x-2 is such a weird game because it rules immensely but also definitely makes the ending of x weaker but also i need to kill the authors for misogyny crimes and also for making yuna’s first cousin be into her?! which is an extension of the misogyny crimes.
one thing i really like is how they obviously went out of their way to match asahi's speech patterns with his and yotsuyu's father. the guy is a minor NPC who barely has any lines, and yet despite him being an old man who doesn't particularly look like asahi he uses the exact same inflections and tone of voice. you've already been listening to asahi being a creep this whole time, and then suddenly if you're paying attention it becomes so clear where he got it from. he really does just sound exactly like his dad.
(and it makes absolutely everything about the situation that much more skin-crawling, considering what their father is actually saying in the scene where that stands out the most.)
again, minor NPC with very little screentime; it would have been easy for them to just give him A Voice and be done with it, and instead they took the opportunity to imply volumes about asahi and his dynamic with his family in such an effective, understated way. anyway the naeuri siblings are ruining my life
WARNINGS: Violence, character death, gore, depictions of violence and death. Smut, eventually. Drama. Run-of-the-mill toxic masculinity. I will update as needed.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
SUMMARY: A bastard knight. An heir to a throne. Both forced to abide by the rules of their station---the roles they were born into. Will they be able to maintain the flames of their love, or be burned by them?
NOTES: I love court intrigue, and drama. I also love the idea of knight Bucky. So here is a butt load of it. I intend this to be multiple parts, though I am not sure how many. But, enjoy! Let me know what you think!
The sun is brutal even from underneath ornately ornamented awnings. Women sit among the makeshift wooden stands fans in hand as they fervently gossip about the latest on-goings and affairs of court. Such drivel; devoid of imagination or spark---always the same lackluster accusations and rumors. Y/N had not come to chat about such things; the tourney always interested her far more. The fanfare, the sport, and on occasion, the bloodshed. Steeds tough as steel gallop the runway on which men with more gall than the average noble ride atop. Metal clatters, men hoop and holler, and another knight is knocked from his horse. Yes, far more interesting than who is bedding who, and for how much.
Y/N claps along, back straight as a board. Tightly coiled locks pool from the crown of her head where they remained pinned. Gold adorns her skin in necklaces, earrings, and bracelets—her favorite choice as it accents her darkened complexion so tastefully. A perfect visage of her house; proper and fine. She watches with enthusiasm as the second round of riders enters. One catches her eye as he leads his horse toward her pavilion in a flashy show. Blackened steel glimmers beneath the sweltering sun; Y/N notes the wolf’s head pressed into the metal, and her heart nearly shatters in her chest. She knows that sigil anywhere.
As he nears, the knight lifts his visor to reveal hues like that of the oceans so far off. Y/N notes the beads of sweat that adorn his brow as he lifts his lance toward the bottom row closest to her. However, before the knight can speak, another woman stands. Y/N can’t help the curl in her upper lip at the sight of Lady Mistell. A crotchety woman so desperate to be wed again.
“I presume you have come to ask for my favor, Ser James?” Lady Mistell inquires with an upturned nose, as though she may consider denying the request. Odd though, that she would assume someone of such high station would ask the favor of a widow with no coin. Silence grips the stands then, and Y/N watches with an amused sort of smirk as all unfolds. So typical of James to make a scene. A shame then, he had been absent from court all these years.
“Apologies my lady—” Ser James bows his head, but his gaze drifts to Y/N who notices immediately, as she does with all things. “My princess…” A breath catches in the back of Y/N’s throat, and her mind reels with the implications of his coming request. Is he daft? “…it would be an honor to carry your favor.” All eyes turn to Y/N; there will be talk of this no doubt. There had been rumors of their budding romance much to the disdain of her father. In fact, the king had hated it so much he all but sold the knight into a fortuitous marriage of station and coin that sent him across the seas. To approach her in such a way, and after no warning of his impending return---well Y/N is sure the rumor mill is already churning. But… she must be seen as a gracious host. This is her tourney after all.
Y/N rises as her hands work to smooth the skirts of her dress. Each step down from under her awning feels as though it adds another ten pounds to her shoulders, but they are calculated and careful. Eyes remain on Y/N as though she were the centerpiece in a show, and she often is.
“Ser James.” The Princess nods to him once close enough, and slender fingers adorned with jeweled rings toss down the yellow ribbon that had been tied to her wrist---the color of her house. “Do well not to sully it, my knight.” Her tone is soft so that only he may hear. Y/N watches as the knight maneuvers to catch the ribbon and his gaze holds hers with a wide smirk as dexterous fingers quickly tie it to the end of his lance.
“I would not dream of it, my princess.”
-----
The day wanes. The sun and her restless rays begin to dwindle, and Y/N walks the grounds. Nobles and soldiers alike make their approach, each bowing their heads and giving thanks for her hospitality or commenting on the exquisite taste of the food and drink. She responds in kind with smiles and equal thanks for their participation. This is the matter of her station she finds so---tiring. The politicking, the people pleasing when Y/N wishes for nothing more than a bath and perhaps a book.
“You look rather bored, Princess.” That familiar voice brings her from her thoughts, and Y/N turns. Ser James stands, the bulk of his armor now removed, a tower compared to her rather small self.
“There are only so many ways to give gratitude to those who would rather you dead.” Her tone is light despite the subject matter, and she does well to hold a simple smile despite the grin that threatens to break across her face at his presence.
“From what I hear, my dear princess-“ he falls in step with her then, far enough apart not to gain the attention of prying eyes. “-they adore you, the people. Your people.” James peers down at her from the corner of his eyes, and Y/N’s signature smile drops to a frown.
“If you ask my father—”
“He is a fool.”
Y/N halts her steps, neck craning to hold Ser Jame’s gaze. She does not falter, and the edge in her tone is rather commanding. “You will do well to remember he is your King, Ser James.” A pause.
“Are you upset with me, princess? I do not remember you typically taking such a tone with me.”
Y/N snorts; something far different from her typical façade. It always came so easy around him, the way her knight could break down walls and barriers meticulously crafted. Like a mason building the most exquisite of temples, only to be brought down by some greater force. It is sad really, how he still has this effect on her. “If I remember correctly you left, not soon after promising to ask for my hand. Off to marry another, or so I heard from rumors. How is your wife, Ser James?” venom drips from the tip of her tongue, and James does not falter. He deserves this. Even if she well knows the games they must take part in---no matter how much it wounds the heart.
“Dead.” A simple explanation, still, he explains. “Not a week after our wedding. Consumption.” James tilts his head to the side while he watches Y/N’s face shift through a myriad of expressions.
“I—am sorry for your loss, James.” The world is still around them for a moment, seconds really. He wants to remind her of his nickname, one bestowed upon him when they were children. To hell with titles and perpetuity and this blasted game they both have been forced to play! Yet, he reframes. Instead, James bows his head gently, hues turning soft as though that may convey how earnestly he means the following sentence. “You have nothing to apologize for, my princess.”
“James---” Y/N reaches for him, only for the mindful knight to step back, severing any connection her mind may have imagined.
“You’ve others to attend to—” another bow, this one so much stiffer. “—until later.”
Y/N stands hands held at her middle as the man she loves walks away from her for the second time in her life.
----
“You will scuff the floors if you keep pacing like that, my lady” Natasha hums from across the room her languid frame tossed over the crushed red velvet fainting couch as she thumbs through the pages a book. Y/N huffs; her mind racing and anger threatening to froth over like a pot left to boil too long.
“How dare he show his face, unannounced, to my tourney only to tell me of his dead wife and lament his apologies to me!”
“Lament is a strong word.”
Y/N heaves another sigh, what would seem to be the hundredth of that moment and throws her body down near her friend. “I wish to never see him again.” Natasha sits up just as Y/N’s head falls into her lap. The two women had become fast friends since her arrival at court as a foreign dignitary to Y/N’s father. It had not taken long for the woman’s talents in espionage to make themselves known. Within a month’s time, Natasha had cemented herself as the King’s spymaster, and the Princess’s closest of confidants due to the amount of time spent in one another’s company. Now, the two are nearly inseparable, and rarely seen without the other.
“You are being rather unfair, Y/N.” eyes rise, a firm slant set upon Y/N’s lips. But, Natasha continues. “The man was married off due to your father’s disapproval. He had no say in his marriage. And to become a widower after such a short time.” A pause. “James could have cared for that woman and still loved you. Two things can be true at once. We both know he is not a cruel man, Y/N. He is forced to play a game he has no control over. As are you.” Natasha presses a single finger against Y/N’s forehead for emphasis.
“Yes. Yes. Born to rule and tasked with the problems of the kingdom only for mine to be cast aside.” Y/N rolls her eyes.
“You are not simply a princess meant to be wed to some lord, or prince for political gain, my lady. You are heir to the throne; love has no room in your life. The throne takes precedence overall.”
“I wish you would cease reminding me, Lady Natasha.”
Both women fall into a comfortable silence. Beyond the thick walls of Y/N’s personal apartments birds sing and servants mill about their duties. Somewhere off in the distance, a lute plays a languid tune just as the sun begins her descent from the sky.
“I have missed him.” Y/N finally relents her voice barely above a whisper.
“I know, my dear. I know.”
----
The end of the week brings yet another gathering of nobles, and no sign of Ser James. Y/N sits to the right of her father at their table fingers merely toying with the now cold bread on her silver platter. A band plays a tune at the other end of the hall, the sound loud and obnoxious beneath tapestries meant to bring warmth to the room. Y/N finds it suffocating. A fact most evident by the rather sour expression painted on her face.
“Go and dance, daughter.” The King ushers her forward with both hands; fat fingers adorned in countless rings and shiny things. Spoils of war, and conquest. Y/N sighs gently but abides by her father’s wishes. His temper has been that of a wild dog as of late; content one moment and then rabid the next. She stands, golden gown of satin and lace cascading down each step toward the center of the hall. The band halts its tune in time for someone far off to announce her presence. All cease their movements for a moment to bow or courtesy in respect. Y/N nods solemnly in return, hands clasped at her front while she waits for one brave man to ask her for a dance. The others continue about their jig.
“I don’t remember these gatherings being so boring.” As if summoned by the Gods themselves, Ser James all but manifests from the crowd. Y/N smiles gently, not before correcting her features and donning her typical stoic glance.
“Perhaps because you spent all your time at court galivanting around and challenging noblemen to duels.” James beams at Y/N, happy to hear her speak what seems so fondly of his time spent at court. His lips curl just so in that way they do before he laughs.
“Yes well….” He pauses, chin upturned, and brows taught at their center. “I don’t really have an excuse for that.” Y/N chuckles softly to herself, mindful of the eyes that watch over them. “Come, dance with me, Princess.” Ser James holds out a hand to her, and it is as if the world freezes for a moment.
There are implications to this dance; implications in everything Y/N is seen to do. To dance with a man all but sent from court for the fault of asking for her hand in marriage? To dance with a man who returns to court, unannounced, so shortly after the death of his wife? Scandalous. Salacious. But he stands before her in dashing attire; the sigil of his house forged by his own hands sewn into blackened tunic. His hair half pulled back to keep from his eye’s cascades down wide shoulders and stubble has begun to sprout since their last meeting at the tourney ground. Handsome indeed, and by Gods she want nothing more than to take his hand and dance as they used to.
“You are still in mourning, Ser James.” Words tumble from her lips before any thought can really be applied to them, and James’s lips turn into something akin to a frown.
“I am rather tired of all these unspoken rules, and I know you are as well, Princes. Once dance? As we used to.”
Y/N nods absently and slips her hand into his own, so massive in comparison. She wonders briefly as he tugs her deeper into the dance floor how they may feel against her skin. The band begins another song, one she and James had waltzed to plenty of times while hidden away in the gardens. Both fall into step with one another easily; Y/Ns palms against his own, the other pressed against the broad expanse of his chest. This close he smells of leather and grass. She levels her gaze past him while James sweeps her across the floor. There is no tell how much more of her demeanor she may lose were she to become lost in his eyes.
“I see you have not lost your touch.” He speaks suddenly, rocking the princess from her thoughts. Y/N peers up, her heart hammering in the center of her chest.
“Surprising. I have little time to dance between classes and lectures.”
“How boring. No more nightly escapes into the woods?” Ser James inquires with a knowing smirk, and Y/N can not help but roll her eyes.
“I am too old for such nonsense.”
“And who told you that?” his head dips lower, the point of his nose skimming the defined line of her cheek. His breath fans past her ear; Y/N sputters, brows creasing and jaw tight. Everyone. From her ladies in waiting, to her father, to his advisors---you are too old to enjoy such things, Princess. An heir must always be seen as dignified. Heat envelopes her face; embarrassment evident. And after a moment’s silence the sudden realization of just how undignified she seems now grips her.
“Y/N….” James regards her with concern, and it is as if she is snapped back into reality. The princess pulls away suddenly, hands clasped at her front. James watches as sadness seems to overtake her.
“Thank you for the dance, Ser James.” She nods and begins her walk back to her seat by her father’s side. James bows stiffly and watches her retreat; not before the hardened gray hues of the King glues him to the spot. The king need not say a word. James can decipher enough from looks alone.
This year I’m gonna try to play as many final fantasy games as i can, in order
I’ll probably skip 7 and 7remake because i played 7 like two years ago and I’ve been watching a 7remake playthrough by chip and ironicus. Also no 11 bc it’s a dead MMO. And no 14 (yet) because the whole reason I’m doing this thing is so i can pick up on all the little details and homages that 14 has in it. Also it’s still live service
