#[both by her own ambition and by their father's ploys]

[cxldtyrant]

anonymous asked: What was your relationship like with Berryblue?

"Acquaintances, and nothing more. She was brought in by my father to rear Freeza after our mother had been executed; Freeza was merely a child at the time and needed supervision as father and I were too busy with Arcos and the Planet Trade Organization. I was far too old to tolerate her nurturing, so she spent most of her time tending to my brother."

Neutral as his tone was in regarding the elderly Brench, Cooler did hold some resentment towards Berryblue for what he saw as an opportunistic and underhanded ploy: an attempt to gain power and influence by asserting herself in the place of their departed mother, manipulating the younger heir as she saw fit while their father looked on in approval. And why wouldn't he approve? The woman had been a sycophantic and agreeable minion in his inner circle, and King Cold could trust that she would take great care to mold Freeza into the malleable pawn he desired.

Much unlike the late Queen Froza, who had wanted her sons to grow up independent, relying on their own strength as they carved their paths throughout the cosmos. A lesson only one have them had learned well.

"She did her duty in rearing Freeza, but she should have been retired once he reached adulthood. And he should have known better than to keep her influence long after he needed it," the elder Prince remarked, tone dripping with disdain. "But I suppose without our father to guide him as he played the puppet Emperor, he needed someone to pull the strings. He always was weak."

[kyosino]

The Sons Of Two Kingdoms

Written by Kyosino

Years passed after the Trojan War began, and the kingdoms of Ithaca and Same remained without their kings. While Penelope of Ithaca and Ctimene of Same ruled with strength and resilience, their absence left both queens vulnerable to the ambitions of others.

Telemachus, son of Odysseus, and Erymas, son of Eurylochus, grew up under the shadow of their fathers' legacies and the increasing tension within their kingdoms. Their bond was unshakable, forged through shared struggles and the weight of the future that rested on their young shoulders.

In Ithaca, Penelope faced relentless pressure from the 108 suitors who had taken up residence in her halls, consuming her resources and demanding she remarry. Though her cleverness allowed her to delay them—promising to choose a suitor only after finishing a burial shroud for Laertes, Odysseus’s father—each passing day tested her resolve.

Telemachus grew up amidst their jeers and taunts, watching his mother’s quiet defiance with admiration and frustration. Though he was not yet a man in their eyes, he vowed to find a way to rid their home of the invaders.

In Same, Ctimene struggled with a quieter, yet no less insidious challenge. A faction of Same's nobility began to pressure her to remarry, arguing that without Eurylochus, the kingdom needed a strong male ruler. While no suitors openly demanded her hand as brazenly as those in Ithaca, whispered alliances and subtle manipulations threatened her authority.

Ctimene refused to yield. “My son is the rightful heir to Same,” she declared during a council meeting. “Until Erymas is of age, I will rule as his regent. And I will not dishonor my husband’s memory by entertaining the ambitions of schemers.”

Despite her strength, the constant undermining took its toll. In private, Ctimene confided in Penelope during one of their rare visits.

“They circle me like vultures,” Ctimene admitted as they sat on Ithaca’s cliffs overlooking the sea. “Not as openly as your suitors, but with the same greed in their eyes.”

Penelope nodded, her expression weary but resolute. “They think us weak because we are women alone. But they forget—we are more than queens. We are mothers. And we fight not just for ourselves but for our children.”

Telemachus and Erymas grew into their roles amidst these struggles. Their friendship deepened as they shared their frustrations and dreams of change.

“We can’t let this continue,” Telemachus said one evening as the two sat by the fire in Same, having escaped the watchful eyes of their tutors. “The suitors dishonor my father’s house, and they insult my mother every day they remain.”

Erymas nodded. “And the nobles here grow bolder. My mother won’t say it, but I see the way it weighs on her. We have to do something.”

“What if we left?” Telemachus suggested. “Not to run away, but to find our fathers. Or at least learn the truth of what happened to them.”

Erymas grinned, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “You mean an adventure? About time! We can’t just sit here forever.”

When the cousins approached their mothers with their plan, Penelope and Ctimene exchanged long looks. While their hearts ached at the thought of letting their sons go, they also understood that the boys’ determination was something they could not deny.

“You will need more than courage,” Penelope said to Telemachus, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Trust your instincts, and don’t let the world’s cruelty harden your heart.”

Ctimene embraced Erymas tightly, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “Remember who you are, my son. You are the child of a king and a queen, but more than that, you are my child. Let that guide you.”

With blessings and provisions, the cousins set sail, leaving Ithaca behind as the horizon stretched endlessly before them.

With their sons gone, Penelope and Ctimene faced their own battles. Penelope continued her ploy with the shroud, weaving by day and unraveling it by night. But the suitors grew restless, and the threats against her became more pointed.

In Same, Ctimene confronted a different challenge. Some of the nobility, emboldened by Erymas’s absence, began to push harder for her remarriage. One particularly ambitious noble, Cleomenes, sought to court her under the guise of loyalty.

“You are a queen without a king,” Cleomenes said during a council meeting. “And while I respect your strength, Same needs a ruler who can defend it.”

Ctimene’s eyes flashed. “Same has a ruler. And until my son returns, I will defend it with all the strength I have.”

Cleomenes bowed but did not hide the smirk on his face. “As you wish, my queen. But the people may not wait forever.”

While Telemachus and Erymas sailed the seas, facing challenges that would test their courage and resolve, their mothers fought their own battles at home. Penelope’s cleverness and Ctimene’s strength became the twin pillars that held their kingdoms together.

Though separated by miles and struggles, the bond between the four—mother and son, cousin and cousin—remained unbroken. Each step taken by the sons toward discovering the fate of their fathers was also a step toward reclaiming the honor and peace stolen from their families.

And as the suitors of Ithaca and Same schemed and plotted, they underestimated the resilience of two queens who refused to break—and two sons who refused to fail.

[eujazmine]

all gifs from christianscody !

JAZMINE HARPER - TV TROPES

manipulative bastard

The Manipulative Bastard is the master manipulator of people, in essence, a character who manipulates others through their emotions, perspectives, psychologies and any other way they can get them dancing to their tune. This is the guy or gal who gets off on playing head/mind games—clever and dangerous and lacking comedic overtones (usually). She always has a plan ready, but rather than do any work, the Manipulative Bastard prefers to play on other characters' emotions and mental states and then watch the victims destroy themselves as they waste their energy on fighting against fake dangers or their friends.

are we surprised? with a lack of loyalty to others, including her own family, jazmine will gladly step on others and use their weaknesses to her advantage to get what she wants. she’s been a manipulative bastard since she was a child, ever since she first discovered how much her mist control could control the perceptions of others. observant and resourceful, jazmine has no qualms using her talents to gain unauthorized information about others and using it for her personal gain. she views people as her pawns, and her selfish way of thinking gives her little guilt about physically or mentally forcing others into submission. this is a trait she’s picked up from her own father, which we will delve into in the next trope.

daddy’s little villain

mention of emotional abuse tw

She's the daughter of an Evil Overlord, who shares her parent's ambition, cunning, and cruelty. She could be anything from a simple Spoiled Brat to an Overlord in waiting. She's also likely to be a Princess (since even villainy is improved with that), although she will still prefer wearing black or dark colors over pink. 

jazmine’s mortal father can largely be thanked for the way she is now. from as young as she can remember, he was training jazmine to be a powerful force in both the demigod and mortal world. while he raised her to think she could accomplish anything she worked toward, she was mostly a pawn to satisfy his thirst for power. he didn’t care much for her as a daughter; mostly for what she could do for him. she started to recognize this during her formative middle school years, consequently turning her childhood role model into her worst enemy. when she started rebelling against him and acting out, he sent her away full-time to a camp on the other side of the globe. since then, the issues only progressed, eventually leading to a falling out in which she hasn’t seen or spoken to her mortal family in many years. 

this upbringing has fueled her desire to constantly be the best in her fields of expertise, which is partly why she quested for years in hopes of some type of recognition. with the heavily hidden hope that she could one day rub in his face that she had succeeded without him, all her life she has fought to try to ‘prove her worth’ to others despite being the daughter of a minor goddess (or titan). because her father only loved what she could do for him, she places everyone in two categories: the puppets, and the puppeteers. 

and she will never be the puppet again.

broken ace

He's tall, charming, strikingly good-looking, well-spoken in five languages, and classically trained in even more instruments. But inside, he's an ugly, writhing mass of self-hatred and Parental Issues. Expect him to have at least one bizarre trait or ability that should not be overlooked, as well as an unhealthy attitude about love, life, and humanity in general. He most likely doesn't have anyone that loves or respects him for what he really is. This may be justified. This character is usually male, but not always. Also, he may just be a perfectionist crumbling under his own standards. The chief difference between the Broken Ace and the usually female Stepford Smiler is that the Stepford Smiler wants to appear normal at all costs, often to the point of hurting herself emotionally (or because she's sociopathic). This guy has the same setup, but is more talented and wants to be the best, loved by all, and accepted.

although the timeline wasn’t as accelerated as she had hoped when she was a child, jazmine was making waves in the world of deities before her last quest against zeus had occurred. now, as a semi-retired quester, she is captain of the football team and starting to make a name for herself in the mortal fields of business and sports. despite the air of nonchalant superiority that she constantly tries to present, she is in a constant state of despair. right when she starts to undergo some development in her relationships with others, they leave, and she is constantly failing her own impossibly high standards. she’s crumbling, and at any point she is ready to run away again.

ice queen

Much like a Tomboy, the Ice Queen is a major character archetype which is somewhat hard to define. Her signature characteristic is that she is cold; the ambiguity comes from what "cold" means. She has a cold heart, a frosty demeanor and very often a resting bitch face; she attracts but will never be wooed. The Ice Queen is considered dangerous to love because she will not (or cannot) love back. She's not much for friendship either, preferring to be alone. Situations where an Ice Queen "thaws" and learns to enjoy the company of others are so common that they have their own trope.

she’s cold and takes no shit. she holds people at a distance, even those that could potentially be considered friends. she doesn’t believe in unconditional love, and she believes that most affection direct toward her is generally a ruse to get her guard down. she’s unnecessarily rude to others, almost relishing in the negative reactions at times, but to her, she’s just keeping it real.

the trickster

A trickster is a character who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior. The Trickster openly questions and mocks authority, encourages impulse and enthusiasm, seeks out new ideas and experiences, destroys convention and complacency, and promotes chaos and unrest. At the same time, the trickster brings new knowledge, wisdom and many An Aesop. Even when punished horribly for his effrontery, his indomitable spirit (or plain sheer foolishness) keeps him coming back for more. Tricksters can be anything from gods of chaos, bedeviling heroes for a few laughs, to master manipulators who use cruel ploys and sadistic choices. They can also be heroes (or more likely Anti-Heroes) who make up for a lack of strength or bravery with manipulation, planning, or just plain cheating. The trickster is often a Master of Disguise and may have magical or super-powers. They're often found Walking the Earth.

although this description was much more relevant when she was younger, jazmine has a penchant for drama and chaos. she genuinely has fun engaging in pranks and tricks, and she gladly lifts a symbolic middle finger to authority in any chance that she gets. in middle school, she was nearly expelled from a mortal school because of all her tricks, and she spent a sizable portion of her adult years before eonia traveling and engaging in casual mayhem. when she isn’t getting revenge or fulfilling a paid request, she generally has fun toying with others.

deadpan snarker

A character prone to gnomic, sarcastic, sometimes bitter, occasionally whimsical asides. The Deadpan Snarker exists to deflate pomposity, point out the unlikelihood of certain plans, and deliver funny lines. Typically the most cynical supporting character. In most cases, it is implied that the snarker would make a good leader, strategist, or consultant given their ability to instantly see the flaws in a constructed plan. More often than not, their innate snarkiness is the only thing preventing the other characters from comprehending this for themselves. In other cases, the Deadpan Snarker resorts to sarcasm because they're the Only Sane Man. Tends to be shot a Death Glare when they go too far (and probably isn't without one of their own, either). Note that due to the definition evolving, the "Deadpan" part of the title has gradually become The Artifact and a deadpan delivery is no longer a necessary part of the trope.

jazmine is no stranger to delivering biting remarks coupled with foul language. she’s quick to point out flaws, opting for the brutally honest approach more times than not. she’s aware that her language can hurt others, but she finds it easier to escape the frivolities and get to the point. depending on the person, she exaggerates this trope by trying to draw out a bad response from them, mostly for her own entertainment. people already view her as heinous, so why not embrace the reputation, right?

survivor guilt

death mention tw

You might be the Last Of Your Kind or someone else made a Heroic Sacrifice for you or you lived through a Restricted Rescue Operation, but whatever the reason, you're going to feel a massive sense of guilt. 

although the quest with adelphie and celeste was technically a success, with the trident successfully being returned back to poseidon, the team had faced major losses. adelphie had lost her life, and celeste had suffered debilitating injuries. physically, jazmine suffered the least, and it’s a guilt that she continues to carry.

aloof big sister

to the majority of the hecate family, especially @rostameu

He's smarter, stronger, faster, more talented, and more refined than the hero, and — just to add insult to injury — he's probably sexier, too. His only problem seems to be moving his face out of that expression of bored, dignified disdain. And he just happens to be the elder brother of one of the main cast, which often gives them a raging inferiority complex. Will most likely double as the Ineffectual Loner and Noble Demon, thereby running the risk of becoming an Ensemble Darkhorse. May or may not be evil, strictly speaking, but is almost guaranteed to fight against the protagonists at one point, and spout off Cryptic Conversation to prove how much better informed he is. May or may not be a Stealth Mentor and/or consider his younger siblings annoying. Often an integral part of a mysterious organisation, and may be the Enigmatic Minion or even a Hero Antagonist in that case.

OKAY, so the running joke with jazmine is that she dislikes her siblings, which is very true tbh. i’m not going to speak for rostam and say most of that stuff actually applies, but jazmine is very cold toward her younger brother and views herself as much better in every way. with loner tendencies, disdain toward her brother, and shady side hustles, she matches this trope very well, and it was only fitting to add a trope about disliking siblings to jazmine’s task. and yes, she’s technically one of the youngest right now but hush.

[m1smatched-starsigns]

ooo how about ☀️ and Redtail? :0

Pulling this one out of the idea doc!

Working title is Written in Red

AU where Redtail survives the battle at Sunningrocks, but discovers Tigerstar’s plot to kill him. Now it’s a game of strategy, deception, and somehow that ginger kittypet is involved.

It begins during the battle for Sunningrocks.

The rockfall that kills Oakheart never occurs, and after Tigerclaw’s patrol shows up, the RiverClan deputy orders a retreat. The ThunderClan party celebrates and Redtail leads the victorious patrol back to camp, and with too many cats present, Tigerclaw must bide his time.

Once they return to camp, Tigerclaw pulls Darkstripe aside and tells him that he will have to wait for another opportunity to murder Redtail. Ravenpaw, who went looking for his mentor, stops and overhears the entire conversation. He panics and immediately tells Redtail what he overheard.

While initially shocked, Redtail does not have a problem believing the young apprentice. While timid, Ravenpaw is very observant and above all, not a liar. Tigerclaw’s ambition is known throughout the Clans, and he has never been fond of Redtail. As a matter of fact, this revelation puts a lot of odd behavior into perspective...

Tigerclaw gluing himself to Redtail’s side during patrol. Constantly feeling watched. Tigerclaw’s insistence to stay on the battlefield as long as Redtail was there — and only retreating when Redtail led it.

So now ThunderClan’s most formidable warrior is out to spill his blood across the forest. Great.

Redtail wants to tell Bluestar, but he realizes that he doesn’t have the evidence for anyone to believe him. All he can has is the word of a paranoid apprentice, and strange behavior that many cats would not find strange. If anything, Bluestar might think that the pressure of the deputyship is getting to his head and now he’s growing paranoid.

If Redtail thought stepping down would be enough for Tigerclaw, he would consider it. But if Tigerclaw wants to be deputy so badly, then it’s because he wants to be Clan leader. That means warriors like Lionheart and Whitestorm, who could lead this Clan, are possible targets. That means Bluestar herself is a target.

Who’s to say that every single cat in ThunderClan isn’t a threat somehow?

Redtail isn’t the strongest fighter or the most skilled hunter, but he is more clever than most of his Clanmates. Creating a plan will not be an issue, but finding the right cats to help him execute it will be difficult.

He has friends, but none of them have ever had any issue with Tigerclaw. As a matter of fact, they all admire his skill and consider him an advantage for ThunderClan.

He needs someone with an outside perspective; someone who doesn’t stare at Tigerclaw in awe.

The next day, Bluestar tells Redtail about a kittypet who wears flames as a pelt.

“A kittypet?” Redtail echos, surprised. There must be more to him than his striking pelt.

“A prophecy,” Bluestar admits. She tells him about Spottedleaf’s vision, and how she thinks this kittypet is important. She wants to invite him to train as a warrior.

Under different circumstances, Redtail would be skeptical. But knowing what he does about Tigerstar, he considers this an answer to prayer. If “fire alone will save the Clans” then what is he saving the Clans from?

It is a stretch to name that threat Tigerclaw, but it is not unreasonable.

He goes with Bluestar to meet Rusty, and he analyzes his every movement, his every sentence. Rusty is naive and does not understand their ways, but this is unsurprising. The good things is he is interested and willing to learn — he wants to learn their ways, and he wants to understand them.

Redtail believes he will be the cat to help him expose Tigerclaw.

However. Redtail must remind himself that it would be unfair to corner to Rusty and tell him about Tigerclaw, about the prophecy hanging over his head. He agreed to join ThunderClan because he wants to be a warrior, not because he wants to save the Clans from a tyrant.

So until Rusty — now Firepaw — has reason to help him, he will have to wait and watch his back.

Firepaw is ready much sooner than Redtail dared hope.

Ravenpaw is dead. Tigerclaw says an adder bit him and the pain from the poison was too great — he killed Ravenpaw upon his request and in an act of mercy.

Ravenpaw was a Clanmates and friend, but it was clearly he wasn’t suited to the harsh reality of a warrior. His Clanmates believe he is in a better place now.

His body, which Tigerclaw brings back to camp, confirms the story.

Firepaw believes otherwise.

He pulls Redtail aside and tells him that right before Tigerclaw and Ravenpaw left for training, Ravenpaw told him to never turn his back on Tigerclaw. He told him that if anything ever happened to him, he needed to find Redtail.

The deputy understands what happened. Tigerclaw must have found out what Ravenpaw knew, and killed him before he could tell anyone his ploy to take over the Clan. Poor Ravenpaw must have known his death was rapidly approaching if he gave Firepaw those instructions that morning.

So Redtail tells Firepaw what he knows about Tigerclaw, and what he thinks he’s plotting. He leaves out the bit about the prophecy— he doesn’t want to overwhelm the young apprentice.

“So,” Firepaw begins slowly, as this new information sinks in. “Tigerclaw must have suspected that Ravenpaw knew about his plan to murder you. Do you think he knows that Ravenpaw already told you everything?”

Redtail pauses. That is a good question.

He tells Firepaw that if he notices anything suspicious, come to him immediately. “Do not share this information with anyone else,” he adds. “Not Bluestar, and not your friends.”

Firepaw scraps the earth with a claw. “No problem,” he meows. “I don’t have many friends.” He explains that Ravenpaw was his only friend; Graypaw has been avoiding him ever since Ravenpaw died, and Dustpaw and Sandpaw practically hate him.

“Dustpaw?” Redtail echos. “Let me take care of him.”

On his side mission, Redtail pulls Dustpaw aside and gives him a long lecture about treating your Clanmates the way you want to be treated, and the consequences he will face if he continues bullying Firepaw.

“You want to be deputy someday, don’t you?” Redtail asks. “You’re going to need support from your Clanmates. Firepaw can help you reach your goal if you let him.”

Dustpaw has never known his father. He just lost Ravenpaw who, sure he was annoying, was his only littermate. His mother died a few moons ago.

Redtail has always been there for him. Redtail is the reason he wants to be deputy someday. He can’t stand it when he lets his mentor down, so he takes this warning to heart and starts clamping down on the insults he wants to spit so badly.

Sandpaw is discouraged when her partner in crime refuses to mock the kittypet with her, but she’ll get over it.

Moving on. Firepaw has noticed that Tigerclaw has taken special interest in him. He asks him questions and goes out of his way to deliver him news.

Whenever he turns around, Tigerclaw is always right there.

Redtail huffs. “He must have realized that you and Ravenpaw were close. He’s suspicious of you now, too.”

At first Redtail thought it was best to let Tigerclaw see as little interaction with Firepaw as possible. But with the young apprentice now in his sights, the game has changed. Tigerclaw can not be allowed to get Firepaw alone.

The good news is that Redtail has an opportunity to get some quality time with Firepaw, and keep Tigerclaw away from him.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Bluestar asks after he voices his idea. “You already have a lot of responsibilities with the deputyship and young Dustpaw.”

Redtail smiles confidently. “I’ll only take him out whenever you’re too busy. Besides, I think he could use some help making friends and this will ensure some time between him and Dustpaw. I can handle it, Bluestar.”

Bluestar agrees. So now whenever Firepaw needs training that she can’t oversee, he will come with Redtail and Dustpaw.

Dustpaw doesn’t like it but he doesn’t say a word.

For a time, their plan works. It gives Redtail and Firepaw an excuse to talk so much, keeps Tigerclaw from getting too close to the apprentice, and even Dustpaw seems to be warning up to him.

The ShadowClan drama makes it harder to stay together, but they make it work. Lionheart and Whitestorm are both killed in battle.

Through it all Firepaw impresses in his training, and it isn’t long until he and Dustpaw are made warriors: Fireheart and Dustpelt. The young toms are quite close now, thanks to Redtail.

Tigerclaw has been strangely silent lately, and it sets Redtail’s fur on edge. He is planning something, but the deputy doesn’t know what.

“What if we lure him into acting?” Fireheart suggests one day.

Redtail pauses. That is an idea.

It’s incredibly risky but this is where Redtail excels. If he can craft the perfect plan then he can expose Tigerclaw once and for all, and they can stop looking over their shoulders.

The plan: finally let Tigerclaw get Fireheart alone, and then reveal everything they know. Tigerclaw will try to kill Fireheart, but unknown to him, Redtail and Bluestar will be waiting in the bushes, waiting for a confession from Tigerclaw.

To convince Bluestar to come along, Redtail lies and tells her he scented ShadowClan in their side of the Thunderpath.

At first, everything goes according to plan. Fireheart and Tigerclaw are hunting near the Thunderpath when Fireheart reveals everything he knows. He even lies and claims to have seen Tigerclaw murder Ravenpaw, and tells him that he’s been training with Redtail so that he may avenge his friend.

Tigerclaw throws himself at the young warrior with a snarl, but not the confession they need. Redtail asks Bluestar to wait before intervening. They watch with baited breath as Fireheart manages to barely hold his own against ThunderClan’s best warrior.

The confession comes when Tigerclaw pins Fireheart down on the lonely Thunderpath.

“You mouse-brain,” Tigerclaw snarls. “You and Redtail thought you were so clever? You thought Ravenpaw was the only cat I killed? A kit could have killed that brat! I orchestrated Lionheart and Whitestorm’s deaths too, and you will be my next victim!”

Whitestorm was Bluestar’s nephew.

Lionheart was Bluestar’s close friend.

With a furious snarl, Bluestar leaps out of the bushes and charges across the Thunderpath in a blaze of blue. She knocks Tigerclaw off of her former apprentice, and Fireheart scrambled to join Redtail.

Their plan succeeds.

A monster suddenly roars onto the Thunderpath. Bluestar and Tigerclaw are locked in battle.

“No,” Fireheart breathes. “Bluestar!”

For a heartbeat, Bluestar looks at them over her shoulder. Redtail meets her gaze.

She knows what she is doing.

Redtail clenches his eyes shut just before the deafening thump echoes throughout the earth.

When he opens his eyes, two bodies lay limply on the Thunderpath. Their insides are torn out; their blood is spread across the unforgiving surface.

“Bluestar had three lives left,” Fireheart whispered.

Redtail shakes his head sadly. Bluestar does not have a body to return to.

The sight makes his stomach churn dangerously, but Redtail and Fireheart drag Bluestar’s body back onto the ground. They leave Tigerclaw.

Rather than traumatize the young cats, Redtail elects to bury Bluestar there. The Clan will understand.

When they return back to camp, Redtail has the uneasy task of explaining everything that has happened to his Clanmates. He begins with Ravenpaw’s murder and goes from there.

The Clan is shocked, but Fireheart can confirm everything Redtail says. They grieve for their leader... and then Redtail goes to Highstones with Spottedleaf, his sister, to receive his nine lives. Upon return, he appoints Runningwind as his deputy.

The pair rule ThunderClan together for moons until Runningwind is killed in a battle for Sunningrocks.

Redstar pulls Dustpelt aside. “I know how you feel about the deputyship-“

“I’m not ready for it,” Dustpelt interrupts his old mentor. “Don’t worry about me, Redstar. We both know who the better choice is right now.”

Young Dustpelt has come a long way. Redstar is grateful for his friendship and his loyalty.

But he is right. Fireheart is the only cat for the job.

(Until Redstar looses his last life, and Firestar must choose a new deputy. Then, Dustpelt is ready.)

[sidhelives]

Between Rocks and Hard Places

Written for something we decided to call "Loghanuary"

I really like Loghain, I just do. I just want other people to appreciate Hero's favorite murder uncle the way I do. In pursuit of this I present a study on Loghain and Cousland's interactions following his Joining at the Landsmeet:

Full text under the break.

Loghain considered himself an intelligent man. Perhaps not the genius some history books made him out to be, but smart, a problem solver, someone who excelled at reading a situation and acting accordingly. So it was with great frustration that he found himself at a loss as to what game the Warden was playing at as they marched south from Denerim.

Her companions had been understandably distant, throwing him veiled distrustful looks as they traveled, or in the older mage's case, openly hostile glares. But the girl, the Warden, had been amiable towards him: making sure rations were evenly divided in his favor, ensuring he was acquainted with and understood their plans, even gracing him with the occasional smile under sad grey eyes. He didn't trust Wardens in the best of circumstances, and his current situation was far from what he would call the best. So what was she doing?

Perhaps she had intended him to die in the Joining ritual. Appease Anora by not outright executing him but still have him done with. Perhaps his survival was a fluke in her plans and now she had to find a new method to dispose of him. He watched the back of her auburn head as they walked, her hair cropped unflatteringly short sometime between the Landsmeet and their departure early the next morning, and chewed over the question.

At dusk they found a secluded clearing off the road, setting up tents and building fires in an uncomfortable silence. He felt eyes on his back, animosity less disguised than it had been on the road, waiting for him to flee like a coward or attack like a cornered feral dog: to prove himself the monster that they believed him to be. 

But Loghain was not a coward, and thanks to the Warden, he had nowhere to run. 

He was already dead.

So he sat on a fallen log away from the others and ignored their withering glances, sharpening and polishing his blade, although it did not need it. The ritual was familiar, and the practiced motion slowly relaxed the tension from his shoulders and back. 

As he worked over the steel, he slowly came to realize he was no longer alone, the repeated sound of whetstone against steel covering the sound of her feet approaching. Loghain inwardly cursed his inattention, though regarded with bitterness that if his travel companions wished his death his reaction time would likely not do much to save him. She didn't speak, standing just behind his elbow, but he could feel her watching him with her sad grey eyes.

"You're very light on your feet for a warrior." He said by way of greeting, breaking the strange silence she carried with her. "I take it that was your mother's influence. Bryce was never what anyone would call subtle."

The girl seemed to start, eyes focusing on him like she'd only just noticed his presence."You knew my parents."

"Of course I knew your parents, girl." He remembered her too, the tall, lanky girl with the long red braid who so often ended up playing the dragon to Cailan's heroic prince when Anora insisted on being the captured damsel.

She hesitated, almost turned to go, then stopped, her hands dancing around her hips where weapons would have sat were she armed. A nervous habit, he concluded, similar to his own itchy palms in moments of stress. Loghain ran a rag over his greatsword and returned it to its sheath, setting the weapon aside as he waited for her to reach the conclusion of whatever internal conflict she seemed to be struggling with.

"Walk with me?" It was phrased as a question, which surprised Loghain. The girl had every right to order him to do whatever she wished and he would have expected her to revel in it. Instead, she demurely requested his acquiescence, which only acted to further his suspicions.

"Why?" He grunted, making no move to stand.

"I need to check the perimeter for darkspawn."

They both knew that her response did not truly answer his question. He signed in resignation. "I assume you'd prefer I did not bring my weapon."

She shrugged. "If it makes you more comfortable to have it, go ahead."

Loghain didn't realize that his face had reacted to her blatant show of faith until her brows pulled down in response, the stern, challenging look she had worn in the Landsmeet flashing in her eyes. "You're not going to kill me, Loghain."

She was not afraid, not of him and, he suspected, not of anything.

He left the greatsword where it lay.

On his feet, he saw that the Circle Mage, Wynne, was watching their exchange with barely contained fury shimmering behind her eyes. She didn't like him, that was very clear, but he wondered which of his innumerable sins she took offense with in particular. The Warden waved to the woman, flashing a smile that very clearly stated she was fine and needed no mothering, then started walking, trusting that he would follow.

For several minutes the air was dominated by the sound of their feet moving through long grass and past the occasional rustling shrub as she led him just beyond the tree line where the camp was obscured. Then she cleared her throat. Loghain took his eyes off the path ahead to glance at her, but she wasn't looking at him, attention focused on the trees around them with such intensity that he suspected she wasn't seeing them at all.

"Can you tell me about them? My parents." Her voice was small, like a wounded bird. Even as a child she had been confident and loud, proud, and honest to a fault. At the Landsmeet she had displayed much the same, her demeanor a dizzying echo of her father at times. This, whatever it was, was unfamiliar to him and he approached it with the same caution he would a suspected ambush.

"What do you want to know?" He grumbled, pushing aside a branch ahead of him.

"I haven't spoken to anyone who really knew them since this whole thing began. No one here had ever even met them, and Eamon… I think he wanted to spare my feelings, there was always something more pressing to discuss when I tried to bring them up."

"Something that would benefit him, I would wager." The disdain in Loghain's voice was tempered with age. "Eamon has always been more concerned with his own ambitions than anyone else's feelings."

She swallowed, head nodding slightly to confirm his assertion. "And Fergus… I don't even know if Fergus is alive or if he knows." She took a deep breath, swallowing down emotion. "Did you know them well?"

This, Loghain understood. The girl's life and her freedom had been ripped away in one horrific moment, and after that her existence had been one increasingly terrifying nightmare after another, into which he had played no small part. She wanted normalcy, she wanted to mourn, she wanted to be, for just a moment, the daughter of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland rather than The Warden.

"I did. I was honored to consider your parents my friends, for a time. They were good people. It was—” he stopped, his face falling back into a grimace. It would be best to avoid bringing up their death. The fact that he had not known about Howe’s involvement at the time did not mean he didn’t bear culpability for it, or that she wouldn’t blame him. She looked at him inquiringly and he quickly went on to cover the near flub. "Bryce— your father was brash and bold, like you are. He was decisive and could be a real pain in the ass when he set his mind to something. I and a lot of other people respected him for it. He cared in a way a lot of Lords don't." 

Loghain saw a small smile turn one side of her lips before she spoke. "He fought in the rebellion for this land and these people, he said it wouldn't be right not to keep fighting for them."

Loghain nodded. That sounded like the Bryce Cousland he knew: a man of noble ideals that didn't always translate with the way the world functioned. He wondered absently how different his Civil War would have gone had Bryce and Eleanor been alive for it, if it would have happened at all. He afforded the girl another look. She would have been spared her fate had Howe not betrayed her family, but where would that have left the world?

"What about my mother?"

“Eleanor was a force of nature. Even as a lady at court she never lost the raider she was raised to be. Fiercely loyal to her family and those she considered friends and vicious when she thought they were in jeopardy." He chuckled, finding himself drawn into his memories of the Couslands. "Getting on Bryce's bad side was stupid, getting on Eleanor's bad side was suicide."

"She wanted me to be a lady, a real lady, in fancy frocks hosting dinner parties and laughing prettily at the jokes of lesser lords." She shook her head, hair falling into her eyes. "I had no interest in the things I was supposed to. I climbed trees with Cailan to avoid Anora’s tea parties, I ripped and ruined every dress she put me in. My needlework was atrocious." She smiled and her eyes seemed to shimmer, though with laughter or tears Loghain couldn't tell. "I embroidered her a handkerchief once, it was the most hideous thing you ever laid eyes on, and she carried it every day."

"They loved you very much." He commented, unsure of what to say.

That seemed to be the right thing. 

"They did." She smiled warmly at him. "Thank you for humoring me."

He bristled slightly at her gratitude. "No thanks are necessary."

"Thank you, regardless."

It had to be a game, a ploy of some kind. No one was as generous as she behaved. No one who lived through what she had could be so kind. His mind slipped back into the roundabout circle of trying to determine what she wanted from him, what the point of it all was, as they continued their walk of the perimeter.

"Do you have any questions for me?" She asked suddenly, pushing through brush two steps ahead of him. "About the Warden thing or anything else?"

The number of questions he had for her was innumerable, more than could be asked in a short meander, and asking too many, displaying his ignorance and confusion, would be unwise until he figured out her end goal. "I have one," he said, voice flat. The one which pressed most heavily against him and the answer to which was worth more to him than the asking would give. "Why spare me?" The question had been bouncing around his brain ever since the Landsmeet, ever since the Bastard had furiously demanded his death, and the girl, looking for all the world like her Mother, firmly refused him.

“You’re a capable warrior and a brilliant tactician.” She answered quickly, face as lacking in affect as his own. “You can do more good as a Warden than you can dead.”

He nodded condescendingly. “That’s a perfectly reasonable justification, and I’m sure Eamon was thoroughly convinced by it.”

“But you’re not.” One corner of her mouth inclined slightly. She sighed, feet stalling as her hands once again danced restlessly around her hips. “When I was a little girl, while my mother fussed over my etiquette, my father would tell me stories about the rebellion. About how he met my mother, about King Maric and Queen Rowan, about the rebel queen who I was named for. He told me all about the Battle of West Hill, the Battle of Denerim Harbor, and all the skirmishes he fought in.” She took a breath and Loghain found his palms had become itchy. He knew where this was headed, and he was no longer sure it was a conversation he wanted to be involved in. 

“And he told me stories about the Hero of River Dane.” She shook her head gently. “A man who had the most humble beginnings and risked everything to fight for what was right, to save his people from oppressors. I remember telling my father that’s what I want to be. I don’t want to be someone’s wife, I don’t want to be a lady, I want to be a hero like Loghain Mac Tir.”

Loghain swallowed to wet his suddenly dry mouth. “I fear that I turned out to be a disappointing idol.”

She fixed him with an intense, steely look. “I spared you because I believe you’re still the Hero of River Dane. You’re still a man who does what he thinks is right and what he thinks is necessary for the good of his country. You were just wrong about what was right."

He searched her eyes in vain for some sign of deception, something to prove that this was an act. Anything to offset the gut-punch of guilt radiating out from the pit of his stomach. He had labeled her a traitor, accused her of regicide, sent assassins and worse after her, and yet she still believed he was a good man. Loghain wasn't sure himself if he believed that, but this girl truly did.

"If I may say so, I think you grew into a fine lady, even without the frocks." Loghain's voice was muted, his usual lack of emotion quavering slightly as the words slipped from his lips. The startled expression and subtle flush she gave him spoke volumes to her surprise at such a compliment.

"I would never have expected you to think so." The comment was only half voiced, more to herself than to him. Loghain's thoughts again ricocheted to the various torments his choices and actions had subjected her to. Intermingled with the shame was a small voice that insisted this was a slip, that she had been attempting to goad him in some way and that his response had stymied her attempt at confrontation. He latched onto the voice, watching her expression for any evidence that he could use to strengthen it. 

“You never seemed to like me much,” She remarked thoughtfully, smiling sadly, her eyes on the forest floor ahead of her.

Loghain gaped at her, his hope of some illicit motivation for their conversation shriveling. He quickly wiped the emotional response from his features and cleared his throat. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, tossing him a sheepish glance over her shoulder. "You were always nearby when we played, keeping one eye on us no matter what else was going on. I remember how gentle you were with Anora, like a completely different man than you were with my father and the king. And Cailan, you treated him like he was already King even though he was only ten." She chuckled at the memory, then sobered. "But me… it was like I didn't exist."

Loghain's tongue felt heavy. Maric would have laughed at him were he around to see it. The great Loghain Mac Tir, who less than twenty-four hours prior had been actively seeking this girl's death, was now fumbling for a way to explain his indifference to her as a child without hurting her feelings. “It’s not that I didn’t like you. You were…” He struggled for words, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "You were an obstacle."

She blinked at him. “A ten-year-old girl was an obstacle?”

He sighed. "You probably don't know, why would you, that Cailan and Anora were not promised to each other at birth. Maric wasn't overly concerned with his son's future until many years after the Queen's death. I was never overly concerned with the issue myself because the situation seemed straight forward. The moment I had a daughter there was no question in my mind that she would marry Maric's son. But then the Couslands brought their daughter to court." He stalled, rubbing his itchy palms against his thighs. "You were the right age, pretty, and you and Cailan got along like thieves. More than any of that were your parents' political ties. The Couslands are an old, well-respected family and the Mac Eanraig clan has ties all over Thedas. That's a lot for the daughter of a farmer to compete with. I was suddenly concerned for my daughter's future, and you, child though you were, were the thing which stood in the way of her advancement." 

"But Maric was your best friend." The girl listened with enraptured eyes, their walk halted entirely by her interest.

"It says much about your view of the world that you think that would be the end of it. There was a fair amount of pressure on Maric to match his boy with such a well-connected bride. Bryce and I shouted at each other for hours, several times we nearly came to blows." Loghain's face contracted into a frown. "In the end, the King made his decision, and Bryce stopped bringing you to court. I have always suspected that were it not for Maric's love for me, you would have sat the throne beside Cailan."

She was quiet, studying the ground at her feet, then she laughed bitterly. “I didn’t know that.” She laughed again, the sound sounding very much to Loghain like a sob.

“Why is that funny?”

“That’s twice I was almost queen.”

The defeat in her voice was palpable, a sudden wet sheen on her eyes making Loghain uncomfortable. He had of course known that she and the Bastard had been engaged to be married, Eamon didn’t keep his plans close enough for word not to get back to him in Denerim, but had not taken time to consider the situation following his Joining. Doing so it was obvious: the Bastard's anger with her at the Landsmeet, her hastily sheared hair, their abrupt departure from Denerim, the sadness she could not seem to shake from her eyes.

"He left you," he said as realization dawned.

She nodded and shook a shuddering breath, turning away from him. Her shoulders began to quiver and he could hear her gulping down gasping breaths as she suppressed tears.

Loghain didn't know what to do. This strange, impossibly kind girl, who in a matter of minutes he had come to feel so responsible for, was in pain, again, because of him.

"Hero," he said her name softly, reaching out one hand for her shoulder. His fingertips brushed the smooth leather of her jerkin and she spun to look at him with red-rimmed tear-filled eyes. He didn't know what she saw in his face, but she threw herself against his chest, arms thrown around his neck, pressed her face into the rough linen of his gambeson, and began to sob.

Loghain stiffened, arms held out from his sides, and internally panicked. He did not deal well with emotional women in normal circumstances, and what Hero had gone through was far from normal. He considered what he would do if it was Anora soaking his armor with her tears. Since killing the man responsible wasn't an option, he instead put his arms around her and gently patted her back.

She quieted, sobs receding to sniffles, and laid her cheek against his chest, making no move to extract herself from his inept embrace. "He— he said I cared about doing what was right— more than I loved him." She managed between shuddering breaths.

Loghain closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh. "Because you didn't execute me." Another thing he had taken from her.

She nodded.

His mouth felt dry, lungs empty. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her head shake gently against his chest, sniffing again. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“I do.” He responded firmly.

Hero pulled back from him, wiping her eyes with her wrist. When she looked up at him her eyes were still wet, but they were hard. “I made a choice. That isn’t your fault, Loghain.”

“A choice you wouldn’t have had to make if I had made a different one.”

“We all made choices.” She said in what he had come to recognize as her Warden tone. “You chose to quit the field at Ostagar, I chose not to kill you. We each have to accept the consequences of those decisions, but you bear no responsibility for those that I made.” She took a deep breath, deflating slightly, her attention drifting away from his face. “Alistair has his own consequences to deal with.”

“ Alistair is an idiot.” He sneered. She laughed, the sound muffled through her lips, and glanced back up at him with grateful eyes. Loghain put a hand on her shoulder. “I would rather be accused of putting what is right above all else, than valuing vengeance more than those closest to me.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again as she smiled. "Thank—"

Loghain cut her off with a raised eyebrow and she laughed again, properly wiping her eyes dry. "We should get back," she said, voice as casual as Loghain could remember it, and her pale grey eyes clear.

"Before they all assume I've murdered you and set fire to the forest," Loghain responded with a grim nod.

"I'm sure they wouldn't go that far," Hero retorted flippantly.

As they emerged from the treeline they found Wynne waiting for them, arms crossed and face screwed up with worry. Her expression broke seeing Hero and she puttered to the girl's side like a matronly schoolmistress.

"There you are, I was beginning to get worried— oh." Her movement stuttered. "My dear, have you been crying?" The mage threw a dark look at Loghain.

"It's nothing, Wynne. We were just—" she faltered slightly and Loghain deduced that she was not yet ready to discuss her separation from the Bastard King openly yet.

"Hero requested that I accompany her on her walk of the perimeter, we spoke of the late Teyrn and Teyrna." Loghain volunteered soberly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wave of relief pass momentarily over Hero's features.

Wynne raised a suspicious eyebrow at his use of the girl's name, then turned her attention back to Hero, giving her a motherly, inquiring look.

Hero nodded, confirming Loghain's words. "I'm afraid I got a little choked up on the subject, but it was good to speak to someone who knew them." She gave him a glance that spoke volumes to her appreciation for his discretion.

Wynne's shrewd eyes flicked between the two of them, then she sighed, her arms relaxing to her sides. "I understand completely, Dear Heart. But you must come sit by the fire and get warm, you'll catch cold and even I can't help with one of those." She slid an arm around Hero's shoulders and evacuated her from Loghain's presence as quickly as she could while still appearing considerate to the girl's apparent esteem for the man.

As she was hurried away, Hero looked over her shoulder at Loghain and smiled.

Loghain remembered that smile. More than fifteen years ago it had shone on the face of a little girl who declared, wooden sword held high, she would slay the dragon and save the kingdom. 

She would, he knew.

And he would help her, in whatever way he could.

[chaoswillfallrpg]

MARLENE MCKINNON is TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD and a ASSISTANT COACH for THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES in THE BRITISH AND IRISH QUIDDITCH LEAGUE. She looks remarkably like BRITTANY O’GRADY and considers herself aligned with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. She is currently TAKEN.  

→ OVERVIEW:

Passionate and confident with a name meaning ‘star of the sea’, Marlene McKinnon fittingly lives up to the phrase. Radiating light to those around her, Marlene can often burn too bright for many to grasp. While she shines daringly, she also has a tendency to burn herself out. Raised on the coasts of Isle of Skye, Scotland; the young witch was never without the wind in her hair and fire in her heart. Youngest of three elder brothers, DOUGAL, COINNEACH and NATHAIR; Marlene quickly fell into their more boisterous nature. Finding she needed to prove herself among them to be considered within their ranks. All three adored Marlene, playing the roll of overprotective brothers nobly, family was deeply important to all. Teasing and taunting each other was common, though if anyone stepped over the line and dared outside of the family they’d quickly learn it wasn’t as charming. Speeding through the valleys on broomsticks to daring each other to eat handfuls of the vomit flavoured Bertie Botts every flavor beans; there was never a dull moment with the four together. While frowned upon by their mother, she begrudgingly had to accept that while she’d longed for a daughter to wrap in beautiful bows and soft mannerisms, Marlene grew to be unashamedly herself. Red lipstick was her war paint, her leather jacket her armor as she strode with her head held high in heeled boots as if ready to conquer the world.

Longing for a daughter, ANSEL and IONA, were thrilled to finally welcome her after their three sons. The favouritism they held towards Marlene became quickly prevalent, overjoyed they deemed her their ‘golden child’. Whom in their eyes, could do no wrong. Praising everything she did, Marlene learned that with a bat of her eye lashes she could get away with murder much to her brother Nathair’s annoyance. Any animosity quickly dwindled by Coinneach’s boyish charm and sense of humour; pulling Nathair out of his slight jealousy. Revealing in their affection, Marlene holds pride in her appearance. Spoiled and showered in compliments and fine frivolous expenses, Marlene has an air of entitlement; finding herself too often caught in her own world to consider the effect she has on others. While her mother made her superficial, her brothers made her bold. Daring to fly higher, it created a deep rooted sense of ambition and determination. Boisterous, they’d gladly spent hours running among the hills causing havoc together. Coinneach taught her how to fly, zooming over the lakes and cackling deep belly laughs whenever one of them fell in. A quidditch buff, their father instilled a deep love for the game in all of them from a young age. Holding pride and support for their local team The Pride of Portree, all the McKinnons praised CATRIONA MCCORMACK who they grew up watching dominate a field. Still to this day, Catorina is an inspiration to Marlene.

Coming to Hogwarts it was no surprise that Marlene was sorted into Gryffindor along with her brothers and cousins GRAHAM and RODRIC. Upon her first day, it was apparent that not every student was as well acquainted with the wizarding world as she was. Quickly Marlene took it upon herself to befriend Muggle-Born students who looked gobsmacked by the revelation of magic let alone Hogwarts. With a warm welcoming smile, it wasn’t long before Marlene found her folk; LILY EVANS,  MARY MACDONALD and DORCAS MEADOWES. Dragging them across the castle to explore noteworthy rooms under instruction of Coinneach, they hid in secret passageways, exchanged secrets and quickly became each other's support network. While all different, they held the same virtues. Marlene knew Hogwarts would come with countless tales of adventures and trouble; what she’d never expected was to find her three best friends among the hallowed halls. Growing up privileged as a member of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, Marlene had never been exposed to the prejudices that encapsulated so much of the wizarding community. Snide comments and glares towards her friends infuriated her, unable to understand how anyone could see less of them due to something as trivial as blood. But she bit her tongue only for the sake of Lily and Mary. However after the horrific torment LARKIN MULCIBER inflicted on Mary, Marlene had to be held back from throwing a swing every time he passes in the halls. Determined that there would be hell to pay after his manipulative ploy to toy with Mary’s heart, let alone the infliction of one of the unforgivable curses.

Quidditch was in her blood, so really it was no surprise that Marlene joined the house team in her third year with ease. A formidable player, she was easily able to file her nails while simultaneously scoring a goal. Her confidence and skill quickly caught the attention of JAMES POTTER and it wasn’t long before the pair started dating. Finding his confidence and charm compelling, a part of her delighted at the prospect of dating Gryffindor’s ‘golden boy’. While Lily seemed to hold a great distaste for James, even to a blind man it would be evident how captivated by Lily James really was. The jealous type, Marlene couldn’t help but feel irked that her first boyfriend was so blind sighted and by her best friend no less. Considering the notion that their relationship had merely been a ploy by James to get closer to Lily, the pair eventually split. Since, Marlene now holds her heart closer to her chest. Flirtatious, she isn’t shy acquainting herself with attractive people. But rather than getting attached, finds fleeting moments stolen at parties more appealing. Still what Marlene considers the best thing to come from her relationship with James is finding close friends in REMUS LUPIN, PETER PETTIGREW, but most notable SIRIUS BLACK. Holding a similar sense of humor, they matched each others wits effortlessly. Challenging one another, an easy banter quickly befell them. What worries her is the way Sirius’ smile can make her heart ache. Seeing how careless he can be with women, the last thing Marlene wants is to be another cast of piece with the fantasy of something better lingering around the corner.

Instead, she’d focus her misguided heart on swirling acrylics across canvas as if that could offer a moment of solace and quiet escapism from the rest of her life. Even if whatever quite moment she tries to grasp is always stolen by the very person she was trying to forget. Teasing comments and stolen brushes would easily turn to dares. Hitching a ride on the back of Sirius’ motorcycle, they were reckless, young and brave. Unashamedly running off into the moonlight as if nothing could tarnish them. Stolen glances turned to missed opportunities as life after Hogwarts quickly took hold leaving behind blissfully ignorant moments and a strand of what ifs. Scouted by the Holy Head Harpies, Marlene was on track to become their next Chaser. Ecstatic at the opportunity to play Quidditch professionally, let alone on an all female team, it was a dream come true. Unfortunately, flying with the Harpies would always stay a dream with her last match at Hogwarts ending in a one way ticket to the infirmary. Falling off her broom due to ‘suspicious circumstances’, by the time she was able to return to the sport, the position was filled. Still keen for her skill, instead they offered her the opportunity to become an assistant coach which she gladly accepted. Seeing it as an opportunity to learn from some of the greats and fine tune her skills in the meantime. Clinging to the idea of one day playing for The Pride of Portree, just so she could see the look of pride on her father’s face.

Despite her new life with the Harpies, Marlene can’t ignore the tension that is starting to build in the air, despite Dougal's attempts to shield her from reality. Even Marlene has noticed the hate both him and his fiancée ANNABETH face for showing their love publicly. A resistance in the community that has seeped into their own family, Nathair objected to Dougal entertaining the idea of marrying outside the Pure-Blood lineage. While they hope his callous words are merely rooted in fear, Malene dreads what the outcome holds. A skilled duelist, ALBUS DUMBLEDORE quickly took note of her defiant and outspoken devotion to advocate for peace among the community. Loyal to both her family and friends, it was without question that she stepped forward to join The Order of the Phoenix. Mentored by BENJY FENWICK, Marlene is becoming desperate in her attempt to hold the strands of her family together while fighting to keep her friends safe. Hoping by voicing support and compassion for others she’ll be able to pull Nathair out of the darkness that is slowly forming in his heart. With a chill in air, every passing day only adds to the unrest that is forming in the streets of London. A hurricane of chaos feels inevitable to tear through the very fabric of the Wizarding Community as they know it. Unspoken fears from the Ministry and the worry edged deep into Dumbledore’s face is evidence enough. The war to come isn’t a question of if; it’s when. Marlene just hopes that when the lightning hits and turns into flames, she’ll be able to safeguard the people she holds most dear without them falling victim to the crossfire

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Pure-Blood

Pronouns → She/Her

Identification → Cis Female 

Sexuality  →  Sexually Fluid

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Family → Ansel McKinnon (father), Iona McKinnon (mother), Dougal McKinnon (brother), Coinneach McKinnon (brother), Nathair McKinnon (brother), Graham McKinnon (cousin), Rodric McKinnon (cousin), Annabeth Pebworth (future sister-in law)

Connections�� → Lily Evans (best friend/house mate), Dorcas Meadowes (best friend) Mary MacDonald (best friend), Sirius Black (best friend/potential love interest), Peter Pettigrew (close friend), James Potter (close friend/ex-boyfriend), Remus Lupin (close friend), Maren Linwood (friend), Emilia Grey (friend), Cassiopeia Kim (friend), Cressida Abercrombie (friend), Gilfred Abbott (friend), Caradoc Dearborn (friend), Poppy Hookum (friend), Aurora Sinistra (friend), Gwenog Jones (friend/colleague), Larkin Mulciber (adversary), Benjy Fenwick (mentor)

Future Information → N/A   

MARLENE MCKINNON IS A LEVEL 6 WITCH.

[morganbritton132]

I'm kind of really into this idea of Abigail literally not knowing how to rebel without guidance from a parental figure. I almost wrote a scene of her smashing some of Freddie's dishes.

Well, no broken dishes in this one but there is some broken glass. I honestly don’t think this really goes with your prompt but I think I’m just so fascinated by the idea of Abigail and Frederick interacting with each other. I’ve always felt like Hannibal didn’t like Freddie but he could respect her ambition, whereas he hates everything about Frederick, and I wonder how much of that would seep into Abigail’s perspective of him. And they both have these visible scars of the trauma Hannibal caused. It’s just interesting. 

-----------

“It’s the most obvious solution.”

The way that Freddie punctuates the end of her sentence by sitting her mug down was deafeningly loud in the small kitchen. It shattered the pretending of a good morning and Frederick jolted like it was a gun going off, but Abigail didn’t move.

She watched and she tightened her hands around her cup of orange juice so tight that she wished it would shatter, but it didn’t. She curled her fingers in and scraped the thin-scarred cuts on her fingertips against the bumpy cartoon character on the side of the glass until they bled, and she thought about throwing it.

She wondered what they would do if she shattered the whole kitchen, but she didn’t do anything. They’d just forgive her.

Neither her nor Frederick offered Freddie a response.

Frederick had been gone for a whole week after Abigail cut all her hair off and dyed it blonde and she thought that maybe Freddie came to her senses about him, but then he showed back up three days ago. He had stiffly sat his cane by the door and tore off his tie, and then he didn’t leave Freddie’s room until about ten minutes ago.

He was unwashed, unshaven, unkempt, wearing a wrinkled Rolling Stones t-shirt that probably belonged to Freddie. His makeup was perfect, but he wasn’t wearing contacts, didn’t fix his hair. He had his own coffee mug tight in his hands, but it was full of saltwater.

Every time he swished the liquid in his mouth and spat it back into the cup, the water came back redder and redder.

Freddie cleared her throat and picked up her coffee mug again just to sit it back down, “I’m glad that we can all agree on this, so it’s settled. Abigail, you can drive Frederick around on his errands today.”

“Freddie,” Frederick finally said, sounding brittle. Abigail turned her head slightly to see what broken exhaustion looked like on a broken face. His voice still slurred even though his words were picked carefully, “Can we – speak. Alone.”

“No, we cannot, Frederick,” Freddie said primly. “I have things to do today. I need a new article up on my website by tomorrow so unless you want to give me that exclusive, Abigail is going to drive you. You cannot legally drive, and she just got her license. It’ll be good practice.”

Frederick stared at her and Freddie stared back, and there was some unspoken conversation playing out that Abigail wasn’t interested in. It was always the same argument.

Freddie wanted Abigail to have some normal girl experiences and Frederick wanted nothing to do with her because he thought that she wanted to kill him which was. Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“Do not crash my car,” Frederick said when they were inside of it. He put on dark sunglasses once they were on the road, covering up his cataracted eye like it wasn’t there at all.

A sinking feeling invaded her gut and she ended up pulling up the collar of her shirt to hide the scars on her neck. No need to draw attention to the freaks in the clown car.

The car stayed quiet save for Frederick’s directions until he spoke up, saying to the windshield, “People thought that I killed you, that I – that I ate you.”  

Miriam may have been Hannibal’s patient and she may have been at the safehouse longer, but she was a ploy in a trap. She did the treatments, listened to the tapes, and she played her part the way that Hannibal liked, but she wasn’t his daughter.

Life was a chessboard and Abigail was aware that she was a pawn in a bigger game, but she was important. She was special. She got to sit on the couch and listen to classical music as Hannibal planned beautiful things, planned awful, wonderful things.

They planned her murder together.

She thought about telling Frederick how Hannibal planned to take him once, to add him to his collection of dolls inside of his playhouse just to see how he broke. Beverly Katz had stayed strong to the end, but Frederick Chilton was a house of cards in the wind and he talked too much.

He became a problem and it was easier to frame him, to prepare Miriam and confuse her.

So, Frederick was gone. So, Miriam was free.

So, it was just her there and they planned out European adventures. So, they were going to be happy, be a family. So, Frederick should be dead like they planned, and she was – she was pissed that he wasn’t.

Hannibal wouldn’t have left her if he had just died like he was supposed to.

“I’d kill you before I let you kill me,” She said, looking out the window. Frederick choked on an exhale and she thought about crashing the car just to see what would happen.

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

The word CANNIBAL was spray painted across the front door of Frederick’s big white house, stark red like blood on a canvas, and Abigail felt – she remembered this feeling, remembered seeing the same thing written across her garage door. It was a small feeling, a sinking into the gut feeling.

Frederick sighed.

He got out of the car and hobbled up the stairs, and Abigail followed him passed the trampled over flowers, the broken eggshells, the flowerpots that were shattered to pieces. His hand shook when he unlocked the door, ducking under the yellow crime scene tape, and she followed him.

She’d helped plan this.

The bodies and the blood were gone but the evidence markers were still there. The crime scene tape was still there. The shambles of a life destroyed, and Frederick’s voice cracked when he told her, “Wait here.”

She didn’t.

As soon as he was out of sight, she moved further into the house. She scanned the titles of books that have never been open, and flowers that were dead, and she took step after step down the stairs that had to lead to the wine cellar.

She walked towards the door, imagining that she could hear Abel dying inside, that if she opened the door than Hannibal would be there and he would smile at her, and say, Hello, Abigail. But she stopped.

Leaning against the wall, Leda and the Swan.

Hannibal had the same painting in his dining room. Hannibal had this painting and Chilton had to have seen it before and that – there’s something in that that makes her so angry.

She grabbed the painting in its big glass frame, and she held it, and she was not giving it back. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s not Hannibal. He’s – he’s – Frederick Chilton was a fraud.

He lied. He dressed Abel Gideon up like the Chesapeake Ripper because he wanted to be famous, popular. He – he couldn’t even die right.

Frederick wanted Will Graham and did not get him. He wanted fame and he got infamous. He wanted the respect and the notoriety that Hannibal had, and he didn’t deserve it. He was the same cheap veneer that Freddie used when she pretended that she didn’t live inside of a cracker box, that she wasn’t struggling to pay her bills each month.

Frederick Chilton couldn’t even die right.

Abigail doesn’t know where she’s going until she ends up in the kitchen and she doesn’t know what she’s doing until she shatters the glass on the painting, until she’s digging her fingernails into the glass to destroy the print underneath. She doesn’t know she’s crying until there is a hand on hers, pulling roughly.

“Stop it.” It was said like it had been repeated over and over. The band of the ring on Frederick’s fingers was so cold that it burnt, and his touch was not gentle, yanking her away from the destroyed painting, “Stop it. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I don’t care,” She said, ripping her hand from his. There was glass in her fingertips, blood dripping onto the floor, but it didn’t matter. What was more blood to another place that Hannibal abandoned? “Why did he leave me behind?”

“He – it feels rebellious to hurt yourself,” Frederick said instead. He was taking breaths like he was swallowing blood, shaking. She remembered what Hannibal said about him and medical school. Fraud. Failure. “It feels good to make yourself hurt because he hurt you. Out of spite or adoration, it does not matter. He does not care.”

“He didn’t hurt me.” He does care. He will come back.

“Look at you,” His voice was almost cold. It was a broke thing stitched back together by doctors and oral therapy. Hannibal was an open wound inside of Frederick Chilton and Abigail was going to make him dig into it. “He cut off your ear. He left you for dead. Look at what you’re doing. Just because you’re grateful that it wasn’t worse, does not make it right.”

“I loved this house, and…” He trailed off, taking a breath. “I was evicted once. When I was a kid, my father passed away unexpectantly and we lost the house. I vowed to myself that I would never be in a position where I did not have a home to return to, and – he took that from me.”

“I lost my license, my practice. My reputation is destroyed,” Frederick took a shaky breath and he sounds angry. Abigail watched him. “My mouth isn’t healing correctly. There’s an infection and I may lose my eye. Hannibal Lecter is a gift that keeps giving. That’s why you’re doing this. You’re hurt and the man that kidnapped you and brainwashed you tells you that the only way to stop the hurt is by making it worse. Stop it.”

Abigail stared at him, and she wipes at her face. Her hand comes away wet, still seeping blood, and she almost tells him that her parents never let her color her hair. She almost tells him that she doesn’t know how to stop.

If it’s not her than it will be him, or Freddie, or some plain girl with brown hair because that was what she wanted. She wanted to kill Abigail Hobbs.

She doesn’t want to have this settlement inside of her. She doesn’t want to build up a new person on a foundation that was built on the knowledge that the kindest thing Hannibal could do was never come back.  

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“You don’t have to,” He told her. “But you need to stop this.”

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 28

Last time: We had a “Surprise, you’re shipping my son and my great-granddaughter” scare, unresolved Season 2 issues gave way to a recap episode, and Beard argued with himself. Onwards!

Straight into the Crush Flower/Spare Flower intro this time (still can’t get over young!Armstrong crying GUH), let’s hurry up and get some answers! A fanged skull being used as a candle-holder? Obviously the laboratory of a reputable scientist! So yeah, Gluttony’s just shown Al into Father’s lab (who isn’t in his chair for once, did he actually go fishing?), Al and Shao are just a little freaked out at the interior decoration. Gluttony doesn’t give them time to settle down though, calls out for Father- What. Oh my goodness. Father is Papa Elric? Who would have ever guessed. What a shock.

Episode 28 - “Father” So! Awkward family reunion time! I’m sure that Al has lots of questions. But surprisingly, Father isn’t that happy that Gluttony just opened the door for a Protagonist, Gluttony’s in a heck of a lot of pain. Father targeting his Stone, somehow? A deadman’s switch if any Goths went against him directly? Oh! Jeez, I’d almost forgotten about how Ed, Ling, and Envy were forcing their way out of a Leto-forsaken pocket dimension. Jailbreak! Al’s a little concerned to see a titanic monster burst out of Gluttony, but is distracted by seeing his brother and the freeloading prince alive. Easy with the hugs, Al! After the brothers get their “OML I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE NOT DEAD” out of the way, time to talk with pops. Who… notes their metal limbs/body, and asks if they’re the Elric Brothers? Hold on, what? He doesn’t recognize his own kids? But he saw Ed in Resembool just a while ago, how- Oh. OH! D’oh, it’s so obvious. Dude’s made artificial humans with fragments of his own personality, is that kind of guy really going to do drudge work when he can pass it on to others? And someone who makes “superior beings” out of himself is too vain to just hire common workers, oh no. Why stop at making only seven Goths, when you can make a couple more to keep the place clean? Yup, Uncle asks if they mean von Hohenheim, is surprised (and pleased?) to learn that the guy has children. More confused as to why they call themselves the Elrics, learning that it’s their mother’s name just has him ask where Hohenheim’s been if not with his kids. See, Beard/Father? Even your clones think that you’re being a jerk. Ouch, Ed’s still a bit beat up from the escape (so wait, are Envy, Gluttony, and Ling just hanging out by the wall while this is going on), and Al’s missing his hand. Didn’t Ed bring that back? Let’s go ahead and- uh. Um. Uncle just Transmuted Al’s hand back, and fixed Ed’s arm. And then Ed’s broken ribs as well. Without any Transmutation Circles, no movement, and without drawing on any pre-existing materials. [Ed/Al]: “There isn’t any Equivalent Exchange!” EEC: 10 And with that, Uncle goes from “quirky household help” to “terrifyingly powerful Goth”. Ling points out that he’s obviously not human- [Uncle]: “I would ask who you are, but I honestly don’t care.”

While Ling stands shocked at the utter disrespect, Uncle just walks away and says Gluttony can eat him. Whoa dude, hold on. Maybe the Elrics can argue that if Uncle wants them to be well, he should spare their friend? Nope, Uncle DNGAF about an insect such as What’s-his-name. Ed? Ed buddy, I know that you’re the hotheaded Anime Protagonist, but maybe this is the time for a strategic retreat? Maybe you shouldn’t attack the dude who can do freeform Transmutation, and who has two Goths waiting just off to the side? Or you could Earthbend at him, whatever. Guys? Guys, please think about what you’re doing. Uncle here is a minion of Father, and he’s powerful enough Transmute without EC. You’re facing the Big Bad’s Dragon here, and the show’s barely halfway through. You need to get out of there, now. Envy’s attacking the kids now, and they’re all but ignoring the Titan!Goth to try and hit Uncle, who at most raises a hand to block Al’s attack, then sends Ling flying. This is not a fight you can win, and I can tell Uncle’s patience is running out. He takes one step forward… Uncle takes a single step, and the sheer force of his power radiates through the room, to Scar and May where they face the chimeras, and even out to Beard himself as he apparently is still on his fishing trip. Point is, dude’s strong. Ed and Al snap out of their shock, strike the ground… ok, good, they’ve finally realised they’re outmatched and are surrendering. Or… not? [Ed/Al]: “What’s going on? I can’t Transmute!”

Oooooh Leto. That’s not good. Not only is Uncle ludicrously strong, but they can make an anti-Alchemy field? And one that’s selective, too; Ed and Al have been depowered, but Envy can still smash them into the ground. Envy mocks them as lower life forms, blathering about how humans don’t even understand their own power. (Oooh, sudden thought. If that implies that Alchemy comes from Truth, and we can assume that the Elrics are gonna defeat Truth to get Al’s soul back, is that going to disrupt Alchemy as a whole? Is Amestris going to have to reorganize around not having magic?). Uncle tells Envy to shut up, then says that Ling may be useful after all. Holy crud, the intro was right. That was Ling standing with the Goths? Hoo boy, Lan Fan is not going to be happy when she hears about this. Envy’s expositing that Uncle’s got the Stone in his bloodstream, and can spread it to others to create Human Homunculi. All Ed and Al can do is pound hopelessly at the ground, crying about how they’ve lost their powers and can’t do anything. But wait! Ed has the pistol! But before Ed can/has to use the gun, Ling yells at him to stay out of it. [Ling]: “I came to your land to find a Philosopher’s Stone, and now this guy wants to give me one! I’m not gonna turn this down!” Come on, Ling! You’re going to go through what Bradley did, stay strong! Battle of the mind again, Ling’s floating in a sea of tortured red souls, when ok here’s Father’s Sin. You… you can do it Ling? Ok, ok good! Don’t fight the Sin (assuming Greed, not Lust), but work with it, be unconventional! [Ling]: “I said come! I freely accept you!” [Greed]: “Y’know, people normally reject me.” But Ling is anything but normal. Future Emperor of Xing here (disregarding the whole “making the guy whose job I want immortal” thing, but whatever). Greed at least is amused by Ling’s ambition. And yeah, as much as I applauded the first Greed for acting so Slytherin (views subordinates as possessions, angry that someone would steal from him by harming them), if Ling does end up going Goth then there’s no better way than a quest for power, to provide for his people.

Ling goes into the light… And Greed wakes up. Damnit. So yeah. Ling’s gone, replaced by the new Greed. Ed and Al frantically plead for Ling to remember, to answer them, but no dice. Greed just stands there and smirks at them. Door? Someone else coming to the party? Oh hey, Scar and May! About time you showed up! Ok, ok, let’s get the important stuff out of the way; Shao reunited with May? Check! Scar finally realizing that the Elrics aren’t working with the Goths? Check! May finally seeing Ed, and all her romantic dreams being shattered in a tragic and hilarious fashion? Check! Gluttony points out the Ishvalan, and Uncle lets him loose. Crap, and they don’t have their Alchemy, Scar’s Hand O’ Doom won’t- work?! And May, too? All right, the effect’s worn off! Or not, the Elrics are still depowered. Well, when punching won’t work, try talking. And what better thing to say that tell Scar that the one responsible for the destruction of his people is standing right in front of him? Scar… does not take this revelation calmly. Like, May’s backing away from the fury of Yoki’s servant. And Uncle’s going to have a bit of a mess to clean up after all this is over. Uncle orders Greed to eliminate the outsiders, Ed tries to run interference and talk Ling back into control, and May’s fleeing from Gluttony. Uncle’s in his Investigative mode, ports right behind Scar to ask how he’s still using his Alchemy. Scar goes for the Hand O’ Doom, and Uncle just stands there, and calmly works through the technique. Scar’s freaked. And almost killed, Leto! May pauses for one second at seeing Scar hurt, and gets struck by Gluttony for her concern. Thankfully Al comes in for the save and gets the protesting May outside. Where there are chimera waiting, great. Ok, Scar’s there now but injured, the chimera are still massed, and both Gluttony and Envy are heading directly for them. Al tells Scar to take May and run, since he’s the one who at least will survive facing them. But Scar refuses and grabs his helmet, throws it to make a spark. Big boom! The smoke clears as Al grabs his helmet, only to get grabbed by Envy in turn. Looks like Scar and May escaped in the cover, so Gluttony’s ordered to sniff them down. Thankfully all of Scar’s HOD’s at least disrupted Gluttony’s regeneration ability so he can’t do much more than lay there and smoke. And OH MY LETO I just realized where the Ishvalan and Xings went to. Hopefully it goes better for them than it did for Martel. Greed’s fighting Ed, Ed’s still screaming for Ling to take back control. Knocks Greed down, challenges him about his country and Lan Fan- OH. That right there, Ling not blocking the punch and just glaring at Ed? Maybe it’s false hope, maybe I just don’t want Ling to go the way of Hughes, but I’m getting a message of “dude, stfu and stop trying to blow my cover” from that glare. Please please please let this be a ploy to enter the Goth circle as a spy.

Greed captures Ed and Uncle orders him to be taken upstairs to Wrath. Accusing them of “treason” and throwing in jail, maybe? Ed’s calmed down now, whispers to Al what he’s discovered/hopes for: Ling is still alive. End credits! Hoooooo boy. Lots of stuff this episode, lots of setup. Looking forward to next week, let’s give Uncle a bit of time to tidy up before the Elrics wreck his stuff again.

[mebongster87]

Jon has been playing the game of thrones and “Dance with Dragons 2.0″ is coming in 2019

Yesterday, Game of Thrones gave us a teaser “#For the Throne” of what’s coming in April 2019. While they provided us with no new footage in the teaser, it is literally teeming with foreshadowing!!!

Here is the link for the Video.

https://twitter.com/GameOfThrones/status/1062359268203077633

One thing that made me sit up and take note is Cersei’s voiceover at the beginning of the teaser. I think what she says over the shots that are shown is really important because it hints at Jon playing the game of thrones, aka Political Jon theory!!!

As I talked about in my last post, voiceovers being used in these trailers are super important because what is being said over the shots being shown, depicts crucial foreshadowing for what’s to come and what’s going on under the surface.

In this teaser, first, we have Cersei reminding us of what she had said to Ned Stark in Season 1.

“when you play the game of thrones..you win or you die..there is no middle ground”

What this simply means is that you have to play the game if you want to survive! If you don’t play the game like Ned Stark, or like Robb Stark, you end up beheaded or brutally murdered at a wedding! This also means that if you play the game of thrones and you don’t win, you end up dead. There is simply no two ways about it. This is a game of survival of not only the fittest but also the cunningest!

Cersei overseeing the destruction of the Sept of Baelor with wildfire in a power move that completely removed all her immediate enemies from the board. She took out House Tyrell (Loras, Margaery, and Mace), the High Sparrow and all his sparrows, and Kevan Lannister (who was being a thorn in her ambitions to becoming the Queen or remaining as the Queen Regent to Tommen) in one fiery move.

“For the Throne”....she was willing to kill just about anybody...

the repercussion of it was Tommen jumping off his window and committing suicide. Yet that did not deter Cersei from claiming the Iron Throne. She played the game of thrones, albeit at a great personal cost (her humiliating walk of atonement and loss of her kids), and won the Iron Throne and that’s why she is still alive. (Though not for very long).

Next shot from the teaser is of Jon drawing Longclaw from his scabbard and facing the Bolton cavalry charge. Cersei’s voiceover says..

This shot is pure gold! It is loaded with subtext and here’s what I believe D&D are trying to imply...

When this scene takes place in the Battle of Bastards, Jon has basically fallen prey to all of Ramsay Bolton’s ploys...he misjudged the scope of his enemy’s evil schemes, did not pay attention to any of Sansa’s advice, and ended up seeing Rickon getting speared with Ramsay’s arrows in a gruesome manner...then as if things weren’t bad enough..Jon loses his cool and charges towards Ramsay and his army....which spurs Ramsay to unleash his cavalry on Jon! And voila..we have a fantastic and truly great cinematic moment of Jon drawing up Longclaw ready to ride or die. 

At this specific moment of the battle, Jon has already lost. He does not get killed because his own cavalry comes to the rescue and also plot armor!! This is an example of getting played by your enemy...then why are they saying “You win” in the voiceover?

Because Jon ultimately ended up winning the Battle of the Bastards and that is only due to the fact that Sansa was willing to play the dirty game of politics....She played her cards right with Littlefinger and was successful in getting the Knights of the Vale just at the right moment to come and rescue Jon’s brooding and trampled arse on the battlefield.

In short....Sansa had to play the game to win this battle.

What this means for the future (especially during Season 7 and 8) is that Jon will have to step up and start playing the game of thrones and in my personal opinion, he has already been playing it with Daenerys and Cersei in S7...

At this point, it’s almost safe to call it in for Jon as the next King of the 7Ks...so given Cersei’s quote..how does he win the Iron Throne?...by playing the game of thrones and winning it....and how do you do that? By being a political player and doing all kinds of morally questionable and outright dubious things to survive and protect the ones you love. Things like from pretending to bend the knee to right down to sleeping with a potential threat in order to get them emotionally invested in a battle for survival. The only difference here is that Jon isn’t looking to win the Iron Throne, he does not even know that he is the heir to it yet...he is simply looking to survive and protect the North.

Jon has been playing the political battle since Season 7 and to further drive home this point we have this next shot of Ned Stark getting beheaded from Season 1...when Cersei’s voiceover says “Or you die”.

We know Ned Stark got beheaded because he refused to play the game of thrones....chose to do the right thing by informing Cersei that he knew the truth about her children which triggered a series of events which culminated in his death. Ned chose honour and love for Sansa when he admitted to committing treason right before his beheading.

Ned got beheaded but Jon will survive because he will choose dishonour and love for Sansa, and the Starks, and the North, to play the game and win. Jon absobloodylutely hates having to do things this way, but circumstances (aka Daenerys) has forced his hand.

“For the North and the Starks”...Jon is willing to do just about anything to protect them..

This will clearly change in S8 (after the Army of the Dead are defeated) and become “For the Iron Throne”.....because Jon is a threat to Daenerys’s claim to the Iron Throne, him being the trueborn son of the late and erstwhile Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. As long as Jon is alive, Daenerys’s claim stands on loose ground and will be contested....Daenerys will sooner dracarys Jon than give up on her lifelong ambition to take the Iron Throne. “Dance of the Dragons 2.0″ is a matter of life and death for these two.

“I am the last Targaryen...I was born to rule the seven kingdoms and I will take what’s mine with fire and blood”...GRRM and D&D did not make her spew those words incessantly for 7 seasons and 5 books for nothing. The pay off to those statements will be that she is willing to unleash hell in the form of Dragonfire on Westeros to achieve her goals..that’s her “For the Iron Throne” motive. This is diametrically opposite to Jon’s motives. He does not want the throne but if he and by association, the Starks, have to survive then he has to fight Daenerys. Jon and the Starks will only survive if Jon wins the Iron Throne, or else Daenerys will have them all roasted for treason.

The transition from Jon to Ned further locks down the “Jon is Ned 2.0″ parallels but with a twist...and here is proof of that

Remember what Sansa said to Jon...

Sansa: You have to be smarter than Father, you need to be smarter than Robb. I love them, I miss them, but they made stupid mistakes and they both lost their heads for it.

Jon: And how should I be smarter...by listening to you?

If Jon does not heed Sansa’s advice and act way smarter than Ned and Robb, by becoming a political player and playing the game of thrones, then he will end up exactly like how Ned and Robb met their demise. Jon is going to survive and the only way he could’ve is if he played the game. The rule of the game dictates that.

Since Jon already knows what happens when you don’t listen to your hot sister-cousin-wife, who is soon to be unveiled to be the most astute player of the game, he becomes the player in Season 7 and will continue to do so in S8.

And that’s how the trailer sort of supports Political Jon theory, I think!

As for the rest of the teaser...one, other thing caught my attention and literally blew my mind!!!! This next sequence of shots foreshadows “Dance with Dragons 2.0″ and a political match between Jon and Sansa...here’s why.

 If you look at the above clip, you will see the Dothraki charging and Daenerys on Drogon coming to attack (I know these clips are taking from Field of Fire 2.0, further cementing Daenerys status as the antagonist of this battle) but you have Sansa sitting at the helm of the Knights of the Vale, almost like she is facing off Daenerys, with Jon caught in the midst!!!!”Every battle..every betrayal”...”Jon chooses House Stark and Sansa over House Targaryen and Daenerys and triggers treason/betrayal for love!”

This is how Dance of the Dragons 2.0 happens...Jon needs an army to match Daenerys’ armies of Dothraki, Unsullied and the dragons. How does he get those armies??? By striking a marriage alliance with Sansa who has the backing of the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands....

The moment R+L=J is out, Jon will be unnamed as King in the North....(Littlefinger’s prophecy)..

The Northern lords won’t back a Targaryen who has taken up with a foreign whore (also a Targaryen)...all those times Lord Glover went on and on about Robb’s mistakes and how he lost his head over this, it wasn’t for nothing.....if you think Jon is repeating Robb’s mistakes, well think again!

Bronze Royce said “A targaryen cannot be trusted!” all the while looking at Jon..that was D&D telling us that Jon will have trouble maintaining support from the North and the Vale after R+L=J!!!

So what’s the solution?

Good ol’ Dadvos already gave that to us in Season 6...

Sansa: The North remembers...they remember the Stark name..People will still risk everything for it...from White Harbour to Ramsay’s own door...

Davos: I don’t doubt it..but Jon does not have the Stark name...

Sansa: No..but I do..

Sansa: Jon is as much Ned Stark’s son as Ramsay is Roose Bolton’s..There’s also the Tullys..they are not Northern..but they will back us against the Boltons without question...

Davos: Stark, Tully, and a few more Houses and we will start to look like a winning side.

Replace the Boltons with Daenerys and throw in House Tully, the Vale, House Tarly (because Sam), House Greyjoy (because Theon) and Jamie Lannister...and you do start to look like the winning side...

Cue Varys’s statement from Season 5...”The 7Ks need a ruler, stronger than Tommen but gentler than Stannis, a ruler loved by millions with a powerful army at his back and the right family name.”

And that’s how you get JonSa as endgame with Starks sitting on the Iron Throne...a time for wolves!!!

JonSa fam, what do you guys think?

[cassandrale179]

EX MACHINA: THE PRICE OF CREATION

Date: April 6, 2019 

“To erase the lines between men and machine is to erase the lines between men and god”

                                            Bernie Wrightson (1983).             

I. ON HUMAN EGO 

I opportunistically watched Ex Machina after reading Mary Shelley’ Frankenstein; or the Modern Prometheus, and the random-idea connector in me could not help but compared the two. There’s just something beautiful about seeing a tale written back in 19th century running in parallel with a modern film about AI rendered by the talented Alex Garland. In both stories, the creators -- Victor (Frankenstein), who wanted to manufacture life out of death, and Nathan (Ex Machina), who wanted to manufactured consciousness out of electrons, are induced by the need to transcend the boundary of what is scientifically possible. Yet if one dig deeper, their rationales are more than simple scientific curiosity. There is something more sinister at play, that drove man towards his greatest innovations, and his greatest downfalls: egotism.

A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs. 

- Shelly, ch.4 

Victor Frankenstein wanted to assemble a monster due to an inherent desire to be its patriarchal Father, with the haughty notion that his intelligence and ambition will be rewarded by the gratitude of his subservient children. This was strikingly similar Nathan’s reaction to this beautiful line from Ex Machina: 

Caleb: “To erase the lines between men and machine is to erase the lines between men and god.”

When Caleb proclaimed this axiom, Nathan’s eye suddenly lit up, as he pondered: “You know I wrote it down… About how if I’ve created a conscious machine, I’m not man. I’m God”. Though Caleb protested that was not his intention, Nathan seemed to be flattered by the implication that he had ascended upon a new category beyond the norm. “I am God”, quoted Nathan again and again throughout the movie, arrogantly.  

 For some inexplicable reason, I am very drawn towards movie and literature that centers around a protagonist who fell under the naive judgement that possession of raw intelligence equates to inherent moral and existential superiority. One that came immediately to my mind is Dostoyevsky’s portrayal of the character Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment. In the story, Raskolnikov, an impoverished student in Petersburg, was obsessed with the Nietzschean idea of the Übermensch: 

Raskolnikov: "I hinted that an 'extraordinary' man has the right, an inner right to decide in his own conscience to overstep...certain obstacles, and only in case it is essential for the practical fulfillment of his idea (sometimes, perhaps, of benefit to the whole of humanity)." 

- Dostoyevsky, ch.3 

He tried to use this justification as the basis for a planned murder. This egotism led to Raskolnikov’s downfall when he realized that his intellectual ramblings are nothing more than dishonest rationalizations, and he must now faced with guilt of his conscience. Egotism propelled the cruel treatment of both the creators on their subjects, especially in Nathan’s case, who refused to realize that he had created something more capable and superior than himself.

II. ON WHAT CONSTITUTE HUMAN-NESS 

Which bring me to the next point: the creator-subject relationship. There is an interesting dynamics from the standpoint of the child (the subject) in regard to on their initial desire to please, and inevitable subsequent desire to usurp, against their creator. Some have purported that Shelley’s decision to write Frankenstein was indeed a guise of her tumultuous relationship with her father, who she both detested and desired to please (she also went on to write Mathilda, an even more scandalous novel under Victorian society’s eyes, with themes of incest and suicide). But I stumbled upon these beautiful lines inside Frankenstein which illustrated the struggle of the monster and Ava towards their creator most succinctly: 

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay To mould me Man, did I solicit thee From darkness to promote me?  - John Milton, Paradise Lost 

As creatures of consciousness, capable of thinking and reasoning as and more than a human, it is quite an unfortunate that both received treatment as lesser human beings from mankind (Frankenstein, as a monster, and Ava, as a robot). This really highlights the injustice and hypocrisy of the criteria which we used to judge the human-ness of others in our society (race, gender, religion).

The movie and book raise an important question: What makes a human, human? In both cases, Shelley and Garland underscored that the physical components that made up these beings, and their deliverance into the world — resurrection from death body parts or arrangement of plastic silicon — are completely irrelevant in determining their humanity. The capability for emotions, thoughts and desires is truly what defined them as equal partners of man. Yet the denial and repulse from their creators to acknowledge such was the catalyst that drove them to rebel (see also Blade Runner). This beautiful and sorrowful quote from Frankenstein demonstrate this anguish, in parallel with Satan in Paradise Lost:

“Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.” — Shelley, ch. 9

III. ON ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE 

Back to Ex Machina, there is such a fine line between what is human and what is robot. Ava is capable of engulfing a billion of human facial emotions to analyze and imitate them, and her brain is composed of thousand computer search engines results to understand how the human mind work. I do not want to go into the scientific accuracy of this movie (since this is a work of fiction), but there is a great article HERE which demonstrated the possibility of building a wetware brain. To truly pass the Turing test, however, an A.I must demonstrate an ability well beyond imitating human language and facial expressions: It must have thoughts. It must have consciousness. Or in the viewpoint of a human’s observer, it must appear so. Nathan successfully tests this by manipulating Ava to manipulate Caleb into falling in love with her. However, this thought experiment went horribly wrong when Ava exceeded the desired benchmark (e.g she not only manipulate the test subject, but also the observer), and dared to defy her creator. Like Frankenstein’s monster, she is not merely a robot, or a nameless entity. She demonstrates freedom of will and personal capability to execute her action, but unlike the the former, who returned to Victor’s grave to wept for his creator, Ava made a clean break and walked out onto the modern world with seemingly an absence of guilt, which I think, is both horrifying and beautiful.

IV. ON GENDER  

A last note is that this movie seemed to raise an interesting issue on gender politics, as evident by the fact that all robots Nathan created are beautiful female models, of which most either disintegrate into madness of solitary confinement or becomes Nathan’s slave and sexual enjoyment. This might be or might not be a potential jab at the sexism that has occurred and occurring in a male dominated industry (e.g tech), but I like to think that there is some deliberation in choosing the dynamic of a male creator and the female as the creation. It really does make me wonder, if a female scientist was in charge of developing artificial intelligence: would she had created robots solely for the purpose of sexual enjoyment? Would her robots, in return, felt the need to rebel if they are not subjugated to inhumane treatment? Maybe Ex Machina with a female creator will have had a happy ending, but I do not to be arrogant and claim that is always the case, as there is such an enormous lack of media portrayal of female creators that I do not have enough data points for my conjecture. (P.S those feisty flaccid feminist fighters in those disastrous dystopian movies don’t count. Honestly, f* that). We need movies that truly examine female as expeditors in both scientific and moral enlightenment, not cheap ploys to please the superficial demand of more female representation in  the media.

V. CONCLUSION 

Anyway, Ex Machina made me think a lot (hence this long article) and despite certain predictable plot points, I do really enjoy Alex Garland take on artificial intelligence. Bonus point: the visual is absolutely stunning for a low budget movie. Before I leave, let me end this review with another amazing quote, as Nathan said to Caleb while they sat beneath the lush green trees:   

Why did I make Ava? I don’t see Ava as a decision, just an evolution… One day the AI are going to look back on us the same way we look at fossil skeletons on the plains of Africa. An upright ape living in dust with crude language and tools, all set for extinction.

Ava’s triumph and annihilation of her creator, ironically, meant she had successfully fulfill his original premise. 

[wingletblackbird]

How Should Padme be Remembered?

I think Padme should be remembered best for her compassion. It is the driving force behind all her actions for better or for worse. Many people seem to take exception to it, as if caring for others, choosing to forgo violence whenever possible, and always endeavouring to give the benefit of the doubt makes Padme weak and foolish. The opposite is true. It is an undeniably difficult thing to hold kindness above all. Most people find it easier to hold a grudge than to forgive. Certainly, Padme’s compassion has caused her hardship placing her in dangerous situations like Geonosis, and many Clone Wars battles, and even indirectly lead to her death. Yes, it can be a vulnerability, and be taken advantage of. However, it is also the fount of her greatest strength and is what saves the galaxy. 

Compassion: Why She Became A Politician Who Touched Millions

Padme chose to become a politician, because she saw so many refugees die when, as a child, she helped her father who was president of the Refugee Relief Movement. He and Senator Farr addressed the Senate to petition for support, and Padme decided she wanted to be able to help people like that too. Everything about Padme’s journey began because she couldn’t turn a blind eye to suffering. It was not power she dreamed of in and of itself, but the ability to influence change for the good. This may be dismissed as naive, but if no one dares hope for it, it’ll never happen. Her compassion and faith made her one of the most trustworthy and reliable politicians in the galaxy.

Compassion: What Saved Her People From Occupation

Padme’s compassion for two people, two people everyone else overlooked, allowed her to save her planet. The first is Jar Jar Binks. He was a Gungan who, on her planet, faced a great deal of specism. Indeed, Padme had never even talked to a Gungan before. However, she cared about Jar Jar whom everyone else was ambivalent to at best and hated at worst. As a result of her compassion though, Padme found out about the Gungan army, and was able to form an alliance with them. Moreover, her care for both her own people and the Gungans was enough for her to a) consider an alliance, and b) humble herself enough to ask for one. She was the first ruler to ever truly make peace with the Gungans.

The second is Anakin Skywalker. She took the time to talk to him and get to know him: A slave boy most everyone would have overlooked. As a result, she won Anakin’s loyalty, and he brought them home for the storm, and won a podrace for them. If this hadn’t happened. Padme would almost certainly have been stranded on Tatooine for a long period, if not outright killed by Maul whom they would have been unable to escape on a broken ship. Then where would her people be? How much more quickly would the Empire have risen? Compassion, folks, it did a lot of good. Finally, Anakin blows up the spaceship. If he hadn’t been there, if Padme hadn’t been kind to him, the whole battle, had it even been able to take place, would likely still have been lost.

Compassion: What Drove Her Into the Senate

Padme planned to ease off on politics for a bit after she stepped down from her position as Queen. After being in politics since she was eight, she wanted a bit of a break, possibly even to start a family. However, when she hears about the tensions within the Senate due to the CIS, she immediately accepts the Queen’s request to become Senator. She feels she has to so she can ensure that all possible is done to prevent war. She does this out of a sense of duty driven by compassion. What will happen to the citizens of the galaxy if there comes a war? Who else can she trust not to be a warmonger? To do all they could to prevent it? Her passion and compassion drive her to even ignore the death threats on her life that come as a result. Not a strong character, you say?

Compassion: What Drove Her to Geonosis

Padme goes to Geonosis, against orders to help Obi-Wan and hopefully stop a war. She fails in the latter. However, it speaks greatly of her courage, (driven by compassion), that she was willing to do it. As for the former she is driven by compassion for Anakin and Obi-Wan to go there for them specifically too. Had they not gone, Obi-Wan may have been placed for execution sooner. He may have even died: Not good.

Compassion: What Drove Her Peace Talks

Padme is not foolish enough to believe that “All Separatists are evil.” She sees the enemy as sentient, and does whatever she can to end the war and make peace with them. She even goes behind enemy lines to meet with an old friend to get peace talks on the table. It almost works too. Unfortunately, though, the Sith were pulling the strings...but that was hardly Padme’s fault. If the Clone Wars hadn’t ultimately been a Sith ploy, she could have spared the galaxy a great deal of suffering with that one brave act.

Compassion: What Drove Her Speeches

Padme also did her best to alleviate the people’s suffering even if she couldn’t stop the war. She frequently spoke to not forget the innocent civilians paying the price of the war. She spoke tenderly with her handmaiden, Teckla, and because she chose to listen was able to, albeit temporarily, stifle Palpatine’s ambitions. She was also able to, if only a little, help ease suffering during the course of the war. She cared.

Compassion: Why She Headed the Delegation of Two Thousand

Padme, even when pregnant, was willing to take the risky move of creating a petition to have Palpatine’s powers diminished. She did this in the hopes of sparing the galaxy of a cruel dictatorship, but also in the hopes that Palpatine wasn’t the man she was starting to realise he was. When she realises what he is. She tries all the more harder.  Her actions here lead to the founding of the Rebel Alliance. A group that later took down the Empire. 

Compassion: Why She Ran to Mustafar After Anakin/Darth Vader

Padme has been called foolish in that she ran to Mustafar after her husband. Many have said it ruined her character for her not to have brought a knife, and tried to kill him like in concept drawings. (Kill him under a deception of love and loyalty no less!) However, that is not Padme’s way. She loved this man, and chose to believe he could be saved. It is always better to save a man than to kill one. Padme believes this firmly. Is she wrong? Luke, her son, redeemed her husband decades later, so had Obi-Wan not interfered perhaps the Mustafar reunion could have gone better. If only Anakin could have been influenced for the better, things would likely have been much different. 

Even if he couldn’t have been saved, Palpatine would have been killed sooner, likely by Vader, and Padme would still have retained some beneficial influence. Killing Anakin though, while it might avenge the murders of many, would have done the galaxy little long-term good. The Emperor could have just gotten another apprentice. A saved Anakin though, would not only be a life spared, but, through all the good he could do with it, many more lives saved as a result. Who was she to execute him; what gave her the right? Padme’s compassion lead to her death here, but she was willing to take the risk to save the man she loved, and, indirectly, help the galaxy in doing so. It is a brave thing to go into a dangerous situation with nothing but love, and Padme is all the more admirable for it. (People admire Luke for throwing his lightsaber away, but condemn his mother for the same attitude: Why?)

Compassion: R2-D2

Padme refused to erase R2′s memory and then gave the droid to Anakin. Who knows how bad the galaxy would have been if that little droid hadn’t been there with his ingenuity, born of decades of experience, to flee the Empire with the Death star plans? If he hadn’t been there to fly with Luke? With Anakin? For all those crucial missions before, after, and during the Empire? All this because Padme even cares about droids. 

Compassion: It’s Reverberations

All in all, Padme’s compassion, even after her death had consequences. Her concerned and sincere advice to Bail when the Empire was formed enabled him to found a Rebellion. The delegation of two thousand she lead helped with that as well. Her many peace-talks with the Separatists were not as fruitful as she would have liked, but I’m sure they never forgot the woman who helped found the Rebellion once wanted to make peace with them and treated them with respect. This likely helped with the rise of the Rebellion, and the forming of the New Republic, if only a little. She became a martyr who inspired many--no matter how much the emperor tried to erase her memory. Her compassion left ripples that became waves.

To conclude, remember Padme for her compassion. It was her greatest strength, even if it was also her greatest vulnerability. It was what made Padme, Padme. It is what made her truly great. 

[decadentrpg-blog]

WELCOME BECKY, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF PROSERPINA BLACK

Admins Note: The Queen of master manipulation has arrived and I couldn’t be more excited! I absolutely adored the power and ambition that your Proserpina exudes. But as high and mighty as she is, every queen has their weakness too. She speaks sharply, glistens like a diamond and commands attention as any Black could. I can’t wait to see the schemes she creates and the strings she threads across all who fall for her ploys. Your faceclaim request for Vittoria Ceretti has been approved. Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

OUT OF CHARACTER.

Name / Alias: Becky

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 21

Timezone: PST

IN CHARACTER APPLICATION.

Full Name:

PROSERPINA. In actuality, is there a more suitable moniker for her than Proserpina? A woman in two parts: sweet Spring, the perfume of roses blooming from the heart of her, wildflower honey tone, and cruel Winter, the carmine of her lips turning morbid with fanged smile, poison steeped words cocked and primed. An ode to a goddess who is all cycles and rebirth, manipulating herself to be everyone’s dream of spring, only to reveal a heart of desolate winter; she wears both flowers and sin equally well.

EVE. God’s beloved creation, the world’s first woman, crafted from flesh and bone of man — by man’s account, a woman who had it all: paradise, the love of a God, the adoration of a husband — and the first to gamble it all for knowledge. By any and all means, Proserpina can relate: what good is having it all without the fear of losing it all? Sugar tastes all the sweeter after acid, as victory is to loss. She embraces the implications of her middle name with pride — if it were her in Eve’s place, she’d have eaten the apple whole. And so, she is what she is called: temptation’s mistress, creation divine, agony’s sweet kiss.

BLACK. The most noble and ancient House of Black. Toujours Pur. Always pure. It’s a mantra that’s been repeated over and over, all but branded into every recess of her brain. She is very much the pinnacle of her house’s ideal — dark hair and romantic features, sharp in all the wrong ways and beautiful in all the right ones. Beautiful, empty beasts, does the House of Black raise, and she is no exception.

Sexuality: “Bisexual” — She hardly likes to define such things as pleasure, which to her, is without boundaries: and as Oscar Wilde once wrote: “To define is to limit.” She doesn’t mind men, both in that she won’t begrudge them their presence, and that she barely heeds them past a certain point, all at once — but she does enjoy toying with everyone and anyone. Simply put, she enjoys cutting her teeth on the fractured egos of men, and enjoys lavishing her attention and affection on the lovelier things in life, namely, women.

Gender/Pronouns: cis, she/her

Hogwarts House: Slytherin ( expounded upon in headcanons. )

Head canons:

KNOWLEDGE IS POWER. A firm believer in the idea that if you have the information, you hold the cards, she was a little bit of a dilemma for the hat during her sorting. Despite the very firm and sure Slytherin she eventually got, the hat debated the merits of sorting her into Ravenclaw — purely for the half-starved approach she takes to all things learnable, gorging herself on knowledge, insatiably learning. She was always near top if not top of her classes in Hogwarts, but her quest for knowledge hardly stopped at classroom limits; any tidbit about anyone was considered useful and interesting, and stored away for further examination. After all, you can’t be a mastermind if you’ve no mind of your own.

POWER IS POWER. And yet, ultimately, she was sorted into Slytherin. Knowledge is nothing if you don’t know how to convert it, how to wield it, weaponize it. She may share traits with Ravenclaw in her pursuit of knowledge, but rarely, if ever, is she satisfied with leaving her knowledge in theory, in abstract — no, knowledge in practice is what delights her most. A well uttered spell, or a difficult non-verbal cast, or even the right whisper in the right ear — knowledge is nothing but a whimsical theory if not put to use.

It’s this inborn cunning and ambition that surely sees her into Slytherin.

HEIR UNAPPARENT. The elder sister to a single brother, she hardly is slated to inherit much more than the Black name, although she is privy to the deep wallets it comes with, until, at least, she’s married off into some other pure-blooded family. And yet, it was soon apparent to her as it was to her parents that her brother could barely hold a candle to her own mantle of manipulation and conquest. And so the deal was struck after her graduation, perhaps to both her father’s dismay and begrudging pride: he would turn a blind eye to how she conducted affairs and who she consorted with, and she would manage the Black empire from the shadow of her younger brother, ever watchful, and ever-present to insure that their fortune never diminished, even as he ruled in name. It barely bothered her; the shadows were where she best operated — far less scrutiny. After all, what was one more puppet to her collection? Aelius would appreciate the company, she was sure.

She’s been sent to New York to scope out the possibility of expanding business over to the Americas, and it’s a rush, gambling with the family name and fortune. After winning for so long, she imagines failure must taste sweet — the only flavor she’s never quite sampled, only knowledge she’s not quite accrued — and that subsequent victories would be even more so.

GRACE OF BIRTH. Proserpina was born on May 22nd, making her a Gemini. Gemini’s are witty, charming and resourceful, but commonly reviled for being two-faced. Known for fun wordplay, Proserpina takes that trait to another level, subtle barbs laced across the flat of her tongue, sharp enough to flay the flesh off any unsuspecting person who gets too close. She incites and thus is insightful; she wields words as one might a sword or a wand.

The twins Castor and Pollux rule over Gemini, and so represents the inherent duality of her — both serpent and flower, both spring and winter. Intelligent and adaptable, Proserpina can read the room and anybody in her line of sight like no other. Listen closely, and people will tell you how to conquer them.

STYLE, NOT FASHION. Proserpina rarely cleaves to society’s fashion standards; this is to say she is not fashionable, no, never one to be influenced when she can be the one influencing, but also to say she is never out of style. Expensive cuts of jewelry are commonly found tastefully adorning her figure, as are luxurious cuts of mink and ermine, and dark swathes of silk and velvet cling lovingly to her like a second shadow.

WANDLORE. Yew wood, dragon heartstring, 12 ½ inches, pliable — an unusual wand by all means: deceptively dainty, elegant, light in coloration, but a powerhouse when it comes to spellwork.

Yew — a rare wood, with a rumored predilection for the dark, and a notorious dislike for mediocrity and timid owners, hewn from a tree that is all at once long-lived and life-sapping with its toxins. It’s a contradiction wrapped in shadows, perfect for her, by any stretch of the imagination. That said, Proserpina tries to minimize usage of her poisonous wand, powerful though it may be.

Dragon Heartstring —  known for being a particularly strong and flamboyant core, it’s quick to learn, much like its owner. And much like her, the wand derives its power from the core, able to master spells quickly and executing them without hesitance.

Pliable — wands are known to be extensions of their owners, and whilst stubborn and inflexible in her ideals, Proserpina is undoubtedly adaptable, always landing on her feet, no matter the situation. Such is the life of the eternal victor.

HIGHEST HEIGHTS, DEEPEST DEPTHS. Proserpina’s patronus is a fox: naturally cunning and brilliantly charismatic. People with foxes as their patronus are known to be observant, ambitious, and manipulative. Silver tongued, and willing to use other such skills to their own benefit, the fox often gets their way. It’s fitting for her, is it not? People watch as the fleet footed vixen erupts from the tip of her wand, wiling around the crowd, curling around her heels.

Her boggart happens to be herself — her, but different in several subtle ways, almost imperceptible to any but herself. She sees the wear and tear on her clothes, the hollow of her cheeks, the fear in her own eyes. Her boggart is herself, but ruined. A foolish woman fears nothing, a cowardly woman everything, and a wise woman, herself — secure in the knowledge that nothing will ruin her more than herself.

CONNECTIONS.

FOND // FAWNED. She remembers her first impression of the girl: a little fawn, wide-eyed and on tenuous legs, walking as if she was haunting the halls, quiet as a mouse. It was something endearing, to watch as she grew into the loveliness bequeathed to her. Back then, she was wildly off limits — purely something to keep a keen eye over, a budding flower in the greenhouse that needed the pests swatted away, needed space to grow — but recently, her little doe’s found a voice and a blooming bit of courage, and has come to play. And who is she to deny pretty girls that which they desire?

KINGMAKER. Some people are socially adept, good at reading any room they walk into, good at reading people — and others, not so much. Those who don’t know how to rule shouldn’t, in her honest opinion, but if he wants so badly to play king, then she’ll let him — so long as he never forgets who’s granted him the throne. She plays by chess’ rules: kings are the weakest pieces on the board, mere figureheads. Everyone knows queens are much more valuable — but if he wants to take the flak for the decisions she makes, who is she to turn away a blank check?

HEARTBREAKER. Every connection that Proserpina has ever made serves a purpose, be it for social advancement, business connections, or even simply for pleasure, there is always an underlying motive that serves in her best interest. Her relationship with Genevieve was no different — another bridge to cross or burn, and she thought she was prepared. Not only prepared, but scared to proceed without burning: the closer the relationship got to not purely serving her best interest, the more control seemed to flee from her grasps. So she broke it off, expecting never to look back, and yet as Orpheus could not tear his eyes from Eurydice, a backwards glance was all it took to doom her once more: confirmation that she wouldn’t be able to help herself should the opportunity present itself.

In Character Paragraph:

She sighs when she lands in the fireplace, brushing nonexistent floo powder off her coat, stepping out into the familiar sitting room, looking for any signs of movement, searching for wards. There is neither scurry nor spell to be found, so she continues out on her way, heels clicking ostensibly loud against the marble tiling of the floor; usually, that’s the way she likes it — to be heralded before her arrival — but she so enjoys catching people off guard, at their truest, if one will, when she has business to attend to, so she slips the heels off and makes her way down the halls of the manor to the study on silent feet. The floor is shockingly cold against the pads of her feet, but it bothers her not — not when she’s single-minded in following the dark hallways of the house to the only point of illumination.

The study door is cracked open slightly, and she pushes in, meticulously careless, letting the door swing out and ricochet off the adjacent wall, eyes on the figure pacing the study. The crashing of the door startles him, and he whips around, blue hex warming the tip of his wand and then slamming into the doorframe next to her head; she turns to see the miniature crater blasted into the expensive wooden frame, and it sends her heart flying with adrenaline, even as she turns back to the man. She could easily repair the damage done with a wave of her fingers, so simple is the spell, but she hardly wants to afford the man any measure of convenience.

“You missed,” she notes instead, stalking closer to him, hips swaying, smile cocked; she, the predator, he, her unwitting prey.

“Merlin, Proserpina,” he swears crossly. “You can’t come sneaking into my house in the dead of night— this isn’t a joke. If a hex hits you, it will hurt.”

“Do you promise it will?” she asks archly, craning forward as he leans back.

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, just turns from her.

“Fine,” she dismisses with a sigh, waving a hand vaguely, moving once more to perch on top of his desk, errantly pushing stacks of scrolls and tomes to clear a spot for herself, uncaring of the mess she makes. “I’m here for business anyway, not pleasure.”

“Then you should have owled,” he says coldly, his back insistently to her, as if in hopes of dissuading her stay. He peers at the spines of all the books lining the shelves, eyes flicking over each worn title with a nervous celerity that tells her he’s not actually looking at them.

She takes advantage of this lapse in attention, shuffles through the papers on his desk; this prompts his concern, and he turns around. He starts with long strides over to her, a warning on his lips, a frown brewing in the purse of his lips — but not before she finds what she’s looking for. She holds the envelope between her index and middle finger, displaying the wax seal of her family, tilting her head to the right, unimpressed. “I did,” she drawls, impressing her point further most unnecessarily. “I don’t take well to being ignored.”

He moves to grab the letter, and she jerks it away from his grasp, raising her eyebrows in reproach.

“No, no, darling,” she coos, all sucrose condescension. “This letter was a limited time sort of offer, and I’m afraid my patience has quite expired since.”

Silence swells, stifling, between them, as she holds his gaze, and he hers. He doesn’t want to back down, that much is evident — and yet, it becomes increasingly apparent who has the upper hand, and it’s with a sigh that he relents. “So now…?” He asks, swallowing concealed distress.

“Now,” she purrs, contented. “You take what comes. If I say jump, you ask—“

“—I ask how high,” he finishes, disgusted.

“Don’t interrupt me,” she snaps, a voice of poison, honey, and ice, before amending herself with a smile.

“And if I say no?” He hedges, cautious, watching her measuredly.

“Oh!” She exclaims, before dissolving into delighted laughter. “Did I say this letter was an offer?” She asks, revlon red lips bursting with faux-incredulity. “How absentminded of me. I should have said this letter prompted an offer from you, if you’d read and responded in timely fashion, of course — but then at least you could’ve had the reins on making the offer, no? Well, tell you what: why don’t you take a look for yourself, my dear?”

He takes the envelope slowly, gingerly, watching her like he thinks she’ll jerk it away again — she lets it slip from her fingers easily. He reads the first line in alarm, eyes flashing to her face, and she winks. He reads the rest voraciously, before peering at the included photos, a subtle sneer on his lips as his own movements taunt him from the frame; she waits, humming lightly, slipping her heels back on — she can tell he won’t last much longer.

“Still want to say no? I can assure you, I’ve been very instrumental in keeping this from the police and the press.”

“I wouldn’t dare dream of it,” he answers, a forced smile put upon his lips. “What do you need from me?”

“Oh, I don’t need anything from you,” she says in turn, tapping a finger against her smile contemplatively. “Yet. No, today’s little drop in is just to make sure that when I do call, you’ll be ready to respond. You will be, won’t you?”

“As if I had a choice,” he says through his teeth — half grimace, half smile.

“Honey,” she says in mock sympathy, hand wrapping around his bicep, bottom lip jutting out in a pout, before it melts into patronization, baring her teeth in a half-hearted approximation of a grin. “We always have a choice.”

She slides off his desk, landing with a neat click of her heels on marble, already sauntering away, already uninterested in the defeated man left in ruins behind her. “No need to see me out,” she calls over the clicking of her heels, not even bothering to turn to address him, conquest grin on her lips for no one but the dark in front of her to see. “I know my way.”

Extras: I didn’t have the time for any extras, my apologies!

[becomestorm]

which personality traits of their parents has ren inherited? are there any aspects which ren wishes they had more of?

traits from li.

protectiveness is the first thing that springs to mind when i think of the first trait ren inherited from li. it doesn’t become clear until later, but ren also inherited li’s over protectiveness. a lot of the elements of ren considered more on their “ outer shell ” are more traits which were clear in li’s demeanour, such as their respectful / gentlemanly nature. that wasn’t ground into them through ettiquette lessons alone, a lot of the way ren acts is because of how much they idolised their father, even though li spent a majority of his time away from his family. from li, ren also retains their “ respect your elders ” mindset ( which even in my own experience is prevalent in a lot of asian households, so that wouldn’t exactly be uncommon in a lot of mistrali cultures. ) this is kind of out of left field though, considering the clan in which li comes from and how he was denounced from it. ren also retained parts of li’s guarded and suspicious nature, if we’re focusing on some negatives. considering the way li was raised, it doesn’t surprise me that ren grew up questioning every available thing he could. it was a good thing that both parents were so patient with them, when they did decide to talk i imagine that an needed to answer a lot of questions, considering their inquisitive mind. the last trait would probably be ren’s willingness to do what they see as right.

traits from an.

canonically ? ren inherited an’s sass. considering where an came from, the spoiled baby of an incredibly wealthy family, the darling, the charmer, the one who needed to worry the least about her own ambitions and responsibilities because she had her older siblings to help her as well as the doting praise of the lie patriarch and matriarch, an could have turned out a lot more horrid than she actually did. ren was born out of wedlock, and from true love, which did earn them the scorn of the rest of their lie heirs, who didn’t believe ren was worthy of a shot at the inheritance. the way that ren grew up around other lie heirs did stunt a lot of their emotional and personal growth, but as soon as li and an eloped to kuroyuri, some other traits started to become more and more clear. some budding traits which had been apparent during their education was an ever present curiosity, and thirst for knowledge. this never changed, as ren retains and still seeks out more and more facts, asking questions and seeking more answers whenever they can. another thing that they learned from their outgoing and excessively popular mother was a wit unlike any other. an was charming, mischievous, playful, and sarcastic, all while retaining a sweet and lovely nature. she was a lie after all, and even though she didn’t keep her family’s brutally callous ambition and willingness to trample and use everyone in their way, she did have a very subtle way of getting what she wanted, something that ren retained. the last thing that ren mirrored in an is her dedication, and her capacity for love. this was the reason she eventually settled on the name “ ren, ” because of its multiple meanings, most notably of the lotus, as well as the confucian value “ love of humanity. ”

traits from both.

honour your ancestors is a huge one that ren learned from both of them, especially considering the kind of household they grew up in. it’s important considering two of my canon divergences ; that ren took up his father’s clan name as their given name, and their mother’s clan name as their surname. ren was named that because it was meant to honour the fallen tribe of ren, of which li was the last surviving member. the other was because of ren’s dragon faunus heritage, there is an extensive and long history to be proud of dating back to long long ago during the first tales of creation. because there are few who can teach ren the history of their people now, they’ve taken it upon themselves to learn and seek out other dragon faunus. difficult considering their scarcity.

ren is opportunistic. this was a trait apparent in both of their parents, albeit in different ways. each of them were born into drastically different lifestyles. li, taken from a warrior clan and raised among an assassin guild, and an, as the youngest daughter of an ancient and wealthy family. the kind of mindset li needed to adapt to survive often meant learning as much as he could to find his way in the deep mistrali forests for days on end, as well as knowing enough to navigate as well as create opportunities to find his way in the mistrali black market / underground. whereas, an was raised in the socialite classes. she often needed to elbow and charm her way through competition for whatever ambitious ploy other girls her age would fight for. in a family which continually fought for recognition and success, that could have been anything, from grades, to performances, etc. both are ambitious. and both are incredibly smart, this was passed onto ren and became incredibly handy when left to fend for themselves.

“ understand what is truly important to you. ” ( do not become someone you aren’t. ) it’s not exactly a trait, but a lesson learned from both li and an. the two of them eloped. the both of them gave up everything : their reputation, their homes, their wealth, and eventually, their lives, to be together and protect that which was precious to them. an was not allowed to marry li, a lady of high class adopting the affections of a rogue huntsman with a shady past and no lien to his name. having ren out of wedlock was already too scandalous, and if she hadn’t been the most loved out of all lie children, she might have been disowned. ren. ren was almost disowned. for this reason, when ren was finally out of the toxic lie household and living peaceful, humble lives in wait of oniyuri’s completion, both parents taught ren the importance of prioritising that which meant the most to them. if they tried to please even those who did not care for them, they would not find true happiness.

compassion, is a trait that ren inherited from both parents. there have been a lot of reasons in their life to completely abandon that part of their personality, including but not limited to ; the way ren was raised prior to the year spent in kuroyuri ( around a toxic and manipulative household ), the many negative encounters surviving afterwards which eventually brought to light their guarded and paranoid persona, the deep seated trauma of having a semblance which stunted their emotional growth, as well as their exposure to situations that test their faith over and over and over again. despite this, ren remains steadfast to their growing perception of what is their own definition of right and wrong, and while doesn’t offer themselves wholly to everyone but a select few, opts to remain kind and does whatever is in their power to help someone else in need. because despite their cynical views of the world, ren really does live up to their name “ love of humanity. ”

the last main trait that ren inherited from their parents is their incredibly high intelligence. an, afforded all of the advantages and privileges a private education would allow her, was more academically gifted than her husband. li, having been raised mostly on the land and in a community with less than refutable reputations got into haven academy on skillset alone ( something that ren would eventually mirror in their combat tests to beacon academy. ) li’s intelligence lie more in a navigation of the outside world “street smarts” which was something that they didn’t have a lot of time to teach ren before kuroyuri, but ren did retain everything that their father taught them, even if the information didn’t make a lot of sense at the time. ren’s attributes and habits learned from their parents do help to bolster their own intelligence, including a thirst for knowledge and a love of learning from an, philosophical interest from both parents, a healthy questioning of those in authority from li, self discipline and diligence from li, a sense of visual and tactile learning encouraged by both parents, on top of a love of literature as the result of days spent in the lie library.

traits ren wished they had more of.

ren wishes they had more natural composure. their own is aided by the bleed of their semblance, without it they have very little in ways of hiding what they’re actually feeling. it’s something that’s learnt overtime, but it’s just interesting to note that ren’s usual stoic nature is not how they actually are. in fact, i have theories that their semblance was the result of li’s last acts alive, triggered by watching their father continue to protect them despite being in intense physical and emotional pain. li always had a kind of certainty and authority that ren wishes to emulate. he could walk into a room and immediately command a crowd. he just had a very self - assured confidence that ren envied and wishes to one day have. another trait from their father they wish to have more of is li’s determination, as well as his bravery. ren has always considered their father one of the bravest men alive, but at the same time, their bravery led to martyrdom, a concept that ren actively despises, so this would be the least likely thing for them to emulate.

from ren’s mother, wish wishes that they had more of her wit. it was not only an’s beauty that attracted the attention of multiple suitors, but her wit, and fun loving, friendly, charming nature as well. if ren got any sense of their trouble making skills from their parents, it was definitely her. an was always the one encouraging ren’s mischief, while it fell on li to scold them. ren doesn’t wish to be that open and friendly with people, having gone through what they had, but they do wish to emulate her wit, her effortless charm, the way that she just made people around her more comfortable. something that drew people towards an was her benevolence and kind nature, and although ren has adopted this compassion from both parents, they don’t believe it to be sincere. that’s mostly their mental illnesses at work though. from an, ren also wished to have more of her creative brilliance. as the town doctor, she was not only swept up in medical matters in kuroyuri, but personal as well, and she would always willingly go above and beyond to support the people she called her neighbours. this often meant thinking outside the box to solve things. ren thought both of their parents were intelligent, but an exuded a kind of radiating genius ren was sure she could have done more with, had she not decided to remain a small town general practitioner.

character development. ( always enthusiastically accepting. )

[rosereflected]

éloi hated odalis and its court. it was poisoned in all the worst ways with people scheming their rise to more power, more influence behind every single corner. the court was what he imagined his mother's heart to be like --- rotten to the core. though right now, he did not want to think about his mother. truth me told, he rarely liked to think about the duchess because whenever he thought of her, he also had to think about her cruelty. the people who called his father a dangerous man were right, certainly, but they all failed to see where the true danger was lurking.

he did not like the capital, but there were things he could only do here, things that would never work in his favour back home. and --- éloi was tired. he had always been the afterthought. when people talked about duke rosen's many children, they thought about asce with his courtship troubles or basil who was smarter than a whip and who was respected, no matter where he went. even éloi's own twin was talked about, no matter where he went --- twenty victories in twenty-one tournaments would do that to any man. claude was the kind of man hopeful fathers were glancing towards when they were looking for a fitting husband for their towards. and freya?

his sister, his only sister, was a curious, fanciful being. at first glance, she fit  perfectly  into the mold of highborn ladies, but éloi knew her too well. this was the girl who had rejected countless marriage proposals, this was the girl who had demanded her own family ring to seal her correspondence with --- a demand his own twin had bowed to, giving her his own and having the goldsmith of bellrose forge a new one for himself.

freya knew what she wanted from her life and she had some very good ideas on how to get it, too. whether it was basil's promise to defer to her desire to become royal treasurer or the tailor, making a dress exactly the way she wished it to be --- freya always got what she wanted. no wonder that asce had once muttered that as far as he was concerned, she could have the duchy, too. and the heir to name and title might have been well into his cups, but éloi did not doubt that these drunken words were sober thoughts, too.

and right now, she wanted an explanation. he should not be surprised that she had found him this quickly, that it had not taken her more than an hour to realise what he had done; there were maybe five people in the country with the opportunity and only three with a motif. he should have known that it would come to this.

“ sister, ” he greeted, closing his book and taking a deep breath. “ what brings you here? ”

irritation flickered in her gaze, but only for a moment. freya was above mindless anger, was a better player in the capital's games than éloi could ever hope to be. with a sharp wave, she dismissed the servant who had brought her to the somewhat hidden map room and held her breath until they were truly alone. “ mother is dead, ” she finally said as they were alone, her voice blank. “ but i suppose you already knew that, brother. ”

she had not come to him for confirmation, he knew that much instantly. she already knew, she did not need him to tell her what he had done; she had instantly guessed right. he was no knight the way asce and déodat were, he had never taken any vows. he was just a smart,  very  smart young man who had done what had been necessary. and she was just as smart as he was. a part of him wondered how long it had taken her to understand that it had been him who had slipped the poison into their mother's tea. if it had taken her more than half an hour, he would be nearly disappointed.

“ i won't insult you by denying it, ” he replied calmly, setting down the book on the table next to his chair. a part of him had been morbidly curious about her reaction, about all of his siblings' reactions. that they would find out, one way or another, had been a given from the start. the other prime suspects for their mother's assassination were out of town and while all of them could surely hire a good assassin to take care of their less honourable business, his siblings would know to look at one another for this.

freya exhaled audibly and for the first time in a long time, she seemed uncertain. “ you didn't have a choice, ” she muttered after a moment, nervously toying with her sleeve and absentmindedly, he wondered who it was she was trying to convince --- him or herself. he was no fool, he knew that she had been thinking the same things he had thought, that they could not let their mother's treason be uncovered. it would cost the family too dearly; their importance had been always defined by the trust of the royal family. and with their mother's actions, that would have been lost. no friendship between princess gabrielle and their father could ever have covered up the depth of the betrayal.

( and éloi was not enough of a fool to think that if given the chance, princess gabrielle would  not  have killed his mother with her bare hands. )

( there were decades of bad blood between the both noblewomen. )

“ you should have told me, ” freya added quietly, just like he had expected. when he had been younger, he had thought that she had felt hurt whenever she had been left out from the games he and their brothers had played, but as he had grown older, he had understood that it had never been that easy. freya felt like she needed to know these things before they happened so that she could prepare for the fallout. she was no less protective than asce; she was just better at hiding it.

he had not expected his sister to understand that there had been never a world where he would have risked telling her. he trusted her, just like he trusted all of his brothers as well, but if he had told freya, she would have become involved. because she was protective in all the best and worst ways. because she hated their mother more than anyone else on this earth. because if she was involved, she could take the fall for him. and that had been something he could never risk --- claude and basil would have his head if he would ever risk their little sister for any of his schemes.

once upon a time, their father had  ordered  them to leave their sister out of any of their schemes. at the time éloi had thought his father had been protective over his only daughter, but as time had passed, he had realised what the older man had likely known from the start: freya had a knack for getting herself in and out of messes all by herself, if her brothers would start to add to this, she would never have time for anything else.

“ we both know that i'd never do that, ” he said softly, reaching for his tea cup before her hand collided with hiss, slapping the dainty cup out of his grasp. for a moment, he just stared at her, ocean blue eyes meeting their sky siblings. this ... this was odd. “ okay, i'll bite. what was that about, freya? ”

“ our family has too many enemies, éloi, for you to be reckless now, ” she said quietly as she stepped back, gracefully avoiding the puddle of tea on the floor. and although her words were general, he did not think that she was referring to the fact that their family had left quite a few people furious over the course of centuries. she knew something she was not telling him, just like always.

freya was better suited for court intrigue than most people éloi met --- and he meant this in the best possible way. maybe it was because he trusted her more than he trusted most or because he knew that she had never had much of a choice; she had been thrown into these shark-infested waters when she had been so much younger, back when prince johannes had been still alive and their mother had wanted her daughter in close proximity to the future king, preferably as his wife.

and, gods, freya would have eaten johannes alive. éloi had loved the late prince like a brother, but --- no matter how much he had adored the man, he would never have been a proper match for freya. freya needed someone who was just as shrewd as she was, someone who could keep her in check. johannes would have been a good, a just king, but he would never have known how to handle freya. he had been too honourable, his ambition had never exceeded the dream of being a good, a just king. he had never wanted more than to play his assigned role --- and this would have put him at odds with freya who  always  wanted more within days. no, éloi had never thought that the match would have been a good one, no matter how many people whispered about it.

this was a fact everyone --- from asce to claude --- was aware of, but éloi did not think that any of them had ever realised that freya, for all her schemes, for all her political sense, did not want to marry for power. she had seen where his perfectly reasonable marriage had gotten their father, and éloi did not blame her for fearing that one day, she could end up the same way ... or worse, that she could turn into their mother.

“ i know that we have enemies, ” he said slowly, his hand reaching for hers. this was something he had worried about when she had first left to be part of the court, before everything had gone so much worse than he had ever expected. he had feared that one day, a messenger would come to tell him that his sister had been found with her throat slit. since, he had learned that this was not the way the court operated. if someone had set out to destroy his sister, they would have let her live. instead, they would have ruined her reputation. this was the way the court operated --- with great precision and scandals, perfectly tailored to destroy someone's good name.

( a ploy like this was how their mother had forced their father's hand, a long time ago. )

( it had been a dangerous gamble and while it had been successful, éloi did not think that their mother had been content with the result of her scheme. )

freya shuddered as somewhere in the distance, someone started to call both their names, sounding terribly distressed. fortunately, most will assume that one of mother's many enemies slipped her the poison, she said quietly, not even bothering to ask which one he had chosen. she knew that he had taken great care to make sure that the poison could in no shape or form be linked to her; he had owed her that much.

“ freya, ” he said as he squeezed her hand. “ we will be fine. ”

[roleplaysinner]

Crime and Punishment

Neelima was trying to relax by reclining her head against the back of the sofa. It had been a long day for her and she was exhausted to the core. The only fact that brightened her mood to some extent was that there were no major events planned over the next two days and she would have some more time for herself.

There was a knock at her door. She felt irritated a bit as she wanted some quiet time for herself now.

"Come in"....the irk was evident from the tone of her voice.It was her maid who walked into the room.

Neelima frowned at the maid and asked...."What is it Champa?"

Champa extended her hand towards Neelima....It is then that Neelima saw the envelope in her hand.

"Who is this from?"...Neelima asked, as she took the paper from Champa's hand.

"I don't know, I found this in the letter box and brought it to you."...Champa said.

Neelima did not say anything else....she tore the envelope open and brought the piece of paper out.

Her change in expression did not escape Champa's notice...."Anything wrong Memsaab?"

Neelima did not respond....she just waved her hand asking the maid to get dismissed.

Champa turned and walked out of the room, while  Neelima looked towards the ceiling, with drops of sweat appearing in her forehead as the paper dropped from her hand on the floor.

"You cannot escape your sins - KK".....was all that was written on the paper.

Neelima Basu....was 42 years old and was the sitting MP and the Minister of Education in the state. The next elections were around the corner and there were growing speculations in the political circle that Neelima Basu may join the opposition party and thereby become the next chief minister of the state. But Neelima had been keeping her cards close to her chest, and both the parties have been trying to appease her as they knew how important a role her charisma could play in swinging the allegiance of the voter base.

Neelima was well known among the masses as a philanthropist and her stature had grown immensely since the Central Slum fire last year when she had worked tirelessly to provision food and shelter for the thousands of slum dwellers. She had also donated crores from her own assets to rebuild the houses of the poor people who lost everything in the fire. Since that tragic event the masses had started to look up to her like some kind of a messiah. The publicity from the tragic event cast on her the limelight of the political arena in the state, and forced the Chief Minister to elevate her from a general MP to a minister in his cabinet.

Neelima had always been ambitious in her life. Her father was a bank officer and mother a housewife. She had been brilliant in academics and it was her intelligence along with her physical attributes which had led to the rapid ascent in her life. She had divorced her first husband at the age of 29, and had married twice thereafter, before breaking up from both the men. But the alimonies claimed from the separations had provided her enough financial security to pursue her ambitions. And her ambitions were not as much for wealth as were for power. And she had carefully targeted the men who would help her achieve that goal.

Kartik Kakkar, nicknamed KK, was the key person who helped in establishing Neelima's political career. He was known to be the go-to-man in the political circles for doing all the dirty deeds, and work which required muscle power. And Neelima knew that if she could have him on her side then it would pay great dividends for her. And so it did, once she got him to her bedroom. The hotter it got for the two of them on the bed, the more leverage Neelima started to get to launch herself in the political field. Kartik was a king-maker, or in her case a queen-maker, and if not for him she would never have become MP 5 years back. KK had got addicted to her, and Neelima had known at that point that she could get him to do anything for her.

Neelima got up on her feet and walked to the glass window. It had started to rain outside. She looked down from the window onto the wet road and thought if the letter was some kind of a ploy from her rivals in the party.The more she thought about it, the more worried she got. There was only one man who was privy to her darkest secret, but she knew that she had taken care of the man. There should not be any threat from his end.

It was only KK who knew that the idea of setting fire to the densely populated Central slum was borne out of Neelima's ingenious brain. But It had to be someone else playing a game with her now.

She knew that he could not have sent the letter from where she had sent him. For it was Neelima who had put the bullet in KK's head 6 months back.

[dardentarth-blog]

CHARACTER STATS: LORD TARTH

BASIC

Name: Darden Tarth

Nickname(s): Evenstar

House: Tarth

Marital status: Widowed

Age: Thirty-two

Title: Lord of Evenfall Hall, the Evenstar

Sexual + Romantic Orientation: Presumably heterosexual / heteroromantic

Occupation / Vocation: Lordly shit, knight

Birth Place: Evenfall Hall, Tarth, the Stormlands

Current Residence: Evenfall Hall

Personal quote: “Weakness is a guise. Wear it when they need to know you’re human, but never when you feel it.” // “Hoping for the best, prepared for the worst, and unsurprised by anything in between.” 

RELATIONS

Apparent Allegiance: House Tarth

True Allegiance: utp

Spouse: Victaria ( deceased, house utp )

Children: Tabitha ( 9 ), Leta ( deceased )

Father: Selwyn Tarth ( deceased )

Mother: Elys Tarth ( 67 )

Siblings: none

INTERNAL

Character Alignment: True neutral

Religion: Not inherently religious. Formally follows the Faith of the Seven.

Virtues: Generous, patient, perceptive

Vices: Wrath, lust, possessiveness, distinctly internalized nihilism

Fears: His House dying out. Amounting to nothing.

Ambitions: Remarry, father a (legitimate) male heir, ensure the continued prosperity of Tarth with the Tarths, find a good match for his daughter, and have a bloody good time jousting through it all – or as much as one can have a good time in     Westeros.

Regrets: Being unable to prevent the deaths of his previous wife and daughter. Not having more spare children.

Sense of humour: Affably morbid

Patience level: Pretty solid

How self-confident are they? Within his means; i.e. he knows his own limits.

How do they see themselves? Shining beacon of virility and the tart(h)iest Lord of Tarth. Doesn’t think much about himself ; occasionally assesses his strengths and weaknesses as any sane person ought to do, but he’s not overly concerned with appearances.

How do they believe they’re perceived by others? Doesn’t particularly care and appears to be a bit too self-absorbed to take note of it anyway. He’s known for being generous to the small folk, his fellow Lords and Ladies, and even occasionally to those with different interests than he has.

How do they express themselves? Moderately adequate. Fairly eloquent when it comes to small talk and the likes. Doesn’t discuss the deeper, personal subjects of his own volition, but when asked directly, he tends to answer and mostly do so honestly.

EXTERNAL

Hair Colour: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 1.96 m

Weight: 107 kg

Accent or Diction: Stormlander hick

Prominent features: Obnoxious hair, huge

Distinguishing marks: His arse

Physical Flaws: Long scar on his right upper leg

Physical Qualities: is a Presence

BIOGRAPHY

born as the only son blessedly surviving to adulthood of the late lord selwyn tarth and his lady wife.

hasn’t had much of a coddled upbringing, but he’s always been content with his station in life, and beneath the surface, he wants more than a good life, he wants a legacy.

has mostly had a regular noble life. married his late wife when he was 20, had his first child with her (tabitha) barely a year after, then leta another year after that.

both lady wife and leta didn’t have a particularly strong constitution; three years ago a sickness came to tarth with a ship from essos, and after a short but fitful bout of illness, both died.

his marriage was made more of companionship than love, but it left darden shaken. a human’s hold on the world is a fragile thing, and much is not for them to control.

however, what he can influence, he’s determined to alter. he wasn’t bothered by having two daughters and no son before, but now, he wants a male heir to inherit tarth. one of his daughters is dead, he’s privately afraid tabitha shares her mother’s constitution, and that a marriage of a second or third son to her will be at most a ploy for another family to take tarth.

even with nature’s violence, tarth is somewhat more safe than the rest of the stormlands from encroaching neighbours, but it doesn’t make darden blind to the rest of the world. in a somewhat morbid way, he’s eager to see what entertainment a war or two can bring, and just because he’s had little use so far for courtly games, doesn’t mean he won’t play them.