#the bloodline is unbroken

[rohirric-hunter]

Returning to an old conversation about magic in LotR, something occurred to me the other day: Sting was a far more effective weapon against Shelob than Sam's sword, slicing through multiple of her webs with a single sweep and cutting into her belly without much apparent effort from Sam. The text is a bit unclear for the brief portion of the fight when Sam is using two swords, but it seems to me that the only wound Sam's own sword scores against her is against one of her eyes: "The shining sword bit upon her foot and shore away the claw. Sam sprang in, inside the arches of her legs, and with a quick upthrust of his other hand stabbed at the clustered eyes upon her lowered head." While both swords could potentially be shining, Sting is established to be glowing at this point due to the proximity of the orcs in the tower, so I'm inclined to believe that the shining sword here is Sting, the one that chops off the end of one of her legs no problem, while the other one strikes against her eye, established two paragraphs later to be her softest spot.

Now Frodo attributes this potency against Shelob to the sword's origins. "There were webs of horror in the dark ravines of Beleriand where it was forged." And basically this pans out, Gondolin, where Sting was made, was not too far from Ered Gorgoroth, where Ungoliant and her spawn (including, most likely, Shelob herself) lived until Beleriand fell. The logic here, is, perhaps, similar to the reasoning for why Frodo and Merry's barrow-blades were so potent against the Witch-king, having adopted a portion of their makers' loathing for a particular enemy. And there is indeed evidence enough for this: the first spider Bilbo encounters in Mirkwood "evidently was not used to things that carried such stings at their sides, or it would have hurried away quicker." This spider lived not too far from the Elvenking's halls, surely it had been attacked with weapons before, which does call up an idea of there being something especially terrible to it about this particular sword. (Though this spider is also inarguably quite inept and possibly stupid; no shade to Bilbo but losing a fight to a mostly-tied-up enemy that can't see in the dark and has never before fought anything more dangerous than a particularly stubborn door-to-door salesman doesn't exactly reflect well on its capabilities.)

But I think Sting had another enchantment on it, and one a great deal more recent, and possibly even more direct: the enchantment of its name.

Bilbo takes a sword from a troll-hoard, puts it on his belt and under his jacket, and then proceeds to carry it around for months without thinking about it at all -- until, that is, he finds himself face to face with a giant spider, a giant spider who, as is made clear in the text, was one of Shelob's own descendants: "Far and wide her lesser broods, bastards of the miserable mates, her own offspring, that she slew, spread from glen to glen, from the Ephel Duath to the eastern hills, to Dol Guldur and the fastnesses of Mirkwood (emphasis mine)."

So Bilbo takes his sword and makes his first kill, and what we witness next is a Moment by any definition: "Somehow the killing of the giant spider, all alone by himself in the dark without the help of the wizard or the dwarves of of anyone else, made a great difference to Mr Baggins. He felt a different person, and much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach, as he wiped his sword on the grass and put it back into its sheath."

Then Bilbo names the sword, and he names it Sting, calling to mind the thought of a fly that can fight off a spider, a tiny creature coming out on top in a fight with a fierce predator. And then he sets off and uses his newly minted sword to rescue his friends from giant spiders. And though he uses the sword again in his adventure, it is never such a great moment, and indeed he ends up missing a great deal of the battle where it would have been most useful, leaving this incident with the spiders as not only his first use of the weapon, but his most significant -- as The Hobbit is meant to be adapted from his memoirs, certainly the only one he felt important enough to write about.

And for sixty years Sting laid quiet in the Shire, hanging over Bilbo's mantle, where he told stories about it to his nieces and nephews and cousins and anyone else who would listen, and doubtless the story he kept circling back to was the one about the great spiders and the christening of his sword, and even if nobody believed it, a bit of a legend grew about it, and whatever deeds, if any, it was involved in before it found its way to the troll's hoard were forgotten, and it became the Sting, the sword that was used to defend friends from Shelob's brood.

I hardly need to point out the power inherent in names and the naming of things and people in Tolkien's work.

And then, seventy-eight years after its christening, Sting finds itself in another spider's lair, the grandmother or great-grandmother of that first spider that earned it its name -- and this is what it is, now. This is its entire identity, insomuch as a sword can have one of those. I think that over seventy-eight years Bilbo quite inadvertently but also quite effectively wove an enchantment against Shelob and her ilk on that sword, never knowing how much it would matter in the end. Indeed, I would put forth that there was no other weapon in contemporary Middle-earth that would have been such a bitter sting to Shelob; similar enchantments, perhaps, could be found in Thranduil's halls from his people's long struggle against the spiders there, but on a blade from Gondolin, which shared a mountain range with the land where Ungoliant herself lived for a time? And Glamdring and Orcrist would have inherited those properties alongside Sting, but they had a legacy of goblin slaying, not spider slaying.

So, quite by accident, Frodo and Sam walked into Shelob's lair with the best possible chance of escaping her.

[kagrenacs]

The silly thing I don’t like about tears of the kingdom is that they made Sonia and Zelda related, despite a definite 10 000+ year difference. I’ve never much enjoyed the divine right of kings as a plot trope (crazy. Divine right of kings in my divine right of kings game?), but Botw almost subverted it a bit with Zelda not receiving powers, and having a strained relationship with her father, and Hyrule the kingdom having been disestablished for 100 years, and the people remaining of it doing just fine for themselves. I almost wish we saw a series of kingdoms establishing themselves as the one and true Hyrule over a long period of time. But that does not seem to be the case.

[andypantsx3]

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: 1.7k of unedited alien prince shouto thoughts based on this post from the other day! sfw, gender neutral reader. several elements of this universe were borrowed from my fave sci-fi novel; see end notes for deets!

he's beautiful—the todoroki prince. tall and strong in his high-collared uniform, strapped with lean muscle and handsomely humanoid. he's the first thing that snares your gaze as your party is guided into the hall of the sun—the reception dome that overlooks the rise of the star yuuei in the morning sky, used by the ruling family to receive visiting dignitaries.

it is morning, in endeavorian planetary time, and the sun has begun to rise. its light is weaker than you remember from back home—almost watery, pooling like quicksilver in the panes of the dome's ceiling.

up at the front of the hall, it catches in the strands of the white half of the prince's hair. from what izuku has told you, it's the half that indicates he's part of the himura bloodline. the himura dynasty has ruled the yuuei system from its capital planet of endeavor iv for tens of thousands of earth-years. it's the second longest line of unbroken rulers in mapped galactic history, an impressive feat.

the other half of the prince's hair is a fiery red, like that of the man who stands next to him—todoroki enji, the general of intergalactic renown, who donated half of prince shouto's genome as well as his clan name. each time a himuran royal from the main line marries, izuku had explained, talking at lightspeed in the podship, they take a branch name, typically sourced from the primary gene-donator. it helps keep inheritance lines clear.

prince shouto looks like he's inherited empress rei and todoroki enji's genes in exactly half—his coloring split down the middle, though his features are perfectly, almost hauntingly symmetrical. he wears a pin of flint at his collar that symbolizes his gender—one of yuuei's thirteen official designations. from what you understand from izuku, it most closely aligns with earth designation "man".

it's embarrassing how much you notice about the prince as you file into the hall, stationing yourself right at the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, so you can still see todoroki shouto.

"you don't think they'll reject the treaty and kill us all, do you?" denki mumurs nervously as he presses in behind you.

"no, i don't think so," izuku's gentle voice drifts back to you. he's a three-star ethnologist, studying for a command ethnology post. subsequently he's the most informed of any of the cadets that have been sent along with the treatise party. you and denki are just mechanics, sent along in case anything goes wrong.

"the alliance would be too much trouble for the yuuei," izuku explains. "they have good relations with the surrounding galaxies and tight control over a lot of resources. but the alliance is really large now, compared to the last time they approached the yuuei. they'll likely want to accept at least a loose federation with the allies."

up on the platform at the front of the hall, prince shouto blinks long and slow, like an earth cat. you realize with a start it's the first time you've seen him blink at all, and the subtle reminder that he is not just an extraordinarily handsome human man but the prince of an alien species makes your skin prickle.

"don't you think it's weird they are all this pretty?" denki asks. "it's weird, right?"

"definitely weird," you laugh, your eyes trailing over prince shouto's blade-straight nose, his pert, perfect mouth. "possibly illegal under intergalatic law."

prince shouto stills all of a sudden, and there is the tiniest tilt of his head. two heterochromatic eyes flick over your way, and you are completely embarrassed by the way your stomach swoops in response. you just manage not to grab onto tenya's uniform to steady yourself.

one of the prince's eyebrow arches almost imperceptibly, and you wonder if he's heard you from this distance—but no, that would be insane.

denki picks up his commentary, emboldened by your playing along. you think the prince's eyes linger just a little too long on the gap between izuku and tenya's shoulders, but then you're distracted by the reception beginning.

the alliance treaty officer strides forward, flanked by a few of the other officials your crew had ferried here. she performs an elaborate bow, as do the other officials. from izuku's muttering you gather it's some sort of ritualistic greeting, and empress rei at least looks pleased with it, waving a gentle hand to gesture the party forward.

there is some shuffling as various aides set up a table and a series of holo-tablets, along with various inks, a leathery roll of endeavorian traditional parchment, and—

"is that a knife?" you ask, peering at the long obsidian blade placed on the table in front of the officials.

izuku's fluffy head of green curls inclines. "treaties are sealed twice. once in the alliance fashion and then again in the local custom, to make it binding per both systems. blood pacts have been used in yuuei for millennia."

the brush of something over your face has your gaze turning back to the prince—to find him staring straight at you, those unblinking eyes boring into you.

"izuku, weird question. can the yuuei hear across rooms?" you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

a green eye peers back at you. "only in the event of their pair bonds—the yuuei are documented hearing their matepair across approximately ten earth-kilometers. i think we're safe over here though. why?"

matepair. the world settles strangely under your skin, as the prince's eyes brush across it.

"uh, matepair?" you echo.

tenya gives both you and izuku a quelling look, but it's not enough to deter izuku from ducking down to explain in slightly quieter tones. "the yuuei look human but they pair differently. they form a parapsychic bond with only a single partner, which they maintain and uphold for life. it's not just cultural—it's like a physical compulsion. they cannot take another pair, and they cannot be separated for long periods or they grow sick."

prince shouto is still staring straight at you, and it's not quite comforting enough to know that he cannot possibly hear you.

it's only his role in the ceremony that seems to eventually break the prince's weird focus in your direction. he steps forward to perform his duty as empress rei's chosen heir. you almost flinch as the knife draws across the pale skin of his palm, and he adds several drips of silvery blood to the parchment, symbolizing yuuei's intent to uphold the treaty across future monarchs.

the flesh of his palm knits itself back together in seconds, and another little shiver goes up your spine. those mismatched eyes flash back your way as he steps back, and the various aides and officials once again converge on the documents.

there is a brief flurry of activity, various bows and oaths, some stilted endeavorian verse. the chief treaty officer looks relieved when it's all over, and the royal family steps down from the dais to greet the rest of the visiting party, as is the customary honor granted to allies to the yuuei. tenya ushers you into the queue near the back with denki, a symbol of your lower status as mechanics.

you don't mind, as the thought of reaching prince shouto has your stomach doing what feel like backflips in your gut. the longer the delay the better.

izuku had walked everyone through the appropriate greetings on the podship, a few murmured words and a hand touch at chest-level—extremely hard to mess up, even for you. but nevertheless your pulse kicks up the closer you draw to the royal family.

there's a long line of them you greet first. offshoot branch members, then general todoroki enji, whose enormous palm burns hot against yours and who looks he'd rather take your party's hands off than touch them. then rei's unchosen heirs—the princess fuyumi, prince natsuo—and a gap where prince touya would have stood, were he not offworld.

and then you're standing in front of prince shouto, your pulse pounding in your ears. he's extremely tall up close, clearing six feet easily, broad across the shoulders and handsome in a way that almost makes your teeth ache. the yuuei look deceptively human, but this near you can see the tiny details that separate them from you—the slight double-point to their ears, the silvery undertone to their skin, the prolonged space between their breaths and their blinks.

and of course their inhuman beauty. they don't quite look like regular people, and it sparks a tiny note of wariness in the primeval part of your human hindbrain.

prince shouto's mismatched eyes pin you, silver and blue, as a sudden, silvery flush creeps across his face. you hold your hand out in greeting, trying not to wonder if you've somehow managed to offend him already—but instead of pressing his palm against yours, his long fingers suddenly grasp yours, clasping tightly.

beyond him, empress rei freezes too. all at once you can feel every single himuran noble turn to look at you, hundreds of eyes pinning on you.

reflexively, words tumble out of you. "shit did i—what did i do? were you supposed to get a different hand thingy?"

you can hear the treaty officer's horrified inhale at the terms shit and hand thingy, deployed in crass galactic standard in front of a literal prince. you immediately wish you could take them back, but from the look on the prince's face, he's already heard them.

something at the corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying not to smile.

"y/n," he says, in a deep tone. it's crisply accented and just as beautiful as the rest of him.

it takes you a second to realize prince shouto has used your name, which he could not possibly know considering the uniform you'd been issued for the yuuei visit has no unique identifiers on it. you glance down at yourself, then back up at him, befuddled.

"how did you—? where did you—?" you garble out. "did denki put you up to this? how do you know me?"

prince shouto's fingers smooth over yours, delightfully warm, calloused and sure. "i would know you in any universe," he says, voice soft. behind you, you hear princess fuyumi make a tiny sound of delight.

you blink. "universe? what—uh, what universe? how would you—?"

but shouto leans in, tugging you closer with those deceptively strong fingers. he's so very warm up close, and so beautiful it makes your brain short circuit, especially as he lowers his face to yours. a shiver rolls down your spine as his other hand takes you gently by the chin.

and then he murmurs a single word before pressing his mouth to yours—

"matepair."

𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: credits where they are due!! the idea of a space general dna donator, an overarching space alliance pursuing a treaty, & the flint pin denoting gender were taken from my fave sci-fi novel winter's orbit by everina maxwell! (if you love heartfelt gay love stories in space i am actually begging you to read it).

[uzurimisery]

chapter 1: the setting. / coriolanus snow / nsfw

Watching TBOSAS rekindled my love of this series and Tom Blyth makes young Snow sexy.

wc: 4,422

waring: smut, misogyny, dubcon, toxic relationships, snow is insane, not beta read

AO3 version here | Series Master

“You’re to take Y/N to the gala and after that the two of you will begin a show of courting for the Capitol to watch.”

Coriolanus Snow found you to be a thorn in his side. An unknown variable. You were wellbred stock, perfect for carrying on a bloodline, but somehow you were as disgraced as those from the Districts. Even before the war had started and ended Coriolanus found you insufferable. Too aggressive, undisciplined, and unpredictable. He liked reading people, at this point he’d say he could read others better than they could read themselves. But you were a blank slate. Wellbred, well read, and well insufferable. The only reason he even pretended to care about you was who your mother was. 

Dr. Volumnia Gaul was more of a creator than a mother. Mothers cared and nurtured their children with love and compassion, two emotions Gaul was incapable of. Funny considering she was once an obstetrician. It was there that she had been introduced to your father, another prominent Capitol resident, and had you. She liked you, surely, often willing to give you more grace than others for their mistakes, but love would be going too far. Perhaps her being your mother is why Coriolanus liked you even less, you had all of her traits he disliked the most. 

The Snow family had always been led by men, a tradition passed down from father to son, an unbroken chain of masculine dominance. But the Gauls were different. They were led by women, strong, capable women who defied the traditional power dynamics. And you were no exception.

You were determined to prove yourself, to carve your own path, to become a leader just like your mother. You fought Coriolanus head-on, challenging his every suggestion, even when you knew your opposition was futile. You were a master of manipulation, using coercion, leadership, and cunning to bend others to your will. Even Coriolanus, the shrewd and calculating Snow, found himself falling prey to your machinations at times.

You had convinced two of the most desirable women in the Capitol, Persephone Price and Iphigenia Moss, that he was in love with them both. For a tense month and a half, they waged a bitter war for his affections, making his life a living hell right after he had returned from District 12. It was as if you simply enjoyed watching the chaos you created, relishing in the discomfort you inflicted upon him.

Coriolanus couldn't deny his grudging admiration for your skill. You were a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of ambition and cunning.You were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, a challenge he couldn't quite overcome. And that unsettled him.

"Dr. Gaul," he began, his voice laced with scepticism, "I hardly think that I am the most suitable companion for your daughter, even if just for show.”

A sharp, echoing cackle escaped Volumnia's lips, sending a shiver down Coriolanus's spine. 

"Oh, Coriolanus," she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "my dear star pupil, you underestimate your own abilities. You are the very person I need to keep that girl in line. Plus she makes you look like a more viable successor."

His jaw tensed. 

“I hardly think that if you couldn’t control her I could.” 

“Control is a fickle thing Mr. Snow,” Volumnia did not even turn to face him as she stared down into a microscope. She turned a dial to clarify the view before then adding liquid, some sort of acid from the smell, and stirring the plate with a glass rod before continuing. 

"Y/N is merely playing at having control. She is an actor, a performer, and you, my dear Coriolanus, will be her stage."

“And what is my role in this performance?” 

"You will be the charming escort, the perfect foil to her rebellious spirit," she explained. "Your ability to manage her shows that the Gaul name carries on in your relationship with her, breeding the best gamemaker there could ever be."

His fingers itched to throw the beaker of acid onto Gaul. The very thought of touching you made his skin crawl. He could still feel the lingering sensation of your skin against his, a clammy, unnatural warmth that sent shivers down his spine from the last time the two of you had touched even briefly. Truly his interactions with you had been limited before the 10th games, you were two years his junior, it was only after he came back from 12 that he had even spoken to you. Now you worked side by side with each other on the games under your mother, and his every interaction with you made him violent.

The idea of having you draped over his arm all night filled him with a sense of nausea. He could almost picture you under him, your body contorting in agony as you choked by his doing. He envisioned himself standing over one of the ridiculous chaises in your family estate, your father's extravagant purchase. He would slowly tighten his grip around your throat, watching as your eyes bulged in terror and your face contorted in pain.

The thought of your hands desperately clawing at his arms, your tears streaming down your face, sent a strange jolt of excitement through him. 

He pictured himself using one of the delicate scarves you always wore to strangle you, the soft fabric contrasting with the harshness of your screams. He would watch as your eyes rolled back in your head, your life fading away with a final, gasping breath.

Hate was a strong word, but it was the only word that adequately described his feelings for you. A venomous mixture of loathing, fascination, and a twisted desire that he couldn't quite explain. Lucy Gray he had wanted to control, but you wanted to break.

“As you wish Dr. Gaul.”

_

When your mother had told you that you were to be escorted by Coriolanus to the gala and then “pretend” to court him, you were pissed. You saw through his carefully constructed façade of charm and sophistication, recognizing him for the manipulative user he truly was. In his eyes, people were nothing more than expendable pawns, their lives mere tokens in his ruthless game.

While you couldn't deny that you shared a similar disregard for human life, having been raised in an environment where expendability was a given, there was a fundamental difference between your perspectives. You saw value in keeping people alive, recognizing their potential as tools in your own elaborate schemes. Death was not an option for you; it was a blunt instrument, a crude solution to a complex problem. People were willing to go to the extremes for their loved ones, and extremes meant profit.

There was no choice to be had in the matter of being his date, mother dearest had given you a look that said all. If you dared to defy her wishes, she would unleash a torrent of consequences, transforming your life into a living hell until she deemed your lesson learned. While you possessed a certain degree of freedom, there were lines even you dared not cross, and this was one of them. 

But Coriolanus made you feel things that you thought you were incapable of, a deep burning rage that whispered at the end of it all one of you would be consumed. You could almost envision the moment when your fury would reach its crescendo, when your teeth would sink into his flesh, consuming him in the flames of your intensity.

As if life couldn't be any more cruel to you, Coriolanus had insisted that you were costumed by his cousin Tigris. Now Tigris was agreeable company, a beacon of kindness and warmth, possessed an innate ability to perceive the good in others. While you found her naivety and idealism somewhat exasperating, you couldn't deny her inherent goodness and her remarkable skill as a seamstress.

Yet, the thought of enduring the tedious process of changing into multiple outfits, each designed to enhance Tigris's artistic vision, threatened to push you to the brink of insanity, a state your mother had succumbed to years ago. The prospect of reliving her descent into madness sent a chill down your spine.

Tigris's fingers trailed along the soft fabric of the gown, carefully adjusting its folds to accentuate the curves of your body. "You know, you've got a really nice figure," she remarked, her voice laced with admiration.

A wry smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Why thank you, Tigris. If you asked your cousin, he'd tell you I had a body made for the Districts."

Tigris's brow furrowed in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Oh, it's just one of his many ways of insulting me," you explained with a shrug. "He's surprisingly bad at it, considering how much he tries."

As Tigris continued her work, meticulously crafting the gown to perfection, you found yourself enjoying her company more than you had anticipated. Her easygoing nature and engaging conversation provided a welcome distraction from the simmering tension that always seemed to accompany Coriolanus's presence.

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to relax, to partially let down the guard you had carefully constructed over the years. You savoured the simple pleasure of Tigris's companionship, cherishing the rare moments of genuine connection in a world that often felt cold and impersonal. Even if it was inside the Snow family penthouse.

The black velvet gown hugged your curves like a second skin. Tigris' skilled hands moved with practised ease, adjusting the intricate details of the dress, ensuring that it would perfectly complement your form.

"I think I'll add a corset effect to this," Tigris mused. "Corio has some cufflinks that were his father’s that would go well with that."

"I am but your humble dress-up doll," you teased, playing along with her lighthearted banter.

Tigris's smile widened, her laughter echoing through the opulent dressing room. "Well then, I'll have to show off my best work for such a famous doll," she declared, her voice filled with playful affection.

The light hearted mood continued for some time, eventually a servant came in to offer you tea. That ended up being your only respite as Tigris then wanted you to try on more gowns for different events. Apparently you had sparked something in her to create various things.

Perched atop a pedestal, clad only in your underwear and an arm across your bare chest, conversation flowed with Tigris, her nimble fingers expertly hemming the length of a shimmering silver gown. Your topics ranged from the latest academy and university gossip to Ma Plinth's overprotective tendencies towards Coriolanus, eventually settling on your father's renowned interior design skills. His contributions to the Capitol's architectural landscape were a source of pride for both of you.

You two had been so lost in conversation you hadn’t heard Coriolanus enter the apartment and calling out for Tigris until he was in the doorframe of the dressing parlour.

“Tigris I need you to fix this stitch on my blazer, it came undone while I was walking over here- oh.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Coriolanus's face, momentarily disrupting his composed demeanour. He seemed momentarily taken aback by the sight of you.

Tigris quickly rose, her hands reaching to cover your exposed form, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Corio!” she stammered, “If you can just leave it on the chair I’ll get to it shortly.” 

Coriolanus regained his composure. "No need to rush, Tigris," he spoke smoothly, his voice devoid of any hint of the turmoil that he felt "I just need this done by Tuesday."

He turned his attention to you, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "I should hope that's not what you’re intending to wear to the gala, I think your mother would throw you in the arena herself.”

Without another word, he turned and exited the dressing room, leaving you and Tigris to exchange looks.

___

Coriolanus couldn't shake the image of your back from his mind. The smooth, flawless skin, untouched by blemish or imperfection, is a testament to the care your mother had taken in your upbringing and no doubt the many concoctions she made to keep you that way. The memory of your curves lingered in his thoughts.

He had always held the opinion that your body was more suited to the Districts, a form meant for bearing child after child to provide the Captiol with more luxury. But seeing you laid bare made him reconsider your appeal. 

His usual taste in women ran towards the petite, almost painfully thin, figures that could afford to forgo nourishment for the sake of fashion. They were delicate creatures, easily controlled, incapable of challenging his authority. But there was something about you, something that stirred a different kind of desire within him.

Thoughts of you under him shifted, taking on a carnal nature. The dim light in the room seemed to flicker with the intensity of the images playing in Coriolanus's mind. 

You under him, tears streaming down your face, but no longer was he choking you. You cried out in pleasure begging him to never stop. Your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, mouth open as you gasped. Neck covered in hit bite marks and hickies that trailed down your chest, heaving with exertion. His hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him as he thrust again and again, your nails digging into his forearms drawing blood.

You cried so sweetly for him, came undone so well for him. That cunning mind of yours consumed by thoughts of him. He might never figure out how to predict your actions but he could figure out your needs, your desires, what makes you tick. Pull your tongue out between his fingers and spit in your mouth. To turn you on your front and hike your hips up against his own, hands pinned behind your back. 

“Corio, what's wrong?”

Coriolanus's mind jolted back to the present, the vivid images from his fantasies dissolving like wisps of smoke. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim light of the room once more. Your gentle voice, using his nickname, had pierced through the haze of his thoughts, pulling him back from the precipice of his desires.

"Nothing, I was considering something for the next games," he replied, his voice slightly strained. "I do apologise, Mr. Creed. Innovation is something that weighs on me heavily.”

Mr. Creed chuckled, bassy and thumping. “ No worries my boy, your date was keeping me ample company.” 

He watched as the older man's gaze lingered on your figure, a predatory glint in his eyes as it bore into your chest for a second too long.

 Disgust churned within him, a visceral reaction to the blatant display of lechery. Mr. Creed's age only served to amplify the repulsiveness of his behaviour, a man old enough to be your father, yet still driven by the primal urges of a rutting animal.

Coriolanus saw through the façade of civility, the veneer of sophistication that Mr. Creed carefully maintained. Behind the polished exterior lurked a man incapable of masking his basest desires, his eyes a window into a mind consumed by lust.

He drew you in closer, feeling the heat of your skin spread against the material of his suit.

“And what company she is.” he placed a kiss on your temple with a chuckle all whistle maintaining eye contact with Mr. Creed. A man's warning not to vye for what was his. “I often say she should host the games instead of designing them.” 

“Oh hush! You couldn’t possibly manage without me.”

“Well I’d have your mother.” 

You giggled at that, showing that you had one too many fruity cocktails infused with a laughing agent earlier in the night, the light catching in your eyes. He could tell you were loose, more pliable then he had ever seen you. Part of him wondered if it was just all part of the act to you, playing as well behaved for him.  The Capitol’s untouchable wild child made compliant in his arms. 

Despite the lingering doubt, Coriolanus couldn't deny the allure of your presence. Your laughter, once a source of frustration, now held a captivating charm, and your relaxed attitude was a welcome change from your usual sharp wit and guarded demeanour.

“And with that Mr. Creed, I do think that Y/N and myself should go find Dr. Gaul.” 

“Of course Mr. Snow, I look forward to your next presentation.’ 

Coriolanus pulled you away from the overly perfumed man and out of the garden where you had been. The president’s mansion always had half the party outside in the expansive greenery and the rest on the first floor of the building. He guided you out of the garden, the expansive greenery and lively chatter fading into a distant hum. He led you into a secluded sitting room, its dimly lit interior a stark contrast to the vibrant party outside.

Coriolanus was a man who prized possession, a collector of valuable objects and people alike. He had never been one to share, a feature made even worse after his time in District 12, and the sight of Mr. Creed eyeing his 'toy' had ignited a possessive fire within him.

You were his, he told himself, all the Capitol knew after the revelation of your made up love affair during the 15th games. But, you had made it abundantly clear that you were not his. The ownership did not extend into your life outside of performing in your role for the people of the Capitol and to appease your mother.

It was easy to keep the lines from being blurred normally but since that day in the dressing parlour something snapped within him. 

Plopping down on the chaise you sighed heavily. “What crawled up your ass Corio?” To strung out every syllable of his nickname, teasing him. 

A sharp exhale and her turned to face you. Watching you reapply your pristine red lipstick. 

“Creed is nothing more than a pig, a bloated, self-serving creature who values nothing but his own wealth and power," he growled, his voice laced with venom. 

You raised an eyebrow. 

“Tell me something I don't know. One of their Avvoxes is like that because Festus saw his father with the girl, and his mother went bat shit.”

“How do you know this?”

You closed your compact with a snap and tucked it back into your clutch alongside your lipstick. "Festus told me," you confessed, a sly grin playing on your lips. "He squeals easily.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Tell me Snow, when did you start to care if some old pervert undressed me mentally.” 

“Since your mother made the entire country think we’re in love.”

“But we aren't.”

“No we aren’t,” there was no love between you two “but that means you’re mine as far as he’s concerned. I don’t enjoy anyone coveting what's mine, even if this relationship is just for show.”

“Ah! Of course, there he is, the egotistical and controlling Coriolanus we all know. For a second I thought you might actually hold a shred of care for me.” 

You leaned back in the chair, your dress slipping slightly down on your chest furthering the curve of your breast. 

He had to admit to himself he was no more animal than Mr. Creed when the slightest slip made his thoughts race. His mind went back to his earlier thoughts now inspired by the room you were in. Bent over the chaise with your lipstick smeared, a litany of stains on his face and collar. He’d hike the skirt of your dress up and pull your top down, leaving your breasts free for him to grab at as he took you from behind, your underwear hanging off just an ankle. Festus or his father would walk in the scene and pale as Coriolanus displayed his ownership of you. 

“Seriously Snow what’s wrong with you?” You’ve been distracted all night.” You shifted on the chair grabbing his arm and pulling him down to sit. “I won’t pretend to like you but you’re not yourself.” 

His gaze flickered down to your chest before meeting your eyes. 

Those eyes had always held the power to see through him, to strip away his carefully constructed exterior and expose the terrified child within, a child haunted by the horrors of the bombings. They roused something deep within him, something he couldn't quite comprehend. He was convinced it was hatred, an intense aversion to everything related to you. Yet, amidst the gaudy extravagance of this opulent sitting room, there was something more than hatred, a yearning, a need to possess you, not just in the pretence of a fabricated relationship, but for real.

“Nothing is wrong.”

"Bullshit," you retorted, your voice firm and unwavering. "You've been distant with me ever since that day in Tigris' dressing parlour. You refused to even acknowledge me the last time I saw you, couldn't even bring yourself to look at me."

He couldn't deny your accusation, for it was true. He had been avoiding you, intentionally keeping his distance, unable to face the tempest of emotions that your presence evoked within him.

"Have you considered that I find you repulsive and even looking at you gives me mental anguish?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm, a desperate attempt to deflect the attention away from his own turmoil.

"Okay, jackass," you sighed in exasperation. "I was actually trying to be nice to you here, even considering the possibility of being more amicable in the future, but clearly, that's an impossibility with you."

Standing up from your position, you straightened out your dress, your back turned to him. "I'm going to find my mother and then leave, and I don’t know how we will keep acting like we’re in love in public but we will." you declared, your voice seeming to echo in the room.

Before you could take a step away, Coriolanus' hand wrapped around your wrist. "You're hurting me," you exclaimed, struggling against his hold.

"What do you even want?" you demanded, spinning around to snatch his hand away, only to find yourself pulled down, landing directly into his lap.

You gasped in surprise, your body pressed against his, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through your senses. His eyes, those storm-filled pools, were inches from yours, their intensity almost hypnotic. There was something swirling in them that you had never seen him express before.

“God seriously, what is wrong with you? I don’t know why my mother insists on it being you! You are the most insufferable man I have ever met. Constantly talking down to me and trying to make me feel lesser. You need to sort yourself out.”

 Your voice raised, carrying into the hallway where he knew people were. He could hear their steps coming towards the door. 

He watched you, his expression unreadable, his fingers still tracing patterns on your waist. It felt so breakable under his touch, like he could squeeze it ever so tightly and it would shatter. Maybe that was what was wrong with him, his image was that of strength and yet you were so fragile. 

The reality was much harsher than that. He had never viewed you as a person before that day. You have been an obstacle or a pawn. Now he had to act as he loved you, craved you, desired you. Initially that was a hard ask, your very being was unpleasant to him, but since that day something had shifted in him. You were human now. And far too tempting. 

The handle of the door began to turn. The narrative needed to be made, actions taken, you both were here for a purpose tonight. 

His lips crashed into yours, more gnashing teeth than the delicate touch of a lover, a show of dominance and control. The frustration of this whole act and his loss of control bubbling to the surface and letting the anger out on you. You tried to pull away, speak to him maybe, but he pulled you back against him and with a hand on the side of your face pushed your jaw open letting him slip his tongue inside your mouth. It was wet and messy. His tongue running against the back of your top teeth before dancing with your own. The desire to consume you coming out on top.

“Oh my!”

He pulled away with a bite at your lip, hard enough to leave the both of you tasting blood.

A collection of Coriolanus' classmates from the Academy and a few notable members of high society, including both Festus and his father, stood at the now open french doors taking in the scene before them. 

Y/N Gaul draped across Coriolanus Snow’s lap engaged in a hot and steamy makeout session. You intricate updo half udon by his actions, both your breathing labour, red lipstick smudged around both your mouths. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights. You hadn’t heard anyone coming to the room too distracted by Coriolanus’ odd behaviour which was now explained. 

Coriolanus instantly snapped into character a charming smile spread across his face as he steadied a hand on your hip. 

“My apologies I wasn’t aware anyone would be using this parlour tonight.” He spoke with a lighthearted chuckle. “Miss Gaul was just simply breathtaking this evening.” 

Your name brought you back into the moment, the velvet of his voice soothing your panic. You moved to adjust his shirt and blazer back into place, an intimate gesture painting the two of you having a deeper relationship than people initially thought.

“Corio,” you chided gently “I told you that we needed to be careful.” 

“You're right my dear. I was overconfident, assuming we had a moment to ourselves. I just can’t help myself when it comes to you.” He slipped the handkerchief out of his pocket and began cleaning up your ruined lipstick. “Please give us just a minute and we will clear the room for you.” 

He finished cleaning you up and then stood, taking your hand in his. Some more apologies were given to the crowd as the two of you absconded away like teenage lovers that had just been caught. A trail of hushed whispers and lingering glances followed you out. You couldn’t catch everything but you heard one thing very clearly. 

“Well there goes the gossip that they hate each other.”

[homochadensistm]

A Jew can never respond to an accusation in good faith because the accusation will never be in good faith. It's a shame because Jews can do bad things and be bad people (there are quite a few lol), but any society, not just Jewish, will close ranks when threatened and scrutinized by outsiders. Anyway, I love how the Pali babes constantly constantly constantly said "Israelis are white Jews from Europe they have no connection to this land their DNA is Polish," and Israelis and all Jews have been showing their DNA results proving they have Levantine descent. Now it's "Lol Jews are talking about literal Blut und Boden race science like DNA tests wow all that matters is a continued cultural legacy good thing Palestine has always existed and has always been at war with East Asia!"

Which is funny because the cultural inheritance is the main claim Jews have been making to prove indigeneity. But the goalposts get shifted every time. And they get shifted back and forth. When Jews start proving through archeology historiography literature anthropology religion etc etc etc (any means other than biological) that they do have a continued unbroken claim of inheritance on the land, the Pali girlies will go right back to honking about DNA and bloodlines. They will jump back and forth because it's not about the truth, or even pretending it's about the truth. It's about trolling Jews. Making a Jew empty his pockets and so forth.

I think a lot of them actually believe their bullshit doublethink though, which is troubling for the future of the planet if this is our youth. Maybe that throwaway 1984 joke was more warranted than I thought. The very few who are arguing in good faith will just immediately start crying about the totally confirmed 10 million children killed by bombs and "is it worth it you greedy Zionists?"

they can kiss my proudly Caucaso-Levantine ass and i wish them all a very get decolonized by ur own standards <3

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Lines of Succession

The one plot point that most viewers seem to have a problem with is the one with August and the line of succession. Common critique is that it doesn't make sense, that it's unrealistic, and that it either comes out of nowhere, or that everyone involved should have already known. I have no problems with it, but I also speculated that this was a possible season 2 plot point over a year ago: Heir Today - Gone Tomorrow. So here's my take on it, which hopefully will dispel a lot of confusion and answer common questions.

"Why August? Aren't there any other closer relatives?"

Above is a possible family tree that contains what we know from the show, gets the family connections right, gets the titles right, and makes it so that August comes after Wilhelm in the bloodline. This works as long as Kristina doesn't have any siblings, if August's grandmother was the oldest or only sibling of the previous king, and if August's dad was the oldest or only sibling in his family.

I don't think any of that is a stretch. Sure, the current king of Sweden has a bunch of children and grandchildren and there's no lack of eligible heirs, but throughout history there's lots of examples of royal lines that died out because of a lack of children. Shit happens. In Japan, for example, all hope rests on the 16-yo Prince Hisahito. If he dies in an accident or doesn't have kids, 1400 years of the unbroken line of House Yamato goes down the drain. Better be straight, kid. No pressure!

"Why is this a surprise to the characters? Doesn't everyone already know August is second in line?"

The UK for example has a very long line of succession that is indeed well-known, and all of Prince William's or Prince George's cousins and second cousins and more distant relatives have a known place in the line of succession, and you could spot this plot coming from miles away if things worked like that in the Young Royals universe.

But the UK is an outlier among European royal families. In Sweden, and in many other European monarchies, the line of succession is short, and usually limited to the current monarch and their children and grandchildren. Given what various characters say throughout the show, this seems to be the case in-universe. The line of succession in the show has only one name on it: Wilhelm.

"The Queen can't just move people into the line of succession as she likes!"

Indeed she cannot, and that's not what's happening either! August isn't in the line of succession at any point in the show, and has never been in it. But the Queen does have the power to promote members of the wider royal family, to showcase them, to include them in events for the royal family, and so on. The plan is to make August a "working royal", to have him perform royal duties, hold speeches, attend events, and engage in charities. In addition, they're cleaning up his public persona and setting him on the same path of education and military service that Erik was on, as if he was eligible to inherit the throne.

That way, if Wilhelm triggers a constitutional crisis by leaving the line of succession or abdicating or whatever - hopefully decades from now - they can present August as the easy alternative. Getting him into the actual line of succession would require a change to the constitution, which in turn requires a lot of political work and goodwill and popular support. But if August is popular with the people, if everyone already thinks of him as a member of the royal family, and if he's preferably married with children, then Parliament would only need to make a small change to the constitution to make him eligible, and keep the monarchy going, thus resolving the constitutional crisis once and for all.

"But the Queen knows what August did, can't she skip him over?"

Yes she does know, and she's making it clear he's not her first choice. But she has to choose him, because he is next in the bloodline. And the rules for the line of succession can't be arbitrary, they have to follow simple rules, it's all the heirs or nothing. If the rules are changed to widen eligibility one step further out, August's name would come up first because that's what the family tree looks like.

But if the Queen were to promote someone else in the extended family, someone who is more distantly related than August, everyone would start asking questions. Why not him? What's wrong with him? He'd be shoved into the spotlight, the press would start digging, and all the dirt would come out. This would tarnish the image of the royal family, and if Wilhelm causes a crisis and Parliament has to change the rules, a lot more people would be in favour of scrapping this monarchy thing. If the royal family doesn't have its shit together, why not switch to a republic and elect a president instead?

So if the Queen wants to preserve the monarchy, she has to choose August, and she has to clean up his public persona, and she has to rug-sweep the sex tape scandal, even though that hurt Wilhelm.

"Shouldn't August already have thought of this himself?"

Again, August isn't in the line of succession, and can't campaign on his own to be included in it. This scheme can only work with the full backing of the royal family and the royal court, he needs their entire PR machinery to do the work for him. If he even breathed this thought into words, everyone would laugh him out.

At the start of the show, both Erik and Wilhelm are alive, which means his chances are pretty much zero. At the end of season 1, he has leaked the sex tape and thinks he'll be in deep shit if the Queen finds out. We know she knows at that point, but August doesn't. In the beginning of season 2, he thinks they know, and is just waiting for them to punish him for it.

The only point in the show where he comes close to thinking this out loud is in S1E4 after the Society party, where he asks Wilhelm if he wants to trade places with him. That's as far as he dares push it, because this show isn't Game of Thrones where anyone with an army and a couple of dragons can press their claims.

"Yeah, well, the show doesn't explain any of this very well!"

Alright, that's fair enough, but this is why you should be reading my posts, explaining all of this! If you had read all of my old analysis posts, this wouldn't have come as a surprise to you! 😜

Because to me, all of this makes sense. I think it's plausible, the family tree works out, and the plan works out. It's still important to remember that this plan isn't a sure thing though. The Queen can only suggest to Parliament that they should make August eligible, and he needs to have a squeaky clean image. The whole thing can go sideways in a million ways...

Oh no, oh no, oh no no no no...

[sainamoonshine]

Okay so I saw that @foxy-alien made art of a TLT house swap AU and it started me thinking about how I’d do a similar AU… I did that instead of sleeping last night btw.

So here’s what I have so far:

Ninth House: Ianthe, Corona and Babs. Once upon a time a woman and a baby fell on their planet. When they saw the woman’s red hair they thought “ugh what Third House bullshit is this” and while they kept the corpse, they sent the baby back. We don’t want this keep your trash. They have their own drama to deal with anyway; the tomb needs its keeper to be a necromancer. Corona, while officially the heir and Reverent Daughter, is not one. Ianthe and her started hiding her lack of talent before their parents explained the whole “unbroken chain of the tomb keeper’s necromantic bloodline” thing. So long as Ianthe is around, the twins expect that everything is still fine. Still, their house hovers on the edge of breaking a promise of ten thousand years once their parents die and Corona inherits the duties of the tomb… unless they find a way to make Corona a necromancer, either by turning her into a lyctor, by making Ianthe a lyctor and then Ianthe makes her necromantic (?), or they just straight up ask Jod for a boon.

Eight House: Abigail and Magnus. Everyone is surprised when they meet them, as they do not meet the traditional pattern of their house; especially when you know the fact that Abigail’s cavalier was supposed to be a cousin but was replaced by Magnus when he married Abigail — their blood type was, luckily (or unluckily?) compatible. Like, who the fuck would want to be an Eight House cavalier??? (Magnus would. He think going into the river is exciting. He also trusts his wife.) It’s usually only when Abigail starts actually doing necromancy that people remember she’s scary AF. Through her interest in ghosts, she has developed her own custom safeguards against Magnus getting possessed when she siphons him… or if he does get possessed, she is a quick and extremely brutal exorcist.

Seventh House: Palamedes and Camilla. Pal decided on his medicine focus due to his house’s propensity for weird necromantic cancer. He firmly believes that if he can just find a way to either stabilize or treat it, the inhabitants of the seventh house will live more comfortable lives. He is considered something of an heretic due to this, but house leadership is willing to ‘let him cook’ -> they’ll wait to see if a necromancer with a stable cancer is still powerful before they decide whether to censure his research or not.

Sixth House: Jeannemary and Isaac. They’re still young, but very good at getting into places they’re not supposed to be, particularly by breaking wards and then rebuilding them better. Both of them keep trying to apply into the cohort but the scholars of the Sixth see Isaac’s skills with wards and want him to pursue academia instead. When the summons to Canaan House came the council all looked at each other, remembered they still had to appoint a new master warden after the last one passed, figured that nobody wanted to abandon their current study/experiments to go participate to what would be sure to be a tedious dick measuring contest with the other house heirs, and decided to invoke an obscure emergency clause in a law book somewhere in order to appoint Isaac to the title. He and Jeannemary really were the only ones who actually wanted to go to Canaan.

Fifth House: Dulcinea and Protesilaus. It is a shame that her health is so poor, because she would otherwise have become a hell of an ruler. While she has an ease with history and academia, her true skill is diplomacy. Dulcinea can get a very accurate read on most people, and she knows how to use their own psychology against them to make them agree to her ideas. She looks nice and fragile, but she is cunning. Meanwhile, Protesilaus is surprisingly good at paperwork for a guy who looks like he eats skulls for breakfast.

Fourth House: Judith and Martha. This AU version of them is less cocksure, but just as proficient at gathering information, profiling people, and writing down ample notes. Their rank in the cohort is lower than in canon, and they often get assigned to the tasks nobody else wants. Such as: overseeing security on ships bringing prisoners to the Ninth House prison installation… and this is how Judith and Corona met.

Third House: Harrow and Gideon. Once upon a time, the Ninth House sent them an orphan they claimed was theirs. The King and Queen didn’t pay the mystery much mind and stuck the baby in an orphanage. They had their own troubles to deal with: the royal family had not been able to produce a necromantic heir yet, and the vassal families were closing in. They figured that they couldn’t let a lesser branch of the family inherit the Third; it had never been done, would discredit them in the eyes of the other Houses, and would cause political instability. So in order to ensure the necromantic potential of their latest vat baby experiment, the King and Queen sacrificed the children in one of the lesser orphanages. They claimed that an hull breach in the space station caused the poisonous air of the planet’s upper atmosphere to get inside the ventilation system… except there was one survivor. The King and Queen were weirded out by that seemingly unkillable toddler but public opinion was heavily positive towards the ‘miracle survivor’. Not to mention having at least one person survive the incident helps make the ‘it was an accident’ excuse sound more credible. So the King and Queen brought the child to the palace and decided to do some PR by giving her a place to live and an education, and eventually made her the Cavalier of their (powerful) new daughter.

Second House: Silas and Column. Duty-bound, fanatic, no fun allowed Silas is a bit young for military service, but that doesn’t stop him from climbing the ranks. Column is still used as a battery, even in this AU, except his role is to start killing people to produce the initial necromantic boom to give Silas something to work with when they deploy to new battlefields. He hates doing this btw.

[aspenaspid]

He's a renegade, an insurgent bathing in chaos.

She's the offspring of corporate titans, bloodline of opulence entrenched in a dystopian future, where the lines between corporations and government have faded into a nightmarish singularity.

The dystopia hardly gets grimmer than this.

Yet, she's nothing more than an innocent, young soul. A naive girl ensnared by the age-old affliction known as love.

Miguel's warning resonated in her ears, cautioning against delving into her alternate selves. Yet, the lure was irresistible. She plunged headfirst into the data lake of parallel universes, where time and dimensions did not tear them asunder. Where their happiness was unbroken. Her emotions tangoed on the precipice of a tumultuous precipice, the struggle within reaching an unbearable fever pitch. A smile of joy adorning her lips, while tears of mourning assaulted her eyes.

[freerealestateon]

The Divine Feminine Legacy Challenge

Welcome to the Divine Feminine Legacy Challenge! 

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Overview / Rules:

13 Generations : 12 Zodiacs / Ends in Divine Feminine

Must complete indicated career, aspiration, skills, and any other goals listed

Each generation has an associated color palette to integrate into their look and home

No money cheats allowed

Use any mods / cc as you wish to customize your gameplay

How to determine the next generation:

Strict Matriarchy: The Founder must be a woman. Only women are eligible to be named heir. Men cannot, under any circumstance, ever be the heir to the next generation. Matriarchy is key!

Bloodline: To be eligible to be named heir, a child must be able to trace an unbroken ancestry back to the founder

Heir Law: I will personally be using Democracy (aka asking followers/friends to chose the next heir); however, if this is not possible you are welcome to chose another method like first-born or the child with the highest relationship to the prior founder

**Any similarities between other TS4 challenges are purely coincidental – as of June 2022, this has not been fully played through so if you find any issues please let me know! I do have quite a few packs so apologies if this does not fully fit your game play; adjust as need be**

Enjoy your journey to the Divine Feminine! 

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Generation: Aries (Red)

Plot: Typical Aries – doing what you want, when you want, and how you want it. Even as a kid, you were always taking risks and moving to the beat of your own drum, much to the turmoil of your household. While this has given your life a lot of…adventure, you often have a hard time making friends because of your fiery personality and sharp tongue. Your family has cut ties because their hearts couldn’t take one more screaming match. But a new “family” came along in time who knows exactly where you can fit in (specifically small bank vaults). 

Traits: Hot-Headed, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Aspiration: Public Enemy

Career: Criminal Career

Skills: Mischief, Fitness, Handiness

Other: Have 3 friends only and 3+ enemies / Marry a coworker as no one else understands your line of work

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Generation: Taurus (Pink)

Plot: While you definitely inherited your stubbornness from your Aries mother, there’s not much else that relates you two. Growing up in such a tumultuous, loud environment, you become increasingly risk-averse and prefer the company of your quiet garden over mom’s crime ring buddies. Being so set in your ways, you like routine and have worked hard at creating an oasis of calm and beauty. 

Traits: Green Fiend, Loves Outdoors, Vegetarian

Aspiration: Freelance Botanist

Career: Gardener

Skills: Gardening, Wellness, Herbalism

Other: Maintain a thriving garden of 10+ plants including a cowplant  / Take a yoga class every Sunday with your mom to try to instill calm into her life

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Generation: Gemini (Yellow)

Plot: You spent a lot of time on the internet researching for her mother – ‘how to create hybrid plants’ or ‘what to do if your cowplant eats you’. What was once a chore for mom, became an outlet for you. A world beyond the garden where people had thoughts, opinions, and could joke or argue behind the anonymity of a screen. Oh, you are GOOD at this! Finally real people to talk to aside from the queen of routine. Hopefully you won’t word-vomit all over your laptop.

Traits: Insider, Cheerful, Goofball

Aspiration: Friend of the World

Career: Social Media > Internet Personality

Skills: Charisma, Comedy, Research and Debate

Other: Maintain a blog or social media profile / Create your own club and regularly hold club meetings every week / Marry a club member

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Generation: Cancer (Silver/Gray)

Plot: Your first memory is when you set up a “free hugs” booth at your elementary school and was promptly teased for being too sensitive. Mom says you're an empath, but that memory was the first lesson in hiding her pain in the hopes of not burdening anyone else. You found art as a teen and slowly healed from the bullying you experienced as a child with art therapy. You finally realized that being an empath is a gift and should be spread to all.

Traits: Gloomy, Good, Art-Lover

Aspiration: Painter

Career: Doctor

Skills: Painting, Parenting, Logic

Other: Have two failed relationships due to your wanting to ‘fix’ this person / Adopt at least two children

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Generation: Leo (Orange)

Plot: While your mom’s life ambitions were incredibly altruistic, yours are a bit more glam. You want to be heard and seen. Spending your childhood watching Mom try to fix everyone was exhausting and you fully believe in self-care over anyone. 

Traits: Ambitious, Self-Absorbed, Jealous

Aspiration: Master Actress

Career: Actress

Skills: Acting, Dancing, Singing

Other: Be nominated for the Starlight Accolades / Lose your acting career after a public breakdown

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Generation: Virgo (Green)

Plot: After your mom’s incredibly public breakdown, you were left to pick up the pieces as a teen – a task you are of course completely ready to handle. The first item to check off your never-ending list was to get them out of the media frenzy. The next, to start over in a new town. And once the list was done, it was time for another – 1) go to law school, 2) pass the bar, 3) clean up everyone else’s messes. A perfect task for a perfectionist, including your side hobbies of baking and bowling– more tasks that need perfect precision. 

Traits: Perfectionist, Neat, Genius

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Career: Law 

Skills: Bowling, Writing, Baking

Other: Move neighborhoods as a teen and support parents until their death / Help your children with homework every night to ensure they grow up perfect like you

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Generation: Libra (Lavender)

Plot: You were perfectly happy following your mom’s expectations. It was actually nice for a while as making your own decisions is incredibly difficult. Like what to eat, what to say, where to live, what to study, who to date…it gets to a point where you are juggling multiple relationships because you don’t want to deal with a breakup. You throw yourself into a career as a food critic to avoid all that stress, but get fired as you give everyone five stars to not hurt their feelings. 

Traits: Romantic, Foodie, Childish

Aspiration: Serial Romantic

Career: Critic > Food Critic > Restaurant Owner

Skills: Cooking, Gourmet Cooking, Mixology

Other: At level 6 of Food Critic career, leave job and purchase a restaurant / Once married, maintain two secret relationships

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Generation: Scorpio (Black)

Plot: You've always had a knack for getting to know what truly lies under someone’s skin. You figured it out from a pretty young age when waiting tables at your mom’s restaurant and being able to convince someone that they actually adore their meal, rather than send it back. When you interview at the bureau, the interviewer actually wept as you managed to uncover their traumas that they kept hidden deep in their subconscious. In short, you are the top dog for your uncanny ability to uncover the truth. Your only outlets are video gaming and fishing as they don’t require too much thought. 

Traits: Loner, Bookworm, Paranoid

Aspiration: Neighborhood Confidante 

Career: Teen > Barista / Detective

Skills: Video gaming, Charisma, Fishing

Other: Gain the workaholic lifestyle / Get divorced due to your one true love – work

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Generation: Sagittarius (Navy)

Plot: While you feel your detective mom is too attached to her job, you hop around like no one’s business. You want to see the world, try new things, and always be a better version of you. It started with a love of space but you got lonely without a library of books and how-to manuals around, so you switched over to the engineering field. Now there’s where the research is – but perhaps too dull? Maybe being a scientist would work out well, or an archaeologist would be pretty cool. Your mind moves so fast it’s hard to keep you up with even yourself sometimes!

Traits: Non-Committal, Adventurous, Bro

Aspiration: Renaissance Sim

Career: Astronaut > Engineer > Scientist 

Skills: Robotics, Rocket Science, Archaeology 

Other: Elope at a young age, separate, then find your way back together / Go on a jungle expedition 

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Generation: Capricorn (Brown)

Plot: Your mom’s energy has always been way too much for you. You thrive on stability and cater to your own agenda. You’ve been a full fledged adult since the age of 3, and you don’t understand why everyone isn’t this way. Watching your mom go from career to career is genuinely painful to you. You’d much rather pour your energy into getting high marks on everything you set out to do and thrive on that little ‘good job’ you get from your boss every so often. 

Traits: High Maintenance, Unflirty, Snob

Aspiration: Mansion Baron

Career: Business

Skills: Logic, Violin, Knitting

Other: Complete a collection / Marry someone in Military career as you appreciate their structure and regime 

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Generation: Aquarius (Light Blue)

Plot: To you, intelligence is sexy. So why not go to the hottest place on Earth – university! You are obviously accepted into a distinguished degree and join the ranks in a secret society. Not so much for the community aspect – more so for the sake of arguing and convincing everyone of your incredibly niche views on the existence of vampires. Sometimes you wonder why no one wants to hang out, but at least you have your companion to rattle on to. 

Traits: Geek, Mean, Cat Lover

Aspiration: Academic

Career: Education

Skills: Programming, Vampiric Lore, Guitar

Other: Own a cat and become companions / join University secret society / marry an academic rival

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Generation: Pisces (Green, Gray)

Plot: You’ve always felt intimidated by your very smart family. For them, hosting lively dinner debates on alien sightings was FUN. You’d rather melt away and be boundless on the Earth’s planes, being one with all realities. As soon as you can, you leave that suffocating family home and live simply on the land to further your dreamscape.

Traits: Animal Enthusiast, Child of the Ocean, Good

Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast 

Career: Writer

Skills: Photography, Wellness, Piano

Other: Live on a simple living lot for all adulthood / Compete in Finchwick Fair competitions weekly

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Generation: Divine Feminine (White)

Plot: You are wise beyond your years – people describe you as intuitive, compassionate, creative, kind, and sensual. You live life to the fullest and are constantly present. You care deeply for your family, friends, animals and Mother Earth. 

Traits: Family-Oriented, Music Lover, Creative

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals

Career: Conservationist 

Skills: Pet training, Flower-Arranging, Cross-stitch 

Other: Be a friend to bees - maintain a beekeeping box / Every week go to Sulani to clean up the beaches

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“She is so bright and glorious that you cannot look at her face or her garments for the splendor with which she shines. For she is terrible with the terror of the avenging lightning, and gentle with the goodness of the bright sun; and both her terror and her gentleness are incomprehensible to humans.... But she is with everyone and in everyone, and so beautiful is her secret that no person can know the sweetness with which she sustains people, and spares them in inscrutable mercy.” ― Hildegard von Bingen

[silverchangeling]

"You know-" The demon smiled nervously at the second son and the two priests flanking him "my way seeing of the world- my morality- is not unlike yours. I think we should approach these things with mutual respect-"

"Silence, you insolent oath-breaker." The second son was having none of the demon man-woman-thing's tricks. "You broke our contract."

"Broke? The contract?" The demon laughed politely as they took their handkerchief out to clear some sweat from their brow. "Whatever could you mean?"

The second son took out some glowing parchment. "In return for freeing your uh... siblings? you agreed to sabotage this castle and not aid the royal bloodline of Northchester. And yet, the Northchester Prince has miraculously evaded capture. Summoned allies. Then they together are preparing to march against us."

The second made a signal to the two priests as he continued. "Our seers have confirmed our suspicion. You are a traitor. And even your kin now run free, your life will serve as a default."

The priests wielded their holy implements. There was nowhere to run in the small room.

"No third parties shall mediate the Contract." With the demon's command, shimmering shadows leapt from the parchment unto the two priests. They both froze, as if stuck in time. The second son gulped.

The demon grinned, this time toothily, "Too bad- the contract has been unbroken and it's magic is quite alive. Well, until you broke it just now with your little assault on my life. Heh."

Realization set over the second son. The first son was far away- he must have known something was off.

The demon laughed, haughtily and fully, "Let me spell it out for you. There is no bloodline Prince of Northchester- both because she's an adopted orphan and she's a princess. And barely a princess at that- she's more interested in returning the land to its people and their ancient ways~" the demon tucked their handkerchief into their chest, "I happen to be quite fond of her. My protection of her has been irrelevant to the contract."

"Anyway- since you so rudely broke our agreement- I'll have to exact penalty-" The demon declared. With a snap of their finger, the contract glowed, and something ethereal yet important was removed from the second son.

"Let me repeat myself-" the demon continued, "I'm quite the agreeable person- if you and your cunning siblings were content to chop up and backstab other church nobles, I wouldn't care less. But seize and strengthen the colony in Northchester? And then you threaten my siblings to force me to help you?" The demon spat on the carpet "Well, lets say I don't have many polite words for you."

The demon looked at the ghostly thing yanked from within the second son. "Well, allow me write your destiny for you. You forget our meeting this day. Your more clever siblings abandon you here. You rule here as an unpopular despot for a month at most. You die- swiftly and pathetically- at the hands of the Northchester people."

The immaterial something moved back into the second son, and he immediately passed out. When he came to, neither him nor the priests were sure what they doing in this room to begin with.

[loksthegreat]

What about royal/in-famous bastards? Do you have any drawings or information you could share?

Great question!! I only have this little piece of the Targaryen bastards that became Maesters at the moment but I’ll def need to make another post about my favorite bastards! For now have this:

Maester Rhaegel (born between 610-614 AC) was born to lady Blackwood, who had grown close with both king Rhaegar and his brother prince Daemon, so it is unclear who fathered Rhaegel, what is known is that his mother died when he was only a very young boy and his grandfather, who had grown resentful of his former allies the Targaryen brothers, could not bear to have the boy near him, so instead he sent him away to be fostered by the faith of the seven and later had him join the citadel. Rhaegel was a soft spoken boy, he was gentle with the children and animals he came in contact with during his apprenticeship, to the point were his teachers feared he might be unsuited to become a maester. Rhaegel was also more fond of poetry and songs, than scientific text. It was his supposed half brother, prince Aeron, the hand of the king, that would order the men of the citadel to allow the boy to stay and complete his studies. Throughout his years at the citadel Rhaegar would craft only two rings for himself before he passed away at the age of 25, one in the higher mysteries and one in history. His most important piece of literature, a 2000 pages long writing, titled ‘a bloodline of dragons and queens - 25 generations and 500 years of Targaryen women’ was found only after his passing and published by prince Aeron, it tells the stories of the nearly (literally just once) unbroken line of Targaryen women from the first ruling queen, Visenya II to queen Elaena IV.

Maester Riven (born around 130 AC) was the supposed son of the rogue prince Daemon and his dornish mistress, he was raised in oldtown all his life and was known for two things: his terrible temper, that only grew worst with age and even more terrible mess of hair. Maester Riven had served house Targaryen for many years and known all of the daughters of queen Visenya II personally. At nearly 75, he published the work he himself was most proud of: a historic text called ‘daughters of the she-dragons’, after having grown enraged with lack of text regarding the princesses, while there was no shortness of records about their brothers. Riven had meet princess Alyssa as a young boy, when the older girl used to stroll the halls of the citadel, waiting for her brother to finish his business at the library and had supposedly been infatuated with her, Maester Riven would fight to save princess Daenerys live as a young maester at Sunspear in 152 AC, he would serve princess Alysanne at Riverrun and later princess Aella, upon his return to old town. Maester Riven was also Among the Maesters at the red keep during the bright flame rebellion, and would speak out against the death sentence of prince Aegor after being freed from his cell after the siege of 200 AC. He strongly testified for the madness of king Baelor and it also was Riven that tried to stop princess Aenna’s untimely death.

Maester Aeryn (born around 130 AC) was the supposed son born to the later king Maegor II, and while Maegor’s struggles with infertility and his widely known distaste for the pleasures of the flesh speak against the claims of Aeryn’s parentage, he strongly resembles his supposed father in looks. Aeryn was raised at the red keep and showed great potential of becoming a famous knight (being left handed, like Maegor II), Aeryn however was a easily frustrated boy and he found fighting to be dull of mind and disliked violence. Instead he loved to argue, with his maesters, weaponry instructors or peers, the whole red keep could agree that the boy could talk castles to the ground. At the age of 17 he was send to the citadel, where Aeryn would continue to study with great vigor and determination. He made few friends among the other novices and even fewer among the older maesters, he did however forge his 5 rings in history, law, money and accounting, Warcraft and Poisons in record time. He returned to the red keep, now a man of 30 and would serve there for most of his live. Aeryn was a close friend of prince Aegor II, Visenyas youngest son, and would join him in his war against king Baelor II, during the turn of the second century AC. Aeryn would lay down the book: ‘a chronicle of dragonfire’ (the title a cruel joke to Aegor’s as Aeryn believe unlawful death by dragonfire) in which he lays down the story of his friend, and that of his son and daughter, Aemon and Rhaena, their daughter Aenera, and finally the young king, Aegors great grandson and namesake, king Aegor III.

Maester Aerion (born between 650-655) was the bastard of some unknown Targaryen prince, likely a son or grandson of queen Elaena IV, he was raised in the Stormlands and send to the citadel at 15, since he spend every walking minute reading or writing, sometime both at the same time and with great speed at that. Aerion’s mind always seemed to linger elsewhere and he was often mumbling under his breath, which made it hard to hold a conversation with him. At the Citadel he forged 7 rings for himself, in ravenry, astronomy, history, astrology, poison, medicine and healing and higher mysteries. He would never serve a lord, instead he devoted his life to writing his master piece, six continuous books (though only because the citadel couldn’t produce one big enough to fit all his writings) each well over 2500 pages, depicting the lives and histories of every Targaryen, or close descendant of a Targaryen, from queen Visenya II to queen Rhaenys VI. He named this series: ‘within our blood, the fire’.

Maester Oswyn (born in 521 AC) was the bastard son of Lord Monterys Velaryon, he was a happy and energetic child, growing up in the harbors of Driftmark. He was close to his true born half brother Daemon, and when their father died, and voices arose that the sixteen year old bastard, who had sailed with his father and made himself a name among the men of the velaryon fleet, would be better suited to take his place than the smallish boy of only ten boy and his heart broken mother, whom was not thought to recover from her husbands passing, Oswyn begged her to send him away to the wall, so he wouldn’t become a threat to her children ever again. Princess Shaera, the widow of Driftmark, however feared her own children might grow to hate her for doing so and instead Oswyn was send to old town. He was loud and blunt and few though he had what it took t o become a Maester, but in time Oswyn returned home with a ring in smithing and surprisingly medicine and healing. Oswyn would serve his little brother brother Daemon, his niece Larissa, his great grandnephew Daemion and his great great grandnephew Oswyn (named after him, after he saved the babes live as a newborn when Driftmark was attacked).

Hope you enjoy!!! I’ll let you all know when I have some more information or art to post!

[diabolus1exmachina]

Aston Martin DB4 GT Continuation (1 of 25). 

In 2017, almost 60 years on from when the original cars were made, the DB4 G.T. Continuation was hand-built on the very same site in Newport Pagnell as its illustrious forebears. It marked the return of production to the historic home of Aston Martin for the first time since the last V12 Vanquish S was completed in 2007 to secure the status of the world’s oldest purpose-built car manufacturing facility.Capturing the spell-binding essence of Aston Martin’s illustrious heritage, the Continuation series has since seen the production of DB4 GT Zagato Continuation in 2019 and the Goldfinger DB5 Contination – complete with Bond-inspired – gadgets in 2020.Each of the handbuilt Continuation models combine the authenticity of the David Brown era cars with sympathetic application of modern engineering advancements and performance enhancements. A special series of 25 cars remaining faithful to eight original factory lightweights. Underlining the authenticity are the VIN numbers, which carry on from the last original DB4 G.T. for an unbroken bloodline and impeccable Newport Pagnell-built pedigree.

[nw-of-dark]

Vampire Clan: Hecata

The Clan of Death, Necromancers, Graverobbers, The Family, Stiffs, Corpses, Devil-Kindred, Lazarenes

They do not constitute a completely organic clan stemming from a singular Antediluvian and an unbroken lineage. Instead, they consist of the Giovanni, the remaining members of the ancient Clan Cappadocian and their associated bloodlines, and even the Nagaraja, despite lacking a direct tie to an Antediluvian. Together, they form a novel and (largely) cohesive Clan of Death, encompassing various Kindred bloodlines that specialize in necromancy through the use of Oblivion. Similar to the Giovanni, whom they predominantly absorb, they function as a family, albeit an extensively extended one.

Disciplines: Auspex, Fortitude, Oblivion

Bane - Painful Kiss: Steeped in death, the fangs of the Hecata bring not bliss, but agony.

Bloodlines

The Hecata are composed of ten main bloodlines:

La Famiglia Giovanni, or Clan Giovanni as it has been known until recent nights, still largely occupying the overall leadership role in the Hecata, even without Augustus Giovanni as an anchoring influence. They do not normally identify themselves to clan outsiders as Hecata. La Famiglia also includes other satellite families, such as the Della Passaglias and Ghibertis, who have not earned their own individual bloodline status to date.

The Harbingers of Ashur, the aggregate remnants of Clan Cappadocian, of both the mainline clan and the Harbingers of Skulls.

Nasyon san An (Nation of Blood), the new face of the Samedi bloodline.

The Gorgons, the surviving remnants of the Lamia, the Cappadocian bloodline of devout Bahari faith from whom the curse of the painful Kiss originates.

The Flesh-Eaters, a group of Nagaraja; a bizarre bloodline of flesh-eating vampires, feared by all Kindred.

The Bankers of Dunsirn, the cannibalistic banking family from Scotland, once a branch of Clan Giovanni, and now considered a bloodline in their own right.

The Children of Tenochtitlan, the Giovanni allies Pisanob (now without the leadership of Pochtli), once driven to the brink of extinction by the Harbingers of Skulls.

The Criminal Puttanesca, a Sicilian crime family formerly attached to the Giovanni.

The Little Siblings, are the Rossellini, once a rival necromantic family (now attached) to the Giovanni, they are known for their cruel treatment and exploitation of wraiths.

The Grudge Masters, are the Milliners, a minor Giovanni family with many connections in organized crime.

[anakinsafterlife]

Finished Dune, the book. Still have questions. I'm confused about the 'people of Misr' issue. Why use an Egyptian term when the story more closely mirrors struggles for control of oil in the Gulf and the Levant? Although I suppose I might be thinking too recently with this. It's possible that Frank Herbert was thinking of the British occupation of Egypt and the Suez Canal Crisis. Need to look more into this...

I also saw that Herbert served in the US Navy in World War 2 and was talking about it with someone who insisted that he must have been a spy, given his unusual depth of knowledge (particularly for his time) about the Middle East, Arab cultures and Islam. Still haven't seen anything about his sources. Anyone knows anything about this?

Thirdly. Even given the leeway that he must have had to write about these things prior to the popularization of science fiction, I noticed that Herbert was extremely cautious about using baldly religious terminology. The word God is mentioned exactly twice in the book, and although we're meant to think of Paul as a prophet, it's unclear what he's a prophet of.

This hedging is prudent, given the extremely sensitive nature of the subject. In Sunni Islam, at least (and the book does refer to "our Sunni ancestors", despite the appearance of some Shia terminlogy), the Prophet Mohamed is the Seal of the Prophets, meaning the last and final Prophet. Although I have seen some interesting conversation in the past regarding how Islam might be delivered to people on other planets, should such intelligent alien life exist, I'm not sure that applies in this case, given that these people are meant to be part of an unbroken bloodline that started on Earth.

Some muddy waters here, but the world building is fascinating.

[artficlly]

lady of the ghosts [chapter two]

After a great plague ravages your city, you are looking to marry to secure safety for your people. With a war finally ending, the nearby kingdoms are looking to celebrate. King James "Bucky" Barnes decides to continue his family's tradition of hosting a courting season. A medieval courting marvel AU.

Pairing: king!bucky x lady!reader

Warnings: mention of war, mention of torture, mention of alcohol, sexism, racism, mention of blood, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 7.3k

A/N: i was not expecting so many people to like this series! thank you for all the likes/reblogs! if you want to be added to the tag list pls comment on this post or on the chapter masterlist. steve is a little matchmaker in this, very cute. also can you tell that i am forever obbessed with queens gambit? sorry not sorry lol. not proof read - sorry for any typos as usual!

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

The past two months, you had felt like a beast in a cage. 

The lords and ladies of the court circled you with curiosity, yet they never got too close out of fear. With each passing day, The Galanta Season drew closer, and you felt like you were staring your own doom in the face. The court would circle you closer, poking and jeering about your fast approaching annihilation. You were supposed to be happy – an excitable, blushing bride-to-be. Instead, you reared your head like an unbroken stallion or bared your teeth like a rabid dog. The bars of the imaginary cage grew closer, and the taunts and jeers became louder. Haiford Court made you feel like you were suffocating. 

With the Knights of Galanta gone, your life felt empty. There were only so many dinners, afternoon teas, and ladies gatherings that you could sit through before you began to slip into lunacy. After the fifth discussion of fabric textures or the best hairstyles for the winter season, you decided you preferred isolation over meaningless discussion. You missed Steve, as embarrassing as it was to admit it to yourself. You missed discussing the world and laughing at the members of the court together. It seemed some of the other ladies of the court missed the presence of the Galantian Knights as well, often discussing them with giggles and blushes. You were not sure if they brought them up on purpose to torture you, as they cast knowing glances your way while you sipped your tea. The feeling in your chest got tighter and tighter. You would instruct the maids to tie the lacing to your corset tauter by the day, just to feel that crushing sensation. You knew it was masochistic, but you were miserable. Finding solitude on the balconies of the castle, you would stare into the north, wishing and hoping. 

If it wasn’t talking about the Knights of Galanta, the ladies would discuss the Season and how wonderful it was that you were engaged by the end. They would speak of Lord Rumlow in mocking tones, their tongues laced with venom, and their teeth sharpened. In the final weeks in Haiford, you had resigned yourself to your rooms, reading and drinking wine late into the night. By that point, you didn’t know if The Galanta Season was a blessing or a curse. You desperately wanted to escape Haiford, but the reality of the Season's purpose still haunted you. Despite your wallowing and self-pity, you had enough sense to formulate a plan. 

Now, standing in Galanta, you understood why Steve always complained about the cold in Haiford. The climate was moderate – not as hot as some of the southern Kingdoms, but definitely not the chill you were used to. While in your carriage, you watched the scenery pass by as the cold, rocky outcrops of Haiford turned to swamp, then to lush grass and farmland. By the time you arrived in the capital, you were sweating under your collar. Sometimes you wondered if you were born with ice in your blood. 

The capital of Galanta was home to Cala’s Keep, the ancestral castle and home of King James’ bloodline. Looking out of the window of your assigned room, you could see the city below. It reminded you of Faliene in an odd way – rows of markets, multi-level houses stacked upon each other. The overall city had a yellow and orange hue, and the walls of the keep were made from red brick and stone. The city was a mass of terracotta and brick; the streets were cobbled, with mud and vegetation sneaking through. The banners and flags that flew across the city were a deep emerald green – the color of King James’ house. Their sigil was a shield, sometimes illustrated with a red star at its center. The Royal Family of Barnes, protectors of Galanta. 

Your assigned maid, Rosa, fiddled with the lacing on your corset as you stared beyond the city. It was strange seeing so much greenery after living on a frozen mountain for most of your life. Faliene had limited greenery in the summer; most of the year, it was frozen ground, layered with snow and bulky rocks that had tumbled down the mountainside. Sometimes you could find flowers and grass growing around the thermal baths as the heat kept the snow from settling in the nearby areas. Galanta was very different. You understood why so many flocked here and why it had been named a haven for farmers and livestock. The livestock you had in Faliene were hardy goats and sheep, sometimes horses too. They were rough and shaggy, as feral as the wind that blew from the sea. Galanta was different; you had seen children playing with stray cats in the street, cows wandering and feeding just off the main road, and chickens eyeing crumbs left outside food stalls. Galanta was bustling and alive. It made you feel homesick for an era of Faliene you had never witnessed. 

Outside your room, you could hear the giggling of ladies passing by to descend the stairs. Most of the attendants for The Galanta Season had arrived that afternoon, like yourself. You had all been ushered into your rooms to change and prepare yourself for dinner. First, you would be introduced and present yourself to King James, then be taken into a room to eat and socialize until you could eventually sneak away. You knew Steve would be there, though with King Harrison watching your every move, you doubted you would be able to speak to him. King Harrison had come along with the Haiford party in the hopes of further persuading the match between Princess Peggy and King James. 

“You should head down now, Lady Y/N. You wouldn’t want to be late.” Rosa says, stirring you from your thoughts. You smile at the woman; she had been kind to you since you arrived. You had appreciated how she had put up with your specific instructions on how to braid your hair, allowed you to take over your makeup, and successfully helped you into your dress. 

“Of course. Thank you for your help, Rosa.” You hummed, smiling at the blonde woman as she moved to open the door for you. 

The inside of Cala’s Keep was bright and very different from Haiford’s Castle. Windows allowing the light to shine in, red bricks and stones complimented by green banners and paintings that lined empty spaces. In every corner, you noticed a potted plant, filling the space with color and blooms. Everything felt light and peaceful. Maybe it felt that way juxtaposed next to the winding, dark halls of Haiford, which sported gray, cobbled stone paired with stained glass windows that blocked out most of the light. In every room in Haiford, there was red and gold furniture, banners, and artwork with wolf symbolism carved into every piece. Haiford felt like a dungeon, one that slowly drove its inhabitants delirious. 

You noted most of the guests were already gathered, murmuring excitedly amongst themselves as you slowly descended the stairs into the waiting room. A few guards lingered around, directing the guests into lines to be announced into the throneroom. Once they were announced, the guests would make the short walk to present themselves to King James. You were about halfway down when you noticed King Harrison scowling at you and Prince Micheal muttering in his ear. That was all the confirmation you needed to know that your plan had worked. It seemed that as quickly as King Harrison had noticed your presence, a few others in the room had too. Muttering from the crowd quiets down as eyes look you up and down, gazes of curiosity or disgust watching your every move. 

Your plan had been in action since the war ended. You had specifically hired a seamstress to craft you some new gowns for the Season. You had wanted to send a message, but the dresses you would have worn back in Faliene or Haiford were too heavy and layered for the warm climate of Galanta. So, you had the seamstress craft you new gowns that had lighter, flowy fabric, revealing more skin, and most of all, looked similar to traditional Faliene wear. Faliene had a rich history lost to time; it was said that its people had been an independent city before becoming a part of the Kingdom of Haiford. The people of Faliene, all these years later, still never forgot their roots. As a child, you dressed in similar styles for events, rituals, and dances. In Haiford, you were discouraged from doing so, instead conforming to the fashion of the mainland. 

The dress you wore was a light silk, starting as a darker blue at the hem. The fabric transitioned into a lighter shade on the bodice, the colors resembling waves overlapping each other. An outer corset made of gray and spotted sealskin leather pulled in the waist. The corset was embellished with silver eyelets and black lacing in the back. The bodice itself was high-neck, buttoned at the throat, but had a diamond-shaped cut-out revealing cleavage and a silver chain necklace. The chain held a small silver trident, which was nestled between your breasts – the trident being the sigil of your house. The sleeves of the dress blended blue silk into lace; the lace was designed to look like a fishing net. Delicate silver rings lined your fingers, as well as some simple silver earrings. Your hair was swept into a braided updo, complexly layered, and placed to perfection. Your makeup was minimal; rouge was dabbed on your cheekbones, and your lips and your eyes were lined with kohl. 

But it wasn’t just your dress that had upset King Harrison – no, it was the line you had drawn from your bottom lip to your chin in black. It was a Faliene tradition to mark your face in different styles, sometimes used in rituals, during times of war, or as a statement of rank. The mark on your chin – they wouldn’t know what it meant, but you did. It was a symbol that you were a high-ranking woman and one past girlhood. 

It was a carefully calculated move you made – a bold one too. It said you were ready for marriage, but whoever married you would have to accept Faliene as well. In a way, you were directly defying King Harrison. You were saying that you would marry only the man who could provide you and your city with security. 

Such traditions had always repulsed King Harrison. He could turn a blind eye to the people of Wakanda, whose bodies were lined with scars, indicating each life they had taken in battle. He would ignore his hatred for the tattoos that decorated the skin of the Asgardians. He had always been very outspoken about his hatred for such embellishments, especially on the people of Faliene. He had instructed both you and your mother to follow Haiford's fashion. He wanted to completely rip that aspect of you from your body, to squeeze every last bit of culture and tradition out of you. He had wanted you both to be considerate and quiet ladies of Haiford. He may have succeeded in a way with your mother, but you were loud and full of contempt for the man. You would not back down. 

“Lady Y/N, you are late.” King Harrison drawls, annoyance clear in his tone. Carefully clasping your hands in front of you, your eyes scan across the room. Unblinking, you meet the stares of the other guests. A few smile while others look away. None of them had been called into the throneroom yet; instead, they were waiting in anticipation.

“It appears I am just on time, Your Majesty.” You speak, your voice steady and paired with an innocent smile. Prince Micheal appears to glower, while Princess Peggy unsuccessfully hides an amused smile. Regardless of how terrible the royals of Haiford could be, Peggy was always genuine and enjoyable at times. 

King Harrison exhales sharply from his nose, a look of displeasure crossing his features. His eyes scan your dress and face once more with a huff before he turns away. You knew he didn’t want to make a scene, especially in front of most of the royals and aristocrats of the Northern Continent. You can feel the gazes of them all burning into your back as you position yourself near the end of the line. 

The royal families were introduced first, with each one announced by a guard stationed near the throne room doors. You could hear the mutterings of the Galantian court with each new entrance. You supposed this was a way for you all to not only pay respects but also get eyes on potential contenders in this dreaded battle of courting. By the time you had reached the front of the line, there were only a handful of the lower-ranking lords and ladies left. 

“The Lady Y/N of Faliene.” The guard calls out, his voice booming through the throne room. You can already hear the muttering rise as you step onto the polished hardwood floor. It seemed that even in Galanta, your situation was notorious. You could hear the whispers of ‘the lady of the ghosts’ humming through the throne room as you walked towards the throne. Your posture was poised, your gait steady, and your gaze unwavering. You wondered if any of the aristocrats would ever have the nerve to call you The Lady of the Ghosts to your face. Prince Micheal had on several occasions, but you didn’t find such an act particularly daring for the thick-skulled prince.

The throne room was much like the rest of the castle, with light pouring in massive windows and decorated with large, intricately embroidered banners and potted plants, a cool contrast against the orange brick and stone. Other than the path that had been cleared for your walk, the room was stuffed full with the Galantian court and the guests that had already made their greetings to the King. The throne of King James was made of dark, polished wood that had been carved with ornate detailing. The carvings had been adorned with bits of gold, highlighting parts of the design. Alongside the deep emerald green padding, which made up the seat and backing, was gold embroidery. The throne itself stood on an upper level, accessible by a small series of steps. Behind the throne were two banners, proudly sporting the sigil of House Barnes. The shields were embroidered in gold thread, with a red star at their center. 

King James himself looked bored, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne in a leisurely way. You noted how one of his arms was heavily tattooed with spiraling ink of Asgardian origin. You couldn’t help but wonder why. You had heard he had injured one of his arms during the war. Asgardian tattoos were rumored to have healing properties. Maybe that was why? 

He was dressed in a light fabric tunic, dyed a dark green, with embroidery around the cuffs and neckline. The shirt held a short v-shape in the neckline, exposing some muscled chest where the lacing had pulled open. You could’ve sworn you saw the reflection of light for a moment, like he had a necklace hidden beneath the fabric. His pants were a dark black, tucked into his lace-up leather boots that reached mid-shin. Around his waist, he wore a leather belt with a sheath for a sword attached, but the sword was nowhere to be seen. Across his shoulders lay a cloak, black in color with detailing you could not see from the position he was sitting in. His fingers, which tapped against the wood of the throne, were lined with golden rings. His crown was simple, golden, and carved, half buried in his dark brunette hair, which lazily curled around the metal. 

His hand went to rub along his chiseled jaw, stroking the short stubble that had grown. When his blue eyes met yours, you could’ve sworn they were as blue as the silk of your dress. They assessed you with mild interest as you stepped forward, his dark lashes shifting as he pulled his brows together. He was handsome; you had to admit it. If the ladies maids in Haiford had swooned over Steve, you couldn’t help but wonder what their reaction to King James would have been. He had a cool arrogance to him; he was a dark, mysterious stranger that you had only read about in stories. You had heard King James was a bit of an enigma, but you hadn’t anticipated him to be so…mystical. 

Beside King James stood three men – his advisors, you presumed. You did not recognize two of them, but the third was Steve. You could tell he was trying to keep serious and do his job as the intimidating head knight. When your eyes met his, you saw his composure crack slightly, a small smile forming as he took in your appearance. You don’t dare smile back; instead, your eyes snap back to King James. You finally came to a stop, your head dipping as you curtsied for him. 

“Welcome to Galanta, Lady Y/N.” King James spoke, his voice deep and rough. You lift your head steadily, forcing yourself to relax your shoulders as you meet his stare. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” You reply with ease, your northern accent sounding strong and peculiar in comparison to his Midlandian one. You could’ve sworn there was the ghost of a smile across his face. As quickly as you thought you had seen it, it was gone. The next name is announced, and you pull your attention away, promptly finding your spot amongst the crowd. 

—

The dinner had been dull and uneventful, full of empty laughter and meaningless small talk. Unlike Haiford, Steve had been placed near the front of the table, a few seats down from King James. You supposed the King had more respect for his advisors and knights than King Harrison. It was probably for the best that you were separated from Steve; you would have been reprimanded for being seen with him after King Harrison’s warning. Steve had looked about as bored as you had felt. King James’ attention had been captured by a blushing Princess Peggy, who chatted away with him. She always knew how to say the right things and be kind; you admired her for that. King Harrison seemed pleased by the interaction, his chest puffing out as he chortled away with a drunk-looking Prince Micheal. You had observed Prince Micheal eyeing some of the ladies and princesses further down the table, licking his lips with a smirk, like he expected them to be his next meal.  

Your end of the table had been tedious. You had been seated with a group of older lords, all gray and wrinkled. They leered at you, like you were some kind of exotic beauty that didn’t understand the common tongue. It was clear there were two sides to the coin: one being men who viewed you as something disgusting that could be tamed with a heavy hand – a foreign seductress who could be molded into a proper lady. The other men viewed you with lustful gazes; they did not care what or who you were as long as you showed flesh. It made your skin crawl. By the end of the dinner, you had considered drinking yourself into an early grave. You hadn’t bothered to learn the lords' names, instead searing their faces in your mind so you could remember to avoid them. 

Most guests had returned to their rooms, tired from the previous days of travel. Your maid, Rosa, had shown you to the royal library. While you had been preparing to undress for the night, she had asked if you had any plans before you slept. You had expected her to recoil when you mentioned you liked to read before bed, but instead she insisted you go and borrow a book. It had surprised you, almost like she had been anticipating the comment. 

Now you stood in the candlelight, the last rays of the sun casting a warm, orange glow onto the dark wooden shelves. The library was massive, bigger than the one in Haiford. It had multiple levels, with books stacked higher than you could reach. The library was decorated with chairs, tables, and cushions. Even the windows featured small reading nooks and quilted blankets folded into neat piles. 

Rosa had left you alone in the library, allowing you to navigate through the labyrinth of shelves, dodging between piles of books and scrolls that littered the floor. It was clear people came here to study; you could see tables abandoned with research scrawled across loose pieces of paper. Your fingers trailed across the spines of the books, breathing in the dusty scent of paper and leather. 

You paused, a pang in your stomach as you recognized a title. Your finger had landed on a short, thick book. The edges were fraying, and the cloth and leather binding were ragged. You carefully pulled the book from the shelf, running your palm across the silver lettering. A History of Chess. With a short sigh, you slide open the cover. The blank page that meets your eyes fills you with disappointment, even though you knew the scrawl you had been anticipating would not be there. Your father had gifted you a copy of A History of Chess on one of your birthdays. He had taught you how to play, teaching you how to be ruthless and unpredictable. He had been the only one who had ever beaten you at chess. When he gave you the book, he had written a short note inside. 

‘To my daughter, be as relentless and sharp in life as you are in chess.’  

That book now remained in the Faliene library, along with all the other books that had been left behind. Your father had read nearly all of them, and he had encouraged you to do the same. He wanted you to be clever and brilliant, not just another lady with wasted potential due to societal pressures. You missed him terribly. Sometimes you wondered if he had been the only person in the world to truly understand you. 

“I thought I would find you here.” A familiar voice pulls you from your trance, a sound of surprise reaching your lips as you jump in fright. 

“Gods, Steve. Are you trying to kill me?” You gasp, clutching the book to your chest. He grins lopsidedly at you, leaning against the bookshelf. The light from the setting sun makes his blonde hair glow orange. He was dressed casually in comparison to dinner, obviously opting to change from his knight's uniform into a simple tunic and pants, though his sword was still attached to his belt. 

“I like it when you call me that.” He says, still grinning. You roll your eyes at him, slapping his chest lightly with the book. The first time you accidentally called him by his first name, he looked like he was ready to explode with joy. He had made befriending you a personal goal, which you had deciphered, and being on a first-name basis meant he had succeeded. 

“King Harrison will have my head if he sees me talking to you.” You grumble, walking a few steps further into the isle. You were aware of the distance between the two of you as well as the fact that this was a public library. The wrong person could walk by at any moment, and any hope of finding a husband other than Rumlow or a withering lord was lost. 

“Is there ever a time when King Harrison doesn’t want your head?” Steve chuckles as you scowl, trying to locate where on the shelf you pulled the book from. As much as you were happy to see Steve, he was jumbling your thoughts. You hated that King Harrison’s words had crawled under your skin. Maybe it was just the circumstances of your mother coughing up blood in the other room that unnerved you. 

“He warned me to stay away from you.” You explain, and Steve arches his brows at you as if it is news to him. “I don’t think the two of us being discovered unchaperoned in a dark library will help.” 

“You’re not unchaperoned.” A husky voice announces itself from the next bookshelf over. You nearly drop the book in fright, stepping away from the end of the shelf as King James rounds the corner, sporting a mischievous smirk. You're at a loss for words for a brief moment, snapping shut your gaping mouth as you attempt to compose yourself. 

“Your Majesty,” You gasp out, nearly knocking into Steve as you take a step back. Steve’s hand finds your shoulder, steadying you as you send him an irritated look. Why had he not mentioned that King James was lingering around the corner? Especially with the highly inappropriate conversation the two of you were having. 

“Please, no need to bother with formalities. Just James is fine.” James explains, his hand running through his hair. Your eyes watch the brunette tendrils tangle around his tattooed fingers. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you step closer to the narrow bookshelf to gain some space between yourself and Steve. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Oh, it is fine. I dare say I invited it, wandering around so close to dark.” You politely say, hyper-aware of Steve watching the interaction with a pleased look. Making an enemy of the King of Galanta was not on your list of things to do this Season, so you would be as polite as possible. You could imagine Steve’s amusement at that – the Lady of Faliene being polite? 

“I wanted to meet the woman who helped plan the Hiwold Expanse attack. Sir Rogers here said you have a love for books and that we might find you in the library.” James explains, mimicking Steve’s earlier actions of leaning against the bookshelf. You press your lips together, eyeing Steve with a sidelong glance. What had he been saying about you to King James?

“I wouldn’t say I helped plan, merely made some suggestions–” You begin to protest.

“She is modest. If it weren’t for her observations, we would have been drowning in Hydrinan men while stuck in a pool of mud.” Steve boasts, you bite your tongue so as not to scowl at the man. This was cruelty; you had not expected Steve to act on his little scheme. It was clear from your last dinner in Haiford that he thought you and James would be a match; you thought it was absurd. In fact, this whole situation was absurd, lingering between the tight isles of bookshelves with the King of Galanta and his head knight. If anyone saw? You couldn’t imagine the gossip that would consume the castle. 

“You seem to have an eye for battle planning, it is good that your talent is not wasted. I wouldn't mind King Harrison, he is threatened by anyone he deems more intelligent than himself, and I’m sure that list is long. It makes sense as to why Prince Micheal has the wit of a small rodent.” Bucky comments, a bitterness to his tone. You continue to hold your tongue as Steve snickers at the quip. You felt wary about playing along, as if this were some kind of test. Steve had spoken of James’ dislike for Prince Micheal before, but you didn’t expect him to declare it so openly. 

“That would be more of an insult to the rodent, Prince Micheal has the same amount of intellect as a pile of shit on the street.” Steve laughs, and you send him a shocked look as he speaks so freely in front of James. You clearly underestimated how close friends they were. Either that or they were toying with you.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re allowed to laugh. I know that your idea of fun is making the lords squirm, but I have heard all the unsavory words you have spoken about Prince Micheal previously.” Steve says, spotting your unimpressed look. You swallow hard, feeling the expectant gaze of James’ burning into the side of your face. 

“I fear you already know my opinion on the Prince, I do not need to restate it.” You reply sharply, giving Steve an innocent smile. He just chuckles, reaching out to pry the book from your hands. 

“You play?” James asks, noting the title of the book as Steve moves to flick through it. You go to reply, but Steve has already cut in as he pretends to read the book. 

“She does more than that, never witnessed a soul beat her. She left Wilson near tears after one match.”

“Why are you boasting about me? I am not some broodmare up for sale at auction.” You mutter, reaching over to snatch the book from his grasp. Steve looks up at you with a cheeky expression, holding the book out of your reach. 

“Because you are too cautious when meeting new people, they assume you are rude.” Steve states, dangling the book in front of your face like you are a street cat to be toyed with. 

“Then how did we become friends if you thought I was rude?” You remark, narrowing your eyes at the knight. 

“Well, you were too busy giving Sir Walker a tonguelashing to be bothered with me.” Steve retorts with a grin, and you flush in embarrassment. Had Steve told James that story? You weren’t bugged by what you had done and said, but rather by how James might interpret your silver tongue. 

“I’m sure Sir Walker deserved it.” James hums, speaking up for the first time in awhile. You are pleasantly surprised by his casualness. He has an amused look in his eye, watching the two of you interact so carelessly. 

“He did.” You reply before thinking, earning a smile from both men. “Now, I should return to my rooms before it gets too late.” You go to snatch the book once more, but Steve just laughs tauntingly at you as he pulls it away further from your grasp. 

“Would you have time for a game first?” James asks. You pause your movements, turning to face him in surprise. King Harrison had definitely infected your view of Kings. You always expected them to be uptight and full of themselves, never able to have fun or joke around, especially around women like yourself. Was it because James was young and new to being king? Or was it because he had a genuine interest in befriending you? 

“Of chess?” You question, confused. 

“Yes. Forgive me, but I am curious and arrogant enough to want to break your unbeatable streak.” James clarifies with a chuckle. You stewed on it for a moment, catching the persuasive looks Steve was sending your way. 

“I suppose I have time to bruise another ego.” You reluctantly agree, only to be met with a grin from both men.  

They guide you through the maze of bookshelves, talking and laughing between themselves as you try to memorize the route. The deeper you go, the taller the bookshelves seem, with only candlelight able to guide you as the setting sun finally dips beyond the horizon. In one of the corners, a small table stands. It’s made from the same dark oak as the shelves, and its feet are carved to look like lion’s paws. Even in the candlelight, you can see the reflection of the copper that embellishes the claws. The seating is similarly crafted, with the classic Galantian green fabric covering the seat and backing. 

You follow in suit as James and Steve take a seat, watching as James organizes his pieces on the board. It seemed like someone had left it mid-game, with carved ivory pieces scattered across the checkered bottom. James had offered you the white side, meaning you started first. It was debated if going first meant that you inherently had an advantage, but you knew he was just doing it to be gentlemanly. 

“Ladies first.” James says, presenting his hand forward as he motions for you to begin. You finish straightening up your pieces, fingers dancing over your queen’s pawn as you open the game. 

With each movement, you are poised and delicate, aware of James’ burning gaze. You wonder if he’s trying to see if you let emotion slip or if he is trying to interpret your next move. As much as you try to deny it, a part of you wants to impress him. You can read every line in his face and every twitch of his lip or brow as he moves his pieces across the board. Steve watches intently in silence, completely still, with a knowing smile. 

After some time in the midgame, you can tell James is growing restless and bored. It was your style of play; he had never experienced it before. Still, you are met with a pang of disappointment that he has given up on you so easily. Your style wasn’t to rush in and attack; no, you hung back, waiting and anticipating. You were most ruthless in the endgame. Your father had described you as a mountain cat, blended in with the snow and rocks, ready to pounce. The men you had played before had always thought by midgame that they were going to win. Their excitement or boredom had been their downfall. They became cocky and sloppy, not checking every corner because they believed you were incapable. 

The moment you see that look of disappointment in James’ eyes, like he had expected more from you, you know it is your time to strike. You can feel Steve holding his breath beside you as James takes another one of your pieces, officially bringing you into the endgame. James thought he was going to win. He thought he had played you into a corner, outwitted you, and outsmarted you. 

There was a sense of satisfaction in reaching forward and moving your piece in an unexpected way. You could see the surprise flash in James’ eyes and the sharp intake of breath that Steve took. James, to his credit, tried to stop your ambush. He moved his piece in an expected way to such an attack, but in his haste, he hadn’t anticipated your next move. He had fallen directly into your trap. 

As you moved your pieces, James looked at you with wide-eyed surprise. His eyes flickered at Steve, as if asking him to confirm what he was seeing was true. You rested your elbows on the table, tilting your head as you rested it on your hands. You watched the thoughts tick through James’ mind as he tried to come up with a solution or a plan. It was already too late. Your heart felt like it was going to explode out of your chest, but you still held yourself composed. 

“Do you see it?” You asked, breaking the silence. James’ eyes snapped to yours, a smile forming across his face. He looked impressed – near delighted that you had outsmarted him. You hadn’t anticipated the joy that filled your body at such a look. 

“I do. You live up to your reputation.” James replied. With a chuckle, he knocks his king over. Steve is grinning ear to ear when you look over at him. A part of you wants to stay, have another game, and chat with the two men. But you know it is improper. The time you had already spent together was dangerous. It was best not to push your luck. With a sigh, you stand. 

“I should take my leave; it is late.” You explain, glancing at the darkened windows. Outside, you can see the glow of the city below: thousands of candles burning in the windows of homes, shops, and taverns. 

“Of course. Thank you for the game, we will have to play again another time.” James says, near-rushing to his feet. You are nearly frozen in shock as he reaches out for your hand, pressing your knuckles to his lips with a kiss. Steve stands with a smirk, offering you the copy of A History of Chess that he had taken from you. You clear your throat, thanking the gods that you managed to keep a straight face.

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” You breathe, offering them both a smile. They utter a low ‘goodnight’ in return. You swear you can feel their gaze on you even after you hurry your way through the winding bookshelves. 

—

Your moment of peace wandering back through the dark halls was short-lived as a voice captured your attention. 

“The Lady of the Ghosts. It seems you are trying to become a ghost yourself, haunting these halls at this time of night.” Prince Micheal spoke from the darkness. You recognized his voice instantly, turning to face him as he ascended the nearby staircase. You could tell he was drunk; there was a slur to his voice, and his movements were sloppy. His shirt had been pulled open, exposing the top of his bare chest. You could see a lip-shaped patch of rouge smeared across his neck. 

“Maybe I am just here to haunt you? It seems you have had fun sampling the Galantian ale and women.” You reply with a sneer, pulling the copy of A History of Chess close to your chest. Most of your interactions with Prince Micheal went this way, with him insulting you until he finally got bored. He was just looking to torment you when no one was looking. Usually, you would let it slide and walk away with an air of annoyance. Tonight, you had a newfound confidence. Maybe it was because you were in a foreign kingdom, one where King Harrison’s reach wasn’t as strong. One where the King didn’t look at you and treat you like a piece of livestock to be bought and sold. Besides, if you were to be engaged by the end of the season, it was doubtful that you would have to return to Haiford Court to account for any insults committed against the royal family. 

“You can’t speak. Why are you wandering around? Off visiting your dear Sir Rogers?” He taunted, stumbling forward so he was closer to your face. You could smell the reek of ale and women’s perfume on him. His breath was coming out in rasps as he chuckled darkly, eyes wandering your face and figure. You lift your chin slightly, not letting the comment strike as intended. 

“Tell me, are the women here as good as the ones on the eastern front?” You drawl with an innocent smile. The eastern front had been where Micheal had been positioned during the war, where he spent more time drinking and whoring than fighting, much to the contempt of his men. Micheal’s smirk falls from his face and is instead replaced with a look of outrage. He didn’t like that you were fighting back; he liked making people feel weak. 

With an irritated noise, he snatches your arm. His fingers latch around your wrist with a bruising grip, pulling you closer until you can feel his foul breath on your face. You try to pull away, but he only pulls you closer with a furious scowl. 

“You best mind your tongue, witch.” He spits at you, “I hope even Rumlow doesn't want you, you worthless bitch. I’ll make sure they send you away to Hydrina like they did Princess Rebecca. I would find delight in hearing the ways they torture a woman like you.”

You blink in surprise, unnerved by both his tone and words. He was more drunk than you had realized; he was shaking, his face turning red, and a vein in his forehead was popping out. It wasn’t the cruel words he had spoken that shocked you, but the fact that he had the confidence to state them in the ancestral home of House Barnes. 

Princess Rebecca had been King James’ younger sister. She was the reason the war with Hydrina began in the first place. Galanta and Hydrina had always had a tumultuous relationship. Hydrina were interesting people with a complex culture, as many of the farmers were also raiders. They made their fortune by sailing to the Southern Continents, pillaging small villages, and stealing their goods. Many of the people of Hydrina originated from the Southern Continent, having been brought over against their will. They would either work the land under the iron fist of a master or earn their place as warriors by killing said master. The people of Hydrina respected strength over all else; their king was appointed by slaying any competition, even if that competition was a child of a previous king. 

Galanta had issues for years with the rising tension between their Kingdom and the Kingdom of Hydrina. The raiders of Hydrina often attacked small villages along the border, which created an outcry among the peaceful farmers of Galanta. As a means of making peace, Galanta offered to marry Princess Rebecca to the King of Hydrina, a man by the name of Alexander Pierce. It seemed something had gone terribly wrong with the marriage, as shortly afterwards it was announced that Princess Rebecca had been killed by her own husband. She had been beloved by many in Galanta, so it was unsurprising when King James’ parents waged war against Hydrina. After King James parent’s deaths, King James continued the war against Hydrina. It had only ended when he managed to infiltrate the capital and destroy King Alexander once and for all. 

“Is something wrong here?” The familiar, deep voice of James asks. Steve had his hand on the hilt of his sword, surveying the scene with a look of displeasure. They must have left the library not long after you, and you were partly grateful for that. You can’t help but worry about how much of the conversation they overheard. James’ face is pulled into a look of resentment, his shoulders tensed, and you can see even the muscles in his jaw are clenched. 

There was an unspoken rule, and that was to never mention Princess Rebecca in front of Galantians. It was a reminder of their weakness and failure. The marriage had been highly debated; many felt that the royals were rewarding the Hydrinan raiders by gifting Princess Rebecca. When she was killed, many felt that the royals had become inadequate and failed to protect their only daughter. It had been a cause for celebration when James had finally slain King Alexander and found justice for his younger sister. 

“No, Your Majesty. Prince Micheal appears to have lost his way, in more ways than one.” You speak up, breaking the tense silence. With a huff, you rip your arm from Micheal’s grip. Micheal looks between you and the two Galantian men, deciding better on any insult he was about to throw your way. You gather your skirts, turning away from the group to return to your room. 

“Lady Y/N–” Steve calls out softly, concern laced in his voice. You ignore him, deciding this was not the time to encourage any rumors about the two of you. Instead, you cast one last disgusted look at Prince Micheal.  “Do sleep on your side, my Prince. I would hate for you to choke.” You spit at him. His mouth opens in shock, and James and Steve seem to try and hide their own surprised smiles. You don’t offer the three of them a second glance, instead walking away before they can speak.

chapter three

taglist| @kimomoraba @sweetwritingfanficfriend @gostodosopa

[elympios]

in honour of Bisley being the Xillia 2 representation for the Shittiest Parent Poll, here's his character profile from the 20th anniversary encyclopaedia.

mtl as always, though thank you @lastthroes for suffering with me again and revising for me! (i swear there's something about the way the 20th anniversary stories are written that are just hard to understand…)

Bisley Karsci Bakur

Gender: Male

Age: 43

Height: 192cm

Weapon: Lance

Fighting style: Unknown

Birthplace: Trigleph (Elympios)

Profession: Spirius Corporation Leader

First-person pronoun: "watashi"/"ore"

Voice Actor: Tsutomu Isobe

Elympios' Great Leader

Surrounded by wealth, fame, and a two-thousand year pedigree, he is a man who has obtained a fearless way of life.

The Strongest Fist

He keeps the strength of his Chromatus hidden from everyone, but it surpasses the powers of his sons'. A trump card of fate must be kept secret to remain a trump card.

The Blade's Edge of the Clan

His coat is decorated with buttons that appear to be a motif of swords or spears. The collar and tiepin feature the same accompanying design.

Leader of the top-most company in Elympios, the massive Spirius Corporation, and Ludger and Julius' father. Behind his immense power and influence in politics and business, he leads the agents of his company to destroy the Fractured Dimensions. His ultimate goal is to sever the fate that has bound the Kresnik clan since the time of their ancestors, for which he will even use his own biological sons, like Ludger, to obtain the Key to reach the Land of Canaan.

A Fist to Break the Rusted Curse of the Spirits

As the heir to the Bakur family name, the founding family of Spirius, the leading company that had free reign over the country, he's a man who was allowed anything since his very birth. The greatest of luxuries. The greatest of indulgences. The greatest of powers. He was surrounded by everything and anything one could want. The sole final cost was shouldering the fate of the world. The man located the "Key of Kresnik", someone who shared in his fate, to free those who inherited the Kresnik title from the unbroken shackles of the spirits that had persisted since their founder's generation.

Many believe that, be it the "Chromatus" bestowed by the Great Spirit Origin, or the "Key of Kresnik" whose power could break through the Great Spirit Chronos' hindrances, they were both privileges passed on by bloodline. For the sake of reward, several generations of blood killing blood ensued, and this foolish infighting only resulted in birth of many Divergence Catalysts and the spread of countless Fractured Dimensions. And for what benefit? They say it was a game for the spirits. As a matter of fact, the man's partner who bore his first-born son was said to have the condition of the Key of Kresnik. Lured in by fate, he involved her in the fight, and lost her as a result. Before he became conscious of that love, he confronted the fate tied to the meaning of his family's name, which was etched into his body like a curse. Offering flowers, tears of grief poured from his eyes, at the same time as curses left his mouth, as sharp as the whetted edge of a blade.

The child left behind by his deceased wife embraced rebellion and left him when he was 13. As long as the child did not neglect his duties as an agent and as a pawn, then entertaining his wishes made no difference to the man, be it to change his surname, or whatever life he spent with a foster parent as caretaker--none of it was of the man's interest. The fate/effort* commanded by blood that pulsated for 2000 years ran strong. Even if it meant sacrificing two sons who fought each other over fate, even if it meant sacrificing a granddaughter from a fractured world, the clan's dearest wish took priority over any emotion, covering up everything like pus flowing from a wound.

Despite crushing even morality and feelings beneath his feet in pursuit of his goal, in the end the man failed. The only way to overcome fate, as he had wanted, was to change the fist that punched at detested spirits into a loving embrace for family.

* = rip if either of us could figure out which definition this uses...