back in new york, places he would go with his mother, knowing she was there but never seeing her, never being in the same place as her. he longs for her, longs for his old life, believes her death was his fault. he tries to distract himself. like boris says: 'i drink to be happy, but you wanted to die'. boris, who has lived in so many countries, always moving, and theo, with his longing to return to the place he knows.

and then his dad dies and he goes back to new york. 15 year old theo is back in his home city, around the places he knows. places he was with his mother. and of course he goes to hobie's. what else can he do? he goes to college, learns the furniture dealer's way, and for the next eight years he lives in new york, working, wandering the streets. his longing for his childhood with his mother has subdued, mostly, thanks to the controlled (as he believes) substance abuse. he gets engaged to none other than kitsey barbour, and he continues to live his life. he takes her to places he went with his mother, places she never appreciated ('the dingbat'). he continues to love pippa (though, as we all know, that love wasn't healthy - it wasn't really love. he appreciates pippa, her friendship, but he latched on to her because they both share the same trauma and he believes no one will understand him better than she, now that his mother is gone. as the narrator in fight club says: 'you met me at a very strange time in my life.')

the boris appears. he's there and it turns out that he stole the painting. because the painting had followed theo since he was 13, going wherever he went. and now? its halfway across the world. and so now theo follows the painting, all the way to amsterdam.

new york used to be called new amsterdam until the english took over the dutch that lived there and renamed it new york. coincidence that theo ended up in the former namesake of the city he can never escape? the country where fabritius, the painter, was from. it would make sense for the painting to maybe be in delft, the place where it was discovered, where fabritius died, to make it a full circle, but no. amsterdam.

there, theo saw his mother again. he actually saw her. halfway across the world and yet he's somehow still in new york. with her.

the end of the novel is very open. theo travels, of course, to rectify the false furniture he sold, but everything ties him back to new york. his engagement to kitsey isn't over, the barbours expect him to return, someday. he still works with hobie.

'but vivian,' you might think, 'what about pippa? she went through the same thing theo did and yet she spends most of her time out of new york.'

the truth is that we don't know much about pippa. she wasn't present during most of the novel, mostly in theo's mind. we know some things about her: her parentage, music she likes and so on, but we barely know how the explosion affected her.

as she remarks in her letter at the end, she and theo would be bad for each other due to their extreme similarities. she has difficulties because of the explosion. she goes to texas, then switzerland, then london, then california. she can't seem to stay in new york, but she's there a lot of course, hobie's there, and so is theo.

i believe that in this, pippa and theo are opposites: theo, no matter what he does, is always in new york, always returning. somehow he wants to be there, for the memories of his mother. he wants to walk those streets and go to those places they went to together. its painful for him but he'd rather that than be somewhere new. pippa, on the other hand, leaves voluntarily. a lot. of course she wishes to be close to hobie, but she just can't stand to be in new york for the same reason theo stays. pippa walks the streets of new york and thinks 'welty used to take me here, and here' and its unbearable for her.

even so, most nights they both return to the same point, and they both know they'll never leave it, or rather, it'll never leave them.

[ghostofashina]

So I saw a video on the YouTube about a theory that Messmer is the son of the gloam eyed queen and Marika stole him and I, a Godwyn-Messmer twin truther, went "no, no way. Messmer and Godwyn are twins, one of them can't be the GEQ's son.... Unless...."

And then I thought. What if it's not Messmer that is GEQ's stolen son, but Godwyn.

I have three pieces of.... Not exactly evidence because these are all speculative and circumstantial, but I am having fun with it.

1) Godwyn's name. Every other Marika child has the initials of their parents in their name. Mohg and Morgott of Marika and Godfrey; Radahn, Rhykard, and Ranni of Radagan and Rennala; Messmer, Miquella, Malenia, and Melina of Marika and Radaghan (this is a translation thing; Japanese kana use the same symbols for both L and R, so in the original Japanese, the names of Marika and Radagan's children did have both Ms and R's). But. Godwyn. He only has Godfrey's G, no Marika M. Out of her 10 children, only her specialist, most important first born prince son ISNT named after her? Suspicious.

1A: Yes, I realize he does still have Godfrey's namesake. But if Marika stole a son, whos to say she didn't steal a husband as well. After all, the DLC claims that she "seduced" the previous god before her with her "wanton strumpet" ways. Maybe the GEQ had her eyes (eye?) on Godfrey.

1B: Why on Earth would Marika steal the son of an enemy Empyrean and make him her most specialist prince? Well, Godwyn went hard for the golden order. What better way to rub it in an old enemy's face than by stealing her son and making him the literal poster boy of your Golden Order.

2) Godwyn's body got all fucked up when he died. Yes, that was explained by his soul dying while his body lived on, but like. Those Who Live In Death don't have the same transformation, after all. They have something similar, but they can still ambulate. Also, they can be killed for real--Godwyn can't. And sure, maybe it's because he's a demigod.... Buuut if he was the son of the GEQ, the creator of the Rune of Death, perhaps that explains why he became so powerful within death. Before, he was a standard golden boy--he did great things for the golden order, of course, but he didn't seem to have any specific connection to a certain type of magic or outer god like any of the other demigods. But then he died and became the Prince of Death. Not the King of Death, but a Prince. An offspring of a Queen. Maybe Marika.... Or maybe the Queen who made the Rune of Death.

Or it's all baloney and whatever. I still like the idea of twin Messmer and Godwyn more, but it's fun to theory craft. Though, hey, Marika had kids with Rennala, after all. Who's to say she didn't have a kid with the Gloam Eyed Queen too? We stan a bisexual queen.

Hello, hello ~

I am myself a GodMes twins truther LAKSLKAS So yeah, I stand with you. I saw this one and was exactly like that "that can't be uwu i cut their umbilical cord myself"

But, as you said, Godwyn being the outsider is just a very funny scenario. And it fits, it truly did. Especially for what we love the most: angst

@whyyouacknsocraycray made a post once, talking about a possibility of Godwyn being Godfrey's son with someone else — which would explain the G and potentially the GEQ — and it rented a house inside my thoughts, because it's really good just to see this perfect, golden son, being disowned of his reality.

It could work wonders that sort of scenario, perhaps even more than Messmer being the stolen kid. Because we all know about the "seduction and betrayal".

Let's consider two fun scenarios: Marika sends Godfrey to seduce GEQ and, once she births a perfect son, he is stolen — I can even go far weirder here and say she wanted this perfect son to be made so she could use him as the blessing for Messmer's maledictions. Marika once made a blessing for Messmer, but never again.

Or Godfrey was already promised to the GEQ expecting his child and Marika took it all from her — with the help of Godfrey himself, seeing more potential in Marika.

Now: I know shit about the GEQ, I must admit. Never dug into that part of lore. So I have no idea if these scenarios could actually fit in the current timeline lol but, just like you said, it's fun to think of different stuff from usual.

And, it's where the fun begins. I think every scenario that disrupts the "perfect" order is hella interesting. So if we have this golden prince, who grew believing to be the heir (even though he ain't empyrean), the champion of this empire, his mother's most beloved and perfect son... taking it all from him is just tasty.

To see his struggle with reality, considering himself a bastard, suddenly feeling an outsider. I can even see him disappointed with Messmer, accusing him of knowing the truth and hiding it from him. Just delicious angst.

And yes, I agree with you. Even when I don't agree with some theories, I think it's quite cool to invest in different scenarios just to explore all the possibilities — even when they are insane. That's the fun bit. I think these sort of things are more fun when you are invested in making them interesting rather than just right or true.

[aspergerasparagus]

Knight

"Male", he/him, 5.5ft, Hyperdyne Systems 120-A/2

Role: Science/Research officer

Assignment: Research Station - Darwin (Former: Botany research facility - Mangnoliophyta aka Magnolia)

Background:

A later model of the 120-A/2 model of synthetics manufactured in 2140, he was originally produced to work in one of one the Weyland-Yutani’s botany research facilities, specifically in the creation of new species of flowering plants that would be able to survive the harsher conditions that they were facing on newly terraformed planets. He was very successful in his endeavor, with him and his team being able to genetically modify a number of plants to improve their survivability and adaptation, while also being able to personally create a variety of new species/varieties of flowering plants. 

However during this time he started to butt heads with his team leader and some of the other employees due to their distrust of the synthetic and Knight’s temperament. Things eventually came to a head when the team leader was found dead, supposedly due to cardiac arrest, but the other team members suspect that Knight had poisoned him given his botanical knowledge and access to a number of dangerous plants he was cultivating himself.

When other members of the team started to experience unexplained sickness and symptoms, Weyland-Yutani was contacted and Knight removed from his position due to the potential suspected danger he posed. Obviously Knight himself would deny he would use his plants to harm a human, but he did always need test subjects.

Instead of being decommissioned due to his apparent hostility towards humans, he was upgraded (along with new protocols and directives being installed) and given to the daughter of a board member of Weyland-Yutani, Annabella, to assist in her genetic studies and modification of Prometheus' fire aboard the Darwin. 

Personality:

A bitter and rather sour character, Knight doesn’t try to hide his synthetic nature from the crew on the Dawin, with him refusing to interact with many of the human staff or partake in any social interactions with them. 

The only human he actively interacts with, bar managers and higher up, is Annabella, with whom he spends most of his time with, be this in their shared lab or during their off hours. Originally he despised the woman, seeing her as an outlet to his frustration of being removed from his original assignment and being made to act like her personal nanny by her father due to her condition. But with time, and some mild bribery from her, he did warm up to her, with other staff members saying that Knight was now living up to his namesake.

Distrusting of humans and more than aware that they all have alternative motives, Knight tends to keep things to himself he doesn’t think they need to know and never trusts anything anyone says. This has led to him becoming more paranoid overtime, be it about the work they are carrying out, the company, or the other staff members, especially if it concerns Annabella or his plants. This paranoia has also resulted in him isolating Annabella from her other coworkers, micromanaging a large percentage of her daily life and forming a dependency on her. 

With a shorter temper than the other 120-A/2 series, Knight is irritated fairly easily with staff and while he won’t (normally) resort to violence he is known to be rather cunning and cruel when the need arises. This might show up as staff being anonymously reported for unprofessional conduct or contraband being found on them or if the synthetic is truly pissed then the cause of his ire might find themselves in the medical bay due to an unknown illness.

While most staff would describe the synthetic as full of himself and condescending, he does have a soft side buried down in the deepest part of his circuitry which few will ever see, unless they catch him tending to his garden or taking care of Annabella out of work hours.

Appearance:

Physically he appears almost identical to all the other 120-A/2 models, except for one eye being a different colour, a dark brown instead of the typical blue. This was due to it needing to be replaced after an injury he sustained aboard the Darwin and no other parts from the same model being available. He also suffers from perpetual RBF and typically only scowls or looks disinterested when being talked to by the human staff.

He typically wears the same uniform all science staff aboard the station wear, modified medical scrubs in Weyland-Yutani’s colour scheme. The main difference is the multiple pins and patches Annabella has added to his to “customise” it. These mostly consist of company/station patches along with a number of pins she has collected over the years. Most of these are botany/flower themed.

Additional info:

Very good at card games and tricks. Something he learned from his earlier life and also knows how to cheat at them pretty effectively. 

Adores plants and has a hidden garden set up in his room with seeds and plants Annabella has acquired for him due to her position.

Typically runs his battery almost dry as he hates being out of commission during the charging time.

Has monitors implanted that track and monitor Annabella to detect if she’s wandered off or having a meltdown.

[pastanest]

A/N: so @otteropera as promised, here’s your tag for another one, but fair warning…it’s a lil angsty to begin with 👀

Jon Snow x she/her!reader

Someone’s Waiting For You

The sound of the bedroom door slamming jolts the young boy’s rigid form, his little hands balled into shaking fists at his sides as his eyes burn with tears. Unfortunately, the closed door does little to shield Jon Snow from the argument that started the day he was brought to Winterfell.

“You cannot expect me to treat your mistake as anything but!” Lady Catelyn Stark’s voice is pained and furious.

“It is not the boy’s fault, do not treat him as the one to blame!” Lord Eddard Stark jumps to his son’s defence, though even that is a rarity. 

Little fists still shaking at his sides, the young boy marches over to his bed and all but throws himself into it, burying his head under the furs to try and muffle the voices that continue to battle each other beyond his bedroom walls. Despite having not long past his sixth name day, Jon Snow is so accustomed to this exact situation that his tears do not fall, they refuse in a great act of defiance. Lady Catelyn will not get the satisfaction of besting him, not this night. All it would take was the smallest wrongdoing on Jon’s part, on a day when Catelyn was more irritated than she normally would be by the mere breaths that passed his lips, and she would disgrace his very existence. He knows he has not done something that was wrong enough to deserve a verbal onslaught as harsh as this one, his father reassures him of that, but that does not make it easier for a little boy to understand.

Only when Jon can no longer hear the angered voices of his father and the mother he can never have, does he lift his head from beneath his furs and kick his legs until they hang off of the side of the bed, dangling in the air because he is not quite tall enough to reach the floor just yet. Stepping down onto the cold stone, Jon takes the few slow steps necessary to reach his bedroom window. It is too late for any of the townsfolk to still be bustling outside, Winterfell has descended into a peaceful rest, nobody else disturbed by the feud that lives within his family, because of him, he feels. Staring up at the stars, little Jon is certain that such bright, wonderful and out of reach things simply must be the Gods, that must be where they sit. On their glistening thrones, watching over the rest of the world below. Jon wishes he could join them, he wonders how much quieter the world must seem from up there.

“I…do not wish to disturb you, Gods, but…” Jon begins, his voice timid, shaky even, and barely above a whisper in volume. The Gods must be able to hear him, he thinks, they can hear everything. He nods to himself, dark curls bouncing lightly on top of his head as he continues. “I understand why my namesake makes Lady Stark so upset. I have tried to be a good son to her, but she does not want me, much like my real mother, I think…” The little boy feels a lump rising in his throat, but he swallows it. “I know that you make everything and everyone, and I know that you have a reason for it…I was curious if you could tell me why you made me, because I don't think anyone else truly wants me here. My family would all be much happier if I had never come here, and I don't think it’s fair that they should all feel this way because of me…could you tell me what I can do to make it easier for them all to love me? Whatever it is, I swear I’ll do it, even if it means going away.” Jon’s voice catches in his throat, his eyes burning with tears again as he tries to blink them back. “I am sorry to disturb you, Gods. I’ll go now. I don't want to upset you all, too.” By the time he has finished speaking, he can no longer blink fast enough to hold his tears at bay. Waves crash behind his eyes, sending streams of tears down the young boy’s face and blurring the short journey back to his bed as he walks it. 

Crawling back under the furs, Jon buries his face in his pillow, sniffling into it and desperately bundling himself in his blankets as tightly as he can to feel even the tiniest amount of comfort, just enough to sleep. There are few boys that have cried themselves to sleep as many times as Jon Snow has by his sixth name day. 

If you ask him, Jon will tell you he does not dream. Even as young as he is, he will tell you that he closes his eyes, sees darkness, then opens them, and the sun has risen again. His siblings will tell fantastical tales of the adventures they have when they close their eyes and it is yet another way in which Jon Snow, regretfully, stands out amongst them. More than anything, he wishes he could be more like them.

And perhaps, tonight, he will be. 

As the little boy drifts away into the land of the unconscious, his eyes open, but he is somewhere else, somewhere colder. Coming to terms with his surroundings, Jon quite suddenly realizes his boots are far bigger than the ones he wears, and they are firmly planted on the floor while still attached to his legs as he sits on a bed that is not his. He is not a boy anymore. 

The door in front of him opens, and there stands a woman, the most beautiful he has ever seen, he knows it to be true even from the eyes of a man. And the smile on her face, he is surprised he does not look around to check that she is smiling at somebody else, but a part of him knows that it is for him, just for him. She approaches him with giddy steps until she’s standing between his legs and holding his face in her hands, staring into his soul with the kindest eyes he’s ever known. 

“Are you tired, my Lord?” Her voice is like a song, something about her tone playful.

Jon hears himself laugh lightly, his voice much older. “Exhausted. And you, my star?”

The giggle that passes her lips is lighter than air, a sound that lifts his very soul. “I am much the same, they left the place in quite a state today. I’m sorry I’m late.”

And he can see it, the tiredness behind her eyes that does not overshadow how happy she is to see him. Jon shakes his head. “There is no need to apologize, I live for each and every minute with you. Let us rest.”

She nods at him, but there is a shyness in her expression now, one that Jon never thought he could bring to a person. Crawling over him, she settles beneath the furs and strips free of her clothes, leaving only her underclothes, while Jon does the same. 

Meeting her under the furs, he instinctually rests his head in the crook of her neck as she lies on her back, wrapping her arms around him and holding him there. One of her hands gently combs through his curls, keeping them out of his face, while the other draws gentle patterns, writing silent and secret poems on his shoulder with her fingertips, while his arm wraps around her middle to hold her there. The scent of her brings a sense of calm that is so comforting it is entirely overwhelming, but he is safe, he knows it. Jon’s eyes close, against his wishes to stay awake and admire her for just a few more moments. 

“Will you sing me a song, my star?” He hears himself ask, already feeling waves of sleep beginning to swallow him. 

“Of course, my love.” She answers softly, before clearing her throat and starting to sing with what Jon can only describe as the voice of an angel. “Be brave, little one, make a wish for each sad little tear. Hold your head up, though no one is near, someone’s waiting for you.” And as Jon drifts away into the land of the unconscious, to a familiar darkness that is more comforting than it ever was before, the sound of her voice follows him there. 

“Don’t cry, little one, there’ll be a smile where a frown used to be. You’ll be part of the love that you see, someone’s waiting for you…”

When he opens his eyes again, Jon sits bolt upright in his bed, breathing heavily. The walls of his bedroom greet him, sunlight streaming in through the window he is so sure he had seen the stars from mere moments ago. Much to his surprise, his heart does not sink. Instead, a small smile makes its way onto the little boy’s face as he continues to look at the window, and the blue morning sky. 

“Thank you, Gods.” 

Of course, little Jon told his siblings and father of the dream; he was an excited little boy recounting the only dream he had ever remembered, and would ever go on to have. Though, after that dream, Jon had tried his absolute hardest to return to the dream of the woman, of being somewhere else, and with her, he did not dream of her, or anything else, again. He did not ask the Gods for help, he was far too grateful for the gift they had already given him. 

Naturally, Jon’s family did not take the dream as seriously as he did. The older he got, however, the more convinced he became that it was something more than what others dismissed it to be. 

Many nights, Jon lay awake, recalling every detail of the dream. While it reigned true that it was like a dream - from what his siblings had told him - in the way Jon did not have control over what he did or said, he could not shake the feeling that it was more like a memory. One that he was viewing, somehow, from the wrong side, from before it had happened. Though Jon did not know how or when it would happen, he knew in his heart that someday, it would, and that he would recite every word he remembered himself saying the first time he had heard it, just to live through the moment a second time. He does not know of anyone that has been lucky enough to do such a thing, and he will be damned if he misses such a wonderful thing. 

Logically, the more Jon thought about the dream, the more he focussed on specific details and how he could make those happen, perhaps bringing about the dream itself by doing so. For example, the fact that in his dream it had been much colder than his childhood bedroom, told him that either Winter was coming as his father had insisted and he would need to find a way to increase the speed of that process if it meant meeting you, or Jon needed to go further north. Leaning on the latter, Jon decided that journeying as far north as he could go would be a start. To guard the realms of men by becoming part of the Night’s Watch was an honoured decision from any Stark, and while there was a flaw in the technicalities of Jon not being allowed to take a wife or create any heirs, he decided he would cross that bridge when he came to it. If he did not feel closer to his dream at the wall, then the wall was his only means of getting even further north. 

With his purpose clear, Jon Snow joined the Night’s Watch and began his life guarding the realms of men. Through training the men he comes to know as brothers, Jon makes the first true friends he has ever had, and learns that despite his disadvantages as a bastard, it is nothing compared to the disadvantages of some of his new brothers, who have been wrongly cast to the Night’s Watch as punishment for crimes they did not commit, to defend the world from evil creatures, with none of the sword experience that Jon has had himself. The man that Jon regards as his truest friend is Samwell Tarly, who by all accounts is a coward, but a kind soul who was raised by the hatred of his father in the same way that Jon was raised by the hatred of the mother he could never call his. The two of them understand each other and form a close friendship, so close that eventually, Jon confesses his true reason for joining the Night’s Watch.

“You…You came all this way, and intend to swear an Oath, for a girl you saw in a dream when you were a boy?!” Sam’s voice is as shocked as his expression, but his words remain free of judgment. 

Jon nods, feeling far closer to the man he was in the dream. “She was not just a girl, she is the girl, the one I am supposed to find. That is why the Gods showed me a memory of my future.” 

Sam sighs, deep in thought, before he chuckles. “If it is to be, it is a romance to put every book I’ve read to shame!”

Jon laughs with his friend, a weight lifted from him as someone he truly trusts, who knows him and cares for him and does not see him as a burden for his namesake, believes him. Perhaps the Gods meant for him to take this very journey, to meet the people he has met along the way, too.

By the time Jon does take his Oath, and is granted the role of Lord Commander Mormont’s personal steward, he has settled into the life he has made for himself. And just a few days later, as another layer of snow falls around them, Jon and Sam descend the wall from their night on watch, to commotion at the gates of Castle Black. Lord Commander Mormont reaches the crowd of unsettled brothers, parting them effortlessly. 

“What has got you all acting like fools?!” He bellows.

“Th-There is a girl at the gate, Lord Commander.” One of the younger men speaks up.

“And are we frightened of girls? Tell me, would you rather it be a giant on the other side?!” Lord Commander Mormont rolls his eyes and shoves the men out of the way, ordering the gates be opened at once. 

A woman steps through them, her hair covered in snow, whole body trembling in the cold as she desperately hugs herself to maintain the little warmth her worn clothes offer her. And as Jon and Sam slow their steps, Jon Snow feels his entire world stop dead in its tracks, holding its breath with him, because it’s you. 

He doesn't hear anything, he cant, he can only watch as the Lord Commander orders a man away, that same man then returning with furs that the Lord Commander covers you with, wrapping an arm around you and leading you to his quarters. It isn't until Samwell Tarly steps in front of Jon and asks him - for the fourth time - if he’s alright, that Jon realizes he still hasn't recalled how to breathe. 

Sam’s face is the picture of sudden realization as his eyes widen and he grabs Jon’s shoulders. 

“By the Gods, it was her! Wasn’t it!”

And the pair of them are running, they are sprinting to Lord Commander Mormont’s quarters and bursting through the door without announcing themselves, causing the Lord Commander to jump to his feet from behind his desk. 

“What is the meaning of this?” His frown is harsh, but he knows the men well enough to understand they must have a reason for barging into his otherwise private quarters. 

Unfortunately for Jon, he has not yet regained the ability to speak, though his eyes have acknowledged you are not in the room as he thought you would be. 

That only leaves Sam, glancing between Jon and the Lord Commander frantically before beginning to speak. “Lord Commander, th-that girl, she- Jon, you see, he had a vision, as a boy, of the very girl that has just walked through the gates, and- he doesn't know why, but he did, he has never seen her before today, apart from in that vision, but there must be a reason, so we would both like to vouch for her to stay, and-”

Lord Commander Mormont lifts his hand. “The woman came because her village was destroyed by wildlings and she has nowhere else to go. She will be staying here, where she will be protected, and has offered to work in our kitchen to earn her keep.” He looks to Jon. “Is what Sam says true, Jon? You had a vision of this girl?”

Finally, Jon returns to himself. “Yes, Sir, I did.”

Lord Commander Mormont considers this, before nodding to himself. “Very well. You will keep your Oath, you will find out the reason for this vision, and if you see fit, report your findings back to me. If you believe it holds more importance than simply to you, that is.”

Jon opens his mouth to speak, to express his gratitude, but the Lord Commander continues.

“Once she has been checked for wounds and sickness, she will be left to wash free of her journey here and will join us for supper. Until that time, continue with your duties.”

It is just a normal request, especially for a man of the Night’s Watch, yet Jon Snow cannot help feeling it is the most impossible thing he has ever been tasked with.

For the rest of the day, the sound of every door opening and closing sends Jon’s head turning in its direction, every room he enters, his eyes are searching for you, and he fails to hold conversations with any of his brothers, his mind too preoccupied by anxiety over your wellbeing, the fear of meeting you for the first time, what he would say to you, what he should say to you, how soon can he tell you that he has waited for you everyday since just after his sixth name day?

Naturally, Ser Alliser exposes the newly found clumsiness of Jon during his day’s training, reveling in every hit Jon takes, every swing missed. But no hit is strong enough to bring Jon back to where he stands, his mind has run away with you. 

For a split second, he sees your silhouette walking up a distant staircase, the side of your face cleaner than it had been the last time he had seen it, led by Lord Commander Mormont in the direction of the kitchen. And that single second takes a year to pass in Jon’s eyes.

Supper cannot come soon enough for Jon, or Sam, who is ravenous with curiosity more than he is for the evening’s meal, absolutely mesmerized by his dear friend’s sudden incapacity to think of anything else but you, and this leading Sam to conclude that you are simply fascinating. A large group of brothers of the Night's Watch all but stumble into the common room that connects to the kitchen, and for the first time since any of them arrived, they smell something incredible. 

You stand at the furthest wall, a steaming cauldron almost half your size in front of you, with high stacks of bowls on the table in front of you. The wideness of your eyes gives away the fear within you, but with Lord Commander Mormont at your side, you know the men will not dare harm you. 

“From now on, you will form an orderly queue here for your meals, and (Y/N) will serve them to you. None will lay a hand on her, or they will have me to answer to. Is that understood?” The Lord Commander’s voice is loud and stern, and every brother nods with an enthusiastic “AYE!” in response, already falling in line.

But Jon Snow does not move from the doorway, too lost in the vision of you as you timidly step forward, lifting a large ladle from the cauldron to spoon the first helping of stew to the first brother in line, who thanks you graciously, with such excitement that a small smile makes its way onto your face. So small it’s hardly there, but it’s enough to make Jon acutely aware of the irregularity of his own heart as it thrashes inside his chest, desperate to jump free of him and run to you. After all these years spent wondering, he finally knows your name, and he knows that his heart will sing it until it stops beating, and maybe even after.

“Come along Jon, you must meet her in the real world, now.” Sam encourages his best friend, bringing him back to reality with a pat on the back, gently pushing him forward. 

Sensing that his best friend may not be able to find the words, Samwell Tarly boldly steps in front of him just enough to ensure he is served first, so as to introduce themselves to you properly when it is time. 

Jon is trying to count the seconds, but the closer he gets to you, the more clearly he can hear you answer every grateful “Thank you” with the softest “You’re welcome” he has ever heard, and he loses track of everything entirely. 

Before long, the two men at the end of the line, have reached the front. There is the slightest tremor in Jon’s hands as Sam places a bowl in them, and Lord Commander Mormont rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, but he cant deny in his own mind it is quite endearing. 

“Hello, it’s so lovely to meet you, (Y/N), my name is Samwell Tarly, and this is Jon Snow.” Sam introduces himself and his best friend to you, keeping his voice quiet because he’s conscious of how frightening all of this must be for you, and the smile on your face is enough for him to know that you appreciate it.

At the mention of his name, your eyes move to Jon’s as you tip the ladle into his bowl, and his stomach drops. Something flutters within him, goosebumps erupting on his skin like a cold wind rushes past him, but his face is far too warm for that to be true.

“Hello Samwell, and hello Jon. It’s a pleasure. I hope you like the stew.” 

Jon cant believe it. After all these years, finally, he is hearing your voice say something new, something he hasnt replayed in his mind thousands of times already, though he is certain he will soon enough. 

Realising he still has not spoken, Sam nudges his best friend and chuckles in an effort to mask it, and Jon clears his throat. 

“Thank you, my Lady.” His voice is gruffer than he intended, but he tries his best to speak quietly, not wanting to give you any reason to fear him. Something in the way you look at him tells him that he couldn't possibly, even if he wanted to. 

Unable to convince himself he will not collapse if he looks at you for a second longer, Jon takes his leave, turning from you and making his way over to an empty table. It’s only when he hears the Lord Commander say “Perhaps you should go and join your brothers, now, Sam” that he realizes his dear friend has not joined him at the table, but he does not have the mental capacity to consider the implications of that at this time.

“Well, she is just wonderful.” Sam sighs as he sits down opposite Jon, who stares into his bowl of stew.

“I know.”

“And this stew! Tell me you’ve tried it Jon, by the Gods, she really is a dream!” He rambles, rapidly spooning mouthful after mouthful of stew in between words.

“I know.” Jon answers again. 

“She really is a dream come true for you, isn’t she? Personally, I don’t know how I’d cope if a woman I dreamt about as a boy, arrived at the gates and made stew like this. I’d certainly have to break my Oath and beg her to be my lady wife on the spot, I should think.” Sam sighs, shaking his head at the thought, making Jon laugh in disbelief, bringing a smile of victory to Sam’s face as he finally joins him in inhaling the stew, which truly is as good as to make a man consider breaking his Oath on the spot. 

The common room is loud with the approving hums of men enjoying their meals, then loud with their expressions of gratitude as they return their empty bowls to you and take their leave, some retiring for the night while others make their way to the top of the wall. 

When only the two of them remain at their table, Sam nods at Jon. “Now is your chance, the Lord Commander is gone. Talk to her, or spend the rest of the night wishing you had and suffer the agony of having to wait until tomorrow.” Sam shrugs, rising from his seat as Jon shakes his head at him, in yet another state of disbelief at his friend’s words. 

He hears Sam sing your praises for just a little too long as he hands his empty bowl back to you, bringing the quietest laugh from you, one that Jon knows he has to hear again or he will not make it through the night, and then Sam leaves to retire for the evening. That is where Jon should go, too, but he will not be able to live with himself if he leaves without at least trying to talk to you, first. 

With all the confidence he has been storing his entire life for this very moment, Jon stands, clutching his empty bowl in his hands as he turns to face you and makes his way over to you, trying not to let his steps falter when your eyes land on him again. 

A kind smile is on your face now, far more relaxed than you had been when he had first seen you in here, and he’s overjoyed at that. 

Clearing his throat, Jon tries to withhold the beaming grin that is fighting to break free as he stands in front of you. “It really was a lovely stew, (Y/N), thank you.” 

Your eyes avoid his, but your smile remains, and Jon sees it for the very first time: the shyness he never thought he would be able to bring to a person, until he dreamt of you. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. I’m glad everyone seemed to like it!” You chuckle, a mixture of relief and bashfulness. 

Jon laughs with you. “Liked it? I’ve not been here long, but I’d be willing to bet there has never been a mealtime spent with so many of the brothers that happy all at once. Quite an achievement for your first day.” Despite having somewhat dreaded this moment his entire life, his greatest fear having evolved into the notion he would make a bad first impression on you, Jon is truly shocked at how quickly he feels completely at ease with you, like he really has known you all these years. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind. From what Sam was saying, you made quite the impression on your first day here, too.” 

Jon takes a moment to come to terms with the fact that he left his best friend alone to blabber about him to the girl of his dreams, and that there is a teasing tone to your voice, before he is able to respond.

“Gods, what did he say?” Jon sighs, and there it is, your laugh, this time louder, heartier, and he cant hold back his beaming grin anymore.

As you start to pile the empty bowls into the empty cauldron, Jon wordlessly joins you. “Oh, just that you’re the greatest swordsman that he’s ever seen, that you’re his dear friend, that you’ve always defended him, even when it meant the disapproval of others, the list goes on!”

Jon feels his cheeks flush pink. “Sorry about that, he means well.”

You chuckle at that. “Of course he does, you dont need to apologise, it was very sweet, really. Reassured me that you’re one of the good men here, anyway. I’d already guessed as much.”

With all the bowls piled into the cauldron, Jon crouches down to lift it, carrying it to the door that you hold open for him, leading to the kitchens. 

Lowering the cauldron onto the stone countertop, Jon helps you empty the bowls from it and begin washing them in a bucket of water, leaving them on the side to drain. 

“You had guessed I was a good man before speaking to Sam?” He asks, feeling as giddy as he did when he was a boy and had first woken up from the dream of you.

“With kind eyes like yours, how could I not?” You answer with a rhetorical question and another sweet smile, stunning Jon into silence. 

That silence settles into a comfortable and productive bubble, in which only the two of you exist, washing dishes and occasionally glancing at each other with shy smiles. 

Once the last bowl is placed on the side to drain, Jon speaks up. 

“I am…sorry, that you’ve had to come here.” He doesnt want to be insensitive or selfish by pretending that your being here is a completely happy occasion, when for you it was a last resort, and likely somewhere you never intended to end up.

As if to prove his thinking correct, you nod, your eyes much sadder than they had been, as though a mask you had not realized you had been holding in front of your face began to slip. 

“Thank you…for welcoming me, I know this is not the place for a girl.” 

Jon shakes his head. “It isn’t, but only because of some of the men here, and I won’t let them close enough to harm you. Ever. You belong here just as I do.”

Before Jon can process exactly what he has said, you turn to him with a confused frown on your face. “What do you mean?” 

And then, panic sets in. Jon’s eyes widen and dart around the room, scrambling for an explanation, but unable to find one, save for the truth. Meeting your eyes, already searching his for an explanation, he sighs in defeat. The least he can do is make it a little more subtle. 

“I can’t put it into words yet, but I have to ask that you trust me. I know that we’ve just met, that you dont really know me, but please, just trust that…” Jon takes a deep breath. “Someday, there’ll be a smile where a frown used to be. I swear it.”

He watches for any microscopic change to your expression, any sign that you recognise the words he’s said, but there is nothing. A second passes in an eternity, and Jon’s stomach drops to his feet, realizing how much more difficult this is going to be to tell you. And then, your frown drops, into wide, teary eyes. 

“H-How did you- My mother used to sing me that song, she made it up, how could you possibly-” You are in a panicked state of total disbelief and wonder, unable to piece together how this could possibly have happened, or how this day could become anymore overwhelming. 

“You sang it to me-”

Shaking your head, you interrupt him. “I’ve never sang that song, my mother did.”

Jon shakes his head back at you, knowing that now he has no choice. “My whole life, I have only dreamt once, I only had one dream, one night, when I was just a boy. I dreamt that I was a man, something I had not yet been, I was here, a place I had not set foot in, and you were, too, someone I had never seen before. And in that dream, you sang that song to me. I don't know how, or what it meant, but I’ve always known - and I know for certain now - that it was more than just a dream.”

He can see it in your eyes, the way you are clinging to every word, and to his amazement, you believe him. “How do you know for certain now?”

That answer requires a lot less thinking on Jon’s part.

“Because you’re real.” 

A single tear breaks the barricades that your wide eyes were desperate to uphold, and Jon’s heart fractures inside his chest, his expression almost one of pain as he takes a step towards you, but stops himself, not wanting to scare you. 

“What else happened in the dream, Jon?”

He tries to regain his composure. “We…held each other, shared a bed, and fell asleep.” There is so much more detail to it, Jon thinks to himself, the details he has spent his life daydreaming about in excruciating detail, but those details are for another day.

Taking a moment to consider all of this, you nod to yourself, seeming to decide something. 

“Then hold me, Jon Snow.”

His heart skips a beat inside his chest, spluttering frantically as his jaw drops. “A-Are you certain that is what you-”

Holding up a hand, you stop him. “Each day that I have spent walking here has been the worst of my life. All I have been able to think about is the family, the home, the life I have lost, and the fear of arriving here, to be surrounded by men, any of which could try to hurt or even kill me at any moment, or simply turn me away at the gates. These past days, I have spent feeling nothing but dread, and it is not until right now that I have remembered what having hope for the future feels like. If what you say is true, and the fact that I already trust you not to lie to me, tells me that it is, Jon…hold me like you’ve been waiting to do it your entire life.”

And that day, in that kitchen, Jon Snow meets you in two strides, to fulfil his one true duty, for the very first time. His arms wrap around you, his body releasing a breath that he feels like he's been holding ever since he sat up in his childhood bed in Winterfell that morning. Your arms cling to him, your face tucked away in his chest, and he rests his head on top of yours, tilting his head down and closing his eyes, breathing in the scent of you that he had not forgotten, even after all these years. The piece of him that he discovered in that dream that had been left with you, there, slots back into place like it had never left, and in a moment of soul shifting realization, he understands that his entire life had not been leading him back to that dream, it had been leading him to this very moment, with you. Safe in his arms, at long last, for the very first time.

Jon Snow has never been a man that has enjoyed following instructions. It has never come naturally to him, and has already landed him in several spots of trouble in his short time as a brother of the Night’s Watch so far. But that day, in that kitchen, Jon Snow knows that his one true duty, the one he was born to fulfil, is to hold you, whenever you ask, whenever you don't, and whenever you need, for any reason, or no reason at all.

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Dark aemond/dark aegon x oc reader snippet PLEASE BE PATIENT IM SORRY I WONT LEAVE AGIAN

Aegon's pov though.

Aegon married you and aemond is ...aemond, xD

Aegon's pov

Headaches plague me, visions of Maella dance around in that likely empty casket I call my head, as I sit the comfiest chair out of them all, yet I might as well sit on a chair, made of bones and skulls. Isn’t that all a throne is, in truth? A structure, a prison, made out of blood, bones, and skulls. We tell ourselves we do it for our families, for our loved ones, for our House, for duty, for love, for everything you can possibly think of. But we don’t do it for the reason we should be sitting there in the first place. We don’t do it for the people. No Targaryen ever cared about the smallfolk. No Targaryen ever will. 

A voice raspy, ghostly almost and most certainly haunting in a way, reminds me I am not alone, not even in my head. Not even in my own damn castle. ‘’Cheer up, brother. It is your wedding day.’’ My head snaps to the direction of a smirking brother who raises his cup at me in mockery and spite. 

He may act as ignorant and dutiful as he wishes, I know the true reason he is acting as if his lady troubles came two months earlier: He craved Maella. He didn’t love her, no. He wanted her for his own sick twisted fantasies, fantasies he claims he didn’t have, as he was the better brother. Love, we don’t know that concept. Neither of us truly do. Aemond lured her in his trap, Aemond killed her brother, slew a dragon, imprisoned the little lizard Maella owns as well and he brought her here. I should be thankful, shouldn’t I? He brought a traitor to me.

Yet the imbeciles on the council, they married me to this, bastard princess. She is not a true Targaryen, not fully. I suppose neither of us are, if we are being truthful. But at least me and my siblings aren’t bastards. She is. She is a spawn from Rhaenyra and Harwin and now my wife. My lady. 

I instantly reach for my own cup, throwing back as much wine as my throat can swallow, but it almost does nothing to dull the pain. I can only pretend it takes away my suffering, as the wine has become useless to dull my senses. Aemond has approached, now standing in front of me, wearing the ghost of a smile and his black still bloodied clothing. I raise my eyebrows at him, challenging him to speak, to make this snoozefest of a wedding entertaining. He is good at that. 

But my brother pretends to be modest, he rather plays tricks, toys with words, and deceives than he would ever dare speak his true mind. Gods save us all for when he does. ‘’You look like a man who is facing his execution. Not a man who is soon to lay with  arguably the most beautiful creature the gods have ever created.’’ He avoids my eyes at all costs, folding his hands on his back and keeps his eyes scanning the crowd. Maella is beautiful, yes. But I never cared for her.

When we were fourteen and six, she chased me around, declaring her foolish love for me. I believe I was drunk and yet somehow hungover too, so I threw her doll in the river, and promised her she’d be thrown in next if she didn’t leave me. Oddly, we never talked after that. I mean, why would we? She, the Princess of the Kingdoms, the Delight of the realms, truly. And me…

A man who will never truly live up to his famous namesake.

I have two wives now, his crown, his throne, his sword, his blood and his hair. But nothing will change the fact that I feel unworthy of it all. I feel as a forgery playing a masterpiece, and that someone can pull the curtain any time now. 

Aemond doesn’t see it, the fool. He sees that I sit a throne he aspires to have, have two beautiful women to lay with whenever I tell them to and more power and status than any of us deserve. The gods are cruel where they put their power, I suppose. ‘’I don’t enjoy being forced into marriages.’’ I comment, playing with my cup and watching the wine dance at the bottom of the cup. 

My younger brother snorts. ‘’You don’t know how much effort I put into capturing her, bringing her here and breaking her will for you so you have a good, obedient wife. At least pretend you are happy.’’

‘’For me?’’ I scoff. ‘’You didn’t do shit for me. You did it for yourself. Grandfather told me, you wanted her to become your wife, you even told him you'd happily breed, and fuck her until she is with child-''

''Someone has to. You won't do it.'' Aemond comments. ''You only see her as a helpless little girl. She is not the helpless little girl anymore. She has become a woman.''

''Don't talk that way about my wife-''

‘’She is not your wife-’’ Aemond hisses through his teeth, glaring in my direction. I slam my cup down on the table next to me, and the guests around us all fall silent.

I warn him. ‘’She is. You do well to remember that.’’

Aemond lowers his head, but his good eye is burning with fire unlike anything I ever saw before. Maella is not his love, it his obesession. I am sure he'd kill her, or she will kill him, if I let them come too close. ''Ýour grace.''

----

snippet ends here.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 20

The war between RippleClan and AshClan comes to a formal end, and everyone in RippleClan celebrates.

[Image ID: A crowd of RippleClan cats, including Oilstripe, gather to frame Downstar, who says “It’s over, everyone!”]

Oilstripe hated the wait. 

All of RippleClan lingered in their camp’s clearing, the light of a central fire throwing shadows onto the shipwreck. A soft snowfall danced overhead, fizzling out well before it reached the warm camp. Everyone’s minds seemed far from camp, however. Weedfoot paced around the exit while Puddlespeckle watched her with a tired, but oddly soft gaze. Burdockcreek and Clammask silently shared tongues with Rustshade. Oilstripe sat close to the fire with Carnationspeckle and Applepelt. There were no StarClan spirits in camp that night to distract her. All she had were two friends stuck in the same state of mind.

“This seems like a formality, don’t you think?” Applepelt sighed, front paws kneading the sand. “AshClan hasn’t done anything since last moon’s Gathering. I don’t know why everyone is so tense.”

“We don’t know what Autumnstar thinks of us now,” Carnationspeckle said as Oilstripe groomed her long brown fur. 

“I know exactly what he thinks,” Applepelt chirped. “He’s terrified to face me again!” She rolled onto her back and batted the air. 

“Terrified to face StarClan, maybe,” Oilstripe scoffed. “His whole argument fell apart the moment Downstar came back to life. He can’t chase out a Clan accepted by StarClan, it’s in the code.”

“So StarClan’s truly real, is it?” Applepelt sighed. She squirmed deeper into the sand while Oilstripe gave a half-hearted laugh.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Oilstripe said.

“Applepelt, scoot away from the fire, your whiskers will catch,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. 

“Make me,” Applepelt cooed. “It’s too quiet tonight. I’m gonna ramble for a while. Smack me if you wanna stop me.” She rolled back onto her belly. She ranted about WheatClan stories she picked up at the last Gathering, but Oilstripe tuned her out. She and Carnationspeckle groomed knots out of each other’s fur as the fire crackled and spat.

Soon enough, Downstar and Rabbitjoy both entered the camp. Weedfoot stopped pacing and joined them on their way to the Shiprock. Carnationspeckle and Oilstripe both kicked Applepelt, pausing her story mid-sentence. Applepelt seemed ready to whine, but spotted the returning leader and sat up. 

“All cats old enough to catch their own prey, gather below the Shiprock for a Clan meeting!” Downstar called before she even got to the rock. Halibutpaw had been sitting quietly outside the apprentice’s den but now called his littermates into the clearing. The small Clan huddled around the fire. Their eyes shone in the dim light like Silverpelt brought down. Rabbitjoy sat at the bottom of the Shiprock. Oilstripe put her paw over Applepelt’s and her tail over Carnationspeckle’s as she held her breath. Downstar could only keep her serious expression up for so long, though.

“It’s over, everyone!” Downstar yowled, tail high. “RippleClan and AshClan are at peace!” A great cheer tore through the clearing. Oilstripe’s muscles melted like her namesake. “AshClan will hereby acknowledge our position as a Clan ordained by StarClan. As the moons pass, we will establish the same relationships we have with the other Clans. AshClan will allow us to walk along the border to visit the other Clans.”

“Finally,” Halibutpaw scoffed. Graypaw batted his ear.

“Aww, you afraid of a fight?” Graypaw laughed. “You’re the warrior apprentice. You should be sad you can’t show AshClan what’s what anymore.”

“Maybe I don’t want another friend to die, Graypaw,” Halibutpaw snapped. Graypaw stepped back, blinking wildly.

“Alright, alright,” James cooed, stepping between the pair. “That’s quite enough. When I lived with humans, they always celebrated special moments with a good meal. I say we do the same!”

“I like that idea, James,” Downstar chirped. “Carnationspeckle, you’re the best swimmer we have. Would you take Graypaw to the coast and find some fish for the Clan?”

“The ocean’s freezing, Mom,” Graypaw whined. “Can’t I help at the oven?”

“You’ll be a caretaker soon, Graypaw,” Downstar sighed, shaking her head. “If I ask you to do something, you’ll need to do it. It won’t take long.” Graypaw muttered something, but didn’t put up anymore fight. 

“We have a bit of flaxseed oil from WheatClan!” Clammask said, jogging over to the portion of the shipwreck where the Clan stored jars and pots and baskets. “Let’s use that tonight!”

“Wonderful,” Downstar purred, hopping off the Shiprock. “We could use a feast. Enjoy yourselves tonight, everyone!” Weedfoot, Shadowpaw, Halibutpaw, and Rustshade surrounded Downstar. Carnationspeckle stretched and touched noses with both Oilstripe and Applepelt.

“I’ll catch a fish for us to share,” she promised. With a wave of her feathery tail, Carnationspeckle led Graypaw out of camp. 

“My humans used to catch fish, did I ever tell you that?” Applepelt chirped.

“A few times already, yes,” Oilstripe purred, her heart as warm as the fire.

“You should have seen the fish they would bring in,” Applepelt laughed, stretching her legs as far as they could go. “Some of them were this big! I’ve never seen others of them before, either. I think they got on a ship and caught them, but I don’t know how that works. I know James helps build rafts sometimes, but they couldn’t go far enough to catch these fish. I don’t know if I could call some of them fish…” 

Applepelt continued on, describing spider-like masses of flesh and fish with more teeth than she could count. As her words washed over Oilstripe, the ginger historian’s eyes drifted over the apprentice’s den. A cream-colored cat stood outside the den, shining as bright as the fire. Oilstripe nodded to her sibling and enjoyed her Clan’s victory.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Applepelt: 29, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(Halibutpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 12, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Clammask: 14, female, caretaker, righteous, lore keeper, good teacher)

Two apprentices graduate from their training without their brother. Shadowpaw was held back to catch up on missed training from whitecough.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk and Graythroat pose. Under Halibutdusk, it says LEVEL UP! HALIBUTPAW -> HALIBUTDUSK, IMPULSIVE -> GLOOMY, QUICK WITTED -> CLEVER, LOVER OF STORIES -> GREAT STORYTELLER. Under Graythroat, it says LEVEL UP! GRAYPAW -> GRAYTHROAT, BLOODTHIRSTY -> FIERCE, CAREFUL LISTENER -> VALUABLE INSIGHT.]

(Halibutdusk: 12, male, warrior, gloomy, clever, great storyteller)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

Graythroat attacks a fox without hesitation, but merely freaks it out.

[Image ID: Graythroat faces down a fox while Fennelspot and James watch in the corner. Under Fennelspot, it says + GUIDANCE FROM STARCLAN: GRAY & GRAY (OMEN).]

---

Fennelspot loved having a proper selection of caretakers to help him manage his gardens. It could be hard to properly tend to the selection of herbs he had begun cultivating in the southern half of the territory, but with caretakers, Fennelspot could focus on his medical and spiritual duties while they made sure the herbs grew well. Yes, it was the last moon of winter, and most of the growths wouldn’t begin showing up until the next moon, but it was the perfect time to plant some of his seeds. Besides, James and Graythroat hadn’t had much experience with the garden, so this was as good a time as any to introduce them.

“Humans have their farms and gardens,” Fennelspot explained as Graythroat and James walked behind him with baskets of thyme and sage seeds. “That taught us how to start our own fields and rise a step above herbal scavenging. There are a lot of plants we let grow wild, but some, like the sage and thyme seeds I’ve kept in storage all winter, grow well in gardens. I found the areas near the southern edge have better conditions for maintaining a garden.”

“Do you expect me to dig?” James scoffed, his words muddied by the basket in his mouth. “I don’t dig. I can barely tolerate the constant sand between my paws, I will not willingly coat myself in mud.”

“We’re caretakers, that’s our job,” Graythroat grunted.

“The mud’s not as bad as you think it is, James,” Fennelspot said, some of this enthusiasm seeping out. “It reminds me of SlugClan. It’s nice. At least I won’t ask you to help smoke out beehives. I don’t think you’d stay in RippleClan if you had to do that.” Fennelspot chuckled awkwardly as James tilted his head. The face Graythroat made told him all he needed to know on the subject.

The gardens were a section of an open field west of the RippleClan graveyard. At first glance, it seemed like any other field, but the grass was only half-grown and the remnants of plants that did not survive the winter sat in rows that would never have formed without an intelligent paw to guide them. A dusting of snow covered the gardens, but it wouldn’t stop the patrol.

Fennelspot was about to direct Graythroat to tear up the dead plants while he explained planting to James, but a gray shape on the other side of the gardens made him pause. It was a silver fox; its black fur was dusted white as though it had been caught in the snow. Brilliant orange eyes stared at Fennelspot. It stood in profile, watching the three cats, completely frozen.

“It’s likely passing through,” Fennelspot whispered as his companions noticed the fox. “We’ll wait for it to leave and come back later.”

“No,” Graythroat huffed, dropping her basket. “This is our territory. No fox is going to steal our prey.” Graythroat bolted past Fennelspot and James before either could respond. Graythroat hissed and screeched, catching the fox’s attention. The fox screamed at Graythroat, ears pulled back as far as they could go. Graythroat launched at the fox and dug her claws and fangs into its silver coat.

“Graythroat!” Fennelspot yowled. “It’s done nothing to us. Leave it alone!” StarClan, he wished there was someone in the Clan who could speak to foxes. James set his basket of sage seeds down and stood in front of Fennelspot, ready to defend the cleric.

Morning light bounced off Graythroat’s pelt. The sun illuminated the fox’s fur, blending the white flecks into its black undercoat. In that light, Graythroat’s pelt looked just like the foxes. Gray fur scrambled over gray fur in a shiny mixture of rage. A sudden sense of familiar clarity flooded Fennelspot’s mind as the fox scrambled out from Graythroat’s clutches and bolted toward the trees, barking madly. This was a sign. No, not a simple sign. An omen. StarClan may not talk to him like they talk to Oilstripe, but by the stars, he was good at his job and he knew an omen when he saw it.

What the omen meant, however, he could not say.

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Graythroat: 12, female, caretaker, fierce, valuable insight)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

James escorts the WheatClan deputy to camp.

[Image ID: James stands in the corner as Valleybrook, a golden tabby with Rustshade’s markings and lavender in his fur, speaks to Rustshade and Oilstripe. He says “I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust.”]

---

There were a lot of cats Oilstripe would have expected to walk into camp, but her uncle was not one of them.

Oilstripe and Rustshade were sharing one of their rarer moments of peace, quizzing Shadowpaw on the code so he could catch up to his littermates. They were halfway through the Code of Caretakers when James entered camp. Oilstripe would have paid him no mind if a slender golden tabby didn’t follow him in. The tom was so star-struck by the bulking shipwreck that he didn’t notice Weedfoot jogging his way.

“Valleybrook?” Weedfoot called. Rustshade snapped his head around. 

Valleybrook broke out of his trance and faced Weedfoot, saying with an awkward sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m very impressed by your camp. A shipwreck makes quite the statement.”

“I was enjoying my afternoon when he waved me over from the WheatClan border,” James huffed, scratching an itch behind his ear. “He asked to come to camp.”

“Downstar’s out on patrol right now,” Weedfoot said with a slight cock of her head. “What brings the WheatClan deputy to our camp?”

“It’s something of a favor,” Valleybrook admitted. His gaze shifted to Rustshade and he said, “I was hoping to speak with my brother.”

“Rustshade, you never told me you’re littermates with WheatClan’s deputy,” Shadowpaw said as Rustshade wandered over to Valleybrook, his tail stiff behind him.

“They haven’t talked much since we left WheatClan,” Oilstripe whispered. From what she remembered of the first half of her kithood, Valleybrook had been a loving uncle, encouraging Oilstripe to learn all about WheatClan’s crops. He was always the perfect image of grace at Gatherings, but his soft eyes rekindled Oilstripe’s old memories of him.

“Hello, Valley,” Rustshade sighed, gracefully sitting in front of his estranged kin.

“I wish we were talking under better circumstances, Rust,” Valleybrook sighed. He spotted Oilstripe watching and called to her. “Oilstripe, join us, please.” With a worried glance at Shadowpaw, Oilstripe joined her father and uncle. Weedfoot and James stepped away in a feeble effort to give the group privacy.

“What’s so wrong that we couldn’t talk about it during the Gathering?” Rustshade asked matter-of-factly. “You’d only have to wait a few days.”

“I didn’t want you to be blinded by the news,” Valleybrook sighed. He tucked his tail over his paws and took a deep breath. “Sunstrike came down with some sort of infection. I don’t fully understand what happened. She passed away yesterday.” 

Well that didn’t make sense. Oilstripe would have seen her. She spoke to Sunstrike at Gatherings, they were polite to each other, she knew she cared that Oilstripe was happy. She wouldn’t head to StarClan without visiting her kits. Should she even be thinking of her mother’s death in such simple terms? Should she feel more than she did? Rustshade seemed similarly stunned, at least. His unreadable expression gave no clues as to how he felt.

“I see,” Rustshade said. “Thank you for telling us before the Gathering.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Valleybrook said. “If you two want to share soup together at the Gathering, I think that would be nice.” Rustshade nodded softly. Valleybook gingerly reached a paw out and placed it on Rustshade’s head. Rustshade stayed still. “I’m sorry, Rustshade. I know things haven’t been wonderful between you and your old mate, but I understand what it’s like to lose someone you shared so much of your life with.” Valleybrook couldn’t have been more obvious about what he meant, but Oilstripe couldn’t tell if her father noticed. 

“Do you want me to escort you back to the border?” Rustshade asked.

“That would be nice,” Valleybrook sighed, moving his paw and standing. “I hope it’s alright if I visit your dirtplace first.”

“There’s a path looping around the shipwreck for you to follow,” Rustshade explained, nodding toward the dirtplace path. Valleybrook nodded and his gaze lingered on his brother as he crossed through camp.

“Oilstripe,” Rustshade muttered into Oilstripe’s ear. “Clammask and Burdockcreek will be back from Downstar’s hunting patrol before I get back. Will you tell them about Sunstrike?” Oilstripe nodded absentmindedly, then realized exactly what that would entail.

“You want me to…” Oilstripe gulped, locking eyes with Rustshade. Rustshade sighed and nodded.

“If they haven’t figured it out themselves,” Rustshade explained, “they deserve to know now. They should get a chance to mourn their mother.”

“I’ll tell them,” Oilstripe promised. She couldn’t predict how they would react, but her father was right. It was important for them to know where they came from.

Valleybrook returned soon after and walked with Rustshade out of camp. Oilstripe dismissed Weedfoot’s questions of concern and went off to a quiet corner of camp to think. Well, not really think; look. She scanned the camp and the trees beyond and the humming waves that brought the shipwreck to its home. 

Sunstrike was nowhere to be seen.

(Oilstripe: 24, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

(Rustshade: 64, male, codekeeper, sneaky, learner of lore)

(Shadowpaw: 12, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Carnationspeckle finds an abandoned kit while on patrol with Weedfoot.

[Image ID: Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle face a silver kit with a white left ear and copper eyes. Under the kit, it says NEW PLAYER: RATTLEKIT, 3 MOONS, FEMALE, INSECURE, PLAYS WITH PREY. Weedfoot asks, “What happened to your fur, little one?”]

---

“I wish I could say I’m surprised that Graythroat attacked the fox, but I’m not,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “She’s always been more ready to fight than she should be.”

She and Weedfoot were at the gardens, carefully planting some heal all seeds Rabbitjoy traded with SlugClan. The ground kept freezing as night fell, but Fennelspot insisted the frost wouldn’t hurt the seeds. The frost still clung to the grass when Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot arrived. Carnationspeckle found the simple practice of spreading seeds to be a mindful activity, allowing her to connect with the world around her. Weedfoot kept shaking mud out of her paws, but at least she was willing to help.

“If she wanted to focus on fighting,” Weedfoot huffed, “she should have trained as a warrior. Her brothers learned to curb their battledrive, I don’t know why she hasn’t.”

“StarClan only knows,” Carnationspeckle said. She studied the edges of the garden and asked, “Do you suppose there is a way to protect the herbs from rabbits and those sorts of creatures?”

“We would need some sort of wall,” Weedfoot muttered, tilting her small basket of heal all seeds onto the ground. “I don’t know how we would keep other animals out but let ourselves in.” Carnationspeckle hummed softly and shoved dirt over the heal all seeds.

“Mom?” a high-pitched voice called. Weedfoot and Carnationspeckle’s ears shot up. The wild growth beyond the garden was quiet, but distant plants swayed as an unseen figure pushed past them.

“Hello?” Carnationspeckle called into the trees. A soft gasp reached her ears and the plants shifted while the figure hurried toward the garden. Weedfoot tensed up and took a cautious step toward the approaching form. 

A silver face peeked out from the half-alive plants beyond the garden. Dark orange eyes shone in the light of the early morning. Carnationspeckle held back a gasp as she realized the silver coloration was not fur like it should have been, but skin. The kit lacked a single hair anywhere on her face. Wrinkles settled over her body like fluff. Her left ear was shiny and white like a fin sticking out of the water. Her face soured at the sight of Carnationspeckle and Weedfoot.

“You’re not my mom,” she huffed. She stepped back into the trees.

“Wait!” Carnationspeckle yelped. “Come back!” The kit emerged once more, studying Carnationspeckle just as the brown molly studied her.

“What happened to your fur, little one?” Weedfoot asked softly, getting down to the kit’s level.

“I never had any,” the kit said, hesitating. “Who are you? Have you seen my mom?”

“I’m Weedfoot,” the deputy explained. “This is my friend, Carnationspeckle. What does your mother look like, little one?”

“Like me,” the kit explained. “Have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” Carnationspeckle sighed. “What’s your name?”

“Rattlesnake,” the kit muttered. As she stepped further into the garden, Rattlesnake shivered violently. Carnationspeckle hurried up to her. Rattlesnake yelped, but Carnationspeckle brought her close and pressed her into her long pelt.

“You’re freezing,” Carnationspeckle gasped. “Stay here, please. I can keep you warm.” Rattlesnake shivered so hard, she almost knocked Carnationspeckle over. The skin of her needle-like tail was red and blistered. 

“She’s no Clan kit,” Weedfoot sighed. She sat next to Carnationspeckle. “Rattlesnake, when did you last see your mother?”

“She woke me up and brought me to the forest,” Rattlesnake explained. She buried her bony face into Carnationspeckle’s fur. 

“So you’ve been out here all night?” Weedfoot mumbled.

“Weedfoot, she has frostbite,” Carnationspeckle said, draping a paw over Rattlesnake. “I can’t warm her up here.”

“Rattlesnake, can we bring you to our home?” Weedfoot asked. “We have some warm leather and a fire you can sit by.”

“Mom said not to go with anyone unless they were a Clan cat,” Rattlesnake gulped, eyeing Weedfoot.

“Then you’re in luck,” Carnationspeckle purred. “We’re from RippleClan.” Rattlesnake purred and rubbed her cold nose against Carnationspeckle.

“I’m going to run ahead and make sure the Clan’s ready for her,” Weedfoot explained. “Will you escort her to camp?”

“I won’t leave her side,” Carnationspeckle promised. The pair touched noses and Weedfoot took off, grabbing the seed basket and leaving deep pawprints behind her. Carnationspeckle reached for Rattlesnake’s scruff, but paused. Without fur, would Carnationspeckle’s teeth pierce her gentle skin? She decided against it.

“Rattlesnake,” Carnationspeckle whispered, “have you ever had a horse ride?”

“What’s that?” Rattlesnake asked, peeking out from Carnationspeckle’s fur. Carnationspeckle crouched down so her belly touched the ground.

“Climb onto my back and hold on tight,” Carnationspeckle chuckled. Rattlesnake hesitated for a while, one paw gently reaching toward Carnationspeckle. Eventually she scaled Carnationspeckle’s back. Carnationspeckle gently stood and adjusted her stance for Rattlesnake’s weight. 

“Here we go,” Carnationspeckle chirped. She waddled out of the garden as quick as she could as Rattlekit’s tiny claws poked into her skin.

It was a long walk back to camp, but at least the frost melted underneath Carnationspeckle and Rattlesnake didn’t shiver so intensely. When the shipwreck came into view, Fennelspot was waiting for her outside camp.

“Let me see the frostbite,” Fennelspot gulped as Carnationspeckle ran toward him. Fennelspot walked alongside Carnationspeckle and studied Rattlesnake. Downstar and James tended a fire in the center of camp while Rabbitjoy set out a few soft leather pelts beside it. Weedfoot waited anxiously by the fire.

“Set her down here,” she said when Carnationspeckle got close. Carnationspeckle laid on her belly so Rattlesnake could drop off. She purred as she curled up on the soft vole pelts. Fennelspot examined her tail and ran a paw over the blisters. The rest of RippleClan watched from the sidelines.

“It’s in its early stages,” Fennelspot explained. “I can treat this easily. Put a pelt over her. She needs warmth.”

“I didn’t know cats could be born without fur,” Downstar muttered as Fennelspot jogged to the medicine den. Rabbitjoy set a rabbit pelt over Rattlesnake, furry side up.

“I know a furless cat!” Parsley stepped out of the crowd. “When I lived in the barn, I heard stories of a furless molly the humans kept as a breeder.”

“What do you mean?” Carnationspeckle gasped.

“Humans sometimes keep a molly around so she can keep kitting litters,” Weedfoot explained with a sneer. “They don’t care how exhausting it is.”

“What an awful fate,” Carnationspeckle growled. “Why did her mother leave her out here? If she could leave, why wouldn’t she join her daughter?” Rattlesnake had fallen asleep by this point. Her whiskers twitched peacefully in her dreams. Fennelspot returned with a salve in a small jar and spread it over Rattlesnake’s tail.

“Maybe she couldn’t leave for long,” James suggested. “If humans like the cat living with them enough, they’ll look for them if they leave. You said her mother wanted her to go with Clan cats, didn’t you? Perhaps she thought her daughter would have a better life without her.” Carnationspeckle curled around Rattlesnake and groomed her wrinkly head.

“She will,” Carnationspeckle promised. She met Downstar’s eyes and said, “I’ll raise her. I can’t let her sleep in the nursery alone.”

“I’m not surprised,” Downstar purred.

“It’ll be hard to explain this to her,” Weedfoot sighed, sitting by Rattlesnake and Carnationspeckle. “She can’t be much older than three moons.”

“Do you think she’ll want a Clan name?” James hummed. 

“If she does,” Carnationspeckle purred, “we could call her Rattlekit. That’s what you did with my name.” Downstar and Weedfoot nodded as Carnationspeckle rested her head by her new daughter. Yes, that was what she would be. The decision was as clear to Carnationspeckle as a cloudless sky. The small furless molly would not go through life without a mother.

(Carnationspeckle: 22, female, caretaker, compassionate, talented swimmer)

(Weedfoot: 68, female, deputy, charismatic, very clever, formidable fighter)

(Rattlekit: 3, female, kit, insecure, plays with prey)

(Fennelspot: 77, male, cleric,  insecure, valuable insight, incredible runner)

(Downstar: 79, female, leader, adventurous, trusted advisor, very clever)

(James: 96, male, caretaker, charismatic, den builder, formidable fighter)

[loopspoop]

Who, out of the lupgang, do you think would have an existential crisis? I could see it happening to a couple of them tbh, and the others are trying their best to help calm them down and get through it.

I like this ask >:3c

Most to least likely in order?

Lupin/Goemon

Pops

Jigen

Fujiko

Lupin and Goemon are pretty self explanatory. They’re both heirs in long lines of successful thief families. Lupin needs to live up to the expectations his family has set and then some. He’s just another cog in the machine and, while he feels like he’s in control, you can’t always control your life. He thinks a lot about who he would’ve been if he wasn’t Lupin the Third. Some normal guy with a boring life? A successful thief starting his own brand outside of the Lupin family name? Is he just like his ancestors? How different can he truly be? Is there anything for him outside of grand schemes and theft? It keeps him up at night. Sometimes the others catch on but he never speaks about it unless he’s having a panic attack or breakdown from it. It’s not their burden to shoulder.

Goemon had a lot of the same expectations combined with being the owner of Zantetsuken. We know from Part 2 that the sword will stop working in the next 100~ years. Does it bother him that it’s a stain on his legacy? The samurai that ruined the Zantetsuken by losing its mate? And don’t even get him started on finding a partner and potentially having a Goemon Ishikawa the Fourteenth! He never seemed too interested it in, but being the 13th of his name puts some pressure on him to have a 14th. He also wonders what life would be like if he wasn’t literally the last practicing samurai in the world because damn…that’s heavy to think about. Would he still be some sort of super skilled thief/assassin? Or just some average man doing his taxes? It stresses him out quite often. He meditates. He wouldn’t discuss it with anyone unless it was Lupin, because Lupin would be the only one to really understand.

Zenigata is a bit different? Bro kinda chose his life path but there is the fact that he’s an older guy. He won’t be able to chase Lupin forever. What will happen when that day comes? Or the day when Lupin dies for real? Or just disappears and nobody has a Lupin Theft™️ ever again? Zenigata doesn’t let himself think about it because it leads to pretty serious spirals and he usually finds ways to distract himself (like chasing Lupin).

Jigen…he’s a lot different. He’s not a successor of a famous namesake. All he has is his legacy as the best marksman and being Lupin’s partner. He’s always going to be Lupin’s partner, to death do they part. But he could lose that legacy. He’s also made some fucked up choices, some of which he probably had no control over with his time in the mafia. He wonders a lot about if he could’ve been a better man. And if that would’ve affected his being with the group. On a rare night it gets bad he drinks and shoots the shit with Lupin. They don’t discuss it the next day.

Fujiko doesn’t really have much to worry about I feel? She knows who she is. She’s a boss bitch and she gets what she wants. She doesn’t have to conform to anyones expectations but her own (which include being rich and hot and those are pretty easy for her). She can understand where the boys are coming from though, and gives crazy good pep talks on how to not conform to what other people want and how to live for yourself. We love a supportive queen

[paravellex]

okay but hear me out: transmasc vrissy maryam-lalonde

there are certain things a character has to be in order to "be a vriska." she has to be an autistic trans lesbian. she has to have abusive parental figures who use her as a weapon. she has to have an obvious passion for tactical bullshit. above all, she has to play a central role in the story that leaves readers arguing about whether her actions were justified

vrissy doesn't match any facet of this archetype (except for autistic, but everyone in homestuck is autistic). she is decidedly Not A Vriska

but all her life she's been "vriska"! it's the name her (loving and supportive!) parents gave her as a way to honor vriska, and she asserted herself as the "vriska" of earth c, to the point that her presence demoted vriska to "(vriska)"

she grew up idolizing and modeling herself after a figure that she didn't truly know and had very little in common with

and then she finally meets her, and she's great! she's flashy, impressive, larger than life. she kills the unkillable clown. she faces down an entire battalion by herself without fear. she has quiet moments of vulnerability with vrissy, but bounces back from them with (outward) ease. less than two days after falling from the sky, she's brought the revolution to a new stage and hatched a plan to escape the universe

vrissy has never met anyone so cool.

she's never met anyone less like herself.

faced with such a clear contrast, i can easily see vrissy having a crisis of identity. who is she, if she's not "vriska"? maybe she tries to be a more vriska-y version of vriska for a while and finds herself totally unfit for the task. maybe, after going through whatever adventures she goes through with her friends, she learns how to forge an identity independent of her namesake.

and maybe while forging that identity, she decides she doesn't want to keep trying to be a "she"

how would vriska, who was met with violence and shame when she announced herself as a woman and fought to live as herself, react when her doppelganger -- whom vriska might view as who she could have been, given a different upbringing -- turns out to be transmasc? how would their dynamic evolve? would vrissy's friends and the adults take his new identity in stride, or would there be tension?

i think there's potential here!

also it would complete the grid (yiffy sprite by @tonythybologna):