#You have earned the respect of a monarch indeed

[joffyworld]

My apologies for sending an upstanding nomad through your land at such a time m'lord! The Minstrel Curlyfry twas a merchant of minor renown. I in hope to bring her to our "cult"'s midst and invited her to a tour of your fiefdom. Tis truly unfortunate she visited at such a time. Twas a mistake on my behest. I hope you may pardon me for the fair trade I mayhast have ruined. I wish not see your land in tatters like this, oh tell me Lord Joffy, how may I curry your favor once more. I swear my fealty to you, I shall fight under your banner and title m'lord, if only you may forgive me

You are forgiven lord Tharsis of house Car. You knew not of the strife that would plague our lands, nor of the brigands whomst tore at our gates. Your loyalty was never in question, and your honour has no fault in its shawl

You are one of my most trusted knights. Arise Ser Tharsis, I grant you a fifedom of your own as reward for your services.

May the Lord bless your harvests and give you bountiful riches beyond counting good ser. I bid you adieu, and good morrow

[bakuvantea]

HEY BESTIE I HOPE YOUR HAVING AN AMAZING DAY

CAN I GET SOME GENERAL HEADCANONS WITH SUNG JIN-WOO WITH A FEMALE S/O

FEEL FREE TO IGNORE BUT REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF

>:)

general relationship headcanons of sung jin-woo with his beloved s/o

- warnings: none! just a tad bit of nsfw implications

- audience: I made this gender neutral, i do hope that’s okay!!

- a/n: hello >:) anonnn (may i call u that? lmao-) here’s your request love!! thank you for your kind words <33 stay heathy, stay hydrated, and always rest up okay? hope you have an amazing day ahead too!!

also idk who jacob is-

-•-

: pre-awakened jin-woo (before entering the carthenon temple)

> he was always cautious, he didn't want [you] to hear the whispers going around about how you could've chosen someone better, about how you could've loved someone that was not him. thus, he was very shy and timid, always on edge when he feels the piercing stares from his batchmates -most especially when you try to initiate physical contact with him in your school or in public, you'd see him uncomfortable and so you'd immediately stop (because you respect him, ily). behind closed doors though he would always go above and beyond in pleasing you and making you feel loved, although he always doubts himself so you always make sure to give him praises and assure him that he is the one you love (not that jerk jacob from the class next door).

> he always wears spare hair ties or hair pins around his wrists in case you forget or lose yours. in fact when its weekends -and when he's not out infiltrating dungeons and positively offering his life on a silver platter- he always tries to study new hairdos and hairstyles so he can have more variations and choices when he ties or pins your hair for you. he'd always kiss the top of your head after and you'd feel his smile as he nuzzles your hair, smelling your shampoo. since his hair is also long, you'd also return the favor and tie his hair for him. his favorite would have to be the classic apple look with a pointy lock of hair erect in the middle -he really looks like a shih tzu, adorable-

> he.blushes.so.easily !!! he is very weak to praises and your lil kisses that pepper his face. you can see him glow and you even see his smile evidently becoming wider despite him shying away from you, looking downwards to avoid your loving gaze.

> he may be sht but he is also very playful towards you, teasing you and throwing pillows at you when you’re in his room, what a baby.

> often during dates he'd always need to leave early because he really needs to earn money and g to the dungeons. although you try to offer him some of your savings or your help during the dungeon raids, he'd always reject your offer, thinking of how it may burden you or the dungeon raids may possibly hurt you. you don't listen to him though, you give some of your savings to his sister when you cross paths in your school, and you'd always register after him in raids or call up someone you know to have you join in.

"(name) why are you here?!"

"angel face, i can handle myself just fine. it's my choice to help you and whether you like it or not, i've also been called for this raid. come love, we're going in."

> you'd always take his blue hoodie and wear it. he gets so shy when you smell it.

he gets frantic when you take his hoodie and start sniffing it, exclaiming; "stop! i smell weird."

you raise an eyebrow at him, "woo, you smell fine. i like it."

he tries to stutter a remark but was silenced by your smile.

> you always try to visit his mother with him and his sister, jinah. you always talk to their mother out loud and you'd see jinah smile gently at you and jin-woo trying to stop sniffles from escaping his lips by biting them and covering his face with his hoodie.

jinah: u simp

jin-woo: shut it

> he loved cuddles! but he really likes kissing your cheeks. he loves how soft they are and he loves feeling your cheeks move when you smile or laugh at his cute antics.

> he loves you so so dear

: post-awakened jin-woo (after the events of the carthenon temple)

> oh, dear it's the monarch-

> you weren't with him when he raided the "d-rank" dungeon that then turned out to be,, well pretty much a bloodbath, so you were very worried when you heard word of the news. you and jinah basically ran to the hospital and when you caught sight of him you almost fell down from relief and pure shock in seeing the state he's in. well, not long after though suddenly he's all buff and you were really trying to make sense of what's happening.

you: hello there good sir, what in the name of fck are you doing in my boyfriend’s room all sweaty and half-naked😀

jin-woo: (name) it’s me

you: haha yes, sir ‘it’s me’ that’s a pretty weird name but i don't judge, anyways my baby boy is not here uhm haha please get out of my boyfriend’s room

jin-woo: (name) it’s really me!

you: no sir, my woo radiates baby energy, you on the other hand radiates big dilf energy, haha i do not like what i am sensing so please for the life of me leave-

(jinah had to convince you that it is indeed jin-woo, you had her stop you from trying to hold his tiddies)

> you were very happy in seeing how confident he’s become, and you were even more proud with how he still says so humble despite his new accomplishments and title.

> it was obvious that he has become distant with others and have set a boundary between him and other hunters, you accept that part of him though since you know just how much he has gone through. he may act aloof towards others but he’s still very playful and comfortable with you.

> you have also noticed another thing though, he has become a bit possessive or much protective over you and jinah. he’d always have you bring a shadow with you to guard you when he can’t be with you. also, when someone stares at you for far too long, he’d step in and go, “hey there pal” and oh gosh was that enough to get the guy running (pretty damn hot)

> you still visit his mom with him, he doesn’t cry now though.

> when he trains, you’d insist on lying down below him when he does push-ups. you’d kiss him every time he swoops down and you’d hear him laugh which then makes you giggle as you hold his cheeks between your hands

> jinah is sick of the two you, always screaming about how on earth did her brother get an s/o before her, the audacity!

> his shadows adore you, of they’d always try to impress you or get head pats when you tell jin-woo to summon them for you. you live them to bits and always thanks them for a job well done in helping jin-woo with his raids. on the first time you accompanied him for a raid -you had to bribe him with more cuddles- and you were shocked with how his sweet adorable shadows turned a full 180, becoming ruthless towards the enemies. quite a show you’d say. after though, they’re back to flocking over you, even dismissing jin-woo lmao

jin-woo, watching you give each shadows head pats: i hate it here

you: get in line then

> it may be due to his newly acquired talents and his current mental and physical prowess but he has become more perceptive towards you. he can always read you and know just what your mood is and he always tries to make you feel better by giving his whole attention to you.

> of but of course, since dear jin-woo has become quite the looker, you also notice how girls flock over to him. and especially miss hae-in (she’s very sweet yes, but hey that’s your man so like—). the moment you discovered that she left her guild to join jin-woo’s, and then confessed (well basically she did) to your man, well you were upset but really who could blame her? instead of taking your frustrations out on her and your boyfriend, you decided to just talk it out with jin-woo and ask him about how it went. the two of you cleared it out and you got kisses and maybe even more after that ;))

> you and jin-ho are menaces to society when you are together, he hates how endearing and annoying you two can be. i mean, does he really hate it? nope, he absolutely loves seeing you two interact, although his head always throbs when you two start screaming to britney, gaga, and doja.

> a tease, he has become the master of being a tease, you hate it and love it at the same time. he’d trail kisses down your neck to your thighs and leave some marks then he’d suddenly walk away while asking you what take-out you want. rude, that’s what he is. ofc he always finished what he starts tho oop-

> he always randomly bites you now, you don’t know why but it’s really cute when he starts nibbling so you let him be.

> so extra when he tells you that he loves you. he professes it in such weird but adorable ways. one time he had printed out ‘i love you so much’ on a big-ass tarpaulin and had his shadows hold it for him while he’s kneeling down smoldering at you. you hate him so much (you don’t-). or that one time he bought a bouquet basket and had a ring tied to one of the flowers, you had to take the bouquet apart since the damn ring fell to the very bottom.

> sometimes when he gets back to the agency after his dungeon raids you and jin-ho would see him all grumpy and you immediately know that either he wasn’t able to make the enemy his soldier or his coat got ruined.

jin-woo: *sad noises*

jin-ho: that’s okay, you can kill and slaughter the others and take their souls next time

you: jin-ho couldn’t you have worded that better-

over-all, he’s the bestest boyfriend, such a sweet and handsome pretty boy much strong and reliable we love him<333

-•-

- a/n: i can add more to this if you’d like!! just hit me up again lmao it’s too long now so-

[dennou-translations]

Violet Evergarden: Booklet 3

Please feel free to message me about possible corrections. If you can, consider supporting the creators by purchasing the official releases. If anyone is feeling generous: Ko-fi | PayPal. ( ╹◡╹)っ’･*

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At that moment, I found myself thinking, “Aah, maybe if I disappeared, if I vanished right now, nobody would notice.”

Once I thought this, I could no longer think of anything else.

Before I realized, my hands and feet had moved. I slowly moved my whole body and left that place behind.

Nobody called for. Nobody tried to stop me.

Which was why I was now hiding. I was in a corner of a maze of roses in the royal palace of this forest kingdom.

I looked up at the sky. It was overcast. The air was a little heavy, so there was a chance of rain.

Was anyone looking for me by now? No, they might not have noticed. I could bet a hundred of Drossel’s white camellias that they hadn’t. “That wouldn’t be a bet,” someone said from within my mind.

——What will happen to me if I just stay here like this?

I tried to think calmly. Firstly, I would get hungry. My body would get bitten by insects. The sky was looking shady, so rain might come pouring down on me. I would get a fever from the cold, and then... and then... and then...

The power of my imagination was scarce, so the scenario ended there.

Stretching out my dress’s sleeves and removing my long gloves, I plucked the grass with a bare hand. Picking up some rose petals that had fallen to the ground, I threw them into the air even though they would not fly too far. I looked almost like a child trying to contain her bad mood. Most likely, if anyone saw me, they would wonder what on earth the queen of Fluegel was doing.

Why had I grown up to be like this? All I ever did was think big of small matters and be in a state of chaos. It was such a weak mindset, which people most likely wouldn’t expect to come from someone born in a family that was meant to rule a country.

“Members of the royal family are actually not supposed to expose their original selves. Under no circumstance should you forget that you must act with dignity and be a role model to your subjects.”

Even though I had already become a wife, I behaved like a little girl.

“However...”

I had experienced a romance like the ones that young girls dream with.

“...from my long time working in the court...”

I fell in love and won my beloved lord over.

“...these have been the most memorable Public Love Letters. Yes... in a good sense.”

After running and running, I was now living the aftermath of that.

My name is Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel. Already a year had passed ever since I married off to Fluegel.

   Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel and the Forest Kingdom

   Drossel and Fluegel – no matter what could happen to these two nations in the future, they had me as their intermediary princess. If I happened to die in this rose labyrinth without anybody ever finding me, I wanted someone to remember that.

As to why things had turned out like this, I’d have to rewind my life a little to explain. I had to mix up the cauldron of time that made the hours pass.

How far back was I supposed to go?

That beautiful golden-haired girl. My favorite. The ghostwriter who had become a mediator for my romance.

Rewinding to the times of Violet Evergarden’s Public Love Letters would be going back too far. It should be a bit later. Perhaps the appropriate would be around the time when I, who was once the third princess of Drossel – that beautiful country where white camellias bloomed in copious amounts –, went away and changed my surname. Yes, right, that was adequate enough.

Fluegel was a neighboring country of prosperous forestry. I was married to the man who had the priority rights to succeeding its throne. Letting go of everything that I had cherished until then, I married off.

I had transformed from a girl into an adult. Although my appearance hadn’t changed much, that was my status.

My husband was Damian Baldur Fluegel. He was the person who possessed the rights of succession as the next monarch at the beginning of our marriage, but a few days ago, he had inherited the throne from his father and become a king both in name and reality. In other words, I had become the queen as well.

Probably the worst queen in history. After all, I had run away.

   Let me try to trace the rewound time with exact precision.

Fluegel’s capital was a city of fresh greenery, which had a castle erected in the depths of a forest. Said royal palace couldn’t be considered sturdy or showy, but it was in perfect harmony with the nature, endowed with a calculated beauty. Unlike Drossel, a country that maintained itself through the tourism industry, Fluegel had much of its national interest shouldered by its forestry. Drossel’s national flower was the white camellia, while Fluegel’s was the red rose.

The two countries were separated by a large river, but one would be tempted to wonder how they could be so different.

Differences were by no means a bad thing. After all, Lord Damian and I had met because we had been raised in such different cultures. That was exactly why I became attracted to Lord Damian’s… albeit artless, uninhibited personality, which was so unlike that of the royals from Drossel and other nations...

Yes, “differences” were not bad. But the so-called “differences”... how should I put it? When they weren’t tolerated, instead viewed as an absence of profits and effort, they would turn into a really bad thing.

Most likely, that was what made me the way I was now.

Was this an excuse? It might be. But that was how it was. That was it.

At first, my life in Fluegel didn’t go well.

Becoming used to even small differences in habit was extremely difficult for me, which caused the chamberlain to sigh often. He was someone who deserved respect for having taken care of Lord Damian’s personal matters for quite a long time.

There was no mistaking that I was in a position higher than his, but I soon understood that he looked down on me. One could tell as much by things such as the movements of the other’s eyes and their attitude.

The chamberlain would tell me: “That is not the way we do it in Fluegel”, “This is for your protection. You will be criticized otherwise. Now, fix yourself up”, “I have said this several times, but...”

I didn’t think I was some idiot. I believed myself to be the kind of girl who could do well if I put my mind into it. But I had to admit that I was a very unstable crybaby.

The differences such as the ones that the chamberlain talked about were, for example, the order in which people were seated at meals, how to lift my dress when hopping into a carriage, and other minute details like that. If I were told such things back in Drossel, I was positive that I could internalize it in the first try. After that, I definitely wouldn’t repeat the mistake. But the moment I tried to do it in this foreign country that I wasn’t familiar with, being watched by the monitoring eyes of someone that didn’t have me in his favor, I ended up failing. It was almost as if I were inducing the failure on my own. What was this phenomenon?

The chamberlain most likely knew this as well. He knew it, and even then he would sigh and speak in a detached manner while watching me go pale. There was nothing good in it for either of us, yet we would find ourselves repeating this vicious cycle.

To be honest, we were so incapable of getting along that the desire to jump off from one of the Fluegel castle’s windows as retaliation surged from within me. However, I had no choice but to keep going. Because I was a newcomer and that person was an elder.

If I didn’t get used to this, it would be the end of me.

Right, and there was also the tea party. The flow of the Cauldron of Time had finally returned to the present.

It all had begun… from the chamberlain suggesting that if I, who had become the queen, held a tea party, I would certainly make myself known as someone who shines like the stars in the night sky. He gave a long speech about my authority as a queen being this and that. That detestable chamberlain.

I did like tea parties, but even after being in Fluegel for a year, I wasn’t able to find myself anyone that I could consider close to me, so I frankly didn’t like the idea. I hadn’t gotten myself anyone to be on friendly terms with, so rather than a display of my power, wouldn’t this be deemed as more of a public execution for me?

Ever since I had arrived here, I was in the position of a foreign princess who had a political marriage with Lord Damian, so both the royal family that I had joined and the people who took care of me were somewhat distant… To make things worse, I was the very person who had tainted the traditional event of the Public Love Letters. People were wary of me as an unprecedented princess.

I had seen that Fluegel had a liberal aspect to it and wasn’t too bound by formalities in comparison to Drossel, but when it came to the royal family, that was a different story.

Whenever I passed the corridors of the royal palace, I could hear one name being whispered. Everyone would have faint smiles on their faces. “Baby Princess” was what they called me.

The one who came up with it was Lord Damian’s younger sister or something. Indeed, I had childish facial features and I was the girl who had married for love, so there was no helping that I would be mocked like this.

Receiving a nickname and having it made into a title meant that it was ingrained in people. Once a knight earned himself an alias, others would expect him to have a conduct that was worthy of it. In that same manner, no matter what I, Charlotte Abelfreya Fluegel, might say… I lived in Fluegel as the princess whom everyone would giggle at.

Whenever I made a mistake, “it’s because she’s a child”. If I happened to rush towards Lord Damian, “it’s because she’s a child”. Whenever I said anything, “it’s because she’s a child”.

If there was some magic spell that could turn me into a twenty-year-old right now, I would have taken it. It’d be great if I could instantly grab ahold of my dignity in a way that nobody would complain. But that was something that people had to be awarded to through the years, along with their efforts...

I might have been the Baby Princess today as well – the day of the tea party.

The chamberlain was in awfully high spirits, which one way or another was an omen for misfortune. I was watching from my bedroom as the elderly man briskly instructed the people around him.

From the room where I stayed with Lord Damian, I could see the castle’s garden, the rose maze that started from the garden’s entrance veering to the side, and the castle town. Back when we had just married, we used to often gaze outside the window together, but now we couldn’t even talk for more than five minutes.

Ever since succeeding the throne, Lord Damian was truly busy. He would be working while I waited for him in our room; by the time that I woke up, he would be by my side without me having realized it; as I stretched the creases that formed between his eyebrows while he was dreaming, he would wake up all of a sudden and then head off to the royal office again.

I was depressed since morning, because why did I have to hold a tea party while my husband was working so indiscriminately? But, well, this was also part of my duties. It was important for me to mingle with other women from a social status similar to mine. The trust earned from them would help not just me but also Lord Damian.

Those who controlled factions also had control of politics. Yes, yes, I knew that much. I had to do this exactly because things weren’t going well. In order to level up my speech skills, I had to start from taking up a stance. As my position was becoming worse, if I could get around here well, I would increase my authority in the royal territory without having to recreate myself.

I understood the reasoning behind this. What the chamberlain said was correct. He was implicitly telling me to do right, and I was the one at fault for not managing it...

The tea party was held in the garden outside at the arranged time.

There were people that I hadn’t seen ever since my wedding ceremony, whom I greeted while turning my head around at an incredible speed. Whenever someone sprinkled the subject of political affairs here and there, I’d throw it back at them with a smile, literally tearing apart and flinging away whatever came at me on repeat. Although the scene actually looked like a peaceful conversation, under the surface, I, the queen, was being evaluated, so this was a battle.

I thought I had done a really strenuous effort up until the middle of it. Instilling the impression that “My, so maybe the Baby Princess isn’t a bad person and is surprisingly smart when she talks?” was quite a success. The signs that I could make them deem me as worthy of standing by Lord Damian’s side were becoming visible. However, the very moment that Her Highness, the King’s young her sister, appeared in the tea party, everything I had set up crumbled down at once.

She was pretty late from the scheduled time – rather, she suddenly showed up when it was already ending.

Although she was close to me in age, she had a very adult appearance and was an awfully beautiful person. Renowned as one of Fluegel’s talented women, she was also involved with the National Assembly, and told us that she had rushed over because the meeting had ended just now. I had not yet been allowed to attend the meetings even though I was the queen, so I was terribly jealous... and a little miserable.

Of course, whatever had been discussed there became the topic, which Her Highness told the women present, explaining in a simplified manner. What a wonderful person she was.

Regardless, it felt like this was going to end as Her Highness’s tea party, even though it was mine. Well, that was okay too. Rather, it might be easier if there was someone to take the initiative to talk like this. I had a bug where I couldn’t speak very well to people whom I wasn’t close to, so I decided to leave it to her.

Despite this being a tea party, I hadn’t eaten anything, so I had the feeling that I would get hungry in the evening. I wondered what we would have for dinner.

Just like that, half of my soul disappeared somewhere else, so I didn’t notice that the subject had changed from state affairs to the next successor to the throne.

“Queen, are you listening? If things continue the way they are, there will be no helping it if a concubine is appointed.”

Since I hadn’t noticed it, I couldn’t react right away, even as I took the tremendous brutality of those words to the face. This had happened just a moment ago, so I didn’t remember very well what kind of reaction I’d had. I had the feeling that I had responded with a somewhat sluggish reply such as “aah” or “eeh”... much like the way that living creatures cried for the first time upon being born.

I could immediately tell that Her Highness wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

“It is because you are so laidback like this that the King has to fight the national affairs alone. You still intend to be here as a guest, not doing what you have to do, so everyone has to hold back and nobody can speak up their opinions. Talk more. Be more useful to the country. Most important of all, it has already been a year, yet nothing has been reported to us. Are you seriously discussing the succession with the King? If this goes on, someone will suggest a concubine for him.”

With such words thrown at me in sequence, I—I had... I had a thought. That perhaps she was trying to make me lose heart. Wasn’t I being attacked right now?

I looked around. Nobody attempted to open their mouths in order to defend me. There was no one. I had no one.

All of them were waiting for my reaction.

I knew this situation. I knew it very well. I wasn’t being treated as a person at the moment. My personality was being denied as well. The dignity that should be granted to the human being named Charlotte wasn’t being taken into account.

However, I didn’t break. Why?

Because I was used to being neglected.

“Yes, I am truly doing a poor job. I believe it is as you say.”

I was smiling.

“However, it has not yet been decided what will be my part of the work and what will be the King’s, as we are in the process of deciding on it as a couple.”

I was smiling mockingly.

“Now that I have talked to all of you like this, I have concluded I should propose my thoughts to the parliament slowly, little by little.”

I was... smiling.

“I was the princess of my country. But now, I am the queen of Fluegel. I did not intend to be here in the position of guest, but it is true that I was restraining myself. But is that not the same for all of you? I am aware. Everyone has been... well, surrounding me from a distance and looking after me. I was fretting, as it would have been better for you to tell me more directly if there was anything wrong... By all means, I would like to have a frank exchange of opinions with you in the future... and I hope that we can help each other... as fellow women.”

This was laughable.

Her Highness was appalled. So was everyone else. She must have spoken so conflictingly due to thinking that it was sure to make me start crying.

I wanted her to stop saying such stupid things. I was the former third princess of Drossel. Did she know what kind of country that was? It was a country where it was okay for women to become political tools. We were by no means granted the position to act freely like she did. As the shadows so-called “women”, we had no choice but earnestly do whatever we could.

I was born in a country were women were consumed and worn down. To top it off, I had been raised mostly by courtiers, away from my biological parents. I hadn’t seen my mother in forever.

Exhausted as a result of her marriage of convenience, Mother had Father build her a palace and secluded herself in it all day long every day. She did show up at the wedding ceremony, but she hadn’t even sent me a single letter after I had married off. She had probably already forgotten that she had given birth to me.

But that was the country I had been born in. I had been raised by one of this country’s strong women – a carefully selected, tough woman. This person patiently educated me, even though my aptitude wasn’t good. She explained things to me over and over again. She scolded me a lot. She taught me so that I would be able to marry anyone and live anywhere. She had also predicted that a situation like this might happen. So she told me how to act during a quarrel with other women.

That was why I smiled at times like these.

My looks weren’t bad. I was no idiot. I knew what effects I would bring about if I smiled. There was little that I could do, but I was going to be the one firing the best shot here.

I was a crybaby. I was a weakling. I was lonely.

However, I had been taught well. No matter what, I couldn’t lose in times like these. I knew that much.

I had been protected through the erasure of my personality.

   That day’s tea party was over right then, and thanks to the chamberlain saying that it would soon be time to bring it to a close, it ended well.

At a later date, my feud or whatever with Her Highness would become a rumor around the royal palace, but that was a story of the future. In any case, it was over for now. Therefore, I was extremely relieved.

The chamberlain let me return to my room unusually early and consoled me with a “you must be tired”. “You were excellent today,” he told me. Enveloping my shaky palms in his hands, which had wrinkles just like Alberta’s, he warmed them up. “No matter what happens, do not forget that you have one ally,” he said.

From that, I understood a little something. That he, indeed, worried about me in his own way. I wasn’t fond of his way of doing things, but he had struggled as much as he could in order to do something to improve my position.

He had seen what I had gone through today, so he was commending my brave fight. I had been subjected to violence today. I had been told such terrible things. Even though I—I...

I was in love with Lord Damian.

Both Drossel and Fluegel were aware of this. The citizens of both kingdoms knew it. And yet, aah, how embarrassing. But everyone knew.

I was in love with that person. I was in love.

“You have not sired a child after a year, so there might be need for a concubine. Therefore, if such a woman appears, you should accept it,” she said, despite knowing how much it would hurt me.

I was told off. I was told off by the younger sister of the object of my affections. That was what she said to me.

“Thank you, but please, let me be alone.”

I still managed to keep my smile up, but as soon as I drove the chamberlain out of the room, the tears overflowed torrentially and I couldn’t stop them.

There should be things more painful than that out there in the world. I looked like a fool for crying because of something like this. But right now, I was feeling like the most pitiful person in the world. I wanted to return to Drossel. I wanted to go home to Drossel.

No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it. No, that wasn’t it.

I wanted to go back to the person who would always allowed me to cry, no matter how much I did so. The person who would stay by my side.

“Alberta...”

I wanted to go back to Alberta.

I knew it was stupid of me. But when I thought that a day might come when Lord Damian, my husband – the object of my affections –, would take another woman aside from me, it was so painful. My chest hurt – it hurt so much that it was hard to breathe. So I couldn’t contain my cries.

I wondered what had gone wrong.

Was it because I had started clamming up, since the chamberlain would always hammer me down by saying, “That kind of unheard-of behavior is not allowed here”, so I couldn’t speak the way I wanted to? Or was it because I was late to find out that not assertively addressing the royal family was bad manners, since I was in a position where I had to wait for people to talk to me first back in Drossel?

Perhaps it was everything.

Apparently, Fluegel hadn’t taken in a princess from abroad in the last sixty years, so maybe it was already difficult for them to accept a foreign object like me in the first place. Things would probably have been different if I were a great woman – yes, a woman like Her Highness –, yet I had nothing but tears. Still, was I such a horrible person that I had to be told such things?

Aah, nothing – just nothing. Nothing was working out. It might be that nothing would go well from now on too.

This thought swiftly made its way into my heart.

All of a sudden, I was able to clearly hear the sounds around me. The noises of someone walking, the whistling of the wind outside, my own breathing. The way that the tears fell down as they dripped from my eyelashes, the way that I was suddenly looking at myself in a holistic manner.

Yes, perhaps things would never work out from now onward. If so, then...

Then, shouldn’t I run away?

Several questions – such as to where, with whom and to do what – came to me, but I ignored them. I had probably broken down at that point.

I dropped my own heart, which I had been cherishing as much as possible in order for it not to break, onto my feet. I had the feeling that I heard a clank when doing so.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

If so, then no matter how much I exerted myself, it would be useless.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

I had to run off to somewhere.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

Nobody was going to protect me.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

After all, this was a foreign country and Alberta wasn’t here. The only one who could protect me was...

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

The only one who could protect me was myself.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

I had to run away.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

I had to run.

——Maybe nothing would ever go well in the future.

If I stayed here like this, I... I might seriously jump off the window.

Once I thought this, I somehow felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. When I came to my senses, I had left the room.

The courtiers were busy cleaning up the tea party in the garden. The chamberlain had also gone outside in order to instruct them. If I came out of the room without making any sounds, nobody would chase after me right away. When I went into the corridor, there was a soldier, but he was only meant to see whoever entered and exited the place and wouldn’t follow me since he wasn’t my bodyguard.

If it was now, perhaps no one would notice if I disappeared – if I happened to vanish. Once I thought this, I could no longer think of anything else.

Before I realized, my hands and feet had moved. I slowly moved my whole body and left that place behind.

I continued down the stairs and trotted through a passage that relatively few people used. Even then, I did pass by some people, but they didn’t seem to pay any mind to me. To begin with, they might not even have the conceptualization that the queen was running through the halls alone.

It wasn’t like I wanted someone to call for me. However, no one did. No one tried to stop me.

Which was why I was now hiding. I was in a corner of a maze of roses in the royal palace of this forest kingdom.

I looked up at the sky. It was overcast. The air was a little heavy, so there was a chance of rain.

Was anyone looking for me by now? No, they might not have noticed. I could bet a hundred of Drossel’s white camellias that they hadn’t. “That wouldn’t be a bet,” someone said from within my mind.

——What will happen to me if I just stay here like this?

I tried to think calmly. Firstly, I would get hungry. My body would get bitten by insects. The sky was looking shady, so rain might come pouring down on me. I would get a fever from the cold, and then... and then... and then...

The power of my imagination was scarce, so the scenario ended there.

Stretching out my dress’s sleeves and removing my long gloves, I plucked the grass with a bare hand. Picking up some rose petals that had fallen to the ground, I threw them into the air even though they would not fly too far. I looked almost like a child trying to contain her bad mood. Most likely, if anyone saw me, they would wonder what on earth the queen of Fluegel was doing.

Why had I grown up to be like this? All I ever did was think big of small matters and be in a state of chaos.

This wasn’t the married life I had envisioned. I did think there would be hardships, but – how should I put it? – I thought they would be rather different. I thought they would be something easier to grasp.

I honestly didn’t know what I was fighting against. Her Highness probably hated my guts, but if I were asked whether she was my enemy, I would say she wasn’t, and I wasn’t mistaken about that. I did think she was cruel, though.

What was I fighting against? What was I scared of? I kept on being intimidated by vague things that I didn’t understand very well and shutting off my typical behavior, and while I was so frightened, my evaluation from the people around me declined, thus I had come to the point of fleeing.

What was I fighting against? Why was I fighting? Why was I...

Why?

Why was I all by myself right now?

   After that, I cried myself to exhaustion and fell asleep. Perhaps it was an extremely deep sleep, as I didn’t wake up even when night fell. Nobody realized that I was gone, so there was no ruckus over it.

Therefore, I was able to stay asleep forever.

While sleeping, I had a dream. I dreamed with the people of Drossel. Also, Violet – she appeared in it too. My favorite girl.

She looked at me as I cried and said, just like before, “You are such a crybaby.” She also said, “I would like to cease your tears, but I do not have a handkerchief with me.”

I told her that I didn’t need one and hugged her, asking her to stay by my side instead.

I realized that, while I was crying on Violet’s chest, she had turned into Alberta. When I thought, “It’s Alberta”, the tears overflowed even harder.

I appealed to Alberta. No matter what I said, no one listened to it seriously. No matter what I said, people would make faces, as if poking fun at me. No matter what I said, my situation never improved. No matter who I looked at, nobody would help me. No matter who I looked at, nobody was my ally. No matter where I searched, you wouldn’t be there. No matter where I searched, you wouldn’t be there. No matter where I searched, you... you... you...

“It’s because you’re not here, Alberta, that I’m so very weak.”

Even a crybaby like me would be able to act high and mighty if you were there. I would’ve been able to maintain my dignity as a princess. But now I was everyone’s bootlicker. This wasn’t me.

That was why my heart broke and, yes, I dropped it on the floor.

“Alberta, did you not see my heart somewhere around here? I need it... I need it...”

If I didn’t have it with me, Lord Damian would—

   “Were you waiting for me to search for you?” a husky voice whispered.

That was when I woke up.

Just like that one time, the Full Moon was looming over the night sky. The stars and moon were so beautiful in the blooming season of roses.

In a dreamy state of mind, I blinked. The tears spilled again. When my husband saw me weeping, he embraced me as if to hide me from the night sky.

“I will report to the soldiers that she has been found.”

“I don’t want any fuss. Leave us for a while.”

When I heard the voice of the chamberlain as well, my consciousness finally returned to reality. He had said “soldiers”. This might have turned into a big deal. But right now, I didn’t think it would be too scary even if my heart were destroyed. “Is that so,” was all I thought.

This marriage might really be done for now.

Once Lord Damian shooed him, he put his coat over me and crouched down. He gripped my hand, guiding me and carrying me in bridal style.

“This makes me look like a child.”

“No. You’re my wife, aren’t you? And a princess.”

There wasn’t anything else I wanted to do, so I just nodded and did as I was told.

The two of us went through the maze of roses. There was probably someone watching over us. The light of a lantern swayed in the distance as a guide.

“Do you want to divorce from me?” Lord Damian muttered out of the blue with a quivering voice, leaving me in shock. I didn’t understand very well what he was saying.

“Lord Damian, if you want to do so...”

“That’s not it, Charlotte. I don’t want to break up with you... but I was wondering... if you might be thinking of doing that, right now...”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

“Ralph, the chamberlain... has been telling me all this time. That if I were to take the hand of a princess from another country for the first time in sixty years, there would definitely be criticism. He told me to make sure to protect you when the time came.”

What was he saying?

“At first, I thought I was nailing it. I stayed by your side, so that no one could even try to say anything inappropriate to you...”

What was he... saying?

“But then I had to succeed the throne... there were tons of responsibilities stacked up in front of me, and I started looking only at those stacks... I didn’t even realize that you were in such a painful spot. It’s not your fault. I’m the one who isn’t ruling the country right, and for some reason, that’s being taken out on you. Stupid, isn’t it? It’s ridiculous. Everyone thinks it’s okay to do this to you just because you’re an outsider.”

——You’re not the one to blame. I’m aware of my own defects too.

“I also heard about what happened today. It seems you acted dauntless, even though my sister said something truly foolish to you...”

——You’re not the one to blame. Lord Damian. I know it. I know that you look sour every night when you sleep. You’re doing your very best. You’re doing your best every day – every single day. I know that. You may be ten years older than me, but you’re also...

“I’m... I’m pathetic. It’s fine if you complain. Yet you haven’t uttered a single grumble to me until now. Not to Ralph, either. We basked in the fact that you were holding back and nobody took notice of it. And so, we cornered you. Until you ran away, just like that.”

——You’re also still so young.

“I’m... pathetic... I cornered my own wife...”

——So lost, so scared.

“...to the point that she ran away... barefoot.”

——And shaking.

“Charlotte, have you come to hate me already?”

——Aah, Lord Damian. So you cry too, huh. For some reason, I used to think that you didn’t shed tears. I wonder why. You were a moonlit prince for me, so I thought you didn’t cry. But I see. That’s right, even you...

“I like you. I want to stop your tears.”

——Even you have a crybaby side.

After Lord Damian had said so, I realized for the first time that I was barefoot. I had the feeling that I was wearing shoes when I left the room – I wondered what had happened. He told me that someone had looked for and retrieved them. For how long had they been searching for me? If it was enough to make this man cry, then they must have searched everywhere.

Needless to say, I was such a handful of a woman. However, my heart, which had broken apart and scattered away, began setting itself in motion little by little. I could feel it regaining its warmth.

The reason might be that, for the first time ever since I had married him, we had now finally become a couple.

He asked me if I had anything that I wanted to do or that I wanted him to do. I told him that I wanted to see Alberta. He told me that he understood. He then asked if there was anything else, and so, I told him something that everyone had laughed at. We were had gone through a lot to be married, so I wanted to do something for both of our countries. I proposed that we build an orphanage near the national borders. Lord Damian didn’t laugh. He told me it would be great.

“Let’s think things out together. I regret not talking about this before because I thought it might be a burden to you. From now on, let’s have proper talks, the two of us. About happy things, sad things, painful things. I want you to talk to me. And I also want you to listen to me,” he said. He then kept on asking if there was anything else...

Lastly, I asked him to lock me up in the palace if he ever found himself a concubine. He got angry, saying he would never have one. We couldn’t be sure. It seemed we had no knack for child making. A concubine might be necessary. Lord Damian said that even then, he didn’t want one.

And then... And then... And then... What was it again?

I buried my face into Lord Damian’s neck. It had his scent, which always made my heart race whenever I sensed it.

“Hey, maybe I want to kiss you right now. My face is a mess because I cried a lot, though. Would you do it even with a wife like this?” I asked.

Lord Damian laughed while crying. “Even if you cry, you’re my lovely wife. Of course I’d do it.”

Overjoyed at these words, I shed warm tears.

When we kissed, as expected, it was a bit salty. My heart throbbed.

“I’m still in love with you, but what about you?” I asked, making sure to sound as if any answer would be fine.

Unsurprisingly, Lord Damian continued making a tearful face. “I actually only fell for you after we got married. So my heart’s beating really fast right now.”

“I see. So our feelings are mutual. That’s amazing,” I said, impressed.

“Then, what did you think it was until now?” he asked.

“A one-sided love,” I answered sincerely.

“Don’t you hear when I tell you that I love you every morning before I leave our room?”

“I do, but I thought it was some sort of flattery...”

“I’m not such a pro at that. When I like something, all I can say is that I like it. I’m very honest. You found that out on your tenth birthday, right?”

“How nostalgic... I’ve been in love with you all this time since then.”

I was living the aftermath of that story. I didn’t know whether it was a happy or sad one. But I would live, live and live. And this would probably go on forever. I was on my own in this royal palace.

But I wasn’t all alone.

“Damian, do you love me?”

“I do, Charlotte.”

I was living here, in this forest kingdom.

[dangermousie]

Monarch Industry ep 1

It’s pretty cool to see all the themes of the drama in ep 1. This is some good writing.

The aristocracy having fits at Xiao Qi being made a prince. How ironic - this thread of “he’s an unworthy outsider, not one of us” informs so many of their actions in this drama. They need him but their prejudice runs so strong they can’t see it. And it’s a lesson that they never learn.

Even in ep 1, Minister Xie (who along with Daddy Wang is one of the only two men at court with a brain) asks Daddy Wang’s general brother, who says a peasant Prince is an insult to everyone of blue blood, what would happen if Xiao Qi fails against Hulan and Hulan gets to the capital, will he, General Wang, be able to defend the capital? And even in ep 1, Wang Xu has no answer to that because he knows he can’t. They all know only Xiao Qi can defend them from Hulan, they have no other options. And this doesn’t change 60+ eps in (in fact it becomes worse since so many of their other generals are dead by then) but there is a disconnect in the aristocratic brains - they all do realize he’s their only bulwark against the enemy but they simply cannot accept that this means they must treat him better than his dirty blood warrants. They all think being made a general is already way above what he deserves and even survival of the country is not as important as keeping the old order (or at least I don’t think they consciously think so, they somehow think they can kill XQ and keep their country through magic thinking.) 

Old Emperor tells Awu in ep 1(!) that the court is not as concerned with saving the country, they are only concerned about their court positions and that doesn’t change ever the entirety of the drama. That is why Potato who listens to his mother and court is doomed and Zitan who just let the court do whatever because he doesn’t care is doomed. Honestly, Zilu may have been a tyrant but not listening to the court was damn smart. The irony is even the smartest ones like the old emperor, Minister Xie, Daddy Wang still put their power above country. They, unlike the rest, realize the country needs Xiao Qi, but if push comes to shove between their personal hold on power and country’s needs, forget it, they will kill him and worry about invasion and civil war later.

Also, even in ep 1, Awu shows she is not as classist as the rest. She tells the Emperor that of course he should make XQ a prince and whoever doesn’t like it, send them to guard Ningshuo. She says that the reason they never had a non-royal Prince is because they never had such a genius general before (fact.) She also astutely points out that general or prince, he’s just a pawn for the Emperor (so by extension, Emperor should do whatever he wants and not listen to the nobles.) In that one scene, she demonstrates more political astuteness than Potato and Zitan have in the entirety of the drama put together.

There was also this:

His generals are all excited about the royal order making him a Prince but Hu Yao points something fascinating - that the Emperor’s promise to make whoever killed the King of Hulan a prince was made to nobility. I wonder if other more noble generals tried and failed to killed the old king but also it says so much about the rigid class division that his own loyal soldiers are “this is so far out of the norm, this can’t be what was intended!” And General Hu, the most loyal one of them all, asks “why can nobility get that title but common people can’t?” Indeed. But so freaking loyal.

And then there was this, which is even more of a foreshadowing to me:

Xiao Qi orders Song Huaien to get 500 soldiers to take with him to the capital for conferment. And SHE points out, correctly, that they cannot move soldiers without an imperial edict (which they do not have - I mean they have the edict conferring him, but it doesn’t say anything about troop movement.) And Xiao Qi, even in ep 1, when he’s indubitably loyal to the empire and emperor, smiles and gently asks “And who do you serve?” And his soldiers, SHE included, snap to and say they obey. And next thing we know, Xiao Qi rides in with the 500 soldiers.

This SO significant and shows why the nobles were right to fear XQ - even in ep 1, his army is loyal to him above the emperor. Loyal enough than when asked point blank who do they listen to - the emperor (!) or Xiao Qi, they unhesitatingly go Xiao Qi, and commit what emperor could justifiably view as an act of treason. Moving troops without imperial command, even such a small contingent, is a huge no-no! These are the same men who blow up the imperial envoy in 11 without hesitation, fight the imperial troops for him in 50, who open the Ningshuo gates to a wanted regicide, who refuse to bow to the emperor when XQ won’t in 60+. The start of it is all right here - it has always been like this, in fact.

And also - even this early on, when he doesn’t think of rebelling any more than he would fly, XQ only obeys the orders and norms he thinks are worth following, not just because they are norms. When he kneels back in ep 3, he means it. It’s not a formality. Which is why he can’t do it in 61 and so on - because it is NOT a formality to him, it is genuine sign of respect and obedience (or asking for a favor) and so he cannot do it if he does not respect or obey (or have a favor to ask.) And in his quiet way - he is very mellow here, he doesn’t raise his voice - he will not brook disobedience, and he will do what HE wants, whatever the rules say, and he does not see the emperor as automatically sacred. If what emperor wants (or the law says the emperor is entitled to) and he wants (or thinks is a good idea or he’s entitled to) disagree, he will always go for the latter. This is a man who has a possibility of rebellion because he’s an independent thinker, not bound by norms, and that makes him very dangerous. He is loyal unto death but that loyalty has to be earned.

[sparklesparklekoushi]

Will You Find Your Way Back?

A Kitsune!Akaashi x Reader Reincarnation!AU

Loosely based on what a Kitsune is, its more of a reference than a really in-depth depiction. I hope you enjoy as I am back ^-^

Akaashi has always loved you, will you always find your way back home to him?

Living for centuries now isn’t something Akaashi had thought he would be happy with. If you had told him exactly fifteen centuries ago that he would be living in a time where there were no horses on the main streets and cobblestone roads would eventually turn into smooth pavements, he would have laughed. He would’ve laughed even more if you had told him that he would be waiting, every lifetime, for one person only. A person who he would repeat the same cycle with all the time.

Someone whom he loved dearly, his y/n.

If you had told the newly turned, at the time, kitsune all this you would’ve just earned a laugh from him… Akaashi Keiji, now around ten thousand years old, could only wonder if he would react this way… It was now the year 2050 and this would be by far, the most frustrating lifetime his partner has had so far.

There was always some way for them to meet. Some chance, some encounter that would bring them together… but for some odd reason, it was taking way too long. The days dragged on for way too long. He was feeling restless as each day passed. He wanted nothing more but to feel her presence, the spirit he knew to be one with his.

The last time it took her this long to come back to him, well, wasn’t that a story to tell.

It was the age of princesses, kings and ruling monarchs… she was a princess from a neighbouring country. He remembered the way his “brothers” wanted her, the way she lit up the room. The way she commanded respect, the way that her culture was so different from that of theirs.

You see, the way that Akaashi and y/n are able to keep this cycle going is through a promise made between them and the moon. The moon appreciated the dedication and love both had for each other, thus the moon granted them this, eternal lives with each other, as long as they were dedicated enough to each other.

As the young prince Keiji sat by his father and older brothers,  he felt a presence he knew all too well and a ghost of a smile crept onto his face. Something that was rather a rare sight to see in the young prince for sure. His father, the king, looked at his son and thought that he had seen the young princesses on his walk before coming into the throne room.

“Presenting, the King and Queen of (y/c) and their daughters.” Once they were announced Akaashi and his family stood to greet them and there she was.

There was y/n. She wasn’t the prettiest of the princesses, they would say. But Akaashi knew that they were all wrong. y/n’s eyes glimmered like gems of the best quality, her hair felt like the finest of silk. But these were all shallow reasons as to why she was the prettiest princess.

But unlike Keiji, his brothers wouldn’t see it the way he did.

A few hours after the tea party with the neighboring countries’ nobles, Keiji and his brothers were left alone.

"That one princess, y/n I believe was her name, I think she's the prettiest…" His oldest brother, Akinori, says as Keiji looks at him secretly with narrowed eyes.

The twins, Osamu and Atsumu nod as they look up from their game of chess.

“She is, indeed, the prettiest.” Osamu says in agreement.

“Who do you think father would let her marry though? I hear she is to marry one of us…” Atsumu thinks out loud.

Keiji’s eyes widen as he looks up from his calligraphy, still listening to his brothers.

Akinori lets out a hearty laugh, “Well, if none of you would object, I would be asking father for her hand.”

Keiji sighs, “I believe that a princess like her would prefer to choose who she marries. She strikes me as someone with a will and mind of her own, dear brother.”

“That is true, Prince Keiji.” The four princes turn to the source of the voice, the very princess that is the subject of interest…

Looking back, Keiji found it funny as his brothers tried everything to win her over, so did the princes of neighbouring kingdoms. But as fate would have it, they would always be drawn to each other. After months of turning down princes, and silly banter between the two, the strong willed princess y/n became his in that cycle of theirs…

So why was it taking so long for her to return? Keiji longed for her to put her arms around him, for her to press flush against his chest. He longed to love her just like he would cherish her in every lifetime.

He was a manga writer and editor in this new cycle. He was gaining attention and had gained a following for the manga he had written based on his many lives with his beloved. Everything he did was for her, and her only. He could only wait for the day she would show up in this life, and then the next and so on until they become lovers for all eternity.

As a kitsune, it's rather not normal for them to only have one soul attached to theirs, or just one someone who their soul resonates with rather. But with y/n, he felt no need to love anyone else… or so he thought.

On a sunny day, he thought of y/n and the many memories they have made over their lifetimes… Her soul was so pure, so untainted and filled with love for only him… Little did Keiji know that he had attracted another soul in the process. He was on his way to work when he had sensed a rather, odd presence. It wasn’t y/n, yet he felt as if this was a spirit close to him in a previous life.

Then it hit him, and he knew who it was.

He was the team captain of the volleyball team he was in a past lifetime with y/n, Bokuto Kotaro.

Bokuto was a free spirit, someone Akaashi and y/n herself was close with. They bonded so often that everyone thought that they were all in a relationship together. Not that he would mind, but Akaashi wanted to keep y/n for himself for as long as he could.

For some reason, Bokuto’s spirit was now somewhat connected to both y/n’s and Akaashi’s. Akaashi would have to find out why but for now he wanted to see the former captain. Even if he would not have any recollection of his past life. As he wandered around, he was suddenly hit with a familiar feeling, it was her.

She was finally near, he could sense her a mile away.

He knew where she was, he knew the area like the back of his hand.

As he neared the coffee shop he felt her presence at, he was hit with another, this time it was Bokuto’s. He found this odd but let it slide nonetheless. He knew that, in this lifetime, they would most likely have the same names and look the same… Fate was odd that way, yet Akaashi wouldn’t have it any other way.

As he ran to the shop he bumped into the people he sought after.

“Oh, I’m truly sorry. I wasn’t looking.” He bows as they dust themselves off as well.

Bokuto is the first to reply. “It’s alright, it was an accident.”

He looks at them and y/n smiles, “I’m sorry this may be weird, but have we met before?”

Akaashi smiles, “You two actually look familiar as well.”

“Well, my name is Bokuto Kotaro,”

“Akaashi Keiji.”

“And this, is my loving wife, l/n y/n.”

Akaashi felt like the world had crashed on him as they smiled at him, realizing that their souls were actually meant for this.

How cruel was fate and the moon to such a poor kitsune who chose to love one person for all his life?

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Before His Birth, His Birth and His Childhood

The Prophet is Under the Care of Abdulmuttalib, his Grandfather

When our Holy Prophet (PBUH) lost his mother at the age of six, his elderly grandfather took him under his care.

Abdulmuttalib, the leader of the Quraysh, had his share of the light of Ahmad. That light (noor) caused him to earn high merits and attributes.  Excellent traits like a bright face, kind words, shyness, gentleness, and a superior code of conduct were added to his height, large head, and grandiose appearance.  He was patient, clever, thoughtful, chivalrous and generous. Even animals were not exempted from his charity and generosity. He would even think about the hungry animals and birds on the mountains.

That light (noor) caused him to earn high merits and attributes.  Excellent traits like a bright face, kind words, shyness, gentleness, and a superior code of conduct were added to his height, large head, and grandiose appearance. Even animals were not exempted from his charity and generosity. He always thought and was concerned about the ones that roamed with hunger and thirst on the mountain tops.

He was one of the fortunate people who had not separated from the path of light that was in between the vast darkness of the age of ignorance. He was very devoted to Allah and believed in the hereafter. Thus, he did not hesitate to place his most beloved son underneath a knife so that he could fulfill the promise that he had made to Allah. He would have sacrificed his son if the Qurayshis had not intervened. He would distance himself from the ugly rituals of the Age of Ignorance and would also prevent others from participating. At the same time, he would prevent others from the horrible practice of burying infant girls alive. He would always abstain from alcohol and adultery and would try to avert the occurring torture and injustice in Mecca with all his might.

He deeply enjoyed entertaining guests. He would pay close attention to his relatives and would show them compassion and loving kindness. Because of this wonderful quality, the Qurayshis would refer to him as “Ibrahim the Second”.

When Ramadan entered, he would retreat to the cave of Hira and would be preoccupied with worshipping; he was the first to have started this practice.

At the same time, this elderly grandfather knew what loving a child and grandchild was like. It was a great pleasure to love a grandchild as sweet and immaculate as the Master of the Universe (PBUH).

Abdulmuttalib truly loved his grandson who disseminated light everywhere. He sheltered our Holy Prophet (PBUH) like a delicate nestling in between his affectionate wings. He did not want to go anywhere without him. Even at this age, our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) behavior was no different than that of an enlightened person. Immediately, everyone would notice this extraordinary circumstance wherever he went. In fact, from time to time, Abdulmuttalib would first consult with his grandson before he provided any answers to the questions asked during meetings and conversations.

At that age, the Prophet was like a sincere friend of his old grandfather, a sympathetic ear and a trustable consultant. However, he always acted respectfully toward his grandfather.

Only he was allowed to sit on the seat of his grandfather!

A mat would almost always be laid out for Abdulmuttalib upon the shadow of the Kaaba’s wall. None of the children would get on top of this mat. Instead, they would sit around it and wait until their fathers came.

Abdulmuttalib would not take any of his children on this mat except for his grandson whom he would hug and place alongside himself. Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) uncles would always want to separate him from this mat; however, their father would hinder them and say:

“Release my son. By Allah, in the future, his reputation and glory are going to be great”.

He would then indicate his everlasting love for his venerable grandson by placing him alongside himself once more while gently rubbing his back. Nobody other than our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) had the courage to wake Abdulmuttalib up while he was sleeping. And nobody was able to enter Abdulmuttalib’s personal room without permission except for our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

The elderly grandfather would have his radiant-faced grandson sit next to him or on his lap at the dining table. He would feed him the most delicious portion of the meal and would not allow the meal to begin until he came.

When the Prophet was a bit late!

One day, the Master of the Universe’s grandfather sent him to go look for his missing camel. When our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was running slightly late, his grandfather was overcome with worry that he was lost. His sadness could easily be read on his face. He immediately ran to the Kaaba and opened his hands to pray to the Supreme Creator. He begged, “My Lord, please return my Muhammad back to me!”

A little while later, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) suddenly appeared with the camel right next to him. His grandfather happily hugged him and said “my unique grandson, dear, I was so sad and worried about you. I bawled so much that I will never have you leave my side and send you somewhere on your own from now on”. Indeed, Abdulmuttalib did not refrain from following his grandson like a shadow until his death.

What did the Yemeni ruler, Saif bin dhi Yazan, say to Abdulmuttalib

Abdulmuttalib, who loved our Holy Prophet (PBUH) wholeheartedly, was away from him for a short period of time only once during his life.

The Yemeni monarch, Saif bin Dhiyazan, recaptured his father’s country from the Habashis and occupied the throne in the city of Gumdan. Tribal chieftains were coming from all four sides of Arabia to congratulate him.

A committee representing Mecca that was headed by Abdulmuttalib was supposed to go to Gundam. For this reason, by leaving Mecca, Abdulmuttalib was going to be far away from our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

Following their long journey, Saif bin Dhiyazan accepted the Meccan committee upon their arrival to Gundam. Abdulmuttalib received permission from the Emperor to mention his high merits and his father who had been an auspicious ruler. He made the following connection to specify and distinguish his committee:

“We are the people of this nation that Allah has made inviolable. We are the ministrants of the Baytullah (the Kaaba)”.

This statement grabbed the monarch’s attention, therefore he asked, “Oh smooth-spoken person, who are you?”

Abdulmuttalib answered, “I am Hashim’s son, Abdulmuttalib”.

Saif was interested in more. He said joyfully and excitedly, “So, you are my sister’s son”.

Abdulmuttalib said, “Yes.”

Upon hearing this, Saif took a greater interest in Abdulmuttalib and wanted him to come closer. He then said, “I learned that we are related. I am very happy with your visit. You are worthy of being treated very hospitably and of being conversed with day and night. You are a very honorable and esteemed people”.

Saif did not settle on those complimentary words. He proved that what he was sincere by entertaining Abdulmuttalib as a guest in his palace for a month.

The days in the palace were always spent by conversing. Saif had learned about the attributes of the forthcoming Prophet from the Holy Books and was finding some clues from his conversations. One day, he discreetly called Abdulmuttalib during a break so that no one would notice. He wanted to speak with him. When Abdulmuttalib arrived next to him, he said, “Oh Abdulmuttalib, “I am going to entrust a secret to you and I believe that this secret is related to you. We have been hiding this very great and important news that I have found in a book”.

Abdulmuttalib asked, “What is it?”

Saif then unveiled his secret: “It is probable that he is a living child. He is going to be or has been born in the region of Tihama, which is on your side of the country. He has a mole in between his shoulder blades. His grandfather and uncle will take him under their care when both of his parents die. He will show hospitality to both his friends and helpers and will cause his enemies to suffer from contempt. He is going to conquer the most prosperous places and be the people’s guide and leader until Armageddon. He will remove false religions, eliminate idol worship, and worship the Compassionate Lord. His words will solve impasses and his work will be based upon foresight and justice. He will always order for goodness to be done, will do good deeds, and will prevent others from committing misdeeds”.

Abdulmuttalib was overcome with curiosity and excitement and wanted the Ruler to further explain and to further open this secret. He said, “Oh, Emperor! May your life be long, your reign continuous, and your glory be great. Could you further describe this child?”

After the Emperor listed the other signs and proofs he said, “Oh, Abdulmuttalib. It means that when all these signs are considered, that you are probably the grandfather”. Abdulmuttalib immediately prostrated from happiness.

This time, it was the Emperor’s turn to be curious and puzzled. He asked, “Oh Abdulmuttalib! Did you sense anything from what I have told you?”

Saif was happy that he had not been mistaken and said, “Protect your grandchild very carefully. The Jews are enemy to him. Protect him so that they will not harm him. Nevertheless, Allah is not going to give his enemies the chance or the possibility to do so. According to what I have found and learned in the ancient books, Yathrib (Medina) is going to be his place of emigration and he is going to receive much help there”.

Both the Emperor and Abdulmuttalib were relieved for having solved a great impasse.

Saif bin Dhiyazan was heralding our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) advent as a Prophet.

A while later, the Emperor saw off the Qurayshi committee to Mecca by treating them with immense respect and honor and giving them generous gifts. Abdulmuttalib’s gifts were far more in number than everyone else’s. After he bid them farewell, the Emperor said, “I would like to you inform me of the changes that are seen in the child’s condition every year”.

However, in less than one year after this conversation, Saif bin Dhiyazan passed away without being able to receive any further news from the Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) grandfather.

On their journey back, Abdulmuttalib’s companions asked him why the Emperor had given him more gifts and showed him more respect and kindness. He comforted them by saying, “Do not be jealous. There is a certain reason for this”.

When Abdulmuttalib arrived in Mecca after a month of separation, he hugged his radiant grandson with longing and tried to rid his pain of separation with the sweetness of having been reunited.

The Prophet, a means of “Mercy”

Our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) was still under his grandfather, Abdulmuttalib’s care.

Mecca and its surroundings were suffering from terrible hardship and famine due to the drought.

Abdulmuttalib, who understood his grandson’s degree of importance, took him and his son, Abu Talib, to the Abu Qubays Mountain. The Qurayshis were coming right behind them.

Abdulmuttalib turned his face towards the Kaaba and lifted our Holy Prophet (PBUH) towards the sky three times and begged, “My Lord! Gladden us by sending rain for the sake of this child”.

The supplication that was done out of respect for the Master of the Universe (PBUH) was accepted. Raindrops instantly mixed with the people’s and the gentry’s teardrops of happiness.

All of these occurrences further increased the love and attachment the grandfather had towards his grandson and strengthened his conviction that his grandson would become an exalted person in the future. And it was for this reason that he showed the utmost care to this radiant grandchild.

DEATH OF ABDULMUTTALİB

Abdulmuttalib, who had become considerably old, fell ill one day. And his illness was gradually increasing its level of intensity.

He understood that his emigration to the afterlife was near. However, he had one necessary duty left to fulfill: To choose a dependable person that he could entrust our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) to.

For this reason, he called all of his sons. Abu Lahab came into his mind. However Abu Lahab was a coldhearted and merciless individual, therefore Abdulmuttalib said “no” to himself.

How about Abbas? No, he could not be, either. He had so many children and could only find time for them.

How about Hamza? He could not accept him either. Hamza was young and interested in hunting. He would not be able to to show due attention and care to our Holy Prophet (PBUH).

Very well. Then how about Abu Talib? He had found his radiant grandson’s guardian! Although Abu Talib’s assets were little, his compassion and mercy were ample. Only he deserved taking our Holy Prophet (PBUH) under his care.

Abdulmuttalib did not neglect asking our Holy Prophet (PBUH) for his opinion. He asked, “Which of your uncles’ custody would you like to be under?” Upon hearing his grandfather’s question, our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) got up from his spot and went to embrace his Uncle Abu Talib. And it was in this manner that he expressed whom he would like as his guardian.

Abdulmuttalib was happy that he had preferred the best candidate. Afterwards, he turned to Abu Talib and said, “I am entrusting him to you. He is a Divine trust. Promise me that you will protect him inspite of everything, even if it is at the cost of your own life so that I will not have to worry and my heart can be content”.

Abu Talib, who was deeply touched that our Master (PBUH) had favored him, responded to his father with teary eyes:

“Do not worry, my dear father. You can be assured that I will prefer him over my own children and my life. I promise that I will not allow anyone to harm him as long as I live”.

Abdulmuttalib was pleased a lot by his son’s statement and his eyes were filled with tears of happiness.

...And Muhammad (pbuh) was delivered by Abdulmuttalib to Abu Talib, his uncle.

Abdulmuttalib, who was unable to be saved from his afflicted illness, passed away from this world as an elderly man having exceeded 80 years and who was not yet full of his grandson’s happiness, love, and affection 

The date was 578 AD, eight years after the Year of the Elephant (Elephant Year).

The Meccan market was closed for days on account of Abdulmuttalib’s death. The Qurayshis and all those who loved and respected him mourned for days. His corpse was passed from one hand to the next in the highest esteem upon its burial. They then buried him in the Hajun cemetery next to his grandfather, Qusai. 

Tears of the Prophet

Beloved Prophet (PBUH) felt deep sorrow for having lost his grandfather. This incident reminded him of his parents’ emigration to the hereafter.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) could not contain his teardrops during his grandfather’s funeral and burial; sometimes he would sob and other times he would cry silently without making a single sound.

Many years later, they asked our Holy Prophet (PBUH) whether or not he remembered his grandfather’s death. He responded by saying, “Yes, I remember. I was eight years old at that time”.

The first eight years of Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) blissful life were filled with pain, sadness, and sorrow. From that age onwards, his great soul and compassionate heart were molded with anguish and tribulations so that he could endure the hardships and catastrophes that he would have to face in his future.

[selfships-in-spanish]

thinking about the most extravagant fae court au where Richard and Connor are kings of the court, and Ona is a human they’re trying to lure back to their home from the human realm. They try everything, fairy rings, making deals, once they even tried to force her name out of her, but she is too crafty. Her grandmother warned her about the fae as a child, she knows better than to talk with strange, handsome men in the forest.

The Kings were growing incredibly frustrated, which only made the other fae nervous. The whole kingdom knew they could be quite whimsical, and when they wanted something, they had it. They would pursue whatever was that they wanted and employ all the tricks known to this day.

So, how this human mortal managed to escape from their grasp every time was something the fae found both extremely skilful and reckless. This human’s knowledge of them, their kind and their laws, their tricks, was not mere coincidence. She knew. But at the same time she kept playing with fire, because she sometimes seemed like she forgot that fae can be quite mischievous and not all that benevolent.

“Thank you kindly, Your Majesties,” she began, that infuriating and knowing smirk on her lips. “for wanting to show me another path home. I must decline, Your Majesties. As you see, I do not find myself lost.” She turned on her heels, bowing, the necklace her grandmother gave her dangling from her neck, with all the respect she could muster while trying not to burst out laughing. They were getting more ridiculous with each encounter.

The Fae Kings wearing such sour expressions gave a thrill to Ona, knowing they could do not do anything to her on her human realm; a promise was a promise, and Faes do not break their promises. 

Their will-o'-the-wisps did not work, clicking their tongues in irritation while making them disappear. Ona chuckled, sitting down on her favourite tree trunk of the clearing. She crossed her legs and propped her elbow on the raised knee, holding her head in her hand, still smiling. The light summer breeze made the skirt of her sundress gently flow by it, revealing more smooth, sun-kissed skin. Cheeky, like her. She waited.

The Fae Kings stepped out of the shadows they were hiding in, their eyes briefly looking down to the basket next to her, to lock them up with hers again. To the simpler eye they would look human, but the moment you actually looked at them, you’d notice all the little details screaming not human. The most prominent one was the way their eyes glowed, the brown on one of the Kings bordering on gold, and the icy blue of the other shining like a sapphire. Unnatural colours for humans, beautiful for faeries. As always, their royal clothes were impeccable, their capes silently moving behind them with the famous golden fairy dust scattered over the fibres. Their wings reflected the moonlight in such an exquisite way.

Ona’s grandmother was right, one should never talk to handsome, strange men in the forest, but Lord, they were handsome, and it was rare to be blessed by the Kings’ presence. They took a strange liking to her which Ona didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing. 

Ona came prepared after the first time she encountered the Fae Kings, knowing that day she was lucky to not have been tricked by them, but her grandmother taught her well and prepared her for the moment the Kings decided to show themselves, and she made sure Ona always carried a charm with her; this way they could never enchant her to step into their kingdom and be whisked away, never be seen again. 

As the Fae Kings approached her, Ona nonchalantly stood up and dusted off the skirt of her sundress, ignoring that they were stepping close to her, but knowing they could not harm her in any way while she remained in the human realm. Ona bent down to her basket, taking out the picnic blanket her grandmother made for her, and laid it out on the healthy grass while still keeping her back on them. Ona took off her shoes, letting the cold grass relieve her of the summer heat, humming contentedly. When she turned around, Ona was faced by the two Fae Kings standing directly in her personal space, looking down at her with twin vexed frowns. If Ona dared to take a deep breath, their chests would touch. From being this close, Ona could smell the indistinctive scent of the forest in them, earthly and fresh, but also deep with a hint of danger in it, as well as see the way their alabaster skin glimmered under the moonlight as if they were dusted by the finest glitter. It was barely there, but Ona had many occasions to observe their skin up-close to notice it. It was beautiful.

“I brought some snacks,” she spoke, eyes darting quickly to the gold-eyed King’s mouth to return them to were they where before. She could see his nostrils flare slightly, knowing he was containing himself. There it was, the thrill of the danger, of not getting them get their way for once, even if that may doom her for the moment they did, and that tension between them that even a butter knife could cut in two. “But I thought that maybe Your Majesties could be amenable to share them under the night sky, if they so please.” Still, she was careful to not fall in their debt or disrespect. As her grandma taught her, always have a plan B. Never give them a reason so they can decant the scale in their favour.

Ona never broke off her gaze from theirs as she sat on the blanket, sighing contentedly as she also felt the coolness of the grass on her legs and hands. Sometimes they stayed, sometimes they parted taking the goods with them. It seemed this time they would stay, as they sat down on each side of her. Ona took the basket from behind her and put it on her lap. When she opened it, the three of them were greeted by pastries and all kind of bakery goods, the smell making the Kings mouth’s water slightly.

“This one has blueberry jam in it,” the gold-eyed King took it from her hands, earning him a snort from the human. He ignored it, taking a bite. “and this one has strawberry jam, very delicious.” the blue-eyed King took it, doing the same as the other monarch. “I guess I have the apple pie for myself then.” Ona took a bite of it, moaning as the sweetness of the pastry coated her tongue. “Damn, they turned out good.”

Usually they wouldn’t speak much, only when they tried to trick her into giving out her name. It was a pity, she liked their voices, but she usually filled for their silences. Leaving the other portion of the apple pie for the Fae Kings, Ona laid herself down on the blanket, looking at the beautiful starry night on the sky. The crickets made a charming summer orchestra, making her smile.

Ona closed her eyes, letting the calmness of nature lull her into a slight stupor, enjoying the breeze cooling her heated body; she was glad she put on a sundress today. Ona always brought a shawl in case the forest nights grew too cold in summer, but tonight was a particularly warm night. Ona doesn’t know how many hours passed, but it was being quite an enjoyable night. Sometimes she could hear the Kings murmur between themselves, not understanding a lick of their language, but it meant she could listen to them speak. 

She must have fallen asleep, because Ona woke up to a warm pressure being pressed into the corner of her lips, twice.

“A gift.”

“A symbol of gratitude.”

Ona opened her eyes to find herself alone, but with something draped over her. 

It was one of the King’s cape. 

She smiled, putting it on her shoulders on her way home, finding the basket empty and her shawl gone too. She still could taste blueberry and strawberry jam on her lips, making her blush slightly and her heart skip a beat. It was hazardous situation, but addicting.

They were dangerous indeed.

[snowbellewells]

Do as the Romans Do

A @captainswanmoviemarathon​ fic by @snowbellewells​

((((I made a first attempt at creating my own fic art, but for whatever reason, I can’t get it to post in my story. It’s on my page, but for whatever reason, I can’t get them both in one!)))

Hello there! Welcome to my little Roman Holiday-inspired AU for the @captainswanmoviemarathon! There were some scenes from the original movie that I was simply too enamored with not to include, so those I am sure you’ll recognize those, but I’ve also let this version of Killian and Emma wander off on their own when they wish to change the script a bit. I’m envisioning this being about three parts - today’s shorter introduction to set the scene, a larger part two with the bulk of the plot, and then a shorter conclusion to wrap things up. We’ll see how it goes (or if it grows on me beyond that!)  Please enjoy, and I’d love to hear what you think…

Part One

                                           *Press Release*

From the Royal Italian Embassy this 4th of September, 1953, Princess Emma Ruth Nolan, Crown Princess of the small nation of Misthavia, only child of Queen Margaret Mary Blanchard-Nolan and King Consort David Nolan visits us here in Rome for a brief stop on her first solo goodwill tour. 

Already, she has made stops in Copenhagen, Prague, Vienna, and Geneva, and will attend a state dinner, tour local businesses, preside over a medal ceremony, christen the children’s wing of a hospital, and hold a press conference in her three days here before heading on to Paris and London to complete her journey across Europe. Lucky indeed are those who have an invite to one of these events and will have a chance to meet the Princess in person!

The receiving line outside the embassy dining room had long since passed from lengthy to trying and on to interminable as Emma prayed her empty stomach would not begin to grumble aloud before she was finally able to find a seat at the head table and at last enjoy the hard-earned meal. As always seemed to be the case at these formal events, meeting “just a select few” somehow turned into glad-handing with a neverending line of people she would never remember or hope to keep straight from one another. 

To think she had initially been excited about this particular event! At least she had thought there might be the chance for some entertainment and dancing after dinner. Now that she stood in one place for so long, she was regretting the posh new heels she had paired with her full-skirted ballgown for the occasion. If she ever got to move from her spot again, Emma was not at all sure that her feet would actually support forward motion any longer; they might well be broken inside the three-inch heels.

Hoping to do so without being noticed, Emma stealthily shifted most of her weight onto one foot, lifting the other slightly beneath her skirts and flexing her toes in the hope of bringing feeling back to the extremities. She bobbled a bit, but thankfully her press secretary, and closest friend since nursery school, child of palace staff or not, was standing beside her. Surreptitiously, Emma caught Ashley’s arm to steady herself. The other blonde made no comment, merely offered a reassuring sidelong glance and tiny smile without the disapproval that Emma knew she would have received from the Countess on her other side - a retired former nun who had been her main chaperone and minder of all the etiquette and behavior since Emma’s first official public appearance years go.  The Princess could practically see the woman’s pinched disapproving mouth, admonishing eyes and warning tone - even in Mistress Blue’s absence.

The end of the receiving line was at last in sight, and Emma let out a breath that she hoped went unnoticed, trying as hard as she could not to let her eyes roll back in her head at the momentary relief she had gained for her aching feet. Intending to put the first one back into its pretty little torture device and flex the other similarly, she continued blindly offering her hand to the passing dignitaries, murmuring greetings and shifting to her other side gingerly.

Unfortunately, just as her foot returned to its shoe, a flashbulb went off unexpectedly and much closer than any had been so far.  She blinked, momentarily blinded, and her balance wobbled; the hidden empty shoe tipped over on its side before she could slip her toes back into it. This made her dip unexpectedly to the left, and she felt herself falling, despite all her natural grace and her practiced poise. Cheeks already flushing, Emma’s tongue was too tangle to call out, knowing her one bare foot and her impatient lack of polish was about to be exposed before she even hit the floor. A gasp escaped Ashley on her other side as she realized too late what was happening and tried to catch Emma’s hand, but instead, what arrested her fall was the interception of two warm, firm hands at her elbows, halting the topple which had seemed inevitable only seconds ago.

Suddenly braced by the solid forearms in a lean, handsomely suited man standing there before her, Emma blinked, reorienting herself to the fact that he’d spared her a rather embarrassing incident, she wouldn’t be humiliated on all the gossip shows that evening.

“Th - Thank you, Sir,” she breathed tremulously, quickly fishing her toes into her shoe and righting it at last before straightening and looking up to meet her rescuer’s eyes.

Bright, crystal blue met her inquisitive green as she did so, a twinkling of mischief enlivened his expression even further against the heavy dark brows and the rather rakish appeal of his unshaven cheeks and jaw. For a moment, the breath nearly rushed from Princess Emma’s lungs again - for a completely different reason.

A gentle chuckle rumbled from this undeniably handsome stranger’s chest as he dipped his chin in the slightest of acknowledging bows. “Think nothing of it, your Majesty. I’m simply glad I was here.”

She nodded in mute agreement, wincing again at how she’d nearly made herself a laughingstock. It was one of the things she hated most about her life as a monarch - one silly mistake, unimportant in the grand scheme of things, could undo or overshadow so much good, so much hard work in a mere instant.

With a rather devilish wink, the man before her, bowed his head over her hand, now more delicately cradled in his own larger one and place and brazen kiss to the back of it, his whiskers prickling her skin and sending tingles all along her nerve endings. “After all, it isn’t every day one finds a princess in his debt,” he murmured silkily.

She blushed brighter, knowing they were beginning to hold up the line and draw curious attention now, but not wanting him to move on. “Is that so?” she replied with equally humored stealth.

“Indeed.” He sketched on more quick bow, then added, “Killian Jones, at your service, Princess.  And if you are safely in your shoes once more, I suppose I must be going now.”

Her eyes widened even as her fingers released their grip, and he slipped on through the line, while she extended her hand to shake those of the last few people behind him. He had known what happened all the time! Why did that make her heart beat even faster than it had been already?

~~~*

That night, after a long bath, with her hair brushed, nightgown donned, and her legs tucked under the blankets, Princess Emma still felt her fingers tingling from the remembered grip of Jones’ hand, even as she listened to the Countess’ long list of the next day’s engagements. Emma tried not to shudder as she noticed that once again nearly every moment was spoken for, every word and action, and even thought, seemed already determined for her. That near-fall and the following encounter had been the most excitement she could remember in her meticulously programmed, rote, respectable, predictable life of duty.

What would it be like to simply walk out of such an event, as Jones and all the other attendees had done, and have it simply be over? To return to a normal life? To determine what one wanted to do for oneself, and have no watching eyes to judge or weight the following movements. She could hardly imagine such freedom.

When Emma was finally left alone for the night, she knew she needed to sleep. According to the schedule that had just been droned into her ear, she had an early morning before her. Yet, sleep felt the furthest thing from her mind. Eventually, she threw the covers off and hopped back out of bed, crossing the sumptuous room provided to her by her Roman hosts and gazing out the window to the River Tiber below in the distance. Music and lights reached out to her beguilingly despite the hour, and she wished she could be in the midst of whatever celebration was happening there, a part of the laughter and dancing and raucous joy she could only imagine from the echoes that reached her.

It was not an unprecedented longing, but one that struck her more acutely than ever this night. She was going to have this experience while she had the chance. Mind made up as abruptly as the moment presented itself, Emma flew from the window to her suitcase, quickly shedding her nightgown and putting on her most understated skirt, blouse, and espadrilles. With hardly a look back, shew as soon perched on the window ledge, preparing to climb down the fire escape of the old, sturdy building she was staying in without risk of alerting any of her numerous attendants and guardians.

‘Just one day to herself, to live as she chose,’ Emma vowed, closing her eyes for a moment and then surging forward. ‘Then it’s back to what’s expected, what I’ve always known will be my life…’

As she reached the ground and then slipped through the embassy gates out into the night air and the excitement of a foreign city, Princess Emma Ruth Nolan felt like someone else entirely. Like someone who could breath freely for the first time in her life.

Tagging: @captainswanmoviemarathon​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @jennjenn615​ @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @laschatzi​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @stahlop​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @thislassishooked​ @shireness-says​ @thisonesatellite​

[secret-engima]

THE FFXV STORM-DAUGHTER THING oh my god. Its AMAZING. Can we get more??? Of it??? Can we ask about it??? Galahd's reaction to the dragon when they first find her??? Or their reactions to her bursting through the trees and destroying everything in her way bar Galahdians and then passing Lib Ny+Selene. I love this already. Give me more dragons. ALSO LUCIS FINDING OUT ABOUT THE MOTHERFUCKING DRAGON OH MY GOD (laughter)

*cackles* YOU MAY INDEED.

Galahd’s first reaction to the dragon is ... alarm. Panic. At first they don’t ... KNOW what she is and they think she might be some kind of wild animal and how are they going to fight something that big? Except ... except she never bothers them. She stays in her den and only leaves to hunt other wild things. She avoids their villages and their shrines, and travelers who stumble across her are only grumpily growled at rather than eaten in one bite.

They witness her grief in those early centuries, how she suddenly shakes the jungle with her wingbeats and flies off until she is a mere spec in the distance before RAGING and that is how they find her name. Storm-Daughter, She Who Is Blessed By Thunder and Wave. No normal creature has magic that strong, not even the King Behemoths. She must be either a Messenger or a child of the Astrals (of Ramuh and Leviathan, a child with the stormy magic of her father and a great, beast-like form like her mother) and they spread the word. None are to touch her. All are to respect her.

They find the borders of her den territory and she watches with large, bitter eyes as they carefully build low, knee high walls just beyond the border. Not to cage her, but to serve as a warning for travelers not to pass that point. They carve talismans of peace and thanks and welcome and hang them from the nearby branches, leave offerings of food to the Storm-Daughter on the low wall so that she will always know that she is welcome, even if she watches them with visible disdain and anger.

The anger fades over the centuries. And eventually she sleeps. For twenty or more years at a time she sleeps only to wake, hunt the Behemoths of the isles for her food, then returns to her den and sleeps again.

It is not hard to conclude that something has broken the Storm-Daughter’s heart. That the humans of one mainland or the other have hurt her so deeply she despises human kind and can only sleep her pain away. Too tired even to fly from the isles and rage anymore.

They grow used to her. Their children grow up hearing tales of her wrath over the waters but never seeing it. The teens make games of, while traveling, creeping to the borders of the low wall and leaving gifts in the hope she will Bless them.

Everyone agrees that the Ulrics are NUTS when a small group of them, having lost their old village to an unseasonal flood, rebuild a village less than a half hour’s walk away from the Storm-Daughter’s den. The Ostiums agree even as they help build the walls of the new houses, and all direly agree that when Storm-Daughter next wakes, she will slaughter the village that dared come too close.

Instead, when she wakes, she investigates. The entire village freezes when her great head peers over the tree tops at them (over, not through, for she is taller than their jungle canopy). She blinks once, teeth the height of men glinting in the light as her teeth bare-.

She snorts once, a great gust of wind that bowls several of the unprepared over onto their backs, turns and leaves without touching the village.

They take it for a blessing and the village persists for another century there, untouched by the Storm-Daughter or misfortune until one Nyx Ulric is born.

Nyx Ulric who hears the stories of the Storm-Daughter and, fearless child he is, makes the journey to the low wall that he then proceeds to perch on TOP of as he watches the awake and disinterested Storm-Daughter. Eventually he drags Libertus along, and the two coax the Storm-Daughter into speaking with them in exchange for stories, and so a friendship blooms.

...

To answer you next questions- Galahd is already in fear and mourning as they flee to the boats, Niflheim on their heels. They do not think of the Storm-Daughter, for she has never interfered in human matters before. No, they are alone in this and their death, their homelessness, is near.

And then-.

The sound.

It is an unholy sound, furious and raw with rage and grief as deep as the earth and the oceans. It cracks apart the ground and bursts more than one unprepared eardrum. The birds of the jungle, already fleeing the growing fires, burst into a cloud of panic that cannot be heard over the sound echoing all around. Even the MT units, empty machines they are, pause in their rampage to look in the direction of the sound.

Then the jungle bows down. Trees fold and break, leaves flutter and touch the ground in all directions as from the depths of the center isle’s jungle-.

The Storm-Daughter rises.

And oh, these Galahdians have never seen her like this. For it has been at least two centuries since she flew rather than slept or prowled along the ground.

Her wings are massive, so large they seem to darken the sky, her head, smooth and tapered almost like an equine’s rather than a predators, swings toward the oncoming Niflheim air fleet, and her eyes glow with the light of the storm. The sun winks off brilliant sapphire and amethyst scales (Protection and Loyalty whispers instinct and tradition in their hearts and hope flickers to life) before the clouds form and throw the world into darkness almost as deep as night.

Then the Storm-Daughter roars and lightning spills from her jaws, lighting up the sky and turning an entire swath of enemy fleet into DUST. Less than dust. They watch with hearts in their throats as the Storm-Daughter destroys the fleet, speeding through their ranks with great flaps of her wings as if she is light as the smallest jungle bird and not a towering and ancient dragon. Rain falls from the sky at a swipe of her claws and puts out the fires, a smack of her serpentine tail cleaves the flagship in half.

Niflheim’s assault breaks and nothing, not even their super weapon, can stop her for more than a moment. She crushes the weapon under her paws and screams to the heavens in a language old and unknown and terrible.

There are no survivors from Niflheim.

The boats creep back to shore, and all of Galahd watches with pale faces, half-expecting to be next, for the Storm-Daughter has never looked kindly on humanity, for all she let them be until now.

Instead she lands and scans the crowd as if searching for someone in particular.

Murmurs of shock rise from the back, then ripple forward like a tide as one figure, a scraggly, wild-eyed Ostium teenager, pushes his way off the boats and onto the sand to stand right at her feet.

The Storm-Daughter lowers one great paw and all of Galahd whispers at the sight of two Ulrics, a teen boy and a young girl, stumbling out of her grasp unharmed and falling into the crying Ostium boy’s arms.

They look up and see the Storm-Daughter watching the trio with love in her large, now dark grey eyes and suddenly they understand.

In the near front of the crowd, one Furia teen wheezes a hysterical laugh as he leans against his Arra and Lazarus friends and chokes out, “Leave it to an Ulric to be adopted by the Storm-Daughter.”

.... (Last of your questions!)

When word gets to Insomnia that an invasion of Galahd has been turned aside, supposedly by a Messenger in the form of a dragon ... Regis doesn’t believe it. Oh, he believes the invasion bit, but Astral intervention? After so many other territories have fallen without notice from the Astrals and their kind? There has to be another explanation. The dragon is propaganda to scare Niflheim away from trying again. Still, the isles are badly damaged and morale is low. There had been no time to muster the Crownsguard and send aid before the invasion got there, so to prove that Insomnia still cared for its outer territories, Regis overrides Clarus’s concerns and sails to Galahd, just him, Clarus, Cor, and a few Crownsguard, plus an entire crew of volunteer relief workers. With them they bring medical supplies, food, blankets and tents and other things needed to help rebuild from disaster.

They dock on the central isle’s harbor and are greeted with surprise and gratitude. Regis can see the devastation of the attack, the burned trees and cracked open earth (what cracked the earth? Bombs? A new type of weapon?) but withholds his questions. He is not here to interrogate people, he is here to help. After personally helping to pass out supplies and getting Clarus to glare at him by using his magic to heal the more injured children and elders, Regis finally asks after the person responsible for leading the counterattack that staved off Niflheim. He wants to congratulate them, meet with them (perhaps recruit them for the Kingsglaive, a new idea of his he has not yet acted upon, but this he does not say).

The Galahdians all look uneasy and explain Storm-Daughter does not meet with anyone she does not please. Cor scoffs and says Regis is the king, she can hardly turn down a summon from her monarch.

All the Galahdians pull away from Cor with wide, fearful eyes and Regis is about to scold Cor for his manners (clearly this person is respected in Galahd to earn a title like Storm-Daughter) when the wind cracks and the earth shakes. The Galahdians scatter, clearing a huge area around Regis like they expect something to fall from the sky.

Regis’s magic prickles and wails at the pulse of a much older, larger, angrier, deadlier magic and looks up in time to see the sky darken under massive wings. The towering, ancient dragon, taller than the trees, taller even then some of the buildings in Insomnia, slams down onto the earth with enough force to bowl Cor over and nearly do the same for Regis (who only stays standing because of Clarus at his back, acting as a brace). Blue and purple scales glitter like gemstones in the sunlight as the dragon folds its wings and bares massive, massive teeth (Astrals this dragon is at least the size of a Zu, possibly bigger, certainly more dangerous) and cocks its head to fix one, glittering grey eye on Cor.

And speaks, “Watch your words, human. I swore my oath to a human monarch lifetimes ago and was rewarded with nothing but pain. I have served my queen and I serve no other. Your little king is nothing to me, and I answer to none but whom I please.” Massive eyes narrow and fix on the gaping Regis, “And, little monarch. You are not welcome on MY isles. Begone before I destroy your ship the way I destroyed the imperial fleet and DEVOUR you whole-.” The dragon stops short, growls as deep as thunder and twists her long neck to look at her back impatiently. There is movement up there, and a moment later, a small face, a HUMAN face, appears. The teenager fearlessly slides down one massive foreleg and lands on the sand with soft “oof” then looks up at the dragon who is staring at the teen with an open expression of long-suffering.

“Don’t be rude, Tempestas! The king came a long way to help us. In person. I think that’s pretty cool!”

“Hatchling,” sighs the dragon in a voice that no longer rattles Regis’s bone marrow, “kings are all the same. He’s just here to make his meaningless prattle in person. It is still meaningless prattle.”

The teen looks over at Regis and gives a bright smile, “But he’s got magic, like us! And he didn’t bring words, he brought medical supplies and help. Come on, hear him out? The teen looks back at the dragon and Regis cannot for the life of him shake the mental image of a child giving puppy eyes to his indulgent mother, “Pleeeeeeeaasse?”

The dragon’s muzzle falls into what Regis swears is a deadpan worthy of Cor, then she looks up at the sky with a sigh that stirs up a breeze. She looks back down again, “Fine. I will tolerate his presence. For now. But if he touches you or Selene...” those giant teeth are bared again before the dragon settles into a very catlike loaf pose, “Since you’re so enthusiastic to meet a mindless human monarch, you can do the talking and the listening.”

And so Regis watches as the teenager shrugs, saunters over to him, and grins with teeth a fraction too sharp and looks him over with eyes that were definitely too slitted to be completely human (and suddenly all those impossible fables of Messengers falling in love with humans and having half-blooded children seem not so impossible after all), “Hello, Your Majesty,” says the teen, “I’m Nyx Ulric. You had some questions?”

“I think,” Regis hears himself say faintly, “I have more than a few of those, young master Ulric. And if I may, I think I also have a request.” The dragon narrows her eyes dangerously, but the teen just nods. Regis weakly finishes, “Might I have a chair? I think I need to sit down.”

Nyx Ulric waves at another Galahdian for a chair to be brought while the sand shakes under the force of the dragon’s laughter.

[inactiive-shit]

Masquerade

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Prompt: costume party

Warnings: Deceit, Remus, some Remus-regular dialogue

Pairing: Romantic Anxceitmus, background romantic Moralogince

Words: 3,417

@sanderssidescelebrations​ I had to interpret this pretty liberally to get an idea for the prompt. So instead of a costume party, we have a masquerade! I hope this is still enough in the guidelines to fit! Here ya go!

Dee pulls the shining gold half-face mask on and grins at himself in the mirror. His sleek black suit, shining yellow cape, and slicked back black hair cut a sharp figure. It isn’t an ornate outfit, but it does imply a certain modicum of respect and prestige. It will certainly catch his beau’s eye, which is Dee’s main goal tonight. That, and beating Remus.

Remus stands across the room, making faces at himself in the mirror. He had designed the ugliest outfit Dee had ever seen for this event - all green, with a green paisley print on the green jacket and green polka dots on his green skirt and green stripes on his tie and even green shoes. The whole thing is only something Remus could have come up with, and there will be no doubt at the masquerade ball that he is Prince Remus.

“Darling,” Dee says, “have you considered something a bit less, I don’t know, obvious?”

“No,” Remus responds. “Why would I? I want Virgil to know exactly who it is that’s after his attentions.”

“And there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind of that,” Dee says dryly. Remus grins wildly and slid on his (you guessed it) green mask. That, at least, is not such an awful shade, though it doesn’t mean much when paired with rest of the monstrosity Remus claims is an outfit.

“So, how are you planning to attract our lovely little mate?” Remus asks, running lipstick (green) over his mouth.

“Trying to cheat already, are we?” Dee asks, and he smiles slightly at the pout that contorts Remus’s face behind the mask. “That’s quite alright; you do need the pointers.”

“Well, then why don’t you come over here and teach me?” Remus quips. Dee is tempted to stalk across the room, pin Remus’s hips to the counter behind him and wipe that smirk right off his face, but he knows that it would both ruin his presentability and make them both late to the ball. So instead, Dee winks.

“I certainly will teach you. Tonight, when you’re begging to know how I got our little Stormcloud and you didn’t.”

“You talk big game for such a short person,” Remus says. Dee bares his teeth while Remus laughs.

“I’m going to make you pay for that one,” he says. Remus just keeps laughing, so Dee spins on a heel and strides out. He’ll rub it in his boyfriend’s face when he is the one who wins their little tailor’s heart. (It had started as simple infatuation, a desire to be with the pretty man who always so readily fixed up Prince Remus’s torn clothing. But then it grew, and they realized he was actually smart and sarcastic enough to combat Dee and easily able to handle all of Remus, and...now it was something much greater than mere infatuation. That is why they’ve been courting him for one year, in secret at his own request. But this ball? This would be their official announcement. Not that anyone except the three of them knew that yet.)

Dee lets the petty look on his face melt away, and then he smirks as suavely as he can. He’s walking down the hallway alone and has nothing to be smirking about, yes, but it pays to be prepared and Dee will not let this opportunity to woo such an amazing man get away from him. He will get his first official kiss from Virgil Tailor before Remus.

Which is not to say it will be their first kiss. They’ve done plenty of things aside from kiss.

“Prince Consort,” says one guard standing in front of the ballroom doors. “Good evening. Are you looking for Prince Remus?”

“Good evening,” Dee sighs, “and no. I just left him in his rooms. We are attending the ball separately.” Dee watches the guards’ faces carefully. His wording will make it seem like he and Remus are having problems. It will give Remus’s brother, reigning monarch King Roman Arvanitis, an absolute heart attack, which is something that both Dee and Remus can find delight in. (And after tonight, if all goes well, maybe Virgil too.)

“Right, of course,” says the guard, bowing his head. “My apologies for any troubles you may be having. Do you wish to go into the ball now, uh?”

Dee forces himself to hold back a laugh. They never have known how to address him. “Indeed. If you would.” He gestures at the doors, and the guards scramble to open them for him. He smirks as he passes.

“Enjoy your evening, Prince Consort,” fumbles another guard.

“And you yours,” Dee says. He walks through the doors and is standing atop the platform reserved for only the most distinguished members of the kingdom. There is a sprawling staircase that leads down to the floor, and everyone watches as Dee descends them smoothly. They clap politely once his feet are on the floor, and seconds later they are all back to their conversations and sipping from their flutes.

Dee finds the striking purple outfit just from a few seconds of looking. He stands out so stunningly from the boorish crowd. Most guests went for bright and glittering and colors, sending sparks of light dancing as they move. But not the tailor who wears a deep purple vest and lilac shirt underneath. His pants are either black or midnight blue, but at this distance with the chandeliers so high above them, Dee can’t tell which. His jacket is midnight blue, but it has red stitching and the kingdom’s sigil done in red in honor of the king.

But the most impressive thing about the outfit is mask he is sporting. It is a dragon mask done in shades of green and yellow. A dragon mask alone would have been bold, would have garnered looks (if you wore dragons, it was for strength and courage and because you believed you could be equal to those legendary beasts, gone for a century). And to do it in green and yellow, the colors of the Prince and Prince Consort, well...it was bold, certainly. Some might call it arrogant. Remus would call it attractive.

Dee considers it an invitation.

Dee watches Virgil Tailor for a moment longer and then heads for a drink. He sips it slowly, politely ignoring anyone who tries to talk to him, and lets his eyes bounce from the gorgeous man making small talk with someone he has likely never met and then to the platform that Remus will enter from. Remus will accuse him of cheating if he approaches Virgil before he has even entered the room. So Dee will wait, and then Dee will make his move.

Dee has about as much enthusiasm for waiting games as Remus. Meaning, he’ll give him thirty more seconds to show his face.

When Remus does appear on the dais, the room goes appropriately silent. Dee thinks it’s likely from the cresting horror as his outfits registers with them. The applause starts slowly as Remus walks down the staircase, and Dee is once again forced to smother his laughter at the looks on the audience’s faces. Across the room, Dee can see Virgil doing the same.

Dee beelines for Virgil the second Remus is on the floor. He can feel the curious gazes following him, undoubtedly wondering why he’s heading away from his husband and the Prince instead of toward him for their first dance of the night. The polite thing to do, and the correct procedure for an event, is to dance first with your known romantic entanglements and then with other high ranking nobles who might borrow you for a dance.

Luckily, Dee, Remus, and Virgil can all agree on at least one thing: procedure? Boring.

Dee bows in front of Virgil and offers him a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Virgil takes his hand. “Of course, Prince Consort” he murmurs, every bit the shy, demure person other believed him to be. “I would be delighted.”

Dee swings them into the dancing in a waltz, and they blend seamlessly into the crowd of other spinning couples. Well, perhaps not seamlessly. They are two of the three people who are not wearing some sort of brightly colored, reflecting materials, and Dee is as close to royalty as one can be. There is a certain space made around them that draws attention from everyone.

“You look ravishing, as always,” Dee says. Virgil is taller than him by three inches, taller than Remus by one. He has to look up to speak to him so closely, but he doesn’t mind one bit.

Virgil blushes slightly, something that Dee still delights in even after so much time together. He has never met another person who can be embarrassed into blushing with just a nice word so regularly. “I would say the same to you, but that would feel like giving myself a compliment,” Virgil mutters in his ear. The laugh that escapes Dee is entirely unexpected and genuine and just loud enough that the couples dancing near them look harder.

Everyone is wondering who Dee Salvi, Prince Consort, could have abandoned the Prince of the kingdom to dance with. No one at the ball would likely recognize him, even if Virgil forewent a disguise entirely. Most nobles don’t pay much attention to the people who are below them. Dee basks in their ignorance in a snake sunbathing.

“A compliment well earned,” Dee says. “Though I suppose you probably made half the costumes in this room.”

“Something like that,” Virgil says, and his accent slips into those words just enough to make them lilt. This language is not the common tongue, and it’s not his native language. It’s what the nobles and royals speak. Virgil had admitted that he had only learned it to get better jobs from people that would pay more. Sometimes, in some phrases or when he gets excited, the accent from the commoner language buoys his words. Dee always thought the commoner language was much more musical than the other, always found it soothing even before he started learning it.

The music begins to slow, and Dee gives Virgil a hopeful look. Virgil laughs and shakes his head. “You have to at least give Remus a chance,” he chides quietly. “Now either go dance with your husband or find somewhere else to be. It would be improper of you to stay with me for a second dance.”

“Fuck proper,” Dee mutters, but he obligingly releases Virgil’s hands - after kissing the back of one and smiling at the disapproving clucks coming from all the nearby couples. He is the Prince Consort, and he is bold enough to openly flirt with a man who is not his Prince. How strange. How rude. How arrogant. How...fitting.

Most people don’t really like the Prince Consort because he looks like he’d be an ass. Dee knows. Dee doesn’t care. He’s a pain in Remus’s ass and Virgil’s ass (not that anyone knows that yet), and that’s what’s important.

Dee picks up a glass of water and takes a sip. He tries not to smirk at those openly staring at him like a runaway circus animal. He won’t do tricks for their amusement, only his own.

It definitely does tickle him when Remus sweeps up to his side and guests either ogle them, look hastily away, or both one after the other. Remus leans in close to him and whispers, “The guards gave me their condolences on losing such a nice man. And then my brother berated me for doing something to scare you off. Dee, you should have told me you were leaving me!” Dee snorted.

“I thought you might enjoy that,” he says. Remus smiles.

“You do know me so well,” Remus sighs. “It is a true shame, then, that I must be off. I hear a tailor calling my name, desiring to dance.” Remus whisks himself away in a flurry of greens, and Dee smiles fondly after him.

Then, Dee makes his way to the wall of the ballroom and and finds an empty standing table. He leans against it to watch his beloveds be so cavalier in their dancing. Remus could dance far better than he is, but instead he leads them around the floor in a senseless, rhythmless pattern that only serves to frustrate other couples and attract the attention of anyone who wants to gossip. Meaning, everyone.

Dee lets his eyes flit to the gracious King Roman, who threw this ball at his brother’s request and even allowed Remus and Dee to handle most of the guest list (it is the only way they could get Virgil an invitation without letting Roman know directly). He had even been so kind as to not ask what the ball was for, only make Remus promise not to do anything that would get them in trouble. They had both sworn it. And they hadn’t been lying. They weren’t doing it for trouble, they were doing for love (and spectacle, but that was a given.)

Roman was watching his brother, looking very obviously concerned. Beside him was Prince Consort Patton Hart, cooing something to him. His eyes were also locked on Remus and the nonsense dance he was performing. On the king’s other side and slightly back stood the royal advisor, Logan Cato. Unknown to everyone but the guards and royal family, Logan was actually the other Prince Consort. He, too, was watching Remus though his was more a look of alarm than anything else. He leaned forward to say something to Roman. Dee goes back to watching Remus swing Virgil around the floor like an over-excited puppy.

As the song ends, Remus also kisses the back of Virgil’s hand and takes his leave. Dee watches Virgil float through the crowd, not staying put long enough to get pulled into another conversation. Remus stops at the table Dee has claimed.

“I suppose the next dance is ours,” Dee says.

“No,” Remus says. “You should go dance with Virgil. We had this whole ball for him, it wouldn’t do to leave him out there alone when he so obviously doesn’t know how to make the kind of small talk this rank of person prefers.” The look on Remus’s face is sympathetic. He doesn’t really understand this brand of small talk either.

“As you wish, my Prince,” Dee purrs. He kisses the back of Remus’s hand. “Before I go, Roman was watching you dance. They’re worried.”

“They’re paying attention,” Remus corrects with a smirk. “And attention is exactly what we want.” Dee smiles too and turns around to scan the room for Virgil. He’s closer than expected, only a half dozen tables away, chatting with a server. He probably knows every person working this event. Dee wonders if the people employed for these things always know what’s going on before anyone else. It’s easy to forget just how much they bare witness to.

“Hello, dear,” Dee says. He doesn’t bow this time. He just extends his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?” From the sly smirk on the server’s face, Dee guesses he was already well aware of their standing. Virgil still blushes.

“I would love to,” he says. Dee leads them to the dance floor. This song is quicker than the ones they’ve already been dancing too. Dee and Virgil are forced to improvise twirls and dips and everything else to keep up with the crowd. When Virgil starts laughing, Dee can’t keep the smile off his face either. They are both near to collapsing when the song begins to end.

“Dee,” Virgil says, “would you like to make a scene with me?”

“Dear, I would love nothing more,” Dee says and as the final note rises into the air Dee and Virgil lean into each other for the kiss everyone’s been unknowingly waiting for all evening.

Scandalized gasps rip through the air. Dee pulls back and Remus is standing by his side. The stares turn expectant. They think that Remus will dispense some punishment for his unfaithful consort, likely.

“Is it my turn now?” Remus whines. His eyes are shining brightly as Virgil leans down to kiss him next. The round of gasps that echoes around the room this time is even louder. When they pull apart, Remus pulls Dee into a kiss just to seal the deal. There is a third round of gasps, going rather overboard if you ask Dee, and then Remus smiles, waves at the audience and pulls them both out of the ballroom.

They all three are laughing as they stumble out and collapse a few hallways over. Dee is snorting in the most inelegant way he ever has, and it’s spurring both his partners on. Virgil’s face is bright red and he’s trying to hide it in Remus’s shoulder, but Remus keeps pulling away to pepper little kisses all over Virgil’s face. All three of their masks are discarded on the floor.

When Dee sees King Roman walking down the hall toward them, flanked by his two consorts (and his personal guard, though they are far enough away that they won’t hear anything said) he smacks at Remus and Virgil and they scramble up to face him.

“Hey, Roman!” cries Remus, wrapping one arm around Virgil’s waist. “What brings you here?”

“What brings me-? Really, Remus? You know damn well why I’m here,” snaps their king. Despite being his brother, Roman is still king. What he says, goes.

“Oh! Should I guess? Is it because you still have butt worms? Or-”

“Remus!” Roman shouts, cutting him off. “That’s disgusting! Shut up!” He waves his hand, and Patton takes his other hand. Roman sighs. “You could have warned me if you were planning on doing something like that.”

“You would have told me not to!” Remus protests.

“Yes, because-”

“Excuse me?” Virgil says, cutting off Roman. Dee resists the urge to whistle. It’s a ballsy move, but everything about tonight was so it makes sense to keep the ball rolling. “Your Majesty, Prince Consorts.” Virgil bows his head. “It is, uh, nice to meet you. Uhm, formally.” He smiles nervously. It is the least accented Dee has ever heard him talk. He wants nothing more than to reach out and take Virgil’s hand. He’s too far, though, so Dee leans as close as he can to Remus instead.

“What’s your name?” Roman asks. Remus bristles at the tone, but Virgil clears his throat, takes a step forward to stand on his own, and meets the King’s eyes.

“I am Virgil Tailor,” he says. Patton’s eyes widen, but Dee shakes his head slightly. Princes aren’t meant to dally with commoners, but this isn’t a dalliance and if Patton says anything that makes Virgil question his place, there will be a problem.

“Well, Virgil Tailor, it is a true pleasure to make the acquaintance of someone who can keep Remus in check. Is this something you can do?” Virgil nods hesitantly. Roman smiles. “Then your company will be a balm to my brother’s brash instincts. It is my pleasure to greet you, formally, and I hope to get to know you more in the future.” Virgil bows his head again, smile realer.

“You also,” he says.

“For now, though, I must be off.” Roman sends Remus the stink eye. “I am going to have to go deal with the legal ramifications of what just went on. For once in your life, Remus, could you please think ahead?”

“I did! And I thought you’d stop me! So I didn’t say anything.” Roman groans. Remus cackles and pulls Virgil and Dee both back into his embrace.

“Lay low for a couple days while we see what the backlash is,” Roman sighs. He eyes Dee. “I expected more from you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Dee says. Roman sticks his tongue out and then walks away with his two consorts in tow. Remus giggles delightedly and they head off for his and Dee’s rooms. Tonight, they will all sleep in the same bed and Virgil won’t have to disappear himself before the cleaner comes in. In the morning, they will be able to sleep as late as they want. And maybe after that they meet with Remus’s brother to see how their stunt was received. Until then, though, Dee is going to take it easy and relax with his partners. A ball really does take it out of you.

[artdaily7]

Marriage by Marianne Moore

This institution, perhaps one should say enterprise out of respect for which one says one need not change one's mind about a thing one has believed in, requiring public promises of one's intention to fulfill a private obligation: I wonder what Adam and Eve think of it by this time, this firegilt steel alive with goldenness; how bright it shows -- "of circular traditions and impostures, committing many spoils," requiring all one's criminal ingenuity to avoid! Psychology which explains everything explains nothing and we are still in doubt. Eve: beautiful woman -- I have seen her when she was so handsome she gave me a start, able to write simultaneously in three languages -- English, German and French and talk in the meantime; equally positive in demanding a commotion and in stipulating quiet: "I should like to be alone;" to which the visitor replies, "I should like to be alone; why not be alone together?" Below the incandescent stars below the incandescent fruit, the strange experience of beauty; its existence is too much; it tears one to pieces and each fresh wave of consciousness is poison. "See her, see her in this common world," the central flaw in that first crystal-fine experiment, this amalgamation which can never be more than an interesting possibility, describing it as "that strange paradise unlike flesh, gold, or stately buildings, the choicest piece of my life: the heart rising in its estate of peace as a boat rises with the rising of the water;" constrained in speaking of the serpent -- that shed snakeskin in the history of politeness not to be returned to again -- that invaluable accident exonerating Adam. And he has beauty also; it's distressing -- the O thou to whom, from whom, without whom nothing -- Adam; "something feline, something colubrine" -- how true! a crouching mythological monster in that Persian miniature of emerald mines, raw silk -- ivory white, snow white, oyster white and six others -- that paddock full of leopards and giraffes -- long lemonyellow bodies sown with trapezoids of blue. Alive with words, vibrating like a cymbal touched before it has been struck, he has prophesied correctly -- the industrious waterfall, "the speedy stream which violently bears all before it, at one time silent as the air and now as powerful as the wind." "Treading chasms on the uncertain footing of a spear," forgetting that there is in woman a quality of mind which is an instinctive manifestation is unsafe, he goes on speaking in a formal, customary strain of "past states," the present state, seals, promises, the evil one suffered, the good one enjoys, hell, heaven, everything convenient to promote one's joy." There is in him a state of mind by force of which, perceiving what it was not intended that he should, "he experiences a solemn joy in seeing that he has become an idol." Plagued by the nightingale in the new leaves, with its silence -- not its silence but its silences, he says of it: "It clothes me with a shirt of fire." "He dares not clap his hands to make it go on lest it should fly off; if he does nothing, it will sleep; if he cries out, it will not understand." Unnerved by the nightingale and dazzled by the apple, impelled by "the illusion of a fire effectual to extinguish fire," compared with which the shining of the earth is but deformity -- a fire "as high as deep as bright as broad as long as life itself," he stumbles over marriage, "a very trivial object indeed" to have destroyed the attitude in which he stood -- the ease of the philosopher unfathered by a woman. Unhelpful Hymen! "a kind of overgrown cupid" reduced to insignificance by the mechanical advertising parading as involuntary comment, by that experiment of Adam's with ways out but no way in -- the ritual of marriage, augmenting all its lavishness; its fiddle-head ferns, lotus flowers, opuntias, white dromedaries, its hippopotamus -- nose and mouth combined in one magnificent hopper, "the crested screamer -- that huge bird almost a lizard," its snake and the potent apple. He tells us that "for love that will gaze an eagle blind, that is like a Hercules climbing the trees in the garden of the Hesperides, from forty-five to seventy is the best age," commending it as a fine art, as an experiment, a duty or as merely recreation. One must not call him ruffian nor friction a calamity -- the fight to be affectionate: "no truth can be fully known until it has been tried by the tooth of disputation." The blue panther with black eyes, the basalt panther with blue eyes, entirely graceful -- one must give them the path -- the black obsidian Diana who "darkeneth her countenance as a bear doth, causing her husband to sigh," the spiked hand that has an affection for one and proves it to the bone, impatient to assure you that impatience is the mark of independence not of bondage. "Married people often look that way" -- "seldom and cold, up and down, mixed and malarial with a good day and bad." "When do we feed?" We occidentals are so unemotional, we quarrel as we feed; one's self is quite lost, the irony preserved in "the Ahasuerus tête à tête banquet" with its "good monster, lead the way," with little laughter and munificence of humor in that quixotic atmosphere of frankness in which "Four o'clock does not exist but at five o'clock the ladies in their imperious humility are ready to receive you"; in which experience attests that men have power and sometimes one is made to feel it. He says, "what monarch would not blush to have a wife with hair like a shaving-brush? The fact of woman is not `the sound of the flute but every poison.'" She says, "`Men are monopolists of stars, garters, buttons and other shining baubles' -- unfit to be the guardians of another person's happiness." He says, "These mummies must be handled carefully -- `the crumbs from a lion's meal, a couple of shins and the bit of an ear'; turn to the letter M and you will find that `a wife is a coffin,' that severe object with the pleasing geometry stipulating space and not people, refusing to be buried and uniquely disappointing, revengefully wrought in the attitude of an adoring child to a distinguished parent." She says, "This butterfly, this waterfly, this nomad that has `proposed to settle on my hand for life.' -- What can one do with it? There must have been more time in Shakespeare's day to sit and watch a play. You know so many artists are fools." He says, "You know so many fools who are not artists." The fact forgot that "some have merely rights while some have obligations," he loves himself so much, he can permit himself no rival in that love. She loves herself so much, she cannot see herself enough -- a statuette of ivory on ivory, the logical last touch to an expansive splendor earned as wages for work done: one is not rich but poor when one can always seem so right. What can one do for them -- these savages condemned to disaffect all those who are not visionaries alert to undertake the silly task of making people noble? This model of petrine fidelity who "leaves her peaceful husband only because she has seen enough of him" -- that orator reminding you, "I am yours to command." "Everything to do with love is mystery; it is more than a day's work to investigate this science." One sees that it is rare -- that striking grasp of opposites opposed each to the other, not to unity, which in cycloid inclusiveness has dwarfed the demonstration of Columbus with the egg -- a triumph of simplicity -- that charitive Euroclydon of frightening disinterestedness which the world hates, admitting:

"I am such a cow, if I had a sorrow, I should feel it a long time; I am not one of those who have a great sorrow in the morning and a great joy at noon;" which says: "I have encountered it among those unpretentious protegés of wisdom, where seeming to parade as the debater and the Roman, the statesmanship of an archaic Daniel Webster persists to their simplicity of temper as the essence of the matter:

`Liberty and union now and forever;'

the book on the writing-table; the hand in the breast-pocket."

Winslow Homer 1874 Moonlight, oil on canvas, PC

[kosmosian-quills]

Camp Nano - Day 1

Wooo! Camp NaNo has started! And I’m off to a good start, so I thought I’d share this! It’s the first scene, I’ve written the basic outline of this before but I’ve changed some things slightly to make the story make a bit more sense. I have written more today but I’m not entirely happy with it as it stands, so I’m going to skip that over for now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and the best of luck with your Camp NaNo projects if you’re taking part!

November that year was bitter, but I didn't have time to dwell on how cold the gardens were. Not today.

Age 17 is the year the Crown Prince or Princess is assigned his or her companions.

I was hesitant about this. The entire premise of this... they are assigned to me. Great. The only people I will be able to interact with on a personal level that are not immediately related to me and I don't even get to choose them.

The companions (for the Prince, his Grooms of the Stole, for the Princess, her Maidens of Honour) will accompany and assist the Prince or Princess in the day to day lives and act as confidantes.

Father assured me that he had made good matches for me. Respectable matches, girls who have their own identities and achievements of their own merit. I can only assume he means they come from the various towns around Kosmos.

There shall be five companions assigned to the Prince or Princess, and they will live in the castle with the Prince or Princess.

That part always worried me. They would be leaving their families, their homes, to come live with me. They might have only ever come to the capital one or two times, maybe come on a tour of the castle with their school as children, but now they would be moving into my home, living in the room next door to mine.

The companions shall engage with the Prince or Princess through any and all public appearances.

This also means spend almost every minutes of my private life with them as well.

The companions shall be educated with the Prince or Princess and must complete their schooling.

Not that there is much schooling left to do around age 17, but it all depends upon the ages of my "companions" when I meet them. The youngest was my grandmother's, at 15 when they met, but she fit in apparently. But father said he didn't get on well with one of his Grooms, so I must always maintain a professional relationship with them. Remember that. If you get too personal, it can open cracks that can fester and infect the relationship. It could make your life much more miserable.

I looked at myself in the mirror, making sure my dress was straight. Happy birthday to me, I thought. Father always said that having my maidens would be a great chance to earn some public respect by completing acts of charity like he had done. I understood this, but my main problem was my lack of choice. The maidens will have known for weeks now, and will be all packed and ready for their Officiation.

Basically, we all meet in the great hall. The Ruling Monarch, in this case it is my father, will then ask each of them if they are willing to join me, in front of witnesses. The witnesses include the families of those who are to be my maidens. I am to bow to the maidens, and they bow to me. One at a time. I am stood in front of my father, and they are stood in a line some ten feet away. They will bow to me one at a time until they are all Officiated into my service. I will thank them individually as they are introduced to me. Then I am to lead them to their rooms where they can unpack their belongings before officially starting.

Technically speaking, the maidens will be briefed on what they are expected to do, their duties and responsibilities to me and the crown. I won't have to mention this unless I ask them to do something else, because everything they need to know is drilled into them before they start.

This journey, to the main hall from my bedroom, would mark the last time I am officially allowed to walk the corridors unaccompanied.

The day of my 17th birthday.

I made my way down the stone corridors, straightening my sleeves as I went. The guards I passed lowered their heads and didn't make a sound until I passed them. I could feel the chill from the open window nearby, and these corridors were not insulated. The rooms were, but these corridors could freeze in winter. We were out to sea, technically, since we were off the mainland. It had occurred to me how this may take some getting used to for them.

“Excuse me, your highness -” a voice from behind calls to me. One of the guards I had just passed. I turned back around to face them, halting in my place.

One of the guards was still front facing away from me, stood completely to attention. But the other one - a tall, well built man with dark hair and tanned skin, with deep brown eyes that spoke volumes. He stepped forwards, an arm outstretched towards me, something in his hand. My ribbon, from one of my sleeves.

Instinctively I look down at my sleeves, and realise that it is indeed my ribbon. The left sleeve was missing the ribbon which kept the sleeve tight, the right one still tied in its bow.

I turn back around and step closer to the guard. His head is still bowed down as he offers the ribbon back to me, and doesn’t look me in the eye.

“Thank you very much, Sergeant…?” I ask, taking the ribbon from him.

“Corporal, your highness,” he corrects me, standing tall and perfectly straight, his arms snapped by his side as soon as I take the ribbon from him. “Corporal Jeleń, your highness.”

“My apologies - thank you, Corporal.”

I bowed my head down a little, fixing the ribbon on my sleeve, before I turned back around and walked away. I could hear him salute behind me, and I continued to make my way to my destination.

I arrive in the main hall barely a minute later and take my assigned seat just behind my father's throne. I clasp my hands together in front of me, on my knees, and look up at the crowd, trying not to make any specific eye contact. I keep my eyes on the decorative banners that hang from the high ceiling, the burgundy and blue stripes with a golden insignia. They sway softly in the air, gently lit by the lights hanging nearby. I can hear the chatter of the witnesses but I try my best not to look up.

I knew the layout of this room as well as everyone else did. The door from which I had entered was the quickest way to my assigned seating, which had remained unchanged for the ruling monarch of my country since it's construction in the 18th century. Our seats were on a slightly elevated platform with plenty of room on either side for more chairs to be added (in the case of multiple siblings, assuming they ever made it to adulthood). The regal King or Queen was seated centrally, their husband or wife seated slightly behind them to their right, and any children were behind them and slightly to the left. If I had a few brothers or sisters, I would still have the seat closest to my father. This spot is reserved specifically for the Crown Prince or Princess.

The room in front of us was almost like a church. Just below our platform was a decently sized open area, and behind that are several rows of seats. These seats are not 100% filled to capacity. In the grand scheme of things, this Officiation is pointless when there are more pressing matters at hand. And at the end of the day, it was redundant to hold this. The Maidens have already accepted the role by simply turning up.

"All rise!"

The words from the usher to my right brought the hall to silence within a second. With that, my father arrived into the room. He took his place at my side, but did not take his seat. I remained stood to, I had to. I had no chance to take a seat now.

"We are gathered here for the Officiation of the Maidens of Honour," the usher proclaimed, still stood to my side, "who will serve the Crown Princess Anjelika Maciejewska Górskanka, daughter of King Maciej Pawełski Górskanki."

I wish he would hurry this along, I hate staring at the crowd aimlessly

"Would the five chosen maidens step forward?"

I watched as they emerged from the crowd, the five chosen to be my companions, friends chosen for me. What is that adage, you can't choose your family but you can choose your friends? Ha, I don't even have that luxury.

"Królewna Anjelika, please step forward."

Taking my place in front of my father's throne, I must stand straight, my hands clasped in front of me. This was the first time I had a proper look at the girls who were chosen as my Maidens.

From left to right, visually, all of them differed. In height, in posture, in looks. They all shared a similar facial expression, one of neutrality. I saw no trace of happiness to be here, but again I saw no sadness. If only I could see their eyes, eyes tell stories where words fail. All of them had their eyes to the floor.

“Zofia Mateuszewska Wójcika.“

The first girl was much darker in skin tone to the others. Her hair shoulder length and dark too. I couldn’t see her eyes because they were facing the ground. Something I did notice was how one of her legs was positioned, it looked odd for some reason that I couldn’t place yet. She curtsied to me, and I to her.

The King spoke next. “Do you accept the title and role of Maiden of Honour?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Will you fulfil those duties diligently and respectfully?”

“I will, your majesty.”

This is time for my words. “Welcome, Zofia. You may rise.”

She kept her eyes down but returned to her original posture. It occurred to me, as she stood up, just what was funny about how she was standing. She had a prosthetic leg. I barely noticed, because it didn’t make a sound and it was well hidden underneath her clothes. She did not seem bothered by it, she must have had it for a long time.

The next girl was addressed.

“Anastazja Fabianewska Lewandowska"

The wavy blonde hair rested on her shoulders, almost hiding her face as she bowed her head to me as she curtsied to me. She was wearing a similar suit to Zofia, except her blazer was longer and seemed higher up her neck than the smart cut that Zofia was wearing.

She was asked the ritualistic questions. I thanked her.

The cycle continues.

“Karolina Łukaszewiczka Lawniczka.”

A long haired redhead bowed her head this time. She was tall and fair skinned, and I did catch a glimpse of mesmerising green eyes beneath her red hair. She was skinny too, but her tall legs only accentuated this point. She was wearing a grey cardigan over a navy blue skirt that went down to her thighs.

“Irena Igorewska Dąbrowska“

The girl named Irena was a short, bespectacled girl, with shoulder length brown hair. She was more tanned in skin colour, but not as dark as Zofia was. She was wearing a white blouse with a blue ribbon tied perfectly centred, and a knee length pleated skirt.

“Matylda Benedictinska Wiśniewska“

There was a definite gap in age between this girl Matylda and the others. This one had a baby face and she looked at least three years younger than myself. She even acted like it, considering that she very, very briefly made eye contact with me before darting her gaze down to the floor, where everyone else's was. She was wearing a knee length grey skirt and dark tights, a white blouse and navy waistcoat.

That’s it, it’s over.

I suppose this will take some getting used to for all of us here.

[kusunogatari]

[ Naruto OC x Canon Ship Week 2020 - In Love and War ] [ @naruto-ocxcanon-ship-week​ || @uchiha-madara​ ] [ Suigin Ryū, Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Terumi Mei, Senju Tobirama ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ Trope: Arranged Marriage ]

Standing along the edge of her chamber balcony, a lone woman rests marless hands along its railing. From the lofty perch, she gazes down into the valley that twists and winds between snow-capped peaks. Moonlight paints the scene in soft greys and shadows.

She should be sleeping...but she can’t begin to find rest.

A soft sigh plumes in the chilled night air. Like the fog that often blankets her homeland, it drifts slowly, unhurriedly out from the cliffside castle. Carved from the very mountain face, it watches over the vale unblinkingly, waterfalls cascading out past its windows to join the river below.

The rumbling of the water is usually enough to lull her to sleep. But tonight, too much weighs on her mind.

Far, far too much.

Her eyes don’t see what lies before them, flickering in thought in their sockets. The eddying news and arising conflicts won’t stop flowing, keeping her conscious.

What should she do…?

It’s now more than ever she wishes for her mother’s guidance. Someone older, wiser, to help steer her in the right direction.

But she’s alone...and with war on the horizon, her kingdom surrounded on all sides.

Since the first recordings of history, they’ve remained detached from the other nations and their squabbles. With their world’s holy sites all contained within her borders, that influence of faith has allowed them to stand alone, untouched, for centuries. A careful balance maintained between the other lands to avoid overstepping and claiming too much influence over a place that - in truth - belongs to them all.

But now…? War once again threatens to rise. And the balance is crumbling. Rather than seeking to protect her lands, the others now seek to conquer it.

And without an army, a neutral place of peace...Ryū fears they will fall like wheat to a scythe. Unless the gods themselves intervene...they have no defense beyond the walls of the mountains. The chosen people of the valley do not fight. They’ve never had to.

To spill blood on the sacred land was to invite the wrath of the gods.

But that fear seems to be waning in the other nations. And their lack of restraint may be the end of the valley people chosen by the pantheon.

And she fears there is nothing she can do but pray.

Fingers curl against the railing, nails trying to dig into the stone and threatening to snap. Her people look to her for guidance: both a priestess and a queen. But now…? She feels utterly unprepared to lead them. Protect them. Without the perilous balance outside their borders...how can she keep war at bay?

Her head bows, heavy with every life depending on her. There has to be something she can do...something to stave off their slaughter.

...wait…

Like a beetle boring into wood, a thought worms its way into her mind. One that goes against centuries of tradition. At first, she flinches from it by reflex. And yet it lingers, tempting and luring.

...what if she were to tame one of the warhounds? Offer it what it wants...and in return, turn its teeth against the others? Marry a warlord...and position his army at their gates?

Never has her line tied itself to another. Never have they broken the careful neutrality maintained to ensure equality for the others in the eyes of the gods. If she does this...if she shows a bias to one land over the others...will it be enough to save them?

Or will it bring only ruin?

...what choice does she have?

To give another influence over her lands...is that the price she’s willing to pay to protect it? Are shackles preferable to gravestones?

In silence she weighs her odds...before turning to retreat inside.

She has letters to pen.

"My king!”

Gloved palms braced against the table that bears his maps, Madara turns at the voice of a messenger. “This best be important.”

“A message, my liege.”

“...from?”

“The priestess of the mountain valley.”

Immediately, dark brows furrow. What could she want with him? An expectant hand raises to accept the parchment, unfurling it and proceeding to read.

The further he goes, the more his face slackens.

Around him, everyone stills, awaiting his reaction.

“...prepare my horse.”

“Sire…?”

“I have a meeting to attend. Izuna!”

Stepping up beside his brother, the younger man replies, “Shall I hold the fort?”

“Yes. Await my orders. Until then...consider us at ease. But be ready at a moment’s notice.”

“Of course.” He eyes his brother thoughtfully. “...that must have been some letter.”

As he straps on his armor, a mischievous smirk curls Madara’s lips. “I may have just been handed victory on a silver platter.”

Izuna’s brows lift. “...that simply?”

“Oh, there will be obstacles. But none I cannot handle. Especially if it means avoiding this war altogether.”

“You? Eager to avoid bloodshed?”

“...as much as I enjoy the fire in my veins at a proper battle...I’m not so easily consumed as not to realize it costs the lives of my men. Besides...victory is what tastes sweetest. And one I can take single handedly will be ambrosia itself.”

“...then I wish you luck.”

“Luck will have nothing to do with it, brother. It’s all a matter of will.”

Watching Madara leave the chamber, Izuna folds his arms with a sigh. Curiosity burns at the letter’s contents, but he knows he’ll be made aware in due time. A meeting, and skipping a war…?

...that alone gives him some idea.

“...spread the word that our armies are to remain on alert. Until the king returns or sends word, we remain here at the ready.”

“Aye!”

Astride his Friesian, Madara wastes no time, digging heels to the beast’s sides and heading inland. Nor does he bother himself with escorts. They’ll only slow him down, and he wants to be prompt. The sooner he arrives, the sooner he’ll settle this matter himself.

So, the queen’s decided to take things into her own hands, has she? Allay war by holding a council that will serve in its stead. Let the kings, queens, and generals do the fighting themselves for once rather than hide behind their armies. Let one emerge a victor, claim the spoils...and put to rest this silly balancing act.

And Madara knows, in a contest of will and limits, none will stand in his way. The only thorn he can foresee is that bastard Tobirama now that Hashirama is gone. But he’ll handle that too when he must.

To lay claim to the holy lands of their continent will be to grip every heart that follows the gods. In his goals to make all equal and loyal to one ideal...such a position is paramount. No more wars. No more squabbling. He’ll make sure the lines drawn between men will finally fade into one unity.

No matter how far he must go.

Like any gods-fearing man, he’s made the pilgrimage himself more than once. The way is already familiar. But there’s still a moment taken upon cresting the lip of the valley to appreciate its majesty.

...it really is a beautiful place. No wonder the gods call it their cradle. In all his travels, he’s never seen a place more fitting for them to consider setting foot upon the soil. The thought of bringing war here is indeed distasteful.

No wonder she’s willing to bow her head to protect it.

Easily marked an outsider, he ignores the stares as he makes his way up to the castle. He understands and respects their suspicions. Besides, it won’t be long before he can put to rest their fears and earn their admiration. If he’s to be the first king of this reclusive land, he’ll do it the right way.

Presenting his letter, he allows his mount to be stabled as he’s led inside. The palace carved from the white stone of the cliff face has always impressed him, looking birthed from the mountain itself. With the forested lip crowning it and the waterfalls that curtain its face, it looks much like a fairy queen’s domain.

Speaking of which...he’s never individually spoken to the priestess queen of the valley. She who both rules and shepherds. Her sermons have always been impassioned, and he won’t deny her ethereal beauty: the ghostly-white countenance that’s said to be a mark of the gods’ blessings to her lineage. But until now, he’s had no reason to approach her directly. Almost like an idol herself, kept behind a wall no outsider could pass.

...but that’s all set to change.

To his annoyance, several of the other monarchs have already arrived. Though it can’t be helped, given proximities. The land of his people lies mostly along a coast compared to the valley at the heart of their landmass, pushed to the edges over time. They all give him the same sour, upturned-nose glances, clearly displeased at the presence of the warlord.

His reputation is no secret: willing to carve through anything to get what he wants. Spilling blood like others pour wine. Claimed to be a monster masquerading as human, more likely to kill a man than embrace him.

While his bloodlust is indeed true, born from a line used to fending for itself...he still remembers the talks of old with another princeling. Another soul that, in truth, wished for peace. While their methods were always different...Madara did - and still does - desire a stop to be brought to wars.

He’s just more willing to be...absolute.

But this might be just the break he’s looking for. A new angle to bring all men into line. Surely between the lady of faith and the lord of power, there will be little standing in their way of finally putting the marches of wars to rest.

...but first, he’ll have to take care of the competition.

“And here I thought this was to be a peace council. Yet here prowls the dog of war.”

Dark eyes sliding to their corners, Madara aloofly considers one of the other land’s queens: a woman of flaming hair and even more flaming temper. “Dog or not, I was beckoned just as you were. Any other judgments, I’m sure, will be made by our hostess. Until then, I’ve little need or want of yours.”

Arms tucked into voluminous sleeves, Mei considers him with equal parts disdain and intrigue. “And are the rest of us supposed to accept your presence without hesitation, pretending you’ve not wounded us in the past?”

“Any I’ve wounded have done so to me in turn. Perhaps not as successfully,” he adds with a smirk, earning a glower, “but don’t paint yourselves as guiltless martyrs. Any who spill blood are equally guilty. Lost life is lost life, no matter what banner or slogan you hide behind. I protect my people as you do yours.”

“And yet none will deny your barbarity. Not even you.”

“I’ll not bother to call a rose by any other name in an attempt to hide its thorns. But my brutality is necessary. Nothing more or less. It is only with teeth I can bite back choking fingers.”

“They’d not choke if you didn’t bite first.”

Immediately, a flare of temper seems to climb Madara’s spine like a flame along a trail of tinder. But he doesn’t reveal his hatred, only turning to Tobirama with a mock air of surprise. “I think by now there’s little point in which came first...only that it continues. And must end.”

“A continuation in which you are just as guilty,” the Senju retorts without pause.

“Well, perhaps a second opinion is just what we need, then. Let the true neutral decide what will become of us warmongering heathens. Don’t act as if you’ve never wielded a blade out of spite, Tobirama. In the eyes of the gods, we are all guilty.”

“And yet, some more than others. I look forward to them striking you down at last.”

“...we’ll see about that.”

“Your majesties…?”

At the timid cut-in, the regals turn to an attendant who wastes no time in bowing under their gazes. “The last of the expected parties have arrived, and...her holiness will see you now. Please, follow me.”

After no small number of distrustful glances, the gathered royals follow in the young woman’s wake. While the display of weakness irks Madara slightly, he also can’t blame her. Surely there’s been no assembly like this in their land before, nor for such a purpose. Being exposed to so much power at once must be quite the shock for any below their rank. Anyone in her shoes would be hard-pressed not to panic.

But in this land, all who serve their lady are absolute. Fear is nothing in the face of their devotion. While the priestess queen may serve the gods, it’s the people who in turn serve her. Long have rumors circulated of the valley people being so blindly loyal as to throw themselves on pikes for their monarch. She is the vessel through which the gods speak. To allow her to come to harm is to commit the ultimate blasphemy.

Already, he thinks of how this will be useful.

A short walk later, the lot of them are led into an expansive sitting room. “Her ladyship wishes for you all to remain here, and to attend an audience with her individually. Her impressions are to be unbiased by the others and their opinions, so...while any of you are within her chamber, the rest are kindly asked to wait patiently here.”

“Is this simply to be a contest of our most tactical liars, then?” Tobirama dares to ask, teeth gritting. “Are we not allowed to vet one another?”

“Within each of you is inherent bias depending on friends or foes,” the little servant in turn refutes, and Madara can’t help a lift of his brow as she stares the king down. “Her ladyship, in line with our lands, wishes to remain neutral. The gods will guide her. Mortal opinions can never be pure.”

The Senju’s lip lifts in a snarl, but before he can refute, Mei steps in. “Please tell your ladyship we will be patient and obliging. We all wish to avoid war. If this is what it takes, so be it. The rest of us won’t let temper lead us astray.”

For that, she’s given a venomous look...but other leaders murmur in agreement, and Tobirama begrudgingly concedes.

Wordlessly, the woman nods, and turns into another room.

“...best make yourselves comfortable,” Mei then sniffs, finding herself a perch as others do the same.

Always pleased to see the Senju put in his place, Madara offers a hint of an appreciative smirk in her direction, lounging in a plush chair tucked in a corner. An elbow rests on its arm, chin braced along his knuckles.

A few minutes later, one of the monarchs is asked inside.

And so it begins.

“Have you need of anything, my lady?”

Pouring herself a goblet of water, Ryū gives the attendant a glance, and then a smile. “For now, no - thank you, dear. Twice over for bringing the others here. I trust they were obliging…?”

The tick of hesitation is telling. “M...mostly, my lady.”

“Tell me no more. We’ll see how their conduct fares. You may go.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Left to her own devices for a moment, the priestess draws a long, calming breath. Time to see if her plan will bear fruit...and not the sort to poison the starving masses. Another handmaid tends to the door, calling in each of the other monarchs to stand their trials.

Her interviews are simple, yet extensive. All manner of aspects of their rule - their platoons, their policies, their positions and their people - are peered into with the highest scrutiny. And all throughout, Ryū places her trust in a sense that has never failed her. One she remains convinced comes from the insight of the gods.

Never has she been lied to and the falsehood gone unnoticed.

It’s a feeling that follows her always. And with varying intensity, it reveals to her just who is willing to be truthful...and who thinks it wise to lie to the mouthpiece of the gods. None of the remarks are challenged until each conversation is over, the priestess calmly laying out her accusations. All rebuke and fluster and give flashes of temper, but she cannot be convinced otherwise.

As each monarch reemerges with varying degrees of disgruntlement, the rest clearly become wary.

And she saves the best for last.

“King Madara, of the Uchiha.”

Realizing his position and having done his best to remain patient, the Uchiha takes to his feet and makes his way toward the side chamber. He’d suspected he’d be reserved for the tail end given his reputation, but it was worth seeing Tobirama come out with a clenched jaw and scarlet neck of temper.

Well worth it.

Approaching the door, he gives yet another mousey serf a glance. Does she employ no one but nervous handmaids? Putting the thought aside (it’s hardly of any use), he steps inside and gives the room a curious once-over.

It’s a simple study, lined with shelves of scrolls and tomes. At the rear is a stained glass window, out which he can see one of the falls. Behind a desk of solid wood sits his hostess, and another moment is taken to observe her.

Her dress, unlike that worn for her sermons, is simple: plain white fabric with light hints of gold embroidery. Prim and modest, she looks far more the role of a priestess than a queen. Likely intentional.

“Would you care for some water?”

“...I would,” he replies shortly, accepting a goblet she pours him. Once quenched, he offers, “I must admit, it’s been too long since I’ve visited the valley. I hope that bears no weight on my qualifications?”

“Your lands are far, and your people often troubled. I cannot fault you for remaining where you are needed most by those that follow you. Though they may reside here, the gods can hear us no matter how distant our call.”

“Hm…” He considers her thoughtfully. “...may I also be frank in my surprise at this...decision. But in the same breath, I’ll put forth I think it wise.”

A hint of surprise lifts her brows. “...do you?”

“Relying on the wills of others for your safety puts your fate in their hands. While the other nations were willing, for a time, to be considerate of you...it seems the time has come where they put their own interests over the gods.”

“...do you do the same?”

“I concern myself foremost with my people. Whatever I can do for them to better their lives, I will do. No questions asked. I am their sword, and their shield. For them I will weather any storm, and I will cut down any threat.” His chin declines. “...I know this land’s distaste for violence. But I won’t attempt to hide what I have done. The gods may choose to smite me for it, but I will not stand idle and allow my people to come to harm rather than take any measure to protect them. Until I come to my judgment day, it is my people I answer to. Not gods.”

To his honest surprise, her lips curl into a coy smile. “...I commend you for your honesty and your dedication,” she murmurs. “Many have attempted to conceal their actions, seeking to tilt my favor. But there’s no hiding truth from the gods.” A knee lifts to crest the other, the long skirt of her gown rustling quietly. “Do you recognize the weight of the lives you take to protect another?”

“Of course. Any other man breathes and dreams as those under my banner do. Any life lost - no matter what side of a line - is one that should be mourned. If I could snap my fingers and draw all under one crest so that such lines could not be crossed, no reason given to kill what could in fact be a brother because of one loyalty over another, then I would do so. But until then...I protect what is entrusted to me. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And if those within the valley were to be taken under that banner?”

“Then they would receive every ounce of my dedication as those born beneath it. An alliance is a promise. And I keep my promises. So long as I drew breath, it would be drawn for them all.”

A long moment passes of her silent consideration before continuing with her interview. Further and further she needles him, digging into the psychology and methodology of his leadership. And at each inquiry, he answers honestly, bearing all and refusing to feel shame for it.

Not once does she feel him lie.

By now, the day has begun to slip into evening, and a small respite is taken to light the sconces in the study. “We’re nearly finished. A supper is being prepared for you all.”

“How long are we expected to remain? I have a standing army to return to.”

“A few days at best, if my expectations are met. While my impressions are mostly made and there’s likely little else to glean...I am not one to rush important decisions. But so too do I respect the time and obligations of you and the others. I beg your patience.”

“And you’ll have it. I’m simply curious. My brother maintains the ranks in my stead, and I trust his judgment.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“...I once had four,” Madara eventually replies after a small pause. “But life is brutal, and war the paramount. Now...we are the two left of five. He is my right hand. I rely on him heavily.”

“I see…” Ryū lets her chin rest in a hand. “I’m without siblings. My father is unknown to me, my mother long dead. While I consider every person within my lands to be my family, my flock...I realize it is not the same. I envy you, in a way.”

“I’m sure he would be delighted to have a sister.”

The rather obvious nudge snaps her eyes to him, expression unreadable. “...I have one last question for you.”

“And I will do my best to answer.”

Silvers stare at him, unblinking. “...my intentions, I’m sure, are plain. To resist destruction by a flood of new war, I intend to ally myself with one of the other nations. That alliance will grant me an army, and hopefully give pause to the others before they consider bringing battles here. However...I know that, beyond my lands, the webs of friends and foes are complicated, and ever-changing. Depending on my choice, prior brothers in arms may be forced to become enemies. So my question is this: have you any reason - any at all - to possibly falter should this position become yours? Would you ever hesitate in raising your swords and your shields to defend this valley, and the people in it?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink, especially as no hint of a lie bleeds through his tone. “...just that easily?”

“Just that easily.” Shifting his posture, Madara leans inward, expression completely unwavering. “My people have been betrayed more times than I could count. We’ve not held an alliance since I was a boy...perhaps even longer. For generations we have been marked as nothing more than war-hungry dogs. And while we will never back down from a fight...it is not what we want. We fight for one reason only: necessity. Survival. The world has turned its back on us, declared us untrustworthy and forever drunk on blood. So perhaps that is something you should consider, priestess.”

Watching him warily, Ryū nonetheless holds her ground as he approaches, shrinking the gap between them to a breath.

“...is this what you want to anchor in your harbor? A man called a monster, a killer? Someone willing to go to any length, no matter what ire it will earn him?”

“...that’s precisely what I want.”

...it’s his turn to be taken aback.

She stares up at him, just as calm. “...I am all out of options, Madara,” she murmurs, dropping all other pretense. “My people face annihilation. We are sheep circled on all sides by wolves. Which is why I don’t want just a wolf. I want someone with nothing to lose. Because that is exactly what I have become. I want someone who, when the inevitable comes, will fight with no holds barred. Someone the other wolves fear. Because that fear will be what keeps us safe until the swords swing.”

Eyes flickering over her face, he lingers a long moment before conceding back to his seat. “...I see. Surely you already knew, then, what you were really looking for. These interviews weren’t to find who you wanted...but to gauge the standings of what will be left.”

She gives a grave nod. “To know who will be possible allies, who can be swayed...and who will see my declaration as one of war.”

“I’ve already a fair idea of those,” he assures her.

“I did not...but now I do. Which leaves only one last formality.” Reclining in her seat, Ryū crosses a knee, hands folding atop her lap. “...will you accept my proposal of an arranged marriage, Madara of the Uchiha? And with it, accept the position of army general, and the duty of protecting my people, my lands, and the cradle of the gods?”

“Is ‘king’ not one of my titles?”

“You are the king of your people. I am the queen of mine. I am unsure how either will view the other. And we have never had a king before.” Her lips flicker into a smile. “...both sides will surely need to do their own...adjusting. You will have every right and privilege that comes with a marriage to my line. Just, I’m sure, as I will inherit those of one to yours.”

...she’s avoiding the answer directly, he muses, considering her carefully. She doesn’t want foreign influence over her people...I can understand. Especially given the vast cultural differences. Surely such details will be determinable later. For now...best we settle the basics. I can whittle at the rest as we go. Leaning back with a sigh, he replies, “...then yes. I accept.”

“...good. We can discuss the rest tomorrow. For now...we have a dinner to attend.”

“Nothing works up an appetite like politics.”

     All righty, day three! And I'm officially out of buffered posts :'D BUT I'm determined to do more, so hopefully I'll have some time between now and...tomorrow to get something else done.      But for now, THIS post! So this is for Phoenix, the mun behind @uchiha-madara​, and is our ship between her Madara and my OC Ryū. We've had a verse with her in the founders era and a concept...somewhat similar to this? But this setting is a bit different, and with far different context, so...hopefully it was still interesting to read xD I haven't gotten to write this verse much yet so a lot of it was experimental. But overall I really like how it turned out, and hopefully Phoenix does too!      I love the dynamic between these two...there's almost always drama and tension and hhhhh I live for it xD      Anyway, I've got irl things to handle now, so I best skedaddle. But I'll do my best to be back tomorrow with another piece for another ship! Until then, thanks for reading!

[randomfandomimagine]

Love Above All. Chapter 2

Fandom: The Man in the Iron Mask/Musketeers

Ship: Phillippe x Marie (OC)

Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter

AO3

Remember to please reblog and leave feedback if you’re enjoying it! It means the world to me :)

Unable to contain my alarm, I visibly jumped up at the loud sound of the door violently being shut. I quietly followed the king as he exited his chambers and stopped at the door, watching him storm off into the depths of the spacious palace. Heaving a trembling sigh, I rubbed my hands against the skirt of my dress in an attempt to keep them from sweating and shaking. My eyes fixed on the spot that Louis had disappeared from, vigilant about his return.

“I am sorry that you had to witness that, mademoiselle” A gentle voice said behind me as the person bearing the bad news to the king exited the room.

“No matter” My eyes followed the musketeer as he positioned himself before me. “I have witnessed his temper quite often, it is no surprise for me now”

The man softly shook his head, making his loose curls to bounce with the movement. Then his fair eyes intently fell upon me.

“Yet you got frightened nonetheless” He observed, his brow furrowing in concern.

I averted my gaze, though I realized my silence was quite eloquent. Many emotions stirred within me at the thought of our king, yet none of them were positive. Only upon serving him closely I had learned of his true nature, for before I had assumed our ruler could not be as bad as it seemed. Being a monarch could not be easy, he surely made difficult decisions to ensure the wellbeing of the French people. Still, now that I had witnessed firsthand how cruel, cold and tempestuous he was, any admiration or devotion I may have demonstrated him had since vanished. Instead I was left with nothing but contempt and displease towards our regal figure.

“I will not deny that his anger frightens me” I gulped as I begged my hands to stop shaking. “However, it is the future of our country that truly has me concerned”

The man dedicated me an empathetic expression as he watched me, merely nodding when the silence settled.

“Monsieur” I called him just as he took one step forward to resume his duties as a musketeer.

“Andre” He corrected me with a soft smile.

“Andre” I repeated, reciprocating the gesture. “May I ask where did he go?”

“I would assume he went looking for the Captain”

“D’Artagnan?”

“Yes, I expect him to return soon”

“Thank you” I said, trying to prepare myself for the upcoming return of a very upset Louis.

As Andre left with a bow of his head, I waited by the door as I was expected to, prepared to serve the king when he returned and oblige in any of the commands or needs he would impose on me in spite of my growing antipathy of him.

Quite soon I could hear his powerful voice echoing through the walls as the sound of his shoes was accompanied by another pair of feet following him closely. Embracing myself for his wrath, I straightened my back like a musketeer would and tried to stay as still as possible in the hopes that he would not notice me.

“Your Majesty, the people…” There came D’Artagnan, displaying the patience of a saint as he endured the anger of the king. Louis interrupted him in the middle of his sentence.

“The people of Paris” The latter repeated, pausing to emphasize his following words. “Should not break in rioting as they are”

“But, sire-“

“This is the most wonderful city in the world, why would they be unhappy?”

“Because of the wars, Your Majesty” As they both walked by me, only D’Artagnan briefly glanced in my direction to acknowledge my presence. “And the food is starting to run out as well”

Their voices became muffled once they entered the king’s personal chambers and I allowed myself to sigh in relief after being spared from the rage of Louis.

I closed my eyes tight, longing for a better situation. The people of France did not deserve a tyrant in the throne, they deserved a kind and fair soul that would bring cheer to his subjects. Not one that made war, hunger and misery to befall upon them. As I thought of such an idyllic image, the big doors behind me heavily swung open as I looked over my shoulder to see an upset looking D’Artagnan. He solely nodded at me before he carried on walking, yet I felt the urge to speak to him.

“D’Artagnan, sir” I humbly diverted my gaze down when his eyes fell upon me. “I just wanted to thank you for the other day, you were incredibly kind”

I did wonder if he actually remembered our interaction. Not only had it been several days ago, but I assumed the captain of the musketeers had more important matters to think about that a simple maid he once spoke to.

“Marie, wasn’t it?” He replied, much to my astonishment. “There is no need to thank me, or for any of that, like I previously told you”

I gawked at him, taken aback by his further kind treatment. The fact that he remembered me was heartwarming enough.

“B-But I admire you so much, sir! The musketeers earned my absolute respect, for they valiantly fight against injustice to bring peace to the land. Although, I must say the first musketeers and the story of their deeds does inspire me the most and…” Upon realizing I had startled rambling, I cut my sentence short. “T-Truly, sir, t-the kindness you showed me did nothing but to reinforce my respect for you”

Against all odds, D’Artagnan seemed to find my excitement endearing, for he smiled in response. His tense posture after talking to the king even seemed to relax.

“You have heard of our deeds? Of me and Porthos, Athos and Aramis?”

“Why, of course! How loyal you were, how skilled and courageous!” His smile only widened, now acquiring quite a nostalgic hint to it as he possibly evoked those memories with his closest friends as they fought countless battles. “Forgive me... I am wasting your time. You must be a busy man and surely have matters to attend to”

Instead of heeding my words, D’Artagnan took a step closer to me. “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly, sir!”

“I have noticed how your enthusiasm over serving the king has died out with each passing day” The smile I bore froze in my lips at his words, and my gaze landed on the ground in shame. “Do you still have faith?”

I dared not respond nor lift my eyes in fear of voicing out my thoughts. Surely, my honest response would be considered treason amongst those who might hear it, including the Captain before me.

“Worry not, child” D’Artagnan’s voice was gentle as he spoke. “Whatever your response is, I will not condemn you for it”

I cautiously looked up to meet with his grave blue eyes, who watched me with a mix of curiosity and caution. I opened my mouth to reply but found the words to be stuck in my throat. Only after I cleared it did I feel confident enough to muster the courage to say it.

“I do not, sir...” I felt my lip trembling as I spoke out.

“I feared so” Without any further comments, D’Artagnan turned around.

“Do you?” I risked to ask him in return. The man paused mid-step, considering whether to answer my daring question or not. Then he slowly looked over his shoulder to me and muttered two simple words.

“I must” Was all he said before he walked away. I frowned sadly. Not even the captain of the musketeers, the personal guard of the king who protected him from any and all dangers to his person, seemed to have faith in the goodness in Louis’ heart. Truly, he had showed nothing but arrogance and disdain.

His very voice calling me reminded me of his presence there in the room and hence of my duties.

“Maid!” I did not know if Louis had actually noticed me standing there or if he just expected someone to immediately be at his side at his request, yet I faced the doors.

  Even after all my efforts, I got nothing in return. No matter how hard I had worked, especially that day that I had scrubbed the floors, made the bed and rid every corner of the royal chambers from dust. It could have been worse as it sometimes was indeed. I certainly did not fancy quietly escorting the king’s lover out when he dismissed them once he had finished with them. It deeply disgusted me how he treated women, like we were but means to his pleasure and nothing more.

Quite honestly, I had considered quitting ever since that day that my eagerness for serving the king faded. Yet I dared not, for I had nothing more than this job and no one to help me through such hypothetical hardship. In any case, that would be seen as an act of treason for retreating from my duties toward our king.

I made a curtsy when the aforementioned burst into his chambers, murmuring incoherent thoughts in annoyance about people being incompetent and wasting his precious time. I repressed a sigh as the whole weight of my obligations fell upon me as I realized that I was forced to serve someone that I did not deem worthy nor respected any more.

My heart skipped a beat when Louis slipped and nearly fell. As soon as he recovered his balance, however, he slowly turned to me. I shrank away from him, realizing my mistake as I had not properly wiped the wet floors and hence caused him to slip.

His icy blue eyes fell upon me with such hatred and contempt that I shivered under his intense glare. His jaw was clenched, and the slow movements he made as he furiously approached me made me gulp in anticipation.

“I could have broken my neck” Louis spat out each word as I forced my glance upon the cleaned floor that had casted his anger upon me.

“My apologies, Your Majesty…” I kneeled in the hopes that it would soothe his anger.

“Your worthless woman, you could have killed me!” I jumped slightly when he raised his voice.

“P-Please, forgive me” Tears welled up in my eyes, even if I did not dare lift my eyes."I only... i-it was a mistake, I will never allow it to happen-"

I jumped yet again when the door suddenly opened in a swift and firm movement.

“What seems to be the matter?” There was D’Artagnan, ever his loyal sentinel, quite calm even though he was clearly puzzled.

“Her incompetence” Louis quickly replied, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Because of her, I slipped! I could have fallen and-“

D’Artagnan’s eyes fell on me as I nervously wrung the cloth I still held on to in my hands. We exchanged a meaningful glance before he heaved a sigh.

“I’m so terribly sorry…” My shoulders convulsed with the tears that I desperately fought to repress.

“Shush!” Louis exclaimed, causing me to inch further away from him. “Get out of my sight and leave my palace! I don’t ever want to see you again!”

“But, sire…” I loudly gulped at the implications of his words. “P-Please, Your Majesty, I… I beg of you, give me another chance, I… I have nothing else! N-Nothing, no one!”

“You should have thought about that before being so careless!” There was not a trace of empathy nor forgiveness in his cold blue eyes as he continued to stare at me with contempt.

I merely remained on the floor, feeling myself shaking and definitely shedding tears that came cascading down my eyes, slipping down my cheeks and into the floor. I dared not beg again, for I knew it would only anger the king further and I could possibly not appeal to his humanity in order for him to spare me from his cruelty.

Holding on to my last hope, I lifted my glance until it landed on D’Artagnan. The Captain remained there, stood between the king and myself. Despite his firm posture, there was an evident compassion reflected in his eyes. He reciprocated my glance, but in spite of it all he did not intervene for me. D’Artagnan also realized it would be to no avail.

“Quit your pathetic crying and leave” Louis’ voice was now quite low, yet held such spiteful venom that it forced me to shrink over myself. I yelped when his hand wrapped around my upper arm like an iron clutch and pulled me to my feet. “Get. Out!!”

I whimpered when he pushed me outside of the room, which such force that I only fell to the ground again, painfully landing on my knees. The sound of the doors violently closing echoed around the palace. I could only focus in my own sobbing, in how my body terribly trembled and how my knees ached because of the impact. In addition to that, a heavy void had installed itself in my chest as the realization grew that I was rendered nearly a vagrant.

“Up, come” I got startled when a hand newly wrapped around my arm, tugging at it. Yet I recognized that voice and the gentleness of the gesture.

“D’Artagnan, sir” I looked up at him, allowing him to help me up. “I-I-I beg you, I have nothing and no one… I lived in the palace to assist the king at all t-times!”

“I am sorry” The musketeer nodded to reinforce the honesty of his words. “But I’m afraid there is nothing I can do”

“B-But… But…”

“The king has made his choice”

“What… What am I to do now?”

There was a pause in which D’Artagnan let go of my arm. I shoved my face in my hands as I disconsolately wept there, unable to find any sort of solace. I felt lost as the tension grew in my chest, leaving me even emptier than before.

“Perhaps there is something I can do after all” The Captain’s words were like a beacon of hope in such sudden darkness, so I quickly glanced up to him in expectation.

“If you could, I would be forever grateful, monsieur” The tears froze in my eyes, and so I absently wiped the remnants of them.

“Come” D’Artagnan kindly rested a hand against my back as he guided me outside of the palace. I quietly walked with him, obediently going whenever he indicated me and daring not to ask any questions.

Once in the gardens, the warmth of the sun contributed to easing my anguish as I managed to deeply exhale. Nonetheless, as I watched the beauty surrounding me, I grew quite sad that I would not be allowed in that palace ever again. Perhaps it was for the best.

“Andre” D’Artagnan’s voice surprised me as it broke the silence we had established.

A musketeer, the one I briefly spoke to earlier that day, quickly approached us and intently listened to his orders. “Yes, Captain?”

“I must tend to some personal matters, it will not take long” His hand was still lightly pressed against my back for guidance and encouragement. “I leave you in charge until my return”

“Very well” Andre replied, nodding in acknowledgement. However, his eyes fell over me and a small yet sympathetic smile was shown in my direction. I did my best to at least dedicate him a weak smile back.

Thus, D’Artagnan and I continued walking as I internally burned with thousands of questions about his plan, and hence, my fate.

  As we arrived to our destination, I distinguished a unique feeling within me. The desperation and distress I previously felt were overpowered by an intense fiery hatred towards Louis. In all my somewhat brief time serving the king, I had never once witnessed an act of kindness coming from him. Quite honestly, I believed he did not even deserve to be called king in spite of his crown. He was not worthy of such a title, for a king must be fair and just, and he was neither.

We found ourselves before a quite humble and simple construction, yet not nearly lacking nor in poor state. I could hear water nearby as a river gently flew, and we were surrounded everywhere by the calm stillness of nature in which some farm animals stayed. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

As D’Artagnan’s hand reclaimed its place in my back, he guided me towards the entrance. There, he knocked on the door and patiently waited. I anxiously awaited as well as I wondered where he had brought me. Before I could further overthink the possibilities, the door swung open to reveal an older man.

“Aramis” D’Artagnan immediately spoke up.

The breath hitched in my throat at the mention of such name. Aramis? The musketeer? His close friend? One part of the four part legend? One of the famous three musketeers?

“D’Artagnan!” Aramis was visibly surprised as his brown eyes travelled from him and then to me in astonishment. “To what do I owe your visit?”

“I must ask for a favor, old friend” D’Artagnan began. “This is Marie, she was a maid of the king-“

“No” Aramis immediately replied. “Say no more, I will not fix the king’s mishaps”

“It is not like that. She is alone, and lost her home in the palace” His friend calmly explained. “My conscience would not rest at peace knowing she was to suffer such a fate”

Meanwhile, I stood by his side, still as a statue. I dared not to speak a single word as I was wrapped in the sheer shock that the situation brought me. D’Artagnan knew but my name and he was standing there, asking the great Aramis to take me in. Indeed, I did not expect Aramis to accept, for I would not ask such of him.

“While I am not surprised that the king would do such a vile thing to a poor girl” His eyes landed on me before returning to D’Artagnan. “I am not fit to shelter her”

“You are now a priest, is it not kindness that you proclaim? Generosity and solidarity?”

The two friends carefully stared at one another. I did not move still.

“She has a good heart and immense patience, she is fit to stay here” D’Artagnan dedicated Aramis a slightly amused glance before he regained his usual grave demeanor. “And she is also quite hardworking and devoted”

“I…” When I remembered that I had nowhere to go, I decided to speak up. However, my throat felt dry and I had to try once more. “I would be forever in your debt if you found the goodness inside you to take me in, monsieur”

Aramis watched me for a moment, possibly considering it. I bit my bottom lip in anticipation to his decision.

“Does she truly have nowhere to go?”

“No, she does not”

Only a few seconds of silence followed, yet my heart raced in anguish at the resolution.

“Very well…” Aramis put a hand over my shoulder and guided me inside. “She can stay”

“Thank you, Aramis” D’Artagnan smiled ever so lightly. “May God repay you”

They exchanged a head nod, and as D’Artagnan changed his footing preparing to leave, I timidly reached out to hold his arm. Taken aback by such gesture, he stared at me.

“D’Artagnan” I began, profoundly moved by his actions. “Thank you, sire. Truly, I will never in my lifetime be able to repay you for your kindness, as well as that of your friend. I owe all of you a great debt”

Aramis’ hand over my shoulder gently patted me in recognition. In turn, D’Artagnan showed me a small smile once more.

“I am only happy I could be of assistance, Marie”

Tag list: @loirabrasileirabr / @suenami3 // Let me know if you want to be added or taken off this tag list!!

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One:  The Dark Curse

Chapter 70:  A Significant Milestone

"Well…that went well. Just as you'd planned!"

"I don't know what you're talking about…" Regina sneered.

Sure, she didn't. Ever since that long-ago day that a near encounter with a stranger at a bar had nearly taken Regina and her future from him, he'd been sure to pay close attention to her activities, especially when the King was away. He was particularly vigilant now that the King had begun to leave Snow White behind, so she could learn to rule as Queen. All alone with Regina, the watchful eye was necessary. He'd thought that Regina had been frustrated before, when the King had simply left her alone, but now that Snow White stayed with her during these times, sat in the Great Hall by her side, watching her give orders to peasants and solving problems her husband never gave her credit for, his girl was starting to become a woman. Her anger and fury grew time after time. And on this time, as soon as the King had gone, he'd made note of one trip Regina had taken by magic, to meet a criminal in the woods. They called him "Dead Eye". And it just so happened, immediately after this meeting, that Dead Eye had invaded Regina's Kingdom. While her husband was away, she and Snow White had been left to deal with the problem.

He'd watched it all play out through crystal ball, cauldron, and mirror as Regina's attempt at making a power play, getting the Kingdom to see her as the rightful ruler and not just someone keeping the seat warm until her husband died, failed miserably. He'd known it would from the start, even without his powers of foresight.

He had to give her credit; her plan had been simple enough. Bring a terrible bandit into the Kingdom, create pressure Snow White couldn't handle, which would lead to failure and a very public humiliation for her step-daughter. At that point, she would sweep in, save the Kingdom somehow herself, and publicly comfort Snow White so the Kingdom would see her as their Queen and Snow White as nothing more than the next monarch who was still not ready to take the throne. No one would be any wiser as to the fact that it was their Queen that had brought the trouble in the first place. Except, of course, he who heard and saw everything.

"It was a good plan you came up with," he commented to a frustrated Regina who had just stormed into her bedroom after everything had failed. "It had decent goals, an untraceable source, and easy to remember lines. There was of course just one thing you neglected to account for?"

"And what was that?" she questioned rolling her eyes. "Please, enlighten me! Tell me where I went wrong!" The tone of her voice suggested that was anything but a begging plea, still, he did like to rub people's noses in their mistakes, especially those who called themselves his students.

"You failed to account for the determination of your step-daughter," he sneered. "Among other things…"

There were other mistakes that she'd made of course, but none bigger than that one. Snow White had been humiliated at the beginning and scared and frustrated as well, she'd wanted desperately to reach out to her father, but instead Regina had insisted she handle it. It was ironic, if she'd allowed her step-daughter to do what she'd wanted to in the first place and call on her Dear Papa for help, or instead just stepped in right then, her plan might actually have worked. Instead, she'd let Snow go, she'd let that teenage girl make friends with some boy or other who taught her archery, and after paying the robber not to kill the girl lest she become a martyr, the pair had faced off. Snow White had protected her people, and now they saw her in higher esteem than they had before. It practically had the people wishing Regina would die just so they could call her Queen.

Regina's lips turned red and hard as she made a face at him. "That girl! That miserable excuse for a Princess! She outwitted me!"

"Oh no!" he corrected quickly, getting to his feet. "One has to know who their true enemy is to outwit them. What she did was to overpower you with…love!" he stated in a high girlish voice putting his hands over his heart as if it could feel any more than Cora's could at the moment.

"Love!"

"Love is far more powerful than you realize, Regina. Capable of just as much and sometimes even much more than hate. There are a number of things one must account for in plans such as these. Timing, the temperament of the victim, and one must never fear backup plans. But most importantly of all, you must account for the relationship between the victim and the motivation you are using. Snow White, daughter of the King, loves her Kingdom as though they were her very children. If you had a mother that loved you, you'd know that parents will lay down their lives and sacrifice everything for their spawn. That was where you went wrong, which suggests, oddly enough that you don't know your own enemy. Strange considering she lives in the next tower."

"And now all the Kingdom looks up to her like she's perfect!" she suddenly burst out. "I'm the Queen; she's the Nothing, nothing but a princess! She's not as perfect as they all think she is! They just don't see it. They respect her more than me!"

"Of course they do! She's the treasure of the Kingdom! Who are you but the woman who replaced her mother?! You are here to keep the throne warm until she's ready to ascend. Jealousy is natural."

"What I feel for her it's not…it's not jealousy."

"Something more then…perhaps something a bit stronger…anger, maybe?"

"I hate her!" she shouted unexpectedly with rage that assured him she'd finally crossed into a place with Snow that he could work with. "Hate." She'd never used a word like that before, not in his presence. "Hate" was exactly what he'd wanted from the beginning, but this was only the start. Today Snow White, tomorrow the Kingdom, and from there...the realm.

"Hate is a very powerful emotion, dearie."

"But it's true! I hate her! I think I have nearly since the day I met her, ever since Daniel…"

"Ever since dear Daniel passed away."

"Well, it was her that did it! I told her not to tell my mother and she just…she told! Like it was nothing, like I was nothing!"

"To her…you were…"

"Are you here to cheer me up? If so then you're doing a lousy job of it!" she roared before storming out to her balcony. He smiled. No. He hadn't come to cheer her up. He hadn't come for a lesson or to find out what happened. He'd come because part of him was proud. Whether she knew it or not, she'd taken a step in the right direction for him today. Regina had plotted. For the first time, she'd wanted something and used her power and her wealth to try and take it for herself. The results had been disastrous, but the way she'd gone about it suggested something he was very pleased with. Her animosity and jealousy toward her step-daughter were growing. She was taking steps to ruin her. Steps that would one day lead toward a curse. He'd come to gloat today because he was proud of her. She'd grown a spine. And it was a spinney one indeed.

"So…what do you intend to do next, Regina?" he questioned, letting himself appear on the balcony before her so that he could rest his back on the castle wall.

Kill her. That answer was written plain as day on Regina's face. It was in the tightening of her fists, the way her knuckles shone white against the moonlight.

But there was an indent in her cheek like she was biting it and a muscle that twitched in her jaw that suggested she didn't want to open her mouth to say the words. That was good in a way. He didn't want the Queen to kill her step-daughter. He needed the hate that she had for her to exceed death, to want to make Snow White suffer, to make the entire realm suffer! But this was a one step at a time operation. First, he had to get her to the point that she was ready to kill her and then offer that more appealing option.

"Nothing," she finally huffed over her shoulder. "There's nothing I can do."

"Nothing?" he pressed.

"Haven't you been listening?!" she cried, turning toward him. "Haven't you been watching in your creepy little way?! I just tried! I tried to change things. I tried to get them to see her for what she is and turn the tables. It backfired!"

"Tried?!" he laughed. "That was a rather poor attempt if I do say so myself!"

"I tried," she snapped. "I'm sorry if we can't all come up with plans as grand as the Dark One!"

He bit back a laugh as she went back inside her room. He was getting to her. That was perfect. It was what he needed to get her to take this to a new level. She was ready to move forward with everything; with her magic, her plans, and her future, she just didn't know it yet. He needed her to know it.

"You failed," he stated appearing in front of her so that she stumbled when she came to an abrupt stop. "What is it that you want Regina…not what you intend, what is it that you want."

"I want…I want her to die for what she did to Daniel."

"Good goal. Short, sweet, easy to remember. It does of course lack a proper plan."

"So teach me! Teach me…how to kill her! Teach me how to finally take the revenge I should have taken long ago-a life for a life. If I can't earn their respect with her around, then I'll take it when they've no princess to fawn over! A spell, a potion, a curse…there must be something that you can give to me that will destroy her, that will end this…this pain…this suffering!"

"Well, of course, I do…but I don't really think you want to use it."

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Well, because then you'd be no better than you were the day your dear mother took a trip through the looking glass. Make no mistake of this, Regina, you've not been nearly as careful or discreet as you think you have. Their perfectly healthy and lovely Princess suddenly takes ill and dies or is found one day in her room with her life snuffed out…they'll look to you. Perhaps not right away, but they'll eventually make the proper conclusions."

"I can be miles away from here before they come from me! I can live on the run!"

"Perhaps but what then of your dear father. Oh!" he piqued as her face fell with sudden understanding and sadness. "Didn't think of that, did you? A rather half-baked plan indeed."

"Then it's true," she whimpered, slapping her hands against her thighs and falling into a seat. "There is truly nothing I can do. I'm trapped here in this miserable life until...until the day I die."

"Oh, now I didn't say that, did I?"

"But you just said-"

"What you need to do, Regina is think bigger and smarter. You need to plan wiser. You need to open your mind for a long game, not a short one. You failed because your attempt was only half thought through. You tried to control what you couldn't control and your plan backfired. You were so caught up on the way you saw things in your head you were unable to adjust to what was right before you."

"I don't even know what that means! What are you talking about? Why are you here if you can't help me?!"

"I'm beginning to ask myself the same question," he reflected. Regina was smart, but he was coming to find that in her anger, she could be one of two things. Abrupt and foolish. Or thoughtful and conniving. He needed her to be the second above all else. "I am good for more than the occasional magic lesson, dearie. It means that death is too good for her. Death is final; it's peaceful. Do you really think she deserves that after all she's cost you?"

"Without a doubt!" she growled.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his disappointment to himself. It was progress, but still a wrong answer.

[minijenn]

Father and Daughter (Commission)

And at long last the last of these commissions! This is for @rpbattleman, who wanted a Zelda BotW commission about Zelda interacting with her father’s spirit post game. This is a bit angsty, pretty emotional, makes me wanna write more Breath of the Wild stuff so yeah, I liked it! Hope ya’ll do too, enjoy!

***

Out of all the things Zelda expected to see upon making the treacherous voyage into the ruined throne room of her former castle home, this had been about the very last.

It was supposed to have been a simple trip, solely for the purpose of combing through the castle ruins for any sort of important relics or records. Link had already told her that he hadn’t really found anything of note during his first excursion there, but Zelda was insistent, unable to bear the thought of so much important history being lost in such a way. However, talking about it was one thing; actually going there was another altogether. 100 years worth of dread and grief settled in Zelda’s heart as her and Link passed through the crumbling threshold into the musty ruins. Now bereft of Ganon’s malice, the castle was eerily silent and empty, a stark contrast from the bustling hub of Hyrule’s government that Zelda had grown up in. Yet even despite its horrific state, every step the princess took through its decimated halls brought more and more memories of her childhood there. Terrorizing the castle guards with reptiles and insects she had found in the courtyard, following her mother in flowing gowns to grand balls, walking alongside her father as he explained Hyrule’s hallowed history to her. All of these moments rested dead and gone, over 100 years in the past now. And as far as Zelda was concerned, that was exactly how far away they felt to her now.

What wasn’t far away, however, was her father, or rather, his ghostly spirit. For the moment the princess had stepped foot into the leveled throne room that had once been the lair of Calamity Ganon itself, there he was. The king hovered over his throne, or at least what was left of it, his spectral form facing the dull light filtering into the room from the window where elegant stained glass once hung. Even so, as soon as she spotted him, Zelda’s heart ached with far too many emotions to count. Link had mentioned to her that he had encountered her father’s spirit at the start of his quest, and Zelda believed him, knowing that lingering phantoms were a common occurrence in Hyrule. However, seeing her father’s ghost with her own eyes 100 years after his passing was in a league all its own.

So she stiffened, offering a silent nod to Link with the unspoken instruction for to wait outside. He complied, respecting the princess’s request for a private moment with her father, one that was clearly long past due.

Zelda stepped forward, unsure of what to even say to him first, but fortunately the king kickstarted the conversation instead. “Zelda…” Rhoam spoke, his deep voice resonating throughout the lofty chamber despite his incorporeal form. “You cannot fathom the countless years I have longed to see your face again.”

“A-actually,” Zelda said, her voice much less steady than she hoped it would sound. “I think I can.”

The king turned, sadness etched into his usually stern expression. Admittedly, it took Zelda aback, to see so much genuine emotion in the place of where a mask of solid stoicism usually rested instead. “It brings my departed heart peace to see you finally free from the malice you so admirably subdued. Words cannot my pride towards the sealing power that you at long last managed to successfully unlock.”

A flash of sudden anger rushed through Zelda as she heard this. His pride towards her power, not towards her. She should have expected it, but even so, the sentiment still stung all the same. “All these years, and you still haven’t changed…” she said, her voice quiet, though the edge in it was undeniable. “All my life, you told me that ceaseless prayer and dedication to my duties would awaken the sacred power within me. But you were wrong. My power came not from divinity but from within, from the desire to protect what matters most, from… from the love I found that is far more than any you once offered me!”

Rhoam was silent for a moment, but when he did speak, the rare shame in his tone was clear. “Zelda…” he sighed in what seemed like defeat. “You have every right to be angry with me. In truth, I’ve spent the last hundred years being overwhelmingly disappointed in myself.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Zelda shook her head with an incredulous laugh. After all, her father was nothing if not the prideful monarch of Hyrule all of his subjects had once known him to be in both public and private, a fact that the princess knew all too well.

“There was no excuse for my foolish stubbornness,” Rhoam continued. “I knew your heart lied with your research, and yet I coldly forbade it, not knowing that the untold truths your brilliant mind could have uncovered about the Guardians and the Divine Beasts might have held the potential to save us all from the grim fate we indeed met. In that way… perhaps it was my own failures to both you and this kingdom that doomed Hyrule most of all.”

By now, Zelda’s hands were clenched into such tight fists that she was shaking. Perhaps it was the fact that her father was nothing more than a spirit now or something else entirely, but the scars and shame of the past had finally pushed her over the edge. Urging her to say what she had wanted to say for well over 100 years now. “And you’re only just realizing that fact now?” she asked, perhaps a bit too harshly. “Now that this kingdom has all but crumbled around you? Now that our former champions, my dearest friends, perished in a war that Hyrule was sorely unprepared for all because of your silly insistence on withered, ancient tradition?! You once told me that I was set to inherit a throne of nothing, but take a look around you, Father! I am not the one sitting upon a throne that no longer exists; you are.”

For what seemed like ages, the princess’s final proclamation hung hard and heavy on in the still, musty air. Truth be told, Zelda had no idea how her father was going to react, but if she did know one thing, it was that everything she had just told him was the absolute truth. Which was why, regardless of how bitterly she had delivered it, she had no intentions of taking any of it back whatsoever.

But out of all of the ways Zelda had expected her father to react, the last thing she thought he’d do was laugh. It was a sad sort of chuckle, but a chuckle all the same, something that the princess had rarely heard out of her father since before her mother’s death so long ago now. “Yes…” Rhoam said with a small, rueful smile. “I suppose I am…” At that, the ghostly king glided forward, away from his former throne and towards his daughter instead. “Over these past 100 years I’ve spent restlessly wandering this land I have thought of nothing else but what I would say to you if we ever met again. But now that you’re truly here, there is but only one thing I feel there is left to say… It is this… Zelda… I… I am sorry.”

Zelda took in a sharp breath, everything freezing around her even more than it already was as those words and their weight sunk in. “Y-you… what?” she asked, her face warm as she felt the tears already building behind her eyes draw ever closer to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” Rhoam repeated, sad yet sincere. “For everything I have ever put you through. I always believed that I was acting in the best interest of the kingdom and its people in line with my duty as their king… but all the while, I was failing you as a father. And out of anything else, that is the single greatest regret of my ended life that I could ever carry.”

For the first 17 years of her life, all Zelda had ever, ever wanted was her father’s approval and pride. It was something any child would seek from a parent, really, but it meant so much more to her. Her father was the king, after all, his adulation wasn’t merely given, it was earned. And when she was a bit younger and a bit more foolish, she had thought that the only way to earn that adulation was to do as he expected of her and tap into the sealing power supposedly sleeping deep within her soul. And yet, for whatever mission, for years and years that had been an impossible mission, no matter how hard she tried. Which meant that no matter how she tried, she had never been able to earn the pride and affection she craved so much from one of the people she respected most. Pride and affection she thought she had lost forever on the dark, dark day he died.

But now…

Now, here he was, a wandering, listless spirt, standing before her and finally, finally freely giving her everything she thoughts she ever wanted. And in light of at long last receiving it, Zelda wasn’t entirely sure how to react. But above all else, she wanted to make sure that she wasn’t just dreaming after all. “I… I’ve finally earned it, haven’t I?” she asked, choking on a small sob. “I-is it really true? Have I finally made you proud? Have I at last brought honor to our family? H-have I…”

The princess trailed off as the king reached a hand to position it against the side of her face. It was intangible, of course, but for the briefest of moments, Zelda almost thought she could feel its calloused warmth against her skin. “My dear Zelda…” he said, his smile conveying the upmost love and comfort. “My greatest pride and honor is having you for a daughter.”

Zelda was unable to keep her floodgates closed any longer upon hearing this. She wanted, so desperately, to embrace her father, to fold into his strong, steadying arms just as she used to when she was little. But as he was now, she knew she couldn’t. So instead, she hugged herself, weeping softly out of joy of what she finally had and grief over how late it all was. But even so, better late than never at all.

“F-Father…” she whispered tearfully. “I… I love y-”

Zelda stopped short as she glanced up, only to notice that her father’s spirit had disappeared into thin air. She swallowed another sob, briefly wondering if he had ever really been there at all, until he called out his final message from whatever unknown beyond he was finally departing to. “Zelda, my dear little princess…” he said, calling her by a childhood nickname she hadn’t heard in countless years, but still deeply treasured all the same. “I have no doubt that you will succeed this kingdom where I have failed it… and Zelda, never, ever forget… how much your poor, foolish father loves you, even from beyond the grave… farewell…”

“Farewell… Father…” Zelda said, her voice barely audible as she looked to the light the king had vanished into. For a moment, she simply stood there, alone and surrounded by the ruined remnants of the past, a past that she knew she was no longer a part of, but still clung onto all the same. She felt as though she was lost adrift in a sea of countless overwhelming emotions, both good and bad. Until, that is, a pair steadying arms wrapped around her from behind. For the briefest of moments, she almost thought it was her father, somehow returned from the afterlife to an actually corporeal form. But as she looked back, she found not the king, but her knight instead.

Link looked to her intently, saying nothing but asking so much all the same. Zelda allowed herself one final small sob, accepting his comforting embrace before nodding her resolve. After all, the time for living in the past was over after all; and the future, whatever it might hold, lay straight ahead.