#Beasts of the Peerage

[artific3r]

who're your ocs???

THIS IS A LONG POST IM SO SORRY

okay its been like two weeks now and i only just now finished writing a very long rambly response about everything about my regency ocs. I apologize in advance i am not making it shorter. I was going to originally but if i dont post this now i will never post it. heres the post about my ocs from Beasts of the Peerage:

OH SHIT i dont really remember the context but i think this was my regency thing so. im not going to give any names because this story used to be a fanfic for a show and i never bothered to change the names even thought like all of the characters are different.

also i just had the thought like today (okay now like a week ago) that im going to make them all animal headed people, ill just be calling them by what animal i think im going to go with, but any and all of these are subject to change and there is no deeper meaning to the animal choice beside vibes. fae will be plant people instead of animal people, and individuals who are not fae but highly magical will be bugs

the idea for the story is 3 stories (maybe 4) that are all happening at similar times from the perspectives* of 3 royals (and maybe a knight), the first two are primarily regency romances, the third and fourth are not. The forth might have a romance in it, i haven't decided yet, if i want it to be there at all. the fourth might be a bonus/spin off thing. 

*Okay maybe not perspectives so much as the royals are sometimes the perspectives, as it kind of bounces around between the characters a little bit but you know what i mean

the order the stories would come out in is eldest, middle, youngest, knight.

Also i dont WANT this stuff to be only romance but thats the stuff that sets my brain on fire so. The only stuff i have so far is romance stuff for the most part. 

Crow

the eldest is a prince who I'll call Crow. Crow has the burden of the crown on his shoulders, he always has. He's much older than his two younger siblings. And he has to get married before he turns 35, or the crown will automatically pass to the second oldest, Starling, who is 7 years younger but was already married and as such will automatically become the heir.

Crows story starts with his 34th birthday. He has one year left to get married and secure his spot as heir. There are three people he's considering, they're all really good options and he doesn't know who to pick. none of them are the actual end game though, so i dont really have plans for them yet.

During a ball of some kind, he has to pick someone to dance. People are only allowed to dance once one of the three siblings has danced with someone. Which ever sibling dances with someone will be automatically assumed to be romantically courting them, saving exeptions ill get to in a second.  Starling isnt going to do it for reasons that will be obvious when i explain their story, and Sparrow isnt going to do it because she's asexual and doesn't want to get trapped courting someone she's not into. So it has to be Crow, and it has to be one of the three, but he can't make a descion, and the night is wearing on, and no one has been able to dance, when all of a sudden an exception happens.

Lion is engaged to a man much older than her, but because she's engaged, and her engagement is quite public knowledge, she wouldnt be seen as courting if she asked someone else to dance. maybe a little odd, but not courting. And she's fed up of waiting, everyone is, and she's not a duchess or a marchioness, she's a baroness marrying a baron, they're low level in terms of the peerage, so she's not too worried about her reputation.

So she marches right up to the royal 3 and asks one of them to dance with her, because frankly everyone is tired of waiting and because she's engaged, a dance with her means nothing more than a dance, but it would allow the ball to actually begin.

And Crow, partially intrigued by the gall of this woman, and partly relived at a way out of having to make a choice for just a little longer, he takes her up on her offer. So the two dance, and the dance floor opens up for everyone else to start dancing, and the night continues as is, with gossip of "can you beleive the prince still hasnt made a descion" and "the gall of that Lion, I mean, what business does a baroness have doing something like THAT? demanding the royals around like that"

And afterwards, Crow privately sends Lion a thank you letter. Lion sends him a letter back, and then they continue writing letters back and forth.

Then theres some stuff in between about them becoming closer.

Then the day of Lions wedding roles around. And Lion, well her mother basically has total control over her, because if Lion doesn't do what her mother says, her mother will leave her destitute.

Lion was going to marry her childhood best friend and promised since when they were like 1. but then he died, and so the deal that marrige was supposed to seal never ended up going through.

Things were fine for a while, but then her mother decided that if Lion couldn't get married soon, then they were going to move to [other kingdom] so they could be closer to the rest of Lions terrible family.

So Lion did what any reasonable(ly desperate) person would and asked her dead friends father. He was (reasonably) apprehensive at first, he was like a father to her, but she conviced him by getting him to realize that she would be out of her mothers control if they got married.

So now she's marrying this older man instead. And Lions mother wants this wedding to go well, so to make sure, she puts a love poison on both of them, to make sure no one objects or calls the wedding off.

And Crow is asked to be part of the bridal party, partly because he's friends with Lion, but also partly for the clout having a prince at their wedding will give them.

So he goes to the wedding, and because he notices something is off with Lion and the way she's behaving. And he figures out they've both been love poisned. So he gets them both antidote, and so the wedding is called off.

Then more stuff happens. They fall in love and have confessed, but circumstances haven't really allowed them to be together.

Then its the day of his 35th birthday. All three of the really good marrige canidates are no longer available, so now Crow has to marry anyone who will have him. And because its his birthday, it has to be him that does the starting dance.

Not only that, but Lion's mother has decided that, now that the wedding is off, they are going to still go to the other kingdom. So she's leaving THAT night. They are packing and getting ready to leave, when Lion decideds she's going to the ball. If for nothing, than to say goodbye to Crow.

So she shows up, and the dancing hasnt started, and in a reflection of how they first met, she storms up to him and says that she wanted to say goodbye. And this time, he asks her to dance with him. And then he asks her not to go, and she says she has to unless she could get in engaged like right then and there, and so he says "bet" and proposes to her.

And then they're together :)

Starling

Starlings is the one i have the most planned out. Its also probably gonna be the longest. Admittedly the character Wolf is more of the main character than Starling but. I dont care its my silly little guys. 

the middlest is a prinxe we'll call Starling. He fell in love with a prince from a neighboring kingdom, Elk, and the two of them got married. One day they were attacked by monsters, and Elk was killed, and their personal knight was so badly injured she was forced into early retirement. Soon after, a new personal knight called Wolf is hired.

Starlings story starts with the one year anniversery of the death of Elk.

Theres sort of a period of Wolf and Starling getting closer, and of Wolf beginning to fall for Starling. Im kind of debating having them fully fall in love with each other in this period but idk.

Then its revealed that Elk is not actually dead, he was turned into one of those monsters, and had to leave for Starling safety, and Starling knew this. (think like werewolves but not because. they're already animals. Im going to call it lycanthropy and being a werewolf for simplicity). They've been trying to find a way to help him, but have been entirely unable to find anything. And they don’t even know where he is. 

Wolf is invited to his sister Hound's wedding. Its in the woods, in this enchanted grotto protected by a witch named Tarantula. She protects those who are cursed and otherwise ostracized from society, and they all live in this grotto, as their curses are lessend here.

At the wedding, Wolf meets a man that seems very familiar. Stuff happens and Wolf realizes that this is, in fact, Elk. Elk remains here in the grotto because the effects of his lycanthropy are lessened here, and if he does end up werewolfing out, Tarantula has the power to end the rampage before it becomes a problem. 

(There's probably going to be a gap between the Elk is alive reveal and the Elk is here at this wedding reveal) 

I might flip the Elk is alive reveal and the wedding arc chronologically so that Wolf can put together the pieces of who that familiar stranger was by himself. Idk I’ll see. 

Wolf decides that he needs to get Elk and Starling back together, despite any feelings for Starling (and maybe Elk) he may have. So he finds the cure for lycanthropy, and gets the cure into Tarantula’s hands so she can help them. 

Then Elk gets to come home and be with Starling again, and everything is fine and they all live happily ever after!

Except i lied lol theres still more

Um some more stuff happens and more time passes and then all three of them catch feelings for each other. 

But Wolf is a fucking idiot when it comes to his feelings but he only just now realizes that he’s got big feelings. So he tells his like… bosses? Idk military words. Captains? Majors? Sergeants? Don’t look at me. And he tells them and they tell him “okay if you tell Elk and Starling you will lose your job and never be able to work in the castle or as a guard again, so what going to happen is you aren’t going to say shit and you are going to start training a new guy under the guise of ‘hey Sparrows guard is getting kinda old’ and then once that guy is done you can explain whats really happening to Elk and Starling. This will probably ruin your life.” and Wolf is like “yup got it sounds good”

And so that is what happens, and eventually Wolf is moved to be Sparrows guard to get him away from Elk and Starling.

And Starling is bummed and Elk is pissed cause theres stuff that’s being hidden from them and they like Wolf but whenever they’re like “no wait we want Wolf back” the guard. boss. people are like “no lol protocol or whatever” 

So eventually they get Wolf by himself and ask him whats up and he’s like “I could pretend nothing was wrong when I could avoid you, but i cant do that anymore, and i cant lie to you, so the truth is i am down BAD. sorry.” And Elk and Starling are like “oh thats fine. The feelings are mutual.” 

So then its the three of them. But Wolf is still facing job loss, and Elk and Starling are like “dont worry bbgirl we gotchu” and they all get married together. 

And then thats the end for real

Theres also a reveal in there of HOW Wolf found the lycanthropy cure when Starling, someone with way more resources, was unable to. He used a thing called a “Seer Wish” that i will explain in the “Moth” section. 

Sparrow

the youngest is a princess called Sparrow. this is the first not romance story, as she's aroace, and i wanted to explore a regency story not focused on romance. unfortuneately, i... have no ideas for this part. i dont even know what major event is going to be the start of this story. This story is also going to focus a lot more on Moth the Seer i think but i have very few plans.

Bull

the personal knight of Crow. im going to imply through Crow's story that Bull is in love with Lion as a red herring, and more subtly imply that Bull is in love with Crow, which is actually true. The reveal will happen at the end of Crows story.

the sort of plot of Bulls story is that he keeps butting heads with this fae, who we'll call Sunflower. Sunflower makes an appearence a couple times across the first three stories i think. I dont have a lot of plans for this one either.

I know that Bulls older brother was kidnapped by a fae, and so Bull made a concentrated effort to study up on effective ways to fight them.

Moth

this section is mostly to explain Moth and Wolf's relationship, and to explain seer wishes. there will probably not be a full story about moth.

Not everyone gets a seer wish, its completely random, but you know because of a symbol somewhere on their body. If someone dies with their seer wish, it gets passed to someone random, so you can also get one later in life. A seer wish allows someone to ask the seer one question about anything at all, and will get back the information they asked for. Using your seer wish is, unsurprisingly, a BIG deal, as not everyone gets one, its very rare, and those who do get one only get one.

Moth's powers manifested when she was 20. the powers are a curse, a curse that supposedly can be broken if she's with her true love. She met Wolf when she was 17 and thought he was it. when she turned 20 and her powers manifested, she broke up with him. They were still in love with each other, but she was so fixated on the idea that he was her "true love" that when he wasn't, she couldn't take it. In retrospect, she regrets it, but they've both moved on. 

SO THATS IT

Thats all ive got so far for Beasts of the Peerage.

I don't know if it'd be a comic or like a visual novel or a regular novel or a novelette or some other thing I haven't thought of. Idk man.

also i think the animal thing is going to be like metaphorical, they arent actually animals. again im still in the planning stage so its all sorta meh

[talisa-the-steel]

who: @fyrenxsolon where: Aetheron; a ball or party or some other such gathering of the elites when: roughly 30-40 years prior if I remember my own timeline correctly? notes: I know I asked you lots of questions but let me know if anything needs changed   

Others Talisa’s age might have found these sorts of parties to be boring and stuffy affairs, but for the only child and much doted upon daughter of the Archon it was something she looked forward to every year only second to the high holy days and her birthday. Though her life was colored by nearly the same level of finery and fanfare on a daily basis, it was also spent almost exclusively within the walls of the Archon she called father’s home. This was a rare occasion in which she was permitted to leave the walls of the great estate she was raised in for the purpose of something aside from a highly chaperoned errand, and even such boring affairs as errand running were far and few between. It was only once or twice a year that Talisa would be permitted to be the attendee to some soiree rather than the crown jewel of her father’s status or a living centerpiece as the Archon hosted their high profile guests, each more esteemed than the last. 

Though her presence garnered the attention of many–and why shouldn’t it? The gossamer gown she wore had required no less than a dozen fittings and consultations and the precious gems that adorned her were set in tinkling bangles  and festoon style necklace bespoke specifically for the occasion–she was not the main attraction of the evening. Warned more than a few times to be on her best behavior to and keep her wits about her, the true purpose of this party was the dog and pony show of several tamed dragons from another realm. From a small child, Talisa had been raised on the stories of brave Aetheron warriors and adventurers who wandered a world below to capture the monstrous, scaled beasts and disappear them to Aetheron to save them from themselves. Of course, those stories had been whispered by her peerage under the sharp eye of her governess–young children she had learned alongside until they made the mistakes of sharing such fairytales and after which Talisa never saw again. One such child had brought a picture book that told the tall tale of one such draconic abduction, an enchanted book with pop up paper figures and clever rhymes. Talisa had hidden it from her governess and the Archon, still possessed it to this day decades later in a small hovel in her wall where she hid all other treasures behind glimmering wallpaper and the drawers of her vanity. The evening was a study in the triumph of their civilization, the deliverance of the draconic beasts from their archaic and violent existence and channeling them into something enlightened, something worthy. Talisa, of course, was expressly forbidden from so much as uttering a word to one of the bridled dragons. 

It was with a sense of subdued wonder that Talisa walked the floor of the grand ballroom under the soft, flickering candlelight of the evening and wondered if behind the face of each stranger was the mind of one of the dragons. The young Aetheron found it exceedingly difficult to avoid speaking with one such beast when they were impossible to distinguish from the general population. What a feat–what a gift to be made in the likeness of their superiors; though she had heard one was especially easy to recognize by means of silvered veins. Talisa did not bother to look for such features amongst the crowd though, she knew such a wretched creature would not have been granted the gift of attendance for the evening. They were rumored to be violent and unbroken, still murderous and untamed. It was a pity and a shame that some of these contemptible, brutish creatures clung to the worst of their nature when the world could offer them so much more. Talisa pondered all of this–and how many sweets she might possibly risk before the boning of her bodice became something of a cage–as she plucked small honey cakes and macarons and petits fours from the gleaming platters set out for guests. It seemed someone else was enraptured with the offerings of the evening–but when Talisa lifted her gaze from the sweet little treats she found their hands empty and their attention poised on her. 

“You ought to fill your plate now, before everyone takes the best treats and they run out,” she advised, craning her neck to see if the buffet had been set with her favorite of favorites–the fruity little custard filled tarts no bigger than a bite or two. Those that held a vanilla bean custard and emberthorn berry jam were her favorite, as long as the chef remembered to remove the seeds of course. When he did not respond immediately, she stood straight again to address him more directly, lifting her right wrist to dangle an ornate card between them. “Perhaps you were hoping I might have room for you on my dance card?” Talisa did have room, but she was a commodity at such outings, so only barely.

[frogsandfries]

So this Mr Beast thing

I'm weeeelllll over the age of eighteen, so Mr Beast has only occasionally come into my internet periphery. Unfortunately, my family really likes popping into walmart for everything, so it's felt hard to escape the brand. Still, for the most part, I've been able to avoid it.

Look, I'm just not into that reality garbage or the casual, walking around your life 24/7 with a camera shoved in your face like anyone cares. I watch probably more youtube than is healthy (well, I listen to a lot more than I actually watch; I've trained my brain that youtube time is art time), but it's usually long-form edutainment--Casual Criminalist comes readily to mind. Stephanie Soo, Kendall Rae, Prickly Alpaca. Stuff like that. One part true crime, one part art--be that sketchbooks, crochet, sculpting.

It's been a while since I've had any kind of (semi) internet drama put right there in front of me, but watching Rosanna Pansino of all people (another youtube personality that I didn't keep up with when she changed direction) concerned and calling out some Mr Beast bullshit (surprised?) got me to just dip the tippiest of my toe into whatever the fuck is going on over there. No, I'm not going to watch his shit. Luckily, there are plenty of people who've already done that and more.

One of the videos I watched has me unsurprised. Like, I figured there was something fishy about a man who just gIvEs AwAaAAayYy SoOOooo mUcH mOnEy; like, bullshit. Where the fuck is he getting aAalLlL tHiiISss MoNeEyYy?

I'm not sure what I wanted to accomplish by bringing this up. I guess it really bothers me to feel like someone is just casually getting away with preying on children on such a vast platform like this. And this isn't even getting into the accusations that there are at least a few people on his team who are doing more than training children to become gamblers, and beg for candy. But.....who do you tell? It also bothers me that......like, this guy's whole thing is directed at that under-eighteen market, maayyybeee 20-25 white males. It's not a secret. I don't even have to watch his shit to know this. And the first things that he does when developing merchandise and trying to branch out his income streams......is pop up fast food....and candybars???

As someone who was already well and fully an adult when he became popular--and an adult of his peerage, no less--I just never liked him. I know it's rich to say, but I would never have let my child watch his content just based on his face lol and I say that, but the older I get, the better I feel a face is a great way to just Know someone. There's a lot to be said for one's eyes and the way one uses one's face muscles; even before we get into the things that they say and do and who their audience is. It's also hard to describe. I know the common adage is to never judge a book by its cover, but can you really tell me, after interacting with way too many people who use their face in a similar way--again, it's hard to describe, but it's really in the eyes--that my predator radar isn't critical to listen to? That some time wouldn't be saved by trusting my gut? After all, I am the self-proclaimed worst at listening to my gut.

And then there's the way he talks on interviews. He's just so goddamn fucking disrespectful of his audience; like, I'm clearly not of the cleanest language, I don't have an inherent problem with swearing or cussing or whatever you want to call it. That's not the problem; the problem is the full language that he uses, the way he thinks that use of language in regards to his audience, kind of "behind their backs", off of his own channel, where maybe less of his audience is going to think to look for him. He's an all-round fucking predator. I get the feeling he feels like the smartest man in the room, but he's fucking weak because he has to prey on children.

Anyway, I don't even want to know what this bullshit is that he's up to now. I don't want to feel even more helpless; like, what am I really going to be able to do? Call the police? I have no idea. The guy has never been kosher; it's fucking weird for a grown adult to be making basically reality TV aimed at children. There's a reason TV reality TV is never aimed at children: Children don't understand how it isn't real. I mean, honestly, even as a teen, it's a little difficult to parse exactly how it isn't real; furthermore, a lot of older adults don't quite seem to grasp it either. But at least adults should have the wherewithal to either research into it or change the channel.

Additionally, the whole illegal gambling thing that he does, the just blurting out shit like "oh we'll give away x to y in the next five minutes" and he rarely ever does. It also looks a fuckin lot to me like he "gives away" these rewards to other youtubers so that other audiences will trust their favorite youtubers right back into Mr Beast's grasp. If Joe Schmoe off the street got one of these cool rewards, he wouldn't have a camera in his face; how would we know Joe Schmoe got this cool prize?? How could Mr Beast monetize Joe No-Camera Schmoe?!?!?

Honestly, I'm glad the channels I watch on youtube would never have anything to do with this predator, because I think I'd have to block those channels.

Okay, here's a challenge for you, I guess. If you see this and you or anyone in your family watches this predator, block him. Boycott him. Dry up his predatory revenue streams. Ignore him. Force him to go the fuck away.

And if you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about, stay beautiful.

[dontforgetoctober3rd]

Spillways (Prologue) A Gilded Age fanfic

My first Gilded Age fanfic!

This is the cast (Mr. Brook did not make an appearance after all)

Summary: Beginning way back in 1828, the Earl of Galloway brings his two sons to Pennsylvania in America, looking for a wife for his second son George. However, everything goes horribly wrong during a game of croquet.

Rating: T (sports injury, blood from said injury, attempted assault, general high class snobbery)

Author's notes: This is obviously not going to be historically accurate, also I'm from America and I've only gleaned a cursory knowledge of the Scottish peerage from my reading and basically am just using the titles, locations and names as vehicles for these characters please just go with it lmao

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with The Gilded Age in any way beyond being a fan, I do not own the Gilded Age characters nor am I using them for any commercial purposes or making money from this, this is just basically word fanart of the show

*Title is the song Spillways by Ghost, word count is 949 and divider by @muchomago

Tags: @orsuliya

—-Pennsylvania 1828—-

“YOU BEAST!  GET OFF HER THIS INSTANT!”

Agnes Brook swung her croquet mallet directly into the back hip of John Stewart, heir to the Earldom of Galloway.  He collapsed to the ground, groaning in agony as a crying Ada fled to her sister’s side and cowered behind her.  

On the vast and immaculate grounds of the Brook estate, John had had Ada Brook caged between his arms and against a tree, the two had gone off earlier to hunt for a missing ball and Agnes had gone looking for them after being told by a servant that an unseemly amount of time had passed. Agnes wouldn’t have allowed Ada to go off alone with John, not caring that it might have jeopardized her own potential match with his brother,  but she had been in the lavatory. The servants had not dared to gainsay Lord Stewart’s son when he had told them their assistance in helping Miss Ada was not necessary and his brother George had been busy admiring their horses in the distance. Even so, John was thwarted in taking liberties by a very angry Agnes Brook.

“Ada, are you all right?!  Has he done anything indecent to you?!” Agnes asked, mallet raised and eyes on John, who was still wincing in pain as he slowly stood and scowled in their direction.  Ada couldn’t answer, she was blubbering uncontrollably. 

“What is this?! What’s happened?!” John’s younger brother, George Stewart, came running. 

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” John spat, adjusting his waistcoat. “Just the common rabble trying to get a member of the peerage into a compromising position in order to snare themselves a marriage and some prestige.” 

Agnes seethed. “Us? Common?! How dare you!”  She made to swing the mallet again but was stopped by George. Ada cowered back behind Agnes, sniffling and hiccuping in her struggle to stop crying. John smirked, still massaging his side.  George struggled to wrench the mallet away from Agnes.

“Are you mad?  My brother is the future Earl of Galloway!” he hissed. “Assault him again and you may as well kiss your freedom goodbye!  You’ll no doubt be in jail by sundown! Whatever so-called influence you think your parents have will do you no good.”

“So-called influence?!” Agnes bellowed, ripping the mallet away from George.  “So-called?! Our mother was a Livingston!” She stabbed a finger in John’s direction. “My family was cavorting with Kings while yours was still scraping together favors for a knighthood!”

“Don’t insult me.” John said in disgust. “Our family is actually related to kings, unlike yours.”

“Through bastardry, more than likely,”  Agnes retorted, brandishing the mallet with both hands once more. “A relation so flimsy it is hardly worth mentioning at all.”  

Ada had stopped her crying but still watched fearfully from behind her elder sister.

“You should be the one going to jail!” Agnes continued coldly. She turned to George, pointing at John with her mallet. “He tried to force himself on Ada.  I’ve seen animals go about what he was intending to do with more grace!”

“You must be mistaken, John knows full well the ramifications of enjoying-”

“Have John’s senses taken leave of him? His sight as well?  Does this look like a girl who was ‘enjoying’ such attentions?” Agnes said, motioning with her mallet to a silent and terrified Ada. “We were brought up better than you, clearly, or you wouldn’t be defending such repugnant behavior!” 

“First of all, I do not know whether the behavior you speak of has even taken place! Second.. if you were both brought up properly, why was Ada alone with him?” George asked, arms crossed. 

“Ada knows better than to go wandering off with whatever scoundrel-”

“Excuse me, I am the future Earl of Galloway and for you to call me a scoundrel without evid-”

Interrupting him with a loud screech, Agnes launched the mallet at John like a spear, the head of it hitting him squarely in the nose.  Blood immediately gushed out, staining his crisp white shirt, his hand doing seemingly nothing to stop the flow.  It had all happened so fast George had not been able to stop her.

“You banshee, look what you’ve done!” George was shocked. He hurried to John’s side only to be shoved off angrily.

“He deserved it!” Ada finally spoke up. She clung to Agnes from behind, both hands clutching the back of the dress like a lifeline.

“Ada, be quiet.” Agnes chided her. “Let us leave before these delusional brutes start making up more imaginary scenarios.”

George shook his head. It was such an unfortunate situation, but it had to be said.  “If you think any betrothal between us will go forward now, then you’re sorely mistak-”

“AS IF I would still agree to be leg-shackled to you and your ilk!” Agnes cut him off. “After what your monster of a brother has attempted to do to Ada? After you defended him?! You think I would still desire to be matched with you? I can think of no greater shame.  I’ll throw myself off a bridge before agreeing to wed you! Ada, let us go from here!”

With that, the girls left the area, making their way back to the grand house of their papa. 

What a disaster, George thought.  Here in America to look for a bride for his second son, the Earl of Galloway would be none too pleased to find out another thing would be added to his spare son’s set of failures.  John was free to run wild but it was he, George, who had to live respectably.  Now, he would have to find a different way to not bring shame on his family.

---------

NEXT: Chapter 1

[ledarth]

Le Posh...

Archibald Isaac Thwaite

────────────────── ·  ·  · ♡

❝ Yes, my parents own my freedom and I do afford the comfort of distance with obedient silence, but do not mistake our estrangement for a belief that I no longer belong to the peerage. Those of us actually born and bred in it all know the rules of our milieu but in my infinite kindness, I'll issue a reminder on the most fundamental one: This is a members-only club, one purpose-built to keep commoners out and you, baby, you just don't look like one of us. ❞

Age:: 18

Height:: 188 cm

Born in London, England, he spent most of his younger years further up in Scotland, more specifically Edinburgh where he picked up the accent. Until 6, he was kept in the family house where his grandmother oversaw every minute of his existence alongside his nanny and the plethora of private tutors he was assigned. Eventually he earned to be sent back to London, where his parents resided with his older brother but was absolutely gutted to leave a younger sister behind. However, the cohabitation was not pleasant and he jumped on every opportunity to be away from home, whether it was educational, time at friends' houses or holidays in different locations. Luckily for him, his parents possessed properties in several countries and took great pride in telling others where their sons had chosen to study or reside at the moment. As a result, Archie had resided for at least 2 months in over 20 countries and will gladly call any of those residence home rather than the family house.

Polyglot:: Scottish Gaelic was a matter of familiar pride so he had to learn from infancy. France being the nearest neighbour, French was an obvious choice. His parents required learning an asian language and gave him free rein in the choice but reserved themselves one veto, which was used on Bahasa Malayu. Not planning to give them the pleasure of learning Chinese as they clearly intended him to do, he chose Punjabi, eighth most spoken language in the world. He also picked up on some Spanish during his time in Latin America (and theoretically knows some High Valyrian strictly for fun).

Alignment:: Lawful Neutral.

Sexuality:: Bi-sexual but will eagerly choose to conform to heterosexuality because it's just easier'. [He's got some things to unlearn/unpack regarding sexuality for sure.]

Hobbies:: He plays the Viola, has been playing since his infancy. At first it irritated him but now it calms him, helps him think more clearly when the notes ring in the air. He likes pizzicato a lot, pinching the strings feels so satisfactory. That has given him a genuine love for classical music but though he always apply to join orchestras when possible, he'd much rather listen to the music than play it so he goes to performances and the opera quite a bit. He will also happily spends evening in jazz bars, soaking in the atmosphere, maybe sneaking in a cigarillo to share with his friends. Of course he plays Polo, it is the sport of nobility per excellence, requiring both horsemanship and strategic prowess. He plays Lacrosse as well because Football was simply too pedestrian in his parents' opinion but a team sport where he'd actually interact with common folks felt like a nice addition to his pedigree. Finally Sailing felt like a key to freedom so he learnt and will eagerly spend time on his own sports Catamaran or on the family's sailboat. More discreet about his enjoyment for poetry, whether it is Catullus, Lorenzo De' Medici or more contemporaries such as Verlaine or Poe, he has a keen interest in the work and finds the earnestness of the post-colonial movement particularly poignant.

Specie :: Varies on the verse.

The case of a mysterious beast: This verse is the origin of the idea for this OC. In it, Archie is very much mortal but has magical ancestries thus magical affinities to eventually develop once his specificities are evaluated.

To Be Added.

Personality:: Arch has the expected deep and soothing voice, with a peaceful sort of cadence but tends to sound more high-pitched when he is flustered or more growly when he gets angry. His voice, betrays his emotions far more than his face, being who he is, he mastered a great deal of self-control. However, he never really seems aloof, he paints on hints of emotions based on what he evaluates the situation requires. Sternness and deference are the usuals he adopts around family, except for his little sister with whom he will expresses mirth and match her cheekiness. Around his peers, he will showcase matching glibness and adopt the smug smirk, confidence radiating enough to erase some of the jerk aura he'd carry. He knows himself and thus carries himself alluring enough to draw eyes to him and has enough creativity and conversation to be outright seductive when he bothers. The seduction, he mostly uses as a tool, sometimes sheerly to distract himself, at others to obtain something from someone, rarely to make someone like/love him. He's terrible at that particularly. Usually the intensity of his own, often unaddressed, feelings hits him like a freight train so he constantly has to keep a tightly shut lid on his emotions. Not particularly of a curious nature, he will adopt a very laissez-faire approach to things, content to simply witness the natural cycle of things and not particularly seeking to better anything for anyone. Not even himself. He's stagnant in the way water is, will let his own wounds fester and his traumas unaddressed unless someone or something quite literally impulses change for him, builds a path for the water to actually run. That stagnancy also means he doesn't go out of his way to upset or harm others, but unless he has a reason to, he won't go out of his way to prevent it either. Sometimes the reason can be as simple as a fondness for wounded creatures or as petty as the fact that he doesn't like the person perpetrating harm or as vapid as an audience he'd be perceived as a heroic figure by. If asked if he was a good person, Archie would asked what he'd get out of being one. If asked if he was a bad one, he'd ask what he'd get out of being one. He merely meanders through his own existence as is, not particularly alit but rather bored, perhaps seeking for something, or someone, to put an end to his dispassion and ennui. Though social, Archibald doesn't particularly mind being alone, because he's understood that the real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend. He'll do it well too, but the vapidity doesn't elude him. Not particularly one to showcase his academic achievements, Arch remains a smart young man, astute and dedicated to the work he undertakes. He likes to finish things, to see them through clearly and doesn't settle for any less than great. Good is achievable by far too many and perfect is a fool's errand, so he'll settle for great, for memorable, for exemplary. Less, would be disappointing, or so has his family taught him. Sadly all this reasoning does not save him from crippling Atelophobia. That's because he didn't learn how to lick love from knives, rather he found a way to satisfy the hand supposed to feed it from silver spoon, even if he had to settle for drops at a time and endure terrible droughts in between. Particularly patient, his night time at boarding school was originally spent keeping himself awake so as to train himself to see people move in the dark, to feel them move. It was almost necessary training to avoid waking up covered with tasteless, obnoxious drawings all over your face and taught him how to discreetly perceive others' presence. But coupled with his sharp ear and inability to put his defenses down, it made him a light sleeper on good days and an insomniac on bad ones. He always considered sleeping a bit of a waste of time anyway. It's all very counterproductive to lay down doing nothing but try to shut down his inner thoughts. Demons that whispered during the day, happened to shout at night...

Backstory:: As much as Archie's parents will boast about belonging to the peerage, they remain of fairly low nobility, barely above the outskirts allowed to new money. Their title wasn't bought though, it was acquired the good old fashioned way: inheritance from extended family and some won't let them forget that they're not actually from the main branch of the family. Arch's father also takes great pride in the fact that his own father served in the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers and that their first born son now is a Royal Air Force Firefighter after retiring in the Army where he served as a Team Medic for a Ranger Regiment. Well, someone oughta be the Golden Child. And though Arch's older brother, Elijah, isn't particularly mean with him and actually does bother to check up on his younger siblings, the younger brother mostly feels resentment and a deep longing for a bond that could've been. Perhaps that's why he pours so much of his love and support into their younger sister, Eupraxia or Peppy for most, Eps, for him. Eupraxia, quite literally named good conduct makes a point of misbehaving and skirting punishment by being able to cry on command and muster particularly convincing simulacras of heartfelt apologies. Archie loves her to bits though he, at times, envies her ability to be so much of herself and finds so much enjoyment in that. They don't see each other much anymore, not living together and him only visiting when his schedule will allows for it. That and being able to stomach the presence of his grandmother, his first tormentor. The old bitter hag well understood that physical harm had to remain as mark-free as possible but that mental torment was however boundless. She wasn't particularly creative with it, locking him in cellars, depriving him of food, smacking his fingertips with a wooden spoon. What particularly disappointed her was the fact that he wasn't afraid of the dark nor did he cry in front of her. He got well-adjusted real fast, much to her chagrin and the single memory of intimacy ever traded between them was a polite peck to her cheek expected of him as he left the residence join his parents in London. He remembers so well because she'd asked it of him after seeing him embrace his nanny teary-eyed. All he'd wanted to do was step on one of her well-shined shoes to have her crouch in pain and spit in her face, but instead he sniffled his aching away and complied to find a satisfied smile blossoming on the old woman's lips. She still isn't dead, after all those years, even though she's been old as long as he's known her. It truly is the good ones that leave first so she's likely to outlive him.

Leaving the first home he's known for London wasn't as unpleasant as he'd imagined. His parents were wholly uninvolved eager to throw money and occupations at him so they could brag about those in front of others. Familiarity with his mother extends to a hand running through his hair when he takes ill and his father clasping him on his shoulder after a good game of polo or after watching a good game of whatever sport currently holds their interest. They always had dinner all together though and Eppy was even brought to London when Elijah was in town. They'd even go to events all together, to be seen as a harmonious family. Then a soon as Archie's education began to directly influence what his future would look like though, it was time for boarding schools and immersive traveling experiences. So when thinking of London he mostly looses himself in what ifs, what if he'd dared reaching out for his mother's hand like Peppy does, what if he'd asked his father what brandy tasted like like Elijah had boldly done at fourteen, what if he'd told them what his grandmother had done to him? Would his mother have looked at him and smiled fondly like she does at Eppy? Would he have been invited to the men's club along with his brother? Would he just be happier now? Would he actually stop always running from everywhere and hiding from everyone?

[imspardagus]

A Merry Feudal Christmas, Jesus Trump

I wonder what Jesus would have made of the religion that appropriated him and turned him into the feudal figurehead of a death cult.

Don’t tell me it has never struck you as a bit anomalous. The teachings of the Rabbi Jesus were, if not actually socialist, at least fairly radical, politically and economically. It is more than the apparent preference he had for the company of the poor and the societally disreputable. He was the one who insisted “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” He was the one whose advice to a rich fanboy was “sell your possessions and give to the poor.” He was the one who overturned the tables of the money lenders infesting the temple and threw them out.

But when they came to turn Jesus into a religion, it seems they lost the plot. At the time the feudal bit might have seemed all perfectly natural. We were an openly feudal society. Regardless of which country you were in, if the Christian religion was there then the church was a part of the powerful elite that owned and ran it. And camels or no camels, we know it is harder for a rich man to give up his wealth than it is for a large beast of burden to pass through the eye of that proverbial needle. The religion had to serve that narrative, not subvert it. So Jesus became Lord Jesus (a peerage he would surely have turned down had it been offered rather than posthumously imposed). Heaven became a kingdom presided over by a despotic king-God. Art was mirroring life as the barons and bishops needed it to be. You could buy your way out of sin and into heaven if you were rich enough. Poor not so much.

Churches and cathedrals provided much needed employment for the impoverished people but it was the predatory rich who were venerated for their benefaction in subsidising the building with the money they had amassed by keeping those same people, and a lot of other people to boot, poor. The massive tombs with their finely carved effigies on top, in mockingly pious poses, and the crassly complimentary marble plaques celebrating the appallingly wealthy ensured that even in death these robber barons and baronesses oppressed their serfs.

Rebranding Jesus as a Lord was one thing, but making us respond with devoted, maudlin fealty to this trumped-up religious aristo was much more sinister. The hymns and carols are full of it: “I love my Lord Jesus above anything”, “the little Lord Jesus asleep in the hay”, “Who is God and Lord of all”, “A saviour who is Christ the Lord”; and so on. And that’s just a selection from a handful of carols.

And that’s before you turn your attention to what they did to Jesus’ mother, Mary. In scene one, she gets raped by the “Angel of the Lord”, something we are supposed to venerate apparently, but somehow still remains a virgin so that we can set her up as the ideal against which all normal women can be judged and found wanting. For this service to the subordination of women she gets to be known condescendingly as “most highly favoured lady”. Really? And yet still we are told, over and over, how unworthy womanhood is. “Lo, he abhors not the virgin womb”.

Then there is the “saviour” bit. We are asked, nay instructed, to believe that God – you know, that old man in the skies who made the whole shebang from nothing – sent “his” son down for us to torture and then slaughter just so that we could all be forgiven our human follies. The failure of logic, of even basic reasoning, in this is so vast that you have to ask how we could ever have swallowed it, even after all the rest of the feverish mumbo jumbo.

But once you have taken all this lunacy on board, what’s to stop you going flat out to accept all the rest. Jesus the rich man’s friend becomes a given. White Jesus becomes just the smallest hillock to surmount. Vigilante Jesus, armed and ready to kill dissenters, is just a natural extension.

And so it becomes not just obvious but inevitable that people in the US who call themselves Christians, many of whom are examples of the very poor and vulnerable folk that the real Rabbi Jesus wanted to help, should turn away from his actual teachings and worship instead an ignorant, narcissistic, immoral, boastful, exploitative, fake rich boy as their new Messiah. And when he sets up a phoney assassination attempt to “survive” it will not cause them to question his claim to be their Emmanuel but rather reinforce their conviction that he is indeed their Lord and Saviour.

Trump, say what you like about him, is as good a showman as any bunko booth snake oil salesman ever and knows exactly how to milk his supporters. Set against him, Disney, who, in a consumerist emulation of John the Baptist, did so much to foster the lies that underpin what Americans now take as gospel, is a rookie, a mere innocent abroad.

So Merry Christmas, Jesus Trump. Just make sure you run before Herod gets there.

[aloudplace]

Chapter 1: temperature

His cell in the royal dungeon was small and unfurnished.

No windows. No sky to tell him how many hours or days had passed. No light but the distant torch burning on the wall beyond the carved crystal barrier that kept him here with spells.

The barrier burned him when he touched it.

Wouldn't kill him though. Even when he flung himself full against it.

He’d been there only a week the first time he tried.

After half a dozen further attempts, he just lay on the soiled rushes and stared.

There were no other prisoners. No guards either.

Loklan had been alone before. Alone in a sea of his so-called peers.

This was a new kind of aloneness.

No drink to distract him from his miserable self. No games. No lovers. Just his pain and shame for company.

No visitors either. Not one.

Not even Mother.

It should not have shocked him. The Bastard Prince did not have friends. Not real ones, anyway. Even his lovers didn’t want to be seen with him.

Well, he deserved it.

He’d killed his only brother. Beloved heir to the second kingdom of Eladan.

Thenn had been his friend once, long ago. As brothers ought to be.

They’d played together as children.

That little golden angel had looked up to him. For a time.

Until Thenn was old enough to understand what it meant when other children sneered at them. Why they called his big brother “the Bastard Prince.” Why Loklan wasn’t permitted to attend the picnics and parties their mother threw at the palace. Why he was never invited anywhere.

Why the lords and ladies of Eladan’s four kingdoms pretended Loklan did not exist, even when he made a point of being impossible to ignore.

Yes, he’d always been troublesome. A nuisance, a problem, an embarrassment.

A scandal.

At first, just by virtue of existing.

And then, later, when he realized it didn’t matter how well he behaved—that the peerage would not accept him—he decided he might as well be bad as they thought him.

And it pleased him to be bad. Publicly. He had quite the knack for it.

At least his peers noticed him when he was bad.

He hadn’t known then: the shameful truth that would send him down this dark road. The filthy secret that would ultimately send him to prison. He hadn't known until a year ago, when Thenn came of age and Father named him heir.

Loklan was the firstborn. He held the title of Second Prince among the four kingdoms, bastard or not. The throne was his birthright!

Yet, he’d known, deep down, that this would happen. Some part of him had suspected all along the throne would never be his. But it had burned him nonetheless, and he’d gone to his father demanding an explanation. Demanding to hear the truth at last; to hear Otyris say—what? That Loklan wasn’t good enough because he was a bastard? To hear him say what Loklan had suspected all his life—that he wasn’t loved? That his own father despised him? Was ashamed of him?

He could not have imagined how much worse the truth really was.

Instead of the expected censure or rejection, Otyris had told him the best-kept secret in all the kingdoms: who his real mother was.

And then his adoptive mother—Queen Firra—had shown him what they’d hidden from him all this time.

Otyris’ secret shame. And his.

What a fool Loklan had been, thinking himself worthy.  Imagining that kinghood would somehow erase his bastard title and his social estrangement. That the whole of Eladan would suddenly see him, welcome him. Treat him as one of their own.

No wonder Otyris despised him.

In truth, Loklan was a more disgusting creature than anyone imagined. He was worse than a bastard. He was an abomination.

That was the day Loklan ceased to be simply a problem and became a walking catastrophe. Drinking from dawn till dusk. Seducing married aristocrats. Public debauchery, gambling, dueling.

Making a beast of himself for all to see.

He saw Otyris’ craggy face again and again from that day; the beginning of the end. His father’s blue eyes…so cold. The booming voice, even colder.

The High King knows what you are, son. So, now you understand. Eladan will never accept you.

What Loklan heard, in his pain, was that he was unwanted. An utter disgrace.

Why did you keep me, then? he’d cried. Why raise me as a prince? Why give me the title at all!?

Because you are my son. And I had hoped…Otyris gazed at him in grim disappointment. I had hoped you would be...more.

No words had ever struck the Bastard Prince so deeply.

In his usual style, Loklan set out to prove his father correct. He was a disgrace. He was a disappointment.

He was a beast.

But now…

He’d gone too far. Farther than he’d ever planned. Not that he’d been planning. More like…tumbling headlong into madness.

Brother…Mother…What have I done?

Some days, his thoughts skittered here and there like the mice that nested in the rafters above his cell. Others, his whole world constricted with anguish. For long periods, he floated in listless vagueness. His thoughts scattered and reformed again, incoherent. As incoherent as they had been when he’d taken Thenn's life, with his blood thinned by three bottles of royal whiskey.

There was nothing to dull him anymore to the deep and murky sense of agony, like sitting under an ocean of black water. Like drowning forever and never dying.

Once a day, a guard came in and brought him food. A servant’s fare. Bread and stew. Water. But he wouldn’t eat. Couldn’t.

An Eladani royal could go months without food and weeks without water, courtesy of their superior genetic composition. He wasn’t sure exactly how long.

He grew gaunt. Weakness crept through his limbs.

Still, no one came to him.

Mother must hate him now, too.

Perhaps she’d never loved him. Perhaps all her kindness had been pity.

He thought of her often. Of the stories she’d read to him as a child. Of the secret lessons in sacred sorcery.

You have the gift, Lok, she’d told him. I saw it in you when you were just a babe.

She always smelled like roses. She loved roses. He'd sat beside her as a child and played witht he long waves of her rose-scented hair while she read to him. Shining blond waves, like Thenn's.

She’d taught him magicks only the Sacred Priestesses were meant to know. Magicks she’d learned as a child raised on Asatyru, under the tutelage of the Goddess herself.

She had not taught Thenn. Thenn didn’t have the gift.

She had made Loklan believe he was special. Even when no one else acknowledged him.

She alone had made him believe he was worthy of his title. Worthy to rule.

Worthy of love.

And now he’d killed her only son.

Perhaps he would be executed.

Perhaps they’d leave him in this cell forever.

He wasn’t sure which fate was more appropriate.

In time, he stunk as no prince had ever stunk before. His lips cracked and stung. His mouth felt dry and his eyes gritty.

But that was alright.

There was a horrible sort of justice to it, that he should be kept in such animal conditions. That he should feel lower than the rodents that nibbled at his boots when he slept.

Worse than an animal. A monster.

No. Even worse.

A snake.

***

“Loklan Otyrison, Second Prince of Eladan, in honor of Thenn Otyrison, I challenge you.”

Loklan stirred from his bed of dirty rushes and turned towards the familiar deep voice echoing through the dungeon darkness.

A tall, slim figure stood outside the barrier, narrow face cold and grim.

White trousers, blue coat. Copious gold embroidery. Fine, white-blonde hair that brushed the crisp collar. A smaller man with the same white-blonde hair stood beside him, also wearing the colors of the House of Lyren.

The High King’s sons had come to visit.

Loklan could not even muster a tingle of surprise. Only a distant sort of relief.

Finally.

The two faces were shadowed, flickering in the light of the torch that Barnabas, the younger man, held aloft.

Loklan glanced into the darkness beyond them. No guards. No servants. Just the pair of princes with death in their eyes.

When Loklan spoke, his voice was a dry, broken rasp. But they understood.

“Alistair Lyrenson, First Prince of Eladan,” he croaked, “I accept your challenge.”

Alistair passed his white-gloved hand over the carved spell lock on the outside of the cell. A moment later, two pairs of boots came crunching across the dirty stones.

Alistair gave him a half-hearted kick. The toe of his dress boot stabbed Loklan’s ribs.

“Get up, cur.”

Loklan tried. His limbs were leaden, weak. Muscles watery and ineffective. How long since he’d eaten a full meal? How long since he’d seen the sun?

Three months? Four?

Maybe more.

Barnabas cursed. “He’s half-dead already, Al.”

“He accepted my challenge,” said Alistair. “Here, get his other arm.”

The pair of them hauled Loklan to his feet.

“Goddess, you stink,” said Barnabas.

“Yep,” grunted Loklan.

“Can you not even stand on your own, man?” said Alistair in disgust.

Loklan leaned heavily on the smaller man’s shoulder, willing his trembling legs to hold him. “Nope,” he grunted.

Alistair cursed. “You’re naught but bones and grime. Never thought I’d have to carry you to your own damned duel.”

Loklan said nothing. All his energy was engaged with remaining on his feet, even with Thenn’s two mates propping him up.

They half-walked, half-dragged him from the dungeon and out of his father’s palace through the servant’s tunnels.

Loklan laughed when he realized what they were up to. It was a terrible sound. A hissing death rattle of a laugh.

“The hell are you on about?” growled Alistair as they shuffled Loklan out of the dark servant’s passage and into the blinding glow of daylight.

“Not a duel,” chortled Loklan, eyes squeezed shut against the glare, “an execution.”

“Better than you deserve,” said Alistair.

Loklan laughed again and the crackling sound was abhorrent even to him. “What a gentleman,” he sneered.

Alistair shrugged him off with a curse and Loklan sagged against Barnabas.

“Your father’s politics are too slow for me,” said Alistair, with icy self-importance. “He would have let you rot in that cell for ages. Although, by the looks of you, I damn near missed my opportunity.”

“Lucky me,” said Loklan.

“Bastard.” Barnabas shoved him off. “You sicken me.”

Loklan crumpled to his knees, laughing again, hating himself, hating them. “Me too,” he rasped. “Doing me a favor.”

“What?” said Alistair.

Loklan grinned up at them, still sun-blinded and seeing only blurred silhouettes. The fresh air smelled good and the sun was pleasantly warm on his face. “Put me out of my misery, eh, Al? There's a good boy.”

Somebody hit him. The blow knocked him flat, made his head spin and his face explode with pain.

“Damn. Dirtied my glove,” muttered Alistair.

“Ought to have just left him there,” said Barnabas dispassionately. “I’ll wager he can’t even hold a weapon.”

“Try me,” rasped Loklan, grinning past the blood in his mouth. The sky spun and tilted above him.

A shadow fell over his face then, blocking out some of the white glare of daylight.

Loklan rolled his head towards the leaning silhouette as Alistar knelt on the ground beside him.

“Open your mouth, you worm.”

“Why?” he rasped, squinting at the other man’s raised hand and the small object clutched in it.

“It’s a healing drought. I want you on your feet when I kill you.”

Loklan snorted in derision, but turned his head and opened his mouth anyway.

A trickle of cool, honeyed liquid slithered across his paper-dry tongue. He swallowed. Felt the tingle of healing magic slip down his throat and warm slowly in his belly. It was a familiar taste. A combat draught—the kind of spell one used as a last resort on the battlefield for a final burst of strength in the face of impending death.

The young men of the aristocracy were known to use them in sports and duels—or for a boost in the bedroom. The effects would not be lasting.

But it didn’t matter.

Sweet relief flooded his system, quenching dehydrated cells, nourishing starved and weakened muscles.

“Barnabas,” said Alistair, “it’s time.”

Loklan heard the note of hesitation in the younger brother’s voice when he replied, “Al, are you sure–?”

“It’s too late for second thoughts,” snapped the elder. “Get the damned ship, Barnie.”

***

They were taking him off-planet.

By the time Barnabas disappeared into the woods to retrieve the unmarked merchant’s vessel that would carry him to his death, Loklan could sit up on his own. He almost felt himself again. He looked around impassively at the line of trees which marked the edge of the Eladani forest. They’d brought him out from underground just beyond the western wall, where no one could see them from the palace.

The guard would notice his absence soon—unless they’d paid him off, which Loklan supposed was likely enough.

Once they got him out of Eladan’s atmosphere, Alistair was free to kill him without breaking Eladani law.

Loklan’s sentence, legally, should be decided by his father.

Otyris would have a fit when he found out. The Second King of Eladan did not take kindly to the usurpation of his authority. The old man seemed to live for order and bureaucracy.

Being First Prince, Alistair was perhaps the only Eladani royal who could get away with such a thing, besides the High King himself. But Alistaire’s father had been in decline for a hundred years or more—since the previous Goddess passed. Old age had finally caught up with King Lyren without his divine wife to heal him. After nine hundred years of longevity spells and genetic manipulation, the old man’s mind had begun to go, even if his body was still strong.

In short, Alistair was High King in all but name already. In fact…Loklan was sure he'd seen or heard something about Alistair’s impending nuptials not long before his imprisonment.

Loklan wondered briefly what it would be like to be High King, wedded to the Goddess herself.

To share a bed with her. Give her children.

Bastard Second Princes didn’t get to dream of wedding the Goddess, though. Loklan would never even get to lay eyes upon the idol of his people, the High Queen of every generation of Eladan.

He could still remember the day they found her new incarnation, one year after the previous Goddess died. She was reborn on Miyuna to a peasant family when Loklan was still a child.

The whole of Eladan celebrated for days. Music, food, dancing, and drinking…

It was the one time in his life he’d been allowed to participate in any large celebration. No one cared to snub the little Bastard Prince when there were toasts to be made, feasts to eat, ceremonial wine to drink, and offerings to be made in the infant Goddess’ honor.

For those few days, Loklan had felt almost as though he were one of them. An Eladani royal. A proper prince.

He’d never thought much of the Goddess until then. She’d been but a concept—an idea his mother prayed to each day. An exclamatory phrase people often used in moments of high emotion. But she’d blessed him for the first time with a sense of belonging, and so he had loved her.

He’d carried an effigy of her in his pocket for many years after that. A bit of golden Eladani marble carved in the image of a woman with long, waving hair.

She was said to be beautiful in each incarnation. And kind.

Not for the first time, Loklan wondered what her life was like, raised in isolation and trained as a priestess on the temple planet, Asatyru. Until it came time for Her to wed the new High King, that is. Then She lived a cloistered life in the High King’s palace, bearing and raising his children.

She deserved better than Alistair, he mused. This preening, self-important little prig wouldn't condescend to please a woman if his life depended on it. Would he honor the Goddess? Would he love Her? Care for Her? Or would he use Her like a broodmare and keep Her locked away, as his father had done?

Well, it didn’t warrant thinking about. It had nothing to do with Loklan, anyway. No bearing whatsoever on his shameful life and impending death.

Barnabas returned with the ship, low and silent under the high forest canopy.

The craft was small as merchant's vessels went. One of the flattened oval types that shuttled loads of fine textiles and specialty goods from Miyuna—the peasant planet—to the aristocracy’s most exclusive shops. Even so, the craft was at least thirty paces from end to end.

The vessel opened and a series of metallic steps slid out, silent as the engines.

“Where are we headed, Captain?” Loklan asked as Alistair gave him another kick to get him up.

“Shut your mouth,” said Alistair.

Loklan clambered easily up the hovering steps and Alistair came behind him. The bay was empty, the dark metal floor polished clean. A single open panel at the front led to the cockpit, where Barnabas was already piloting them away from the palace, slow and careful beneath the towering forest canopy, so as not to be spotted. Alistair shot Loklan a look, narrow face cold with hatred, and ducked into the cockpit with his brother, leaving the Bastard Prince alone.

There were no cabin chairs, but gravity redistribution fields kept Loklan from stumbling even when they broke from the forest and ascended straight out of Eladan’s atmosphere.

Loklan stood by the narrow mirrored window on one side of the bay and watched his home planet fall slowly away until it hung suspended in speckled blackness, like a ball of green glass, marbled with white clouds.

Goodbye, he thought dully. It’s been fun.

Sort of.

“Choose your weapon, reptile.”

An icy shock rolled down Loklan’s back. He stiffened. Turned.

“What did you call me?”

Alistair stood just outside the cockpit, his blue coat removed, crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Reptile,” Alistair repeated, baring his teeth. Making the syllables crisp and clear, edged with venom. “My father told me your true heritage.” His lip curled. “I always knew there was something wrong with you.”

Loklan felt the blood drain from his face and extremities. No. He’ll tell them! All of Eladan will know–!

But what did it matter? Loklan would die very shortly.

Barnabas stepped out from behind Alistair carrying a long lacquered box with gold trim. The kind that held ceremonial weapons. Loklan caught his own pale reflection in the lacquer as the young prince approached. His face was gaunt and white, black hair matted, and eyes hollow.

He didn’t look like a reptile, thanks to his moth–-to Queen Firra’s magic. He didn’t look like a prince anymore, either.

He looked like a walking corpse.

“Choose your weapon,” repeated Alistair. “Thenn has waited long enough for his justice.”

The cold shock thawed slowly into a sickening knot of shame deep in Loklan’s gut.

Beneath it simmered rage.

Alistair didn’t give a damn about Thenn. In fact, Alistair didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself and never had. Like most of the royals, he hated Loklan simply because it was easy—and because the First Prince had an overwhelming sense of his own superiority.

And now Alistair had all the more reason to see to the Bastard Prince’s end.

Reptile.

Loklan reached for the rage. Embraced it. Let it blot out the shame. The horrible, unending shame.

One last time.

Thenn, he thought. Forgive me.

Barnabas opened the lacquered case. Inside, on a bed of fine midnight velvet, lay two pairs of identical weapons. Swords and pistols.

Not the heavy weapons of war, but the glittering ritual killing tools of princes.

The two platinum blades bore finely etched spells on both the hilt and handle. The pistols with sleek, transparent twin barrels, each one housing an etched crystal bullet. The platinum grips were inlaid with panels carved of crystal, too.

All were spelled.

A single blow from one of these weapons would do much worse than simply tear flesh and shatter bone—though they would certainly do that as well.

Loklan picked up one of the swords. “May your blade cut true,” he murmured automatically.

Alistair nodded and took the other sword. “And yours.”

With the traditional pre-duel exchange completed, Loklan turned and took several paces before facing his opponent.

“Tell my–” he stopped. “Tell Queen Firra something for me, will you?”

Alistair's pale eyes glittered with icy, baleful glee. “Did no one tell you?” he said.

Loklan frowned. “Tell me what?”

The other man’s mouth twisted into a nasty smile. “Queen Firra fell ill the night you murdered your brother.” The smile became a toothy, remorseless grin. “She died this morning.”

[chcrrybcmbs]

ambition   is   not   a   dirty   word   .   piss   on   compromise   ,   go   for   the   throat   .

◜    &. ›    𝙳𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙴𝚁    。

𝗼𝗻𝗲       :       𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤       𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯       .

                  full       name:       jordin      river      borowsky.     alias:       river       (       preferred       name       )       ,       the      joker       (       by       fans      /       the      tennis      world       )       ,       the      clay      master       (       by       fans      /      the      tennis      world       )       the       g.o.a.t       (       by       fans       /       the       tennis       world       ).       age:       thirty       two.     date       of       birth:       july       twenty      eighth.     place       of       birth:       st      petersburg      ,      russia.     hometown:       oxford       ,       england.       current       residence:       pacific       palisades       ,       los       angeles       ,       california.       nationality:       russian       -       british.       languages       spoken:     russian       (       first       language       )       ,       hebrew      ,      english.     gender:       cis       man.       pronouns:       he       /       him.       orientation:       heterosexual       ,       heteromantic.       relationship       status:       single.     education:       dropped      out of      oxford.       occupation:       professional       tennis      player.

𝘁𝘄𝗼:       𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺       𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴       .

                  ethnicity:       english       ,       ashkenazi      jewish      ,      irish.     financial       status:       upper       class. father:       arthur       borowsky.     nationality:       russian.       occupation:       former      professional      boxer      &      boxing      coach.       mother:       tatiana       borowsky       (       formerly       fowler       )       .       nationality:       british.       occupation:       entrepuneur      &      professor      at      oxford      univeristy. siblings:       one      younger      brother.     pets:       tba.       deeper       dive:       click       here.

𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲:       𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭       &       𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺       𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘴       .

                  height:       6       foot.       weight:       181       pounds.       hair:       brunette      ,      curly      when      grown      out.     eyes:       blue.       voice:       posh      ,      similar      to      harry      villiers      in      the      riot      club.     traits:       intelligent      ,      charming      ,      determined      ,      snarky      ,      arrogant      ,      flippant.       zodiac:       leo.     deadly       sin:       wrath.     heavenly       virtue:       temperance.       character       parallels:       harry      villiers       (       the       riot      club       )       ,       mr.            big       (       sex       and      the       city       )       ,       damon       salvatore       (       the      vampire      diaries       )       ,       gaston       (       beauty       and       the      beast       ). 

◜    &. ›    𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳    。

   ​​​​​​​the  borowsky  name  is  one  with  prestige  ,  both  athletically  and  academically  .  tatiana  borowsky  ,  his  mother  ,  is  the  daughter  of  british  peerage  and  a  world  renowned  professor  at  the  university  of  oxford  ,  notably  the  youngest  female  professor  at  the  time  of  her  hiring  .  while  arthur  borowsky  ,  his  father  ,  is  an  undefeated  former  professional  boxer  regarded  as  one  of  the  best  heavyweight  boxer's  of  all  time  .  the  pair  met  during  a  high  profile  fight  in  london  in  which  tatiana's  close  friend  was  a  ring  girl  ,  this  friend  inevitably  introduced  tatiana  and  arthur  and  the  two  began  a  relationship  not  too  long  after  .  splitting  their  time  between  england  and  russia  .

in  '91  when  they  welcomed  their  first  son  ,  river  (  born  jordin  )  ,  his  father  was  in  training  camp  in  st.  petersburg  and  so  the  first  several  months  of  his  life  were  spent  in  russia  .  after  that  , time  was  split  between  both  countries  ,  up  until  it  was  time  to  enroll  him  into  school  --  a  tough  decision  needed  to  be  made  :  what  country  would  become  the  borowsky  family's  homebase  ?  it  was  a  point  of  contension  between  his  parents  both  wanting  to  raise  their  son  in  their  respective  countries  ...  in  the  end  tatiana  won  the  tug  of  war  and  river  was  enrolled  in  a  private  academy  in  oxford  ,  england  . 

from  a  young  age  ,  it  was  clear  river  was  athletically  inclined  .  a  ball  of  energy  ,  that  never  seemed  to  run  out  of  gas  .  his  parents  giving  him  his  first  boxing  gloves  and  mini  punching  bag  at  three  where  he'd  train  in  the  home  gym  alongside  his  dad  .  at  four  he  was  gifted  a  mini  -  racket  and  ball  ,  after  attending  wimbeledon  with  his  mother  that  year  .  notably  he'd  began  to  neglect  the  punching  bag  entirely  ,  the  racket  and  ball  becoming  his  most  beloved  toy  .  it  was  at  five  he  was  sent  to  a  tennis  camp  in  london  ,  overseen  by  tennis  legend  billie  jean  king  . he worked  closely  with  her  for  the  next  six  years  ,  even  traveling  oversea's  to  the  united  states  with  her  to  learn  from  his  idol  pete  sampras  .  river  has  credited  king  for  shaping  his  mind  as  a  human  being  ,  as  well  as  a  professional  .  in  2005  he  dominated  the  u14  circut  in  the  eta  junior  tour  ,  ending  that  year  at  number  1  .  his  dominance  continued  in  the  u16  circut  ,  ending  his  juniors  career  with  a  win  -  loss  record  of  40  -  11  (  in  singles  )  and  23  -  6  (  in  doubles  )  . 

as  a  pro  it  became  clear  ,  he  harbored  the  same  winning  mentality  his  father  did  perhaps  even  going  as  far  as  obsessing  over  winning  . opponents  have  even  claimed  while  they  are  ambitious  ,  river  takes  ambition  and  turns  into  it's  fiery  obsession  .  his  conduct  on  the  court  summerized  in  one  word  by  many  --  unsportsmanlike  :  he  argues  with  officials  ,  has  broken  just  under  70  rackets  in  fits  of  rage  ,  distracts  opponents  and  misuses  bathroom  breaks  for  his  gain  .  in  2020  ,  he  was  disqualified  from  the  us  open  after  hitting  a  ball  not  in  play  out  of  anger  ,  which  subsequently  hit  a  line  judge  in  the  throat  .  it  was  a  tough  pill  for  river  to  swallow  ,  being  the  number  1  seed  at  that  point  but  the  public  saw  a  certain  level  of  grace  from  the  tennis  player  they  didn't  normally  get  .     

off  the  court  ,  his  life  is  seemingly  just  as  problematic  .  between  a  slew  of  failed  relationships  and  runs  in  with  the  law  ,  even  when  he's  not  ruling  the  court  his  name  continues  as  a  mainstay  in  the  tabloids  .  while  it's  not  ideal  for  the  russian  born  athlete  ,  it's  something  he's  come  to  terms  with  and  even  has  learned  to  find  the  fun  in  --  displaying  a  more  fun  side  of  himself  throughout  press  conferences  and  interviews  .  his  frequent  stays  in  cities  like  new  york  and  los  angeles  over  the  last  decade  have  definitely  catapulted  the  level  of  eyes  frequently  on  him  .  this  past  year  has  been  one  that  has  truly  trumped  all  the  rest  ,  though  .  learning  along  with  the  rest  of  the  world  he'd  been  the  target  of  a  sextortion  plot  earlier  in  2023  .  an  up  and  coming  model  was  interviewed  and  claimed  she  was  approached  and  offered  just  half  a  million  dollars  to  trick  river  into  sleeping  with  her  and  to  record  it  .  naturally  disgusted  by  the  admittance  ,  river's  team  began  to  pursue  the  woman  until  she  gave  up  the  person  behind  the  plot  ,  once  that  information  was  offered  in  a  court  hearing  the  suit  began  .  the  lawsuit  was  halted  in  august  after  river's  visa  was  revoked  for  a  dui  he  obtained  in  the  state  of  new  york  just  a  day  after  winning  the  men's  singles  in  the  us  open  .  with  his  coaching  team  being  based  in  california  ,  though  ,  it  was  only  inevitable  he'd  be  reissued  his  visa  sooner  or  later  . 

after  his  deportation  ,  he  returned  to  london  ,  where  he  claims  he'd  done  alot  of  soul  searching  --  taking  anger  management  classes  as  well  as  court  recommended  aa  meetings  .  in  recent  weeks  his  visa  has  been  reissued  and  he  is  now  back  in  los  angeles  where  he  is  gearing  up  for  his  2024  season  debut  at  the  australian  open  . 

◜    &. ›    𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂    。

got  the  nickname  '  the  joker  '  after  a  match  early  in  his  career  where  video  came  out  of  him  taunting  his  opponent  in  between  sets  wide  smile  as  he  mouthed  "  why  so  serious  ?  "  .  it  was  a  tense  match  and  river  knew  he  could  easily  get  into  the  guys  head  .  he's  embraced  the  nickname  and  plays  into  it  more  often  than  not  while  on  the  court  , known to impersonate and taunt opponents ( he'll always claim it's all in jest ) .    

has  been  engaged  3  times  :  once  in  2013  which  ended  because  he'd  cheated  multiple  times  and  when  asked  his  response  was  a  simple  "  took  you  long  enough  to  ask  "  ,  the  second  engagement  was  in  2017  and  third  was  in  2019  both  of  which  ended  due  to  him  getting  a  glimpse  at  the  wedding  dresses  both  women  had  chosen  and  he  thought  they  were  ugly ,  claiming  "  if  that's  the  best  you  can  do  on  the  biggest  day  of  your  life  ...  i  don't  wanna  see  40  years  from  now  "  .  

big  believer  in  honesty  but  tends  to  lie  by  omission  ?  if  you  don't  ask  him  a  straight  forward  question  he  feels  he  doesn't  owe  you  a  straight  forward  answer  . 

more will be added later .

[kwillow]

Two men of noble status and less than noble intentions conspire in the shadows of a gala.

Everyone knew about Duke Hyden. He had been granted the title by the King himself after his magical annihilation of an enemy city. How could the king not reward him, for ending a war single-handed? The King declared it a miracle - all others would call it a massacre.

In peacetime, Hyden's cruelty turned upon his countrymen. His reputation was poison among the peerage, or anyone else unfortunate enough to cross paths with him. However, no other noble would dare to challenge the King’s favorite, nor could any other wizard match his abilities, and so he remained unopposed in his position of power, sitting loftily but alone at the parties he would deign to attend.

However, even the most vicious beasts have parasites.

Once his father’s golden child and a darling of the court, Lord Ambroys’ star had faded in recent years. There were only so many scandals and failures that a pretty face and divine heritage could insulate him from, and he had exhausted all of them. To secure his rank and the adulation of his peers he knew he deserved, he needed an ally, he needed power. If there was one thing Duke Hyden had, it was power.

Ambroys was never known for his subtlety, and in time the peerage began to notice his the young lord’s long absences from his estate, or him stealing away to the shadows of a room to whisper something in the duke’s ear. But the exact nature of their dealings remained secret. Ambroys always did have a halo brighter than his intellect, but even he would know of Hyden’s sinister reputation.

Would an angel really make a deal with the devil?

[dailyadventureprompts]

Player Home: Valeview Keep

Sometimes moving up in the world feels almost intangible. Other times it’s quite literal, involving hauling all your worldly possessions up a cliff and a dizzying number of stares to make yourself at home in your new tower. Oh your knees will hate you, for sure, but the new scenery is more than worth it.

Setup: After impressing the local nobility, the party are rewarded with a keep and the knighthood that goes with it, signaling their progression from common sellswords to champions of the realm. As castles go, Valeview keep is a stout and sturdy construction, built to survey a winding river and the prosperous trade settlement that sits upon it. Garrisoning a small force of fast-response cavalry, the keep was meant to act as a sort of feudal fire-station, sighting dangers throughout the valley and dispatching those who might be able to help as fast as possible. Living side by side with these soldiers at arms is likely to color the party’s time at Valeview with a sense of duty and camaraderie, as these brave souls deal with the wandering monsters and petty squabbles while letting the party concentrate on the big picture.

Hooks:

Knighthood will bring an unexpected number of benefits to the party’s lives, ranging from the yearly income of surrounding lands to invitations to every mid-range feast and tourney in the duchy. This will give the party a chance to hobnob with nobles, warriors, and socialites alike, and will introduce them to a whole new tier of adventure hook they’d never have access to as simple freelancers.

There may be an adjustment period as the party adapts to lives of peerage while the Valeview outriders get used to having to actually answer to someone.  Pranks may be played, Crude caricature graffitid in out of the way corners of the keep, maybe even a cutting nickname or two. The means to overcoming this tension is for the party to demonstrate to the garrison that they’re not just some lordly brownnosers who’ve been handed their position and join the outriders on one of their hunts. A few outings helping to Keep local monster populations in check and tracking outlaws through the mud will convince the hardriding warriors that their new keepmates are on the up and up,  especially when an unusually strong beast wanders in from the deep wilds and throws what might’ve been a routine patrol into chaos.

War is brewing on the continent, and while the dukes, ambassadors, and spies busy themselves with the grand chessgame of tactics and diplomacy, the party are faced with the challenge of defending their valley from enemy incursion. Before hostilities officially break out, foreign scouts sweep through the valley looking for weaknesses and tactical advantages, while their commander has devised a clever plan to keep the party and their outriders occupied: securing the loyalty of a plunder hungry giant by the name of Thognar and letting him maraud through the region like a living war engine. The party will hear whispers of conflict and spies mere days before the giant bursts onto the scene, ripping merchant barges from the river and burning cottages to keep warm at night, but it may take a direct conflict with the brute to realize that he has received both armor and orders from foreign hands. 

Thognar is too tough to take down in a single skirmish, so the party’s primary means of dispatching the giant might be angering him enough to pursue them back to Valveview keep and wearing him down from behind their fortifications. This will involve a breakneck chase across the valley, then drawing the giant inside the sturdy stone fortifications where their courtyard can act as a killbox.

Ameanities & Upgrades

Captain Winnry Morgale acts as the party’s Castellan, commanding the garrison while the heroes are away and ensuring Valeview remains in fighting shape. An older soldier and local to the valley, Morgale is loyal and fastidious in her duties but is having trouble adjusting to life out of the saddle after suffering an injury while fending off a grey render some years ago. Morgale had been one of Valveview’s most longserving riders and had to be forcefully promoted to majordomo to allow her to recover, an elevation that mirrors the party’s own unexpected rise in station.  Perhaps commiserating about their shared feeling of undeserved ascension over a cool mug of ale will help the party break through the captain’s stern and subordinate outer shell and win the heart of the garrison to their side.

Key to Valeview’s functioning as an early response system is a series of watchtowers and beacons throughout the valley, which can be sighted from the keep’s tall tower without needing to wait for a messenger to make the miles long trek from the far peaks. Over the years of wear this system has begun to wear down, from beacon towers being neglected as funds have tightened, to a general shortage of manpower . Should the party devote some of their feudal funds towards refurbishing the beacon system ( as well as clearing out the few beast dens that’ve popped up in the meantime), they’ll eventually be approached by a goblin engineer by the name of Ruphyllis Glinnt who’s had an idea on improving the beacon system by replacing the cumbersome bonfires with a system of lenses and mirrors. Ruphyllis does indeed know what he’s doing, but he’s been  co-opted by a gang con-artists that’re using the debts he worked up on other projects to exploit his cleverness.

Now that they’re in possession of a knightly domicile, the party will need a staff, cooks and cleaners, grooms and valets, the dozens of hardworking individuals that make any castle run. Thankfully they’ll have help organizing this hydra of domestic chaos in the form of their new steward: Idius Spry, a fanciful gnomish gentleman who’s been a fixture in their liege’s household for generations. While helpful in the extreme and quick with a joke, Spry is infact reporting the goings on of Valeview back to the party’s liege, ensuring that these mercurial adventurers stick to their new sworn duties as feudal vassals.

[abybweisse]

I just remembered something from Bard's flashback, in regards to the "could one of the circus troupe members be one of the stars" theory. Sebastian tells Bard to put the bodies by the back gate (or something like that), and they'll be taken in the morning (by the undertaker). I'm assuming that's what they did with the bodies of Peter, Wendy, Jumbo, Dagger and Beast (if there was anything left of her). We haven't seen Canopus or Vega, but based on the star's rooms, I'm ruling out Jumbo, Maybe it's one of the others?

More on circus troupe dolls

If their bodies really were picked up by Undertaker, which is totally plausible, given that instruction, then I'd have to say this:

Yeah, definitely not Jumbo. None of the beds would have been big enough.

Dagger was shot to death, but his body was still with Beast when the kitchen was blown up, so I should think there wouldn't be much left of either of them.

Theoretically, Vega could be Wendy and Peter, but I don't understand why their room would be even more lavish than real Ciel's. They had been street urchins, then lived at the workhouse, then went to work in a traveling circus that scraped by to keep everyone fed. They washed with buckets of cold water in the middle of winter. And I doubt they would be given such nice things at Sphere Music Hall just to make them feel special. Each room seems to reflect the status of the occupant(s).

As far as I can tell, Polaris and Canopus are like servant or working class status. We know Sirius is real Ciel, coming from an earldom. Vega's room suggests someone even higher in the peerage, like from a marquisate or dukedom.

What's the peerage of Bluer's family? 🤔 And why was Bluer working himself so damn hard with the S4 routines? 🤔

Also, if the bodies really weren't picked up until sometime after Sebastian and our earl returned home, possibly not even until the day after they returned, then those bodies are not fresh. The ones mostly intact would still be good for regular bizarre dolls but making them into the most advanced ones would take a lot of extra work, due to the decay that took place. Just piled up by an outside back gate, right? Oof 😓

If I were Undertaker, I would skip them but Doll still looks like a possibility for Canopus.

[frogsandfries]

Day one of emptying my link doc went well enough. I think I got through like..... three or four of them? FFN is probably the worst site to try to archive. There isn't even a button to show the whole work and the late-aughts-esque ads are awful. I'm just going to leave the AO3 links in my bookmarks and if there are any searches, get some bookmarks out of them.

If I ever get through this document, maybe then I'll actually bookmark the searches I already have open on my phone. Or, I could sprinkle them into my link document.

In other news, I tried really very hard to focus on typesetting the Time Turner today. I cleaned up the first page of the table of contents. This volume has like four or five pages of table of contents. Instead of typesetting the Time Turner, I spent way too much time fucking around with the idea of Belle as hardened to near-narcissism by the poverty she's faced in her life and the cruelty by her step-mother, and turning that narcissism on the unexpected lord of the castle that looks like it's been abandoned for a century. I've decided that Beast and his (what is word) of freakish, living inanimate objects will have been frozen indefinitely in time while a cloak over the castle makes it look like it's been moving, abandoned, through time, to outsiders.

I'm not, like, actually a writer anymore, so I guess I don't know why I'm getting so invested in a story that I'll never actually stretch into a proper manuscript. I guess the storyteller at my core can only be finally extinguished in one way and one way only.

Anyway, who knows how long Beast has been frozen in time, simultaneously forever a naïve child as much as a...........(fill in the blank, something something, noblesse oblige×wisened by time and books??), so of course, stories have been spread to keep people away from this particular castle. Stories Belle had never heard before ambling into this little village in an isolated valley where she hopes her step-mother, and step- and half-sisters will never hear of her. This Belle is just as stunningly brilliant as the Belle in the original writing of the tale, but being so intelligent was no blessing for a growing girl who had been socially isolated, neglected and verbally marred for more of her childhood than she hadn't.

Even though her stomach is somehow more empty than her purse, Belle resolves to locate this castle--after all, the tales must have a granule of truth to them in there somewhere, and there doesn't appear to have been any nobles looking after this area for a long time. They must have lived somewhere. Belle had always fantasized about her prince charming whisking her off to a kingdom far, far away, where she could wear a new dress made of gems every day. Even long-crumbling ruins of a castle are still a castle, right? Even if there isn't even a speck of gold dust remaining?

Anyway, I got a few paragraphs further than this, but I'm grade A exhausted after my coffee worked a little too well this morning, and I still haven't thought of the end. Belle banished, maybe a Gaston....... idk. Absolutely no ideas. I'm not really one for creating the kinds of endings I occasionally indulge in. Beast of course gets to be Adam, the seventeen year old prince who gets to be among people--his people, and his noble peerage--again and even though he has great compassion toward Belle, he can see through her facade now, to the ugliness within.

[scotianostra]

The Scottish songwriter and song collector and poet Carolina Oliphant was born at Gask, Perth and Kinross on August 16th 1766.

Her songs have been sung around Scotland for hundreds of years. But, while her lyrics of loss, romance and rebellion have become part of the country’s cultural DNA, Carolina Oliphant is less than a household name.

Born into a staunchly Jacobite family (The Oliphants of Gask), Lady Nairne was one of the country’s leading songwriters. Carolina successfully adapted traditional Scottish airs, this wasn’t new, Burns and Hogg and even Walter Scott did the same in some of their work.  

Her father and maternal grandfather fought on the side of the Jacobites in 1745 and the family was exiled to France for 19 years, Carolina’s parents only returning two years before her birth.

Carolina kept her identity a secret writing as Mrs Bogan of Bogan, as  she wrote some of Scotland’s most beloved traditional songs.

Charlie Is My Darling, Will Ye No’ Come Back Again and Wi’ A Hundred Pipers are just a few of the enduring songs from Carolina, a contemporary of Robert Burns .Despite being just seven years Robert Burns’ junior, and writing songs throughout the same period as he did, the two would never have crossed paths, I personally put this down to Oliphant’s clandestine ways rather than anything else

While Rabbie is world famous, little is known or remembered about Carolina, yet her songs for the most, are well known, at least to those with a love of Scotland and a wee bit knowledge of folk music. Again I think the reason she isl not so well known is down to the extraordinary lengths she went to conceal her identity as a songwriter – not even her husband knew.

Her husband was Major William Nairne in, the couple married 1806,they had a son, born in 1808, when she was aged 43. In 1824, following a campaign by Sir Walter Scott, peerages and titles which had been forfeited as a result of the Jacobite Uprising were restored and she became Lady Nairne.

With Lady Nairn it wasn’t all about Jacobites though, she showed a love of the countryside in such songs as The Rowan Tree and The Pentland Hills and r poem The Auld House  s about her birthplace in Gask, she is sometimes called The White Rose of Gask, the rose being  a symbol of the Jacobite cause.

Her husband died in 1830 and she then travelled through Europe, returning to Gask two years before her own death on 26th October 1845. She gave permission at that stage for her collected songs. Two years after her death Lays of Strathearn, was prepared by her sister, but this time her name subscribed to the book. A granite cross was erected to her memory in the grounds of Gask House. 

Altogether, Carolina Oliphant wrote or adapted nearly 100 songs and poems in her lifelong endeavor. Lady Carolina Nairne deserves recognition today, because not only did she help to preserve many Scottish tunes, but also, at a time when women's talents were expected to be merely domestic, she managed to do her own thing.

The poem Jeanie Deans by Lady Nairne It eulogizes  the heroine of Sir Walter Scott's 1818 novel, The Heart of Midlothian. However, it appears to be unfinished as it ends with Jeanie 'wending' her way to London where she later obtains the pardon she seeks from the Queen for her sister and the story does not end there. For the full story see Jeanie Deans, check the link at the bottom. There’s a fine traditional bar named after her, fittingly at St Leonards on the Southside of Edinburgh.

Jeanie Deans

St. Leonard's hill was lightsome land, Where gowan'd grass was growin', For man and beast were food and rest, And milk and honey  flowin'. A father's blessing followed close, Where'er her foot was treading, And Jeanie's humble, harmless joys, On every side were spreading wide, On every side were spreading.

The mossy turf on Arthur Seat, St. Anthon's well aye springing, The lammies playing at her feet, The birdies round her singing.

The solemn haunts o' Holyrood, Wi' bats and houlits eerie, The tow'ring craigs o' Salisbury, The lowly wells o' Weary, O, the lowly wells o' Weary.

But evil days and evil men Came owre their sunny dwelling, Like thunder storms on sunny skies Or wastefu' waters swelling. What ance was sweet is bitter now; The sun of joy is setting; In eyes that wont to glance wi' glee, — The briny tear is wetting fast, The briny tear is wetting.

Her inmost thought to heaven is sent, In faithful supplication; Her earthly stay's Macallummore, The guardian o' the nation. A hero's heart — a sister's love — They're a' i Jeanie's tartan plaid, — And she is gane, her liefu' lane, To Lunnon toun she's wending.

[yazthebookish]

Title: Portrait of a Scotsman (A League of Extraordinary Women Book #3)

Genre: historical fiction, romance, adult.

Rating: 5/5⭐️

(Link to Goodreads Review)

Review:

FIVE STUNNING STARS⭐️

“I shall now forever live with the knowledge that without you in it, the world would be a strange place, and I should never be at home in it again.”

I can't even find the words to describe how much I adored Portrait of a Scotsman! It's probably my favorite book of the series thus far.

This book is BRILLIANT. I doubt my review will do it justice but I will try.

Although this book is not advertised as a retelling, but I can sense a tinge of inspiration by Beauty and the Beast.

This book has so many facets, it is by no means a light book due to the social issues it picks up on, nonetheless it gave me what I wanted it in a historical romance and more.

I must applaud Evie Dunmore for walking away from London's dazzling ballrooms to create a rich and complex tapestry on feminism and workers' rights that is intricately woven into fiction.

We are not told of these social issues, we are transported to settings where women's lack of rights and the workers poor conditions felt tangible.

It also highlighted the power imbalance between a husband and a wife and we explore this through the main couple. By no means does Lucian excercise these rights on Hattie but it is still an advantage he has over her simply for being a woman and seen as a property by society.

I won't get into details about their arranged marriage, but I liked how the book makes a note of how if a woman made a teeny tiny mistake of being seen in close proximity with a stranger, they'll thrust her into an arranged marriage for carnal indecencies because a fleeting kiss is such a terrible sin that must be repent through wedlock.

But before we pick up on that, let's introduce the main couple:

Lady Hattie Greenfield is the daughter of Julien Greenfield, patriarch of Britain's largest family-owned bank. Impressively enough for a woman of a high social standing, she is an Oxford scholar and a reputable blue-stocking. Hattie desired three things in life:

1. Acclaim as an artist

2. A noble cause.

3. Marriage to a young lord who puts the gentle in gentleman.

Although it is not further explored, but also Hattie has difficult reading written words which points to Dyslexia, so I appreciate the disability representation in this book.

A fleeting kiss pulls Hattie to an altar where she must make her vows to Lucian Blackstone of all people.

Lucian is one of the wealthiest businessmen in England with a reputable ruthlessness that casts fear in the hearts of London's peerage. He is what one would call a lowly born self-made man who is also a Scot to the teeth.

Lucian's corrupting influence draws Hattie closer to unholy pleasures and to the scarred man underneath.

“She had introduced a hitherto unknown complexity to his life: he found he was holding multiple contradictory thoughts—or worse, feelings—at the same time. Her mistrust, her sniping, the sullen, petulant curve of her mouth, bedeviled him very effectively, and yet he still wanted to lean across the narrow table and kiss that mouth.”

I must remind you that romance is still the central element of this book and to my delight, it combines many popular tropes that I must list each:

• Arranged marriage.

• A tender but strong heroine and a dark tortured hero.

• One bed.

• Forced proximity.

• Beauty and the Beast.

• A hero that lacks experience in romance and wooing.

• A heroine that does not falls head over heels for love at first.

• A high-born heroine and a low-born hero.

The sexual tension and passion between Hattie and Lucian was swoonworthy and sizzling! There was this delicious push-and-pull between them until both of them surrendered to the passion they ignited.

I also liked that there were issues and complications in their relationship. They were polar opposites and had to work around their differences though it wasn't a smooth process. It was all perfectly executed, for the culmination of their feelings felt rewarding.

The writing was superb and I was easily immersed into the book. I actually devoured this book and dreaded the ending because I did not want to let these characters go.

I absolutely love it! Definitely one of my favorite reads of 2021!

[readtilyoudie]

She tilted her head. “I don’t care if you’re not a gentleman. I don’t require someone who knows their way around Mayfair. I see no reason why our arrangement should have anything to do with your ability to waltz or your knowledge of the hierarchy of the peerage.”

But he did know all those things. He’d been trained to be a peer. He’d spent two years learning the intricacies of the aristocracy. Of their shit world. And but for a single moment two decades ago, he might have been a different man. He might have met her under a different circumstance. If Ewan had lost and Whit had won--he would have been a duke.

- Brazen and the Beast by Sarah MacLean

[swynlake-rp]

“Even if you hadn’t grown up a savage, you’d be lost. There are no trails through a woman’s heart.”

FULL NAME: William Cecil Clayton BASED ON: Clayton (Tarzan) FACE CLAIM: Timothy Olyphant PRONOUNS: He/Him BIRTHDAY: August 20, 1970 CURRENT STATUS: Closed

Character Information || cw: implied animal cruelty, hunting ||

William Cecil Clayton, son of the seventh Baron Rothsbone of Islip, has never wanted for anything. He grew up on an estate larger than the village associated with the peerage that financed it, with instructors that taught him foreign languages, that taught him how to play a variety of musical instruments, that taught him to ride a horse, score a try, or swim a length of the heated pool. His mother worshipped the ground he walked on, and his father only ever looked up from the paper long enough to tell him he was doing a good job — when he was home, that was. He attended Harrow, then onto Eton, and then onto Cambridge for his undergraduate degree, Oxford for his masters. He never had to wonder whether he would or wouldn’t be accepted; his father’s name, reputation and money saw him through every door he decided to walk through.

By the time he was 25, he was settled in a cushy job, with his own column in the paper, rubbing elbows with the editors and the more high profile writers. Not that he really needed the money, of course. His parents would’ve paid for the flat in Knightsbridge, the drinking, the parade of people coming out of his apartment (even if, of course, they had no idea what they were actually paying for). But Clayton needed to at least look like he was working, didn’t he? Give them the impression that he wanted to be a self-made man.

In his mountains of free time, Clayton tried every upper class hobby he could think of, mostly at the behest of the people trying to network with him. Golf with the editor-in-chief on Sunday, clay pigeon shooting with the dean of his old college on Wednesday, sailing with old school chums on a Friday. But there was one hobby that really stuck: hunting.

An invitation to a royal fox hunt started the infatuation. The thrill of the chase, the baying of the hounds, and then, at last, the capture! But it was a little disappointing, simply being one in a crowd. Where was the glory in watching the dogs do the work?

So then it was off to Scotland, tracking deer in the Highlands with a few other men by day and drinking whiskey at the lodge of a night. There was something about the rifle, and the torturous time spent tracking, paying attention to the wind direction, the sound you were making, and then getting the beast in your sights; Clayton had found his calling.

Once a week, for nine months of the year, he would submit a column about something-or-other, and then he would be off. Hunting chamois in New Zealand, wolves in Russia, grizzlies in Alaska; his annual holiday, every summer, was a trip on safari with a guide that was happy to turn a blind eye. He ticked off everything, small game, big game, predators… and then he got bored.

And then, he had another idea: if he was done with the everyday animals, what was left?

Only the magical ones, of course.

But hunting magical game is not quite as easy as the rest. Protected species, permits, people less likely to pretend not to see, or requiring a much more expensive bribe to keep their silence. Not that any of that is going to stop Clayton. After reading about a little town called Swynlake with a rather extensive and biodiverse forest, he’s decided to set up shop, and see how he gets on…

✓  Extroverted, suave, chivalrous

✖  Sadist, power-hungry, haughty

Character Suggestions

None

Current Relationships

None

Possible Relationships

click here!

Magical Abilities

None