#Calling your betrothed your crown as a term of endearment

[radiance1]

A King and his crown

I have just woken up, and have decided to post my fic here on Tumblr :3

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“Dearly beloved, will you heed my words?” 

Pariah grunted. It was always like this, his crown always coming in silently and he left floundering because he was unable to notice his presence until revealed. He could sit upon his throne for however long he wished, hoarding every scrap of power he could get his hands upon, calling himself the king as much he wanted.

But it still wasn’t enough, yet he was glad all the same.

His crown felt thousands of times its weight, and his ring far too tight from where it sat upon his finger. Such things granted him power to near that of godhood, and perhaps, somewhere along the line he could indeed have been regarded as a god, but he was not so blinded by his own hubris to claim himself of the divine.

He felt hands gently be placed on his cheeks, dragging him out from the depths of his thoughts. He blinked slowly, a sign of trust he would only show to one being, and one being alone, to show they had his attention.

A small, beautiful smile graced the other’s lips, a smile he treated as the greatest of treasure, something so insignificant and fleeting, yet bearing so much beauty when seen through his eyes. 

“Beloved, will you attend to me for one last time?” He said, his tone calm and self-assured, yet still portrayed as if a question.

A choice.

“For now and forever onward, my love.” As if he would give himself a choice to say anything but that, he would not allow for anything less. To devote himself in body, mind, and soul, is the only gift he could ever hope to give to one who glowed so gently. “Part thy thoughts, and allow me to take on its burden in your place.”

He placed his own hands over his crown’s, relishing in the warmth hiding beneath the smaller limbs. Such a thing was another that he treasured so, an insignificant thing to anyone else, but one he would only allow himself to partake in with one other.

“Heed my words, oh mighty Monarch of the Seas.” His crown gently pulled his head down, an action he allowed, and gently touched his forehead with his own. “Heed them and listen well, for this is a fate that will only end with tragedy for one such as you.”

He opened his ears and listened. Listened to the future weaved by fate of his own subjects rebelling against him, a group of six sent forth from an era of his own making, who with power combined sought victory against him, how they subjugate his crown and ring that granted him such power and reduced his kingdom until it was naught but his castle and the surrounding stone and ocean.

His crown’s voice was calm, as if the future he was foretelling was merely a story of another, and not one belonging to his betrothed, and the king himself took it as such, for he had none of worry for himself.

Instead-

“And what of you, my love?”

“And what of me?” His crown’s voice was as calm as ever, yet now it held a slight hint of mirth. He gently lowered one of the hands upon his cheeks down to his lips, and departed a soft yet fleeting kiss upon their fingers.

“Will you stand strong against the future’s tide, if I were to no longer stand by your side?” Pariah opened his eyes as red met green, and silence took root in the throne room, so many thoughts left unsaid, many actions undone, every regret and desire lost yet shared within that single, fleeting look.

“I will manage.” Barely a whisper left his mouth, yet felt like the loudest of sounds when compared to the silence. Pariah hummed, his hands descending down until he could wrap his crown in a most gentle embrace and pulled him towards himself, resting his head upon his crown’s own. “You always do, my love. And yet, in all my selfishness, I had hoped you never had to.”

“You had, hadn’t you?” Arms returned his embrace, as he heard that ever-present calm waver the slightest bit, something he could never help but dislike, for it should never have to waver. He found himself running a clawed hand through his crown’s hair, gentle, as if the slightest pressure would break them beyond compare.

“Heh,” Clockwork chuckled, his form unable to hide the barest of shakes. “It’s so unfair, truly, that you would always be the one to stand so strong, and never waver, despite being the one bearing my burden.”

“It is a fate I have welcomed with open arms, my love. A fate I will guide you through until I am incapable of wading its waters no longer.” His crown’s embrace tightened, as his voice shook. “I know. I know, and I am so sorry.”

“Perish the thought, my love.” He pushed himself off his throne with a beat of his tail, a hand smoothly moving to replace his crown in a bridal carry as he left his throne room. “For it is a fate I would welcome with open arms once more, for whether past, present, or future. I will always stand by your side.”

A head was placed near his neck as an arm steadied itself over his shoulder. “Sometimes, I wish I foresaw futures where you decided to be selfish for once, and not live for me.”

“And I am glad no such future laid itself before your eyes.” He adjusted his hold to support with one arm, as the other moved to cover his crown’s eyes, as if to block out the sight of such futures. “Sleep, my love. For you will need it for trials ahead.”

“Will you be there when I awake?”

“Until I can no longer.”

The body in his hold relaxed, so much so that Pariah had to shift them around to better support his neck as he swam through his castle halls. It was filled with silence, as was the rest of his castle, there was no need for guards, as he was too powerful to need them, so there wasn’t.

Not a need for servants within his halls, for a simple magic cleaned what he used. 

The only sound that resounded within these castle walls before, was the sound of his beating heart, his thoughts, his breaths and nothing more. Until it became so, when joined by his crown, the sound of small chuckles, of laughter, of snark and sass, of conversation.

The feelings of love and acceptance that warmed the cold castle walls, the warm touches and soft kisses and gentle embraces. The small dinners that were enough for the two of them, the rare feast and dance when birthday’s pass, a thing he saw unneeded yet now brought him so much joy.

The cold, suffocating castle walls became warmer, and finally began to feel less like a self-imposed prison, and something more of a home.

He gently pushed open the door to their bedroom, and closed it just as softly once inside. Placing down his crown upon the bed and covering him with a sheet, the hand upon his eyes was finally removed to instead, brush a stray hair from their face.

“My only regret, my dear crown.” Pariah's eyesight grew blurry, and he finally allowed his weakness to fall silently. “Is that I was not strong enough to secure a future where we both were allowed peace.”

[wheeboo]

venus | choi seungcheol

SYNOPSIS. in which the love between you and the prince is forbidden. PAIRING. prince!choi seungcheol x servant-commoner!reader (ft. servant-commoner!chan very briefly) GENRE. fluff, angst with a hopeful ending?, forbidden love, royalty au, arranged marriage au (cheol is in an arranged marriage), established secret relationship WARNINGS. cheol and reader both have a lil argument, terms of endearment (darling, love, sweetheart), kissing WORD COUNT. 3.8k

note: fic is vaguely inspired by the bridge part of this song called "venus" by regina song 🫶💕 this is also my first time writing a royalty au, so i hope you enjoy! this also features the very iconic "you came" "you called" line 😭

The ballroom of Pledis Palace is charged with an air of enchantment. The time had just reached the peak of evening. Moonlight filters through the large, grand windows, bathing the open room in an ethereal glow. Along the sides of the ballroom are intricately carved golden marble columns, each one painted with a different tale of the kingdom's past.

In the middle of the ceiling sits a majestic chandelier hanging from a massive, golden chain. The piece is the crown jewel of the ballroom, one that easily draws visitors into all its glory and beauty, and it casts a radiant gleam that seemed to rain down like stardust upon the guests below.

The dance floor reflects the light from the chandelier, creating an illusion of stars twinkling at one's feet. You watch all the elegantly-dressed guests move with grace across the room. The women are all dressed with precise attention to detail, their gowns and jewelry like works of art on a canvas. Some wear dresses in shades of amethyst, emerald, and sapphire, embroidered with beautiful beadwork that glistens like constellations, while others prefer flowing gowns in delicate pastels, as if they've stepped out of a fairytale.

They all hold onto their partners𑁋lavish gentlemen dressed in sophistically tailored suits matching the colours of their ladies' gowns𑁋with utmost love and enjoyment, while you find yourself standing at the side, holding up a tray of drinks as a particular heaviness settles in your chest.

And as your eyes drift ever so slightly, you swear that regardless what direction you look in, he's always there at the end of it, like a light at the end of the tunnel. Yet the light this time was dim and lacked almost all the hope that used to be there when you looked at him.

Not only is the royal family of Pledis here, but also a second one. The Choi royal family of Pledis, and of course, the future in-laws.

Prince Choi Seungcheol is dancing with poise that appeared almost effortless, eyes locked in a tender gaze to his future betrothed, yet the smile to his face doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the same kind of gaze during the times he would be with you, like in the secret corners of the royal garden that only the two of you knew, or in the times you both snuck out of the castle at the wee hours of the night to stargaze, or the intimate nights you spent with him in his quarters where you had to leave just before daybreak.

It's those times where the certain line between nobility and commoner could be momentarily blurred. It's those times where you both truly felt free in more ways than one.

As you continue to watch the dance and see the way he twirls his betrothed with ease, the world seems to blur, and it felt as if it was just you and Seungcheol in this grand ballroom. His eyes, so familiar yet so distant, meet yours in a fleeting moment. His face falls instantly.

The world and time may have pulled you apart, but in that stolen glance, you were brought back together. In your eyes, you saw the prince who had defied tradition and chosen to be with you without boundaries. In his eyes, he saw the commoner who had been his confidant and, more importantly, his secret love.

"Why are you just standing there? Go tend to your duties," the steward advises you annoyedly, snapping you out of your focus. With a start, you fix your posture, offering a quick nod of understanding to the stern-faced steward.

Hastily, you resume your duty, walking through the large crowd, presenting the tray of drinks and feeling their odd looks linger on you as you move past them. They're taunting you, not with words, but with their subtle, condescending glances. The weight in your chest only deepens with each step you take.

You reach the outskirts of the dance floor, casting another glance towards Seungcheol. His elegant moves and the seemingly affectionate way he held his betrothed gives a bittersweet feeling to your chest, and you can't help but briefly imagine yourself there with him instead𑁋being the one at the end of his smile, the end of his touch.

As the music swelled, the dance finally comes to an end. You watch as the prince gracefully leads his betrothed back to her seat, a warm smile on his face. You know he didn't have much of a choice. He had an obligation to the kingdom, to his family, and to the future over the love he had once whispered to you in the hidden corners of the royal gardens.

Your heart aches again, but you understand. You couldn't be a part of his world, no matter how much he cared for you.

You don't catch the way his eyes follow you once you dismiss yourself out of the ballroom, struggling to hold your tears back.

"Y/N, don't you think you overwatered this area right here?" Chan, a fellow gardener for the royal garden and closest friend, taps lightly on your shoulder, startling you out of your daze and nearly the watering can in your hands. You blink rapidly, bringing yourself back to the present.

All you manage is a weak smile, some embarrassment and guilt flooding your senses. "Sorry, I... I guess my mind was elsewhere."

He gives you a knowing look, gaze sympathetic yet encouraging. "It's okay. I know things haven't been the best recently." He gestures toward the grand castle behind you, its towers standing tall and proud. You know exactly what he's talking about, and it makes you let out a sigh, facing back towards the garden in front of you.

You've poured your heart into the royal garden for so long, finding comfort in its quiet beauty and the therapeutic rhythm of tending to its blooms from day to night.

As the sun dips below the horizon and the moon begins to rise, the garden transforms into a world of magic. The abundance of flowers surrounding you seem to glow vibrantly under the moonlight, and their scent becomes more rich in the cool night air. The air carries a gentle breeze, and the soft rustle of leaves soothes your troubled mind.

There was just something about simply being with nature𑁋in the royal garden and with the beauty that exists outside its walls𑁋that allows you to breathe more freely. Sometimes, you swear that even the flowers are capable of whispering words of their own, as if sharing stories with you alone, or stories that you used to listen to with one particular man.

Just as you're about to finish watering one last final section, you hear Chan's distant voice from afar.

"Y-Your Highness! What brings you here at this hour?"

You freeze in place, the almost-empty watering can slipping from your fingers as you turn around.

Prince Seungcheol stands at the edge of the garden, his gracious figure silhouetted against the moonlit scenery. He's dressed in his nighttime attire, a pair of simple yet elegant black trousers and a crisp white shirt that flows slightly in the cool breeze. His gaze flickers between you and Chan, a hint of curiosity in his expression, and the two of you both offer a respectful bow in his direction as he approaches.

"I just wanted some fresh air," Seungcheol answers sharply, locking his eyes with yours, and there's a small smile that graces his lips once he catches sight of you. "It's peaceful here in the garden, isn't it?"

You heart only flutters to his words, yet that arrow of sadness pierces through your chest. However, even below the auroral skies and with the intoxicating fragrance of flowers all around, your heart feels lighter than it has in a long time.

"Chan, you may excuse us for a moment." He gestures to the young boy, his voice carrying a warm, reassuring tone that you've longed to hear.

With a quick nod, Chan offers a polite bow, shooting you a glance before slipping his way back in the direction of the castle, leaving you alone with Seungcheol.

Seungcheol approaches you, the distance between you decreasing until you're standing just a breath away from each other. You both remain in a contemplative silence, neither of you wanting to break the fragile moment that has been rekindled after so long.

Finally, he speaks in a hushed tone. "You've been avoiding me."

Your gaze is quick to fall to the ground in guilt, unable to meet his eyes.

"You know I had to," You reply simply, voice barely more than a whisper. "We can't be together, Cheol. You should know this better than me. It was the only choice you had. Duty called, and you answered."

Seungcheol's face only contorts with a mix of anguish and frustration. "Duty? Duty won't keep me warm at night, Y/N. Duty won't make me feel alive. You are what my heart longs for. You should know this. This is all purely arranged, don't you remember?"

You let out an audible scoff, feeling your hands crumple into fists at your side. "You're being selfish right now. Think about the kingdom, your family, and the future you're meant to build. Don't you see why we can't... we can't be together? It's inevitable. We shouldn't..." Your find your voice drifting away, words getting caught in your throat.

He steps even closer, his frustration boiling over into desperation. "I am thinking about them. I think about them every day, but I... I can't stop thinking about you either. I can't stop loving you."

"This love won't feed the hungry, Seungcheol. This love won't protect our people. This love won't secure the kingdom's future. This love won't change the fact that I'm merely a commoner and you're a prince."

The moonlight accentuates the sadness in his eyes as your words sink in, and you find yourself unable to hold back the tears that have welled up. The two of you only stand there for a few long moments, simply gazing in each other's glassy eyes, feeling like the garden itself was holding in a breath of its own.

Then in a sudden moment of vulnerability, you step closer to him, resting your head against his chest, taking in his familiar warmth and the scent you've longed for as your tears stain his shirt. Seungcheol wraps you in his strong arms, pulling you closer, and you feel his heartbeat against your body, steady and comforting. It's a sound you've always loved listening to whenever you embraced each other.

"I've missed you, darling," he mutters quietly. "Don't you understand how much you mean to me?"

With his arms around you, you feel a warmth that fills the void in your heart. It's a sensation you've yearned for the past few torturous months.

"I-I've missed you too," You confess, voice trembling. "But... but we can't𑁋"

"Please," he pleads softly, tightening his hold around you. "Can't I just hold you?"

The tenderness his voice holds cuts you off, and you can't help the way your fingers instinctively knead at his shirt.

Seungcheol holds you tightly, as if he's afraid that letting go will make you vanish into thin air. In this fleeting moment, there's no kingdom to rule, no traditions to uphold𑁋just the two of you, reunited in an embrace that disregards the confines of your roles. It's as if the world beyond this secluded royal garden has ceased to exist, and for the first time in a long while, you feel truly alive.

"I love you," he murmurs, voice heavy with sorrow, his lips brushing against your hair. "I love you more than anything in this world."

Usually that particularly intimate exchange brings those flutters to your stomach and a giddy smile to your face, but instead, it only makes your heart throb. Though you know with every fibre in your body that it's true𑁋that you love each other. It's not a secret, nor a feeling to deny.

You find yourself pulling away slightly, angling your head up to be able to take a look at him. His gaze meets yours halfway, and the intensity in his dark pupils nearly takes your breath away. He searches your eyes for a moment, before drawing his lips near yours, his intent clear. For a heartbeat, you're tempted to give in𑁋to taste the sweetness of his kiss once more.

But then the weight of responsibility, the duty you've always known, everything, pulls you back.

"I-I can't," You whisper, the words escaping your lips shakily. "We can't, Seungcheol. It-It's not right."

Seungcheol's breath hitches as you pull away. His lips hover just inches from yours, yearning for a connection that seems increasingly unattainable.

"I know," he replies quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. He still doesn't want to let you go. "I understand. I'm sorry."

You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, caressing his skin softly. "The kingdom needs you. Your people need you. They need a strong, capable leader. They need their prince."

Seungcheol's jaw tightens. "And what about what I need? What about what my heart seeks?"

You only gaze longingly at him. The two of you know the answer to that. You don't have to say anything before he understands with a sigh. His expression softens with a mix of resignation and affection, and he takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"Your Highness, your presence is requested back in the palace," Chan's voice calls out from behind, breaking the fragile moment between the two of you.

Seungcheol releases your hand defeatedly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

However, instead of backing away, he leans back in close to whisper into your ears, "Come meet me at the royal ballroom tomorrow at midnight," Then he pauses, contemplating, and adding on, "if you wish, of course."

Then his lips curl into a bittersweet smile before turning away to leave. The sound of his footsteps gradually fades as he walks away back towards the palace, leaving you standing amidst the fragrant blooms and under the rays of soft moonlight.

Come meet me at the royal ballroom... midnight... if you wish. Seungcheol's words have been echoing in your mind for the entirety of the day, sometimes even distracting you from the duties you are assigned to in the royal garden.

The more you thought over his invitation, the more it felt like an impossible temptation, knowing well of the risks and consequences it could bring.

The day passes in a blur, the sun making its daily journey across the sky, casting a warm and inviting glow over the palace and the royal garden. And when the late night finally takes over, and the clock strikes midnight, you find yourself cautiously walking down the large corridor of the palace, your feet instinctively bringing you in the direction of the royal ballroom. It's eerily quiet at this time, nothing but skeleton staff that still heightens your paranoid senses of getting caught.

Yet as you stop in front of the grand doors of the ballroom, your heart quickens its pace. You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. Should you really be doing this? Was it entirely a good idea to be here?

But just the thought of simply him draws you in, your hand briefly gliding over the glistening doorknob.

With a determined sigh, you take the leap and push the heavy doors open. The ballroom lies before you, bathed in the silvery luminescence filtering through the grand windows. Your heart races as you step inside.

The ballroom is empty, deserted practically. All of the lights, including the large chandelier, were switched off, the only source coming from the outside world through the tall windows.

As you step further into the room, the sounds of your shoes echoing throughout, the sheer emptiness of the place becomes more apparent. You swear you even hear your own thoughts bouncing off the walls of the room. Doubts start to creep into your mind. What if he doesn't come? What if this was all a mistake?

However, just as you're about to give in to the feeling of hopelessness, you hear a soft sound from behind you. You turn to find Seungcheol entering the ballroom and closing the door shut. He's dressed in a simple black suit, and there's a twinge of vulnerability in his eyes that mirrors your own.

"You came," he says, and his voice is so soft that you can barely hear it over your racing heart.

You fully turn yourself to him, swallowing down a nervous lump in your throat.

"You called."

Seungcheol's eyes light up, and a faint smile crosses his lips as he steps closer to you. The moonlight bathes him in an celestial glow, accentuating his princely features. But in this moment, he's just the man you've been in love with for so long.

He extends his hand toward you, eyes locked onto yours, inviting you to share a dance with him.

"May I?" he asks gentlemanly, and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks.

You hesitate for a brief moment, glancing down at his hand and back up to his face. "I... I don't know how..."

Seungcheol's smile remains warm and encouraging, his hand still extended toward you.

"It's okay," he says softly. "I'll teach you. Just follow my lead."

Tentatively, you place your hand in his. His grip is firm yet gentle as he guides you to the centre of the empty dance floor, a certain eager bounce in his step that you notice, and the stars painting the ground seem to come to life as you stand with him. Seungcheol places his hand on your waist, and the warmth of his palm against your skin sends shivers down your spine. You loop your arms around his neck, trying to steady your breathing as you prepare to follow his lead.

At first, your steps are awkward, but you try your best to mimic the elegance and grace that he naturally possesses. He's probably had personal training for this kind of thing, You think.

You chuckle at the small moments where your feet accidentally bump or you step on his toes, and Seungcheol's laughter mingles with yours. Nothing but a soft melody of an imagined song fills the silence as the two of you move together in the middle of the ballroom.

"You're doing great," he whispers, breath brushing against your ear as you sway together.

It's scarily easy to lose yourself in Seungcheol's eyes. They're the same eyes that once whispered secrets of love to you beneath the stars. Now they say a lot without saying anything.

You don't know how long you've been dancing, but it feels like an eternity and a fleeting moment all at once. The world outside the ballroom may be waiting, filled with your separate responsibilities and expectations, but in this moment, it's just you and him.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?" Seungcheol comments, even though you were only dressed in your servant uniform.

Your cheeks flush at his compliment, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze, and offer a shy smile. "I'm not as stunning as the ladies at the court, nor your betrothed."

Seungcheol gently tilts your chin upward, making sure you meet his eyes.

"Every time I look at you, I feel like I fall in love all over again." His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek. "Every time I watch you down tending to the garden through my quarters, I feel as if you're tending to my heart. I can simply say that you're the most beautiful person I've ever laid my eyes on, sweetheart."

His words make your heart swell out of your chest, his grip on your waist tightening imperceptibly, drawing you closer to him. The space between you vanishes, and you can feel the heat of his body seeping through the layers of fabric that separate you. Seungcheol could shower you with praises all day long, and you would never tire of hearing them. He has a way of making you feel special, cherished, and utterly adored.

"Cheol?" You call out, voice tinged with vulnerability.

He raises an eyebrow, still guiding you through the dance. "Yes, love?"

"Are we crazy for doing this?" You ask. It's meant to be rhetorical in a way, but the uncertainty in your voice lingers, and Seungcheol's expression becomes more serious.

He slows the movement between you two, his pensive eyes locked onto yours.

"Perhaps we are," he admits wholeheartedly. "but I'd rather be crazy with you than live a life without you."

His words quietly suspend in the air around you. The moments pass, but they feel eternal, as if time itself has momentarily paused to let the two of you be together. You're captured in his eyes, just like he is with yours. You see the emotions he's trying to convey: love, longing, and the knowledge that this moment is both a blessing and a curse.

And then without a word, you both lean in at the same time, lips meeting each other's in a kiss both softly and tenderly. It's a stolen moment; it's a secret scene that only the moon and stars witness.

His arms pull you closer, fingers dancing along your spine, as if he's trying to bridge any space that might exist between you. It's a kiss that tastes of bittersweet nostalgia𑁋something of what once was and what could never be. You savour the taste of him on your lips, knowing that once the morning light arrives, this moment may become nothing more than a distant memory.

As your lips break away, you both draw back slightly, foreheads touching, breathing heavily as you savour the precious seconds of closeness.

"You know that I'd give up everything for you," he whispers, breath warm against your skin.

You only smile, tracing your fingers gently over his lips. He leans into your touch.

"I know," You say softly. "And I would do the same for you."

"But just for tonight." He pushes back some strands of hair behind your ear. "Can we pretend that the world doesn't matter?"

You peer into his eyes, and for a moment, you see a reflection of your own pining. Your heart sinks, but it also rises. A smile drifts across your face, but it also carries a trace of sadness. Leaning in, you nearly press your lips against his once again, but then you take in a deep breath.

"Yes," is all you mutter. "I'm all yours."

That's all it takes for him to kiss you again, a bit more fervently and urgently that it nearly makes you stumble in surprise. But the second you pull back from each other, he's grabbing your hand in his, a bright smile to his face, before twirling you around and pulling you in close once more, your laughter echoing in the empty ballroom together. You share one more kiss, and then another, and another, whispers of hushed I love you's against each other’s lips as the night goes on like it will never end.

And it's with each minute that passes that only strengthens Seungcheol's determination𑁋that in some way, he will make sure you both will be together, whether that means escaping the constraints of your worlds, finding a way to keep your love alive in secret, or even sacrificing a part of himself.

With each kiss, he silently promises you that he will find a way. With each kiss, you silently promise to love and wait for him.

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[kurimiaki]

Just as I can be so cruel

Malleus Draconia, Twisted Wonderland

tw: yandere, forced marriage, female reader, implied kidnapping, posessive behavior

You wonder how many marriages are built on the foundation of fear.

Lilia had told you it was only natural to be scared, to be hesitant in going forth with the dress fittings, to cry and resist and fight back against your inevitable nuptials. “Buck up,” he had whispered in your ear, tightening your corset before squeezing you into a gown, “you’ll never want or need for anything. Isn’t that ideal, for humans like you?”

You take great trepidation in dealing with your fiancée. As cautious as you are around Malleus as of late, you also fear for him, in a way pitying him. As confusing and overwhelming as it is being with a powerful creature such as he, (unwillingly, at that), your betrothed had always seemed somewhat foreign in the experience of romantic love and relationship.

In friendship, those many months ago at Night Raven College, he was wholly alien to your casual outings and terms of endearment. It became endearing, after a while, how amused and jilted he became in lieu of your impromptu nicknames and friendly asides. Perhaps it was because you weren’t initially disillusioned by his rank or identity, didn’t view him as superior or as someone to be feared.

If he was initially so estranged from friendship as a concept, surely he had no prior examples of marriage to go off of, not in any healthy sense. He was vastly intelligent, powerful and adept in the field of magic, wise beyond how he appeared in years, but seemed so stunted and ignorant as to connection and propinquity.

It wasn’t as if Malleus was lonely. By your standards, at least. Sebek showered his young master in such adoration and attention that you wondered how Malleus didn’t suffocate, and Lilia always gave way to how deeply his affections ran for his pseudo-son, as you used to call him.

This is what made it so strange that you were proposed to in the weeks after you returned home, an eagerly wide-eyed graduate, hopeful for the future you had worked towards arduously for many years. The instant your parents had received a letter from the crown prince’s esquire, formally asking for your willing hand in marriage, such dreams were smothered out. You were whisked away to Briar Valley without a single say in the matter.

Malleus is your friend. Never your lover. He’s only misconstrued what sort of commitment you were willing to pursue with him, and it’s on you to amend this misconception, isn’t it?

But it’s becoming increasingly difficult to justify and redirect your friends’ actions when he does things like this.

“At least let me see my parents before you delude them into thinking I’m your willing bride,” you fluster, storming after Malleus’ towering form down the winding castle halls. Portraits and tapestries line aged cobblestone walls, leering down at you as you pointedly ignore their existence. It’s cold, dewy, abysmal weather outside, and his mood isn’t any better. He doesn’t respond, and it scares you, but you refuse to relent.

You tug on the loose fabric of his coat, as if he’d feel such a small action. “Malleus, please. Why must you be so difficult? I just need to-“ he turns, suddenly coming to a halt, finally uprooted from his indifference by your taunts. You bristle, clenching your fists and steeling yourself— but he’s still so frigid, so monotone, maintaining apathy that stings worse than anger —and continue with your tirade.

“Can we just sit down for a moment. You wanted to discuss the particulars of the guest list, didn’t you? We can work out all of the kinks.” He considers you, bright green eyes tearing into you, as if you were live on a vivisection table, and relents. He always does.

Your bedroom is the only modicum of autonomy you have to cling to, at present, and he invades it by his presence all the same. You’ve made it your home, these past months, arranging and rearranging near ancient pieces of furniture. You fume once more as he casually lounges on an ottoman, never uttering a single word, making you appear so dumb and flustered standing before him. And you are, admittedly and rightfully, furious with him.

Your fiancée raises his brows, expectant.

“I found out that my mother was kept from entering the castle yesterday morning, and by your orders, she’s been sent home. Can you first give me an explanation for that?” you cross your arms, keeping a passable distance from him. Malleus sighs, brows sharply furrowing, as if he was frustrated at being caught.

But he knew you knew, that your family had finally made attempts at contacting you, perhaps hoping to make up for the unceremonious decision to acquiesce to Malleus’ proposal without your consent. If only to ensure that they’ll be the ones to receive your supposedly hefty dowry. Even when you get yourself out of this, you can hardly imagine ever forgiving them, but you were more so disturbed by the revelation that Malleus had also been keeping your mother’s letters from you. You had stumbled upon three month’s worth, kept tightly bound upon his desk.

“And you’re sure of this?” He begins, crossing his arms and regarding you, and you know you cannot rat out the fae who had lay bare this information to you. Malleus frowns as you nod, and rises from his seat.

With a slow, ominous pace he approaches you, lifting both hands to rest on your shoulders. It’s difficult and annoying to have to crane your head so sharply, but you’re adamant on keeping to his gaze all the same. Your neck burns. “Malleus, I’m not angry. I just don’t understand it. You were so accommodating and kind to them back in my village, so why this…?”

He smiles at your words, in a manner you interpret as blatantly condescending. As if your concerns were so simple and unfounded, and his actions easily dismissible. “It’s not totally untrue, I’ll admit to that. Your mother showed up rather early in the morn for a human, disheveled and demanding to be let in…” he trails, tutting and frowning down at you in mock disapproval, as if to perform genuine emotion.

You don’t speak, allowing him to continue. At this, he strokes a strand of your hair affectionately. You flinch, but if he noticed, he doesn’t show it.

“To relieve you of your confusion, my dear, you must understand that I had to turn your mother away in an act of self-preservation.” You gape, openly guffawing at his statement. Before you can refute his words, remind him of his standing as an all-powerful sorcerer of this world, he continues. “She was quite up in arms as to my treatment of her daughter, speaking so degradingly of you, I had to assume that she was jealous of your luxury.”

It’s a ridiculously fabricated lie, you tell him, near frenzied by an onslaught of rage. Childish liar. You call him as such, as he impresses his ridiculous concerns upon you, as if villainizing your mother further will serve to justify his behavior. Now fuming and unwilling to listen further, to hear him droll on about how he’s only protecting you once more, you tear from your betrothed, and supply him with a steady glare.

“You don’t want me around anything that is not you,” you seethe, glowering at Malleus from across the room, “as if i’ll begin to stink the moment I so much as look at another person.” You point and gesture to him in a flurry of frustration, airing your every grievance without filter or fear, naming him a captor rather than a lover, insisting that he just let you go.

He remains unmoving from where he last stood, malignant green eyes trailing your every movement. And he begins to frown, after a while, when your words turn more brutal and accusing, when spit flies from your mouth as you squawk and scream and bawl your ireful allegations. You shut up when he approaches you, at least, eyeing him now with specks of fear and trepidation in your glimmering eyes.

Malleus was never one to be loomed over or missed, standing as tall as he does, his presence so all-consuming and numbing, you often forget yourself, when by his side. It’s different, you suppose, being his lover, to be subjected to the mild affections of a creature that hardly ever acted in the interests of his peers. You could barely conjure the idea that he would lay a harmful hand to you, the weak human he works so hard to protect and constrain to his side.

He raises a hand to your cheek, gently, and you flinch as his nail grazes your cheekbone. You feel yourself falter and freeze as he encloses his arm around your waist, pulling you to him so intimately, so much closer than you’d been with any person before. Malleus sighs, stroking your cheek languidly, distracting and diverting you from your fury, albeit momentarily. You fluster, blush, but don’t forget yourself, and begin to struggle, swatting away his loving caresses.

At once, he becomes volatile. Your cheeks are snatched in a vicious grip, sharp, black nails threatening to puncture soft skin. You struggle to inhale from how sharply and strongly he holds your waist. “Hurts,” you blubber, grappling and clawing at the fabric of his coat desperately, but he only smiles. His hand squeezes, digs, pries into your cheek, and you cannot bear how cruelly he leers down upon you, this creature who used to be your friend.

Malleus was closer than touch, crushing you to him, basking in your apparent dread and terror. Like a cruel child, you distantly muse, who’s gotten a toy after beating it out of the hands of someone younger and weaker, a baby whos too scared to tattle.

“You’d do good to be a little nicer to me, you cruel little thing,” he starts, so chiding and so terribly infuriating that you almost disregard your fear once more, but his grip is still iron-clad and crushing, “I don’t know how much more I can tolerate from your degradation.”

“Everything I’ve done, my every move thus far, I have done for you. I’m not blinded nor jaded by my love, as you presume to think— in fact, I’m thinking quite clearly.” He inches closer, too close, close enough that you can see how his irises are more reptilian and slitted than you had though, so inhuman. His lips are furled, and you can feel your eyes gloss with tears as his edgy breath wafts over your face.

“So misguided, so silly you are, to believe I’d ever take you as my bride haphazardly. That we were nothing more than acquaintances.”

And he pulls away, finally allowing you to breathe, though you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to grace this bedroom without feeling the phantom of his crushing touch. His hand lingers on yours, thumb tracing over the delicate band of your engagement ring. No longer is your mind clouded with worthless euphemism and foolish hope— this is Malleus, laid bare and exposed on his back, stripped of all niceties and facades, demonstrating for you the brunt of his love.

He raises your cold limp hand to his lips, satisfied with your pliant, lamblike mien. Rid of all nasty hatred, instead flushed with fear, which he accepts as gracefully and warmly as he would your love.

[hopelesslygazingthestars]

Update: A Dance Of Love And Duty

- Engulfed By Dragon Fire

Elia/Rhaegar (+ mentions Elia/Ashara)

Elia Martell was the prized sun of Dorne. Her mother had searched high and low for a match worthy of such light. Yet, as knowledgeable and formidable as the old Princess of Dorne had been, even she could not have predicted that in the Seven Kingdoms only dragon-fire was looked upon.

Elia did not know she could hate a person so much. But she did. She hated her husband.

She hated how he made her feel; how she beamed in the shadows as the Silver Prince defeated Ser Barristan in the final tilt, how she clapped as he looped the crown of winter roses over his lance and started his horse in her direction, and how she bowed as he rode past her.

Her face burned like the feverish Dornish sun in utter humiliation when Rhaegar laid the wreath of flowers onto the lap of Lyanna Stark. He named a maiden barely a woman grown the Queen of Love and Beauty, and with that single act, undid all their months-long efforts to see their ascension to the Iron Throne.

Not only had he insulted her before the lords of Westeros, but simultaneously disrespected the Warden of the North and his own cousin by choosing Robert Baratheon’s betrothed.

However, Elia’s hurt extended beyond the insult given, and the gasps of shock, and the Mad King’s cackling; hers was a breath-taking anguish from broken treaties.

And when the wolf girl accepted the roses, looking as embarrassed as Elia felt, the Dornish princess somehow schooled her pained expression into one of unphased indifference. Despite the boiling in her blood, and the prince inside her that fussed in protest; Elia refused to crumble. She would not prove the lies of Dornish savages right, nor the tales of her unworthiness for the beloved Targaryen prince.

“Are you not furious?”

Oberyn seethed when she fastened her hand around his wrist so tightly that she drew blood. Prince Lewyn and Arthur also had their hands on Oberyn in anticipation, but Elia saw that both men battled their own fury too.

“A fire rages inside me hot enough to make even dragons sweat,” Elia replied lowly as she lifted her chin proudly and kept herself very still, hyper aware of all the eyes watching the commotion at the Stark stands.

She was reminded again that the dragons had engulfed the sun, when she noted that none outside of her own retinue even cared as to observe for her reaction.

“Whatever you would have us do, let me be the first to get my hands on him.” Ashara snarled through gritted teeth.

Although Elia had never felt such a strong desire to kill Rhaegar, to incinerate him from the inside out, violence was not her reaction.

“You will do nothing.”

Oberyn and Ashara’s heads snapped to her in unison, for as hot-tempered and blinded by love as they were, they could not see what Elia knew.

“But-”

“I, and I alone shall deal with my husband.” She spat out the term she once said in endearment.

Tearing her eyes away from the display, she saw Oberyn gauge her before relenting; but Ashara, remained tense like she was contemplating a most terrible act of treason.

“Ser Arthur, please escort Lady Ashara to her quarters.”

“Elia I will not-”

“Immediately.” She commanded.

Arthur all but lifted and dragged Ashara from her side, and luckily, the spitting protests were largely overshadowed by Brandon Stark being physically restrained by his brother and kinsmen.

If Elia once questioned her husband’s affinity for madness, she certainly no longer did now. She thought him absolutely insane, especially when he turned his horse towards her. Whatever act of reconciliation he intended was of no interest to her. She would not give the Westerosi the satisfaction of a reaction, but she also refused to be remembered as having been remotely in favour of Rhaegar’s actions. Thus, heartbeat still thundering in her ears, her hands tightened on the material of her foreign robes, and she turned away just as Rhaegar finally acknowledged her.

The Dornish party followed without instruction. Dorne was a proud kingdom, and a snub to her, was a snub to them all. She walked with a strength her brittle bones had never known, and for the first time, she wore the skin of the Queen she intended to be. Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.

When she eventually reached her chambers, she noticed the decorated red and black walls, Rhaegar’s beloved harp, dragons on every surface, and yearned to tear it all apart.

“Leave me be.”

Reluctantly, her retinue left, and when the door shut, her resolve collapsed.

Traitorous tears pricked at her eyes and her hands shook violently suppressing a volatile rage. Frantically, she searched for something that might anchor and remind her of home – of her. She laughed bitterly when it dawned that she too – pregnant with his promised prince – was a belonging of Rhaegar Targaryen.

She grabbed the closest item to her, ironically, a vase of winter roses, and with all her strength heaved it at the window. It shattered on impact and splinters embedded into her palm. Staring down at the crystalline glass pieces smeared by blood, they almost appeared like rubies.

The crimson mess reminded her of the fateful prophetic dream which had led her to Rhaegar. Fantasies in which she accepted offerings of dripping rubies and winter roses. Elia cursed Nymeria’s gifts and the gods that had carved out a life of failed promises. A suffocating darkness swirled in the pit of her stomach, for she knew, as minor as Rhaegar’s actions were, they were the beginning of something far worse. She knew with vivid clarity that if he humiliated her once, he would do it again.

Still, she could not decide which pain was worse – the public embarrassment or the private heartbreak. She did not care so much if he thought the Stark girl more beautiful, or even wished to bed her, but their marriage was a political identity separated from such sundry as personal feelings. Elia was his lawfully wedded wife, his queen-to-be, and mother of his heirs and with that single act he had threatened her position.

Granted, their marriage had not been without its challenges, but not even the worst fights ever made her feel so violated, betrayed, and so completely debased.

Elia was bought out of her musings when she heard raised voices from beyond the door. She did not need to open it to know it was Rhaegar and Ashara.

“Is this not exactly what you wanted?!”

“Do you expect me to thank you for this-”

Elia opened the door, and both sets of purple eyes turned to her. She found it strange how despite being such similar shades, violet orbs filled her with life, and indigo ones, with vitriol.

“I just wanted to make sure you were…” Ashara divulged, noticing her bleeding hand.

Ashara turned sharply, but Arthur appeared suddenly, and grabbed her wrist before she could throw a fist. She struggled against him and only calmed when Elia’s voice sounded.

“Asha, I’m alright, you don’t need to lose your decency over this,” she answered, voice wavering.

Ashara gave her a once over, before searching her eyes for the truth.

Elia could not find it in herself to smile, no matter how pleased she was that Ashara had remained loyal despite everything she put her through.

The white cloak put her down, but his grip on her wrist did not falter.

“I do need you to do something for me, however…”

“Anything.”

“…call upon lady Lyanna.”

Ashara looked like everything in her wanted to protest but she simply nodded, and Elia closed the door to address her husband.

Before she could unleash hell-fire upon him, he pulled them together into a tight embrace. She felt overheated and suffocated in his arms rather than comforted, and she knew that was exactly what he attempted to do.

“Listen to me.” It came out hard, and Elia felt his words in her body.

Where her heart once skipped a beat at his meagre affection, now it repulsed her, and she forced herself from his grip.

“Elia, wife, I know what it looks like, but I couldn’t explain –”

“No. I deserve an explanation for this. Explain why you have insulted and humiliated me for all the realm to see! Where is the husband that rallied against his King and father in defence of his family, where is that man?”

Passing her for Lyanna was a public message that Elia was lacking in his eyes and validated the anti-Dornish sentiments of everyone who thought her unworthy of Rhaegar. Worse still, she knew his display damaged her place in their future court, because Rhaegar’s snub reinforced the insult Aerys dealt her at Rhaenys’ presentation. She wanted to know what was so worth besmirching her dignity.

“I am right here, except –” he implored, but she was firm in her resolve.

For so long, she had withered away in his shadow, hoping to secure their future. Yet, that was not who she was raised to be, and formerly-quelled Martell fire returned anew.

“I want to know why.” Her voice was steel made sound.

He gestured for her to come, but she would not, and resignedly he moved to her, hand reaching for her swollen belly, then for her injured hand. Again and again, she jerked away from his touch. Rhaegar had a history of adeptly slithering his way out of strife and into her heart and she refused to be disarmed by tender touches or conciliated by soft words.

Elia glared at him with chilly hostility, until her ice extinguished his fire, and he relented.

“I met her for the first time on the search for the Knight of the Laughing Tree. I thought I had found him, and when I unmasked the perpetrator, it was her…” he explained.

Rhaegar’s search last several days and now that Elia knew he was with her, she wondered just what had developed.

“... she surprised me. She is strong and wilful, even in the face of me and…”

Despite the situation, Elia could hear the warmth in his voice and her blood ran cold. It was one thing that he might wish Lyanna his mistress, it was another that he might wish her in his heart. Especially, when Elia had cut away pieces of herself so that she could fit in there.

“…she had noble reasons for entering the lists, and performed so valiantly I didn’t think it fair that she not be recognised somehow. I only wished to honour her.”

“By dishonouring me,” she concluded.

“That was never my intent.”

“And yet that was the result.”

She knew Rhaegar believed her naïve to the great lords of Westeros, but Elia could see greater than he, the precarious position they were in, and she saw the iron throne melting beneath them. That he could be so short-sighted vexed her.

“Your actions will not be received well by court, and we can probably kiss goodbye to any great council without Lord Stark or Robert, likely Jon Arryn too.” She commented.

“I can make amends,” he insisted adamantly.

Elia sighed deeply, and ran her hands through her hair, attempting to preserve the churning anger within. She was not satisfied with his answers, and she understood her husband well enough to know when he placated her with half-truths. Rhaegar was not dumb and yet he made an extremely ill-advised decision. He broke chivalric code and alienated two paramount families in one stroke, it was an insult to her and to the perceived honour of Lyanna. Despite all these considerations, Rhaegar still chose to do it. Elia wondered if Rhaegar’s actions were actually designed to appeal directly to Lyanna herself, and that painted everything in a new light.

“Do you love her?”

There was something about the mere mention of Lyanna which lit up his face in a way that nothing else ever did, and Elia knew the answer, even if he did not yet.

“I love our family,” he answered, moving closer.

There was no true love between them, and Elia was exhausted of pretending otherwise, to him, and to herself.

“That’s not what I asked… do you love Lyanna?”

Silver brows knotted in confusion and she simply observed, willing him to say the words.

“Why – so you can run back to Ashara?” He snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she slapped his face, causing him to double over. She knew it wrong to strike her husband, her future king, but that he even attempted to drag Ashara’s name into it enraged her. More than that, she wanted him to feel a fraction of the pain she had endured.

“I did everything you asked! I have given you everything, and yet again I am left with nothing but hurt!”

Her chest burned, searing flames of betrayal and shame engulfing her because she hated that it affected her so, because it meant that somehow, she still loved him, despite no longer wanting to.

“I know, I didn’t m–”

Elia was tired of giving to a man that took her for granted, and always loved something else more; and left her with nothing but measly scraps. However, she would not allow him to rob her of the last thing she had left, her voice.

“I sacrificed for the future of your family name because that’s what you needed. I abandoned my home, my traditions AND Ashara because that’s what you asked…”

She had done the impossible and pushed away the person she loved the most. For too long, she endured dragon-fire and now that she was nearly ash, her own inferno awakened.

“I did EVERYTHING. I gave up my body for you despite –”

Her voice faltered when old resentments surfaced.

“Despite what?”

“Despite the child that died in my body for me to mourn alone.”

He looked back at her with surprise and an expression akin to shame washed over him. His actions had broken the unbreakable and he did not even know it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was a whisper.

For a moment, his indigo irises looked so haunted Elia almost felt remorse for informing him so callously.

She laughed hollowly, dark and filled with resentment.

“You know why.”

And he did. His silence told as much. She would have been cast aside for a mistress sooner.

He reached for her swollen stomach, and this time, she allowed the caress. Inside her, the babe kicked hard. So hard it made her wince. Rhaegar felt it on his hand, and maneuvered to his knees, resting his hands and head on her belly.

Elia looked away, resigned to the inevitable. She did not want him manipulating her into remembering feelings she would rather forget.

“I’m sorry Elia.”

What he was sorry for, Elia did not know, but she nodded and said nothing more.

She distanced herself, and when she met his pensive gaze, translucent eyes swirled with some realisation. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, before syllables formed.

“This means – he could – he is th–”

“If you mention your damned prophecy right now, I swear by the gods I will scream bloody murder Rhaegar.”

Once she recovered from rehashed emotions, she found herself burned out. They stood on opposite ends of their chambers staring at each other like strangers.

Elia breathed hard, her eyes watery, and hands balled into fists. Rhaegar hung his head low in shame, looking guilty and afraid.

“Love, I can forgo, but I demand your respect, Rhaegar.”

“I would give you both. What can I do to mend us?” His tone was pleading.

However, Elia was well past giving him the benefit of the doubt. Rhaegar had broken her trust for the last time.

In that moment, Furiosa haunted her, making her remember her duty to Dorne.

‘You must ensure your husband sits that throne and that your children do after him… Do not let yourself be duped... And if something needs to be said, do not hesitate to speak for yourself.’

Elia was not so young as to forget the explicitly anti-Dornish Blackfyre rebellions, nor how a noble-mothered bastard could pose a threat to Dornish-blooded monarchs. Elia needed to hold onto Rhaegar no matter how much she despised him.

“If a mistress it what you so desire then seek whoever you wish, discreetly, but I beg you, not Lyanna... and not until you have fulfilled your bargains to me.”

Elia carried another child, despite her health, and pushed Ashara away as he had asked. Now it was his turn to make her a Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Her gaze pierced into him and he shifted uncomfortably under it.

“Rhaegar.” She prompted.

His reluctance told her everything she needed to know. Rhaegar loved Lyanna. Yet, if she had sacrificed her heart for him, it was only fair that he do the same.

“Very well. Your wish is my command.”

[widcwed-rasa]

Note: this is part of Rasa’s now annual tradition to write her feelings out and “speak” to her deceased husband through letters she seals and hides away. Nobody knows about their existence. Read it at your discretion.

Khatanga - October 24th, 2120.

My dearest husband,

Two days have passed since the anniversary of your death, and this year has been turbulent, to say the least. After years of watching my parents giving me sideways glances and whispering things behind my back when they thought I was out of earshot, I decided it was finally time for me to go away. They've been pressuring me to come out of my shell for so long that I believed giving them what they wanted would mean I would get a break. I was wrong.

This Khatanga experiment seems fucked up if you ask me. I understand why our parents are concerned about our safety, but throwing us all in the same place didn't sound like the smartest idea. I wish you could be here with me. You would understand what I'm talking about, though I can't say there haven't been interesting moments. I won't get ahead of myself here. Let me try to recount things as chronologically as I can.

Ausra and I made our way here together. I suppose our parents either assumed the two of us together would make this transition easier on me, or they decided she was ready to be pushed into a marriage. Whichever scenario, the result will probably be the same. And since Daina has recently arrived here as well, I imagine we'll soon all be facing the same circumstance, but so far, it's just been me.

I guess one of the first few things that happened after we arrived was stumbling into Maggie one night. You remember her, right? She's been a little crestfallen over the idea of seeing Matthias around here more often than anyone would have wished to see their ex. It's understandable, and her feelings are valid, I just don't know why anyone would make her suffer. To make matters worse, I believe Matty might be oblivious to it, which kinda makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. They don't have a clue how lucky they are that things ended when they did. I keep telling people that love brings nothing but pain. Nobody believes me. No one ever seems to comprehend why I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I've just been trying to warn them. Nevertheless, I did for Maggie what any good friend should do. Actually, maybe I've done a bit more than that, but you know me. I cannot see a pretty girl upset without lending them a helping hand— or whatever else they might require. You'll be glad to hear that we have rekindled our estranged friendship, and now it's probably at the best point it's ever been.

I think it might have been at the end of May. Or was it the beginning of June?! I can't remember it too well. Anyway, it was just shortly after our arrival as well when I received a letter from mama with news that would change my life forever. Not right away, no, because I preferred to block it all out and pretend it had never happened. I thought if I could simply ignore it, therefore it couldn't be true. My world of fantasy crumbled just weeks later, and, as usual, it happened in the worst way possible.

When I agreed to come to Russia, I thought my parents would allow me a breathing moment without having to hear about my next marriage. It's still too weird to consider it, or the fact that it's really in motion. Overall, I'm surprised they managed to find a family that was willing to take me in as their daughter. Let's be honest, the past couple of years have been far from my most gracious times, and it's not as if I'm making any effort to change that. So why? Why would anyone want to associate their son with someone like me? My therapist would say I put myself down as self-sabotage. Well, I never saw her in any great rush to marry me and prove me wrong!

Anyway, my parents have been able to settle the terms of my betrothal with Eamon O'Rourke of Ireland. He's not the first in line for the throne— thank goodness for that! Can you imagine what it would be like if I were the queen of any place? —, he's younger than I am by a few years— his twin sister is one of Ausra's best friends. Maybe I should try to see if she's involved in this somehow —, and he has this shocking head of red hair that's pretty much the first thing you ever notice about him. It seems a little bit like Ausra's hair, but with a little more of an orange undertone, like the sky during sunset after a long period of drought. And... I slept with his older brother a few years ago, a piece of information he took surprisingly well, I might add.

As it habitually happens to me, when we met, or more accurately, when he snuck up on me, I made a fool out of myself. First impressions have never been my forte. You would find the entire thing hilarious, and the problem is: so did I. Not hilarious, or funny, but you know I have this proclivity for smiling or laughing when I get nervous, and I laughed for long minutes. It probably felt even longer for him. He deserves someone a tad more tactful. Instead, he got stuck with me. Eventually, we sorted that out. We seem to have a lot of dark things in common. The sort of things that would make most people run for the hills without ever looking back. If he hasn't found a deal-breaker in the past couple of days, there's a chance all this darkness in me isn't triggering to him, and this wedding might end up happening. I'm scared. And don't give me one of those bullshit speeches about facing our fears. I want to be able to chicken out like the good coward that I am.

Since our meeting was far from ideal, I thought it called for reparation. So I looked for him during the masquerade event so we might have more of a chance to talk and get to know one another. We drank and asked a bunch of questions. As it turns out, we both prefer to live in the country, and we might move to Italy after we're married, and his sister also is. Oh, and he's a cat person. Do you think I could have a cat...? Our drinking game went better than I thought it would. Maybe it could be our thing.

While here, I also had the chance to spend more time around Maggie's brother, Ivan. Nothing about our rendezvous was expected, and I must say it took a peculiar turn. Maggie invited me for tea one afternoon, but she didn't show. Instead, Ivan came around for the same reason: meeting his sister there. We quickly came to the conclusion it wasn't an accident that we were both there. Maggie had pulled those strings. I'm still not sure why. Perhaps Ivan got to the bottom of that situation, and I should ask him. The idea of spending my afternoon sipping tea with someone I barely knew wasn't among my favorite activities, and I doubt it figured among his as well. There were probably more interesting things a crown prince could be doing, but him producing a flask of whatever booze from a pocket helped with our bonding process. Immensely. With a snap of the fingers, we became acquainted with the other one's flirtatious sides, building up a tension I didn't even know existed between us. He instigated my curiosity, and I hate to admit that he had me hanging on every word just to see what would follow. I'd like to think stumbling into me also wasn't the most conventional thing that's ever occurred to him. There might be some other buttons to push or undo there. I don't know which ones yet, and I might be willing to go ahead and do that. Eventually. It's something that will come to me.

Now, let me circle back to the masquerade ball we had... So many things happened. I don't even know where to start. A few days before the party, we received letters telling us that the organization had picked out dates for everyone. f I already had my doubts about attending, giving me an obligation while I was at it wasn't how anyone would convince me I would have a nice time. My pair for the evening was Prince Callister from Greece. A very superman sort of man. Seriously, the guy looks like some artisan sculpted him in marble. As polite as polite could be. In fact, if politeness ever had a picture in the dictionary, he would be there with a smile upon his face. After fulfilling our mandatory duty, I didn't want to keep him for longer. Life's too short for us not to do what we want to do, and the man is clearly besotted with his fiancée. What a rookie mistake. Therefore, he wasn't my type.

After I freed Callister from his obligation, I sought for things I could do while I was still there, otherwise, the evening would have been a waste of my time and a beautiful dress— Oh my God, I sounded just like Day! Never tell her that! —although terrible shoes. It was how I came across the Devil. Or, well, that's how he first introduced himself, and it led to such a frustrating experience.

He invited me to dance. I could never turn down something like that. Especially not when it already felt like something I hadn't done in forever. So we danced, and we talked, and we teased enough to feel like maybe we should have been doing something other than just dancing. We kissed, and things heated up quickly. The way he was touching me made it clear he wanted more. I wanted more. Unfortunately, being too honest sometimes has its problems. I told him there was a lot about the past couple of years that I couldn't remember, and he decided to use that information against me so he could leave me wanting more. He told me that was the best way to make sure someone was memorable. Can you believe that?! He dared me to find him afterward, which would be a lot easier if we had exchanged names or anything like that. Now I'm stuck with a vague sense of recognition, a challenge, and curiosity. It's terrible!

You will be proud to hear that I've made a new friend. And, of course, that happened in the least predictable way possible. She drenched the hem of my skirts with champagne. She was mortified when it happened. I was more along the lines of amused. Sure, maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have found it as endearing if she wasn't stunning. And those eyes... Those eyes, I tell you. They look like they're staring right into your soul. Sarika is a sweet woman, and she's also been through a lot. No wonder we seemed to attract each other. There might be a couple of things I could teach her as well, after all, I've been doing this mourning thing for eight years now. I've picked up some stuff here and there. If people want to give me those pity eyes, the least they should expect is for me to use that for something. This can't just be the kind of situation in which only I lose. Sometimes we need to try leveling that playfield, and it's something I know I can help her. We might be the only ones who are truly able to understand how the other feels. She was even willing to be here with me when I just wanted the whole world to be gone. I like her. I'm keeping her.

The masquerade had some intriguing twists and turns, but I suppose running into Valentin of Austria had a riveting turn out. Maybe I've read him completely wrong from our first few meetings. When we first crossed paths back in spring, he seemed like the sort of man who held back a lot. He always seemed to dodge and skirt around things he truly wanted to do, and I don't know why he'd have such reservations. Anyway, I convinced him to steal a bottle of booze for us to share. It didn't take a lot of persuading, which is probably what led me to believe there are things he wants to do, but he's reluctant. During the event, when I saw him, there were two things he wanted to do: go up on stage and sing and kiss me. I wasn't going to wait and see whether I win or lose a bet to kiss someone, so I did just that before he even had the chance to finish his proposition. Still, he went on stage anyway for his rendition of Britney Spears. I thought it was an odd choice, but it isn't my place to judge. My karaoke songs aren't what others would call conventional either. Maybe I was a little upset over the fact that he had already gotten the girl, but I had to cut my losses. When does life ever go the way I want it anyway?! He sang. We kissed. It was a win-win situation. Making out with him had unanticipated results, and he was far more willing to move past the boundaries of decency than I thought he'd be. Sure, he first freaked me out when he talked to me about love, but once we pushed past that obstacle, everything was great. He might turn into a friend with benefits. We'll see.

I saw Eamon again the other day. You know how I tend to shut myself in around this time of the year, and there are far more people here than I would have wanted to deal with when I'm in my right state of mind. When everything goes south, I push everyone away. I can be especially hard to handle during those episodes, and it was worse when I felt suffocated in a place where so many people seemed to have such easy access to me. So I bribed a maid to give me the location of a spot most people wouldn't think of looking for me: Eamon's room. Most people know how I feel about our contract betrothal. Ausra's still under the assumption our meeting went fabulously wrong— I'll tell her about it eventually —so no one would have reason to look for me there. I had already been there before a few times. He was never there. It was just a calm place for me to be when the world became too much. I don't generally touch anything, just sit or lie down in the most complete silence until my demons are appeased, and I feel like circling back to my room. But this time, he showed up while I was at it. I cannot begin to imagine how odd it must have been for him to open that door and find a woman he'd met like yesterday sobbing on his bed. It's hard to tell how he'll respond to what he encountered now that he's had the time to process everything, so I suppose I'll just have to wait to find out what the future has in store there.

I feel like this concludes my reports on the most impressive things that have happened to me lately, which means we're reaching the end of this.

I'll see you whenever I have more things to tell, well, you know how this goes.

Truthfully,

Rasa.

P.S.: I saw a man with his daughter the other day. She’s seven. That seems to have brought me way too many feelings I wasn’t prepared for. So, fuck you very much for putting the plans of having children inside my head all those years ago.

[blitzkrieg-mit-dem-fleischgewehr]

Gilbert & Frederick Headcanons

( Part I, I might have a few more of these if I can’t get everything out on here...since I have a habit of getting carried away.)

I’ve been having so many emotions today about these two....and I also realised because I’m shit at updating the ‘project’ I’m writing. I call it this because as much as I would like to call it a fic...it’s more like a series of drabbles about them at different points in Frederick’s life.

Surprisingly, it is in order but it’s only two ‘chapters’ in.

Okay, fucking hell, this is either going to get long...or it’s going to be short because I can’t contain myself. Let’s begin. 

First off, I want to talk about Gilbert as the nation of Prussia, and if I get off my lazy ass, in more detail in another post, but for now I like the idea that before Frederick he was quite wild. It’s not that he doesn’t know how to behave in high society but more like the idea of kneeling for a human, was never really appealing. He, of course, respected what...say Frederick William the Great Elector did in terms of the military but to give himself over completely in the way Gilbert does to Frederick...was not something he ever considered. 

Lets fast-forward to young Frederick the Great. I can easily see Gilbert being unsure of him especially considering his main interaction would have been with Frederick’s shitty ass father, not to say that he didn’t do any good for the Kingdom of Prussia but as a person...especially to his children he was less than ideal (and I feel like I’m putting it very nicely). Also, hearing negative things about the crowned prince probably didn’t lend to having very high hopes for the heir. The good thing is that Gilbert is the type to form his own opinions through his own experiences. It may have been that those thoughts were mildly influential in his preconception of Frederick the Great but I feel like Gilbert would want to assess him himself.

A few issues that I can see coming up before Gilbert hits it off with Frederick are: 

1) The fact that for the early part of his life French was the language that he communicated in and Gilbert, despite learning it after and becoming fluent, would resent that to a degree. It would be a slap in the face to realise that your king was a Francophile and that he held many German things in low regards. 

2) Frederick’s initial dislike for the military would be a sore point but obviously after Frederick’s forced betrothal to Elizabeth Christine, he really takes on to the military. And, more so after he becomes king. 

3) His attempted escape from his life under Frederick William II. This...I could see really hitting a nerve in Gilbert. In part, I could see him curious about whether Frederick would succeed or not. But, overall, it would be a betrayal, in the way that he’d also be running from Gilbert himself. The way I look at it is, yes Gilbert understands the reason for the flight. The abuse Frederick endures from his father is horrendous and humiliating but...who wouldn’t want to be King of Prussia? (Probably many but we’ll just ignore that, haha)

4) This is where I want to do a lot more thinking on but I’ll put out the...bones of my train of thought. The relationship between Katte and Frederick. Before, we touch on that though, I always find it difficult to headcanon the level of acceptance Gilbert has to acts of ‘sodomy’. The Teutonic Knights were a violent crusading order forcing Christianity on the pagans of Europe and then attempting the same thing on the Muslims of Arabia.  

I know there were claims of severe sodomy on the Knights Templar in France but...I believe most of those claims came forth because the Templars were being tortured into these confessions as a way to deface them. However, I only know this to be a thing in France and since the Teutonic Knights were given their own piece of land they didn’t really have to deal with a foreign monarch deciding he didn’t really like your order. 

It wouldn’t be abnormal for there to be homosexuality within either order but whether it was viewed well or rather not cared about so much by the end of the order? or were those partaking in the act hush-hush about their activities so they could be left alone? was it acceptable in certain circumstances (like when they went away on crusades and there weren’t any women around)? There are so many questions which I don’t have the answer to but taking all of that into account...how does Gilbert feel about all of this? 

He’s obviously seen how the church and many states think of it...with their laws against the act. Then, we also need to take into account that Gilbert would be educated in a strict manner to reflect the values of the time...and the fact that it was a Christian order. 

I always characterize Teutonic Gilbert as wild...and ‘violent’. This violence coming from the fact that he always found himself in some sort of confrontation -- not to say that he doesn’t have any other traits but there is that lust for battle and glory (even if it wasn’t really that glorious especially the crusades in the east). So I feel that Gilbert would be more of a one tract mind and any thought of love, relationships (outside of brotherhood), and sexuality...wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. He just didn’t care to give it much thought, plus, the church, the law, and the bible touched base on it...so whatever they say must be correct, right?

I could see Gilbert being both repulsed and intrigued. The repulsion would come from years and years of hearing that homosexuality is bad and even seeing people being killed because of it. That repulsion would be inner homophobia brought on by living in a society that didn’t accept it and considered it effeminate, weak. 

The intrigue would come in because Gilbert later realises that he’s not so disgusted by the act. That something about Frederick specifically...makes it okay. It’s almost as if that’s the first spark of interest he has for Frederick but a spark he doesn’t realise until much later on and he’s absolutely smitten with his king.

5) I have to come back to the whole Francophile topic and the fact that when it came to music...Frederick had a propensity to only want Italian singers because he felt that German’s weren’t good enough even if they had the right training.This is more little things but I can see it adding up after a while of hearing how much Frederick was fond of all other cultures except the German one. And, I don’t really blame Frederick seeing as what he perceived as German culture was everything he hated about his father...or all things that reminded him of his father. This is something I understand but Gilbert would get irritated that it was always French philosophers or the French intelligentsia  that Frederick had to surround himself, that the German arts were almost never good enough for him. Although, Frederick did like his German court musicians and composers so that would be an upside. However, operas for example, Frederick would prefer in Italian over German and so on. 

I could see that becoming an endearment a hundred years after Frederick’s death but during his lifetime...after a while Gilbert wouldn’t take so kindly to it.

The good thing is that they both communicate with each other. A resolution would come around especially when Gilbert and Frederick understand each others sides.

---

I think...I’ll stop this here for now and continue....maybe tomorrow?