#yearning to be free of capitalism

[vyriadurav]

My job should be to be a hot temple priestess getting high and railed by lesbians so that the divine wisdom comes to me and I share it with the adoring masses. Instead I gotta like, fuckin, pay taxes or some shit

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

I miss the thing where the government would mail us free COVID tests. Can we have that back, please?? Heaven knows we need it during this Hot COVID Summer!

[strawberrytsuki]

We as terrans have to get all the transfems to start broadcasting radio signals to space of yearning for the affini, cuz then maybe and just maybe they'd hear us and come for us

[run-of-the-milf]

I want to live in a charming little cottage not too far from town with a little backyard where my ducks and bunnies can play and enjoy the grass and I want to rest and spend time in nature and go to bed each night next to the love of my life

[alexlwrites]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Alpha! Hyung line x Omega! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty."

OR  

The one where you find your fated alphas, but they can't find you.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, ABO, Soulmate AUs.

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: Should I be writing another fanfic when I have not finished a single one of my works? No. Does my brain understand that? Also no.

Anyway enjoy, like and subscribe and ignore any mistakes as english is not my first language and i dont proof read anything in my life.

P.S: This is heavely inspired by the book Pack Darling, so shoutout to that duology give it a read, yall!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: This is a 18+ work! Minors, please do not interact. Also, there will be mentions of violence and abuse.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi if you enjoy my work <3)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭��𝐞𝐬𝐬

You didn’t know how long you had been running, nor how far you’d gotten. The skies had darkened and then lightened again since the moment of your escape and you assumed you had a few more hours before your absence was noticed, but you didn’t have it in yourself to stop, steps only briefly faltering from exhaustion but still fueled by fear.

You had to keep going. No amount of distance was enough between you and what you had left behind.

Still, there was only so much your body could take in its malnourished state and after a while your legs slowed down on their own, feet too hurt to continue carrying your weight. Yet you stumbled forward through unknown woods, watching trees and shrubbery blurr past you as you dragged yourself towards what you hoped was west - towards the coast.

You had never left the walls that surrounded your family’s home, but had seen the maps that covered the walls of your father’s study enough to remember the outlines of the charted land and the sprawling expanse of the coastal city near the territory you lived - the closest and the only one you could get on foot, even if you were unsure what your next step would be once you got there.

Adamas - the capital of diamonds - laid hopefully ahead of you, filled to the brim with marine vessels and royal ships that you could maybe sneak in and let yourself be carried far away from the claws of your family, running until you found somewhere quiet and reclusive where you could spend your days alone and free from your own status and its implications.

But that dream seemed further and further away as your body shivered and withered, unable to continue your journey, faltering until you gave out and found yourself lying atop a pile of leaves on the cold forest floor.

You sighed, a tortured breath escaping your exhausted lungs. Maybe it was the best you’d get - not the solitary cottage you yearned for, but the swift death by the hands of nature. Still an escape, death. Still freedom from that was always expected of you, from the destiny that awaited.

You closed your eyes and waited, giving up on the weight of consciousness. Any moment now, you thought. It would all be over. As the edges of your mind started to become hazy, your tired lungs pulled one more labored breath and with it a scent that reached out to the deepest parts of your soul with a calming, friendly touch and released the tension from your body.

This is heaven, you thought, and allowed yourself to sleep.

***

There was an unconscious omega in his lands and King Namjoon was unsure on what to do.  

Omegas were rare within the wolf genes - they were the smallest of the packs, the caregivers and kindest diplomats, made to become nursing figures within each family dynamic and bring balance to the usually violent and short fused nature of alphas, despite their positions as providers and leaders. But omegas, gentle and fragile omegas, were far and few between and from a very young age Namjoon had been taught to treat them with the utmost care. 

With that being said, Namjoon was also taught to be wary of trespassers and this tiny, wounded omega was somehow within his borders. 

How did you get there, he wondered. There were no roads leading to the back of the castle where he usually strolled through in the early mornings, only thick woods that would be almost a day on foot before you got to any sort of path.

In the end, his instincts spoke louder, dynamics drilled into his brain and pulling him towards the tattered frame on the ground. With all the kindness he could muster from his large frame, he gathered your body in his arms, gently cradling your form.

As he walked, he let his eyes access you: small, disconcertingly thin, with hollow cheeks and dark circles marring your lovely soft features. You had no mating mark on your neck and no distinguishable scent - and that was what confused him the most.

When an omega reaches maturity, their scent would evolve into something unique that would eventually be used to attract a mate and potentially even identify a fated scent match - a partner made by the heavens, your perfect half.

But despite looking past the age of maturity, you smelled clean, neutral with just a hint of sweetness to classify you as an omega.

What on earth could have happened to you, he wondered, worriedly scanning your bruised body and jutting bones.

And what on earth would he do with you?

***

Sometimes Hoseok couldn’t understand his leader.

He watched as Namjoon paced up and down his office, heavy steps echoing around as he stomped in contemplation.

From the day they met, decades ago, when they were both babbling toddlers, Hoseok had accepted  the younger man as pack. Both sons of monarchs, born in allied families, they were thrown together in royal play pens as soon as they could hold the weight of their own heads.

Hoseok always considered it a privilege to watch his brother in arms grow into his  position - a natural born leader, a king. And Hoseok never once doubted his ability to rule fairly and successfully. 

But every so often he couldn’t help but question his friend’s common sense.

“Namjoon” he called to his still restless friend “You cannot possibly be considering throwing the omega in the dungeons?”

“She is technically trespassing” his friend argued stubbornly.

“She’s an omega!”

His own mother being a rare omega, some rules had been drilled very early into Hoseok’s young mind: omegas are to be treasured, his father had said, it is your job as an alpha to protect them should you be blessed enough to find one.

He hadn’t actually seen the omega. He had barely woken up when a maid ushered him to the king’s office where Namjoon had asked for his council while burning a hole through the carpet. 

“She could be dangerous. Some sort of trap, maybe?”

No threat could scare Hoseok more than the idea of his father finding out he had allowed some poor omega to be thrown into their underground cells and so he pleaded “Put her in one of the guest rooms and set my guards in the exits. When she wakes up, I’ll interrogate her myself.”

Namjoon considered the offer for a few seconds, examining the face of the captain of his guard and one of his closest friends. At last, he nodded and settled down in a nearby chair, calling a guard to give the order to move you from the infirmary to the guest aisle of his castle as soon as possible.

Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Hoseok asked his shaky leader after a few seconds of silence “What is she like?”

There was a gleam in Namjoon’s eyes Hoseok couldn’t explain and doubted his king could either “Small,” he let out quietly “black and blue all over, all skin and bones like she hadn’t seen a plate of food in days”. Hoseok closed his fists on an impulse and had to force his fingers to relax. Could he blame this sort of reaction on his instincts? 

He thought Namjoon wouldn’t say anything else, but after a few more seconds of silence his king continued “Pretty” he said softly at last, almost like an afterthought.

Hoseok couldn’t help himself, having never met another omega besides his own mother, and asked “And… The scent?”

“Clean.”

Hoseok blinked “She’s a child?”

“No. Full grown. Can’t be more than a couple years younger than us.”

That’s odd, Hoseok thought. From what he was taught, a healthy adult omega should have developed a signature scent - like his mom, with her easily recognizable roses and clear meadows.

Right as he was about to ask to see you, his fascination with the idea of a scentless omega getting the best of him, a maid rushed into the room to announce your awakening.

Both men rushed out of the room, elbowing each other to leave first through the door, impatient to get to where you laid, barely avoiding toppling the poor maid on their way.

The infirmary was a wide room with tall ceilings and large windows that let in the morning light from most angles. That same light illuminated your figure as they walked in, eyes drawn to the only bed occupied in the room.

Oh. You were in fact pretty, Hoseok concluded, watching you blink owlishly at the sunlight invading the space. You had a soft looking kind of beauty that was barely overshadowed by your debilitated state that caused a stirring of protection in both alphas. Who could’ve left you like that, he wondered, and how quickly could he wrap his hands around their necks and twist…

“You’re awake” Namjoon pointed out, catching your attention.

That seemed to be the wrong course of action. When your eyes landed on where the men stood by the door, they widened to the size of saucers. Something about their presence sent you scrambling out of your bed, falling onto the ground with a dull thud as you rushed to put some space between yourself and the imposing males.

“Hey, hey, hey” Hoseok raised his hands, palms facing forward to indicate his intention to cause no harm, your terrified expression keeping him far “Be careful, little lady.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept cowering further and further away until your back hit a wall and you winced in pain.

“Stand up and get back to your bed” Namjoon commanded roughly and Hoseok could see your fighting against the urge to submit to the alpha’s orders, causing him to elbow his friend “Please” he added “You are hurt and weak and shouldn’t be out of bed’ he continued in a much gentler tone. 

Slowly, you moved yourself back to the mattress, shuffling to hide under the blankets, bringing them over your nose and leaving only your panicked eyes visible.

The last thing Hoseok wanted at that moment was to interrogate you when you were so clearly distressed, body shaking under your burrow. But he had duties to uphold and your presence raised questions that just staring at your disarmingly cute face wouldn’t answer.

“What’s your name, little lady?” he asked.

You mumbled your name so quietly he almost didn’t catch it, the sound stifled by the fabric covering your lips. When he did hear it, he did not recognize it.

“How did you manage to get into the castle’s grounds?”

You gulped. “The castle?” you repeated in a whisper. 

“Do you know where you are?” Namjoon asked and you shook your head fearfully “Do you know who we are?”

Sinking deeper into the safety of your blankets, you shook your head once more.

“I’m Jung Hoseok, head of the royal guard” and just when Hoseok thought your eyes couldn’t get any wider, they did, panic seeping further into your gaze “And this is Kim Namjoon” the words had your face paling until devoid of any color, yet he continued “the King of Adamas.”

Both men watched your face for a reaction, seeing you gape in shock, eyes rolling back to your skull as you promptly passed out.

***

You woke up to a churning stomach and a pounding headache, both hunger symptoms that you were very familiar with. How many days had it been since you last ate? You couldn’t tell, the night sky outside the windows of the empty room signaling the end of another day. And at that moment, your starvation was the least of your problems. 

The king - the fucking king - was your mate. And so was the head of his guard. 

When you first opened your eyes to sunlit room, regaining consciousness after Gods knew how long, their scent hit you like a brick to the face, sending you flying off the bed on the brink of a panic attack.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. You were so close!

You looked for their reaction, trying to gauge if they were feeling what you were - this life changing pull in your core, this prickling feeling underneath your skin, fingers twitching at your side to reach for your alphas.

But there was nothing, not a flick of recognition, only wariness and mild concern.

These were not your alphas - these were your king and his most trusted guard. And you were just an omega on the run, worth only the money you could be sold for.

You remembered the first offer your father had received once the neighboring towns heard about his siring of an omega. Up until then your father had never seen much value in your existence. Before you, he had only had alpha boys - three, to be exact - older, stronger and meaner than you, built for leadership roles and bringing his legacy to another level.

But you? What use did he have for small, needy, whimpering you? None, he had told you many times over. Your father had never been afraid to remind you of your place in the household: the burden.

Until you became the pot of gold.

You weren’t sure how, but someway or another the news of your existence reached the next town and then the next town over, and so forth until your father was reminded that even though he saw no value in housing an omega, the rest of the world did. 

5 million. That was the first offer he received, when you were only fourteen.

And for a moment you believed that could be your way out of your father’s cruel claws - get yourself a husband far away and live happily ever after, pampered and taken care of by some alpha knight.

But those daydreams died soon enough when you learned from the maids what happened to sold omegas.

Imprisoned. Trapped. Breeded. Discarded. Rinse. Repeat.

There was an audible crack in your heart, a rift in the fragile rivulet of hope you had for a future of better days. Since then, the only thing you could hope for was an escape. You daydreamed of far away lands and open fields with no civilization for miles, only an ivy covered cottage for you to hide away from the world.

Alas, that dream seemed further and further away as you got older. You knew your father was just waiting for you to present, hoping that whatever scent you developed would up the price with its enticement and your late blooming was a constant reason for his frustration. Your development was the only thing between you and your sale to the highest bidder.

And if you had any say in it, you would never present. In order to do so, your body needed to be healthy - and you just never were.

Starvation, overexhaustion and overworked muscles had been your saviors since you realized they could delay your maturity. So from the day you turned 16 - about the age omegas started presenting - you began restricting your meals to about one every two days. You ran around the property’s grounds until your feet screamed in agony and your knees gave out. Your sleep schedule was messy and insufficient and so your body remained fragile and unchanged.

And that worked up until your 22nd birthday when your father got tired of waiting.

And so you ran, climbing on the back of a supply carriage that you had visited one day and letting it carry you as far as it could. And then you sprinted, like you had been doing for years.

And through some happenstance, casual and cruel, shaped by the hands of the Moon goddesses, you ended up face to face with what They considered your fated mates.

Of course, they didn’t know that - how could they recognize their goddess-given match if you had no scent? As long as you didn’t reach maturity, only you would feel this pull, this constant urge pooling at your lower abdomen when their scents filled your nose and sent your eyes rolling back.

You knew your place and it was not amongst royalty. You were, as your father always pointed out, too small, too weak and too soft to carry on a legacy, a kingdom. 

You had to get out before your ticking bomb of a body turned against you and distanced you once more from your peaceful cottage dream.

You just needed to figure out how.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

[a-very-tired-jew]

Columbia University's Joint Anti-Israel Groups Go Mask Off

Hey, remember how Columbia University had students in encampments protesting for months? Remember how their SJP, BDS movement, and associated groups endorsed terrorism, violence, and "resistance by any means"?

I remember. Well their joint SJP and BDS group called CU Apartheid Divest just posted something to their Instagram that shows it has never been about Palestine or Palestinians.

Fig. 1. CU Apartheid Divest group, made of SJP, BDS, and other groups openly admits that they are anti-Western Civilization

Read that again.

"We are Westerners fighting for the total eradication of Western civilization."

That's a wild statement to make.

So what are they posting about suddenly that has them revealing their intent for their actions since October?

Bangladesh.

The CU Activists are attempting to liken October 7th attack by Hamas with the Bangladesh student protests. Bangladesh had a quota based employment system that students were protesting, the government responded violently, and everything escalated from there due to years of government corruption, violence, and economic turmoil. This was a protest turned revolution within a country by its own people. This was not a government run by a recognized terrorist group attacking another country, killing civilians, and taking them hostage.

However, the differences and reasons between Hamas's actions and the actions of the students in Bangladesh do not matter to the anti-Zionist Activist.

We've seen this repeatedly from these activists that they will try to liken their movement and/or attach it to other conflicts around the world. Many of these conflicts differ greatly from the Israel/Hamas war as they are internal issues with internal actors being involved.

Bangladesh is students protesting against their government.

Sudan is going through a civil war between various factions.

The Congo has been experiencing decades long violence as various militias fight each other for control.

Yet I've see anti-Israel protestors tag their posts with Free Bangladesh, Free Congo, Free Sudan even though these conflicts differ in origin and parties involved.

If you continue through the IG post you'll see very little information as to the cause of the protest/revolution in Bangladesh and continued attempts to coopt the actions for their movement.

Fig. 2. CU Apartheid Divest group tries to liken its student movements to the student protests in Bangladesh and calls to escalate.

I can't help but think that the CU student activists yearn to be oppressed in a way that would allow them to respond like revolutions and protests around the world. The way they speak and write exudes a yearning for violence. In Fig. 2. they detail the actions taken by students against an authoritarian government that has actively shot and killed protestors. Whereas here in the USA the students were forcibly removed from campuses, experienced some police violence, were arrested, and then released. No curfews with a shoot on sight policy were imposed here in the USA in response to college campus protests.

Fig. 3. CU Apartheid Divest classifies this as an Intifada and likens it to Hamas's attack.

Notice in Fig. 3. that they're trying to call the actions in Bangladesh an Intifada. Not an intifada, but an Intifada which is a proper noun with its own connotation. I know I may be a stickler here, but if I see that word capitalized then I know it's referencing the First and Second Intifadas, and I know that these student groups have been calling for a Third one under the guise of "Global Intifada". They also say that Westerners need to escalate and are "obligated" to do so.

Fig. 4. CU Apartheid Divest uses tankie terminology, refers to Bangladeshis as martyrs, and calls this part of the Global Intifada.

The terminology in Fig. 4. also shows how much the Free Palestine student movement in the USA is not actually about Palestine, Palestinians, or any other movement it tries to attach itself to. These are tankies as indicated by the use of "comrades" and they are wholly opposed to Western Civilization. They genuinely state that their movement should violently escalate here in the USA and that they should be prepared for "sacrifices". This language when coupled with the use of Intifada is alarming as it appears that these student activists are preparing to follow in the footsteps of the Second Intifada, or at the very least calling for others to do so.

These students, whom call themselves the Militants of Hind's Hall (seen in the IG post, but not pictured here), are coopting, or attempting to coopt, movements and conflicts from around the world for their own ideals. As these are students in the USA who are arguably experiencing the least amount of oppression when compared to these other conflicts, and are actively attending Ivy League or R1 universities, it can only be assumed that they're yearning to live out their Glorious Revolution fantasy.

I am under no illusion that I understand their reasoning. Are things perfect here in the USA? Of course not, but when compared to the countries that these student protestors are attaching themselves to, we are leaps and bounds better. And if you disagree, then I have to ask, when was the last time we had a curfew with a shoot on sight policy?

Anyone attempting to call this movement and group "peaceful" is naive. They've been telling you for months that they're not peaceful, that their goals are not peaceful, and that the only peace they want is after they commit violence.

The IG link for reference

[sunandfall-elf]

Hey Vsauce! Ratphys here! So what I'm hearing is that the average elf girl therefore has girlstink equivalent to 300 kilowhiffs(kw for short) which is quite a lot. The most likely equivalent(kilowatt-hours) suggests that one elf girl could stink nearly 30 american homes with her smell alone per year.

Scaling up to cities, by the kind girlstink's estimaions, the dwarven bard girl can privide her smell to an entire industrialized city for a year(1150 Gwh). I don't know what this all means exactly but clearly this is an untapped resource that can be used to better society.

Average goblin girl has as much girlstink as 150 elf girls (roughly 45 megawhiffs)

[cloudcountry]

Hi! I saw your post about asking moots who play Mistria to send you a request- is it okay if I send one? (Feel free to delete if not)

Could I request Eiland teaching you to play Dungeons and Drama ? I really wanna join in with them on game nights :c no pressure, though! And thank you :D

SUMMARY: eiland walks you through balor's D&D campaign.

COMMENTS: oh when i tell you i had a BLAST with this one. IVE NEVER PLAYED D&D HAVE MERCY ON ME. winter yearning is getting to me bad i miss cold weather. it makes me feel shit.

Eiland’s hand is warm in yours as you enter the Inn, the crisp night air rushing into the toasty warm building. Eiland takes great care in making sure you get inside first, his eyes trained on the scarf he wrapped around your neck and the cloak he let you borrow (read: forced you to wear.)

His chilly hands brush the bare skin of your neck as he adjusts the scarf, brow pinched in concentration. He looks so lovely when he takes care of you, pretty lips pulled into a cute frown and eyes focused entirely on you.

“Eiland, love, I’m okay.” you place your equally chilly hands over his, your mouth barely peeking out over the scarf.

He exhales softly, meeting your gaze, “I’m sorry darling, I just wanted to make sure—”

“Hey lovebirds! Over here!” a voice you recognize as Balor’s calls out to you, and when you turn he’s sitting at their usual table and waving you over.

It seems the rest of the players left two empty seats right next to each other, much to your embarrassment and Eiland’s delight.

“Well, Balor’s the DM this time around?” Eiland says, sounding far less soft than when he was talking to you, “It’ll be interesting to see what you have in store for us!”

You tune out the small talk, thanking Eiland quietly as he pulls out a chair for you, then sits down himself. The details of your character you made with Eiland rotate through your mind like a windmill, and you make doubly sure you haven’t forgotten a single thing. He was all too excited to help you pick out a race and a class and a bunch of other words you weren’t exactly sure about, he helped you roll for certain attributes and chatted your ears off about what each roll meant.

You were delighted to see him so excited. To think people got tired of his rambling about artifacts and history and fantasy. To think you were special enough for him to tell you everything first. To think you were sitting with him now, at the end of your fourth year in Mistria, planning on staying here forever and never seeing the capital again.

To think you found the love of your life here, in a town you came to help out with the promise of land.

“Are you ready, darling?” Eiland asks, smiling brighter than the lights in the Inn as he takes your hand, squeezing it.

You feel a surge of affection crash over your, your lips spreading into a wobbly, lovesick smile.

Oh, he looks so pretty.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” you reply, relaying the characteristics of your character and proudly showing off the dice set Eiland procured for you.

Balor jokingly offers to buy them off of you, saying they’re as pretty as real gemstones, but Eiland shoots that idea down faster than you can open your mouth.

And the campaign begins.

[topazadine]

Right now you can download my book for (and I cannot stress this enough) FREE

Leave one word. Leave two words. Leave a sentence maybe. That's all. You get 51,000 beautiful words for free.

But what, pray tell, is the book about? I will tell you so you don't even have to click on the above link (but it's there too as well).

Orrinir Relickim received an unusual wedding present from his husband, Uileac Korviridi: Bannain, a disobedient horse who seems determined to end his marriage. With a single kick to the chest, Uileac is out of commission from work at the War Academy, where both men serve as soldiers. Worse still, the entire country is preparing for Feast of the Horse, meant to reflect their country's rich nomadic heritage. Visitors are surging into the capital city and its suburb from all across the realm, where festivities will highlight both the army's strength and the beauty of High Poetry, their native magic system. Uileac was poised to perform dramatic feats of archery while Orrinir marched with the infantry, tasks now impossible given his serious injury. Both are forced to focus on the archer's precarious health - and on the unpleasant facets of their relationship neither wish to consider. This second installation in the 10-part Eirenic Verses series delves deeper into the country of Breme, whose existence hinges upon power-infused poetry. Featuring a greater focus on both the characters and the world they live in, Pride Before a Fall will delight readers of 9 Years Yearning, who have come to love Orrinir, Uileac, and their friends. Luscious prose will whisk you away into a realm melding realism and fantasy for a unique reading experience.

There is no catch. There is no cost. There is just Book. For. Free.

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If you do like the book and want to support me because I'm such a lovely creature, then you can also preorder it at this link.

Also please reblog this so that other people can hear about this fantastic opportunity for free literature with cute boys and asshole horses.

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn Ends the Night | Chapter 6

Aemond Targaryen x FemReader (Dayne)

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 7.4K (longest chapter? My form of apology for the delay in getting this chapter out)

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: You have been in the Red Keep for less than a moon's turn, and you are getting to know some members of your future family. Some are more agreeable than others.

Notes: If anyone is still out there and reading this, I want to deeply apologised for the delay in finishing this chapter. I honestly did not think that it would take around 6 months to finish this, but many things robbed me of my ability to write or to have any type of creative purpose. Chief amongst is that a fell down my stairs ending up in a severe concussion and just the thought of well, thinking and looking at my computer was horrendous.

After many check-ups at the hospital and having let some months pass, I feel like I am mostly headaches free + drowsiness free and I feel ready and super pumped about coming back on this platform and continuing this story.

I hope you all like this chapter, and thank you to all of you who are still here and to all of you who wrote me sweet messages, I opened the app for the first time in a while some weeks ago and they were a true warm hug for my heart 💚💜💚

Unto the story now, with loads of love xxx

Taglist: @duds31 , @snh96, @lol-im-done, @heavenly1927, @whimsywilde , @queen-123s-posts , @httyd-marauders , @singhfae , @nothing-just-hanging-around

Family

Before your arrival in King’s Landing, breaking your fast had meant time spent amongst family, a time when you would gather in the quiet of the morning, exchanging words with your parents and brothers before the day’s duties scattered all of you like leaves in the wind. But now, amidst the towering spires and shadowed corridors of the Red Keep, since meeting Aemond, you have come to realize that the morning meal is all too brief. The moments slip through your fingers like sand, and you find yourself yearning for more—more time, more closeness, more of Aemond. More. You had become greedy since coming to the capital.  

You came to notice as each morning gave way to the next that as the crack of dawn slowly started to give way to the warmth of the morning sun, you would find yourself idly pushing strawberries or blackberries around your plate, and more slowly savouring sweet, honeyed cakes, all in a bid to delay the inevitable parting. You’ve also noticed Aemond doing much the same, pouring his steaming tea with deliberate slowness, chewing each slice of cured meat with thoughtful care. It brought a smile to your face each time, to think that he too wanted to delay the inevitable.  

But all good things must come to an end, and as you swallowed the last piece of fruit, inevitability settled over the both of you. The fleeting sweet tartness was gone, and you knew it was time, regrettably, to rise and face the demands of the day. You would bid the prince farewell, guiding him to your door, Perros’ gaze silently observing the scene. Today, instead of his usual parting words of soft promises, Aemond gently took hold of your hand, his touch tender as he examined the delicate shape of your fingers. Without warning, he pressed his lips softly against your knuckles, his whispered goodbyes a warm breath against your skin. Then, with a swift turn, he departed, leaving you with a lingering sense of yearning and the ghost of his touch upon your hand. 

 Even now, hours upon his departure from your solar and despite the cool morning breeze, you still felt overheated and no amount of pinching yourself was helping. The heat that had risen to your cheeks from his remarks lingered, persisting well into the morning. Every now and then, as you went about your morning duties, you would catch yourself thinking back to your conversation with him, the memory of his voice still echoing in your ears and the ghost of his hands still warm against your waist. And when you closed your eyes, you swore you could still feel the hard planes of Aemond’s chest against your soft breast. The unladylike part of you wished that Perros had not been with you in the room, and you wonder if Aemond was as dutiful as others made him to be – perhaps he could be pushed in the direction of your desires, with the right pair of soft hands of course, you giggle to yourself. 

For now, you enjoy the breezy air of the capital, lying on your back as you bask in the greenery of the royal garden alongside your little group. Gerris and Little Davos, who had not left your brother’s side since you brought him with you from Flea Bottom, played nearby with him and Heleana’s young twins. Your little retinue was scattered, with the younger ones running around with boundless energy while Heleana and you lounged lazily, letting the balmy afternoon sun warm your skin. You sighed contentedly, your fingers softly dancing through the lush, soft grass beneath you, the cool earth was a welcome contrast to the sun's warmth on your skin. 

You watch Gerris being tackled by Davos, their playful tussle drawing the attention of the fair-haired twins, who look on curiously, holding tightly onto each other. Perros let out an exasperated sigh, one that you can clearly hear from where you're lying on the ground. From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of movement as the old knight begins to walk towards the boys, intent on breaking up their fight. His footsteps crunch on the soft grass as he approaches 

“Let them be, Perros.” You interrupt him, “It is good for Gerris to have a friend who does not care about his name. He needs someone who can truly play with him and who will care for him, the true bond of brotherhood, is it not?”  

Perros inclined his head, although he did look like he swallowed a particularly sour lemon, “Wise words, my Lady.”  

You watched as Gerris grabbed a handful of the rose bush, the flowers perfectly trimmed, and broke the thorny stem from the beautifully plump flower, discarding the petals and holding the long-crooked stem before him like a sword. He aimed his makeshift weapon at Davos, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he loudly proclaimed that he would defeat the evil sorcerer and protect the prince and princess, making the fair-haired twins giggle. 

You raised an eyebrow, “I do however draw a line at destroying royal shrubbery and I fear the gardener will take offence to us.” 

Perros charged towards the boys, who screamed at the sight of the towering knight and darted around, trying to dodge his grasp. Watching the chaos unfold, you couldn't help but smile faintly, a wave of nostalgia washing over you. Gerris let out a shriek that could very well shatter glass as Perros scooped him up by the armpits. The look of sheer betrayal that Gerris shot at Perros made both you and Heleana burst into loud guffas, startling the nearby servants. 

But then, heroic little Davos sprang into action to save his newfound friend. He charged at Perros, crashing into the knight's legs with all his might. The sudden impact made the older man stumble and loose his grip, giving Gerris the chance to wriggle free from his arms and dart to safety. 

It warmed your heart to see your brother so happy and to see Davos, who still looked gaunt in comparison to the rest of your group, gain color and a new twinkle in his eyes. You hoped, from the bottom of your heart, that both boys would build a strong bond of brotherhood and that both would grow to protect each other. This world is too cruel to go about it alone, you mused, thinking of Aemond and his missing eye.  

Circumstances had forced you to face the world alone until the birth of your baby brother. Yet, even after his arrival, his tender age prevented him from being a true companion, and your change in station only served to widen the gap between you, extending far beyond the simple span of years. The memory of Gerris's birth is still vivid in your mind—your mother laboring for hours before finally delivering a rightful heir. While the family rejoiced, you were enveloped in a profound sadness, grappling with feelings of inadequacy that wrapped around your heart like thorny vines, their grip unyielding and relentless. 

For months after Gerris was born, your mother, radiant with the joy of a smooth pregnancy and glowing with happiness at having fulfilled her long-anticipated duty, tried to coax you into bonding with your new brother, her eyes bright with hope. Yet each time, you deftly evaded her attempts, crafting excuse after excuse—he was too small, you were too clumsy, you could not stand his smell. Within you, a hidden bitterness took root, a silent resentment toward the tiny being whose very existence had overshadowed your own, solely because he had been born with a cock between his legs. You were left with nothing but a hollow cavern inside your chest. How unfair it was, you remember thinking, to have been born into one of the few Dornish great houses that still valued male heirs above all else. 

All that remained for you were your cherished books and studies. You clung to the hope that if they could not solve your predicament, they might at least offer some solace. One late evening, on a moonless night, as you delved into a dusty tome, a tale from the far North seized your attention. It told of a young boy who, consumed by jealousy of his elder brother's fortune, suffocated him to seize his crown and title. Horrified by this grotesque betrayal, a direct affront to the sacred teachings of the gods, you slammed the book shut, vowing never to revisit its vile contents. Yet, despite your resolve, the haunting words lingered in your thoughts, whispering of dark shadows and unfathomable acts deep within your soul. 

Some weeks after your brother’s birth, you were walking down the hall after your morning lesson with the maester. As you rounded a corner, the voices of two guards reached your ears. Their words still echoed painfully in your mind: 

“Have you laid eyes on the young master yet?” one guard asked, a note of excitement in his voice. 

The other guard grunted dismissively. “Not yet. I’m still on duty for the young lady. Strange one, she is. It's a blessing from the gods our lady finally bore a proper heir.” 

Chills ran down your spine, and your breath caught in your throat. Was that how everyone saw you? A strange girl unworthy of your family’s ancestral seat? As tears gathered in your eyes, you felt a sticky wetness on your fingers and realized you had crushed the inkpot in your grasp. You wanted to scream, to tear down the walls, to destroy something... or someone. How dare they dismiss you so easily? How dare they deem you unworthy? The urge to lash out, to make them feel your wrath, was almost unbearable. As you silently left the hall, the ink leaving a trail behind you, your mind wandered back to that Northern tale, and  

That very night, the castle lay shrouded in silence, broken only by the occasional groan of ancient wood, as if Starfall was holding its breath. Sneaking out of your room had become a nightly ritual, but tonight, filled with anger and bitterness, your steps carried you to the nursery door. An inexplicable force compelled you to push it open. Hands trembling uncontrollably, you eased the door ajar and peered inside. 

Inside, the gentle rhythm of the nurse's breathing was the only sound, the room bathed in the soft silver light filtering through gauzy curtains. You tiptoed closer to Gerris, the moon casting a serene glow over his cherubic face. Under the night’s tender touch, he appeared so different—not the usurper you had imagined, but simply a baby, innocent and unknowing. His tiny chest rose and fell with each breath, a fragile testament to life’s delicate beauty. 

Your heart tightened as the dark, unwelcome thought crept into your mind once more. "I could just... but no, that's monstrous," you silently reprimanded yourself, the words a desperate plea for sanity. The sheer horror of the act you had momentarily considered struck you like a blade, cutting deep into your conscience. The gods-forsaken book had planted seeds of madness within you, but as you stood there, looking at your brother’s peaceful slumber, you realized the true depth of your error. 

To harm this innocent, to extinguish a life that had only just begun—it would be a sin beyond redemption, a betrayal of everything you held sacred. The realization washed over you, leaving you trembling. Gerris was no enemy; he was family, bound by blood and destiny. The thought of causing him harm was an abomination, a dark whisper from the abyss that you vowed never to heed. 

As tears stung your eyes, a soft coo interrupted your turmoil. Gerris, now awake, was looking directly at you, his eyes wide and curious. There was no accusation there, no awareness of the storm of emotions he had unwittingly caused. Just a baby, reaching out. His smile, wide and guileless, seemed to pierce through the shadows that had gathered around your heart. And when he wrapped his tiny fingers around yours, something shifted within you. 

 "I'm sorry," you whispered, not sure to whom you were apologizing—Gerris, for the dark thoughts, or yourself, for having them. He gurgled happily in response, as if to say he understood and forgave you. 

It was then, in the quiet of the night with only the moon as your witness, that you made a silent vow. "If I cannot be the Lady of Starfall, then I'll ensure you become the greatest lord this castle has ever known. I'll protect you, teach you, be your guide." The words felt like a balm, soothing the raw edges of your soul. 

Gerris's grip on your finger was his silent pact, a bond sealed under the watchful eyes of the stars. From that moment, your path was clear. You would stand by him, defend him, and love him unconditionally. 

You were brought back to the present by youthful giggles infusing the air with joy. Gerris and Davos darted around the garden, leading young Jaehaera and Jaehaerys on a merry chase, their innocent games painting smiles on the faces of the two kingsguards who were tasked with watching your small group. 

Beside you, Heleana sat with the grace of a princess, in her delicate hands, she cradled a praying mantis she had found earlier in her explorations. With curious eyes, she was inspecting its slender legs and vibrant green body. The tiny creature, for its part, seemed unperturbed by the princess's scrutiny, perhaps recognizing the gentleness in her touch and that she would not hurt him. 

Aemond's book lay abandoned by your other side, its pages awaiting your return. You had started the day with the intention of devouring its contents, to lose yourself in the tales of dragons and the heroes who rode them. Yet, the sun's gentle lullaby had other plans, drawing you into a state of blissful lethargy. Like a cup overbrimming with sweet honey, you felt yourself grow slow before succumbing to the warmth of the sun, your eyelids growing heavy with the promise of sleep. 

Sprawled upon the ground, you felt like the old cat who had been stalking the walls of Starfall when you were a girl, always indulging in too much cream, basking in the afterglow of satisfaction. "I could get used to this," you mused silently 

Heleana was thinking aloud, curiousness painting her sweet smile, "This mantis is significantly larger than the ones I usually encounter. They're typically small enough to fit comfortably in my palm, but the legs of this one are sprawling out." 

You cracked open an eye, shifting your gaze towards the green critter still nestled in her grasp. Indeed, it was an impressive size, you thought.  

"Do you think the weather could be influencing its size?" you ventured closing your eyes again. 

Heleana blinked, seemingly taken aback by your sudden interjection, as if she had momentarily forgotten your presence or hadn't anticipated a response. 

"In what manner?" she queried curiously; you could feel her eyes settling on you, making you squirm like you were one of those bugs under her inspection. 

"Well, back in Starfall, there was one year that was particularly mild. The days weren't scorchingly hot, and the nights were warm with a gentle breeze. It was one of the most pleasant periods I can recall," you began, just the memory of those sweet breezy nights, holding Gerris by the hand as you made him look at the stars was enough to make your heart grow within your chest. "During that time, the old cat that roamed the grounds would bring in notably plumper mice. I remember asking our maester about it, and he suggested that the favorable weather allowed the mice to forage more freely and evade predators with greater ease." 

Heleana hummed at your explanation but did not contribute.  "Or perhaps," you added, a playful grin curving your lips, "this mantis simply enjoyed too many honeyed cakes at breakfast." 

With no response from the princess, you wondered if Heleana had even heard your musings or if you had been talking to yourself. However, before you could dwell on the silence any further, a gentle pressure on your right hand, resting on your belly, pulled you back to the present. Alongside, a slight weight settled next to you. Curious, you opened your eyes to find Heleana had cozied up beside you, her presence a comforting weight next to you.  

You softly squinted at her, "What happened to your mantis, Heleana?" You said while gently squeezing her hand in yours. 

"I've decided to test your theory," Heleana announced with a determined grin that brought a smile to your face. "I want to see if Tarrax will grow even larger if she spends more time in the garden." 

"Tarrax?" you echoed with a chuckle, amused by the very mighty sounding name she had chosen for such a critter. 

Nodding, Heleana explained, "Yes, I named her after a Valyrian god. She's mighty, larger than any other mantis in all of King's Landing." 

"A fitting name, indeed," you replied, smiling down at Heleana as she shyly returned your gaze. "You know, Aemond is quite knowledgeable about our history, perhaps more than anyone else in the family, save for our father and uncle. You should ask him to share more with you." 

"Later," you said, waving off the idea with a hand, content to enjoy the present moment. "Right now, I'm spending time with my new sister." 

"Sister?" Heleana's eyes lit up at the word. 

"Of course," you affirmed warmly. "As Aemond's future wife, that makes you, my sister." You then added, with a conspiratorial smile, "And I must say, your company is far more pleasant." 

Heleana's cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. "I've always wanted a sister," she admitted softly. 

You hesitated before broaching a delicate subject. "What about Princess Rhaenyra?" you asked gently. 

Heleana grew quiet, her voice a soft murmur. "I guess she is my sister by blood, but she never really showed she cared about me, or anyone else in my family. I remember, as a child, she would sometimes brush my hair, but then, suddenly, I was no longer welcome in her chamber. Mother mentioned something had happened, but nobody ever explained it to me."  

She sighed, a hint of sorrow in her voice. "They all think I'm too naive to understand. You know, they say when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin..." Her voice trailed off, laden with unspoken sadness. "Everyone seems to have made up their minds about how my coin landed." 

Your eyebrows drew together, a frown forming as her words sank in. Gently, you rolled onto your side, maintaining your hold on Heleana's hand. The sudden closeness seemed to startle her; your noses were almost touching, allowing you to catch the faint, sweet scent of apples that seemed to emanate from her skin. Offering her a soft smile, you brushed a stray silver hair behind her ear. Heleana possessed a beauty distinct from her brother's. While Aemond resembled a statue crafted by divine hands – all sharp lines and smooth angles, with an angular jaw and eyes sharp as a predator's – Heleana radiated a softer, more sweet charm. Her face was round and gentle, her lips glossy and inviting, her eyes wide and innocent.  

"You shouldn't heed others' words, sweet Heleana," you whispered, making sure your voice carried a soothing warmth. It was the same tone you used back home to soothe the skittish kittens that hid in the corners of the castle.  "Though our acquaintance has been brief, it's clear to me that you possess exceptional brilliance and kindness, virtues all too rare in this world in my opinion." 

 Heleana's expression turned forlorn. "I'm not as smart as Aemond," she lamented. "My High Valyrian is mediocre at best, and I don't share his affinity for books." 

"We each have our unique strengths," you reassured her, glancing towards a rose bush where a delicate butterfly had alighted. "Tell me, which would you say is superior: Tarrax or this beautiful butterfly?" You nodded toward a beautiful green and pink butterfly softly chittering near the roses. Heleana looked before turning back to you, her faces inches away from yours.  

Her brows knitted in confusion at the comparison. "It's difficult to say... They're both quite remarkable in their own ways." 

"Exactly," you affirmed, a smile spreading across your face as you squeezed her hand gently. "We all differ, yet each of us holds intrinsic value. And you, Heleana, are a splendid butterfly."  

Heleana's smile lingered, but soon her eyes glazed over, taking on a distant, unfocused look as if she were peering into a world unseen. Your concern deepened at this sudden shift. "Heleana, are you alright?" You tried to look around for help, but you could not move, entranced by her glazed look.  

Yet, she offered no reply. Abruptly, she rose, her grip on your hands tightening. Her voice, when she spoke, carried an eerie cadence, "The dragons dance above the lake. The lake welcomes them both to rest. The faces watch on in wait, happy their land is thus at rest." 

Her words, cryptic and haunting, hung in the air between you like an unspoken curse. The sudden intensity of her gaze, now clear and piercing, seemed to penetrate your very soul, stripping away the pretense and exposing your deepest fears. It was as though she could see through you, beyond the garden's tranquil facade, to a vision that only she could discern. The leaves rustled softly in the breeze, yet their gentle sound felt distant, overshadowed by the chilling weight of her words. 

"Heleana, what happ..." Your question hung unfinished in the air, cut short by a stern voice that seemed out of place amidst the garden's tranquility. "My princess, my lady," called Ser Criston Cole, the annoyed title of his voice suggesting he'd rather be anywhere but here. Perros, looming just behind him, had his arms crossed, his brows furrowed in a manner that clearly communicated his readiness to intervene should the queen’s favored Kingsguard step out of line. 

"Ser Criston," you greeted with a polite smile, attempting to dispel the unsettling echo of Heleana's words from your thoughts. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" 

You could swear you saw a sneer on the knight’s face "The queen requests your presence, my lady, Her Majesty wishes to discuss the wedding arrangements with you." You couldn't help but swallow nervously at the mention of the queen. 

"May I accompany you?" Heleana inquired, shifting her penetrating gaze from you to Ser Criston. His annoyed stance softening upon Heleana’s words, ser Criston offered her a gentle, albeit somewhat strained, smile. "I'm afraid the queen wishes for some privacy with her future daughter-in-law, my princess." 

Heleana nodded in understanding, then looked back at you 

 "I'll remain here with the children until you return." 

You couldn't suppress the smile that her words brought to your lips. "Thank you, Heleana, and Perros," you added, turning to address your guard who looked like he wanted to pummel Cole into the ground, "please stay here and look after them with Heleana. I'd feel much more at ease knowing you're here to ensure their safety." 

Perros looked like he wanted to argue, but seeing your hard gaze, he simply nodded his head before shooting Cole a cold look.

Rising to your feet, you brushed down your skirts, the soft, gauzy purple fabric slipping through your fingers. Almost immediately, Gerris bounded over to you, "Where are you going?" he demanded, a hint of a whine coloring his words. "You've barely played with us!" 

You chuckled, reaching out to tweak his nose affectionately. "You've been darting about all afternoon, young man. You can't expect me to keep up with that pace! Stay here with Princess Heleana." His face fell slightly at your words. 

"Do you really have to leave now?" he pressed disappointingly.  

"Here's a deal for you," you offered, a conspiratorial glint in your eye. "Promise me you'll help Davos look after the twins, be good for Heleana, and I'll read you both an extra story tonight." 

Gerris's mood brightened instantly at the prospect, though he couldn't resist swatting away your hand from his nose with a playful huff. Then, with a bounce in his step, he returned to the small assembly of children. 

"You'll need to guide me, Ser Criston. I must admit, the vastness of this castle still confounds me," you said, offering a light-hearted smile that went unreturned. With a small bow to Heleana, Ser Criston turned sharply on his heel and began to lead the way toward the castle's heart. 

You hastened your steps to keep up with the Kingsguard, mindful not to let the hem of your dress catch beneath your feet. Matching the pace set by the imposing figure clad in white armor proved challenging; his stride was long and unforgiving, his focus squarely ahead, seemingly indifferent to whether you managed to keep up. 

Seeking to puncture the dense silence that enveloped you both, you ventured, "I've heard you hail from Dorne, Ser..." 

His response was brisk, clipped. "No. Only my mother was Dornish." 

"I see," you murmured, the silence resettling heavily between you. After a moment, you tried again, "Have you ever visited Dorne yourself?" 

"Yes, during the War of the Dornish Marshes." 

The words landed heavily, making you inwardly cringe. It seemed everyone in King's Landing bore some grievance against your homeland or its people. Lost in these thoughts, a question slipped from you, unbidden, "You bear no fondness for me, do you, Ser? May I ask why?" 

His stride faltered, a clear sign your words had hit a mark. Turning sharply, Ser Criston's gaze bore into you, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized you. "You'd like everyone to believe you're the epitome of innocence, wouldn't you? The sweet, unsuspecting girl caught in the machinations of her family and her kingdom. But we both know that's far from the truth." 

You felt your jaw tighten, anger simmering beneath your calm exterior. "There is no scheme," you retorted, your voice edged with frustration. 

Ser Criston's scoff was a harsh, grating sound, echoing mockingly around you, taunting you with its disdain. In two swift strides, the knight advanced, his towering presence suddenly overwhelming, making you acutely aware of your smaller stature. As you peered up at the Kingsguard, you swallowed nervously. Should Ser Criston wish to bash your head against the nearby wall, he very well could. And no one would come to your rescue. You were completely alone in this dark hall, and even if you were not, who in their right mind would dare oppose a knight of the Kingsguard? The protector of the queen, no less. The cold stone walls seemed to close in around you, the flickering torchlight casting ominous shadows that mirrored the fear gnawing at your insides 

Leaning closer, his voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "I've encountered a girl like you before – she believed her status absolved her of decency, she would be content to watch the world burn for her own gain. I won't allow you to follow in her footsteps and hurt this family.” 

You managed a tight swallow, nerves tingling at Ser Criston’s words. "Whoever she was, I am not her," you asserted, trying to sound more confident than you felt.  

Ser Criston paused, his eyes drilling into yours as he weighed your words. "We shall see," he finally said. With that, he turned on his heel, the air hitting your face, before he started resuming his march toward the queen's chambers, leaving you to scramble in his wake.  

As you trailed behind Ser Criston, your pace quickened to match his stride, and your gaze found itself locked on the stark whiteness of his helm. A thought fluttered through your mind, delicate yet persistent, "What womanly shadow has fallen across this knight's path to make him distrust women so?"  

Men always had a way of making their problems every woman’s burden, and in a place like King's Landing, a city where trust is as scarce as shade in the Dornish desert, such mistrust could become lethal. You were no naive ingenue, however; Dorne, for all its beauty and warmth, was no stranger to the same games of power and deception that seemed to animate the heart of the Seven Kingdoms. The corridors of Sunspear had echoed with whispers and schemes, and you had learned early that the veneer of civility often masked a ruthless struggle for dominance. Here in King’s Landing, the stakes were higher, the players more cunning, but the game remained the same. 

Nevertheless, this information about the knight lodged itself in a part of your brain. Information was power and understanding the pains and loyalties of those around you could be as valuable as any sword or magical dragon. To know the mind is to know how people can be used, and Ser Criston might one day become a very valuable piece on your cyvasse board if it ever comes to it.  

As you arrived before the imposing door, the glowing tower etched into the dark, polished wood stood as a solemn sentinel, marking the entrance to the queen’s apartments. Ser Criston knocked twice, each rap sharp and curt, echoing through the stone corridor like a distant war drum. A moment later, the soft, velvety voice of the queen bid you both to enter. Her words, though gentle, carried the weight of authority, wrapping around you like a silken noose, drawing you inexorably into the bedchambers. 

Queen Alicent sat upon a plush green chair, her velvet gown clinging to her figure with elegant modesty. The seven-pointed star necklace embraced her throat, a symbol of her devout faith. She looked rather put out, her fingers absently scratching at one another—a nervous tic, no doubt. 

The three of you regarded one another in heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken words. It was Queen Alicent who finally broke the stillness. 

“We won’t be needing you, Ser Criston,” she said, her voice floating through the room, rich and velvety. Ser Criston bowed, his deference directed more toward the queen than to you, and then retreated, leaving you standing awkwardly before your future mother-in-law. The very thought sent a shiver down your spine, an unsettling notion you constantly tried to push aside. 

“Your Grace,” you began, dipping into a low curtsy, your back as straight as a sword. “You wished to see me?” 

Alicent’s smile was a marvel of diplomacy—warm yet calculated, inviting yet commanding distance, like a sword draped in a beautiful green silk. You could not help but admire such a smile that must have taken years to develop “Indeed, lady Dayne. Sit, please." She gestured to a round table nestled next to the balcony. As you take a seat, Alicent snaps her fingers and servants starts to pour ruby liquid into your glass  

“I hope you like Arbor Red; there is no finer wine in all of King’s Landing, we import it directly from the Reach” Queen Alicent remarked, her voice carrying a subtle note of pride as she gestured toward the goblet on the table before you. 

You smiled hesitantly, the corners of your mouth twitching with uncertainty. “Arbor Red is hard to come by in Dorne. I shall savor this, thank you.” 

The wine’s deep crimson hue caught the light, promising warmth and richness. As you lifted the goblet to your lips, the queen's eyes never left you, her expression unreadable, a mask of courtly grace that concealed the thoughts swirling beneath. 

“I pray you are settling well into your new home, Lady Dayne?” the queen inquired, her tone polite but her gaze sharp and assessing. 

“Everyone has been very welcoming, Your Grace,” you answered diplomatically. “It might not feel like home yet, but I believe it could one day become so.” If these walls could never replace the sand of your homes, at the very least could become the only home you needed.  

“Hmmm,” said the queen thoughtfully. “I was quite young when I left Oldtown with my father to come to court. Although, at the time, I could never have imagined I was to be married to the king.” Her words held no trace of love, only a bitterness that cut through the air like a knife. “It was a great yet unexpected honor, of course.” 

 Your heart tightened at her words. You would have thrown yourself off the high walls had you been in Alicent Hightower’s place. At the very least, Aemond was your age, not a decrepit, sick old man. 

“Of course,” you said, gulping a bit more of your wine. You should slow down. You would need all your wits about you to survive this conversation with the queen. 

“You must be wondering why I asked you here today.” 

“It has crossed my mind,” you admitted. 

“I want to talk to you about your future with my son.” 

The words ‘your future with my son’ echoed in your mind, the taste of Aemond’s mouth on yours etched upon your very soul. “I’ve heard of your morning meetings,” Alicent mentioned casually, though a note of reproach lingered in her tone. 

Your heart raced as you forced a calm smile. “Aemond and I have grown quite fond of each other, Your Grace. Our meetings are a way to strengthen our bond as future man and wife.” 

“Indeed,” the queen replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Fondness is all well and good, but the court watches everything. Your actions reflect not just on yourself, but on our house.” 

The noose was slowly tightening around your throat, “I can promise you that Aemond never did anything untoward that could bring shame to himself or to your family.” 

“I should hope so, Aemond is not one to share his thoughts freely however. The queen lamented. It seems that you have made quite the impression.” 

You couldn’t help the soft smile that danced on your lips. “He is a man of deep thought and great feeling, Your Grace. Our conversations have become a cherished part of my day.” 

Queen Alicent's eyes, once stern, now softened just a touch. “It is good to hear that Aemond has found someone who appreciates him for who he is. But remember, fondness must walk hand in hand with duty. Our lives are not our own; they belong to the realm.” 

“I understand, Your Grace,” you said, inclining your head respectfully. “I will uphold the honor and dignity of our house.” 

“See that you do,” the queen replied, her voice carrying the weight of both warning and hope. “In King’s Landing, alliances are as fragile as spun glass, and one misstep can shatter everything.” 

You sighed softly, relieved that the queen’s words had been relatively mild. If that was all she wanted to convey, it was quite manageable. Nothing too bad. 

“However,” the queen continued, her voice taking on a harder edge. You lifted your eyes to meet her piercing gaze. 

“See that you remember this: Aemond’s loyalty will always be, first and foremost, to me and to his family. No matter how many threads you spin, how many lingering glances you throw his way, Aemond is my son before he becomes your anything. Do not think you will sway him to the winds of your mind. Aemond will do what we tell him to, always. Remember these words should you ever need to remind yourself of your place in this castle.” 

Now this you could not let pass. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I would hope that Aemond, as my husband, and I share the same wishes and aspirations. Is this alliance not to unite Dorne and the royal family as one?” 

The queen looked crossly into her glass, and you noticed it was quite empty. Interesting. You would have thought that a woman as pious as the queen would not indulge in drink, especially given how she reprimanded Prince Aegon at every opportunity. 

“Then make sure that your mind is always aligned with his interests and the best interests of this family. You will not like the alternative, I am afraid.” 

“Is that a threat, Your Majesty?” 

“Not a threat. I am simply explaining a fact. You were not there when the other boys teased him in his youth. I was the one whose shoulder he cried upon. I was the only one who cared for him when he was robbed of his eye. Me, not my father, not Viserys. Me. Do not think that your presence nullifies all that I have done for him.” 

You clenched your golden goblet, the ruby red wine as vivid as the fury in your eyes. Just as you were about to retort with your own biting words—though not the wisest course of action—a sharp series of knocks erupted at the large door. 

The queen raised her hand, and one of the guards waiting at the entrance opened the door, revealing none other than the man in question. Aemond entered, his expression stoic, though the wild look in his eyes told a different story. He seemed to sense the tension in the room immediately, his gaze flicking between you and his mother. 

“Mother. My lady,” he greeted, his voice a careful mask of calm. 

“Aemond,” Queen Alicent replied suprised at seeing her son at her door, but her tone softening slightly. “I was discussing the upcoming wedding with your future wife. We were thinking of green with little accents of lavender for the colors.” 

“Hmmmm,” was Aemond’s answer. “Purple is also an honored Targaryen color. Ensure it is visible to honor both my bride and my blood.” 

“We must show unity in this wedding, Aemond. You cannot think to—” 

“I would like to borrow Lady Dayne, Mother, if that is all,” Aemond interrupted smoothly. “I should like to think that color schemes are not the most crucial element in demonstrating the unity of our family, hmmmmm. My lady?” He extended his arm to you. 

You scrambled to reach it, curtseying and softly uttering a thanks to your future mother-in-law before hurrying to Aemond’s side. Together, you left the queen’s solar, Aemond leading you with a grace that accompany his stoic and princely air. 

As you both walked through the halls, you glanced at the strong profile of your betrothed. By the gods, he was handsome, as if carved from marble itself. 

“I hope my mother was not too harsh in her words to you. For if she was, I will have words with her,” Aemond spoke without looking at you, his shoulders tense, his back rod-straight. He flexed his sword hand, as if yearning to grasp the familiar dragon pommel for comfort. 

Without a word, you gently placed your palm in his clenching hand. At the sudden contact, the prince stopped in his tracks and finally turned to look at you, his whole being softening. 

You raised his hand to your mouth, placing a soft kiss on his palm. The warmth of his skin against your lips sent a shiver down your spine. Aemond moved his hand to cup your cheek, the touch gentle yet firm, and you smiled contentedly, nuzzling into his palm as if it were the safest place in the world. 

"It does not matter what your mother said. All that matters is that you know I will always be on your side, regardless of what happens. The rest is superficial. As long as you believe in me and I believe in you, all will be well." 

Aemond's thumb softly stroked the apple of your cheek, sending waves of warmth through you. His touch was both tender and reassuring, a silent promise of his support. "I feel like we do not know each other enough to speak of each other so," he murmured, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. 

“Not close enough? Do you caress the face of every lady in this castle? If so, I will be rather cross,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Do not say such things, you know there is but you,” he replied, his tone earnest. “Although your manners have a way of confounding me, I feel like I was waiting for you. I think you were owed to me,” Aemond softly admitted, doing his upmost to not avert your gaze.  

You tensed at his words. “Owed?” 

“For my eye,” Aemond said simply. “After all that the gods took, I was owed something wonderful, my lady.” 

“I am not sure it works like that,” you replied, your fingers grasping the shirt of his dark green, almost black, leather riding coat. The rich fabric was cool under your touch, a stark contrast to the heat of the moment. 

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin, carrying the faint scent of the Arbor Red wine. “Perhaps not. But it feels right, as if fate or the gods have finally given me something to cherish.” 

“Is this fate you speak of the same that led you to rescue me from your mother’s inquisition?” you asked, trying to divert the subject. The softeness and eagerness of his words were bringing out some feelings in too quick a fashion. 

 Aemond looked momentarily sheepish. “I suppose it was not fate, for I went looking for you in the garden. Helaena told me where to find you, and I grew worried. I will not let anything happen to you, my lady, whether it be from my family or anyone else.” 

There was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart ache. You studied his face, his sharp features softened by the candlelight of the narrow corridor, you tugged him to a nearby alcove, hidden from prying eyes.  

Aemond looked startled, but did not take his eyes away from you, while you bit your lips, looking into his lone eye pensively.  

“I would never ask you to choose.” 

“I know. But I would choose you regardless.” 

“Aemond...” 

“Come now.” Aemond's hand slowly slipped from your face, his touch a whisper against your skin as he traced the line of your soft neck, down your sharp shoulder, and along the curve of your arm. His fingers entwined with yours, warm and reassuring, tugging you gently forward. “I want to show you the books I mentioned this morning.” 

“But Aemond, it will be the evening meal soon. I will not have time to go back and change if we go to the library now.” 

“Then we will have our meal in the library.” 

You arched a brow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “I am not sure that is proper.” 

“Hmmmm, good thing I am the fearsome one-eyed prince, and no one would dare go against my words.” You liked it when Aemond was playful, you decided. It was a nice contrast to see the teasing quality alight his one eye against the smooth stoicism of his otherwise marbled face. 

“Except your mother. And your grandfather. And Ser Criston...” 

Aemond tugged you harder, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Quite the jester you are. If you would rather eat dinner with my family...” 

“No, that is quite alright,” you said quickly, a singsong quality to your voice. You matched his stride, but your smile drops slightly when you noticed something on his surcoat. 

“Aemond... is that blood?” 

Aemond looked down at his leathers, then brushed his hand over it as if the specks of blood might disappear with a simple gesture. 

“Do not worry, my lady,” he said, his voice calm but evasive. 

“Aemond, what happened?” 

“ ‘tis nothing,” he replied, his tone reassuring but his eyes betraying a hint of something darker. “Just a minor incident. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.” 

“Aemond...” you began, your concern evident in your voice. 

“Come, please. I would cherish the chance to show you my childhood books,” he interrupted gently, his eyes pleading for you to let the matter rest. 

You sighed, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. “Alright... keep your secrets then.” 

“I promise it is not as bad as it may look. Do you trust me?” he asked, his gaze unwavering and earnest. 

You so wanted to. Despite the unease gnawing at you, you smiled softly. “Lead the way, my prince.” 

Aemond's face lit up with a rare smile devoid of the dragon sharpness you had come to associate with him, as he tugged you in the direction of the library. The tension of the moment began to fade, replaced by the warmth of his presence. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the walls, and the quiet rustle of your combined footsteps echoed through the hallways.  

Looking at Aemond’s strong back you thought that you would find out eventually where the blood came from. Ghosts are patient creatures, after all. 

Next chapter

[st-dorothy-minority]

RadioApple one-shot

I both really don't want to post this and kind of do. So probably only have it up for 48 hours like I did the last one before deleting it and wondering why I post my dumb work.🤦‍♀️

I like comments, so if you want to feed me one, that's cool.

Duck, Duck, No

****

Alastor knew the exact buttons to push to cut someone down to the core. It was a talent he excelled at. Studying and learning what he could about a person in order to have the upper hand when it came to making a deal or making them wish they’d never challenged him was his specialty. He thrived on sniffing out a weakness and capitalizing on it for devastating effects.

In the heat of arguing, Lucifer was no different than anyone else. He was just another poor soul who dared to rattle the beast inside of him, leading him to exploit one of the devil’s biggest soft spots –

His beloved duckies.

“Honestly, it’s laughable! You’re the king of Hell, ruler of all sinners, and you care for these things as if they had any actual significance for existing. It’s pathetic how many you’ve accumulated over the centuries. And of all animals, a duck?! A pitiful creature that can easily be torn apart and has no real value. Seriously, Lucifer – you should be embarrassed. If these are the kind of animals you favor, then it’s no wonder you let yourself be a doormat to everyone. At this point, anyone would be a better fit for a king than you.”

While he spewed his vitriol, Alastor failed to notice how Lucifer’s posture began to slouch and his shoulders slumped. His rage blinded him to the shift in Lucifer’s eyes that were now filled with unbelievable shame and welling with tears. His antlers and tentacles were at full span, and his menacing aura suffocated whatever remained of Lucifer’s. The flames, horns, and tail that had manifested on Lucifer’s body disappeared; he clutched his arm, bowed his head, and closed his eyes as Alastor laid into him and destroyed him where it hurt most.

“Well? Nothing more to say, hm?” Alastor taunted, oblivious to how severely he had already defeated someone he claimed to love. “Don’t tell me you can’t even defend yourself now. This was just getting good.”

Lucifer was clearly shaking, and he did his best to quiet his sniffling. Without a word, he disappeared in a swirl of red and gold.

****

It had always been his private sanctuary. Lilith knew to keep disturbances to a minimum while he was in here; even Charlie wasn’t allowed inside except for special occasions or for a goodnight hug and kiss. There were times when he felt self-conscious and even ashamed by the amount of ducks he’d crafted and surrounded himself with, but they’d been the only constant in his life. They didn’t expect anything from him. They didn’t betray him.

He'd been persecuted, made fun of, and lost everything because he decided to love - to love ducks rather than majestic birds; to love Lilith rather than another angel; to love mankind enough to want them to experience what he thought was a gift: free will.

How foolish….

Still a fool after all these years.

As Lucifer’s eyes surveyed the room, the humiliation brought on by Alastor’s words was beginning to transform into deep-seeded rage. His true devilish appearance re-surfaced as he succumbed to the intense fury that now yearned to be expelled.

With his hands engulfed in flames and eyes pure red to match, Lucifer set fire to his safe space. His haven.

His cherished and adored duckie creations.

He shouted. He cursed. He took handfuls of his flock and crushed them, letting their remains slip from his grasp like sand.

When it was all over, there was nothing left but piles of ash and dust.

One slow step at a time, he walked around the room amid the ruin. As the air gradually cleared, it was then he saw a lone duck that remained. Hands poised to set it ablaze, he suddenly paused, and pupils returned to his glowing red eyes as he stared at it quizzically. He steadily approached, picked it up, dusted it off, and all at once, he was transported back to the memory of receiving it.

It was a stuffed animal, not one that he'd made, but rather that Lilith had sewn and crafted together just for him while she was pregnant with Charlie. It was one of her first attempts and very good, in Lucifer’s opinion. She’d wanted to perfect her skills in order to make simple and cute toys for Charlie before she was born.

Falling to his knees, Lucifer clutched the homemade duckie to his chest, buried his face against it, and began to sob uncontrollably.

“Look at little Lucifer – mesmerized by the ducks again. Hey Lucifer! Why don’t you spend your time obsessing over something actually impressive and worthy of admiration, like an eagle or an owl? Those ducks are worthless. Quit wasting your time with them.”

“Are you crazy, Lucifer?! You’re an archangel! God has even called you His most beautiful servant! What are you thinking, falling in love with the human woman?! Don’t be stupid and drop it!”

“You’re such an idiot!” “Traitor!” “How could you sin against your own Father?!” “You’ve ruined everything!” “Because of you, the world is going to be filled with darkness!” “How could you be so disobedient and selfish?!” “Your ideas are poison.” “You’re dangerous.” “You will never be welcome here again.”

It was an hour before he laid down in a bed of ash, still clinging to the stuffed animal duckie, and quietly cried himself to sleep.

****

The air felt heavy and smelled strongly of smoke. With every step Alastor took towards Lucifer’s workroom, the symptoms of fire grew stronger. He assumed Lucifer had erupted in a fit of rage, but he never suspected Lucifer to do what he’d done until he opened the doors and witnessed for himself.

Shock kept Alastor rooted to the spot, eyes wide and stunned as he looked about the room. He took it in, took all of it in. There was no more vibrant color, no more piles of yellow – the significance of what had been burned, it ate away at his heart.

Near the middle of the area, he spotted the familiar white garb and carefully began to stroll towards the prone form resting on the floor. Lucifer’s cheeks were dirtied from the ash, but it was visibly apparent how much he’d cried from the thin, clean lines the tears had left on his face. The way in which he was curled up and hugging the only duckie left gave him the appearance of a child, causing the sight to tug even more at Alastor’s heartstrings.

“Oh Luci,” he whispered regretfully and knelt beside him. He brushed back the strands of hair ghosting over the devil’s visage before conjuring a blanket and covering the other demon with it as if tucking him into bed.

“I’m deeply sorry, my dear….”

****

----Several Hours Later----

Lucifer blearily opened his eyes, sat up slowly, rubbed his face, and abruptly froze when his gaze landed on Alastor, who was sitting upright against the nearest wall and seemingly asleep. It took everything within Lucifer to not come undone all over again just from seeing him.

As if he had an acute sense of minimal movement, Alastor opened an eye to confirm he was right.

“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to move you,” he offered gently.

Lucifer stared at the floor and kept his head lowered, saying nothing.

“About last night-”

“Don’t,” Lucifer murmured in a trembling voice. “Just don’t. Not now.”

“Luci-”

“I SAID ‘DON’T’,” Lucifer snapped irately as he stood up, flames briefly materializing around him. He started for the doors, dropping the duckie plushie along the way, and grumbled, “You know where the door is. See your way out.”

Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor trailed behind him in shadow to observe and make sure he didn’t do anything else drastic. The remorse for what he’d said returned exponentially while he watched Lucifer standing in the shower with the water cascading down his petite body, his face buried in his hands, shoulders slumped and shaking as he wept.

Alastor knew how draining Lucifer’s explosive and emotional episodes could be, was pleased to see his lover was going to try and get more rest when he slid under the covers of the large bed after a lengthy hot shower and ultimately closed his eyes. It was only then that Alastor finally obeyed the request and took his leave.

****

A few days passed without any communication between the two of them. Alastor wasn’t worried; they’d gone a week without talking in the past. He was giving Lucifer his space, and in the meantime, he was contemplating how best to apologize to him.

When several more days passed and he learned Lucifer had declined multiple requests from Charlie to spend time with him and proceeded to stop responding altogether, that was when he began to worry.

There was no way Lucifer would want to see him if he wasn’t even capable of seeing his own daughter, and there was no way he could begin to replace all that Lucifer had lost.

But he had an idea of where to start.

****

Another week passed, and still, Lucifer could barely get out of bed most days. Today proved the most productive by the simple fact he made it as far as the couch in the main living room. With TV remote in one hand and a half-consumed bottle of whiskey in the other, he disinterestedly channel surfed despite his mind not being able to focus on anything but how shattered he still felt.

At first, he thought he imagined the doorbell and knocking noise, yet when it repeated for a second and third time (each being louder than the last), he decided to get up and sauntered to the front door. He really didn’t want guests, but apparently whoever it was was persistent.

When he opened the door, his expression became utterly confused; there was no one.

“Hello?” he called weakly.

No answer.

He was about to close the door; however, he glanced downward and paused. Slowly, he crouched down and studied the objects left on the porch. There were seven duckies lined up, each one painted to look like Charlie and her original hotel companions. Dumbfounded, he picked up the one that resembled Charlie, inspected it from all angles, and noticed writing on the bottom.

“You QUACK me up, dad! Love, Charlie.”

Tears instantly flooded his eyes, and he continued to pick them up individually to admire and read the kind words underneath. Once he got to Alastor’s, he greatly hesitated, pulled his hand away numerous times before taking a deep breath and welcoming it into his hands. The message was the shortest out of all of them, though it had the deepest impact:

“I love you.”

He fell apart entirely at this and held the duckie to his chest. Seconds later, he felt someone’s presence, yet he kept his eyes shut tightly as he cried and soon melted in the embrace of his lover.

“I’m so very sorry, Luci,” Alastor whispered. “I was terribly wrong. I’d like to beg for your forgiveness….And I thought it could be fun if we started a new collection….together.”

Lucifer buried his face against Alastor’s chest and nodded, reveling in the touch of familiar hands petting his hair and rubbing his back.

“Perhaps I should begin calling you my ‘precious little duckling’,” Alastor teased. He was delighted when he heard a tiny, muffled laugh from Lucifer. “Like it?”

Lucifer nodded.

“Alright then, my precious little duckling. Let’s go take care of you and find a temporary home for these ducklings inside.”

[golvio]

Still thinking about the stark contrast between the general grim, highly-restrained stoicism of TotK Ganondorf’s human form compared to the exaggerated, rapidly shifting moods of “Yippee! :D Whee!! :DD Wahoo!!! :DDD *does a cute little backflip*” and “YOU STOP RUINING MY FUN RIGHT NOW OR I WILL THROW A BIG DIVO TEMPER TANTRUM AND WRECK EVERYTHING!” of his Demon King form.

Guy’s pretty obviously repressed as hell, and I think that’s one of the reasons he always goes off the rails the second he gets a chance to step out of his ceremonial One Special Man role. However, the fact that what he’s repressing feels so…childish, even the violent parts…I’m wondering if the guy ever got the chance to be a child when he was actually little.

Maybe he got yelled at and punished for making simple inexperienced baby mistakes the way Zelda was because he was under similar pressure to Fix Everything and symbolically parent all his adult subjects/family members as a Symbol of Hope that could soothe their fears and anxieties on-demand. (Not to mention Buliara’s mom raised a bit of a red flag about authoritarian parenting styles being common in Gerudo military families). Only instead of just suppressing everything and standing perfectly still and quiet in public while floundering in private like Zelda did, he got extremely skilled at convincing the people around him he was the mature, unflappable, strong, comforting, and eternally available collective cultural father-figure who’d guide them out of the hard times they were trying to hammer him into.

Only…that wasn’t real personal development, only the illusion of development. He encased his true personality in the superficial shell of the sexy manly-man hero that everyone wanted him to be. The second he was able to emerge from that shell without anyone being able to punish him for it, that inner traumatized little jerk immediately started lashing out in revenge at the people who held him to such an impossible standard in an effort to finally feel in control of his own life. It’s like a former child star melting down upon entering adulthood after being denied agency and independence by the studio they’re contracted with and their financially profiting family for so long, only with magic and the forsaking of one’s own humanity involved.

That underlying theme of metamorphosis throughout the game, echoed in Kotlin’s “dream,” could’ve been capitalized on here. The people loved the shiny gold cocoon the weak, helpless larva formed, begging it to never emerge so they could enjoy its beauty forever. But he knows, he knows that if he never breaks open the shell encasing him, he’ll die before he ever gets the chance to unfurl his wings. The form they love is incomplete, shallow, temporary. He’ll die if he can’t discard it. He would rather be alive and horrible to behold than dead and perfect. The people will hate what emerges from their jewel, but in this new shape he can sting and bite back, so let them hate him.

But, also, just…could you imagine if we had a chance to meet The Cocoon and the people who worshipped it, saying how much they love their king while knowing absolutely nothing about him, only to find out he had his own “secret sanctuary” much like Zelda did? Somewhere we could glimpse the soft, hungry insect of his soul that yearned to break free? What we’d see in the pieces of his secret joys scattered around and the scratches of his notes would be something ugly, bitter, childishly self-centered, yes. But in there would also be real passion, real feeling, a real life desperate to finally live that would make the handsome shell brandishing a sword feel hollow, uncanny, and downright off-putting by comparison.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserve in our archive

By Julia Doubleday

(About a lot more than covid, but talks a lot about it later on)

This week, The Guardian reported that the 1.5 degree climate target agreed upon at the 2015 Paris talks is now “deader than a doornail.”

This will come as little surprise to the public, which has watched as loathsome politician after grinning salesman after equivocating lawyer has steered us ever closer to catastrophe as years and promises fade.

Decades ago, upwardly mobile people in the West were living in a happy delusion. As the Greed-is-good 80s gave way to the Dotcom 90s, the ruling class sold their vision of the future: a rising tide lifts all boats. More money for me means more money for all. Let’s all get rich and happy.

Globalization, neoliberalism, and capitalism, the three ingredients of prosperity everywhere, for everyone, forever. Cut regulations, let businesses thrive, let the markets reign. National borders should constrain people, not capital. In 1991, the USSR collapsed. In 1992, Francis Fukuyama published The End of History. As big business thrived, the Democratic party sprinted toward the center, with the Clintons pioneering “triangulation” and The Third Way. The markets roared. Then in 2001, 9/11 kicked off the 21st century, and a new era of global instability and warfare; the rest, as they say, is (even more) history.

The moments before- the moment where capitalists’ fantasies looked poised to come true- weigh heavy in the minds of our political elite. In the 90s, it all seemed possible; you could denude the rainforest because the rainforest was, after all, infinite; Coca-Cola could suck down all the clean water it desired; big ag could monocrop the hell out of the land; no two countries with a McDonalds would ever go to war; and meanwhile, the middle class would grow, standards of living would increase around the world, everyone would be better off! It was win/win/win/win/win! All those environmentalists and communists were passé; they’d been wrong. The best way to save the Earth, and the people on it, was through economic development.

But capitalism sows the seeds of its own destruction, and now, in 2024, we all watch in horror as the planet heaps punishment after punishment on the species too arrogant to understand the warnings we’re generously given. Every emergency light is flashing red- change course or perish. Our feckless leaders seem incapable of understanding.

It’s not only the Earth that has suffered as the decades of exploitation accumulate. The workers, too, feel the crush as the ruling class cannot resist taking more, more, more for itself. Although distributing its ill-gotten gains more fairly would preserve its own position for longer, those at the top are too deluded, too greedy, too loyal to the belief system of their cult to understand this. Leftist, environmentalist, indigenous voices that were once marginalized now gain audiences through social media.

So, we come to the point that the contradictions of capitalism are intensifying. Workers in the West can no longer envision themselves getting a college education, making a decent living, buying a 4-bedroom home, retiring with a pension. Workers around the world, meanwhile, who manufacture our things, continue to suffer inhumane standards of living. Although the most extreme poverty lessens, over half of workers still live on less than $10/day. The global middle class doesn’t materialize anywhere other than, arguably, China, free from the clutches of the IMF and its predatory structural adjustment programs.

It is against this backdrop that the Democratic Party attempts, every two years, to defend the status quo.

The Democratic Party is a party ferociously committed to looking backwards. They yearn for 1995, when the future was neoliberal deregulation, triangulation, and the Clintons. When Fukuyama announced that history had ended, it seems like a lot of Democratic officials stopped reading.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, what the hell does this all have to do with the election just passed? Surely, you’re not arguing that the Republican party is the counter-weight here, the anti-capitalist foe? Not at all. No, the Republican party is capitalist, hyper-capitalist. They have, however, faced the reality that the status quo will not continue as is. There won’t be a future where a diverse, global family shares in the wealth produced by capitalism, where the poor are raised up to become the global middle class and globalization saves the wretched of the Earth.

The communist, socialist, or leftist alternative vision of our future is to dismantle the machine of exploitation that destroys, kills, denudes, and steals resources and workers. In order to have a planet, and workers who share in its bounty, we need to rethink the way we govern ourselves and our resources, drastically. And allowing a teeny tiny group of people- billionaires- to have outsize influence over political and economic policy flies in the face of democratic governance itself.

The fascist vision of the future is to buckle in, turn the machine up higher, and kill anyone who gets in the way. Protect the billionaires at any cost, while understanding very well that it is billionaire vs humanity itself. Get your followers to identify with the former and hate the latter. Build walls, keep out climate refugees. Deport people en masse. As things get worse, blame minorities. Distract people with culture wars, misogyny, racism, transphobia; same as it ever was. As the extinction-level outcomes of climate change materialize, shove your followers into a bottomless vortex of conspiracy, let them be dragged to the bottom, sputtering, swearing, soaking and drowning. Republicans, now led by Donald Trump, don’t act as though there will be enough to “go around”; they act as though they are going to divide society into “winners” and “losers,” with the “losers” condemned to low-wage labor, prison, deportation, or death.

This is how feckless liberalism condemns us to fascism. It offers us no future, while silencing the leftists who try. It’s no longer believable to say you represent workers and donors, oil companies and the environment. You have to pick one. When the chips are down, you have to pick a side.

The public is living through the collapse of what briefly appeared stable: a globalized, capitalist economy, deregulated in accordance with the principles of neoliberalism. This global economic system, little-bound by the laws of individual states and thus more powerful than pseudo-democratically run states, is running up against the physical limitations of the planet. Oil is not infinite. Polar ice caps melt. The methane in the permafrost is a climate bomb. Monocropping degrades the soil. More climate disasters mean less arable land for agriculture. Continually overusing groundwater means water shortages.

You can’t run a global society on the principle that what makes money for a private company today is always beneficial, and what harms the collective in the long-term is never detrimental.

The Democrats’ problem is that they will not acknowledge what has become clear to so many of us: that their “triangulation” 90s-era compromise, their brilliant idea of representing both big business and workers is simply not possible. The interests of these two groups diametrically oppose one another, and the capitalist mythology that rich people getting richer helps everyone get richer didn’t turn out to be true. As rich people and corporations have gobbled up an unprecedented proportion of American wealth, they’ve also grabbed up all the land and property, pushing homes out of reach for ordinary workers. When rich people own all the homes, how can poor people own those same homes? Capitalist dogma refuses to acknowledge constraints on resources, refuses to blink as we watch our homes flood, our fields turn barren, our cities begin to suffer water shortages.

The growing dissatisfaction with Democrats’ doublespeak came to a head in 2015. Democratic Socialist Bernie Sanders launched a longshot Presidential campaign against pre-selected nominee Hillary Clinton. What happened next shocked political analysts and observers. Clinton came into the race with the support of every major player in the Democratic establishment, every media endorsement, and a billion-dollar war chest. Sanders, conversely, boasted nothing but a straight-talking style, a refusal to accept corporate PAC money, and a few oft repeated talking points about the billionaire class.

Fueled by $27 donations, Sanders’ campaign went on to win 23 contests, but was dragged down by the unanimously hostile response from Democratic insiders, political commentators, media outlets, and, unsurprisingly, the donor class. A party that was interested in winning vs. the powerhouse Trump campaign would’ve taken seriously a grassroots campaign that was able to perform so well with so many disadvantages. Instead, the Democratic party and its Superdelegates repeatedly put its finger on the scale for Clinton, leading to the disastrous first win for Trump in 2016.

Now, finally, I’m getting to COVID.

A big part of the Democrats return to power in 2020 was COVID. That’s not my opinion; that is what exit polls tell us about voters’ decision to turn out for Joe Biden. The top two reasons Democrats had for turning out to the polls in November of 2020 were racial justice issues and the pandemic.

Democrats never seemed to understand how reluctantly the public returned them to power. It wasn’t an, “oh, thank God, Joe Biden is here,” vote. It was a “we have to get this fucking guy [Donald Trump] out of here” vote. A good chunk of the party was still angry at the way Sanders had been treated. Workers were still suspicious that Democrats were promising to represent them during campaign season, then going on to represent donors. But frankly, the country was in crisis.

In November 2020, vaccines were not yet available for COVID-19. The nation was headed into a winter wave that would kill hundreds of thousands. And, importantly, the media didn’t downplay these deaths, it emphasized them. When a hundred thousand died, their names made the front page of the New York Times. The Democrats capitalized on the gore. When 220,000 had died, Biden announced that “no one” who had overseen that kind of death should remain President. 800,000+ Americans have died of COVID during his Presidency, which he has yet to resign.

Yes, yet again, Democrats pulled a bait and switch. Just like with immigration, racial justice, police violence, climate change and indigenous land rights, Democrats cried their crocodile tears right up until the Inauguration, then dried their eyes. AOC famously went and sobbed at a detention center during Trump’s Presidency, which she did not do again during Biden’s term. Nancy Pelosi and Chuck Schumer wore Kente cloth and kneeled in solidarity with George Floyd in a roundly mocked photo op before going on and giving the police more funding under Biden. I always thought it was a nice touch that Nancy’s mask was around her chin.

And Biden, Harris, and their spouses held a memorial at the reflecting pool for the 400,000 Americans who died of COVID under Trump the night before their Inauguration, only to never again mention Americans dying of COVID en masse again when they actually had the power to do something about it.

In short, Democrats went Back to Brunch, in a big way. The politicians, the analysts, the media allies, the donors, the pundits, and upper-middle-class Karens, the people with “I’m With Her” bumper stickers on their BMWs, the consultants, the actors, the data guys, the people who don’t notice the cost of groceries, they all together, astonishingly quickly, said thank you immigrants, Black people, disabled people, indigenous people, trans people, we won’t be needing you anymore, and went right back to pretending neoliberal capitalism isn’t about to hurl us all over a cliff.

My focus is COVID. I followed closely as, in the delusional world of the Biden liberal, getting COVID (a virus which damages the brain, heart, and immune system) twice a year became a totally okay and in fact laudable thing. I watched as wearing a mask went from being socially positive, to being socially ok, to being socially negative, as Bidenism reverted from anti-Trump to its true form; pro-capital. To protect capital, people need to accept this new condition of employment: more, repeated sickness, zero protections and ongoing risk of disability.

Their catchphrase for accepting this new, degraded quality of life was “back to normal.”

But while I focused on COVID, this wasn’t the only arena where Democrats pushed people “back to normal”. While Trump was in office, the Democrats succeeded in riling up their base about immigration, climate, and racial justice. As soon as they got power back, they tamped it all back down. As far as Democrats were concerned, Trump was in the rearview. So now everyone could go “back to normal.”

No more crying in front of detention camps.

No more kneeling in Kente cloth.

No more masks, COVID tests, or memorials for hundreds of thousands dead.

Donald Trump won this election because 19 million Democrats who turned out for Joe Biden failed to vote. Everyone has their own opinion about why. To me, it seems that in 2020, the public pushed Democrats back into the White House not excitedly, but reluctantly and conditionally. Instead of understanding that they owed the voters, particularly the most marginalized, this last chance at power, Democrats smugly swaggered back into the Oval Office and slammed the door behind them.

“See ya next cycle!” they called over their shoulder. Is it a wonder they didn’t?

For four years, the Biden Administration and “resistance libs” have been acting as if Donald Trump was a bad dream, fascism creeping across America a bad dream, COVID a bad dream. None of it was “real,” we all woke up and wanted “normalcy”, everything went “back” to what it should be, we all threw our masks away and returned to brunch. But that was never what the voters, who elected Biden in desperation, asked for.

We asked for a party, for leaders, who were ready to confront the crises brought into sharp relief under Trump, not bury them.

So wake up now, liberals. Trump was never your nightmare, Biden was your silly little fantasy. Dark Brandon can’t save us. The donor class can’t save us. Triangulation and deregulation and big legislation with giant handouts for oil companies can’t save us. And anything that can’t save us now, will doom us.

Because normal isn’t coming back. The crisis isn’t over. It’s only getting started.

[maester-of-spreadsheets]

DASH!!! or; kpop music to listen to when you're a vampire chasing someone for sport. or maybe just walking really fast and vibing sometimes because, like, whatever you'll catch the guy eventually.

Track list:

Shadow - f(x): why not warm up with an amazing song about stalking

Dash - NMIXX: I wanna dash, I wanna run it, I wanna run it run it DASH!

Baddie - IVE: I'm a baddie, ba-ba-baddie, baddie/Pretty little risky baddie/뭐든 될 대로 되라지/Catch me if you caAAAAan

The Chaser - INFINITE: definitely one i added because of the title and bpm but the lyrics are weirdly appropriate so here we are

LOVE BOMB - fromis_9: I MEAN...

As if it's Your Last - Blackpink: It's certainly going to be someone's last

I'm so sick - Apink: I'm so sick of lying........ You gotta know that☹️

Sleepless Night - 9 Muses: Metronomic!

Feel My Rhythm - Red Velvet: look it's sampling bach and it's cute but the hihats make it sound it lowkey wants to kill you what else was i supposed to do?

Eve, Psyche & The Bluebeard's wife - LE SSERAFIM: this is probably the title of a painting in the Loumand loft

Catellena - Orange Caramel: okay so here we have a kpop song sampling a punjabi folk song and the lyrics have all the antagonistic homoerotic yearning of Jolene and the music video has an extended metaphor comparing sushi to beauty standards and maybe capitalism?? i'm just saying it's avant garde enough for Armand

YES or YES - TWICE: 😊 Hey boy! /Look, I'm gonna make this simple for you😊 /You got two choices😊/Yes or YES? 😊

Hold on Tight - aepsa: Keep on moving!

PICK ME - PRODUCE 48: From now on, you’re mine, mine, mine, only mine mine, mine, mine (Superstar)

BBoom BBoom - Momoland: Great!

LIAR LIAR - Oh My Girl: Your freedom is OVER!

Oh! my mistake - April: You’re not allowed to make me feel lonely

Gotta Go - Chung Ha: Gotta go, gotta go

Smiley - Yena: [through gritted teeth] And I say, hey!/I’m gonna make it smile, smile, smile away/I’ll smile prettily and move past it/Just smile away, just smile away-ay,

GingaMingaYo - Billlie: Wel! Come! to! the! Strangeee-eeee! World! WOW!

Catch Me if You Can - SNSD: yeah, good luck with that

Wife - (G)I-DLE: I [pick lint off your couch] it's so twinkle twinkle

Run - BTS: Run, run, run!

RUN2U - StayC: So I run to you!! [unsettling chord progression]

Up & Down - EXID: free shit post vid idea...Armand telephathically moving Daniel's chair up and down during the chorus

Magnetic (Starlight Remix) - ILLIT: Dash-da-da, dash-da-da, dash-da, like it's magnetic

ETA - NewJeans: The day you couldn't come [home from your fuck pad]/The day [Daniel] got in so much trouble/The day [I] couldn't break up with [my husband]/The day [I had to kill our neighbor]/The day [Lestat's voice showed up in my mind]/I HEARD. HIM. SAY.......

I Don't Care - 2NE1: I don't care e e e e e, I don't care e e e e e e

Red Flavor -Red Velvet: Red flavor, I'm curious, honey/It tastes like slowly melting strawberry when I bite into it

ASAP - NewJeans: H-h-h-hi, it's me again, I'm back (hey)/Let's talk ASAP/Do you have the time?//A-S-A-P, baby/Hurry up, don't be lazy/A-S-A-P, baby/Hurry up, don't say maybe/A-S-A-P, baby/Hurry up, don't say/Hurry up, don't say/Just for a minute/Tik-tok, tik-tok, tik-tok, tik, tik tik-tok, tik-tok, tik-tok, tik, tik tik-tok, tik-tok, tik-tok, tik, tik...........

[mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess]

Fill the void

!!Contains mild spoilers from TGCF Book 6!!

Warnings: some gory descriptions as metaphors, yearning, pining and suffering

Summary: Xie Lian's sad evil girl arc ft Wu Ming and stargazing

Let me know what you think! <3

---

It’s strange – everything is, of course, the world turned upside down, tilted wrong on its axis like it has fallen off its rhythm, spinning aimlessly into a dark abyss – but this is a different kind of strange, darker, desperate and demanding. Xie Lian feels it like a restless, hungry snake coiling angrily against the walls of the too small enclosure of his ribcage, attacking aimlessly with the purpose of tearing its cage apart.

He doesn’t know what to make of it, how to quench it enough so it’s bearable – so he tries to suppress it, to starve it for attention enough for it to wither away, to cram it into the darkest corners of his heart and seal it away like an unwanted creature.

He cannot. Not when the feeling electrifies inside him like lightning every time he lays his eyes upon this impossibly devoted, loyal man that’s attached himself to Xie Lian for reasons only he knows the depth of.

Xie Lian hates this, the feeling in his chest, writhing around his heart like it’s trying to squeeze it until it breaks into a mess of blood and pulsing veins – he hates it, he doesn’t want it, doesn’t understand it, doesn’t need it, not right now, not like this, not ever-

He’s become angrier, it’s made him more irritable, quicker to bloodshed and yet less satisfied with it. No matter what he does, the feeling inside of him will not accept it. There is no loophole this time, nothing that will work except the one thing Xie Lian has decided he will always deny himself.

Lust.

Love.

The night sky glitters impassively above them, endless, an expanse of darkness dotted with flickering lights, the faded image of the Milky Way stretching like a band of jewels against black velvet.

Xie Lian stares up at it, as if trying to peer behind it, into the heavens, past the glamor that hides the heavenly capital from the mortal realm. He knows they’re there, all of them impassive to the happenings of the world below, gathering merits for the lowest of favors granted in return, unwilling to leave their glittering palaces and expensive layers of silk to walk the cursed earth that rose them to the skies.

Not that Xie Lian has much mercy left for this plane either. He can still feel the phantom of a sword – of a hundred swords – digging into his innards sometimes, cruel, relentless, unforgiving, tearing into soft tissue and a loving heart.

His body has healed, as it has always done. But nothing was left of the kindness, the paroxysmal selflessness and need to help the powerless. All Xie Lian feels instead is at best apathy, at worst rage. Most days, he’s consumed with the need for revenge and most nights he fights that unnamed feeling gnawing at his chest.

He doesn’t remember the last time he slept, or ate, or drank anything – yet he doesn’t feel tired, famished or thirsty, walking the planes of existence much like a restless ghost, haunting and wrathful.

He rests against the large trunk of an old tree, time and the beasts of the forest having dug a sizeable caving in the wood. It feels almost like a little nest, tucked away from the world, with only moonlight to shroud it in a delicate veil of light.

His fingers grasp at his mask and he finally removes  it, the cool night air a benediction to his sunken features. Lately, he has not been able to be without his mask, as if ashamed to show himself, warring with his past and the present, his features reminding him too much of how he used to be for it not to feel revulsive.

But now, here, in this hidden abode, with only the moon and the dark silhouettes of olden trees, he allows himself some freedom. It feels more stifling than freeing, and he nearly reaches for the mask again when he hears the rustle of leaves and footsteps.

But he knows who it is – and for some reason, he decides he won’t hide right now.

Wu Ming stands a little a-ways, as he always does, close enough to be at Xie Lians disposal but not to the point he’s intrusive. Keeping a respectful distance, a guard standing watch for his prince, a servant ready to attend to his master’s orders.

Somehow, this is not what Xie Lian wants tonight.

“Come here.” He says, not bothering to look towards the other or to check whether he heard those two words, spoken in a quiet, monotone voice against the low hum of the forest. He always does what he’s told, loyal to a fault, and Xie Lian does not need confirmation for anything he asks Wu Ming to do. It is comforting as much as it unsettles the nameless thing curling insistently in Xie Lian’s chest.

 It is moments later that Wu Ming sits next to him, the opening in the tree trunk enough for both of them. Neither say anything for a while, staring up at the sky, eyes fighting against the brightness of moonlight to look at the distant stars in the background.

Xie Lian feels strangely…comfortable is too much to say, but the feeling is similar to that, a placid, uncharged atmosphere. If he were to compare it to something, it would have to be the undisturbed surface of a lake reflecting the sky like a mirror.

The dark canvas of the night moves imperceptibly with the rotation of the planet as both Xie Lian and Wu Ming stare at it. Like the blade of a precise spiritual sword, a shooting star draws a momentary linbe of bright white against the muted colors of the distant stars.

Something soft, mournful almost, passes over Xie Lian’s features, the mask of neutral indifference giving way to melancholy.

“Have you ever looked up at the expanse of the stars and wondered how many of them are dead?”

The words hang heavily into the air, the soft tone in Xie Lian’s voice almost foreign to his own ears. He sounds… vulnerable, almost. It grates his ears, that raw, unfiltered emotion etched into every syllable – but he’s said it already and so he can now do nothing but await an answer. Though he would be strangely alright with none at all as well. Companionship is enough for him right now, even if it is silent.

“Most of them probably are.” Wu Ming replies at last, “By the time their light reaches us, so far away into the distance, perhaps their source has already extinguished.”

It is a heavy piece of knowledge to the unexpectedly fragile state Xie Lian finds himself in this night. To think even the stars above are little more than ghosts, impressions of themselves trapped onto a canvas like a child’s fingerprints in ink on a funerary portrait.

“You’re right…” he murmurs quietly, a long pause following. “But there is a part of me that wants to think that some of them are still alive. I want to be selfish and hope that a few – even one, hasn’t died yet. Just one.”

Though Xie Lian cannot properly see it, he could swear he saw a smile pull at his face, the visible side of it rippling slightly where his mouth is.

“Which one should it be?” he asks, his voice just a tiny bit lighter, almost playful as he points towards a bright, shining star above their heads. “That one?”

Xie Lian looks at it, a brightly visible dot that stands out almost too much against the night sky. He frowns slightly – no, that one cannot be alive, not with how powerfully it shines, it must have burnt out by now. The most beautiful, the brightest of stars fade the quickest, leaving behind dying embers. Xie Lian knows best.

“No, not that one.” He replies, with a hint of sadness in his voice despite the small smile on his lips.

Wu Ming nods imperceptibly and points towards another star, smaller than the first but nonetheless bright, surrounded by a cluster of other little ones, like followers swarming to their favorite god.

“No, not that one either.”

Wu Ming stares up at the night sky for a longer time after that, searching. Xie Lian finds his little game rather cute, the way he’s taking it so seriously though it is so silly. He knows this is just Wu Ming trying to give him some hope, the way he does with every one of those white flowers Xie Lian always refuses.

Eventually, Wu Ming points to another star, so small and faded Xie Lian must narrow his eyes in concentration to see it. Its light flickers like a candle fighting against a powerful wind, surrounded by darkness – but it appears to be fighting against the void, refusing to be swallowed, wanting to be seen with every pulse of light it emits. It has not been granted brightness like the others, instead it must work hard to be noticed, to fulfill its purpose.

“How about that one?”

A small, soft smile pulls at Xie Lian’s lips, this time not shadowed by sorrow or bitterness – instead, it seems nearly hopeful.

“Yes, that one… that one’s perfect.”

“Then may that one be alive, wherever it may be in the heavens.”

He sighs wistfully, looking at the small, struggling dot in the sky. Hope feels strange as well, most of everything does these days, but this is not the kind of discomfort that Xie Lian finds unpleasant.

The silence returns between the wo figures sat in the hollow of that tree trunk as their gazes return to the infinite canvas of the night sky.

Xie Lian finds himself drawn to that star no matter how far his gaze wanders.

--

“Do you believe in wishes, Wu Ming?”

The reply comes after a few beats of silence. “I do, yes.”

Xie Lian looks at him, for a moment wishes he could see him, without the mask, without any barriers. It is an invasive, selfish thought and Xie Lian is quick to admonish himself for it. It is not his place, nor is it his business.

He yearns for it still, though.

He’s quiet for a moment more, before he asks, “If you cold have any wish granted to you right now, what would you ask for?”

This time, he is quite sure Wu Ming is smiling beneath his mask as he talks, his voice so much softer than usual. “I would wish to be allowed to always be by my beloved’s side.”

The answer is simple and straightforward in the same way that it is both complex and elusive. For a split second, Xie Lian feels that unnamed thing inside his chest tighten unpleasantly, like it has been angered. The thought of Wu Ming standing by another’s side makes that feeling swirl like poison in Xie Lian’s mouth.

He doesn’t want to confront that feeling, not even acknowledge, let alone understand what it is.

“A good wish…” he replies distantly, his voice again monotone.

“What about you, your highness? What would you wish for if you knew it would not be denied?”

Xie Lian pauses at that, as he has always done whenever asked about what he wanted. What did he want? He used to think he knew. The first thing that pops into his brain is revenge. For himself, for his family, for his people, for his kingdom. For all the pain endured, for all the losses and the despair, for the lost grace and the rotting carcass of the person he used to be.

The second thing, he cannot say it. His body fills with a sense of shame so great it is nearly overwhelming, so he refuses to so much as think it a second time.

“I do not believe in wishes.” Xie Lian replies instead. “There is nobody to grant them.”

[chaosdoesnotdefineme]

ok, @guess-ill-dye you asked about my OCs, now bear the consequences.

beware this post is rlly long

First of I need to explain a bit of the world-building;

In the beginning there was nothing. Only darkness and the freezing Cold. Out of that nothingness Aviya was born. Aviya was the first light, warmth and life itself. He created the world as we know it. But with life there comes death, and with it Amaia.

Over time, more and more deities weee born. Fauna, the Animals and wildlife and her sister Flora, the plants and flowers, Munin, the moon and the memories of the past, Morgan, the water that flows over our planet and Ojuna, the love that inhabits every being on earth. There’s also a bunch if smaller more insignificant deities like Celia, the deity of the seasons.

All of the major deities have regions to them self, with different cultures and practices dedicated to their deity. In the middle of the map is Aviya‘s region, the capital.

At first it was one singular big culture with Aviya being seen as the most powerful and important of the deities, because he was the first and also „created“ the others. But over time the different cultures started to separate and Aviya had less controll and overall was worshipped less.

He grew jealous and yearned for the times where he was the biggest. He made it his mission to overtake the other deities‘ cultures and make them center around him again.

Because he felt Amaia was the exact opposite of him and destroyed everything he created he started with hers.

Fast forward a couple hundred years into the furure, is where the story actually takes place.

Elleonora grows up on a farm in a small town outside the capital. She lives there quite happily with her mom, dad and brother, until her father leaves seemingly out of nowhere.

Elle is blessed by Amaia, wich causes her a great deal of trouble and bullying in the small town under Aviyas rule. Her father was the only one really understanding and protecting her. With him gone her mother and everyone else have free reign to bully, ridicule and abise her.

She grows up mainly playing on her own in the forests surrounding the town, playing with the wolfs and wild dogs that life there.

Until she meets Blanca, who becomes her best friend and later her lover.

Elles mother does not approve of Blanca and her daughters relationship, and shoots the former after catching them in the barn behind the house.

Elle runs away and meets Anya, a wolf shapeshifter blessed by Fauna.

Anyas family is blessed by Munin, and was killed when Aviya took over the tribe. She fled to the nearest woods, was adopted by a pack of wolfs and blessed by Fauna.

She joined a rebellion against Aviya and is recruiting new members until she meets Elle. She joins in hopes she can avenge Blanca.

Together, Elle and Anya go to the Capital, where they stay at a cemetery run by Alfred, a member of the rebellion who is also blessed by Luci, the deity of the soul.

In the capital they’re joined by May, a girl from a family of great doctors, all blessed by Emmi, the deity of healing, that holds her up to dangerously high standards.

together they go on a journey to be able to fully end and, in order to maintain balance, replace Aviya.

There’s like much more details that i’m just to lazy to write down right now ^~^ You‘re still very welcome to send me asks about more details though!!