#Scion!Prudence

[ahollowgrave]

@viiioca asked: Send 🏔to see them in their favourite zone.

Okay, so --

Perhaps not her favorite zone but one she found herself at frequently. She gets lost in thought, hard to draw back out, as she sits frozen like the wave of light before her. Expression awestruck grief as she marvels at her beloved's last act. One last shot:

[prudentfolly]

Day 26: Rest/Recover

In the hours following the events of The Vault...

Prudence isn't the WoL nor a Scion nor does she have the Echo. But she is my little self-indulgent Ishgardian character so she was part of the assault on the Vault. She was wounded before the final battle and had to hear about the losses after the fact.

It's a major point of painful change in Prudence's life and what ultimately leads her out of the Brume and onto the path of a retainer. She doesn't like to talk about it.

[neartheeasternfence]

The Yakuza Prince

Impressions; Chapter 55

Since there are three or more intermittent panels in which Doumeki is wide-eyed, he looks appreciably astonished to hear that Yashiro is impotent. He tries not to divulge the privacy of Yashiro that he knows, even though he is virtually ‘sharing’ Yashiro with Inami. But Inami must have caught it on. I like the way Doumeki described that Yashiro’s body cannot be helped (lustful) (ch.50, vol.8). He does not attribute Yashiro’s ‘lustfulness’ to a matter of personality. More precisely, I like the prudence of this author in these details. Doumeki would have thought that Yashiro’s body needed constant care for its ‘lustfulness,’ and he has taken on that task, and done it. And then he might well have realized that he did not want any other man to do it.

Inami also offers some business information. The two almost have reached the same view that Kai may have had something to do with the Niki kidnapping. And that about Okuyama, it appears he has been reclusive recently.

Hirata had temporarily occupied the position of a deuteragonist during his conflict, and from now on, it seems Tsunakawa will be so. He is an intriguing type of yakuza in this work. Yashiro, Nanahara, Sugimoto, Hirata, Doumeki, and probably even Misumi drifted into the yakuza world as outcasts with nowhere else to go, and then, they formed a pseudo-family there. But for Tsunakawa, it is the family business. He was born into a declining family as a scion. The baby grew up and undertook both obligations imposed on him and promised privileges without being daunt. Young Tsunakawa was an irreverent yakuza prince, radiating a glistening ambition to rebuild the small kingdom he was to inherit.

10 years later, he still “has forced himself” from the corresponding need (ch.37, vol.7), and the Sakura Family has many enemies. At the same time, he appears to be a pretty good family man. Since the Family has survived through a system of hereditary succession, it is likely that their patriarch, the clan leader for generations too, has managed to balance the family business and family life. At a very young age, Niki understood the significance of Doumeki’s missing small finger (ch.37). It is natural for her that men who serve Papa would attend to her as well. Do not know what kind of life she will choose for herself after she grows up, yet for now she has accepted the fate of the yakuza little princess. It was Tsunakawa himself who cut Kai’s left eye. Then it looked like Kai lost his left small finger and was excommunicated from the Family. When Okuyama-gumi became independent, he must have settled there. Indeed, Okuyama seemed to be calm, or “a man who does not know what he is thinking (ch.49, vol.8).”

Doumeki bowing to Tsunakawa, replying, “I understood,” it feels like all the more ‘manly.’ It would be partly because his neck looks thicker, but also because it can be figured readily that he is in control of his swirling emotions for Yashiro under the equable attitude he shows to his superiors. The car on the next page would be parked near the gate of the Tsunakawa house. Doumeki has the media in his hand, putting a pained expression on his face. Then he drives to Yashiro’s high-rise condo.

Four years ago, when Yashiro took a cigarette out, it was one of Doumeki’s functions to light it (ch.15, vol.3 or a line drawing end of vol.3). Yashiro neither asks, “Are you back?” nor “Why do you take it away?” He might have been surprised, otherwise centers on this moment. He must feel reluctant to let go of what their reunion and the ensuing concerted action have brought.

Yashiro and Domeki seem to be getting closer emotionally, not only physically. Concomitantly, Doumeki has been in a dilemma between his loyalty to the Sakura Family and his private emotions toward the former boss. On the other hand, Yashiro’s trauma has never been unresolved. That is why he has needed Inami for the last four years.

What Yashiro had undergone was too relentless to overcome as if nothing untoward had occurred. It should be impossible to do such. By all means, however, I do hope his severe psychological load due to the profound devastation to his fundamental sense of safety, security, and faith in others -- his anxiety and fear of his existence -- will lessen, and he will be able to deal with them more moderately. Expect how further the work explores it...

[neathbound]

A quick introduction, because I'm getting more obsessed with her by the minute:

"Rue" Mallory Burke, the Oblate Scion

Her given name is either Ruby (what she remembers being called her entire life) or Prudence (what anyone else in London who knew her prior to a few months ago would call her).

She's the daughter of Lady Burke and the Charming Sommelier; though everyone in London could tell you the tragic tale of Lady Burke, seduced and betrayed by the Sommelier, only to disappear shortly after giving birth to their child... Rue remembers an entirely different life.

Rue, as she recalls, lived happily and lavishly in the household of Lady Burke and her husband, the Charming Sommelier. Over years, her mother succumbed to the influence of a red-clad intruder in her dreams; when her father tried to have the house exorcised, something shifted, and it began to rain.

Rue awoke in a London very different from the one she remembered. She was recognized as "Prudence," who she learned was an orphaned child brought up by a nunnery; with a few days' searching, she uncovered the sordid tale of Lady Burke and the Charming Sommelier that everyone but her seems to remember.

She was taken in by and worked for the Foresworm Rumourmonger for a time, but a growing connection to something bloody and ambitious beyond the mirror pulled her away from the agents of White; it was when the Rumourmonger came into conflict with the Radiant Architect that Rue met Maiserel, and individual who was not so individual - perhaps, as it seemed, like she herself.

In other words, I wanted to take advantage of where Firmament seems to be leading. Shortly before she was born, in both histories, her mother made a powerful deal with the Red-Handed Queen; with the recent rains, Prudence and Ruby swapped places.

Creating a new FLondon OC has reminded me of the greatest struggle of them all... figuring out their title.

[lookbluesoup]

WoL NPC Profile

Thought this looked fun! :3 Original Template Tagging @seasaltandcopper and anyone else who would like to!

Name: Nahte’to Vhia Alternate Name or Alias?: n/a Race & Job: Moon/Sun Miqo’te Cross // Moon Hunter (Wields a glaive and arcanist magic, can summon hawks to his aid; later becomes a practicing Scholar, and dabbles in Red and Blue magic too)  In Trusts/Duty Support, an All-Rounder

Nickname: Nahte (Only to family and/or lovers) Default Tarot Card: The Hermit

When the Hermit card is upright in a Tarot reading, it symbolizes counsel, inner strength, prudence, caution, vigilance, patience, and withdrawal. You might be impatient with people who cannot see what you can see, and you may have a desire to be alone. You are diving deep and figuring things out for yourself. It might mean you need to be alone to do the self-reflection that's necessary right now.

Do they have the Echo? If so, how did they discover it?: Yes, Nahte always had an especial attunement to the hearts and minds of others. He is able to understand speech regardless of language barriers, and is eerily good at sensing the intents of others. If you intend harm, he’s likely to know it. But on the flip side, if you’re a genuine soul, he’ll recognize that and trust his instincts even if the circumstances under which you meet are not ideal. Nahte is very in tune with the natural world, and tends to get along with animals. Even those that cannot speak, he is good at intuiting their desires or intentions, thanks to his Echo.

How/where does the WoL meet them?: When the WoL is sent to meet the slyphs, Nahte is a “poacher” who can be encountered visiting Little Solace to trade and share news. He is curious about your mission, and after watching from an amused distance as you jump through hoops to earn the sylph’s cooperation, ultimately willing to lend his help both diplomatically and as a guide. Being on good terms with the sylphs, and familiar traversing the less travelled regions of the Shroud, his help speeds things up considerably.

How are they recruited into the Scions?: Nahte’s assistance treating with the sylphs and familiarity with the goings on in the deep places of the Shroud where even Wood Wailers rarely tread makes him a valuable contact in watching for Primal activity and Garlean incursions.  He will even lend his lance arm to protect others. His good nature and affinity for the Echo become apparent quickly enough, soon making him an obvious choice for an invitation.

Romanceable?: Yes! Though the WoL should be prepared for a somewhat unconventional courtship. While charming and openly flirtatious, Nahte has no prior romantic experience and any indication that his teasing is genuinely reciprocated will spook him, leading to some amusing (if awkward) interactions. The WoL must build a strong friendship with Nahte to advance a romance arc. Though he is only interested in a serious long-term relationship, he is available to any sex or gender WoL, as well as a monogamous, polyamorous and/or asexual partner.

Where they are in the open world:

(As a Scion): Initially Nahte can be found on rooftops outside the Waking Sands, and later up on the high walkways and lookout posts of Mor Dhona. For quests related to Gridania, he will enter the main city but remain on the outskirts.

(As a NPC): Nahte can appear in various remote places around the Shroud, most commonly around Little Solace or the Sylphlands. He will never venture into Gridanian settlements. 

Default saying: (when you want to talk to them in open world, how do they respond?)

(As a Scion): “Back from another adventure, eh? You look like you could use a break. I found a beautiful spot scouting yesterday, nice and quiet. Perfect for a walk and a picnic. I could show you?”

(As a NPC): “I grew up a hunter in the Black Shroud, far out of reach of Wailer authority, and never faced the ‘wrath of the Elementals.’ I’ve met plenty of Gridanians looking for an Outsider they could blame their problems on, though.”

What do they typically do off-screen?: Nahte tends to keep busy, and is frequently afield in the Shroud on diplomatic and information gathering forays with the Sylphs and Moon Keeper families beyond Gridania’s reach. At the Scion’s HQ, he usually entertains others with song in the evening and dutifully studies the arcane. When needed, he volunteers as a healer.

Things they Generally Approve of: Honorable/chivalrous acts of kindness, succor, and generosity. Refusing to aid in ways that harm innocents. Attempting nonviolent resolutions before attacking enemies. Calling assholes out on their bullshit (esp. sarcastically) Things they Generally Disapprove of: Attacking first, escalating or glorifying conflict, especially towards beast tribes. (Note that in the case of racial/cultural insults, such as a Gridanian calling Nahte a poacher and heckling him, sucker-punching the Gridanian would NOT result in disapproval)

Are they in a Grand Company? Which one?: Nahte does not join a Grand Company

Friends:

Within the Scions: Tataru, Y’shtola, Alisaie, G’raha Tia, Estinien

Outside the Scions: X’ruhn Tia, Sidurgu Orl, Lyse Hext

Small side mission(s): Nahte has a repeatable quest that involves accompanying him to various remote areas in search of trinkets, and will reward you with some playful banter and a random selection of crystals or gathering materials based on the location you choose to visit.

Romancing Nahte requires the completion of his companion quest, Black Coerl, which involves defending and freeing one of his sisters who has been accused of poaching/angering the Elementals and captured by angry Gridanians in a remote town afflicted by plague. This ultimately requires soliciting the help of the Padjals to reassure the town that the Elemental's anger is not the cause of their affliction, and convincing the town (and Nahte) to allow him to tend them with his own healing magic alongside the Conjurers. Having done so, Nahte will trust you to protect not only him, but also his family and way of life, while helping him stay true to his own values when he was tempted to react violently towards the villagers holding his sister captive.

Potential tarot card changes:

If accepted into the Scions: Justice When the Justice card is upright in a Tarot reading, it symbolizes harmony, balance, equality, righteousness, virtue, honor, and advice. It can also mean a time for adjustments, as well as an opportunity to bring physical, emotional, social, and spiritual things back into balance. It also means it is time to stand tall and strong against the things that might be trying to throw you off balance.

If romanced by the WoL: Temperance When the Temperance card is upright in a Tarot reading, it symbolizes moderation, temperance, patience, harmony, fusion, good influence, and confidence. This card can also be a warning to temper your behavior and a reminder that irreconcilable opposites can be reconciled. You are truly connected to what makes a good life, and you are living it. You have a strict moral code, and you will work hard to reach your goals, whatever they might be.

If not recruited/kept as an adventurer: The Hermit (reversed)  When the Hermit card is reversed in a Tarot reading, it symbolizes imprudence, hastiness, rashness, and acts of foolishness and immaturity. You might be too withdrawn from society and desperately in need of the company of others. It also might indicate that although you are very focused on being alone right now, you're still avoiding dealing with your real problems, both internally and externally.

[ruthlessreaders]

Theodora Taylor’s Books and Upcoming Releases

» Upcoming Releases

Her Beary Spicy Valentine – 2nd book in the Bear Mountain series

Her Rustanov Bully – 1st book in the Ruthless Bullies series

Her Irish Bears – 2nd book in the Irish Shifters series

Her Beary Fresh Start – Bear Mountain series

Her Beary Hot Summer – Bear Mountain series

Her Beary Scary Halloween – Bear Mountain series

Her Rustanov Husband – 1st book in the Ruthless Titans series

Suzie in Salt Lake – Ruthless Magnates series

Prudence in New Orleans – Ruthless Magnates series

His Secret Love – continuation of This Christmas

Twelve Years of Kristos – final book in the Loving Elves series

Rhonda and the Ruthless Debt Collector – Patreon Exclusive

Sharon and the Ruthless Mogul – Patreon Exclusive

Alien Overlord (written with Eve Vaughn as Taylor Vaugn)

His to Claim

His to Steal

His to Keep

Theirs to Mate

Theirs to Forever

Alpha Future

Her Dragon Everlasting

Nago: Her Forever Wolf

Knud: Her Big Bad Wolf

Rafes: Her Fated Wolf

Her Dragon Captor

Her Dragon King

Alpha Kings

Her Viking Wolf

Wolf and Punishment

Wolf and Prejudice

Wolf and Soul

Her Viking Wolves

Bear Mountain

Her Beary Sexy Christmas

Her Beary Spicy Valentine

Her Beary Fresh Start

Her Beary Hot Summer

Her Beary Scary Halloween

Broken and Ruthless

Keane: Time of My Life (preview novella)

Keane: Her Ruthless Ex

Stone: Her Ruthless Enforcer

Rashid: Her Ruthless Boss

Hot Harlequins with Heart

Vegas, Baby → Sunny in Vegas

Love’s Gamble → Prudence in New Orleans

Irish Shifters

Her Irish Wolves

Her Irish Bears

Her Irish Dragons

Loving Elves

Twelve Days of Krista

Twelve Months of Kristal

Twelve Years of Kristos

Loving Later in Life (Patreon Exclusive Series)

Reina and the Heavy Metal Prince

Rhonda and the Ruthless Debt Collector

Sharon and the Ruthless Mogul

Loving World

His to Princess

Ruthless Bosses

His Pretend Baby

His Revenge Baby

Her Perfect Gift → His Enduring Love

His Everlasting Love

Ruthless Bullies

Her Rustanov Bully

Ruthless Business

The Owner of His Heart → Her Ruthless Tycoon

His for the Summer → Her Ruthless Possessor

His One and Only → Her Ruthless Bully

The Wild One → Her Ruthless Cowboy

Ruthless Fairytales

Cynda and the City Doctor

Billie and the Russian Beast

Goldie and the Three Bears

Reina and the Heavy Metal Prince

Ruthless Magnates

Kayla in Paris

Sunny in Vegas

Suzie in Salt Lake

Prudence in New Orleans

Ruthless MC

Waylon: Angel and the Ruthless Reaper: Book One & Book Two

Griffin: Red and the Big Bad Reaper

Vengeance: Snow and the Vengeful Reapers

Hades: Stephanie and the Merciless Reaper

Hades: Stephanie and the Ruthless Mogul

Ruthless Rustanovs (formally titled Ruthless Russians)

Her Russian Billionaire → Alexei: Her Rustanov Billionaire

Her Russian Surrender → Nikolai: Her Rustanov Surrender

Her Russian Beast → Bair: Her Rustanov Beast

Her Russian Brute → Ivan: Her Rustanov Brute

Ruthless Titans

Her Rustanov Husband

Ruthless Triad

Victor: Her Ruthless Crush

Victor: Her Ruthless Owner

Victor: Her Ruthless Husband

Han: Her Ruthless Mistake

Phantom: Her Ruthless Fiancé

Ruthless Tycoons

Holt: Her Ruthless Scion → Ruthless Scion

Holt: Her Ruthless Billionaire → Ruthless Billionaire

Zahir: Her Ruthless Sheikh → Ruthless King

Luca: Her Ruthless Don → Ruthless Husband

Amber: His to Reclaim → Ruthless Captor

Scottish Wolves

Her Scottish Wolf

Her Scottish King

Her Scottish Hero

The Very Bad Fairgoods

His for Keeps

His Forbidden Bride

His to Own

Anthologies

Her Wild and Sexy Nights (Dim the Lights, An Anthology) → Kayla in Paris

This Christmas (Meet Me Under the Mistletoe Anthology) → His Secret Love

[pyrrhesia]

FF14 Write - ‘Illustrious’ (D26)

In which Ysabet Sable watches the sun set.

Severine de Belgrave rested her old bones by the fire, sinking into an armchair with a long, satisfied sigh. Not for the first time, she thanked Halone for her good health. Though perhaps she ought to thank good living. She'd seen other knights go quickly to seed, and now could hear their backs crack and knees explode from malms off. Severine's fighting days were long past, but she kept as spry as she could. Got mountain air by the lungful, didn't drink as much as she once had. After all, there felt so much to do. One of the most coveted trainers in Ishgard, a proud and feared matriarch of what was now a flourishing House, and through it all she did her best to be a good wife. Yet, here and now, she had her house all to herself. As the rain pattered off the roof overhead, she leaned back in her chair and remembered... Fearful days of fire and suffering, they had been. Yet through it all, a disparate band of misfits and outcasts followed falling stars and risen gods, bound together. Shining steel cut through the encroaching dark. She had been a hero, once.

Severine jolted awake to the sound of a rapping at her door. It was insistent, which given the rain had only intensified was only natural. Severine rose to her feet with a grunt, unbowed by age, her poise the picture of dignity, her hand lingering on the hilt of the dagger at her belt the model of prudence. Yet when she opened the door, she relaxed. Two drenched flaxen ears drooped from holes cut into a hooded cloak sodden with rain. Keen violet eyes peered out from over the top of the high-drawn mantle. "Ser Severine," she said, voice muffled. The elezen gave a smile, scant warning before closing the distance and embracing the viera in a tight hug. "It's been too long, Ysabet." When the viera was done pretending to look affronted, she trudged inside, divesting herself of her cloak. All that had changed in the years was... was... ? No. Nothing. The softly sweeping curves of her face remained unlined, the softly sweeping curves of her figure unchanged. She moved with the same grace and purpose as she always had, and not even her voice felt at all worn by the decades. She even favoured the same cool greens, not quite the shades of a forest. Ysabet had been doing well for herself, but in the distance. Her shadow had been felt, mostly because she had taken it upon herself to write and publish the exhaustive Annals of the Scions' deeds. While Ysabet used words like a Garlean general used auxiliary infantry, her concussive prose had a strangely melodic quality to it, and certainly none could doubt her authenticity or her scrupulous adherence to the truth. The last man who had tried had been confronted mid-lecture at swordpoint. Besides that, she'd just sort of... well, Severine had trusted that she'd been doing something. She wasn't the sort to sit idle. They'd never spoken especially much, back then. It was only when swords were sheathed and their task concluded that they truly began to realise, all of them, that they had achieved something truly monumental between them. That there was a shared experience nothing else in their lives could possibly match. A feeling Severine couldn't even share with her wife... "You look well," she said, diplomatically. "I always do. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about." Ysabet dug around in a satchel that clinked with promise. "You, also. Sincerely. Some of the others, I barely recognise, but you are still the spitting image of... yourself. Ah!" She pulled out a fine crystal bottle of breathtakingly expensive wine, and proffered it bottom-first in the time-honoured fashion of the amateur sommelier. "I thought we'd talk. Perhaps of old times. Perhaps of new." Severine took up the bottle, having to squint rather more than she'd like at the label. "Ah, all the way from La Noscea. It's a beautiful vintage. You did not need to bribe me to have a place by my fire, you know. But I appreciate it all the same." "I was in the area. I often am. The place still has its hooks in me, I think." She pulled something else out of the satchel, too. A notebook, slim by her standards, and a fine feather quill ensorcelled to ever be wet with ink. Some twenty years ago, Ysabet had decided she'd spilled her final inkwell on her priceless primary records. "Ishgard, not so much." "Take a seat by the fireplace." Severine gestured the way, waiting magnanimously for her guest to take the first seat as she weaved past and took a couple of wine-glasses before letting herself fall into place opposite. "Truth be told, I'd... well, I had expected you to come, sooner or later." "Ah?" Severine cracked her knuckles against her jaw, resting her head and regarding Ysabet with a knowing little smile. "Some of us do still correspond, you know. It's not been a secret you've been dropping in unannounced, of late. Asking after us, after our lives. Like you're eager to underline our entries in your little books, no?" To Severine's surprise, Ysabet looked genuinely hurt. She could be - she had been - so cold, so detached, and yet... "You make it sound so... clerkly." "I know," on some level, Severine didn't add, "it reflects you care deeply. That is what it's about, isn't it? Making certain all is accounted for, before we're... no longer able to contribute." "Am I so transparent?" Ysabet looked aside to the fire, lip curling in something like disgust. "I suppose I am something akin to a vulture, these days. You cannot be glad to see my circling." "No, I am." "You have only my word I care for you, that this is the ultimate symbol of that care. My records will outlive us both, Severine. The entire point of my writing them was to ensure the truth about us all stood, unopposed, through the centuries." Severine poured out the wine, reaching over to hand Ysabet's to her. "Rest assured, I have no intention of dying anyday soon. I'd have you stay, and we can talk without such pressures overhead." "We'll have as much time as we need, eh? Well... perhaps. Yet we are here now." Ysabet sipped her wine, but seemed far away in thought. "The last was Cwenthryth Sadler. I had been... occupied, elsewhere. By the time I arrived, I found her bound to her deathbed." Severine... vaguely remembered her. The muscular Ul'dahn who had returned to her Ala Mhigan roots in arms, but stayed true to the cause, to the end. "I knew little of her. She spoke little." Ysabet snorted. "And I once thought there was little to know. Perhaps, in a sense, there was. Certainly no shortage of women like her. Yet how many went on to slay Gods?" She sighed, considering her words carefully. "Yet, her strength - nor the strength of any of us - was not the most remarkable thing, I think." "... So you'll tell me what was?" "When it was all over, she simply set down her bow and lived peacefully." Ysabet looked back up at Severine. "The rest of her days. The finest archer I'd seen! With a voice as clear as spring-water. People would have flocked to hear her sing, but nobody could ever make her. And now, nobody ever..." Ysabet bit her lip, hard, and looked away at the fire. Something dripped onto the cover of her journal. "But she was happy?" Severine prompted. "I think so." Ysabet's voice was small. "She loved Aislona, I know. Nobody wanted anything more from her, and I am not sure she wanted anything more from the world. But... I should have liked to have seen it myself, I think. It always felt like the time would be right. And yet, it never truly came. I have to force myself to remember any urgency. The years drift by. And at first, ten, twenty years... it seemed as though I would have forever." "You will." Severine tried not to sound bitter. "Or may as well." "Hmph." Ysabet forced a brave little smile. "Not with you. It... took too long to realise, it was the world that could wait. And... I know, I know it is the most selfish of complaints. That I remain young while my companions wither and die! O, poor me! Yet it has been so hard, watching, helpless, holding a love that only grows stronger, as..." After a time, Severine hauled herself up from her seat and offered her arms around Ysabet's silently tremoring shoulders. They remained there in silence for a while, as the rain came down. Finally, Ysabet pulled herself free, swallowed hard, and leafed to a new, dry page of her journal. "Tell me, Severine. Tell me of your life."

And someday, when all lay to rest, a student would pick up a dense book - a copy set in type, passing through a dozen hands - and leaf through the pages of near-forgotten heroes until landing on one at random. Ever faithful to the true ideals of knighthood, if not the trappings of noble conduct, Ser Severine de Belgrave proved to all she was no disgrace to her family's crest...

[smallest-turtle]

regarding the Eorezan Q's: 9, 15 (the sharlayan one), 17, 19, and 22 for Deidre? Caelen too, if you'd like to answer for him as well!

9. How well does your character treat animals?

They both treat animals very well, regardless of their purpose. Livestock isn’t going to get coddled or anything, but they definitely aren’t mean to any animals.

15. How does your character view magic?

Magic is a tool to Deidre, something used to help and hurt in equal measure, just as much a weapon as her sword. To Caelen it’s more of a study and a sense (like sight). He doesn’t summon in battle typically, the only time he’s ever done so outside of working with Y’mhitra was when he rushed to keep his sister from fighting Tsukuyomi alone. Aetherically, shifts in the balance are a sense akin to touch

17. How would your character react if they discovered a likeable acquaintance was Garlean? Violently? With suspicion? Or would they ignore it altogether?

They would both ignore it really, the Garleans they’ve known in Eorzea are people who have abandoned the Empire for one reason or another, and they can relate to running away from one’s upbringing.

19. Do you think your character would cope well under the scathing heat of the desert for a few weeks?

No. The Shroud is no stranger to heat and humidity but they are used to a great deal of shade and heavy rains that wash the air clean, neither of which can be found in Ul’dah. They could take the dry heat for a while but they are not happy about it. The climate in Mor Dhona may be a bit fucked up with the calamity along with the landscape, and it may be in the valley on the other side of the mountain she grew up on, but Deidre is very glad the Scions moved base to  climate she was raised in.

22. Does your character have a mean streak?

Most people would say that Deidre does not have a mean streak. The Exarch and Deidre’s cousins would say she does. That is because they have wronged her personally (just. the whole lying when she’s made it clear he can come clean. going to base one where she has no choice but to play the hero on expectation like in ARR. She has a very personally bad time with him. +her cousins are racist bullies to her half siblings and she absolutely hit the oldest one in the face with a hot iron pan for trying to ‘correct’ Prudence’s ear shape when they were kids). She will also be snippish and hold grudges (see *looks at things i haven’t published yet* her interactions with Papalymo). Not that many people have cause to see her being vindictive and wrathful as a base interaction but the ones who do get it.

Caelen didn’t grow up having to really be mean or defensive because Deidre and Brandon tended to take care of that growing up. He’s not very confrontational.

[virtuehq]

𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐋 (𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐍𝐄), a FEMALE individual aged TWENTY, is a person of interest in CASE FILE NO. 914191515. she is a SECOND YEAR student majoring in GLOBAL BUSINESS at sungkyunkwan university, who bears a striking resemblance to CHOI YEWON (ARIN). we’ve heard rumors that she’s called the FIRST PLEDGE of the PRUDENCE lineage in this supposed-VIRTUE SOCIETY, but as we cannot find any concrete evidence to back this up, such information shall be striked from the record. officers are recommended to proceed with discretion should they need to bring her in for further questioning, for her INFLUENCE AS A SCION OF THE HAN FAMILY makes her a high-profile individual.

DETECTIVE: “do you know anyone who would want to harm HAN INSOO?” 

DAPHNE: the eerie silence drowning the room is broken by the tapping of delicate nails against the metal table. it is a soft, light drumming to a constant rhythm that she hopes will drown out the erratic beating in her chest. 

“harm?” daphne’s doll-like eyes widen in skepticism, her response seemingly dazed and detached. “you think there’s been foul play? on the disappearance of someone like han insoo? i think you forget who he is, detective,” she speaks slowly, her voice soft and evergreen as if she were speaking of fairytales rather than the potential murder of her dear cousin. “insoo is... beloved, by many. nobody would be foolish enough to lay a hand on him.” a hint of resentment lies in her voice at the word ‘beloved’, something she doubts she’d ever hear in a sentence about her, but she hopes the detective does not pick up on it. 

“i hope i’m not overstepping but i already know what people are going to start thinking and where their fingers would first be pointed. i trust you to steer them away from his family. this is a time of grievance as i’m sure you’d understand and i don’t think our family should be pressured any more than necessary,” she speaks in a listless but deceitfully concerned tone, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the reference to the hans, the relatives who had never been hers as much as they was his. why now was she trying to protect their reputation? 

“but if you really must know my suspicions… the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, or whatever they say.” daphne’s words are confusing and contradictory to her previous statements but she’s always been a girl who speaks in sweet misleading nothings, her intent was to misdirect her interrogators and it seemed like she was succeeding. “by that i don’t mean that his family are nothing to him, no they must be everything to han insoo, but i believe there are some people in his life far more important. far more impressionable too. if i were you, detective, i’d be looking towards those two friends of his, FRTP1 and FRTP2. they’ve followed him around like lost puppies for years now, so out of anybody else i think they’d know the most about his disappearance. and if i’m being entirely honest, something about that boy, FRTP2, has always unsettled me... but then again, what would i know?” she says this solemnly, seeming to retract all her diverting accusations as soon as they’ve been planted in the detective’s mind. her head tilts downward in remorse before she looks up again, feigning a light glistening of tears as if she was not internally relieved. “i know me and insoo were never close as family should be, but his blood runs less on my hands than it does in it. i’m trusting you to find him, so please, look in the places that matter.” 

in spite of her name, han daphne does not matter and she never has. not yet at least.

                                                         𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒?

                                                          TRIGGER WARNING MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE                                                           AND DEATH

[sistersweird]

V: Of hoof and horn

Summary (The sisters and Sabrina as unicorns, capable of shape-changing. With a twist on some of the traditional lore around unicorns.)

In this verse unicorns are mostly immortal shape-changers who’s natural shape is mostly equine with a single horn. They have an immense amount of magical power, with each unicorn having a few select gifts and most being able to heal.

They’re skittish and wild by nature, but most have been hunted rather intensively, to the point that they hide around the world in human shape. While they don’t much care about innocence or not, they tend to avoid letting anyone who knows what they are touch them.

Long ago the first herd of unicorns was caught by something of great power, but refused to use their powers to aid their captor who needed them;  they eventually struck a deal. Unicorns would have their freedom, but any time a creature that knew of their nature laid hands on them while feeling a powerful emotion -- the unicorn would be Tamed.

Tamed unicorns are changed by the experience, their own natures shifting to accommodate the desires of the person they often call their Rider. The changes that occur primarily reflect the emotion they were touched by, and regardless of how they grow they become utterly loyal and unable to disobey their Rider.

Unicorns tamed by anger might become war steeds or powerful instruments or revenge, by love the perfect spouse and lover, or by lust into perfect embodiments of dark and twisted fantasies. They’re hunted by many, for many reasons.

The Night Sisters are a small herd, each abandoned by those they were born to. They’re remarkably close and they’ve avoided being Tamed for nearly three hundred years. Though they worry that anyone that finds them might be able to Tame all of them if they laid hands on any of them. Dorcas can read minds and sense emotions, even project them. Prudence is a dangerous combatant that has learned a myriad of small and deadly spells over the years. And Agatha can converse with the dead and bind spirits.

Sabrina is the last scion of the Spellman herd which was Tamed by a minor god that turned out to be her birth father. She’s incredibly powerful, with a talent for fire, and healing exceptional even for a unicorn. She’s grown up almost entirely on her own, and is rather skittish, avoiding the relative safety of other herds for obscurity.

Tag (v: of hoof and horn)

[ahollowgrave]

Tempest (noun):  1. A violent windstorm, frequently accompanied by rain, snow, or hail. 2. Furious agitation, commotion, or tumult; an uproar. A warrior of light and a scion The Pendants, the Crystarium

The storm squatting over the Crystarium does its best to make itself known. Rain lashes the window, wind whistles through the cracks of the frame, lightening presses its luminous face to the glass. Jealous and demanding. Desperate to be acknowledged. But you’re not watching the storm outside. You’re not even listening to it.

No, your eyes track the storm currently rampaging through your inn room. It wears the skin of a girl -- a girl you know very well. Prudence Dubois always paces when she’s truly agitated and now she’s walking corner to corner, back and forth, kicking things out of her way. She’s screamed and cussed and sworn violent, ugly oaths. She’s thrown the same chair from one side to the other, splintering it and now carries one of the legs to further emphasize her many points. She’s beautiful. Her freckled face is usually frozen in a frown of perpetual disappointment. Now it is twisted and red and spittle flies from her mouth as another string of curses leave it. Prudence rakes her shaking hands through her short hair. Sweat slicks it back. An improvement  over all, you decide, out of her eyes at the very least. 

Prudence wheels on you, suddenly, the dark of her eyes burning like coals. You become a target. All her anger and hurt and fear all shaped like you. You’ve never minded. She’s beautiful. Throughout this outburst you have sat quietly, hands folded neatly in your lap -- moving only to nod your agreement or voice some vague sound of sympathy. The catalyst remains a mystery to you. She was already storming when you arrived home and her words come in a flood; you’ve picked out the Exarch’s title and Emet’s name and decided you need not pry further. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the door crack, opening silently, and a white-haired head pokes itself in. Then a second. Two too-curious twins. You expected them earlier. You shake your head and as the door swings shut your shoulders release some of their tension. It all goes unnoticed by the stormcloud. Prudence will tire herself eventually. She will come to you, crawling on hands and knees, lay her head in your lap. She will not apologize. She will not acknowledge the outburst at all. And you will forgive her, threading your fingers through her hair, taking all of her unvoiced guilt and shame in your hands and swallowing it. And she will be beautiful.

[suninagarajan]

The Company Men

Sir Howard Deighton Carr is a man with a heavy burden. He has been called to the stage to enact his part in the great drama of Destiny and defend the balance sheet of England.

This does not overly concern a man like Sir Howard, who has a way with destiny, since being a person of quality well used to such society, he has the advantage. 

For destiny has erred. She has shown her petticoats 

_____________________________________

Having completed the requisite education for a man of his position and status and having sought and gained the attachment of Gertrude at his mother’s urging, sir Howard joined the Company at the age of 25 and was sent as a Captain in the fourth to the land of the Hindus to earn his spurs in the wars that were then raging in that land.  

He did not care for it.  

The weather was abominable, the society worse and the food intolerable, on this as with a great variety of other matters – he concurred with the Duke. 

He need not have concerned himself for he did not stay long.  Within a remarkable short time of arriving Sir Howard proved himself to be an able enough soldier and an highly skilled expert administrator.  He moved from battlefield to accounting house with ease and a degree of agreeableness that was not unremarked upon, and swiftly found himself noticed by the correct people for his character, his judgement and his cunning.  As night follows day the orbits of the cosmos had aligned and placed Sir Howard in his proper sphere, as Deputy Director of the East India Company. The Company alas, had her misfortunes and Sir Howard, as the coming man, had been looked to as her saviour and champion. 

For the Company, bastion of English commerce and trade had found herself in a rather delicate position.

She had never been truly solvent and the loss of the colonies, though there can be no rebukes aimed at Sir Howard on that score, left a hole in her balance sheet, that as a run in a stocking, must somehow be filled.

These are complex matters of state, but Sir Howard will attempt to simplify them for our understanding.

Some half century hence the Company, a true, solid English affair found that she had been cruelly handled by Dutch brigands – the details are not important suffice to say that the Dutch brigands in a most ungentlemanly manner were making plain to undermine the monopoly bestowed on said Company some years before.  This left said Company in the unfortunate position of having spent a great deal of her fortune on Tea she could not sell.  

Appealing as only a misfortunate can she turned to Parliament, as her St George to slay the dragon and valiant Parliament, accordingly answered the call. We shall not dwell on the particulars for they are painful still. In brief Parliament, in an unusual display of rational thinking suggested a transaction which would be of benefit to all.  

For Parliament in the form of state affairs had at its disposal a ready supply of grateful consumers who would be only too willing to assist the Company with her indelicate affairs and promptly made arrangements by which, said Company would act as supply and grateful consumer would act as purchaser, for a very modest fee and a nominal levy, thereby alleviating the Company from its difficulties and removing the spectre of insolvency.  

All would have proceeded excellently as planned were it not for an impertinent bunch of upstart radicals who, with no thought for the company’s position or the delicacies of a lady, determined that were they to agree to the levy they should likewise be consulted in Parliament’s affairs. 

This was not to be borne.

The radicals then, lacking the Christian gratitude and manners of an Englishman proceeded to inform his majesty that he was no longer welcome in said colonies. Leaving said Company bereft of consolation and succour and in need regrettably,  of safekeeping.

As has been said, the particulars are not important, but as Sir Howard takes his place on the stage the Company once again dear reader, finds itself in need of a protector and this time Parliament may not be quite so forthcoming. 

But all is not lost, for Sir Howard, Knight of the realm, graduate of Harrow and Cambridge, scion of England, has applied his vast and angular mind to the problem and may have hit on a solution.

And like those distant ancestors who crossed into England with the Duke of Normandy – Sir Harold’s role now is to Conquer.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Of the Deputy Directors many responsibilities perhaps the most intransigent are those connected to Company policy, and in particular the need to press home the advantage already secured in a number of very promising locations in the East Indies. Some months past while the Deputy Director had been pondering on a most inexplicable problem, in an unexpected stroke of luck, a solution had presented itself to him as a revelation of divine wisdom. 

Perusing, as was his practice in the mornings, the geological surveys of the various outposts under his command he had noticed attached to those from the East Indies a peculiarity contained in the report from that insufferable gentleman the Governor General of Kangalhi.

The oaf had included, quite by chance,  a most valuable titbit, though he knew not its value, with regards to a local tribal chieftain and most impudent fellow who had assumed the manners of a gentleman and had denied the Company access! – one thinks of Boston and shudders. 

This news had occasioned the Deputy to spring into action and immediately make further enquiries through various agents and networks whereby the upshot appeared that the tribal chieftain’s son and heir was himself gravely ill and in need of immediate medical treatment if he were to succeed his father and sit on the throne. 

Although, as it appears, the child had been ailing from birth, it had recently been discovered that his suffering was as a result of a slow heart.  Quite how this news had been discovered is anybody’s guess but the infant had in fact suffered from a number of symptoms for many years including fainting, dizziness, fatigue and tired so easily that at all times he was accompanied by one of his father’s men who would carry him to and fro.

When the Deputy director, enthroned in his leather-bound armchair behind his mahogany desk received the wondrous news he did not, as a lesser man might, engage in any theatrical displays of excessive enjoyment, he merely placed his palms on the desk,  pushed back his well-oiled seat and smiled. For perhaps the first time of his recalling, since his dear mama had left him at the gates of Harrow as a child, the Deputy Director was truly happy. 

For as luck would have it he and his dear wife Gertrude had attended a most tedious dinner some nights before when across from him and to the left of the hostess a wearisome gentleman of foreign extraction had proceeded to stupefy the company with a description of the new science from Germany. Perhaps unaware of the little regard those present had for his lecture the gentleman insisted on completing his soliloquy and although his mind was on other things, the information found its way into the Deputy’s cranium and waited there patiently, until it could be useful. 

The science in question was the Crystalline process, whereby a substance extracted from a simple plant could be bent and twisted through a series of vials into an entirely separate thing through the manipulation of temperatures and the like, a breakthrough apparently, in both medicine and chemistry.  

Having assessed and understood his advantage the Deputy rose from his chair and made haste to Lord Allam, the Director, and thus having unburdened his mind and received that excellent gentlemen’s full authority he summoned his man.  

 _______________________________________________________________

Major General Forester, who appreciated confidences, possessed little music in his soul, excepting that for his wife Prudence and his poor departed son Charles, and this had provided him with a singularity of purpose and peculiar rationality of mind which the Company now had need of. 

He has been summoned by the Deputy Director to a discreet clandestine location in Pimlico, for a pre-arranged luncheon appointment of grave importance.  This being one of a series of very fine luncheons by which the Major General and the Deputy Director are engaged in a series of mental gymnastics which might if handled correctly, prove most satisfactory. 

“So, we’re agreed?”

“will it work?”

“Why shouldn’t it?........ worked with the Nazim”

For like a Camel through the eye of a needle, Sir Howard, the lancet of England, had found a way in.

________________________________________________________________

Little Billy Splicer, known to all but his mother as little billy was a child of unnatural talents, which had not yet had time to bloom. 

In general, the boy was, by nature, slow to anger and quick to forgive, and for this reason alone his uncle had taken him back into his employ each time he had dismissed little Billy, who could be a bit rambunctious and had during his short vocation caused more than one diner to spill the aspic or drop the salt.  And though his uncle could be a harsh man, on each occasion when he had been called to judge the prisoner at the bar, Uncle William, for whom little billy had been named, looked into the eyes of the sweet moon-faced boy and saw the visage of his dear departed, though not forgotten, sister for whose sake he had taken the boy.  And quite unexpectedly, as in the way of things, young billy was paroled.  

Billy had rewarded the kindness by developing into a performer of some little renown, for early in his employment he had noticed, when the restaurant was packed to bursting and others were busy at their tasks, three red-coated gentlemen enter when only two had been expected.  Young William, who would later grace the stage at one of the future Prince of Wales’ favourite hunting grounds, being at heart, one of nature's natural pleasers, balanced chair and plate and bottle and gingerly made his way to the addition. 

With all the natural magic of a conjurer in a masquerade, he made to appear in a flourish, the necessary comforts for the better settlement of the diners. Having entertained the company so, he received his first applause, for people who had witnessed his display made free to use the word marvel.  Billy’s then natural shyness, which he would later lose, brushed off such unsought acclaim and dismissed the glory with a coy, “well, them’s fighting boys”.

This day however, young Billy’s countenance was decidedly fixed and he was fit to bursting, for two gentleman, whom he had seen once before, he could swear to it, sat at the best corner table with a full view of little Billy’s theatrics and had made no attempt to notice him or consider themselves pleased by his efforts.  

When he had cleared the plates for the chops little Billy’s concerns grew for not only had the gentlemen shown Billy no acknowledgement, they had neither of them touched the fish and the Oysters had barely been troubled. Though little Billy had not had the benefit of Sir Howard’s education, although his dear ma had ensured he knew his letters, he understood this pretty plainly: people rarely visit restaurants to go hungry.

And so little Billy with small learning and great wisdom turned to uncle William and whispered under his breath:

“them’s conspirators”.

Alas, uncle William, whose main preoccupation at this time was ensuring the Jellies successfully slid from their moulds had little time for more of Billy’s japes. 

“I’m telling you uncle, them’s conspirators. they are!”

“leave off, billy I’m busy”

“you ain’t too busy to know them’s conspirators”

“how can they be conspirators? them’s quality”

“so – quality can conspire can’t it?”

 “nar, not toffs not when they’ve got those fine houses to live in – why’d they wanna go conspiring when they can just go home?”

Little Billy’s uncle, was Billy believed, a little too trusting of people on occasions.  But little Billy ever watchful, lest it might enter the head of a patron to cheat his uncle and run off without covering the fare, resolved to take matters into his own hand and decided that he might just watch the gentleman more closely from now on, as he later conjectured “ ‘ncase they was conspirators and we gets in bovver with the magistrate, cause we never said nov’fing” 

As matters transpired it was just as well that little Billy’s uncle William was more the forgiving type, for little Billy, more sage than savoury, had the tiger by the tail. The gentlemen were indeed conspirators, but it was hardly a matter for the magistrate.

___________________________________________________________________

The arrangements had been in place for some time.

Carr had, of course, already shared the geological studies and other notices with his companion with whom he had been actively engaged in a machination of some magnitude for almost three months. They had marvelled at the potential salt petre and iron ore reports each one showing that at the border of Kuru Par and Kul there were a considerable number of very fine mineral deposits of which salt pertre and iron ore appeared to be the most prolific. The Major General, when he had read the reports, had made liberty to exclaim “good lord, with that much salt petre we could have blown the French to Warsaw and been home for lunch!” The Major General had of course attended the Duchess’ ball the night before the battle and he had taken it as a personal affront to his dignity that the Corsican tinker could so trouble himself to bother the King’s Guard, saw at that moment the flag of st George flying over Versailles.   

In later years when matters were more settled and the Major General and his dear wife Prudence, companion of his heart whose own mind was so wonderfully attuned to his own, were at leisure in their palatial bungalow, the official summer residence overlooking Lake Victoria, he would allow himself to be gently mocked by that sweet lady for his naivety. For he had not in that moment known what riches awaited them.  

They had agreed, as conspirators do, to conduct their affairs apart from other business and at all costs not to involve the Director. There were of course more immediate matters to attend to, that oaf Harcourt, some pilfering, reports of drunkenness, concerns that some of the men might be taking off their peri wigs and redcoats of England and putting on the fez and the silk gown of Islam. 

When Sir Howard reeled off the list of the Governor General's misdeeds his companion showed little concern, unlike Sir Howard, Forester was a General born, and in younger days had tramped the field with his men and on at least one occasion shared their bread.  He understood that men far from home and away from the comfort of their wives and a stabilizing christian influence, could, if not properly drilled, fall into bad habits.

Then there was the company’s own business to see to and the company had made it clear that men who were taking to setting up their own concerns and trading on the company’s name whilst in uniform were in breach of Company policy, which fine tapestry of policy, Sir Howard, himself, had woven.   

But these were not the abstract geometrical problems that had occupied the Chevalier’s existence for a major part of his tenure at the company and when he had shared his mind, as he rarely did with that excellent fellow the Major General at a house party last summer the Major General took an earthier view and reduce the equation down to a simple question, “I mean it’s obvious isn’t it?.....................How do you move a donkey?”

Like a dreamscape then,  the answer unfolded in front of him, future member of both houses, like a five-fold path or a walk to Glory. 

Since then, Sir Howard had sought desperately any ways in which the Company could be friendly to the Raja in a personal capacity, without success. So when that oaf, Harcourt the Governor General of Kangalhi, had let it slip that the Maharajah's baby boy was desperately ill, Sir Howard’s efficient lizard brain sprang into action.

For it was now possible, Sir Howard knew through his dear lady Gertrude, who suffered from the same ailments and conditions as the baby prince, to provide, if not a cure then relief to the sufferers, all thanks to a new treatment recently discovered in Germany, where Gertrude herself was at this very time taking the cure.  Sir Howard’s analytically little mind, then surmised that if it were possible for the Company to arrange a similar solution to the immutable Indian chief’s benefit, well the immutable Indian chief, might be a little bit grateful and well-disposed to discuss terms. 

His only concern was the Chemistry.

[pippuns]

@smallest-turtle replied:

#you know how it is with drgs TOOK ME OUT BC YEAH THATS EXACTLY WHY DEIDRE BECAME A DARK KNIGHT SHE BECAME A DARK KNIGHT BECAUSE ESTINIEN DIDNT LET HER BECOME THE SECOND AZURE DRAGOON (not that she ever discovers it was a possibility). Also Rebecca Hunt (cursed and evil literary allusion if youve ever read it by Daphne Du maur), their mother, specifically stopped coming home from the brothel because her ending up with other kids was straining the relationship. (1) So she would only come by the house if she had to drop off an infant. And eventually, around the time of the calamity, she finally paid off her father's debt and left the brothel with another woman to take her business as in independent to Kugane. They haven't heard from her since and think she died in the calamity. (2) Deidre grew up as the mom of the household and the only reason she never spoke up for herself when the shit about /oh gods you weren't supposed to fight Ifrit oh gods/ dies down to /well. Titan is around. You can take care of that can't you :)/ is because she's literally never been able to say no. She's also selectively mute and too anxious to speak to them about it. And the scions don't know her age until after the final steps of faith they think she's in her mid 20's.3 They directly benefit from the shut down response she has because this is just another instance of She Has To Do This (raise her siblings, be the mom, kill the primals, save eorzea) Because NO ONE ELSE CAN and they don't even know. They don't even know that that's what's happening. She doesn't reunite with her siblings (other than Caelen who ran away first and Prudence the first bastard who ran off a year after her rather than replace her) until 5.3 (4/5) When her first younger sibling Brandon who also basically had to be the dad of the household because Johnathan refused to raise the 5 bastards that came after Caelen, finally. Does an old fashioned small-town "oh no the abuser has mysteriously died must have been the alcoholism" which the mothers of two of Deidres friends had been trying to enable for like. A decade. So she has to come in and settle a property dispute between her inheritance and her uncle claiming her MIA

to be completely fair to estinien. if a Child came up to me and asked to become a dragoon i would also be like "please do something else". or actually i might just give them a spear to see what they would do with it, nevermind

rip their mom though :(( hope the last bit of her life wasn't too bad. DEIDRE NOT BEING ABLE TO SAY NO THOUGH. SOMEONE GIVE THIS CHILD A HUG. ANXIOUS LASS I LOVE HER. the scions thinking she's in her mid 20s is so fucking funny though. tfw ur coworker was actually a child:tm: the entire time. wish deidre wouldn't take on so many responsibilities though rip her :((

at least she does reunite with them eventually?? take ur victories where you can get them or something. so glad the fucker died though <3 watch out for that alcoholism folks its real great at making assholes disappear randomly <3

Deidre IS dating Alisaie from the later third of SB on!!! Esteem (who has to deal with ALL pushed down emotions not just the negative ones, such as "I can't fucking deal with a crush rn we don't have TIME for that there's a WAR going on") basically corners Deidre into biting the bullet and confessing XD.

Special knowledge tho... Is that Deidre's younger brother who ran away to become a pirate when he was 12 because their home life was not great (absentee mom that Deidre had to replace, Mom basically in Yotsuyu's pre-viceroy position but because of her father not her husband leading to.... Many half siblings Deidre had to raise) named Caelen ends up with Alphinaud XD. In-laws squared. Alphy is Bi and highly susceptible to 'the pirate is hot' u.u

What kind of dynamic does Wynn have with the twins?

esteem being used as a means by which deidre confesses is the funniest possible outcome to the drk storyline. this is everything i've ever wanted from esteem. fucking fantastic.

also i get alphinaud. pirates? hot. dont blame him whatsoever for that. i really like deidre's backstory!! it's really interesting. does she ever visit her half siblings?? is her mom ok now, or is she still stuck in that kind of situation??

wynn is very much a parental/older sibling figure to the twins!! especially during their initial forays into eorzea when things were the roughest. they do their best to keep an eye on the two in the hopes that the twins don't find themselves in over their heads, but wind up failing more often than not. f.

i don't think in my canon alwynn left with minfilia and the other scions after the bloody banquet; i find it hard to believe they would have left ul'dah unless alphinaud was with them, and i don't think they would have let minfilia go back either even though hydaelyn wanted her to remain behind. so instead they escaped with alphinaud and pipin.

which also meant that the status of the rest of the scions was in even more doubt than it is in canon. i think alphinaud and wynn probably got really close in the time between ARR and HW+in the beginning of heavensward, given that as far as either of them knew they were the only scions left. it was very much a "i can't lose you too" type of situation.

alisae and alwynn got their own special "oh god we're all alone" bonding time in the post-sb patches after the other scions got called away to the first, which especially fucked with alwynn after alisae got pulled away in front of them. tough luck mate.

[kingsmanxrp]

LOADING PROFILE…

KANG DOHYUN, ALSO KNOWN AS SPARROW, WAS LAST SEEN IN SEOUL, SK.    CURRENT PROFESSION: KINGSMAN AGENT [ WEAPONS + SPECIAL OPS ]

THE FOLLOWING DETAILS ARE CLASSIFIED. PROCEED?

PERSONALITY

a calm, wily individual, there’s often only method in his madness and ingenuity in fleeting minutes of impulse. taught patience and prudence from a tender age, dohyun works in an orderly fashion, executing missions with cutthroat efficiency and haunting mastery. his allegiance to the agency had not been voluntary nor desired, but it has grown into normality. it’s become his way of survival.  

what makes a man? much like molten metal, dohyun is at once passionate and tense, bottling emotion and swallowing his pain, but still staunch when it comes to separating professionalism from personal affairs. debonair in the way he is all sharp lines and smooth faces, a prism of deep forethought and calculating energy, it takes a lifetime to earn his trust and the ridges of the past have taught him deception as an art form. a realist individual who commits to obligation over willingness, compassion has never hindered his performance, though dohyun refuses to neglect loyalty and will never betray those whom he’s befriended.

BIOGRAPHY

he’s told of promises and potential from a young age, a boy demanded of greatness: kang dohyun is born the son of a bastard, the scion to a dynasty, and he finds his childhood scattered with peculiarities and unconventionality. a happy boy, a bright boy, he builds friendships like sandcastles && keeps them as blood oaths, treading paths and planting stars in the fountain of his youth, idling the way most children do. behind manor walls and century doors, his father covets like the devil, worshiping his sin – kang bangsuk thrives off jealousy, pitiful in spirit, slicked back with grease and pride and shares he’s stolen from his brother. the man has been paranoid over his self-destructive fate ever since money came into existence, beating his child to become better, work harder, surpass everything dohyun’s uncle owns.

more often than his gangnam home, dohyun visits his ailing mother in the hospital and stays from dusk till dawn; omma, a sacred && precious word, becomes the thought which drives him to exceptional grades and academic ambition, pushing his own limits as the ace of the high school taekwondo team. somehow his mother manages to spectate each of his junior matches, and for the entirety of her life, the weak hearted, gentle faced woman is his biggest fan.  

the boy is ridiculed for doing well, for trying hard, for not taking private lessons when all he’s got is money, money, money. the wealthy don’t need degrees when they have fathers and wills and last names worth more than platinum.  

junior year and he’s won big, he’s won grand, first place in a regional tournament and as if he wasn’t already, kang dohyun becomes a king – a fucking legacy the school can’t afford not to sponsor. in the peak of his victory his mother grows too weak to even relieve herself, cancer tearing through her heart, and she’s agonized for three days before the doctors pull the plug. in the manner pebbles inch down an icy slope, dohyun withdraws from the monetary support of his ancient namesake – trembling, uncertain, and then all at once.

for the first time dohyun has his fists flying and when his classmate pits against him behind the school, a relentless, furious boy stands in replacement of composure, biting into the heterogeneity of grief && passion. regardless of the various incidents following thereafter, prominence keeps him out of trouble for a year before he’s approached and told his grades are slipping, that his performance is declining, and if he wants anything to do with a sky university immediate tutelage would be wise. dohyun doesn’t listen, && his success in athletics and the attention he brings to the academy keeps them sated.

the kang liaison severs himself from his father the moment he’s got a diploma in his hands, hard work and raw talent securing a placement on the national taekwondo team. kang dohyun is in prospects for the 2012 olympics and he has everything to take him there; his best friend, fathered by the coach, trains beside him for ten excruciating, tireless months under the shadow of a star. thirteen weeks before europe and there’s a crackle of chaos – the wild, bewildering kind. semifinals in a national tournament && dohyun’s roundhouse hooks his opponent in the neck, an instant k.o.. here belies a sick irony: metal pieces his opponent ( and former friend ) has sewn into his uniform as means of cheating dig into his own peroneal nerve, permanently inhibiting  motor function of the lower legs.

“your fucking fault,” dohyun’s told, bruised in the neck, “he can’t walk ever again, do you get that?”  had dohyun not intercepted the strike with one of his own, the coach’s son would not have fallen into comatose. had he surrendered his position, his greatest companion would not have resorted to dishonest, pathetic tactics.  

in the most critical of times kang bungsuk is arrested and tried for attempted fratricide the week of the incident, leaving the rest of his dignity in shambles, and dohyun is brought before the board for what has been construed by the victim’s father as a “deliberate and fatal attack.” the son of a convict does not earn merits, and certainly the estranged child of an esteemed family no longer impresses. everything has abandoned him in the fashion he’d abandoned others. the verdict: suspension from the league, indefinitely.

he’s a lost boy for two years, still in the peak of his youth, yet charming and appealing enough to maintain a discreet position as a bartender and valet in an illegitimately operated club. dark, velvet suits and fizzed up whiskey, he’s in the center of devil’s paradise and boy, what a pleasureful life it is. the little money from bungsuk’s will affords adequate living and elsewhere, dohyun sustains himself by throwing punches and picking out skins, beating down rivals with dark shoes and a cartier wristwatch. the tall boy of the group, a young man with pretty eyes. a sparrow.

it’s his mother’s third death anniversary and he’s caught in a brawl, six pairs of feet trampling grime onto scattered white petals. metal bats and rusting crowbars – a game for the cowardly, and he doesn’t have the time to play nicely. instead of his mother’s memorial mount he’s brought into the police, charged with assault and battery of five innocent individuals…on top of manslaughter. the result of the immediate death of one of the inciters, pushed against brick by his own companions in the midst of mayhem. of fucking course the mayor’s son had been in the troop, ignorant enough to venture out to mock the life quality that of guys his age who don’t have parents and homes. the few seconds dohyun was on the offense is caught and corked into a flash-drive, edited maliciously and in such a way which points all fingers his direction. more than that, they have money. an amount that three years of illegal fighting can’t fraction up to. it’s more than enough to have him locked up, without protest nor investigation – no witnesses, plenty of fabricated evidence, and a family who would kill for his head.

it goes like this. two ferragamo dress shoes, neatly polished, charcoal black, clicked together in one fluid motion; iron and pressed white sleeves, leather gloves elegantly holding a slim briefcase; a tie with just enough crease to display an insignia; broad hands, sly eyes behind sunglasses, and then: “i have an offer you can’t refuse.”

[lodessa]

Looking through my work in progress graveyard (otherwise known as my documents)

@qinaliel expressed interest in further Jon/Sansa from me, and I found I had to go looking for something unfinished I had started (definitely book not show verse).  The outlook is not so good for me ever managing to get back into writing for the fandom really, but I thought I’d share what I had as a start for a longer, plotty, fic with them:

With no Wall, there was not much use for a Night's Watch that guarded it. After the Dragon Queen displayed the power that destroyed it, there were no more wars to be fought either.  The bastard son of Eddard Stark decided not to stick around for someone to decide on some new vows for him to swear and purpose to which he needed to devote his life. For once, he was going to see where life took him on his own.  He wasn't a Great Lord, and he no longer was sworn to serve.  He made for White Harbor at a good speed and was able to sell his horse for enough money that getting out of Westeros wouldn't be a problem, even with Ghost.

Jon would have sought out a ship immediately, but Ghost insisted on heading towards one of the cleaner inns and making a beeline to a well dressed woman therein.

“I'm so sorry.  I don't know what's gotten into him; he's usually much better behaved.” Jon began to apologize as he hurried across the room and then the woman turned and he fell silent.

She was undeniably lovely, with creamy skin and blue eyes he hadn't seen the like of since he left Winterfell.  She stared at Ghost in surprise, but not in fear.  Indeed she seemed transfixed by the direwolf as she reached her hands out to him and Ghost nuzzled his head against her.  Jon was amazed; he did not think she had noticed his own approach, she seemed so distracted.  

“It can't be.” She murmured to the direwolf, “But there is no mistaking you.  How did you get so far?”

Jon was unsure of how to alert her to his presence without startling her, yet it seemed rude just to stand here.

“They are all gone now, aren't they? Lady, and Nymeria, and Summer, and Greywind, and even Shaggydog.  Is he gone too Ghost, is that why you've found me?”

The woman sounded close to tears, and stranger yet she'd known. She had known not only Ghost but all the rest of the direwolf pups.  Realization dawned on Jon and he recognized Sansa, although his half sister had grown from a pretty child to a beautiful woman since he'd last seen her.  He wanted to say something, but the words caught in his mouth as he watched her fling her arms around the direwolf with a sob.

He'd spent so many nights imaging himself finding Arya or the boys, but he didn't know what to do now with Sansa.  They'd never been close.  And yet, here she was and Ghost had brought him to her.  She was still his half sister, even if she'd never acknowledged it, and she was crying.  She thought he was dead.

He knelt down beside her, and touched her shoulder gently, “Sansa?” he asked.

She turned and her jaw dropped as she took in the sight of him.  

“Jon?  Am I imagining things, are you a ghost?”

Jon felt more tenderness for Sansa than he had during their entire childhood put together.

“I am pretty sure that if I was a ghost or you were hallucinating, we'd probably be seeing someone other than each other.” He told her.

She fell against him, her arms wrapping around his neck, “Oh Jon!” she cried, “When I saw Ghost I thought...”

“He did find you.” Jon told her, “I was headed for the docks, when he dragged me across town to you.  I don't know how he knew.”

“You are leaving too then? Prudence dictates I depart before the new Queen starts hunting down the scions of every house involved in the Ursurper's War.”

“With the Wall gone, there is nothing keeping me here, so I have decided I had better leave before someone decides to enlist me in some other sworn brotherhood.”

It was strange, this ease with her after everything that had happened.  They had both changed and his bastard birth hardly seemed to matter anymore. He wondered if that was coming from her or from him. Strange as it was, it was comforting.

“He's grown so large.” Sansa said wistfully, looking at Ghost, “Lady never...”

“I'm so sorry. I do not know what I would do without him.” Jon apologized.

“It was my own fault.” Sansa surprised him by admitting, “If I hadn't lied because I was angry with Arya, it never would have happened.”

Sansa had grown up very differently than Jon would have expected.  The naïve pride was gone. For the first time, it struck him that her being alone was odd.

“If it's not prying over much, where are your traveling companions? Crossing the seas without others as a lady seems less prudent than I would expect of you.”

[jalmostauthorblog]

The Beautiful and the Terrible: Summary and Analysis of Donna Tartt’s ‘The Secret History’

Good books, the kind that you enjoy, that you carry with you so as to pass time on the bus or train; that keep your mind occupied, but don’t do anything to change your perceptions of what literature can be, are common. Great books, the kind that you set aside time to read, that fill you with joy, and you recommend to your friends at every opportunity to do so, are rare … And then there are the scarce gems, the works of art that consume you, draw you in, keep you up at night, and leave an imprint in your mind that lasts years after you have finished them. “The Secret History,” by Donna Tartt, is such a book. It is a book both intimate and epic, and concerned with the beautiful and the terrible; a book that examines man’s relationship with the divine, as-well-as man’s relationship with one-another. It is on one level, a taught, brisk thriller, and on another, a meditation on the inherent fragility of youth and friendship.

The narrator is Richard Papen, who, at the age of twenty-eight looks back on a year he spent at Hampden College, a prestigious (and fictitious) liberal arts college in rural Vermont. The story begins in Richard’s hometown of Plano California. Of his upbringing, Richard says: “When I think about my real childhood I am unable to recall much about it at all except a sad jumble of objects: the sneakers I wore year-round; coloring books and comics from the supermarket: little of interest, less of beauty … my father was mean, our house ugly, and my mother didn’t pay much attention to me … and since all this had been true for as long as I could remember, I felt things would doubtless continue in this depressing vein as far as I could foresee. In short: I felt my existence was tainted, in some subtle but essential way.”

Richard’s mediocre existence is quietly interrupted one Christmas, when, while digging through his closet, he finds a brochure for Hampden. After several weeks of traveling back-and-forth for admissions interviews, and sneaking behind his parents’ backs, Richard successfully transfers to Hampden. During his first few days on campus, Richard has run-ins with an attractive and close-knit group of students: Henry Winter, a trust funder from the midwest and the group’s unofficial leader, Francis Abernathy, a closeted homosexual who dresses mostly in black, orphan Charles Macaulay and his beautiful twin sister Camilla, and Bunny Corcoran, socially repugnant scion of a Kennedyesque New England family, desperately trying to maintain a facade of wealth and privilege. Drawn in by the group’s mystique, Richard wiles his way into their elite Ancient Greek class, taught by the charismatic Julian Morrow.

For the Fall semester, Richard enjoys an idyllic academic life, filled with lively discussions about art, literature, and ancient philosophy, as-well-as cocktail parties, and croquet matches at Francis’s country house. Everything changes after the group return from winter break. After learning that Henry, Francis, Charles, and Camilla have purchased one-way tickets to South America, Richard confronts his friends and discovers that they have become murderers. During the fall, the group enacted a ritual to honor the god Dionysus, in-which they consumed hallucinogens and accidentally killed a local farmer. The group manages to cover up the murder until Bunny discovers their secret and begins extorting money from them. In a drunken state one evening, Bunny tells Richard about the murder (not realizing he already knows). Richard tells Henry, and the group decides their only option is to kill Bunny.

The group follows Bunny on his Sunday walk in the woods, where they push him into a ravine. That night, an unseasonable snowstorm hits the college hiding Bunny’s body for ten days. A manhunt is launched, drawing in the FBI. The group manages (with great difficulty) to dodge accusations made against them until Bunny’s death is ruled an accident. After attending Bunny’s funeral, the group returns to Hampden, where tensions between them fester. Richard learns that Camilla is in love with Henry.  After Richard tells him about this, Charles, who has had an intimate, incestuous relationship with his twin, becomes violently jealous and goes on a drinking binge that sends him to the hospital. Richard and Francis take him to the country house to recover. Shortly after that, Julian discovers a letter from Bunny about the farmer’s murder and  flees Hampden in horror. Charles escapes from the country house and returns to Hampden with a gun. After shooting Richard in the stomach, Charles has the gun taken from him by Henry, who shoots himself in the head.

After the incident, the group scatters, with all the surviving members dropping out of school except for Richard, who goes on to graduate school. Francis’s grandfather forces him to marry a woman he doesn’t like; Julian is out of the country, Charles moves to California with an older woman, and Camilla finds herself stuck caring for her ailing grandmother.

From the very beginning, “The Secret History” makes a concerted effort to blend classical mythology and philosophy with contemporary fiction. Richard’s first line of narration after the prolog “Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of life, exist outside literature?” pays tribute to the majesty of the ancient world and elegantly sets the tone for the novel. The ‘fatal flaw’ dates to the work of Aristotle and refers to an imperfection in a protagonist’s personality that causes them to commit some error in the arc of their story. In classical literature, these errors are often made in complete ignorance of the consequences that will inevitably follow them. It is here, in this lack of regard for any moral retribution, that Richard can find a kind of forgiveness for his crimes and those of his friends. Richard never expresses any guilt about the things he has done, not because he believes they were morally justified, but because they were meant to happen. Richard talks about himself and his friends as characters in a work of fiction, with the events surrounding them being part of an already written plot, and themselves powerless to change them. He recounts these events with a casual lucidity, and describes the “fatal flaw” of his story, which is, in his words, “A morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.”  

“‘We don’t like to admit it,’ said Julian ‘but the idea of losing control is one that fascinates controlled people such as ourselves more than anything. All truly civilized people - the ancients no less than us - have civilized themselves through the willful repression of the old animal self … And it’s a temptation for any intelligent person, and especially for perfectionists such as the ancients and ourselves to try to murder the primitive, emotive, appetitive self. But this is a mistake … The more cultivated a person is … then the more he needs some method of channeling the primitive impulses he’s worked so hard to subdue … It’s a very Greek idea … Beauty is terror … and what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks and to our own, than to lose control completely.’”

Not only do Richard’s friends share his longing for the picturesque, but they find it augmented by the speech from their professor. And if this desire is intrinsic to the characters’ true natures, as Julian suggests, then it was inevitable that they would abandon the trappings of civilization and immerse themselves in the sublime beauty of their own raw, animalistic nature. What’s more, any damage to outside parties - such as the murdered farmer - is negligible, as it is merely the residue of contriving to achieve a higher level of being. And just so we are sure that the characters’ immorality is not just a mere lapse in judgment, Tartt shows us the group’s decadent behavior transcend their academic and spiritual pursuits, and bleed into their personal lives. Tartt maintains the integrity of this depraved atmosphere by never judging any of her characters. While we read about the group drinking excessively, snorting cocaine, engaging in incest, and plotting the murder of one of their friends, the novel never takes the time to remind the audience that what the protagonists are doing is wrong. Rather, it assumes we already know we are watching people do things they shouldn’t be. Instead of forcing us to learn a lesson about restraint and prudence, the book asks us to simply observe.   This lack of condescension in storytelling is one of the qualities which I feel marks Donna Tartt as a great writer, with another being her ability to compress grandiose moral and philosophical themes into such a small setting.

All the major scenes in “The Secret History” take place indoors, and rarely involve anyone outside the six main characters. In the first half of the novel - before Bunny is murdered - this creates an atmosphere of intimacy. The characters’ discussions have all the weight of history behind them: Homer, Aristotle, Virgil, and Dante guide them on epic journeys through life, death, and human nature, without ever leaving the comfort of their tobacco smoke-filled dorm rooms. With the murders and their subsequent investigations, this intimacy turns to claustrophobia, and the cozy confines of Hampden and Francis’s country house become less of a comfort and more of a trap. As rumors of the group’s bizarre behavior around Bunny’s murder begin to surface, and they become a target of the investigation, we feel every bit of pressure they are under. And even after they are ruled out as suspects, things only become worse, as their close-knit relationships turn from a blanket of protection into a crucible of frustration and anger, causing them to turn on one another, and ending in the self-imposed exile of their mentor and the suicide of another one of their own. This landslide of tragedies proves just how fragile the bubble Richard and his friends had built around themselves was. Hampden and Julian’s class was the substantiating force in their lives, and with the former ruined and the latter taken away from them, the members of the group become lost in the world. This exchange between Richard and Charles exemplifies this:    

         “‘I wish we didn’t have to go back to Hampden tomorrow,’ (Charles) said.”

“‘I wish we never had to go back,’ I said. ‘I wish we lived here.’”

“‘Well, maybe we can.’”

“‘What’”

“‘I don’t mean now. But maybe we could. After school.’”

“‘How’s that?’”

“He shrugged. ‘Well, Francis’s aunt won’t sell the house because she wants to keep it in the family. Francis could get it from her for next to nothing … I mean, all Henry wants to do when he finishes school, if he finishes school, is to find some place where he can write his books and study the twelve great cultures.’”

“‘What do you mean, if he finishes.’”

“‘I mean, he may not want to … There’s no reason he’s got to be here, and he’s surely never going to have a job.’”

“‘You think not?’ I said, curious; I had always pictured Henry teaching Greek, in some forlorn but excellent college out in the Midwest.”

“Charles snorted. ‘Certainly not. Why should he? He doesn’t need the money, and he’d make a terrible teacher. And Francis has never worked in his life … He’d like it better here. Julian wouldn’t be far away either.”’

We see that the members of the group can picture no way of living differently from the one in which they are currently engaged. This is an attitude shared by most people in college. The first four or five years of one’s adulthood have a lasting transformative effect on the rest of their life. It is for this reason that college can be both a blessing and a curse, as it provides a safe environment for us to experiment with different ways of looking at the world, and cultivate new tastes and attitudes about how we wish to conduct ourselves in the future. The flip-side of this is that the environment can be too safe, a bubble of semi-adulthood in which we get only a taste of the real world, with few chances to experience the full range of consequences that come with our mistakes. A person can become so used to this, that when the time comes to enter into real adulthood, they feel overwhelmed. Tartt’s novel not only captures this feeling but magnifies it to mythic proportions. From the very beginning, Richard makes clear his dissatisfaction with his upbringing and desire to live a greater life - a life defined by beauty.  He believes Campden will be the gateway to such a life, and devotes so much energy to cultivating an image of the college as a perfect haven of beauty and intellectualism, that even long after the image has shattered and he has left Campden, it remains an integral part of his life, saying: “I suppose at one time in my life I might have had any number of stories, but now there is no other. This is the only story I will ever be able to tell.”

“The Secret History” may not be to everyone’s taste, but those who are susceptible to its charms will find themselves fully enraptured in a novel unlike any other, one that blends style with substance, and makes you believe that true beauty comes with pain.