[ “SOMEBODY TOLD ME”]:
BREAKING MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME. SEVENTEEN TRACKS AND I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS GAME. A BREAKIN’ MY BACK JUST TO KNOW YOUR NAME—BUT HEAVEN AIN’T CLOSE IN A PLACE LIKE THIS.
— The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)
Princess Rhaenyra’s insolence is wearing her stepmother’s patience thin. Queen Alicent is not ten years her senior, but even during her own sixteenth year, she cannot recall herself behaving so brazenly. She would never burst into courtly discussions in nothing but gilded armor and the underskirts of her riding leathers, awash in blood. (She would never be spotted in blood that was not her own, anyway. Alicent has never picked up a sword, not one that belonged to her.) Nevermind that Rhaenyra is attending to diplomatic affairs with bared teeth and scales, no—the crux of the matter is just that, her affairs. Rhaenyra is the Realm’s Delight, a beauty incomparable to any fair maiden, Alicent included. She indulges herself with appetite of a spoiled child, the confidence of man, and the pickings befitting only to her royal blood. Criston Cole. Daemon Targaryen. Harwin Strong. Laena Velaryon. She’s full of love, isn’t she? That selfish, foolish girl. What does Rhaenyra Targaryen know of love, of duty? She is a child in so many ways—she thinks killing makes her a man, thinks the throne is hers despite being a woman, thinks she can have her knight and her uncle and her protector and Laena Velaryon in one fail swoop. She’s wrong. She doesn’t know herself half as well as Alicent does. Alicent, who sees her for what she truly is, who wants to see all of her and more of her and none of her. Alicent has been stolen into the Keep by her own father—both of their fathers—but Rhaenyra is the key to this place, is the window to everything barred. Rhaenyra Targaryen has a dragon. Rhaenyra can fly.
That’s what Rhaenyra had promised her once, with her lips pulled back in a grin, exposing the white of her teeth like the violently radiant creature she was. “Perhaps when you grow tired of plotting against me, we shall ride on dragonback together,” she had said. The tease.
Alicent had yanked her into an empty corridor by the silk of her sleeve, ready to chastise her for her ill behavior. Conversing with the lords and ladies of the court at a feast was one thing, but chattering about her bloody encounters in battle over the pudding tureen were another. The lord at her elbow was going green. Alicent’s own face was likely red; her heart raced whenever Rhaenyra got like this. Alicent had never seen the battlefield—only seen battered men in dented armor and the slumps of corpses lined along dirt roads in the aftermath of war—but her own imagination terrified her like nothing else.
(Rhaenyra is better with a sword than half of the knights in Westeros, and more lovely than the lot. Her reign has not yet begun, but already the commoners flock to her—lured in by tales of her beauty and fine hair—and soldiers would follow her into battle. Alicent would not follow, but she would watch and bite her nails down to the quick.
She thinks of the figure Rhaenyra cuts in full armor, the heat in her gaze underneath the slots of her helmet. Alicent remembers the weight of her own hand in Rhaenyra’s—which was gloved—when the princess rode up to the spectators box and grasped it in her own, bringing Alicent’s knuckles to her lips. She thinks of Rhaenyra murdered in the sky, skewered with another man’s sword, plummeting to the ground, torn in half, streaking crimson across the clouds. Alicent would scream, or cry. She might laugh. She would throw herself from the window of her tower. Rhaenyra’s bloody exploits terrified Alicent for reasons she could not identify, and excited her for reasons she refused to.)
“I’d sooner be confined to the castle for the rest of my days than get on the back of that bloody lizard,” Alicent scoffed. Rhaenyra only tucked her hand over Alicent’s, where it was resting on her forearm. She flexed her fingers, moving to release her grip on the dark fabric, but Rhaenyra intertwined their fingers and held them fast.
“You’re confined already. You are already accustomed to such a thing. I know you. But—”
“But you forget yourself. You think you’re invulnerable, Rhaenyra. You don’t know who you are.” Alicent intends for it to be a sneer, but instead it comes out quietly, and too gentle for disdain. She can’t know. Rhaenyra is as trapped as she is, but they’re trapped together. They belong together. She belongs with Alicent.
“I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, Heir to the Iron Throne and all of Westeros. I am a dragonrider. I am—I am your daughter. In a way. Your sister, too. Your enemy. Your sword, your shield.”
“And what am I?” What else is left for me? Alicent wonders.
“My Queen. For now.” Rhaenyra cocks her head, and the gleam in her eyes burns like fire raining down. “When I am Queen, you will be my lady.”
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So, I saw @kedreeva last week when she was on vacation and we had lunch together (yay us, I always love hanging out with the wife)
But when we parted ways, I called my dad and was talking to him about it and he asked, "So, this friend of yours. Is this person on your list?"
"What list?"
"The list of people you'll hug."
I don't know why, but I cannot stop thinking about that conversation. It's popped into my head at least once a day since it happened.
I guess sometimes I'm just hit with the realization that I'm very lucky that my family understands and accepts my idiosyncrasies. They always have.
For most of my life, my mother had a disclaimer when we met new people.
"This is [Des]," she'd say. "Don't be offended when she doesn't talk to you."
She said that all the way until I was well into my twenties.
I was never made to talk if I didn't want to--which is a good thing, honestly, because when I was younger I had so much anxiety that I couldn't talk sometimes--and I was never made to touch people. Nobody ever told me that I was too old to be so reticent or that I needed to "grow up."
I never had to make myself palatable for other people. My family just made sure everyone know this is the way I was and that wasn't gonna change. That might not sound like much, but considering the fact that I was born in 1990, it feels like a pretty progressive way to grow up for that time period.
idk man. I complain a lot about my family sometimes, and they deserve at least half of it, but then I remember stuff like this and I'm glad I got stuck with these people.
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I just finished reading your Obikin goes to therapy au and my friend, wow! It was amazing! I’m so excited to see where you take it and clearly for those two doofuses to finally learn to communicate in at least a semi coherent manner.
I think it’s pretty obvious that you clearly should be in charge of writing Obikin in SW for real. I always read your stories than go back to watch the official stuff only to be violently reminded that it in fact Obikin is not endgame. Truly tragic.
💜💜💜
ahhh thank you!! I was thinking of the next chapter walking around yesterday and I think it’s gotta be like. Anakin comes home early for something or from something and he sees obi-wan in a state of undress that he finds absolutely devastating because he’s covered in Force Lighting scars from That Night and anakin doesn’t know how to cope with the emotions of seeing the proof that he almost died so clearly right there…..which of course means he accidentally reacts in a way obi-wan interprets as scornful
He starts bringing back creams and lotions and tonics and stuff to try to reduce the scarring. Obi-Wan doesn’t care about the scars because the pain was worth it to have Anakin by his side. Anakin cares a lot about the scars because it means he let his master get so close to dying. Obi-Wan decides Anakin must find the scars very ugly and off putting and defends himself by pointing out all the other people who have seen him in such undress don’t seem to care. Anakin decides that must mean obi-wan is not taking his health seriously because he’s sleeping with a bunch of people when he should be on bed rest until anakin gets his heart under control. Obi-Wan decides anakin just doesn’t trust him as a capable Jedi master, exhibit J.
Sheari decides she needs some heavy duty Tylenol
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'Mo'
An OC For Relan
@caxycreations , here it is! You Tagged me for this one... so, so long ago, but I've finally come up with an OC for you Setting, if you may accept him.
His name is 'Mo', and 'Mo' is he, as far as anyone in knows. He's not easy to miss with his intensely brown eyes, tan fur, and unmistakably foreign speech and accent. Mo is a Palm Civet, which is all he's ever offered when it comes to his background. He's notably shorter than most in his new home, and apparently hasn't fully adjusted to its temperate climes from his tropical roots. Whoever he is, wherever he came from, Mo was brought to the big city more by his duties than anything else.
Mo is unmistakably a 'Gah-men'* man, an efficient public servant of mild mannerisms that bely a strictly opaque personality. His current station, running the house in the local community and government, seems remarkably humble in contrast to the grace with which Mo carries himself, but he seems content enough.
Not a shy man to those who deal with him with any regularity, Mo is absolutely a humble one. He prefers to act in the background, putting in twice as much work as anyone else and with encyclopaedic knowledge of every facet of his potential duties. Mo dresses for his duties, with an endless supply of white shirts, jackets, and waistcoats, all fairly conservative in colour and make. Over time, he's earned the distant respect of his colleagues, even if most see him as little more than a hard driving automaton.
Others, however, know better. His friends, the few of them he has, would attest to his quiet kindness and occasional generosity. In private, Mo has a tendency towards dramatics, particularly when the topic of conversation touches on politics, or references to his homeland, which he defends and demeans in equal measure. He is a teetotaller, but, unusually for his kind, turns down coffee and tea as well, and apparently has the sweet tooth of a juvenile. Mo enjoys what comforts he can get, and his bar for what counts as such isn't high; fresh pastry, a certain brand of soya milk, and his regular patronage of the local library suffices.
Who is Mo? No one can really say, and for now he's not keen to answer.
------
*A bit of local slang, means 'government'.
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LIPxLIP and the Filming of the New Year’s Special Programme: Chapter 1
the hakamas made me do it i m s o r r y
next part (chapter 2)
Aizo and Yujiro, the constantly bickering pair that made up the active idol unit known as LIPxLIP, had a relationship of friendly rivalry with each other as they worked towards a shared goal.
On a day leading up to the new year, their apprentice manager, Hiyori, called out to them with an “I have something great to tell you!”—
Aizo: A New Year’s variety programme, you said…?
Yujiro: And it will be livestreamed…?
Hiyori: Yup! The stream will begin right after the year changes, so we don’t have much time…
Hiyori: But the director said that they absolutely had to have you guys participate in the programme, and extended an offer to you!
Hiyori: Your fellow participants will include other idols, entertainers, and all kinds of other people who are rather popular at the moment.
Hiyori: It’ll be a solo competition, so the two of you will have to be rivals on it.
Aizo: For real?! So do I have to act like I have a score to settle with Yujiro?
Yujiro: Huh? Settle what score?
Yujiro: Though, the outcome will be obvious, even if we don’t do it.
Aizo: You’re talking about the fact that you’ll lose for sure, right?
Yujiro: More like, your loss. Give your stupidity a rest already.
Hiyori: Geez! I should be the one telling you guys to “Give it a rest”!
Hiyori: Manager Uchida told me to explain everything to you guys properly!
Hiyori: So pay close attention until I’m done!
Aizo: Yeah, yeah, I get it.
Yujiro: As you wish. Care to continue, Miss Apprentice?
Hiyori: Geez, did you really have to add that last part…?
Hiyori: …Anyway! As for what the special programme is going to be about…
Hiyori: It will be in the format of an elimination match. You will have to participate in various competitive events, and the lowest scoring participant of each event will be eliminated until there is just one remaining participant, who will be deemed the winner.
Hiyori: Said winner will receive the grand prize of some self-promotion time on the show!
Hiyori: Manager Uchida said that “We’ll be lucky regardless of which one of LIPxLIP wins, because we’ll get good publicity either way.” though…
Hiyori: There’s a chance that all kinds of people will be tuning in to the stream of the New Year’s programme, so do your best, you two!
Yujiro: …I’m obviously going to give it my all, though.
Aizo: What kinds of events will there be anyway?
Hiyori: Ah—... About that…
Hiyori: We won’t know till the programme begins.
Hiyori: It’ll be a special programme to celebrate the New Year, so the events may be related to New Year festivities, or they could even be stuff like simple sports.
Hiyori: There’s also the possibility that it could be a quiz, or maybe a card game tournament or something…
Aizo: So we won’t be able to plan for it, huh.
Yujiro: …Yeah.
Hiyori: But still! I really do think that you guys have a shot at victory!
Hiyori: Just don’t argue with each other over weird things on the stream, okay?! All you guys have to do is stay on the programme till the very end.
Hiyori: Cooperate with each other, all while appearing to be competing with each other, got it?!
Aizo: Yeah, yeaaah.
Yujiro: Understood—
Hiyori: …
Aizo: Huh? What’s with that reaction?
Hiyori: Nah… I just…
Hiyori: Have this feeling… of unease…
Aizo: Thanks for your hard work!
Director: Yup, you did well out there! I’ll be counting on you again in the future!
Having finished their shooting for a television programme, Aizo and Yujiro walked along the path towards the dressing room, alone with each other.
Aizo: …Hey, regarding that special programme…
Yujiro: What of it?
Aizo: Despite what Suzumi said about cooperation, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna go all out to defeat you.
Yujiro: That’s my line. Don’t do anything lame like getting eliminated in the very first event, okay?
Yujiro: Wait, scratch that, just try to stay until the final round. If you even can, that is.
Yujiro: We’ll face off against each other in the final round… Where I’ll be sure to show you the sheer differences in our abilities.
Aizo: Why you…!
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