#brianna noble

[eddyiewriting]

Lead them to victory - Or die trying.

As a bastard-born, no one expected anything from you. Cast aside and forbidden to inherit anything, you never had much hope for the future. But the Face of Destiny is unpredictable, and soon you find yourself in the middle of a battle that can decide the fate of your kingdom forever, and those who once hated you, now see in you their only hope for survival.

DEMO

FORUM

PATREON

SUMMARY

You are the youngest child of King Logan, The Unifier, the first king who unified the North in centuries. But you’re not simply his child. You are a bastard, a child born out of wedlock, and as such, with no rights or hope to inherit anything. Considered to be cursed, you are hated by most of the kingdom, including your older brother, Gareth, the oldest and heir of King Logan.

But when a foreign empire invades, unforeseen events put you as the only one capable of leading the kingdom. 

Unprepared and distrusted by most of the kingdom, is up to you to lead the realm to victory or annihilation. 

Play as a man or a woman.

Navigate the intricate web of politics, forge alliances, and lead your army through the fire of war.

Choose between 3 primary skills: Warrior, Diplomat or Scholar. Each opens different types of dialogue and actions.

Evolve your character’s abilities. Start as a frail Scholar and become a die-hard Warrior.

Shape your character and their morality. How far are you willing to go to protect those you love?

Lead your people to victory – or die trying.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Owain Dalkeith: the son of a minor noble who was sent to the capital to be trained as a knight. He became one of the closest friends of your brother, Gareth. He’s a charming man, who usually prefers parties to battles, but this doesn’t stop him from being one the fiercest knights in the kingdom.

Cerys Calenhadd: the youngest daughter of a noble. She is one of the ladies-in-waiting for your sister, Brianna. Too smart for her own good, she dislikes the perceived notions that women don’t serve for leadership or warfare, often challenging the traditions of the realm.

Arthur: a recruit for the army and possibly the tallest man in the land. Despite his size, Arthur is shy and dislikes violence or using his strength, preferring to tend horses than to fight in battles.

Teagan: is a servant of the church, a devout servant of the Face of Death. She is quiet and mysterious, with more in common with the dead than with the living.

CONTENT WARNING

There will be a lot of violence here. Also, sexism, racism, psychological trauma, sexual content, discussions of abuse and mental health, and war crimes.

[attonposting]

Just thinkin' about how showing your companions the Force in KotOR II is about healing, about teaching them to confront their traumas and cope with them in a healthy way, and on a Dark Side run, it's about yanking on that trauma and twisting it until it becomes all that they are.

Atton is a goddamn mess of a person. The war wrecked him and shaped him into a sadistic monster who committed mega war crimes until he met the one Jedi who forced him to see what he'd become. And instead of taking any responsibility, he bolted, coping by drowning out the world and doing his damnedest not to feel. The Exile forces him to stop running and confront himself – to face all those emotions he chopped up into little pieces and wore like masks, his guilt, his hate, his fear. I don't think Atton ever thinks of himself as a Jedi; him learning to use the Force is him learning not to be afraid of it, and himself, anymore. Atton decides he's going to finally try to do something with his life – maybe not for goodness' sake, but because he owes that last Jedi that much. And a DS Exile extinguishes whatever seeds of decency she planted, destroys his last remaining shreds of idealism, and convinces him not to fear himself in a much, much scarier way.

Bao-Dur is a genuinely good guy, but he's shackled by guilt. It's not straightforward, and it'd maybe be easier for him to deal with it if it was - Bao-Dur simultaneously regrets and doesn't regret what he did. He believes... not necessarily that Malachor had to happen, but that the war needed to end. But he's horrified that it was his hands and his mind that conceived the Mass Shadow Generator, can never banish the sight of so much death at his hand. And he can't reconcile how what drove him in the war was pure hatred, and the galaxy treats him like his service was a noble thing when he knows it was anything but. That rage hasn't left him even though he tried to move on and turn his hands towards kinder things. Through the Force, he's able to move on and at last find peace – but a DS Exile convinces him to give into his anger and let retribution rule him completely.

Mira is at her heart a scared little girl trying desperately to prove to herself that she's tough and capable – that she's over everything she's lost, that she's not alone and afraid. She tries not to care about anyone, because the galaxy certainly doesn't give a shit, but she does despite herself. A LS Exile teaches her how to come to terms with the things that hound her, and in that, find true strength. A DS Exile teaches her to cover up that fear by preying on others so that nobody ever has the chance to hurt her again, and convincing herself that hardness means strength until it becomes true.

Brianna has tried to find purpose in servitude, but she's isolated in an otherwise tight-knit unit. She's desperate to prove herself, but she's never good enough for anyone, and she knows why she continues to fail even as she's unable to let the source go. A LS Exile teaches her to transcend those concerns and be true to herself above all else – not only to follow her own path, but to find strength and value in herself, for the first time in her life. What Atris thinks, what her sisters think, is immaterial. A DS Exile doesn't free her from her mindset of servitude so much as twist her loyalties. That Brianna instead becomes convinced she's better than her sisters, better than Atris, and takes her anger out on her ex-family and beyond – becoming driven by scorn, seeing nothing but the failures of the Jedi to live up to their own standards.

Mical lost his future at a young age – something that probably saved his life, considering everything that happened in the following years, but which left him trailing in the shadow of the Jedi seeking answers nobody could give. He wants to believe in the Jedi Order, but recent history has left him with far too much evidence to the contrary. A LS Exile acknowledges the flaws of the Jedi teachings, even personifies those flaws through their history, but convinces him through their actions that their core still rings true and is worth striving for. A DS Exile utterly demolishes his faith in the same manner. Mical takes the Exile's fall as yet another betrayal by the Jedi, but it's the hardest hitting yet - this sheer debasement of the figure he idolized most. It finally extinguishes his idealism, even gnawing away at the compassion that defines him until he's yet another soulless cog in the Republic machine.

And Visas is already attuned to the Force, but a LS Exile gives her hope for the galaxy and teaches her of the beautiful little moments of connection and the greatness people can achieve together, where she'd become convinced that life was pain and the only thing any being could aspire to was an end to the suffering. What she witnesses is strong enough for her to come to terms with the death of Katarr and choose to keep going despite all that's happened. And a DS Exile... doesn't. They reaffirm her desolation and then give her the callous end she sought.

The Exile themselves went for ten years avoiding connections, and then the Force thrusts them back into the role of a leader – a role they've got decidedly mixed feelings about, when it was literally their empathy that caused their self-destruction in the Mandalorian Wars. Major YMMV on how you characterize your Exile's motives, but the way I saw it, a DS Exile isn't going to be hurt again. They're not going to get attached to their soldiers – they've made that mistake before and it brought them nothing. They know how to say the right words to get people to fight and to die for them, and that's all it is. And for a LS Exile... they know the danger of caring, but they won't allow it to stop them from living any longer, not after they've spent ten years dead to themselves. And it's the human connections they form that heals them, that allows for them to touch the Force once more.

Obviously a DS Exile is bad and they should feel bad. For a LS one, though - the Jedi Council's repudiation of your powers at the end of the game used to really bother me until this part clicked. You're all a bunch of broken people who find each other and learn to move on. Even if you're drawing them in with freaky black hole space magic, they are genuinely better off for your presence, and it's because of who you are as a person, not any way you've molded them through the Force.

[ros64]

Written in My Own Heart's Blood

Chapter 66

“None shall sleep.” It was a piece—a melody, as Brianna had called it—from an opera he knew; she had performed in a university production of it, dressed in Chinese clothing. Ian smiled, imagining his tall cousin, towering over so many men, gliding across a stage with silk garments swishing around her; he would have loved to see her. He had begun thinking of her the moment he opened the small deerskin pouch containing his face pigments. Bree was a painter, and a talented one at that. She ground her own pigments, had made him the red ochre, as well as the black and white from charcoal and dried clay. She had even crafted a deep green from crushed malachite and a bright yellow from the bile of a buffalo she’d killed with her mother. No one else had colors so vivid, and for a moment, he wished Turtle Eater and others from his Mohawk tribe were there to admire them.

The camp noises in the distance reminded him of the cicadas’ song by riverside trees: a buzz too loud to think, yet fading once you adjusted to it. None shall sleep… Women and children might sleep… but certainly not the whores. Not tonight. That thought brought a twitch he quickly dismissed. He thought of Rachel, and dismissed her, too, though reluctantly.

He opened the willow-bark box where he kept the deer fat and smeared it on his face, chest, and shoulders, slowly, focusing. Normally, during this ritual, he would call upon the spirits of the earth and then his saints, Michael and Brigid. But tonight, neither was present; Brianna lingered in his mind instead, though her image was beginning to fade. Most of all, he felt his father’s presence, which unsettled him. It didn’t seem respectful to dismiss his father. He stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes instead, trying to discern whether Papa had something to tell him.

“I hope you haven’t come to speak to me about my death, aye?” he said aloud. “Because I don’t intend to die—not before I’ve lain with Rachel, at least.”

“Well, a noble goal, to be sure.”

The dry voice belonged to Uncle Jamie. Ian’s eyes shot open. His uncle stood amid the branches of a willow drooping into the water, wearing nothing but his shirt.

“Out of uniform, eh, Uncle?” Ian said, though his heart jumped like a startled deer mouse. “General Washington won’t be pleased.”

Washington was meticulous about his men’s uniforms. Officers were to be properly dressed at all times; he said the Continentals would never be taken as a proper army if they appeared on the battlefield like a disordered mob with weapons.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Ian,” Jamie said, stepping out from the willow. The moon was nearly set; he looked like a specter, bare-legged with his shirt billowing. “But who were you talking to?”

“Oh. To Papa. He was… here, in my mind, aye? I mean, I think of him often, but it’s rare to feel him with me. So, I wondered if he’d come to tell me I’m going to die today.”

Jamie nodded; the idea didn’t seem to disturb him.

“I doubt it,” he said. “You’re painting your face with war colors, aye? You’re preparing.”

“Aye, I was about to. Want some, too?”

He said it half-jokingly, but Jamie took it as humor.

“I would, Ian. But I think General Washington would have me strung up by my thumbs and flogged if I showed up to the lines with my face painted like a Mohawk.”

Ian let out a small amused sound and dipped two fingers into the red ochre, smearing it across his chest.

“And what are you doing here in just a shirt?”

“I was washing,” Jamie replied, though his tone suggested there was more to the story. “And… speaking with my dead.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“My uncle Dougal and Murtagh, my godfather. They’re the two I’d most want beside me in battle.” He shifted slightly, uneasy. “If I can, I take a moment to be alone before a battle. To wash, you know… and to pray. And… to ask them to stand with me.”

Ian found this interesting; he hadn’t known either man, both having died at Culloden, though he’d heard many stories about them.

“Two fine warriors,” he said. “Did you ask my father to join you, too? Maybe that’s why he’s here.”

Jamie turned sharply to his nephew, surprised. Then he relaxed, shaking his head.

“I’ve never had to ask Ian Mòr,” he said quietly. “He was… always with me.” He made a brief gesture toward the darkness on his right.

Ian felt his eyes sting and a lump rise in his throat. But it was dark; it didn’t matter. He cleared his throat and handed Jamie one of his pigment dishes.

“Give me a hand, Uncle Jamie?”

“Oh? Aye, of course. How do you want the marks?”

“Red on the forehead… but I can do that myself. Black from the dots to the chin.” He traced a finger along the line of dotted tattoos curving beneath his cheekbones. “Black is for strength, aye? It says you’re a warrior. And yellow means you’re not afraid to die.”

“Oh, aye. Want the yellow today?”

“No.” His tone revealed a faint smile, and Jamie laughed.

Jamie spread some color with a brush made from a rabbit’s paw, then smoothed it evenly with his thumb. Ian closed his eyes, feeling a new strength surge under that touch.

“You usually do this yourself, Ian? Seems hard without a mirror.”

“Mostly. Or we do it in a group, and a brother from the tribe paints you. If it’s something significant—like a large raid or a war—it’s the medicine man who paints us while singing.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to sing, Ian,” Jamie muttered. “I mean, I could try, but…”

“I’ll manage without, thanks.”

Black for the lower face, red for the forehead, and a stripe of malachite green across the tattoo line from ear to ear, over the nose. Ian studied the pigment dishes and quickly spotted the white, which he pointed to.

“Maybe you could draw a small arrow for me, Uncle? On the forehead.” He traced a finger across his brow to show where.

“Aye.”

Jamie bent over the dishes, hand poised. “But didn’t you tell me once that white is for peace?”

“Aye; if you’re going to confer or negotiate, you use plenty of white. But it’s also for mourning: so, you’d probably use it for vengeance, too.”

At those words, Jamie raised his head and looked at him intently.

“The arrow’s not for revenge,” Ian explained. “It’s for Flying Arrow. The dead man whose place I took when I was adopted.”

He tried to keep his tone casual but felt Jamie tense and look down. Neither would ever forget the day of the separation, when Ian had gone to the Kahnyen’kehaka, and they had thought it was forever.

Now Jamie bent and placed a hand on Ian’s arm.

“That day, Uncle Jamie, you told me: ‘Cuimhnich.’ And I have. Remember.”

“I have, too, Ian,” Jamie said softly, drawing the arrow on his forehead like a priest making the sign of the cross on Ash Wednesday. “We all have. It’s right.”

Ian cautiously touched the green stripe to ensure it was dry enough.

“Aye, I think it’s fine. You know Bree made these pigments for me? I was thinking of her, but then I thought maybe I shouldn’t bring her into this.”

He felt Jamie’s breath on his skin as his uncle huffed and leaned against the willow.

“A man always brings his women into battle, Ian Òg. They’re the root of your strength.”

“Oh, aye?” It made sense, and Ian felt relieved. Yet… “I was thinking it might not be right to think of Rachel in a place like this. Considering she’s a Quaker.”

Jamie dipped his middle finger into deer fat, then into the white clay powder, and delicately painted a large, deep “V” near the crest of Ian’s right shoulder. Even in the dark, it stood out vividly.

“A white dove,” Jamie said, nodding. He seemed satisfied. “This will be Rachel, for you.”

He wiped his fingers on a rock, then stood and stretched his muscles. Ian saw him turn eastward. It was still night, but the air had changed in the brief time they’d sat together. Uncle Jamie’s tall figure stood out sharply against the sky, where before it had seemed part of the darkness.

“An hour, no more,” Jamie said. “Eat something first, aye?”

With that, he turned back to the stream, and to his interrupted prayers.

«Nessun dorma.» Era un brano – un’aria, così l’aveva chiamata Brianna – di un’opera che conosceva; vi aveva recitato in una rappresentazione universitaria, vestita in abiti cinesi. Ian sorrise, pensando a sua cugina, che superava in altezza tanti uomini, mentre si muoveva su un palcoscenico, facendo frusciare gli indumenti di seta intorno a lei; avrebbe tanto voluto vederla. Aveva cominciato a pensare a lei nell’istante in cui aveva aperto la piccola sacca di pelle di daino in cui teneva i colori per il viso. Era una pittrice, Bree, ed era molto brava. Macinava da sola i pigmenti, e gli aveva fatto l’ocra rossa, e anche il nero e il bianco con il carbone di legna e l’argilla essiccata; e gli aveva preparato anche un bel verde cupo con della malachite tritata, e un giallo brillante con la bile del bisonte che aveva ucciso con sua madre; nessun altro aveva dei colori così intensi, e per un attimo desiderò che Mangia Tartarughe e qualcun altro della sua tribù Mohawk fossero lì con lui per ammirarli. Il rumore dell’accampamento in lontananza gli ricordò il canto delle cicale tra gli alberi vicino a un fiume; un brusio troppo alto, che non ti lasciava pensare, che però svaniva non appena ti ci abituavi. Nessun dorma... Donne e bambini potevano dormire... ma di sicuro le sgualdrine no. Non quella notte. A quel pensiero avvertì uno spasmo, che però liquidò subito. Pensò a Rachel, e liquidò anche lei, anche se controvoglia. Aprì la cassetta di corteccia di salice, in cui teneva il grasso di daino, e si unse faccia, torace e spalle, lentamente, concentrandosi. Normalmente si sarebbe rivolto agli spiriti della terra, durante quell’operazione, e poi ai suoi santi, Michele e Brigida. Ma non stava vedendo né l’uno né l’altra; Brianna era ancora con lui, anche se la sua immagine cominciava a sbiadire, ma stava avvertendo soprattutto la presenza di suo padre, e questo fatto lo sconcertò. Non gli parve rispettoso liquidare il genitore. Smise di fare quello che stava facendo e chiuse gli occhi, invece: voleva capire se Papà avesse qualcosa da dirgli. «Spero tu non sia venuto per parlarmi della mia morte, aye?» disse ad alta voce. «Perché non intendo farlo, non prima di aver giaciuto con Rachel, almeno.» «Be’, un obiettivo nobile, non c’è che dire.» La voce asciutta apparteneva a Zio Jamie; Ian aprì gli occhi di scatto. Suo zio era in mezzo alle fronde di un salice lungo la riva, che scendevano in acqua, con indosso soltanto la camicia. «Senza uniforme, eh, Zio?» disse il giovane, anche se il cuore gli era balzato nel petto come un topo cervo. «Il Generale Washington non ne sarà felice.» Washington era molto pignolo riguardo al fatto che i suoi uomini avessero sempre l’uniforme in ordine. Gli ufficiali dovevano essere vestiti a dovere in ogni situazione; diceva che i Continentali non sarebbero mai stati considerati un vero esercito, se si fossero presentati sul campo di battaglia come una folla disordinata che aveva imbracciato le armi. «Mi dispiace interromperti, Ian», disse Zio Jamie, uscendo dal salice. La luna era quasi tramontata; sembrava uno spettro, con le gambe nude e la camicia fluttuante. «Ma con chi stavi parlando?» «Oh. Con Papà. Lui era... qui, nella mia mente, aye? Voglio dire, penso spesso a lui, ma non mi capita spesso di sentirlo con me. Così mi sono chiesto se fosse venuto a dirmi che morirò oggi.» Jamie annuì, apparentemente quell’idea non sembrò turbarlo. «Ne dubito», disse. «Ti stai dipingendo il viso con i colori di guerra, aye? Ti stai preparando.» «Aye, stavo per farlo. Ne vuoi anche tu?» Lo disse a metà tra il serio e il faceto, ma Jamie lo prese come uno scherzo. «Li metterei, Ian. Ma credo che il Generale Washington mi farebbe appendere per i pollici e fustigare, se dovessi presentarmi con i miei uomini schierati e il viso dipinto come un Mohawk.» Ian emise un piccolo verso divertito, e intinse due dita nel piatto con l’ocra rossa, che poi si strofinò sul petto. «E tu che cosa ci fai qui in camicia?» «Mi stavo lavando», rispose Jamie, ma il suo tono lasciò intendere che non stava dicendo tutta la verità.

«E... stavo parlando con i miei morti.» «Con qualcuno in particolare?» «Mio zio Dougal, e Murtagh, il mio padrino. Sono le due persone che più di tutte vorrei accanto, in battaglia.» Fece un piccolo movimento, inquieto. «Se posso, cerco di ricavarmi un momento in cui rimanere solo, prima di una battaglia. Per lavarmi, sai... e per pregare. E... per chiedere loro di starmi accanto.» Ian lo trovò interessante; non aveva conosciuto nessuno dei due; erano morti entrambi a Culloden, ma aveva sentito tante storie su entrambi. «Due bravi combattenti», disse. «L’hai chiesto anche a mio padre? Di venire con te, intendo. Forse è per questo che è qui.» Jamie si voltò di scatto verso il nipote, sorpreso. Poi si rilassò, e scosse la testa. «Non ho mai dovuto chiederlo a Ian Mòr», disse, sommessamente. «Lui era... sempre con me.» Fece un breve gesto verso l’oscurità, alla sua destra. Ian sentì bruciare gli occhi, un nodo in gola. Ma era buio; non aveva importanza. Si schiarì la gola e gli porse uno dei suoi piattini. «Mi dai una mano, Zio Jamie?» «Oh? Aye, certo. Come li vuoi i segni?» «Rosso sulla fronte... ma posso pensarci io. Nero dai puntini fino al mento.» Si passò un dito sulla linea di puntini tatuati che descriveva una curva sotto gli zigomi. «Il nero sta per la forza, aye? Dice che sei un guerriero. E il giallo significa che non hai paura di morire.» «Oh, aye. Vuoi il giallo, oggi?» «No.» Lasciò trasparire un sorriso, dal suo tono, e Jamie rise. Jamie gli spalmò un po’ di colore con il pennello ricavato da una zampa di coniglio, e poi lo stese uniformemente con il pollice. Ian chiuse gli occhi, e sotto quel tocco si sentì invaso da una nuova forza. «Di solito lo fai da solo, Ian? Sembra difficile, senza uno specchio.» «Quasi sempre. Oppure lo facciamo in gruppo, ed è un fratello della tribù a dipingerti. Se si tratta di una cosa importante – di una scorreria in massa, ad esempio, o di una guerra contro qualcuno – allora è l’uomo di medicina a dipingerci, mentre canta.» «Dimmi che non vuoi che mi metta a cantare, Ian», mormorò Zio Jamie. «Voglio dire, potrei provarci ma...» «Farò senza, grazie.» Nero per la parte inferiore del viso, rosso sulla fronte, e una striscia di verde malachite lungo la linea dei tatuaggi, da un orecchio all’altro, attraverso il naso. Ian guardò i piattini con i pigmenti; non ebbe problemi a individuare il bianco, che indicò. «Magari potresti disegnarmi una piccola freccia, Zio? Sulla fronte.» Si passò un dito da sinistra a destra, per mostrargli dove farla. «Aye.» La testa di Jamie era china sopra i piattini, la mano sospesa. «Ma una volta non mi hai detto che il bianco è per la pace?» «Aye; se devi andare a conferire o a trattare, usi bianco in abbondanza. Ma serve anche per i lutti: quindi, probabilmente lo useresti anche per vendicare qualcuno.» A quelle parole, Jamie alzò la testa e lo guardò fisso. «La freccia non è per vendetta», spiegò Ian. «È per Freccia Volante. L’uomo morto di cui presi il posto, quando fui adottato.» Si sforzò di usare un tono disinvolto, ma sentì lo zio farsi teso e abbassare lo sguardo. Nessuno dei due avrebbe mai dimenticato il giorno della separazione, quando lui era andato dai Kahnyen’kehaka, e avevano creduto che sarebbe stato per sempre. Adesso si chinò e gli mise una mano sul braccio. «Quel giorno, Zio Jamie, tu mi dicesti: ‘Cuimhnich’. E io l’ho fatto. Ricorda.» «L’ho fatto anch’io, Ian», disse Jamie, piano, disegnandogli la freccia sulla fronte, come un sacerdote che, il Mercoledì delle Ceneri, gli faceva il segno della croce. «L’abbiamo fatto tutti. Va bene così?» Ian toccò con cautela la striscia verde, per essere sicuro che fosse abbastanza asciutta. «Aye, penso di sì. Sai che è stata Brianna a prepararmi i colori? Stavo pensando a lei, ma poi ho pensato che forse non dovrei portarla con me, in questa situazione.» Sentì il respiro dello zio sulla sua pelle, quando questi sbuffò e si appoggiò al salice con la schiena. «Un uomo porta sempre le sue donne in battaglia, Ian Òg. Sono la radice della tua forza.» «Oh, aye?»

Era una cosa sensata, e per lui fu un sollievo. Eppure... «Stavo pensando che forse non sarebbe giusto pensare a Rachel in un posto del genere. Considerato che è quacchera.» Jamie intinse il dito medio nel grasso di cervo, e poi lo immerse delicatamente nella polvere d’argilla bianca, con cui disegnò una grossa e profonda «V» vicino alla cresta della spalla destra di Ian. Anche al buio appariva vivida. «Una colomba bianca», disse, annuendo. Sembrava compiaciuto. «Questa sarà Rachel, per te.» Si pulì le dita su una roccia, poi si alzò e allungò i muscoli. Ian lo vide voltarsi e guardare verso est. Era ancora notte, ma l’aria era cambiata nei pochi minuti in cui erano rimasti seduti. La sagoma alta di Zio Jamie si stagliava netta sullo sfondo del cielo, mentre poco prima era sembrata parte della notte. «Un’ora, non di più», disse Jamie. «Prima mangia qualcosa, aye?» Con ciò, si voltò e tornò al torrente, e alle sue preghiere interrotte.

[princesssarisa]

This… out of curiosity

Do you know the different meanings of the name of Cinderella's Stepsisters?

Charles Perrault's Cendrillon

Javotte: A nickname for Geneviève, which means "of the race of woman," "woman of the family," or "white wave."

(Perrault only reveals the older stepsister's name in one scene, not the younger one's.)

Rossini's opera La Cenerentola

Clorinda: “Youthful” or “greenery.”

Tisbe: Unknown; it’s a name from Greek mythology.

Massenet's opera Cendrillon

Noémie: “Pleasantness.”

Dorothée: “Gift from God.”

The 1947 Russian film

Anna: “Grace” or “favor.”

Marianna: A cross between Mary, meaning “bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved,” and Anna (see above).

The Let's Pretend radio adaptation

Flora: “Flower.”

Isabella: A form of Elizabeth, meaning “My God is an oath.”

The Disney version, animated and live action

Anastasia: “Resurrection.”

Drizella: Probably a variant of Drusilla, meaning “little strong one.”

The 1955 film The Glass Slipper

Birdena: “Little bird.”

Serafina: “Fiery one.”

The 1957 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Portia: “Pig.”

Joy: Self-evident.

The 1965 version of Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Prunella: “Little plum.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald.”

The Muppets' Hey, Cinderella!

Mona: “My lady.”

Lisa: Derived from Elizabeth, meaning “my God is an oath.”

Rankin/Bass's Festival of Family Classics

Fatima: “To abstain” (though it serves as a play on “fat,” because she is fat)

Leania: Probably derived from Helen, meaning “light” (though it serves as a play on “lean” because she’s scrawny)

The 1969 Czech film

Katerina: “Far off” or “pure.”

Dorota: "Gift from God."

The 1973 Czech film Three Wishes for Cinderella

Dora: “Gift.”

The 1976 film The Slipper and the Rose

Isobella: “My God is an oath” (see above).

Palatine: “Of the palace.”

The 1978 African-American adaptation Cindy

Olive: "Olive," of course.

Venus: "Love."

The Faerie Tale Theatre adaptation

Arlene: “Honor” or “eagle.”

Bertha: “Bright.”

The Grimm's Faerie Tale Classics adaptation (English dub)

Phoebe: “Bright.”

Griselda: “Gray battle.”

Stephen Sondheim's musical Into the Woods

Florinda: "Flower."

Lucinda: "Light."

The Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales for Every Child adaptation

Margarita: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Esmeralda: “Emerald” (see above).

The musical A Tale of Cinderella

Moltovoce: “Much voice.”

Seppia: “Squid.”

The 1996 Burbank Animation version

Nellie: A nickname for Ellen or Helen, meaning “torch” or “light.”

Melba: Derived from Melbourne, Australia. Melbourne means “mill stream.”

(Their names are inspired by the famous Australian opera singer Nellie Melba, whose birth name was Helen Mitchell and who took her stage name from her home city of Melbourne.)

The anime series Cinderella Monogatari

Catherine: “Far off” or “pure.”

Jeanne: “God is gracious.”

The 1997 version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Minerva: “Intellect.”

Calliope: “Beautiful voice.”

The 1998 film Ever After: A Cinderella Story

Marguerite: “Pearl” or “daisy flower.”

Jacqueline: “Heel-grabber” or “supplanter."

Gregory Maguire's novel Confession of an Ugly Stepsister

Iris: "Rainbow" or "iris flower."

Ruth: "Friend."

Margaret Peterson Haddix's novel Just Ella

Griselda: "Gray battle" (see above).

Corimunde: Possibly a variant of "Clarimond," meaning "shining defender."

The Shrek franchise

Doris: "Dorian woman."

Mabel: "Lovable."

The 2000 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein's musical

Grace: Self-evident.

Joy: Self-evident (see above).

The 2000 British TV film

Goneril: Unknown meaning.

Regan: "Little ruler" or "king's child."

(In case anyone didn't know it, their names are taken from the evil sisters in Shakespeare's King Lear.)

The Simsala Grimm adaptation

Agatha: “Good.”

Beatrice: "One who blesses.”

The novel and film Ella Enchanted

Hattie: A nickname for Harriet, meaning “home ruler.”

Olive: Self-evident (see above).

The 2004 film A Cinderella Story

Brianna: "High" or "noble."

Gabriella: "God is my strength."

Malinda Lo's novel Ash

Ana: "Grace" or "favor" (see above).

Clara: "Clear" or "bright.

The 2010 Märchenperlen adaptation

Clothilde: “Glorious battle.”

The 2011 Sechs auf einen Streich adaptation

Annabella: "Grace and beauty."

The 2013 stage version of the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical

Gabrielle: “God is my strength” (see above).

Charlotte: “Free woman.”

Alma Deutscher's opera

Griselda: “Gray battle” (see above).

Zibaldona: Possibly derived from Zebada, which is derived from Zebadiah, meaning “God has bestowed.”

Betsy Cornwell's novel Mechanica

Piety: Self-evident.

Chastity: Self-evident.

Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical Bad Cinderella

Adéle: “Noble.”

Marie: “Bitter,” “drop of the sea,” or “beloved.”

The 2021 Sony/Amazon film

Narissa: “Sea nymph.”

Malvolia: “Ill will.”

[sgiandubh]

Sunday sounds: MacPherson's Lament

Good morning, it's #silly Sunday in this noble house.

Just before I run a last minute errand, this:

'She didn’t know whether Roger had seen her momentary distress, but he abandoned the dangerous territory of the Jacobites and went into “MacPherson’s Lament,” sung with no more than an occasional touch of the strings. The woman next to Brianna let out a long sigh and looked doe-eyed at the stage.

            “Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, sae dauntingly gaed he,

            He played a tune and he danced it roond … alow the gallows tree!”

She picked up the envelope, weighing it on her fingers. She ought to wait, maybe, until she got home. But curiosity was warring with reluctance. Roger hadn’t been sure he should give it to her; she’d seen that in his eyes.'

(Diana Gabaldon - Drums of Autumn)

Back shortly. Things to share. Allow some time for proper writing.

All is well :) Engrossed in Drums, but I expect to stop in my tracks once Bonnet rears his ugly head, just like any random Mordorian sending Anons. LOL /bad, bad jk

[briannabrackens]

who: @garrick-cargyll where: the coronation of king jaehaerys targaryen, second of his name. brianna is stood in a congregation with the other greens, who all seemed to have been placed together; around her are the other noble lords and ladies of those who fought for the name of aegon.

dark, vivid orbs flickered through the various faces that seemed to be stood within the mighty halls of the red keep. never before had brianna of stone hedge stood within these halls, nor had she looked upon the iron throne; how uncomfortable it appeared, for the thousands of swords would no doubt slice through the flesh of those who were supposed to sit upon it. slice through the human element of the king, and force them into more of a statue: it was then she remembered the targaryens were not men, but they were gods. untouchable, and once again, the large amount of stormlanders present had reminded her of the fact they had taken more land.

and the steps, or the stepstones, which was always said with much importance and foreboding, though she did not always understand why. what was so special about the stepstones? or signifiant?

her hands clasped together before her black skirts, threaded with prints of maroon and forrest green; though more in an effort to keep herself from fidgeting at such a coronation. her eyes caught with fiona and anastacia both, stood amongst the vale congregation, and she pulled a slight face at them before fixing her face. there came the blasting sounds of trumpets and drums, to some tune that sounded otherworldly, that sounded valyrian. her breath held slightly as she watched the doors, readying for them to open, feeling the same breath being held across the crowd.

king jaehaerys targaryen, second of his name, the conqueror. the man who had taken the crown, and had risked a second dance erupting. surrounded by stormlanders, by westermen, or at least that was what she had heard.

they were all stood together, it appeared; and even though brianna had not been educated in matters of politics, it were obvious this were a statement. all the greens were with one another. she glanced to her side, noting the similar features of the man of golden tooth she had seen some months ago at the wedding of the king of the reach, remembering the way she had seen him from across the room and remembered all the times she had seen him before. how he had always caused her heart to beat, and whilst their orbs met, there was no amused smile that crossed their features at this event. she almost felt like she would not dare, not here. her eyes lingered for a moment, before looking to the left.

lord garrick of house cargyll was a man she knew from the brief time he had stayed at stone hedge to have a wound cleansed by a maester that was at risk of being infected. she remembered taking one look at it, after much badgering, and realising due to the colour slowly going yellow, it would need cleaning more regularly in the hours before a maester could see the lord. within a few days he had left, once again accompanied by her brother's legion, to continue fighting across the riverlands. she looked at him, almost impatiently, wondering when the moment would come where the king would be revealed.

and when the doors opened, her well known dark brows raised. and then narrowed. seriously narrowed, in confusion, and in shock. what kind of joke was this? "what the fuck does vaegon velaryon think he be doin stood dere at a king's coronation?" brianna muttered under her breath, maintaining moments of eye contact with garrick. her face nodded towards the man that had just emerged from the other side of the doors. this was the man that had found her stood upon a chair some days earlier, and had tried to offer her coin for some godsforsaken reason. "not proper that be. real odd. what be the proper way to say it?"

"queer."

[celestriahq]

could i get fc suggestions for the queen of the court of fire & for the shadow court high noble family generally?

* 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 ! absolutely ! for the queen : allison williams, brianne howey, amily vancamp, jessica rothe, sarah drew, teresa palmer, amy adams, jessica chastain, rosamund pike, or rachel weisz ! as for shadow fae vibing fcs : adria arjona, adeline rudolph, amber midthunder, amita suman, angelababy, anna lambe, anya chalotra, aslihan malbora, bae suzy, banita sandhu, bianca lawson, brianne tju, brianna hildebrand, brittany o'grady, bruna marquezine, candice patton, carlson young, chase sui wonders, chloe bridges, courtney eaton, davika hoorne, deepika padukone, demet ozdemir, diana silvers, dewanda wise, dichen lachman, dilraba dilmurat, eddie liu, ella balinska, emma d'arcy, evan mock, freddy carter, froy gutierrez, gemma chan, go min si, halston sage, harry shum jr, hayden christensen, herman tommeraas, hunter shafer, jacob anderson, jameela jamil, jenna ortega, jenny boyd, jesse williams, jessica alexander, jessie mei li, jonathan daviss, kaylee bryant, keith powers, kendrick sampson, khadihja red thunder, kim woo bin, lana parrilla, lee dong wook, levy tran, lisette olivera, lizeth selene, lucy boynton, lucy liu, luke mitchell, lulu antariska, lupita nyong'o, madds mikkelsen, maggie q, mahesh jadu, mason gooding, maxence danet fauvel, maya hawke, meagan tandy, mena massoud, michael evans behling, myra molloy, nathalie kelley, ok taecyeon, olivia cooke, priscilla quintana, raymond ablack, riz ahmed, sarah shahi, savannah lee smith, sean teale, sobhita dhulipala, sonam kapoor, tati gabrielle, teresa palmer, theo james, tommy martinez, wakeema hollis, will tudor, yasmin finney, tom holland, zion moreno + zorzo natharuetai !

[romanoffstarkovs]

Brianna Stark: The Wild Rose

Brianna Stark was born amidst the chill of Winterfell, the youngest daughter of Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and the loving younger sister of the famous Stark siblings - Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna, and Benjen. From a tender age, it was evident that she possessed the fiery spirit that ran in her bloodline, inheriting the wildness of her sister Lyanna, the she-wolf of Winterfell.

Growing up, Brianna's nature contrasted sharply with the traditional expectations for a lady of her station. She defied the norms and societal expectations that tried to confine her spirit within the walls of the castle. Instead, she sought adventure in the vast woods surrounding Winterfell and the snow-capped mountains that loomed in the distance. Brianna was a fearless and agile rider, often galloping through the countryside, her long, bronzed hair trailing behind her like a banner of rebellion.

Yet, amidst her untamed spirit, Brianna held a love for the beauty of the realm. She would spend hours hidden away in the corners of Winterfell's library, devouring tales of chivalry, romance, and courtly intrigues. This passion for stories of distant lands and gallant knights fueled her imagination, making her yearn for the world beyond the North.

Brianna's love for dressing up set her apart from her siblings. While Lyanna favored practicality, donning leathers and furs that suited her adventurous nature, Brianna found joy in adorning herself with elegant gowns and intricate jewelry. She saw these ornate dresses as an extension of her identity - a juxtaposition of her wild spirit and the refined lady within.

Though some dismissed her love for fashion as mere vanity, it was, in truth, a way for her to express herself creatively and embrace her femininity on her own terms. Beneath the gowns and jewelry, she remained a Stark through and through - strong-willed, loyal, and fiercely protective of her family.

As the years passed, Brianna's unique blend of wildness and grace caught the attention of many suitors who sought her hand in marriage. However, she was not easily swayed by societal expectations and refused to be married off solely for political alliances. Brianna dreamt of a love that would match the grandeur of the stories she cherished.

Brianna Stark's journey to King's Landing marked a significant shift in her life. Leaving behind the familiar walls of Winterfell, she ventured into the bustling capital, a place filled with intrigue, power struggles, and the complexities of courtly life. As the youngest daughter of Rickard Stark, she carried the legacy of her noble house, known for its honor, strength, and fierce loyalty.

As Brianna took up her role as a lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Martell, she quickly earned the trust and affection of her lady. Despite the differences in their upbringings and cultures, the two women found common ground and a deep connection. Brianna's wild nature and love for dressing up added a vibrant and enigmatic charm to her personality, which Princess Elia appreciated in her closest confidant.

Their friendship became a haven for both, a sanctuary amidst the intricate and sometimes treacherous web of King's Landing's politics. Brianna's honesty and candid advice were valued by Princess Elia, who found solace in confiding her worries and hopes to someone who genuinely cared for her wellbeing.

Beyond her duties, Brianna remained true to her Stark identity, even in the bustling streets of the capital. She often visited the godswood within the Red Keep, finding comfort in the presence of the heart tree and its carved face. The godswood provided a reminder of her Northern roots, and she would offer prayers for her family's safety and well-being.

As the events of Robert's Rebellion loomed, tensions escalated, and the realm was on the brink of war. The relationship between Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia faced increasing strain. Through this difficult time, Brianna stood as a steadfast companion, supporting Princess Elia through her uncertainties and fears.

In King's Landing, as Brianna Stark served as a lady-in-waiting for Princess Elia Martell, fate would introduce her to a man who would forever change the course of her life - Ser Arthur Dayne, the renowned Sword of the Morning.

Brianna first encountered Ser Arthur during a courtly event at the Red Keep. As the festivities unfolded, she couldn't help but be drawn to the legendary knight, whose skill with a blade was only rivaled by his chivalry and quiet charisma. Ser Arthur, in turn, was captivated by Brianna's fiery spirit and the way she carried herself with a blend of strength and grace, which reminded him of the legendary Lyanna Stark.

As the days passed, Brianna found herself more frequently in Ser Arthur's presence. He was often at Princess Elia's side, offering his counsel and protection. Their conversations began with formalities, but it didn't take long for genuine camaraderie to grow between them. Brianna appreciated the Knight of the Morning's wisdom and guidance, and Arthur was drawn to her genuine and unpretentious nature.

Amidst the turbulence of courtly life, Brianna and Arthur found solace in each other's company. They would often steal moments away from the grand events, retreating to the gardens or hidden corners of the Red Keep where they could talk freely without the constraints of their titles and responsibilities.

As they shared their dreams, hopes, and fears, a deep connection developed between them. Brianna admired Arthur's sense of duty and honor, while Arthur was captivated by her adventurous spirit and unwavering loyalty to Princess Elia. In each other, they found the strength to face the challenges that surrounded them.

In time, their friendship blossomed into something more profound. Their hearts recognized a shared yearning for a love that defied expectations and transcended the barriers of duty and station. They couldn't ignore the growing affection they felt for one another, but they knew the consequences of acting on their emotions could be dire, given the political intricacies of the realm.

Their love remained a secret, hidden from the prying eyes of court, and they cherished the stolen moments they spent together. But as the situation in the realm grew more perilous with the brewing rebellion, they were confronted with the stark reality that their paths might diverge.

When Robert's Rebellion erupted and the Targaryen dynasty faced its downfall, Brianna and Arthur found themselves on opposite sides of the conflict. Brianna's loyalty remained with Princess Elia and her family, while Arthur fought fiercely to protect his liege, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

As the war raged on, their love was put to the ultimate test. Despite their differences, the bond they shared never wavered, and they clung to the hope that once the dust settled, they might find a way back to each other.

[nellie-elizabeth]

Outlander: A Life Well Lost (7x01)

We're back! It feels like it's been forever since this show was on the air, but I guess it was May 2022 when we last left off, in quite a dramatic fashion, with Claire arrested for a murder she didn't commit, and Jamie separated from her, desperate to save her before it's too late!

Cons:

To start, I do not like the new vocals on the intro. Mostly they were okay, but that weird breathy whisper thing at the very end fading into the episode title card, was just bizarre.

The voiceover is still a weakness of the show. A holdover from a concept that wanted to use Claire's first person POV from the books. There's one instance of it early on from Claire where she's talking about how she knows how long the Revolutionary War will stretch on, and it just felt like an unnecessary emphasis on something we could have gotten just from looking at her face as the other prisoners spoke of the hardships they were facing.

Brianna is still the weak link as an actor. I think I've realized that she's no good at anything but the extremes. She has a really infectious sweetness when she's playing super hyped and excited, and I've seen her do despair and pain very well too. But when she just needs to have a normal conversation with her husband, it sounds super stilted and I feel like I can basically see her reading the lines off a script. It's too bad, I really wish I liked her more. Book Brianna is going to reign supreme, I'm afraid.

I remember that in the book, the nature of Malva's wrongdoing was left a little more vague. We get the story here from Christie that she is in fact the daughter of his wife and his brother, that both Malva and her mother were witches and constantly doing wicked, evil things. The extent to which Tom is just being a violent misogynist is more vague in the books, I feel. This episode felt a bit too sympathetic to Tom's perspective, seemingly giving him a free pass on abusing his daughter because of her "wicked" ways. Which, from what I can tell, include things like "wanting to have sex" and "being terrified of her father finding out about her pregnancy with her own brother". I wish this episode had been a little less kind to Tom. I know he's about to do this incredibly brave and noble thing, but still.

Pros:

The strongest part of the Roger/Bree plot: Roger quoting Ali and getting recognized by Wendigo Donner! I don't think it happens quite like this in the book, but it's the same idea, someone else from the future recognizing a fellow traveler based on a reference to future pop culture. It happened with Geillis when Claire quoted JFK, I believe. I like the ambiguity here, the way Wendigo's presence with Brown's men makes Roger think about the nature of being a bystander. Brianna insists that Wendigo is culpable for Claire's horrible abuse at the hands of Brown and his men, because he stood by and did nothing. Roger points out that he found himself working for Bonnet when he first came through the stones, and was thus witness to his horrible actions, and was unable to do anything to stop him. When do we give people second chances? Does the fact that Wendigo is from the future create a bond between him and the other travelers? I'd certainly be curious and fascinated to find other time travelers if I were Bree and Roger!

The main plot can basically be broken down like this: Claire is a prisoner, but gets pulled onto the Governor's ship to help care for his pregnant wife. Tom Christie decides to turn himself in for the murder of his daughter Malva, out of love for Claire, and also responsibility for Malva's actions, and Claire thus gets to go free.

This is pretty book accurate, though it's a lot more fleshed out with detail in the novel from what I remember. Claire has to pose as a forger for a time on the ship, which is fun. I did think this all worked out very well. Jamie's intense focus on finding Claire is of course great, and I love Ian going to bat for his Auntie, doing everything he can to help protect her.

The comedic highlight for me is when Jamie and Claire are first reunited, and they fall into each other's arms on the ship, kissing passionately. The guard stands there awkwardly for a while and then says: "Excuse me, this is not permitted." It was really funny.

Also, gotta do a shoutout for our first mentions of Lord John of the season; Jamie uses John's name in order to get an audience with the governor and dodge suspicions of being a rebel, straddling a fine line. I love Jamie using Lord John's super intense and inappropriate crush on him in order to further his own ends, that's never not going to be funny to me. I hope we get to see John this season.

Probably the dramatic highlight for me was Jaime and Tom talking about what Tom was going to do for Claire. Jamie ultimately talks about the respect he has for Christie, the ways in which even through their disagreement, he wants to honor him. I think Tom is a bad person, or whatever, but I think Jamie is giving a man walking to his death, the last gift he knows how to give him. I love that Jamie has the capacity to be a jealous person, but when he knows that Tom is in love with Claire, he doesn't resent his love for her. He sees it as the great gift it is, given the circumstances.

So, yeah, there we are! I will say that this episode doesn't feel much like a season premiere, in the sense that it's clearly continuing on (and indeed wrapping up) a story that we spent all of last season on, but I think that's because of pandemic stuff, were they had to cut the last season short, and this one is almost like a "part two" of season six. I'm excited to see where we go from here; I've read all the books in this series, many of them more than once, but they're so long and so much happens, that often I'm only remembering the details once I see them play out on the screen!

8/10

[joyffree]

🎧 Disenchanted (A Lay of Ruinous Reign Book 1) by Brianna Sugalski is 𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗔𝗩𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗘 𝗜𝗡 𝗔𝗨𝗗𝗜𝗢!

Narrated by Krys Janae & Zachary Johnson, produced by Elysian Nightfall Studios!

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢!

→ https://adbl.co/42cVwL7

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗕𝘂𝗳𝗳𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗦𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁 𝗦𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗵 𝗝. 𝗠𝗮𝗮𝘀' 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗚𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗼𝗻-𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝘀𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘄𝗿𝘆 𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗼𝗿, 𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗰 𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲.

Lilac Trécesson is a prisoner in her parents' castle after a most wicked secret was revealed on the eve of her fifteenth birthday. Years later, her Accession looms upon her father's decision to abdicate, and between the riotous townsfolk and scheming noble bent on snatching her throne, she prepares for the worst… Until a letter arrives from The Witch of Lupine Grotto, containing a curious offer to banish her curse forever.

She begrudgingly trades her coronet for a cloak and ventures into the forest Brocéliande, only to find herself cornered by a bloodthirsty barkeep who demands her help in exchange for protection against the even deadlier forces of the woods.

With only the protection of her inherited dagger—and unsolicited help of the sardonic stranger who inserts himself on her quest—Lilac must find the impious enchantress and return in time to claim her crown. Pity the fool to underestimate the girl with subpar blade skills but the spite to make up for it.

This is the tale of a cursed princess,

A crestfallen killer,

The town that wants them to burn,

And the witch who can save them both.

Also available in eBook & Paperback

→ https://books2read.com/DisenchantedbyBriannaSugalski

Hosted by Enticing Journey Book Promotions

[legends-of-time]

The Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander)

Chapter 6: A Fish Out of Water

Masterlist

Brian has always felt like an outsider in Boston. Some would argue it's his English roots that make him feel alien despite arriving in the US at a young age. Brian knows that isn't what it is as he squirms in the school uniform he's been told to dress in. There's something about the modern world around him that doesn't feel right, which means Brian can't connect with his fellow students. He doesn't feel like he belongs.

"You look lovely, darling." His mother says, walking over and giving him a brief look over before smiling at him.

"It doesn't feel right, Mama." Brian says. "Nothing feels right here."

Mama's smile dims. "I know, darling. I know." She strokes his face softly.

——

Brian watches from afar as he takes in the awkwardness between his parents, Claire and Frank, as Ellen asks for them to pose together for their photograph after their mother had posed with fellow new Doctor, Joe Abernathy.

1958

Brian knows his sister hasn't noticed the disintegration between the two adults. Brian, since he's always been more aware than a child his age usually is, has known that their relationship hasn't been right for as long as he can remember. He remembers that whenever Dad would touch her, Mama would flinch and how at night, when they think Ellen and Brian are asleep, they would argue. Brian would sit at the top of the stairs, listening to the rows with tears in his eyes.

His parents' marriage is one where both of them seem to be leading largely separate lives; Mama had focused on completing medical school to become a surgeon, and Dad has been out of the house, spending time elsewhere. Brian has heard his mother suggest that they file for divorce, but Dad had refused, for fear that he would never see Brian and Ellen again.

Brian can't remember everything of his life but there's something always at the back of his mind that makes him feel like he's been here before, which would explain the whole being more mature than his own age but it's also as if this life he's currently living is a lie, something more, as if there's been more to this life than he remembers. His mother is also seemingly living a lie.

Just like him, Mama hasn't been comfortable with the 20th century and hasn't moved through it with the ease Dad and Ellen do. Brian recalls when Mama would cook over the fire instead of the stove, saying she prefers it and Brian hadn't complained. It all came to an end when Dad had come home early and caught them. He immediately pulled Brian away from the fire and berated Mama for letting Brian get so close to the fire. Mama had argued back, saying she'd done nothing wrong. Brian had been confused about what was going on but he'd immediately noticed how upset his mother id and knew that wasn't right. He had immediately fought against Dad's hold and then ran over to comfort his mother once he'd been let down.

Brian frowns as he watches Frank talk to a woman who'd suddenly appeared at the party with Mama ushering everyone out of the house. He and his Dad have always got along fine but there's always been a lack of proper connection between the two of them, the opposite to each of their relationships with Ellen, but it's okay because Brian has always had Mama. Dad is never pleased with how close they are, saying a man shouldn't be this attached to his mother but Brian ignores him as he does with most things his Dad complains about.

——

A/N: I chose Ellen to be Brianna's first name in this as it was her middle name in cannon and it wouldn't make sense for Claire to name her after Jamie's father when they already have a child named after him. Brianna's new and full name is Ellen Julia Randall (plus Fraser).

For Brian, the memories of his 18th century life are going to linger, like a dream, which hopefully will come across in his interactions with people. Also, that vague feeling of feeling that you've been here before but the only evidence you have is a vague feeling was inspired by Life After Life by Kate Atkinson (great book to read about a girl being reincarnated). There was a BBC mini-series adaptation last year.

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[ireadyabooks]

As Long As We’re Together: Read an Excerpt!

A heartstring-tugging, uplifting, modern spin on Party of Five -- a love letter to family, hope, and finding strength in unexpected places.

Even though she has six siblings, sixteen-year-old Novah still knows what it's like to feel lonely. Her friends never remember to invite her anywhere because they assume Novah will be too busy overseeing dinner, baths, and homework -- tasks that fall to her when her parents are at work. She wouldn't mind it so much if her "perfect" older sister, Ariana, wasn’t always excused from helping out. She's the star of the volleyball team, and their parents don't want anything to jeopardize the scholarships she'll need to become the first member of their family to attend college.

Needless to say, Novah feels like she's been given a raw deal, especially when she's forced to cancel a maybe-date with her crush, Hailee.

Then one terrible night, their parents don't make it back home. A car accident takes their lives and leaves seven heartbroken kids on their own. The Wilkinson siblings have no grandparents, no aunts or uncles. Since Ariana has just turned eighteen, she manages to convince the judge to give her temporary custody. If she can keep her family running smoothly, they'll get to stay in their home. If not, they'll be placed into foster care.

Novah will do whatever it takes to keep her family together but finds herself in a constant power struggle when Ariana refuses to take her advice, even once it becomes clear that they are all in way over their heads. Will Novah find her voice and summon the strength to do the impossible? Or will she be forced to say the hardest goodbyes of all?

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As Long as We're Together by Brianna Peppins by I Read YA on Scribd

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[firejugglinghobo]

Definitely older than his girls, then. Brianna had only been 6 when he'd last seen her. By his own world's standards, she'd be well on her way to becoming a young lady by now, though he'd become accustomed enough to this world's way of thinking of things that Anya still seemed like a child to him.

"Twenty...seven," he guessed in response to her question.

He hadn't ever really started keeping track. Birthdays were for nobles back home. The Barn Owl had guessed at his approximate age, but it hadn't ever seemed particularly important.

"Not so helpful for adults though, is it?"

“Fourteen,” Anya offers up a little more readily than her name.

Her name is hers, something she mostly shared with her mother and cradled close all these years, but her age…she wasn’t even sure if it was true. It was just the last one she had heard someone refer to has. She had tried to pinpoint her birthday, so figure out when exactly they stopped calling her one age and moved onto the next, but so far all she had figured out was that it was sometime between around July, give or take a month or so.

She stares at his back for a moment before flipping the question back to him.

“How old are you?”

Was this a normal part of introductions? Anya doesn’t know, but she isn’t giving away information without getting some back. Whatever he knew about her, she would know about him. She couldn’t see what leverage it would give them, but if it was useful enough for him to ask, she’d figure it out.

[briannabrackens]

who: @elaenaceltigar when and where: during the roleplay's time set in the north, prior to the storylines set within dorne and the reach respectively. the girls are in white harbor, being hosted by house manderly. specifically, the girls are within elaena celtigar's chambers.

the dragon king was dead; daemon targaryen's insides had been on display for the entirety of the nobles of westeros as he lay against the hearty trunk of the tree, and the sight of human flesh being ripped from within seemed to remain frozen in her mind and all the court had heard of the screams of his sister caerella at the very sight of what had become of the mighty dragon. and yet still, it was what came afterwards that had truly made her walk backwards into the stone wall behind her. "a spoon of sugar will serve me, thank you." she spoke to the servant who was readying them tea, glimpsing sideways at the elaena celtigar.

the chaos which erupted soon after, in which the screaming accusations of the dragon princess toward the lannisters had made her feel she was about to watch the blacks and the greens tear themselves apart once again. "i keep seeing his bloody stomach in my head." she muttered, referring to the corpse of daemon targaryen.

the riverlands still smelt of smoke; the riverlands had burned for their disobedience and despite the fact the brackens had fought beneath the green flag, the sight of her beloved home of rivers being nothing but ash was enough to make her feel as though someone had crushed her heart. they had thought it was all over, and yet in that moment of chaos, it all seemed so ready to start up again. would they ever truly heal?

that was not even touching on the fact that the falcon king rowan arryn had been forced to reveal his secret elopement to the lannister princess guinevere before the entirety of the court. watched as the faces of tyland and arron lannister change to realise they had been betrayed by their own sister. it was something out of ballads, something utterly twisted. something utterly stupid.

"and the stupidity of the falcon king, to profess his love for his secret lannister wife." she commented, her tone almost sarcastic. she glanced sideways at elaena, knowing the woman had always been more of a romantic. "c'mon now el, don't tell me you found it some dramatic gesture. it was stupid."

she was wrapped up in furs against the shivering cold, watching the city of white harbor sprawl out beneath them: the dome of the sept of snows capturing her attention. and the sight of green lights dancing within the sky seemed utterly supernatural. and as the mugs of hot tea came in the hands of a certain lilac eyed woman, brianna tested out how heavy each of the mugs of tea were, before wordlessly passing elaena the one with more tea in it. they sipped it quietly, watching night over the city of white harbor.

[whywishesarehorses]

Humble at Mulatto Meadows

Many of you may recognize this photo of Brianna Noble from the 2020 BLM movement. (yes, posting pictures of activists is dangerous, but in this case, Brianna actively uses this photo to advertise her program). Brianna is the owner and founder of Mulatto Meadows, and their Humble program, which aims to provide enrichment for under-served youth, especially youth of color. This enrichment utilizes the therapeutic qualities of horses.

Mulatto Meadows is a ranch run and owned by Black equestrians. They provide lessons, sell trained horses, and do other community work. Key in that is Humble, an after-school program that targets students who are low-income and/or nonwhite.

Her program is sponsored by Ariat, and works to create day-long visits or multi-session programs to help these youth work towards success.

Please, please go check them out at their website, here. I highly recommend donating if you are able - consider it a sort of reparations. This is a really extraordinary project that works to give opportunities to youth who could benefit from being equestrians most.

[briannabrackens]

♣️

brianna wiped the grime from her face with her gown, her movements mechanical, as if the situation had numbed her into some kind of automatic response. she didn’t care about the filth clinging to her skin, didn’t care that her dress would likely never come clean. she couldn’t think about that, not now. the necklace—the damn necklace. she felt a knot form in her stomach, heavier than all the muck in the sewers, when she realized it was gone. the "b" on it—shiny, unmistakable—could tie her to what had happened.

she hadn’t even noticed it slipping off, but now, she couldn’t un-remember the feeling of panic creeping in. it was a mark of her family, a mark she never thought would become her undoing.

"shite," she muttered under her breath, the panic beginning to settle in her chest like lead. she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but that damn necklace lying somewhere in the muck of king's landing’s underbelly, waiting for someone to find it. someone like the bloody gold cloaks. "shite, shite, fucking shite." she repeated as they talked among themselves, beginning to shake her hand as though to try and shake the stress and the intense nerve from her body. she turned back to devani, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. the thought of lying about it felt like poison, but what choice did she have?

her brother was hand of the queen, and though she had no reason to believe he’d ever think her capable of something like this, the necklace was a problem. one that could get them all in trouble.

"leave it there?" brianna’s voice was tight, filled with the gnawing uncertainty of it all. "say i was robbed? devani, that necklace is mine. it's a mark, it's... it's bloody obvious." her fingers twitched at her side, the familiar weight of the necklace no longer there aroudn her neck. "if they find it, i'm done. best believe me when i say i won't go down without takin' willow wylde wit me, and she'll open her mouth and expose all you." willow would plot to have her taken down with this, there was no denying it. she took a deep breath, trying to push back the feeling of helplessness that was threatening to overtake her.

she glanced up at devani, her gaze searching, but finding no answers. "my brother’s hand of the queen. if anyone can help, it’s him. but i... i don’t know why i shouldn’t just tell him. this is fuckin' madness." she shook her head, frustration seeping through her voice. "i can’t stay quiet about it. what if they start blaming us, all of us? we didn’t do anything wrong, but they’ll point the finger when the pressure kicks in. he wasn't no nobody, he was wearin' nobles furs." she rubbed her face, trying to focus, but the reality of the situation was closing in, suffocating.

"i can’t—" her voice cracked, but she swallowed the emotion before it could spill. "i can’t let this hang over my head. not when we did what we had to do, not when it wasn’t our fault. but what if they don't believe that? none of you have gone and dropped somethin' pointin' straight at you." brianna looked away, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. her eyes burned with the pressure of it all, but she didn’t want to cry. she never wanted to cry in front of anyone, especially not devani. "we didn’t do anything wrong, right?" her voice was quieter now, almost unsure. "why should i be the one to carry the burden of this? why should i stay quiet when it wasn’t me who—" brianna stopped herself, forcing her thoughts into some semblance of order. she had to stay calm. she had to. but the thought of keeping silent, of leaving everything to chance, felt unbearable.

her heart raced as she turned back to face the dark, endless tunnel behind them. they’d never be able to go back. never. and the necklace… it was a noose around her neck now, one that she couldn’t take off.

perhaps she should feel more ire for the riverlands girl. it was, after all, her actions that had dragged devani into this. had she not darted off into the night, she'd be back at the ball, laughing and drinking and not stood in the entry to a city sewer covered head to toe in shit. but then, nobody had forced devani to follow her. she had done that on her own.

and perhaps it was because, in their short association, there was a... fondness? or something like it. she had a spirit devani admired in others, a boldness and forthrightness that wasn't at all common, but appreciated by the lady of ghost hill. she was funny and bright, and devani liked that about her, apparently enough so to follow her into the unknown.

"you don't have to-" she begun, but it was too late. brianna had already raised her hand to wipe her face with her own gown, and devani had to suppress a wave of revulsion when she glanced at her sleeve and saw what came away. bile rose up her throat again, and she clenched her jaw to keep it down. "thank you," she murmured.

her question brought devani on to her next issue. how the fuck was she supposed to make it through king's landing like this, without drawing attention? it seemed a near impossible task. hands on her hips, she shook her head. "i don't know. i need to try and get back to hayford like this." she gestured to herself, needing to say little more about what a monumental task that was. "could try and find a whore who'll let me buy her clothes, i suppose. you think they'd take a bangle as payment?" not her best idea, but she was fresh out of good ones right now.

and then suddenly, brianna was moving, looking like she was heading back in the sewer. devani wanted to stop her, but caught herself in the act of touching her with dirtied hands. in the end, she did not need to restrain her - the black nothingness of the sewer behind them was enough to stop her in her tracks.

"your necklace?" a wave of panic rose over her. if they had left anything behind to tie them to the crime, any of them, then they would all fall like dominoes. and yet, they could not go back. "it's too late." she pointed out, though she was not unsympathetic. she could picture it in her mind now - the b that nestled at her throat. it would not be hard to link it back to brianna.

and yet, she did not want to burden her with that worry now. they had had enough for tonight, and devani knew this would be on her mind for many nights to come - it would certainly be on hers. "you're going to have to leave it there," her tone was not unsympathetic. she wiped one hand on her already-ruined silks, and placed it gently on bri's arm, making sure to touch fabric rather than skin. "say it was robbed. snatched from your neck in flea bottom. they won't find him in there, but if they do - you know nothing. the necklace was taken from you long before it found its way into the sewer. you've never been here. you have no idea why he had it." it was the best lie she could come up with.