#( thread: slumming it with royalty )

[hresvelged]

In the eyes of a girl now lost, she could never bring herself to view the monastery as a home. Still, when she heard others speaking of it that way, the words stuck. Her legs shuffled to plant her feet on the ground. The professor knew what to say without Edelgard even needing to ask. She couldn't hide the upturned lips sitting upon her face. "You would..? I'm happy you offered. I'd like the company. I could even show you the palace's gardens while we're there."

For such a simple question to follow, she almost wasn't sure how to answer. A finger gravitated towards her hair to lightly pull at its ends, breaking eye contact. "Hm. I would consider myself more of an early riser. Though.. Speaking of, there is something I should tell you. Given the circumstances, I'd prefer so now rather than surprising you."

She could not remember the last time she uttered it— The thought was both alleviating and vulnerable all the same. Even amidst all their training and trials together, what stood strong was their comradery. Could she dare to come to open herself, even a little?

"I often tell others it's ill-advised to stay up so late, and yet.. I become restless myself. I speak this because you must assume this is what happened if you find me out of the room when I should be sleeping. That's all." Her hands fall back to her sides, bringing the gaze back strong. "Will you trust me on that?"

Slumming it with Royalty

[shadowqueenjude]

Lucien finally loses his shit and does something batshit crazy part 4

“When he spoke again, there was nothing but Autumn Court fire in his voice.”

Lucien has approached Nesta about the mating bond that has her so worked up!

Nesta’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I am not mated to that brute.” She spat the word brute like a curse.

Lucien sighed. “Why would I make this up?” He dared a step closer. She didn’t step away, holding his gaze. It felt like her stormy blue eyes were branding him with the look that glittered in them. “Search deep within yourself. It’s how you knew he was about to die at the hands of the Cauldron. It’s how he knew you were in mortal peril at the library. You can feel the thread, deep in your gut. It may not be strong, but it’s there. Lingering. Close your eyes. Concentrate. Then you’ll feel it.

To his surprise, Nesta obeyed with little hesitation. “I see what you mean,” she said quietly. “It’s… like a little tingly. The sensation. It’s faint, but it’s there, glowing just slightly.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed on Nesta. The magic eye was able to register the thread, thin and feeble as it was. Lucien sent a silent thanks to Nuan, his incredible tinkerer friend who had created this masterpiece for him. “I can see it too.”

Nesta’s brows flew up. “Wow, that magic eye must be really special, huh?”

“Yeah,” Lucien grinned.

“What did you mean when you said you could resolve the mating bond? I thought nothing could break it.”

“No one has succeeded yet,” Lucien corrected her. “But based off of the nature of the bond, someone very powerful with the correct gifts could technically do so.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “You have fire in your blood.” Not an insult, but a question.

Lucien’s grin turned wider. “That’s not all that runs through these veins.” The power he had only revealed once, and as far as he knew, no one had ever suspected of being anything other than chance.

Nesta looked him over. A frank, cool assessment. “And what makes you think I want to break the bond?”

Lucien snorted. “Please. You’re living in the slums when you could be living as royalty. You didn’t show up for any of the holidays. I already know from your sister that you despise the Fae. All of this together shows me you hate being here as much as I do.”

Nesta blinked. Not in surprise, but to buy herself time. “I see why they call you the fox.”

Lucien smirked. “Who told you that?”

Nesta shrugged, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.” Lucien idly began braiding a few strands of his hair.

Nesta crossed her arms. Then said, “Cassian tried to give me a gift.”

Lucien stilled his hands, waiting.

“I told him I didn’t want it, that I didn’t want anything of his.” Nesta took a deep breath. “He was furious. He threw his gift into a river. Then he followed me all the way to my house. Insufferable man.”

Lucien scowled. “Bastard. I see where the Illyrians get their terrible reputation.”

A small smile from Nesta at that. “The worst part though, was that I couldn’t feel anything. Until now, I thought I had lost the ability to be normal.” A look at him, grateful this time. “Thank you.”

Lucien blushed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You listened,” Nesta said simply. “Nobody else bothered.”

She offered a hand. He took it. “Trying to break the mating bond- it won’t hurt me? Or Cassian?”

Lucien shook his head. “It’s not a part of you. Think of it like a bridge between souls. A connection. You lived your whole life without such a connection. You will be able to do so once it’s broken.”

Nesta nodded, closing her eyes. “Then, try it. Do your worst.”

Lucien concentrated. He had been tunneling deep into his power for the past several days, rallying enough power to try and break the bond. He now poured all of his magic into that one thread that connected two souls together. He had already warded the Night Court palace where he was sure Cassian would be for an extended period of time, so he wouldn’t detect anything amiss. And since Nesta hadn’t accepted the bond, there were countless explanations for what happened besides him.

At last, he reached the bottom of the thread. The absolute base of the mating bond, the essence of what it was.

And he found out what the mating bond truly was.

The Mother smiles upon her loving descendants. When she is in a loving mood, when her home is bathed in beautiful colors fit for spring, she sees fit to create bridges. Only her bridges aren’t made of anything found on this land, but rather, the unconscious needs that simmer in the abyss of our minds, things we never knew we wanted or needed because it’s something we dare not voice even in our own heads for fear that someone may hear and snatch away our dreams. These thoughts are blended with the threads of destiny. All who are Fae are born have a mate, but only those with great destinies are fortunate enough to meet their mate. Most faerie mates are born in an entirely different era, never knowing that their mate had not been born yet, and had they lasted another 200 years, they may have lived long enough to meet them. Then at last, these threads are woven into the tapestry of desire, for even the most perfect people for each other cannot last without the chemistry that sparks romance. Because a mating bond consists of these three different kind of threads, it is exceptionally rare to meet your mate, have that mate be somebody who actually wants to be with you in every possible way, and have the relationship last forever. After all, a mating bond is not a true mating bond until it has been consummated.

And then the Mother spoke to him.

You dare try to hand back my gift?

The voice was soft and hard, hot and cold, soothing and harsh, beautiful and terrible, all at once.

Lucien managed not to shudder in fear of the voice that spoke in his mind. Steeled himself. When he spoke again, there was nothing but Autumn Court fire in his voice.

A gift she did not ask for and does not want, with a male who will never deserve her.

Impudent male. You dare speak back to me?

I’m not known to fear any man or beast in this world.

I am not of this world, child. I am this world.

See, you say that, but to me you just sound like a typical arrogant superbeing who’s used to getting what they want.

A musical laugh. I’ve never encountered a creation with quite so much impertinence and bravery as you.

Happy to be of service.

He could’ve sworn there was a smile in her voice as she spoke again. For simply daring to speak to me like that, I shall not eviscerate you.

Gee, thanks.

Quiet, child. I have a great destiny lined up for you, and it would be a shame to ruin it now. You wish to break the thief’s mating bond? I suppose it is fair enough. She takes my powers, and I take her mating bond back in exchange.

That’s settled, then. I also want to break Feyre’s mating bond.

Ah, Feyre Cursebreaker. The girl with two mates.

Lucien’s heart stopped. T-two mates??

Surely, you knew the truth, my lovely fox. I gifted you with brains that none can rival. Feyre is indeed Cauldron-Blessed. She not only has two mates, but they’re both High Lords. Rhysand and Tamlin. Didn’t you know? Why else were you so certain Tamlin would seek out Feyre on Calanmai? Did he not bite her on her neck, claiming her as his own in a way only mates do?

But-

Feyre has two distinct sides to her. The person she was as a human, and the person she became after she let too much darkness infect her heart. No light exists without darkness- but Feyre’s has been twisted and convoluted into the kind of darkness that can only be described as wretched. She has lost her sense of right and wrong. She can never picture herself or her husband as wrong in any situation. My creation has been led too far astray. So perhaps I ought to listen to you and break the bond.

Lucien sighed with relief. This was going pretty easy. Too easily if he was being honest. Honesty wasn’t helping him in this situation, however.

But understand, Lucien Spell-Cleaver. Should you have me do this, you will owe me a debt. For every choice you make, there is a cost. Always.

Lucien did not like the sound of that. But he said, I shall pay that price when the time comes.

I know you will, my darling fox. But will you be prepared when payday arrives?

@readingwritingwatching

[escortingsecrets]

Tags

OOC Tags

#on the grapevine [ooc]

#get purpled [memes]

Crack; tba

#such a scandal we cause [nsft]

#under the stage lights [Queue]

#everyone has secrets [Answered]

#buzzing gossip [Headcanons]

Relationship tags

Verse Tags

Final Fantasy

#v; honeybee dancing FFVII Main verse for Shivan, listed here

#v; fangs of velvet FFIX Main Verse for Shivan, listed here

Alternate Verses

#A Couple Gil Go a Long Way [Avalanche] After years of working in Sector Six, and seeing how the people there live, as well as the knowledge of how easily his mother could have been helped if she'd had even a small bit of funds, Shivan decides to begin helping Avalanche. He helps in every way possible, bringing any funds he can spare and any supplies he can bring to Avalanche. Spreading false rumours to throw people off, and gathering info on the latest.

D&D

#Cleric of Fate The next in line to accept the gift curse of immortality, and weave the threads of fate for the realm. Thousands of years of loss, of little attachment, and he's a distant shadow of his former self, putting up a front where it matters.

Other Verses; tba

Ships

Rufus | whitexdove* - After Rufus needed a fake date to escape the threats of arranged marriages while secretly dating Sephiroth, Shivan is hired to pretend to be the man's partner. Who would have thought that underneath the layers, both of them would find the one who would understand them?

*(Fake dating to best friends, heavily plotted)

Reno | umbral-stigmata-unbound - Childhood friends, when Shivan would slip down to the slums. Reunited during a mission to the Honeybee, Reno is determined to bring Shivan up and out of the slums and show him what he really, truly means and deserves.

Joscelin | xxofloveandlossxx - Falling for royalty was not something he ever thought possible. Falling for Ellærn royalty and having that be mutually returned? Never had it even crossed his mind that he might find someone who he might be able to help him recover from his own trauma, and be able to help them as well.

Rene | xxofloveandlossxx - Falling for royalty was not something he ever thought possible, and adding a vampire as well as that into the mix? Imperfect in every way and yet Shivan will remind him at every turn that those flaws only make Rene perfect to him.

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

1: Lost Memories

A sad but hopeful Voltron fanfic featuring one Keith without his memories and his voice, and one Shiro who's still trying to figure out what living looks like in the wake of war.

Content warning: implied awfulness in both of their pasts. Also so canon divergent, canon has largely left the building.

This originally started as a Twitter thread. I expanded and edited the darn thing a little before posting here.

War had left its mark across the universe. Keith had been a prisoner at the end of it. Physically he was free now, though he carried the scars of both combat and incarceration.

His mind never truly settled.

Anxiety plagued him during waking hours and nightmares stole their way into his dreams.

The promise of stable construction work had dragged him to New Altea so he'd caught a passing shuttle away from one destroyed planet to another.

Now he was on the largest Altean world, a sprawling planet of green and blue not unlike Terra. The architecture was different, the technology more advanced, but in the slums where he finally found himself a room to sleep in, it was hard to pinpoint the differences.

Keith barely walked onto the first available construction site, the future location of a school, when the foreman had offered him a job. That had been easier than he'd imagined, even when he could only communicate with the alien by pointing and grunting.

Months of wearing manacles had left scars on his wrists and throat, and the Galra had taken his voice along with his sanity. So, it was easier to keep quiet and not think too hard about the future.

***

Six days into his three-month-long contract, Keith had the rhythm down. It was a cool midmorning with the promise of rain on the horizon, and Keith had his favorite sweater on. It was threadbare now from years of wash cycles, but still too comfortable to part with.

He was hauling lumber from a delivery truck when a limo drove up to the site. Keith saw it before he heard it, a sleek, black thing with tinted windows and enough room to hold at least six people. He grabbed a few planks and turned to head back when the limo doors slid open.

The tall, broad-shouldered man who emerged from the car’s darkened exterior was admittedly handsome. He wore the same garb as Altean royalty, but the white hair was unmistakable. Takashi Shirogane, once the Champion, now the Admiral of the Atlas and the black paladin. Everyone knew who he was. His face was occasionally plastered on television, so he was hard to miss.

As Keith watched, the foreman practically jogged to meet the stranger.

Disinterested in the ensuing conversation and eager to keep his down, Keith started hauling again. He was about to grab another stack of planks when the paladin strode over to him.

Tall and handsome looked ever more delicious up close. His gray eyes turned down at the edges as he looked at Keith, and his expression grew sad. “Good morning, Mr. Kogane,” he said in a deep, rich voice that sent shivers down Keith’s spine.

Keith offered a lopsided half-smile and a salute.

“Would you mind taking a ride with me?” the admiral asked. "Nothing nefarious, I swear. I just want to have a conversation with you, in private.”

With a sigh, Keith put down the lumber, waved to the foreman, and nodded. He gestured vaguely toward the older man’s car and followed him out of the hard hat zone and onto what remained of a sidewalk.

The limo door whooshed open, and Keith slipped into the warm, sweet-smelling interior. He felt out of his depths as he took a seat on the nearest plush bench and looked squarely at the man who’d invited him here.

“It’s obvious you don’t remember me,” the black paladin said once the doors closed behind them. “It’s all right. My name’s Shiro. Takashi Shirogane.”

“Keith,” the younger man fingerspelled.

“I know who you are, Keith.” Shiro opened a small compartment under his seat and pulled out a manila folder. “Your file,” he said as he handed it over.

Keith shrugged and set it aside. “What do you want?” he signed.

“To see a friend I thought was dead. When I heard you were here…” The admiral’s voice trailed off. “When one of Allura’s informants thought she’d seen you on Altea, I didn’t believe her. It was impossible. And yet here we are.”

That earned him a shrug. “Sorry.”

Sorry didn't begin to cover it, but Keith didn't have anything else to offer.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Keith. It’s not your fault, god, no. Farthest thing from it. I’m just so relieved you’re alive. Your mom… Keith, we buried you two years ago. There’s a grave with your name on it.”

Tears rolled down Shiro’s cheeks.

“Saw it,” the younger man admitted, guilty despite himself. He'd promised not to think too hard on it.

“You did?”

“Before leaving Earth.” Keith’s hands were steady as he signed, but inside, the turmoil was back, tenfold. Nowhere to run from his own broken mind.

“Why didn’t you…”

The younger man frowned, his expression more hawk than man. “This amnesia.” He gestured to his head. “Permanent.”

“But, Keith, we would’ve welcomed you. Still welcome you, always.”

The soldier didn’t have an answer. “Just want peace.” “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

Shiro reached over and touched the other man’s cheek, finding wetness there, too. “Will you have lunch with me? Please?”

Keith’s stomach made itself known. “OK.”

[bakudanma]

[Image IDs: Series of tweets from verified user Chloi (@/ _chloi) on August 20th 2017 reading: if you'll forgive me for the massive thread, I'd like to talk about an important moment in world history that I wish more people knew about.

today is the 64 year anniversary of the CIA-backed overthrow of Iran's most popular and progressive prime minister, Mohammed Mossadegh.

It is largely credited as the moment the united states, fueled by greed and fear, began the long process of destabilizing the middle east.

Why did the brits and americans hate mossadegh? because he stood up to decades of exploitation at the hands of western greed and imperialism.

in 1901, william knox d'arcy, a walking moneybag based in london, bought exclusive rights to drill for oil in iran for the next 60 years.

under d'arcy oil concessions, the birish had free reign to drill across iran bigger than california and texas combined.

In 1908, after some initial hardship, the british finally struck oil in iran. a lot of it. and so the anglo-persian oil company was formed.

for 50 years, the anglo-persian oil company, or APOC (now known as british petroleum, of BP), ran the largest oil refinery in the world.

in 1913, with a world war on the horizon, the british government saw a need for cheap iranian-oil and purchased half of APOC for £2mil.

based in abadan, iran, APOC's refinery quadrupled it's oil output during WW1- good for allies, but not so much for the iranian people.

APOC transformed the muddy hot desert of abadan into a colonial paradise. british execs lived in mansions. iranian workers lived in the slums.

the tens of thousands iranian labourer who made their living drilling oil for the brits were denied amenities in their own country.

the d'arcy royalty terms promised 16% oil profit to iran, but the calculation for even that small sum were getting shadier and shadier.

iranian oil labourers were not happy, and neither was the shah. for years the british had abused workers and cheated iran out of royalties.

in 1933, a new agreement was reached. the newly renamed anglo-persian oil company promised better pay and working conditions. they lied.

iranian oil workers went on strike in 1946. they wanted better housing and health care from their company town. a recognition of labor laws.

the brits responded by hiring counter-protesters and positioning warships by the bay. dozens of iranians died in the riot.

during all this, a new collation was forming in iran. one that was pro-democracy and against brutal foreign control of its own resources.

after years of mounting tensions between iran's citizens and british imperialists, mohammed mossadegh became prime minister in 1951.

mossadegh was loved by the people for his progressive policies: he banned forced labour, established workers' camp, defended women's rights.

but most famously of all, mossadegh nationalized iran's oil, so that iran might thrive on its own terms. and that made the British very mad.

the british began boycotting iranian oil and planning occupation in abadan, but the US refused to help. we were too busy bombing Korea.

it's important to note that iranians liked americans back then. their few interactions with us were positive. until operation ajax.

the only chance the british saw to wrest back control of iranian oil was to overthrow and replace mossadegh, but they wanted the US support.

all it took was a little anti-communist fear-mongering to scare the US into seeing mossadegh as a potential soviet ally and global threat.

the US-sanctioned overthrow of mossadegh was called operations ajax. it relied heavily on propaganda and demonstrations staged by the CIA.

CIA/MI6 framed mossadegh as a fanatic british-sympathizer. brought in paid mobs by the busload. bribed iranian officials with AIOC money.

an estimated 4/5 of Tehran newspapers were under the CIA, with some articles being written in washington, according to one propagandist.

on the night of august 19, 1953, backed and financed by the CIA and MI6, iranian general fazlollah zahedi arrested mossadegh in his home.

the civil unrest triggered by this moment in history would climax w/ the 1979 Iranian revolution, which is another story for another thread.

needless to say, america's role in destabilizing the iran's government in 1953 had lasting consequences for the region of the world.

since WW2, the united states has interfered in over 80 foreign governments. iran was our first major and successful coup.

i only knew about this because i'm half-iranian, but it took until 2013 for the CIA to officially, on record, admit to it's involvement.

this little known but undeniably momentous historical event is one i wish more americans about. perspective is key.

there's been a lot of talk lately about not erasing history, but americans forget their own history all the time. and that erases the truth.

the truth is this: mossadegh was a progressive who dared to stand in the face of western oppression and empire, and for it he was put down.

mossadegh's famous quote, "if i sit silently, I have sinned," is one i think about a lot and that i wish everyone would take to heart.

if you care to learn more about this, please read "all the shah's men" by stephen kinzer, a major source for a lot of these facts and details.

when you watch the news and wonder why iran or north korea hate us, don't stop there. research. read. we are denied the full story.

i encourage everyone to challenge familiar, comfortable perspectives and realise the truth doesn't always lie in the one handed to us.

thanks for listening. /End ID] 

[lueurnotes]

If it Please You

Oberyn Martell/Reader/Ellaria Sand

Word Count: 3673

Warnings: intimacy, nudity, brothel setting, intense flirting and eye-fucking; Oberyn deserves his own warning 

    King’s Landing found itself in a splendid rush, far different from the bell tolls spurred by war. From the slums of Flea Bottom, all the way to the Red Keep’s walls, the city was truly alive. Every capable man, woman, and child were at work. After all, there was a wedding to celebrate. 

     Your eyes fluttered open as another droplet of wet splattered in between your eyes. With a groan, you wiped at it with the sleeve of your nightgown. The thin blanket that draped over your body was quickly shoved to the side as you swung your legs over the small feather bed. The cold of the wood floor immediately seeped into your feet and goosebumps raced across your legs.

     A moment passed while you took in the quiet of dawn. Even the gulls slept silently. All while the many servants, cooks, and handmaidens of the Red Keep rose before the sun to serve. It was far from the quiet life you had before you came to the castle, but in some ways, it was just as mute.     

You let out a sigh and began to prepare for the day. 

The wash basin set upon a small table in the corner of the room was your first destination. You ran your hands through the morning-chilled water, glancing into the small mirror you kept nailed to the wall. Going through the motions of your routine, you rinsed your mouth before spitting out into a separate bowl. You might live in the cramped maid chamber of an estate close enough to the Red Keep, but it wasn’t in the Red Keep. Nobody here was going to empty your chamber pot for you, let alone your used water. 

With a slight hum, you went back to your bed, resting at the foot of it so you could open the one storage space available in such a small place. You carefully lifted the creaking lid of the rather aged chest that kept all of your creations. Everyday clothing, really, but still creations of your own. Creams, a few whites, but primarily muted hues of any color you could get your capable hands on dominated the collection. If your work in the estate provided one thing, it was material that you seldom had before you found this job. Smiling, you plucked a lilac dress from the many dresses, tunics, and breeches.

Swift with it, you removed your nightclothes, taking care to replace it with fresh underclothes. This dress in particular was a recent design, a very light fabric that extended over your arms fully and cinched at your waist with sewn-in corset boning. Without losing so much as a breath, you slipped it over your head, gently pulling down at the base. Perfect fit. You looked down to take in your work. The skirt itself was simple and fell at the middle of your shins. Perhaps, not entirely simple as you went through with the effort of hand-embroidering it with a repeated border of the phases of the moon. The thicker thread was a touch darker than the fabric, nearly blending in at the seam.

 Directly across your bed was your private work table that rests under the single window of your room. You groaned when you saw the mess you left there previously. Lengthy pieces of chain scattered about that were meshed with bits of fabric and the many tools of your trade. Reaching under the modest craft table, you grabbed your one pair of boots that had the slightest heel to them. Pulling your skirt to the side, you quickly slipped them on and moved to sit on the small bed that dominated your chambers. Your hands moved deftly, tying up the loosened laces of yesterday taut once more. Glancing at the window as you finished lacing them up, you saw the sun just peeking over the city horizon. Your chest swelled with a deep breath and broke into a sigh as you stretched up to your full height. 

Another day in King’s Landing. 

… 

A middle-aged woman sat perched on a stool amidst a room with possibly hundreds of bolts of fabric. Hair a tad greyed and her skin dull too, she stood out against the colorful collection spread across the wall. Each bolt of fabric possessed something that varied from the likes of you, her, or any other seamstress that ever walked into this room. These pieces of cloth would live to touch royalty one day. 

Her hands flowed through the motions of sewing pieces of chiffon together as it flowed out across the table and spilled to the ground. 

“Good morning, Koras,” you greeted. 

Her hands continued to thread the petal pink chiffon without a glance in your direction.

Ahem.

“You are to send this,” the older woman gestured to a package, “to the Prince immediately. It’s the piece you worked on yesterday.” She deftly threaded the needle back through the fabric.

Messenger duty. You scoffed, but knew better than to argue. 

“And which prince might that be?” 

Gods, there had to be at least one hundred princes in the capital by now. All gathered to gaze upon the spectacle of a Tyrell-Lannister wedding. With any luck, it won’t be nearly as disastrous as the Frey’s. 

She paused her progress, “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

You paused for a bit longer than Koras could tolerate as your mind raced through the names of the aforementioned hundreds of princes.

Ah. 

“—of Dorne?”

“Yes, of Dorne!” She exasperated, “No, I meant the grown one that apparently licks at his mother’s breasts.” 

Ok, that was too much information.  

“Right away, Koras.” You hurriedly took the package from her worktable and moved to exit the seamstress’s space. Koras called out to you and your skirts twisted with your turn, “Yes?”

She sighed, “You forgot to ask where you’re headed off to.”

Ah, that’s important. You nodded. 

She continued, “He’ll be in the Street of Silk, at Littlefinger’s establishment.”

Now that’s a proper way to put it. 

“Thank you Koras,” you sang. 

The woman made an affirmative grunt before picking up her needle and fabric once more.

Package in arm, you made your way out of the estate and towards the Street of Silk. The road extended straight out of the Red Keep and, unfortunately, was deemed too short of a walk to require a horse. While you may be delivering to a prince, the stables were reserved for far more important duties. Plus, the walk was nice… in its own way. 

The sun was barely rising as the people outside of the Red Keep’s walls began to break from sleep. The sounds of the city slowly began to amplify with the rays of the morning light. And with that light, something truly special. 

Your ears picked up the tell-tale splat of someone emptying their chamber pot.

Letting out a sigh, you sidestepped to get closer to the middle of the street and tread towards the one place that was truly always awake in King’s Landing. 

… 

Lord Baelish’s brothel came into view as you walked past the many brothels that aligned the Street of Silk. At this point, you would be far from surprised if Littlefinger owned more than half of the houses on the Silk alone.

 A smile graced your lips as a few children ran about as their mothers followed them closely to take them to bathe. Stopping at an entryway with a mockingbird sigil, you walked up the stone steps to enter. The crimson-dark shades of the establishment did little in the ways to help with your sight. Briskly, you found your way past the many private red rooms of the brothel. Not that anything was truly private within the gates of the capital. Keeping your gaze set forward to the uppermost chambers of the pleasure house, you continued to the center room where there was usually someone to greet you. The ornate door that guarded the most expensive room of the entire place was no doubt the rooms of the Dornish prince, but there was no way you would go up and knock this early in the morning. 

You glanced about the atrium in silent frustration. Choosing to sit and wait on a chaise lounge without any visible stains, you made yourself comfortable. You internally groaned at the thought of knocking directly on the door, prince or otherwise. Where the hell was Olyvar?

  As if summoned by mere thought, the majordomo poked his head out of the room that you were bracing yourself to walk into. 

“Olyvar!” you grinned, standing up. His shirt was nowhere to be found and he smiled as he ran his fingers through his hair, a weak attempt to tame the bed-tousled blonde locks. He called to you in greeting.

Still holding the package close, you walked up to him and smoothed out the taller man’s hair with one hand. 

“Rough night?” your eyes trailed across his collarbone and chest, nearly every part littered with marks and love bruises. 

“A rather fun one,” he glanced at your occupied arm, “Oh, so m’ lady is not here for breakfast, then?” 

Had no idea there was actual food to eat here. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “I’m afraid not, and you know as well as I, that I’m far from a lady.” You nodded towards the shut door, “But I’m actually here for the prince.” 

“Ah, of course, head right on in then. They won’t mind.” You said your thanks and made your way to the door.

Wait a minute. Them?

Your heartbeat could not help the quickening in pace as you quietly turned the knob of the door. Despite the brightness of the outside world, you inadvertently squinted to adjust to the dimness of the chambers. The scent of sex and something else dominated the decorated bedroom. A spice perhaps? Or maybe citrus? Either way, it was an incense unlike anything of King’s Landing. Unlike anything of Westeros even. 

“My lord?” You called out into the room. 

A figure you hadn’t noticed before rose from the chaise lounge that was set near the platformed bed. The woman that approached you was much like the perfume that enveloped the room, enveloped you. She was unlike anything of Westeros. Her hips swayed and her gown followed with every movement. The amber fabric draped as if it were a part of her body. An extension of her that swept delicately over the marbled floor as she sauntered towards you. 

You caught yourself, quickly dropping to a curtsy in greeting, “My lady, I apologize for the intrusion, but I am here for the prince.” 

The woman let out a chuckle, “No need for that, I am not the one to bow to.” Her Dornish accent was warm and smooth like the finest suede you could touch on the Street of Looms. Smoothly, you straightened your posture and chanced a glance up to meet her eyes. Although you were fully dressed and had been awake for far longer than the woman in front of you, it was as if the Gods had blessed her with a beauty that knew no hours, be it dawn or dusk. 

“I am Ellaria Sand,” her eyes glittered, “And you must be the gift he sent. What is your name, love?” 

Ellaria’s hand trailed up your arm and you nearly dropped the parcel as you stuttered out your name. Maybe she didn’t understand? Is there a different language in Dorne? Oh, my Gods— her soft hand tilted your chin up, “Beautiful.” 

If the Gods wished you to pass away right there in the apartment of a brothel, then so be it. 

“Thank you, my lady—,” You began. 

  Her thumb tapped at your lip, “Ah, ah. Say my name,” her head tilted just a fraction, and her lengthy waves shifted with it as she leaned impossibly close to your parted lips.  

“Ellaria.” 

Your mouth was agape as you both turned at the masculine voice that graced your senses. Leaving the warm touch of Ellaria, you dropped to a curtsy, arm still holding onto the package. 

“My lord,” your eyes trailed from his laced boots, the very hem of his robe-like garment, up to the bronze-linked necklace that sat center on his bare chest. You explored the detailed suns that were embroidered across the entire piece. Only then did you lock eyes with Prince Oberyn Martell. And much like Ellaria, they glittered. Except only his shone with mirth. 

Shit. He definitely noticed me checking him out.

He let out a charming laugh that did little to stave the flutter in your chest after nearly being kissed by the woman next to you. It was devastating.

“It’s alright, girl,” he smirked, “Is my paramour causing trouble?” 

Once again standing straight, you hurriedly shook your head, “No, my lord. I am afraid that I am the one at fault.” You cleared the nerves that caught in your throat, “I had only meant to deliver this package to you. Your altered garments for the wedding as requested.” 

Ellaria’s voice lilted, “My mistake, love. I was so taken by you I had just thought Oberyn sent a girl to wake me.” 

Oh.

Oh!

As if the situation could not be more unreal. Her words sent your mind ablaze like wildfire. Thoughts of you entwined with the alluring Ellaria swept over your senses. It burned you somewhere deep within. The feeling set your very soul ablaze. 

Distracting you from the flurry of thoughts that were bound to follow, Oberyn interrupted it by closing the proper distance between you. Gently, you offered him the package and he took it from your hold, still gazing at your eyes. He made his way over to the chaise that Ellaria had just been occupying moments ago, carefully unfolding the bundle to reveal the fabric within. Oberyn skimmed his ringed fingers over the gilded brocade, stopping shortly to look warmly up at you.

“Incredible work,” he paused, “I did not get your name before I found you warming up to Ellaria.” 

Your face burned with both praise and fluster as you said your name. “If it please you, my lord, you may call me that.” 

Gods. This is the longest conversation with a highborn—

“It does please me,” he looked at Ellaria, “And I can see you please her as well.” Eyes a fraction wider, you turned to her in disbelief and she smirked at you. Her gaze grew warm despite the chill of the morning that seeped into the room during the early hours. You swore by the New and the Old Gods that the heat of your soul alone kept you standing… and quite possibly the willpower of someone that had not shared a bed in quite some time.

Yep, calling it. I will pass away in a brothel apartment.  

For the umpteenth time that morning, you cleared your throat, “My lord, I do not work for Littlefinger, nor am I just a messenger. I was the seamstress commissioned to alter your robe.” You bit your lip, already flushed from the attention.

You failed to notice the prince’s eyes darken at the action. 

His bronzed hands set the garment to the side and rested at his thighs that were spread just the slightest. Your eyes were glued to the way the rich ochre panels of the robe shifted with each slight movement. Had you been born a hound instead of a human, you would have licked at your lips. 

“So you are not attracted to my Ellaria?” he asked bluntly.  

This time, his question and the touch of Ellaria made you jump. Gooseflesh spread across your arms as she slowly grazed your waist and leaned her lips close to your ear, murmuring your name as if to coax the answer from you.

“I, I—,” you shuddered, “I mean no offense, my lord, of course. But, like I was saying, I’m just a seamstress for the Red Keep ah—” 

Ellaria’s hand trailed back up to your chin and turned your head so she could get a look at your face. 

“Not timid, just holding back,” she smiled fondly, “Sweet girl, may I commission you to spend your day with us?” 

Ellaria looked at Oberyn, “For her troubles, my love.” Her finger grazed your lip once more and you had to physically stop yourself from getting just a taste of her, “I am sure she had work to do today.” 

Who were you to deny her? And him? 

The last of the rationale of your mind took over and you blurted, “I can make you something.” Her brow raised in question. “For the wedding, I mean. If you’re to pay me then I ought to give you something in return.”

Ellaria chuckled. It was musical. “What do you say, my love?” She looked at Oberyn, hand falling from your face. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding. 

His eyes gleamed as he stood up to his full height, ambling towards you both, “It would be my pleasure,” his hand reached down to yours as he brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the arches of your knuckles. Oberyn murmured your name and the very sound raised the hairs at the nape of your neck. “Your work is exquisite, but a gown would be a bit—,” His hand let go of yours and instead moved to rest at your waist, “—short notice, no?” 

You shook your head, eyes wide, “I have been working on a project for quite some time, my lord. A jewelry piece fit for a queen.” You had to bite back a frown, “Well, it would have been for the Queen Regent herself, but her handmaiden told me that it was too fierce.” Your eyes flitted back up to meet him as you relaxed into his warm touch. 

Oberyn leaned closer, “My girl, that sounds perfect for Ellaria.”

As if on cue, Ellaria’s body pressed to your backside and warmth blossomed from the center of her embrace. She spoke smoothly, “I can not wait to wear it, but in the meantime, I want you to change.”

Huh? 

“Change into what?” You asked.

Oberyn’s brow quirked in question, much like yours. It was like he and Ellaria had an entire conversation within half a second before his confusion melted away into a look of pure mischief. He looked down at your curious gaze with a smirk that slowly spread into a smile that nearly stopped the beat of your heart. 

“Would you let Ellaria undress you?”

Anytime, anywhere.

“Of course,” you rasped. 

“Good.” He then turned away from you, padding across the room towards the chaise. Your eyes trailed after the swish of his sun-drenched robes until a pair of lips kissing softly at your neck broke you from your trance. You pivoted towards Ellaria, glancing into her sparkling brown eyes as you held a wavering hand to her cheek, your brows furrowed and eyes shining in eagerness. 

“Before I undress, may I kiss you?” 

Her warm giggle played to your ears, melodic as ever, “My love, I was about to ask the same.”

You let out a featherlight laugh before you both leaned in impossibly closer within each other’s embrace, her breath gently dancing on your parted lips. Ellaria quickly closed the minute gap, her mouth melding to yours in equally restrained excitement as she pulled you in by the waist. You responded in kind, stroking at her cheek as she deepened the kiss. Quite suddenly, she pulled away with a heated gasp, a sunny smile gracing the lips that had just been upon yours. 

“Ok, ok, I got it. Now I’ll undress,” you grinned as you were reaching down to pull up at your skirt.

A firm grip on your arm stopped you in your actions. You turned to meet the heated stare of Oberyn, his eyes growing impossibly darker. He looked to Ellaria.

“Undress our guest, my love.”

Ellaria leaned down, dutifully pulling your dress skirt upwards as she rose up. The fabric and boning was pulled from your body as you stood in just your scant underclothes and boots, heart racing. Ellaria’s deep eyes roamed across your exposed skin and her look nearly made you shiver despite the heat coursing through you. She leaned forward to place a chaste kiss on your pliant mouth. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered lowly in your ear. 

Without another word of praise, she disappeared from your vision, taking your dress with her. Like clockwork, Oberyn’s hand found its way to the small of your back and you turned to him. 

“Take the rest off.”

You nearly had to stifle a mewl from the slow drawl of his voice before nodding your assent, quickly moving to get everything off. When at last you stood bare before him, both underclothes and boots in a dejected pile on the floor, your eyebrows shot up. 

“Why are you holding your robes?”

“I need them to smell like you,” he breezily replied, “Now let me clothe you.”

“O-Ok.”

You let him dress you with your work, the golden brocade familiar to your hands, to your body. The familiarity was jarring. These were two people you just met. Two people that might not see you ever again. And yet, the spark there was undeniable. It didn’t matter if it flickered once and died, or if it consumed and burned you for eternity. You just hoped to ignite. 

“Perfect.”

You grinned, raising your arms at him, the sleeves hanging over your hands, “Perfect?”

He chuckled warmly, grabbing your form and pulling you into his embrace, his lips grazing lightly over your own as you shuddered.

“Yes, my sweet girl. Perfect.” 

As if to prove his assertion, he bent down to kiss your lips with a similar slowness much like Ellaria. Heat pooled in your belly when the prince dared to bite at your bottom lip, a moan slipped from your mouth as you responded with equal eagerness, hands grasping at whatever was in reach.

a/n: thank you for your patience! I’m sorry I couldn’t get this out sooner... I also cut the explicit part because I definitely lack the confidence to post it right now. Maybe a part two will happen :( sorry y’all

[blossom-hwa]

Weaver - BOMIN

so one of my favorite authors, Marissa Meyer, released the cover art for her new story (a retelling of rumplestiltskin - I’M SO EXCITED) a few days ago, and then @sleepyowlwrites​ started talking about libraries and magic which resulted in this post and now this drabble? if you’re interested in the universe, check out the original post for details! but even if you don’t, I hope you enjoy this :) 

(@elcie-chxn​ thank you for encouraging me to do this >:D)

Pairing: Bomin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, fantasy, royalty!au, wisdom weaver!au

Triggers: mentions of death/executions (nothing explicit)

Word Count: 1.2k

Bomin finds a story woven in the thread of his clothes. 

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Bomin shouldn’t be here. 

Well, that’s a given. Royalty never belongs anywhere but the palace. This is something he’s known since the day he could understand speech - royals are above the common folk. They stay out of sight and do not interact except during the occasional public speech. Remain cold, distant - he will one day rule over them, and he cannot be tainted by their impurities. 

Bomin has broken that rule many times over the years, secretly escaping the palace for a breath of fresh air beyond the stone walls and iron gates. He’s seen the market, seen the houses of nobility, seen even the farms at the city limits without the knowledge of his guards or his family. 

But this isn’t the wealthy city. It isn’t even the middle-class enclaves at the city edges. While Bomin wouldn’t call this place the slums, not exactly, the dusty streets and haggard faces of its inhabitants make him shrink smaller under his ragged cloak. Even a single curious glance raises his heartbeat more than is probably good for his health. 

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here. There is no reason for him to have come. There is no reason for him to have left. There is no reason for him to have escaped his guards back in the city, hiking dark fabric above his head to cover the dyed hair of royalty, wrapping the cloak around his body to disguise the fine silk covering his chest. 

And there certainly is no reason for him to be searching out the maker of the shirt he wears. 

It’s a shirt. Beautiful, yes - the simple top wraps perfectly around his body, held in place with smooth ties at his side. Gold and silver shimmers on midnight blue silk like moonlight on water in the darkest night, and Bomin treasures it. It’s his favorite piece of clothing. But even then, it’s just a shirt. Nothing more. 

That’s what he thought, at least, until he peered deeper through the threads and saw the story hidden between. Muted, barely discernible, clearly never meant to be seen. 

But Bomin saw. Touched the silken words, experienced the story spun into the threads. He read the tale of a child who had lost family to swords and friends to fear, a child who grew and found solace only in weaving stories to immortalize the grief of their past.

Weavers are dead. Bomin’s ancestor wiped them off the face of the kingdom centuries ago, citing rebellion and treason hidden in their silken cloths and words. But smaller numbers are easier to hide, and Bomin wouldn’t be surprised if a few managed to escape and pass down the art. 

Like the one who made the shirt he wears.

He rounds a last corner. A small house appears, windows boarded and grass growing long and wild around the footpath leading to the door. Bomin almost turns around - the house looks fully abandoned - but a tiny patch of warm light leaks from a space between the boards, and if he listens closely, he can hear the faint clacking of something mechanical. 

Maybe a loom. 

Step by step, Bomin walks up the footpath. The clacking grows louder the closer he gets.

He knocks. 

The clacking continues. 

He knocks again. 

The clacking stops. Several seconds later, the door opens, and Bomin stares into confused eyes and a fake smile. 

“Hello,” you say cautiously, gaze darting behind him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Why is it that the moment he’s actually here, faced with you, all of Bomin’s questions stick in his throat?

“Did you...” He swallows, fingers pinching the edge of his cloak. Last chance to just say never mind and leave. Last chance to smile, to apologize and say that he was looking for someone else.

Bomin opens his cloak. Watches your eyes narrow in confusion then widen in surprise, recognition, and fear. “Did you make this?”

“I -” you start, face tight. “I - no, I didn’t. This isn’t mine -”

That’s a lie. Bomin knows you’re lying and you know you’re lying, too, from the look on your face, but he doesn’t know how to address that without sounding like. Well. 

Like a royal.

Then a gust of wind blows. Before Bomin can even react, the hood falls off his head, sliding around his shoulders to reveal ashy white hair, the distinct marking of a member of royalty. 

One second of terse silence follows. Then Bomin gasps as you grab his wrist with more force than he thought you could have and drag him into the house, slamming the door shut behind. 

Three bolts have slid in place by the time you turn around and Bomin finally regains his senses. There’s no escape. The windows are boarded and you stand in front of the only door. The floor is covered in cloth and looms and machinery that Bomin couldn’t navigate easily if he tried.

He’s trapped. 

Your voice brings him back to the present. “Why,” you ask in carefully measured tones, “are you here?”

“I just - I -” Years of training in speech fail Bomin as he flails for words. “I bought this,” he finally says, gesturing uselessly at his shirt. “And I wanted to find out who made it.”

Blood drains from your face. “You saw the story.”

Bomin swallows. His silence is more than enough of a reply.

“Then why are you here?” you demand again, voice edged in anger and grief. “Your ancestors killed mine and destroyed our art and made us pariahs in the land that was our home. Your grandfather made existence a crime because we dared to tell the truth of his reign! Your informants tracked down my mother and father and executed them in the city square and now you come here wearing my stolen work and for what? For what?” Your gaze roots Bomin in place as you step forward, closer. “You come here and for what?”

Stolen? Executed? Your words make sense but at the same time they don’t and Bomin can’t piece them together, can’t comprehend what you mean. "I don’t - I just -” he swallows - “I’m not here to -”

“What, kill me?” Your laugh sounds even worse than the scathing words you cut him with. “You’re not? Why? Do you want to use me? Torture the locations of other weavers out of me? I don’t know any, but even if I did -” you spit at his feet - “you’d have to kill me before I gave you a single name.”

Silence follows. Bomin can’t find a single word. 

“So why are you here, prince?” Acid drips from your lips, burning holes in his title. “Why do you come, waltzing to my doorstep with the dyed hair of a royal and wearing my stolen stories if not to finish the job your ancestors started?”

Bomin must have had a plan. He must have had questions to ask. He must have had a reason why he came so far from the capital’s center to the dusty streets of the outskirts, a reason why he decided to find you, the weaver who wove the story lining the threads of his shirt. 

But staring into your grief-stricken eyes, faced with evidence of all the art and knowledge and people his ancestors wiped away, all of that dies on his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he manages, words choking his throat. “I don’t know.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for bomin not to die at mc’s hands sdkjgshd)

[serpentprinceravenhairedprincess]

Could you please do an in depth analyses as to why do you think Vughead is better together then Varchie and Bughead! I very much enjoy reading your threads and fanfic. You are my favorite Jeronica blog ❤❤

Awwww thank you so much, you made my day <3

Some time ago, during s2, when I was still an innocent flower with a lot of hope in trying to find the logic in Riverdale, I answered a similar question. More or less, I still stand by what I said, even tho a lot has changed meanwhile. But I’ll recap and throw in some other stuff.

1) The chemistry and sexual tension is literally over the roof. One has to be blind to set that aside. Every time they interact, I can see sparkles between them. There is such an electricity in the way they look at each other!

2) ANGST! They are the natural Romeo and Juliet and no one can tell me otherwise. It doesn’t matter how much the writers tried to push this trope on B*ghead: it just doesn’t fit because the key points are not there. But Jeronica do have the “forbidden love” quality in them, which also comes from the war between their families. Two families that are really similar but also really far from each other. The Lodges are rich gangsters who got to the top of society, while the Jones are mob leaders from the slums of Riverdale. They are basically different sides of the same coin. We have on one side the conservative mob family that lives in luxury, and on the other we have the raw life of the subalterns that longs for a more enlarged concept of family. Which leads me to the next point.

3) Family. This is the corner stone of these two characters: the strong attachment that they have to the concept of family and to the values that come with it. Both Jug and Veronica move on the same tracks: the need to preserve and protect their broken families. They want to be a part of something which they also want to change and heal. I personally love how this mix of inadequacy and need to step up to their father figure brings them on the same psychological level. This affinity, also connected to the core values that they share, it’s a shellproof base to a great romance and character development.

4) Royaly trope. Already talked about this too, and also the main reason for my nickname. Veronica and Jug are descendants of their respective families, who embody some kind of modern and distorted concept of royalty (mob and gangs). How many times the show has called them prince/princess? A LOT. They can fuckining rule Riverdale and they would be AMAZING.

5) Retromania aesthetic. One of the things that got me to ship them is this: the fact that they are the only two characters in the whole show who are given references to pop culture. Jug is always quoting movies, books and whatsovere. The same (even tho a bit less) happens with Veronica. The drive in, the speakeasy - they both embody this sort of vintage nostalgia that gives their characters a more sofisticated cultural level. They are more (dare I say) “ancient souls”?! I would both call it a refined taste and just an aesthetic. I’m a bitch for aesthetic, especially the more vintage one. The interesting thing about nostalgia, about this longing for a past that we see as golden, is that it’s based on a sense of dissatisfaction for the present. This of course, it’s a really peculiar topic that would take a post by itself to explain: it looms over the whole aesthetic of the show for a lot of reasons. However, in Jug and Veronica is particularly evident because it belongs to their personality. They look back, because they can’t really find their right spot in this world - the shoe that fits them. This is showed by the way they are always associated with old movies, classic novels, old music and vintage settings. A search for roots, as weel as for themselves, which again connects to the whole family sphere.

6) The noir episode. If you haven’t watch “The Big Sleep”, go watch it now. In the noir episode in s3 they took inspiration from that movie and basically adapted it for the episode’s narrative (as well as other noir movies). However, for Jeronica’s scenes, everything boiled down to the obvious reference to “The Big Sleep”. So Jug is framed as the charming detective and Veronica as the femme fatale. Well well well..if this is not a comparison, I don’t know what it is. The movie is notorious for the huge chemistry between Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall (who also got married, btw) and, of course, for the interesting romance that takes place between them. The comparison is obvious, and suits really well. No surprise that they acted everyone else out of the screen in that episode.

Ok..I think I said enough for now. There are really a lot of reasons to why I ship them, why I think they are the best potential couple other and why I find the aesthetic of their characters more fitting than the ones of the other pairings. Let me know what you think and if you have any question, I’m more than happy to get into it ^^

[introvertbard]

All right, here's some missing context that was a big part of the writing forum's thread:

The Viking shieldmaidens in question were a jarl's twin daughters, and they were off to rescue their father from being captured as a slave. All well and good, but the writer also didn't really GET why I was so focused on "these girls are a jarl's daughters and IT IS BELOW THEIR STATION TO NOT NEED SERVANTS!!!" They would NOT have been the equivalent of an early-feudal knight's daughters as "just a step up from commoners."

All knights were nobles, but not all nobles were knights.

Like these girls would either be "one step below royalty" or "basically royalty." SO WHERE. ARE. THEIR. FUCKING. SERVANTS???

My original post was not just "argh, I'm sick of rich nobles in fantasy just acting like modern-day people with nice clothes," it's also "I'm sick of modern-day writers reading the limited/biased accounts of preindustrial nobles, and assuming that since THE NOBLES didn't always mention the servants (either because it was just a fact of life for them, or because they openly did not care about commoners), they just didn't exist."

So now in a lot of modern stories, you have a big shiny castle that somehow STAYS shiny by itself. The nobles who live in it are just scheming against each other or getting into love triangles, eating food, POSSIBLY having their baths drawn/set up by a couple of maids, and they go to sleep in beds that never have to be remade, or warmed up, or *cough* cleaned up, from the activities that a love triangle tends to focus on.

Like, there is absolutely no problem with anything you've stated to justify nobles taking care of themselves! "Nobles are commonly military officers, especially in early feudal times, before you could pay the king some money to fund his war instead of actually going yourself as a combatant."

Another justification would be "a barely-nobleman (or a noble who fell on hard times) who has to take care of his own horse, clean his own armor, and cook and camp outside, because aside from his title, he's not THAT much better than a wealthy commoner."

There is also "a noble's spare heir who trained as a knight and found a garrison to live with, and likes fighting and hunting way better than going to court or managing the family's estate," or "a duke's family is Very Traditional and makes sure that their sons always get a couple years of basic soldier training/living, even if they now have way more wealth than their ancestor did."

BUT: There is a notable tendency for modern writers to want to have their cake and eat it, too. They write that their WEALTHY dukes, high-nobles, and royals can totally take care of themselves and totally don't need servants, but instead of citing the historical reasons above that would help ease us into suspension of disbelief--being a poor/lower-noble, being a Spare Heir who got to do what they liked, or from a traditional family who refuses to forget that their ancestor started out as a soldier like their garrison--what do they go for? A thinly disguised cop-out of "I'm Not Like Other Girls Nobles." Our fancy modern term for "rich people playing at being poor" would be "slumming it."

Like, a lot of people want their characters to be rich and powerful without acknowledging the realities of being rich and powerful, and a key part of preindustrial wealth? Includes servants.

People were cheap back then. Everything had to be done by hand. Your status as a noble was often in how many people you had in your household and retinue, and Norse nobles were not shy about some of those people being slaves.

I guess in the time of billionaires who just sit on lifetimes' worth of wealth like modern-day dragons, maybe modern writers don't realize that "wealthy preindustrial nobles" also had to DO STUFF with their money? After all, they were glorified farm managers and had to MAINTAIN THEIR LAND, which could be anywhere from a tiny part-of-a-village to half of modern-day France! You are not maintaining public services, trade revenues, and crop-yields for half of France with a single maid, a steward, and twenty or thirty guards.

Writing advice

Another day, another person asking for advice and then naively going “well my nobles are Viking shieldmaidens and they’re going to rescue their father, so they’re not JUST rich girls! They can take care of themselves!” Children, the whole point of nobility–including in the Old Norse society–is that they learn to fight and rule at the expense of being able to do common-people stuff. They will NOT be able to “take care of themselves” in the sense that they can cook, clean, groom a horse, or make a fire. Those are their SERVANT’S jobs.

[emilyschoi]

Falling

From First to Last Series Included:  Eunha (Emily), Jupiter (Lucas), Serenity (Jane), Venus (Minah) Daehyung (Daniel)  Mentioned : Endymion (M), Sungjae 

⁺˚*･༓☾ kitchen ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Jupiter stood by Princess Serenity as the Elysian’s elite gathered around her, gawking like she was some sort of exhibition. Prince Endymion had held a ball in their, well Princess Serenity’s honour. The night had been tense, to say the least, half of the earthlings thought they had the right to ask whatever they wanted not showing any of them an ounce of respect while the other half were more forthcoming about the disdain for them. The other Senshi were spread out across the room, Mars was leaning against a scowl permanently scarring around most people away from him as he eyed the exit. Mercury was a bit more civil but Jupiter could tell she was forcing a smile while dealing with them. Venus was nearby but surrounded by Elysian men who were making passes at her, he half expected her to pull her sword out and slice them up. The prince’s royal guard were also around each of them watching over their Prince and Princess Serenity.

“Are you okay?” Jupiter asked as the latest hoard left Serenity to no doubt go gossip with their friends about the princess from The Moon Kingdom. Serenity turned to him a small smile on her face as she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I am fine,” she assured him but Jupiter knew better, there was sadness in her eyes. “I am just-” she said eyeing Prince Endymion who was stuck talking to bureaucrats and court officials. “I know the Prince means well, I can see it in his eyes. He truly believes that we can have peace but -’ she frowned as more people walked past her hushed whispers escaping their lips. “I have to wonder if it is worth it for him?” she said.

“Of Course it is, these people are probably stuck in the old ways and don’t want to change it because they might lose their power,” Jupiter said. “Plus they are jealous that I have managed to nab the prettiest girl in the room,” he said nudging her lightly. Princess Serenity smiled a real smile at him.

Venus finally made her way over to the pair muttering about how she needs a drink. Princess Serenity giggled turning to Jupiter with her eyes wide. “Lu-Jupiter, sorry i keep forgetting i meant to use your codenames, but could you get Venus and I something to drink, oh and maybe one of those delicious cakes we had at lunch?” she asked. Jupiter looked to Venus waiting for her permission, Serenity was their Princess of course but Venus was their leader. Venus nodded, her hand casually grazing over her waist where her whip was wound around unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

Jupiter walked away not trusting any of the already filled glass of champagne, Venus was still wary of the royal staff and until she was sure they would take no liberties. He made his way out of the ballroom heading in what he had hoped was the right way to the kitchens. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed he had a shadow following him.

Once he was far enough away from the party, in a dimly lit empty corridor he turned catching his new shadow and pinning it against the wall. His eyes widened as he recognized one of the royal guard, Eunha, the only female Knight. “What are you doing?” he asked softening his grip but not letting her escape.

“Getting my arm broken by you apparently,” she said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing sneaking around in the hallways?” she asked, pushing him off. Jupiter blinked, surprised that someone so small could push him away. “Well?” she asked her hand moving to reach for her sword.

“Stop,” Jupiter said holding his hands up. “Look i am trying to get the princess a bottle of champagne or actually she prefers wine, i don’t suppose you have any Plutonian red?” he asked.

“No sorry the ship hasn’t come in yet,” Eunha responded sarcastically. “And why do you need to get her a bottle there is more than enough in the ballroom,” she pointed out.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but your people have been a little hostile,” Jupiter said. He knew he shouldn’t explain anymore, Venus was still not sure about the royal guard, she believed that Sungjae was loyal to the Prince so, for now, they could trust him but the other three not so much.

“Oh so you want to make sure it’s safe,” Eunha said nodding, “Makes sense,” she said. Jupiter let out a relieved sigh at least she understood. “But can you explain why you are headed towards the Astronomy tower?” she asked raising an eyebrow

“I may be a little lost,” he admitted scratching the back of his neck. Eunha giggled and it might have been the sweetest thing he had ever heard. “Can you show me to the kitchen, the princess also wants cake,” he said.

“Well i can but first we are going to make a pit stop to the wine cellars, I know it’s not Plutonian red but we have a lovely Sauvignon from Komo,” she said. “I think Princess Serenity will like it,” she said with a grin. “Come on,” she said turning around and walking in the opposite direction that he had been headed. “Are you coming or should i let you just wander around on your own?” she asked tilting her head to the side as she looked back at him.

“Huh, no I,” he started to say before Eunha raced back grabbing his hands and pulling him along.

“Just come on,” Eunha said pulling him along. Jupiter smiled to himself that he would follow this girl anywhere, at least for the rest of the night.

☾

“Are you sure you can reach it?” Jupiter asked as Eunha climbed the least sturdy ladder he’d ever seen.

“Give me some credit,” Eunha laughed, “I got it,” she said, she turned to show him the bottle proudly. Jupiter gave her thumbs up, wishing she would just get down. As she moved to climb the room shook, the wine bottle fell to the ground with a crash as Eunha clutched onto the ladder for dear life. A second wave hit the room and the ladder lunged backwards, Eunha falling off with it. Without a moment hesitation Jupiter raced forward catching her in his arms.

“Uhm,” Eunha said, her cheeks heating up. “Guess Princess Serenity is going have to drink something else,” she muttered, tapping Jupiter’s arm to be put down. “What the hell was that?” she said as he placed her firmly on the ground. “We should have known if there was an earthquake,” she mumbled a frown on her face.

“I am glad you are okay, we are lucky we didn’t get hurt,” He said, a wine cellar full of glass bottles, they could have been covered in glass shards. Eunha turned to him a small smile on her face.

“Thank you for before,” she said. “That would have been a real pain in the -” she trailed off with the laugh. “Anyway should we just grab something and get out of here, i think they might need our help up there,” she said going to the door trying to open it but nothing happened. “Ah i hate to say it but do you think you could -” she said gesturing the door.

Jupiter nodded trying to open it himself but frowning it seemed the Earthquake seemed to have lodged into place. He tried to put his whole body into it but it still didn’t budge.

“Okay change of plans then,” Eunha frowned, walking over to a nearby barrel. “Come sit,” she said tapping the leftover space.

“Shouldn’t we send for help?” Jupiter said siting down. “I can try and get one of the guys to come down,” he said, pulling his communicator out, frowning as he looked over the screen, it was glitching, he couldn’t even get it to turn on.

‘I take it, it didn’t work,' Eunha said looking over his shoulder. “I guess there are worse places we could be stuck, at least we won’t dehydrate,” she joked. Jupiter continued to frown as hit the side of his communicator. “Hey, I’m sorry you are stuck down here, I should have just shown you to the kitchen like you asked,” she said softly.

“No you were just trying to help,” He said. “I am sure the will come to find us eventually, they are probably just helping everyone else get to safety,” he said. “So…. you look nice,” he said. “I mean you look good in a uniform, no that's still not right,” he said, shaking his head ignoring the giggles that were coming from beside him.

“Thank you, your suit looks very nice as well,” Eunha said, “It must be nice to be able to wear whatever you like,” she pouted. “But i guess since you are royalty you can -” she said, frowning. “Though the four heavenly kings title, though it would have to be changed to a queen - sorry i should stop talking,” she said closing her eyes.

“While i am sure you would have looked beautiful in a dress you look great in what you are wearing now,” He said. “Plus it’s pretty cool that you are the only female knight, your family must be proud,” he said, eyes widening as Eunha frowned. Did he say something wrong? “I’m sorry-” he started to apologize.

“No you did nothing wrong,” Eunha said softly. “It's just my family should be proud but apart from my cousin who is also part of the royal guard but they aren’t,” she frowned. “Infact, I am pretty much disowned until I give up on this foolish escapade and accept Lord Gideon’s proposal, be a proper lady of society, live the aristocratic life,” she said fiddling around with her bracelet.

“Well they are stupid,” Jupiter said, grabbing her hand and threading his fingers through hers. “On my planet, you’d be praised for your bravery and hard work,” he said. “And what are you talking about, you are a queen aren’t you,” he said causing Eunha to laugh. “A queen should not be slumming it with a lord,” he pointed out.

“Do you happen to know any single princes?” she joked.

“Just one, I think you’d like him, he wouldn’t care that you are a royal guard he’d think it’s pretty cool,” he said. “Plus he is very handsome,” he said.

“Oh really, well you will have to introduce me to him one day,” Eunha giggled.

“Hi I’m Lucas, Prince of Jupiter, “ He said squeezing her hand lightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said letting go of her hand to stand up and bow.

“Oh,” Eunha said purposely avoiding eye contact, her falling to frame her face trying to her pink cheeks. “Is Lucas really your name?” she asked not looking at him. “It doesn’t sound very Jupitery.’ she said as Jupiter snorted. Jupitery.

“It’s the Elysian version,” he shrugged. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce my name,” he said.

“Well that somehow sounds you like are insulting me,” Eunha said as Jupiter spluttered ready to apologise to tell that he didn’t mean it like that. “But I’ll allow it since your very handsome”“ she laughed.

‘I have been told i look good in a suit,” Jupiter laughed.

They both stopped as the door opened, one of the royal staff, Eunmi, a friend of Eunha’s stood there a look of confusion gracing her features as she took in the scene in front of her. They weren’t in a compromising position by any standard but still, the look on Eunmi's face was one of disapproval.

“Eunmi,” Eunha called, “You are okay? Is everyone else okay? How bad was the Earthquake?” Eunha rushed over as her friend’s brows furrowed.

“What are you talking about? There was no Earthquake?” she said looking from Eunha to Jupiter barely hidden her very obvious distrust.

Eunha frowned, “Yes there was, I almost fell off a ladder, if it wasn’t Jupiter i would have broken my neck,” she said. Eunmi shrugged pushing past them and grabbing two bottles of champagne

“I think you should go back to guarding Prince Endymion,” she said as she walked past them. “Maybe he’ll know about this earthquake,” she said with an eye-roll. Eunha scowled at her friend, wondering what her problem was.

“Sorry about her,” Eunha apologized to Jupiter. “She just really hates most people actually,” she said frowning. “It’s not as good as the Komo but that Antares is pretty good, very sweet though,” Eunha said nodding to a bottle a lot closer to a reachable level.” Jupiter nodded, grabbing it. “Do you still want to go to the kitchen?” she asked.

“Hmm I am feeling a little peckish how about you?” he asked.

“I could eat,” Eunha said with a grin.

“Ladies first,” Jupiter said holding the door open for her.

“Age before beauty,” Eunha said with a giggle as Jupiter rolled his eyes walking out of the wine cellar. Eunha followed, looking down the hall to see Beryl, one of the workers sneaking out of a room. She frowned.

“Are you coming?” Jupiter called out with an eye roll Eunha followed after him thinking nothing more of Beryl or the weird not quiet Earthquake.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“Daehyung you can’t let them to this me,” Eunha cried as she was thrown into to the cell, soldiers ordered by her so-called leader, locked her way with a harsh glare. “Dae please,” she whispered looking at her cousin desperately hoping some remnant of her cousin was left.

“Oh Eunha,” Daehyung spoke, his normally vibrant brown eyes were cold and maniac. “This is only temporary just till we defeat those bastards and get you free from his control,” he said, stepping forward and trying to reach out to her, she stepped back a cold glare of her own thrown his way.

“Right,” Eunha said. “I am the brainwashed one,” she said rolling her eyes. “You are so stupid Daehyung,” she said mockingly.

“I am going to forgive you for saying that because i know it’s not you,” Daehyung said eyes narrowing. “But i would suggest thinking very hard about what you say next, actions have consequences,” he warned.

“Threatening me now Dae?” Eunha laughed darkly. “So when exactly did my cousin die? Was when you decided to betray our prince or -” she trailed off. “Just go, i never thought i would have something in common with your father but just seeing your face right now is making me sick,” she spat. For the briefest second her Daehyung came through, her harsh words managed to get through if the hurt look on his face was anything to go by.

‘And your mum is right you should never become a member of the royal guard, you are too emotive, too easy, one guy gives you a little attention and you’re ready to betray your entire planet,” he spat and like the Beryl controlled Daehyung was back. “I’ll make sure to bring back lover boys corpse, maybe that will snap you out of this,” he said.

Eunha said nothing, turning away from him instead of looking at the wall. Was it to make a statement? Sure, but it was mostly to hide her tears. She waited until she heard his footsteps disappear to turn around. She couldn’t stay here, she had to get out of here and warn Endymion and Serenity.

She was about to enact her escape plan when she heard footsteps coming down to her. She frowned, who was left. Daehyung had surely gone.

  “You should have just agreed to marry me,” Gideon said, stepping out of the shadows. Eunha bit back an annoyed groan, seriously. She looked over at him dressed in the new Elysian uniform. “If you did you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Gideon?” she said softly, “My head hurts,” she lied as he stepped forward. She felt bad for playing on his emotions, sure he was arrogant normally but deep down he was a good guy, well normally, now he had been corrupted Beryl who knows. “What is happening?” she groaned grabbing at her stomach. “Make it stop,” she whined. Gideon stepped forward putting his hands throw the bars only for Eunha to grab the back of his head and slam it against the bar, knocking him out.

The idiots, in a rush to get out of the way, didn’t check for weapons, well they thought they did but they didn’t look at her jewellery, an anklet from the Mercurian Royal Family, one Lucas had given to her on their last visit, just incase something happened to her. Well, this definitely counted as something happening to her. She stood as far away as from the bars as she could before breaking the chain off her anklet and throwing it at the bars blowing them straight out of the way. The blast wasn’t as large as she expected but it did the job and thankfully left Gideon and his uniform completely unscared.

“I am sorry Gideon,” she whispered as she stripped him of his uniform, smiling as she found his credentials. She threw his uniform in a rush racing out the garden where ships we being filled with Elysian soldiers. She couldn’t go with them she would be found out in instant but the transporter pods, those would be useful. She saw Parker one of Sungjae’s right-hand men about to take forward, she ran forward pushing him out of the way stepping on the pod and instantly being transported to the moon.

She looked around seeing wave after wave Elysian soldiers storming through the moon kingdom. To her left, she saw a Lunarian family quivering in fear staring at her wide-eyed and shaking. She shook her head removing the dagger Gideon had on his uniform and passing it to the mother who looked at her unsure. “Use it protect your family,” she said. The woman said nothing grabbing the dagger and looking at once more before nodding.

Eunha nodded racing forward pushing past Elysian soldiers as she got into the castle. It seemed the Elysian army had already managed to make it’s way into the castle because all she saw was ruins and bodies. She shook her head looking around for anyone she knew, ideally finding Prince Endymion would be the best option but she would take anyone right now. She saw sparks coming from further inside, Jupiter, she ran forward spotting him.

“Jupiter,” she called out running forward. “Look it’s not them, they are being controlled by Beryl,” she said as she got to him. She didn’t notice the look Jupiter and Mercury shared, “We have to find Endymion and Serenity, Beryl wants them -” she said, Jupiter grabbed her holding her still. “What are you doing? They are coming? They are going to-” she spoke as realization hit her like a punch to the gut. He didn’t believe her or he thought she was part of it.

“Lucas, you have to believe me, I am still me,” she said. Jupiter whispered that he was so sorry. She looked up at him, a frown on her face as she felt the dagger pierce her skin, her eyes widened as her hand went to her chest, she felt the warmth of her blood being spilled.. Stumbling forward Jupiter’s arm wrapped around her, she choked trying to speak but her mouth was full of blood. She tried to push away from him, desperately trying to breathe but her body had stopped working.

[ajoraverse]

I was hoping to save this until captions were available on my favorite srt service, but they're just not there yet.

Episode blabbing at length, spoilers for Familiar.

Fun fact! Pebbles speak at a register that I cannot understand at all. Seriously. I can't understand small children, either. I'm abysmally hard of hearing.

First: I got some serious Crayon Shin-chan vibes from this:

Okay, now that that’s out of the way:

Pebbles: I expected the Cinderella mice the moment I saw them, tbh. I do have questions, though: 1) It looks like they loved PD. Couldn’t Rose have just... gone back home to take a few of them back with her? She had to leave them behind? Really? 2) Are they very wide-spread, or are they exclusive to upper crust gems? It seems like a waste of resources to have a crew of pebbles around to form furniture for every gem’s every whim. Which is something I’ll come back to. 3) Not so much of a question as an observation: “Always playing her games. Pretending she doesn't know us pebbles.“ We’ve had unfortunate implications (some anvil-sized, re: “Rose always did what she wanted!”) of Rose being flighty and immature, but that really drives it home, doesn’t it?

Also, Peridot using “pebble” as a slur takes on a whole new angle and, basically, I want her to apologize to everyone. I may or may not have a bunch of mental images of Alfredot/e1!Peridot dragging her by the ear/ear-approximate to apologize to Pearl, Steven, and the pebbles for her mouth.

Also also, I know that this is all handwavey woo-woo space magic, but how does anything built by the pebbles retain structural integrity? How much of the room is just panels backed by machinery or whatever it is they use and waiting to be shaped to Pink’s desires?

Basically I want blueprints and the name of whatever magic space materials they use for fic purposes.

Living Walls, Decor, Objects: We got hints of the concept of gems being disposable/actual objects since before Mirror Gem (cf. Frybo), so the living walls and comb seem excessive and terribly unsurprising. I expect the living usable objects to be restricted to upper-crust gems, but how wide-spread are the talking walls? The concept of being trapped in one place to do one thing (feeling extra sorry now for the musician/disco ball gem who had to wait 6000 years for another ball to entertain), with nothing to do but stay there and talk if you’re not being watched, is horrific enough. But there’s an added wrinkle that’s very... 1984. Those living walls are in an excellent position to report things back to whomever. I mean, I was already getting 1984 vibes from earlier eps (and, if you read my stuff, you’ll probably see shades of the book’s themes in Salva Nos and Beta AU’s Homeworld side), but this is extra blatant.

Sunny D: She reads like an overachieving daughter trying and trying to win White’s approval and salty that the baby of the family gets thrown a crumb of attention. It really shows in the backhanded compliment of “you’re almost worth the trouble”. Rude.

Blue Diamond: I mean, who doesn’t bathe with the shards of underlings and sprigs from some probably long-dead plant from a long-dead colony world? Also, I’ll bet that scrub there is just ground-up amethysts. And why does a diamond need a toothbrush?

Also, Fool’s Gold? Rude, Pink.

The picture painted is one of appreciation for the positive effects of Pink’s “silliness” on the diamonds’ lives, but no regard for her more serious thoughts and feelings. Which, yeah, sucks. It’s pretty obvious why Pink felt like she had to rebel personally, but... she also failed time and again to fully consider her actions. Just. Goddammit, Pink could have been this ideal of Rose if she just stopped balking and followed through for once.

I appreciate the need to focus on the diamonds, but honestly? I’m extremely tired of the focus on royalty that’s threaded all throughout the tapestry of human folklore, literature, and history. I’m much more interested in the lower classes. Can we see the average gem’s home and surroundings instead?

Diamond juicesbodily fluids: If there aren’t a bunch of naughty fanworks exploiting this, I will be thoroughly disappointed by fandom. The implication that the, uh, bodily fluids are used to make gems is pretty obvious, I thought. I do have to rethink my reverse-engineering for Beta AU, but... not by much, tbh? I already have the groundwork lovingly derived from my childhood influence (Greg Bear’s Blood Music, which I read at like... 9 or 10), wet nanotechnology isn’t all that new, and honestly? Water is one of the strongest eroding forced in nature and demonstrates peculiar behavior when trapped in beryl. I can go places with this that no one actually cares about.

Pearls: Pearl is Steven’s real mom. Fight me. I love how absolutely done she is with “they consider me one of your things”, but she’ll put up with it for Steven. There are absolutely subtle tinges of long-suppressed oh stars this nonsense again in Yellow Pearl’s expression after the Pink Lasagna scene, and a bit of salt in the clash between Blue Pearl’s tone of voice and her expression while welcoming Pearl back. I just... want a lot more of the pearls, thanks.

Anyway, done with diamonds. Ready for any and all lower class gems. Let’s see the slums, at least.

[mythicamagic]

Diabolik Fairy Tales - Chapter 7

AU - The Diabolik Lovers re-imagined as fairy tale characters. Each chapter will feature a different diaboy, as their dark natures become entwined with the original macabre fairy tales of the past. Includes smut with a nameless heroine (slight reader insert)

Rated M               Trailer is here        (you can read all my fics here on fanfiction.net or Ao3)

Chapter 1 - Yuma Mukami                          Chapter 2 - Shuu Sakamaki

Chapter 3 - Kanato Sakamaki                       Chapter 4 - Ayato Sakamaki

Chapter 5 - Ruki Mukami                              Chapter 6 - Laito Sakamaki

Chapter 7 - Azusa Mukami                         Chapter 8 - Reiji Sakamaki

Chapter 9 - Kou Mukami                              Chapter 10 - Subaru Sakamaki (end)

Warnings: Smut, self harm and implied child abuse

Eye of the Beholder~

The male gaze is something all women have felt, at one point or another. It dawns on them gradually, as they grow older; The feeling, like heady smoke in the air, of eyes following, assessing, desiring.

She didn't know at what point she became aware of it. Perhaps it had been one night on her fifteenth birthday, or even when he'd tutored her on the ways of the kingdom she'd inherit. But the moment it absolutely couldn't be ignored anymore, was a mere few hours after her mother had died.

"Your Mother, and my dear, dear wife..." Her father passed a hand over his face, fingers lingering over his mouth. "She made a request, before she passed."

His daughter barely heard him as she leaned against a window, thinking of the body of the Queen lying just upstairs. A few hours ago she'd been alive, coughing dry, heaving breaths into a blood soaked handkerchief. It'd been awhile since she'd actually lain eyes on Mother, on account of her illness, but she'd heard the coughs from her room every day for months. Now, silence reigned within the halls of the somber castle.

"I gave her my word," her father continued. She looked at him, and rose a silent brow.

He stared at her blank face, masked of emotions. Her eyes were cold, glass-like. "She made me promise that; After she died, I would take another wife, but only one more beautiful than herself."

Dawn broke soft shadows across his face as the princess avoided his gaze. An uncomfortable weight pressed upon her shoulders, gradually easing down into her stomach as it had always done in his presence.

Her limbs slowly tensed, hands tightening around her bent knees as she stiffened. "So then...you'll be holding marriage interviews after the funeral?"

"Yes..." the sound of him scratching his beard filled her ears. "Yes I suppose I will."

Her breaths evened out when he turned and left the room, taking that heavy, considering look with him.

Yet the unease lingered on for two months after the Queens death. In the meantime, the princess lost herself in work, running outside the castle grounds. Volunteering at the shack tucked away on a street corner was something that always quickened her footsteps, lips curving up, just slightly.

The regulars did not comment on the royalty serving them, acknowledging her with a mere tip of the hat. No one in the castle knew of her visits, which she was grateful for. She didn't need to hear the predictable warnings about gypsies. In her experience they were a more honest people than the ones who ate caviar to demonstrate their wealth.

A large woman known simply as 'Cook', ruled over the tiny establishment with a stern eye, and had never once cast judgement on her presence there.

One particular day, however, the princess burst into the kitchen in a flurry, doubling over as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Morn'in lass, what's got you in such a tizzy?" Said Cook, her hand pausing mid-stir as she turned from the boiling pot to glance at the girl. Even those sitting on tables nearby glanced up from their meager meals.

"I-I'm sorry- I didn't know where else to go-" she panted, raising her head.

Cook started in alarm at the sight, dropping the ladle in her hand and motioning another woman to take her place. Ushering the young girl away from prying eyes, she took her around the back.

Large beefy hands then locked onto the girls shoulders. "Out with it. Now."

"M-my father...h-he...has chosen a wife."

"Well that's grand, don't see why you're sniveling over it."

She shook her head, wondering at the putrid, sweet smell clinging to her nostrils. It reminded her so much of him.

Unable to meet Cook's gaze, she raised her trembling hand.

A shiny, woven gold band caught the light in a harsh glare. It shined prettily on her ring finger. She gave a tremulous, broken smile. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she struggled not to fall apart.

Arms suddenly wrapped around her, bringing her into warmth. She felt a large hand stoke her head gently. "It's alright lass, we'll sort this out. It'll...it'll be fine." Cook muttered in a thick voice.

For the first time since her mother had passed, the princess allowed herself to cry. "I can't- I can't go back there, don't make me, please." She begged, quivering in the woman's arms like a child.

Contrary to her wishes, and with steps laden with dread, she'd made her way back to the castle mere hours later. She went to sleep that night just as she'd always done, but not before staring at the door of her room.

With quick, hurried movements, she pushed a cabinet in front of it. Laying back down in her bed, the gold band on her finger caught her eye.

A creeping, vicious emotion welled up inside her. It cracked beneath the surface of skin, coating her insides in putrid fumes of hatred that softened into a low hum. Dormant, but not forgotten, it festered.

Her lashes fell shut, finally drifting into fretful sleep.

Cook had instructed her to properly think about what she wanted to do. Staying at the castle felt inconceivable now. Her father would not take 'no' for an answer.

But merely running away was foolhardy. As the princess of the kingdom, her face was well known. Hiding under the guise of a cloak would only get her so far before she was captured and returned back to the castle.

"Aye lass, normal clothes won't cut it. If you want to escape out of the kingdom's reach, then you'll need something else." Cook had said, a distant look flitting over her aged face. The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes tightened, an oddly perturbed look crossing her usually stern features.

"I wonder...maybe he'll be of use."

It was this mysterious person that the princess decided to meet with the next day. Cook led the way, passing through the middle class ring and into the lower district. Pushing aside the cover hanging over the entrance of a make-shift door, she beckoned the princess inside.

She tensed as soon as the cover fell back into place behind them, blocking out the sunlight and drenching the old warehouse into shadow. Cook took her arm, leading her through the cluster of gypsies. Some of them scampered inside their shelters at the sight of the stranger. The princess had never been inside the den where some of Cook's family resided before. Other homeless people had also gathered there, forming a community the higher ups would rather ignore. Seeing them living such impoverished lives made the knot tighten in her stomach. She knew her family was responsible for the situation of the slums.

Finally, they stopped before a small hut. Various clothes were hanging outside on a washing line.

"Azusa? Come out. The lass I told you about earlier is here." Cook muttered in a low but stern tone.

There came a rustle, and the sound of feet padding softly, before a pale hand reached through the cover of the hut, pushing it aside slightly.

"Mm? Oh..." murmured a gentle, quiet voice. "Please, come inside..."

Cook sneered. "No way royalty is going to sit themselves inside that grubby-"

The princess stepped forward, giving a reassuring nod to the large woman. "It's fine. I don't mind."

With that said, she followed after the pale hand that retracted behind the cover. Ducking inside the doorway, she blinked, her eyes trying to readjust to the light. A lantern flickered in the corner of the room, bathing a lean figure in orange hues.

He looked to be around her age, with a pale complexion and doleful, tired eyes. Dark hair framed his face, with noticeable mismatched stands at the back, as if he'd tried to cut it himself.

What caught her attention most however, were the scars on the bridge of his nose and lower cheek. Bandages covered his left arm, and she noticed more that had unraveled, peeking out from under his shirt.

Unsure what to make of him, she fell back on her manners for self assurance."Thank you for meeting with me. I don't want to take up too much of you're time, so-"

He cut her off with a faint chuckle, the smoke of a smile lingering on his lips. "That's funny...heh, the thought of me...being busy." Leaning down, he folded his legs underneath him, sitting on the floor. "What do you need...from someone like me?" He said, in a monotonous voice.

At his pointed look, she mimicked his movements and sat. On some level she noticed his speech impediment, but it didn't bother her as she leaned forward seriously. "I was told you're talented at making clothes. Not only that, but you've crafted cloaks made from animal skins before. Cook said they had something about them, almost like a power was woven into the material."

Azusa blinked slowly, gaze shifting to a box at his side, filled with different kinds of threads. "Mm, suppose so. Needles have become...very useful to me."

She hesitated at this, wondering at the heavy look in his eye, before shrugging it off. "Please, Sir. I implore you to make me a cloak. I can buy all the material you need for it and more."

"You're...calling me 'Sir' now? My name...please use...my name." His gaze had shifted back to her, and she tensed. Stuck by a vague realization, she noticed that the sickened feeling in her stomach was absent. She wasn't frightened in this man's presence. Lilac eyes regarded her intently, but the 'male gaze' was no where to be found.

Although it trampled on propriety to speak his name so informally, it fell from her lips easily. "Azusa."

He tilted his head, hazy interest sparking alight within his sad gaze. "There's pain...in your eyes." He trailed off thoughtfully, even as his words dug into her heart.

The princess watched with baited breath as he seemed to think to himself for a moment, before lifting his eyes once more. "I'll make you a cloak. What do you... most want it to do for you? What do...you long for, more than anything in this world?"

She didn't know why it felt important that she answer truthfully. The secret desire in her heart, that had been cradled within her for many years, had never been voiced out loud.

"To be invisible." She murmured, feeling as if a piece of her soul was being bared to him inside those simple words.

Azusa watched her almost plaintively, before he nodded. "Give the money...to Cook. I'll tell her what material I need."

The knot strung tight within her eased as she smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Three days. It will be done by then." He stood up with her, the heaviness in the air dispelled by his timid, answering smile. "Good bye...Eve."

Uncertain for the reason of him calling her that so suddenly, she only nodded gratefully and turned, walking out of the hut. Cook met her outside, muttering about how strange the lad was, but the princess barely listened. Hope burned in her heart for the first time in years.

Three days passed slowly. The princess endured a dress fitting session, lips pressed into a thin, grim line as she stood numbly.

No one voiced their disagreement with the marriage. She wondered if the family tree would be changed, making her conveniently unrelated to the royal family. Or perhaps Father would marry her anyway, reveling in the title of incest that would no doubt mar the kingdom's image forever.

On the fateful day however, she raced to Cook's shack, stopping before the entrance with wide eyes. Azusa turned in the doorway, an incredibly large cloak in his hands that spilled down to the floor. Horror silenced her tongue as he unfolded it, showing the full length.

It was made from the pelt of a donkey.

The hide had been crudely stitched together like patchwork to make a heavy cloak. No doubt the worst part was the hood, that retained the face and shape of the donkey.

Azusa's eyes warmed as she stepped closer, feeling the material with a cold, numbed hand. It slid rough and coarse between her fingers.

"Do you...like it?" He asked softly.

Her gaze swept to his fingers, which were newly wrapped in tiny bandages. She shoved the disgust down, crushing it under her feet as she smiled.

"It's perfect."

She wasn't lying. Her wish had been granted. No man would ever lay eyes on her again so long as she wore the grotesque cloak.

Cook enveloped her in a hug a moment later. The princess smiled, a shakiness in her heart as the woman drew back to look at her.

"Don't go gettin' soft on me, lass. You'll be fine out there. There's no one who knows the lay of the land better than the princess, right?"

She nodded mutely, emotion constricting her throat. All she needed to do was head East. She'd pass through two towns before reaching the border of Father's kingdom. Once over the other side, she'd be safe.

Grabbing the cloak, she slipped it on, lowering the hood and feeling the muzzle of the donkey weigh heavily over her head, shadowing all expression. The inside felt surprisingly cool, almost like leather but breezier. Thanking Azusa and Cook once more, the princess steadied the pack on her shoulder, adjusting the cloak so that it fell down to her ankles.

Stepping onto the road which would lead her out of the city, she turned back just once. Cook gave a wave, the crows feet deepening into worried lines around her eyes. Azusa gazed after her expressionlessly, touching his bandaged arm.

Her attention shifted past them to the massive castle laying behind. Her home...had it really been her home? Weren't they usually places where you felt safe? That same sensation of disgust mingled with anger boiled in her heart, and her eyes narrowed.

"Eve..." Azusa was suddenly there, in front of her startled face.

"W-what is it?"

He stared at her, unblinking. "I want...to come with you."

"Are you soft in the head, boy? No way does she want you tagging along." Shouted Cook from behind them.

Azusa ignored her, gazing past the black pits of eyes on the donkey-skin hood and directly into hers. "Eve...I have brothers...that I would like to find again. Take me with you. I don't care...where we go, or what you need...I'll do anything."

"I can't ask you to do that, but...you can come. We'll be travelling companions, how does that sound?"

His eyes widened fractionally, before he slowly nodded. Cook shook her head, but returned the wave that the princess sent her.

Turning on her heel, the girl shut the castle from her mind, walking towards the road that would take her East.

Her first thoughts when entering the new city, was that poverty had affected it badly. Unlike in the main city, were the homeless and poor had been driven into slums, this one was crammed full of the needy. Children with gaunt faces stared up at Azusa as he passed, but didn't even seem to notice her presence.

In fact, all eyes turned away from her whenever she drew close. At first they'd hesitate, before hastily pretending she didn't exist.

"Azusa, how does the cloak work?" She murmured curiously as the crowd gave her a wide berth, but narrowed and bumped into his side.

"Mm, they think it's scary. So they look away. Some ugliness...makes others lash out...but ones like the cloak make them afraid. It bypasses...disgust...and flows right into fear."

Noticing he was being bumped into, some knocking roughly into his shoulder, she stepped close to him. Azusa glanced at her with a surprisingly sour expression. "Why did...you make them stop? They would surely have left...wonderful bruises."

Her eyes widened at the comment, but she just tugged on his arm. "C-come on, don't say such things. Lets find a hotel before dark."

They found a humble hotel tucked away from the bustle of the streets that didn't cost too much for the night. Azusa quietly murmured that she didn't need to spend her money, and that they could've found somewhere else, but she insisted. Though he didn't say anything, she noticed the thinness of his frame, and made sure to buy him a meal.

That night, when she lay down in her bed, she noticed that he seemed to hesitate beside his. It couldn't be helped that they'd had to share a room, but when he turned his eyes on her, she tensed. "What's wrong?"

"I'm...not used to sleeping like this."

Her eyes widened. Of course he probably wasn't used to a plush bed. She sat up and furrowed her brow. "We can arrange the covers onto the floor, if you'd prefer."

When he nodded, she smiled gently.

The covers were spread out onto the wooden floor beside her bed. She didn't know how he'd ended up so close, but as he lay cradling his arm, she couldn't tell him to move after seeing him so comfortable.

As she lay back once more, some time passed where she drifted into a place between sleeping and waking. Something very quiet caused her to stir, the sound of hushed words.

"Important... right, Justin?" Azusa was murmuring to himself.

Turning onto her side, she found him sitting up, legs folded beneath him. His back was turned to her, but she could clearly see him unwrapping the bandage on his left arm. He unwound it with careful motions, until it fluttered to the floor beside him.

Her eyes dropped, threatening to fall closed with tiredness, but the faint sound of metal had them flying wide.

There was a thump of bare feet landing on hard floor, before the sound of a brief scuffle.

The former princess knelt, panting over him, gripping the knife still in his hand, poised over his arm. Azusa stared into her eyes. She dimly noticed that his flesh was covered in large scars, one of them, the largest, began at the crook of his elbow, ending close to his wrist.

"Ah...Eve, did you want...to cut me yourself?" A serene smile lit up his face. "I'd like that...I'd love to...make you happy."

He pushed the knife into her hand eagerly, only to latch onto her wrist, bringing the blade further down.

"What- stop! I don't want to hurt you, Azusa!"

With the wrench of her hand, the knife was sent flying, scattering over the floor with a loud clatter. She breathed heavily, snatching her hand back and staring into sorrowful eyes.

"I see...so Eve...does hate me."

"What? No, I don't." She shook her head. "Why would you...do this though? I heard you muttering someone's name."

Thinking he would be angry for prying, she felt surprised when he smiled. "Ah, Justin." He raised his arm, and motioned to the longest scar. His voice became soft, colored with fond memories. "Justin, Christina and Melissa." He touched each scar reverently. "They were...my good friends, once. But it's alright...because I keep them with me...this way. When I reopen them, my friends stay...a little longer. But they keep healing...fading...leaving..."

Her heart lurched and squeezed at his words. For a breathless moment, they sat in silence, watching each other with an unnamed feeling in the air. When he tilted his head, looking at her soft looking flesh, she shivered. He looked considering, gaze shifting to the knife.

"Do you want...a friend too? You're lonely...aren't you, Eve?"

She raised her head, trying not to think of the pain she'd lain in night after night, fearing soft footfalls approaching her door without really knowing what she was afraid of. "No, Azusa, I'm not alone." She smiled brokenly. "I have you here with me."

Haze filled eyes widened, the expression on his face shuttering. Unbidden, something shifted within his being.

Crossing the border of her kingdom had been strangely surreal in how anti-climatic it'd felt. Since they'd been walking almost non stop, traversing her old lands had taken less than a week. News of her disappearance had yet to even reach her ears.

As Azusa dozed on a forgotten street corner, she went to buy food in the new, exciting city. She noticed less impoverished people, and more smiling faces, which only served to brighten but twist her mood. Her kingdom suffered as this one prospered.

Something on the ground caught her eye as she passed it, and the Donkey-skin girl stopped dead.

"Azusa, look at this." She said sometime later, nudging him awake. A soft noise escaped him as he yawned. Noticing he seemed lucid, she handed him the piece of paper.

When he gazed at it non uncomprehendingly, she winced, not realizing he was illiterate. Acting as if she didn't notice to spare his feelings, she carried on. "It's an invitation to this kingdom's Royal Ball. Someone must have dropped it. This is a wonderful opportunity!"

"It is?" He blinked.

"Of course. Who else would know better where your brothers are than the royal register? They'll have a list of every resident living in the kingdom. If you think they're around these parts, then all we have to do is attend, and ask to see it." She felt an old heavy warmth sharpen her next words. "I need to go there to ask the Prince something too."

"They will not...let us in."

"No, but..." her eyes strayed to his hands, the coins in her pocket weighing heavier. "Maybe there's a way."

Azusa tilted his head.

Sometime later, soft fabric was placed into his arms. He couldn't see her expression under the donkey-skin hood, but Azusa leaned forward to try and capture her gaze. "Eve...you need your money for food and lodgings, why did you..."

"Because I know you'll make a beautiful dress from this. If I make a wish to be able to attend the ball, you'll sew it into the seams, making it real. All you have to do is trust me, Azusa. I'll attend the ball, and find the registry, I promise."

Soulful eyes sharpened, fingers tightening in the fabric. He gave a solemn nod, turning to find a little hovel to work in.

Donkey-skin watched him go, following after him after a moment. Sometimes, his scars, pale complexion, and overall fragile look would melt away, unearthing a resolute, quiet strength.

He worked tirelessly for days, barely stopping to eat unless she forced him to. The Ball was to be held in two weeks time, so one dress hardly seemed difficult at first. However, when they learned that the royal gathering was supposed to take place over the course of two days, they faltered. Propriety dictated that no self respecting woman would attend such an event in the same dress. She would be mocked and scorned if she tried.

Therefore, two dresses needed to be sewn.

Azusa worked his fingers to the bone, his hands moving methodically as he threaded a needle and pulled it through lace.

When she noticed dark shadows under his eyes, she felt her fingers dig into her arm. Lingering around the castle entrance in her cloak, she tried her hand at walking past the castle guards, but they caught her shoulder.

Though her cloak made it difficult for people to look at her, it was not infallible.

After her failed attempt, she walked back to Azusa with worried steps, only to find him holding up a dress, standing on shaking legs. "Eve...I made one...for you."

She quickly ran forward, lowering him back to the floor when he weakened. "You didn't eat again." She admonished, frowning at him.

Azusa lowered his gaze, but pushed the dress into her hands. "Do you...like it? I call it 'the daylight dress.' When you look at it...you'll see a blue sky." He smiled weakly.

Donkey-skin busied herself then with fetching food, not stopping until he was sat with a hot meal. While he dug in, she swept her hand over the fabric, gazing at the stunning dress. Clear, cloudless skies flashed in her minds eye.

The question came to her suddenly. "Why do you call me Eve?"

Azusa, blinking languidly at his meal, seemed hesitant. "Eve...when people talk about her, they say...she was cast out of paradise." Melancholy eyes glanced at her. "It doesn't...occur to them that she might have left on her own."

He'd grown desperate.

They'd run low on money, too low to afford proper fabrics for a second dress.

Azusa felt that he knew how to steal. Bear had once told him, back at the orphanage, how to effectively grab and run without being caught. It helped to have larger numbers in a group, to cause a distraction, but he wouldn't involve Eve.

He wondered what his brothers were doing now, and whether he would ever see them again. After being separated running from that hellish place, and then wandering into the gypsy community, he'd longed to meet them once more.

He wasn't certain he'd get the chance to now.

Blood spilled out from the place where his arm used to be.

He'd tried to be quick, but he'd always been slow. Slow to talk, slow to move. His arm had been seized by the merchant he'd tried to steal from.

"Azusa-wh-what? NO!" Eve had cried, catching sight of him from across the courtyard. Her shrieks turned into screams when a sharp blade had swung down on his arm.

She put his good arm around her shoulders, grabbing him around the waist to take the brunt of his weight. They stumbled in a mess of tangled limbs into a back alley. Her heart thundered in her chest, drumming loudly in his ears.

Azusa's broken sobs and cries of pain cut into her like shards of glass. She fought to keep calm, breathing in labored breaths as she muttered false assurances.

"It's okay, it's alright. W-we'll find you a doctor-" there had been a sign for one. She felt certain of it- yes, right around the corne-

She turned, wide eyes searching frantically for a familiar sign, but there was nothing. Another back-alley awaited them.

D-did I take a wrong turn somewhere?

Panic shook her frame as the sound of something wet trailed onto the ground beneath them. She didn't want to look at it, but her eyes swayed down in morbid curiosity. Blood was leaking out of the stump.

Her stomach lurched.

Damp hair slicked with sweat brushed her chin. Hot, shuddering breaths puffed against her skin.

"Azusa?" She murmured, stretched thin. When he didn't respond, she shook him in alarm. "Azusa! Stay with me. W-we just have to keep going a little further." The fear in her heart leaked out into her voice. She urged him on, but his eyes had fallen shut, feet dragging across the floor as she carried him forward.

A maze of walls covered in grime passed by, blurring into one as they struggled on. When she finally lay eyes on the sign she'd been searching for, she didn't hesitate to kick the door open. A woman met her in the entrance, mouth opening to scold her before the sight of them turned her mute.

A doctor was summoned, and from then on Donkey-skin lost track of what happened. The warmth at her side was taken away, but she followed it blindly, lancing her hands in it's pale, quivering fingers. There were shouts, blood, walls of white, someone tugging at her shoulders. When the hand she'd been holding was wrenched from her grip, a scream echoed around the room, but she couldn't tell who it had come from.

The world drifted into grey, then finally, pitch black darkness swallowed her whole.

When she next lay eyes on Azusa, he was unconscious. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his injured form. She noticed that his arm had been severed slightly above where his elbow had used to be. Seeing it wrapped in bandages assured her however, even as a sickly worry and sadness rose up in her chest. She was about to reach out and touch him, when the doctor walked into the room.

After assuaging her fears about infection, and commenting on the mental side effects the trauma would inevitably awaken, the subject of payment came up.

"I don't have much." She murmured, offering the last handful of coins she had.

"I'm afraid that won't be enough to cover the cost."

Alarm flared up inside her. "W-wait! I do have something..."

She begged the doctor to wait, and with a lingering look at the unconscious man, she swept out of the room.

Later, with a steady hand, she handed over the daylight dress. The doctor gave her a strange look. His protest went unsaid however, as he rubbed the fabric between his thumb, finding the material exquisite. As he unfolded it, the image of a beautiful, cloudless sky flashed in his mind.

"My daughter, she will surely love this." He murmured, gazing at the garment with awe.

Donkey-skin nodded tensely. "Will this be enough?"

When the doctor nodded, relief flooded her. She didn't even notice the tears welling up in her eyes. Murmuring a thank you, she sat down heavily in a chair by Azusa's side. Her fingers automatically sought the spaces between his, as she clasped their hands together.

Azusa didn't wake for several days. Keeping vigilance over him, Donkey-skin girl barely ate, so consumed with worry that she barely thought of little else. At times, the Prince's gathering drifted into her mind, but she shook it away. Azusa had stayed by her side, it felt only right to stay by his.

As her mind distracted itself, one very important detail about the man in her charge slipped blissfully away. It was only when he finally cracked his eyes open did it raise it's ugly head, piercing her heart.

"Where...where is Justin?" Were the first words from his lips. He stared down at the empty space where his arm used to be. "Ne... Christina and Melissa are missing too. Eve, Eve...where did they go?"

Donkey-skin stared into his wide, trembling gaze as he turned dazedly around the room. He barely seemed to notice his missing appendage. All he cared about were the scars. Azusa leaned up quickly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"A-azusa! Calm down. You need to rest more." She tried pushing his shoulders back, bidding him to lie down, but he stubbornly tried to stand on quivering legs.

"No, I need them. I need my friends...where are they?" His voice, usually in a monotone, rose higher, panic lacing his words. He stood up, stumbling as his knees threatened to give out. She caught him, trying to sit him back down, but he pushed past her with surprising strength. Sweat broke out on his forehead, breathing becoming labored with every step to the door.

"Azusa! You cant! Please, please just-"

"What's going on in here?" The collected voice of the doctor reached her ears.

A flurry of activity broke out. Pale limbs were ceased as nurses pulled him back. The doctor ushered her from the room, until all she could hear was Azusa's frantic cries from behind the door.

"No, NO! Justin! JUSTIN!"

She pressed fists against her eyes, squeezing them shut as her shoulders dropped, shaking minutely.

"Azusa..."

More days passed. Somehow, everything felt worse with Azusa awake. He wouldn't eat unless forced to, and barely spoke, except to ask where his friends were.

Unable to keep watching him deteriorate, Donkey-skin left the doctors once more. This time, she headed straight for the fabric stand in the middle of a bustling courtyard.

The burly man dressed in orange barely noticed when she sidled up to his stand. When she drew back her hood however, and his eyes snapped on hers, she inwardly flinched even as she remained outwardly indifferent. This was the face Azusa had stared into before losing his arm.

With a repulsed, disgusted feeling, she noticed a single arm had been nailed up behind him on a stand. To any other merchant, it was simply a warning to thieves, an example of what would happen. To her, it looked like a sick trophy.

"Sir, I have an interest in that arm. Please, would you consider giving it to me?"

"T-this arm? Are you sick in the head? This here was cut off a thief, it's a reminder not to steal from honest folk."

"Yes, I understand that, Sir." Her lips thinned into a grim line.

The man scratched his cheek, eyes racking up and down her form. "You don't look like you have much to offer, but if you give me something worth my while, I might reconsider giving it to you."

Cold, sharp rage boiled beneath her skin at the look in his eye. She calmly reached inside her cloak and retrieved something, hesitating to hand it over.

But, if it's for Azusa then...

She slowly put the invitation to the royal ball onto the counter.

"A-amazing. They stopped selling invites a week ago." He breathed.

"Give me the arm now, and you can have it." She gritted out.

He grabbed a hammer, pulling the nail free that pinned the arm to the stand. He then wrapped the limb in a brown cloth and handed it to her. She took it numbly, noticing it weighed almost nothing.

Gritting her teeth, she drew her hood back up, turning and disappearing into the crowd without another word.

Someone's elbow suddenly knocked into her roughly, and she yelped, pain flaring in her side. She fell to the ground, the arm tumbling free from her grip.

"Ha? Oi, watch where you're going next time." A gruff voice muttered.

"Wait, Yuma." Another man suddenly knelt before her, his hand frozen mid-air over Azusa's scarred arm. Blue-grey eyes narrowed, staring at it intently. "It...can't be." He muttered dazedly, gaze turning sharp as flint when they fixed on her.

"Eve..." Azusa murmured in a thin voice as he gazed at the arm she offered him. "Thank you." He took it with thin fingers, touching one of the scars gently.

Donkey-skin nodded silently, her eyes widening in horror at his next words.

"I...should find my needles. If I...stitch my friends back on, then I can keep them with me."

Cold hands latched onto his only arm, drawing his attention to her. Firm, unwavering words left her lips. "No Azusa."

He didn't seem to understand as his gaze slipped back to the pale arm.

Her voice bordered on desperate. "Azusa. It'll get infected. I didn't bring your friends back to you so that you could watch them slowly rot. I brought them for you to say goodbye."

"No..." He shook his head, misted eyes faraway, unstable. "No. I can't."

"Yes you can. You can find proof of your existence in other things, Azusa." A serious voice reached their ears, the tone steady and self assured.

Azusa's head slowly raised, his eyes widening upon seeing the dark haired man in the doorway.

"I see you haven't changed." The man said, a slight warmth in his eyes.

"Ru..ki..." The broken name left Azusa's lips. "How did...why are-?"

"Oi Azusa, the fuck happened to you?" Another, taller man entered the room, his shirt stained with droplets of blood. Blood she knew to be from the merchant.

"Bear..."

"Actually it's Yuma now. Got a new name when we were taken in."

A blond young man pushed past him to wave energetically. "Me too~ You're looking at Kou now."

Donkey-skin watched them all with a faint smile, feeling the anxiousness in her heart easing little by little. A sparkle of life had entered Azusa's eyes as he gazed at his lost brothers.

"You're all here." He murmured, voice thin.

Yuma huffed. "And where were you, little idiot? We looked for ya for years."

"Y-you...did?"

Something squeezed in his chest at those words, and without realizing, his eyes strayed back to the girl beside him. She just smiled warmly, and Azusa felt his grip on the severed arm loosen.

Once he'd recovered enough, Azusa and Donkey-skin traveled with his brothers to their adoptive father's kingdom.

Donkey-skin knew of Karlheinz. Infamous for his scandalous private life, the only thing that made other rulers fear him was his penchant for randomly conquering other lands with the mere caprice of his mood.

She steeled herself for an audience with him.

They'd buried Azusa's arm in the garden at Karlheinz's castle, under a tree with twisting branches. "You have your brothers now, Azusa. You're not alone." She'd murmured, her hand on his shoulder as he'd stared mournfully at the patch of ground.

"What will...we do now, Eve?" He asked softly, once they were seated on a nearby porch overlooking the gardens.

She thought of what she intended to say to Karlheinz. "My kingdom is in shambles because of my Father's rule. It would be better for everyone if he were overthrown. Karlheinz can do that, if I tell him the right ways to infiltrate the city." It was the same thought she'd planned to share the Prince at the royal ball.

Azusa looked at her. "Will that...bring you happiness?"

"I don't know." She admitted quietly.

She jumped when soft fingers cupped her cheek, turning her face to his.

Depthless emotion stared back at her, so intense it bordered on overwhelming. "Let me...make you happy, Eve. Don't be afraid..." 

He bent to capture her lips with a hungry rush. Donkey-skin inhaled sharply, before she felt Azusa's kiss soften. His mouth became a confusing sensation, yielding under hers one moment but then pressing firmly the next. When his tongue slid between her teeth, she tensed, but his hand grabbed hers, raising it to his cheek. Her fingers strayed of their own accord into feather-like hair, the soft wisps brushing her forehead as they pressed close.

She felt his arm wrap around her waist, pulling their bodies taut against each other. When his tongue swept deeper into her mouth, she shuddered all over. Azusa broke away to pant softly, desire darkening his gaze as the fingers at her waist dug in.

The wordless need inside her that sought his comforting strangeness made her muscles shift forward, until she found herself straddling him. The cool surface of the wood under her knees contrasted with the hard, warm body beneath her.

"Ne...can we... become one?" He murmured, his single hand slowly caressing the plains of her back. She gripped his shoulders, breathing out unsteadily when he bent forward to nuzzle her neck, tongue dragging across heated flesh.

The disgust wasn't there. Her heart hammered like a drum, but she didn't feel sickened. Azusa's touches were light, but betrayed a strength beneath them. Something entirely sinful blackened his gaze, completely at odds with his innocent face. And yet, she was not afraid.

"Yes," she murmured, surprising herself with the yearning in her voice.

His hips rolled, rigid length clearly in need of friction as it ground harshly, the heat of it throbbing through multiple layers of clothing. She hissed as it rubbed her sex, and found herself mimicking his movements. His teeth scraped her neck, those soft strands of his hair tickling her chin as he bit down, breaking the skin. A low, embarrassing sound slipped past her mouth. Azusa chuckled as he sucked her flesh, leaving behind a red mark which he touched reverently.

More grinding, moaning, sucking, more shame at how Azusa could make her core clench and ache. Juices slipped down between her thighs.

His hand eased down between them to touch her, rubbing with an almost bruising pressure. It was enough to set off fireworks as she trembled on his lap. Azusa glanced down and then up at her, trying and failing with something. She noticed his frustrated silence, and suddenly understood.

Shifting above him, she reached down, freeing his length with slow movements. Azusa released an unsteady breath, his eyes dark, steeped with sorrow.

She murmured that it was alright, but he leaned forward, cheek brushing hers. "I want...to hold you properly. But I...I..."

Donkey-skin shook her head, grabbing his hand and wrapping his arm around her waist. She leaned up, giving herself enough room to slide her underwear and stockings down, before lowering herself back down. She sank herself slowly onto his aching erection, and he made a noise of surprise. Gritting her teeth at the invasive feeling, her hands tightened on his shoulders.

The foreign sensation sank deeper, until he was buried inside her. They panted, breaths mingling. "You- you can hold me. The arm around me right now is all we'll ever need. I- I don't...I've never felt this good before." She assured him.

Wide, dazed eyes stared into hers, before his face became intent, serious. His hips rammed up, making her cling to his shoulders. Her mouth hung open wordlessly as he began to move, gripping her close with that one arm.

It was messy, heinous and dripping. A palpable mixture of sweet and sin that made her quiver and beg incoherently. Her fingers dug deep rivets into his shoulders.

He groaned, tongue sweeping up her neck to hiss lustily in her ear. "Harder…even…harder…"

Lost in sensation, she didn't know what he meant, but her hips began to move with his, nails sinking deeper, leaving crescent moons. They gasped and clung to each other, heedless of the sounds of their bodies moving.

When she felt something snap within her, she sought his hair, sliding her fingers between the strands. Overwhelmed, she quaked around him, squeezing her eyes shut and trying not to let dark thoughts creep inside her flesh. Azusa groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder, finishing with a quiet, shuddering moan inside her.

They stayed locked together, breathing heavily. "Will you always care for me, Azusa?" She murmured, almost to herself.

"Of course...Eve is...my most precious person."

Her throat constricted, and she squeezed her lashes shut. In the furthermost corners of her mind, she begged his words to be true.

A great, dark plume of smoke rose high, spiraling into the heavens above. The scent of ash and burning flesh infested the air.

Donkey-skin stood before the castle gates. Her old home had been set ablaze during the siege of Karlhienz's armies. With the information she'd given him, he'd made quick work of infiltrating the city and striking at the heart of the kingdom.

She looked at the thing on the ground with glass-like eyes. Her revenge was complete. The dreadful feeling within her should have been purged, but it persisted, festering like a wound.

The hate in Cook's eyes as realization had dawned came back.

"You...this is your fault, isn't it? You brought this on us." Cook had sneered, rage blackening her voice. "And for what? To 'free' us?" She'd spat at the former princess' feet. "Stop kiddin’ yourself, lass. You only did this to get back at your old man. And look how many have died for it."

Donkey-skin barely noticed the damage of the city. Her mind was cast adrift somewhere buried but not forgotten. 

His hand touched her hair. His hands...big, strong and familiar. The touch was so comforting it made her smile.

"Father."

The scent of his corpse filled her lungs.

"Eve." Azusa's soft voice reached her ears, just as fingers wrapped around her frozen hand.

Her hood was gently pulled back, revealing a raw, tear stained face. Lips chapped and heart shuddering with the effort it took to smile, she looked at him. "Can you...still care for me now, Azusa?" The ugliness inside her heart now had tangible form, mingling within the ashes.

He didn't hesitate, his ardent gaze not glancing once at the bodies strewn around the courtyard. His eyes reflected her, only her. He stroked the inside of her wrist adoringly, as if she were one of his scars. "Even if Eve is cast out of hell...I will always...be by her side."

[hresvelged]

The invitation to fish brought about a finger swiping past her forehead, removing any wrinkles sitting upon its surface: “Oh? I wouldn’t be opposed to fishing together. I appreciate the offer, even if it proves less fruitful than intended," she laughed. "Thank you, my teacher.” Her fingers curled into her lap, lowering her body onto the bed.

The question about her home made her eyes widen, though she could not argue the truth behind her professor’s words. “My bedroom at home is far bigger than the rooms at Garreg Mach, yes. Though.. I wouldn't always consider that a good thing. No doubt have you had much more adventure than I ever could, judging from your words.” Indeed, there was much that even other surrounding nobles knew not of. A hushed sigh left her side.

One leg crosses over the other, pleased the topic of her paintings was dropped. “But it sounds nice. I've led a life far differing than any stories about knights." She once yearned for someone to halt the whims of others and treat her purely as El— But now, that felt far too out of reach. "As I grew older, the books within my hands changed from story-driven to purely factual. It seems that remains the same, today..”

A pause. “Those very books are still within my room.. Well, some of them. Have you frequented Enbarr? I should visit my own father, as well.. The emperor.”

Slumming it with Royalty

[hresvelged]

She wore a graceful expression atop her face at her professor's words, understanding at the apology. Sharing space could be stifling; All in the same, this was different. She need only remind herself of this. As Byleth spoke, the princess found herself listening intently as she displayed intrigue: "How fascinating. Fishing does take quite a bit of patience. I've watched plenty of tournaments hosted on these very grounds, but I admit.. I have yet to join. You must show me your skills sometime."

She lifted a finger up towards her chin and allowed it to rest peacefully, keeping her back to the bed: "We both share an appreciation for literature. I enjoy spending free time outdoors— Taking in the fresh air, exploring new sceneries.. Things of that sort." The princess was ready to end her list there, only finding the words pour for another.

Edelgard brought her sights downwards to her belongings as the heel of her boot lightly brushed its side. "I also paint once in a while. There's no need for you to worry, though. I won't be doing so in here. Besides.." Her index taps the side of her face before brushing it aside. ".. Ah, never mind. I'm speaking too much as is." Air swept past her side, hurriedly changing the topic back to her teacher.

"You mentioned previous living conditions. What was that like?"

Slumming it with Royalty

[hresvelged]

With a curt bob, Edelgard began to sort through the belongings she brought— Including a singular black encased book, a smaller red bag with a few necessities, and a tiny stuffed animal she held onto over the years. Personal letters and documents were housed elsewhere.

The words poured from her lips as she effortlessly organized her items whilst keeping her back turned to Byleth. One hand up, another down: "I would like to say it will be finished rapidly, but your suspicions may be right. I appreciate you taking the time to allot proper space for myself with that in mind."

The upright book sat by its lonesome— She stared at its pristine spine. Accented by gold, the only sign of her touch being a quill feather sticking out of its pages.

As she stumbled upon the plush animal in her bag, a finger ran over its head before opting to keep it tucked away for now. Her hands pressed against cloth as she scooted to sit properly: "As you may expect, I'm kept quite busy most days. I spend more time outside of my room than in it. Then again, I'm sure similar can be said of you." A light, upwards tone. "I never have properly asked about your hobbies, come to think of it."

Slumming it with Royalty

[hresvelged]

It was a note at her quarters that alerted her. Folded neatly, disguising its forced nature under veiled words. Every sentence was crafted with one purpose in mind— That was, to remove her from where she currently stood due to a sudden renovation.

No doubt there was more than what was being told. The piles of secrecy only grew the longer she stayed. Her eyes squinted. She carefully packed two large bags and carried one on each arm with ease. Silver and gold adorned their exterior as they clanked against her sides with each step forward she made.

"Good day, Professor. I hope I arrived at an apt time..?" As she entered the room, her arms lowered as the luggage slid off her person and onto the ground with a petite thud. Edelgard's eyes peered around the room, noting what she could upon a quick judgement. The princess's own room remained a place she needn't get comfortable; it was difficult not to remain wary. Her professor was sound and strong— That much was certain.

Her head shook, crossing her arms over her chest. "I presume you were given just as little notice as myself. It lends much to be desired." Bending down, she opened a bag and revealed the sealed letter explaining the need for her to evacuate. "A knight handed this over before leaving."

Slumming it with Royalty