#middle aged ladies fighting for the rebellion!!!!

[calisources]

A   SONG   OF   ICE   AND   FIRE   &   HBO'S   GAME   OF   THRONES.   sentence   starters   taken   from   both   the   source   books   and   the   hbo's   adaptation   of   a   song   of   ice   and   fire   from   george   r.r.   martin.   change   titles,   names   and   pronouns   as   you   see   fit.

 "Tell them the North remembers. Tell them winter came for House Frey."

"Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe."

"I'm not a lady. I never have been. That's not me."

"Nothing's more hateful than failing to protect the one you love."

"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground."

"An unhappy wife is a wine merchant's best friend."

"What good is power if you cannot protect the ones you love?"

 "So we fight and die or we submit and die. I know my choice."

"I thought if I could make something so good, so pure, maybe I'm not a monster."

"Power is power."

"I'm not going to stop the wheel, I'm going to break the wheel."

"Do you understand? I'm no ordinary woman. My dreams come true."

"It's not easy to see something that’s never been before: A good world."

"I believe in second chances. I don't believe in third chances."

"As long as I'm better than everyone else I suppose it doesn't matter."

"When enough people make false promises words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies."

"If you only trust the people you grew up with, you won't make many allies."

“Winter is coming. We know what’s coming with it."

"It is a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born in, never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us."

 "I wonder if you’re the worst person I've ever met? At a certain age it's hard to recall. But the truly vile do stand out through the years."

"Know your strengths, use them wisely, and one man can be worth ten thousand."

"Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you."

"I try to know as many people as I can. You never know which one you'll need."

"No one is very happy. Which means it’s a good compromise."

 "Men decide where power resides, whether or not they know it."

"Give us common folk one taste of power and we're like the lion who tasted man—nothing is ever so sweet again."

"But it's you and me that matters to me and you. Don't ever betray me."

 "I want to be the queen."

"Any man who must say, I am the king, is no true king."

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention."

"Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder."

"A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is." 

"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word." 

"If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. "

"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

"People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it's served up."

"Every man must die, Jon Snow. But first he must live."

"We look up at the same stars and see such different things."

"I need you to become the man you were always meant to be. Not next year, not tomorrow, now." 

"It's a neat little trick you do. You move your lips, and your father's voice comes out. "

"Tell me something, Varys who do you truly serve?"

"They’re dragons, Khaleesi. They can never be tamed."

"Love is the death of duty." 

"Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us. Let's end this the old way."

"I Am not beholden to my ancestors vows."

"Robert's rebellion was built on a lie."

"We're children playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren't fair."

"With respect, Your Grace, I don't need your permission. I am a King."

“The world is one great web, and a man dare not touch a single strand lest all the others tremble.”

“Black and white and grey, all the shades of truth.”

“In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining.”

“There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man.”

“Every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old.”

“I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood.”

"The war continues, Davos Seaworth, and some will soon learn that even an ember in the ashes can still ignite a great blaze.”

 "He has a song. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

"The only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid."

[hubristicassholefight]

Swordswoman Showdown Round 2 Part 2

Kikunojo (One Piece) vs Eowyn (Lord of the Rings)

(Better here in a "preferred character" sense, not "who would win in a fight")

Propaganda below cut

Kikunojo

She is a samurai and a retainer for the Kozuki Family, serving as one of the Nine Red Scabbards, a group of samurai that protect the Kozuki family and their country. She's a very skillful samurai, and she and her group managed to delay and hold off the main villain of the arc, (which was an almost insurmountable task for even the main character) and survived the experience despite her horrible injuries; She's canonically and openly trans! And she's gorgeous. And huge... She's 287 cm tall, which for the USAmericans in the audience is 9' 5". She's simply the coolest.

She’s a samurai and fights with a sword; tall trans woman <3

Legendary devoted samurai!; She's 2.87m tall, a time traveler, and not even losing an arm in the middle of the fight stopped her- she had it imediately cauterized and went back to the fight.

She's a lady samurai! Pretty and very skillful with her katana!

She is a samurai who was sent 20 years into the future to avenge the death of her lord; She’s so tall and canonically trans and I love her

She’s a badass samurai who fights for what she believes in and to help people. She is known as Kiku of lingering snow. She’s also canonically trans

She's a time traveling trans samurai, the only woman in a group of 9 legendary samurais; Her arm was chopped off by the biggest baddie so far and she continued fighting, isn't that badass?

One of the strongest samurai in her country; She's a trans icon

#kiku the greatest of all time#🐐#tall and gorgeous samurai lady#who is a trans icon#love that she is so tall that she doesn't fit in the image display#gets recognized as strong by the main character multiple times and proves it by being the most resilient badass of the entire arc#stands up to tyrants and abusers of class privilege#also helps break said main character out of the enemies prison and takes part in a rebellion against the corrupt prison staff#one piece#okiku#kiku

Eowyn

Kin to kings and heir to horse-lords, she refuses to be left behind when her people must fight; she puts herself in danger to defend her liege, defeats a great and terrible evil, and finally puts aside the sword after proving herself the equal of the very greatest challenge and recognising the horror and futility that heroic ballads elide. The most dramatic moment of her tale is all about her presence, in a moment of trial, with a sword, being a woman; “What do you fear, lady?" he asked. "A cage," she said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

She uses one to fight and kill the Witch King of Angmar, whom "no man can kill"; I mean, come on. She's kinda The Live Action Sword Woman. "I am no man." is an instantly iconic line and Miranda Otto is an incredible actress and played the role perfectly.

I AM NO MAN

"No man can kill me." "I am no man!" And then she put her sword in the head of the dark lord rule of black Nazguls (don't remember his name) and he dies and this is badass.

Famously stabbed an 'unkillable' evil ghost sorcerer in the face with her sword and killed him

Was told not to go sword, went and sworded anyway. Sworded big powerful bad who could not be slain by man in the face while yelling “I am no man!”; Super cool. Girlboss. After swording the aforementioned bad went and married Gondor’s softest boi.

She kills an unkillable evil and is just badass in general; Hot hot girl ;-;

Used one to kill the witch king of Angmar; She is no man✨

[thefloatingwriter]

ooh tell me about vera and mateo!!

i’m so glad you asked!!

mateo enríquez and vera enríquez (née álvarez) are the parents of perl brownstone (née enríquez), grandparents of cora brownstone and ada latier (née brownstone) and, as aforementioned, the great grandparents of beetee and all of his siblings.

Vera:

she was born on may 18th.

she was called “mi pequeña primavera” by her mother (translates to “my little spring”)¹ because her mother always saw her as the beauty in spring while also representing the sadder or more destructive aspects of the season, like the rain (mainly because of her temper tantrums when she was younger lol).

her favorite color is pastel pink.

she loves to bake.

she’s an artist; she loves to paint, sculpt, draw… basically anything hands on.

she has dark wavy hair and brown eyes.

she had a lot of siblings (seven) but she was closest to her older brother rafael. he was older than her by two years and found annoying her really funny, but after they both became adults they grew a lot closer. he even officiated her and mateo’s wedding.

¹ — absolutely call me out if this is incorrect, i’m using google translate lol.

Mateo:

he was born on december 13th.

beetee’s middle name is his first: beetee mateo latier. linus chose beetee’s first name and ada chose his middle.

he is the oldest of his two siblings, camila (six years younger) and maría (eight years younger).

his favorite color is green.

he hates sour food, but loves spices.

going off of that, he also likes to cook. he cooks, vera bakes. all is well lol.

has a horrible temper, much like his great grandson in that department. perl was once bullied by some girls in her class and vera basically had to sit on him to stop him from fighting their parents.

Mateo and Vera:

they met at school. vera was new to the specific area of the Stills and was really weirded out by the strange boy in her math class who kept staring at her. in reality, mateo was just amazed at how pretty she was.

finally, mateo works up the nerve to go up to her only to deliver the worst pickup line you have ever heard before falling down a short staircase due to not looking where he was going in favor of the pretty girl beside him. thankfully, he was not hurt badly and vera found the whole situation more endearing than ridiculous (though she did make it perfectly clear that she thought he was ridiculous).

they married in their mid-twenties. vena gave birth to perl in her early thirties.

vera loves huckleberry pie so every year on her birthday, mateo attempts (key word: attempts) to make one for her. he basically always fails, but vera thinks it’s very sweet.

mateo is killed during the first rebellion by bombs. after the war ends, vera started trespassing into the peacekeeper barracks to scare them. the peacekeepers brushed it aside as a senile elderly lady, but multiple handmade bombs went off in the barracks only a few weeks afterward. it was never linked back to the aging vera enríquez, but, well, the woman was basically a mad scientist.

thank you for the ask about these two random latier family members that i’m weirdly obsessed with right now 💗

[theworldsoftolkein]

Special Abilities of Galadriel That Made her Stand Out Among Other Elves - by Eru Lotr

I have tremendous admiration and respect for Galadriel as a character in Tolkien’s legendarium. Galadriel is a model of female leadership and power. In a universe where many of the movers and shakers were male, Galadriel held her own as Lady of Lothlorien and one of the greatest living Eldar. She inspired awe and respect.

She exhibits strength in the face of temptation. Despite being offered power from the One Ring, she was able to turn it down, showing her deep moral integrity and self-awareness. Few could have resisted such temptation.

Galadriel was born in Valinor during the Years of the Trees and was considered one of the greatest of the Noldorin Elves. Even among the elves of Valinor she was renowned for her beauty, wisdom, and powers. She was one of the few to have fought against Feanor during the Kinslaying and refused to join in his rebellion, for which she was banned from returning to Valinor.

When she came to Middle Earth, Galadriel and her husband Celeborn ruled over the wood elves of Lothlórien. She lived in Middle Earth through the First and Second Ages, acquiring great knowledge and power over many long years. Galadriel was able to slow the wearing effects of time on her lands, preserving the beauty of Lothlórien.

Galadriel was bearer of Nenya, one of the three Elven rings of power. Nenya gave Galadriel the ability to preserve and protect Lothlórien as a haven against the outside world. She used her magic ring to keep evil and decay from entering the forest, creating a timeless realm. The power of her ring also helped Galadriel read minds and communicate telepathically with others.

In addition, Galadriel had the gift of foresight and could glimpse events both past and future. She was able to telepathically communicate and counsel members of the Fellowship when they visited Lothlórien. Galadriel turned down the One Ring when offered it by Frodo, proving the strength of her character. Her wisdom and magic helped the Fellowship on their journey.

So in summary, Galadriel gained great power through her ancient lineage, possession of one of the Elven rings, and her inner strength to turn away from evil. Her mystical abilities and far-seeing wisdom made her an invaluable ally in the fight against Sauron. Among the Eldar, she had no equal in Middle Earth.

She serves as a bridge between the mortal and immortal realms, guiding humans while also representing the dignity and grace of the High Elves. Galadriel is truly unique in this regard.

Her mystical abilities were used judiciously and for good. She could have abused her powers or withdrawn from the world, but she chose to nurture beauty in Lothlorien and provide counsel to the Fellowship.

There is a melancholy air about Galadriel. Her tears over Gandalf’s fall humanized her, despite her power and wisdom. I think she carried a deep sorrow for all she had witnessed.

What can Galadriel inspire you to do?

Galadriel’s deep knowledge and ability to counsel others wisely reminds me to continue pursuing education and perspective. There is so much more to learn if I keep an open and curious mind. Her insights came from lived experience over thousands of years, but I can still seek to understand others and provide thoughtful advice.

Despite being powerful, Galadriel remained humble and chose to use her gifts for good rather than personal glory. This inspires me to stay grounded and use my own talents to help others. Seeking knowledge rather than power is a worthy goal.

Galadriel had great inner strength and faith, despite moments of sorrow. She inspires me to find my own inner resolve and meet difficulties with stoicism and grace. Her strength was not flashy but ran deep.

Above all, Galadriel inspires me to live with purpose, principle, and care for the world around me. She is a reminder of how one person can make a profound difference through wisdom and perseverance. Her character will continue to motivate me to learn, endure, and protect what is good.

[swordofsuns]

Dnd arc 4: FINALE! (part 1 ig)

And so our party departs into the tunnels connecting the former city of Axum on the surface to the City of Mirrors in the underdark. The path down is long and winding, and takes us several fairly uneventful days to reach the bottom. along the way we run into some people travelers heading up who fill us in on whats going on in the underdark while we inform them that Axum doesnt exactly exist anymore. As we learn from them, aparently after Ira ran away, her sister, Adhera took the throne from their aging mother, who had stepped down. Adhera made a deal with the Flesh Prince of mutual protection and started a few wars to conquer neighboring territories. Do to this, she ended up getting pretty unpopular with everybody, from nobles to commoners alike, and there is a small rebellion group called The Sparrows who are trying to overthrow her and replace her with Ira. Ira is not thrilled about the prospect of becoming queen, but we agree that we should probably try and get some support from The Sparrows against a common enemy, but maybe try to make sure Ira doesnt have to become queen, as it would mean giving up her art and witchcraft. Later that night Ira has a dream where she meets the Bird who informs her that after Paro died last time, they wont be revived until Ira does something for her in the City of Mirrors, probably relating to the sparrows though this is communicated entirely through charades and interpretive dance so its kinda unclear.

When we arrive at the city, we do some exploring and eventualy run into some of the Sparrows. They are mostly members of the aristocracy who use magic masks to hide their identities and voice from each other, and all have bird codenames (ie Lady Hummingbird, Lord Crow). The two people in charge of the opperation are Lady Nightingale and Lord Hawk. Nightingale is in charge of PR basicaly, and how they convince the people that Ira is the better choice by "crafting a story", while Hawk is a powerful sorcerer (who we deduct is the court mage) who supplies all the magic and technical planning.

They inform us that the only way to get Adhera off of the throne, which we would need to get access to the Well of Creation and save some more of our kidnapped friends, would be to challenge Adhera for the throne in a traditional duel. In addition, it can only be done by an heir to the throne, and the only person in the line of succession at the moment is Ira. Ira very reluctantly agrees, but decides that after becoming queen she can find some way to step down or get rid of the crown, first she just has to take down Adhera.

In the end in the middle of a parade with Adhera in the rear, we all show up on top of a bridge, and challenge her to a duel, and, as we are in puplic, she is forced to agree. also Val notices that the mount that she is riding is a wierd demon monster who probably used to be his sibling.

We all meet up in the main castle, and the fight begins between Ira and Adhera. Though Ira has both her Broom of Flight and literaly Excalibur (I dont think I mentioned that actualy)(Ira found excalibur way back in the fey arc)(it was broken though but Prometheus fixed it on the way down here), she is honestly not really a physical match for Adhera, and is about to lose when suddenly Ira and Adheras mother walks into the room. Adhera, for seemingly no reason (back before Ira left her mother and her sister got along well) begins going balistic, throwing a javelin at her unarmed, unarmored mother, though misses, before collapsing on the ground and begining to froth at the mouth from poison, and screaming about how "SHE DID IT TO ME AND SHELL DO IT TO YOU TOO! SHE WILL DO IT TO YOU TOO!"

Max manages to stop the poison from killing her, but significant mental damage was caused by the poison and adhera is seemingly incoherant. from what Max can tell the poison was a slow acting poison that had probably been fed to her at breakfast. Ira wins the duel by default, and immediately as her first order as queen arrests Lady Nightshade (her mother) for poisoning Adhera, as well as the fact that Ira had deducted that Lady Nightshade was also Lady Nightingale, and thats treason. Lord Hawk/ the court magician is arested as well.

Also Actaeon is getting really old by now, and, when Max does a check up on him he notices that his blood is made of ice and that there seems to be something wrong with his heart.

Also while the fight was going on Val found that their sibling had been turned into a full demon monster, and was being kept as a pet by Adhera, and snuck away to free them, and in return their sibling gave them their parents severed but still beating heart before flying away.

We all go down to the dungeons and try to interogate Lady Nightshade, who admits to having poisoned her own daughter, but what we realize quickly is that she was queen for so long that at this point the only thing she cares about is her kingdom, and how she will do anything to make her people and her kingdom prosper, no matter the cost. When she realized that Adhera was taking the kingdom in a bad direction she led a coup to replace her, but knowing that Adhera would probably beat Ira she poisoned and attempted to kill Adhera so that Ira would be garenteed victory. altogether she is pretty abusive towards Ira the entire conversation. also Ira refuses to wear the crown and instead has it looped on her belt. We try to ask her about the Well of Creation but she refuses to answer other than to say that it will be the death of us. We do discover that she was romanticaly involved with the court mage though

We try interogating the court mage next, who at first refuses to answer any of our questions about the well of creation, but eventualy makes us a deal that if we promise to let Lady Nighshade out of the dungeon and simply banish her forever he'll tell us what we need to know. we dont like letting Nightshade go free but admit that she wont really be an issue if shes banished so we accept, and sent her off with a bodygaurd with orders to keep her safe but also ensure she never returns. After this the court mage agrees to tell us how to get to the Well of Creation, but immeadiately begins laughing because its impossible. first of all, though there is a path to the well of creation beneath the castle, the location of the path is not known to him, and it is locked with the only key being a secret known only to Lady Nightingale, who we cant ask as she is gone now. the only clue we have is that she claimed that it was something only the queen would have access to. Even more than that, though, once we got to the end of the tunnel, the Well of Creation is locked behind a massive set of stone doors that no matter how many adventuring crews they sent, could not be opened. To make things worse, before you get past the door, inscribed in the stone is a poem, and all those who read it were changed forever, simply walking away, selling all their things, and charting a boat off of the continent (oh btw quick worldbuilding thing: there is only one known continent, surrounded by a massive ocean, with only the parts near land charted. nobody knows whats out there of if there is other land masses. Any ships who travel out there either never return, or the people return... different, never speaking about what they saw). Red punches him in the face. Ira also punches him in the face.

Also it turns out that that night as we are discussing our options 1) actaeon begins hearing the drums of the Wild Hunt, calling him towards a battle, though he resists the call, 2) All the priest in the local church of the gravetender suddenly begin screaming about how they were being called for a final battle against an ancient evil and all sudenly and inexplicably turned into moss covered statues, and 3) fires could be seen all over the city as well as screams and sounds of violence.

we realize that were a out of time, and begin arguing over whether to help the Beast end this world in hopes of creating a better one, or help the Gods of the Tower (the current gods) preserve the world in fear of the new one being worse. Red is basicaly the only one on team "dont start the apocalypse" mainly because she is terrified of what would happen if the Leech got any semblance of power, though everybody else is team "whoo yay apocalypse" reasoning that their gods are pretty chill and this world sucks and has been terrible to them. Actaeon also supports the apocalypse because he believes it will allow Red to get her happy ending back. A full on physical fight breaks out between Red and the rest of the party for a bit as she tries to restrain them from ending the world, arguing that we should avoid the Well at all costs. In the end, Ira sneaks off to pay her respects to her dead lover who betrayed her years ago, but is contacted by the Bird, who leads her to a spring in the middle of the couryard, and implied that by dropping the crown in she will lose her title of queen and Paro will be returned. She holds the crown out to the water, feels the weight of her sister, her mother, her ancestors and her expectations, and drops it into the clear water. It drifts down a ways, before the water is filled with a jet black ink, and a the largest bird Ira has ever seen emerges. It is still Paro, though no longer a tiny mockingbird, but a 6 food jet black bird, with 6 eyes and 4 wings. it lands on her shoulder, colosal in size yet light as a feather. She sees the ink of the water drain away, and the liquid dries away, revealing a hidden path deep below to the Well of Creation.

Eventualy, Max convinces Red that even if we dont have to do anything in the well of creation, its probably best to head down there, just to look inside. Red reluctantly agrees and we all head down. At the bottom, we find the massive stone doors we were promissed, and we read the writing on it, though we are not driven mad. I forget how the writing went but it was something like "This is not a place of honor...(insert like 4 stanzas on the existential nature of reality here)...Come follow me into eternity". The poem implies that it was writen by the Drifter (god of peace and safe travel who disapeered 1000 years ago), and seems to be almost a suicide note of him losing faith in reality and deciding to jump into the well in order to stop existing.

Also at the bottom we find the two headed snake man from all the way back in that one random side session after the fae arc (I told you he would be important). turns out hes just been chilling down here for a while and fills us in on some more exposition: inside the door is the well of creation and the pillars of reality. using the pillars of reality we can determine who will win in the coming battle between the Tower(term for the human/modern gods) and the Wyrm(term for the beasts/old gods). also in order to open the door you need the power of each of the 5 elements. together Red, Snake boi, Braxton, Ira, and Kit all manage to push open the door using their respective powers, revealing the room inside. the second we step in, however, the door slams shut and we are locked inside. We start debating on whether or not we should end the world again, though Max is distracted by a message in his and bennys shared message book: "unclamp the eye on the front cover"(the book has a eye in the front). when he does, the eye suddenly open up, revealing a silver pocketwatch inside, which floats up above the well, and begins forming bone and flesh and monocrome suit and goat horns, until standing in the center of the room, fully in the flesh, stands benny. He smiles at us, and thanks us for doing the 1 part of his plan he couldn't do himself: smuggling his phylactery into the Well of Creation.

and this is actualy getting kinda long and im not even halfway done so im pull a hunger games and split the finale into 2 parts. (also all of this and the second part was 1 session. it took 11 hours)

ONE SESSION???????

ELEVEN HOURS????

[hrlaw]

a biography of scythes and peacocks as written by rodrik the reader , lord of ten towers , cousin , confidant , and silent observer. parchment found in the study at ten towers , with tattered edges , and evident blotches of wax from fading candlelight.

he is , as always he can be. born to lord jonaa harlaw & lady kellian serrett , he is heir to grey garden the second he comes out of the womb in the year the maesters call two hundred and seventy seven. the boy , with eyes grey like sea mist , and hair as blonde and bright as his serrett mother's appears more so to have come from the westerlands than to be jonaa harlaw's son. if it were not for the boy's immediate attention to the sea and great ocean stories , lord harlaw of grey garden would surely have questioned his credibility as his own child. the boy is bright , not just physically but in all ways that mattered. taking to swimming before his first name day and an adept listener to stories of the realm's history as told by his dear mother. at the age of three his life is set on a vastly different course , young harras harlaw meets the striking rodrik greyjoy , son of lord balon greyjoy , lord of the iron islands , and the friendship that follows shapes the life of the young iornborn from that point hence.

the boy is given to alannys harlaw greyjoy by her uncle to raise alongside her own son rodrik , and while the greyjoy heir is elder by three years of his own , the pair become fast friends , and brothers through much more than just blood. the cousins play well , fight well , and become good swordsmen and shipmates at a young age. the boys were inseparable , or so the story goes , that the heir might have survived had the wielder of nightfall ( house harlaw's valyrian steel blade ) remained by his side during his last days. their eventual separation comes during the rebellion against the stag king robert beratheon , at which the boy fights at age ten and two if one were to believe legend. per the stories of lords and ladies the heir to grey garden remains undefeated in hand to hand combat the entirety of the rebellion , in all but one fight. a knight of the kingsguard catches him off guard , but impressed by the age and vitality of the child before him knights the young child in the middle of battle or so the stories go. now ser , harras is separated from his heir-cousin at some point in the elaborate plans of survival , his luck finally running out as the young boy he grew up with is slain in a failed battle. the knight is told the loss around the same time as his father and lady alannys greyjoy are sent a raven. causing the harlaw household to begin it's decent into madness.

my uncle , lord jonaa harlaw passes away shortly after the rebellion , the loss of so much ironborn blood having taken a toll on the reaper. leaving young ser harras harlaw , now lord of grey garden at age ten and five. it is around the time that he also becomes heir to ten towers , as it's lord rodrik harlaw had lost both of his beautiful sons to the rebellion as well. the young lord relishes in his knighthood for a couple of years , using the title to evade marriage proposals from his lady mother and other westerland allies attempting to secure a right to the iron islands. serving along side many a captain in the iron fleet and by the age of ten and nine , taking temporary command of his own vessel. though quickly realizing that he has too much responsibility to captain the harvest full-time , he passed the honor to a bastard son of his father's with whom he shares a kinship.

at the fall of balon greyjoy , the knight returns to the great isle of pyke for the first time in years , quick to lend his support to the only remaining greyjoy sibling from lord balon's children , lady asha , in ode to his lost friend. champions her cause at the kingsmoot , but when she looses the right , he wisely quickly falls in line behind their new king euron greyjoy. the boy is bred for battle not leadership , and despite his ability to be more discrete and attentive than a regular ironborn , blood is his harvest like most born on these empty islands. the year is three hundred when the battle of the five king breaks out , lord harras harlaw takes the island of greysheild. an action so foretold that the septon of castle grimston said the drowned god himself told them to surrender the castle to the young harlaw , allowing the quartered scythe and peacock to fly high above the fortress.

it is shortly after the lord of grey garden turns twenty and three that he receives an honor from king euron , granting him lord of greysheild. it remains to be seen how this will affect grey garden and the heir position he holds to ten towers.

[naruthandir]

Galadriel rejected the ring because she saw Sam's heart, and she saw naught but a little garden... I think she realized then that she didnt want a kingdom of her own anymore.

She came to middle earth wishing to become a queen. She defied the great powers of the world, she rebelled out of greed, in a good part, and for that she was exiled. And she saw firsthand the consequences of such rebellion, when her uncle slain her mother's kin in Alqualonde. And yet she was too proud to take back her words, and she hated Feanor too much to let his actions go unnacounted. She would not go back. And her fate was sealed.

Things did not go as expected for Galadriel. They didn't go as expected for anyone, really. Galadriel was not once declared a Queen, in the years she spent in Beleriand. She was the only one of the children of Finwe to remain alive, and for what? She didn't get what she wanted. Her whole family died and it was for nothing. Can you imagine how bitter she was? And then she was told she was outright banned from crossing the sea. There was so little left for her, but she had to stay. "Fine. I didn't want to go anyway", she thinks, and she is not lying. Celeborn had chosen to remain here, despite being given the chance to leave. So she'd stay. It was alright. Whatever.

So she became Lady of Eriador. Lady, never Queen: it was not her right to call herself that. She settled in Eregion, despite Celeborn's distaste of dwarves. She was of the people of the Noldor, after all. And dwarves could be useful, when it came to fighting the shadow rising east...

And then they were exiled from Eregion by Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Feanor, who was under the influence of this shady "Annatar" figure that she didnt like one bit. She'd been playing the politics game for long enough to notice right away he was not one to trust.

So she and her family end up in Lórien. Lórien is a wonderful land. Under the right leadership it could become a prosperous kingdom... Celeborn seems to like it as well.

Shit goes down, just like she expected, and Celebrimbor is now at his knees begging for advice because he just got himself into the worst possible situation anyone could ever been in, in typical feanorian fashion. But this is no time to be petty, so she helps as best she can. And Sauron is eventually defeated. And she's still not queen, but the war is now over and Celebrian has married Elrond, and she is almost happy. She would be happy, if it wasn't for the sea longing. If she wasn't banned from seeing her native land again. If there wasn't so much to fix on middle earth, still.

So now she's lady of Lórien. Lady, again, never Queen. Not ever a queen. It's not what she wanted, when she first came her, but it's a small realm she rules over, with her family, and she has a granddaughter, and there is a shadow rising and the council won't listen but dammit things are good. There is no bloodshed like there was in the first age, there is no family drama getting people killed, and she has a little garden all for herself, and it's not perfect but it's hers. She likes to think she knows better now, after all she's seen and done, that she was wise before but that now she's wiser.

And then Celebrian is injured. And she has to cross the sea to heal. Cross the sea, to a place Galadriel never hopes to see again. And Artanis is riding into battle again, and she's angry and she's tired but she's helping. She's helping. This is not what she wanted, this is not what she wants, but she is helping, still. She is holding that light, that beacon of hope, not for herself, because there really isn't much left for herself, but for everyone.

And then it comes. The One Ring. And It is just close enough that she can reach and take it. And it shows her all the things that went wrong and tells her "this is how you fix them. This is how middle earth can become a magnificent garden. This is how you fix the things that are wrong. And it'd be yours. It'd be all yours, just like you wanted. And that's the whole reason you are here in the first place, isn't it? And you have nothing left to loose..."

And she falters. She falters, but doesn't fall. She hears the words of Annatar, filthy and naked, and she knows they are true. The Ring speaks nothing but the desires of her heart. And yet, this is not what she truly wants. This is not how she wants it. She remembers what she saw in the halfling, just a few days before: A humble garden, the company of a beloved partner. Nothing else.

She has Celeborn. She has Lórien. She is no longer the elf that left Aman all those ages ago, so full of pride. She is now Galadriel. Galadhriel. Lady of Lórien: Not a queen, not ever a queen. It's not what she had expected, not what she wanted, but it was worth it. Celeborn and Celebrian and Arwen were worth it. Melian and Lúthien and Elrond and Aragorn and all the people of Lothlórien.

So she rejects the ring. She lets go of that last remaining ambition because in the end, perhaps, she got more than she ever hoped for. She passes the tests, and her ban in lifted and she's free.

She remains Galadriel, just Galadriel. She doesn't need to be anything else.

WELL THAT TURNED OUT TO BE ACCIDENTALLY LONG I DIDNT MEAN TO LIKE WRITE A FANFIC I WAS JUST ORGANIZING MY THOUGHTS DAMN. WELL. THERE YOU GO. GALADRIEL CHARACTER ANALYSIS I GUESS. if I got any of the lore wrong tell me like I feel like I just pulled this out of my ass but listen I was having feelings about her I needed to explore. Lol. Lmao even.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

A Hand in the Flames

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: morgwen

Word Count: 2485

In one version of this story, Merlin comes to Camelot to fulfill his destiny. King Arthur ushers in the Golden Age of Camelot. Morgana Pendragon is the Last High Priestess of the Old Religion and dies at the hands of Emrys. In another story... * * * When Uther Pendragon tries to purge the kingdom of magic, the magic fights back. A neighboring kingdom rises to become a magical fortress, governed by two Queens, Morgause and Morgana--one of which had been his ward until she revealed her own magic and thrust Camelot back into ruins. Ever since, the King has sworn revenge on all magic, spreading the word of its evils and poisons to all who would listen. A rebellion has grown in Camelot, ready to rise upon this horrid magic kingdom for the good of the world. Among them, a peasant girl and her brother, at whom no one would look twice. Sent to sneak into the kingdom and gather what information they could, to report back to Uther to plan for a great war to come. It should be simple: attend a masquerade ball under the guise of revelry, observe what the goings on were, what vulnerabilities the castle might have. Oh, it was rarely so simple.

"I believe the lady said she didn't want to dance."

The pushy ball-goer's hand jolted back from Gwen as if scalded—and honestly, she could hardly blame them when Queen Morgana herself had suddenly appeared behind them. She smiled, as terrible as a thunderstorm, and inclined her head so that the candlelight shone off the blood-red stones.

"Now," she purred, eyes dark, "go and put your hand in the fireplace, so maybe next time you will understand the word 'no.'"

"That's—that's not necessary," Gwen said quickly.

The Queen turned to look at her.

"Just—just go," she said, crossing her arms protectively over her middle, "and don't pressure anyone else."

Silence fell over the balcony as the affronter glanced between her and the Queen. The Queen regarded her for a moment longer before turning back with a raised eyebrow.

"You heard the lady," she said smoothly, "unless you prefer my option?"

The affronter needed no more encouragement to turn and flee. Gwen watched them go, brief euphoric relief fading and souring as the Queen hummed.

"Thank you," she said quickly, bowing her head, "for helping me."

The Queen didn't say anything for a moment, before humming once more. "Not many people would dare contradict me like that."

Definitely not relieved anymore. "I meant no offense."

"Neither, I'm sure, did our friend with the wandering hands."

Gwen looked away, eyes on the swirling dancers, before summoning up her courage and curtsying properly.

"My apologies," she murmured deferentially, "for any offense or disrespect."

"You've given none," came the absolution as the Queen drew closer, "and yet I find myself wondering just what happened to that defiant little spark."

"…probably off in the fireplace, My Queen."

The Queen laughed, eyes still fixed upon her. "Is that why you came out here, then?"

She gestured around at the bluish-black sky, gold and silver glittering from her wrists and fingers as her gown shimmered. Stars sprinkle the night, illuminating the garden that sprawled beneath their feet.

"To get some relief?"

"Yes, My Queen," she said, "I'm afraid it got—got a bit too hot for me, that's it."

"Is that why you appear so flushed?"

Her hands flew to her cheeks, half in denial, half to hide the evidence. But sure enough, she could feel the dampness that had gathered on her face, the reaction only prompting a greater one as she stammered.

"Oh, dear," the Queen said, sounding far more amused than concerned, "it appears to be getting worse."

Yes, yes, indeed it did. "I—um—well, it—um—"

"Come now," the Queen chuckles, leaning against the balcony railing next to her, "I'm only teasing."

It was unfair, Gwen decided, that the Queen could wind her up so easily and then just as readily soothe her. It was unfair and probably dangerous and she would much prefer if it weren't happening.

She would also not be leaving this balcony on her life right now.

"Thank you," she said, again, aiming for more sincerity, "for helping me, truly."

"I can't bear it when someone lays a hand on something that doesn't belong to them," the Queen said, "and especially not when done so…inelegantly."

A strange feeling settled in Gwen's gut, one she didn't dare name for fear of the mortifying consequences of being known. "I came out here in the hopes that they wouldn't follow me."

"Perhaps not your soundest decision of the evening."

"No, it seems not, My Queen. Not only did they follow me, but so did you." The Queen hummed, gaze telling her that wasn't good enough. "…why?"

"Initially, I thought to spare the guests some mortification," the Queen said, tilting her head, "but then I overheard the nature of your…withdrawal, and…"

She gestured back toward the ballroom.

"I must say, my dear," she continued, kindly refraining from remarking on the reaction the use of the pet name garnered, "I do hope your first idea was not to go with so weak of an excuse."

Gwen frowned. "So weak of a what?"

"That you couldn't dance, of course." The Queen tugged on the hem of her skirt, exposing one shoe. At the sight of the scuffed and worn leather against the Queen's finery, Gwen felt a rush of shame. "Now, had you begun the evening with a limp, perhaps it would be more believable."

Despite every courtesy screaming at her to do otherwise, Gwen hunched her shoulders and looked away. The Queen noticed, because of course, she did, lightly tugging on the skirt again; a command for a response.

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Can't dance." She stared at a crack in the stone. "Not because I'm injured."

"What other reason could you have?"

"I don't know how." She toyed with a loose thread on the hem of her sleeve—should have fixed that, Gwen—"No one's ever taught me, I wasn't lying."

Music from the ball drifted out into the still night air.

"Surely," the Queen said, a note of humor in her voice, "you would have learned at least some before? I cannot imagine there is a shortage of potential teachers, certainly."

"Where would I have learned?"

"At a ball, of course." At her silence, the Queen hums, the humor fading. "Is this your first time, my dear?"

Why must you ask like that?

"There's no need to be embarrassed," the Queen cooed, as though she were talking to a sulking child, resting her hand on her arm, "but I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes, My Queen."

"There, now, was that so hard?" A finger lifted Gwen's chin, turning her to face the Queen. "What's kept something as lovely as you from my halls for so long?"

"I've only just been allowed to come, My Queen. I—it is only through your grace and mercy that I am permitted to walk your halls for even a second—"

"Stop."

Gwen's mouth snapped shut. The Queen tapped her chin.

"I care not for the sniveling platitudes," she said lowly, "tell me the truth."

"I'm—I'm not a noble," Gwen said, fighting to keep the pride in her voice steady, "my family's forge has just begun work for your armories. My father asked if I were to be allowed to attend one ball as a token of their acceptance of our services."

The Queen looked at her for a moment longer. It was true what they said; the Queen's beauty was…relentless. Unwavering. The beauty of a forest fire, the hauntingly stunning devastation of a perfect winter storm. And her hand was still cupping Gwen's chin.

All at once, the Queen stepped back, holding out her hand.

"Would you like to be taught?"

Gwen blinked. "My Queen?"

"To dance," the Queen asked, "would you like to be taught?"

"After you just threatened to burn the hand of someone who attempted to ask me?"

"Do not think me to be so graceless," the Queen said, voice a tad firmer, "I would be more than willing to accept a rejection and return to our conversation."

Chastised, Gwen nodded, gaze flicking to the proffered hand.

"…I really am no good," she tried.

"How could I expect you to be good when you have never been taught?"

"I don't want to step on you."

"I've suffered far worse than a few crushed toes, I can assure you." When Gwen still hesitated, her voice softened slightly. "You can say no, my dear, I give you my word I will not hold it against you."

The feeling that had settled in her gut tugged at her. She could say no. She could say no and just talk, instead, but talking meant that she could slip up and say something dreadful that she would be punished for later.

But dancing with the Queen…

There would be nowhere to hide.

"…you'll have to be very patient with me."

The Queen smiled, teeth gleaming in the low light as Gwen took her hand. "That's quite alright, my dear, I can tell you with the utmost certainty I will do my best."

She was pulled gently yet firmly into the Queen's arms, her gaze moving instinctively to hers.

"Don't fret, my dear," she murmured, arms caging her close, "I'll be gentle."

The music swelled and the pair turned, Gwen stumbling slightly against the Queen's chest.

"Come now, relax," the Queen said softly, "move your hand up a little onto my shoulder. A little more…yes, that's it."

She slid her hand down to take Gwen's in hers.

"Thumb on top, there you go."

Gwen swallows. Now that the fear of the Queen had morphed into a slightly humiliated confusion, she could feel herself start to tremble.

"Don't be so scared," the Queen scolded gently, "I won't bite."

Oddly enough, that didn't do much to dissuade her fears. She followed the Queen's guiding steps as best she could, but no matter what she tried she couldn't keep her hands from twitching.

"Hh!"

She gasped as she was suddenly tilted backward in a dip. The Queen smirked down at her as she clung to her shoulder.

"Focus," she bid softly, "don't be afraid to hold onto me."

Gwen swallowed as the Queen brought her up slowly as the music began to rise. She took a deep breath—it was only one dance. She could do this.

"Good," the Queen said as they began spinning in slow circles about the balcony, "you learn very quickly for someone who's never danced before."

"Thank you." She glances at the much more extravagantly dressed guests whirling expertly about the floor. "Though I'm sure you would have a better time with another partner, My Queen."

The Queen smiles, raising their clasped hands and spinning her so her back was against the Queen's chest.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," she purred, "did you really think, out of all the guests in the ballroom, I just happened to see you come out here?"

She lifted their arms to spin her back and for a second, the only thing holding them together was the clasp of their hands. She could try and run, scene be damned. But then her hand is on the Queen's shoulder again and she's once more pressed against her chest.

"Don't get me wrong," the Queen murmured, mouth almost brushing her ear, "it did take me by surprise. Quite the risk, little fawn, walking into my arms like that."

She tried not to flinch. She failed.

"And you've been left all alone." Her hand caressed a seam of her dress. "No one around to stop me from walking right up to you and asking for a dance."

Gwen's eyes started to dart around, searching desperately for Uther's hidden guard, Elyan, anyone—

"I can feel your heart racing," the Queen chuckles, "are you looking for your brother? You won't find him."

She's killed him. She's killed him—she's found us out, she's going to kill me—

"Shh," the Queen crooned, stroking a hand firmly up and down her back, "I'm teasing you, he's just stepped onto the other balcony. I believe he's looking for you."

"You—"

Gwen shuddered in the hold, doing her best to remain somewhat composed only for the music to change and she was spun about again.

"I didn't mean to scare you so badly," the Queen said softly as she was brought back in, a touch of regret slipping unbidden into the words. "Calm down, my dear, I don't hurt children."

I'm not a child rose instinctively to her lips but she swallowed it.

As they stepped toward the center of the balcony once more, the Queen pulled back a little. Her brow furrowed, her hand briefly leaving Gwen's waist for a moment to touch under her chin.

"No harm will come to you here," she said, "to you nor your brother. You have my word."

Gwen simply nodded. The Queen smiled and pulled her close once more.

"Now, I spent all that time trying to get you to loosen up," she said, "I'll be damned if you get all tense on me again."

Gwen took another deep breath, she could do this. She would do this. The Queen had said she wouldn't hurt her, or Elyan, that she didn't hurt children. It would be okay.

The music dipped and swelled as they turned, Gwen's eyes catching on the corner where Uther had said his guard would be posted. She couldn't help but wonder if he would spot her dancing with the Queen.

What would he think?

She doubted he'd listen to the Queen when she said she wouldn't hurt children. She doubted he'd believe she and Elyan were still children, but they were, they were—maybe she'd get scolded for thinking she was a child. Maybe he would agree that she was a child, but then—then—

She should have listened. She should have stayed in her corner like she was told to. But the ballroom had seemed so captivating and the music so alluring…and she had only been there for a second, truly…

But no, she hadn't listened.

And now, who knew what the guard would tell Uther?

Despite everything, she tensed in the Queen's arms, her gaze still on the guard. As if at any moment, he would look over and see her, and whatever tenuous peace she had with the Queen would be shattered.

The Queen noticed. Of course, she noticed. She followed Gwen's gaze. Gwen, on the other hand, did not notice the thing that flickered across the Queen's expression until her grip tightened almost protectively.

"I swore to you," she murmured, "that no harm would come to you, that I don't hurt children."

Gwen startled, looking back up at her. Gone was the slightly flirty smile, the suave mask of the generous party host, or the ominously threatening aura of the Queen. Instead, she looked…concerned?

If it were anyone else, she would have said the Queen looked worried.

The Queen glanced at the guard again.

"Would Uther be able to say the same?"

Gwen's silence, she knew, was telling.

"Your name," the Queen whispered into her ear, "before I leave you for the evening."

She shouldn't. She should give a false one, or no name at all, she should remember why she came, she should remember what they told her, she shouldn't, she shouldn't—

"Gwen," she breathed back, "my name is Gwen."

"Gwen," the Queen said, her voice caressing the sound, "such a lovely name indeed."

And as though she were mere shadow, her arms slipped from her waist and the Queen sauntered back into the ballroom, her head held high and her crown agleam. Gwen watched her go, arms curled about herself to preserve the phantom warmth.

Doubt was a dangerous thing, Uther had told them before they came, do not believe the lies they try to spread, nor the smoke to cloud your judgment.

And yet, on that balcony, as the night sparkled around her, Gwen had the sudden suspicion that she had seen clearly for the very first time.

[pb-dot]

The Character Name Challenge

One of my newer, but no less beloved, mutuals @asterhaze tagged me in this little thing. I am entering into it with some measure of fear in addition to the excitement as naming things is one of my least favorite parts of writing, something that my naming schemes might indicate. Even so, it'll be interesting to see what sort of meanings my names have and how well they fit.

Rules: Explain the etymology/origin of your character's names and rate on a scale of 1-10 how fitting the names are for the characters.

I'm tagging some Old and Some new here as well: @aziz-reads @mrbexwrites for the old reliables, and @maskedemerald @unspokenvastlywritten for the new hotness.

Names and ratings below the cut

Jake [No Last Name]

I didn't really know what to name Jake up until the moment I started my first draft, and as such I went with the single most generic-sounding name I knew that wasn't John. My love for the Animorphs series in my youth may also have contributed to the decision. Either way, the name now stuck, and although I'm not willing to fight a prospective publisher over it, it's come to be linked with the character in my mind.

The name Jake has multiple possible origins, but I chose to view it as a variant of Jack, which in the middle ages was used as a sort of catch-all name for "man," I.E for the "Just Some Guy"-factor of it. Jake certainly started out as a bit of an everyman character, but he has gained some depth since then that I believe makes the name not fit him that well. Jake is, however, undeniably a man, so... 7/10

The Clockmen

Just getting out ahead of this one. The Clockmen are all referred to by numbers which are their place in the production order. One is named so because she was first, and 13 is named so because he is the 13th, and currently last, produced. There are however two exceptions to this.

13/Adrian

13 renames himself to Adrian to show a clean break from his time in The Clockmen and as an act of rebellion from the dehumanizing authoritarianism of the organization and its creator.

Adrian comes from the Roman name Hadrian, which itself comes from (per behindthename.com):

(...) the Roman cognomen Hadrianus, which meant "from Hadria" in Latin. Hadria was the name of two Roman settlements. The first (modern Adria) is in northern Italy and was an important Etruscan port town. The second (modern Atri) is in central Italy and was named after the northern town. The Adriatic Sea is also named after the northern town. A famous bearer of the name was Publius Aelius Hadrianus, better known as Hadrian, a 2nd-century Roman emperor who built a wall across northern Britain. His family came from the town of Atri in central Italy.

Which honestly isn't helping us much since there's no roman empire or Italy in Adrian's setting. He himself chose the name after a character in a book he read because said character was weak but brave, determined, and dedicated to his ideals, and the protagonist of said book is maybe a little gay for him? These are all aspects Adrian values highly, but as far as fit with the real-world origins of the name, I'm going to give this a 2/10, saved from a lower score by the fact that it's a better fit than 13 as a name that actual human beings have.

Secundus Two

Secundus Two, or Two for short, also chose her own name but decided to add to her number rather than replace it. In the way of the highly unpredictable maybe-insane-maybe-brilliant clockman, the name refers back to her number, as Secundus is Latin for "Second," but can, at least if Wikipedia is to be believed, also mean "Favored" or "Lucky." This one's a pretty good fit honestly. If one were to read her as deranged, it would be pretty out there to name oneself "Two the Second," but if we embrace the "the lady knows what she's doing"-reading of the character, it could either read as a satire of the naming scheme "Oh, calling yourself Secundus is weird is it? Weirder than christening someone "Two"?" Alternatively, the "Two the Favored" also works as Creator has a soft spot for Two that allows her to get away with all but her most monstrous of shenanigans. All in all, solid naming, me. 9/10. Would've been 10 if all of that stuff, and not just most of it, was intended.

Delilah Bellows

Ok, here comes an actual full name, heavens be praised. For the first name, we have the meaning (again from behindthename.com)

Means "delicate, weak, languishing" in Hebrew. In the Old Testament she is the lover of Samson, whom she betrays to the Philistines by cutting his hair, which is the source of his power. Despite her character flaws, the name began to be used by the Puritans in the 17th century. It has been used occasionally in the English-speaking world since that time.

This one is so the wrong way around that I honestly am tempted to call it intentionally ironic. Delilah is physically and mentally strong, and fiercely loyal to both her cause and her relations, and she is doing quite alright at the moment thank you very much. 0/10 in the sense of direct fit, 10/10 in an ironic "The huge guy is called tiny"-type way.

Bellows, on the other hand, is a more direct fit. I chose this from the "you're named after your job" European-style last name scheme that gave us Smith, Wright, Blower, and so on. Bellows is, per Wikipedia:

A bellows or pair of bellows is a device constructed to furnish a strong blast of air.

Wikipedia then goes on to note that

Several processes, such as metallurgical iron smelting and welding, require so much heat that they could only be developed after the invention, in antiquity, of the bellows. The bellows are used to deliver additional air to the fuel, raising the rate of combustion and therefore the heat output.

So in short, Delilah's family is implied to have a long tradition of working in metallurgy, perhaps initially having the slightly ungainlier moniker of "Bellowblower" or "Bellowsman" that through the years got filed down to the shorter and catchier Bellows. Good fit, but the implication that she's full of hot air stops this from being a slam dunk. 7/10

Wilhelmina "Mina" Limner

Mina is, as her full name would imply, short for Wilhelmina which is the feminine form of Wilhelm, which means (again behindthename.com)

From the Germanic name Willehelm meaning "will helmet", composed of the elements willo "will, desire" and helm "helmet, protection"

This is a decent fit for Mina, whose strict adherence to protocol and penchant for paperwork may not make her seem like a particularly staunch protector of anything. However, I would argue that these things, along with her burning passion for the ideas and politics behind The Northwest where she and Delilah both work, can be seen as a desire to protect her comrades. Hell, if you want to take it one further it could be argued that her protection comes in the form of her wit and will, in contrast to Delilah's passion and 13's physical protection. Overall fits her like a glove 8/10

It should also be mentioned that Mina in Farsi, again according to behindthename.com means Enamel and one could certainly see Mina's paperwork as the finishing touch of The Northwest's production, but that is A: a stretch and B: not what I intended. If you want to go with that and headcanon Mina as hailing from my setting's equivalent of Persia/Iran though, I'm not going to stop you. I know I described her as a redhead. Hair coloring products exist.

As for her last name, this is another one of the "you're named after your job"-ones, but it implies a somewhat higher social class than the proletarian Bellows. Also, the job has also been extinct for a good long while, so it paints the family as somewhat more established, if not Old Money, then certainly Of Some Age and Some Means. Someone should ask Mina about that one day. A limner is (per Wikipedia)

A limner is an illuminator of manuscripts, or more generally, a painter of ornamental decoration.

So working with (the) books as Mina is today, albeit in a more art-focused manner than she does. An ok match, I like it more for the implications about her family. 6/10

Creator

Not going to get into this one much, Creator named, or I suppose rather titled himself out of hubris, nothing more to that. 0/10 garbage name for a garbage-tier old man. I will however reveal that his given name is Magnus, which per behindthename.com means "Great," as in "the Great." Whatever you can say about his family, they have certainly set their son up for some hubris. 5/10 He isn't all that great, but he certainly has the ambitions for the name.

And finally:

The Benefactor

And again with these titular monikers. To this guy's credit, he's not in Book 1 that much, and he didn't name himself this, he just chose to not tell Creator his given name. I will however reveal that his given name is Loquacious and that his family name is a spoiler. Loquacious isn't a common name anywhere, but I chose it as a variant of the American frontier-era Puritan "Virtue Name"-scheme that gave us both such catchy bangers as Charity and Charisma and such... memorable entries as If-Jesus-Christ-had-not-died-for-thee-thou-hadst-been-damned. Loquacious, however, would be a Vice Name, a name given by the parents in the hope that it would turn out to be ironic. Loquacious, per dictionary.com, means

talking or tending to talk much or freely; talkative; chattering; babbling; garrulous

and

characterized by excessive talk; wordy:

Unfortunately for the people in Loquacious' life, the name fits him like a tailored suit, although he is quite curt with Creator so as to not give away his identity. 9/10 This boy loves the sound of his own voice.

Overall, my naming score is somewhat hampered by neither the Roman Empire nor Latin existing in my setting, but then again, neither does England or English, so I might as well just pull a Tolkien-style "This is a translation of a text in a foreign language made to be as fitting with the English language and surrounding etymology as possible."

[dominaitheking]

ADOTHT Fanfic

AI generated fanart

Fanfiction Lore

Top left: Lord Benjicot "Bloody Ben" of the House Blackwood, born the 123rd year after Aegon's Conquest at Raventree Hall. Only son of Lord Samwell Blackwood and Lady Karol Blackwood, she of the House Vance of Wayfair's rest. Fostered at Seaguard in his seventh year. Succeeded his father to Blackwood Vale in his twelfth year, after he was slain by Lord Amos Bracken. Declared his House and fought on the side of the Black Faction during the war of succession the "Dance of the Dragons". Called "Bloody Ben" by the men of his company, for prowess and skill in battle at his young age. Head of the "Lads" the company of young nobles leading the hosts allied to the Black faction in the Riverlands. Wedded in his twenty-ninth year to Lady Roslin Mallister. Father to two sons their names being Benedict (154AC), and Samwell (157AC), and a daughter Melissa (155AC). Died his seventieth year, succeeded by his son Lord Benedict.

Top right: Robb Rivers, born the 118th year after Aegon's Conquest at Raventree Hall, bastard son of Lord Luscas Blackwood. Deemed the finest archer in all Westeros. Lead a company of archers during the "Dance of the Dragons" for his half-nephew Lord Benjicot Blackwood. At the Battle of Lakeshore, Rivers used his archery to prevent Lord Humfrey Lefford from calling aid by way of raven, known thereafter as "the Bowman of Raventree". Slain in [REDACTED].

Middle left: Lady Alysanne of the House Blackwood, born the 117th year after Aegon's Conquest at Raventree Hall. The first and only daughter of Lord Lucas Blackwood by his second wife. A skilled ridder, hunter, and archer. Fought in the "Dance of the Dragons" on the side of the Blacks in the archer company of her bastard half-brother Robb Rivers. Member of the "Lads". Slew Lord Amos Bracken in retribution for her lord Father. Wedded in her twentieth year to Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell. Mother to four daughters, their names being Sarra, Alys, Raya, and Mariah. Died her forty-sixth year of childbed fever, with her husband, Lord Stark, and dearest friend, Lady Frey, at her bedside. Honored and laid to rest at Raventree Hall by her nephew, Lord Benjicot Blackwood.

Middle right: Lord Bennard of the House Stark, born the 98th year after Aegon's Conquest at Winterfell, second born son of Lord Benjen Stark, and Lady Lysa Stark, she of House Locke. Fostered at Karhold in his eighth year. Wed in his eighteenth year to Lady Margaret Karstark of Karhold, who died 117 AC giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Married for a second time in 119 AC to Lady Aerena Bolton of the Dreadfort. Made Master of Wintertown by his brother at age nineteen. Upon the death of Lord Rickon Stark in 121 AC, he became Lord Protector of the North and Lord Regent during his nephew Cregan's minority. Fought alongside his nephew against his uncle Lord Brandon Stark of Moat Cailin, when the latter rose up in a short-lived winter rebellion known as the "Blood Moon". Lady Aerena died 126 AC of a fitting fever, the union produced no issue. Remarried for the third time his twenty-ninth year to [REDACTED]. The union produced no issue. Made Lord of Moat Cailin by his nephew in his thirtieth year. Died in the Dance of Dragons fighting on the side of the Blacks.

Bottom left: Lord Cregan of the House Stark, born the 111th year after Aegon's Conquest at Winterfell. Firstborn son and only child of Lord Rickon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North, and his Lady wife, Gilliane Glover. Succeeded his father in his tenth year, taken to ward by his uncle and Regent, Lord Bennard Stark. In his fourteenth year, his great-uncle, Lord Brandon Stark of Moat Cailin, offered Lord Cregan the hand of his daughter, the Lady Ayana Stark, in marriage as allegedly agreed upon by his father a decade before, a claim of which none can atest the validity of. Despite the urgings of his councilors and his Regent, citing Lord Brandon's wealth and vast connections by blood and marriage throughout the North, Lord Cregan refused. Instead giving voice of his intentions to wed Arra Norrey, a childhood friend of his. After a private audience, Lord Bennard reluctantly gave his consent. Lord Brandon Stark denounced his nephew and great-nephew as false lords, and styled himself the right and true Lord of the North. Brandon used his means and network to gather swords to his cause, but found little support than he expected from his daughter-in-laws' families and the other Houses. For this his brief uprising was swiftly put down by the combined efforts of his nephews, with Houses Dustin, Ryswell, Tallhart, and Reed. The rebellion fell within a moon's turn, though Moat Cailin got to be in a further state of disrepair. The rebell lord and his sons were clasped in chains and brought to Winterfell to stand trial. Lord Brandon was made to walk barefoot the whole of the way, earning him the moniker Brandon "the Bootless". The rebells were sent to the Night's Watch, their lands attained and given to Lord Bennard, Lady Ayana "the Abandoned" was released into the custody of House Maderly, her mother's house, later becoming a Septa. At sixteen Lord Cregan assumed full lordship and wed Lady Arra Norrey in a double ceremony with his uncle and his third wife. He fathered one son from his first marriage, Rickon, whom Lady Arra died birthing. When the Dance of the Dragons broke out Lord Cregan, unsurprisingly, sided with the Blacks and roused the North accordingly. [REDACTED] After the war he took Lady Alysanne Blackwood to wife. By her he fathered four daughters, Sarra, Alys, Raya, and Mariah, the last of which Lady Alys died birthing. Later he married for a third time, to Lady Lynara Stark, a distant cousin. From this union came four sons, their names being Jonnel, Edric, Barthogan, and Brandon, and one daughter, Lyanna. Succeeded upon his death by his son Lord Jonnel.

Bottom right: Robb Maderforth, birth unknown. Pulled naked from the Mander by Lord Benjicot Blackwood, the young Lord of Blackwood Vale, and an unamed woodswitch after the Second Battle of Tumbleton, as a boy ranging eight to twelve years of age, with no memory of a previous life. He could give them no name, no age, and no device that was either Black or Green. If any knew him, they would have a hard time recognizing him, his body sustained countless injury, and his face had been badly scarred and burnt. Lord Benjicot commanded his own maester to attend to him. When the boy recovered he expressed a wish to fight on and remain with him when the Lord visited his bedside. And so he did. The boy's bravey and courage was an inspiration for many, a brilliant archer, and leal soldier. Fighting alongside the "Lads" in many a battle, called simply "Lad" by the company, until taking an arrow in the shoulder at the Battle of the Kingsroad for Lord Benjicot. Where he bestowed upon the boy the name of his beloved half-uncle, "Robb" whom he reminded him so much of. Even after, some still questioned the boy's origins, to which Lady Alysanne was said to have replied "Whatever he was, he's a Lad now." After the war, and to the abject dismay and disapproval of many, Robb served in the honor guard that brought Lady Alysanne Blackwood North to wed Lord Cregan Stark of Winterfell, and thereafter was brought into the Blackwood household. Upon coming of age, Lord Benjicot invested Robb as Master of Ravensmarch, a castle he intended to bestow upon his bastard uncle before his death. Robb took the name Manderforth, for the start of his life was brought forth from the waters of the Mander. And taking the sigil of a white salamander on red and black, in honor of his Blackwood patrons. He never did recover his memory. He wed Catelyn Paege in 156 AC. Father to one daughter, Alysanne. Died 160 AC in battle outside Sunspear during the Young Dragon's Conquest of Dorne fighting alongside Rickon Stark. Lord Benjicot grieved the loss of his old friend, to honor him he requested that his body be brought back to rest beneath Ravensmarch, and took his daughter as a ward, vowing that for the rest of her life she would want for nothing. Alysanne Manderforth went on to wed Lord Benedict Blackwood, Lord Benjicot's son and heir.

[ladykailolu]

AU in which the Zeppeli family are all dragons. The eldest of them, Will, is also the patriarch. He’s an elderly dragon with the biggest, curliest horns, but he’s aged quite a bit and can no longer hunt. Many, many, many ages ago, he befriended a human--Jonathan Joestar--and their bond was so tight that he gave Jonathan one of his scales which saved the human’s life from a bullet. When Jonathan died, the scale was made into a necklace and placed around Jonathan’s neck before he was laid to rest. Even now, Will recalls his friendship with Jonathan fondly.

Will had three sons--Gregorio, Innocentio, and Mario. When his sons were in their prime as young dragon males, they used to hunt together, working as a team to corral prey and finish the biggest prey off. Nowadays, they are middle-aged in dragon years and can still hunt, but don’t do that very often. As his name suggests, Gregorio watches over his brothers and safeguards the family’s treasures, and he’s pretty damn good at his job. Innocentio drums up controversy every now and again by insisting on dealing with humans. Will is not against him, but generally, the family would prefer to stay away from human affairs as much as possible. Will and Jonathan’s close friendship was seen as a fluke, and while it was a good thing, the family assumes that such a relationship would very likely not come about again. Mario, like his brother Gregorio, is devoted to his family after a dragon chickhood of rebellion. Even as a middle-aged dragon, he hunts the most prolifically, never stopping until he hits his self-assigned quota of prey.

Then there’s Mela, Gyro, and Caesar, the oldest of Will’s grandchildren. Mela is the only girl out of the three, and she’s like an older sister to Gyro and Caesar. She can hunt, but her cousins Gyro and Caesar often fight for the lead and outperform her, shoving her aside and insisting that they do all the work. (sadly, Gyro and Caesar have a bad habit of occasionally making sexist remarks about their cousin Mela). Now these dragons are in their prime and unlike their fathers, they tend to mingle with humans a little more. But Gyro and Caesar are strictly about business and tend not to care too much for humans (except for this one lady, Lisa Lisa, that Caesar respects, and Gyro eventually encounters Johnny who catches his eye and curiosity). Mela has been mostly sheltered, but when she catches sight of Jodie, Johnny’s twin sister, she can’t help but to paw around and find out more about her.

[notbecauseofvictories]

psst! thoughts on Lyra Erso, especially what you think might've happened if she had somehow survived? does she get to meet Beru and Breha, do they form a little club of middle-aged women in the Rebellion?

The crystal was…interesting. 

Breha had wandered over to the cluttered table out of vague interest—amid the looming structures and finicky-looking equipment, the table was the only thing she trusted herself not to damage. It was a chaotic mess, tools and rock samples and notes scrawled on flimsi all scattered, stacked haphazardly. But Breha’s gaze had been drawn to the innocuous white crystal immediately. She couldn’t help picking it up, turning it over in her hand. Someone had drilled a hole through one end, and threaded a cord through it, as though it was meant to be worn as a pendant.

It felt oddly warm against her skin, like something living.

Breha thought of Leia inexplicably, and for a moment she panicked—but Leia was fine, stuck in yet another strategy meeting. She would be there in the mess for dinner, probably arguing with Captain Solo, or trying to bite back a grin as Luke teased Lieutenant Antilles. Leia was fine. She was—

Breha startled at the sound of a loud grunt, too-close behind her. When she whirled around there was a helmeted sentient sticking out of what had previously been a gaping hole in the ground. The faint sound of hammering, voices, could still be heard drifting up from depths unknown.

“Oh!” the human woman—at least, Breha was reasonably sure; it was hard to tell under the layer of grime—said. She hauled herself up and out of the hole, stumbled to her feet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here. Have you been waiting long?”

“Only a moment or so,” Breha demurred. Now that she could see all of her, the sentient was definitely a human woman, dressed in something that may have, at one time, been a Rebel uniform. (It was encrusted with entirely too much dirt to be called that anymore.) She had repurposed a blaster bandolier, and stuck it full of what looked like laserscopes and spectrographs. 

There was a pickax at her hip.

Breha cleared her throat, tried again. “I was told Lyra Erso—”

“You must be with Acquisitions! They said someone would be coming by for the wishlist.”

“It’s not a wishlist,” Breha said, but she couldn’t summon her usual fierceness, the accompanying lecture about the importance of resource planning. 

So this was Lyra Erso.

Your husband killed my husband, Breha thought dizzily. She’d forgotten how to breathe, what came after exhale.

“Yes, yes,” Lyra Erso said, waving a hand dismissively. She had come to stand beside Breha, and was sifting through the cluttered mess of the desk with purpose. “I swear on the Force, the Rebellion has become almost as bad as the Order was when it comes to paperwork…”

Breha blinked. “The Order?”

Lyra Erso froze, a sheaf of flimsi in her hand. Breha watched a complicated expression flicker across her face, and then slide away. “Oh. That’s—I mean the Jedi Order,” she finally said, stiltedly. “I was…a youngling. At the temple on Coruscant. In another life.”

Now that Breha was looking, she could see that the lines around Lyra Erso’s mouth, her eyes, were not cracks in the dirt—she had to be just older than Breha, and that was a strange thought, that Galen Erso’s widow was the same age as Bail Organa’s.

“AgriCorps?” Breha hazarded. She wasn’t sure if there was a politer way to say, so you never made it to padawan.

“Engineering division. Mining geology and geoengineering, mainly.” Lyra Erso straightened up, and looked Breha in the eye. “You?”

“I was not in the AgriCorps,” Breha retorted dryly. Lyra Erso pulled a face, and Breha found herself adding, “But I knew many Jedi.”

“Ah. From Coruscant, then?”

“Alderaan,” Breha said, and Lyra Erso jerked, stumbling a few steps back, away from Breha. All the blood had drained from her face, and Breha watched her throat work as she swallowed.

“Oh.”

“My husband was a senator on Coruscant for many years, though, and counted some of the High Councilors his friends.”

“I know,” Lyra said weakly. She looked as though she wasn’t breathing. “I—heard stories of Senator Organa. Though more from…My husband was a engineer. He worked on military contracts, so he—”

“I am aware,” Breha said, and she wasn’t able to keep the ice and fury out of her voice this time, not entirely. Lyra flinched.

“I should—get you that list,” she said quietly, and Breha stepped aside so she could continue searching through the mess of the table. Finally, she slid a piece of flimsi out from beneath a strange corckscrew-like tool and a hunk of black rock. Held it out to Breha.

“Let me know if you can’t decipher the handwriting.”

“Thank you,” Breha said, and turned to go—

“Organa.”

Breha turned, drawing herself up, but Lyra was only just standing there with her hand outstretched. “My crystal, please.”

Breha blinked, and Lyra pointed at her hand. Breha uncurled her fist—she’d forgotten, and the white crystal was still in her palm. It was strangely cool now, and her hand was clammy around it.

“Is it valuable?” Breha asked, stepping forward to drop the crystal into Lyra’s open palm.

“Only to me,” Lyra said, curling her fingers around it so tightly that her hand trembled, just slightly. “It was my daughter’s.”

There was a particular tone of voice they all knew too well these days; it spoke only in past tense. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Breha offered, but it sounded weak even to her.

“Yes, well,” Lyra said. She smiled bitterly. “The sacrifice of Rogue One will be remembered by the Rebellion for as long it as endures, isn’t that right? I think your daughter said that, at the memorial.”

Breha remembered, with a suddenly awful pang. Jyn Erso, Leia had read aloud, but Breha had been numb, Breha had been sobbing bailbailbail with every beat of her heart and howling for Alderaan from her very spirit and she hadn’t thought—

“I should go,” Breha said, feeling suddenly very clumsy, and young, in a way she hadn’t been for decades. “I’m—needed elsewhere.”

“Of course,” Lyra Erso said, and despite her grubby uniform and the bulky tools, there was a fearsomeness to her, this old woman with her grief. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.” 

Breha could feel Lyra Erso’s eyes on her as she climbed into the speeder, and left the mining camp in her exhaust.

.

.

“What in the nine hells did you say to Lyra?” Beru asked, the moment she had set down her mess-tray. 

Breha glanced up from her datapad, idly marking her place in the Intel report and then banishing the file. “I don’t think I know any Lyras.”

“Erso. The geologist.”

That had been days ago, now. “How do you know Lyra Erso?” Breha asked, raising an eyebrow at Beru, who huffed softly.

“I’ve spent my whole life building, maintaining, and repairing water vaporators,” Beru said, stirring the fortified vita-gel into her stew. (Breha wrinkled her nose, she couldn’t help it; she was perpetually amazed by how much Beru and her nephew seemed to enjoy dehydrated food.) “It turns out mine drainage tech isn’t that different, so I consulted on her project.”

“Well, I didn’t say anything to Erso,” Breha said. “I was there for Acquisitions. I got her requested list, and left. I was perfectly polite.”

Beru hummed noncommittally. “Fine, but were you polite, or were you—queen-polite?”

Breha blinked. “What’s ‘queen-polite’?”

“Oh, you know,” Beru said, gesturing unhelpfully with her spoon. “That way you get whenever Draven speaks over you, or Han teases Leia too much. Polite, but with a lot of cold underneath.”

There were times Breha missed being a queen. People showed proper respect when you were queen.“I do not do that.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“I am not.”

“Leia does it too. Gets it from you, I imagine.”

Breha wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, and so settled for looking icily at Beru. Beru sighed. “You know that—even if Galen Erso hadn’t built a means of destroying the Death Star, you can’t hold his wife accountable for his actions.”

Breha felt her face go hot, and she resisted the urge to defend herself. (There was nothing to defend. There wasn’t.) “I’m not going to discuss this.”

“You’d like her, you know,” Beru said after a moment, and smiled sunnily when Breha glared. “Lyra, I mean. And you would. She’s very…No one is going to convince her to be anything but what she is.”

“What she is is at least partly complicit in building the Death Star,” Breha scoffed. Her datapad buzzed, and she glanced down—just another message from the Director of Logistics, reminding her they had a meeting. “We’re all too old to learn new tricks these days.”

When she looked up again, Beru’s face had fallen, and she was picking at the stew with a faint scowl. Breha swallowed. “I didn’t mean…”

“It seems to me,” Beru said quietly, “it wasn’t long ago you were a queen and I was a farmer’s wife. Now you buy bombs, and I drain underground rivers. I think—all we do these days is learn new tricks.”

.

.

Breha was not sulking, because sulking was something badly-behaved children did. She hadn’t sulked since she was a spotty adolescent, and every whim of her mother’s was cause for angst; she had no intention of taking the habit up again after forty-odd years.

…though Breha had also spent the last forty-odd years as the unquestioned Queen of Alderaan, whose will was the law of a world, which might have helped.

“Just—deliver the equipment, please,” the Director of Logistics said with a sigh, rubbing the spot between his eyes. “It’s already been loaded onto the speeder, all you have to do is bring it to the camp.”

So: sulking.

When Breha arrived at the camp, the sun was low, and the orange light of it only sometimes broke the tree cover. Yavin was strange in the dusk—Alderaan had always been bright and clear, cool, and the dark fell quickly. None of this dreamy haze, the sky streaked with chemical color.

The miners were gathered around an open fire, doing nothing much that she could make out. They rose to their feet as Breha brought the speeder down, switched off the engines. 

If Lyra Erso was among them, Breha couldn’t pick her out from the other dark shapes around the fire.

“Acquisitions! I brought your—machine,” she announced, waving at the heavy durasteel thing that had weighted down the back of the speeder. “But I’ll need help unloading it. It is probably best to do before it gets fully dark…”

Breha would say this of the Rebellion—it attracted the sort of people who were already in motion by the time you finished asking for help. Before Breha could put more than a few thoughts together, she found herself with her shoulder pressed to the heavy durasteel frame as someone shouted cheerfully, “Lift, you sons of banthas!”

In front of Breha was Lyra Erso, though the shape of her was barely discernible in the half-light. It was such a surprise that Breha nearly startled away, dropped the machine—though the heft of it was the only thing weighting her down just then.

Breha wondered if Lyra Erso was wearing the crystal around her neck right now. It was too dark to make out out anything but vague shapes.

By the time they finished moving the machine, Breha was sweating and ready to lie down there in the grass if it meant her arms would stop aching. It was disheartening to feel so suddenly elderly and infirm, when all the miners were laughing, ambling back towards the fire and talking among themselves. They were all very young, strong and alive and laughing.

(Breha tried to imagine what it would be like, to look for your daughter among them, and not find her, keep not finding her. She exhaled.)

At last, there was just Breha and Lyra, standing there in he dark grass.

“I spoke to Beru,” Breha said, in absence of anything else to say.

“Oh,” Lyra said, and even in the dim light from the fire, Breha could see her eyes dart to her. “Did you?”

“She says I’d like you.”

“Hm. She told me the same thing,” Lyra said.

“Meddlesome old biddy,” Breha muttered, and Lyra laughed. It was so unexpected that Breha stared. 

“I didn’t—I mean, aren’t we all these days?” Lyra asked, grinning. “Better a meddlesome old biddy than anything else.”

Breha craned her neck, to look up at the machine—it had grown dark enough that she could just pick out the shape of it against the dark tree cover, the few stars. Breha had persuaded the transpo to part with it on the condition that the Rebellion make it look like his ship had been sacked by pirates. 

Breha had been the Queen of Alderaan, Jewel of the Core, and now she helped two-bit transpo agents commit insurance fraud.

“Beru says that all we’ve done since coming to the Rebellion is new tricks,” Breha said, turning to look at Lyra. In the flickering firelight, she was pale enough to pass for a ghost, a dead woman—and that was appropriate, wasn’t it? Wife to a dead man, mother to a martyr. Two old women standing in the dark, who ought to have been dead before now.

“I suppose you had better learn, then,” Lyra said.

[themildestofwriters]

Imperial Calendar (Ziost Standard)

Fantasy Calendar version here.

Because I desperately need a calendar for The Saga of Zero (the WIP fanfiction reboot formerly known as The Sith, Zero), I made my own. Two, actually. One for the Sith Empire (circa. 10 ATC Star Wars: The Old Republic) and for the Holy Kingdoms of Halkeginia (3159 AG The Familiar of Zero). This post will be focused on the Imperial Calendar.

There are 322 days a Common Year, broken down into 10 months of 4 weeks and 32 days with a pair of intercalary days at the end of the 5th and 10th month. Every sixth year is a leap year, adding a single day at the end of the year.

MONTHS

1. Ahmurnjat, "Month of the Supreme One" 2. Bašarayjat, "Month of Bashara" 3. Marsarjat, "Month of the [Great] Mother" 4. Tukatjat, "Month of the Hound" 5. Ašayjat, "Month of Victory" - Qyâtak I, "Day of Life" 6. Kâlbjat, "Middle Month" 7. Nwûljat, "Month of Peace" 8. Tyfojat, "Month of Typho[jem]" 9. Kegimjat, "Month of the [Bleak] Aegis [of Calamity]" 10. Sahlayjat, "Month of the [Red] Lady" - Rânaqorit I & II (L), "Year's End"

I'm not going to lie, but a lot of these month names came from both @fluffynexu and @inquisitorhotpants, both of whom have done a ton of worldbuilding for the Sith Empire.

Qyâtak I and Rânaqorit I are the intercalary days, with Rânaqorit II being the leap day appearing every sixth year.

DAYS

Istak "First [day]" Dišak "Second [day]" Benak "Third [day]" Limûk "Fourth [day]" Kamsak "Fifth [day]" Asûk "Sixth [day]" Qabbrut "[Day of] Meditation" Gawnut "[Day of] Preparation"

Unlike the months, the days are purely my own construction. I'm not pleased with the names. I'm fine with the "first, second, third... day," but conlanging is really, really hard, y'all. If y'all got better names, feel free to share because I'm strugglin'.

YEAR

The year is 1526, Reign of the Immortal, by the Reckoning of Ziost. It has been 11 years since the Treaty of Coruscant.

Like in @inquisitorhotpans's calendar, year one marks the foundation of the Sith Empire under Emperor Vitiate. However, one detail I added was Eras. Canonically, the period of time when King Adas ruled was known as the "Reign of the Axe." So, I took that idea and went with it. The Empire divides their history into various eras based off the current state of society.

How many eras are there? I have no idea. But considering there's 27,510 years since Adas... that's a lot of time and therefore there should be many eras listed.

Eras I've created myself are:

Wars of the Sith'ari, began with the collapse of the Ancient Sith Empire (Adas' kingdom), with everyone declaring themselves successor to King Adas and promptly spending the couple centuries to millennia fighting one another.

Reign of the Thirteen, began with the establishment of the Thirteen Kingdoms of the Sith which served as the forerunner of the twelve and one council system used by the later Sith Empires.

Reign of Graj'uš, began with the establishment of the Grajuš dynasty (Graush in canon, but Sith linguistics are not consistent) who united the Sith once again, either for the first time since King Adas, or the nth. Notable figures are the infamous Dathka who was assassinated for being a dick, and Hakagram, last King of the Sith, whose death marked the beginning of the...

Reign of Subjugation, which followed the dynasty of the Jedi Exiles, which was cut short by the Sith rebellion, which led to the...

Reign of the Jen'ari, which followed the dynasty of Dark Lords of the Sith from Tulak Hord to Marka Ragnos and the rest.

Considering the Sith'ari Wars, Graj'uš dynasty, and Jen'ari dynasty lasted at least a millennium each, there's a case for upwards of twenty eras to figure out and play around with.

[djemsostylist]

I don’t think it’s really fair to use fanfiction you’ve read as a a means to criticise the character decisions of a show that hasn’t even come out yet. Just because you like what fanfiction writers have done with characters such as Galadriel and Celeborn doesn’t make those depictions any more canon that whatever will be in the show.

Well hey anon! So, fun fact, all of my Galadriel opinions are not, in fact, based at all in fanfic. While it is true that I have read some truly stellar Galadriel fic, everything I wrote in my Galadriel piece actually comes directly from canon--from both the Silmarillion, and as I stated, the histories of Middle Earth, particularly the Tale of Galadriel and Celeborn. In fact, it's actually kind of funny, because in one of the defensive Vanity Fair articles they tried to find canon justification for "Lady Warrior" Galadriel, and succeeded only in proving that well, there just isn't any.

Galadriel doesn't actually play a huge role in the Silmarillion. In the published version, she joins Feanor's rebellion and leaves Valinor, but sticks with Fingolfin and co and crosses the Helecraxe, avoiding the kin slaying at Alqualonde (although later versions in the Histories of Middle Earth have her joining her mother's people, the Teleri, and fighting against Feanor and his sons to protect her kin.)

Upon arriving in Middle Earth, Galadriel actually spends almost all her time either in one of her brother's kingdoms (Nargothrond in particular, with Findrod) or in Doriath, where she is specifically said to be a student of Melian's and also where she meets her husband. She does not actively participate in any fighting throughout the First Age--by some accounts she was in Eriador before Gondolin fell.

In the Second Age, she and Celeborn rule a few various kingdoms together (a small coastal area in Lindon, then Eregion, and then Lothlorien) and again, she stayed entirely out of fighting, while by all accounts, Celeborn was present for several battles, including the sacking of Eregion.

In the Third Age of course, we know she never fought--in fact, Celeborn specifically is mentioned in the appendices to have led the fighting force from Lorien to Dol Guldor while Galadriel is say to have "thrown down it's walls and laid bare its pits"--so again, no actual fighting.

And then of course she goes over the sea and is never seen again.

So, canonically, Galadriel, at most, slayed elves in the Kin-Slaying at Alqualonde, although even Tolkien himself was not certain of that at all (which is likely why the published Silmarillion version does not include this.) The Tale of Galadriel and Celeborn posits several theories for both of them with various histories, but the one piece that NEVER changes is that Galadriel is NEVER martial.

And if we do go with the canon that she fought with her mother's kin against Feanor and his sons, it would make complete sense to me that she never took up direct arms again. As I said, I think something like that would have a profound affect on a person, and Galadriel also had many more useful skills--she is one of the strongest Noldor in terms of straight magic, and that is canon.

So, you see, my essay on Galadriel was actual Tolkien canon--it's the show that is is complete and utter fanfiction. Which, I mean, they can do whatever, but it does completely undermine her character to such a degree that I wonder they even bothered to use Galadriel--why not just make up an entirely new elf lady who runs arounds with swords and fights people? And while sure, the show isn't out, the character description and all the promo imagery--which is Galadriel in silver armor with a sword and dagger--do not, in any way, make me think of canon Galadriel, who pretty much always wore white and did not wear armor or wield a sword, and certainly didn't spend any of the Second Age running around chasing down Morgoth's leftovers. She was, at this time, canonically married, and settled, and ruling various enclaves/kingdoms and having at least one child, possibly two (depending on which Tolkien you ask lol).

Look, like what you like, but I'm not gonna "hold my criticism" for a show that has no intention of adhering to canon and is just literally making things up. And before you ask, yes, I have actually read the Silmarillion and the Histories of Middle Earth.

[dalishious]

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“The Andrastian Chantry believes that if the Chant of Light--first written by the prophet Andraste--can be spread to all four corners of the world, the Maker will forgive humankind for their sins.”

“Dwarves have no formal religion, instead venerating the Paragons--those of their ancestors who have contributed in some meaningful way to society.”

“The second elven homeland, the Dales, fell to an Exalted March called on the “heathens” not long after the end of the Second Blight--almost 700 years ago.”

“There have been four Blights in total; the last ended four hundred years ago at the Battle of Ayesleigh. Humanity mistakenly believed the darkspawn were permanently defeated there.”

“The Grey Wardens were once exiled from Ferelden for conspiring to overthrow the king. They were permitted to return twenty years ago by King Maric, Cailan’s father.”

“At the Battle of River Dane, Loghain Mac Tir became known as a hero when he and his men finally drove the forces of the Orlesian Empire out of Ferelden after more than 80 years of occupation.”

“The Grey Wardens were once known for the griffon mounts on which they flew into battle. The griffon numbers waned after the last Blight, finally disappearing completely 200 years ago.”

“Grey Wardens possess the Right of Conscription: they may draft anyone into their ranks without question, from prince to lowly commoner. This is not always done without consequence, however.”

“The dwarven kingdom once encompassed 12 great thaigs spread across Thedas, joined by the underground Deep Roads. Only two remain: Orzammar and Kal Sharok.”

“An elven alienage is a city quarter where elves live, often poor and walled off from the rest, rampant with crime and strife.”

“In their first homeland, Arlathan, elves were immortal and possessed an advanced culture and language. After a millennium of slavery and poverty they lost it all, and even the Dalish have only reclaimed but a little.”

“The Orlesians conquered Ferelden in 8:24 Blessed, beginning a long and brutal rule that ended only 30 years ago. Most Fereldans still remember that time vividly.”

“King Cailan Theirin assumed the throne five years ago upon the death of his father, marrying Lady Anora Mac Tir--daughter of Teyrn Loghain--exactly one month later.”

“The Circle of Magi was formed by the Chantry to keep a watchful eye over the mages. According to the Chant of Light, magic is meant to serve man and never to rule over him.”

“Templars are warriors that exist to monitor mages and hunt down those that go rogue from the Circle of Magi. They have the ability to disrupt magic and drain mana from their adversaries.”

“The Korcari Wilds extends far to the south of Ferelden, stretching into an uncharted frozen wasteland. It is a dangerous place, supposedly filled with witches, barbarians, and monsters.”

“The Circle of Magi's tower, standing off the shore of Lake Calenhad, precedes the mages themselves. It was built by the Avvar a thousand years ago, before being conquered by the Tevinter Imperium.”

“The ancient Tevinter Imperium, ruled by the magisters and powerful blood magic, once spread over all of Thedas. Many of its ruins still remain in Ferelden even today.”

“The Fade is a dream realm where the spirits of all beings but dwarves go when they sleep. Only mages remain conscious once there, but others can “awaken” if they are trapped there unwillingly.”

“The Fade is the realm of hungry demons that constantly seek to pass through the Veil into the land of the living. Those that succeed will try to possess a body, living or dead.”

“Demons are drawn to mages, and should they ever succeed in possessing one they transform them into an abomination--a terrifying and intelligent monster with access to great magical powers.”

“Demons primarily come in five varieties, based on the part of the living psyche that they feed from. From weakest to strongest they are rage, hunger, sloth, desire, and pride.”

“Not all spirits of the Fade are evil things. Some are beings of compassion, fortitude, and justice. They have little interest in crossing the Veil unless summoned, however, and thus are far less known than demons.”

“Ferelden has existed as a nation since the fabled King Calenhad, the Silver Knight, united the warring Alamarri teyrns almost 400 years ago.”

“The Qunari landed on the northern island of Par Vollen three centuries ago, coming from an unknown land far off to the east across the Amaranthine Ocean. They began a war to conquer Thedas almost immediately, one that ended in a truce after more than 150 years of fighting.”

“According to the Chantry calendar, every hundred years is an age--named at the end of the last age according to omens discerned that year. The Dragon Age is the ninth since the ascension of the first Divine of the Chantry.”

“Dragons were once worshipped by the ancient Tevinter Imperium, and existed in number until the Nevarran dragon hunters brought them to the brink of extinction. They only reappeared at the beginning of the Dragon Age, giving the age its namesake.”

“Those that survive the darkspawn taint eventually become “ghouls,” their minds corrupted and twisted to seek out and serve the darkspawn until eventually they die in anguish or disappear underground forever.

“Without an Archdemon to lead them to the surface, the darkspawn remain below in the Deep Roads, battling the dwarves. Few—save for the Grey Wardens—know anything about them.”

“The ancient mining tunnels beneath Hightown and Lowtown now form the city's sewers, as well as the slum known as Darktown. Residents refer to these tunnels collectively as the Undercity.”

“People from the Free Marches are called “Marchers,” but usually only by outsiders. A citizen of Kirkwall thinks of himself as being from the city first and the Free Marches second.”

“The Fifth Blight began in 9:30 Dragon and lasted only a year before the Archdemon was slain. The Hero of Ferelden spared the world from the ravages of another war against the darkspawn.”

“There are fourteen Circles of Magi in Thedas, excluding those in the Tevinter Imperium. The Circle at the Gallows in Kirkwall is one of two in the Free Marches and is the center of templar power in the East.”

“Kirkwall was once part of the Tevinter Imperium and the center of its slave trade. Slaves worked the quarries until they revolted more than 900 years ago.”

“The Qunari live on Par Vollen, an island nation in the tropical northern climes. Some believe they originally came from elsewhere, since they weren't seen in Thedas until 300 years ago.”

“The Qunari invaded mainland Thedas 200 years ago, and were driven back during the New Exalted Marches. The Llomerryn Accord in 7:84 Storm established an armistice between the Qunari and every nation except the Tevinter Imperium.”

“The raiders who plague the waters of the Waking Sea and the Amaranthine Ocean are based out of the chaotic Rivaini city of Llomerryn.”

“Although the slave trade is legal only in the Tevinter Imperium, their slavers are present almost everywhere. They prey on elves and the poor, bringing victims back to the Imperium to sell to magisters and shady foreigners.”

“The largest guild of thieves in Kirkwall calls itself the Coterie. Although the association is very informal, the Coterie is vicious against anyone who looks like competition.”

“The Gallows sits in a harbor that was carved through the cliffs by magic to allow ships to dock in the middle of Lowtown.”

““The Twins” is the local name for the two great Tevinter statues that flank the entrance to Kirkwall’s harbor. They are not merely for show: a massive chain net can be raised between them and the fortified lighthouse.”

“Kirkwall’s Lowtown once held the city's slaves. Individual sections could be closed off in the event of a rebellion, and the winding streets were designed to discourage slaves from attempting to organize.”

“Both the Viscount’s Keep and the chantry were built by the dwarves. They were originally intended to house the city’s magister overlords, back at the height of Imperial rule.”

“The Free Marches is not a single nation, but an alliance of independent city-states. Kirkwall, Starkhaven, and Tantervale are the largest.”

“Kirkwall has been ruled by a viscount since the Orlesian Empire installed one as governor in 7:60 Storm. The city retained the title even after it rebelled against foreign rule.”

“Kirkwall’s less illustrious residents assemble at the Hanged Man. The tavern's feature dish is its stew, made from a different mystery meat each morning.”

“Kirkwall was built almost entirely through slave labor. Part of the city was once a quarry, worked by thousands upon thousands of slaves. Massive quantities of jet stone were carved straight out of the rock face, eventually creating the pit that is now Lowtown, as well as the city’s broad harbor.”

“Kirkwall has had numerous dragon sightings, but they are generally peasant exaggerations. One “imminent high dragon flight” turned out to be an emaciated drake in a pained rage caused by passing a Griffon Helm.”

“Kirkwall declared the common nug a noxious vermin in 5:20 Exalted over fears that the animals carried the Blight. The extermination became known as the Battle of the Squealing Plains. It is not spoken of in polite company.”

“Don't play cards with Qunari--it's impossible to tell when they're bluffing. Don't play against elves, either--they never pay their debts. And never play against dwarves--they'll kill you if they lose.”

[hb-writes]

The Council

Inspired by the lovely @cecii22me​’s ask. I switched Clara’s age to fifteen and didn’t do “reactions” exactly because the nagging idea of John calling a boys-only family meeting to address the problem wouldn’t leave me be. 

Summary: From the Little Lady Blinder universe and set in 1923. The boy’s reaction to fifteen-year-old Clara Shelby being friends with the Watery Lane boys. 

Characters Featured: Clara Shelby (Shelby!Sister), Arthur Shelby, Tommy Shelby, John Shelby, Finn Shelby, Michael Gray, Isiah Jesus

-----

“Clara!”

John leaned out the door to number six, a toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth, arms folded across his chest as he watched his sister. She was out there in the lane with Finn, Isiah, and the boys, the only girl left after John had sent his own daughter home. 

His Sarah was at that age where she was eager to test out a handful of identities, and being that she was surrounded by willful Shelby women, it had started giving John pause to let the girl blindly copy after her Aunt Clara, or after Aunt Ada too, for that matter, because though his oldest girl was only eleven, she’d already started asking for lipstick like her aunties wore.

John had actually told Clara to come in at the same time he sent Sarah home, but here she still was, laughing and hollering with the boys, blatantly ignoring John’s solicitations.

Clara had always passed her time with more boys than girls, had grown up surrounded by the men in the shop and with her twin and Isiah for best friends. It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to any of them that as Clara grew she would still prefer to pass her time with the boys, or as happened even more often, to pass her time with no one at all aside from family.

In nearly four years, she’d made only one friend at the all-girls school Tommy sent her to. She’d kept that relationship confined to the school building and the halls of Arrow House. When Clara was on the lane, her company was family, the Blinders, and the handful of boys her twin regularly went around with.

Polly had told John to leave it when he’d first raised the issue, told him there was no harm in Clara being friends with the boys, but John grew hot with annoyance each time he saw her surrounded by the group, boiling a bit every time he saw the lads hanging off her every word with their wide smiles, sinister ones John assumed, growing as they watched his sister’s red-painted lips form each melodious syllable.

And then there was the daily clamoring of the junior peaky boys offering to fetch her from school and accompany wherever it was she needed to be that afternoon, back to Watery Lane, or over to Tommy’s office in the Bull Ring, or to one of the factories, or all the way out to Warwickshire. There was never trouble finding a volunteer.

John huffed, shouting again. “Oi! Clara!”

“Christ, John. What the fuck is it?” Clara turned towards her brother, the whole group did, but Clara was the only one who looked eager for his rebuttal.

They’d been snapping at each other for weeks, John encouraged on by her behavior and his assumptions, Clara encouraged on by John being a belligerent, controlling imbecile. 

“I told you to get the fuck in the house.“

Clara met his eye, heaving a little shrug of her shoulders. "And we’ve decided to come in when Tommy gets here.”

We. John caught the revision, the sentiment that if Finn was allowed out, so was she. If Finn didn’t have to come inside to wait for John’s ever so urgent family meeting to start, neither did she.

“You lot can come in now, then.”

“I’m in the middle of a story,” she answered although the other boys were already showing signs of dispersal, shuffling off like shy wounded animals, all except Finn and Isiah.

Clara rolled her eyes at the triumphant grin on John’s face as the boys mumbled their farewells.

“Looks like story time’s over.” John reached out to guide his sister towards the house but she pulled away before he got a proper grip.

“I’m going for a walk, then,” she said, putting a few steps between them.

“We’re having a fucking meeting!” John shouted.

“And if I’m not there when it fucking starts, you can yell at me then. I’ll not listen to your stupid mouth now.”

Clara glanced at Finn and Isiah as she started to walk away. John had already turned to them, no doubt about to insist someone accompany her, but Clara shouted loud enough for all of Watery Lane to hear. “And I don’t need a goddamn chaperone to take a turn about the block!”

Clara finally slowed her pace after turning the corner and she tucked herself there against the brick façade to take a deep breath. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the dawdling inhale and exhale calm her as the chill of the brick reached her skin through her sweater.

John was, in the very plainest language Clara could assign to it, getting on her every last nerve as of late. He’d become the frequent source of her frustration, the cause of her perpetually clenched fists and tense shoulders. 

Every day it was some new comment about her hanging around the boys, some new scheme to play keep-away with her as the object of interest. She’d been sequestered to his office to go through the books with him twice in a week, been sent over to help Esme with the kids though she needed not a stitch of assistance, and John had picked her up from school a few afternoons as well, the two of them passing the ride across town in near silence.

“What are you doing?”

Clara kept her eyes closed, taking another breath before opening them and meeting Tommy’s eye. 

“Meditating.”

Tommy raised his eyebrow.

"John’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

Clara shut her eyes again, focused again on her breathing while Tommy watched.

“I imagine he’s not the only one driving.”

“I didn’t do anything, Tommy,” she answered, opening her eyes again. “And I’m not allowed to drive, remember? None of you will fucking teach me.”

Tommy snorted and held out his handkerchief.

“What's–��

“To wipe that lipstick off your mouth.”

Clara shook her head and tried to hand it back to him, having no intention of following his order, but Tommy occupied his hands by pulling the cigarette case from his pocket.

“It’s got your lips talking like you’re twice your age.”

“Ada got to—”

“Your sister didn’t wear lipstick at your age or talk like that and if she tells you differently, she’s only trying to get you in trouble.”

Tommy knew it drove John a bit mad, the shift in their youngest sister’s image, the sudden interest in rouge and heeled shoes and more stylish clothes, but Tommy wasn’t much bothered by it. He had already been through one sister’s adolescence and he was still convinced that Clara’s could be comparatively simple as opposed to whatever they had gone through with Ada. If slightly shorter dresses and a bit of nail varnish and lip stain were to be the worst of it, he would willingly concede Clara those things. 

And he conceded because Clara still told him things, because Tommy, despite his sister being of a certain typically unbearable age, still felt he knew his Clara’s mind and understood her heart. So Tommy asking her to wipe off the lip stain wasn’t about him controlling her sense of expression, and it wasn’t about him not wanting her to wear it in front of the boys.

He’d let Clara wear it when she wanted, found that not fighting her on it let her settle into a habit of wearing it mostly just for special occasions. It wasn’t something she often tried out on Wednesday afternoons on Watery Lane. That bit of rebellion was John’s doing because she was feeling enticed to push his buttons, urged on by his disproportionate reactions, but Tommy wasn’t worried about his sister and boys. He just didn’t like his sister getting too big for herself, didn’t want her thinking that a layer of red and a few cleverly placed curse words made her an adult.

“Go on,” he said, settling a cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he lit it.

Clara rolled her eyes, but she did as she was told, wiping the red away.

“You’re not allowed to wear it at school anyhow.”

“I put it on after,” she answered.

Tommy nodded, taking back the handkerchief and guiding her towards the shop.

“Can’t see why you’d need to wear it on Watery Lane unle—”

“Do you know what all of this is about?” she interrupted. “This urgent meeting John’s called?”

“You, I imagine,” Tommy answered, holding the door open for her.

Clara stopped, turning to him just before she crossed the threshold. “Me?”

Tommy nodded, a hand on her back to shepherd her through. “He’s complained about you four times in half as many weeks.”

“He’s complained about me?” Clara said. “He’s been bloody intolerable! Insufferable!”

“Complained of you and your lipstick and your four-inch heels and your smart mouth. Must be giving him flashbacks to our Ada.” Tommy smirked at her disbelief. “You think you’re innocent?”

“I think I haven’t done anything wrong and John’s being—”

Tommy placed an arm around her shoulders, steering her through the house and toward the shop. “Let’s just hear our brother out and—”

Clara turned to fight him. “No, Tommy, this isn’t fai—”

“Ah, look who’s here, our guest of honor!” Arthur boomed. “Come in, sister.”

Clara turned to face the room at Arthur’s shouting. It was just the boys, just Arthur, John, Finn, and Michael, an empty seat just in front of where they stood or leaned against the desks, the empty shop behind them.

“Where is everyone?”

“This is everyone,” John answered, pushing off the desk to come to her side. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair.

“I think I’d rather stand.”

John chewed on his toothpick, staring at his sister, both of their arms folded over their chests, the space between them shrinking as John stepped forward.

“Why can’t you do a single thing you’re told lately?”

“Because there’s no reason to do the things you’re telling me.”

“John, if she wants to stand, let her stand,” Tommy said as he leaned against the wooden beam behind him.

“Fine,” John answered, giving his sister another look and bumping her shoulder as he moved to the shop doors which he quickly pulled closed, securing the lock.

Clara glanced at Tommy, his shoulders heaving a deep breath before meeting his sister’s eye for a moment. 

“Unfucking believable,” she muttered to herself. “Right, so I don’t want to sit, but I think I will have some of that whiskey the rest of you are enjoying,” she said, nodding towards Arthur, Michael, and the bottle of whiskey sat between them.

Clara took two steps forward and Tommy pulled her back, settling her into the chair she had refused just seconds before.

“Enough,” Tommy said. 

Clara crossed her legs, folding her arms once again. “You know, it’s awfully convenient for you lot to call this meeting when Aunt Polly’s away.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Convenient is certainly one word for it.”

Both John and Clara sent him a glare. In all honesty, Clara wasn’t entirely sure where her aunt would’ve fallen in, wasn’t sure where Michael and Finn fell in on things either.

“And you two didn’t fucking tell me,” she said, shifting her glance between Michael and Finn. “Also convenient.” 

“Finn didn’t know,” Arthur said. “Sweetheart, if you'll—”

“Don’t you even dare sweetheart me, Arthur. This is—”

Michael chuckled, pulling Clara’s attention again.

“It’s not fucking funny, Michael.”

“It’s a bit funny.”

“This is an ambush,” she answered, “when I haven’t even done anything worth being ambushed for.” 

Tommy cleared his throat. "John, let’s get this over with, eh? We’re expected back for dinner at a decent hour.”

“Right,” John said, brushing his thumb along the side of his mouth. “Well, Clara, you—”

“I what, John?” she asked. “What exactly have I done wrong?”

“If you keep your mouth shut for a fucking second, I’ll tell you,” he answered. “Christ, Tommy. How do you deal with it?”

“Not like this,” she answered, “not by treating me like some fucking—”

“Like a child?” Tommy interrupted, a shift evident in his tone. “No, not unless you’re acting like one. Let John say his piece and you’ll have your turn, alright?”

Clara took a deep breath. She didn’t like it, but since Tommy had finally intervened properly, she didn’t feel she had much of a choice. And it wasn’t exactly the truth anyway because Tommy still frequently treated her like a child, summoning her to his office for lectures when the whim struck, but he never invited the others in for the event.

“Fine, say whatever it is you have to say, John.”

“For one, I don’t like the tone you’ve been—”

“It’s mutual,” she answered.

“What?”

“I don’t particularly like your tone with me lately, either. It’s fuc—”

Tommy rubbed his temple. It wasn’t his meeting. He had no intention of delivering John’s speech to their sister, no intention of reining in the girl any more than he already had, but that word was starting to grate on him, hypocritical as it was. He supposed it was because the word exasperated Grace a bit, because it seemed so incorrectly placed when Clara tried to use it within the walls of Arrow House or at the company offices or at school. He was so used to getting after her for it, it almost didn’t matter that they were in the betting shop, that the word was part of common discourse there. So, Tommy said her name, needing nothing more than that and the accompanying look to get his point across, her rolling eyes serving as acceptance.

“Clara, what John’s trying to say is…”

Her eyes flicked to Arthur and he stumbled in his words.

“…we’re just getting a bit concerned about all the uh…attention you’re getting from the boys on the lane, and all the extra time you’re spending with them.”

Clara blinked a few times, her head tilted as she processed his words. “You’ve called a family meeting because I have some friends who are boys?”

“That’s all the friends you’ve got. Boys.”

“I’ve got female friends.”

“Right, a handful of women twice your age and a pack of boys who hang off your every word while you stand out on the lane in that red lipst—” John had intended on pointing out the evidence, not noticing she’d already wiped it away until it was too late, so he pivoted. “And Lizzie and your sisters-in-law don’t count as friends. You’ve got no proper friends your own age and you’re too old to be playing around with the boys in the lane.”

“What the hell are you on about?” she asked.

“Martha was your age when…" John’s words dwindled to nothing as Clara’s face grew red, her cheeks hot with mortification and anger and embarrassment. 

"She was my age when you played around with her in the lane, you mean?” she asked.

Arthur spit out his whiskey and both Michael and Finn hid their smiles, but John didn’t smile or laugh. His face just grew red and Clara smirked, feeling a minute shift in the conversation.

“See John, Clara already knows. Doesn’t need any talk about what boys are after,” Michael said. 

Clara’s mouth fell open. "What? No, I certainly do not need that. And if I did have a need, I wouldn’t want it from any of you,” she answered.

It was another sentiment that wasn’t exactly true because Clara had already had talks with Tommy, had discussed with him expectations about her and boys. And she’d spoken with Finn and Michael, too, from time to time, seeing as they were something of her steadfast confidants in any matters she’d like to keep hidden from the older brothers or Aunt Polly or even Ada. But Clara had no interest in being lectured by John or Arthur on the subject of boys and sex, not when she’d never done more than kiss a boy.  

“And I don’t even like them like that,” she offered.

"Well, they like you,” John said.

"No, they do not. I’ve known them all since we were kids.”

“Some of them do,” Finn said.

Her twin’s first words felt like a betrayal, just as Michael’s had. They were supposed to be on her side, and most often were, but his words felt accusatory given the context. 

“What? Who?” she asked.

“Doesn’t matter who,” John interrupted. “All that matters is you’re too friendly with them, too trusting.”

“Too trusting?” Clara repeated. 

“Naive,” John corrected. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Listen, Clara. We just want to make sure when we settle you down, it’s with a nice boy and—”

“When you settle me down with a nice boy? I’m only fifteen, Arthur! And I won’t need your assistance if I decide—" 

"Right, I think what Arthur’s trying to say is that you should be focusing on school and work for now. There’s time for boys later,” Michael offered. 

"I think I’m plenty focused on both of those things, Michael.”

Michael raised his hands in a forfeit, settling back in the chair. 

“No, Michael, what we’re trying to say is that she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, acting like that with them,” John said. 

“We just don’t want you getting any unwanted attention, sweetheart,” Arthur offered. “Don’t want you in over your head.”

Tommy could see his sister simmering again, could see this meeting would have no end if they continued like this, so he stepped forward. 

“Clara knows what to do if there’s a boy giving her unwanted attention.”

Clara looked at him. “Yeah, I’ll kick his fucking arse,” she said, raising her arms as she gestured to her brothers and cousin. “Like you boys taught me.”

“Yeah, and if it’s wanted attention?” John grumbled. 

“She knows what to do then, too,” Tommy answered. “Isn’t that right, Clara?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, a quick huff exiting her lips just after. “I have to bring the poor soul round for the most excruciating lunch in history with this council of oafs and hope he’ll stick around afterward." 

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Read more Little Lady Blinder stories here.